The Midnight Tour

You could stop listening and go on outside and wait for me. I’ll be along pretty soon. We can meet out by the ticket booth, or something.”

“So then you can tell everyone what a party-pooper I am?”

“Huh? Tell who?”

“Oh, you know who. The usual suspects.”

“Huh?”

“Henry the Great, for instance. The fabulous Maureen. Jill, of course. And all the rest of your cronies.”

“My cronies? Jeez, Monica. They’re just my friends. Cronies? And I’d hardly go around announcing to the world that you ducked out of the Beast House tour. I mean, why would anyone care?”

“Oh, they’d care all right. It’d just give them one more reason to laugh at me behind my back.”

“Nobody laughs at you.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Anyway, I won’t tell a soul. Why don’t you just go ahead and wait outside? I don’t think there’s much left. I’ll be down in a few minutes and then we can go somewhere and have a nice lunch. How does that sound?”

Monica hoisted a single, thin eyebrow. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“No. Of course not.”

“So you can go sniffing around for that blonde?”

“Huh?”

“You know who I mean.”

“I just want to do the rest of the tour, that’s all.”

“Nobody’s stopping you,” Monica said.

“Fine. So, are you coming, or do you want to wait for me outside?”

She fixed her eyes on him. Beautiful, violet eyes. But they looked as if they could see into Owen—knew him and found him pitiful and amusing and comtemptible. After a few moments of silence, Monica said, “I believe I will wait outside, thank you. And I guess I know where I stand.”

Owen grimaced. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m in the way. So I’ll just go on outside, and you go on ahead and enjoy the tour.”

“Monica, for...”

“See you later. Maybe.” She cast him a mean twitch of a smile, then whirled away and trotted down the stairs.

Owen opened his mouth, then shut it. He felt sick inside as if he’d just caused an ugly accident.

It’s not my fault, he told himself.

Other people were climbing the stairs, but he watched Monica on her way down. She descended the stairs with haughty stiffness. Her pony tail, mounted high on the back of her head by the girlish pink bow, bounced and flipped like the tail of an arrogant dog. She didn’t look back at him.

If I don’t go after her...

She wants me to miss Beast House!

Or maybe I’m just supposed to beg her to come back so we can finish the tour together.

Who the hell knows?

I’m not going after her.

He watched Monica walk out the front door. Then, still feeling sick, he turned away and started walking down the hallway toward the nursery.

How could she do this to me? We spent all that time coming here, and now she wants me to miss it.

A fucking power play.

Well, I’m not going to play along. The bell with her and her stupid games.

Owen joined a small group that was gathered just outside the nursery door. The door was open, but a cordon was stretched across the entrance to keep people out. Peering between a couple of heads, he glimpsed an old rocking horse on the floor, a wooden chest, and a cradle.

He adjusted his earphones, then thumbed the Play button.

Janice’s voice said, “Maggie never allowed tourists to see the nursery. She always kept the door closed and locked. When I purchased the house, however, I brought in a locksmith.”

She knew how much I wanted to see this stuff. Why couldn’t she just go along with it?

“...in a jiffy, and we discovered that nothing had apparently been changed since the night when Theodore was killed.”

I don’t go around and ruin things for her.

“...furniture was here, along with the baby’s rattles and stuffed animals.”

It isn’t fair.

“...cradle where he was sleeping...even his blood stains on the floor.”

I’ve wanted to come here for years. Seen all the movies, read the books, and now finally I get a chance to come and she’s gotta wreck it for me.

“...if the door had been locked and never opened again after that awful night.”

Thanks a hell of a lot, Monica.

“...nursery presents a gruesome and disturbing sight, I decided that everything should remain just as it was.” she’ll probably be pouting for the rest of the trip.

“...what Maggie...”

Like it’s all my fault. Like I’m some sort of asshole. And I’m gonna be stuck with her pouting and giving me grief all week. Maybe she’ll want to call the whole trip to a halt and fly on home tomorrow.

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“...I saw the awful, pale beast drag my little baby out of his cradle and fall upon him.”

It’s Maggie. Shit, I’ve missed...

“...beyond my power to help him.”

Hand trembling, Owen shut off the player. He pushed the Rewind button.

As the tape hissed in his ears, a couple in front of him moved on, leaving the doorway clear. He stepped up to the cordon. Now he could see the entire nursery.

A rocking horse, its paint faded. Wooden blocks on the floor. A stuffed bunny, gray with dust and age.

Blood.

Dry blood, dark brown, all over the cradle and quilt.

A rag doll in the cradle, arms and legs spread, mouth a surprised O, cloth body stained all over. It looked like a mop-headed victim of a thrill killer.

The hardwood floor in front of the cradle was darkly stained.

On the flowered wallpaper six feet behind the cradle was a splatter pattern of blood that made Owen wonder if the beast had swung the baby around, maybe by its feet, after ripping it open.

There didn’t seem to be a wax figure of the infant.

Good thing, Owen thought. The nursery was bad enough without that.

Good thing Monica isn’t getting a look at this. She’d really flip out.

He could just hear her. Oh, Owie, how can you stand to look at this? There must really be something wrong with you. Maybe you need therapy. Has that ever occurred to you? I think you should definitely see someone about your problems.

The problem is you, honey.

Owen laughed softly.

A woman near his shoulder turned her head and frowned at him.

Blow it out your ass, lady.