Nightmare at 20,000 Feet

concentrated. They were burning. She could see the prints and negatives scattered on the bottom of a large enamel pan-the kind used for developing film. Bright flames crackled on them and the enamel was smudging.

Julie held her breath. She pushed her mental gaze further- to scan the room that was lit by the flaming enamel pan-until it came to rest upon the broken thing that dangled and swayed, suspended from the closet hook.

She sighed. It hadn’t lasted very long. That was the trouble with a mind like Eddy’s. The very weakness which made it vulnerable to her soon broke it down. Julie opened her eyes, her ugly child’s face puckered in a smile. Well, there were others.

She stretched her scrawny body languidly. Posing at the window, the drugged Coke, the motel photographs- these were getting dull by now although that place in the woods was wonderful. Especially in the early morning with the mist outside, the car like an oven. That she’d keep for a while; and the violence of course. The rest would have to go. She’d think of something better next time.

Philip Harrison had never noticed the girl in his Physics class until that day—

20 – PREY

Amelia arrived at her apartment at six-fourteen. Hanging her coat in the hall closet, she carried the small package into the living room and sat on the sofa. She nudged off her shoes while she unwrapped the package on her lap. The wooden box resembled a casket. Amelia raised its lid and smiled. It was the ugliest doll she’d ever seen. Seven inches long and carved from wood, it had a skeletal body and an oversized head. Its expression was maniacally fierce, its pointed teeth completely bared, its glaring eyes protuberant. It clutched an eight-inch spear in its right hand. A length of fine, gold chain was wrapped around its body from the shoulders to the knees. A tiny scroll was wedged between the doll and the inside wall of its box. Amelia picked it up and unrolled it. There was handwriting on it. This is He Who Kills, it began. He is a deadly hunter. Amelia smiled as she read the rest of the words. Arthur would be pleased.

The thought of Arthur made her turn to look at the telephone on the table beside her. After a while, she sighed and set the wooden box on the sofa. Lifting the telephone to her lap, she picked up the receiver and dialled a number.

Her mother answered.

“Hello, Mom,” Amelia said.

“Haven’t you left yet?” her mother asked.

Amelia steeled herself. “Mom, I know it’s Friday night—” she started.

She couldn’t finish. There was silence on the line. Amelia closed her eyes. Mom, please, she thought. She swallowed. “There’s this man,” she said. “His name is Arthur Breslow. He’s a high school teacher.”

“You aren’t coming,” her mother said.

Amelia shivered. “It’s his birthday,” she said. She opened her eyes and looked at the doll. “I sort of promised him we’d… spend the evening together.”

Her mother was silent. There aren’t any good movies playing tonight, anyway, Amelia’s mind continued. “We could go tomorrow night,” she said.

Her mother was silent.

“Mom?”

“Now even Friday night’s too much for you.”

“Mom, I see you two, three nights a week.”

“To visit,” said her mother. “When you have your own room here.”

“Mom, let’s not start on that again” Amelia said. I’m not a child, she thought. Stop treating me as though I were a child!

“How long have you been seeing him?” her mother asked.

“A month or so.”

“Without telling me,” her mother said.

“I had every intention of telling you.” Amelia’s head was starting to throb. I will not get a headache, she told herself. She looked at the doll. It seemed to be glaring at her. “He’s a nice man, Mom,” she said.

Her mother didn’t speak. Amelia felt her stomach muscles drawing taut. I won’t be able to eat tonight, she thought.

She was conscious suddenly of huddling over the telephone.

She forced herself to sit erect. I’m thirty-three years old, she thought. Reaching out, she lifted the doll from its box. “You should see what I’m giving him for his birthday,” she said. “I found it in a curio shop on Third Avenue. It’s a genuine Zuni fetish doll, extremely rare. Arthur is a buff on anthropology. That’s why I got it for him.”

There was silence on the line. All right, don’t talk, Amelia thought. “It’s a hunting fetish,” she continued, trying hard to sound untroubled. “It’s supposed to have the spirit of a Zuni hunter trapped inside it. There’s a golden chain around it to prevent the spirit from—” She couldn’t think of the word; ran a shaking finger over the chain. “-escaping, I guess,” she said. “His name is He Who Kills. You should see his face.” She felt warm tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Have a good time,” said her mother, hanging up.

Amelia stared at the receiver, listening to the dial tone. Why is it always like this? she thought. She dropped the receiver onto its cradle and set aside the telephone. The darkening room looked blurred to her. She stood the doll on the coffee-table edge and pushed to her feet. I’ll take my bath now, she told herself. I’ll meet him and we’ll have a lovely time. She walked across the living room. A lovely time, her mind repeated emptily. She knew it wasn’t possible. Oh, Monti she thought. She clenched her fists in helpless fury as she went into the bedroom.

In the living room, the doll fell off the table edge. It landed head down and the spear point, sticking into the carpet, braced the doll’s legs in the air.

The fine, gold chain began to slither downward.

It was almost dark when Amelia came back into the living room. She had taken off her clothes and was wearing her terrycloth robe. In the bathroom, water was running into the tub.

She sat on the sofa and placed the telephone on her lap. For several minutes, she stared at it. At last, with a heavy sigh, she lifted the receiver and dialled a number.

“Arthur?” she said when he answered;

“Yes?” Amelia knew the tone-pleasant but suspecting. She couldn’t speak.

“Your mother,” Arthur finally said.

That cold, heavy sinking in her stomach. “It’s our night together,” she explained. “Every Friday—” She stopped and waited. Arthur didn’t speak. “I’ve mentioned it before,” she said.

“I know you’ve mentioned it,” he said.

Amelia rubbed at her temple.

“She’s still running your life, isn’t she?” he said.

Amelia tensed. “I just don’t want to hurt her feelings anymore,” she said. “My moving out was hard enough on her.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings either,” Arthur said. “But how many birthdays a year do I have? We planned on this.”

“I know.” She felt her stomach muscles tightening again.

“Are you really going to let her do this to you?” Arthur asked. “One Friday night out of the whole year?”

Amelia closed her eyes. Her lips moved soundlessly. I just can’t hurt her feelings anymore, she thought. She swallowed. “She’s my mother,” she said.

“Very well,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was looking forward to it, but—” He paused. “I’m sorry,” he said. He hung up quietly.