NIGHT OF TERROR

It seemed strange that there was no light on in the
cottage. Grandpop had probably fallen asleep.
Bobbie ran up the porch steps and headed for the old
man's bedroom.
But the thing came at him before he got there. Making
guttural noises and with a knife that came slashing down at
his neck.
He screamed and fell back against the wall. "Grand-
pop!" he screamed. "Grandpop, it's me--Bobbie."
He threw up a hand as the knife cut another arc upward
and grabbed hold of the arm, but the strength there
stunned him. This wasn't a frail old man; the muscles felt
taut and powerful.
"Gonna get rid of him, Gladys," Grandpop rasped, and
even in the gloom Bobbie saw the glint of hate in his eyes.
"Never needed no new young cock in the barnyard. Too
much trouble to have around." He threw off Bobbie's hand
and the knife slashed down. This time it caught and
carried away a bite of Bobbie's shoulder. ~Gonna slit his
gizzard, fry 'im up for supper. Just you and me'll eat lm."
This wasn't his grandfather. This was a crazed thing....


TERRIFYING HORROR FROM ZEBRA

HOME SWEET HOME               (1S71, $3.50)
by Ruby ~ean Jensen
Timmy's parents said it would be fun--two weeks vacation in the
mountains with nice Mr. Walker. But the other children stared at
him and awoke screaming in the night. Then Timmy peeked
through the keyhole of the forbidden locked door--and he knew
there was no escape from the deadly welcome of . . . HOME
SWEET HOME.

THE STALKER                   (1434, S3.S0)
Lewis expected a normal summer helping his father in the seed
business. But soon he finds that unspeakable horrors lurk in the
dark warehouse where he is to spend summer's sun-filled days.
Horrors that will call him back to face THE STALKER.

ROCKABYE BABY
bv Steohen Gresham

(1470, $3.50)

Mr. Macready--such a nice old man--knew all about the children
of Granite Heights--their names, houses, even the nights their
parents were away. And when he put on his white nurse's uniform
and smeared his lips with blood-red lipstick, they were happy to
let him through the door--though they always stared a bit at his
clear plastic gloves!

THE TRIDENT                   (1552, $3.50)
by Joel Hammil
Olivia was a lovely little girl with just one slight blemish
marring
her beauty: a tiny, three-tined stain on her smooth upper thigh.
But the mark had the power to twist her cherubic smile into a de-
monic leer, and round her childish body into seductive curves,
for
-it was the kiss of Satan . . . THE TRIDENT.

SWEET DREAMS                 (1553, S3.S0)
by William W. Johnstone
Innocent ten-year-old Heather sensed the chill of darkness in her
schoolmates' vacant stares, the evil festering in their hearts.
But
no one listened to her terrified screams or believed the
nightmare
was true. And now it was Heather's turn to feed the hungry
spirit--with her very soul.

Available wherever paperbacks are sold, or order direct from the
Publisher. Send cover price plus 50~ per copy Jor mailing and
handling to Zebra Books, Dept. 16S6, 475 Park Avenue South,
New York, N. Y. 10016. DO Na7'SEND CASH.

SOUL~ EATER

BY DANA BROOKINS

ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGToN PUBI.ISHING CORP.


Dcdication:
FOR VIC7r)RIA BROOKINS
Hcr own book

ZEBRA BOOKS

are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
475 Park Avenue South
New York, NY 10016

Copyright ~) 1985 by Dana Brookins

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form or by any means without the prior written
consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in
reviews.

First printing: September 1985

Printed in the United ,Ct~tPl: ~.f AmPrir5


Chapter One

"HOUSE."
Charlie Groves was the first one to arrive at the
office of The Daily Way (long ago gone weekly due to
poor circulation--in a town the size of Edgar Falls the
ladies' hotline knew everything before you could get the
type set; so who needed the press?) with the latest copy
| in his hands.
"What the hell is this anyway, Lobe?" he demanded.
"I thought twenty bucks guaranteed me the headline
L today."
Lobe Peters, owner, editor, reporter, printer, and ad
gatherer for The Daily Way had known this was coming.
But he'd been too excited all week to remember
Charlie. Now he pulled off his Ben Franklin glasses,
worn not from need but because they gave him an
image of himself he liked, wiped them with his shirt-
tail, put them back on and leaned confidentially across
the counter to peer over them at Charlie. "Two hun-
dred bucks, Charlie," he said. "Came by mail. Cashier's
check payable on the spot. Had a typewritten note with
it. No heading."
"I don't give a fart about that," Charlie said hotly.
"We made a deal. Headlines was to announce my new

7


marvclous things with her red hair that madt I obe
wonder something he'd wondered often: whetl~tr the
rest of her body hair was red. He stirred uncomforta-
bly and even managed to forget his myst~ry a moment.
~What's that mean, Lobe?" she said in her husky
voice. "What kinda headline is 'House'?"
Lobe jerked himself out of his revery and shook his
head. "I dunno," he said. "It's as big a mystery to me as
it is to you."

Tressa's question was one that Lobe, to his delight,
would be asked dozens of times in the next few days.
Never mind that he couldn't answer; he had faith the
mystery would be revealed to him. Some higher power
knew that he'd had all his talents stuck in Edgar Falls
for years because the big city papers were so closed in
on themselves they'd never recognized his genius.
Someone had looked down last week and finally taken
notice of Lobarth Peters and presented him with a real
story. He only had to wait.
Meantime he enjoyed the attention, and when noth-
ing new came in the mail that week (that was a
disappointment, but his staying power was merely
being tested) he ran a three-column story front page
the second week of June issue, printing the mysterious
note itself and making some guesses as to what the
headline meant. Someone was either going to come to
town looking for a particular house or build one. Or
maybe somebody named House was going to move to
Edgar Falls; these speculations were in the article. He
asked, with an eye to maybe publishing them in his
third week of June issue, the townspeople to write
letters about what they thought the headline meant.
Bobbie Topin, a twelve-year-old and sixth grader
come fall. wrote a ~reat letter. He suggested the word
"house" might be code, that maybe outer space aliens
were trying to contact Americans, and what they were
up to would be revealed soon. Bobbie had brought the
letter to Lobe in person.
"I'll bet you really made it up yourself, Mr. Peters,"
he said, his dark eyes glinting conspiratorially. "Just to
get everybody talking. You're the only editor in the
whole world who lets people buy headlines. Who'd
know that outside Edgar Falls?"
Lobe reached across the counter to rumple his hair,
surprised he didn't have to lean over--kid was taking
after his grandfather's height. "Did I make up a two
hundred dollar cashier's check?" he came back. Bobbie
grinned. ~Well, it's a good mystery anyway," he said.
"Everybody's talking about itn
Lobe preened at that. It was true. He'd had to run
four hundred extra copies last week. Folks were read-
ing The Daily Way who hadn't read it in years.
Still--this cQuldn't keep up forever. Something else
had to happen soon, else people would lose interest.
You couldn't trust the public. It had the attention span
of a fruit fly.

The day the letters came out in print, Bobbie Topin
couldn't believe it. But there it was, even at the head of
all the rest. And here was his name. Bobbie Topin. By
Bobbie Topin.
He hadn't expected Lobe Peters to publish the letter;
it had been a sort of joke. No aliens were coming to
Edgar Falls. Bobbie smiled at that, carrying the paper
home from Amway's Pharmacy where he'd gone to buy


Grandpop some zinc tablets. Well, an alien migh~ come
to Edgar Falls, but he wouldn't stay long. The town
wasn't very pretty, and the people didn't like strangers,
even human ones. Bobbie's smile broadened. He didn't


know if he believed in aliens.
The letter had just been a way to exercise an
imagination he didn't let loose in public too often. Mrs.
Prinmans, his teacher last year, hadn't gone in much
for imagination, and Bobbie had early on stopped
writing English themes about anything except his
chores around the house. Even then, when he'd wan-
dered off and embellished a little, Mrs. Prinmans had
dryly suggested he astick to the facts."
He gave a little hop, heading back for home. By
Bobbie Topin. Boy. He should have signed the letter
Robert Louis Topin maybe. "Won't that be some-
thing?" Mom had once said when they talked about his
future. aMy son wants to be a writer. I'm glad I gave
him a writer's name. And won't I be proud?" Bobbie
could hear her voice now, humming by on the wings of
a bee that came in close to his head and then veered off
at a sharp right angle. Mom had liked bees. She had
liked all the little creatures of nature. It was what had
kept her going after they moved to Edgar Falls.
"Here it is, Mom," Bobbie said to the summer air. ~It
says by Bobbie Topin." He had to share with some-
body--even if just a memory. Grandpop was in one of
his moods today. That's why Bobbie had walked the
long, hot road into town. He'd read in a library
magazine that old people going what the artide called
~senile" sometimes lacked zinc. The tablets had cost all
the meager allowance Grandpop had finally remem-
bered to give him this month, and they'd have to be
dissolved in cocoa or something.
Bobbie folded Thc Daily Way up and tucked it under
his shirt. Next to his heart. Where he could feel the
word aby" beating. And he went on home, content.
Well, as content as he ever felt in Edgar Falls since his
mr~thPr hz.,~ ,li.ø.~

Not long after the first letters came out in print,
Lobe looked up from an ad layout to find Bobbie Topin
at his counter again. The boy had a shy smile spread
all over his kid face. "You printed my letter," he said.
Lobe didn't need an interruption; he was busy trying
to figure out how to pare down some ads to fit a couple
more on a page so no one would notice they'd been
shorted. But he was always ready to set aside anything
to talk about the mystery headline. "Sure did," he
responded. "Best of the bunch."
aI don't really believe in aliens."
"Didn't figure you did."
"I just wanted to say thank you." A few people
around town who never spoke to Bobbie had spoken
this week.
aThink nothing of it. Made good copy."
Bobbie looked all around the room with a kind of
bashful interest.
"You interested in the newspaper business?" Lobe
asked.
"I'm interested in anything connected with writi~g."
"Well, why don't I show you around then? But just
for a minute. I'm busy."

When Bobbie Topin left Th~ Daily Way, he headed
home, reflecting on how nice it had been of Lobe
Peters to show him around. The man hadn't really
wanted to be interrupted.
Funny. When he thought of the headline just now, a
chill had suddenly crossed his shoulder blades; thatO


hadn't happened when he first read it.
"Cat just walked over somebody's grave," he said.
That had been one of Mom's favorite remarks when-
ever one of them felt an unexplained chill.


Couldn't be a cat, though. There-weren't many pets
in Edgar Falls. Probably because they had to be looked
after and money spent on them.
Which brought up something he'd considered once
or twice: getting a dog. Something-live and warm to
hug sometimes and have for companionship. But he'd
have to leave it home with Grandpop come school, and
it would worry Bobbie too much that the frail old man
might trip over it and break a hip or something. For
just a second, though, thinking about a dog gave
Bobbie a warm glow.
Then he shrugged. Hey. He had another bit of a
warm glow anyway: Lobe Peter's kindness today. He
smiled again and then sobered. He hoped that chill
hadn't meant he was catching a summer cold he might
give to Grandpop.

Back at The Daily Way, Lobe made a face. That had
been an ordeal, having the kid around. Oh, Bobbie
Topin was okay as kids went. But Lobe didn't hold
much truck with kids; he'd never wanted any of his
own. And there was a kind of intensity about the one
who'd just left. As if he had some kind of need Lobe
Peters certainly couldn't meet--wouldn't even try to.
Probably came from being an orphan and an outsider
in town to boot.
What the hell was this anyway? He didn't have time
or inclination to bother himself about some kid. He
went back to figuring out how to cheat his customers
without being noticed.

The next mystery letter came the first day of July.
Lobe had plar~hed to run a headline reminding people
about the chamber of commerce picnic on the Fourth
out at Amy Semple MacPherson Pond. He had the
article all written up, including a bit of local history
about the pond's being named that because when the
trains ran through, the famous evangelist had once
stopped here and offered a few uplifting words from the
platform car. This week Miss Penny DuJong had
graciously lent Lobe the faded photograph of her as a
girl standing on tiptoe to present a bouquet to Sister
Amy. He had the front page made up early, along with
mention that the picnic was being held to raise money
for an operation for little Cindy Newman, who'd had
her foot crushed by a stampeding cow.
But now, on the first, came the letter. Ed Kroger,
postmaster and Lobe's fellow member of the town
council along with Thaddeus Amway and Rev.
Leonard Botts, didn't even put it in Lobe's box. He was
too excited and held it back to hand Lobe personally.
When Lobe went into the one-room post office at-
tached to Blainey's Meat Market that morning, he
knew it had happened again. Ed's pale face was all lit
up.
aSt. Louis," he said, handing the letter reverently to
Lobe. "Looks the same."
- Lobe had to hold still a moment so his hand wouldn't
shake when he opened it. His heart pounded like he'd
just won the national lottery, and he had to fight to
keep from breaking into a silly grin. Play it cool--every
inch the close-mouthed reporter.
"Sorry I can't read this in front of you, Ed." He took
the letter, and it tingled his fingers.
aI understand," Ed said. aIf it's headline stuff, you
want to spring it on us. It was a pleasure just to hand it


over. Wonder who she is."
Lobe was so intent on the letter,-it took a second for
that to sink in; then he raised his head sharply. aShe?"
aSmell it," Ed said.


Annoyed that Ed had discovered something before
he did, Lobe nevertheless raised the envelope. aLilies of
the valley," Ed said. aThe mystery deepens.n

All over the town of Edgar Falls, people were buzz-
ing about the latest Daily Way headline. Folks who had
laughed at little Bobbie Topin's solution to the puzzIe of
the first headline now reconsidered it. Oh, not that
anyone believed in flying saucers. The only one they'd
ever heard firsthand news of had been seen by Sheriff
Hille over in Gloaming, and everybody knew the
sheriff saw stranger things than flying saucers when he
was in his cups--which was often. But Bobbie had said
the house message could be code. It had to be.
In his hardware store, Charlie Groves hadn't un-
locked his front doors yet. He had to have his morning
coffee to get him ready for a public that was getting
more and more uppity about wanting too much for
their money when they bought a saw or can of carpet
tacks. The fact Lobe had run Charlie's headline the
week after the house one had saved him from canceling
his subscription to The Daily Way, and he sat with it on
his counter now, staring at the new mystery. What the
heck did it all mean anyway?
aCHANGE THE APPLE-SHOOTER TO P AND
ADD A CUT OF PORK."
It had taken Lobe two lines to get it all in. Charlie
sipped his too-hot coffee and stared at that, puzzling on
it, till his eyes gave out and started shooting little black
p's around.
All across town, frustrated people studied the head-
line. Tressa Allen was late getting into The Brewery,
and Bruzz would have yelled at her except he'd lost
track of time himself. He was leaning on the bar
studying the headline. aBeats all," Tressa said. aWhat's
that cut of pork bit anyway?"
aDunno," Bruzz said. aButt maybe?" He came to at
that,- smirked at his own humor, pinched Tressa on the
part in question and suggested she get it to work.
"Payday at the factory," he told her. aDouble the beans
and half the hamburger in the chili." Lobe would be in
at noon as usual, and he'd ask him about the headline
then.
Probably the only person in town who did not read
the headline was Bitsy McCall. Bitsy McCall was
practically the only thing the town had left it could call
white trash. Now that the tracks had long ago been
pulled up, there really wasn't any territory you could
call the wrong side anymore. A couple of decent houses
had been built down south in the past years, and since
one of them was owned by Carl Bergins the banker,
who was also the mayor, the old town lines didn't hold
anymore. Turned out now white trash was all an
ù attitude. Bitsy McCall would be white trash if she lived
in a palace. It had to do with her physical self, which
was fat and untidy, the fact she'd been known as a
aretard" in school, although she was a whole lot
brighter than the Rainey boy who'd been born one hair
below dull and sometimes forgot he was potty trained.
Bitsy was the youngest of nine kids deserted by their
old man. The rest of the family had dwindled out of
town the moment they were old enough to raise a
thumb. The old lady was buried now on the edge of the
.Edgar Falls cemetery in the potter's field part. Only
Bitsy had stayed on in town. It was as if she wouldn't
know what to do if she moved anywhere else and got


treated nice.
A few years back she'd wandered over to Gloaming
and made contact with one of the town messes there
and married him. She had five kids, and at twenty-
three, she looked forty-seven. Her name was actually


supposed to be Mrs. Gary Purdy now, but everybody
still thought of her as Bitsy McCall and referred to her-
passel of snotty-nosed, filthy kids as the McCall Clan.
Not long ago Gary Purdy had blown town, leaving
Bitsy and crew the only welfare recipients in a town
that prided itself on upholding the American work
ethic.
It was all right. If people gave it any thought, they
wouldn't know what to do without the McCall Clan.
Success was a relative thing, and you needed someone
to look down on to keep your perspective. There were
actually people who missed the tracks and wished
Banker Bergins had built somewhere else--just to keep
the lines drawn. They missed having the other white
trash around: the Muncks, who'd lit out for California
some said; the Gehaffey's, the Porters.
This morning Bitsy was too busy punching kids
around her two-room shack to bother with the newspa-
per Lobe Peters magnanimously had a boy pitch into
her yard free every week. The only time she read it
anyway was when she couldn't snitch a confession
magazine down at Amway's Pharmacy and had noth-
ing else to do. She wished Gary had thieved the
pharmacy instead of the Groves Hardware Store a few
weeks back. That way he could have gotten her some
pills to stop this ugly feeling she often had lately that
she was going crazy. And he could have gotten her
some magazines.
She wondered where he was. No good son-of-a-turd.
Upping and disappearing just like her daddy. And
Gary the cause of all their trouble because of that hard
thing he was always planting in her. Wasn't that just
like a man to make a bunch of babies and then take off
and leave a woman to suffer? Maybe if she had the
strength today she'd pick a wild daisy bouquet and take
it out to Mama's grave. She hadn't appreciated her
mother when she was a kid, but sometimes she did
now. She wondered if she'd die young, too.

~CHANGE THE APPLE-SHOOTER TO P AND
ADD A CUT OF PORK."
Everybody in town knew that Lobe Peters had
received three hundred dollars for those words. It was
practically the only subject discussed at the chamber of
commerce picnic. One person was relieved about the
whole thing because it got her out of the spotlight
somewhat. Cindy Newman had dreaded the picnic.
Her mother had insisted she dress in a frilly dress. "Let
them all see that foot. Make them shell out a little
harder."
Cindy wanted the operation. After all, it wasn't any
fun to have to hobble around on the deformed thing at
the end of her left leg. She couldn't run so good in the
clumpy special shoe. The operation she could get in the
city didn't guarantee she wouldn't have a limp still, but
the specialist said he could fix all the teeny crushed
bones Doc Jennessey couldn't handle when she got hurt
so's she could at least run around better. What she
didn't like was the way they were getting the operation.
People had been donating money for months now.
There had been bake sales in her honor and a St.
Patrick's Day dance. The town had taken to regarding
her as its own personal possession, the local cripple.
On the street she had to curtsy to everyone like Mama
had taught her, the bad foot going out behind her. You
never knew when the mere, pitiful sight of her might


cause someone to stop in Mr. Bergins's bank and leave
a donation in one of the Buy Cindy a New Foot jars.
On the Fourth of July, she arrived at the picnic with
her parents (both of them waving to the crowd as if
they were celebrities) looking like a caricature of old


wished she could have gone down to the shack to clean
them up for today. That was how Cindy had gotten to
know Bitsy--through the babies. One day Bitsy had
been roaming through town and one of them (they
were always around her, like a dirty little cloud) got
into the street. Cindy had to hobble fast to snatch her
up before a car hit her, then helped Bitsy get them
home. She knew better than to tell her mother she'd
been in conversation with the local atramp," but she
rather liked Bitsy. The older girl seemed more her own
age and talked frankly about things no one else would
talk to Cindy about. So sometimes she sneaked down
to the south side.
She kept her distance today. She didn't want the
babies greeting her like a long-lost relative. But she felt
bad because she knew they would be eating bologna
sandwiches while everyone else ate chicken and apple
pie.
aWhen you going to get the new foot?" Bobbie asked
as they roamed over to the pond.     ~
UWe need another two thousand dollars." Cindy
kicked at a twig, studying the ugly special shoe.
"Phew."
Cindy turned weary eyes on him. aI hope it works.
The doctors don't give us any big guarantee."
aBetter work," Bobbie said ominously. aOr the townll
kick you out."
He was still grinning at her, and she punched him in
the side. Bobbie was good for her. The other kids had
come to stand a little in awe of the fuss being made over
her, all the while plainly wearing looks that said they
literally wouldn't want to be in her shoes.
aWant to know a secret?" The grin had left Bobbie's
face, but his eyes danced. They had reached the edge
of the pond where a small afternoon breeze made
ripples coil a~ainst the bank. He sat down and waited
for Cindy to settle beside him.
aI bet I know the answer to the headline, he said.
Cindy pulled in a little gasp. aReally? Tell me."
But Bobbie did everything in his own good time.
Cindy knew he wanted to be a fiction writer some-
day, and he had a writer's ability to pause for the
dramatic effect. So Cindy, playing his game, looked off
toward the distant woods where steam from the bog
spots was already beginning to rise.
aPellam Woods, Bobbie said finally.
aI know that's Pellam Woods." She stared at him in
exasperation.
aNo, no. That's the answer to the puzzle."
Cindy snorted and tossed the Shirley Temple curls.
But he only smiled in a superior manner and said,
aChange the apple-shooter to p. Think a minute. Who
was the apple-shooter?"
Cindy stared at him hard, as if she could pull the
answer from his dark eyes. "I don't know."
aWilli~m Tll" he ~ai~l aChange the t to p and you

asO ;kay," she said, her interest quickening. aBut how
about the cut of pork part?"
aHas to be ham. Get it? Put them together, you get
Pellham."
aHam for 'am?" She snorted. aThat's pretty far-
fetched."
aWould be a little if I didn't remember something
you don't. What was Edgar Falls's last name?~
aPellam " she said. aEverybody knows the town


founder was Edgar Falls Pellam and that he was named
Falls because he was born near one in a mountain town
in Colorado."
aDon't you remember how that schoolbook Miss
Pem~.- wrote, the one with the awful grammar, spelled
Pellarn? It was about the only word she did spell right


in the whole dumb book. It used to be Edgar Falls
Pelham, but over the years everyone got to spelling it
wrong because the 'h' was too hard to remember."
Light dawned all over Cindy's face. aPell ham," she
said and gasped. aThat's it. That's what the puzzle
says." She smiled at him in wonder. aYou're the smart-
est kid in town," she said.
aKid?" he demanded. aNo adult's figured it out
Look at them."
Cindy glanced back toward the crowd. Picnic bas-
kets were starting to come out and be opened. People
were spreading blankets and laying out utensils. Every-
where there were copies of Thc Daily Way in evidence
While women shook out cloths, men huddled together
holding onto a community-shared paper with one
hand, a beer in the other. Lobe Peters strutted around
as if his five-foot-six frame had suddenly grown to six-
ten. Everywhere people pressed cold beer on him and
tried to get him to reveal his secret.
Cindy and Bobbie watched him. aHe doesn't know,"
ù Bobbie said.
aBut what does the headline mean?" Cindy de-
manded suddenly. Ys it a message of some kind?"
aI think so," Bobbie said. aI'm not sure. But some-
thing about a house is going to happen in Pellam
Woods soon. Nothing else is named Pellam around
here anymore."
aI bet you figure the rest out before anybody."

came on before an electrical storm. Bobbie always
knew a storm was coming before anyone did, but he
kept his mouth shut. A few other times, though, he had
had the feeling, one terrible day in particular, and it
hadn't been weather brewing.
All that day he had sat in school feeling uncomforta-
ble and somehow scared. Just a vague, floating feeling
as though his grip on reality had slipped a little.
In the middle of the night they had taken his mother,
crying and holding her head, off to the city to the
hospital. aMassive brain hemorrhage," Bobbie and his
grandfather had been told later. aNothing we could do.
It was an aneurism she was born with. Could have got
her at sixteen, but it waited till she was forty-two."
Afterward, Bobbie hadn't been able to tell anybody
about the bad feeling. In Edgar Falls, the slightest
difference and people could turn on you overnight, like
they had Cindy until the town decided to take her on as
a project. Even now the kids talked about her behind
her back and imitated her limp. Bobbie didn't want to
be any more different than he already was.
But he couldn't help his feelings. He felt the same
way now he had the time right after Mom died.
Something bad seemed about to happen, and it was all
tied up with those crazy headlines.

Along toward late evening someone else did finally


the American way. Ladies were permitted an auxil-
iary--and it was a good thing, they all said, because
the men certainly never accomplished anything with-
out them--but the club itself remained solidly male
and safe from contamination. Not even Gloriana
Reege, who'd moved into town last year and opened up
a realty business, was permitted in.
Gloriana had not come to the picnic today, though
she had privately mailed the Newmans a check for one
hundred dollars which they would find in their mailbox
soon. Gloriana wasn't sulking over the chamber of
commerce blackballing; she had her own secret in
Edgar Falls.
Anyway, Lobe figured out the answer to the new
riddle. Well, he didn't figure it out exactly. It just
popped into his head with such clarity it gave him a
blinding pain. Then he went lurching and giggling up
to the stage, where he had to shout to get attention
because people thought he was just drunk, but pretty
soon someone heard him yelling, "P for Pell, and they
started listening. He didn't get the woods part. It was
Bobbie Topin who shouted that up to Lobe. It was okay
to look as if he'd figured something out on the tail of
Lobe's discovery because that way people wouldn't
know what a brain he was; in Edgar Falls, being a
brain made you different. Someone knuckled his head
in admiration, and Bobbie slipped back into the crowd.
So now they had something resembling an answer.
Somebody with a whole lot of money was going to do
something connected with a house in Pellam Woods.
But what? There weren't any houses out there now--
trees too thick in some places and some of the ground
mushy.
After Bobbie finished helping Lobe out, everyone's
eyes went to the extensive woods surrounding Edgar
Falls on three sides. The sun was getting ready to drop

26

over the west part, and it covered the mists rising from
the bog spots a dull, smoky orange. For a moment
everyone became aware of the odor. Hardly anyone
ever noticed it. Only the rare newcomers, out-of-town
company mostly, went around the first few days of their
visits screwing up their noses. The whole town carried
the smell of spoiled salad.
Why would anyone build a house in Pellam Woods?
And who could in the first place? Most of the woods
was government land except for some acreage on the
west side bought up years ago by a developing com-
pany that had never developed anything.
Well, answers had a way of coming to you if you held
patience. Someone passed Lobe up a fresh beer, and
the local fire department got ready to send up the
annual fireworks. The fireworks were a gift to the town
from the chamber of commerce every year, and never
mind that this year's batch would have finished off
enough money to get Cindy her new foot. People
expected the extravaganza of bright stars shooting out
over Amy Semple MacPherson Pond, and Cindy
would get her foot sooner or later arlyway. Probably by
Christmas.
FoLlcs oohed appreciatively at their bursting sky and
squealed when a couple of duds crashed into Pellam
Woods. All in all, it had been a good day, and they
went home satisfied with their Fourth. By ten-thirty


everyone was indoors and getting ready for bed.
Except for Bitsy McCall, who was throwing up in
her bIack-ringed toilet. It was the baloney, she told
herself It had to be the baloney. Never mind that the
kids hadn't gotten sick too; they hadn't inherited her
weak stomach. She sat on the worn, cracked linoleum,
not even caring that her hair was getting wet from the
vile and burning stuff her insides were rejecting.


Cindy was glad she'd come down to the south side to
Bitsy's today. She'd come along a back road so she
didn't have to go limping by any of the "dear, sweet
neighbors" who didn't see her as a person anymore, if
they ever had, but only as the Town Foot. No one ever
said, "How're you doing, Cindy?" It was always, "We're
going to get us that operation, Cindy." Who was us
supposed to be?
Cindy stirred guiltily. They were just being kind in
their own way. And they wcrc going to help her look at
least close to normal again. But she liked to forget the
foot somctimcs. And she didn't like always being re-
minded that she was going to have to be put to sleep
and have a lot of pain--the doctor hadn't tried to cover
that up--and stay all by herself in a strange hospital.
~Jakie," she said quickly before she got off on that. ~You
be Papa this time."
It was the day after the picnic, and they were in
Bitsy's front yard, if you could call this mess of trash a
yard. Every wind that ever came into Edgar Falls
seemed to regard Bitsy's as thc place to dump trash it
blew past the town limits.
Bitsy had been in the ramshackle little house, taking
a nap. She'd looked happy to see Cindy show up--as
happy as Bitsy was capable of looking. "You can play

"Okay now," she said. "Jakie, tell me where we're
living."
aIn the thity," he lisped.
Right. In the city. Somewhere far away from Edgar
Falls.
And what kind of job do you have?"
"I'm a carpen . . . carpen . . ."
"Carpenter, she said fondly. She was teaching them
to grow up and get out of this town where they would
always be thought of as trash.
But there~wasn't any point in being silly about it.
Bitsy's kids weren't ever going to be teachers or doc-
tors. She wanted them to have real goals. Maybe if she
played with them often enough, she would rub some of
her ambitions for them off on them. Although she
couldn't get down here as much as she liked.
Down here- she wasn't just a foot. The babies were
too young to realize she was crippled.
"Here comes the grandma to visit,n she cried. "She's
coming up the walk right now. She's wearing a cha-
peau." Cindy was also trying to improve their vocabu-
lary. "Here she comes. She's at the door now. Knock
knock."
Allie threw open the imaginary door. "Well my my,"
she exclaimed. "Look who's here."


pummel her, laughing in a way she never did anymore
since the foot.

People stopped on the street to gape at the car as it
cruised slowly along White Oak Avenue, the main
street through Edgar Falls. UWhat is it?" they asked.
Lobe got a call as soon as it swung off the highway
east of town. He came out on the street to watch it go
by. All up and down the block, people stood open-
mouthed.
"It's a Rolls," he said in an awestruck voice.
Charlie Groves had wandered down from his store to
stand beside him. "Who in this town knows anybody
with a get-up like that?" he demanded. "Is that a
chauffeur?" Charlie, at fifty-seven, had never seen a
bona fide chauffeur, only movie ones. And they were
always black. This one was white. He squinted his
eyes. The figure in the Rolls sat in shadow, but he
could tell it was female by the long blond hair. aAny-
body around here know a movie star?" he asked Lobe.
"Maybe there's a story in this, Lobe."
Lobe shook his head. "Don't think so," he said. He
was pretty sure the woman in the back of that limo was
black, long blond hair notwithstanding. And if she
was, there could only be one reason for her to be in
Edgar Falls: hunger. Her driver had probably spotted
The Brewery sign on the highway, along with the

l

aMaybe it's somebody we'd recognize off TV. You want
to go, Lobe? I can leave Pulie in charge. With a little
luck he won't destroy the place in a half hour." His
nephew's rfal name was Augustine, which fit him, but
behind his back Charlie called him Pulie, which fit
better. He couldn't stand his sister's weakly kid, but he
employed him parttime because it kept her off Charlie's
back.
"Let me lock up," Lobe said. He really shouldn't
leave. Something more on the mystery was bound to
come through, maybe by phone since he hadn't gotten
any mail in over three weeks. But he didn't want to
miss the look on Charlie's face when he discovered his
"celebrity" was black.
The limo was only a block ahead of them when they
started walking. As if the woman in the back wanted to
get a close and leisurely look at a picturesque little
American town. Charlie probably had her pegged. She
was a big rock star or something. Probably took dope.
Lobe hoped she had some with her; she was going to
need it after The Brewery.
The noon sun stood straight overhead. Not the
prettiest time of day to take a look at Edgar Falls.
Edgar Falls was a town that needed shadows, otherwise
you got too close a look at the peeling paint on houses,
the rutted shutters, the patchy-grassed lawns. Most of
the town income came from the plumbing factory out
on the east side. Ace Sanitary Plumbing was a glorified


wages, and it showed in the town.
Lobe liked to think of it all as genteel weathering.
But the truth was, the rare stranger just had a tendency
to think of everything as decaying. The odor from the
bog spots didn't help.
"Maybe I can get her autograph," Charlie said. "I
hope she's got big tits n
aWhy? You think she signs autographs with them?"
Lobe grinned. Charlie punched him on the arm. "Say,
maybe it's Dolly Parton," Charlie persisted. He quick-
ened his steps, and Lobe's shorter legs had to give a
leap forward to keep him up.
"Whoa now," Lobe said suddenly.
Both men stopped. The car had slowed and was
barely inching along. By now, something like a crowd
had gathered to watch its progress.
~They're not headed for The Brewery," Charlie said.
"They look like they're looking for an address."
"And found it,n Lobe declared as the car curved like
a stretching cat against the curb in front of the New
Horizon Realty Company.
Charlie and Lobe had to push through the people
gathered to watch the chauffeur, a tall, sleekly hand-
some young man with longish hair, get out and come
around to open his passenger's door; When she got out,
said in a loud voice. They shook hands, the chauffeur
held the door, and they all disappeared inside. People
pressing forward to a window saw the two women go
into a back room and the chauffeur take a seat and pick
up a magazine.
"Now what the hell is that all about?" Charlie
demanded. The woman had been so startling, he'd
forgotten all about Dolly Parton.
~Dunno," Lobe said. But he suspected he did. All of
a sudden he suspected that this whole thing had
something to do with the mystery he had heretofore
regarded as totally his own. He had gotten a decided
whiff of lilies of the valley as the woman passed by, and
even though he kept his face blank, he was seething
inside. Because he had the awful feeling that right this
moment Gloriana Reege was getting the jump on the
next part of the mystery.

Not in years had this kind of excitement hit Edgar
Falls. It was a quiet town with omy the usual share of
noteworthy incidents. Some weeks Miss Penny DuJong
had to resort to emarging minor happenings. Her
latest rumor circulating was that Bitsy McCall might
be pregnant again, this observation having been made

~7 ùhp ~h~m~rPr r~f r~mmPrrP ni~ni~ whPrP thP ~:wPllin~


coming true. A house was to be built out there, nobody
knew whose.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Gloriana Reege must
know, and she was keeping it all to herself. "In good
time," she told Lobe that first week the trucks started
coming.
"It's connected with the big black woman, isn't it?"
he asked. But Gloriana only smoothed back her au-
burn hair bun and smiled Mona Lisaish. "I'm sworn to
secrecy, Lobe," she said. "All I will say is I was sales
agent between the developer and the party who owns
the property now."
Once Lobe took a good look at her when he'd
wandered down to her office to see if he could make her
reveal something more. Gloriana Reege, at maybe
thirty-nine, was a rather nice-looking woman. He'd
never noticed before, not being one for strong-minded
women who ran businesses.
Now Lobe Eloted that Gloriana had large eyes of
dear blue behind her squared-off glasses. Not a bad
mouth either, and Lobe regretted he hadn't taken a
doser look sooner. Maybe they could have got some-
thing going, and if they had, she'd be willing to impart
the information his gut yearned for now.
Gloriana wasn't talking, however, which reduced
ready to pull down trees. aMorning," Lobe said amia-
bly to one of the men finaUy. ~Like to send out a round
of beer for you guys. Sort of a welcome to Edgar Falls."
'Thanks," the man, a big black, said. aWe don't
drink on the job."
"Going to be some building going on, huh?" Lobe
said, only a little insulted that his offer hadn't been
accepted. Beers for a crew this size he didn't reaUy
want to pop for.
"Looks like it,n the man said. ~Excuse me. No time to
talk."
That was the way it had gone every day for a week
now. Lobe wandered out to the activity site, along with
curious townspeople who regarded the proceedings
from a healthy distance. Except for Pulie Gordon, who
very nearly got squashed by a faUing tree. Later,
Charlie had privately told Lobe it would have been a
boon to the family if the kid'd got scrunched.
"Hey, what's happening, Lobe?" People always
greeted him. They only had two sources in town to
look to for information, and even though both Miss
Penny and Lobe carne to the site every day, neither one
of them seemed to know anything. The town didn't like
the feeling. Someone ought to know something about
what aU these strangers were doing.


out and then opened the door to the newspaper office.
She moved like something Lobe had never seen before:
slow and with style, like her car. She came straight for
where he sat behind his desk. He was too taken aback
for a moment to rise. She wore a dress of pale, tawny
silk and was even taller than he remembered--six-two
maybe. He half expected her to speak in a foreign
accent and was a little surprised when her voice came
out soft and slightly southern.
~Mr. Peters, I believe," she said. She stuck out her
hand, and he remembered to get to his feet, although
he hated to; she towered over him. She shook his hand
with the strength and confidence of a male. "I have
some business to conduct with you," she said.
Five minutes later, the big car was gone, Th~ Daily
Way office had filled with curious people, and Lobe
Peters was staring dumbfoundedly at a cashier's check
for five hundred dollars.
"What was that all about?" Charlie Groves de-
manded excited}y. "What'd she want this time?"
~To buy another headline," Lobe said dazed}y. "She's
the one who's been doing it, only this time she came in
person." Five hundred dollars? He had barely cleared
that in a month since he'd taken over the paper twenty-
five years ago.
Miss Penny came pushin~ to the fore. She had been

_. .

see. "It doesn't have any name on it. Only mine.
Doesn't have to have." Personally, he was a little disap-
pointed in what the headline had to say. What he was
really excited about and trying to keep to himself
(though if anyone had looked closely, a little jumping
nerve in his throat might have been observed) was
something else the woman had said to him when he
tried to pump her: "One thing I will tell you now, and
that is that I am only a representative for the party
building the house--a go-between if you will--and my
employer wishes to remain anonymous," she ha~i said.
"All will be revealed soon, Mr. Peters. And I assure
you, outside of our contact here in Edgar Falls, you will
be the first to know so that you can carry the story.
Suffice it to say, something wonderful is about to
happen to this town." -

Lobe knew who that contact was, but he'd given uphope of getting
any information there. "Patience," the
woman had said to him as she turned to leave his
office. And something stranger than anything else:
"Glory to the deserving." It was a remark Lobe would
ponder for days, sitting in the ugly quiet of his room
over Th~ Daily Way office.
All the next week the plain, unmarked trucks bear-
ing license plates for several states rumbled through
town, and a portion of the woods ~ot eaten awav ri~ht


- In his own opinion, Lobe Peters was a helluva better
reporter than people might figure. Iust because a lot of
them had known him since he was a tad, him being
born in Edgar Falls and never going away except to do
his patriotic duty in the service, folks didn't think of
him as having big city writing skills. But he had them;
they just lay dormant.
For years, Lobe's one dream had been to get a story
into a city paper. He had submitted some stuff to the
St. Louis Post Dispakh and the Ncw York' Tim~s, always
getting back, "Thanks, but our staff has already . . ."
Lobe knew goddamn well that the staff hadn't already
anything; they were plagiarizing the hell out of him.
Well, he'd stopped feeding them material long ago
and shifted his dream to writing a fiction book about
something nobody could filch: a book with a poetic
bent.
He thought maybe the elements of his plot had come
along with the house, and that made him bounce
around with a spring to his feet he hadn't felt since he
was a snotty-nosed showoff who knew he was going to
take over his daddy's newspaper and was therefore
special in this life.
Lobe did some investigating, sitting up in his room
over the paper. When he wasn't thinking about Lucy,
that is. Lobe and Lucy Peters had made their own
_ _ _ ~ _ _ r

mayor. Lobe had spotted the sheriff's car under some
trees and got out to investigate, scared someone had
waylaid the sheriff. The only thing getting laid was
Tippy, and from the way she clutched onto the fifty-
year-old lawman when Lobe flashed a light on them, it
was evident she wasn't being molested. Lobe had
promised to keep his mouth shut, not out of any regard
for the sheriff or that slut of a kid, but because a mouth
shut at the right time might call out a favor some day.
He'd been~right. Sheriff Hille traced the limo and
came up with an add~ess and phone.
The only problem was the lady named Benedictine
didn't own the car; a guy narned Podenski did. Lobe
called him in St. Louis. He had a swishy voice, which
turned Lobe off right away. Podenski was proud of his
car and more than willing to talk about it. "Went to
England to get it myself," he said. "Only cost me thirty
thousand. I make good money renting it out to people
who like class."
The price of the phone call clicked in back of Lobe's
mind, but he didn't want to annoy the guy, so he let
him talk a second about how he drove the car himself,
dressed up in a uniform.
aWait a minute," Lobe said. "I've seen you in Edgar
Falls."
aEdgar Falls?" the guy said. ~Oh, yeah, that dumpy


The voice at the other end of the line became curt.
aMister" it said, "even if information about my clients
wasn't private, which it is, I couldn't tell you a thing.
She just calls ahead and shows up the next day, and I
take her where she wants to go, no questions asked.
She pays in cash, buddy, and doubles my fee"
Lobe found himself suddenly with a dead phone in
his hand. It took him a second to get control of the urge
to throw it across the room. Damn swish. Talking to
him in that superior tone of voice.
Lobe thought a while, came up with another possi-
bility. He was now hotly sniffing a bigger mystery than
ever and was determined to print some information in
Thc Daily Way before the big black woman magnani-
mously offered it to him.
He got on the ball and called a guy he'd met in San
Antonio in service who'd become a private eye in St.
Louis after the army. Lucy had gone to school with
A.O. Battersea's wife and kept up on them through
correspondence.
It took Battersea a moment to remember Lobe. "Oh,
yeah," he said finally. "Little guy."
Andyou wcrc gcasy and a lctch, Lobe wanted to say. But
didn't.
Sure Battersea would stake out the limo place. Be
glad to stand around and wait for the black woman to
break on the house--jump the folks moving in, so to
speak. For a while he had run up against a brick wall.
A check of county records back after he'd called the
swish chauffeur had turned up only the fact that the
property in Pellam Woods was in the name of Jewelline
Benedictine, which meant she was fronting all the way
for the person she worked for. Not for a moment had
he doubted her sincerity when she announced herself a
go-between. Colored never had the kind of money
required to build the house.
After a time, Lobe thought of something else and
made a run over to Sheriff Hille's office to talk to the
lawman again.
He found the paunchy sheriff in an obstinate mood.
"Done you one favor," he said. "Don't feel called on to
do another. Not as if you was after a crook or some-
thing. Looks to me like you're just plain ready to shit
your pants because something's going on you don't
know about."
~Isn't next year an election year?" Lobe asked archly.
The sheriff narrowed his eyes so that they were slits
under his puffy lids. "This wouldn't be by way of a
blackmail threat, would it, boy?" he asked softly.
Neither one of them had ever mentioned the incident
on MacLean Road. Lobe decided not to mention it
now.
 Th _     n ~ Yt    f~ ~V     h .  I:WZ~     T .  A    ~


Forty bucks got him four St. Louis phone numbers.
aThere isn't one number for all of them," Battersea said
over the phone. aThey don't come from one company
like you thought. These guys~ are all independents.
Whoever's building that house hired truckers who own
their own rigs and do construction, too. Free-lancers.
They operate out of their homes."
When Lobe recovered from the shock of paying
Battersea's cut rate for four numbers, a hundred and
twenty bucks, he got to work calling. The first two
numbers in the city didn't answer. But then the third
one brought him the gruff and suspicious voice of one
1 Carlos Mendoza, which turned out to be too bad.
3 Lobe had hoped to make contact with a wife to pump,
3' figuring all the men were out working in Pellam
Woods. But a man with a heavy cold answered. aWhat
you trying to find all this out for, buddy? The person
: hired us wants this a secret, that's their business. For
the money being paid me I wouldn't blab an atomic
bomb was coming to my mother. Hey. You wouldn't be
l the little prick with the funny glasses always asking
questions, would you?"
. Lobe hung up. He didn't try the other two numbers
again, or the fourth. He just sat in his place over Thc
Daily Way seething with impotence. Who the hell was
this anyway who could pay out money for all that silent
muscle meat, and who in the narne of Jesus H. Christ
was this bozo who talked to him like a bug crossing his
path?
aWell, what can you expect from a spic?" he asked
himself.

