Authors: Richard Laymon
“Good morning, Mr. Hardy,” the woman said in a cheerful voice.
She was young and attractive, rather tall and nicely put together, looking fresh and altogether sexy in yellow shorts and a green tube-top that left her shoulders bare and hugged her sizable breasts. Gorman knew that he had met her before. Then he remembered where. The cocktail lounge. Yesterday evening. One of those librarians.
“Oh,” he said, smiling. “Nina, is it?”
“Nora.”
“How are you this fine morning, Nora?”
“Just terrific. How about you?”
“Couldn’t be better.” He took a deep breath. The warm air had a pine aroma. “A gorgeous day to be alive,” he said.
“Every day’s good for that,” Nora said. “Anyway, the reason I dropped by, you mentioned you might be going on that tour today. Beast House?”
‘Yes, I intend to.”
“Well, my friends and I are also going over there in a while. They’ve got a ten-thirty tour. We were wondering if you and Mr. Blake might want to come along with us.”
Gorman glanced at his digital wristwatch. Nine fifty-two. It would be comforting, he thought, to take the tour with acquaintances. Far better than entering that awful house with a group of strangers. “I would be delighted,” he answered, “though I’m not certain about Brian. He seems to have wandered off, and I have no idea when he might be back.”
Nora glanced at the Mercedes. “You think he went for a walk?”
“Apparently.” Gorman shrugged. “Too bad for him. I’d be glad to…” He snicked his tongue. “Oh, I do have an errand to run first. Suppose I meet you and your friends at the ticket booth?”
“Fine. Great.”
“At ten thirty, correct? I’d best get moving.”
Nora nodded, smiling. “Okay, we’ll see you there.”
She turned and started away. Gorman watched for a moment, enjoying the way her buttocks moved in the tight shorts.
Back in his own room, he uncapped his gin bottle and took a swallow. He found a telephone directory in a drawer of the night stand. Nursing the bottle, he searched the yellow pages. Under the heading PHOTOGRAPHIC EQUIPMENT AND SUPPLIES—RETAIL were several listings. Most of the shops seemed to be located elsewhere; the book covered a county-wide area. Only Bob’s Camera and Sound Center was in Malcasa Point. On the three-hundred block of Front Street. “Marvelous,” Gorman muttered. He took a final swig of gin, and hurried out to the car.
Five minutes later, he drove past the store. He noted its location, and continued down Front Street, passing the dirt road he’d taken to the beach only a few hours earlier, then turning his eyes towards the grounds of Beast House. His gaze followed the rear fence until the building got in the way. On the other side, he picked it up again. He turned his head, watching the fence until the hillside rose up to block his view. From the two angles, he was almost certain he’d seen the entire length of the fence. Brian’s body was gone. He hadn’t noticed the other two, either, but of course their bodies wouldn’t be easy to spot at this distance.
He’d half expected to find a gathering of police, but the region back there looked deserted.
Perhaps they had already completed their on-scene investigation and departed. That seemed unlikely, though. Surely there would still be officers scouring the area for evidence.
He continued up the road. Marty’s old Plymouth, shrouded by morning shadows, was still parked on the shoulder where he’d left it. No police cars there. No coroner’s van.
He rounded a bend, then made a U-turn. Coming back down the road, he kept his gaze on the wooded slope. The instant the rear fence appeared, he raced his eyes along it. From this vantage point, he could see almost to its far corner.
His doubts vanished.
The bodies had been removed.
But by the police? He didn’t think so.
Janice rolled in her sleep and tumbled. Shards of pain tortured her awake. She lay motionless on her side, gasping, eyes squeezed shut.
Oh God, she thought, it hurts.
She whimpered from a searing rush of pain inside, and curled up. Her knees pushed against something soft and yielding.
What happened to me? her mind screamed.
Clutching her belly, she felt tape. She explored it with shaky fingers. It seemed to be holding a pad in place. A bandage? It ended just below her ribs. Moving her hands higher, she touched strips of tape on the underside of her left breast. The bandage started just above her nipple, covered the top of her breast and wrapped over her shoulder. The flesh beneath it felt burning. Her other shoulder was bandaged, too. Her right breast was bare, but tender as if bruised. Another bandage ran along her side to the hip. There, she found an elastic belt. She traced it to her groin and fingered the thick pad of a sanitary napkin.
