Sweet Dreams (14 page)

Then she rejected that idea. What proof did she have?

None.

Wearily she cranked her car and drove off. She longed for a long, hot bath. Strange, she thought, glancing at the clock on the dash. I've been out for almost nine hours. I've lost one entire day. Incredible.

She rubbed the back of her neck.

 

Marc thought the house was certainly quiet with everybody gone. Too quiet. And it was very dark out. He sat in the den and flipped through the TV channels. Nothing was on that he wanted to see. He rejected most shows others his age watched. He thought they were stupid. He rose from the couch and walked through the silent home. He went from room to room, looking in each. Then he returned to the den and sat down. He was determined to obey his father. He would not leave the house.

His father.

Marc sighed. What was wrong with his father? Marc knew – at least sensed – that something was out of whack with his Dad. Not just his Dad, his whole family. They were all treating him like some sort of outcast.

Maybe he was.

A slight noise jerked Marc's head up. He sat very still on the couch for a full half minute, listening. The noise was not repeated. He looked toward the window at the rear of the den. The curtains were closed.

But did they just move? He wasn't sure.

My imagination, the boy thought. Maybe everything is my imagination?

But he didn't believe that at all. Not for one minute.

Something scraped against the side of the house. Marc froze. The sound came again, louder this time. He got up, his heart beating a bit faster, and walked to the fireplace. He picked up a poker and slowly walked to the rear of the den.

He thought he heard someone whispering his name, over and over. Then the voice changed. It sounded like someone calling for help.

Marc stood staring at the curtains. He heard that scraping sound once more. Someone, or some
thing
, was definitely out there.

He put his hand on the curtains, ready to jerk them apart. The poker was in his right hand. This time, Marc thought, I'm not going to mess around with a stick. I'm going to bash someone's head in.

He jerked open the curtains and fought back the scream that built in his throat.

“You're very suspicious of that fire at the hospital, aren't you, Jerry?” Maryruth asked.

“Yes,” Jerry said. “I talked with Dick just a few minutes before you came over. He told me the firemen had never seen anything like it. The fire was so hot, so intense, it literally melted the coolers where the bodies were stored. I called Jimmy at the funeral home; he said the best thing to do is to have a small memorial service at the graveside. No one can be certain what ashes belong to whom. The service is scheduled for ten in the morning.”

“Do you want me there?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “But I think it best if we don't enter or leave together. That all right with you?”

“Of course. Probably enough talk around town as is. But . . .” She frowned, hesitating, as if deep in thought.

“What is it?”

“Not nearly as much gossip about us as I thought there would be. None of my friends has even kidded me about us. And Judith is a real cutup and an avid gossiper. She would have called me if she'd heard even one word. It's, well, odd.”

“Like people don't care, maybe? In a small town I would find that very odd.”

“Well, yes, that. But more like . . . people don't
know
.”

“How could that be possible, Maryruth?”

Her only reply was to look at him as he began rubbing at the back of his neck.

 

“God!” Marc hissed the word.

Someone had hung a Halloween mask on the screen. The hideous face of a monster glared at Marc through the window. Marc pulled the curtains closed and took several deep breaths.

The door chimes sounded.

Fear clutched at the boy, gripping his heart in a clammy fist.

Still carrying the poker, Marc ran to the front door. He couldn't look through the peep hole; he wasn't tall enough. He called, “Who is it?”

“Heather, Marc. Let me in.”

He flung open the door, almost giddy with relief at seeing Heather. He waved her inside and closed and locked the door.

She looked at the poker in his hand. “You always answer the door carrying that thing?”

He shook his head. “No.” He told her about the noises and about finding the Halloween mask.

She said, “The phone kept ringing at my house. I'd pick it up and some man would start saying filthy things to me. I finally took the phone off the hook. Then a car started driving up and down the street. There were two men in it. They kept looking at my house and grinning and pointing. I got scared, Marc. I didn't know what to do.”

“How come our folks left us at home this evening?” Marc asked.

“I don't know. Something funny – no, not funny – weird is going on.”

“You can say that again. Come on. Let me show you the mask.”

But when Marc drew the curtains apart, the mask was gone.

Marc's shoulders slumped in defeat. “But it was there. I saw it!”

“I believe you, Marc. Look, let's talk about our parents. We've got to figure out what to do. Way my daddy is acting, I'm getting scared.”

The kids sat on the couch. Marc said, “I don't know what's wrong with them. Dad is looking at me kind of, well, ugly-like, I guess is the way to say it. He picked up a sentence right in the middle, like he didn't know he wasn't talking to me all the time. I don't know, Heather. But it's weird. You're right about that.”

“My parents are acting funny, too. I don't know what to do, Marc.”

“Neither do I. And I'm scared, too, Heather. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.”

They sat on the couch and looked at each other, both troubled and frightened.

 

“No one answers at Heather's house,” Maryruth said.

“Try Marc's number,” Jerry suggested. “Hell, Maryruth, maybe they went with their parents somewhere”

She shook her head. “No. I don't believe that. I don't know, Jerry. It's just a ... a feeling I have that something is wrong.”

Marc answered the phone on the second ring. Maryruth asked, “Everything all right with you, Marc?”

“No, ma'am,” the boy replied honestly. “But Heather's over here with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our parents went out of town for the evening. Together. They won't be back for two or three hours, probably.”

“Did they leave a number where they could be reached?”

“No, ma'am. I don't-we don't-know where they are.”

“Hold on, Marc.” She turned to Jerry, pressing the phone to her breast. “The kids are together. Alone, damn it! Their parents went off and left them alone.”

