American Monsters

  “This is the gun that killed him,” the boy said.

  “How did you get it?” Milo asked.

  “I stole it,” said the boy. “The officer died a few years ago, but his wife kept all his things. I found her. Took the gun. I … I can’t believe it worked.” He laughed and cried at the same time. “I can’t believe it worked.”

  “I’m Milo, this is Amber. What’s your name?”

  “Jason Osmont,” said the boy. “Thank you so much for your help.”

  “I don’t think we managed to be of any help whatsoever,” said Amber. “This was all you.”

  “Not just me,” said Jason. “There have been a lot of us. I’m just the lucky one.”

  Buddy the clown sat up.

  “No!” Jason screamed.

  “What’s wrong?” Milo asked.

  “Shoot him again!” said Amber.

  “I don’t have any more bullets,” Jason cried. Buddy stood and Jason backed away. “This isn’t fair! I stopped you! I’m the one who stopped you!”

  Amber didn’t have any other choice. She shifted and launched herself at Buddy, ignoring Jason’s fresh cries of surprise and horror. She raked her talons across Buddy’s face, leaving dusty furrows in his powdered cheek. He grabbed her arm as she kicked him in the balls, then pulled her closer and grabbed her horns. He swung her off her feet and let go and she went flying.

  While she scrambled up again, Milo ran to Jason, pressed his gun into his hands, told him to fire. Jason shot Buddy over and over again and he kept coming. Amber picked up a decent-sized rock, ran up and jumped, slamming the rock down on to the clown’s head. He turned and her black scales formed in plenty of time to cushion her against his fist. It still hurt, though, still knocked her back a little.

  He moved faster than she’d anticipated, suddenly had both hands around her throat. His thick fingers pressed into her scales. Milo ran through the clown, wrapped his arms around Amber’s waist, tried pulling her free, but Buddy just raised her up off the ground. Milo redoubled his efforts, his grip tightening, so that when Buddy tossed Amber aside, Milo went with her.

  They crashed to the ground. Amber went sprawling while Milo rolled and came up on to his feet.

  “Run!” he shouted to Jason. “Get out of here!”

  Jason took another step back as Buddy loomed over him. “I was supposed to beat you,” he said bitterly.

  Buddy hit him. The blow snapped his head back and Amber heard Jason’s spine break. The boy collapsed and Buddy lashed a kick into him, sending him into a wild tumble across the grass. The clown was upon him again in two strides, picking him up by the ankle. He swung him high above his head and slammed him into the ground.

  “Jesus,” Milo whispered.

  Buddy swung him again, and again, smashing every bone in Jason’s body. He did it a third time, then looked down at him for a moment. He started to walk off, dragging the boy behind him. Another few steps and he discarded Jason and continued on, vanishing into the darkness.

  Amber got up.

  “Is he gone?” Milo asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah.”

  Amber reverted, and approached Jason. His body was a bloody mess, jagged bones bulging beneath his broken skin. His head was turned unnaturally and his face was unrecognisable.

  “He looks so peaceful,” Milo said.

  Amber looked at him. “Are you being funny?”

  He frowned. “Of course not. But the way he was thrown around, I expected massive bruising at the very least.”

  “You can’t see it?”

  “Can’t see what?”

  “He’s ruined, Milo. Jesus Christ, there’s blood everywhere.”

  Milo looked at Amber, then at Jason’s body. “All I can see is a boy lying there like he’s sleeping.”

  “Maybe that’s how Buddy does it,” said Amber. “Maybe that’s how he’s able to keep killing without the town going nuts looking for him. If everyone else sees what you see—”

  “There’s no trace of violence,” Milo finished. “Jesus. They don’t know these kids are being murdered.”

  BAD NEWS TRAVELLED FAST in Maple Lake. Amber sat with Milo, across the road and down a block from Jason Osmont’s house. They’d watched friends and neighbours come by all day, a steady procession of sympathisers. A patrol car was parked in the drive. This was one unexplained death that the cops were immediately suspicious about.

