Shadowland

present.'

    Now they were on a wide main road, cutting through the center of the small darkened town; soon they swerved off onto a narrow road which led directly into deep wood. Collins held a bottle between his thighs, and lifted it now and then to sip. Before long the trees blotted out the stars.

3

The narrow road twisted through the forest, and when it began to ascend, split into two forks. Collins took the left fork — this was unpaved, and rose sharply. After a few minutes, Tom was dimly aware of a field on his side of the road: a gray horse, nearly invisible in the murk, drifted up to a fence, followed by two black shapes that must have been horses also. Then the trees closed in again.

    'What's it like here in the winter?'

    'Snowed in, little bird. Very beautiful.'

    They continued to rise on the narrow bumpy road.

    Tom asked, 'Do you have neighbors?'

    'All of my neighbors are in my head,' Collins said, and laughed again. He glanced at Del. 'And is it good to be back, accidents and upsets notwithstanding?'

    'Oh, yes,' Del breathed.

    'Ah.'

    After perhaps twenty minutes, Collins turned the car into a paved drive which looped back and then made a wide descending curve interrupted by big iron gates set into high brick gateposts. From the posts, a wall fanned into the trees on either side.

    'You'll excuse my precautions, Thomas,' Cole Collins said, gently stopping the car. 'I am an old man, all alone in these woods. Of course vandals can still come across the lake in the winter, to get at the summer houses.' He propped the bottle on the seat and got out to punch a series of numbered buttons on one of the posts. The gates slid open.

    The car moved forward, rounded a bend, and they could see the house. It looked like a Victorian summer house which had been added on to by generations of owners: a three-story frame building with gables and corbels and pointed windows, flanked by more modern wings. It took Tom a moment to see why these were odd — the lines of white board were unbroken by win­dows. Lights hung on the wood illuminated bright circles on the windowless facades; lights hung in the trees on either side of the house. It looked faintly like a com­pound — faintly like something else.

    'The school,' Tom said. 'I mean . . . it sort of reminds me of our school.'

    Del looked at him in surprise.

    'Lucky boy,' Collins murmured. He opened the door. 'Leave your things in the car. Someone will bring them in later.' He staggered a bit, getting out of the car, but tucked the half-empty bottle under his arm with an almost soldierly snap. 'Step lively, step lightly, but step inside. We can't hang around outside all night.'

    Tom got out and saw Collins' tall figure outlined against the vast house. Strings of lights shone from widely separated trees deep in the woods; others were so close together as to remind him of the circles of light through which Jimmy Durante walked at the end of his show, just after saying, 'Good night, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.' There were many more lights than he had seen from the car.

    'Why do you light up the forest like that?' he asked.

    'Why? So I can see what's coming and what's going,' Collins said. 'And what big eyes you have, Grandmother. Ready?'

Collins opened the front door and stood to one side to let them enter. Del walked in before Tom, and when Tom went through into the dim interior, his friend faced him with a shining, exalted face. Then he saw why. Candles blazed all over the entry: candles burned on the little table stacked with newspapers, candles burned on the shelf where Coleman Collins dropped his car keys.

    'The fuse for this part of the building blew, I suppose,' Collins said. 'Someone's probably fixing it now. Nice of them to get out these candles for us. They give a welcoming glow, don't you think? Or do you think they look too much like Halloween?'

    'You knew,' Del said. 'Just like Registration Day — like Tom said, at school. You knew.'

'I don't know what you are talking about,' Collins said. 'I must take a bath and lie down for a bit. There will be some food in your rooms.' He leaned against the wall of the entry, supporting his shoulders on the shelf, and crossed his arms over his chest. Tom got another shining glance from Del. 'Wash up in the bathroom down here. Then go up. Tom's room is right next to yours, Del. He will be in the connecting room. When you have eaten, come downstairs and I will see you in the Little Theater. Can you still find it?'

    'Sure I can.'

    'Stupendous. I'll see you there at . . . ' He looked at his watch. 'Shall we say eleven?'

    Del nodded.

    'Fine. Tom, there will not be much of a view of the lake at this hour, but tomorrow you should be able to see it. A very tempting vista.' Again there was a suggestion of mockery and unstated meanings in his voice. He nodded and began to mount the stairs. Halfway up, he wobbled backward, and the boys stood nailed to the floor, fearing that he was about to topple down, but he righted himself with a hand against the wall, said, 'Oops,' and continued upward.

    Del shook his head in relief. 'Let's go wash our hands.'

    He led Tom to a small bathroom just off the entry. While Del lathered his hands in the sink, Tom waited in the doorway. 'Are the woods always lighted up like that?'

    'First time. But those candles! I was right.'

    'About it being like school this time.'

    'We'll see,' Del said. 'Your turn.'

    'Well, I hope it isn't like school.' Tom edged around Del in the little bathroom.

    'Hey, did you know this was a haunted house?' Del asked playfully.

    'Come on, Florence.'

    Del pushed a button beneath the light switch, and the radiance in the bathroom abruptly turned purple. In the sink, Tom's hands shone a lighter, more vibrant purple. He looked in the mirror — Del was laughing — and saw his face, the same shade of purple, disappearing under a hideous mask which seemed to stretch forward from the glass. The effect was half-comic, half-frightening. The face, with distorted rubbery lips and dead skin, the very face of greed, of acquisitiveness sucked down into pure hunger, looked at him with his own eyes. It pushed forward slowly, slowly, and became the only thing in the room. Tom finally jerked backward, unable to face the ugly thing down, and banged into Del. The face hung vibrating in the air.

    'I know.' Del laughed. 'But it just comes up close and then melts back down into the mirror. It's a great trick. The first time I saw it, I howled like hell.' He pushed the button, and Tom was again standing in an ordinary wallpapered half-bath. His face was itself, familiar but pale.

    'Uncle Cole calls it the Collector,' Del said. 'Don't ask me how it works. Let's go up and eat.'

    'The Collector,' Tom echoed, now really shaken. That was just how it had looked.

Their rooms, in the left wing of the house, were window — less, bright, incongruously modern and 'Scandinavian': they could have been rooms in an expensive motel. Creamy off — white walls hung with colorful but bland abstract paintings, neat single beds covered in blue corduroy, thick white carpets that showed their footprints. White louvered doors swung open onto deep closets where their clothes had already been hung or folded, their suitcases packed away at the back. White desks with lamps stood against the walls. In Del's room, connected to Tom's by sliding wooden pocket doors, a table had been set for two. A crystal decanter half-filled with red wine stood beside covered dishes and a salad bowl.

    'Boy,' Tom said, smelling the steaks.

    Del marched to the table and sat down, snapping his napkin onto his lap. He poured from the decanter into Tom's glass and his own.

    'He lets you drink wine?'

    'Of course he does. He can hardly be puritanical about drink, can he? And besides that, he really believes dinner isn't complete without wine.' Del sipped, and smiled. 'He used to put water in it when I was younger. There isn't any water in this.'