There's Blood on the Moon Tonight (32 page)

             
Those eyes had glowed too!

             
Anger swelled in his breast and settled the trembling in his hand. There was no longer any doubt in his mind now. Somehow, someway, these rabid animals were connected to the Red Eyed Man. Also no longer in question was their commonality.
It has to be the Center!
Which meant someone else was ultimately to blame for his mother’s death. The Red Eyed man had only been the effect—the true
cause
had yet to be determined.

             
As his anger grew and grew, Bud felt the hot blood surging through his veins, bringing him a strange sort of peace that was absent much of his life.

             
The trembling in his hands ceased at once.

             
What manner of man am I,
he wondered,
that the threat of violence should bring me such inner peace?

             
The creature paused in its advance, sensing a lack of fear from the boy. More puzzling still was the aura of anticipation enveloping his adversary. An eagerness to fight, perhaps? The red eyes blinked in confusion, glaring at the uninfected one second, back to the sanctuary of the dark woods the next.
Fight or flight? Fight or flight? 

             
The question hung in the air until the frightened girl whimpered, triggering an ancient impulse to pursue the weak and afraid. It rose up from its crouch and charged.

“Shoot it, Bud,”
Josie screamed.
“SHOOT IT!!!”

             
                            *******

The brightest lights in the business district came from the marquee
of
th
e
Dark Side of the Moon Wax Museu
m
.
In fact, at this hour, they were the only lights burning, besides the street lamps, that is, and the faint flickering glow of the Drive-In, further down the road.

             
Rusty and Tubby paused to admire the chasing lights, running so festively around the marquee.

             
Bill Brown had designed the facade of the building to look like the entrance of an old single-screen movie palace. The kind that used to grace the Main Streets’ of Every Town, U.S.A. Before the days of the multiplex brought about their sad demise. In the row of glass-covered 1-sheet cases, on either side of the entrance (two on each side), Bill Brown had placed posters featuring the museum’s main attractions
:
Murderers’ Row, The Chamber of Retribution, Hollywood Horrors
,
an
d
The King of Horror
.
At first glance, the posters furthered the impression you were entering a movie theater from yesteryear. The stylish artwork was a throwback to movie posters of yore, when an artist’s imagination captured the essence of a film, rather than just a dull photograph featuring the stars of the movie, as is the case with most 1-sheets today.

             
To Tubby’s delight, Rusty informed him there were reproductions of the posters on sale in the lobby. The artist’s signature style was hauntingly familiar...

             
Rusty tapped the glass on the 1-sheet case. “Bet you can’t guess who the artist is.”

             
“Frazetta!” Tubby said, snapping his fingers.

             
“Damn, boy! I thought for sure I’d stump you on that one!”

             
Frank Frazetta was an artist whose work was familiar to any fan of the old Warren line of publications:
Creepy, Eerie, and Vampirella.
The necrotic nephews and oh, so naughty niece to
Famous Monsters of Filmland
.

             
Tubby was duly impressed. Finally, he managed to tear his gaze from th
e
Murderers’ Ro
w
an
d
The Chamber of Retribution
posters. “Jeepers! Is Bud’s dad rich?”

             
Rusty looked at him sideways. “Why do you ask?”

             
“For starters, the commissioned artwork by Frazetta! A pauper certainly couldn’t afford one of those, not to mention
four
of them. And then there’s this building. It takes up a whole block! It must’ve cost a fortune to build this place. Unless, of course, it’s all surface and no substance. But somehow I doubt that’s the case.”

             
“Hell, Opie, it’s even better inside.”

             
“Okay, so how does a place
this
size, in a town as small as
Moon
, get enough business to support itself.”

             
“Matter of fact, it doesn’t. Oh, it’s real popular with the kids in town, and it actually has a growing reputation among certain enthusiasts, but if the Browns’ were short of cash they’d have no choice but to sell her.”

             
Tubby looked more confused than ever.

             
Rusty sighed. He didn’t like talking about his friend behind his back like this, even if he knew Bud wouldn’t mind. “Bud’s mom left behind a lot of money from her side of the family, see. And then there was the life insurance. She’d taken out a million dollar policy on herself and Bill, several years before she died…

             
“And with the Double Indemnity Clause…”

             
Tubby whistled appreciatively.

             
“I know, right? Good investments have further increased their cash flow. That’s how most of the rumors around here got started. Even though Bilbo was a cop in Beaufort, and at the time of his wife’s death was writing out a speeding ticket, he was the primary suspect because of the money. Insurance and otherwise.”

             
“Even though they had someone else’s DNA?”             

A lot of people around here thought Bill had hired out the murder to one of the lowlife’s he’d met on the job. All that money was sure motive enough. But anyone who knows Bilbo knows money isn’t what drives the man. His wife was always after him to quit his damn job. She had more than enough dough to support their family.” Rusty shook his head in admiration. “Bilbo wouldn’t have it. He liked being a cop, and was working towards the day when he could open this museum with his
own
damn money! Besides, anybody with half a brain could see how much he adored his wife. How her death tore him apart.”

