Allhallow's Eve: (Richard Laymon Horror Classic) (13 page)

He did the same to the final tire.

That’ll fix you, he thought.

His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. He opened his mouth wide, and tried to work out the tension.

Peeling the wet pajamas away from his rump, he looked up and down the block. He saw no one. He glanced again at his mother’s windows.

They’re too busy to see me, he thought.

It didn’t matter, though.

Sam would know who’d done it.

Maybe the dirty bastard would get the message.

Eric ran back to the house. He entered its warmth, and took off his shoes. Picking them up, he walked silently into the lighted kitchen.

The knife blade was streaked with black from the tires.

If he put it back in the rack without cleaning it … How could he clean it without making noise? Soap and water might not work, anyway. He’d need to use paint thinner, or nail polish remover, something like that. Rubbing alcohol? A whole bottle of it stood in the medicine cabinet.

Turning off the light, he left the kitchen. He held the knife behind his back, and went to the stairway. The hall above was still dark. He slowly climbed the stairs, cringing each time the wood creaked under his feet.

At the top, he looked down the hall. The door of his mother’s room was still shut. He turned to the right, and tiptoed into the bathroom.

He locked the door. He flicked the light on, and
opened the medicine cabinet. The rubbing alcohol sloshed in its plastic bottle as he lifted it down. He poured the clear liquid onto a wad of toilet paper. It soaked through, feeling strange on his fingers – burning and cool at the same time.

He rubbed it on the knife. The black streaks of rubber seemed to dissolve. In less than a minute the blade was sleek and shiny. He wiped it dry with more toilet paper, tossed both wads into the bowl and automatically reached out to flush. As his fingertips touched the handle, he realized what he was about to do. He pulled his hand away.

With the bottle back in the medicine cabinet, he picked up his shoes and knife. He silently opened the door, and walked up the hallway. He passed the stairs. He continued up the hall and put his shoes just inside his room. As he pulled the door shut, he heard a quiet gasp.

It came from his mother’s room.

Heart suddenly hammering, he tiptoed to her door. He stood there, listening. From inside came muffled sounds of harsh breathing and moans and the squeaking bed.

He saw that the door was open a crack.

His heart pounded so hard that he felt dizzy and sick.

Stepping forward, he pressed gently against the door. The crack widened.

In the light from the windows, he saw them. Their tangled, thrusting bodies were dark against the sheets. He couldn’t tell one from the other.

Pushing the door wide open, he stepped into the room. He walked toward the bed.

It was Sam on top, Mom under him with her knees up, hands clutching his back as his ass jerked up and down. She writhed, gasping and moaning.

Eric stopped at the foot of the bed. He gripped the knife so tightly that his hand ached.

Such awful sounds. Flesh pounding flesh. Wet, sticky noises. Grunts like wallowing pigs.

‘Bastard,’ he muttered.

‘Eric?’ gasped his mother. ‘Oh my God!’ Her hands pushed at Sam but he clung to her. ‘No!’ she cried.

Sam’s body stiffened and jerked.

He quickly rolled off.

Mom squirmed over the sheet. Reaching down beside the bed, she picked up her nightgown. She pressed it to her body, sat up, and turned on the bedside lamp.

‘
Eric!
Put down that knife!’

‘He’s not my dad,’ Eric said.

‘Put down that knife!’

He slashed the palm of his left hand. Blood spilled from the slit.

Mom screamed.

Sam lunged off the bed at him, smashing the knife from his hand and throwing him backward to the floor.

They spent nearly two hours at Emergency, most of it waiting because an eighteen-wheeler rear-ended a passenger car out on the highway. Eric sat beside Cynthia, mute and staring.

When they finally got back to the house and put him to bed, Cynthia suggested that Sam go home.

‘Eric’s so upset,’ she said. ‘Maybe … I don’t know … Maybe you’d better not stay tonight.’

‘He’s asleep now.’

‘Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t.’

‘If you want me to leave, I will. But I don’t think it’d be smart to reward Eric, that way. You’d be letting him win, teaching him that it works to bust in on people, mutilate himself, slash tires …’

‘I guess you’re right,’ she admitted.

They went to bed, then. For a long time, Sam couldn’t sleep. He lay beside Cynthia, staring into the darkness, knowing that she was also awake. They didn’t talk or touch. When Sam finally fell asleep, he dreamed he was awake.

He dreamed that Eric stood at the foot of the bed, knife ready. He was safe as long as Eric thought he was sleeping. But a heavy, bloated spider was scurrying
down the wall. In seconds, it would creep onto Sam’s face. He wondered, vaguely, how he could see the spider so well with his eyes shut.

They’re open!

With a sudden grin, Eric dived onto him. The blade plunged into his stomach, stiff and cold.

He sat up, grabbing his stomach, gasping.

For a long time after that, he lay awake. He didn’t want to fall asleep if it meant returning to the dream. So he kept his eyes open, and tried to think of something pleasant.

His thoughts drifted to Melodie Caine.

They were in the motel office, and she wore her white sweater and kilts. Sam shut his eyes to see her more clearly.

‘If I’m supposed to be your deputy,’ she said, ‘I need a badge.’

He held it out to her.

‘No, you have to pin it on me or it’s not official.’

He tried to pin the badge to her sweater, his fingers trembling against her breast.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ she whispered. She jumped and said ‘Ouch!’ as he stuck her.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I don’t know.’ She lifted her sweater over her full, milk-white breasts. A spot of blood shimmered above the nipple. ‘You’d better kiss it and make it well.’

He pressed his lips to the wound, tasting the warm salty blood. Then her nipple was in his mouth. His teeth teased the springy column of flesh; his tongue flicked and circled.

