Allhallow''s Eve: (Richard Laymon Horror Classic)

  ‘Do you think so?’ she asked, sounding relieved.

  ‘I’m positive.’

  There were a few moments of silence, rare during conversations with Aleshia. ‘You don’t suppose,’ she finally said, ‘that somebody concocted this other party just to spite me, do you?’

  Eddie laughed. ‘Who’d do that?’

  ‘Just about anyone I didn’t invite to my party, of course.’

  ‘Well, maybe, but I doubt it. I think it’s just a coincidence.’

  ‘Maybe yes and maybe no. Anyhow, I have a jillion calls to make. I’ll give you a buzz later.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Around ten.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘From my bed.’

  He grinned. ‘Okay, great. Talk to you then.’

  ‘Bye-bye.’ She hung up.

  ‘Beth, telephone. It’s Aleshia.’

  ‘Right there,’ she called to her father. She flipped through the pages of her physiology book, counting. Six to go in the chapter, but two were mostly diagrams. Not so bad. She could handle that.

  She dropped a pencil into the crack of the open book, and got up from her desk. As she stood, she watched herself in the window reflection. The image on the dark glass, transparent as a ghost, hinted of beauty and mystery. It looked good to Beth.

  In the reflection, her freckles and braces didn’t show.

  With a shrug, she turned away. Her eyes avoided the full-length mirror on the closet door: it would show details she didn’t want to see.

  She hurried down the upstairs hallway, entered her parents’ room, and picked up the telephone extension.

  ‘… absolutely marvelous pyramid, and then we all collapse into a pile …’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ Beth said.

  ‘Okie-doke,’ said her father. ‘Bye now, Aleshia.’

  ‘Bye-bye, Mr Green.’

  Beth heard the phone go down. ‘Hi-ho,’ she said.

  ‘I just adore your father.’

  ‘He’s not bad,’ Beth said, smiling.

  ‘I only wish my father was as cute and charming.’

  Beth shrugged. She had never seen Aleshia’s father. He seemed to be out of town constantly.

  ‘Anyhow, I just gave you a buzz to find out if you’re coming to my Halloween party.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, confused. She’d already told Aleshia she would be there. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘It appears that someone has decided to go into competition.’

  ‘Oh, you mean the other Halloween party?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘You think it’s for real?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘It looks awfully queer.’

  ‘Queer?’

  ‘First off, my invitation wasn’t signed. It doesn’t give the first hint about who’s throwing the party, or even ask for an RSVP.’ She sat on the edge of the bed, and lay back. ‘Second, it’s supposed to be at the old Sherwood house. That place has been boarded up for as long as I can remember. How’d they even get in to have a party? I just think the whole thing’s queer. I bet somebody sent out those invitations for a gag.’

  ‘Or to ruin my party.’

  ‘If it is for real, nobody’s gonna go. Nobody with sense, anyway. I wouldn’t be caught dead in the old Sherwood house myself.’

  ‘Oh, I imagine half the kids in town would love to get in there, especially on Halloween night. It is the creepiest place in the whole world. Wouldn’t you like to see where it all happened?’

  ‘No. Thanks anyway.’

  ‘I certainly would, but not when I’m having my own party. I’ll just die if nobody shows up ’cause they’re all over at the Sherwood house traipsing through gore.’

  Beth laughed softly. ‘I don’t think the gore’s still there. Someone must’ve cleaned it up. I mean, it’s been about fifteen years or something.’ The hand resting on her flat belly bounced as she laughed. ‘And even if it didn’t get cleaned up, it’d be all dry, by now. It’d take a putty knife to pry it off the floor.

  ‘Beth! You’re awful!’

  Beth couldn’t stop laughing. Her eyes teared. ‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, wouldn’t that be a sight …! Some old janitor crawling around with a putty knife … trying … trying to jimmy the guts off the floor!’

  ‘Beth, you’re sick,’ Aleshia said through her own laughter.

  ‘Ohhh. Oh wow.’ She wiped her eyes, and tried to catch her breath. ‘Oh. Don’t know … what got into me.’

