Ashlyn's Radio (6 page)

Neither woman blinked as the radio started playing again. Louder. Same words, same singing voices, yet somehow there was even more glee in the bouncy lyrics as they went on.

No one will even miss her when she goes, oh no no no

No one will even miss her when she goes, oh no no no

She sits there all alone; she can never even call home.

Oh, no one will ever miss her when she goes.

Oh, no, no.

And now, your local Prescott Junction news—

Maudette turned. This time, as she hefted the gun into place against her shoulder, Ashlyn covered her ears with her hands. Maudette fired another shotgun blast into the radio. Then another. Even though she was better prepared for the deafening noise and the scorching muzzle flash, it seemed even more shocking. And the radio — oh, man, it was completely blown to splinters.

Maudette turned on her granddaughter, her eyes blazing through the haze of gun smoke that hung in the air. “For the love of God, Ashlyn, get back to bed and stay there!”

Ashlyn turned and took the stairs two at a time.

A
SHLYN OPENED HER EYES
, coming instantly awake. As memory flooded back, her heart began to pound. Her gaze went to her window, a patch of grayish light in the darkness. Dawn couldn’t be too far away, though the birds hadn’t started up yet. Craning her neck, she looked at the bedside clock. The glowing green letters read 4:40.

Three hours. That’s how long she’d slept. Which was three hours more than she’d expected. The fact that she’d slept at all was a minor miracle.

She dropped her head back onto the pillow and closed her gritty, tired eyes. Today was Saturday. She should crawl under the blankets and sleep a few more hours. That would be the smart thing to do. Except her mind was wide-awake now, and given the way the images from last night started playing the moment she closed her burning eyes, no way was she nodding off any time soon.

Shivering, she sat up, curling her arms around herself. The chill she felt just now had little to do with the temperature of the room or the fact that she’d slept on top of the bedding. It hadn’t been a loud noise that had pulled her up from her nightmare sleep. No one was banging on the door, and the dogs were blessedly quiet now. Lightning wasn’t flashing to light up the room, and the house wasn’t shaking with the rumble of thunder. But Ashlyn’s nerves were suddenly leaping as if all these things were happening at once.

The music … the basement … the radio … her grandmother looking so wild … the gun … all of it raced through her mind again.

Dammit, Maudette Caverhill was crazy. That’s all there was to it. Not nervous breakdown-crazy like Ashlyn’s mom, but crazy-crazy, as in just plain nuts. The way she’d wielded that shotgun and blown the radio to bits…. Twice.

Twice
.

Ashlyn’s pulse kicked again. Twice she’d shot that thing before it quieted. That didn’t even make any sense! The first blast had all but disintegrated it. There’d been nothing left but broken glass and splinters and curling smoke.

Maybe it’s me,
Ashlyn thought.
Maybe I’m the crazy one. Maybe I only … imagined the whole night. Maybe it was all a dream.

Except Ashlyn couldn’t grasp that thin straw for even a moment. She hadn’t been dreaming. She’d been wide-awake when she’d walked into the basement, and she had stayed wide-awake as she’d raced all the way back up to her room, where she’d waited.

And waited.

She had expected Maudette to come upstairs and give some kind of explanation for what had happened. Some kind of apology. What was with that crazy old bat?

And what was it with that song?

The conductor will be there to greet her when she comes.

When she comes!

As the lyrics bounced in her brain, Ashlyn mentally added a
toot-toot
, then groaned. Dammit! She’d never get it out of her head now. Like all those old, too-familiar tunes, once they were stuck in your brain, that was it for the day. Like that Mr. Clean jingle on TV. Or, oh crap, the MMMBop song. Ugh!

And that newscaster? Ashlyn recalled his deep, velvety voice. Even behind the static of the old radio, it had been a sexy voice. Seductive somehow. As weirded out as Ashlyn had been when the shattered radio resumed playing, that voice had still got to her. She’d really
wanted
to listen.

But Prescott Junction didn’t have a radio station, for God’s sake! Hell, there wasn’t enough ‘news’ for a … well, a newscast from this armpit of a place. Was there?

Even as Ashlyn questioned these things, she was crossing the floor. Slowly and quietly, she opened her bedroom door. She had to see for herself. The radio. The basement. All of it.

She knew which of the thirteen stair treads (fifth from the bottom) creaked. She counted the steps as she descended them in the dark, and made a wide step down over the squeaky one. Maudette’s bedroom door was shut now, and Ashlyn glided right on by it.

She hesitated a moment when she reached the kitchen. The curtains were drawn on the one window over the sink, blocking out the pre-dawn glow. She wished she could turn on the light, but didn’t want to take even the smallest chance of alerting Maudette.

No problem, she told herself. She knew the kitchen well enough to move through it in darkness. She resumed tiptoeing and promptly bumped her left hip against the small table, which made a scraping sound on the cushion floor. Crap! She froze, listening. When her grandmother failed to stir after a moment, she released the breath she’d been holding and crept on.

When she made it to the basement door, she reached up high on the wood, searching for the bolt. Her fingers found it, but it wasn’t slid closed as she expected. Huh. Maudette must have forgotten to lock it last night. Not that that would be enough to block her from entering this time, physically or psychologically.

What if she’s still down there? Still with the shotgun in hand?

Ashlyn paused to consider the possibility, then dismissed it. Her grandmother was in bed. No way would she still be down there. Not five hours later. Still, she’d be extra careful just in case.