Chapter Two

The atmosphere out by Pellam Woods had taken on
the air of a carnival. Every day now a large crowd
gathered, mostly women and children, although sev-
eral men, including Bobbie Topin's senile old grandfa-
ther, Arnold Wetterley, wandered out sometimes. It
was a pretty good walk for the old man, so someone
often wound up taking him home--usually Mrs. Botts,
the Baptist preacher's wife. She had a special interest in
old people and had a lot of them gathered up into a
club that met on some afternoons. She took them
places like the show in Gloaming and once recently on
a tour of a rose garden in another town. She used the
church bus to do that, driving them herself, and came
home looking wild-eyed with a crew of giggling old
people. Someone--she never found out who--had
smuggled a bottle of wine on board.
aTwenty-one people drunk on one bottle of wine,"
Mrs. Botts said, disgusted. aI didn't know what was
wrong until Mrs. Lowington ate one of the prize
blooms." To punish them, Elizabeth Botts had not held
a meeting in four weeks.
But, in her good heart, she tried to remain charita-
ble. She never let herself think that she mi~ht be kind

to old people because she had sent her own mother to a
convalescent hospital three years ago. She couldn't help
it, after all, if her mother had turned her face to the
wall and never gotten out of bed again.
Sometime soon, when she felt the old folks properly
chastized, she would start up their dub again; it was
the only social life some of them had.
She took Mr. Wetterley home from the house site for
two reasons. One, the hot weather, and, two, Mr.
Wetterley doggedly refused to get involved in her club
or any other church activities. It was a crime to be a
heathen at his age. She seized the trips to the house to
impress upon him how near the end might be and how
necessary it was to be saved. "Get him for Christ"
became her motto.
Sometimes Mr. Wetterley knew what was going on
at the house and sometimes he didn't. Once he got it
through his head the men were building a missile site
and went ranting through the crowd that they would
get cancer from the fuel fumes. Nobody paid him
much mind. He was harmless. And there wasn't any
concern over the boy's living with him. Bobbie seemed
a good, sensible kid (if you gave him any thought at
all). The old man had a pension, and that seemed to
get them by.
Mr. Wetterley had moved here a few years ago with a
wife, who promptly died. His. one child, Bobbie's
mother, was married by then, and when the husband
left her eventually (a fact wormed from her by Miss
Penny), she worked at odd jobs in the city a few years
and then came to live with her father, bringing her
young son. Then she died. C7~ ed. Some folks still
shuddered over that.
The old man didn't seem to fathom the responsibility
Bobbie represented, and anyone watching Bobbie cater
to the old geezer would have wondered who was in
charge of whom. But outsiders didn't trouble the minds
of Edgar Falls for long.
Out by Pellam Woods, the people brought sand-
wiches to sit on the grass and watch the men work.
Fascinating things went on daily.
Probably a hundred trees had been pulled down,
clearing an acre of ground.
Then some strange contraptions got hauled in, and
men began pumping the bog holes. The people rankled
a bit there. Those bog holes, despite the odor and
humidity they produced at times, engendered a kind of
personal pride in the townspeople.
Archeologists had come out once to study them to
see if any prehistoric animals had blundered into them
and left any bones behind. (They hadn't.) The holes
were about as old as time, the professors told Lobe
Peters in the last decent story he'd had. An under-
ground river fed them, only by the time the water
pushed up toward the ground surface there wasn't
much left, and it turned everything to mud instead of
producing clear springs.
So how could they be drained now? The people sat
back and smirked at the out-of-town workmen, partic-
ularly three days later when they gave up on their
draining. Any fool knew you couldn't siphon off an
underground river. Maybe now the whole project
would fall apart, and a certain mood of disappointment
edged the crowd's triumph.
But the men consulted. A little later, more trees
came down, south of those already removed. There


were only a couple of bog spots here, and whoever was
moving to Edgar Falls didn't mind having them in his
back yard.
The digging began. And the crowd grew daily.
Nobody could believe the size of that hole.
"What the hell they building there?" Bruzz Lo~an,


dragged away from The Brewery- by all the wildly
flying rumors, had come down to take a look himself.
"That cellar's big as Meramac Caverns."
"A restaurant probably, Charlie Groves said. ~Some-
body's taking pity on the town and driving you out of
business, Bruzz."
Alarm shot over the big face. aYou know it's going to
be a house" Bruzz said.
"Then what'd you ask for?" Charlie muttered wryly.
It was Saturday and uniformed girl scouts went
through the crowd selling homemade fudge for Cindy
Newman's foot.
aWonder what those boys make for Saturdays,
Clyde Newman, who was a bench-caster at Ace Sani-
tary Plumbing, wondered aloud. More for a day than
he made for a week, he bet, and him with a crippled
kid. The town was taking care of the foot, he reminded
himself.
Yeah, but she'd still need special shoes. Who would
pay for those?
Sometimes he got really pissed. If the kid was going
to get run over by a stampeding cow on the north side
of town where some farming still went on, why couldn't
it have been a cow that belonged to someone? As it
was, old lady Jenkins had died. It happened in town,
her stroke, and nobody thought to see to her cow,
which went without feeding several days. The cow took
matters into her own hands and went crazy and busted
through a fence at the exact moment Cindy wandered
out that way. Clyde watched the workmen with malevo-
lence in his heart.
Consensus finally had it that some millionaire had
decided to build a retirement home in Edgar Falls.
Why not? It was a pretty little town, wasn't it? The
people exceptional. High moral values.
The retirement home idea both flattered and
annoyed them. It was nice someone who had probably
passed through once had fallen in love with Edgar
Falls. But nobody wanted a bunch of rich bitches
lording it over them. They'd better be just plain folk
made good, or the town would cold shoulder them in a
hurry.
Outside of the black woman, only Gloriana Reege
must know the builders, and she wasn't talking, which
didn't add anything to her status. Gloriana was an
outsider who'd come along one day and opened up her
realty company--nobody knew why; property rarely
turned over in Edgar Falls. Only the fact she was a
widow woman and childless and had to make her own
living (information wrested from her by Miss Penny)
made folks talk to her at all.
The third week in August, fresh excitement gripped
the town. This time trucks came rolling in with truly
fascinating things to see. Great piles of huge rocks
cemented together. Stacks of lumber with white paint
peeling off them, bound together with chains. Three
tall pillars came through on separate truck beds. Giant
bags of cement and crates marked "roof" on the sides.
The house was underway.
Hardly anything else got talked about anymore.
Cindy Newman was the chief beneficiary of all this new
interest. Heretofore her foot had been the main topic
of conversation.
Cindy was free to sit on the edge of the watching
crowd with Bobbie Topin. She couldn't figure out why
Bobbie had gone so quiet lately, but the other kids


played wild games she couldn't join, so she appreciated
the reflectiveness that kept him sitting out here by the
woods. She had companionship, albeit silent.
Onc afternoon they watched as a giant crane settled
the first big hunk of stones cemented together into the
ground. An involuntary cheer went up from the crowd,


and Cindy, caught in the mood of jubilance, joined in.
Only Bobbie sat there glumly.
~That isn't a new house," he said when the cheer died
down. aIt's an old one they're rebuilding. I don't like it n
Cindy turned quizzical eyes on him. Around her,
people buzzed about the same thing he'd just remarked
on. It had been a topic for several days now--that
someone was moving a house here, not just building
one. "Probably an old family manor," they speculated.
"And Edgar Falls is just a nicer place to live than where
it was before."
When Bobbie didn't say anything more, Cindy
demanded, "Didn't like what?"
He turned his head slowly and stared for a long
moment--not really at her. More like through her.
~I don't know," he said. aA feeling." Then his eyes
seemed to snap to; he seemed to hear himself, to catch
himself as if he'd said too much. His mouth clamped
shut, and he turned back to watch the next batch of
stone lowered into place. When he didn't say anything
for a long time, Cindy, bored, got up and went to find
her mother and ask if she could have a quarter for one
of the popsicles being hawked through the crowd.

The zinG wasn't working. Bobbie stared out the
kitchen window at the tall, thin form gazing at the
ground. Grandpop could stand by the hour regarding
something like a gopher hole, as if with intense inter-
est. But if you got a look at his face, you would see
there wasn't anything there.
Bobbie sighed. He was feeling the need for compan-
ionship today. In town this morning, where he'd gone
to study the vitamin counter in Amway's, his class-
mate, CraigJorgenson, came in. Bubbling with excite-
ment. "Got to have some sunburn oil, Mr. Amway,"
Jorgenson had exclaimed, maybe extra loud for Bob-
bie's benefit. "My pop and me going fishin' over to
Hanberry Lake in Slopetown."
"Say now," the little druggist said. He wiped his brow
and glared up a moment at a ceiling fan stirring
nothing up but a couple of drugged-looking flies.
~Probably be cooler out there."
"Gonna get us a mess of catfish,"Jorgenson chattered
on. He threw Bobbie some kind of significant glance,
grinning. ~Gimme some oil good for red hair."
"That where you gonna wear it?" Mr. Amway said
laconically. Bobbie smiled a little. Craig Jorgenson
wasn't noted for grammar or any other kind of scholar-
ship. He'd been held back in fourth grade, in fact, and
was older than the other guys going into sixth. But
there wasn't any point feeling superior over that;
Jorgenson had something he didn't have. Bobbie saw a
sudden picture of Jorgenson and his father, a short,
stocky man with hair the color of his son's, lazing
around together on the shore of Lake Hanberry.
Bobbie had seen a lake once. He and Mom had
taken a city bus to the outskirts and rented a little boat.
She let him row. It wasn't much of a lake really, more a
pond. But they'd pretended to be pirates looking for a
frigate to plunder. They'd stayed out on that boat all
afternoon. The setting sun had turned the water
around them to gold and then when it went down,
everything turned silver. aMagic, Mom had said. "Just
like magic, Bobbie."
~Pop says it~l be just the two of us," Jorgenson
declared. "Like old times."


Bobbie had left Amway's on that. He didn't have any
old times with a father; he barely remembered his and
hadn't really thought of him in years. It was his mother
whose "old times" he missed.
In the kitchen, he pushed the picture of Craig's eager


face out of his head and opened the back door. aYou
want some iced tea, Grandpop?" he called.
The old man didn't stir. He was looking off toward
the house site now. Bobbie went out back.
"Maybe you'd like me to take you over there, Grand-
pop?" Bobbie hadn't said anything--it wouldn't do him
any good--but he worried the times Grandpop headed
there alone. Those weird bog holes could be treacher-
ous. An old man who sometimes only saw what was in
his head might blunder in. Bobbie was grateful to Mrs.
Botts for taking Grandpop under her wing, even
though he understood her motive and didn't figure she
was going to get anyplace with a person who, as far as
Bobbie knew, hadn't believed in God when he was
whole-minded.
He took Grandpop's hand. But he didn't tug. The
ancient fingers hung slack, and he didn't think the old
man even realized he was there. Well, maybe he'd
wander on over himself later. Look for Cindy.

The late afternoon sun glinted off sweat-shiny backs.
The men who had looked small from Grandpop's back
yard were, up close, a mass of rippling, easy muscle.
Bobbie watched them, ignoring the fact of the house
itself, and filed their picture away for someday when he
r~;~ht ~ ~r;~o th~tn ;~  ctr~r~T ~ir~   cn~  t h~r~

ache. She always gets headaches if Pop and me plan
anything."
Shc must be Jorgenson's stepmother. -Bobbie didn't
know much about his classmate's family except that
ù Craig had a stepmother, and he only knew that because
Jorgenson had had to read a story he'd written out loud
to their fifth grade room last year, and it had been a
wild, rambling, grammarless thing about stepmothers.
There was a king in the story, and the king banished all
the stepmothers from the kingdom. Jorgenson had
read it in a singsong fury.
"I'm sorry," Bobbie said. He didn't know what else to
say.
"Yeah,~Jorgenson said. And kicked a rock so hard it
went rolling back to stop at a workman's feet. aWatch
it, kid,~ the man warned.
"Watch it your own self," Jorgenson snapped. ~You
guys are makin' a big mess."
He went on walking. Bobbie shifted where he sat
and heard the jingle of a couple of coins in his pocket,
two gleaming half dollars he was saving to give Grand-
pop on his birthday.
But all of a sudden, another use for the coins struck
him. Grandpop wouldn't know the difference. If he was
in a mood, he wouldn't even realize when his birthday
came.
H~v ~,lrniD h~ want~l to e all ollt. ~,omc on I'll buv vnu


He watched Jorgenson roam up a knoll, kicking at
grass clots as he went, half hoping the boy might read
his mind and turn around and call, Hey, sure, Topin, I
could use a conc abou~ now.
Bobbie had to grin at himself for that; CraigJorgen-
son was the last kid in town to have telepathy. He
sensed his own grin. "Hey. Do you have such a bad
life?" he asked himself.
The answer was no. It had been a lonesome day. But
the sun was going down, and sometimes Grandpop
perked up when the heat lessened. Maybe Bobbie
would pop some corn and they could listen to some
music on the little walkman Mom had given him a
couple of years ago. And if Grandpop spaced out?
Well, Bobbie could take the music out on the front
porch and read a while. Maybe he'd even take a late-
night walk in the woods; he hadn't done that much
lately.

     the house, sometimes the neighborhood, on occasion
     in the woods. Nothing much had ever happened in
     Edgar Falls. Nobody had ever molested children.
     There had been only one murder, and that many years
     ago when two men had gotten into a skirmish over the
     girl they both loved. Bobbie had heard the story of how
     one young man shot the other. How the girl was fated
     not to get him either because three weeks later the
     young man escaped from the Gloaming jail and into
     Pellam Woods, never to be seen again.
      Some said he jumped into one of the bog spots and
     committed suicide. But Bobbie had his doubts about
     that. Things had a tendency to float on top of the bog
     spots instead of sinking. But some said his ghost walked
     the woods some nights.
      The idea had always amused Bobbie, even though it
     would be easy enough to believe in ghosts on a night
     like this. That thin stream of mist over there beyond
     those trees--it had the shape of a woman. And the cry
     of a nightbird would be enough to convince some
A pale, near September moon rode the sky above    people an
otherworldly being stalked the woods to-
Pellam Woods. The steamy bog mists had faded to a ,    night.
few whiffs of white substance that drifted in wraithlike j   But
Bobbie did not believe in ghosts despite the fact
batches among the trees. It had been an unusually hot ,     he
loved to read about them. He was a very practical
day even for this time of year. People said it probably     boy.
At five he had been old enough to face the reality


all the arms in the world couldn't help, and you were
alone. At twelve, Bobbie Topin understood this.
Maybe for this reason, the woods never frightened
him. Cindy had said that most Edgar Falls kids didn't
even like the woods by day. But if you knew that you
only had to fear death and that death could not come to
anyone careful in the woods, what could you be afraid
of?
That was why the feelings he experienced now were
so strange.
He had slipped away from the cottage a while ago,
leaving Grandpop snoring in a chair. The old man fell
asleep there night after night.
Bobbie always just left him. Sometimes he found the
old man still there in the morning, awake, his eyes on
the tree outside their cottage, staring with that vacant
intensity.
Thinking what in his head?
Bobbie certainly hadn't started out for this place. He
had selected the south woods to walk in, where there
always seemed to be more night life. Birds twittered in
whatever after-dark conversations birds carried on,
sometimes growing so raucous you could hardly think.
More rabbits lived on that side, and if you sat very still
they romped almost to your feet. Sometimes, on a
r z~rtir~ rh~  rL~  rht  h~. ~ t tn ~   Jr.~

Cindy, and he had caught his tongue then. Cindy was
an outsider, too, though she probably wouldn't be
when she got her foot fixed, and he wanted to hold onto
the special thing they had without her thinking him
strange.
~What is it?" he said to the house. What had drawn
him over here tonight of all places? For weeks now, he
had avoided this part of the woods after dark.
Bobbie sat on the rock a long time, his knees drawn
up to his chest.
Impressions. A sigh someplace in the rafter beams?
They had the first floor done now. The moon glanced
off bits of white paint made shiny by the mist moisture,
leaving gaping crevices of darkness where there was no
paint.
A creaking sound in the stone foundation and cellar
sunk deep into the ground?
Bobbie glanced around, uneasy. Then back at the
house.
Fourteen rooms--and large--on the ground floor. It
would be the biggest house ever built in Edgar Falls.
No one knew how many rooms would be on the next
floor, or if there would be a third. The workmen joked
and called out insults to each other, but they clammed
up when the townspeople asked them questions.


~;

nation that kept returning to this house was overwork-
ing.
aStay." Was that a breeze coming up, whispering
through the vacant, glassless windows? But nothing
stirred except the sweat that broke out suddenly on Bobbie's
forehead. He stared at the house. Did something get
up in the shadows inside there--shake itself, awakening
from a long, torpid sleep? Did it stretch languorously
and look about--and see the glassless windows--and
know that someone sat out there on a rock, too
paralyzed to move?
In Bobbie's mind, a shadow moved toward a window.
And it came to the openings one by one, searching.
Did something chuckle low at the sight of a boy
sitting there in the pale moonlight? If it did, its
amusement was short-lived. For Bobbie Topin found
his feet and ran. Away from the woods that had never
threatened him before.
Across fields he pounded, gasping for breath, his
side hurting, grateful for the natural sound of a dog
barking somewhere in the distance. aIt was only imagi-
nation," he said panting, rushing up the walk and into
the house, wanting to throw himself against the wel-
come body of his grandfather sleeping still in the chair
by the window, but rushing on to his own room where
he drew the shade, despite the hot and humid night.
Maybe it was only his imagination. But he knew he
would never go into that part of the woods again at
night.

It was mid-September now, and a fall sun shone
down on the nearly finished house. A small crew of
vigilants sat around on fading grass watching a work-
man nailing the last of the shingles in place. Every one
strips you saw so often these days. One man stood on a
high ladder, painting the last of some trim beneath one
of three dormers. The sun had moved into the after-
noon sky and lay on the back of the house, so that the
dormer windows~ when Bobbie came along, had a dark
opaqueness to them, like Amy Semple MacPherson
Pond before a storm.
This was the first day of school. Bobbie had entered
the sixth grade. He liked his teacher, Miss Larimer,
okay, and the day had passed uneventfully. Except for
those moments when his mind trailed off on the house
and Miss Larimer caught it. aBobbie's got the first day
back blahs, she told the class. The house, ever since
that night in the woods, was more and more with him,
getting into his dreams and squatting on the back of his
waking thoughts like some warped gnome.
He didn't know why. He dSdn't want to know why.
Bobbie had been true to his own word. He hadn't
gone into the woods at night again. But the house drew
him by day, as it drew a lot of other people. Some came
and went, stopping by every week. But a certain little
group showed nearly every day.
Miss Penny DuJong, who owned the candy and ice
cream shop called The Sweet Lady's down on White
Oak Avenue, had hired a young mother, Mary Haffey,
to come in every day. Miss Penny let her bring Kevin
along, so Mary came down to the shop for an hour at
noon with her little boy and returned in the afternoon
from four to five. Those were the hours Miss Penny
came out to the house. Long ago she had gone beyond


the urge to come because something noteworthy to
report might happen.
She sat today on a grassy knoll, surrounded by her
friends but oblivious to them. The house held her.
UIsn't it the whitest?" she said to herself. "Pure white.


to live in a house like that. Three stories high if you
counted the attic up there behind the dormer windows.
Twenty-four rooms. Nothing even remotely resembling
it had ever existed in Edgar Falls before. Even the few
people with money didn't aspire to anything like this.
Banker Bergins now, he had twelve rooms. And his
house was built of brick. But it didn't have the expan-
siveness or charm of the mystery house, as people had
taken to calling it.
- Look at that porch and those tall pillars. Miss
Penny's heart ached. She deserved a house like that.
Life had not treated her well. Spinsterhood had not
been her idea, but only one man had had meaning in
her life. Miss Penny always thought of Albert and her
sister Rose when she looked at the house, thought of
them with the thin hate that went trickling through her
veins even after all these years.
If she had married Albert, they could have stayed in
Edgar Falls and worked together and saved, and they
could have had a house like this. By now anyway. Then
today they could sit on that porch together in high-
backed wicker chairs (that porch cried out for high-
backed wicker chairs) and watch the setting sun dappie
the other two sides of the woods and turn the leaves to
sparkling bits of autumn gold.
An old line in Dickens came to Miss Penny. From
Hard Tim~s. Mrs. Gradgrind was ill and she lay upon a
couch and said something to the effect, aThere is a pain
floating in this room, and I sadly fear I have got it.n
Miss Penny couldn't remember the exact words any-
more; it was the only line she remembered from the
Dickens books her eighth grade teacher had foisted on
her class. (Miss Penny preferred Barbara Cartland
these days.)
But there was a pain somewhere here right now. And
she sadly feared she had got it. Miss Penny sat in the
darkness of her might-have-beens and stared, mesmer-
ized, at the house. In her heart, someone grabbed up a
butcher knife and hacked her sister Rose somewhere in
Europe into a million pieces, and then an ageless man
and woman came out on the porch of that house, hand-
in-hand, and sat down in the high-backed wicker
chairs.

Augustine Gordon, called Pulie by his uncle and
some of the kids in the high school in Gloa;ning, rode
his bike around the woods from Gloaming and home.
He hadn't intended to go by the house necessarily. But
something drew him.
He didn't like looking at the mystery house. It
reminded him of other things he didn't like. Like
Christmas trees shining in windows of other houses.
Why did they always look so homey and friendly? Pulie
knew that all the people behind those glowing windows
lived happy, joyous lives. While the artificial tree in his
house always seemed to be on the verge of decay, like
his mother.
Their house reeked of her medicines, and measures
of her mortality permeated everywhere. They only had
one bathroom in the tiny cottage where they had lived
alone since his father died. In that bathroom hung the
paraphernalia designed to keep his mother alive. The
douche bag, ever dangling from the shower rodj and
one of two nozzles on it at all times. One was the big
black spigot shaped like a man's thing that was for
keeping her withered female organs clean. The other


was a tinier nozzle for enemas, which his mother took
with regularity since she had long ago given up expect-
ing her body to perform its necessaries.
Pulie had years ago pinpointed the times she was
most prone to indulge herself in these cleansing proc-



esses--could it be accident that one coincided with hiscoming in
from school?
Stopping by the house got him over the afternoon
school time today. If he delayed long enough, he would
not have to hear the sighs and groans emanating from
the bathroom, the sounds that made him hate himself
because they brought a reaction in the most detested
part of his body.
"Nasty, nasty." He could hear his mother's voice now
going back to his early childhood when he had discov-
ered the appurtenance hanging from his body. "That's
for wee-weeing with," she had told him countless times,
the smack of her hands growing sharper as the years
went by. "Augustine, what are you doing in there under
the covers?" He had never been able to take a few
moments alone for himself without her hated question.
Even now she asked it.
Pulie sat on the seat of his bike, his long legs
reaching to the ground, and stared at the house, his
mind like everyone else's, suddenly centered on the
thought of possessing it. Twenty-four rooms! The
dislike for it dissolved as he realized what that house
could mean to him. Seven baths. Seven! He would
never have to see those things hanging in a bathroom.
She could have her own, and he his, and they would
never have to even pass in the halls. He could lie under
covers and do whatever he felt comr,elled t~7 d-) rt
hadn't been a good day for her. Miss Larimer seemed
to think her foot was something in her imagination that
she could overcome. Consequently, she had insisted on
Cindy's playing ninesquare. Cindy slowed the game,
and the kids had spent the afternoon in class throwing
her baleful looks. On top of that, her foot had ached all
day. She had deliberately come by the house today,
knowing Bobbie would probably be here. She hadn't
seen much of him lately; she spent every minute she
could steal from home with the babies. Bitsy had never
really felt well since the picnic, and when Bitsy felt
bad, she took it out on her kids. Cindy's presence
curbed a lot of that, and she had taken to regarding
herself as protector of the babies.
"Miss Larimer's okay," Bobbie said. "But she
shouldn't've made you play games unless you wanted
to."
aI didn't want," Cindy said, grateful he understood.
A sudden gasp went up from the crowd. Bobbie
turned back to the house. The ladder had swayed
suddenly, and the man on top had to flail out and
grope for the edge of the roof. He got the thing righted
okay and went back to his painting. The crowd
quieted.
~Who do you suppose is going to live in it?" Cindy
asked. The house was as big a puzzle as ever. ~And how
mf~ thfv ~ ln~t inct h~  nt~w r~n~7 ~nw m~l~ h ~In


up.
Bobbie kept silent. He didn't like looking at the
fence. It didn't sit quite right. It angled a little down-
ward on the left, just enough offkilter to make him feel
slightly dizzy. A lot of the house struck him that way.
He stared at the dormer windows. That one on the
right--it couldn't be more than a quarter inch off in its
angle. But it was that quarter inch off. Bobbie had a
feel for symmetry, and these tiny, out-of-line quirks
about the house bothered him in a way he couldn't put
into words.
If you stared at it long enough, the whole house
seemed to be a mass of weird tip-tiltings. It reminded
him of a crazy quilt, nothing quite right but all fitting
together into a whole. Unless he was mistaken? the left
pillar of the three stood just a hair shorter than the
others, the upstairs porch roof attached to them slant-
ing downward just a hair more than it should.
Couldn't the builders tell? Something popped into
his mind suddenly: a description in Haunting of Hill
Housc, Mom's favorite book. The house had formed
itself, the writer had said--something about flying
together into its own pattern. Like the builders could
only do what it wanted.
"Why didn't they just make a new house?" Vaguely,
Bobbie became aware that Cindv had re~eated her

trucks, don't you think?"
Bobbie wanted to tell her to shut up. But Cindy had
had a rough day with the kids mad at her. He sighed
and turned to her, seeing something desperate in her
face. ~Come on," he said. "I've got enough money for a
candy bar. Let's go down to The Sweet Lady's and I'll
split it with you."
"Okay," she said. "Miss Penny's over there watching
the house." Cindy seldom went to The Sweet Lady's
much as she loved candy, because she couldn't stand
the way Miss Penny simpered over her, calling her
"poor little thing." The free treat she always forced on
Cindy somehow tasted sour. But the beehive hairdo
was plainly notable in the crowd. Mary would be at the
shop, and Cindy could play a moment with little
Kevin. She might not be able to get out much to Bitsy's
now, what with school, and the days getting shorter.
Bobbie took Cindy's hand, and the two of them had
walked across a grassy area the length of a half block
when they suddenly heard a cry of horror go up behind
them. Both of them spun at once and went tearing
back to where the man who had been painting lay still
on the ground.

~ Tet a doctor" one of the men shouted to Pulie. Pulie


Pulie strangely, and much as he wanted to know if the
other one was dead, he didn't have the strength to
pedal over there again.

Doc Jannessey, wearing a white suit marred with
permanent spots, hopped out of his car where the road
ended and went bouncing along toward the house with
his black bag smacking at his thighs, grateful for a little
excitement. Nothing much ever happened in Edgar
Falls, and he had been listening to old man Holm-
stead's never-ending lists of complaints when Augus-
tine Gordon had burst into his off~ce.
The crowd had risen to its feet, and while maintain-
ing a respectful distance, craned its collective neck to
see the man on the ground. Miss Penny swiftly totaled
up in her head the absentees from the crowd so she
could get home and hit the phone and report the news.
She saw, with a registering of appreciation, that Lobe
Peters wasn't there. Scoop again, she thought.
Doc Jannessey, much too heavy for a man of sixty,
reached the fallen workman, huffing. Kneeling and
gasping for breath, he lay his ear against his chest.
~Wasn't any need to rush me," he said disappointedly--
he had had visions of appearing a hero to the crowd a~
he fought valiantly to save the man's life the way they

;

still carrying paint brushes. Shell pink, Miss Penny
saw. Her heart squeezed. Shell pink was her favorite
color; she had it on the walls of her shop.
The men began to swiftly and silently gather up
their things. Brushes disappeared into cans that reeked
of turpentine and were sloshed around and wiped
clean. The six of them began to load everything onto
the smaller trucks they had been using since the heavy
work ended. It all happened with such incredible
speed. Cindy, who had crept up close to Bobbie, stood
with her mouth open.
- "I'll put in a call to Sheriff Hille, and he can get the
county coroner over here," Doc Jannessey said. But no
one paid any attention to him. "Hey," he cried as the
black man and another started to pick up their faller
comrade. They set him upright on the passenger sid~
of one truck and strapped him into the seat belt. Hi
head fell forward. The crowd gasped.
"Now wait a minute," Doc shouted. "Violent death i~
a coroner's case."
Men mounted the trucks. Four motors flared intc
life. In a moment they were bouncing across the open
meadow to where the road began. They hit the road in
a linej kicking up a small cloud of dust. The crowd
stood in a body watching the procession speed out oi
town toward th~ hiFhwav


wondering who was going to pay him for his time.
Only Bobbie and Cindy remained.
Bobbie stood a moment, staring at the spot where
the man's body had been moments before. Then
suddenly he realized that the shadows of the house had
fallen across him and Cindy. He grabbed her hand and
yanked her backward with such force she stumbled and
nearly fell and hollered, "Hey, cut that out!"
Standing in what was left of the sun, Bobbie stared
back at the house, looking up at the section the man
had finished painting just before the ladder went.
"That was a terrible accident," Cindy said shakily.
"Yeah," Bobbie said and couldn't erase the thought.
I'm surprised thcrc hasn't becn morc than onc.
He didn't say it out loud to Cindy. She wouldn't have
understood. He wasn't sure he did either. But he had a
feeling the house did.

,~ ,~

Chapter Three

The day after the accident, a double crew of work-
men swarmed through, over, and around the house.
The daily crowd sat watching a scene not unlike one in
a Mack Sennett comedy. Brushes seemed to fly, ham-
mers pounded with staccato taps so close together they
could hardly be distinguished. Within three days the
house stood gleaming white all over and could not have
been told from a new one. Workmen swept their trash
out the doors, bundling it up and putting it on their
trucks, and one knew without seeing that the inside
sparkled, too.
That first day after the accident, new events stirred

highway. "Must"~e taken a lot of side roads," he'd
declared. The coroner's investigator got it worked out,
of course, because after all, there hadn't been any foul
play. But he left DocJannessey grumbling about how it
was all caused by outsiders anyway.
Then the black woman, universally known as Ms.
Benedictine, arrived at noon in town. Same scene as
before. The chauffeur getting out and respectfully
tipping his hat, the woman sweeping inside the build-
ing--this time Doc Jannessey's. The workmen had
merely been looking after their own, she said.
To say nothing of protecting the id~ntity of th~r cmployer,
Lobe thought to himself later. Lobe missed it, damnit,
on business in Gloaming. He'd like to have thumbed
his nose at that fag chauffeur. Miss Penny arrived hot
on the heels of the woman's leaving to stare in awe at
the two hundred dollar cashier's check doc held. "Tried
to tell her I didn't do nothing," he said. "I mean, a
twenty would've done." The two bills went a long way
toward soothing his ego.
Most intriguing of all was that the dead workman
had had a name. Carlos Mendoza. "From St. Louis,"
Doc said. And Miss Penny went hurrying off with her
tidbits to spread them on eager ears. When Lobe
heard, he smirked to himself. There was some kind of
ooetic iustice in this somewhere.

that the work had ended. After all, watching the house
had gotten a lot of them through the last part of a dull
summer.
But in a little while, a ripple of excitement ran
through the group. Now they could watch to see who
would move in. Speculation opened up again as to
whether it might be colored, despite Lobe's insistence it
couldn't be. Gloriana Reege would have a lot to answer
for if she'd sold to colored. But they couldn't do
anything except wait and see.
The dust on the road had long since died down when
Miss Penny took the bull by the horns and decided to
satisfy her nagging curiosity. Others watched while she
boldly walked up the new flagstone path to the porch,
mounted the steps, and peered through a window
beside the front door.
She stayed there so long, people began to call, "What
do you see, Miss Penny?" But she was speechless,
staring through lacy curtains into what they all knew to
be the largest of the rooms, big enough to be a
ballroom. Tressa Allen, here on her lunch hour after
the rush at The Brewery, was the first to finally follow
Miss Penny up. They stood together, carefully shield-
ing their eyes in such a way as to not printing up the
window. ~God," Tressa breathed. ~It's like a fairy pal-
ace."


All but Bobbie Topin. He came by the house late
that evening. He had gone to the store to get some
noodles and rerouted himself to look at the house.
Only one person stood out here this evening. Lobe
Peters.
"Mystery should be solved soon, Lobe said to
Bobbie.
Bobbie nodded, his eyes on the house. All the white
paint and the new grass didn't fool him. Something was
wrong with this place.
That night he stood in his bedroom window looking
out across the meadows. He could see the house from
here, white against the night sky and the woods, and
his unease grew. He wondered if his grandfather would
change rooms with him if he thought up a good enough
reason--the old man seldom slept in his anyway. But
his grandfather didn't like change, and Bobbie knew
from experience that the old man could be stubborn.
Still, he thought he might try. It disturbed him having
the house in sight. He wished they didn't live on the
outskirts of town, or that there were other buildings
between him and the house. Looking out on it had
become a kind of ritual he performed every night
before going to bed. The necessity bothered him; why
..   .... ù - .     ~    o~o A..   ;t?

Miss Penny was a grown woman, and he wasn't abou~
to romp over there tonight or any other night. What
would he say anyway? ~Something's wrong with this
place, stay away from it"? He would get laughed at,
and his warning would go unheeded. Who paid atten-
tion to the instincts of a child?

It was Bitsy McCall on the road to the house, taking
her time walking the mile and a half. She hadn't been
feeling well enough lately to come down and take a
look at it. But Cindy had stopped in after sch.,ol today
to play with the kids and told her it was finished. And
tonight you just better bet she had to get out of her
shack for a while or go bugsies. The kids had all fallen
asleep finally, two of them on the twin mattreses
scrounged from the town dump on the east side of
town.
She didn't know what she'd do if it weren't for
George Neeley who ran the dump. George kept an eye
out for things she might need and had even delivered
some of the stufflike the ratty old stove in the middle of
the night. She knew what was coming, of course.
George was old and wrinkled and had a wife and a
dozen ~randkids. His wife was a dried-uo ^ld thin~


she'd been skipping on. Show her she'd just had the nu
on and off the past few weeks.
Since she'd first seen the house, she'd thought a lot
about it, about how if things had turned out different
in life it might be hers. Was it her fault she'd been born
a McCall with a drifty father? How come some people
got borned into palaces, and she got the pits?
And that crap they fed little kids in fairy tales. All
about Prince Charmings coming along to rescue the
cinder-covered princesses. It didn't happen that way.
The princes had peckers--they hadn't put that in the
fairy tales. Or how the princesses would get all hot and
worked up so that nothing would help them out of their
misery but that selfsame pecker. It made her sick right
now to think how much she needed Gary's. And him
off shoving it into Lord knew how many women,
leaving her to get on welfare.
Well, anyway, his hadn't trapped her this time. She
felt sure the cramps meant a period, and a good walk
would help bring that on. Mama had taught her that.
The house had seemed a natural destination. This
way she wouldn't have to run into Miss Penny, who,
she knew, hung out at the house. Miss Penny couldn't
face her with the question she loved so much--that
being, "When are you going to get yourself fi~ced?"
The road Bitsy took curved, so that she had to round
a small bend and was nearly on the house before she
could really see it. Then she stopped still, struck with
some bog mist still hovered around the bushes in there.
The house held her full attention.
"Hello," she said.

In his bedroom, Bobbie Topin tried very hard to fall
asleep. But the fact that someone walked out there on
the road near the house disturbed him. A memory of
the sensed shadow in the house kept drifting through
his mind. He struggled for the better part of a half
hour. aI won't go out there again," he whispered
through clenched lips. He kept his eyes tightly closed,
willing himself to sleep. But the shadow stirred on.
~It's just a house. There's nothing wrong with it.
You're just like Grandpop. You don't like change. A
bunch of kids will probably move into a house that size
and they'll be stuck up and look down on everybody,
and nothing will be the same in town again."
Good talking. Keep it up.
On the other hand, maybe they would be good
people. Maybe they'd look out around for charities and
see Cindy's foot and pay to get it fixed so that this town
would stop treating her like somebody who owed it
constant thanks. If Cindy lived to be a hundred, she'd
never get them paid up for their big favor.
- Soon the mystery would be over, and he could stop
thinking about the house. Once it got people in it,
Bobbie knew he wouldn t feel the same about it. Silly,


How about the hotel in that book Thc Shining you got
for a quarter at the thrift store last year?
Fiction, fiction, fic~ion, stupid. You're going to have to
quit reading that stuff.
"It's only entertainment" he said to himself.
~; Bobbie got up and looked out the window.

Bitsy McCail's mood had changed. "I hate them! I
hate them all!" She rose from her grassy knoll and
stared from the depths of her blackness at the house.
God stank. What kind of God would let her get born
into a family of no-goods? No-goods all of them. Did
they ever come around to see was she okay? Fuck no.
They'd all headed out for other parts years ago leaving
her stuck with Mama. And then Mama died, copping
out on the whole thing. And what was shc supposed to
do? Ignore the need that warm arms filled for her? She
knew people talked about her. She knew people called
her a tramp. If she ever got hold of Gary again, she'd
hack that thing right off his body. Five kids. Fivc. And
her never wanting any.
C)h, she knew about the pill. She'd tried to take it.
But it made her boobs twice as big as they already
were, made them huge, sore weights to carry around.
Re~ide~ ~he never could remember to take the Dills.    I

with the food stamps Mr. Pender, the grocer, took with
a sneer on his face. She ought to just start walking
tonight. Keep on walking.
And leave them all here? All the snotty-nosed little
McCall kids, stretching out the line forever? Sure,
leave them behind. They had to grow up and have
more McCall kids so the town would always have
somebody to snivel at.
Bitsy stared at the house. She glared and blinked
once or twice. Now, why did she seem to have a funny
memory of her hand turning a doorknob, of a door
opening easily? She'd wandered off in her head day-
dreaming a while ago was all. All the soft, enticing
pinkness of walls was in her mind. If she had a torch
she'd burn the house down. Who did they think the~
were, coming in here and building a thing that size? I
was bad enough before. Now there'd be a whole passe
of new people to look down on the McCall~.
McCall. Filthy, ugly name. Did the McCalls evel
own anything like this? Shit no. The McCalls lived in a
shack with newspaper stuffed in the cracks and no ho
water heater. The McCalls had grown up on the wron~
side of the tracks, and kids made fun of them whilt
they were growing up. Soon the oldest of her own crew
would be in school. It would be the same thing all ovel


tried, acting like you were too dumb to be in school.
And eventually it worked.
Everybody else got out. Even all the McCalls. Only
Bitsy remained. And her crew, of course. Her bunch of
chains around her neck.
Wonder if she got free of them. Wonder if they had
never happened. She could be in some other town, now
that Mama was dead. No, not town. City. Big City.
Where nobody knew who she was. She could find a job
as a waitress and go to beauty school and open her own
place and meet a man who kept his pecker clean.
Wouldn't that be something. Wonder could it happen.
Why not? Why not just keep walking.
She turned away from the house that had got her
started on this kind of thinking. It was because it made
her see everything she wasn't, everything she could
never be. Because she'd been borned a McCall.
Well, we'd see about that. Keep on walking.