What happened to me?
Raped. She must’ve been raped. The awful hurt inside. What did he use, for Christsake, a tree?
She started to sob, and the jolting spasms sent blasts of pain through her.
Who did this to me? God, why?
Brian? Did Brian? She remembered being with him, but…had he gone nuts or something?
Where am I, a hospital?
It didn’t smell like a hospital, it smelled like a zoo. And she knew she wasn’t on a bed. She was on the floor, a soft nap of carpet against her bare skin.
She opened her eyes. In the dim blue light, she saw a heap of pillows beside her. She must have been lying on that until she rolled off.
Blue light. Pillows.
Where am I?
Gingerly, gritting her teeth as pain ripped through her, Janice got to her hands and knees. She forced herself to stand. She swayed, and raised her arms for balance. Then she turned slowly.
Nobody here. Just me.
The room was slightly smaller than her own bedroom. Looking up, she saw that the ceiling was covered by mirrors. Except for the carpet and pillows, the room was bare. No furniture, no windows…
No windows!
The Kutch house?
“Oh God,” she whispered.
Flinching with each step, she staggered to the single door. She reached out an arm, slapped the jamb, and tried to brace herself. The arm folded. She fell against the door. But she grabbed the knob and held on tightly until the worst of the pain subsided. Then she tried to twist the knob. It wouldn’t budge.
I’m locked in.
It came as no great surprise.
Still, she rattled the knob and yanked it, shaking the door in its frame.
Finally, she gave up.
She was out of breath, shuddering with pain.
She sank to her haunches. The bandage on her breast had pulled loose at the bottom. Blood was trickling from under it. She tried to press the tape down, but it wouldn’t stick. Her skin was too slippery. Raising the bandage like a thick blue flap, she blinked sweat and tears from her eyes and stared at the wounds.
Her shoulder was torn and raw as if she had been gnawed by a dog. Below that, her flesh was ripped by four long scratches. Smoothing the bandage gently into place, she looked at her other breast. The skin was unbroken, but dark with bruises like a crescent of half a dozen dots. She lifted it and found a similar half-circle under the nipple.
Teeth marks?
But not from the teeth of a man.
Some kind of wild animal? A coyote, maybe?
Who are you trying to kid? she thought.
It was the beast.
Elizabeth Thorn’s beast.
She couldn’t remember any of it, but she knew it had to be so.
Oh God, the thing had raped her.
Quavering, she hugged her belly and leaned forward. She pressed her forehead against the door.
It had raped her. But it hadn’t killed her. Someone had bandaged her wounds. And now she was a prisoner in the windowless house of Maggie Kutch.
It’ll be back, she thought.
It wants me again.
Hardy, a distance up the sidewalk, paused near the fence and took a photo of Beast House. As he lowered the camera, Nora waved. He nodded a greeting, and came forward. In spite of the mild breeze, Tyler thought he must be stifling inside his sport jacket. She was too warm, herself, and wished she’d worn shorts or a skirt instead of her corduroys.
“You remember Tyler,” Nora said.
“Of course. How could I forget such a lovely creature?”
Reluctantly, she shook his offered hand. “This is Abe Clanton,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hardy. I’ve read your books.”
Hardy looked surprised as he took Abe’s hand. “In the plural?”
“Sure. There were some thirty before Horror at Black River Falls?”
“Forty-eight, in fact. More than a few under pseudonyms. I’m delighted to find a man who knows I existed before Horror. Delighted and stunned.”
“I especially liked your Death Defiers series. Always kept an eye out for them in the PX.”
“Ah, you’re a military man. I should’ve guessed. That straight-shouldered bearing. A Marine, no doubt.”
Abe looked amused. “That’s right.”
“The author of Death Defiers is Matt Scott. May I ask how you saw through my nom de plume?”
“They had your name on the copyright page.”
“A singularly literate fellow,” he said, and turned to Jack. “Another leatherneck?”
“Used to be. Jack Wyatt.” They shook hands. “I saw your movie.”
“Ah.”
“I’m a singularly illiterate fellow.”
Nora laughed. “Hey, we met a guy last night you’ll want to interview. Captain Frank. He lives in a bus over there.” She pointed toward the woods along the far side of Beach Road.
“Interview?” Hardy asked.