With one hand flat on the wood, Ashlyn pushed the door tight to the frame as she turned the handle. She didn’t want even the softest click as she opened the door. She stepped through onto the top step, and her heart pounded as she closed the door behind her, shutting herself in darkness.

The gloom in the basement was even more impenetrable than in the kitchen, and unfortunately there was no light switch at the top of the stairs. As she’d seen last night, the basement’s only light was at the bottom of the stairs, a bare bulb suspended at the end of a wire with a pull chain for a switch. At least she thought it was right there at the foot of the stairs.

Damn. She wished she had a flashlight.

Ashlyn took a deep breath and started carefully down the stairs, laying each heel flat on the solid boards and holding on to the railing for dear life as she moved through the black. Her heart beat a little harder with every step she took. Thirteen steps. As she got closer to the bottom, she could smell it, the vaguely sulfur-like odor of gunpowder. Much fainter now, of course, but still there.

Ashlyn swung her arm out high and wide and — thank you, God! — caught the light’s cord on the first grasp. She snapped the light on quickly. So quickly, in fact, that when she released the cord, the bulb swung to and fro, making the shadows sway crazily for a moment.

Phew! No dozing Maudette. No big-assed shotgun pointed in her direction. Relief made Ashlyn’s knees weak. Then she looked to view the wreckage of the radio. And her knees grew even weaker.

“Holy crap!”

The hoarse exclamation was out before she could stop it. In front of her stood the antique radio, looking just as it must have the day it rolled off the assembly line. The wood shone and the glass gleamed, not so much as a fingerprint sullying either surface.

“This … this is impossible!” She’d seen it herself! Just hours ago, she’d seen this radio reduced to toothpick-sized splinters, shards of glass and tangled bits of metal.

Ashlyn tentatively touched the wood, not sure what she was expecting. The sleek surface was cool and smooth to the touch. She glided her fingers over the glass. It was perfect.

Too
perfect.

She lifted her hand to the glass again, but this time, she pressed her thumb to it, hard, and held it there. When she removed it a second later, she was relieved to see a clear thumb print on the glass. Apparently it could be smudged. But for goodness sake, there wasn’t even any dust on it! And
everything
in this basement was dusty.

She crouched down to examine the radio more carefully, running a testing finger along the decorative bottom edge … and … nothing. Not a speck of dirt or grime. That was when she saw the power cord.

The black cord was coiled up tightly, tucked into the back of the radio as if it had never been unwrapped. Had Maudette done that? Surely not! The woman wasn’t exactly a neat freak. Not that she was a slob, either. But dishes could always wait, and the dust bunnies Ashlyn had seen appeared to be prospering.

Ashlyn looked at the wall. No outlet. A quick circuit around the basement revealed there was only one electrical outlet on this level, and it was located directly behind her, on the far wall, well out of reach of the radio’s cord. There were no extension cords lying around, nor were any coiled up and hanging on the walls. And there hadn’t been an extension cord last night, either. Ashlyn was sure she’d have noticed. She absolutely would have— 

Just then, the radio made an odd noise and Ashlyn started. Then it began playing the same song as last night, at high volume. The conductor song. Ashlyn stumbled backward. The music played, scratchy and tinny and unbelievably loud.

And unbelievably
impossible
, she realized. The damned radio had
no power source!
It was a plug-in, AC-powered monster of a floor model, for God’s sake! This couldn’t be happening.

Of course, its vacuum tubes had been blasted to hell last night, and it had still played. Blasted to hell, and yet here it was again, playing.

Maybe it isn’t happening.
The thought slid into her mind, a cold, terrifying stab of doubt.
What if you’re just as crazy as your grandmother and your mother? What if your mind is making this up?

The volume soared even higher, and Ashlyn covered her ears, pressing her palms hard to her skull. Reflexively she closed her eyes too against the assault. Sweat began to gather on her neck. She could feel the vibrations coming from the primitive tinny speakers. And then she felt something else.

A hand wrapping itself around her slim shoulder.

With a gasp, Ashlyn whirled.

“Come with me!” Maudette shouted. The old woman looked just as distraught as she had last night, but she held no gun in her hands. “For God’s sake, Ashlyn, come with me now!”

Ashlyn followed the old woman up the stairs and out of the house. As she moved, she felt a sudden relief. She hadn’t imagined the music! Maudette heard it too. She wasn’t crazy!

But that surge of relief was short-lived. Then the heavy dread came in.
Oh, God, her grandmother heard it too?
As the ramifications hit home, she suddenly wished it was just a case of hallucination on her part. They had drugs for that. The alternative … well, she didn’t think they made a pill for
that
.

Maudette slammed the door behind them and pulled Ashlyn out into the yard. In their kennels, the dogs were frantic, barking and howling.

“Where are we going?” Ashlyn asked.

Maudette continued to tug her along. “We’ll wait in the dog barn.”

“Wait for what?”

“Until it stops. We’ll … we’ll still hear the music but the words will be lost.”

Ashlyn stopped dead in her tracks, obliging her grandmother to stop, too. Maudette turned to her, her eyes wide and wild with panic in the dull light of pre-dawn. “Come along, Ashlyn.”

“No,” Ashlyn said. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Maudette’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell you everything. It’s giving me no choice. But let’s go in with the dogs, Ashlyn. I’m … I’m so afraid for you. So damnably afraid.”