Bobbie managed to doze off at last. But he didn't
sleep easy. Someone kept laughing in his sleep, and he
didn't like the tone.

Bitsy skirted the town on the dirt road, unmindful of
the woo~ or the niFht .~onnfi~ in~i~le them Rnt then

an introductory case Mr. Amway had on the counter in
his pharmacy. She had gone there to spend good
money on some Rolaids to help her nausea and had
had a pretty good foraging trip. She wasn't as good as
Gary, but she'd done okay. Managed to-get a new
confession up under her skirt and two packs of ciga-
rettes. She didn't like them--lowest in tar, they said.
But they'd been the best she could do. -

She stared at the cigarette and thought about theRolaids. They
hadn't done her stomach any good. It
wasn't an ache anyway. It was the kind of heartburn she
always got when she was pregnant, the kind that often
brought hot, burning puke into her throat so that she
went around with a bad taste in her mouth.
The bath hadn't done her any good either. Or the
walk. She realized that, staring at the glowing tip of her
cigarette. What the walk had done was get rid of the
crampy feeling. She didn't feel anything warm and
welcome oozing down her legs.
That's becauseyou're p.g. andyou know it. It was blow up
the balloon time, here comes that tramp Bitsy McCall
again, putting another mouth on welfare; time for the
"something ought to be dones." "Someone ought to get
a court order and stermalize--steerlize?--her.~ She
knew what they said. Miss Penny always kept her
mouth going loud enough for Bitsy to hear.
Fuck Miss Pennv. No. that was a lauFh. Probablv no


want grave dirt on you! She stood up, swiping wildly at
herself, trying to get the grave dirt off.
Well, what was wrong with grave dirtt she asked
herself? There was going to be a whole lot more of it
being dug real soon.
She started walking again. Passed the last glowing
remains of a cigarette she couldn't recall throwing
away. The night came and went in her head.
Somebody had to stop it someplace. Pull the rug out
from the town. Maybe it couldn't survive without the
McCall Clan to kick around. Maybe she'd found a way
to destroy the whole town. People couldn't get by
without somebody to look down on.
If the McCalls were gone, there would only be the
house and the new people there looking down on thcm.
Bitsy smiled at her own logic.
Keep on walking, something hissed in the back of her
mind.
I will, I will. There's something I have to do first.
No, you don't want to do that. You want to keep on walhng.
I said I will, damnit.
But Bitsy.
But Bitsy.
But Bitsy.

come up in this town. And as long as she had them,
they were all trapped here. On her own, she could
make it.
They would understand. Sometime, someday when
they were all together in Heaven, the babies, as Cindy
called them, would all gather 'round their mama with
their little angel wings blowing, and they would say,
aThank you, Mama, it's been so much better here." She
was really doing them a favor, you see.
It wasn't hard to get the thing started. A torch made
of some of the newspapers stuffing the cracks served
very well. Then she just went around lighting the other
newspapers long ago ground into the sides of the walls.
Fray them a little, they flared right up.
The ancient wood caught almost immediately. And
the whole place took.
Good-bye, babies. Good-bye, McCalls.
Start walking. Keep on walking.
It would have been all right if one of them hadn't
waked up and started screaming. She hadn't counted
on that. They were supposed to just go off in their
sleep.
Bitsy stood uncertainly in the glow of the flames.
Which one was it? She'd better go see.
At the last minute, she realized what she had really


sleepy, -aWhuzzits?" Cindy opened the door.
Mr. Kroger from the post off~ce stood there in his
volunteer fire outfit. aTell your dad we need him," he
shouted. aThe McCall place is on fire."
Her father had stumbled into the living room and
heard that. aBe right with you," he called.
aBring your own car, Clyde," Ed Kroger said. aGot to
get on down there."
The McCall place? Bitsy McCall's place? The place
wha~ thc babi~s livcd?
Frantically, Cindy ran for the bedroom, forgetting to
favor the foot, and was dressed before her father.
"What are you doing in your clothes?" her mother
demanded when she raced back for the living room.
Her mother hung onto her bedroom doorjamb, half
asleep.
I've got to go down there, too, Mama," Cindy cried.
aDown where?" Her mother yawned widely, laying
her forehead against the woodwork.
aTo the McCall house. With Daddy."
aDon't be ghoulish," her mother said. "You can see
the flames from here if you want to. But only sick
people chase fires for the kick." She threw a pointed
look at her husband rushing through the living room in
his slicker and hat.
UBut you don't understand," Cindy cried. She ran
aft~r h~r f~ther. aTake me. too!" she cried. "Somebodv

She stood for a moment on the sidewalk, staring off
toward the glow on the south side of town. Terror for
the babies choked her. What if they were in there?
aCindy!"
She went inside the house. It wouldn't do any good
to tell her mother she had been visiting Bitsy' some-
times. And it wasn't her mother's anger that upset her.
It simply wouldn't do any good. Nobody was going to
let her go down there.
aIt will mean a spanking," she told herself.
So okay. It had almost been a pleasure when her
parents finally got over treating her like a case of high
explosives and her mother took to smacking her again
now and then.
aLeave the bathroom light on for your father," her
mother said sleepily.

aI will n

Cindy turned off the other lights her father had
flipped on, making a show of stomping noisily through
the house. Then she shut her bedroom door loudly as
she went inside. And in another moment she was out
the window, crawling on her hands and knees under
her parents' room, and on her way down the street.
Tears burned in her throat and eyes. aPlease don't let
anything hurt the babies," she found herself saying over
and over. What had happened? Had Bitsy fallen asleep
with a ciearette? Mavbe she'd lit that uelv old heatine


Cindy turned her head sideways. Augustine Gordon
was sliding along the curb on his bike. Cindy let out a
ayes" on a sob.
Yt's exciting, isn't it? Fire?" Augustine said. He went
on by.
aWait!" Cindy cried. aCan you give me a ride?"
He braked, let one foot slide along the curb. A car
sped by them on the way to the fire. aI don't know," he
said. aI've never carried anybody before."
aPlease," she moaned. aI've got to see if the babies are
okay."
aI guess you could ride on the back rack," he said.
aYou're pretty big. If I put you up front, I won't be able
to see."
Good grief, did he have to figure it out scientifically?
"Okay, get on," he said after a careful testing of the
rack. aBut hold on tight. I get going pretty fast
sometimes."
It felt strange to have the little girl riding on the back
of his bike, her arms around his waist. Sort of a heady
feeling, it gave him. Of power. He could feel part of her
pressing against his behind, and that made him feel
stranger yet. Uncomfortable. But pleasant in a way.
Pulie pedaled for all he was worth, faster than he had
ever oedaled hef~re. Till they were like their own
died. Huge cinders floated in the air, drifting to the
street beside them. But they weren't glowing. The
smell of burnt wet wood hung on the night.
Bitsy's shack was the only one left in the next block.
All the others that used to dot the south side had long
ago been torn down. Good thing, people said later. Or
they might have had a major fire catastrophe on their
hands.
They got as close as they could to the smouldering
pile that had been Bitsy's place. Cars and the old
secondhand fire engine the town had bought from
Gloaming lined the streets. The volunteer firemen still
raced about. Cindy saw Doc Jannessey's car out of the
corner of her eye. Good. If any of the babies had gotten
burned, he was there to help them.
Pulie braked the bike so abruptly the two of them
nearly catapulted off. Cindy got herself righted and
climbed down. Her legs felt stiff and sore, and her
chest hurt from holding her breath against the expected
crash. But she ignored all that and raced toward the
ruins.
She could have at least thanked me, Pulie thought. That
was hard work. He watched her run, her gait unsteady;
he was mesmerized by the way the body that had been
pressing against his only moments before moved.


aStay back, kid," one of the men ordered. Then he
took a look at her. aCindy Newman, what are you
doing down here? You~l get your hide tanned." It was
Mr. Pender, the grocer. He had his fire helmet in one
hand and was running the other across his bald head,
smearing it with black soot.
aWhere are the babies?" Cindy yelled.
aYou mean the McCall kids?"
Cindy wanted to haul off and kick him with the
heavy special shoe for his denseness.
aThey're bringing them out now."
What? What!
aDoc sent for an amblians over to Gloaming. But it
won't do any good. They've all had it. Nothin' could
survive that. Bitsy's alive but won't be long."
Cindy stood still a long moment. All her insides had
stopped functioning. Only her ears worked, and they
were filling up with a scream. It was some time before
she realized it was her own, or that Mr. Pender,
uncomprehending, had nevertheless caught her in a
bear grip and wouldn't let her go.
aThey're not dead," she shrieked. aNot the babies."
But they were bringing them out, like he'd said. One
by one the volunteer firemen came picking their way
out of the smoking ruin. One by one they laid a small
L..  r,~  A~   LD .T~    I    T ir~     L.,.rn .. ~

aCindy!" That was her father's voice, full of anger.
aYou get the hell over to my car, young lady," he
shouted. aWhat do you think you're doing down
here?"
Cindy raised her eyes. Her father stared at the soot-
covered face, at the wild, crazed look in it, and actually
backed off a step. Y liked to come and play with them,"
she said in a flat voice. aNobody knew. Mamma wouldn't
let me. This is Gary Junior, and Allie and Jakie and
Carmen, and that little one's Pammy" All lined up in a
row they were. Cindy got to her feet.
Funny little black babies. My, it was going to take
some scrubbing to get them clean. About the only
baths they ever got were the ones she gave them. They
hated cold water, and Bitsy never cared whether they
were clean or not. Cindy certainly had-her work cut
out for her. It would take an hour to get Pammy's gold
hair c!ean alone.
aCin?" her father said in a voice gone suddenly soft.
"Come away, honey."
Cindy looked around. She couldn't see the bathtub
in the pile of black rubble. What should she use?
Maybe she should get a bar of soap and take them all
down to Amy Semple MacPherson Pond. She had to
go and find Bitsy and ask where the soap was. She
L~ ~LA L~ A~   D~   ,~t~ ~ 1_. ~r ,L~   L .,


Cindy walked sedately to where the mound of flesh
lay. aWhat do you think happened?" someone was
saying.
aHeater maybe," came the answer. aElectrical fire?"
"Hello, Bitsy, Cindy said. aThe babies are awfully
dirty tonight. I thought maybe I'd take them down to
. . ." Her voice faltered. She stared at the girl with the
gouged, black flesh. Underneath, pink oozy splotches
showed. Bitsy didn't seem to have any clothes on. For
goodness sake. Bitsy maybe didn't have much of what
the town called morals--she'd told Cindy that often.
But she was modest; she didn't just go around any old
place naked. aCover her up," she ordered her father,
who had followed her and stood helplessly above her.
He looked at Doc Jannessey. Doc shrugged. Clyde
Newman took offhis fire coat and laid it across the girl.
It would mean buying a new one. He'd never wear that
again. Maybe she should be buried in it.
Cindy leaned over Bitsy. aI need some soap," she
said. And then turned her head and looked bewil-
deredly back toward the babies. One, two, three, four,
five.
Something was wrong here. Panic started to rise.
"Soap," she said again, unsteadily.
"Cindy."  ~ ~ .     ~ .. .

asked Doc Jannessey to stop by his place on his way
home and give Cindy a sedative.
That person was screaming again. Cindy wished she
would shut up. The sound hurt her ears, threatened to
burst her head. "Tell her to shut up," she told her father.
"There isn't anything she can do. They're all dead."

Chapter Four

Something awful lurched down White Oak Avenue.
Behind it snaked a length of dirty winding cloth, and
the stench of the thing's tomb-centuries fouled the air.
aLook out, look out, someone cried. aIt's coming.~
At the main entrance to the town of Edgar Falls
suddenly rose a black-robed figure, arms outstretched,
clawed fingers convulsing. A high, winged collar em-
braced a face the color of bleached bone. The eyes were
piercing, blacker than the night and shiny and darting
as those on a rat scavenging in a pile of dump garbage.
A hissing sound poured from its throat, passing
thrml~h ~ mouth the color of blood. and slowly the
in place gleamed in a ray of moonlight. It looked about
puzzIedly, wondering in the dim piece of criminal brain
who had summoned it from sleep. And finding no
answer here, it began to move toward the town. While
the voice of the one person awake in all this place began
to mew and whimper with terror.
The thing on White Oak Avenue, hearing the others
coming, stopped and turned to wait for them. Now
they were all in the town itself. They met in the center
and stared upon each other with recognition and
respect. Then, one by one they smiled and began to
advance on the houses. While the knowing voice
whimpered on and on.
But wait! There was still another. Something white
stood on the edge of town. It was only a house at first,
built of odd angles and minute twistings. But then a
gigantic mouth gaped open where its door should be.
The teeth were like those you could buy in a trick store,
and they chattered and giggled insanely as the house
stood on massive legs and began to lumber into the
town.
The others heard it coming and paused at the
doorways they had reached. Excitement tremored
through them. Because the greatest of them all was
~omin~T to ioin - the ni~rht's frolic. ~Soul-Eater.r thev


out on it, the owner of the voice knew with abject
simplicity what he had to do.
He alone held knowledge. He alone must stand
against them. And in that truth he saw his doom.
But the one with knowledge always had to go. So he
went to another room in his house and drew out a
small item from a jewel-clasped box. He went to his
front door, opened it, and stood there sobbing a long
moment before he moved into the night.
Bobbie Topin came awake with a moan. Swiftly, he
flicked on his bedlamp and then lay there blinking
rapidly, his heart beating with such swiftness it felt as
though it would burst from his chest. aOh, jeez," he
whispered. aIt was only a dream." From the living
room came the sound of his grandfather's comforting
snore.
But he couldn't shake its effects. He lay there,
drenched in sweat, trying to calm his trembling body
enough to let him get up and go into the kitchen to
make some hot cocoa.
When he could finally manage, he got out of bed
and set feet that felt like jelly on the floor. The first
thing he did was pull his shade. And then he went
tottering into the kitchen, where he pulled those
shades, too, and then made himself the cocoa.
For the first time in his life, he regretted the one
great love he'd always had in reading. He'd gotten it
from his mother who always said horror movies were
th~ he~t kin~l of e~rane Vt)ll ~ 1 hav~ ak'~ ~ooll tn
night. And they saw every horror movie that came
their way. It was maybe the single thing Bobbie missed
about her most. He co~ld see her eyes now, widened as
she read of a vampire advancing on its victim. When
he was very little, she used to turn out all the lights
when a good one came on TV. And then she would
cuddle him next to her, and the two of them would
shiver together with delight.
Bobbie, sitting at the table with his cocoa mug in his
hands, summoned that image now. It comforted him.
aWow," he said to himself after a while. aAII of them at
once. And a new one I made up." That was pretty wild
dreaming. He'd really thrown himself into it; his throat
hurt. With the warm liquid in his stomach, he could
even smile at himself. Mom would have loved that
dream. She'd be jealous.
Something scraped against the kitchen door, and in
spite of his humor, Bobbie started. But then his
grandfather lurched sleepily into the room. "What's
going on, boy?" he grunted. aYou woke me up."
aI'm going back to bed now, Grandpop," Bobbie said
and stood. He bumped against the table, and when he
heard a mumed little clunk, he absently stuck his hand
in his pajama pants' pocket, wondering what he had
put in there.
Puzzled, he drew out the tiny gold cross on a chain,
one of several his mother had owned that her mother
ha~d~give~n hler ~  e~


In vain, Lobarth Peters waited for further news on
the house. More and more he took to driving out that
way, telling himself he had supplies to buy in Gloam-

t - ing. The house stood near the old road that had been
hacked out of the southwest woods years ago as a
shortcut to that other town. In truth, the supplies could
be found at Loman's Department Store, but Lobe told
himself things were cheaper in Gloaming; thus he had
a legitimate reason to pass by the house.
Keeping a proprietary eye on it, too, he told himself,
since he'd been the first, in effect, to know about it.
Now and then someone else sat out there in one of
the meadows now turned entirely to gold. Those days
Lobe just waved and kept on driving. But there were
times he had the view all to himself. And he would
brake his old pickup and sit in a state bordering
melancholy as he looked at it.
The house had brought some excitement into Lobe's
life for a while. Made everybody sit up and take notice
of him and his paper. Now, even though people were
still curious, time had taken some of the excitement out
of it. Folks had problems, more lately than usual.
There was talk of shutting down Ace altogether.
Oh, he'd had other stories lately. The fire had filled
space. But when he'd tried to get town reaction,
nobody had much to say. People felt bad, they admit-
ted, about those children dying. But Bitsy McCall
shouldn't have had them all in the first place. She
.    ...  .... .~   .    ...

Bitsy's mother. A few people like Miss Penny DuJong
showed up at the short graveside service where Rever-
end Botts of the Great Day Baptist Church said a few
words about the will of God sometimes being an
enigma to man.
Lobe went. And gathered another little tidbit.
Helman Schwartz, who took care of the cemetery,
stood by to fill in the huge grave (three of the children
resting in one adult-sized casket, the two larger ones in
another, and Bitsy in her own). He drew Lobe aside
when the handful of people started to leave.
aDon't know if it's related to Bitsy or not," he said.
aBut something weird went on out here the other night.
I've smoothed it all over now, but somebody made a
mess out of Bitsy's mother's grave. Had a hole hacked
half across it. Now who'd do a thing like that? A grave
robber would've picked on somebody maybe wearin'
something valuable. Whoever it was smoked Carltons,
that's all I know."
The story had been worth a couple of inches in Thc
Daily Way, that was all.
The only other thing that happened in connection
with the fire was that the day after he printed the story,
Cindy Newman rushed into Thc Daily Way.
Lobe was standing at his counter, looking over an ad
layout, when Cindy burst through the door. aWhy
don't you watch your print better?" she shouted at him.
aYou got the 'e' and the 1' mixed up in baby Pammy's


owners. It was like reading a book you were fascinated
with, only to find when you got near the end that
somebody had ripped out the last few pages. Lobe had
an unsettled feeling about it all.
Sometirnes he pondered the house's importance to
him. The mystery book he'd tried to start never got off
the ground. He simply wasn't a fiction writer. He'd
toyed with the idea of writing up the house story,
submitting it maybe to the Post Dispatch since the
workman was from St. Louis. But when he got to
thinking about it, it didn't even make good enough
copy outside Edgar Falls to steal. No one else would see
what a great advent this had been in Lobe's quiet town.
Lobe thought about that a lot these days, about how
quiet--even dull--Edgar Falls was. The old restless-
ness had come back; the feeling that had made him
si,gn into the service years ago to get a taste of the
world. But the world hadn't seemed much different
from this place, and he'd come home. He'd brought a
wife and lost her now, gone-off to find out who she
really was. aA city woman," Lucy called herself. He
missed her sometimes, but she hadn't really filled his
needs.
Lobe really had only one need in his life, and all his
dreams fed it. To be somebody. To have people say
admiringly as he passed by, aThere goes a man with
power."
Hadn't happened. Would it ever now?
He sat out by the house one mid-October afternoon
and practically prayed to it. He hadn't lost the odd
f~lina ths-t there was more storv here. and if it would

On the downhill run. No, not run. Stumble. Life
was a good three-quarters over. And the years ahead
full of bleakness and failure.
Lobe looked at the house and smiled grimly at
himself. Lord, this was what it was all about, was it?
What all his dreams had been for? Not wars or
exposing Watergate or going underground with the
mafia? It had all led pitifully to sitting on an old road
waiting for something to happen with a housc? Jesus H.
Christ.
The house stood unconcerned beneath a pile of
storm-threatening clouds. Lobe drove back to Thc Daily
Way, too defeated to even continue on his business to
Gloaming; he could not, in fact, remember what he'd
started out to do.

The storm came rolling and crashing into Edgar
Falls, signaling the official end of summer. When it was
over, Halloween was only a few days away, and the
weather had turned nippy.

Bobbie Topin faced Halloween with a faltering
heart.
aMan, you must have been crazy, he ranted at
himself all the way home that day after he'd agreed to
spend it with some guys at school.
But it wasn't craziness; he knew he only wanted to be
friends.


again."
aI know. But they as~d."
aThey asked in the swoop of victory. Because you
won the spelling bee today for the boys' side of the
room~
~I don't care why they asked. It's the first time
anybody's asked me to go anywhere. Maybe they're
starting to like me."
asO go on out there, stupid. Go visit old Soul-Eater
Maybe itll gobble your dumb head up."
Standing in the normal activity of the meat store
while a couple of women vied to get the last of some
lamb chops on sale, Bobbie told himself this whole
conversation was pretty silly. aYou've known all along
you'd have to go back sooner or later," he said. "Just to
prove to yourself it's all dumb." Better to go when you
had companionship. Joey Hetherington, Mike Bot-
toms, and CraigJorgenson were the ones who'd asked
him. They planned to sneak out about eleven-thirty,
after the trick-or-treating was over, and meet at Amy
Semple MacPherson Pond. Then hike on over to the
house.
aWhy the house?" Bobbie had asked when they'd
invited him to go along.
aBecause you got to play some kind of trick on
Halloween. Nobody's ever been in the house before.
Nobody'll know but us, but it~l be fun. Everybody in

But after a few more moments of conversation he
realized that the other guys didn't mean much of what
they were saying. They were just trying to whip
themselves up to some Halloween enthusiasm. After
all, in a year or two they'd be too old to celebrate their
favorite holiday. They had to build this house thing
into something big.
He wondered what they'd think if he added his two
cents about the house. Well, he had no intention of
letting them know. Somehow he would get his feet
inside there for a couple of minutes. He had somebody
to spend Halloween with, and he was willing to pay a
high price for that.

As if being asked to trick-or-treat weren't greal
enough, Grandpop was in one of his alert spells when
Bobbie got in from school. Actually puttering with a
broken kitchen cabinet drawer Bobbie hadn't gotten
around to fixing. aWhat say, boy?" he muttered.
aI say I got me some guys to trick-or-treat with,~
Bobbie came back with a touch of his eagerness poking
at the corners of his mouth.
His grandfather took shaky aim at a nail with a
small hammer. Hit it. aHey! You did it, Grandpop~
Bobbie exclaimed happily.
a 'Course I did it.n The old man turned around with


Grandpop nodded and turned back to his drawer to
run fingers over it. aGot to sand this down and varnish
it someday," he remarked. aChipped a hole."
E Bobbie went to stand beside him. aHardly any."
The old man looked down at him. aTrick-or-treating
you say?" he asked. aYoull be out late?"
"Well, listen, Bobbie said quickly. aI don't have to
go." Maybe Grandpop liked Halloween as much as
Mom had. The guys would understand, wouldn't they?
Ask him somewhere else?
aHalloween is for addleheads," Grandpop said. And
then one of his rare smiles flitted across the long-boned
face. aBut I wouldn't," he said apass up one of them
penny Hersheys if you brung one home."
Bobbie didn't tell him there was no such thing as
penny candy anymore. aMaybe Ill get you a big one,"
he said with his happiness now spreading from ear to
ear. He was going out after all. Man. He had buddies
l to trick-or-treat with. And Grandpop was in the best
E spirits he'd seen since spring. Maybe the good mood
E would last this time.

At six o'clock, Bobbie left his house carrying a
gunnysack and Grandpop's little can of shoeblack. He
turned on the TV first to a comedy show and left the
old man dozing in his chair. No need to worry about
handing out treats; no one would come out this far
tonight except the little Letkins kids from up the road,
and he'd ~one over there before dinner and left off a
now, he just let himself churn with excitement. At long
last he must have proved himself enough; the kids
wanted more of his company. And on Halloween.
The couple of Halloweens before last year here in
Edgar Falls, he'd spent with Mom, reading ghost
stories to each other and eating popcorn. Maybe he
hadn't had anyone to go out in the night with, but his
mother was great company. Last year, with her gone,
he hadn't done anything. Now he had three buddies to
trick-or-treat with, and he'd thought himself too old for
this kind of eagerness.

asO you're Bobbie Topin, Mr. Bottoms said when
Bobbie stopped by there first. aEnjoyed your letter last
summer."
Bobbie roared with laughter when he went to Mike's
room, and they climbed into their costumes. They
were wearing exactly the same things: gunnysacks.
And they blacked each other's faces. Mike looked great
with his blond hair sticking up over his smeared face,
and the two of them went off to meet the others,
punching each other with glee, half expecting Craig
and Joey to be wearing the sarne thing.
But Craig was in an old coat of his father's that
dragged along the ground--and a monster mask. They
all fell apart at Joey's. His mother had him dressed in
one of her dresses. He had an old fox fur draped
around his neck with the little fox mouth biting onto
the tail, and beady eyes and dan~lin~ feet. She had


fond of sweets, but Grandpop liked them. By nine
o'clock, he had enough in his sack to keep the old man
supplied until Christmas. Wonder of wonders, there
was actually a Hershey he'd traded Craig a Baby Ruth
for.
They had a lot of good laughs, the four of them,
charging up to porches ahead of gangs of little kids,
shouting, aTrick-or-treat!" Joey kept falling over his
dress, and they were forever hauling him off the
ground, till finally he took it off and looked twice as
silly charging up to doors in his own clothes with the
fox fur and the wig and the lipstick still on.
Now and then the good time they were having
overwhelmed them, and the four of them would get
into a wrestling match on somebody's lawn and roll
around and punch each other, making the most of each
other and the night.
Bobbie got in some good jokes, and on the rare
occasion when a- homeowner insisted they do some
kind of act before they got their treats, Bobbie took the
starring role, doing a Charlie Chaplin pantomime.
aHey, you're good!" Mike exclaimed each time it hap-
pened. And he was. A couple of people gave them extra
bags saved for special trick-or-treaters.
That night for the first time Bobbie Topin felt he
belonged in Edgar Falls. So he wasn't even concerned
about the house as he finally headed for home. "See
..   A..  .~ ~h~ r~ ~1 n h~   l tn ~ h nf hic h~  g ~lc th~v

own. Grandpop was awake, still alert, looking at some
kind of Olympic documentary on their old black-and-
white TV.
Bobbie called him into the kitchen and dumped his
loot on the table. Some of the stuff was chewy, and
Grandpop wouldn't be able to eat it. But he opened the
Hershey and started on it immediately, then selected
himself out some candy kisses and took the other candy
bars Bobbie pressed on him.
'~ou have a good time, boy?"
aThe best," Bobbie said. And Grandpop rubbed his
grandson's head with his hard knuckles and went back
to the TV.
Bobbie sat for a long time staring at the empty
doorway leading into the rest of the house. His head
smarted from the knuckle rub but he didn't mind.
Grandpop was in rare good spirits tonight. Often,
whole days passed with the old man saying little of
anything to his grandson, even when the going-away-
in-his-head mood wasn't on him. Those times made
Bobbie wonder if Grandpop was thinking what a bum
deal life had given him, slipping him a kid in his old
age. No welcome had ever been issued, but Bobbie told
himself that didn't hurt. It was enough Grandpop had
let him stay when he could have set him to an
orphanage. If there was never anything much outside
the far-apart smiles that resembled affection, Bobbie
could live with that.


early-to-bed place. The piece of moon illuminated the
tops of bending trees, and except for the hum of wind
and the gentle slapping of the pond, all was peaceful.
Bobbie's insides weren't quite as peaceful as every-
thing else. The last hour, after the excitement of the
trick-or-treating and the pleasure over Grandpop's
condition had subsided a little, his mind had insisted
on reminding him that he didn't like the house. The
thought came back to him now.
aDon't have to like it," he said. aJust have to survive

it n
Fidgeting from one foot to the other, he waited for
the rest of them. Twenty minutes went by. What if they
weren't coming? Or what if they'd gone without him?
They wouldn't do that, would they? Tonight had been
really good. It wasn't going to get spoiled now, was it?
But in another moment, he saw three shadows
approaching. The shadows jumped and tore around in
a little clump, and Bobbie could hear their laughter
now that they were out of hearing range of the town. A
momentary pang of loneliness hit him. These guys had
grown up together, were inseparable. Could he ever
really be part of them?
Craig had spotted him. He came rushing up to
deliver a mock punch to Bobbie's midsection, the moon
coloring his hair to cooked carrots. In a moment, they
were all pummeling Bobbie, and the loneliness faded.
They went off together, giggling and punching and
falling down in the meadow grass as they cut toward
the house. Long ago there had been a lot of farms out
this way. But then the factory had come to town and
vnl~ .i make better monev there. Some of the old-


~ . j ~

~'

Craig carried a small back pack full of tools hangingfrom a strap
down his back. aSomethin' in this little old
sack'll get us in," he said. He grinned conspiratorially
at Bobbie. Excitement ran high, and if there was a
certain slight nervousness in their silly laugher, nobody
mentioned it to another.
They reached the dirt road that led to the house.
They could see the gables now, and Bobbie ordered
himself to cut out the silliness when his heart skipped a
couple of beats. aJust a house, just a house, he told
himself. He looked around at his buddies and grinnec.
suddenly. Their eyes had begun to cast uneasy glances
at the woods that now skirted the road. Off inside,
something cried out--just bird sound. But Bobbie saw
the others stiffen and realized the woods at night
unsettled them.
aWe could save a few yards cutting through here," he
said, digging it to them a little--maybe for the couple
of years they hadn't seen his sterling qualities as a
buddy.
A small silence. aShit, we don't wanna do that," Mike
said finally. aWe'd come up on the side, and we want a
good view of the house." Good thinking, Bobbie ap-
plauded him.
In a moment they rounded the bend, and all stopped
as if on signal. The house waited a few hundred yards
from them.
Serene beneath the moon.


For a moment no one spoke. Then Joey said, aHow
old do you think it is?"
aHundred years maybe?" Mike speculated
Bobbie hadn't thought about that too hard before


aYou think anybody's ever going to move in?~ That
from Joey again. aMy mom says if somebody doesn't
L soon, Miss Penny's going to go berserk and break down
the door. Says Miss Penny wants to get into that house
so bad she just about pees in her pantsn
aWhat makes you think Miss Penny wears pants?"
Craig said. They all giggled. And went silent again.
aBe a good joke on Miss Penny if we got in there
first, Mike mumbled at last.
aGood joke." They all repeated the words and let
them die out.
The wind whistled around through the trees beyond
the house for a while. aWell, someone said eventually.
Well.
Craig pulled his bag around to the front of his body
and held it against his stomach a minute. aLet's get it
over with," he said.
The order brought an explosion of laughter.
aNot so loud, Craig said giggling. aDon't let thc
house know we're comin'." Bobbie glanced at him
sharply, but it was just meant for cleverness.
They moved a few steps nearer. Stopped to contem-
plate it again. aWhat's that iron fence for I've always
wondered?" Craig demanded. aRich people keep dogs
on their roofs, do you think?"
This brought another round of laughter. ~Just for
show probably," Bobbie said. They had come close
enough now that the house seemed to tower above
them. Looking it over, Bobbie felt the old uneasiness
moving through him. Had something heard them
coming? Was it stirring inside there now?
All of a sudden something stark moved through him.
He couldn't go in there. He couldn't. Damn. His insides
had begun to shake. It was all up. They would see his
trembling in a second and kn~w he was a coward, and

He thought fast, sucked in a deep breath. aListen,
you guys go in," he said.
aWithout you?" They all turned on him suddenly,
making him uncomfortable with their questioning
eyes.
aI got something to do first," he said, his brain racing
wildly and groping for something. Anything. arve got
some rabbit traps set in the woods, and I want to check
them out. Only take me a few minutes. Hey, you guys
could come with me, and then we could all go in the
house together?"
That was a stroke of brilliance. Joey visibly backed
off a step, and Bobbie breathed an inward sigh of relief.
There had been the small chance they would call his
bluff--he didn't have any rabbit traps. If he had, they
wouldn't be near here. But his pell-melling brain had
counted on the other boys being more afraid of the
woods than the house.
"What do you have to check your dumb traps tonight
for for crap sakes?" Craid demanded.
"Grandpop's been sick, and I haven't been able to get
over to this part of the woods lately." The lie made his
mouth taste bad, but it was meant to save his future. aIf
I got any rabbits, I don't want them rotting in the
woods.
They were all staring at him. aYou knew we were
coming out here," Mike said. aHow come you didn't
just check your traps earlier and meet us here?"
He didn't like what he heard in Bottoms's voice.
They all waited. He understood what their silence was


telling him.
Damn. A stupid old house. He saw it all clearly--the
years ahead--facing the looks in-their eyes. It would be
worse than before when they had merely ignored him a
lot of the time. He thought of the trick-or-treating, saw
them rolling and ~i~eline ~nrl h~vin~ h~ll


aWe~l wait for you," 30ey said. ~Right here."
They were giving him a chance. But he heard
himself say with a sinking voice, aNo, you go on in. I'll
check my traps and find you inside."    I
aSure you will,n Bottoms murmured.
Bobbie went sick in the pit of his stomach. He
thought he saw them rib each other. aForget it,n Joey
said. And then he hollered, aCharge!"
The three of them took off running for the porch.
Bobbie stood in misery while Craig opened his bag,
pulled something out, and tinkered with the door a
second. Wait a minutc, I'm coming, he wanted to shout.
But couldn't; he didn't have any voice.
aHey," Craig gasped. aIt wasn't even locked!"
Bobbie's heart nearly stopped. He saw the black
cavern yawn behind them. Comc on back, he wanted to
holler.
But he knew it would bring all their unspoken
disgust pouring down on him. The massive door shut.
Bobbie stood there, starting to shake hard, listening for
sounds of them. But it was as if the house had
swallowed them up.

He didn't know how long he stood there, still fight-
ing with himself, his trembling fingers running ab-
sently along the handle of the flashlight hanging at his
side. He had lost it all because he was a whining sissy.
How come he couldn't just walk right up that porch
and push open the door? But they'd be in distant parts
of the house now; he'd have to go through it alone.
Or maybe they stood in a window staring out at him,
jeering? aMan, we sure had old Topin figured wrong.
Imagine him being scared of a silly old house. Look at
him out there ready to pissn
Tears of fury dogged his throat. Yet he knew that

even if he mounted that porch, at the front door his feet
would balk. He hated himself at that moment, really
hated himself. But it didn't do any good.
Very slowly, he turned. The thought of the house
looming behind him crawled up his spine. He thought
he heard the house give a slight hum as he started
walking, like a chorus tuning up for a song. The wind
whistled around its corners, chilling him.
He kept on walking, trying to shake the thought that
it was watching him. Kccp on going. Don't look back. The
shadow waited.
A sudden, piercing shriek nearly made him faint.

Involuntarily, Bobbie spun. It was Craig Jorgenson
screaming. The boy had climbed over the iron railing
of the roof fence that had intrigued him so much a few
minutes ago. He was holding onto one of the spearlike
rails, backpack drooping off his shoulders, swaying out
over the lawn, a puppet dangling with the house for a
backdrop.
aCraig!" Bobbie shouted through panic. aGet down
from there."
aHey, look at me," Craig hollered. aI'm a bird.
Wheee!"
Bobbie stared in horror as Craig swung close to the
roof and kicked out again; the wind whipped the carrot
hair around his face.
Bobbie ran forward again, his eyes riveted. The
moon showed the expression Jorgenson wore. Bobbie
studied that expression a long second before he shook


his head and began to shout again: aGet down! Get
back on the roof. That thing may cave in." If Craig had
picked on a section of roof over the porch, the porch
might break his fall, but he hung out in space three
stories up with nothing between him and the ground.


Oh, Jesus. Bobbie hovered there, uncertain, the
terror out to grip him twice as hard. But something
was wrong with Jorgenson up there, something the
moon had shown.
Bobbie ran for the porch. Mounted it. Heard his
footsteps like a crashing announcement that he was
coming. He shoved hard at the door, holding a breath,
expelled it on a frantic, aJoey! Mike! Get up to the
roof. Jorgenson's gone crazy." No one answered him.
Above him to his left, Craig whooped and hollered.
Bobbie stared into the black pit. aHey, I'll bet I could
fly home from here," Craig shouted gleefully. And
Bobbie, because it was beyond him now, stepped
swiftly through the door.
The house. He was alone in the house.
He thought he heard that hum again. Welcoming.
He grabbed at the flashlight strapped at his waist.
Did the hum increase~
Don't think! If he thought, he'd panic all the way and
Ii it would be screaming time for Robert Louis Topin. He
had to get up to the roof. If he didn't, he had the awful
feeling there would be one less kid in Edgar Falls.
Shouting the names of the others, he managed to fight
the flashlight loose with shaking fingers. The beam
looked pitifully inadequate as it came on, and he took
off running for the staircase he knew so well from
weeks of construction watching, one which cut up
through the middle of the house.
Wind sound--moving down the fireplaces. That's all
the hum could be, right? Bobbie made the stairs on
one breath and tore upward.
Wait a second. He spun back. Oh, jeez. Was that a
shadow that slipped around that doorway back down
there? He flashed the light on the stairs behind him.
Something made a noise. aJoey?" His voice came out of
a cavern.

108

"Mike?"
Nobody down there. Nothing.
The sound again. Like a snicker. From under the
staircase . One of the guys--not knowing what was
happening on the roof--trying to scare him? Well, he
was succeeding.
"Cut it out," Bobbie cried.
Maybe he didn't have to go up. Maybe Jorgenson
had already fallen, was Iying bloody on the ground,
and the other two boys would find him.
Would anyone ever find Bobbie Topin?
A million times in his life he'd told himself only one
thing could really terrify you: the prospect of dying.
Knowing it had happened to Mom had nearly driven
him crazy for a while.
Now he thought there might be something worse.
Maybe you could disappear and never be part of the
things you had known. Maybe something that snick-
ered obscenely in the dark could get you and put you
someplace unspeakable, and you would be like those
fun things he'd always read about--that couldn't die.
He had two choices. Go on and save Craig if he was
still on the roof. Or retreat.
Bobbie turned again, let the light filter up ahead. A
black pit waited at the head of the stairs. He shouldn't
have stopped. He felt hung in space, trapped. Get
moving. Keep moving.


He made the decision and began to cry, but he didn't
know it, and started up again.
It hadn't gone away. He felt it on the stairs behinc~
him, felt it like some slimy creature low to the ground
that slipped and slithered up behind him, smirking to
itself. Twice he whirled and splashed the darkness
behind with light. There was nothing there. But he
knew any second something slimy was going to close
around his ankle.

109


Somehow he made it. Made it to a landing. Leanet
t against a wall, then jumped away.
Think.~ Christ, Topin, think.
Which way? Which way was the side of the house
where Craig played his grim game? A new thought
struck him. What if Craig wasn't up there at all--that
the house had played a trick to get him in?
Don't stand here. Don't give it a chance to get hold of you. aA
rolling stone gathers no slime," he mumbled softly to
himself and heard a horrible, hysterical giggle; it was a
moment before he realized it was his own.
The light flashed around. It was beginning to dim
badly. Damn. Grandpop must have been using it to
poke around the shed or something. Hurry, hurry.
What would happen if it failed completely?
I said don't think. It wants you to think.
He turned to his left. Cast his failing beam up the
next set of stairs. It made grotesque-shadows out of the
nothingness.
aHey, boy, look at the whirlybird!"
Craig's voice coming down into the pit was a lifeline.
Bobbie grabbed hold.
And he was running again. Up the stairs. Up
another shorter flight. He heard Craig's voice going on
and on: aLook at me, look at me!" He turned into a
small room. Moonlight came through the open dormer
window at the other side.
A kind of insane glee filled him. aYou didn't get me,"
he shouted. aI've found him."

