Halloween (15 page)

The house was dark and still. "Annie, we're here." No answer.

They let their eyes adjust to the darkness, then stepped into the house. They cocked their ears and thought they heard a creak upstairs. They called Annie's name again. Again no answer. "I wonder if they're here at all," Bob said.

"Maybe they're upstairs already. Lindsey's asleep and Annie and Paul are up there already," Linda speculated.

Bob turned on a light. "I don't know. I don't want to be surprised in the middle of . . . well, in the middle. Let's look for a note."

"Let's don't," Linda said, turning the light off and sliding into his arms. He pressed his mouth to hers and her lips parted. Her tongue entwined his as her body melted against his powerful torso. He slid his hands over her back and clasped her buttocks, practically lifting her off the floor. "Now," she murmured, "shall we continue Plan A?"

"I guess," he said, leading her to the couch. "I just wish I could be sure about Annie and Paul." He went to the foot of the stairs and observed a light on under the door of the master bedroom. A faint creak came from there. He stood indecisively looking up.

Linda came up behind him and put her arms around him. "Bob, the only thing you have to worry about is getting up for the occasion."

"It's never been a problem before, and it shouldn't be now." He took her by the hand, and they lay down on the couch. Linda's body arched up at once as if the seat of the couch was molten metal. She urged her breasts and pelvis at her lover, and he took them avidly, pushing her sweater up to her neck and covering her breasts and belly with kisses. Her nipples contracted into hard nuggets under the flicking of his warm tongue, and his hand caressed her belly lovingly, his fingers gliding beneath the tops of her jeans and under the silky smoothness of her bikini panties. His fingers undid the top snap of the jeans and artfully slid the zipper down, his hand coming to rest on the silky crotch of her pants. She moaned and strained her body upward to receive his caresses.

In the shadow of the kitchen door he watched them. His breathing was heavy, but the noise of their excitement subdued the sound of his own.

After that incredible moment of thrill as he plunged the blade into the dark-haired girl's abdomen and slit her stomach open to the ribs, he had come down to a state of euphoric calm. For a while he had thought that the lust was permanently discharged and the voice quieted. That was how it had been then, with Judy.

But then he had been six years old, now it was different. The sight of the couple on the couch had brought new stirring in his body, and the voice was whispering to him once more.

He knew this night was not over.

The phone rang, and he shrank back into the cover of darkness.

Bob and Linda sat up sharply, letting the phone ring three times in the hope that Annie would take it upstairs. The Wallaces would think it odd that someone other than their babysitter was picking up the phone. But when no one picked it up, Linda reached for the downstairs phone on the table beside the couch.

"Hullo," Linda said dreamily.

"Linda? Is that you?"

"Laurie? Hi!"

"Hi. What's happening?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Linda giggled.

"Hey, do you know where Annie is?"

"Yes, she's . . . Tommy, cut it out. Linda, just a sec."

In the background Linda heard a ghostly sound and screaming, then Laurie shouting, seeming to berate somebody. At length she got back on the phone.

"Sorry, Tommy was chasing Lindsey around with a pumpkin on his head."

"Lindsey's
there?
" Linda blurted.

"Uh-huh. See, Annie decided to go over to Paul's, so she left Lindsey here with me."

"Ah-so. That means we have the house to ourselves."

"Looks that way. But listen, would you please be sure to have Annie call me the second she gets back? I've got to get Lindsey back over there before her parents come home."

"Fine."

"Have a good time," Laurie said.

"We're planning to."

Linda hung up and grabbed Bob by the hand.

"Well, old boy, it looks as if we've got the house all to ourselves, including the bed upstairs."

Bob laughed. "Well now, to use your favorite phrase, that sounds totally fantastic. Shall we go?"

He offered his arm and she grasped it. "Thank you, kind sir." He led the way up the stairs, hesitating before the door to the master bedroom because the door was closed and a light streamed under it and into the hallway, a flickering orange light. Then he shrugged and opened the door. They laughed.

On the night table a jack-o'-lantern flickered.

