‘Good thing. If I hadn’t heard the commotion, I would’ve kept quiet. You get yourself in a place like this, you don’t spend much time yelling, I’ll tell you that.’
‘Scared?’
‘Who, me? You bet I am.’
Dana resumed crawling.
‘Know why they call me “Eve of Destruction”? ’Cause I’m so scared, I make sure to get them before they can get me. Only this time I didn’t.’
‘How’d that happen?’
‘I got jumped from behind. Big-time. Up in the attic. Got myself creamed. Don’t know who did it. Stronger than shit. Might’ve been a beast.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Looked like a beast. Felt like a beast.’
‘Had a lot of . . . experience along those lines?’
‘A matter of fact, yeah.’
Dana panted for air, then asked, ‘How’s that?’
‘My little secret.’
‘Shouldn’t keep secrets . . . from your rescuer.’
‘How come you’re the one? Where’s Lynn?’
‘I beat her to the punch. Anyway, I’m bigger and stronger. Is this gonna call for brawn?’
‘Might. Aren’t there any guys up there?’
‘I didn’t wait around for volunteers.’
‘Well, I sure appreciate . . . I can see your light!’
‘Great!’
‘You’re almost here.’
Huffing for breath, Dana crawled faster. ‘He dragged you all this way?’
‘Guess so. I was really out of it.’
‘Must’ve been a job.’
‘Yeah. Too bad he didn’t have a heart attack.’
‘Do beasts have heart attacks?’ Dana asked.
‘Not sure he was one.’
Just ahead of Dana, the left-hand wall of the tunnel seemed to vanish.
‘You’re here,’ Eve said.
Dana crawled the final distance. Shining her light to the left, she found herself looking into a hollowed-out area.
Eve was sitting naked on a rag-littered floor. Her raised arms, cuffed together at the wrists, were suspended by a chain that hung down taut from a four-by-four ceiling beam. Her skin was striped with scratches and furrows, some shiny with blood, others crusted over.
‘Jeez,’ Dana muttered.
Eve smiled. Her lips were torn and puffy. One cheek was badly scratched. Her right eye was swollen almost shut. ‘Looks better than it feels,’ she said.
Dana turned her head and shouted over her shoulder, ‘FOUND HER!’
A moment later, she heard Tuck’s faint voice. ‘How is she?’
‘I’LL LIVE!’ Eve shouted.
Tuck’s faint voice called back, ‘Dana? Can you get her out okay?’
‘Tell her yes,’ Eve said.
‘How’ll we get you out of the cuffs?’
‘We’ll manage.’
‘I’LL GET HER OUT!’ Dana yelled.
After a short pause, she heard Tuck call out, ‘Holler if you need help.’
Dana nodded. To Eve, she said, ‘We’ve got an ambulance coming. And cops.’
‘Somebody better call the coroner, too.’
Reluctantly, Dana eased her beam of light away from Eve.
Two other people hung by chains from the center beam.
One looked as if it used to be a child. Not enough was left for Dana to tell whether it had been a boy or girl. The other body still retained one breast, though it was missing a mouth-sized chunk where the nipple should’ve been.
Hunching over, Dana vomited onto the rag-covered floor.
People’s clothes.
Wave after wave of painful spasms racked her body as she choked up a burning flood of stomach acid and cheeseburger and beer and maybe even the Red Hot Beastie Weenie that she’d eaten for lunch. Tears ran from her stinging eyes. Her chest hurt so badly she felt as if she might start coughing up her lungs and heart.
At last, the spasms subsided. She gasped for air.
‘Are you all right?’ Eve asked.
‘Those people . . . they’re eaten.’
‘Yeah.’
‘God! Are you okay?’
‘I’m not missing any parts. Not yet.’
‘What’d it do to you?’
‘Nothing that hasn’t been done before. Let’s get me out of here.’
Though Dana still held on to the flashlight, it was half buried in the floor rags. She raised it and shone the beam on Eve. The brightness climbed to her raised arms, to her cuffed wrists. ‘Are they your cuffs?’ she asked.