  “We should have picked up the bullets,” Amber said. “Or, not the bullets. What are they called?”

  “The shell casings,” said Milo. “But that wouldn’t have helped. Jason had gunpowder residue all over his hands. The cops would be here, anyway.”

  “I guess,” said Amber.

  It was hell, waiting here for something to happen. Amber had until Saturday night to trap Astaroth and it was already Tuesday. Time was slipping away from her and she was sitting in a car, watching a house. “Maybe we should go in,” she said. “We need to talk to people, talk to his friends, see if they know what’s going on.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “No, it’s not, but we have to do something.”

  “We are doing something,” Milo said. “We’re waiting.”

  “For what?”

  He leaned forward. “For that.”

  Amber followed his gaze, back to the house. Three people were at the front door as it opened and someone welcomed them in. But at the side of the house a window was opening, and a jeans-clad leg emerged.

  The girl who climbed out was blonde, about sixteen, and she held a notebook. She closed the window once she was out, sneaked to the sidewalk and checked she hadn’t been seen. Then she started walking away, the notebook crammed into her back pocket.

  “Stop her now,” Amber asked, “or find out where she’s going?”

  “Option number two,” said Milo.

  Amber nodded, got out of the car and walked after her.

  She followed her to the end of the street and then right, keeping a safe distance between them at all times. She needn’t have bothered. The girl didn’t look round once.

  They reached the main street and the girl went into a cafe. Amber passed the window. Not many people inside, and the girl was sitting in the corner, reading the notebook, sipping a Coke.

  The Charger pulled up beside a parking meter. Milo slid a few coins in, put the ticket on the dash, and together they entered the cafe. Music played. The guy behind the till was too busy wiping the countertop clean to notice them.

  They went to the corner.

  “Hi,” said Amber.

  The girl snapped the notebook closed.

  “We’re friends,” Amber said quickly.

  “With who?” said the girl.

  “With you. We’re on your side.”

  The girl frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We saw you sneak out of Jason Osmont’s house,” Milo said. “You had that notebook with you.”

  The girl slid it off the table, on to her lap. “This is mine.”

  “You picked a weird time to get it back.”

  She looked at them both suspiciously. “You knew Jason?”

  “We met him last night,” said Amber. “Right before he was killed.”

  “They’re going to say he died of natural causes,” the girl said. “Sudden Death Syndrome.”

  “There a lot of that going around?” Amber asked.

  “More than you’d think,” said the girl.

  “I bet.” Amber sat, and Milo pulled up a chair. “I’m Amber. This is Milo.”

  “I’m Sarah. What do you know?”

  “We know about Cranston,” said Milo. “Buddy the clown.”

  Sarah frowned. “How?”

  “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re here to help. What can you tell us about him?”

  “How much do you know?”

  “Not much,” said Amber. “We know about his victims and how he was trac
ked down and how he was killed. The only thing we know about him now is that he’s been killing kids in town, with Jason being the latest, and for some reason Milo here can’t see him.”

  “Of course he can’t,” said Sarah. “He’s too old. Anyone over eighteen can’t see him, hear him, touch him … They can’t even see what he does. Not really.”

  “Why is he here?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said. “I don’t think any of them knew.”

  “Them?”

  “The other kids. The other … victims.” She held up her notebook. “This belonged to the third victim. She’d seen what happened to her friends, so she started to document everything she found out, everything that happened. When Buddy got her, it passed to the next kid on the list, and the next, and the next.”

  “Wait,” said Milo. “What list?”

  Sarah almost smiled. “The birthday list. He’s going after kids born sixteen years ago. I was born at the start of June. It’s my turn now.”

  Amber sat. “And everyone has written in that notebook?”

  Sarah nodded. “Every kid since the third. We’re trying to help each other, give the next one a running start. I’ve already told the next guy on the list to prepare. He didn’t take it well. I don’t know if he’ll survive long.”