"Well, Mr. Jack-o'-lantern, you're going to see some things tonight," Linda said, patting it on its poll. "How about this for starters?" Facing the pumpkin's grotesque grin, she did a sensuous strip tease, wriggling out of her sweater and jiggling her breasts, cupping them with her hands in mute offering to the pumpkin, then bumping and grinding out of her jeans until she was prancing before the jack-o'-lantern in bikini panties.

Bob laughed, reaching out and grabbing her wrist. "I'm jealous."

"Of a pumpkin?"

"Well, if you're into squashes so much, try this zucchini," he said, putting her hand on the rocklike bulge under his jeans.

"
Mmm
, I have a sudden hunger for zucchini," she whispered, helping him unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans.

His knees began to weaken and he leaned on her shoulders for support. Then, when he could stand it no longer, he pulled her to her feet and toward the bed.

Bob grinned and sat astride her, kneading her breasts until the nipples were like stones. Her hips writhed under him, her pelvis thrusting involuntarily in circular motions.

He needed no coaxing. Kneeling between her quivering thighs, he slid into her up to the hilt, and her moan of pleasure filled the room with its primitive timbre. He wrapped his arms tightly around her slim, firm waist and she covered his broad back with sharp-nailed fingers. He pumped rhythmically into her, her hips stropping him to an awesome height of need and pleasure. "Oh, Bob, I think . . . I think it's happening," she whimpered.

"Me too."

And that's when the phone rang.

Bob stopped in mid-stroke, gripped with uncertainty.

"Shit! Not again!"

"Forget about it," Linda said. "We have more important things to do." The phone sounded again.

"What if it's Annie?"

"She'll call us again."

"And what if it's the Wallaces?"

"If it's the Wallaces and we answer, we'll get Annie into trouble."

"Yeah, but what if . . . ?"

"What if it's your mommy?" Linda taunted. Bob laughed. "I'll just tell her I'm really into something right now that I can't get out of. There, it's stopped. I'll take it off the hook."

He reached across her body to the night table, where the jack-o'-lantern guarded the telephone, and took the phone off its cradle. Then he turned his attention back to her. "Now, where were we?"

"Old Mr. Zucchini's getting soft enough to mash," she said, stroking him with artful grinds of the pelvis. "There, that's better."

"Oh, yes, that's better. That's much better."

He stood in the hall watching them resume their coupling, and the desire returned. His fingers caressed the handle of his knife in rhythm to the powerful strokes of the man's buttocks against the widespread girl's body. The voice spoke loudly to him, urging him to act, but he held himself back, anxious to see the climax of their performance. He was soon rewarded. "Oh Bob, I think it's going to happen now . . . now . . . now!"

"Yes,
yes
,
YES!
" Bob cried, nailing her to the bed with his lanky, powerful body.

Their voices mingled moans and pants and endearments as they thrashed the last lust out of one another's flesh. Then they lay still for a minute or two, the boy's back a tempting target for the blade of the man who stood outside their door, breathing deeply but silently. No, not yet.

At length Bob rolled off Linda and groped around the floor for his shirt. He found it and produced a pack of cigarettes and lit two, giving her one. They lay on their backs, blowing thin streams of smoke into the air.

"Fantastic," Linda sighed. "Totally fantastic."

"Yeah."

"Want a beer?"

"Yeah."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Yeah."

"Go get me a beer."

"I thought you were gonna get one for me," Bob said.

"
Yeah?
"

"Oh well." Reluctantly, Bob climbed out of bed and stepped into his jeans. Then he groped around the floor for his glasses and found them at last, donning them.

Linda looked at him. "Do you really need those?"

"I only wear them when I'm looking for beer," he replied with a grin. "I'll be right back." He leaned over the bed and kissed her. "Don't get dressed."

Silently, the visitor withdrew from his observation place outside the door and drifted soundlessly down the stairs, taking his place in the large utility closet in the kitchen. He waited and listened, knife poised. In due time, through the slightly open door, he saw the boy come into the kitchen. He had on jeans but no shirt or shoes and socks, and he wore horn-rimmed glasses. The boy's body was sleek, hairless; and muscular.

Bob went directly to the refrigerator in the dark and opened the door, sending a stream of light across the kitchen floor. He took two beers out, closed the door, and opened a cupboard. "Peanuts, peanuts, peanuts . . . ah, here they are. And potato chips are . . . here."

