Allhallow's Eve: (Richard Laymon Horror Classic) Page 11

  ‘Hey, offa the merchandise,’ he said.

  Beth recognized the voice. Squirming onto her side, she saw the grinning, whiskered face of Nate Houlder.

  ‘I mean, I know you’re crazy about me but this is ridic …’

  Her elbow dug into his ribs as she raised herself.

  ‘Oomph! Jesus Christ!’ He slammed her elbow away and she flopped onto him, her cheek against his scratchy chin, her breasts mashed against his chest, her hips inside his open legs.

  Beth tried to push away, but he held her to him.

  ‘Let go!’

  ‘Nate Houlder!’ Aleshia snapped.

  Others had already gathered around, laughing and whistling and offering comments.

  ‘Put it to her, Houlder!’

  ‘Right on, right on!’

  ‘Let her go!’

  ‘Oaf.’

  He bumped up against her, ramming his groin against her lap, bouncing her.

  ‘Stop!’ she cried.

  ‘Have at it, Houlder!’

  ‘Leave her alone.’

  ‘Give her one for me!’

  ‘Oooh baby,’ Nate said. ‘Oooh baby, I like it, I like it.’

  ‘Teacher’s coming!’

  Nate suddenly flung her aside. She hit the asphalt, rolling against several feet as the crowd backed off. Through teary eyes, she saw Nate smash aside the spectators and disappear.

  Aleshia and Mary Lou helped her up.

  ‘All right!’ shouted Mr Doons as he shoved through the ring of students. ‘All right, break it up. What’s going on here!’ He clutched Beth’s arm. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah? How come you’re crying?’

  ‘Nate Houlder,’ Aleshia said.

  ‘He pushed her down,’ said Mary Lou.

  ‘No,’ said a boy. ‘She pushed him. I saw it.’

  ‘They were wrestling,’ said a small girl in glasses.

  ‘Okay, young lady, you come with me.’ He pulled Beth by the arm.

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Come along.’ He pulled her through the crowd and led her across the asphalt yard.

  Beth fought back her tears. Everyone was looking.

  ‘Please,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll discuss it in my office.’

  There was a cold lump in her stomach. This can’t be happening, she thought. She’d never been taken to the office before. She felt helpless and terrified.

  They walked past one of the teachers, Mr Jones. He glanced at her, looking perplexed.

  ‘You don’t have to drag me,’ she said to Doons.

  He ignored her.

  ‘I’m not a criminal.’

  He pulled her up the back stairs and into the building. The hallway, at least, was deserted; students weren’t allowed to wander inside during the lunch period. Halfway down the long hall, he opened a door. The paint on its frosted glass read MR DOONS, VICE PRINCIPAL.

  ‘Inside,’ he said, and let go of her arm.

  She stepped into a carpeted room with a dozen empty chairs against its walls. Mrs Houston, a silver-haired secretary, looked up from her typewriter.

  ‘Sit,’ Mr Doons said. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Beth sat down, and Doons left.

  Mrs Houston returned to her typing.

  ‘Yeah, just like I was humping her. Should’ve been there, Bill-boy. The little twat didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.’

  Bill was glad he’d missed it. He’d been in classes with Beth, here and in junior high, and he didn’t like the idea of Nate bullying her. She was a soft-spoken, cheerful girl. If Nate wanted to dump on someone, he should’ve picked one of the bitches. Plenty of them around.

  ‘Why her?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Like I said, man, she bumped into me.’ He grinned. ‘She’s what y’call your “target of opportunity”. I mean, you can’t just go up to a gal and throw her down – you’d be up Shit Creek without a canoe. But if she bumps into you, well now, that’s different.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done it. Not to her.’

  ‘Christ on a hunchin’ crutch, man, you turning into a fag on me? First it’s Bennett you’re sticking up for, now it’s this Beth. You lost your sense of humor?’ He shook his head, looking disgusted. ‘And here I was, just about to give you my plan that’s one-hundred percent guaranteed to get you in the sack with Bennett.’

