Trick or Treat (20 page)

He laughed and he laughed, even though the effort left him breathless, and the laugh was quiet and horrible and smug while Martha screamed into the phone —

“You leave me alone! Whoever you are, do you hear me? You —”

“There’s no one home, Elizabeth,” he said. “It’s Halloween … and they’re all dead.”

My God … my God, no!
“What have you done to Conor!
What have you done to him!
”

“Trick or treat, Elizabeth,” the voice whispered.

It wasn’t laughing anymore.

Chapter 17

It was like one of those horrible dreams where you ran and got nowhere, and screamed but nobody heard….

Martha didn’t even remember getting from the locker room back to the gym — suddenly she was at the door and running outside, and she wondered desperately how she’d managed to fight her way through the crowds. Rain was coming down in sheets, and as she stood there crying helplessly, someone called her name and grabbed her from behind.

“Martha —” It was Blake’s voice behind the mask, the face of Death, and Martha pulled away with a cry. “Hey, whoa, what is it? Didn’t you hear me calling you back there? What’s —”

“I’ve got to go home!” Martha sobbed. “Something’s happened to Conor!”

“What?” Blake spun around as Wynn ran out behind him. “Here she is, Wynn — I found her —”

“Martha, what’s the —?” Wynn stopped in her tracks as if some sense warned her of what she didn’t want to hear.

“You were right, Wynn!” Martha’s voice rose, practically hysterical. “I just got a phone call — and he said Conor was
dead
!”

“Right about what?” Blake sounded totally baffled. “Would you two mind telling me what’s going on?”

“You won’t believe me!” Wynn cried.

“Wynn,” Blake’s face went serious, “come on now —”

“I saw Dennis!”

“He didn’t die like everyone thought — he’s the one who’s been threatening me — he thinks I’m Elizabeth —” Martha joined in.

Blake’s head was spinning between them; he took a step back as if he’d been struck.

“What … what are you saying?”

“I can’t explain now!” Martha nearly screamed at him. “Take me
home
, Blake —
please
!”

“Wynn, where’s Greg?” Blake demanded, but even as Wynn shook her head, he was running back into the gym.

Wynn put her arms around Martha, and they clung to each other.

“Oh, Wynn — if Conor’s hurt, I’ll never forgive myself —”

Wynn had never sounded so terrified. “
What’s happening?
”

Hell
, Martha wanted to say,
hell is what’s happening
, but at that moment Blake and Greg burst out onto the walkway and herded them to Blake’s car. In another minute they were racing on the blacktop out of town.

“Damn it, watch the road!” Greg snapped as they skidded around a curve. “It’s slick as hell out here. Now, will someone please tell me what’s going —”

“Okay, okay, I’ve got it under control.” Blake swerved the car, throwing them all to one side, then wiped angrily at the foggy windshield. “Use a rag Qn this, will you? I can’t see where I’m going.”

Muttering to himself, Greg searched through the glove box, then wiped a handful of tissues across the glass, leaving strips of soggy paper. Martha, clenching Wynn’s hand for dear life, had a sudden crazy urge to laugh — in all the excitement they’d forgotten to take off their masks —
a gypsy, a witch, and an executioner all bound for fate in a car driven by Death
….

A squeal of tires jolted her back to the present — as lightning crackled dangerously close, Blake saw the fallen tree limb just in time to jerk the car and miss it. Greg cursed under his breath and wedged himself back against the door.

“You’re going to kill us all, you know that?”

It could be anyone … anyone
….

“Oh, Conor,” Martha whispered, “please don’t be dead….” And as they reached the house at last, she saw the light in Conor’s window.

“Martha — wait!”

Martha heard Blake’s shout as she jumped from the still-moving car — Ripping off her mask, she felt the slosh of mud and water as she ran heedlessly up the drive and burst through the front door —

“Conor!” she screamed. “Conor!”

And the silence was lifetimes long, as she stumbled up the stairs, fell out onto the landing —

“
Conor!
”

“Martha?” His voice came back — hoarse and weak — but
alive
— and footsteps came rushing into the lower hall and she heard Conor pulling on his clothes. “What are you doing home? What’s going on?”

She was halfway through his door when the lights went out.

She heard voices, muffled and surprised, bodies falling over one another in the dark —

She heard Conor searching for the light switch.

She heard the soft sliding sound in the wall.

For one agonizing instant she couldn’t place it, couldn’t quite recognize what it was — what it meant —

Until she finally moved into Conor’s room —

And knew that they weren’t alone.

It was then that the icy pinpricks started up her arms, turning her spine to jelly, raising the hair at the back of her neck —

“Conor?” she whispered.

Something moved deep in the shadows. Something that wasn’t Conor. Something that seemed to have stepped out of the wall and now waited to see what they would do.

As Martha stood there, blind and helpless, the bodies recovered themselves from the first floor and began to stumble up the stairs. And one of them shouted her name —

In that instant the shadows gathered and sprang. Martha heard a groan, and there was a soft hiss of metal slashing darkness — as something fell beside her, Conor’s hand came out of nowhere and closed around her own —

“Come on, Martha —
hurry
!”

She let him pull her like a rag doll. She heard his hand frantically groping along the wall.

Wet fingers slid over her ankle.