He ran for the dormer window.
The outside wall went down four feet below. Bobbie
slid down it, keeping his eyes on the carrot hair. The
boy still hung onto the railing, laughing and shouting.
Bobbie reached the fence, saw out of the corner of his

1 10

,,   . _ ..    . .

eye that the-fence was heavily bolted into the small,
porchlike ledge around the roof. Otherwise, Jorgenson
would have been a goner from the beginning.
Bobbie looked down on his buddy. aCraig," he called.
aCome on now. Game's over. Let me help you."
He half feared Craig wouldn't hear him. But as he
peered down through the grating, the other boy stared
up at him. aYou want me to let go and fly?" he
demanded. The blue eyes wore a crazed, impish look,
the same look that had sent Bobbie into the house--
was it only minutes ago?
aI know you could fly if you wanted to," Bobbie said.
asO you don't have to prove it. Come on up. Let's get
back to the other guys." All the time his voice came
tumbling frantically out, he kept looking back over his
shoulder. Any second he expected something to come
at him.
"I could really do it," Craig said. Bobbie cast a swift
look at the ground; the act made him dizzy.
"Some other time," he pleaded. aLook, I'm hungry,
aren't you? Let's go back to my house and make some
cocoa and eat some of that good Halloween candy."
aWe had a great time tonight, didn't we?" Jorgen-
son's voice sounded like he'd been on a heavy binge
down at the Brewery.
aSure did," Bobbie said. aAnd we didn't get a chance


to talk about it much either. Come on up. You can
climb around the edge of the fence the same way you
got down." The bolts on this part of the roof were
creaking ominously. If Craig hung out there much
longer, the whole thing would be out of Bobbie's hands
to help. He wasn't even sure if the fence would hold
when Craig began to try to climb back over it. He
thought of inching his way out, but the double weight
would send the thing crashing to the ground for sure.
He had to get a grip on whatever sense Jorgenson had

1 1 1

r    ~_


left.
aWhat if I can't fly?" Craig said suddenly.
Bobbie latched onto that. aMaybe you can't," he said.
Oh, Jesw, Craig, cut it out. Get up herc so we can gct away.
Shadows were moving in the house; he could feel them.
Then I'd splat all over everything, wouldn't I?"
Bobbie stared at the ground again. It looked a
hundred miles down.
aThey'd be sorry, wouldn't they?" Craig said.
aThe guys?" Bobbie said desperately.
apOp and Bessie. Give them something else to think
about instead of bitchin' at each other all the time."
aWhat are you talking about?" Bobbie demanded.
aCome on up, Craig. You can tell me up here."
aAII the time, all the time," Craig moaned. aBitchin'
and yellin' for crap sakes so you can't even sleep at
night. It goes on and on and on. You get in bed with it
and you get up with it. Mostly Bessie. If she hated his
fucking guts, what'd they get married for?"
aCraig, please."
aIf I splatted on down there, wouldn't have to listen
to them anymore. Be the first chance I got to sleep in a
long time."
Bobbie was close to tears again. aPlease," he said.
Memory of the first ghost story his Mom had ever
told him sneaked around on the edges of his mind. A
little boy lay in an upstairs bedroom, and something
was on the stairs.
aThey wouldn't miss me."
aBut I would. I like you. I've never had a buddy
since I came to Edgar Falls."
"Then I'll come up." Just like that. Somehow Bobbie
had struck the ri~ht button.

He hung out there like a monkey for a moment. But
he began to do it. Craig had always been better at
acrobatics than anyone, even Bobbie. Now he deftly
placed hand over hand. He hauled his body over the
edge of the fence between the two railings, lay splayed
out there a moment while the wind came whipping
along suddenly.
Bobbie reached out a hand, bracing his feet on the
small ledge. Craig took the hand and Bobbie feLt his
fingernail rake the palm of his own. Then Craig
crouched beside him on the roof. aI could've did it,n he
said belligerently. "I could've took off like a big bird
and flew home."
aSure," Bobbie said. aBut there are some things you
don't have to prove to a buddy." He was close to sobs
and was so weak, he held onto Craig more for his own
benefit than the other boy's.

Jorgenson chattered incessantly as Bobbie held his
wrist and literally dragged him swiftly back down the
stairs. aHey, man, I've wanted to do that ever since I
saw the fence go up." His voice held a hysterical note,
but Bobbie was too drained to pay much attention. He
spoke, though, to keep from listening to the house. It
had gone silent, the hum quieted, the stairwell sending
his and Craig's sound out into empty space. The
silence was more terrifying than the hum. aHow come
you and the other guys separated?"
a'Count of you," Jorgenson said. He stopped a
second, yanking Bobbie to a standstill, and flashed the
light he'd pulled from his pack up behind them. Bobbie
wondered what for but didn't ask. aWhat do you mean


on account of me?"


yourself in the morning, and Bottoms and
Hetherington, they ain't like me. Once a guys shows
yellow they don't ever let him alone. I told 'em I was
coming back to get you, and they said I was screwed,
but I said I was goin' anyway so they said fuck off."
asO what happened?"
Bobbie started dragging Craig downward again.
(aWell, well," the witch said archly. "What have we
here? Two plump little darlings lost in the woods?")
aRemember that Ulysses stuff Miss Larimer read to
us last week?" Craig said. aThat old fence up there was
,~ like that sexy siren thing calling old Ulyss. I started out
okay but then I thought, hey man, I'm alone, alonc, in
~j this house, and it was scary but fun, you know, and I
t: could hear that fence callin', so up I went. I guess I
1 forgot about you. Hey, you went in all by your
E lonesome," he declared suddenly. "That makes you one
cool dude after all. I tried to tell 'em that. I said old Bob
didn't want to come in, maybe he knows somethin' we
don't know." Craig guffawed, his voice an octave too
high. "Bottoms?" he shouted suddenly. aJoey?" Bobbie
started violently.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Jorgen-
son jerked to a stop again and flashed his light around.
aYou wanna know something crazy?" he asked. aWhen
we first come in, it felt like somethin' trying to get into
~;   mv hPz~

...~,iL

relief was so great his knees buckled, and he had to
lean against one.
aFunny,"Jorgenson said. Y thought Mike andJoey'd
be outside or they would've answered us."
aIt's a big house," Bobbie said. He stared anxiously
at the black window beside the door. Part of him
wanted to bolt for home, but he wouldn't have had the
energy anyway.
Where were they? Had it gotten thcm? Maybe the
shadows could only deal with a couple of boys at once.
Then they heard a shout from the interior. And in a
moment the front door flew open, and the two boys
1~ burst onto the porch. aSheez," Bottoms said giggling. aI
thought it had us there."
Joey Hetherington bounced around excitedly. aMike
wanted to look in the cellar for vampire coffins," he
chattered. aThe fucking door shut on us, and we
couldn't get it open again."
They were nearly wild with excitement. aHow'd you
get out?" Craig cried. Their voices came and went like
wind through Bobbie's head.
aReally weird," Mike said. aWe poked around with
Joey's switchblade and kicked the door a lot and
nothing happened. We kept yelling for you, but I guess
you must've been too far off. Then all of a sudden the
knob turned and we got into the kitchen again. Guess
wP ill~t fli~3n~t twi~t it ri~ht " T~P hlrnP~     Pnl~ tr~


"Well, I guess we did it all right," they said, congratu-
lating themselves as they headed for home. Jorgenson
didn't seem to remember Bobbie's cocoa offer, and
Bobbie didn't mention it again. He only wanted to get
home and get into his bed. He didn't even know if his
feet would carry him all the way.
He felt drained and exhausted in a way he'd only felt
once before--the day of Mom's small service before the
furnace was to have her the way she'd always said she
wanted it to be--when he wished he could just crawl
in~o the coffin with her and fall asleep. His whole body
felt dragged down, like he was hauling a couple of
hundred pound weights.
He joined in the pummeling and the giggling thal
had changed to masterful laughs. No one mentioned
his earlier reluctance to go into the house, and he knew
he'd proven himself, but the victory just felt like a
hollow ball in his chest. The scratch on his palm
burned. Craig didn't once mention his acrobatic stunt,
which seemed strange because in school Jorgenson
bragged about his prowess, and if it hadn't been for the
scratch, it might've all seemed a dream.
~    They came to a fork in the road, one section leading
t off to their homes, the other to Bobbie's. aWe're gonna
bu_ld a flatboat to take out on ASM Pond," Mike told

t

elated. He'd been in the house and gotten out. But what
he felt was dread--like a mouse must feel knowing the
cat can pounce when it chooses. Whatever waited in
the house still waited, and tonight, he suspected, had
only been a game.
He didn't look at the house as he started wearily
trudging home. He tried to run for the safety of
Grandpop's cottage but was unable to do more than
will each foot to drag him on.

When the day of his grandfather's birthday celebra-
tion arrived a week after Halloween, Bobbie threw
himself into it. For two reasons. One, he was losing
Grandpop again. Halloween had been a highpoint.
Moving into November, the old man had begun to go
into that other world more often than before. He spoke
often out of either some manufactured present or some
long, distant past.
aYou steal any more tacks, Herb, and you~l be
wearin' a bunch in your asshole like piles." He said that
once--maybe harking back to his carpet-laying days--
in the middle of a normal conversation about shred-
ding an old blanket to weatherproof windows.
The words didn't frighten Bobbie. It was the look
Grandpop had fixed on him that disturbed him. It was


little odd, Bobbie thought a couple of times when he
lay awake after the dream. The morning after Hallow-
een, the other guys had wanted to huddle in the school
yard, all sleepy-eyed though they were, and brag about
their big feat. Joey Hetherington had asked for the first
time what Craig and Bobbie had done the few minutes
thy were in the house.
Bobbie let Jorgenson take the lead, sure he wanted
to recount the daring high-flying deed himself--which
Bobbie really didn't care to relive. He didn't have to.
Craig looked blank and murmured, aJeez, I don't
remember much. Must've got too excited." Bobbie eyed
the blank expression, then shrugged. Jorgenson must
have just realized his act had been stupid and nothing
to gloat about. awe didn't do anything" Bobbie said
quickly when the others turned to him. aWe were
just--uh--in."
Bobbie was letting Grandpop's birtkday drive his
mind onto something besides the house. He hadn't
been able to distract himself by rowing out on Amy
Semple MacPherson Pond with the other guys. On the
morning they were to go out, he had gone into the
kitchen to find Grandpop standing over the gas wood-
burning stove. He had a flaming match in his hand,
and there was the smell of gas in the room.
Bobbie had halted in the doorway, mesmerized a
second. The flame had burned down to his grandfa-

1 tl~     1 nn~n i~ct ctnn~ thPr~ ct~rin~J

blown us both up." The old man only stared at the glassblankly.
Bobbie hadn't given Craig and the other boys the
true reason for not showing up at the pond. People
already knew his grandfather was forgetful sometimes.
But if they knew how far away he went, someone was
liable to look up and notice Bobbie and think orphan-
age. He only said to the guys, aGrandpop isn't feeling
well." They hadn't asked him anyplace else yet.
Bobbie spent more time near the old man now--
except for errand time and school hours. He worried
that he'd come home some afternoon to find the cottage
gone and Grandpop burned up inside.

On this early November day of his grandfather's
birthday, Bobbie didn't try to hide his party prepara-
tions. Grandpop was out in the back yard when he got
up, poking around at some firewood Bobbie had
chopped last week. Probably the-pieces weren't cut
right; the old man could get picky in his lucid mo-
ments. Bobbie didn't mind that. He suspected Grand-
pop had always been picky and this was normal.
But he didn't like the way the old man paused now
and then to look off toward the house in Pellam -Woods.
Damn. It was bad enough when trees had been leaved
and you could see only parts of the house. Now, in
~t~nnn ~n~ ~ n~lrl c~ tl~     nl~ thin~ ct~nrlinrT ~vhit~


excuse, Banker Bergins had agreed to accept the
monthly checks from Bobbie as long as he could coax
Grandpop to put his scraggly scrawl on the back.
Bobbie had cashed one yesterday and taken out the
grocery money, giving Grandpop the rest. It was a
point of honor with Bobbie to wait till the old man got
around to recalling his allowance. Though sometimes
he did withhold utility money for payments Grandpop
often forgot about.
He had icing, too, and candles. Not eighty though.
Eighty would have cost too much. While the cake was
baking, he blew up the balloons he'd found at the New
Day Baptist Church Thrift Shop for a dime. Half of
them weren't any good, but there were enough to
festive up the cottage.
Grandpop wandered in while Bobbie was hanging
the balloons. aWe having a party, boy?" he demanded.
Bobbie grinned. Grandpop was with it this morning
after all! aFor you," he said.
What for?"                     -

aGrandpop, you're eighty today."
aEighty?" The old man stared at him. aEighty?" hesaid again. aYou
daft, boy? I got a year to go to make
fifty." Grandpop went off to the bathroom to stand
looking in the mirror. aJesus Christ," Bobbie heard him
F say.

had gone bleak; she needed a party. So where was she
At three, Bobbie gave up on her. It was nearly tim
for Grandpop's daily nap, and who knew how he'
wake up? Sleep had a way of transferring him to tha
other world.
At three-fifteen, Bobbie coaxed the old man into hi
chair by the window. Then he went into the kitchen
fighting his disappointment that Cindy wasn't here t
share.
aHappy Birthday to you," he sang, carrying t
blazing cake into the living room.
aYou made it all tipsided over, Vera," Grandp
said. Vera was Bobbie's grandmother.
- Bobbie had to blow out the candles. Grandpop, wl
liked shiny things, stared at the Kennedy half dollars
while, then tucked them into a shirt pocket. He didn
say anything; he was slipping away again.
Bobbie, going a little desperate, hurried back to th
kitchen to cut the cake. Three big pieces. Just in cas
Cindy showed after all. He put them on a tray an
hurried back. Then he slowly lowered the tray onto a~
end table. The old man's chin had sagged. He wa
snoring.

Cindy found him on the front porch. The Letkin~
kids hatl h~ n


You said he likes chocolate."
aHe does." When he remembered what it was.
Cindy stood there uncertainly at his lack of re-
sponse, the brightly wrapped box wavering in the
dying sunlight. Bobbie reached up to take it and saw
her eyes as he did. And forgot his own problems for a
minute. aCin, I'm sorry about the babies, too, he said.
"But you got to quit brooding."
Tears brimmed suddenly into her eyes. aI know. But
I just keep thinking maybe I could have done some-
thing."
UWhat?"
aI don't know. I can't talk about it now. I have to go.
Mom'll be mad if it gets dark."
Bobbie rose from his step, not realizing what he was
going to do. But he pulled her into his arms and patted
her shoulder awkwardly, finding comfort from his
attempt to give it.
She stood there a second, her hair against his cheek.
Then she ran off down the road.
He stared after her. It was evening before he remem-
bered he hadn't offered her any cake. About seven
o'clock, he wrapped the whole thing in cellophane to
give to the Letkins kids tomorrow.

. ., _

Chapter Five

The week before Thanksgiving, electrifying news
appeared in ~ Daily Way, so electrifying it appeared
in an extra. Once again Lobe's office filled with
questioners. Excitement spiraled up and down the
street. "What is it?" "What does it mean?"
Lobe had a mock-up pinned to his wall behind the
counter. ~THE HOUSE IS YOURS," the headline
read.
~Yours who?" Charlie Groves demanded. "Mine? Ed
Kroger's? Miss Penny's? Whose?"
"I don't know yet," Lobe said. His skin glowed today.
Life sparked his eyes. It had happened. By God, it had
happened. He hadn't been deserted. Ms. Benedictine


security men for the first time in its history was news.
But not ncws. The house was ncws.
The Rainey boy. Lobe had given him a headline iast
week when he disappeared. Lobe had gotten some
good pictures of the sheriff's men dragging Amy Sem-
ple MacPherson Pond and had had the good grace not
to photograph the bedraggled body when the grappling
hooks pulled it up. No point in upsetting the distraught
parents, though there was some question as to whether
they were as distraught as they appeared to be. People
wondered how a retarded boy didn't always know to get
himself to the toilet (although he'd made a valiant
attempt once when his mother had brought him out to
the house that was nearly finished. She'd let him
wander off, and he'd gone in the back way and sat
down on a toilet waiting to be installed. A workman
found him and summoned his mother, who led him out
stinking) could get up quietly in the middle of the
night, dress, and wander several miles alone.
But these were only whisperings, and even though
Lobe had his own suspicions, suspicions weren't news.
"I wanna know what that headline means!" Charlie
said again. "Is there gonna be a contest? Some rich-
bitch millionaire gonna donate the house to someone
in town?"
"That's an interesting thought," Lobe said to the
people who had set up a chorus behind Charlie. "But I
don't know, folks. The note I got with the money says
I'll hear something more soon."

He was beginning to feel chosen out--for some lofty
mission he didn't yet understand.

If the week before Thanksgiving news was electrify-
ing, the week after was stupefying. It didn't come out
ahead in the paper because Lobe had no warning. On
the last day of November, trucks began arriving again.
The moment they were spotted, people bundled up
against a possible storm and headed out to the woods.
Furniture! Miss Penny stood on a short knoll and
watched with her heart in her throat. Oh, blessed
Jesus, look at those loveseats. Real brocade, she'd lay
her bottom dollar. Nobody made anything with that
much craftmanship anymore.
"You could buy out Loman's with that mirror" she
said. Stars had gotten in her soul, and they were
burning right through it.
Whose was it all?
No one knew.
All they knew was that it looked like people were
moving in at last. The old hope that they would be nice
and not snooty floated around the crowd. But what
about the headline. aTHE HOUSE IS YOURS."
Yours who? Yours mine?
"Look at that armoire," Miss Penny said with a
groan.
Someone asked her what an armoire was, but she
didn't hear. When the huge rollings she devised were
tapestries went through, she broke down in tears


ladder?
Life was cruel. Life was unfair.

On the first Tuesday in December, the mystery was
solved--as much as it would ever be. In the morning,
Banker/Mayor Bergins received~a long distance call
from St. Louis about which he said nothing until the
town council convened that evening. Councilman Lobe
Peters arrived early and almost dropped in shock when
he saw the black Rolls parked outside the town hall. He
nearly broke his neck getting inside, and sure enough,
she sat in regal splendor in the front row. Lobe was too
stunned to wonder where the faggy chauffeur had
gone.
Banker Bergins was already there, and Davis Llewel-
lyn, the council attorney, and Gorden Kristofferson,
planning commissioner, all in earnest conversation
with Ms. Benedictine, who wore something silver and
sleek and a diamond bracelet on her arm.
Lobe- sat there an indeterminate time with jealousy
tearing at his heart, stood like a dog waiting to be
called by his master in the form of Carl Bergins.
Ed Kroger, councilman, and Neal Blainey, the
elected town derk, came in. ~Bingo!" Ed exclaimed.
"What do you suppose she's up to? Says here on the
agenda, first order of business."
"Agenda?" Lobe said blankly. "It's not on the one I
~ot ve~terdav."

house?" Amway wanted to know. "What's she doing
here?"
"Find out in a minute," Ed said. "Shut your mouth,
Lobe. Somebody's gonna take you for a Venus Fly
Trap, water your feet."
At seven on the dot, the council seated itself at the
long table. Five townspeople had wandered in, and
they too stared at Ms. Benedictine. By now, Lobe's
insides churned in turmoil. Something big was about
to happen; it crackled in the air.
Somehow Lobe got through the mayor's flag salute
and Leonard Botts's prayer. Tonight it seemed to take
Botts forever to thank the good Lord for the privilege of
guiding the town. Lobe, beside him, wanted to kick
him in the shins. He couldn't get his eyes off Ms.
Benedictine sitting there serenely on a folding chair
like some Egyptian goddess dropped among them.
Twenty thousand years later, Bergins opened the
meeting. "First order of business," he said. "The house
in Pellam Woods."
Afterward, Lobe could remember every word as if it
had been struck in fire on his amazed brain. A
museum? Ms. Benedictine explained it all in her soft,
purry voice, pausing to answer questions. It was her
hope, she said, that town fascination with the house
would keep up with taxes. A small fee could be charged
guests touring the house. But in the event that did not
pull in enou~h money, she was turning over to Banker


corded in my name. But it is her wish, if you so will,
that the house be deeded to Edgar Falls. And she insists
that Lobarth Peters, your esteemed councilman and
newspaper owner? be designated--shall we say curator?
y he is willing to supervise the house tours and any
maintenance work, though little should be required, I
have for him a check for ten thousand dollars to cover
said services. He is to be in full charge and the only set
of duplicate keys is to be placed in a safety deposit box
in Mr. Bergins's bank and removed only in the event
something happens to the other keys or to, God forbid,
Mr. Peters. Mr. Peters's integrity is known to us--and
his interest in the house evidenced by the poetic words
he has printed about it, all relayed to me by Mrs.
Reege, our consultant here.?'
This time Lobe's chin made a permanent drop
toward his chest. He stammered, "Jesus H. Christ,
yes!" evoking a disapproving cluck from Leonard
Botts.
"I don't understand this yet,?' Thaddeus Amway said,
making Lobe want to kick him in a spot more vulnera-
ble than a shin.
"Let me go over it again then," Ms. Benedictine said
patiently. "My employer is a former resident of Edgar
Falls.-She feels that the town taught her everything she
Irr~n~/uc ~hr~lt li~ ~hf~ ic ~ vPrV w.o ~lthv w~m~n nr~w

.

you, but she wanted the town to have something fine
and beautiful as a lasting memorial to her childhood
years here. A museum, if you please."
~Why didn't she come to us first?" Ed Kroger
demanded incredulously.
"Two reasons. One, she was afraid you would suspect
her motives and deny her offer. Once the house was
built, she hoped you would accept it. The mystery, the
headlines, all of that is just a whimsical garne she
played to pique interest in her beloved offering. If the
town had not been intrigued, she would not have
continued her project. But your interest has quite
satisfied her joy in her game. The second and most
important reason is that she wanted her gift anony-
mous.
"So how come we can't know who she is now?" Ed
exclaimed.
Ms. Benedictine turned liquid eyes on him. "The
greatest gifts should only be known to God alone." To
which Leonard Botts added a pious amen, and Ed
Kroger had no reply.
Banker Bergins turned a saccharine smile on Ms.
Benedictine. "Thank you,?? he said. "The subject is now
open for discussion."
Everyone except Lobe burst out with something. He
harelv hear~l F.~l'.c "(~me nn nl~w Th~or~ic ~ ~ ~trh h~r~


gentlemen. The house could hold blessings for us in
these trying times. It's already helped folks throughout
a bad summer. Everyone loves it. Think what it could
do for town morale, knowing we own it. There isn't a
house that fine for a hundred miles. And the only
museum is that dinky natural history thing that weird
teacher started in Gloaming."
aShit," Ed Kroger said with a snort. aYou just got no
account that big in your bank. You wanta get your
hands on that fifty thousand."
Bergins sat back with such an expression of aggrava-
tion the budding jowls he detested smoothed out.
"Your language is out of order, Councilman Kroger,"
he said.
Lobe swam out of a fog into the middle of the
bickering. aWe've got to accept the house," he said.
aGot's a big word," Thaddeus Amway murmured
and flinched. He wasn't used to opening his mouth
much on council. USomething doesn't sit right. No-
body, but nobody, gives away something like that.
There's a hitch."
asO be specific," Carl Bergins, still miffed, said.
aMaybe it's a little unusual. And maybe rich people do
these things." He remembered that to the town hc was
rich and added, "In fact, I'm sure they do these things."
Lobe wasn't certain he understood how the conversa-
tion was going. All he knew was a desperation so fierce
his gut ached with it. Curator of the house. Jesus H.
~ I  aTI~,, I .~..  ,.~.; . .~lr~  thF.r~ ~ hf. hlllrt.o~l  aWh
~t

kind of power," he said to the rest of the council table,
aand there won't be any living around him."
aGentlemen," Leonard Botts broke in. aLet's remain
friends, please."
aTake the house!" someone .shouted suddenly~ from
the audience. Carl Bergins banged his gavel. aThe
floor isn't open to public discussion, Mrs. Lordstrum."
He turned to the two dissenters and Leonard Botts,
who except for his starving children remark had re-
mained noncommittal. aI don't think the motive of Ms.
Benedictine's employer is really in question. Now let's
look at the facts. The facts are that Ms. Benedictine
arrived tonight with the deed to the house already in
hand, made out to the town of Edgar Falls, and she has
another paper that says we -agree to let the house
become a museum. Think, for God's sake--excuse me,
Leonard. Ms. Benedictine has mentioned tours, but a
lot more could be done with the house. Club meetings
could be held there. Social events. We could charge a
fee, and it would help out the city coffers." He glanced
out at the audience to see if Ms. Benedictine had any
objections, but she gave him a nod of encouragement.
aPeople would come from all over to hold the events.
The Moose Lodge hasn't had the money to rebuild
since the fire last year. We could advertise our fine old
mansion, bring in outside money--make it a show
place."
He stopped a moment to light a cigarette, an act
forbidden in council chamber~ h~lt nnho~v ~ nv-



aWe've got by all these years without depending onoutsiders," he
said. aDon't need any strangers coming
in now. They'll just bring trouble."
aJesus H. Christ!" Lobe exploded. "You sure you
weren't out on that road the day the cow got Cindy
Newman? I think it stomped your head."
You won't get anywhere bullying, Amway wanted to say,
but Lobe looked ready to attack. Instead he said, "We
can't decide anything this big in one session. This
needs lots of discussion. Weeks maybe."
aGentlemen . . ." Incredible how the soft voice man-
aged to silence them all. Lobe looked to the front row,
hoping salvation had come. aGentlemen, if I may
intrude . . ."
aPlease," Bergins said.
aThis weekend my employer leaves for Europe. She's
instructed me to say that she wants the house matter
settled before then."
aI can't vote on this tonight," Kroger said stubbornly.
aWe need more facts. I don't like taking on something
we don't know anything about. I don't see why we can't
know where the house comes from for one thing."
Ys that important?" Bergins was starting to lose his
temper. aIf a kind lady wants to keep a little mystery
about her gift, what the hell is that to us? The deed is
in order. No liens, no problems. the house is clearly in
~    f T~wf~llinl~ Rl~n~dictine. and therefore she

aDon't need executive session," Kroger said. aI neec'
time to think over all the angles."
aMe too," Thaddeus Amway said.
Lobe saw h~s dream drifting out of touch of his
fingertips. Guardian of the house. His calling. Keys
were power, weren't they? He wanted to cry.
Carl Bergins pulled himself together. aWhat will you
do with the house if we don't accept it, Ms. Benedic-
tine?"
aBoard it up," she said sadly. aTell my employer the
minds of Edgar Falls are too small to comprehend a gift
of this magnitude. It's much too large for her to live in
anymore, although she did once, and she will have no
use for it. It will break her heart because it was meant
as a monument to her gratitude to the people of her
childhood."
Mrs. Lordstrum in the audience sniffled audibly. aI
-wanted to see the inside," she said. Lobe turned the
same look on her he had cast on Ms. Benedictine a
moment ago. Maybe Mrs. Lordstrum was a crazy old
lady who hauled in stray animals and kept a house that
smelled like a stockyard, but surely she spoke for the
town.
But Ed Kroger had settled back with his arms folded
obstinately. aI won't vote tonight,~ he said. aI got to
think, and I got to sound out a few people. There's no
time to put it to election."


Lobe's heart turned over as if he had just heard a
close friend had dropped over dead. But something Ed
Kroger had said had taken hold. "If you will excuse
me," he said to Carl Bergins, asomething I ate tonight
didn't agree with me. I'm going to have to get home
before I puke all over everybody." He cast a pointed
look at Thaddeus Amway, who scooted his chair over
until he bumped into Leonard Botts.
aSuppose we meet at two tomorrow," Banker Bergins
said. aIn my office. We're not going to get anywhere
until we've slept on this."
While they got the formalities of adjourning out of
the way, Ms. Benedictine slipped quietly out of the
room. When Lobe walked purposefully toward his
truck, the black limousine was already gone. He looked
up the street it had vanished from, feeling suddenly
lost. But he didn't have time to be standing around
here indulging his feelings. He had work to do. Impor-
tant work. The most important work of his whole
career. His whole life! The white knight was going to
charge into the fray with all his banners flying. He felt
as if God himself had laid a hand on his shoulder, and
he went forward with holy, if somewhat self-centered,
purpose.

.~ _

steak, she'd burn it all right.
aCan I help it if they're cuttin' back at Ace?" Craig
had glared at his father over the table. Why the fuck
couldn't his old man talk to her without whining? It
wasn'~ his fault they didn't have any money. Ace was in
trouble. Pop was just a laborer out there, but even the
bench casters, the cream, had got their hours sliced
down. Besides, beans was okay. If they got cooked
right.
aI want some steak," Bessie said. aAnd I want a new
dress, Bert. I ain't had a new dress in ages." Bull. She'd
bought a new dress for the Fourth of July picnic, a
thing that fit her like somebody had wrapped her in it.
Bessie had a good figure, even at forty, and she wanted
people to look at it. Craig suspected what Bessie had
been before his father met her at a Gloaming tavern
five years ago.
But it wasn't her body that bugged the ass off him. It
was the face that went with it. Always painted up like a
clown's. And bitchy-mouthed.
"Shut up, Bessie," Pop said. He didn't say it with any
force. aShut up and go to sleep."
aWhat d'you mean shut up and go to sleep? I ain't
finished talking yet. Bert, you got to think more about


enough. Though not as much as he hated her. Maybe
he wasn't good in school, but he was good at hating.
Why had Pop married her? Craig and Pop had got on
good enough before she come along. They'd had their
fishing trips. And even a ballgame in the city some-
times when Pop was feelin' flush. Ace had been in good
shape then. They'd had some fine times. Like the
Fourth picnic when they won the father and son three-
legged race out by the pond and got a trophy over there
on the dresser now under all the awards papers teach-
ers give him for athletics. They'd had TV and popcorn
nights, and Pop had had his Moose Lodge meetings,
and Craig had the guys. The guys'd never treated him
like they did Topin. Sure, Craig's mother was dead,
and that rnade him half a orphan, which wasn't a good
thing to be. But he'd been born here, and his mother
was buried out in the cemetery. Wasn't like with Topin's
mother who'd been burned up in a box and tossed over
some hills or something. Pop'd been born here, too. It
made a difference.
Now why was he thinking of Topin? Maybe because
the guy had been zapping off in his head in school so
much lately? aDreamy, Miss Larimer called him.
It was a weird trick Craig sometimes wished he

,    .    _

Cindy but without Cindy's foot excuse--he'd be some-
body to pal around with.
Wouldn't work, though. The friendship with Bot
toms and Hetherington couldn't be risked. aTopin's coa
coo birds," Mike Bottoms had said the other day. aJusl
like his granddad. You see his eyes sometimes? Don't
know what's come over him, but he looks like he's
lookin' at a ghost. Gives me the creeps." Since he'd gon~
weird, they didn't even bother with him much in schoo]
anymore. They'd forgotten about his guts the night o~
the house. Though Topin didn't seem to care. Well
maybe livin' with a old man who talked to himself and
didn't make much sense when he talked to you mad~
you strange.
Craig shifted his thoughts. Lying in his bed, he
could see the mystery house. He could see Lobe
Peters's office, too. The whole place was lit up. Some-
thing was goin' on over there. Prob'ly another headline
Lobe had gone ape over that house--like a squirrel
that's had a hard winter and then nuts start fallin' from
the sky.
Craig's eyes went back to the house. He started
thinking about the night in there, and Bessie's com-
plaining backed off some.



I Like time disappeared.
He seemed to have some memory of air all around
him, of wind whipping his clothes. But that was silly.
They'd shut the door. Wind couldn't've got into the
house. All he really remembered was the great, floaty
feeling.
Wait a minute. There'd been another. Like some-
body had tried to get inside him? Man, Miss Larimer
was always yakking at him he didn't have no imagina-
tion, but what was ~his? Somebody trying to get inside
you. Fuck. Craig grinned at himself in the darkness.
Well, anyway. He more or less remembered Topin
heading down some stairs with him. He thought
maybe Topin had seemed all excited and shook about
something. But all Craig felt at that point was some
kind of weird thrill he couldn't explain now and didn't
care to. The rest was gone. He knew about flashbacks.
Gary'd told him about them. Said sometimes you
didn't even need the pills; you could flash back on them
all unexpected for free. That's all that happened in the
house, and it must've been great. The flashback had
blacked out a couple of minutes, that's all. Because he
did recollect meeting the other guys out front.
He didn't remember anything about the house itself.
So he looked at it now and tried to picture what it was
like inside. That gave him another kind of good
feeling. Maybe it was silly, but this imagination he
1~ 'qVI~ Fot hold of that house sometimes. He liked

. .

Thanksgiving. He pictured Thanksgiving. There
was a dining room in there; he'd watched them build it.
And in his mind, he suddenly saw his mother, looking
like the brown-colored, only snap he had of her,
coming down the steps in a white gown. He always saw
his mother in white. That was maybe because she was
buried in that color, and he had a tiny memory of her
Iying in her coffin. But he'd only been three, for
chrissakes, when cancer got her fast, and maybe she
wore white and maybe she didn't--it wasn't a question
he ever wanted to throw at Pop. But it didn't make no
difference. Picturing her in her burying color didn't
bother him. White was more like angels wore, and his
mother was surely an angel. She'd been a good woman
Pop had said, and she'd loved them both.
The beautiful woman in white came on down th~
stairs, smiling. She was always smiling. aGood after
noon, Bertram," she said in her soft, sweet voice.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Craig Julian." In his thoughts,
his mother always called them by their whole names.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Mom," he said. Then the
maid brought in a wine bottle, and they all sat down at
the table that had a lot of flowers on it, and the cook
carted in their turkey.
"Shit, Bert!" Damnit. Bessie's voice shattered the
picture into pieces. ~Things are no~ gonna get better at
Ace. They're goin' down the drain, Bert. Down one of
their own toilets they make. Now you get busy and


There was only one way Pop knew to shut her up. In a
few minutes, Craig could hear their grunts and groans.
Even when they made out, their bodies fought each
other's. He clapped his hands over his ears and blocked
out everything except his misery.

At eight-thirty the morning after the council meet-
ing, a nearly paralyzed Lobe Peters perched on the
high stool behind his counter and waited. Now we
would see.
It didn't take long. Miss Penny charged in first,
followed by half a dozen other women. aDarn, darn,"
she said archly. "Scooped again, Lobe, and it's my own
fault. I shouldn't have stopped coming to the meetings,
but you boys are usually so boringn She gave a high-
pitched giggle. "What do you want me to do?"
"Do?n His head felt ready to split off. After all,
printing and delivering in the pre-dawn hours a couple
thousand handbills hadn't been a snap.
aAbout this handbill. You said we could come in and
sign petitions, but that's not enough. We are all here to
personally carry these petitions to every living soul in
town n
Lobe managed a smile for Miss Penny. A surge of
new blood coursed through him, and he leaped off his
Q~   'q~ q Qh~qf nf r~qr~Prc aw~ th~    nt~l~rQiFnt~

.

Penny's eyes. "I know," she said. "But it will still be mi--
ours."

All morning people came in to sign the petitions.
"Our very own,n people said. "That's so much nicer
than somebody we don't know moving in. Wonder who
she is?" As always, Lobe tried to conjure up a picture of
this mystery person. But a lot of people had left Edgar
Falls over the years, and it wasn't important anyway. A
thrill ran up his spine when Jane Helen Amway came
darting in to sign. "I11 take care of Thaddeus," she said
ominously.
Carl Bergins stopped by at eleven. "I'm not sure this
is ethical, Lobe,n he said.
"Ethical, schemethical." Lobe grinned. Carl Bergins
grinned back.
Oh, there were dissenters. Charlie Groves came in
and said, "Nuts, you mean there won't be any rich
people moving in? Somebody who could've used their
influence to help us out?" Charlie's business had been
suffering lately as the Ace Sanitary Plumbing closed in
on itself tighter and tighter. Contracts weren't coming;
some actual layoffs had begun. People who needed
repairs were letting them go. Things that had been a
shade bit bad a few weeks ago had approached near

~iQqQt~r r~r~  ;Ar~Q r~ ~ ~


history?"
But they were in such a decided minority, Lobe's
hope mushroomed. Still, it would take a majority vote
to swing acceptance of the house. He wasn't sure how
much weight Jane Helen carried with Thaddeus (~Jane
Helen had on occasion appeared in town with dark
glasses and puffy cheeks, and Ed and Lobe had
speculated on whether their mild little pharmacist
sometimes had his own method of dealing with her
tongue). Ed could be stubborn as an old donkey and,
friend or not, vindictive. In high school, Lobe had
once stolen a girl from Ed, and Lobe suspected it still
rankled. Leonard Botts remained a complete question
mark subject to get off on a "there's something wicked
in all that money wasted on a museum" kick. The Lord
spoke to Leonard on occasion, and who knew what the
Lord might choose to say regarding the house? An
antsy Lobe Peters looked forward to this afternoon's
meeting. All he knew for sure was that if the house
wasn't accepted, he was in for a crash ugly to contem-
plate. They had to accept it, that was all.
The crowd had dwindled off by noon. Several more
petitions had been taken out with Lobe's blessings, and
he debated on closing up for an hour and running out
~    ~1.. 1. ..     ~.,  T..  Qt ~ in hiQ hnrlPc ~ mimltP

Lobe blinked. "What do you mean, can'~? And watch
the tone you use with your elders, son."
Bobbie looked around the office and swallowed a
couple of times. When his voice came out again, it was
so low Lobe had to bend over the counter to hear him.
"There's something wrong about that house. Some-
thing bad. I can't explain it. I think you should find out
where it came from."
UCome on, Bob," Lobe chortled. UA house can't have
anything bad about it. It's got rlo character, no person-
ality. It's just a thing."
"Don't say that," Bobbie whispered.
"For God's sake," Lobe exploded. "This is silliness.
Next thing you'll be telling me the place is haunted."
"Haunted?" Bobbie said.
Lobe was feeling pretty impatient to get out of here.
But this kid looked downright depressed. Whatever he
was trying to say, he believed it, silly though it all
sounded. "I'm on my way someplace," Lobe said. UHow
'bout I give you money to go buy a cone? Make you get
over weird notions."
"No, thanks," Bobbie said. For Christ sake, why did
the kid keep glancing over his shoulder? UI promised
Cindy I'd get back in time to play marbles with her."
Co~ ln't hP tn~ 5PriollQ if thf~ kirl h~l m~rhlPc ~ n hiQ


Bob."
"Please, Bobbie cried. He looked near tears sud-
denly. UPlease listen to me. I think maybe the house
can hurt people if it wants to.n
Lobe's patience was gone. Why the hell was he
taking time with a mixed-up kid maligning the house
anyway? ~I've got an errand and a meeting," he said
curtly. UAnd you'd better get back before the bell rings.
I don't know what you're talking about, Bob." He was
more than sure the boy was coming down with some-
thing--maybe something serious. Probably had a fe-

i ver--look at those flushed cheeks--and it affected histhinking.

Well, what had he expected? That Lobe would
understand? Who would? Hardly anybody listened to
what a kid had to say, especially one who must sound
like he'd gone yellow bananas. It had taken all his guts
to approach Lobe Peters.
Bobbie walked into the bright, early December sun.
There hadn't been a storm for a week now. But despite
the brightness, there was a nip in the air that suggested
maybe they'd get that rarity: snow for Christmas.
He listened to himself thinking about the weather.
Strange. One part of his mind functioned normally.
The other had turned to shadow, and dark things
lurked there.
aWh~t ~m T v~inv tn do?" he asked himself. If Lobe
- Did they put kids in cuckoo nests?
Where did he get the idea the house could harm
people? From the little bit that had happened inside
that night? The house hadn't hurt him--had only tried
to scare him.
Sometimes he didn't know which was worse: him
maybe being crazy and imagining things, or the house
being what he was afraid it was. The sane part of his
mind carried him back to the school yard where Cindy
needed him. All Cindy's spark had disappeared; that
had been more than plain on Grandpop's birthday. It
helped Bobbie to try and help her, even if he had to
trust Grandpop alone sometimes after school let out.
But that wasn't a problem today. For the rest of their
lunch hour, Cindy shot marbles listlessly. He had to
work at it to let her win his double cat's eye.

A jubilant Lobe Peters took off for Thc Daily Way at
three o'clock, reveling in memory of the brief meeting
in Carl Bergins's office. He actually thought fondly of
Miss Penny. God bless the old war horse. The fastest
tongue in Edgar Falls had rallied her petitioners to
forty strong, and they were waiting outside the bank
when the council members began to arrive.
When Lobe stepped out of his pickup, they cheered
wildly, and someone threw a faded rose at him. "Look
at this, look at this," Miss Penny crowed. UEleven
hundred si~natures. And that's just for starters."


and decided to drive out for a victory look at the house,
was that every councilman had to be elected by the
people. Not one of them wanted to give up his position
of power, not even Bottsj who believed he could best
serve God (he had proclaimed in campaign speeches)
by having a say in town politics.
Lobe stifled a cry of triumph when the vote came
five to nothing. "I guess a few outsiders can't hurt too
much," Thaddeus Amway muttered as he cast his
ballot.
All five of them went out to the walk together for the
official announcement. Banker/Mayor Bergins gave a
victory signal. The crowd, which had grown considera-
bly, erupted in a violent surge of back-pounding and
tears and shouts of, "Good boys, good boys."
Lobe waited for the furor to die down. "The house
will open for the first tours this coming Saturday," he
shouted, and you would have thought he had just
brought a rain of gold down on the people.
Lobe's only fear now was that the mysterious rich
former resident of Edgar Falls would change her mind.
But Carl got the call from Ms. Benedictine at eleven
A.M. on Friday. At eight o'clock in the evening Lobe
held a cashier's check for ten thousand dollars to cover
his future services to the house (all of which he would
have offered free), and, more important, a ring of keys
made of solid gold. The only duplicates were in a safety
deposit box that could only be opened by full vote of
council. The keys to the house. Jesus H. Christ.
He was so undone he felt like tearing outside to kiss
the faggy chauffeur who'd been so rude to him. All he
at it shining in the moonlight He felt a little foolish
sitting there crying when he hadn't even cried when
Lucy left. But then Lucy hadn't meant as much to him
as the house did.
For some reason as he drove back to The Daily Way
he remembered Bobbie Topin's visit. Probably because
he didn't feel too well. He was sure it had to do with all
the emotion and the hope and the fear, and he hadn't
caught anything at all from Bobbie. Still--better go tQ
bed to rest up before his house duties began. Funny
that kid should have the weird notion
there was anything wrong with the house. If ever Lobe
had seen anything pure and good, it was that house.
His house.