  ‘I’ve already heard it: you hold her down, I …’ He found himself unable to say, ‘fuck her’.

  ‘Fuck her?’ Nate said for him. ‘Nothing so crude, dingus. That’d be rape. We’d go to el slammer for that. No no no. What I’ve got in mind is seduction.’

  Bill grinned as if he thought Nate was crazy. ‘A plan guaranteed to work?’

  ‘One hundred percent.’

  ‘I’ll believe it when it works,’ he said, feeling a tight eagerness inside. Christ, what if he could somehow seduce Miss Bennett? ‘Let’s have it.’

  ‘In the art of seduction, Billy my lad, the trick is to get yourself alone with the seducee and let nature take its course.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Nate tilted back his head and shut his eyes. ‘Our romance begins with a flat tire. You happen to be nearby and rush to the aid of the stranded motorist.’ He opened one eye and looked at Bill. ‘Get it?’

  ‘Here comes Doons.’

  ‘Oh shit! See you later.’ Nate dashed away.

  ‘Hold it!’ Doons yelled.

  Bill laughed, earning a fierce glare from the v.p.

  ‘Stop! Get back here, Houlder!’

  Nate kept running, and vanished around a corner.

  ‘Prick,’ Doons muttered. Then he fixed his eyes on Bill. ‘Wipe that grin off your face, Kearny.’

  Beth sat in the office, waiting. She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself, but the thought of facing Mr Doons was too terrifying. Her hands felt cold and numb. Goosebumps made the light hair on her arms stand up. Her cheerleading sweater, under her arms, was soaked with perspiration. Droplets even rolled down her sides, wetting her bra.

  This was worse than waiting for a doctor’s exam, and she’d thought nothing could be that bad.

  Finally, the bell rang, ending the lunch period.

  Won’t be long now.

  She pressed her hands between her thighs to warm them.

  That creep, Nate. It was all his fault.

  She heard voices, laughter, and banging lockers from the hallway.

  What would happen if she just got up and walked out? Wouldn’t help. Doons’d send a call slip to her next class – or go over, himself, and drag her out.

  How? He doesn’t know my name, does he?

  He could find out, easily enough.

  Besides, sooner or later he would see her between classes or something, and grab her. But maybe he’d forget about her, by that time.

  Mrs Houston glanced at her. Beth smiled, but her mouth trembled. The woman returned to her typing.

  She won’t try to stop me …

  The door opened and Mr Doons came in. ‘Into my office, Elizabeth.’

  He does know my name!

  She got up. On weak legs, she walked ahead of him, past Mrs Houston’s desk, and through the open door.

  Doons shut the door. He stepped around a big desk and sat on a swivel chair. Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on the green blotter. ‘Take a seat,’ he said.

  She sat on a folding chair across from him. Her chin trembled. She pressed her lips together.

  ‘Now, Elizabeth, tell me what happened.’

  ‘I was just … I was talking to Aleshia and I backed up and bumped into him.’

  ‘Nate Houlder.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘We fell down.’

  ‘Houlder pushed you down?’

  ‘We … just fell.’

  ‘And he wouldn’t let you up?’

  ‘No. I mean yes. He held me down.’

  ‘Why?’


  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What did he do, then?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Her throat felt tight and achy. She tried to swallow, and almost gagged.

  ‘Where were his hands?’

  ‘Just … just holding me. I wanted to get up, but he wouldn’t let me.’

  ‘Where were his hands?’

  ‘Behind me, I guess.’

  ‘You guess?’

  She nodded.

  Mr Doons’s eyes dropped briefly to her breasts, then returned to her face. His thumb and forefinger rubbed the flesh above his lip. ‘Did Houlder touch you anyplace intimate?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Your breasts?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your genital area or buttocks?’

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice husky and quiet.

  ‘You don’t sound very sure.’

  ‘He didn’t!’ Tears came to her eyes. She wiped them off with her sleeve.

  ‘I don’t like liars, Miss Green.’

  ‘He didn’t touch me there!’

  ‘I was told by a witness that he put a hand in your panties.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’

  His face reddened. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

  ‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘Not you. The witness. Whoever told you that.’

