The Beast House
The Beast House
Richard Laymon
LEISURE BOOKS NEW YORK CITY
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Letters
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Praise
Other Books By
Copyright
March 31, 1979
Mr. Gorman Hardy, author
Baylor and Jones Publishing Co.
1226 Ave. of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Dear Mr. Hardy,
I am writing to you because I have just read your book, Horror at Black River Falls, which I know was a best seller and must have made you a fortune. As the book is supposed to be a true story, I am wondering whether or not you might want to write a story I know of. It is also a true story. It is even more horrible than what you wrote in your other book. Let me tell you, it makes my hair stand up just thinking about it, and I don’t scare so easy.
It is about a haunted house in the town where I live, except the house isn’t literally haunted if you mean ghosts. It is haunted by some kind of thing that’s slaughtered maybe fifteen or more people over the passed hundred years. I mean slaughtered. It makes mincemeat out of them.
I think it would make a terrific book for you to write.
If this sounds interesting to you, please let me know right away as I’ll find someone else otherwise. I happen to think this is right up your alley. You can call it Horror at Malcasa Point, which is where I live and where the house is that the monster lives in, which is known as Beast House. Maybe you have heard of it.
Here is where I come in. Last Summer, I got my hands on this really ancient diary that was written in 1903 by Lilly Thorn. I work at my parents’ motel, and found the diary under mysterious circumstances in one of the rooms I was cleaning. Nobody knows I have it. (Except now you know. You must promise to keep this a secret, as I would be in deep sh trouble if words of it got to certain people. I mean seriously. We are talking here about my life.)
Anyhow, this diary I found is hot stuff. Lilly Thorn, the woman that wrote it, was the very first person ever to live in Beast House, and she goes into all kinds of details about where the monster came from, and what it’s like, and everything. I mean everything. If you can believe this, she even had sexual intercourse with it. I don’t mean once, but constantly like she was obsessed. It’s steamy stuff, as you can see from the xerox of the page I’ll attach. The diary also goes into the first murders and let me tell you, this sure is not the way they tell it on the tour!
So if you are interested in another best seller, I think you should let me know and maybe we can split the take.
Sincerely,
Janice Crogan
The Welcome Inn
Malcasa Point, CA 95405
P.S.: This thing here makes your ghost in Black River Falls look like a sissy.
From Diary I Found
He moved behind me. His claws pierced my back, forcing me to my knees. I felt the slippery warmth of his flesh press down on me, and I knew with certainty what he was about. The thought of it appalled me to the heart, and yet I was somehow thrilled by the touch of him, and strangely eager.
He mounted me from behind, a manner unusual for humans as it is customary among many lower animals. At the first touch of his organ, fear wrenched my vitals, not for the safety of my flesh but for my everlasting soul. And yet I allowed him to continue. I know, now, that no power of mine could have prevented him from having his will with me. I made no attempt to resist, however. On the contrary, I welcomed his entry. I hungered for it as if I somehow presaged its magnificence.
Oh Lord, how he plundered me! How his claws tore my flesh! How his teeth bore into me! How his prodigious organ battered my tender womb. How brutal he was in his savagery, how gentle his heart.
I knew, as we lay spent on the earthen cellar floor,
P.S.: See what I mean?
GORMAN HARDY
PO Box 253
Cambridge, Mass. 03138
June 3, 1979
Miss Janice Crogan
The Welcome Inn
Malcasa Point, CA 95405
Dear Janice,
I must begin by offering an apology for the lengthy delay in answering. Unfortunately, my publisher was rather slow in forwarding your letter of March 31.
Since the publication of Horror at Black River Falls, I have been bombarded by fan letters, not a few of which offered ideas to inspire another blockbuster. Most such suggestions, of course, were utter tripe. Yours, however, did arouse my curiosity.
Unfortunately, my preliminary research has turned up very little about “Beast House.” I was able to determine, through various traveler’s guides of California, only that such a place does exist in the town of Malcasa Point, that several murders allegedly took place there, and that guided tours of the house are available. While this information is rather paltry, it does substantiate several of the claims made in your letter.
I found myself most intrigued by the photocopy you enclosed of the diary page. If the diary proves to be authentic and if it contains sufficient material along the lines you suggest, it might very well provide a launching pad for a study of “Beast House.”
Naturally, I must read the diary in its entirety before making any commitment. Enclosed find my check in the amount of twenty dollars to cover copying and mailing expenses.
Very truly
Gorman Hardy
June 11, 1979
Gorman Hardy
PO Box 253
Cambridge, Mass. 03138
Dear Mr. Hardy,
Enclosed is your check for twenty dollars. I am really glad you are interested and I am sure your not trying to pull something, but no way am I going to send you the whole diary because where does that leave me? Maybe I am paranoid, but I need to have an agreement about my split before you can see any more diary. I think fifty-fifty would be fair, as its all my idea and you can’t do anything without the diary.