  Amber frowned. “You’re not dead yet.”

  “I will be soon,” said Sarah. “We don’t know how to stop him. One of the kids had his grave blessed. That didn’t work. The next one dug up his bones, had them blessed. Didn’t work, either. The one after that, she thought the bones were the things that were keeping him from passing on, so she destroyed them. Put them in a furnace, reduced them to ashes. Didn’t make any difference. Jason, he did some reading – he thought if he could get the gun that killed Cranston, it might be able to kill Buddy. I don’t know if he even got the gun.”

  “He did,” said Amber. “It didn’t work.”

  Sarah dropped the notebook and buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what there’s left for me to try. The others did everything and it made no difference.”

  Amber hesitated, then moved closer and wrapped an arm round Sarah’s shoulders as she cried. Milo gently picked up the notebook and started flicking through the pages.

  “We can help you,” Amber said.

  Sarah didn’t look up. “How?”

  “We don’t know yet, but this is the sort of thing we do.”

  “You deal with the ghosts of killer clowns a lot, then?”

  “First time,” Amber admitted. “But we’re quick studies.”

  Sarah raised her head. “You actually think you can help me?”

  “We will try our best. I’m willing to bet you anything that Milo already has a plan to stop him. Milo?”

  He looked up from the notebook. “Yes?”

  “Do you have a plan to stop Buddy?”

  He frowned. “No. Do you?”

  Amber blinked. “No.”

  “I’m dead,” said Sarah. “I am so dead.”

  “I don’t think he can be stopped,” said Milo. “But I don’t think that’s the question we should be asking.”

  Sarah looked at him. “What is?”

  “One of the other kids found similar deaths all across the north-west,” Milo said, flicking through the journal. “One murder, maybe two, in places like Seattle, Spokane, Boise … and then Buddy gets here and doesn’t leave.”

  “So?” Amber asked.

  “Why hasn’t he left? What’s keeping him here? Does he have a personal connection to Maple Lake, something from back when he was alive?”

  “No,” said Sarah. “Nothing that we’ve been able to find, anyway.”

  “But something is keeping him here,” Milo said. “If we find that, we have a chance of stopping him. The first girl – who was she?”

  “Tanya Ensor,” said Sarah.

  Amber watched Milo’s face. “You’re thinking why her,” she said. “Why did Buddy pick her – or why did he stay once he’d killed her?”

  “We need to find out more about her,” said Milo. “Do you know her family?”

  “Not really,” said Sarah. “They moved away a few months after she died. The house has just been sold to a new family, but I don’t think they’ve moved in yet.”

  “It’s empty?”

  “Yeah, I think. They might have some construction guys in doing some remodelling, but yeah.”

  “Maybe it’s the house,” said Milo. “The house or something in it. Can you show us where she lived?”

  THEY TOOK THE CHARGER to Anchor Street, a cul-de-sac of large, handsome houses with decent-sized lawns, some of which had boats on trailers. Milo reversed up the drive to the Ensors’ old house and parked in the shade. They went round to the rear and Milo used a crowbar to open the back door.

  They passed through the open-plan kitchen and living room. One of the walls was half demolished, with support struts bracing what was left. The only piece of furniture was a sawhorse. Milo checked downstairs while Amber and Sarah went up to the second floor. The bedrooms still had beds, but everything else had vanished with the family.

  On one wall of the main bedroom, someone had spray-painted a large question mark.

  “Milo,” Amber called. “Come look at this.”

  A few moments later, he was with them. He looked at the question mark, then went into the next room. He came back, stood outside the door for a moment, and re-entered. “The rooms should be bigger,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Amber asked.

  Milo walked up to the wall, and knocked. “I mean … either this wall is five-feet thick, or there’s another room in here.”

  Amber raised an eyebrow. “A secret room?”

  “I think so.”

  Sarah went to the window. “It’s getting dark. Guys, it’s already getting dark.”