  ‘It came from a reliable source. Why do you feel that you have to protect Houlder?’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Is he your boyfriend?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then why did you let him put a hand inside your pants?’

  ‘I didn’t. He didn’t.’

  Doons sighed.

  ‘He didn’t!’

  ‘Perhaps you just didn’t notice. All right, Elizabeth. That’ll be all. Have Mrs Houston give you a re-admit slip.’

  24

  After lunch, Sam drove out on Oakhurst Road. He slowed down, passing the Horner house. Only its chimney and half a wall remained standing. The rest of the house had fallen to a charred pile of debris.

  Next door, the Sherwood house seemed almost cheerful.

  Wouldn’t be such a bad place, Sam thought, if somebody’d move in and fix it up.

  Driving past the house of Clara Hayes, he saw the morning newspaper on her front lawn. He wondered why she hadn’t picked it up yet.

  Across the road, he saw a group of brightly-clad golfers on the green of the third hole. One of the men waved at him. Though he only glimpsed the man, he tapped his horn twice in greeting.

  Then he tried to remember what he’d been thinking about before the golfer waved.

  Something about the Sherwood house?

  Wouldn’t make a bad fixer-upper.

  Maybe Morley could sell it to the Horners, if they ever showed up again. Assuming Hank isn’t the one who killed Dexter.

  Though Sam knew little about Hank Horner, he saw no reason to believe the man was involved. The burning house and disappearance of the family were certainly not proof.

  Strange, though, that it happened the day after Dex got killed. Maybe a connection, but not the one Berney was hoping for. Maybe both men had the same enemy. Maybe whoever chopped up Dex …

  Sam moaned as he again saw himself lift the toilet seat and look down at Dexter’s floating head. He took a deep breath.

  ‘Whoever killed Dex killed the Horners,’ he said aloud. The sound of his voice drove the memories away. ‘Burnt the house to destroy any physical evidence he – she – they left behind. So where are the bodies? If they’re not in the house …’ He clucked his tongue as he thought. ‘If they’re not in the house …?’ he repeated. ‘Buried out back?’

  He remembered what was ‘out back’ of the Horner house.

  Oakhurst Cemetery.

  Dendron could wait. If he didn’t see Thelma this afternoon, he’d find her tonight.

  Slowing, he swung the car into a U-turn and sped back toward the cemetery.

  The wrought-iron gates of Oakhurst Cemetery stood open. Sam drove through, and followed the narrow road to the parking lot. Except for a black Coup de Ville and a pick-up truck, the lot was deserted. He parked, and climbed out. Walking into the wind, he watched dry leaves tumble and skitter toward him.

  The grass on the rolling fields looked bright green in the sunlight and he thought, with a pang of nostalgia, what a great day this would be for touch football.

  A great day, but not a great place.

  The door of the cemetery office opened, and a tall gray-haired man stepped out, his suit jacket flapping in the wind. When he saw Sam, his head tipped back and he smiled. He changed course, slightly, and approached.

  ‘Wyatt.’

  ‘Brandner,’ Sam said, shaking hands with his old friend.

  ‘What’s a nice fellow like you doing in a place like this?’

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing,’ Sam told him.

  ‘Too windy for tennis. Perfect weather for a Bloody Mary, though. How about joining me?’

  ‘Believe me, I’d like to.’

  ‘Busy detecting, I presume.’

  ‘Right.’

  The smile left Brandner’s lean face. ‘Rotten about Dexter. I hear you’re the one who found him.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He was a good man. I guess you’ll be here Sunday for the interment.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Christ, it gets to me when a guy I know … Well, business is business, I guess. One of these fine days, I’m gonna chuck all this and buy me a bar.’

  ‘Hope you do it soon.’

  ‘How about a partnership?’

  ‘Just tell me when.’

  ‘I guess you must have plenty socked away, from all your graft.’

  ‘A bundle. Right now, though, I’ve got some snooping to do.’

  ‘Snoop away.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t be caught dead here at night …’

  ‘Touché!’