Sincerely,
Janice Crogan
GORMAN HARDY
PO Box 253
Cambridge, Mass. 03138
June 16, 1979
Miss Janice Crogan
The Welcome Inn
Malcasa Point, CA 95405
Dear Janice,
Naturally, I am disappointed by your response concerning the diary. I do, however, understand your reluctance to place trust in a total stranger. As a professional writer for nearly twenty years, I have frequently been “stabbed in the back,” not only by strangers but by those I deemed friends. One can never be too cautious.
While I do not feel that the situation, at this time, warrants an agreement of any kind, I want to assure you that I remain interested in pursuing the project.
During the last w
eekend in August, I will be addressing a convention of the National Library Association in San Francisco. If you are agreeable to the arrangement, I will visit Malcasa Point following the convention, prepared to discuss terms with you, read the diary, and embark on such research as will be necessary to get the project under way.
Very truly,
Gorman Hardy
CHAPTER ONE
“What you need,” Nora said, “is a good fucking.”
“I see.”
“Look around you, take your pick. You’re the bestlooking gal here.”
Tyler didn’t look. Instead, she took a sip of her Baileys.
“I’m serious,” Nora said.
“You’re plastered.”
“Plastered but lucid, hon. You need a good fucking. You’ve been pissin’ and moanin’ ever since we got to San Francisco. Shit, if you didn’t want to come to the convention, you should’ve stayed home.”
“I didn’t know it’d be this bad,” Tyler said.
“What’d you expect, Ringling Brothers? These things are always a drag. What do you want from a bunch of librarians?”
“It’s not that.”
“What is it?”
“The city.”
“What’s wrong with the city? It’s gorgeous.”
“I know.”
“You pissed ’cause the cable cars aren’t running?”
“Sure,” Tyler said. She tried to smile, but couldn’t.
“Come on, what’s wrong? Cough it up.”
“I just feel rotten, that’s all.”
“Rotten how?”
“Rotten lonely.” Tyler lowered her gaze from Nora’s shadowy face. She stared at the candle in front of her. Its flame streaked and blurred as tears came to her eyes. She backhanded the tears away, and took a drink of her Irish cream. “It’s this damn city,” she said. “Being here again. I thought I’d be okay, but…everywhere I go, everywhere I look, they’re all places I’ve been with him.”
“A guy.”
Tyler nodded. “He even brought me up here once to see the revolving bar. We had margaritas. Then we walked down to North Beach and went to the City Lights and that second-hand bookstore across the alley I showed you yesterday.”
“When was all this?”
“About five years ago. I was a senior at San Francisco State. Dan—that was his name—Dan Jenson. He lived in Mill Valley, over in Marin. I met him on the Dipsey Trail.”
Nora made a face. “The Dipsey Trail?”
“It goes from Mill Valley, up into the hills around Mount Tam, and finally ends up at Stinson Beach. Anyway, that’s where we met. I was hiking it with my roommate, and he was running it to get in shape for the annual race…”
“And it was love at first sight?”
“He knocked me on my can,” Tyler said. The memory of it forced a smile. “I gave him hell for running me down. Not exactly love at first sight. That came later—five, six minutes later.”
“Was it one-sided?”
“I think he loved me, too.”
“So what went…oh no.” Nora suddenly looked stricken with pity. “He died?”
“Hardly. I was accepted for graduate school at UCLA and he had a job in Mill Valley. I wouldn’t give up grad school, he wouldn’t give up his job. Simple as that.”
“Jesus, I don’t believe it. You just threw each other away like that?”
“We both wanted our careers. I told him he could be a cop anywhere, but…he was very stubborn. So was I.”
“That was the end of it?”
“I wrote him a letter. He never…The way he looked at it, the whole mess was my fault. I was supposed to drop everything and marry him.”
“Oh Christ, he actually proposed to you?”
“He actually did.”
“Brother.”
“And you know what else?”
“What?”
“I’m twenty-six, I’ve got a job half the people at this convention would kill to get, and I’m thinking I made the biggest mistake of my life when I left Dan.”
“This just occurred to you?”
“It occurred to me a long time ago. I just figured, you know, I’d meet someone else.”
“And you haven’t.”
“Nobody I love.”
“What’re you gonna do about it?”
“What can I do? I made my choice five years ago. I just have to live with it.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Yeah. There’s always the Golden Gate. Conveniently located.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Nora said.
“I really feel…oh shit,” she muttered as she started weeping again. “I really feel…sometimes…like I threw my life away.”
