‘At this point,’ Janice interrupted, ‘Maggie put away the pistol and led her group of tourists out of the bedroom and into the hall. She brought them to the top of the stairway, where you are now standing.’
Maggie’s voice returned.
‘I was right here when gunshots came from downstairs. BOOM! BOOM! And then Joseph, he let out a scream fit to send shivers up a dead man. Lord, it turned my blood cold. But Joseph, he no sooner quit that awful scream than I heard feet thumping and scratching over the floor downstairs. They were bare feet. I could tell that from the sounds they made. And I could tell they had claws. It was the claws that made the scratching sounds.
‘The sounds came from downstairs, but they were rushing closer. And I knew they didn’t belong to Joseph. I thought maybe a bear had got into the house. But I’ve never been so wrong.
‘I was scared solid. I stood here at the top of the stairs and I wanted to scream and run down the hall and get the kids out, only I couldn’t move.
‘Then the thing was on the stairs. I couldn’t see much of how it looked, on account of the dark, but I saw how it stood upright like a man. It made snorty, laughing noises and hurried up the stairs. I still couldn’t run off, much as I wanted to. And then it got to the top and leaped on me and threw me down on the floor.
‘It ripped at me with its claws and teeth. I tried to fight it off, but I didn’t stand a chance. It was so much bigger than me, and stronger than any man I ever seen. I pretty much counted myself a dead person, but all of a sudden my little baby, Theodore, started crying in his nursery. The beast heard him, climbed off me and went scurrying down the hall. It was going after Theodore.
‘I was all scratched and bit and bloody, but I got to my feet and chased after it. Had to save my baby.’
Janice’s voice returned. ‘Maggie now led her tour group down the hall to the closed, locked door of the nursery. It is Station Six . . .’
Monica clicked off her player, looked Owen in the eyes, and raised her eyebrows.
Owen continued to listen.
‘. . . the last door on the right, directly across from the boys’ room. You may now turn off your tape players and resume listening when you reach the nursery’s open door.’
He shut off his player.
‘Beat you again,’ Monica said.
‘Yes, you did.’ He decided to leave it at that.
‘So now we have to walk all the way back to the other end of the hall again?’
‘Looks that way,’ Owen said.
‘How stupid is that?’ Monica said. ‘We just came from there.’
‘You don’t have to go.’
‘What am I supposed to do, wait here?’
‘It’s an option. Whatever you want.’
‘This is all so incredibly lame. And perverted.’
‘Well, I’m sorry. But you don’t have to go through with the rest of it.’ Owen didn’t want to start anything, so he tried to sound pleasant and sympathetic. ‘You obviously aren’t enjoying any of this. Why not just call it quits? You could stop listening and go on outside and wait for me. I’ll be along pretty soon. We can meet out by the ticket booth, or something.’
‘So then you can tell everyone what a party-pooper I am?’
‘Huh? Tell who?’
‘Oh, you know who. The usual suspects.’
‘Huh?’
‘Henry the Great, for instance. The fabulous Maureen. Jill, of course. And all the rest of your cronies.’
‘My cronies? Jeez, Monica. They’re just my friends. Cronies? And I’d hardly go around announcing to the world that you ducked out of the Beast House tour. I mean, why would anyone care?’
‘Oh, they’d care all right. It’d just give them one more reason to laugh at me behind my back.’
‘Nobody laughs at you.’
‘Oh, sure.’
‘Anyway, I won’t tell a soul. Why don’t you just go ahead and wait outside? I don’t think there’s much left. I’ll be down in a few minutes and then we can go somewhere and have a nice lunch. How does that sound?’
Monica hoisted a single, thin eyebrow. ‘Trying to get rid of me?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘So you can go sniffing around for that blonde?’
‘Huh?’
‘You know who I mean.’
‘I just want to do the rest of the tour, that’s all.’
‘Nobody’s stopping you,’ Monica said.
‘Fine. So, are you coming, or do you want to wait for me outside?’
She fixed her eyes on him. Beautiful, violet eyes. But they looked as if they could see into Owen – knew him and found him pitiful and amusing and comtemptible. After a few moments of silence, Monica said, ‘I believe I will wait outside, thank you. And I guess I know where I stand.’
Owen grimaced. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m in the way. So I’ll just go on outside, and you go on ahead and enjoy the tour.’
‘Monica, for . . .’
‘See you later. Maybe.’ She cast him a mean twitch of a smile, then whirled away and trotted down the stairs.
Owen opened his mouth, then shut it. He felt sick inside as if he’d just caused an ugly accident.
It’s not my fault, he told himself.
Other people were climbing the stairs, but he watched Monica on her way down. She descended the stairs with haughty stiffness. Her ponytail, mounted high on the back of her head by the girlish pink bow, bounced and flipped like the tail of an arrogant dog. She didn’t look back at him.
If I don’t go after her . . .
She wants me to miss Beast House!
Or maybe I’m just supposed to beg her to come back so we can finish the tour together.
Who the hell knows?
I’m not going after her.
He watched Monica walk out the front door. Then, still feeling sick, he turned away and started walking down the hallway toward the nursery.