Thirty-six people toured the house that first Satur-
day, although more than that showed up at nine for the
first tour. Lobe Peters decided, too arbitrarily some
said, how many he could handle in a group: twelve.
The rest he divided up and told to come back at two-
and-a-half hour intervals. The last tour would start at
two-thirty; others would have to return tomorrow.
Disgruntlement rumbled through the crowd. Un-
mistakable snow clouds hung on the horizon, and
tomorrow might be out of the question.
Lobe noted the pending weather and decided to buy
mats for the front porch, maybe plastic streamers to
run through. He also decided to print up some tickets.
You never knew who was going to get ideas about the
house. This way he could screen in or out who bought.
When a couple of scroungy teenagers toured that first


Another thing. The house needed a name. Perhaps
he would start a contest. Entrants could pay a dollar to
make a suggestion. The money could go for Cindy's
foot since the operation still ran a thousand short; what
with the economic squeeze lately, people's interest had
dwindled.
The evening after the first showing, Lobe walked
over to the library and checked out all Alice Poling's
books on antiques. Miss Penny had been in that first
group; indeed, she had been waiting on the porch at
seven when Lobe arrived to let himself have the first
hallowed look at the house. Miss Penny had regaled the
crowd with antique tidbits at every turn, and he
couldn't have her knowing more than he did.
That night, poring over the books, something else
Bobbie Topin had said came back to him--about how
they should know where the house came from.
Lobe thought about that. There must be ways to
track its history, maybe even the person who sent it
here. Although, he reminded himself, his experience
with a detective had proven that kind of thing intolera-
bly expensive. aYou could spend some of the ten thou,"
a little voice whispered to him, and he turned on it
appalled. Use her money to go against her wishes?
Come on! Lobe had begun to think of h~r as a saint.
For every possibility that came up, Lobe found a
rebuttal. But on the back of his mind he suspected the
truth: He didn't really want to know these things. This
way the house practically seemed like his own. He had
full charge, and the feeling of power that gave him was
very satisfying. He would learn about its furnishings
and find a name for it, and it would be sort of his own
creation, as if it had been born right here in Edgar
Falls, and who cared about anything else?
One thing he knew for definite certain: There was
nothing strange about the house as Bobbie Topin

148

insisted. It had a warm friendly feeling; everybody
remarked on it.

All afternoon Bobbie Topin had stood at his window,
watching groups of people come and go at the house.
Now, the second week in December and dusk settling
over the town, Bobbie pulled his bedroom shade. He
never looked out on the house after dark anymore.
The feeling of dread that had remained with him
after Halloween night weighed him down now as he
went to the kitchen and started supper--just hot dogs
tonight since Grandpop said he wasn't hungry. Bobbie
heated him some soup anyway and felt secretly relieved
when the old man found he could get a cup down after
all. Grandpop was all Bobbie had, and he didn't want
anything to happen to him.
aYou got all the shades pulled down tonight," Grand-
pop said as they set the kitchen table.
aKeeps the house warmer, Grandpop."
aMebbe. But if it snows, we won't get to see the first
flakes."
Bobbie - suspected what would happen, and sure
enough when he finished the dishes and went into the
living room, Grandpop had the shades up. Bobbie
glanced uneasily toward the window near Grandpop's
chair. He used to prefer nighttime to day; now the dark
hours unsettled him. He couldn't shake the feeling that


something bad connected with the house was going to
happen.
"Got an idea," Grandpop said. aYou run out to the
shed and bring in the Christmas lights. We'll clean 'em
up tonight."
aI'll do it tomorrow, Grandpop, okay? I've got some
homework."
Y want the lights in," Grandpop said petulantly.

149


aYou get 'em, I'll clean 'em."
Bobbie stared at the old man, at the wisps of white
chin whiskers, at the faded blue eyes and blue-veined
hands, and knew he didn't have an answer to his
grandfather's expectant look. Not when it was rare to
find Grandpop in any kind of communicative mood.
asO get the lights," he told himself.
Five seconds to the shed, he calculated, five back.
Ten to get the key into the rusty old lock and open the
door. Five more to grab up the box of lights if he lucked
out and remembered for sure where it was. Ten to set
down the box outside the shed and relock the door.
Barely more than half a minute, he told himself. And
realized that some half minutes could use up a lifetime.
He debated on facing the old man honestly. I'm
afraid, he could say. And the old man wouldn't believe
him. Afraid of what? he would ask. Of the house. Of
whatever is in it. Oh, sure, yes, of course. Grandpop.
would buy that. Save the hassle. Spend the thirty-five
seconds. "Ain't you going to.take a jacket?" Grandpop
asked when Bobbie started for the kitchen.
Good grief, no. He could shave maybe ten seconds
off his schedule if he did it half freezing. He hurried
back into the kitchen. The door opened, and he
plunged into the back yard night.
No time for thought. Run. Across the yard. Reach
the shed. Damn, damn the key. Hard to fit when your
hands were shaking. Open the door. Don't bother to
jump for the dangling bulb cord, it'd take extra sec-
onds. Plunge over to where the box should be. Got it.
Hope and pray it's the lights. Feels right. But you never
knew when Grandpop might have gotten in here
sometime and rearranged things.
Out the door. Box on the ground. Snap the lock back
together. Straighten.

Off to the side of their house, something seemed to
scurry into the shadows. For an instant, Bobbie went
numb with terror, remembering that snickering on the
stairs. Oh, hell. Oh, shit. They couldn't get out, could
they?
What they?
Adrenalin pumped again. Bobbie grabbed up the
box and tore through the back door. Slammed it.
Bolted it. Leaned against it, breathing heavily.
Grandpop shuffled into the kitchen in his beat-up
old slippers, bringing with him a warmth of reality that
made Bobbie want to throw himself into his arms.
Grandpop opened up a lower cupboard door and
pulled out a clean rag to wipe ornaments off with.
"Hey, boy, he said. ~ou look like you seen a ghost."
"I hope that's all it was," Bobbie said fervently under
his breath.
Grand~ ) stared at the box. "You Fot the orna-


Bobbie looked down prayerfully. He had. The wordwas marked
plainly on top of the box.
It was a good thing. If Grandpop had tried to make
him go back out there, he would have had a blob of
hysteria on his hands. His grandson had the awful
feeling he was one day soon going to lose control of
himself.

Chapter Six

Not everyone in Edgar Falls was glad to see that the
promise of a white Christmas had been fulfilled. On
December twenty-third, a heavy snow fell on Edgar
Falls, and on Christmas Eve the town lay in unaccus-
tomed white splendor.
Nobody sat down on a stool behind Miss Penny's
counter and stared out at the bleak night. Most
everyone had gone home from their shops by now. But
they'd left their Christmas lights shimmering in the
faint, zephyrlike- breeze that sometimes comes along
after a snow. Nobody's window came all the way down to
the sidewalk nearly, and she could see little eddies of
virgin snow, newly laid down this evening, sailing and
swirling along the deserted street.
She hated snow. She saw th~m always on a white day,
sitting in the parlor of the house where she still lived,
framed by a window withJack Frost writing on it. Oh,
sitting in a corner on one of the candy-striped chairs.
The radio was playing a Christmas carol. But she
heard the song she always heard at Christmas. She'd
been somebody once.
A fleeting thought crossed the back of her mind that
maybe she shouldn't have told Albert the things she did
about Lily, about how Lily slept around every chance
she got. It wasn't true, but a girl couldn't be too careful
when she had a sister a lot of people saw as prettier
than she was. You said things to pro-tect yourself.
Only it hadn't worked. Maybe around then he'd
begun to eye Lily, intrigued by a worldliness that didn't
exist. Well, nobody would ever know for sure what
happened. It had turned out to be a case of now you
see them, now you don't--one morning sipping tea in
the parlor, the next running off t~o get married.
She sighed.
Might as well go home. It must be nine o'clock or
better. She stared a moment at the shelves of chocolate
Santa Clauses she'd ordered out from the city a few
weeks ago. She'd have to have a sale next week. The
candy business wasn't what it used to be, what with
Loman's undercutting her prices. If it kept up, some-
time soon she might have to consider closing down the
shop for good.
"And do what??' she asked bitterly.
Who would she be if she couldn't be The Sweet Lady
anymore? She?d stared down at her red-striped dress
and apron. That's who she was, all right. This was
what life had decided to dish out to her, a shop full of
leering chocolate Santas and a costume fit for a clown.


aI wanted another hot chocolate, Miss Penny," he
said. Why couldn't that boy ever look anyone in the
eye? Shifty. A sneak. She hated sneaks. If she were God
she would bomb them all off the face of the earth.
On the verge of telling him she wanted to close up, a
sudden thought struck her. Maybe Pulie could do it.
The same desperate craving that had come over her
yesterday when she thought of the idea came again.
She shouldn't have mentioned it to Bobbie Topin, but
he had happened into her hands, so to speak. She'd just
come back from a look at the house, still a little rattled
from having to drive her old black Pontiac over there.
Pretty days she used to walk, but the weather'd been
too bad yesterday, and she'd had to pull out the car she
only used in bad weather and drive the icy streets. Not
that she could have stayed away. The house drew her,
more now that she'd been inside it.
Thoughts of the house sitting out there alone with no
one living in it to give it loving care drove her a bit
more wild each day. She had thought it would be
enough just to have tours going through, but it wasn't.
The house had taken on a lonely air somehow, as if it
hadn't known what was going to happen to it and had
hoped for a family, the kind of family it must have had
once. And even though she'd whispered her love for it
as she toured in Lobe's ridiculous group, that didn't
seem enough. The thought of the house being alone
and empty on Christmas, when there should be people
swarming its halls--gentlefolk like in the old days--
and a giant tree with presents underneath, pinched her
heart into a knot. A house like that was almost a
human being. It had feelings. Memories. aYou and I,
Penelope," it seemed to say on that tour. aWe belong
the shop from Mary. And Bobbie Topin had been
standing there, alone, wistfully looking at a box of
chocolates done up in red satin bows. She waited for
Mary and Kevin to leave.
aWould you like to have that candy, Bobbie?" she'd
asked slyly. aYour grandfather would sure like that."
"Not for Grandpop," Bobbie said. aI carved him a
picture at school."
Miss Penny's painted brows had arched. aAh," she
said. aFor a little lady friend perhaps."
Getting no answer, she pressed her goal. "I could
arrange for you to get that candy free," she said. aFor
just a slight favor."
Bobbie turned to her, and on the back of her mind
she noted the shadows under his eyes and hoped he
hadn't brought anything catching into her shop.
Christmas was bad enough without battling a flu bug.
aFavor?" Bobbie said.
His mind didn't seem quite on her words. She
glanced up and down the street to make sure no one
was about to come in. aI want the keys to the house,
Bobbie."
He blinked at her. aTo what house?" he said.
aYou know." She winked.
Bobbie took a visible step backward. aOh, I wouldn't
keep them," she said swiftly, rushing along now that
she'd plunged in. aAII you'd have to do would be find a
way to slip into you-know-whose office tomorrow night
while he's at the Moose Club Christmas Eve dinner at
Carl Berginsis where I know he's going to be. He
always keeps the keys locked in that drawer under his
counter. I've seen him put them in and take them out
three times now." As if he couldn't keep his hands off




aYou want me to steal the keys from Lobe Peters?"
aBorrow," she said. aI just want to have the house to
myself for a minute, Bobbie." She hadn't meant that to
pop out, hadn't meant her voice to go all whiny with
need. aThose rickety old windows in that old shop must
be easy to get through, and you could put the keys back
Christmas night, and he'd never know the difference."
She rushed along now, the words flying out and
tumbling all over each other in her desperation. aYou
could have the box of candy. I'll give you two boxes.
One for yourself."
But the boy was backing toward the door. aNo,
ma'am," he said. aI wouldn't want to do anything
sneaky to Mr. Peters." Sneak? He was calling her a
sneak? When she only had a need? aHe doesn't have any
right to hold the keys!" Her voice came out nearly a
shriek, startling even her.
Bobbie reached the door, grabbed the handle and
swung it open. aYou don't want to go into that house,
Miss Penny," he said. aNot alone."
But she wasn't listening. The frustration had taken
hold of all her senses. aGet out!" she shouted. aI
wouldn't sell you that candy if you paid me a thousand
dollars. Get out, get out!" The door shut behind him,
and she had stood there with funny bright lights
flashing around in her head. Until the door opened
again and Ben Dunkle, deputy sheriff, came in to see if
she had any licorice drops.
Now she eyed Pulie Gordon and thought the same
thnll~rht chP h~l with Bobbie. thoueht of askin~ him to

kind who would blackmail her for years to come, even
if he did the stealing.
aGo on home, Pulie," she said again. aGo and enjoy
Christmas Eve."
Y hate Christmas Eve," he said with vehemence.
For a brief instant she felt something kindred with
him. But then she reverted to her other feelings; he
couldn't be trusted. There was no way she could get
those keys tonight and go out to the house.

, On the way home, she couldn't help herself. The
snow had made her bring the Pontiac today, and she
had to drive out there and take a look. The plows had
cleared the streets, but they were still icy, and she had
to drive carefully, very carefully. Only a few cars moved
about now; most everyone was holed up inside with
f family. Overhead, new clouds threatened- to make this
the whitest holiday ever. Miss Penny crept along at
twenty miles per hour.
The road that led to the house hadn't been cleared,
which meant she couldn't get as close as she wanted.
But she parked on the last street before the road and
meadows began. And stared and stared.
How beautiful it looked. The trees around it
drooped with snow, bending toward the house as if
paying it the homage it so richly deserved. The iron
railing had a lining of snow.
But the dark windows upset her even more than she
was already upset. There should be lights glowing
thrrr rz~nfllPc in thr winrlnwc ~ hnllv wrr:~th hlln~ nn


charmed you could come."
aOh, Mr. Ambassador. How marvelous that you and
your wife could make it tonight. The president? Oh,
my, yes, he's been here for simply hours. Hasn't been
able to tear himself away."
aChampagne, Mrs. Astor?"
Sorn~body stood in the door of that house, dressed in
shining red satin. aI don't believe you've met my
husband, Mr. Ambassador. Please come with me and
let me introduce you. What? Oh yes, yes indeed. It is a
lovely house, isn't it? I designed it, you know. And my
husband had it built for me. The tapestries once graced
an English manor house."
She didn't realize that her hands had knotted into
fists until she felt her nails digging into her palms. Oh,
blessed Jesus but life was cruel. It was all made up of
sugar plums, like in the old poem, and when you woke
up they vanished and there was only the grim cold of
winter. She was fifty-nine years old; she would be sixty
soon. Done. Finished.
She couldn't look at the house any longer. She was
too depressed.

Brandy. Long years ago she had hated the taste. But
when she turned fifty, Doc Jannessey had prescribed a
glass every night for her nerves. aSafer than those
Valium you pop, Penny," he told her. Doc was the only
one in town who called her by her name. Even her old
classmates had tacked on the old-maidish "miss" years
ago. She and Doc had Frown up together; he might
hazy. She wondered if she'd remembered to clean it for
the holidays.
The brandy plopped into its snifter. Oh, yes? Brandy
wasn't supposed to plop. She slowed her movements
down, tipped the glass, and let the amber liquid slide
in properly. aNow, that's more ladylike."
When had the nightly glass become a bottle? Three
years ago? Four? No matter. She never got drunk, and
in the morning her eyes were clear.
Oh, God, God! How could she stand it? It was
calling to her, she could hear it. aPennnnnelllllope.
Don't leave me alone."
"There's nothing I can do," she said. No place she
could get away from its calling.
Yes she could. It was only about ten-thirty. The
ladies of her club would be up at least till midnight
tonight to see Christmas in. At midnight, they would
open the little gifts they had made: lace hankies,
crocheted slippers, fancy potholders. They would draw
lots. It would be the only gift she got again this year,
except for the usual things like the fruitcake Loman's so
smirkingly sent out to remind her they were ruining
her business.
Bright lights waited for her--a hot toddy swimming
with butter. And a bunch of old biddies who spent the
holidays together year in and year out, dreamless old
bitches who'd grown up together, gained and lost
husbands some of them, and spent the moments when
they weren't with each other tearing the others down.
She bet they were havinF a field day with her riFht now.


aMy pimp is sick," she would say. aBut he managed
to line me up one customer. A big black buck."
She giggled. Set them back on their ears, wouldn't
it?
How had the glass gotten so empty so fast? Hmm.
Well, we can remedy that, can't we. Remember to tip
the glass. A toast to Lily and Albert, wherever you
are, and let's sing a song of aAuld Lang Syne." Bottoms
up now, everybody. She wished them a gift that Albert
should develop prostate.
Wait a minute. Oh, God, it was calling again.
aPennnnnelllllope. I'm alone." She filled the glass to the
brim this time. aI can't help it," she cried. aCan't you
see I can't help it?" And she began to sob.

The grandfather clock her father had built woke her
at three A.M. Or was it the clock?
She still sat in the chair across from the mirror, and
the face she could barely make out looked ravaged. She
had slept. But she had remained aware of the alone-
ness. A wind had come up and sighed around the
corners of her house, but it was not the wind she
listened to.
The voice of the house permeated the room. Not in
way to let her in.

She wasn't sure she was driving too well. Once or
twice she thought she hit a curb. No one else moved on
the streets at all now.
Why didn't the blackness in her head lift? She was
doing something about it, wasn't she?
aYou're being a sneak, a sneak, a sneak . . ."
aShut up." The house had called her. It wasn't
sneaking when you were invited, even if you had to
break in.
What if the hairpin didn't work?
It had to work.
What if Lobe would be able to tell someone tam-
pered with the lock?
Shouldn't be hard to put the idea of vandals in his
head. Vandals were starting to run the town these days.
They'd knocked out windows in several shops on White
Oak Avenue in the middle of the night.
The wind whined down the street, throwing up
violent eddies of snow now. Clouds scudded so low to
rooftops, they looked ready to swallow up the town.
See? She was thinking quite clearly. She could see
the clouds an~l m~kf~ th/~ ~w~lln~ n~   .r~  ; n ù-1~ ..    t


The going wasn't easy. Two-feet of snow lay along the
road, and drifts a lot higher than that had lined up on
the sides. She had on her galoshes, but they weren't
enough. Snow got over the edges and down underneath
her feet. Well, she'd thought of that. She had warm
little slippies in the sack she carried that also held a
fresh bottle of brandy. And she had on every sweater
she owned under her heavy coat.
Besides, the beauty of being in the house would
warm her. It was her soul that needed warming, and
the house could take care of that. "Here I come, she
called coyly. aI'm almost there.n
Funny. The night seemed filled with song. Almost
like it must have been on that Christmas Eve two
thousand years ago. Only this was a peculiar low
sound--as of male voices. No words. She couldn't hear
any words. "You're probably drunker than you think,n
she said. And giggled.
It pleased her somehow that the house sounded
male.
"Just across the meadow now," she told herself. "Up
with the footsie, down with the footsie, one, two, three,
four, one, two, three, four.n
She reached the snow-filled yard. Stopped to catch
her breath which was coming on white whiffs out of her
mouth. aMercy, we haven't had this kind of exercise in
years.n Her heart pounded with effort, and she stood
q q~ ~ q ~/ n An~nt~ wqitinv llntil ;t ilowed

turning on a light.
Then at dawn she would sit in one of the front
windows, maybe even come out to the porch to watch.
Maybe the clouds would all get blown away, and she
and the house would get to see the sun come up
together. She hoped it would be pink.
Ready to walk again? Good. Up, footsie, down,
footsie.
She gained the porch. And stopped to stare up with
awe. She had never been this close at night before.
Framed against the sky, the whole place seemed to
undulate with the movement of the wind-pushed
clouds. Reverence filled her. She felt for a moment as if
she stood centered in all of time, that the house
represented everything that had ever gone before,
everything that was ever to come. Tears slipped down
her cheeks again, making chilled little paths. Gone the
blackness. Totally. She swelled with anticipated beauty.
And climbed the steps.
She had brought five hairpins just to be safe. None
of them worked. One after the other she jammed them
into the lock, probing delicately at first, then growing
more and more frenzied. "What's the matter with you?"
she demanded. "You called me out here.~
But the last hairpin got wedged, and no matter how
she twisted and turned it, it wouldn't budge. aOpen,
damn- you,~ she cried. In a sudden fury, she began to
kick at th~ ~Inrlr Ki~k.-,l qvqin qn~


clouds than the sky showed tonight. This was it, what
every moment of her life had led to. This time of
communing, of being in possession of everything she
had been promised and had had snatched away from
her. -

aDon't do this," she said with a sob. "Help me. I needyou." Where
had the humming voices gone? Why was
it so silent? Even the wind had stopped whining.
"You won't keep me out," she said. aYou don't mean
to keep me out, do you?" The last had come on a
sudden and terrible suspicion. aWell, well see about
that."    I
Miss Penny bent and picked up the heavy purse she
had set on the porch beside her bag of goodies. Then
slowly, deliberately, she walked to the nearest window
and rared back with all her strength and whammed the
purse against it.
She backed off so that the splintering glass couldn't
cut her. Except the window didn't break.
aWhat kind of fucking game are you playing?~ she
screeched. aYou don't invite a guest and then shut her
out. I came to keep you company, damnit. Didn't you
say we were meant for each other? I heard you say it. I
heard you say it the first day I was inside you."
She glanced wildly about. There had to be some-
thing. No fucking house was going to issue an invita-
tion to Penelope DuJong and back out. There! Beside
the porch. Not much snow had gotten under that bush,
and there was a hefty rock there.
She hardly knew what she was doing as she tore

She grabbed up the rock with abnormal strength and
made it carefully back up the porch, thwarting the
house again. Then she threw the rock with all her
might against the window. It fell to the porch and
rolled a couple of feet. Miss Penny stared at her
reflection in the black pane. She squinted her eyes.
Was someone laughing? Someone better no~ be laugh-
ing.
She grabbed up the rock again and moved to- an-
other window and began to pound and pound in a
frenzy. aLet me in," she screamed. aLet me in, let me
in, let me in."
There was laughter. It filled her senses. Blotted out
everything else, so that there was only the sound of the
rock thudding against the window and that hideous,
delighted laughter.
"We'll see, we'll see, we'll see," she said, laughing her
own laugh. Reject her, would it? Well, there had been a
time when she'd been rejected and couldn't do anything
about it because the parties wisely got out of town. But
she could do something about ~his. In her car, she had
an old lap blanket. And she had a box full of all the
year's receipts she meant to turn over to her tax man
next week. A healthy box full. Make a healthy fire.
~We'll see," She grabbed up her bag and went off the
porch, walking carefully, smirking to herself.
aUm-hum," she told herself gleefully. aIt's listening.
It's not laughing anymore because it knows who?s going
to have the last laugh."
She be~an to run Nr~t t~QV in tlf~ Qr~


under there. She wondered how long it would take for
the whole place to go.
She wouldn't be able to stay and watch, of course,
only until it caught. Then she'd have to get herself on
home and watch the flames from a distance. Drink a
drink, she would, while she watched. Toast the house.
That was funny. The house would be toasting while she
toasted it. She laughed. And neared her car. Drove
herself panting onward, forgetting to walk carefully,
breathing so hard the icy air drove shafts of pain into
her chest.
Near the car, it happened. She hadn't expected it to
happen out here, not if it didn't at the house, and she'd
gotten careless. She screamed in fury as her feet
suddenly went out from under her and she fell. Her
head struck the bumper, sending raging, black pain
through her temples.
She came to once, lying on the ground. She couldn't
feel any part of her body, only the pain in her head.
She couldn't see the house; her body lay in a little gully
of snow, "You called me by my real name," she moaned
bewilderedly.

It had been too much to hope that the good days
would last. Grandpop had broken some kind of record
Iately for clear-headedness, but Christmas morning did
him in. He had spent the night in bed for a change,

He went back to the kitchen feeling lost. If only the
clear days had lasted through today.
Well, there wasn't any point to brooding over Grand-
pop's moods; it didn't change anything. No more
match incidents had occurred; he was breathing easier
there. He was just, today as always, grateful to have a
relative to live with.
Bobbie ate a pancake, then went on in the living
room to stare at their tiny Christmas tree for a while. It
didn't have the class Mom's used to have. She had a
way of placing a glass reindeer in just the spot where it
could catch the light from a red bulb.
At ten-thirty, he put a small chicken in the oven.
Grandpop didn't come out of the bedroom, so Bobbie
turned on the TV.
But pretty soon the little package under the tree that
had to be for him got the best of him. He might wait
into next week for Grandpop to snap out of it--might
as well enjoy his gift by himself, even though he knew
what it would be. Last year the "mood" had come on
Grandpop four days before Christmas and had lasted
most of a week. Consequently, Bobbie had no Christ-
mas except for the Bic pen he got in the school grab
bag.
He got the package and ran his fingers over it.
Grandpop had even wrapped it, and so what if he'd
used a piece of old birthday paper. Bobbie opened the
package, teasing himself about the color. But they were


Bobbie's heart soared. Had the mood lifted already?
But then Grandpop said, aTell Gladys to turn the fire
up. I want to go back to sleep, and it's cold in here."
Bobbie stared at him, wondering as always who Gladys
was. Vera had been the grandmother Bobbie had only
seen once because his grandparents had lived in a city
distant from Bobbie's and Mom's. Vera was buried in
the cemetery of this town they'd chosen to move to
because her lungs were bad and city smoke aggravated
them. But Bobbie had no idea where the Gladys of
Grandpop's mind came from.
Well, anyway, he had a gift. His own for Grandpop
would have to wait unti! the old man could recognize
it.
This seemed like a good time to take Cindy's present
over to her. Grandpop was snoring again already.

aWell, for goodness sake," Mrs. Newman said. aI
think we've got a walking snowman on our porch,
Clyde."
aI brought Cindy a present," Bobbie said.
. aCindy's not feeling too well," Mrs. Newman said.
Maybe you can perk her up." She leaned over and
confided in a softer voice, "I think she hoped to have
the new foot by Christmas." There was reproach in the
woman's voice, as if Bobbie might have personally had
something to do with dampening the town's enthusi-
asm. But Bobbie knew it was more than the foot.
Cindy simply had not been the same since the fire.
spent to go a long way toward Cindy's foot. But it
wasn't any of his business.
"Hi, Bob," Cindy said in a doorway.
"You children talk," Mrs. Newman said. "I have
things to do in the kitchen. Oh, I'd invite you to
dinner, Bobbie, but we have people coming."
"Thank you," he said. aGrandpop and I are having
chicken."
aHow nice."
aI'II sneak you some turkey if you want me to," Cindy
said when her mother had left the room.
aHey, no," Bobbie said. "Chicken's just as good."
He looked at the dark circles under Cindy's eyes.
UHow's everything going?" he asked.
aOkay," she said. aYou get a lot of nice things?"
aSure."
Damn. Sometimes with Cindy, it was like trying to
get through one of Grandpop's moods.
"I brought you something," Bobbie shoved on
through the non-conversation.
Cindy took the package with a show of eagerness he
felt was designed for his sake. But at least she made an
effort. In school lately Cindy's grades had fallen off,
and sometimes when Miss Larimer spoke to her, it was
like Cindy had to fight through a fog to hear.
aOh, Bob," Cindy said. aI wanted one of these when
I saw them in Miss Penny's window."
"Well, you've got one now," he said more heartily
than he felt. A sudden memory he'd tried to keep back


wanted him to steal Lobe's keys so she could get into
the McCall shack. She sald lt a whole bunch of times--
the house.     ~.   .    .    .
          He didn't let himself think about why the house
          might have gripped her so hard. aI guess I'd better get
          going," he said. aI left the chicken baking, and I
don't
          like to leave Grandpop too long."
          aDid you ever think maybe she did it?"
          Bobbie had taken off his old gloves for a moment to
          air sweat off his hands. Now he paused in the act of
          pulling them slowly back on. aWho did what?" he said.
          aBitsy. I've been thinking a lot lately. There's some-
          thing I've never told anybody. A couple of times when I
          was down there, Bitsy laughed and said if she ever got
          pregnant again maybe she'd just do them all in."
          aWas she pregnant?" Bobbie said.
          aI don't know. There wasn't any autopsy because it
          was fire that killed her. If she was, she never told
me."
          aCindy why do you think about them all the time? It
          happened. It's over. There's nothing you can do to help
          them now." Bobbie's voice grew exasperated. He'd been
     ;i   working hard since the fire to try and help bring her
          out of it. To make her be the old Cindy again.
     ,,   aI wonder what pushed her into it,n Cindy said.
     ~    aSomething must have."
     i    aThe fire chief said she must've fallen asleep with a
          cigarette in her hand. You said yourself she was
          careless with them." They'd been over a lot of this
E         before. Bobbie wasn't about to have his Christmas
          ruined with it.
          Well, I guess she did have a chance to confess like
          Catholics do in movies if she wanted to," Cindy mused
          aloud. aDid I ever tell you I was the last one she
spoke
          to? I think I did. She would have told me if she'd done
          it. Funny. She didn't even ask about the babies. She
          was only worried about the house. Although I never

'the house, the house, the house....'"
Bobbie was halfway home before that hit him. Then
he stopped dead in his tracks. Come on now. Forget it.
Nawww. Not ~he house.
Unfortunately, a reaction had been set up on the
back of his brain. It was a nagging little thought: aWhy
not the house?"

The snow stopped shortly after noon. The- day
turned gray but clear. Grandpop and Bobbie were
treated to a beautiful expanse of white lawn out back as
they ate their chicken. The shed, window-deep in
snow, looked like something out of a painting.
Grandpop did eat some chicken, even said it was
good. But it wasn't the Grandpop of the here and now.
This one rattled off in Christmas pasts. aWhoever's
roasting chestnuts," he said, awill have to get the pan
out of the barn." And a few other choice suggestions.
Well, at least he knew it was Christmas, and he did
seem to enjoy the chicken.
Grandpop went in for a nap in the afternoon, and
Bobbie cleaned up, sliced the rest of the chicken and
pulled off the wings for tonight, then went out back to
get rid of the bones. The garbage can stood out by the
shed. He didn't mind going out there so much when it
was light and even managed a quick look in the
direction of the house, drawn by a morbid fascination
to check if it could be seen against so much white. For a
second he remembered Cindy's statement about Bitsy.


again, but he pushed it back to where he'd stuffed it on
his way home earlier. Bitsy had never shown much
interest in the house as far as he knew, and he wasn't
~oin~ to let his ima~ination s~et a ~rio on her


way. There were cars parked on the street. Several-
people moved about, and Bobbie could make out the
upper half of one car in particular: a black car with a
lot of snow on top.
He shrugged. Car coming from Gloaming early this
morning maybe, taking the shortcut to the highway.
Driver probably got caught in the storm without
chains. L-ooked like an awful lot of people to get one car
out, though. Chances were he'd hear about it tomor-
row.
He let his eyes lift for a second. Standing in a woods
gone white, the house was hardly visible. It just sort of
blended right in with its surroundings. It looked
peaceful and serene. Like part of nature.
aDon't kid yourself," he snorted in the back of his
mind.

Chapter Seven

The house did it. Bobbie stood in Mike's Bottoms's
front yard, nauseated. No matter how you tried to
make a lie out of it, it was the house. The house had
made Craig hang off that iron railing, and it had
gotten Miss Penny. He didn't know how, he couldn't
prove it, but it maybe got Bitsy, too, in some way he
couldn't figure out. Other mothers would have died
asking about their children. Not Bitsy. Bitsy had said,
aThe house." Over and over.
Jeez. Damn. What was happening, what could he
do? He'd tried to talk to Lobe Peters; Lobe had been
annoyed.
aI just want to spend a little time in the house alone,
Bobbie." Wasn't that what Miss Penny had said? Bob-
bie felt as if he'd suddenly stumbled onto a strange
planet. He stared at Jorgenson, Bottoms, and
Hetherington.
He had walked into town this day after Christmas to
buy a couple of items on sale at Pender's Grocery and
come upon the other guys building a snowman in
Bottoms's front yard. All three of them were so eager to
fill him in on their gruesome tidings, they forgot he wasn't
one of them. Jorgenson had spotted him first and

1 ~. 1 7~


had known.
So what? He hadn't been able to keep his mother
from dying. What was the good of feeling things if you
couldn't do anything about them?
Where had the house come from? The thought
struck him again as he hurried for the safety of his own
home. There ought to be a clue there. The house didn't
just arrive crazy. It had to be crazy before it reached
Edgar Falls.
-    But who would help him find out? Lobe wouldn't
listen. Who else knew anything? Nobody?
He walked swiftly and reached the place where the
sidewalks ended and started down his own street. The
plow had been out early, and everything was clear. He
couldn't help himself; he had to look at the house.
Anger born of a sudden fresh surge of fear flashed
through him. aSomebody knows about you," he said.
"You should have got me when you had the chance."
It was a threat. He didn't know exactly what he was
threatening, but he said it with all the bluster he could
| manage. The house stood white and cold against the
trees. Mocking him?
He began to run now, slippery road or no. Past the
Letkins house. His own waited up ahead, small and
cheerful and inviting despite some peeling paint. He
was nearly sobbing as he rushed toward the warmth of
Grandpop (even a wandering-brained grandfather was
better than none at all) and the furnace and the
cheerful pictures on the wall.

the cross dissolved. Bobbie stared down at what was
left of it, a small pool of bubbling blood.
It happened three nights running, leaving him wide
awake and staring at the ceiling of his room with
burning intensity. Something else was going to hap-
pen.
He had had practically no sleep for nights now, ever
since he'd learned about Miss Penny. He didn't go to
the funeral, hadn't talked to anyone who had. He
hadn't been back into town.
Then one day shortly before school started, a knock
sounded at the door. Bobbie opened it, expecting one
of the little Letkins kids to be standing there after a cup
of sugar or something. But he blinked in surprise at
Craig Jorgenson.
aBottoms had to go to the dentist," Craig said by way
of greeting. aAnd Joe's mom dragged him off to visil
his grandmother. I decided to take me a hike and
thought it wouldn't hurt to stop in and say hi." Bobbie
obviously represented a last resort in a world bereft of
kid company.
This was the first time any of the guys had ever come
out here. Jorgenson had always been slightly friendlier
than the other two, and Bobbie would have been
thrilled if he had room in his thoughts for much besides
the house. When? his mind kept hissing.
"Haven't seen you in town since day after Christ-
mas," Jorgenson said.
aLooking after my Grandpop," Bobbie answered. It
wasn't his whole reason, but it was true; Grandpop had


first time, Grandpop had stared at his withered balls
hanging there like little limp sacks of water. aOh my
Jesus," he said, leaving Bobbie with a hideous sadness
on top of everything else. Lately he talked to Grandpop
in the sweet voice you would use with a sick child.
While Bobbie made cocoa, Craig started talking
about Miss Penny again. In a minute, Bobbie, watch-
ing Craig drink his cocoa, went distant in his mind
with morbid fascination. Why hadn't it done some-
thing awful to Craig, too? And Bobbie himself? The
house had had two juicy young boys in its clutches and
had let them go. Why? Maybe it couldn't work its stuff
on children? But Jorgenson had been within a hair of
dropping from that iron fence. Bobbie shook his head,
trying to drag his mind back to the one-sided conversa-
tion the redhead was carrying on.
aI didn't catch that last part," he said. Then he stared
at Craig in some surprise. The other boy's face had
gone a fiery red, his freckles standing out like blisters.
aI said someone else is gonna die around here. Their
yellin' gets worse all the time. They're gonna kill each
other some night. If I don't do it for them. I hate her.
Everything was okay when Mom was alive."
aHow can you remember?" Bobbie asked, trying to
pick up the conversation he'd missed. aWeren't you
three when she died?" Bobbie knew that from Craig's
stepmother's paper.
"I remember her," Craig said ominously. aShe was
~ ~L ~    -1 nlrl ~,vhnr~ ~h,~ n~l771~c h~ r

of Bobbie's mind like some warped musical instru-
ment. Who was next?

The fourth time the dream hit, Bobbie got no more
sleep that night. In the morning he made a decision to
do something that had nagged him for days. There was
only one more person in Edgar Falls he could talk to. It
had taken a while for her to occur to him. But she held
at least a part of the key; she must know where the
house came from. And she was an out-of-towner.
Maybe she could understand what the rest of the
people couldn't.
The only problem was Bobbie hadn't been able to go
outside except when necessary. He felt protected in this
little house, and he dreaded having to make the long
walk to school soon.
Still--he would have to go back.
And he had to see Gloriana Reege.
Someone had to understand about the house. Some-
one had to do something about it.
She was a pleasant-looking woman. She would prob-
ably be pretty without those glasses. But his mind
wasn't on Miss Reege's appearance. He was so glad to
find her alone in her office, he could have wept. This
trip had cost him plenty. He had walked with his nerves
so tight, his bones hurt.
aWhat can I do for you?" she asked in a friendly
manner. "You in the market for a house?"
aI w~3nt tn kn(~w hnw tf~ t rir~ nf nn~ '),L,


Pellam Woods. There's something wrong with it. I
~ know things sometimes. I always have, and there are
i things happening in town, things the house is doing,
and something else bad is going to happen tied up with
. a muddy cross." He got hold of his mouth almost with
physical will. Couldn't he keep his cool five seconds
when it came to the house?
The door opened and a man in a red Gloaming
Realty jacket came in. Bobbie ducked his head to hide
tears of embarrassment and just plain weariness. "Jake,
watch the office," Miss Reege said. Yll be a little late
for you."
She touched Bobbie's shoulder. He turned and fol-
lowed her blindly into a storage room. aDrink coffee?"
she asked.
He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the cement
floor. aWell, I think you need some right now," she said
i firmly, and in a second he found himself holding a hot
cup.
aYou're trembling," she said. "Here. Give me that
back before you get scalded. Look, sit on these boxes
with me."
He found himself being led again. She sat him
down. aNow go over that again," she said. aAnd don't
you think I ought to know your name?"
aRobert Topin.'
I've seen you in town. Usually with Cindy New-
man. But you didn't come to socialize, did you? Please.
Tell me why you came to me with these feelings of
. yours."
They aren't just feelings," Bobbie said. aWhen I was
little I knew when a plane was going to crash. I knew
when my mother was going to die before it happened."
aWait a minute," she said. aNow slow down. You're
telling me you're psychic, and it has something to do
with the house. Do you understand what psychic
means?"
aI understand," he said.
aBack up a bit. Why come to me?"
aYou brought the house here," hs said bluntly. aYou
must know where it came from. You can talk the
owners into taking it back."
aHold on again," she exclaimed. aBobbie, that house
cost a fortune to move here."
That didn't impress him. aThey have to take it back!"
Might as well plunge all the way now. "Miss Reege,
that house is evil. I tried to talk to Lobe Peters about it,
but he laughed. I tried to tell him before it got Miss
Penny. And it maybe got Bitsy, too, and the workman.
It's crazy, and it's going to get somebody else soon, too.
I don't know who, but it has something to do with a
muddy cross and blood."
He knew he was lost when Miss Reege reached out
and sm-oothed the hair back from his damp forehead.
aBob, I know a lot of bad things have happened around
here lately. They've affected us all. I wasn't particularly
fond of Miss Penny, but I wouldn't have wished her the
ugly death she suffered. But they were all accidents,
honey. You've just let them play on your mind too
much. It's happening all over town. There's a kind of
morbidity. Other factors are involved, too, what with
Ace getting ready to close. We're in a real economic
depression around here, and these tragedies have just
added to dragging people do vn. Do you understand
what I mean?"
He looked at her intently. aYou mean you don't


believe me," he said.
aAbout your being psychic? I don't know about
things like that, Bob. After all, if you were close to your
mother--and I'm sure you were--you probably picked
up on little signs of illness others wouldn't have no-
ticed."


aMy mother died of a brain hemorrhage," he said
dismally. aSuddenly."
.    aStill--the signs could have been there."
~Why won't people believe what they can't under-
stand?" he exploded. aI don't understand it either, but
something's going to happen, and it'll be your fault
now, too, because I've told you." The bleakness inside
him took away any sense of politeness he had left. aYou
probably think I'm crazy, but you're going to be sorry
you didn't listen to me. The whole town will be sorry.
Somebody's got to get rid of that house because I think
it's only just getting started." He got off the box
abruptly.
Miss Reege stood as he stood. aI don't think you're
crazy, Bob," she said. aI believe you're sincere. I just
think maybe you suffer from an overactive imagina-
tion. But I couldn't help you anyway. I don't know any
more about the woman who sent the house to Edgar
Falls than anyone does--which I'm sure would surprise
and delight our esteemed Mr. Peters--except that she
once lived in the house. All transacting--the sale of the
Pellam Woods property by a developer in Omaha who
abandoned a project here in Edgar Falls--the house
itself--everything was done in the name of Ms. Bene-
dictine. She had the cash, and it was all perfectly legal.
Although I did know she wasn't the real owner, I didn't
know the house was intended as a gift to the town--a
somewhat bizarre way to blow money, if you don't
mind my saying it, but who am I to question people's
whims?"
aDo you know where it came from?" he asked.
She shook her head. aIf I did, I couldn't tell you. But
I was kept in the dark about it.n She smiled again,
gently. aFor the kind of money I was paid, honey, I just
sold the Pellam Woods land with the biggest grin you
ever saw, and when my client said no questions, I
would have sewn my mouth shut if requested."
aI have to know who she is. I have to know where the
house came from. Maybe she'd do something about it.
Someone has to." Bobbie felt as if he had vomited the
hot words.
aOh my," she said. aBob, I'm sorry."
aSomeday," he said angrily, ayou'll believe me. But
then it~l be too late. The curse will be over~ Bobbie
found himself at a metal door leading out the back way
without any memory of getting there. Miss Reege
crossed silently and opened the door for him; it
creaked. In a moment he found himself in the alley
paralleling White Oak Avenue. He was two blocks
toward home before any real consciousness came to
him.
Gloriana Reege watched him go. Poor kid. What
must it be like to live in a head like that, seeing ghosts
or whatever he had conjured? She wished she could
have told him something to chase them away.