‘Might be. I had ’em with me.’
‘Where did you keep the key?’
‘Pocket of my jeans.’
Dana began shining her light on the scattered clothes, searching for blue jeans. A couple of times, she accidently glimpsed the ruined bodies but didn’t allow herself to focus on them.
She spotted a rumpled pair of jeans on the floor not far behind Eve. To reach them, she crawled between Eve and the body of the woman. She bumped against Eve.
Eve winced.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No problem. I’m a little tender here and there.’
‘I’ll bet. My God.’ She got to the jeans. Kneeling, she lifted them with her left hand and shook them open. ‘These yours?’
‘Wranglers?’
‘Yeah.’
Groaning and wincing, Eve turned herself halfway around. She peered at the jeans from beneath an upraised arm. ‘They look like mine.’
Dana set down her flashlight. With her right hand, she began to search the pockets. ‘What were you doing in Beast House last night, anyway?’ she asked.
‘Looking for a beast.’
‘Guess you found it.’
‘It found me. Whatever it was.’
‘There’s nothing in the pockets.’
‘Are the pocket linings shredded?’
‘No. I don’t see any tears.’
‘Okay. I guess that settles it.’
‘Settles what?’
‘It wasn’t a beast.’
‘What?’
‘I had my doubts.’
‘It had to be a beast,’ Dana said. ‘Look what it did to you . . . and to them!’
‘Beasts don’t go around emptying people’s pockets,’ Eve explained. ‘If they want something out of a pocket, they don’t reach in – they rip the pocket to shreds. But that isn’t the only thing. How’d he get through the padlock on the hatch?’
‘I don’t . . .’
‘With a key. I’ll bet everything looked normal up there tonight.’
‘Yeah.’
‘So he had to use a key. And that’s not how a beast would do it.’
‘You said it looked and felt like a beast.’
‘Didn’t smell like one.’
‘Huh?’
‘Beasts don’t smoke cigarettes.’
‘You think it was a guy in a beast suit?’
‘Scoobie-doobie doo.’
‘Fuck,’ Dana muttered. She dropped the jeans. With her left hand, she picked up the flashlight. She shoved her right hand down the front pocket of her shorts. ‘You think it was Clyde?’
‘Could’ve been, I guess.’
Dana pulled out the pistol. ‘He’s on the tour,’ she said. ‘He runs around in that authentic beast suit. And he smokes cigarettes.’
‘Does he?’ Pulling downward with her arms, Eve drew the chain taut.
Dana scurried over to her. She stopped very close to Eve’s back. In the pale beam of her flashlight, she saw that Eve’s shoulders and back were seamed with claw marks.
Just like Warren!
Clyde did it all! Attacked Warren, tearing him up and sodomizing him and making him always afraid. Dragged Eve in here, ripped her . . .
‘Might not’ve been him,’ Eve said.
‘Did he . . . rape you?’
‘I got nailed pretty good,’ Eve said.
With that big fake cock with its mouth and teeth?
‘I’ll kill
him,’ Dana said.
‘Let’s leave the killing to me. I’m not really sure who or what did all this.’
‘It had to be Clyde,’ Dana said. ‘He’s got the beast suit. He smokes. And he probably has keys. I bet he does have a key to the cellar hatch. He’s in charge of the whole operation whenever Tuck’s away.’
‘He’s sounding pretty good for it.’
‘Oh, God!’
‘What?’
‘He’s the one who went off to call the cops.’
‘Or maybe not,’ Eve said.
Dana shone her light on the handcuffs. Stretching out her right arm, she pressed the muzzle of her pistol against the thin, shiny chain connecting the handcuff braclets. Blasted apart, it would free Eve from the heavier chain that suspended her from the ceiling beam.
‘Wait,’ Eve said.
‘What?’
‘After you fire, we won’t be able to hear ourselves think. We’ve gotta do our talking now. One shot should take care of things. But keep at it till I’m loose. Then give me the gun.’