“What?”

“Marc?” Maryruth said. “You and Heather don't have
anyone
with you?”

“No, Ma'am. Just us.”

Maryruth again turned to Jerry. “They're alone, Jerry.”

Jerry became angry. He rose to his feet and said, “Well, that's a pretty crappy thing for their parents to do. I don't give a good goddamn how intelligent the kids are, let's take a drive over there and check on them.” “You two stay put, Mark,” Maryruth told the boy. “Jerry and I are coming over.”

 

“I don't know, Bud,” Leo said, keeping step with his friend as they walked to town. “I think those folks are gonna do just like the sheriff done: laugh.”

“They will not,” Bud replied. “For they are beginning to realize, slowly, they are warriors facing a monumental enemy.”

“You sure do talk funny at times, Bud.”

“Thank you.”

“They know about this Sanjaman, then?”

“They know
something
that cannot be readily explained is out here. They sense it is their enemy. They will know for certain in a very few minutes, however.”

“How do you figure that? You think you're just gonna walk right up there and they're gonna believe this fairy tale?”

“No. And it is not a fairy tale. But they will believe their own eyes.”

“Now what are you talkin' about?”

“Sanjaman.”

“What about him?”

“He is following us.”

Bud looked around and froze. Then he forced his eyes to return to the ground in front of him. “Move feet. Now!” he exclaimed.

 

“And someone hung a monster mask from that window?” Jerry asked, pointing.

“Yes, sir,” Marc said. “But it's gone. They must have been waiting nearby, 'cause no more than a minute, two at the most, passed between the time I saw it and answered the door. Somebody was probably waiting by the side of the house.”

“We believe you, Marc,” Maryruth said. She looked at Heather. “And you received obscene phone calls, right?”

“Yes, ma'am. A whole bunch of them.” She remembered the men on the street and the things they'd said about her as she passed. She told Maryruth and Jerry about that and she added, “If grownups would let kids handle people like that, we'd take care of them in a hurry.”

Jerry realized there was a lot of truth to Heather's earlier remark about kids, about them being half savage. He wondered if their simplistic approach wasn't apt sometimes. Sure would clean out a lot of prisons.

“A lot of sexual content in those remarks,” Maryruth said. “And a rotten thing to say to a child.”

“Agreed,” Jerry said. He looked at Heather. “Did you tell your parents about those men and what they said?”

“No. What good would it do? It isn't the first time it's happened and it'd just be a kid's word against an adult's. The courts just turn them loose.”

Maryruth sighed. “Might as well tell you, Heather. It doesn't get any better for a woman as you get older.”

“I know that, Maryruth. I think they ought to cut off a rapist's thing.”

Marc shuddered at the thought.

“Agreed,” Maryruth. said.

Jerry glanced at Maryruth to see if she was serious. She was. He said, “Heather, do you think the men who said those things to you were the ones who called?”

“Maybe, Doctor Baldwin. I don't know.” Then she told them about her parents' odd behavior. And about Marc's parents.

Jerry looked at the kids; then he was thoughtful for a moment. “Marc's father expressly ordered him not to leave the house tonight. Heather's parents said nothing about whether she could or could not leave her house. Is the connection there?”

Before she could reply, there was a knock on the front door.

“I'll get it,” Jerry said.

“You want my poker?” Marc asked.

Jerry had to laugh. “No, you keep it, Marc. It might come in handy.”

Jerry opened the door and stood for a moment, staring at the odd-looking pair waiting on the small porch.

“You are Doctor Gerald Baldwin?” a man asked. He looked Indian.

“I am.”

“I am called Bud. That is not my real name, but it will suffice. This is Leo.” He indicated the man with him, “If you will give us a few moments of your time, sir, I believe we can shed some welcome light on the strange events that have been occurring in this area.”

Heather came to the door and looked at Bud. “Are you an Indian?” she asked.

“That is correct, child. I am a medicine man. Or,” he corrected, “at least I was at one time.”

“I've been having dreams of an Indian ever since we moved down here.”

“I know,” Bud said. “And I have been having visions of two little people.” His eyes focused on Marc. “And now I have found them.”

Maryruth and Marc joined the group standing in the foyer.

“What is your real name?” Heather asked. “I mean, your Indian name?”

“I am known as Walks-By-Night. And you are ...?”

“Heather. That's my friend, Marc.” She pointed to Marc.

“Handsome children,” Bud said with a smile. “But I think perhaps you are more adult than child. Both of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Heather replied. “And sometimes that can be a drag.”

Bud smiled at the slang. “Drag. That word has so many definitions. I believe the first slang usage of that word occurred in about .1880 or so. The word has changed many times since then. You are using it to convey a feeling of aesthetical boredom, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Heather and Marc both replied.

“You speak like a college professor,” Maryruth said. “But – ” She bit off the words before they could leave her tongue.

“But dress as a wino,” Bud finished it, not taking umbrage at her silently implied statement. “I was a college professor, years ago. But that is not important. What is important is the fact – and let me assure you all, it is fact – that Sanjaman has managed another reincarnation. You – we” – he glanced at Leo – “are all in grave danger.”

“Please come in, Mr. Bud, Mr. Leo,” Marc said. “Doctor Baldwin, do you want to call your friend, Lieutenant Voyles?”

“I'd better.”

“Try Janet's house,” Maryruth said with a smile.

Leo looked over his shoulder. “Bud? That damn light is right behind us!”

 

– Edgar Allan Poe