He gathered the food in his arms and turned to leave, but didn't see the legs of a stool half under a counter, and he tripped, dropping everything. Muttering, he stooped and picked it up. Then he heard the creak of a door behind him.

Arms loaded, he freed a hand and opened the kitchen door. "Annie? Paul?" he called. "No jokes, huh? I'm in the midst of something very important." No answer. He closed the door and locked it. Then he heard the creak again and realized it was coming from the utility closet. He put the beer and food down on the counter and stealthily approached the door. Then he flung it open. "Okay, Linda, come on out. Come on, I know it's . . ."

The thing lunged out like a leaping tiger, its left hand gripping Bob's neck in a death-clutch. Bob fell back, grabbing at his throat, then swung at the head of his tormentor. The man took the blow full on the face, but it didn't faze him. He slammed Bob up against the wooden pantry door and lifted him clear off the tile floor by the throat. Gurgling noises came from his windpipe as he clawed at the rubber mask on his assailant's face. If Bob was going to escape he'd have to make his best shot now, because the oxygen supply was rapidly dwindling and he knew he had but a few seconds. He cupped his hands over his head and brought them down with full force on the man's head. It shook him but failed to weaken his grip on Bob's throat. Out of the corner of his eye Bob saw the blade in the man's free hand, and he brought his knees up in a helpless gesture of self-protection. He actually heard the
whap
of the knife as the killer drove it into his gut with stupendous force. Then the blackness came over him.

The killer held himself against the twitching body, then stepped away. The body went limp but the knife had penetrated all the way into the pantry door, and Bob hung impaled on it, feet dangling about six inches from the floor. His eyes were wide with horror. His tongue drooped stupidly out of the corner of his lips.

Linda dragged impatiently on her cigarette, then ground it out in the ashtray on the night table, just under the grimacing mouth of the jack-o'-lantern. "Well, Jack, where is he? I sent him down ten minutes ago for one lousy beer. Is he manufacturing it or what? If he were half the man he looks like, he'd have made the round trip in record time and would be back in bed by now. Isn't that right, Jack?" The pumpkin's flame answered her with mute flickering. Linda tapped another cigarette out of the pack and hung it on her lower lip. Then she grinned with inspiration. "Hey, baby, light my fire," she said to the jack-o'lantern, thrusting the cigarette through the pumpkin's nose and lighting it on its candle. "Thanks. You may look like a punk, but deep down inside, you're a real gentleman. Not like some people."

She heard the steps creaking and composed herself under the covers. The steps were heavy, like an old man's or someone laboring under a big load. "Thank God," Linda sighed. "Where's my beer?"

The door opened and she laughed, shaking her head. He wore a sheet over his head with eyes cut out, and over the eyes he wore Bob's heavy glasses. He stood inside the door, staring at her, breathing in long sighing wheezes that blew the sheet away from his mouth with each exhalation. "Cute, Bob. Real cute. Come here, you fool."

He came no closer.

"I'll bet I can get your ghost," she said, sliding the sheet teasingly off her chest.

Linda laughed at her own joke, but when the ghost remained planted in the doorway, she frowned and brusquely pulled the sheets back up around her throat. "All right, all right. So where's the beer?"

No response.

"Well, answer me! Okay, don't answer me. Boy, are you weird." Still no response. The ghost stood fixed to his spot like a tree. "Bob, enough's enough, you're making me nervous." No response. "Oh, shit. Okay for you." She got out of bed. Completely nude, she walked to the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. In the soft glow of the candle she looked incredibly beautiful. She did not walk so much as glide. She knew what effect she had on men, and if this didn't do the trick, Bob must be made of brick. She pulled her panties out of the pile and dangled them in front of the ghost's glasses, stroking them with her other hand. "Last chance, pal, before I hide the jewels." She paused, waiting for a reply. Then she shrugged. "Okay." She stepped into her panties and turned away.

"Well, I'm going to call Laurie. I want to know where Annie and Paul are.
This
isn't going anywhere." She picked up the phone and pivoted, turning her back on the ghost. She dialed the Doyles' number.