After he left Miss Reege's, Bobbie skirted the street
where his buddies lived, and then he began to run. He
knew what had to be done now. They had to get away,
he and Grandpop, even if he felt like a traitor deserting
the town. But nobody would believe him anyway. He
didn't want to be around when the next bad thing
happened; it might even happen to him, although that
wasn't the feeling he had. Grandpop? Could it happen
to Grandpop?
He arrived home close to nervous tears. aWe can't go


right now," he ranted at himself. There were too many
things to take care of.
Well, maybe Miss Reege could handle the cottage.
He and Grandpop could get out and take whatever
savings he knew Grandpop kept stashed someplace and
go far away, rent a cheap room. They could send for his


school records, and Miss Reege could sell the house
and send them the money. They could transfer Grand-
pop's checks.
All the time his mind raced, he told himself how
hopeless the idea was. But when he surged into the
living room, his plan on his lips, it all hit him.
Grandpop was sitting in his chair by the window,
mumbling to himself. Bobbie ran to his side and
started babbling, but Grandpop didn't even recognize
his presence.
The energy drained out of his body. He stood there
looking into the old man's faraway expression. Maybe
Grandpop wasn't coming back at all this time.
aYou can go yourself," a desperate voice cried. He
was twelve. Tall for his age. Maybe he could pass for
fourteen, get a job busing dishes or something.
And leave Grandpop, leave him alone to whatever
might be coming?
asO what? Grandpop's gone half the time. He won't
even know."
But Bobbie would know.

The year moved on out, and the new one came
rushing in on a January wind. Bobbie went to school
because he had to. But he hurried straight home
afterward, except when he had to buy groceries or
something, and it wasn't just because he thought he
should be with Grandpop. The only place he felt safe at
all was shut up inside their cottage.
Cindy walked partway home with him sometimes.
She was better now, a little anyway, although she'd
given up hope of getting her foot. aThe town'll get
interested again," Bobbie told her, trying to drag his
mind off the shadows that moved in and out of it like
clouds. aThere's just been a lot happening." Ace Sani-
tary Plumbing had closed its doors on New Year's Eve.

i

'    Cindy hardly ever mentioned the babies anymore,
although a couple of times she asked Bobbie if he
wanted to go look at the ruins of Bitsy's shack. Banker/
Mayor Bergins had insisted that the rubble be hauled
away, but the men hadn't done a good job; there were
still some burned boards according to Cindy. Bobbie
declined the invitation. Once Cindy had shown him
the melted remains of a silver spoon she had picked up
down there. aThat was mine," she told him. aI stole it
out of our family trunk and gave it to baby Pammy to
chew on when she started getting teeth. She loved that
spoon because it was shiny."
If Bobbie thought Cindy was still a little morbid,
who was he to mention it? His thoughts wouldn't take
any awards for lightness.
Always he had a waiting feeling. For a time it was
sort of like watching the fuse on a stick of dynamite.
But the second week in January passed, and then the
third, and when nothing much happened, he at least
lost the feeling his head was going to be the explosion.
The wind stayed on, roaring up and down the town
streets as if the sight of people walking drove it insane.
Sometimes it succeeded in knocking one down. It
slammed Charlie Groves into his door so hard one
morning he broke two fingers on the hand he stretched
out to right himself with. That necessitated calling
Pulie in to work after his school hours at the high


school in Gloaming. Pulie got out at noon, and he was
somewhat a help, though not as good as a real em-
ployee would be. But at least it kept Grace, Charlie's
sister, from whining and begging him for money.
Damn her fool husband anyway, dying off and leaving
, her with a crummy little annuity. If he'd lived longer,
maybe the kid would resemble a man; though thinking
about it made Charlie wonder; his brother-in-law
wouldn't have made news in that direction.

184  1    185

I

I

,~


Watch and wait. That's about all Bobbie could do.
Grandpop's mind came back somewhat, so that on
occasion they could talk a little, but the old man had
always been taciturn, even in his good days, so there
wasn't much communication there.
The first lucid day Grandpop had, Bobbie had
thought about suggesting they get out of town. But by
now he realized how utterly futile that idea was.
Grandpop had lived in Edgar Falls for years. His wife
was buried here, even though he never went to visit her
grave. He had selected the town long years ago to retire
in and die in. He wouldn't consider leaving now. There
simply wasn't- anything Bobbie could devise that
sounded plausible, and the truth would have convinced
his grandfather it was Bobbie who had the problem
with his mind.
Watch and wait.
About once a week he had the muddy cross dream.
It never changed. He didn't even wake up anymore.
But it made him think of the little gold cross that had
been Mom's, and he took to wearing it around under
his shirts where no one could see. He knew what he
was doing. Crosses were supposed to ward off evil, at
least in fiction.
He missed his mother fiercely these days, more than
he ever had, and wished they hadn't had her cremated
the way she'd always wanted and scattered over the
Ozarks by an airplane. Even her body in a grave he
could visit might do something to ease his sense of
aloneness.
He didn't read horror stories anymore. He just
waited.

'- I
186

Chapter Eight

Lct 'em go suck each other's dirty old things. He wouldn't
ever go home. Let 'em get on the phone to each other.
Unde Charlie could tattle till he got VD of the mouth.
Shit on them.
One lousy little dollar bill.
Pulie pedaled his bicycle furiously. Shit. You worked
yourself stupid for under the minimum wage, and then
you got yelled at for helping yourself to a lousy dollar
bill to buy some candy to get through the afternoon
with.
I hatc him. He thinks I don't know he laughs at me behind
my 6ack. Hc started the Pulie business in the first place when I
was a little kid, got me to calling myscy that, and I hatc it.
Supposcd to be funny the way I said, ~Pcw-cec" whcn I smellcd
my dirty pants. Very funny. Make fun of a little kid doing
something everybody does, only he doesn't know it; he
thinks he's the only filthy thing running around any-
where.
"Why don't you tell me when you have to go ca ca?"
His mother's voice came along on the wind that
whooshed past his ears as he reached the north tip of
town and began to- swing east. Why had she always
looked as if messing his pants was the sin next to killing


Jesus Christ?
He hated her, too. Both of them probably on the
phone by now: "He stole a dollar, Grace."
"Augustine? My Augustine stole a dollar? Oh, lord,
Charlie, what am I going to do with that boy?" She
wouldn't even try to defend him. If dear brother
Charlie said it, it must be true.
"Grace, you've gotta work with him harder. That boy
is seventeen years old and outta high school soon. He's
shiftless. How's he gonna make a living for you; he
can't even earn two bucks an hour for me sorting
nails?"
His mother would start to cry. "I just don't know
what to do, Charlie. The Lord gave rne a heavy burden
when he left a growing boy on my hands. Augustine
(or maybe she called him Pulie, too, when he wasn't
listening) needs a man's influence."
"A man's hand, you mean, across his rear."
His mother would go afterward and have one of her
enemas to console herself. Augustine ( he was going to
start calling himself that) had thought of hanging
ornaments on her bag in the bathroom at Christmas
since she c~uld hardly ever get out of there long
enough to admire the tree he'd fixed up.
Augustine stopped a minute to rest. Beyond him to his
left stretched the gray, deserted buildings of the Ace
Sanitary Plumbing factory. An idea struck him. Maybe
he could spend the night over there--find an unlocked
storage shed. Serve them right. He'd hide the bike. Let
them have a night of wondering what life would be like
~,vithn~t A~ tinf~ lA'.nrflnn Whn~l Trnl lf ~h~rli~ a~t

everything going on as usual. Who really care
Nobody.
He kept on pedaling, swung past the road out of
town. It wasn't helping to ride his bike. That had been
his first impulse after he'd run from Uncle Charlie's
store. Strange moods sometimes came on him, and
riding his bike helped a little. He would pedal like a
demon until he was too drained for the nasty thoughts
that kept plaguing him.
They started in on him now. He saw pictures in hi
head, pictures of him doing bad things, of people doing
bad things to him, heard his screams of pain-filled
pleasure.
A shudder ran through his slim body as he tried to
shake loose the images. The trouble was he didn't try to
fight them so hard anymore. He found himself drifting
off into them and reluctant to come out.
Wind swept hard through the town. It was the first
week in March. aIn like a lion," Pulie said, and that
brought forth still another picture for his mind to paw
with dirty fingers.
It was okay. His body hadn't gotten in on the act yet
It was when his body joined in he had real trouble.
He pedaled down the east side of town.
Little kids were coming home from school now. They
skipped along in the wind, chasing papers that flew ou~
of their hands, chasing each other. They made Pulie
sick to him stomach. He'd never been a little kid like
that. Always, as long as he could remember, there'd
been his mother he had to get home to. "MommeP wa~
never feeling well. Mommer needed her strong little


i about six the first time he wished she'd die; he was
maybe eight when he thought of killing her himself.
.    UWith what?" he said now, smiling mirthlessly into
. , the wind. "Stab her to death with her douche nozzle?"
All this over a lousy dollar--all these memories he
tried to keep buried churning up, just because he'd
. taken something that should have been his in the first
place.
Instead of passing, his mood deepened.
Down toward the south side of town he rode, now, his
thoughts working themselves into a frenzy. Why
couldn't he just get out? What held him here?
Then suddenly Pulie braked. He dragged his foot
along the ground to stop the ailing brakes. Have to fix
those one of these days.
He reached the south side. Banker Bergins's house
had come into view way up ahead. But that wasn't
what he was looking at. Cindy Newman stood over by
the spot where Bitsy McCall's shack had been; she
seemed to be studying the ground.
Memory moved warmly through Pulie, of a body
pressed up against him. He had seen Cindy a couple of
times since the fire. She'd always looked lost in some
world of her own, and he'd always had that same faintly
pleasant, faintly uncomfortable feeling he had now.
Sort of a shudder that started in his shoulders and hit
that place between his legs rapidly. He tried to avoid
making pictures out of that. Never think of real people.
It was the only safe way to handle it. -

Cindy wore a blue stocking cap. Her hair hungdown the back of her
blue coat, and he thought again
she was going to be a nice-looking woman--if the town
ever got around to fixing that foot. Pulie looked down
at her special shoe. It gave him a sickish feeling. He
didn't like any kind of deformity. "That's because you
were born with one for a face ~ he liked to tell himself
when he was in a real mood.
He started walking the bike over. ~What are you
looking for?" he asked.
Funny how his voice never sounded real when he'd
gotten into a mood. You couldn't just snap out of it
either. Once it got going, the mood held you for hours,
sometimes days, and pretty soon everything got to
looking flat and strange, and you went around touch-
ing things to see if they were real. He panicked
sometimes when he got like that.
He felt a little panic now.
Cindy jumped. "I don't hear you coming," she said.
UWhat are you looking for?" he asked again.
"Oh. Things. I used to come and play with the
babies. I look for things to remind me of them."
aLike what?" His voice seemed to be at the far end of
a tunnel while he stood down here. On the back of his
mind he had a sudden picture of Cindy with her pants
pulled down. The thought shocked him. He'd never
thought that about a real person before; he wouldn't let
himself. For a second, black wind rushed so hard in his
ears he thought he might faint.
"Well, I found a silver spoon once I gave- baby
Pammy. And a broken airplane that must have been in
the yard when the fire happened. I've got a little tin box
Bitsy stole--Bitsy had."
Her voice came clearer toward the end, all soft going
in and out of his ears. He liked her voice. Cindy bent
over and picked along through a few stubbles of burned
wood. He watched her hands. She had her mittens off;


cold had made her hands pink. What would it be like to
have himself all swollen and ready and those pink little
hands holding onto it? He looked at her mouth.
Round. Pink too. Pulie touched himself, could feel
what was happening down there. Oh, shit.
Not in his clothes. He didn't want anything to

191


happen in his clothes. He could only do the wash a
couple of times a week; otherwise his mother got
suspicious and wanted to know what was getting
everything so dirty. He'd gotten to be a master at doing
it into paper towels and then flushing them down the
toilet.
"See you, Cindy," he said. She didn't look up as he
got on his bike and pedaled off.
~-   Really furious pedaling now. Keep those legs pumping.
Don't think. Give it a chance to go down. You've done it
bcfore. You can gct rid of it.
Horror and shame flooded through him. She was
just a little kid.
But pink.
-    Getyourscyback onto Unclc Charlie and Mommer. Safer.
Ah. Better. It's going away.
Up the west side of town he pedaled, along the street
where they had found Miss Penny's body. Nasty old
bitch. Served her right, whatever happened. The house
had been in sight most of his trip, but he hadn't paid
any attention to it until now.
Now the waning sunlight glinting down on one of the
spired tips on the roof fence caught his attention. Soon
the sun would drop behind the woods.
Funny. Not much wind on this side of town. There
was even a faint bog mist. Pretty soon their season
would come in. When the weather turned warm, they
came to full life, sending out the mysterious vapors
that sometimes disturbed Pulie.
Pulie braked the bike again and stood there with his
feet on the ground, panting from the fight to get
himself under control. Most of the time it was just
easier to give in and do what his body wanted. But you
couldn't always. If he'd hauled it out in front of Cindy,
she would have run screaming for help.
Of course that presented an interesting picture. Let

1 q~

     Uncle Charlie and Mommer deal with that. My son,
     my nephew, the pervert.
      He was perverted; he knew that. Nobody else could
     have the kind of nasty thoughts he had.
      Look out. Crazy territory. Look a~ the house instead.
      Didn't do much good. He hated the house now.
      Three times on Saturdays his mother had dragged
     him through it. "It will be a nice outing for us,
     Augustine," she had whined each time. "You never go
     anyplace with your old mother."
      People made movies about people like his mother.
     Someone always killed them.
      He saw them going through the house now, her arm
     linked through his. ~Someday my boy is going to make
     a iot of money and build his mother a house like this,
     isn't he?" she always said. He wanted tQ drop through
     the floor because other people could hear her.
      Well, he would get out someday. He didn't have to
     stay here forever and do what she wanted. He hated
     the house for putting ideas in his rnother's head she'd
     never had till it came along.
t     "Jesus says there's no glory like a dutiful son."
     Sometimes his mother threw that in.
      He used to love Jesus. Now he was just scared of
     him. Jesus always said things like "I'm here to save you"
     and the next verse slapped you down with what would
     happen to you if you didn't get with it. Pulie had gotten


     saved two years ago when Reverend Botts got off on a
     fiery kick and pitched a revival tent out here where the
     house stood now. But the saving only lasted until Pulie,
     all riled up by the yelling in tongues and going into
     esctasies, had gotten home to his bedroom.
      Now he was in it. Now he was really in it. The mood
     had got him all the way and it would be days before it
     passed.
      He had to do sornething. And it was about this time,

                     193

-


not quite consciously but still knowing what he was
doing, he reached into his pocket and began to search
around. Coins wouldn't do. She wouldn't believe that.'
Ah. Yes. His fingers closed over his nail clippers.
And he rode back down to the south side, hoping she
would still be there. All he wanted was to feel the warm
little body next to him again. This time he'd take the
resultant reaction and get home with it to the garage
and take care of it there. Then maybe his head would
clear a little. Sometimes it worked.

Cindy squeezed her eyelids so tightly shut the pres-
sure against her eyeballs made them sting. If Augustine
was trying to scare her, he was doing a good job, but
she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her
holler. He drove the bicycle so fast, he didn't seem to be
pedaling. It was all a swift, almost graceful motion of
leg and machine.
"I can get ahead of the wind if I want " he said. They
side-wheeled around a corner. Cindy's head rolled, and
the wind hit her like a scream. In spite of her determi-
nation, she gasped.
aYou're not scared, are you?" Augustine asked. She
could feel his stomach muscles working beneath her
clutching hands as he spoke. His voice came in excited
spurts, and she understood the warning: If she cried
out, he was going to make them go faster. Somewhere
she found some strength. "No," she hollered, and
nearly choked on the air rushing down her throat.
"This is fun."
They streaked on a moment. Rounded another
seemed disoriented. Lazlo Street? She nearly didn't
even remember the name. And Averton Road? Bob-
bie's street? Pulie wasn't going toward her house.
~Where are you taking me, Pulie Gordon?~ she
asked. She heard that and wished she had bitten her
tongue. She tried never to call him that or even think of
him by that name. It was an insult, like the word
cripple was to her.
"Just for a little ride," he said. "It's early. And you
said this was fun, didn't you?"
"It isn't early" she said. Shadows of trees and bushes
lay out across the lonely sidewalks. Someone had
started a bunch of houses out here long before Cindy
was born, and lots had been sectioned off and sidewalks
laid before any building started. Then the company
that was going to build the houses went bankrupt.
Cindy knew the story because her parents had laughed
about it. It was another good town joke, that outsiders
had tried to come in and make money out of Edgar
Falls and had been set back by fate.
Cindy eyed the shadows, and a tiny piece of alarm
caught at her. She couldn't figure out why Pu--
Augustine--was doing this to her. He'd promised to
take her straight home, which was the only reason
she'd accepted a ride with him; it was late and she
could get home faster without getting yelled at. She
was scared to ride double, especially now that she
couldn't pedal her own bike well anymore. But it had
been so late. She felt out of control now, as if Augustine
had suddenly gotten a grip on her whole life. "You take
me home," she said fiercely. ~Right now."
And it was then it happened: Something so strange,


The bike teetered one mad second and then righted
itself. It had happened so fast, it might have been her
imagination. Except Pulie suddenly did something
else. And now the alarm turned to raging fear. He took
one of her hands clutching his stomach and moved it
down his body where it encountered something bulg-
ing and warm, something she had never felt before.
But Bitsy had educated her well. She knew what she
was touching.
She took a swift look around and realized they were
heading for the mystery house. Calculated the risk.
They were going fast enough for her to be killed if she
followed through. But an instinct wiser than her fear
caused her to throw her weight to the left.
Pulie screamed.
The bike threw them both and went careening on
down the road alone, as if driven by a banshee. Cindy
hit a pile of bushes, and everything went wild with stars
in her head a second. But she scrambled, all but
unseeing, to her feet and stood there trying to get her
wind and her bearings. What had happened? It
shouldn't have happened this way! Pulie had been
ahead of her on the bike; he should be ahead of her on
the road. But it hadn't happened that way. He lay
behind her. Dead maybe? She hoped so. She was
terrified, but not so terrified she couldn't feel outraged
at what he had just done to her.
She eyed the side of the road quickly. It wasn't all l
bushes here. She didn't dare pass Pulie because maybe f
he wasn't dead, and he might come to any second. So
she be~an to run as fast as her foot and a pain that shot

No, no! her mind shrieked. Go hom~, go home.
But Pulie was between her and home. Grinnin
And starting for her.
She dug wildly in her mind. "Don't you try to hurt
me!~ she shouted. aBobbie Topin saw us go by on hi
street. I saw him. If I get hurt, he'll know it was you
Pulie's grin widened.
Frantically, she stared ahead. The house loome
there, beyond the meadow where she and Bobbie ha~
sat so often watching it being built. And beyond that
the woods beckoned. If she could just make the woods
she could hide in there. Night would be dropping soon
That scared her, but not so much as what she though
Pulie meant to do. She didn't know all the words--
Bitsy had only covered the words between people wh
lik~d to do those things--but it was what happened to ~
younger girl when she got in a car with a stranger
when her body was found in some shallow grave. Lik~
a woods grave?
Cindy began to sob, and that didn't help he
progress.The leg shrieked with pain now; she mus
have come down on it crooked.
"Wait," Pule called. ~I just want to show you some-
thing. Let me show you something and I'll take you
home."
He sounded so sincere. But he had sounded sincere
a little while ago. She tore on toward the house. And all
the time she could hear his harsh breathing, as if some
huge and powerful animal were on the trail of some
small supper tibdit--and excited because it hadn't
eaten lately.


She could hear Pullie snarling at something. What-
ever had tripped him had hold of him.
That was lucky. Luck was with her. Cindy struggled
to get control of her sobs because tears were blinding
her. "It's going to be okay" she told herself. "It's all
right "
Then her feet went out from under her, and she
landed flat on her back. The grass, slick with evening
dew and bog spot dampness, had betrayed her.~The
injured leg now raged with pain, and in total terror she
raised her head and stared off toward the elusive
woods. She would never reach them now. She heard
Pulie's cry of triumph and knew he was free.
And then she saw sanctuary.
It couldn't be true. It was too goodl She had fallen
near the steps leading up to the massive porch of the
house. She saw a slat a little loose there, under the
steps. If she could just get there before Pulie saw. He
was several hundred feet behind her.
Shrewdly, almost crazy with glee at her own shrewd-
ness and incredible luck, she began to roll sideways.
Don't get on your fcct; on your fcct you'rc a targct.
She rolled all the way to the steps and crouched on
her hands and knees as low to the ground as she could
and pulled at the slat. She could only remember one
prayer, "Now I. Iay me down to sleep," but she whis-
pered it over and over. The slat came loose almost
immediately and, forcing her sobs to quietness with
almost superhuman effort, she slid behind the slat and
under the steps and pulled it to.
"Thank you, Jesus," she whispered.

she had to. At dark they'd start looking for her, and
they'd find the stocking cap she'd lost in her fall.
Sooner or later she would hear them calling near the
house, and she would come out, and her father would
wrap her up in a blanket, and Doc Jannessey would
make the pain (that wasn't half so bad now that she was
safe) go away, and Sheriff Hille would put Pulie where
they put people like him for the rest of his life.
She rolled on her stomach and inched her way back
deeper and deeper under the steps and planted little
hsses on the sweet-smelling earth. To keep her fear in
hand, she began to sing a song she had learned in
kindergarten under her breath. "I had a little doggie, it
used to sit and beg. But doggie~tumbled down the stairs
and broke its little leg. Oh, doggie, I will nurse you
. . . " It was going to be a long night, but she knew a
thousand songs.
She had sung three of them all the way through
before she realized that something under here was
singing with her.

~I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it.n Pulie sat on the
floor of his garage, hammering two large pieces of
fireplace wood together. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Jesus, keep me from all harm . . . " Singing. Where
had he gotten the song? Out of his childhood? From
the revival.
Jesus knew he didn't mean it. Things happened.
His head was so clear. It had never been this clear.
He could hear his own voice with such clarity it nearly


body . . . his body sang too.
Don't let the other thoughts crowd in.
But they belonged. They were part of all this peace.
He hadn't meant to take her to the house. She wasn't
at Bitsy's ruins when he'd gone back, but he'd seen her
small form limping up the street. Poor little thing.
What a shame to be so beautiful and so maimed at the
same time. Rather like his thoughts right now. He
smiled through his tears. He was thinking like a poet.
He'd never thought like a poet before.
He saw himself again, dropping his nail clippers into
the rubble, bending to smear them a little with ash
from a piece of charred wood.
aCindy!" He got on his bike and went after her. aHey,
you missed something. I came back to look, too, and I
found something you missed."
He saw her turning to hirn. aI've got to get home,
Augustine," she said. aMy mother's going to yell at me."
aWell, I would have picked it up and brought it to
you. But I thought you'd like to find it so much since
Bitsy's things mean a lot to you."
aWhat is it?"
aCome back and see."
She looked toward the house in Pellam Woods. The
sun had dropped. Shadows were stretching out over the
town. He could see her debating, matching her moth-
er's yelling against some small, possible souvenir. aTell
you what," he said. aYou run back and get it, and I'll
ride you home on my bike. You'll get there a lot faster."
Clever. So clever.
t ~'Y~'tlV imilf~ but she seemed tc~ brighten,
from reacting until he got her home, then he'd let go all
the feelings, rush them to his own house--correction--
to the garage, and do something about them.
aClippers?" she said a moment later. aThat's funny.
Bitsy had awful nails. She never even tried to take care
of them."
He shrugged. aWell . . . " he said.
aShe must have kept them in a drawer or something."
She bent to pick them up and wiped them off carefully.
aThank you, Augustine. It's something anyway."
aYou ready to go home now?"
aOh, maybe I'd better walk. My folks might get mad
seeing me ride double."
Y'll let you off a block from home." Watch it. Don't let
yourself panic. She'll do it, she's just bcing coy.
Pulie hammered another nail into the thing he was
making. He wished he had some good, polished wood.
But these boards would have to do. aWhat a friend we
have in Jesus . . . " Another hymn? He was full of them
tonight.
aAugustine?" He started. His mother's voice came so
sharply it cut right into his senses. For a second he
thought she had come into the garage, and he nearly
panicked. But then he realized the sound had come
from the front porch. He got up and went to stick his
head through the front door.
aYes, Mommer?" he called.
Silence. Then, aMommer?" Her voice came soft.
aYou haven't called me that in years, Augustine. What
are you doing out there?"
aJust working on a school project," he said.


first. It's important"
aWell, I'm glad to see you're interested in school,
dear"
Y am" he said. She went back into the house and
shut the door.
He stood there a moment longer, at peace. Even
with her.
The other end of his thoughts tried to get through
and disturb him. The maimed ones.
aWhere are you taking me, Pulie Gordon?"
Maybe calling him Pulie had done it.
Sitting back on the floor of the garage, he tried to
remember again how it had happened. But that part of
his thoughts had fogged a little, as if some bog mist had
gotten inside his head.
Let me sce.
It hadn't worked like he'd planned. His body got out
of control.
He didn't mean to grab her bottom the way he did.
Or to pull her hand against that swollen part of him.
Oh, sweetJesus. He hadn't known it could be like that.
That warmth. It had been like her soft little hand
burning holes into him.
aYou take me home. Right now."
He hadn't consciously chosen the direction of the
house in Pellam Woods when he began to veer from his
intended path. Now he heard the alarm in her voice,
but it somehow only served to excite him.
~    ,? ~. c~r~     ln his forehead

had surprised him. All soft and curly and sweet. All
that pink to receive his burst of glory. There should
have been fireworks going off.
Pulie hammered his last nail and stood up to survey
the thing he had made. Rather pretty, he thought.
Primitive looking. Or maybe natural was a better
word.
What he had done had been a natural thing, too
She shouldn't have tried to deny him, that was all. She
shouldn't have gotten on the bicycle in the first place
and teased him the way she moved her little cunt
against him, acting as though his speed scared her.
Little tease.
He slipped off the light and started for the garage

Quietly, he got on the bike again. Who would have
thought this old bike would become the agent of so
much joy?
Were stars popping out? There should be stars
tonight.
Pulie didn't turn on his headlight until he got to the
street out by- the house.
Then, reaching the old road beyond the meadows,
something strange began to move over him. Wait a
minute now. Where was all that good feeling going? He
adJusted the thing he had propped on the handlebars.
Wait a minute.
The tiniest point of fear began to chip away at the
~tl ff~lin~


Hauled the thing he'd made down. He looked at it.
Hard. A cross? Of course it was a cross. He'd made it,
hadn't he? But for what?
Not for what. For who, stupid.
What did Cindy need a cross for?
Because she's dead.
Oh, now. What?
Go on and take it to her. It's a gift. That voice had
control of him now. Bewilderedly, he tried to recapture
one of the hymns. But he couldn't remember the name
of the person they were sung to.
At the back of the house, he faltered.
What was that over there, that small pile of some-
thing. Was it blue? Blue and pink?
He ran for it.
Cindy? He called her name.
Cindy7 get up and stop trying to scare me.
Hey, wait a minute. It had to be that way. She would have

But I didn't do it for that. It was an accident. She screamed
and I stuck my hand over herfacc and held it there till If
intshed
what I was doing. If she didn't want me to do it, whatd she
come running out from under that porch for straight into my
arms?
Then you admit you did it.
Something was making a terrible racket out here.
Some uely FUY Pulie watched at a distance was holler-


Cindy was dead?
Cindy should have some kind of service.
He remembered the thing he'd brought. It was across, wasn't it?
He could stand it up out here by her
grave.
People get buried in the ground, dimwit~o, not in a bog spot.
Well, some people did the best they could.
What was that? What was that noise way off there by
the house? An animal? Whoever was fetching the cross
stopped to listen, terrified. He didn't like the woods at
night. He had never been in them before. Dark things
might live in the woods.
No time to plant the cross. Something might be over
there by the house, something waiting to grab hirn. He
didn t have a hammer or a rock anyway to pound it in
with. So he ran with it and threw it after her into the
bog spot
He ran around the house and got away from what-
ever there had been back there. Didn't he rernember
something about a chicken in the oven? But no, that
was for a person named Augustine. Or maybe Pulie?
His head had begun to ache. The beauty was gone.
Something terrible had happened, and he sadly feared
when he found out what it was, it would have some-
thing to do with him.


aI've got to see her now.n Bobbie's voice edged on
hysteria.
aYou don't want to see her," Mike said in the same
tone as his father had used. 'II thought we should run
out and tell you because you liked Cindy. But you don't
want to see her, Bob." Mike had gone hunting with the
other townspeople when Cindy didn't come home.
He'd been in that group that searched the grounds
around the house.
"Wouldn't let you in anyway, son," Mr. Bottoms said.
"They've got her over to Johnson's Mortuary. Coroner
was off on a shooting, but he'll be over to fetch her soon
and take the body to his lab in Gloaming."
Body? Bobbie shook his head trying to clear it.
Maybe this was another nightmare?
Grandpop came in from the kitchen. "What's this?"
he said.
aEvening, Mr. Wetterley," Mr. Bottoms said. "We
came- to bring bad news to Bobbie. Friend of his was
killed tonight. I.ittle Cindy Newman."
"Girl with the bad foot?" Grandpop's head had been
clearer the past couple of days, if not perfect.
"Please take me to see her," Bobbie moaned to Mr.
Bottoms. "Grandpop, I've got to see her." Outside her
parents, he was afraid he was the only one in town who
really cared about her; she should have a friend there.
TT~ l~n~ ~ it ~ r~c Qi~ h~ ~un~ t know. But h(

_

.

died. And a superior air, as if he had been in on
something big tonight.
It's not an euent, Bobbie wanted to scream at him.
Cindys dcad.
Thinking the word, he reacted physically. A spasm
wracked his body.
~I'm sorry, son," Mr. Bottoms said. "If I thought
they'd let you in, I'd take you bac~. But we've all been
sent on our way. Only the sheriff and his men from
Gloaming and her father are with her right now.
Everyone else went home to lock up doors. Poor Mrs.
Newman got taken with a fit, and Doc Jannessey's
seeing to her."
He signaled his son. "This is a sad night," he said.
Come on, boy. By now your Ma knows what's hap-
pened, and she's going to be pretty shook. Shell want
to see I've got you safe to home. Lots of mothers going
to be upset tonight."
They went out the door.
Bobbie wanted to run after them and throw himself
into the car. But he stood there numbly in the cool
night air, watching them pull away.
aWhat did they mean, worse than that?" Grandpop
said. ~Shut the door, boy. It's drafty."
~They mean she was murdered," Bobbie said. "They
found her in a bog spot. They think Pu--Augustine--
Gordon did it because Rz~nk-~r R~r~Jin~Q ~ Q-
~


was useless. The old man couldn't help him. No onecould. Bobbie
stared out into the night a moment
longer, and then he ran for his jacket and gloves.
aHey, where you going?" Grandpop called.
aI'll be back," Bobbie shouted. And plunged out the
door.
He hadn't been out at night clear since Christmas.
The darkness terrified him in a way it never had
before, even when he was little. But he was doing what
he had to do; he had to see for himself.
And something more. The story wasn't complete for
him. It all had something to do with the house, and
there had to be a clue that would prove it. He felt sure
there had been clues with the others if he'd only known
what to look for.
The Letkins house stood dark tonight. They couldn't
be in bed--not at seven-thirty. He missed seeing their
lights; the road loomed so dark before him.
He ran as fast he could, toward the town. He had no
power to look at the house or to wonder if something
ran with him in the night, something that smirked as if
enjoying a good joke.

The funeral home was closer to his end of town than
to any other. Within minutes he saw the lights of the
white frame house, the Johnson Mortuary sign glow-
ing in neon letters.
Bobbie had been inside once before. When Mom
rushed over Bobbie. Mr. Bottoms had said everyone
had been sent away.
Bobbie plunged through the front door and stopped,
panting, startled. A big sign stood on an easel in the
foyer, just as it had for Mom: Kristoff Service, 7 P.M
Tonight. People were gathered in a room up ahead. He
could see the coffin: silver. Mom's had been plain
wood.
For an instant memories of Mom and the news h(
had received tonight got all mixed up inside him, and a
rush of blackness in his head threatened to cave his
knees in. But he caught hold of the sign. Both of them
nearly toppled.
aCan I help you, son? Why, it's Bobbie Topin." Mr.
Johnson himself had come out of that room up ahead
and was whispering to him.
aI've got to see Cindy Newman," Bobbie said.
"The little New--" Mr. Johnson's bland face regis-
tered shock. aYou can't do that. We won't get her back
until late tomorrow, and she won't be ready for view-
ing."
"I don't want to view her" Bobbie's loud voice startled
even himself. He brought it down to match Mr.
Johnson's. "Please," he begged. "I'm--I was a friend of
hers."
aQuite out of the question. They're getting ready to
transport her anyway. The coroner has arrived. Now
you be on your way, or Ill have to remove you. You're
disrupting Mrs. Krlstofi's services.~


white cottagelike building with no windows. The ice
house, the guys called it. They had discussed maybe
breaking in there on Halloween night, except they
knew no one had died, and there wouldn't be any
bodies. Bobbie, thinking of Mom, had put the idea
down the hardest.
aI'm sorry," Bobbie said.
"I understand," Mr. Johnson said, and held the door
open for him. aCome back day after tomorrow. I'm
sure I'll have her ready by then."
Ready? Sickness scalded Bobbie's throat. It was
starting to really come through to him now. Cindy was
dead. Mr. Johnson would mold her up like a clay doll,
curl her hair maybe when Cindy liked to wear her
pretty hair straight. Bobbie stopped a second and
leaned against a wall, got his insides settled. And ran
on.
He was right! The door to the ice house stood open.
Men were coming out. Cindy's father was first, his
head bent. He was sobbing bitterly.
aWait a minute," Bobbie shouted. aI've got to see her."
Mr. Newman seemed not even to hear him. The
man behind him, a sheriff's officer from Gloaming,
stopped to stare at Bobbie, saw his intent and made a~
lunge, but the boy was too fast for him and darted
through the doors.
The room glowed as bright as day, and he stood
blinking a second. Where was she? His eyes shot
around the room. There? On top of what looked to be
a plastic bag?
This room reeled, too.
The sheriff's man lunged again. This time he suc-
ceeded. Arms closed around Bobbie and lifted him off
the ground. But not before he had seen her. She wore
~ her blue coat and jeans. But that was all he could make
I out; the rest was mud.

Of course it would be mud. Oh, Jesus.
The man carted Bobbie unceremoniously out of the
building. aCindy!" he shouted. And then, as the man
started hefting him out the door and Bobbie wildly
flailed out for something to grab onto to hold them
back so he could see her better, his eyes lit on some-
thing else. He got only a glimpse as a second man
latched onto him, and they dumped him out the door
so hard he fell on his rear and jarred his teeth. aWhat
was that?" he screamed. aWhat was that-muddy thing I
saw?"
Sheriff Hille was the second man who had grabbed
him. "I don't know what this is all about, kid," he said
warningly. aBut don't come around here obstructing

the law"
aWhat was it?" Bobbie hollered again. aThat thing
covered with mud in the corner?"
Mr. Newman stood on the sidewalk outside the ice
house. He looked like a blind man waiting to be led
away. aIt was a cross," he said to Bobbie in slowly
spaced words. aHe must have made her a cross."
aYou get out of here, boy, Sheriff Hille said, more
ominously this time. aYou get going while I'm watch-
ing you. Don't be making trouble when men are
working, and you can see Clyde's grief."
A cross. A mud cross. He knew it! The clue was
there, as if the house had sent it to him personally. As if
it wanted to say jovially, Hey, Bob old boy, I'm at it again,


and I just wantedyou to be sure who was really at the bottom of
this. What do you think of that?
Bobbie was running again. He hadn't even apolo-
gized to Mr. Newman. He ran insanely, first up the
wrong block, then down another equally wrong, then
stopped a moment, like an animal that has lost its
scent of home, turning round and round in the wind
that had died for a while and had started up again.


No thoughts at all moved in his head. He had gone
beyond thinking, moving in a world of terror and rage
so fierce it threatened to burn him up. Somehow he got
himself going right, toward his own black patch of
town.
He ran until his side had knives of fire in it, and his
lungs threatened to explode. Ran and ran and ran, the
way he seemed to want to run so much lately--if not in
truth then in his head.
By the time he reached the street, he was near
collapse, and he had no choice; he had to stop. He
stood there with his hands pressed against his sides,
then raised his eyes to the house. A pale moon rising
outlined it clearly. The house had chosen an air of
innocence tonight.
The rage rose to the boy's throat, erupting in a
bellow that came out of him like no sound that had ever
been heard on the streets of Edgar Falls.

Chapter Nine

aDo ye hear the willow weepin', do ye ken the night
draw'n nigh? Do ye feel the-rare airth movin', where
my true love's bones do lie...."
The old lines of a mother's made-up poem drifted
through a young boy's mind. Other children had been
rocked to lullabies. Robert Louis Topin had cut his
teeth on Little Orphan Annie~s Corne to Our House to Stay.
His mother's song had been of a highwayman riding,
riding, riding, through the long and endless night; his
fairy princes had been headless horsemen crying
through lonely hollows. She had loved all of it with her
beautiful imagination and her delicious sense that
there was no thrill like the thrill of scaring yourself with
words. She had loved all of it, believed none of it, but
she had spawned a child who was cursed to carry it all
beyond a game.
The house was eating the town.
Bobbie sat in the church staring vacantly at the

peace and no sleep for days.
He had known it all along, from that first night he
sat staring at the house and felt the shadow moving
inside, probably even before. But he'd tried to talk
himself out of it. Something hideous had moved into
the town, something that was working on the people to
destroy them all. He hadn't trusted his own feelings
beyond taking them to Lobe Peters and then to Glo-
riana Reege. Now Cindy was dead. The thought that
he might somehow have saved her had driven him to
the very edge of his sanity. Why hadn't he told hcr. She
was doser to him than anyone. If he had, she might not
have ridden off with Pulie Gordon on that bicycle.
Then again, she might have thought he was crazy.
"Are you all right, Bobbie?"
Had someone spoken to him? He turned slowly, the
movement throbbing his head. Gloriana Reege sat in
the pew behind him. "Are you all right?" she whispered
again.
He couldn't nod. He could only look full into her
eyes, and what she saw in his seemed to make her
shrink back against the hard wood.
aOur little Cindy is with the angels now," Reverend
Botts was saying in his saccharine voice. "Running and
playing with the other children in God's nest. No lame
foot anymore." Bobbie threw up his hands to cover his
ears at the bereaved mother screaming suddenly in
agony behind the heavy curtains that screened the
family.

sleep had left him nearly hysterical with exhaustion.
But he was alert. Every emotional cough that sounded
in the chapel, every sniffle, became a hot needle
jabbing into his awareness. He felt as if he had been
tuned to the room, his body the instrument that
received every expression of grief.
Sound rushed suddenly about him--ocean waves,
pounding into the room. He stared about fearfully. It
was only the rustle of clothing as people began to rise
What was happening?
You rcmcmbcr. It's li/~ it was with Mom. Only there were
dozens of people to look now. And more outside the
church who couldn't squeeze in. The whole town had
turned out to say good-bye to Cindy.
Our little Cindy was dead. Our precious little girl we
never got around to getting the foot for.
Bobbie glared at the figures around him. The foot
money had gone to pay for her funeral; Mike had
ridden out to tell him. If they'd bought her the foot, she
might have been able to run from Pulie. One brief
instant Bobbie thought savagely that maybe the town
deserved what was happening to it.
He didn't want to see the body. But when he stood,
the blood went so wild in his head it blinded him, and
he got caught in the group from his row going up to the
altar. They swept him along until he found himself
climbing the three short steps and staring down at the
Shirley Temple head, at the Mr. Johnson-created
smile. Heavy flower smell nauseated him.

a~Ar~     ~?~  Q ~  rqer~     Q


there, dabbing at one eye with the edge of a lace
handkerchief. He hadn't been in school for two days.
During the ten minutes he'd spent in conversation with
Mike, who rode out on his bike to give Bobbie the
funeral time yesterday, Bobbie'd told him he hadn't
gone because he was sick.
aYou missed the last midterm," Miss Larimer said.
aAnd I was already running it late." The voice, too high
for her masculine-looking form, scraped through Bob-
bie's dazed brain like a fingernail drawn across the
blackboard.
Y'll be there tomorrow," he said.
From inside the church came the sound of the family
taking one last look at Cindy. The mother made a
keening sound, and it plucked at Bobbie's frayed nerves
until he had to keep his mouth tightly shut to keep
from making the same sound himself.
Then they came out the door, Reverend Botts sup-
porting Mrs. Newman, who cast her eyes wildly and
hopefully around the assembled crowd as if someone
there might have the power to declare this all a
nightmare. Clyde Newman leaned on the arms of a
man someone murmured was his brother from Pitts-
burgh. He staggered away from his brother's grip
suddenly and swung a drunken punch at the other
man's stomach. "Take it easy, son," the brother said.
Mr. Newman began to cry, except there were no tears.
Bobbie stood in the bright sunlight and tried to work
n ~ome emotion himself. But he had the feeling he
sun and the knowledge of what lay inside. How long
would it be, he wondered, before the eyes fell in and
the maggots got her? He shuddered, an involuntary
spasm meant to throw off some of the horror. But it
didn't work. He hadn't seen Mr. Johnson pull the
hearse to the curb, and he watched dully now as the tall
man got out wearing the same somber expression he
had worn for Mom. The doors at the rear of the hearse
yawned open.
aBobbie, I want to talk to you." Gloriana Reege put
her hand on his shoulder, and he jumped.
aI can't," he said. aI'm going to the cemetery."
aHow?" she asked.
He could have gone with Bottoms's dad; they'd
offered earlier. aI'm going to walk."
Not walk. Run. AII the way. Run off some of this
non-feeling.
aIt's two miles," she said. aIt'll be over before you get
there. Come with me. I~l take you home after."
He wanted to go by himself, but he didn't have the
small amount of energy required to insist on it. What
difference did it make anyway? A few moments later he
found himself in the front seat of her Pinto, not quite
sure how he'd gotten there. They rode silently behind
the other cars. Up ahead the hearse followed the
straight lines of the town streets--Bobbie could see it
through the other windshields. aI'm sorry for you,"
Miss Reege said. aI know you two were friends."
Bobbie didn't answer.


aJesus, open thy arms to this our child, our friend,
our little neighbor." Mr. Botts had gotten himself into
an inspired mood, and his voice droned on the still air
like a bee circling a particularly sweet blossom. Sniffles
ran through a crowd which had overflowed onto several
dozen graves. The greening grass under Bobbie's feet
felt as if it were burning through the soles of his shoes.
And all the time, Mrs. Newman sobbed, and her
husband kept shaking his head like a bull working itself
into a frenzy. Bobbie was looking away from all of
them. He could see the house clearly from here. It
stood in sunlight, all innocence, as if it knew Bobbie's
gaze was on it and was saying, "Who me?"
No one noticed the boy with the hollow eyes and
clenched fists. Ed Kroger's wife was thinking she
should have made a bigger potato salad to take to the
Newman's after; people always loved her potato salad.
Banker Bergins was eying Tressa Allen and thinking
he'd never seen her in black before; she looked particu-
larly fetching in black, and he must remember that.
The second Mrs. Jorgenson was contemplating how
she could slip away and get the cap off the bottle in her
purse. She hadn't wanted to come; she hadn't known
the dead kid, but her husband made her, saying Craig
had known the girl. She rarely did what Bert wanted,
but she was trying to be nice to him lately so he'd think
harder about moving. Look at that straggly, redheaded
little shit over there her husband called "son." Wouldn't
he ever grow up and leave them in peace? Sass mouth.
At least twice a day he needed a good one across the
mouth, but he was big enough to hit her back and
would.

thing to lose a child. Her own were grown now, but if
she lost one, it would be hideous. And then she caught
her husband's expression and looked across the casket
at the woman his eyes had settled on and remembered
she had something more important to brood about
than a woman's losing her child.
Elizabeth Botts, bored by her husband's rhapsodiz-
ing--he was only eloquent in his official status, never
where it counted--looked around at all the depressed
faces and decided that maybe she wouldn't call off her
next scheduled tour out of respect for death after all.
Quite a few of her old-timers were here, and they
needed a lift. Death was always traumatic to them,
though this one not so bad as when someone their own
age went. Maybe Patrice Bergins would come along
and they could take an extra load.
Only Bobbie looked at the house.

