Darkness (26 page)

Craig Sheffield glared at his son as Michael came into the dining room and slid into his chair, then he looked pointedly at his watch. “You were supposed to be home an hour ago,” he said. “The rest of us are almost done with supper. Would you like to tell me where you’ve been?”

Michael thought quickly. After last night, when his parents had been fighting about Kelly Anderson, he certainly didn’t want to tell his father he’d been with her again.

“I was doing some overtime,” he said. “There were some things I wanted to finish up.”

Craig’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to have a talk with Phil Stubbs. Either you’re not doing your job right, or he’s overworking you.”

Michael felt a knot of fear form in his stomach. If his father called Stubbs, his boss would be certain to tell him what had happened yesterday. “I—I wasn’t really at work,” he said. Better to tell the truth and get it over with. “Kelly Anderson was waiting for me when I got off, and we were just talking. I’m sorry I’m late, but—”

Craig didn’t let his son finish. “Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you getting mixed up with that girl?” he demanded.

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing. I want you to stay away from her, do you understand?”

Michael’s temper began to rise. “Jeez, Dad! You don’t even know her!”

“No, but I know about her!” Craig shot back. “And don’t raise your voice to me, Michael. You may be sixteen, but I’m still your father.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Craig,” Barbara said. “Michael’s right! You don’t know a thing about her except what you’ve heard, and if you met her, you’d like her!”

Craig’s attention shifted from his son to his wife. “And I assume you know something about her that I don’t?” he inquired coolly.

Barbara inclined her head, winking at Jenny, who tried not to giggle, but failed miserably. Instantly her father’s eyes fixed on her.

“What’s going on?” Craig demanded.

“Kelly was here today,” Jenny blurted out. “And Mommy dyed her hair.”

“You dyed Kelly Anderson’s hair?” Craig echoed blankly, turning back to Barbara.

Barbara nodded. “She showed up looking for Michael, and we got to talking. And before you know it, we’d decided to change her hair color.”

Craig pursed his lips. “Was there a reason?” he
asked. “I mean, isn’t it a little unusual for a girl you’ve never met to come wandering in, introduce herself, and ask that you dye her hair?”

Jenny giggled. “It was pink, Daddy,” she said. “You should have seen it!”

Craig’s eyes remained fastened on Barbara. “You’re going to tell me she’s a very nice girl, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice indicating that he was prepared to argue the point with her. “Just a little mixed up, right?”

Barbara sighed. She hated it when Craig took on a patronizing tone, even though she knew it was one of his best assets in his practice. If Craig wanted to, he could always make anyone feel as if he had just made a fool of himself. But as she saw the anger blazing in Michael’s eyes, she knew she couldn’t let it pass. “Yes,” she said coolly, “that’s exactly what I was going to say. I was going to sound exactly like a social worker, which I’m sure is the next thing you were going to point out.”

Craig opened his mouth, but Barbara gave him no chance to speak. “And it seems to me,” she went on, “that you might want to examine the evidence before you make up your mind, counselor.”

Craig’s expression took on a defensive quality. “I didn’t mean—”

“But you did,” Barbara interrupted. “You’ve made up your mind about Kelly Anderson even though you’ve never met her. Well, you’re wrong. Michael likes her, and I like her, and Jenny likes her. And we’ve all met her.” Her eyes darted as though for reassurance toward Michael, but immediately returned to her husband. “I’m not saying she doesn’t have problems. She does. She has next to no self-confidence, and it’s a little hard to talk to her, but underneath, she seems like a very nice girl.”

Craig surveyed his family, who suddenly all seemed to have lined up against him. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll call Carl Anderson and set up a barbecue. We’ll have the whole family over, and I’ll meet this girl you all seem to think is so wonderful. But
in the meantime,” he went on, his voice hardening and his eyes fixing once more on Michael, “I want you to start taking some responsibility for yourself. No more overtime, and no more hanging around with Kelly or anyone else without calling to let your mother know where you are and when you’ll be home. Is that understood?”

Michael nodded silently.

For a long time that night, he stared at his reflection in the mirror on his closet door, willing the hideous face to appear, certain that his knowledge that Kelly, too, had seen the strange image would make it less frightening.

Tonight, though, there was nothing.

The darkness surrounded her, but she could feel that she was no longer alone. There was a presence close by, a presence of something evil.

It was him, coming after her again.

She couldn’t see him yet, but she could sense him there, hovering in the night, reaching out toward her.

She saw him.

Just a glimpse at first, a shadowy form in the blackness.

The face began to emerge.

A skeletal face, the skin stretched tight now, drawn back so the eyes—glowing, red, hungry eyes—shone brightly.

The lips were stretched back, too, and in his mouth she could see his rotting teeth.

Now she could hear the raling of his lungs and smell his fetid breath.