Shrieking, she pitched forward into sudden nothingness, crumpling down into a tiny space of darkness. She sensed that they were in a passageway of some kind, but she couldn’t figure out how they’d gotten there. Martha could feel Conor’s body pressed against her, hear his hoarse struggle to breathe — and then she could hear the wall —
the wall!
— sliding shut and hands beating on the other side, and Conor’s urgent whisper, “We’ve got to run, Martha — we’re trapped behind the wall —”

The space was so tight they could barely fit side by side. Somehow Conor squeezed ahead of her, and as she heard him slip and throw out his arms, she realized they were on a narrow stairwell. Conor’s fingers found hers, closed and tightened, pulled her down … down…. Terrified, Martha slid her way behind him, gasping as spiderwebs clung to her face.

Without warning Conor stopped, and Martha crashed into him with her cast. She could hear his hands scrabbling against wood.

“Where are we, Conor? Where are we?”

“I don’t know —” The answer came out in a gasp, and Martha was suddenly aware of his shirt, soaked and stuck to his side. At first she thought it was his fever, but as she rubbed her fingers together, the wetness was too thick for sweat.

“Oh God, Conor, you’re bleeding —”

“Am I?” he said weakly.

She could feel him now, shivering uncontrollably. She slipped off her shawl and knotted it around him. Sliding her arms about his waist, she pressed her head against his back and prayed.

Without warning the wall opened up, and they fell through.

For several seconds Martha was too stunned to move. She lay there in a tangled heap with Conor, her heart hammering against stone, and she realized they were on the floor. It was damp and freezing cold, and as she opened her eyes, there was only blackness.

“I … think … we’re somewhere in the cellar,” Conor gasped. He was seized by another fit of coughing, and Martha tried to pull him into a sitting position.

“But
where
in the cellar? Oh, Conor, you’re really hurt — what are we gonna do?”

“Listen.” His hand came down on her arm, trying to steady himself.

“What? I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s what I mean. We’re not being followed anymore.”

Martha’s heart skipped a beat. “Then … where is he? Where are
we
?” Her whisper echoed ghostly in the icy air. From somewhere in the distance came a steady drip of water, and dampness lay thick around them, heavy and stale.

“Wait! Oh, Conor, wait a minute!” With a flash of hope, Martha fumbled in her pocket and pulled out the packet of matches Greg had given her. “I think there’s a few left. Conor, Wynn said she saw Dennis at the party! You were right — he never died in that accident — he’s been waiting all this time —”

Conor was having trouble getting the matches open. He was gasping so hard for air that Martha reached out in alarm.

“Let me — I can light them.” She struck one and Conor took it between trembling fingers, moving it through the air in a flickering arc.

They seemed to be in some sort of storage closet. Most of three walls were covered with rotted shelving, old bottles, jars, and crumbling boxes; the fourth wall was taken up by a huge door. Conor let the match drop and Martha quickly lit another, taking in the mildew, broken glass, seeping puddles across the stone floor….

“Help me with the door,” Conor said breathlessly.

“No, don’t do it, Conor, let me. You keep lighting matches.”

“Save the matches — we may need them —”

In the darkness once more, Martha heard Conor trying the handle, but it wouldn’t open. Together they braced their shoulders against it and shoved, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll scream for help,” Martha said. “Greg and Blake and Wynn are in the house somewhere — they’ll be looking for us — they’ll hear us and —”

The laugh came without warning … filling the cellar … echoing from each black corner … rising … then fading on the other side of the locked door.

Martha’s blood chilled within her. Frozen where she stood, she heard the slow, deliberate footsteps … the slow, demonic chuckle from the unseen face….

“No one will ever hear you again,” the voice said. “No one will hear you … and no one will find you.”

Martha’s mind went into a frenzy.
That voice — that voice on the phone
—

“I’m the one who really loved you … don’t you see? I would have loved you best of all…. But no — you always wanted to be together.” The voice sounded sad. “And now you will be. Forever.”

In the dark the next sound was deadly.

In the dark it was an explosion, but in some part of Martha’s mind it was only a small spurt of flame….

“Trick or treat,” the voice said.

And in the hissing, crackling quiet, a tendril of smoke curled beneath the door … curled into Martha’s face.

“It’s a fire,” Martha said, and she reached for Conor in the dark. “He’s going to burn us alive.”

Chapter 18

The blackness surged in, thick and suffocating, and the blackness was her mind, her world, all her hope, and she was falling, falling, and something was trying to pull her back —

“Martha, come on,” Conor choked, his hands like icicles through her clothes “you can’t give up now — there has to be a way out of here —”

“He thinks I’m Elizabeth,” she said numbly, “and he thinks you’re Blake, and all this time he’s been plotting — waiting for just the right time — and we fell right into his hands —”

“Martha, snap out of it!” Conor’s hand slapped at her cheek, but there was no strength in it, and he was so cold … so cold…. She heard him crawling back to the secret passageway … scraping at the wall … fighting for breath…. “It won’t open … we can’t get out this way….”

“Here.” Martha felt like a robot, her body moving through no will of her own. “You light the matches and I’ll look. You need to save your strength.”

“I’m … okay….” He bent double in another siege of coughing, and Martha knew it was more than just the cold now. In the glow of the match she could see dark red drops around his feet, the long dark stream down the side of his jeans, the rip through his shirt. And now the shadows were thickening with pale, gray smoke. She could see a glow under the door, and as Conor lit another match, she began to pound for all she was worth.

“Help!” she screamed. “
Somebody!
Let us out of here! Oh, Conor — why aren’t they coming? He must have done something to them —” She looked down in dismay, felt the raw sting of her hands, heard the flames licking at the door. Her throat was already beginning to burn.

“Get down on the floor,” Conor said softly. “It’s … easier to breathe.”

We’re going to die
. The realization came calmly and quietly, and she looked at Conor’s face in the dying glow of the match flame.
We’re going to die and he knows it and he doesn’t want me to be afraid
….