‘Oh Sam,’ she gasped. ‘Oh Sam, I love you.’

Half an hour before classes began, the first floor hallway of the main building was nearly deserted. Eric stopped in front of the door marked MR DOONS, VICE PRINCIPAL. He glanced both ways. Nobody was nearby or watching. He crouched, slid an envelope under the door, and walked away.

Upstairs, he passed a couple of girls standing at an open locker. They paid him no attention. He walked by an open classroom.

What if Miss Major’s door was open?

As he approached it, his heart started to pound, sending throbs of pain into his wounded hand.

Her door was shut.

He glanced back at the girls. Their backs were turned. He flipped open the cover of his English grammar text, and took out an envelope. Crouching, he dropped the envelope to the floor and pushed it toward the slot beneath the door.

The door sprang open.

Eric jumped back.

Miss Major looked down at the envelope, then at Eric. She planted her fists against her hips, and Eric realized she was wearing the same dress she’d
worn the day he saw her breasts, the day she slapped him.

Her toe nudged the envelope. ‘I assume it’s for me,’ she said.

Eric nodded.

Miss Major held out her hand. Her long fingers trembled slightly, and Eric wondered if she was afraid of him. Probably not. She looked angry, not frightened. ‘Give it to me.’

He picked up the envelope, and laid it across her hand.

She turned it over. She ran it through her fingers. Her eyes fixed on Eric. ‘I’ll give you one chance. You can take it back now, unopened, and that’ll be the end of it.’ She held it toward him.

Eric’s hand throbbed. The pain made it hard to think. He wanted to accept the envelope and get far away from Miss Major. But he didn’t want to back down.

‘What’ll it be, Eric?’

‘I guess I’ll take it,’ he mumbled, and reached for the envelope. As his fingers closed on it, she snatched it away. Her tight mouth smiled.

‘You said …’

‘I changed my mind. I just can’t wait to see what it is that you’re so eager to take back, now that you’re caught.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘I’ll just bet.’ She slipped a finger under the flap, and slowly worked it up the envelope, ripping the seam. ‘Well well well, what have we here? Not another rat, obviously.’ She plucked out the paper and unfolded it. ‘Join the fun,’ she read in a mocking voice. With a frown,
she read the rest in silence. She gazed at the paper for a long time, as if reluctant to meet Eric’s eyes. Her face was red. Finally, she lowered the invitation. ‘You’re giving a party?’ she asked.

Eric nodded. He smiled, trying to look embarrassed. ‘I thought you might like to come, if you’re not too busy. It’ll be a bunch of kids and a few of my teachers and Mr Doons.’

‘But why me?’

‘Well.’ He shrugged. ‘I feel bad about – you know – what happened. I just thought maybe you could come and have a good time, and maybe we wouldn’t have to be enemies anymore.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Eric.’ She looked again at the invitation. ‘You’re having it at the Sherwood house?’

‘Yeah. We’ve got it all fixed up for the party. It’ll be real spooky.’

‘But it’s abandoned, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, my mom’s good friends with the owner.’

‘Glendon Morley?’

‘Yeah. He’s gonna be there, too. So’s my mom and some of her friends.’

‘Sounds like you’ll have quite a crowd.’

‘Yeah. I hope you’ll come. You can bring along a friend, too, if you want.’

She folded the invitation and slipped it into the envelope. ‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘I’ll try to make it, if I can. At any rate, I appreciate being invited.’

Eric smiled and shrugged.

With a friendly nod, she stepped into her classroom and shut the door.

Eric started down the hall. At first, he felt only relief at escaping her wrath. Then he thought of her embarrassment, and smiled.

He had really put one over on her. All his lies had worked. Moreover, she’d sounded as if she might actually come to the party. In triumph, he slapped his leg – and yelped as pain streaked up his arm.

‘Are you all right?’ Betty asked when he entered the station the next morning.

‘Hanging in there,’ Sam said, and yawned. He poured himself a mug of coffee. ‘Cynthia’s son cut himself, last night, and we took him over to Emergency.’

Betty frowned. ‘I hope it wasn’t too serious.’

‘Took a dozen stitches,’ he said. He sipped the coffee, and sat at his desk. ‘How are
you
doing?’

‘Managing,’ she said. ‘It isn’t going to be quite the same around here without Dexter. He was …’ She pressed her lips tightly together. Her chin trembled. She reached for a tissue and covered her eyes. Sam looked down.

He took small drinks of coffee, the steam burning his raw eyes.

God what a night, he thought.

Betty blew her nose. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I heard you were out at the fire.’

‘Yeah.’

‘They couldn’t find the Horners.’

‘
What?
’

‘Apparently, everyone thought they were burnt. But the fire department searched through the rubble and
couldn’t find their bodies. So it looks as if they weren’t home last night, after all.’

‘Well, that’s lucky. Where were they?’

Betty shrugged. ‘Nobody knows. They haven’t shown up. Chet’s supposed to check the bus terminal and taxis.’

‘Berney thinks they skipped?’

‘He does. Hank Horner is now topping his suspect list.’

‘He thinks Horner killed Dex?’

‘Killed him, panicked, and sneaked out of town, last night, with his family.’

‘Why would he burn the house?’

‘So we’ll assume he’s dead.’

‘We’re not going to assume he’s dead if we don’t find the body.’

‘Oh, you know
people
.’ She made a weary smile. ‘Horner probably didn’t know any better. He figured, if he burnt the house down, we’d think he and his family got turned to ashes.’

‘Not a very smart fellow.’

‘Murderers aren’t normally famous for their brains.’