“But they
are
rich, right? Bud and his dad?”

“Depends on how you look at it, I suppose. My old man is pretty well off, too. I know he’d give it all away, though, for the chance to see his best friend again.”

“What happened there?”

“That’s another sad story, Ralph. One we’ll talk about some other time. What I’m trying to say is, money’s nothing but a tool. It doesn’t make you
rich
. Not where it really matters, it doesn’t. That’s what Bill Brown taught me a long time ago. My daddy, too. Luckily for Bud and his dad, I guess, Mrs. Brown left behind a whole lot of
tools
to get them through life. Her will stated in no uncertain terms that Bill was to use the money to pursue his life-long dream of opening this here museum.
‘The Dark Side of the Moon Wax Museum’
was how the pretty lady put it…

“As long as he retired from the police force, that is.” Rusty chuckled. “Mrs. B ended up having the last word on
that
. When she was alive, he’d refused her help in getting the museum started. Bilbo knew it was a financial risk, and he never would have put her money on the line like that.”

“However,” said Tubby, smiling.

              “
However
,” Rusty said, nodding his head. “Seeing as how it was her dying desire, he had no choice but to abide by his wife’s last wishes. Bud told me once that building this place saved his old man’s life. What he meant by that, I can only guess. I assume he meant that for a time his dad was suicidal. Not that you’d ever guess it by knowing him. Bill Brown, despite having the most vanilla sounding name in the world, is one righteous old dude.”

Trying to look righteous himself, Rusty spat on the sidewalk; but unlike Bud, who never missed, half of Gnat’s loogie ended up on his army coat. “Even with all the evidence pointing away from Bill,” he said, wiping away at his sleeve. “A lot of folks around here had him tried and convicted. I guess it was easier to believe that he’d killed his wife, than entertain the notion of a red-eyed lunatic running loose on Moon, with his pecker pointing the way. Even Bud’s sister, Dottie, bought into all that hateful speculation. She split and now lives in North Carolina. Some college up in the mountains. Good riddance, I say. Now that I’m thinking about it, don’t ever mention her name around Bud. He hates that traitorous bitch. Can’t say I blame him much either.
Shiiit!
I’ve known Bill Brown most of my life, and I can tell you there’s not a better man on Moon…except for maybe
my
old man. Anyway, to answer your question, Opie, that’s how they can afford to run this place while it stays in the red.”

Rusty adjusted his glasses. “Eventually, Bilbo plans to build one just like it in Myrtle Beach, and when they do, you can bet that motherfucker won’t run in the red! All she needs is a steady influx of tourists to keep her going. Something Moon Island is in short supply of. So, yeah. As far as
dough
is concerned, they’re rich enough, and likely to get a whole lot richer. But rich or not, I wouldn’t trade places with Buddy boy. No
sir
. Not even if I was that toothless asshole, Charlie Noonan.”

“Where do the Browns’ live now? They still on the West Side?”

Rusty smiled and pointed at the museum.

             
“No way! In the
museum
? Gee! Now
that’s
cool!”

             
It was after ten o’clock and the museum had closed for the night. A professionally painted sign in the box office window declared its hours of operation.

        
Monday through Thursday:

             
  
11:30 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.

             
Friday and
Saturday
:

             
  11:00 a.m. to Midnight.

             
        
Admission:

         Adults: $20.00. Kids: $10.00.

         
CLOSED ON SUNDAYS

Halloween
: OPEN ALL NIGHT LONG
!

Costumed Trick ‘r Treaters get in free!

They approached the lobby doors, Tubby stepping back in surprise when Rusty withdrew a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. “You got your own key?”

             
“We all do. You will too, now that you’re
a
Cree
p
.”

             
“Gee. Mr. Brown doesn’t mind?” Tubby asked, looking around nervously.             

             
“Bilbo?
Shiiitt
, Opie! That man’s one of
us
.”

             
They were entering the museum when a gunshot rang out somewhere in the vicinity of the Pines. Rusty let go of the door and followed Tubby out into the street, looking back towards home. Except for the shadows hanging over the road, Huggins Way appeared empty.

             
“You think that was them?”

             
Rusty blinked rapidly, his fear-filled eyes magnified by the Coke bottle lenses of his glasses. “I-I don’t know. M-maybe it was just the—”

Tubby took off running towards the Pines. Rusty hesitated for a moment and then took up the chase. “Wait up, Ralph! We don’t know that was them!”

              “What if it was? They might need our help!”

             
Rusty caught up with Tubby, who was already flagging badly. Tubby’s ragged breathing and the pounding of their sneakers were the only sounds on Huggins Way. No other shots rang out. No screams. No nothing.

             
They were approaching the Moon River Academy when two shadows broke free of the Pines, startling the boys even more than the gunshot had. They skidded to a stop, leaning back towards town, waiting to see what the streetlamps would illuminate before hauling ass.

             
“Buddy boy! Joe!” Rusty cried, relieved.

             
“RUN!”
Bud screamed back at them.

             
Tubby and Rusty didn’t need any further explanation. They had all experienced too much that day to hesitate out of any natural curiosity.