  ‘While you’re on that subject, who’s your date for the party?’

  Beth took a deep, shaky breath. ‘I … I don’t know.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Beth, the party’s tomorrow night!’

  ‘Oh, I’ll find someone to take me.’

  ‘I certainly do hope so. Well, I’d better leave you, now. I’ve got a jillion more calls to make.’

  ‘Are you phoning everyone you invited?’

  ‘I just might, Beth.’

  Karen Bennett sat at the kitchen table of her rented house, correcting a stack of papers turned in yesterday by her fourth period class. She finished Dave Sanderson’s Halloween theme. At the bottom, in red ink, she scribbled, ‘Cats are people, too.’ She flipped to the front page and marked the top B-.

  She took a sip of Chablis.

  She scooted a bit farther forward, and gently rubbed the underside of her right leg. Earlier, she’d bandaged the worst of the scratches. For the past hour or so, they’d been feeling itchy. If she used her fingernails, though, they hurt.

  That creep, Houlder. She really ought to report him. She couldn’t write him up, though, without implicating Bill. She hated to do that.

  Hell with it.

  She lowered her eyes to the next theme, and moaned. Jim Miller had used a pencil. After all the times she’d told them only to use ink. Doesn’t anybody listen, for Christsake? She picked up her red pen.

  ‘Use ink only!’ she wrote at the top.

  Then she began to read. ‘Halloween is the time for tricks and treats. Little kids get dressed up like pirates and hobos and wiches and nurses, and docters and bums …’

  The telephone rang.

  Thank God.

  She put down her pen, picked up her wine glass, and went to the phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Miss Bennett. This is Aleshia.’

  ‘Oh, hi Aleshia.’

  ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

  ‘No, not at all. What’s up?’ Reaching down, she scratched the back of her leg, and winced.

  ‘I’m calling about my Halloween party?’

  ‘Yes. I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Oh good. I was a little bit worried that you might change your mind, or something.’

  ‘I’ve already got my costume ready.’

  ‘Oh, super. I was just wondering, because it turns out there’s this other party tomorrow night and I’m afraid some people might decide to go to it instead of mine.’

  ‘Not me.’

  ‘Did you get an invitation to it?’

  ‘No. Yours is the only one I got.’

  ‘Maybe they’re not asking teachers.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘I mean, I didn’t invite any, either. Just you. But that’s because you’re really special, and not like a real teacher.’

  ‘I’m not?’ She grinned. ‘I hope the Board of Education doesn’t find out.’

  ‘I mean, you’re a real teacher. You’re the best. But you’re not like the others. You listen to us, and stuff.’

  ‘Well …’ She realized she was blushing. ‘Thank you, Aleshia.’

  ‘Do you have a date?’

  ‘He’s all lined up,’

  ‘Oh good. Who is it?’

  ‘That’ll be my secret.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Bennett.’

  ‘You’ll find out, tomorrow night.’

  ‘Is it someone I know?’

  ‘
That’d be telling.’

  ‘You’re awful!’

  ‘An ogre.’

  ‘Well, I’m just dying to see who it is. I’d better hang up, now. You must have a jillion things to do.’

  ‘Nice talking to you.’

  ‘Okay. Goodnight.’

  ‘Night, Aleshia. See you tomorrow.’

  She hung up, and stared across the kitchen at the pile of Halloween themes. A jillion things to do. Seemed like a jillion, all right, when she had to struggle through pencil-written messes like that turkey Jim Miller turned in.

  She took a sip of wine.

  With a sigh, she returned to the table.

  12

  Just outside the city limits of Dendron, a town fifteen miles east of Ashburg, the Volvo slowed and swung into the driveway of the Sleepy Hollow Inn.

  Sun eased off the gas. He watched Elmer drive up the L-shaped lane where half a dozen cars were already parked. The Volvo pulled into a space. Sam wanted to stop. He needed to see which room Elmer entered. The risk of being spotted was too great, though, so he drove past the motel.