How could she do this to me? We spent all that time coming here, and now she wants me to miss it.
A fucking power play.
Well, I’m not going to play along. The hell with her and her stupid games.
Owen joined a small group that was gathered just outside the nursery door. The door was open, but a cordon was stretched across the entrance to keep people out. Peering between a couple of heads, he glimpsed an old rocking horse on the floor, a wooden chest, and a cradle.
He adjusted his earphones, then thumbed the Play button.
Janice’s voice said, ‘Maggie never allowed tourists to see the nursery. She always kept the door closed and locked. When I purchased the house, however, I brought in a locksmith.’
She knew how much I wanted to see this stuff. Why couldn’t she just go along with it?
‘. . . in a jiffy, and we discovered that nothing had apparently been changed since the night when Theodore was killed.’
I don’t go around and ruin things for her.
‘. . . furniture was here, along with the baby’s rattles and stuffed animals.’
It isn’t fair.
‘. . . cradle where he was sleeping . . . even his bloodstains on the floor.’
I’ve wanted to come here for years. Seen all the movies, read the books, and now finally I get a chance to come and she’s gotta wreck it for me.
‘. . . if the door had been locked and never opened again after that awful night.’
Thanks a hell of a lot, Monica.
‘. . . nursery presents a gruesome and disturbing sight, I decided that everything should remain just as it was.’
She’ll probably be pouting for the rest of the trip.
‘. . . what Maggie . . .’
Like it’s all my fault. Like I’m some sort of asshole. And I’m gonna be stuck with her pouting and giving me grief all week. Maybe she’ll want to call the whole trip to a halt and fly on home tomorrow.
Maybe that’d wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
‘. . . I saw the awful, pale beast drag my little baby out of his cradle and fall upon him.’
It’s Maggie. Shit, I’ve missed . . .
‘. . . beyond my power to help him.’
Hand trembling, Owen shut off the player. He pushed the Rewind button.
As the tape hissed in his ears, a couple in front of him moved on, leaving the doorway clear. He stepped up to the cordon. Now he could see the entire nursery.
A rocking horse, its paint faded. Wooden blocks on the floor. A stuffed bunny, gray with dust and age.
Blood.
Dry blood, dark brown, all over the cradle and quilt.
A rag doll in the cradle, arms and legs spread, mouth a surprised O, cloth body stained all over. It looked like a mop-headed victim of a thrill killer.
The hardwood floor in front of the cradle was darkly stained.
On the flowered wallpaper six feet behind the cradle was a splatter pattern of blood that made Owen wonder if the beast had swung the baby around, maybe by its feet, after ripping it open.
There didn’t seem to be a wax figure of the infant.
Good thing, Owen thought. The nursery was bad enough without that.
Good thing Monica isn’t getting a look at this. She’d really flip out.
He could just hear her. Oh, Owie, how can you stand to look at this? There must really be something wrong with you. Maybe you need therapy. Has that ever occurred to you? I think you should definitely see someone about your problems.
The problem is you, honey.
Owen laughed softly.
A woman near his shoulder turned her head and frowned at him.
Blow it out your ass, lady.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered, trying to sound contrite.
She looked away.
And Owen suddenly realized that his tape player was still rewinding.
Shit!
He pressed the Stop button, then the Play.
Maggie’s voice.
‘. . . got done murdering Ethel, it went on a rampage around the room. It knocked over this bust of Caesar, breaking off his nose. See, this . . .’
Owen shut it off.
He stared at the player.
How the hell far back . . .? That’s in Ethel’s room. Right at the start of the tour!
He sighed. He almost felt like crying.
Thanks a lot, Monica.
He pressed the Fast Forward button.
Now it’s gonna take forever. And she’ll be down there waiting for me, getting madder and madder . . .
He shut it off.
Then he stepped away from the nursery door and started making his way through the crowded hallway.
Heading for the stairs.
Because it was over.
He wouldn’t be able to enjoy the tour, anyway. Not with Monica in his head.
Maybe someday I’ll be able to come back again – without her – and get to go on the tour without having it ruined.
Owen walked out onto the porch of Beast House. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes and made him squint.
Monica, standing near the end of the porch, saw him and tilted her head sideways. Then she hurried over to him. ‘That didn’t take so long,’ she said, sounding quite cheerful.
‘Nope,’ Owen said, and pulled off his earphones.
They stepped past the hanging body of Gus Goucher and walked down the stairs.
‘So,’ Monica said. ‘Was it everything you expected?’
‘It was fine.’
‘Great! I’m glad at least one of us had a good time.’
‘Yeah.’
She took hold of his hand as they walked toward the ticket booth. He didn’t pull it away.
‘Look at all these people,’ she said. ‘Don’t they know what they’re letting themselves in for?’
‘Probably not,’ Owen said.
As they neared the booth, he saw that the person handing out tape players to arriving visitors was the guide he’d seen by the attic stairs.
The tall, fabulous blonde.
The tight cold knot inside his chest suddenly seemed to start melting.
My God, look at her.
‘Oh, great,’ Monica muttered. Apparently, she too had recognized the girl. ‘King Kong.’
Owen felt no anger.