At last his hands, those terrifying fingers, reaching out to her, groping for her in the darkness.

Away.

She had to get away!

She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey the
commands of her mind, and her feet felt mired to the ground.

Mud.

There was mud all around her, sucking at her, pulling her down, trapping her so that he could get at her.

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. Her voice had deserted her.

She redoubled her efforts, and felt a constriction in her throat as she tried to force a sound—any sound—from her lips.

Closer, he was closer, his fingers about to touch her.

Then they were on her—cold, reptilian skin that made her flesh crawl—and she recoiled, the scream finally coming.

“No!”

Kelly woke up, her whole body jerking spasmodically, and instantly she realized she’d had the dream again.

But that was all it had been. Just a dream. She was safe in her room over her grandfather’s garage. From the open window she could hear the frogs and insects filling the night with sound.

She was all right.

No.

There was someone in the room with her.

Panic rose inside her as the terror of the dream seized her once more.

He was here, in the room.

Except it was impossible. She was awake now, and she should have been safe.

But she wasn’t. She could still feel him, feel him standing next to the bed, looking down at her in the darkness.

She kept her eyes closed, willing him away.

She could hear the breathing again, the raling of dying lungs.

She waited, paralyzed, for his touch.

A hand grasped her.

“No!” she shouted, jerking away and sitting up, fumbling with the lamp, certain the bright light would wash away the lingering nightmare.

She blinked as the room filled with light, and another scream rose in her throat.

A figure loomed over her.

“Kelly? Kelly, are you all right?”

It was her grandfather’s voice. Kelly took a deep breath, her lungs flooding with air. She shuddered and fell back against the headboard.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, sweetheart,” Carl Anderson said. “I just came in because I heard you screaming.”

Kelly squinted up, her eyes not yet adjusted to the light. In the bright glare she could almost imagine—

No! She put the thought out of her mind. It was just her grandfather. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Just a little after eleven,” Carl told her. “I thought you’d still be reading.”

Kelly shook her head. “I—I was having a nightmare.”

Carl clucked sympathetically. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come creeping in here, should I? Scared you half to death.”

He bent over and kissed Kelly gently on the cheek.

His breath, the same fetid scent Kelly remembered from the dream, filled her nostrils once more. Instinctively, she shrank away.

Her grandfather straightened, stood still for a moment, then turned and left the room.

Kelly stayed awake most of that night—and the nights that followed—too frightened to sleep.

14

“W
ell?” Barbara Sheffield asked.

It was Saturday evening, and the sun was poised on the western horizon, casting long shadows across the broad yard that separated the Sheffield house from the canal. Barbara and Craig were in the kitchen, Barbara garnishing a large bowl of potato salad with sliced hard-boiled eggs, and Craig fishing in the refrigerator for a couple of cans of beer. Outside on the terrace, Ted Anderson was tending the just-lit barbecue kettle, while his father and wife were stretched out on chaises. The afternoon had gone quickly, with the men watching a baseball game on television while Barbara Sheffield and Mary Anderson got acquainted.

“Well, what?” Craig countered, though he knew what Barbara was asking him. She tilted her head toward the window, and Craig looked out, then smiled wryly. Outside, a croquet court had been laid out on the lawn, and Kelly Anderson was bent over Jenny, helping her line up
a difficult shot. As he watched, Jenny, with only a little help from Kelly, swung the mallet. The orange ball shot through the wicket, ricocheted off Kelly’s ball, and struck Michael’s.

“It worked!” he heard Jenny yell, bouncing up and down with excitement. “Now what should I do?”

While Michael and Kelly argued about Jenny’s next shot—with Michael insisting that Jenny should knock Kelly’s ball into the yard next door, while Kelly suggested that maybe they should find out if Michael’s ball would float—Craig shrugged.

“Okay, so I was wrong. She seems like a perfectly nice girl.” He dropped his voice, even though they were alone in the kitchen. “But I still don’t get it—if she’s as normal as she seems, why did she try to kill herself?”

“Kids can be under all kinds of stress.”

“Well, she certainly looks normal enough now,” Craig observed. “Maybe Mary and Ted were right—maybe all she needed was a new environment.”

“You should have seen her a few days ago.” Barbara chuckled. “With that pink hair—” She fell silent, her face reddening as Mary Anderson appeared in the doorway.

But Mary only smiled. “That
awful
pink hair?” she asked. “Is that what you were talking about?” Barbara’s blush deepened. “It’s all right, Barb,” Mary went on. “It
was
awful, and I still haven’t thanked you for talking her into changing it. Let me give you a hand with that.” She picked up an egg and began peeling it, then glanced at Craig. “My husband and father-in-law are both grumbling about what they claim must be a beer shortage.”

Taking the hint, Craig pulled three cans out of the refrigerator, leaving the two women alone in the kitchen.