  He made a U-turn. He sped back to the entrance and pulled in, but Elmer was nowhere in sight. Slowly, Sam drove down the parking area. He counted twelve rooms, each with a bright orange door. Every room had two parking spaces. Elmer’s Volvo was in front of Four, beside a white Datsun.

  Probably, he’d gone into Four.

  Light came through the room’s pale curtains.

  The spaces in front of Six were empty. Sam pulled in, and climbed from his car. A cold wind blew against him. He zipped his jacket, stuffed his hands into its pockets, and strolled up the walkway.

  Slowing to listen at Four, he heard voices and laughter from a television. The sliding windows were shut. Nothing showed through the curtains. He kept walking.

  He went to the motel office. It was well-lighted and warn. A young woman behind the registration desk looked up at him from a magazine. She took off her glasses and smiled. ‘Hi. How are you tonight?’

  ‘Just fine,’ Sam said. Stepping close to the desk, he caught the odor of her perfume. The same perfume Cynthia wore. Suddenly, he was struck by her beauty: her wide eyes, her full lips and soft chin, the way her hair hung softly to her shoulders. She wore a white pullover that hugged her breasts.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.

  Sam raised his eyes to her face. She looked amused, one eyebrow high. Was he that obvious about studying her? He blushed.

  ‘I don’t come with the rooms,’ she said.

  Sam laughed. ‘You’re a mind reader.’

  ‘I know a randy man when I see one.’

  ‘I’m randy, but I’m engaged.’ It was a minor lie; he felt engaged, but so far hadn’t asked Cynthia.

  ‘Is the lucky girl with you?’

  ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘Then you’ll probably want a single.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not here for a room.’ Reaching into his rear pocket, he took out his billfold. He held it open on the desk. ‘My name’s Sam Wyatt.’

  ‘Is that real gold?’ the woman asked, staring at his shield.

  ‘Gold-plated.’

  ‘Okay if I touch?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Her fingertips stroked the badge. ‘Say, that’s nice.’ She grinned up at him. ‘Are you here to arrest someone?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Not me, I hope.’

  ‘Not you.’

  ‘That’s good.’ She slipped the badge out of the wallet. ‘It’s a heavy thing.’

  ‘I need to know who’s in number Four.’

  ‘Sure.’ She pinned the badge on her sweater. It dragged down the soft fabric, and settled on her left breast. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Terrific.’

  ‘Melodie Caine, homicide.’ Folding her hands on the desk, she leaned forward. ‘Are you a homicide cop?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, losing his smile. ‘Afraid I am, tonight.’

  Melodie’s smile dissolved. ‘I guess this is serious, then.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Hold on.’ She opened a file box, flipped through a few cards, and pulled one out. ‘This is the registration card for unit four.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Sam looked at the neatly printed name. ‘Ms Mary Jones.’ The home address was in Greendale, a suburb of Milwaukee.

  ‘Is she your suspect?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Sam wished he’d thought to bring the photo along. ‘What’d she look like?’

  Melodie’s heavy lips pressed together. Her eyebrows drew downward. ‘She’s about thirty-five or forty. She’s a couple of inches taller than me, and thin. Too much make-up, especially around the eyes. I couldn’t see what she was wearing, except for a gray trench-coat. I think she wore heels, though. And nylons, of course.’

  ‘What color was her hair?’

  ‘Blond. Dishwater blond.’

  ‘When did she arrive?’

  ‘Tonight. Half an hour ago, I guess. Think she’s the one?’

  ‘I don’t know. Could be.’

  ‘Want to find out?’

  Sam nodded.

  Melodie bent down, the badge swinging as it tugged her sweater out. She straightened, and dangled a key in front of Sam. ‘Okay if I come along?’

  ‘Better not. I don’t expect trouble, but you never know.’

  She gave him the key. ‘Hurry back.’

  Sam left the office. He was halfway to the room when he realized Melodie still had his badge. He didn’t want to bother going back for it.

  ‘Sam?’

  He looked around. Melodie was standing in the office doorway, the wind blowing her hair.

  ‘Want your badge?’ she asked.

  ‘Later.’