He stared at the guide. She was sure large, all right, but she had a very good figure. She looked great in the tan blouse and shorts that seemed to be the uniform for Beast House guides. Her bare arms and legs were softly tanned. Unfortunately, she wore sunglasses. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he had no trouble remembering how they’d looked upstairs in the house – deep blue and intelligent and sensitive.
Though busy handing out tape players and giving instructions to a family of four, she flashed a smile of big white teeth at Owen and Monica. In a smooth, friendly voice, she said to them, ‘I’ll take those from you in just a moment, okay?’
‘Fine,’ Owen said. He felt weak.
He watched her until the family headed off toward Beast House. Then he and Monica stepped toward her. ‘Sorry you had to wait,’ she said, taking their players and headphones. ‘I hope you enjoyed the tour.’
‘It was very nice,’ Owen said.
She wore a red plastic nameplate above her right breast. It read, DANA.
‘Did you come from far away?’ she asked.
‘We took the bus over from San Francisco.’
‘Really? How was the ride?’
‘Long,’ Monica said. ‘Endless and . . .’
‘It was fine,’ Owen said, shooting a hard glance at Monica.
She gave him back a smug smile.
To Dana, he said, ‘The guide on the bus – Patty – she was really good.’
‘Glad to hear it. So, do you think Beast House was worth the trip?’
‘I sure thought so,’ Owen said.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Monica shaking her head.
‘I thought it was really great,’ he added.
‘Terrific,’ Dana said. ‘Well, I hope you both enjoy the rest of your day.’
‘Thank you. You, too.’
‘So long, now.’
‘Bye,’ Owen said and hurried away from her, dragging Monica by the hand.
Chapter Thirteen
The Snack Stand
I wonder what their problem is, Dana thought as she watched the couple hurry away. The guy had seemed awfully embarrassed and uncomfortable about something. Girlfriend troubles, probably. The girl with him had looked smirky and mean.
She remembered seeing them upstairs, earlier.
The gal had seemed unpleasant even then. Maybe she was one of those people who hated the place.
Dana had spotted a few of those, already. You could tell just by looking that they found the tour disgusting and horrible. Hard to imagine they’d simply stumbled into the situation. How could they not know they were walking into a houseful of gruesome, nasty stories and exhibits?
Some of the visitors had probably gotten pushed into giving it a try. Maybe a friend or spouse or child had desperately wanted to do the Beast House tour, so they’d gone along, wanting to be good sports.
Lousy idea.
The tour was hard enough on people when they knew what to expect and wanted it – or thought they did.
Dana supposed that it turned out, for many, to be worse than they bargained for.
Sure was worse than I expected.
Even though Dana had pretty much known what she was in for, she hadn’t lasted very long upstairs. She’d been fine for a while. But the hallway had become hot and stuffy later in the morning. And crowded. With every minute that passed, more and more people had packed themselves into the narrow spaces.
Some were arguing with each other. Little kids demanded this or that in whiny sharp voices. Mothers snapped at the kids. Fathers issued orders and threats. Babies squealed and bawled.
Along with the noisy mob and the heat came the odors. The air smelled heavy with them. In addition to the musty aroma
natural to the old house, the air had grown thick with the pungency of sweet perfumes and aftershave lotions and sour sweat. You could smell food on the breaths of some people. Others reeked of stale cigarette smoke. Now and then, Dana even caught whiffs of farts.
Eventually, she’d found herself suffocating, dizzy and nauseous. Each time she blinked her eyes, everything in sight had flashed with rims of bright, electric blue. Slumping against a wall, she’d snatched the radio off her belt and called for Tuck.
Dana was pulled out of her thoughts by the approach of a couple of teenaged boys. Smiling, she said, ‘Welcome to Beast House, guys.’
One smiled in a shy way, and the other said, ‘Thanks.’
‘May I see your tickets, please?’ The boys handed them over, and she ripped them in half. Giving half a ticket back to each boy, she said, ‘Be sure to keep your stubs, okay? They’ll get you half-price admission to the Beast House Museum over on Front Street.’
‘Is it any good?’ asked the larger boy. He was tall and gawky, with stringy brown hair that fell past his shoulders. Dark blue sunglasses hid his eyes. He wore a T-shirt that read HOWARD STERN – KING OF ALL MEDIA.
‘It’s a must,’ Dana told him. ‘A lot of the actual stuff is over there. Like some of the real clothes the victims were wearing – all shredded and bloody.’
‘Oh, cool,’ said the Howard fan.
‘Way cool,’ said his buddy, a short and chubby fellow wearing a Beavis and Butthead T-shirt.
‘You guys are gonna love this stuff,’ Dana said, then turned away to take down a couple of tape players.
‘I love it already,’ the Howard fan said.
His friend cackled.
Dana turned around. ‘Here you go, fellas.’ She gave them the players. ‘Hang these around your necks by the orange straps. It’s a self-guided tour. The tapes are all rewound and ready to go. Just wait till you get to the front porch.’
‘Where that stiff’s hanging?’
The Beavis and Butthead fan cackled and blurted, ‘Stiff! He said stiff!’
Dana laughed and shook her head. ‘Right. That’s Station Number One, where the stiff is hung.’