He swung the flashlight beam around and it fell on a lean, vicious-looking creature with a long snout and glittering eyes. Its teeth were bared in a feral snarl.
“Aah! Jesus!” he cried, recoiling from the hideous-looking thing, raising his arm to ward off its leap, and then he realized that it was only a stuffed animal. Relieved, he exhaled heavily and approached it. It was a stuffed weasel, which he touched gingerly and grimaced. Who the hell would want to keep such a thing around? Well, apparently no one, because they had stuck it in the basement. He swept the beam around over wooden crates and moldering cardboard boxes, some closed and some open, containing all sorts of junk and bric-a-brac.
The flashlight beam fell on an old 1940’s nudie pinup. He grinned with appreciation. “All right!” As soon as he got the situation with the fuse box straightened out, he’d roll the poster up and take it with him.
There was a noise behind him that sounded like a footfall on the stairs. He quickly spun around.
“Who’s there?”
Upstairs, Chili discarded Chuck’s popcorn disaster and started fresh with a new pot. It was a good thing Chuck didn’t have to cook, she thought. He’d be utterly lost in a world without burger drive-ins, taco joints and pizza parlors. She made a face as she dumped the greasy popcorn and started to shake the second pot. Suddenly, something heavy fell against the kitchen door.
She picked up the lantern. “Chuck? You back already?”
There was no answer.
She hesitated, then reached out and pulled open the door. Shelly fell against the door frame, his eyes bulging, his mouth working as a ghastly, incoherent wheeze came out of him. His throat was slashed from ear to ear and blood was running down his neck onto his shirt. He stretched his hand out to her and blood trickled from his mouth.
“Nice makeup job,” said Chili, turning away from him. She wasn’t falling for that trick again!
He slumped down to the floor and fell forward on his face, blocking the door.
She turned and looked at him irritably. He was getting to be a real drag. The death of the party, she thought. “Stop foolin’ around, man.”
As he died, she went back to shaking her popcorn.
Chuck swept the flashlight beam all around the basement, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the cellar. Yet he was certain he had heard something. Only the house settling, he told himself. Old places like this always creak and groan. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves and exhaled slowly. Damn, he hated being alone in the dark! It was giving him the creeps. If it wasn’t for the flashlight, he’d never have been able to handle it. He moved deeper into the cellar, sweeping the flashlight beam back and forth and, finally, it fell on a gray steel fuse box mounted on the far wall. At last, he thought.
He moved closer, peering at the box. It had been left open and he could see that it wasn’t exactly up to code. The old fuses had been replaced with circuit breakers, but the wiring was all exposed and the old cloth insulation was badly frayed. Not very safe at all. Man, he thought, this is just not my day.
He shined the flashlight into the box and saw that the main breaker had clicked into the “off” position. It must have been a power surge. Gingerly, her reached out, all to aware of the fact that he was standing barefoot in ankle-deep water, and quickly clicked the breaker switch back to the “on” position. Then he pulled his finger back quickly. The dim forty-watt bulb in the fixture overhead flickered on and Chuck sighed with relief that it was over and he could go back to his munchies. He was beginning to think he’d never get out to that basement.
“That’s better,” he said, turning to go back upstairs.
He gasped at the sight of the huge, backlit figure standing close behind him. The flashlight beam fell on the white hockey mask, and before Chuck could take another breath, Jason’s hand shot out and closed around his throat, seizing him and lifting him straight up off the floor. Chuck wriggled like a fish in the immensely powerful grip, his eyes bulging wildly as he vainly gasped for air.
With one smooth motion, Jason hurled him right into the open fuse box. Electricity cracked as Chuck slammed back into the old wiring and his bare feet hit the water. Splayed out against the fuse box as if he were crucified, Chuck jerked and writhed as the juice coursed through his body and electrocuted him. Sparks shot out of the box, the light bulb overhead flickered madly, and the smell of burning flesh filled the musty cellar.
Chili stood at the stove, frowning up at the lights as they started to blink rapidly on and off. “What’s goin’ on?” she said to herself, wondering what the hell Chuck was doing down there. Chuck, she thought, will you stop playing with the juice.
She picked up the lantern and headed for the door. Shelly’s body blocked the way. She sighed, rolling her eyes. Him, too, she thought. Who needs this? It was enough to make her want to scream.
“Get up, Shelly,” she said, prodding him with her foot. “Enough is enough!”
He didin’t move or respond.
Chili set her teeth and bent down to shove him out of the way, but he was dead weight. Then she noticied how very still he was lying. She reached out to touch him and her hand came away stained with blood. She looked at her fingers in the light of the lantern and realized with a dreadful certainty that this wasn’t makeup. It was the real thing.
“Oh, my God . . .”
Screaming, she recoiled from him and ran into the living room. The fireplace was blazing from the logs Chuck had