Dana almost smiled. ‘It’s your gun, anyway.’
‘Yep.’
‘Thank God you gave it to me.’
‘Soon as I’m free, I want it back. After that, best thing for you to do is get out of my way.’
‘What about the flashlight?’
‘I’m not gonna leave you down here in the dark. You keep it. If you can stay fairly close behind me, maybe you can light the way.’
‘I’ll be right on your tail.’
‘Good deal.’
‘Ready?’ Dana asked.
‘Do it.’
Thrusting the muzzle hard against the chain, she pulled the trigger. The pistol bucked in her hand, blasting out a tongue of fire. The BLAM! smacked her ears and left them ringing.
Eve jerked her arms down.
It worked!
Twisting around, Eve snatched the pistol out of her hand. And dropped it. She snarled out a word that Dana couldn’t hear. Then she shook both her arms and Dana realized that they must be numb. As she kept on shaking them, Dana picked up the pistol. Eve flexed the fingers of both hands, shook her arms some more, flexed her fingers again, then nodded and reached out.
Dana put the pistol into her right hand.
‘GIVE HIM HELL!’ Dana shouted into her face.
Eve’s head moved up and down. Then she twisted away, lurched forward, fell to her elbows and knees and scurried up the tunnel.
Clutching the flashlight, Dana crawled after her.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The Attack
After shouting a few questions down the hole to Dana, Lynn stood up and turned to the group. ‘I guess we got more than we bargained for. The way things look, we’ve walked into a brand-new chapter in Beast House history. Apparently, one of our local police officers, Eve Chaney, somehow got abducted and taken down into the tunnel. It sounds as if she’ll be okay. Dana will probably have her out of there in a few minutes. If not, I’m sure she’ll be safely rescued by the emergency personnel who should be arriving shortly. You’re all welcome to stick around. But as for tonight’s tour, I don’t see much chance of going on with it. You’re certainly free to leave. If you can, stop by the ticket booth tomorrow. We’ll either give you a full refund, or . . . If I run a special Midnight Tour tomorrow night, how many of you would be able to make it?’
Owen raised a hand. So did Darke, Vein, Dennis, Arnold and Bixby. Among the three couples that appeared to be married, no hands went up. Owen couldn’t hear what was being said, but he figured they were probably talking it over.
‘That looks pretty good,’ Lynn said. ‘I’ll definitely run a tour tomorrow night for those of you who can make it – assuming that it’s not impossible for one reason or another.’
Done conferring with his wife, the camel-sweater man said, ‘I believe we’ll be able to stay over for it.’
‘Great,’ Lynn said.
The cellar door banged shut.
Owen looked over his shoulder and saw Clyde bounding down the stairs in the beast suit.
‘Couldn’t get through,’ a voice announced. The muffled sound seemed to be coming from Clyde’s mask.
‘What do you mean?’ Lynn asked him.
‘The phone’s out.’
‘The office phone?’
‘Right.’
‘You couldn’t go someplace and find a phone that works?’
The beast shook its head.
‘You’re a big lot of help.’
The massive white shoulders shrugged.
‘I have a cell phone,’ said Eleanor, the tennis lady.
‘It won’t work down here,’ Lynn said. A moment later, she said, ‘But it’s worth a try.’ Holding out a hand, she said, ‘Here, let me see it.’
‘I’ll have a go at it myself,’ said Bixby. He reached into a pocket of his safari jacket and hauled out a cell phone.
‘We might as well try it, too,’ said the camel-sweater man. ‘Alison?’
His wife reached into her purse.
Shaking her head and laughing softly, Lynn said, ‘I’ll try 911. Somebody else try to get hold of an operator. Shit, just call anyone you can get. Tell ’em where we are, that we need cops and an ambulance.’
The cellar came alive with twitters and beeps.
‘I DON’T THINK SO!’
Owen looked around.
Clyde had taken the beast head off. His face was red and twisted, his eyes wild. The hideous mask seemed to be resting on his shoulder. But he suddenly cocked back his arm and hurled the white head forward like an oversized softball.