“He claims his father found the beast on some island and brought it here.”
“The beast?”
She nodded toward the old house.
“That beast?” Hardy asked.
“Yeah. He’s full of all kinds of disgusting details.”
“Why should I be interested?”
“For your book.”
He stared at her, looking as if he might decide to smile. “I believe I explained, last evening, that I have no intention of writing about Beast House.”
“That’s right!” Nora snapped her fingers and looked very annoyed with herself for forgetting. “You did say that. I remember.” Suddenly grinning, she shook a finger at him. “You’d better interview Captain Frank for the book you’re not going to write.”
Hardy chuckled.
“Now don’t worry about us. We won’t breathe a word to a living soul that you’re not doing a book on Beast House. Mum’s the word, right, everyone? Your secret is safe with us.”
Tyler looked around and saw that the line was moving toward the ticket booth. A tight, sick feeling seized her stomach. Calm down, she told herself. It’s nothing to get crazy about. Maybe Dan won’t be here, after all.
But if he is?
She could wait outside, avoid him.
That wouldn’t be right.
She fumbled with the catch of her purse.
“I’ll get it,” Abe said.
“No, you’ve already…”
But he stepped ahead of her and purchased two tickets from the smiling blond girl at the window. They stepped aside to wait for the others.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Are you all right?”
“Not very.”
“I’m sure Dan’ll be glad to see you.”
“It’ll be easier if he’s not.”
Abe’s eyes looked solemn. He rubbed her shoulder lightly, and let his hand fall away as Nora and Jack approached.
Nora frowned with concern. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” she asked.
“No. But I will.”
“Is there a problem?” Hardy asked.
“Tyler’s old boyfriend is supposed to be…”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Tyler said, annoyed with Nora for broadcasting her private business to the man. She turned away quickly and stepped through the turnstile.
Abe joined her on the other side, and took hold of her hand. Tyler looked up at him. “She’s got a real mouth, sometimes.”
“I take it you don’t care much for Gorman.”
“I think he’s a sleaze.”
“I’d be inclined to agree with you.”
“I thought you were a big fan.”
“I’ve enjoyed some of his books. That’s not the same as liking the guy who wrote them.”
They stopped behind the small group gathered in front of the porch. Nora and Jack came up next to them.
“What do we do, just walk in?” Nora asked.
“I’m sure there’s a guide,” Abe said.
A guide. Dan? Tyler’s heart gave a lurch. She squeezed Abe’s hand more tightly, and stared at the shadowed door. She flinched as it swung open.
The person in the entryway wasn’t Dan. She let out a deep, trembling breath as a gawky man stepped out. He looked about sixty, and walked with a stiffness as if he was in pain. Coming down the porch stairs, he held onto the railing. “Tickets,” he said in a voice that sounded remarkably strong for a man of such frail appearance.
A couple of kids near the front backed out of his way.
Tyler heard a quiet click. She glanced sideways at Hardy, and was surprised not to find the camera at his eye. One hand was inside a pocket of his jacket. He gave her a quick smile, and took his hand out.
He’s got a recorder in there, she thought. He’s going to tape the tour.
Without asking permission? Of course, or he wouldn’t be acting so sneaky. Illegal as hell, but that wouldn’t bother Gorman Hardy.
It confirmed her opinion of the man.
Sleazy bastard, she thought.
Finished gathering the tickets, the bony man made his way up the porch stairs. He turned around and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. “Ladies and gents,” he proclaimed, “it’s now my honor to introduce you to the owner of Beast House, a gallant woman who passed through the purifyin’ fire of tragedy and came out the stronger for it—Maggie Kutch, your personal guide for today’s tour.” Like a tired ringmaster, he swept an arm toward the door and shuffled backwards to get out of the way.
An old woman waddled out of the house, bracing herself with an ebony cane. She looked old enough to be the man’s mother but, in spite of the cane, she seemed to radiate strength. She was a big woman, broad-hipped, with a massive bosom swaying the entire front of her faded print dress as she limped to the edge of the porch. To Tyler, she looked like a rather stern grandmother. She wore tan support hose, and clunky black shoes with laces. As if to perk up her drab appearance, a bright red silken scarf wrapped her neck. Her face looked sour until she smiled. The smile wasn’t particularly cheerful. It was almost a smirk.