Gloriana Reege parked a block from Bobbie's home.
She had insisted on taking him, and he was too spent
and dazed to argue, and he stared out hollow-eyed on
the day. A shift in weather had begun quite abruptly.
Spring couldn't make up its mind how to come in for
sure, and a roll of gray clouds rolled in on the horizon
and headed for Edgar Falls. ~
ur have to tell you what ~'ve been doing the last
couple of days," Miss Reege said.
Her voice hurt Bobbie's head. He wanted to get
home. These last hours since Cindy, he hadn't been
able to do much of anything except lie around. The
outburst against the house the other night had drained


But Miss Reege's next words caught his fragmented
attention. "I investigated the house, she said. aI found
out where it came from."
For the first time in three days, energy vibrated in
Bobbie Topin's body. He sat up straight, turned to her.
Vindication! It was coming. Now there would be two of
them, and maybe two of them could think of some-
thing.
"It wasn't so hard," she said.
She reached across him and opened the glove com-
partment and pulled out a pack of Salems; it took her
an agonizing amount of time to light one. aI decided to
pursue it because I was impressed," she said. "Your
story about the muddy cross impressed me when I
heard about the one that sick boy threw into the bog
after Cindy, especially when I heard the bog spot was
one near the house.~
Bobbie winced and fought a picture of Cindy Iying
out there alone in that mud. aIt wasn't a big cross like
you said" she murmured. aBut it was a cross, and it
was muddy."
Bobbie leaned into her words, waiting for her to get
these others out of the way and to the ones he wanted to
hear. aI checked with some realty friends in the city,
and they tracked it for me. I didn't do that before
because it didn't seem cricket. I mean, I only accepted
whatever information my client wanted to give me
about her employer's plans--and I had no actual
it were an old grandmother and later her husband. The
house has sold and resold many times since the original
owners--too hard to keep up and people not hiring out
as servants as they did in the old days. It has no
reputation for evil. On the contrary, I made phone
calls to people who've lived around it for years. The
house has always been regarded as a sunny, happy

All the eagerness escaped from Bobbie. He made a
wheezing noise that was like a terrible thing he had
heard once on a documentary when a Nazi war
criminal was shot to death by a firing squad: a sound
like a dying baby's whine.
~Bob, I believe you did have some psychic intuition
about Cindy, maybe because you were close to her. The
muddy cross is certainly impressive. And I thought
about her dying out by the house, too. But I cannot
make a leap to the house itself."
She caught his look and exploded, "For God's sake,
it's just wood and stone and plaster and a 'ounch of
antique furniture. How could it do these things you
keep accusing it of? It mustered a voice maybe and told
Augustine where to find Cindy? I know they found
signs she'd tried to hide under the porch. It grew a long
foot and kicked Miss Penny's legs out from under her?
And the fire. Now how in God's name could it start a
fire at Bitsy McCall's?"
aYou investigated it," he said doggedly if weakly.
Tht~rl~ it w~  -t ;.~ th~     Tht Af' ~ rl ~ h,~


thing. Only from inside ~tou, Bob. Look. Look at it, for
Christ's sake."
When he didn't turn his head, she grabbed his
cheeks in both hands, the filter of her cigarette scrap-
ing across his right, and forced his head around. "Look
at it!" she commanded. "A house!"
She couldn't see it was smirking.
Bobbie grabbed the handle and threw open the door,
hurling himself out of the car. He turned back at her to
scream that he didn't care what she said, h~ knew. And
then he saw her eyes. They were still on the house.
He gasped and took a step backward, his hand still
on the door. It was only a flash, so fast it might have
been a trick of the sudden cloud that crossed the sun.
Except that he knew it was no trick.
They flashed there in the space of time it took to
blink. Two skulls. One in each eye. Staring knowingly
at him. And grinning.
"What's the matter with you now?" she said fiercely,
in the voice of one who had done all she could to help a
maniac who refused to look on his own madness.
"It's going to get you, too, he said. And he turned
blindly, forgetting to slam the door, and started run-
ning.

He burst in on the old man sitting in his chair
watching the cloud bank come on. What he had seen in
Gloriana Reege's eyes had thrust him into action. No
more excuses. There wasn't anything he could do about
the house. Multiply Miss Reege's reaction to him by
the others in town--they wouldn't bother to humor
n hPr~ e thev~aliked" him.
1

forced his feet out there.
They had to get out of town, that's all. The old man
had to have some kind of bomb set under him. Maybe
worry over a crazy grandson would do it.
The old man didn't turn from the window. ~Spring's
gonna come on hard this year," he said.
"Grandpop, we've got to move. We've got to get ou~
of town. Right now. Today." No ceremony. No working
up to it. Hysteria had supplanted all the amenities.
The old man's head came slowly around. "We wha~?"
~We've got to get out of town. Something evil's got
hold of it, and people are dying, and they're going to
keep on dying. Miss Reege may be next." Oh, good.
Yes, sir. These were words designed to get him what he
wanted, all right. Grandpop was looking at him with
suddenly squinted eyes.
~You been out behind the shed with something you
shouldn't be drinkin'?"
~I've been to a funeral," Bobbie shouted. "Cindy
Newman's funeral. Remember? Jesus, Grandpop, you
know she died."
"I know she died," he said. "Young prevert got her.
oon't cuss. Gladys doesn't like foul talk."
~It was the house," Bobbie said. "The house got Pulie -
first." Gladys? Oh, Christ.
Grandpop blinked. Once. ~What house?"
"The house out in Pellam Woods."
aThe one Mizz Botts's been tryin' to get me to tour?"
~Something's wrong with the house. It's evil. I don't
know how to explain it, but I know things like that
sometimes, Grandpop. They call it being psychic. The
house is doing things, I don't know how, but all the bad


things in town, they started happening when it moved


do ugly things."
All the feelings he'd had for months now began to
gel. The house didn't do anything itself--couldn't. I
Miss Reege's irony about it growing feet hadn't escaped 1-
him. But it worked on people somehow. Something
malevolent inside it made people that way, too. Maybe
only pcople who had been insid~ i~? But that must be half
the town by now. And why not him? He'd been inside.
Bitsy--she hadn't been in. As far as he knew. Maybe
you didn't even have to go in--only be near?
aPlease, Grandpop." He hadn't felt himself cross the
room or pick up the blue-veined hand lying in the
scrawny old lap. But now he looked down and sat
himself holding it, and he began to tug on it. ~I'm not
crazy. There are other people in the world who know
things like I do. Just believe me. We've got to get out of
this town."
And ~hen who will know, who will help ~he ~own?
Bobbie pushed the thought aside. He was no hero,
didn't have the slightest idea how to be one. He was no
white light going up against evil like happened in
books. This wasn't like in the books. This was a
blackness that filled up your soul and let only one
message filter through: Save yourself. And Grandpop if
he would come.
Grandpop held back with surprising strength for one
so fragile of bone. aYou're telling me we have to get out
of town? Because of a house?"
Bobbie could feel the draining starting again. As if

UYes, sir." Bobbie had stopped pulling the old man
hand, but he held on.
UYou want to move. You're not happy here?"
Bobbie started to protest. Then he realized his
grandfather was groping for his own explanation. He
could almost see the wheels turning behind the eyes
paled blue by age: Lonesome kid. Lost his mother
Stuck with an old man. Only one or two friends, and
one of them is dead and the others never come around
Cock-and-bull storying him despite what he'd said
about not being a liar. Wanted to move and knew if
he'd just asked outright, it wouldn't work. Wanted to
move so bad maybe he even believed this flimflam
about that house. Maybe better think about this. Boy
wants to move that bad should maybe get his request
considered. I wanted to live out my days here, but this
is my daughter's son. My daughter's son all right. But
gone looney.
Bobbie saw that last thought come into his grandfa-
ther's face, and he knew that was it. He had failed.
"Well talk about this some other time," Grandpop
said. "Nap time." And just that abruptly, he dismissed
the subject. The eyes closed, then came open a second.
UYou see Doc Jannessey tomorrow, boy," he said. "Flu
may be-comin' down on you again."
"Grandpop . . ."
The old man closed his eyes again. Bobbie stood
there still holding his hand, looking out on the gray-



i    For two years now, he'd had a vision of himself
taking care of the old man, on into his teens. His
mother would have wanted that, and Bobbie wanted it,
too. He saw that dream fade now.
Grandpop would never understand why Bobbie hadleft him, maybe
wouldn't even care--Bobbie had never
known if the old man had any feelings for him. If he
did understand and care one day, it would be too late to
do anything about it. One part of the boy said stay and
take care of his grandfather. But there was a stronger
part--one that cried out for self-preservation.
Very soon--as soon as he got up the guts to steal that
part of money left from checks he knew Grandpop kept
hidden somewhere in the house--he would be getting
out of Edgar Falls.
He knew it sounded dumb. But other kids had gone
before--were doing it all the time. Even his age.
Dropping away from their homes and school. Losing
themselves in cities. Working for peon wages for people
who didn't ask questions about cheap labor. He was big
for his age. If he got some high boots, he might go for
fourteen, even fifteen. He could walk to Gloaming--
catch a bus for somewhere else. Anywhere else. Maybe
there'd be enough money to last till . . .
The plans whirled and whirled in his hyper brain.
The house might gct Grandpop, his mind said.
He ha,d a ch,oicc;  ,,   I _ ,L r~ nri r~

He dreamed a protective canvas surrounded the
earth. It was a secret closely guarded by scientists so as
not to frighten people; after all, canvas is a flimsy thing
to stand between you and the outer darkness. The
canvas was painted blue where there was sky and green
where there was grass and brown where there were
mountains. It changed its colors with the sun.
He had a vital job: to patrol the rim of the earth and
make sure no worn places appeared in the canvas. He
alone held this responsibility. People did not know who
he was because he went through their cities and villages
dressed in various guises, making his rounds of the
canvas at night, carrying a flashlight invisible to all
eyes but his (which had been specially treated). The
light could flash for hundreds of miles, and he played it
constantly up and down and on the ceiling of the
canvas. He had never found the least problem
Until now.
Until this moment when he stood frozen in horror,
watching the tip of a gigantic knife slowly penetrate the
canvas.
Frantically, he sent an SOS through the beeper at his
waist. "It's your problem," the answer came back. "Why
do you think we gave you the job? It's up to you to save
the world."
Something snuffled around the slash the knife was
creating, something slobbering and greedy and mind-



And he threw down the light and his sword. Theyhad not told him
how to save the world because they
had not really believed anything could happen. aIt's in,
it's in!" he screamed into the beeper.
Only one thing controlled his mind: get away and
save himself. He began to run, throwing off his beg-
gar's disguise. Then something on the distant edges of
his wildly shrieking senses got through to him; it was
the gentle sound of a woman's weeping.
He stopped a moment, looking behind to see if the
thing had followed. He listened. aGo home," the weep-
ing voice said. aGo home and look to my father."
;    aI can't," he cried. aDon't ask me that. He wouldn't
believe me. He'll say the canvas is a boy's imagination."
aGo home. He needs you more."
al can save myself. I can't save the ignorant, too.n
For me," she said.
And he answered, with a great weight settling on his
soul, aYes, Mother."

Bobbie came awake feeling listless and heavy. He lay
there waiting to see if the nightmare would drag him
back. But this time gloomy light showed behind his
window shade.
He knew what the dream was about, he had been

warn him.
Would you lis~en to a warning lik~ that? he came back.
He had to stay. If enough things happened (not that
he wanted them to, but they probably would anyway),
maybe then Grandpop would listen to reason. Until
then, Bobbie stood himself on a fatalistic platform. He
gave up searching for the money. He couldn't leave.
Not yet.

Grandpop looked a little vague when Bobbie gave
him his usual poached eggs for breakfast. But he knew
what day it was and that it was drizzling outside.
Bobbie hated to have to go to school on mornings
Grandpop started looking distant. But what could he
do? He'd already missed several days, and he had no
choice but to leave the old man alone. That scared
him. Grandpop was within sight of the house anytime
he went outside or cared to look out a back window.
But maybe it only did its dirty work at night. Bobbie
trudged off to school carrying a note signed in Grand-
pop's spidery writing, his mind swirling--part of it on
the dream ?nd the dark and gibbering thing that had
gotten into the world.


.
Bobbie started on by. This morning huddle was a
ritual a bunch of sixth grade boys went through on all
but the nastiest days, and this one was only misting.
aHey, Topin" Bobbie stopped, startled. Jorgenson
was waving him over, an excited look on his face.
Oh, jeez. Something else hadn't happened already,
had it? Something their ghoulish minds wanted to
share?
aYou hear about Banker Bergins?" Craig called, and
Bobbie's heart nearly stopped.
He didn't want to hear, but he was out of control
when it came to news like this; he had to know
everything. aBanker Bergins?" he said, steeling himself.
aHis wife shot him and Tressa Allen last night," Mike
Bottoms said when he joined them. aCaught 'em in bed
out at Tressa's place. Somebody called my mom and
told her. I didn't get all the details 'cause I could only
hear Mom's side. But I guess they been screwing a long
time. Only Mrs. Bergins didn't figure it out till the
funeral n
"How'd she figure out it was Tressa?" Hetherington
asked eagerly.
aDidn't get that part, Bottoms said. aBut she didn't
do a very good job. Hit Tressa in one boob, but the
bullet didn't get through there to anything vital."
(Snickers all around from the seven or eight boys
gathered.) ~Creased him in the thigh"
aWhere's the thigh?" someone asked.
Bottoms grabbed his own. aHere, stupid. What do
you want to bet she was aiming at something else?"
More snickers. ~Anyway, they got Mrs. Bergins in
custody and Tressa and Mr. Bergins had to stay
overnight in the Gloaming hospitah"

clapped Bobbie on the back, and he went with them as
the bell rang, full of mixed feelings. One was a kind of
desperate relief. It couldn't have anything to do with
the house, could it, when it had been going on a long
time? The other was a creeping warmth because just
for a moment there, when the hand smacked on his
back, he had felt a little less alone.


Chapter Ten

Sheeit!
What was it? What happen~d? There wasn't anything
left! Just some boards that stunk. He shuffled through
rubble and picked one up. Holy Mother of Christ,
man. Was it fire? This thing darnp from rain stunk like
firc?
Now wait a minute, he told himself. That didnt
mean Bitsy and the kids didn't get out. They must be
okay someplace. The question was where. And how to
find out. It wasn't worry over his family bugging Gary
Purdy, although he'd felt a little pinch in the gut there
for a sec. It was money had brought him back. His
usual motivation for anything. Well, maybe he had two

-

nothing else on the streets on short notice. Hookers
even were picky over in Slopetown. They wanted to see
the flash of green before they let you in between their
legs or even up their rear. That was his second prob-
lem. He was out of everything, induding the last
dumpy little envelope of that homegrown stuff he'd
nursed out by the irrigation ditch in Slopetown.
Jaydene hadn't left a drawer untouched, the bitch,
when she took off. When he found her, he was gonna
ram himself up her so far her eyes would fall out. Not
for his pleasure. To fix her so she wasn't good for some
other stupid asshole to rip off when he was down sick.
Bitsy was the answer to both his problems. Tempo-
rary answer, that is. He didn't mean to hang around
this pile-of-shit town any longer than to give that fat
body such a going over she'd remember it forever.
Gary smiled to himself. She called it a pecker and
complained every time he got near her with it they
were gonna make another kid. But all he had to do was
get hold of-those big boobs of hers, and she fell right
over on her fat back and let him go at it all he wanted.
His grin broadened. And he started going excited.
He sort of missed Bitsy, even a couple of times when he
and Jaydene were right in the middle of it . Jaydene was
too scrawny. But Bitsy now. When you got into her,
man, just the power of those huge legs wrapped around


him around.
~You better run, crap pile, Gary informed the car
after he'd smacked the battery and got in. "Or I'm
gonna run this big thing I got growing on me straight
into your gas tank.
The only thing was when the mother turned over--
cars listened better than women--he sat there looking
out a windshield with a new mist on it (wouldn't this
damn weather cver let up--April was supposed to bring
.flowers, he remembered from someplace) wondering
where to go. There wasn't just any old body in town he
could ask where Bitsy'd gone. Everybody probably had
a pretty good idea who it was ripped off old man
Groves's hardware back in the summer. That's why he'd
come into Edgar Falls late. So he wouldn't be spotted.
So he could hit Bitsy for her welfare money with a
promise of getting himself some new clothes with it so
he could get a real live job and haul her and the kids
over to Slopetown.
Bitsy'd do it. Bitsy wanted out of this town even
more than she wanted his pecker. She used to talk
about it sometimes, but he'd known all along he'd split
alone someday. He'd split this time, too. But when he
got through showing how much he missed her by
grinding her ass off enough times to keep her happy for
a while, she'd trust him.
Question was where was she~ There weren't too
the fucking flu. If he was over the fucking flu, he
wouldn't've had to go out in this weather and be here
tonight at all. He could rip off a few places he had his
eye on. But he couldn't trust himself right now. Too
shaky and rattlebrained. He might do something care-
less. You had to have a clear head and steady hands to
follow Gary Purdy's preferred profession.
And then all of a sudden it hit him! He knew who
could tell him about Bitsy.

"Who the hell is tha~?"
Craig blinked a couple times before he answered.
"Uh--my stepmother." He hadn't got over the surprise
yet of hearing a smack on his window and finding Gary
Purdy outside in a getting-ready-to-rain-again night.
"Oh, yeah," Gary said. aBessie." He smirked, but he
didn't let it show on his face. Times past he'd gotten to
know Bessie Lewis--Jorgenson now--as a little some-
thing more than a stepmother. She wasn't as much fun
as she'd always thought she was, though. And never
worth the ten bucks. Thinking of money brought him
to the subject at hand.
"Listen, kid," he said. ~I got to find Bitsy, but I don't
want anybody to know I'm in town. Figured I could
trust you."
Craig stared at the long-haired, scroungy guy who


"There's peanut butter," he said, holding off the telling.
"That'll do."
Craig went off to the kitchen, hands slapped over his
ears. They were at it as usual tonight. Something again
about Bessie getting sick and tired of being nice all the
time and it getting her no place. That was a laugh.
Bessie ever being "nice" was a real belly laugh.
In the kitchen, he had to take his hands off his ears,
and his nerves shot back up to crash time. He slapped
peanut butter on four pieces of bread fast. At least in
his room with the door shut, it was a little better. He'd
been about to get his radio and plug the plugs into his
ears--a trick he'd run onto lately--when he'd heard
Gary Purdy's rap.
There was half a can of beer left in the fridge, he
remembered. Bessie was always accusing him of snitch-

anyway; might as well make good this

ing her beer

time

came home by way of The Brewery.
~Well, listen." Purdy swung his legs off the bed. "Idon't wanna
stay in town too long. I'd be too popular if
a couple people figured I was here, if you get my drift."
Craig got his drift all right. Prob'ly have to air out
the room when Purdy took his body stink away. But
that ran from his mind when he saw the time was here.
~Now tell me where my wife is," Purdy said. "I got
business with her, and I ain't seen my kids for months."
"Uh, Gary . . ." Craig said.
Purdy helped him out. "There was a fire, wasn't
there? I been out there tonight. Jesus, ain't nothin' left
but some burned boards and trash. What happened~"
"They figure Bitsy fell asleep with a cigarette." Craig
coughed.
For chrissakes, why did the kid look like he had a fly
up his ass? "Well, where are they?"
Craig pulled in a big breath. "They're dead, Gary."

Then he started back for his room. Jeez. Purdy - I     ~Aw now .
. "
didn't know.
"Hey, man, a brew and peanut butter. Could a king
do better?" Craig had found Gary Iying on his bed,
damp clothes and all, when he got back. Now he was
sitting up smacking his lips.
Craig waited for him to finish, shifting from foot to
foot. aWhat a pair of lungs," Purdy muttered. "You
listen to this often?"   I
Craig nodded.
"Well, why do you hang on here? You're a big kid.
Ri~  h to vet out on Your own. What you wanna

"It's true. They got all burned up in the fire. Bitsy
lived for a few minutes after, but . . ." Craig broke off.
For crap sakes. He was seeing it for real for the first
time. Five little kids. They were scrounges maybe, like
their mom and pop. But just little kids. And now
Cindy was dead, too. It was weird. He'd never known a
dead kid.
"You're not snowing me, man?"
- "I'm not snowing you, Gary."
~Well, Jesus Christ. What the hell." Purdy had gotten
to his feet, and he swayed, then righted himself. ~Well,


wash his mouth out for telling him.     I
"No, man. I guess I better get on back. I got me a
little pad in Slopetown." He caught himself. aHey, you
won't tell no one that, will you?"
"I won't tell."
"Figured that. That's why I come to you in the first
place. Jesus, dead?" Purdy wandered over to the
window and opened it again. "Well," he said. aI guess
that's that. I come back to get Bitsy and take her and
the kids with me." It didn't sound like a lie right now.
Maybe that was what he'd meant to do all along. In
fact, he was sure it was. It all sounded kind of noble in
light of the news he'd just had laid on him. He swung a
leg over the windowsill.
~I'm sorry, Gary," Craig said.
UYeah? Well, thanks, kid. I'd rather you told me
than anybody. Listen, you take care, okay?"
"Okay." Craig watched him go toward his beat-up old
car. And suddenly thought of something. Maybe this
wasn't the right time, but he'd forgotten Bessie's shrill-

i ing for a second, and now it filled his ears again, andwho knew
when he'd see Gary Purdy again? "Gary?"
He climbed out the window and followed the figure
moving to his car in the dark. Purdy turned back to
him.
Uh--you ain't got any pills on you, have you? Like
r~ e~l to sell me?"

of a sudden pointing off in the darkness. "What the
fuck is that?"
Craig looked. It was all bright tonight. Even the
upstairs rooms. "The mystery house," he said. People
still called it that. Lobe's naming contest hadn't
worked; folks liked the name they'd already given it.
"Mystery house?"
Craig filled him in, wondering how the hell the guy
who'd been shook a minute ago could be interested in
the house.
~You say nobody lives in it?"
"Naw. It's a museum. And a place for meetings.
Moose meet out there. Chamber of commerce. Coun-
cil." Craig began to bounce around a little. The night
was cool and working up to rain again; it'd been
raining on and off all week. "Must be a late meeting
goin' on tonight, that's why it's all lit up." He hadn't
thought about the house lately--too many other things
on his mind. But it did look pretty out there all shiny in
the rain mist. For just a second, he thought of the
picture he'd had of Thanksgiving in there. He hadn't
had any kind of good feeling since then, and he
wouldn't get that one back tonight. He could hear
Bessie's voice even out here.
"Nobody's there overnight?" Purdy asked.
"Well, sometimes Lobe Peters, I hear. He's in charge
of it, and I guess he spends some nights there."


gone hoping to get back the good feeling he was pretty
sure he remembered from there. But he hadn't.
"Well, thanks, man, Purdy said.
"What for?"
"Oh. Maybe for somethin'. Listen, you done me a
favor, maybe I'll do you one someday. Things get too
bad around here, you get over to Slopetown, and
maybe I can get my hands on a few of them pills you
like so much. Okay? You go to a place down on Third
called Tamborine and ask around for me. It's a bar. I'd
give you the address of my pad, but I might move from
there pretty soon"
"Thanks~ Craig said. aBut it's thirty miles. I only
been through there once."
"Well. You never know. Keep it in mind. And thanks
again, kid.~
For what? Craig wondered while Purdy got in and
drove away. For telling him his family was dead?
Craig stood there a minute longer, shaking his head.
Then he went back through his window. He changed
fast out of his damp clothes and into dry pajamas. It
was cold in here, but the room still smelled of Purdy, so
he decided to leave the window open a few minutes.
Rain wasn't likeiy to come on for a while. He got his
radio dowfl out of the closet and dimbed onto his bed, I
wrapping up in a blanket. He didn't look back at the

him up on the phone. Said the house wasn't only his,
and they were bored. He'd gone ahead and held the
Moose meeting tonight; he had ~hc7n all trained to be
damn careful how they treated the house.
The rest of the Moose Lodge members had gone on
home a half hour ago, and he'd stayed to turn off lights
and clean up coffee things, lovingly soaping the china
that had come with the house. He~d been leery about
using it at first and had brought over the ugly tan,
heavy stuff that belonged to the lodge. But the house
was too classy for that. The china had an interesting
effect on people meeting in there. They were politer,
cussed less.
Now Lobe, like always, was having himself a few
minutes to commune alone. Too bad he couldn't stay
overnight again, but he'd been here two extra nights
this week, seeing the house through a storm, and he
did have a paper to get out. Circulation had stayed
high now he had house doings to report, and since he
was his only employee, he had to do everything alone,
sometimes very late.
Once or twice lately he'd thought maybe he should
hire some help. Then he'd be freer to roll up in his bag.
He hadn't gotten as far as sleeping in one of the silk-
sheeted beds yet--maybe never would. He'd even
thought of Bobbie Topin. The kid had a writing bent
and would probably put in a few hours a week dirt


writer, he could even do some of the easy stuff: the
obits, PTA. Maybe the kid had lost his weird notions.
After all, it had been a pretty big shock to everybody,
Miss Penny getting found dead out by the house. Right
over there, in fact. A kid with an imagination like
Bobbie's could make something out of that. But kids
recovered fast.
Of course, Cindy had died out here, too, and Lobe
remembered Bobbie's eyes at her funeral--the last time
he saw him. Might still have a monkey on his back.
Maybe he better look for another kid. Time he started
thinking about grooming somebody to take over the
business. He wasn't getting any younger, and the day
would probably come when he wanted eo retire and
devote all his time to the house. By then things might
need some new paint. A touch-up here and there.
"What do you think?" he said to the house.
"Bobbie's okay. He's a good boy."
Well, what did you know about that? The house was
talking to him in his head now. Lobe grinned.

Bobbie Topin stirred restlessly in his sleep. It wasn't
a bad dream, only relentless. And silly. A carrot floated
in a huge vat of water, and Bobbie leaned over the vat
and kept trying to pull the carrot out. But it always
slipped away from his fingers. Over and over and over
again.

good half hour after the others left. And then when the
lights went out and he finally did come outside, he'd sat
in the pickup a long time. Too long. It was cold out
here tonight. His clothes had got damp, and Purdy
didn't need a chill. A chill might bring that damn flu
back down full again.
But he'd stuck out the wait. He could come back
some other night and would after what Jorgenson had
said about the house. But he was already over here in
Edgar Falls, and he needed some bread now. Like
tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd find himself some antique
dealers.
He'd have to be careful about what he took. Car
space reasons. Stick to small things like lamps. Maybe
there'd be some vases. He'd cram everything he could
into the car and trunk. Maybe wouldn't keep him too
long unless he lucked into some gold. But he'd take
enough to pay the rent and get some food and get dear
back on his feet again--to where his head didn't go
dizzy anymore like it was doing right now.
Then he could make his contacts again and go back
to dealing. Build back up till he could get himself
another woman. Although he'd make damn sure this
next one didn't know where he kept his cash stashed.
Maybe he'd get another fat, easy woman like Bitsy.
Jesus. Could you tie it? Burned up. All of them.
But he didn't have time to get off on that. What was
over was over, and this was the here and now, and he
had another big fat woman sort of. That house u~


when somebody put the hit on their property, but half
the time that property wasn't even locked up. Even old
Groves. He'd had only one old lock on his hardware
store, although you could lay money now he had five.
Gary Purdy pushed open the door to the mystery
house.

Oh, man, it was even better than he'd expected. Just
like lookin' into old King Tut's tomb. Right off, flash-
ing his puny flashlight beam around, he'd picked up
the glint of gold. Luck-out time! There were a couple
of vases right here in what must be the living room.
The vases had a Chinesey look to them, and he headed
over that way.
And then stopped. Hold it. Why not start at the top?
Take everything he could from up there and work his
way down. Better hurry though. Peters might change
his mind and come back. Besides, it was freezing in
here. Dumb assholes. How come they hadn't heated
the place up? He could feel his head plugging worse. A
little more cold tonight, and he was really gonna come
down sick.

Would you look at that stair railing? So polished he
could see his face in it even with the dim light he
carried. His face was smiling. Who'd've thought, when
he came into town tonight to put the hit on Bitsy, he'd
wind up with a bonanza?

he'd wondered what the fuck anybody would spend
hard money on something old like that for.
At the top of the stairs, he had to pause--wheez-
ing--and hold onto the rail ending knob for a minute.
His head had gone dizzy again from the climbing, and
there was a crazy hum in it. Actually, the hum seemed
to be coming from outside his head. But that was
stupid. He waited--and finally it stopped. Gary Purdy
got on to the work at hand. Grinning again.

He went into one of the bedrooms and stopped
suddenly. Now that was weird. For just a second there,
he'd thought he'd heard soft singing. Jesus. Was some-
one in this place? He went to the headof the stairs and
eyed the pitch darkness before him. Nope. All quiet.
Just imagination.
It was also his imagination that made the house feel
downright friendly all of a sudden. He went back to th~
bedroom. Houses didn't feel friendly. They just stooc
there all mindless, waiting for you to rape them.
And this one was a damn good lay. UHey," it seemec
to be saying. ~I don't need all this junk. Take every
thing you want."
~Thanks," Gary said. "I will."

The hum was back when he loaded the last stuff intc
the car. He had to push and shove a lot, being carefu]
of the lamps. He didn't want no cracked glass shades.


Maybe even drag out his blankets and sleep in the car,
flu or no flu. The blankets and the thought of the bucks
he was going to rake in would keep him warm. He
grinned, piling some sheets on top of everything else
stacked nearly to the car ceiling. He was pretty sure
these babies were pure silk, and they didn't take up
much room. Maybe he'd cover himself with one of
these tonight, too, just for the feel of it. Hell, maybe
he'd keep one even. His next woman might like fucking
on silk. No telling what it might do to her or make her
do to him. His head was humming pretty bad now, but
he didn't care. He was getting used to it. It'd go away
when he got some sleep. He lifted the hood, banged on
the battery, and got into the car. "Nighty night," he
said to the house and drove away.

Gary Purdy was singing as he went through Gloam-
ing and headed for Slopetown. It was just a silly song.
He was singing to the house. After all, hadn't it sung to
him? This was just a bunch of jumbled words about
how he'd come in to Edgar Falls on the east side of
town, by the highway in case the car broke down and
he had to thumb it back home.
If he'd come in on the Gloaming road maybe
everything would've turned out different. He'd've seen
the house and wondered where the heck it came from,

Oh-oh. That brought him to a little, and he shut up
and tried to concentrate on driving. But it was har
with this damn hum in his head and mist on
windshield the wiper didn't work worth a shit on.
He looked out the window at the dark water belo~
the road. Crap. It was deep. You didn't want to win
up in tha~. People had once or twice. Once a coupl
stupid kids who'd been out on the edge of town makin
it. Deputies figured the guy had his car pointed towar~
the ditch and got so wound up he knocked the shift int
neutral and rolled. Gary looked at the water anl
shivered. What a way to go. The kids--the guy and hi
girl--had drowned. Although Gary guessed there wa
worse things than checking out in the middle of a goo,
come.
He grinned again. Or thought he did. He couldn
tell. His face had gone kind of numb. And his head ha~
begun to feel like it was going to bust wide open
Maybe after he sold the stuff tomorrow, he better find,
clinic.- Maybe he wasn't gonna get all the way over thi
flu by himself.
Careful. Another couple of minutes and he'd b
heading into town. Then it was only a few blocks. An~
he'd get some sleep. Maybe wouldn't need medicin
after some sleep, and it'd be easy street.
He looked at the pile of stuff beside him on the seat
That one little deer statue there was damn near pur~


on top of some sheets. And the sheets went, too. Just
w~nt.
What the fuck, man. The door was shut tight over
there, the window rolled. They couldn't have gone out.
But when he felt below the seat to see if they'd slipped
down, he didn't feel anything. Not anything.
Whoa now. Something was going on here. And his
head had started humming so he could hardly hear his
own shock. What the shit. Things didn't just disappear
into thin air.
He swiveled his head, and the motion set the hum
up to a high-pitched squeal. Oh, Jesus. He had enough
sight through the blurring in his head to see the back
seat was empty. Empty? It had to be the flu. The flu was
blocking his vision. The stuff was here, he just couldn't
see it! He better stop a sec, and his head would clear.
He turned back to the road. Only there wasn't any
road suddenly either. Just air. Oh, God. What was that
coming up at him?

Dumbbell. Lobe Peters stood on the porch, his heart
finally calmed down. Grinning with relief at kimself.
(Better get some real glasses soon.) It was stupid; he'd
known it was stupid all the time he was tearing back
out here. Never had been much more than an impres-
~inn reallv. And hadn't hit him at all till he'd had two
he couldn't concentrate.
Oh, hell. A few minutes of that and he threw on his
slicker again and went back out. Better safe than sorry,
he told himself. It was worth a few minutes drive, even
in a night trying to rain, to be sure.
aYou're bad as a damn mother hen," he'd muttered
on the road.
But it was okay, just like he'd known it would be.
Everything locked up tight. Nothing out of place, not
upstairs or down.
aWhat makes you think," he asked himself, going off
the porch, aanybody parked out here would've meant
trouble for the house anyway?" Car parked out here
would've just been broken down--abandoned. On the
way back, he looked where his impression had been.
He'd been right. Bog mist steaming up. You could
make all kinds of shapes out of that.
Still--it had shaken him. Tomorrow he would defin-
itely start looking for Daily Way help. Maybe sleep in
the house every night from now on, too. There were
still vandals around town, though not as good as Gary
Purdy.
Lobe made another decision on the way home.
Tomorrow morning he'd called Elizabeth Botts and tell
her she could go ahead and bring her group out, rain
or no rain. Old people made the best tourists. They


-

through there, weather or no weather. Put off any
vandals getting funny ideas in the daytime. And on the
spot, he made the decision, yes, to start spending every
night in the house. He could manage that with extra
help. And the idea excited him.
Hell, the prospect pleased him so much, in fact, it
made him downright expansive. Maybe he'd haul out
some cookies tomorrow and give all the old geezers a
tea party. Wouldn't even charge 'em extra.

This was the only good part of the day in this house.
When everything was quiet. Bessie's mouth not going.
Pop not whining.
This morning he pulled the earplugs out of his ears.
The two of them'd gone on so late, he'd slept that way.
He padded out of bed. Shut the window. Shoot. It was
raining some, and his sill was all wet. He started to
really come awake with the cold. And stopped a
second, staring out.
Seemed funny Gary Purdy'd stood out there last
night. He guessed he oughtta report him, but he
promised. And wouldn't turn him in anyway. Gary'd
did some things around town he shouldn't. But so had
he. He'd bought some pills a long time ago. Would've
bought more last night. And he'd sneaked into the
m~ tf~rV house Halloween. He didn't bother looking at
kitchen. Grab himself some cheese and crackers and an
apple for lunch and breakfast, and he'd be on his way.
He always reached the school yard long before the
other guys showed up. Not that he liked school. It was
just someplace to be better than here, even on rainy
days when he stood around alone under an overhang.
But before he got out of his room, the front door
slammed.
Hey. She wasn't taking off at long last, was she?
Craig shot for the living room, hopeful. In time to
watch Bessie snatch open the door. aYou get back in
here, Bert Jorgenson," she screeched.
Pop? His fathcr was leaving?
Bessie didn't notice him. She'd gone onto the porch,
still shrilling away at the top of lungs that should've
busted by now.
Craig ran for a window. Pop was heading up the
street, hunkered into his slicker. Craig threw up the
window. apOp, where you going?" he hollered. The
redheaded man moving into the gray morning didn't
answer.
What was goin' on here? Pop didn't have a suitcase
with him. And he wouldn't leave his son stuck with hcr,
would he? But panic hit that son all the same. He
didn't bother with the door. Bessie might hassle him.
He climbed out the window and ran up the walk.
"Where you think you're going?" Bessie yelled.


some time for myself."
aTo think about us leaving her?" Craig didn't mean
that to come out. But his old man seemed to be looking
that thought, and Craig just leaped on it.
aWhat the hell, C.J.?"
C .J. ? Pop hadn't called him that in years . Craig
latched onto that clue, too. aWell, ain't that what you're
thinkin'? Pop, you don't have to stay around and take
her crap. She don't love you. She just uses you."
He should've seen the way his father's face changed.
But he didn't. He was too rewed up on the sudden
hope. aWe could get us another place, Pop. And I'll
cook the turkey for Thanksgiving." Now where the hell
had that come from?
aWhat are you talking about? I'm just goin' down for
an egg. What is all this crap anyway?"
He really saw his old man's eyes then. Lost every-
thing that had hauled him out here. aI thought--uh, I
thought . . ."
The eyes had narrowed. aWell, maybe you think too
much, C.J. There's nothin' wrong with Bessie and me.
Maybe we argue too much, but that's because she's
shook right now because she's worried about money.
When Ace opens up again, well be okay."
When Ace opened up again? Everybody knew Ace
wasn't ~onna open again. The property had a sale sign
around all the time. Now you get your butt back in
outta this rain and get you some school lunch. And
look, here's a buck. I haven't give you any money
lately."
Craig stared at the bill. aIt's okay, Pop."
aNo, come on. Things ain't so tough I can't give my
kid a dollar for a treat. You go on down to Pender's
Grocery after school and get yourself a treat." When
Craig didn't move, Pop stuck the bill in Craig's shirt
pocket. aI'm gonna forget we had this little talk," he
said, and walked on.
Craig stood there a second with his hope dead on its
back. Then he turned to the house. He didn't want to
go back in. Bessie'd dump all her crap on him. But he
had to change out of these wet clothes now.
aWhere's he going?" Bessie ranted when he reached
the porch again.
aDunno." His head was still all muddied up from the
signals he'd missed.
aYeah, you do too know!" she snapped. "Now you
tell me. Is he goin' off to spend some money?"
Craig had turned to watch his father. Now he
whirled on her. asO what the fuck if he did?" he came
back. aIt's his money."
aWhat?" she gasped. aBert, Bert! You come back
here. You come back and tell this kid he can't talk to
rn~  R.~t Pon ha~l roun~ rnrnrr


And don't call me Bessie neither, godamnit. When'd
I give you permission to do that? I'm your stepmother,
sonny, and you better get that straight. I been your
stepmother five years, and you treated me like dirt the
whole time. Well, it ain't gonna go on no more." He
was still trying to get around her body planted with its
hands on its hips. But she jumped to block his way and
got right into his face. aStepmother!" she shouted. aYou
say it. You call me stepmother. You say, 'I'm sorry for
talking the way I did, stepmother' "
It was the word mother on the end that did it. He
might've said anything she wanted if it would shut her
up for a minute. But not that.
aStepmother, stepmother, stepmother, she shrilled.
aI had a mother," he said. So quiet all they heard for
a second was the rain. aShe's dead. That's the only kind
of mother I ever had."
And she hit him. So hard she knocked him back
against the doorjamb and his head struck wood. He
went blind with stars a second.
If she'd let him alone, it might have been okay. But
she didn't. She followed up with another one. A punch
this time. It caught him in the stomach.
He came back with the flat of his hand. Hard. Not
meaning to. It was reflex. The same way when some-
body threw a ball at school he wasn't expecting. Only a
ball didn't go down like a falling tree.
His eyes cleared. Enough for him to see the red
streak coming out her mouth. Enough for him to know
what he'd done. Oh, jeez. He hadn't killed her, had
he? He'd thought about it often enough, but he'd never

.

sure. He started to reach a hand out to her. She was
just a woman, for crap sake. He didn't need to flatten a
woman. And she screamed. She screamed and scrab-
bled to her feet, clutching the doorjamb, blood run-
ning down her chin.
aDon't touch me," she rasped. aBert!" She reeled off
the porch, then she screamed it again. And screamed
and screamed and screamed. Up the street a door
opened, and Mrs. Pender looked out. Bessie spotted
her and went staggering up the walk, rain splatting her.
aBert, Bert!" she screamed. aFind Bert for me. I got to
tell him what happened."
She turned once, before she reached the woman
running down the walk to her. aYou done it now," she
screamed at Craig. aBert's gonna whip your ass for
what you done to me all because you wouldn't call me
stepmother." Mrs. Pender reached her, looking at him.

