Leslie tentatively touched the marionette. 'God, that thing's creepy.'
'Everything here is.'
'Remember when we were kids, how old-man Williams seemed like such a tight ass? One of those upper- crust stiffs too good to associate with the likes of normal people? Who would've guessed he was sitting here with body parts in his mansion?'
Jolene nodded, feeling cold. 'And his wife was dead by then, so he was all alone in here with these secret rooms and his hidden cellar and souvenirs from his family's kills. What do you think he did at night? I saw no TV; there aren't a lot of books. Maybe he just sat here and made things like
'It just goes to show: you never know what's going on behind other people's closed doors.'
Jolene looked up at the ceiling. There was still no noise from upstairs, and the definition of 'I'll be right back' had been stretched well beyond its limit. Something was wrong.
There was another thump on the ceiling above them, this one louder than the first. Much louder.
It sounded like a body falling to the floor.
'Anna May?' Jolene called.
No answer.
She and Leslie shared a quick glance; then the two of them were rushing between the boxes and up the stairs, pausing only for a second at the head of the hallway before pushing open doors and peeking into rooms.
'Oh, God!' Leslie screamed.
Jolene hurried across the hall to where her friend was staggering away from an open door. Even before she got there, she could see Anna May's brutally beaten body, could see the mushy mass of red that had been her face, the indented cavity that had been her chest, the spreading puddle of blood on the floor. But it was not until she was actually in the doorway that she could see the slashes across the old woman's legs, slashes so deep that the white of bone showed through the red of flesh. It was from these gashes that the bulk of the blood was flowing, and there still appeared to be the remnants of a rhythm to the outpouring of thick crimson, the dying throb of a pulse. She had to have been killed only seconds before.
Fingers dug deep and suddenly into Jolene's arm, and for a brief flash of an instant she thought she was about to be slaughtered as well, but it was Leslie. 'Who did it?' her friend demanded, looking up and down the hallway. 'Where are they?'
That's what she wanted to know, too. There was no one in the bedroom. No killer, either human or animal. But on the walls of the room was what appeared to be a creeping black mold. The consistency of the substance seemed more shadow than fungus, as though the mold was in the process of evolving or, more accurately, as though it was in that place, in that space, but on another plane or in another dimension and was trying to break through.
No, Jolene thought. That wasn't right. It was more like a scene from the past was being overlaid on the present and they were seeing the ghosts of things that once were.
Anna May's bloody body was no ghost, however, and she and Leslie backed away from the door, both of them still looking furtively around the hall as though expecting some sort of phantom to jump out from another doorway at any time. 'Let's get out of here,' Jolene said. 'We'll call the police, let them figure out what happened.'
Leslie was already starting to regain some of her composure, and as the two of them hurried back down the stairs, she whipped out her cell phone and called 911. 'Anna May Carter's been murdered!' she shouted. 'We're at the Williams mansion! ... I don't know! It's on Fistler! ... They'll know where it is-just tell them to get over here fast! ... Leslie Finch.' They were downstairs by now and making their way through the maze toward the front door. 'No, we don't want to wait! ... Okay, we'll wait in the car, but if we see anything, we're out of here!' They ran outside as Leslie finished talking to the dispatcher. She turned toward Jolene as they sprinted across the asphalt toward the car. 'They want us to wait here. I told them we'll stay in the car. The phone's still on, in case something happens, so don't say anything you don't want recorded for posterity.'
Already they could hear sirens, and for once the sound had a soothing effect on her. Jolene opened the driver's door and jumped in, the image of Anna May's brutally murdered body front and center in her mind, overriding everything else. Suddenly the bodies of the family she'd found in the gulch seemed nice, comforting, almost pleasant.
'She didn't scream,' Leslie said as Jolene automatically locked all of the car's doors. 'She didn't make a sound.'
Jolene hadn't thought of that, but it was true, and in a way that was the oddest thing of all. The reaction to pain was instinctive. Even if she'd died almost instantly, Anna May should have cried out at the first blow. And why hadn't they heard the footsteps of her murderer?
Because he was a ghost.
She didn't want to go there, didn't want to think about that.
It had been less than three minutes since Leslie's call, but the first police car was already arriving. Even for a town this small, that was damned impressive. Two other cars followed, skidding to stops in the circular driveway, a total of six officers emerging with guns drawn.
One officer, obviously the man in charge, motioned for them to remain in the car, then led four of the others into the house. One remained near the first patrol car, pistol drawn and at the ready should mayhem spill out into the driveway. She and Leslie were silent, waiting, listening, and they sat like that for what seemed like an hour but was probably only ten minutes or so. She hoped this wasn't going to take forever, because she had to pick up Skylar from school pretty soon. If the police had to interview them and take statements, she'd probably have to call her mom and tell her to pick up the boy.
She didn't want her mom picking him up.
Two policemen emerged from the house with stunned looks on their faces. One was holstering his gun; the other had already put his weapon away and was numbly carrying a
Skylar's backpack.
Jolene's heart lurched in her chest and it was suddenly difficult to breathe. She unlocked and opened the car door in one impossibly perfect motion and was running toward the front of the house before Leslie could even get out a surprised, 'What's the matter?' She flew past the startled cops and dashed inside the house calling her son's name at the top of her lungs, the rational and suddenly subservient part of her brain telling her this was a stupid move, that there were three rattled cops at a murder scene, that she was likely to get herself accidentally shot.
'Skylar!' she screamed. 'Skylar!'
There was some sort of answer-not her son's voice but the deeper baritone of one of the policemen-and it seemed to come from downstairs.
She should have known. She was terrified to go back there again, frightened to the bone by the very idea, but her fear for her son was far greater and she was not going to let anything or anyone stop her. She sped through the messy maze into the kitchen, then took the steps to the basement two at a time. As she'd feared, as she'd known, the trapdoor to the secret cellar was open and two of the policemen were looking down at it.
'Skylar!' she screamed, and the two men turned slowly toward her. The blank expressions on their faces sent a searing bolt of pure terror straight through her, and like a wild animal she shoved the men aside and looked into the cellar.
Where Skylar was naked, rocking back and forth on the dirt floor in his own excrement, laughing to himself like a person who had gone completely insane.
The voice came from right next to him, and Skylar jumped, whirling around, but the school hallway was empty, no one in front, no one in back, the doors to all of the classrooms closed. He desperately had to pee, but he was suddenly afraid to even walk down to the end of the hall, let alone go alone into the boys' bathroom. He wondered, if he returned to class, whether he'd be able to hold it until recess.
No way.
Luckily, the door to another class opened a little ways up ahead, and a girl walked out carrying a hall pass
