“Andy! Debbie!” she screamed as she ran up the spiral staircase to the second-floor bedrooms.
“Shelly’s dead! He’s dead!”
Jason’s hand closed around the handle of the iron poker he had heated in the fire. Its tip was glowing red hot.
Chili started screaming uncontrollably as she beheld the horror in Andy and Debbie’s bedroom. Debbie was lying on her back in the net hammock, her eyes bulging, her face twisted into a terrifying grimace, a carving knife sticking up out of her throat as if it had spurted from her neck. Blood was puddled on the floor beneath her. Andy’s body was draped over the rafters, his arm hanging down loosely, his eyes glazed, the blood from his grisly wound draining onto the floor as if he were a side of beef in a kosher slaughterhouse.
She fled screaming from the bedroom to the rail, racked with dry heaves. She hung over the rail, gulping for air, desperately trying to stop the tremors that had seized her.
“Oh, my God . . . Help!”
The lights continued to flash on and off wildly as she staggered down the stairs, knowing she had to get out of the house and flee, run for her life, get as far away from there as possible. She stumbled down the stairs, almost falling head-long, ran straight for the door. It was ajar and a strong gust of wind suddenly blew it open, slamming it against the wall. She screamed, thinking someone had thrown it open, and she turned . . .
With a powerful thrust, the sizzling, red-hot poker was driven straight into her stomach. It penetrated deeply, crisping her skin and sending thin tendrils of smoke curling up from the cauterizing wound. The breath hissed out of her as she felt the shock of the brutal impact and the fiery agony of the glowing iron. She saw the loathsome eyes behind the stark white mask and then her vision blurred. She couldn’t even scream. She was beyond screaming. She was beyond pain. And a moment later, she was beyond caring.
Chapter Eight
Rick played the flashlight beam on the ground before them as they walked down the winding dirt road that ran parallel to the lakeshore. Chris had her arm around his waist. He stopped for a moment as they came to a bend in the road, gently pulled her close, and kissed her. For once, she didn’t pull away, but responded hungrily. Then she broke the kiss and smiled at him.
“Great shortcut, Rick,” she said sarcastically, knowing perfectly well that it would have been quicker for them to take the hiking trail along the lakeshore. But she didn’t really mind. It was a tremendous load off her mind that he understood what she had gone through and she wished now that she’d told him about it before. It had been unfair to him, but things would be better now. She shivered slightly in the cool night air. “Come on,” she said, pulling him along, “let’s move it.”
“Always spoiling my fun,” said Rick, grinning at her.
Something crunched behind them.
“What was that noise?” He spun around, shining the light behing them.
“What?” said Chris, alarmed.
“I don’t know,” Rick replied. “I heard something over there.”
“Come on, let’s get home,” said Chris, her nerves on edge. They weren’t too far from where she had been attacked.
The moon was full, and dark clouds scudded across it. The wind was getting quite strong. They walked quickly down the graded dirt road, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. The leaves were rustling fiercely and the trees were starting to bend. Rick and Chris squinted and leaned forward slightly as they walked.
“This wind sure came up,” Rick said, squeezing his eyes shut against some windblown dust.
They turned off the main road and trotted quickly down the drive leading to the house. They crossed the wooden bridge over the dry streambed and the house came into view as they rounded a stand of pine trees.
The windows were all open and the curtains were billowing out. The house was dark, except for the faint golden glow from the fireplace that kept the house from looking completely deserted.
“Seems awfully quiet around here,” said Chris as they approached the house. “It’s hard to believe the wild bunch is already in bed.”
“Yeah, well, who knows with those guys?” Rick said. After that had happened to his car, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with Chris’ friends. He’d have been just as happy if they weren’t around anymore.
They climbed up the steps to the porch, Rick lighting the way, and Chris reached for the knob on the front door. She turned it and the door opened a couple of inches, then came to a stop, stuck. She frowned and pushed on it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“I can’t get this door open,” she said, glancing at Rick. “There’s something behind it.”
“Here, take this,” said Rick, handing her the flashlight. “Let me do it.”
He grasped the knob and shoved the door, putting his shoulder to it, forcing it open with a scraping sound. He got it open wide enought for them to slip inside.
“Oh, no wonder,” he said as soon as they got in. “Somebody put this chair there.”
He moved the wooden kitchen chair aside, thinking at first that the others put it there as a prank, but then he frowned as she sniffed the air.
“Something’s burning,” he said. “Look at the stove.”
He tried the light switch as Chris went quickly to the kitchen. He flicked the switch several times, up and down, with no result. Something was definitely wrong here, he thought. He followed Chris into the kitchen.
“Oh, real smart!” she said, holding a charred pot with a towel around the handle. Inside it were the remains of blackened, smoking popcorn. She turned off the burner, dumped the smoking pot into the sink and ran cold water