Owen heard a distant, heavy blam! that sounded like a gunshot.
An instant later, the beast head crashed through the dangling light bulb.
The bulb exploded.
The cellar fell dark.
All around Owen, screams erupted.
He swung Darke around to the front and she came up tight against him. He wrapped his arms around her back. He could feel her panting for air as chaos swarmed around them.
From every side came shrieks of terror, cries of pain.
People yelled—
‘No!’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Watch out!’
‘Connie? Con, is that you? YAHHH!’
Lynn shouted, ‘Calm down, everyone! Don’t panic! Try to get to the stairs.’
‘Oh, my God!’
‘Get away!’
‘It’s the BEAST!’
‘This isn’t too cool.’
‘Dude.’
‘Help me! Help!’
Lynn yelled, ‘Shit! Get out of here, everyone! Run!’
‘Leave me ALONE!’
‘Owie?’ Monica’s voice, a terrified whimper, came from directly behind him.
‘Monica?’
‘Owie, where are you?’
‘Phil!’
‘Get off me!’
‘The DOOR’S locked!’
‘Dude, let’s haul ass.’
‘Who locked the fuckin’ door!’
‘Right in front of you,’ Owen said.
‘NO! PLEASE!’
‘Dear God!’
‘Andy? Andy, where are you?’
Owen felt a hand pat his right shoulder-blade. Darke’s arms were hugging him much lower, just above his waist.
‘Is that you, Owie?’
‘It’s me. Are you all right?’
‘Fine and dandy, honey.’
Something punched into his back. He grunted from the impact. As a molten pain flashed through him, he felt the thing slide out. Then it pounded into him again. He squealed.
Darke made a strange grunting sound.
She suddenly jerked in his embrace, twisting him sideways and driving him backward. He bumped into people but kept stumbling backward as if Darke were playing a rough game of football in a strange, pitch-black stadium – a fierce little contender plowing against him, determined to drive him out of bounds.
At last, they fell.
On their way down, Darke turned him. They landed hard on their sides.
Darke pulled away from him. She turned him face-down against the cellar’s dirt floor.
Through the roar in his ears and the cries and shouts, he heard Darke say, ‘She stabbed you.’
‘Where . . .?’
‘In the back. The knife’s still in you.’
‘Where is she?’ Owen gasped.
‘Don’t know. Maybe we lost her. She’ll never find us in the dark.’
‘Unless I HEAR you!’ Monica blurted, glee in her voice.
Owen squealed with pain as the knife was suddenly jerked out of his back.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Sandy’s Story – June, 1997
Pistol in hand, steel bracelets shaking and rattling around her wrists, Sandy scurried on all fours through the tunnel. Dana seemed be to following her closely; the flashlight cast shadows and patches of light ahead of her.
She hurt everywhere.
But that was nothing new.
Nothing new, but worse. Though she’d been scratched up by Eric when he attacked her in Terry’s beach house, that had been child’s play compared to what she’d gone through last night.
Child’s play.
Literally.
At the time, barely conscious in the tunnel chamber, she’d expected not to live through it. She’d expected to end up like the two devoured bodies already hanging from the beam. And she’d figured that she most likely deserved it.
Payment in full for her many crimes.
Never should’ve raised Eric in the first place. Should’ve killed him when he was still a baby, before he could grow up and destroy so many lives.
Never should’ve killed Slade or Lib or Harry.
Never should’ve gotten Terry killed.
Never should’ve murdered Eric’s baby.
Did Eric know about that, somehow?
After running off, had he come sneaking back from time to time, spied on her during those endless nine months in the woods, maybe even watched through a window of the cabin as she gave birth . . . as she discovered that it was his son, not Terry’s, and with her pocket knife cut the umbilical cord first, and then the monster’s throat?
And this is payback time?
But as the beast tore at her and thrust into her last night, she’d found herself wondering from a faraway place at the edge of consciousness whether this really was Eric.
Has to be.
There IS no beast but Eric. He’s the last of them.