  ‘But do you know if anything unusual happened here last night?’

  Brandner rubbed his chin, and shook his head. ‘You don’t mean the fire, I take it.’

  ‘The Horners’ bodies weren’t found.’

  ‘You’re thinking they segued into my bone orchard?’

  ‘I’d like to find out. If they were murdered, the killer probably didn’t move them far.’

  ‘Why move them at all?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. If they weren’t in the house, though, where are they?’

  ‘Visiting Aunt Mary?’

  ‘Do you want to come along?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I want to check the area in back of their house.’

  ‘I suppose my Bloody Marys can wait.’

  They walked, side by side, to the far end of the parking lot, then up a grassy slope, passing between well-tended grave sites.

  ‘To think I used to play here as a wee child,’ Brandner said. ‘My cousin cured me of that. We were playing tag, one day, blithely scampering among the graves – did I ever tell you this?’

  Sam had heard the story a couple of times before, over drinks, but he shook his head.

  ‘She – my cousin – tripped in a gopher hole. She looked down the hole, and kept looking and looking. I said, “Hey, what’re you doing?” The little bitch said, “There’s somebody down there winking at me.”’

  ‘Did you take a look?’

  ‘Are you kidding? I ran like hell, and wouldn’t come near this place for a year. Christ, I still get the creeps whenever I see a gopher hole around here. And there’re plenty. I often suspect the little buggers are carnivorous.’

  ‘You’d better buy that bar soon.’

  ‘Don’t I know it. This business is not for the squeamish. Should’ve sold out when my father died.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘A sense of family obligation, I suppose. Obligation gets to you every time.’

  Ahead, through the trees and monuments, Sam saw the wrought-iron fence of the cemetery boundary. The dark chimney of the Horner h
ouse stood not far beyond it.

  Brandner frowned. ‘You think someone chucked their bodies over my fence?’

  ‘Maybe buried them over here.’

  ‘A logical place, I suppose.’

  ‘Any recent graves over here?’

  ‘Open ones? No. And I think Willie would’ve noticed if someone had been digging. He’s a sot, but he’s not deaf and blind.’

  ‘It’s a big cemetery.’

  ‘He makes regular rounds. He’s supposed to, anyhow.’

  They reached the fence. Sam looked through at the rubble. The wind carried a pungent odor of burnt wood.

  With his back to the fence, he looked down its length. The gravestones, monuments, and clusters of trees and bushes offered plenty of places to conceal bodies or crouch, out of sight, to dig a hole.

  ‘I hope you’re wrong about this,’ Brandner said.

  ‘It’s worth a look.’

  They began walking alongside the fence, occasionally separating while one inspected the ground behind a tree or gravestone.

  ‘If these Horners were murdered,’ Brandner said, ‘you would have to suspect they were done in by the one who killed Dexter.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that.’

  ‘Thought you might’ve. Has it also occurred to you that we’re now directly behind the Sherwood house?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Seems a bit funny, to me, that two families, right next door to each other, should get slaughtered.’

  ‘Fifteen years apart.’

  ‘How many mass murders have we had in Ashburg? Two. Fifteen years apart, but side by side. Seems funny to me. I think, if I were looking for the Horners’ bodies – which I apparently am, thanks to you – I’d take a look in the Sherwood house.’

  ‘I may do that.’

  ‘Fine. Let’s forget all this and … well well well.’

  As Brandner crouched behind a tombstone, Sam rushed to his side. ‘There were bodies here, all right,’ his friend said.

  On the grass by the tombstone lay a collapsed tube of pink latex.

  ‘Live ones,’ Sam added.

  ‘In my experience,’ said Brandner, ‘corpses rarely use rubbers.’

  25

  Glendon Morley got up from his desk as a young couple entered his real estate office. At first, their appearance put him off.

  The woman, though somewhat pretty, wore no makeup. Her thick brown hair was drawn back in a pony tail, and she wore a loose, faded dress that looked home-made. She seemed clean, though. Glendon guessed that she wasn’t a poverty-stricken gal from the hill country, after all – just an artsy-fart who wanted to look like one.