  “Then let’s hurry this along,” Milo said. “I saw a sledgehammer downstairs.”

  He fetched it and started swinging. Amber did the best she could with the crowbar. In her horned-up form, she would have been a big help, but she wasn’t about to shift, not with Sarah watching. Besides, the idea of shifting was making her more uneasy with every hour that passed. The thought of releasing that part of herself …

  Milo’s sledgehammer went through the wall and they all made the hole bigger. It was dark inside. They made the hole bigger still, until they could fit through.

  Inside was a wooden crate lying on the floor, long and narrow.

  “That’s a coffin, isn’t it?” Amber said.

  “Maybe,” said Milo. He went to the far side and crouched. “Ready?”

  Amber hunkered down, dug her fingers in underneath, and they lifted. The crate was heavy, but she could manage it without shifting. They manoeuvred it out of the hidden room, and took it into the larger of the bedrooms. They laid it sideways on the bed, and Milo used the crowbar to pry the lid loose. Sarah stood close to Amber, and they watched until finally the lid tumbled off, revealing the body of the old woman inside.

  “Huh,” said Milo.

  They peered closer. She wore a half-heart necklace.

  “Any idea who she is?” Amber asked.

  Sarah shook her head.

  Amber looked up at Milo. “She seems unusually … fresh.”

  “I was just thinking that,” Milo said. “For someone who’s been buried in a secret room for God knows how many decades, she’s surprisingly intact. Old as dirt, yeah, but intact.” He reached out to touch her and immediately pulled his hand back. “Ow.”

  “What?”

  He frowned. “Static electricity.” He pressed his fingers to her throat. “I think she might still be alive.”

  Sarah stepped back. “How is that possible? That’s not possible.”

  “I can’t feel a pulse,” Milo said, “but it might be too weak. She’s warm, though.”

  Amber peered closer. “Can we wake her?”

  “I doubt it,” said Milo. “It might be a coma. It might be, I
don’t know, hibernation … Whatever it is, I doubt we stand a chance of snapping her out of it.”

  “Maybe she’s Sleeping Beauty,” said Sarah.

  Amber laughed. “Ha, yeah, maybe Prince Charming took a wrong turn and never found his way back.”

  Sarah started to grin. “All it will take is true love’s kiss to rouse her from her slumber.”

  “Both of you can cut that out right now,” said Milo. “I’m not rousing anyone tonight, so you can forget it.”

  “Is she the one Buddy wants?” Sarah asked. “If we give her to him, will that do it? Will he leave me alone?”

  “I don’t know,” said Milo. “Maybe.”

  “So let’s do it,” said Amber. “If it’s the only way to save Sarah, we have to at least try. We carry the crate downstairs, leave it in plain sight.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Milo said. He grabbed the far end of the box. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Amber took hold of the other end and they lifted and carried the crate out of the room, and started across the landing. “You think she’s a good person or a bad person?”

  “What?”

  “Her,” said Amber, looking at the old woman. “Think she’s good or bad? What do you think Buddy’s going to do with her?”

  “I don’t know,” Milo said. They got to the stairs. Sarah helped Amber with her end, and they started down.

  “You think Abigail knows about her?” Amber asked, straining a little.

  “I think this old lady is the reason we’re in town,” Milo replied. “Abigail didn’t send us to stop Buddy – she sent us to stop Buddy from getting his hands on Sleeping Beauty here. I just don’t know why.”

  Sarah nearly slipped, and Amber grunted as she took the full weight while Sarah recovered. “It can’t be that important if she didn’t send her own people.”

  Milo didn’t answer.

  “What?” Amber said. They were halfway down.

  “I don’t agree,” said Milo. “Abigail sending us was probably the best option she had.”

  “So … so Sleeping Beauty might be very important to her.”

  “Maybe.”

  They reached the first floor, carried the crate to the middle of the room and put it down. Amber rubbed the creases from her fingers.