“Hey, hey.” Nora reached across the table and took her hand. “It’s not the end of the world. What I was gonna suggest—you feel so strongly about this, why not give him another shot? We’re how far from Mill Valley? Not very far, are we?”
Tyler shrugged and sniffed. “I don’t know, half an hour.”
“So drive over tomorrow and look him up.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s been five years! He’s probably already married…He might not even live there anymore.”
“If that job was so important he let you slip out of his fingers, he’ll be there.”
“I can’t, Nora.”
“Why not take a shot? What’ve you got to lose? For all you know…”
“No.” The thought of it made her sick with dread.
“If you need some moral support, I’ll come with you.”
Tyler said, “We have to drive back tomorrow.”
“What for? We’ve got two more glorious weeks of summer vacation before the rat race starts. What’s so important you have to get home? ’Fraid your house-plants’ll croak? Let’s drive over to Marin, first thing in the morning, and try to find this Dan of yours. If it doesn’t work out, what’ve we lost? An hour or so? We can still make it to LA by dark.”
“I don’t know. I want to think about it.”
“What’s to think about? Go for it.”
“I don’t know.” Tyler finished her Baileys. She rubbed her face. “I…feel so confused. I’m going back to my room. Are you gonna stay here?”
Nora nodded. “Night’s young. I’ll leave the connecting door unlocked. Wake me up at first light, okay?”
“First light? Sure thing.”
In her room on the sixth floor, Tyler flopped onto the bed. The ceiling seemed to be revolving slowly like the bar she’d just left.
She’d had too many drinks.
How many? Let’s see. Three vodka tonics at the cocktail party before the banquet. God knows how much wine with dinner. Three or four glassfuls, maybe. Then two snifters of Baileys Irish Cream in the bar with Nora. No wonder the ceiling wouldn’t stand still.
No wonder she’d blabbed.
If she’d been sober, she would’ve kept all that about Dan to herself. Nothing like a few drinks to loosen the tongue, make you say things you wish you hadn’t.
Let Nora put down a few more, maybe she won’t remember and they can drive on back tomorrow the way they’d planned.
Fat chance.
I can always tell her no. Put my foot down.
Her legs were hanging off the side of the bed. Her feet, resting on the floor, felt cramped. With an effort, she lifted one across her knee and pulled the shoe off. She sat up to take off the other, then remained motionless while a wave of dizziness passed.
At least she didn’t feel nauseated. Just a little tipsy.
Tipsy’s the word for it, all right, she thought, and let herself tip over. She drew her legs up and lay on her side, a bent arm cushioning her head.
What’ll I do?
Stir your bones and take some aspirin and a few glasses of water or you’ll really feel like hell in the morning.
The morning. God, the morning. What’ll I do?
Tell No
ra no. No, no, Nora, I don’t want to go.
Why not?
Because, damn it, it would hurt too much to see him again—even to try. He’ll have a wife, and she could’ve been me. You don’t know he’s married. He might be single and lonely. He might still want you.
Sure thing.
Why did I open my mouth to Nora? Because I drank too much. And if I fall asleep like this, I’ll be sorry.
Rolling onto her back, she drew up the skirt of her sheath dress. She raised a leg, and started to unfasten a stocking from her garter belt.
Dan hated pantyhose. To please him, she’d stopped wearing the things. She’d never gone back to them.
She’d never gone back to smoking pot, either.
And she still wore her hair short, the way he liked it. Makes you look like Peter Pan, he’d said. Peter Pan’s a boy, she’d reminded him, and added that perhaps the hairstyle appealed to his latent homosexuality. Oh yeah? he’d said. Come here and we’ll see if I’m a fag.
Big macho cop.
God, she missed him.
She pulled the garter belt out from under her. She slipped her panties down, and kicked them off. Then she stretched, enjoying the feel of the cool bedspread against her buttocks and legs. She could doze off right now, so easily. With a deep sigh, she sat up. She struggled with the zipper at the back of her dress, pulled the dress over her head, and removed her bra. She climbed off the bed and started to gather her clothes.
While she’d kept her hair the same, stayed away from pantyhose and pot, changed very little about herself since leaving Dan, there was one major difference. She’d been chubby, then. In her first term at UCLA, she’d dropped fifteen pounds. As if she’d left her appetite with Dan. Though the appetite had eventually returned, she’d had no trouble keeping the weight off.
She took her nightgown from the suitcase, but didn’t put it on. She stepped in front of the mirror. Her eyes looked a little funny. That was the booze. She drew a forefinger over her cheekbone. For all Dan knew, she didn’t have cheekbones. Or a waist. Or hipbones.