  She stayed in the doorway, and folded her arms across her breasts. Sam turned away. He walked to the door of Four. Standing aside, he knocked. Seconds passed. He knocked again.

  Over the sound of the television, a woman’s voice called, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Ms Jones?’ he asked.

  ‘Just a minute.’

  He lowered his hand, and popped open the safety strap of his holster. His stomach felt tight. He took a deep breath, trembling as he exhaled.

  The door opened several inches until its guard chain rattled taut. A woman’s face appeared in the gap. Her eyes met Sam’s. She blinked, and her mouth dropped open. ‘Mr Wyatt?’

  He stared, confused, trying to recall where he’d seen her. Then he remembered. This morning. Across the street from Dexter’s house. ‘Mrs Barnes?’

  ‘What … what are you doing here?’

  ‘Is Elmer Cantwell inside?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘His car’s parked in front.’

  ‘So? I don’t know any Elmer Cantwell.’

  ‘Who’s with you?’

  ‘My husband.’

  ‘You came all the way out here to a motel with your husband?’

  ‘Yes. We … like the privacy. Away from home.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to him.’

  ‘He’s in the bathroom.’

  ‘I can’t leave until I’ve seen him.’

  ‘Goddamn it,’ she muttered. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  ‘Mrs Barnes, I’m not interested in your personal life. I certainly have no intention of telling anyone you were out here. But I’m investigating a homicide, and I have to know if Elmer’s in there with you.’

  Holding her blouse shut with one hand, she wiped tears from her eyes and smeared her mascara.

  ‘Tell him to come to the door.’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Do you read the “Crime call” in the Clarion?’

  Her chin started to tremble.

  ‘If I have to arrest you, Mrs Barnes, you’ll be reading about yourself. So will everyone else in town, including your husband and daughter.’

  ‘You can’t arrest me,’ she muttered.

  ‘Of course I can. Tell Elmer to come to the door. Right now.’

  The
door shut.

  Looking to the side, Sam saw Melodie standing in the office doorway, still watching. She raised an open hand in greeting. Sam nodded.

  He heard the guard chain rattle and skid. Then the door swung open. Elmer, fully dressed, smiled out at him. ‘May I help you, Mister Wyatt?’

  ‘I’m looking for Thelma.’

  ‘Do you think she’s here?’

  ‘Mind if I look?’

  Elmer blinked his bulging eyes. ‘You’ve seen who’s with me.’

  ‘I’d like to look around.’

  ‘You are a persistent devil.’

  Elmer stepped aside, and Sam entered the room. The Barnes woman was nowhere in sight. One of the double beds was messed, its blankets still in place but rumpled. A bottle of Scotch stood on the night table, two drinking glasses beside it. Green slacks were folded neatly over the back of a chair.

  Dropping to his knees, Sam glanced under the bed.

  Elmer chuckled.

  Sam pulled open the closet door. Then he said, ‘Ask Mrs Barnes to come out of the bathroom, please.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s necessary?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thelma is not hiding in the tub, if that’s what’s on your suspicious little mind.’

  ‘I’d like to make sure.’

  ‘With a loud sigh, Elmer stepped to the bathroom door.

  ‘Ticia? Mister Wyatt wants you to come out.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Do as he says, darling.’ Elmer scowled at Sam. ‘You’ve upset her terribly, you realize.’

  The door opened. Ticia Barnes came out, her blouse now buttoned, a bathtowel wrapped around her waist. She glared at Sam. Her eyes looked red from crying, but the dark smudges of mascara were gone.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Sam said. He stepped past her, and entered the bathroom. He slid open the shower door. Nobody in the tub. He shut it. Turning away, he looked at the toilet. Its lid was down.

  He glanced at the empty sink, then back to the toilet.

  Crazy, he thought. But he couldn’t stop himself.

  Bending, he raised the lid.

  A face looked up at him and he leaped back, gasping, before he realized he’d seen only his own reflection on the water. The lid crashed down.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Elmer asked.

  Sam didn’t answer. He stepped out of the bathroom.