Now you donc it. You didn't mcan it, but that don't count
now. You sccn what was in Pbp'sfacc. Hc didn't know what thc
hcckyou was talkin'about. Shoot. Pop must likc the way he
lived. And all this time dumb old CJ.'d been thinking
the old man'd got himself trapped.
Craig threw stuff fast as he could into his old
backpack Pop'd helped him make. Used to carry his
fishing clothes in it when they spent the night at the
lake hundred years ago. It was beat-up and ripped
some around the straps, but it'd do.
Cut out thc shaking. You'rc droppin' stuff. Hcy, how about
that thrcc-lcggcd trophy? Naw, he didn't want it. Let Pop
L~r~ it 12~min~1 him hP h~    iri nn~   clrir-- I ~L


to find Pop at The Brewery. Maybe everl before he
made it there.
It ain't fcar. I ain't scarcd. Not about that anyway. He
could square off at his old man if he had to. And he'd
have to. Wasn't much doubt whose side Pop would leap
into. You don't wanna hit Pop. You just got to gct away, that's
all. He'd known all along it was coming, and here it
was. Only a little sudden. So sudden his heart jumped
with it.
Go out th~ back. Don't lct Mrs. Pendcr's big nosc gct a load of
you lcavin'
In his doorway, he stopped and looked around. Just
for a sec. A lot of years a little kid had lived in here.
The little kid'd had a mother once. And some good
times. Some he prob~y didn't even remember.
What the hell. He needed that trophy more than Pop
did. Pop had Bessie.

A mockingbird sat up in a tree and shook water off
its wings and yipped at him as he went by. Town was
just beginning to wake up. There were some early
lights on here nd there. Darn town looked kind of
pretty getting rained on; he'd never thought of it
before.

What'K you laughin' at, airh~ad? He spit out some
blood--Bessie had a punch almost as good as her
mouth. He was laughing because he was so dumb,
sneakin' around the outskirts of town, worrying about
getting spotted in Gloaming. Pop wasn't going to send
anybody out to look for him. When Bessie got through
with him, he'd see it was a good idea old C.J.'d taken
off. Kid was just a few months short of fourteen. Hell,
he could take care of himself. Besides, he'd probably
come home soon, dragging his tail between his legs.
Well, the laugh was on the old man because he
wasn't coming back. Not ever. Because would it
change? Shit no. It'd be worse than ever then. Bessie'd
have the upper hand for sure and Pop to back her.
Dumb shit. He didn't know if he meant his father or
him. How come the town looked so pretty? And why
couldn't he stop shaking?

Just one more time maybe? He'd been out there a
couple afternoons, once even this week when the rain
let up some. Just to sit. Doin' nothing. He didn't talk to
her. He didn't know what he'd say. Maybe he thought
about how proud she'd be of him if she'd've lived. She
wouldn't care if he didn't make good grades. She'd just
be Droud of what h~ ~.n1l1/1 .i.._ li~.o hf~ q ~,~1 q~l~l.,~,.


with big eyes. Silly old tongue hangin' out. Not many
dogs in Edgar Falls. He stopped to pat it once, and it
licked his hand. Maybe he should take it along?
Naw. Gary wouldn't like it. Gary was gonna be
surprised enough to see a guy at his door he thought
he'd said good-bye to last night. Gary'd said he owed
him a favor. He just didn't expect to get it called up- so
fast. But he wouldn't turn Craig in.
He bent and picked up a rock and threw it, feeling
bad. Hurt him almost as much as the dog. Shoot. That
dumb old mutt was the first thing seemed to care about
him in a long time. The dog took off.
Hey. Let's don't start feeling sorry for ourself. And
let's don't cry, for crap sakes. The old man didn't care
anymore, that's all. Prob'ly hadn't cared in a long time.
These were not tears he was swiping at with his
slicker sleeve. Just rain. A crow cawed at him. "Shut
up," he said. "I ain't after your babies." Shit. Even a
durnb old crow took better care of its kids than his
father did.
Oh, for crap sakes. He was crying. For what?

Jcrkhead. Why didn'tyou grab that apple or somcthing? His
insides were growling. Maybe she'd knocked something
crazy in there. If he wound up in a hospital, maybe his
old man would see what'd happened, forgive him.
Come to the hospital and even bring him a llower.
L:~ Tl_:.. :~q~;nqtinn h~ didn't have

Hey. He forgot that and stared at the mystery house
over there past those bog spots.

Nobody'd know, would they? There might be food in
there. Left over from club meetings. Coffee anyway.
Warm him up. He'd be careful, clean everything.
Maybe even some cookies. Lobe'd taken to having
afternoon tea parties, he'd heard. Tea parties meant
cookies, didn't they? He'd been to a tea party once.
Should't be too hard to get in. They'd got in Halloween
night, hadn't they? He didn't have tools--only a pocket
knife. Still--that oughtta do it.
Wouldn't hurt just for a few minutes if he went in
there. Maybe the rest of his life wouldn't seem quite as
lonesome as it seemed right now.
Craig stood on the porch of the mystery house,
peering through lace curtains at all the pretty furni-
ture. He looked around, really seeing it in a way he
hadn't on tour. Look at those neat, old-timey lamps
made outta glass. And the granddaddy clock? Every-
thing warm and friendly. It reminded him of his
mother.
But something hit him suddenly. Wait a sec. Think this
ovcr. They'd figure he did if he damaged the lock or if
anybody like Lobe could see he'd been in. His feet were
wet, for crap sakes. And even if he took off his shoes,
the rest of him was dripping.
- aYou don't want Bessil tn Inq.~l qnv mnr~ ~rqn nn


thief for a son. W~at d'you caK what hc ~hinks anymorc?
Good question. But he couldn't help it; he did. He
went down the porch steps again.
He headed for the back side of the house to start
through the woods again. Eyed a couple of bog spots
off over there. They didn't make clouds in the rain, but
he could see the dark holes of them. Which one, he
thought, did they find Cindy in?
Hey. Don't get off on that. He was a helluva lot
better off than Cindy. At least he was leaving on his
feet.
He'd reached the back of the house now. And looked
up suddenly at the iron railing he hadn't paid any
attention to out front. He stopped. Squinted. Went
puzzled. How come the railing was tied up with the
good feeling he'd had in the house? The feeling had
something to do with flying, he just couldn't remember
what, and he hadn't been able to get it again when he
toured.
-But he shrugged, getting no answers, and started off
for the woods. He was clear to the edge before he froze
in his tracks. Someone had called his name from the
house! Oh, jeez. Someone had been in there? A
woman?
He turned back slowly. "Craig Julian?" she said
agam.

It was pure coincidence sent Lobe past the school
qAF-r it l~t oUt. He had iust magnanimously
Even had her hair washed and combed, a rarity. House
did that to people. Lobe hadn't minded going out of his
way. Rain had settled down to a drizzle for a while, and
he had a soft spot in his heart for the old lady who'd
spoken up the night the meeting got silly in front of
Ms. Benedictine.
Bobbie Topin happened out of the school yard right
when Lobe, whose car was empty, started by. And, still
congratulating himself for the tea party all the old
geezers had been crazy about, Lobe suddenly pulled
over to the curb. What the hell. Lobe'd had occasion to
note today, in the heightened awareness the house
always gave him, that Bobbie Topin had good reason to
think a little weird sometimes.
He leaned over the passenger seat and rolled the
window down. "Bob?" he called.
The boy started. Turned. Yeah, he still looked a little
skittery. But when he walked over to the car, his gaze
was direct. Lobe liked that. You needed somebody
direct around the office. Case anybody came in to
argue over ad prices, et cetera.
"Bob, how you feeling lately?"
~Fine, Lo--Mr. Peters."
~Call me Lobe like everyone else. Listen, I got
something to ask you. You got a little free time?"
"What for?"
Lobe didn't like that. But looking into the kid's eyes,
he saw it wasn't meant rude.
"WeL I need some help at the paper. Thinkin~ of


arm not sure I could take time from--"
Jesus H. Christ. He didn't care to talk the kid into it.
But he butted in and said, aJust weekends to start.
Three, four hours a day Saturday and Sunday."
aCould I wntc?"
aMaybe some."
Oh, gee. Oh, gce. I could find a way."
aNow hold it again. There'll be others." A couple had
crossed his mind this morning. Billy Kroger for one.
aBut I'd do it better," Bobbie said. Lobe had never
seen the kid smile so big. aI'II be there tomorrow."
Bobbie turned away. Gave a little hop.
aUh, Bob?" The boy turned back, still grinning. It
was tricky, what was coming up, but Lobe had to voice
i it. Nip the whole thing in the bud if he didn't like what
he saw. aBob, I'm getting help so I can spend more time
on the mystery house. You came to me with some silly
notions about the house once. And something else
happened near there may have fed 'em. I need to know
how you feel now."
About the house?" The boy looked suddenly off at
the woods. Then back at Lobe. The grin was gone. But
he gave the right answer. aIt's just a house."
aOkay then, Lobe said, satisfied. aYou come on by
noon tomorrow."
aThanks, Mr. Pe--Lobe. Ill be there!"   I ~
The boy ran off, and Lobe sat there watching him
lnn~J a moment. Seemed okay. Lobe was

Wow. He couldn't believe it. Something good had
happened. In all the darkness he wore for a mind these
days, a light had come on. Just a tiny spark, but it
lifted his spirits so that he hopped across puddles and
gave a little skip now and then.
A job? A real job? Something besides fear and death
to think about! He would be so brilliant tomorrow,
Lobe Peters would be dazzled.
Bobbie leaped over two puddles in a row, glowing
with excitement.
He'd almost blown it with the house question; it had
startled him. But he'd seen what Lobe wanted to hear
And he sure the heck wasn't going to let that damn
house get in the way of the first good thing to come
along since he could remember.
It was a lie, of course. The house was never going to
be just a house. But he already knew he couldn't leave
town yet. And he wouldn't forget Cindy. Or let his
guard down. He just had to keep hoping if (when!) the
house tried something else, it'd trip itself up. Or maybe
he'd get a clearer warning.
For now, he just let himself feel joy. He bounced
along with it, not minding the cold and endless wet.
Tomorrow. He could hardly wait.
He could work it out. He was gone school days
anyway. Few- weekend hours wouldn't hurt, would
they? Grandpop wasn't always off in his head. Like this
morriing--he'd been clear. There hadn't been any


     aGuess what?" he'd say. Craig's eyes would pop. A
     newspaperman! Wow. That might just make all the
     difference in the world to a bunch of guys who'd been
     ignoring him unless they had something ghoulish to
     report.
E     Well, he could share with Grandpop if he'd stayed
     alert enough. Might even make the old man proud.
     Bobbie hoped so.
      What the heck! Alert or not, he'd tell him anyway.
     Tell Gladys, too, if necessary. Bobbie tore on across
     town, racing the coming fresh rain.
      The Letkins house had lights on against the dreary
     day as Bobbie rushed by. He half expected to see a light
     on in the cottage, too. But Grandpop had probably
     fallen asleep.
       Bobbie reached the porch and ran under the eaves
     and went on inside.
       A shadowless gloom met his eyes. He looked imme-
     diately toward Grandpop's chair. Darn. The old man
     wasn't there. aGrandpop?" he called. al got us some
     news!" It was rare that Grandpop took a nap in his
     bed, but he wouldn't be out back in this weather. I
     Bobbie headed for the old man's bedroom.
       But the thing came at him before he got there.
     Making guttural noises and with a knife that came -~
     slashing down at his neck.

Chapter Eleven

He screamed and fell back against the wall. The
hallway was nearly dark, but it only took a split
moment to register what was happening. ~Grand-
pop!" he screamed. "Grandpop, it's me--Bobbie."
The knife rared back and came slicing down
again. This time it grazed Bobbie's cheek. The
stinging pain got hold of his shock. He threw up a
hand as the knife cut another arc upward and
grabbed hold of the arm, but the strength there
stunned him. This wasn't a frail old man; the
musc~ les felt taut and powerful .
UGonna get rid of him, Gladys," Grandpop
rasped, and even in the gloom Bobbie saw the glint
of hate in his eyes. "Never needed no new young


i Bobbie was faster yet, and he made the door, threw
it open, and plunged onto the porch and stood
there, eyes glazed with horror and pain, one hand
trying to squeeze together the bleeding area beneath
.1 his jacket and shirt. He tried one more time.
"Please. Grandpop."
Onto the porch it came, mouth slack and drip-
ping spittle. Eyes narrowed and cunning. "Gonna
make us chase him, is it? Well, maybe we'll cut its
little heart out first, then wring its little neck."
He knew h-e could get away. But he stood there
one second more, a hideous sorrow mingling with
the pain and fear. "Oh, Grandpop," he said.
The thing took a step forward, and Bobbie back-
stepped carefully off the porch. It let out a growl.
And then suddenly the eyes glazed over.
A shudder like an electric shock passed through
the body. Then it convulsed. The face pulled back
over its bones, and the lips bared, and it went
down, pitching forward, rolled once, leaving the
face up. Vomit spewed violently from the lips, and
there was a sound like the bursting of a water-filled
; balloon.
;    Myriad years marched into eternity while Bobbie
Topin stood rooted to the spot. Rain broke again,
and it drenched him. It made the stinging in his
cheek increase.
He couldn't move. Pain was rolling through him,
knew he didn't have to, but he kicked it anyway. It
flew off the porch and landed with a dull clank on
the sidewalk. Bobbie stared at it a moment; it was
the knife he used to tenderize Grandpop's steaks.
Whatever had been in the eyes was ge,ne. They
bulged and looked like they were fixed upon some-
thing strange that needed careful scrutiny which
had lodged itself on the porch eaves.
He couldn't even cry. He could only stand there
staring down at his dead grandfather while the rain
beat on the porch roof and on the steps and the
spring grass in the yard.

Get him undcr thc arms, it'll work bcttcr. Don't look at
his cycs. Okay. Okay. Through thc door. Oh, shit, thc
shirt's caught on somcthing. Wait a minutc. Just that slivcr
of mold~ng you bccn mcaning to hammcr down. You can't
throw up. Gct him off thc porch so nobody can scc. Got to
havc timc. Time, time, time, time.
Bobbie went in and out of blank spells. Like
going through a fog that only hovered in pockets.
The rest of the time his thoughts were clear--too
clear. Again and again he saw the thing that Grand-
pop had become charging him, the knife raised. It
had happened. His grandfather had gone clear into
that other world, and it wasn't a world of old-time
memories.


It could take all night.
All night? Alone in the house with it?
What clsc arc you gonna do? You got to havc thc moncy
f to gct out of town. Othcrwisc, you'rc gonna wind up in an
orpha--the faintness hit again, and he lowered his
head and waited.
He swam out of it. One more good pull. There!
He nearly broke into hysterical laughter when the
feet dragged over the jamb. He stood, gingerly, and
stepped over the body to shut the door. Don't look at
thc cycs.
Now he could see to the shoulder.
He didn't remember getting down the hallway; he
came out of one of the fog spells with his shirt off,
staring into the bathroom mirror.
Did flesh grow back? The knife had taken a small
chunk right out of him. But not so big as it felt. He
took the cup Grandpop sometimes left his teeth in
at night and filled it again and again with water and
poured it over his shoulder. Maybe it hurt. He
didn't know. He was too dazed to feel it. His eyes
kept going to the reflection of the doorway in the
mirror, as if he expected to see it appear there
suddenly, grinning with glee because it had him
trapped in here. He grabbed a towel off the rack
and pressed it hard against his shoulder. Apply
pressure: It was the only thing he knew about first

~    ~    JA--_~LA--     VA~  rnAJt     ctn~t

into--
Something creaked. Bobbie froze in terror.
It was u p . It was coming down the hall . He
inched over to the doorway and peered out.
Nothing. Only the gloom of the hallway on a
rainy day.
But it could be hiding in the living room. Behind
the door? Behind the drapes?
He moved cautiously down the hall, ready to bolt
at the slightest movement.
But it lay just inside the door.
Only a beam settling. Here was that wild urge to
laugh like a maniac again.
You will bc a maniac if you hauc to stay in thc housc
ucry long with that.
Gct moving. He went back to the bathroom and
f lifted the towel. It never had been bleeding heavily.
Now he could see the pink, raw flesh.
Find something to make a pad with--a clean rag
if from the hall closet.
He got that done and somehow found himself in
f his bedroom pulling on a clean shirt and a sweater
over that. He needed four or five sweaters; he was
starting to shake.
Thc moncy. Kccp your mind on thc moncy.
It couldn't be in his own room. He knew every
corner in here. That left only the living room, the
hall closet, the kitchen, and Grandpop's room. But
ht.~-l    r. nt~ th. r.. ~    hlv thr. ~     rq~


Two hours later, dark had fallen, the rain had
stopped again, but a storm had raged inside the
house. Furniture lay upturned; all the utensils in
the kitchen had been spewed about on all the
surfaces and the floor; the pantry had been emptied
of canned goods. Every rug had been turned over.
And Bobbie Topin stood in the middle of It all
breathing in dry, desperate sobs.
Grandpop had tried to get him in life; he was
going to get him for sure in death. Why hadn't the
old man ever trusted him to know where he kept his
savings?

Hc ncvcr wantcd you hcrc at all. Why should he tell you
anything like that? Maybc ~hc always hopcd to gct rid of
you. Of all the things that had transpired earlier,
one remained most clear in Bobbie's mind: the
words, "Never needed no new young cock in the
barnyard." That had been it; that had been why
Grandpop from the suddenly ravaged brain had
been out to get him. He'd wondered sometimes
what his grandfather thought of getting stuck with
him. The answer had nearly done him in.
Comc on now. Kecp your mind whcrc it bclongs. Thc
sofa stuffing. You havcn't gone after that.
Or Grandpop's bed stuffing for that matter.
oh T don't think it's in therc.

he could shut the door and wouldn't have to look at
it. He'd have to hold on tight to his guts while he
removed whatever money was in the pockets of the
reeking pants.
He'd wanted to put it on the bed. Some part of
him still hung onto the memory of a Grandpop
who'd been good to him in spite of feeling stuck
That was the part he'd wanted to leave on the bed so
that when they found him, there'd be a little bit of
dignity, but his strength had given out. The shoul-
der was aching, and it was one thing to drag it,
another to try and haul it onto the bed.
A good thing he hadn't now. After he got Grand-
pop's change he needed to search the matt--
The sound of the doorbell nearly brought an
answering shriek.
The whole world stopped for one long, stunning
moment. Answer it. Who could it be? Nobody ever
came out here, only a couple of times.
Wait a minute. Sometimes Mrs. Letkins sent one
of her kids to borrow something.
That's all it could be. Better give it to them. Then
they wouldn't go home and report that all the lights
were on but nobody answered. Mrs. Letkins might
think something about that: old man and a boy all
the lights on and no answer.
Bobbie straightened up and moved toward the


Something was very wrong here. Leonard Botts
knew it immediately. That odor! So offensive you
wanted to cover your nose. Like a terminal cancer
ward in a hospital.
And the boy. Death warmed over. That's how the
boy looked peering through a crack in the doorway.
"I brought your grandfather's slicker back," he
said. "He left it in Mrs. Bott's car today when she
brought him back from the house tour."
"The house tour?" The boy's voice came out a
squeak.
"She was su~prised Mr. Wetterley went along
when she stopped by to ask him," Mr. Botts said.
aHe hasn't tvured lately. But he told her he'd heard
something about the house and hadn't had a chance
to get inside again to see for himself. She had to
make him take the slicker, and then he forgot it."
That was the smell of sickness. He ought to know;
he'd held enough dying hands.
He cut through all the deadwood. "What's wrong,
Bob?" he asked. "Has something happened to your
grandfather?"
"He's all right. He's--uh--he went to bed early."
Maybe the old boy just had a case of diarrhea?
thi~ the time.
unreasonable rage.
Then, when he calmed, he turned and started off
the porch. And stopped a moment, arrested by
something he had skirted mstinctively when he
came onto the porch a few minutes ago.
It had been little more than a shadow what with
the living room drapes leading onto the porch
closed. Now he threw the raincoat over his shoulder
and bent. Studied the smear that sent nausea to
curdle in his chest. It was caking vomit.
There were a couple of blood spots, too, if he
wasn't mistaken. And just there--something lay in a
pool of water. A knife? A good kitchen knife it
looked. What was it doing out here in the wet?
Reverend Botts, greatly alarmed, headed off the
porch for his car to drive to the Letkins house where
he'd been going in the first place when his wife had
handed him the raincoat.
"I need to use your phone," he said unceremoni-
ously when Letkins opened the door. Deputy Ben
Dunkle answered the phone at the sheriff's. "Get on
out to the Wetterley house," Leonard Botts told him.
"And bring Doc Jannessey."


You've gone too far."
He spent precious time running wildly around
the cottage looking for something suitable. For a
second, he thought they had a fireplace, and he
could get wood from there, and then some sense got
through to his screeching brain, and he remem-
bered that that had been the apartment in the city
that had the fireplace. So okay. Think a minute.
Wood.
There was wood in the shed: an old orange crate
he'd dragged home from the market one time,
hauling it by a rope. He'd been going to build
something--his brain wouldn't remember what
right now. But it didn't matter. Wood was what he
needed. And newspapers.
What if it starts raining again?
- Wcll, covcr thcm with somcthing. Grandpop's raincoat.
But Mr. Botts took thc raincoat bccausc you slammcd thc
door bcforc hc could givc it to you.
Plastic then. Plastic wrap in the kitchen.
He ran toward the kitchen. It looked as if a
hydrogen bomb had hit it. The roll of plastic had to
be here someplace.
He began to tear through the rubble he'd created
earlier. Something caught his eye: a sheet of paper
he must have knocked off the table when he decided
to see if Grandpop had any money taped to the

fr~

head.
There ! Over there . The plastic wrap . It had
rolled out of its box and left a trail a quarter of the
way across the kitchen. He grabbed it up.
Newspapers. This afternoon he'd tossed a million
kept for wrapping garbage out of the pantry; they'd
been in the house for years.
Bobbie tore a huge chunk of plastic with his teeth
and scrambled to pick up the newspapers. Then he
wound the plastic round and round them. Keep
them good and dry.
Matches. Don't forget matches. He grabbed up a
bunch and stuffed them in his pocket.
The shoulder wound had cracked open and was
bleeding again. So what? No time, and it wasn't
going to kill him. Something more important to do.
"You've had it," he said, talking to the house. He
wanted to start laughing, but if he did it would take
him over, and he'd never accomplish what he had to
do: his mission of mercy. He liked the sound of it.
Put the house out of its misery; that's what they did
with mad dogs.
A mad house. That was funny. But don't laugh.
The key to the shed, hanging on a nail, was about
the only thing still in place in the kitchen. He tore it
away, threw open the back door, and headed into
the night. "I'm coming," he said to the house.
He cursed the shed key a hundred times trying to


"Bobbie?" Ben Dunkle's voice? Well, what had he
expected? That Reverend Botts wouldn't think he
was acting a little strange, slamming a door in his
face?
Bobbie stared desperately at his assembled para-
phernalia. He couldn't take it now. He had to get
away, and it would slow him down.
Wait a sec. He didn't need it anyway. He had
matches. That was all it would take. Start it with
something in the house.
In?
He'd thought of setting the fire under the porch
where the men had figured Cindy tried to hide.
But that wasn't such a great idea. Someone might
see the fire too early, and the rain might get to it. It
had to be in--where it could get a good start. The
house may have kept Miss Penny out, but there was
no way it could stand against his rage.
Bobbie was running as these thoughts seared
through his brain. He grabbed a hammer off the
pantry shelf. Raced out the door again, past the
shed. He started in a straight line for the house in
Pellam Woods. But a certain cunning took him of
him.
They'd look for him. He should swerve south
instead, double back.

pick up his movements. Bobbie nearly screamed out
loud with laughter; that was funny--a house squint-
ing.
But he caught himself again, short of the brink.
And darted behind another bush.
It was over. They'd catch him after. But it didn't
matter. Nothing mattered but his mission.
Were they close behind him back there? He
couldn't tell. In his head now were only the mad,
alarmed whisperings the house seemed to set up.
And he was here! He halted his holy journey a
second on the edge of the road. Stared up at it one
last time to let satisfaction course through him in
violent, wracking waves. Rain skittered off the roof
in misty little splashes. "I'm here," he said furiously
And he did hear voices then. Not from the house.
The voices were calling him from the fields.
Scratch the front, he told himself. They didn't
know his intent. He'd go in from the back. Smash a
window and race through. The place was huge. He
could have a fire going in half the rooms before they
got him.
The laughter threatened him again. It was going
to be a detention home, not an orphanage, and
arson the charge. Well, what the hell difference did
that make now?


- Maybe the house had mustered it. Meant him to
fall and crack his head like Miss Penny. "It won't
work." he seethed. aI'm coming in." He made his
feet again. Ran.
This time he tripped over something larger.
Something yielding. Went down on both knees,
right on top of it. He let out another oath and
leaned over to shove furiously away from the thing.
And knew suddenly what his hands had sunk into.
Looked at it.
He began to scream. To scream and scream, his
head thrown back in agony. They found him that
way, holding the other boy in his arms. Screaming
on and on.

Two men carried Bobbie, wandering-brained and
mewing, back to the kitchen of the cottage. While
others summoned from Gloaming stayed behind to
carry out another, gri-mmer task. What the sam hill,
they asked each other, was this fool Jorgenson kid
doing anyway, climbing a drainpipe like that?
What'd he want to prove? Didn't have an audience.
And how the hell had he managed to get clear up
to that railing without slipping and then fell off
want that trophy. Wonder what the kid was doing
carrying it around.
In the kitchen of the little cottage, Mrs. Letkins,
shocked of face, made cocoa swiftly. They had put
Bobbie on a chair, and when she got the cocoa
made, she sat beside him and tried to spoon it into
him. He didn't seem to realize what was going on,
and most of the liquid ran out the corners of his
mouth.
"Why's this place such a mess?" Deputy Coyle
Mason from Gloaming wanted to know.
Nobody answered. Well, hell. Maybe the kid and
the old dead guy on the floor in the bedroom had
lived this way all the time. People did. Coyle'd seen
worse than this. Curl your hair.
Mrs. Letkins was beginning to recover from her
shock over the Jorgenson boy, and tears ran down
her cheeks. "I think he should lie down," she said of
Bobbie. But when she touched his hand, he slapped
it suddenly away, leaped to his feet, and backed
against a wall, his eyes wild and crazy, fists flailing
out at empty air.
Reverend Botts was close to that wall, and he
rem\oved himself quickly, eyeing the boy warily.
Grief could do a lot of things. But create this roiling
monster out of a twelve-vear-old? He ~lanced un-



here needs to get over to Mizz Letkins's again andput in a call
to the juvvies."
"The juvenile authorities!" Mrs. Letkins gasped.
"You want to send this poor child over the brink?"
UBrink of what?" Ben snorted. "Looks like he took
the plunge already."
"You can't do that to him toni-ght," she said
fiercely, all her motherly instincts aroused. "He's
lost his grandfather to a stroke it looks and his
classmate tonight. He's had enough. We've got to
figure something else out."
"I got my duty."
Duty, shit," she exploded.
Ben stared at her, startled. He knew Alice
Letkins, had had dinner in her home. She didn't
talk that way.
aThe house!" Bobbie hollered.
Leonard Botts had turned ashen at the sheriff's
suggestion. Tou~h the boy? Dear Lord, demons had
been known to leap from one being to another. And
he didn't know if he could anyway. After all, the boy
had punched a law officer.
Someone else had arrived in the kitchen: Mr.
Letkins, who'd had to go fetch Doc Jannessey to
look at the old man because Doc had put his car in
the garage for servicing tomorrow.
aDoc's in a bad mood," he said. aInterrupted his
dinner. Said if the old man was dead, why'd he have
to be dragged out till he ate. He's in the bedroom
now. What's the matter with him?" He stared at the
wild eyes, at the spit drooling down Bobbie's chin.
aFit," Ben Dunkle said.
aShock," Alice Letkins said hotly. "George, there's
over by the mystery house. But they found more
than that."
Coyle Mason took over the explanation, and she
began to talk to Bobbie in a soothing voice. He
went on eyeing her suspiciously.
~Told you wasn't any reason to drag me out." Doc
Jannessey came into the kitchen. aIt was just a
stroke, and he's deader'n the old doornail. What the
bejeezus hit this place anyway?"
aDunno," Ben said. aThe kid here's out of his
head "
~Shock," Alice Letkins insisted. "I wanted to go
wild like this when I learned two of my babies were
dead."
aWe'll fix that," Doc said. He opened his black
bag. Pulled out a hypodermic. Started for Bobbie,
who growled at him like a dog at bay. While Doc
held the boy's attention, Coyle Mason sneaked up
on the side of him and grabbed his arms. There was
only a brief struggle--kid'd lost his fight--and Doc
got the shot in.
"Listen, Doc," Ben said. aNow you're here, turns
out there's more than this you got dragged out for.
You're needed at the mystery house."
Bobbie heard those words. Let out a scream that
curdled the blood of everyone in the room. But in a
second, his eyes glazed over.
And in another moment, there were no more
bright lights burning holes in his head. There was
only darkness. But it wasn't velvety and good. It
was full of crawling, slimy-things that slithered in
and out of all the crevices of his body, hissing filthy
things and giggling.

Chapter Twelve

The darkness was endless. You could run and
run, and you couldn't get away from it because the
things went with you, clinging in obscene abandon.
And when a small light appeared now and then,
it was worse. Because then he could see the rip in
the fabric a~ain and what was peering through. It
had mad eyes and slobbering jowls, and while he
watched, helpless, two warped and twisted legs
came through.
"Stop the house," he cried over and over.
After a time, everything let him be. Then there
was a period when he thought he was free. Except
that something else bad came, and it had only been
a waiting time.
He lay, one of many, at the bottom of a pit in a
pile of something soft and yielding. Warm liquid
mz~ n(u 1~ nn hi~ hnf1v ~r~m~othin~ that had been
him. He was pointing downward. At him. He knew
what was going to happen, and he stopped scream-
ing. He tried to fix his eyes so that he would look
like the others. But the man kncw. Another ap-
peared, and he lifted a gun and pointed it toward
Bobbie's mouth. He cowered there, the scream
welling in him.
"Bobbie, Bobbie, Bobbie . . ."
It was the first time a voice had reached into his
black depths. The man with the gun suddenly
turned it into his own face and blew himself into a
million pieces. But Bobbie couldn't hold onto the
voice long enough to stop the realization of who
was lying in the pit next to him. Someone the voice
was too late to save. Craig Jorgenson was down
here. Looking at him with glassy, sad eyes.
He began to cry, and he cried on and on and on.
Why couldn't he be like Jorgenson? Why had he
tried to fool the black-uniformed man? What was
the point?

aBobbie, Bobbie, Bobbie . . ." This was the worst
of all. To have only the darkness and his name
being called, forever and no hope of anything else
because the Judgment Day you learned about long
years ago in Sunday School was a joke and never
coming. He hated the voice. "Bobbie, Bobbie, Bob-
bie. ..."


Some angel had moved into the darkness. When it
left him he was bereft. Alone.
In time there was a hand on his. Another bless-
ing. And something warm and good sliding down
his throat. His vision was the last-sense to return.
And when it did, he saw it was a woman. UI'm here,
Bob," she said.

He still moved in and out of darkness. But
sometimes through the terror that wracked him and
made him tremble like a sick baby, there was a
small measure of peace in him. When he slept, it
was to gather strength. And there came a time
when he could sit at the table in the cheerful little
kitchen of Gloriana Reege's home.
"I'm glad to see you back among us," she said,
and smiled gently when he held his hot chocolate
cup out to her again and again. He still shook a lot,
but she seemed not to notice, and she chose that
morning to discuss what had happened. "We have
to, Bob," she said. "You can't keep it all inside, and
there are things I need to know."
Four days, she told him. The eternity had lasted
only four days. "We buried your grandfather, Bob-
bie," she said. "We had to. Nobody knew him well, I
but a few of us went. Mrs. Letkins stayed with you
for me. I'm sorry to mention all this, but there are
facts you're going to have to know."

When he started violently and threw a hand up in
front of his eyes, she said, softly, "I'm sorry, Bob.
But you can't hide from it. Craig Jorgenson was
possibly running away from home. Nobody looked
for him that day because he'd fought with his
stepmother and taken off. His father was sure he'd
come back after a night in the cold--" She stopped
abruptly, hearing herself. Then went on. "For some
reason nobody knows, he climbed a drainpipe at
the mystery house. And fell from the iron fence."
"Fell?" The house had only played a waiting game
with Craig. And the carrots. That stupid dream
about trying to fish a carrot out of a vat: Had it
been Craig? A feeble, nothing warning? He
couldn't help it. He laughed bitterly.
~You think the house did it, don't you?" Miss
Reege said. And shook her head sadly. "I wish it
were that simple. The house could be burned down
and no more sorrow."
She saw his sudden, hopeful look. "Oh, Bob," she
said. "You're giving credence to a concept of evil nc
sane person can accept. I'm sorry," she said quickly
"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. You're as
sane as anyone; you've just had more on you. Lobe
told me at your grandfather's funeral the old gentle
man was barely coherent on the house tour the day
he died. God knows what living with a senile old
man would have done to my mental equilibrium. It
must have been a horror."

T~ c~-~r~ .~rrl t~  ~ct r~rt  ~    n~   n~v


think he could have moved against it. Whatever else
it still had to do in this town, it had lost its only
adversary.
Gloriana Reege saw that in his eyes. Her sigh of
relief was audible. "The only thing we don't know,
Bob," she went on, "is why your house was so torn
up. And exactly what happened on the porch. Why
was there a good kitchen knife beside that porch?"
There was no need now to tell her or anyone all
of it. "Grandpop,'f he said weakly, "was cutting up
something in the kitchen for dinner. When I got
home the door was locked, and he came to open it
with the knife in his hand. When he fell, it went
into the yard. I dragged him into his room because
I wanted to put him on his bed."
She seemed to accept that. "And the torn-up
house?" she pushed gently.
"I was looking for money Grandpop had hidden,"
he said truthfully. "I didn't want to go to an or-
phanage when he died, and I thought I had to run
away.
Gloriana Reege went to a cupboard and came
back with a faded envelope. "Here it is," she said.
"Mrs. Letkins and the women who cleaned up your
grandfather's house--your house now that will be
sold and put in trust--found it pinned inside a suit
jacket in his closet. They were boxing up his clothes
until you could tell us if you wanted the church to

"Bob?" Miss Reege said quietly. "Your grandfa-
ther toured the mystery house that day. And you
went out there at night. I won't ask why. I only
hope you're not foolish enough to think that had
anything to do with your grandfather's dying. He
had a brain hemorrhage that had been building a
long time. We are going to work very hard, you
and I, on overcoming these feelings of yours about
the house. We'll teach you to put a very powerful
imagination to better use."
Miss Reege said something else. His head had
begun to ache, and he was losing his grip on the
small strength he had mustered. And the blackness
was threatening again so that he had to make a
tremendous physical effort to tune her in again.
"When they were trying to figure out what to do
with you the other night, Mrs. Letkins, thank God,
wouldn't let them call the authorities. Someone
remembered I had taken you home from Cindy's
funeral and thought I might be your friend. Which
I am, Bob. I hope you know that."
She laid a hand on his. "Yesterday, when the
authorities finally had to be contacted, they said
you could stay with me until your health returns.-
Foster homes are hard to come by in these trying
economical times. I'm going to talk them into let-
ting me keep you."
"For good?" he managed in a small voice.


Lobe Peters stared with unconcealed hostility at
his visitor in The Daily Way. He'd smiled pleasantly
enough when she came in and asked her how
Bobbie was. But what she said then all but slapped
the smile off his face.
"Bobbie believes the house is evil," she'd said.
"You know and I know that it is not, because we're
too realistic to believe in that sort of thing. But
what would you say to my bringing a-psychic here
to go into the house?"
"A -what?"
"Someone who can fancy he's exorcised it. Maybe
that way the boy can get some peace."
Now Lobe let the fire flashing in his heart out
into the room. "With whose keys, by God?" he
hollered. "I got the only keys to that house, except
some can only be gotten by council vote, and if you
try tQ break in there with any goddamn idiot sees
and hears things that aren't there, I'll have your
asses busted so fast, you and your psychic can
investigate evil from the inside of the Gloaming
jail."
"Lobe, you don't have to get so upset. I just
wanted to put the thought before you. You're in the
house a lot, and it seems that if anything were
wrong, you might feel it. Assuming such a thing
could be at all."
"Goddamn right." She was placating him now,
but he was still furious. "I'm in there a lot, and this
place over in Slopetown."

Gloriana Reege stood on the walk outside The
Daily Way, remembering Lobe's fury. He'd reacted
about like she'd expected him to, but she'd needed
that reassurance. Lobe was about as levelheaded as
anybody could get in this town, and he didn't find
anything bad about the house. She sighed with
relief.
Now she had to go home to a sick boy she'd left
sleeping. Someday maybe she could convince him
of the thing Lobe was so sure of. Poor little guy.
Shed never known anybody so alone. Walking to-
ward her car, her thoughts returned to The Daily
Way editor. The owner of that mansion out in
Pellam Woods had certainly known what she was
doing when she appointed Lobe Peters as custo-
dian. Gloriana had no doubt at all he'd be willing
to kill for that house.

As it turned out, somebody else was concerned
about the house. Gloriana hadn't been gone for
more than a half hour when Ed Kroger came in
"Billy hasn't come in yet, Ed," Lobe said
"School's not out." Lobe had wound up hiring Ed's
teenage son to work for him. Bobbie was out of the
question now. Boy had a hysterical streak.


"So, it's spooky kind of. You don't think--well, I
know this probably sounds stupid. But we never
had any violent things happen to speak of in this
town till--"
"Till the house came?" Lobe had actually con-
strained himself with Gloriana Reege; she'd only
seen the tip of his rage. Now he let it all ny out at
Ed Kroger. "Jesus H. Christ, Ed, you gone off your
rocker? That's sick thinking. Violent things happen
all the time."
Lobe waved a hand wildly. "Hell, Sheriff Hille
found a guy drove into the Slopetown ditch and
drowned the morning of the day the kid and the
old man died. (Today the sheriff had finally been
able to make identification through a college guy
who'd sold the car to Gary Purdy, but Lobe wasn't
telling Ed that--it was going to be tomorrow's
headline.) Sheriff said the guy's fingers were raw
from tryin' to claw his way out of the car. That's
violent. Fire killed four people in a trailer in
Gloaming when their heater exploded last week.
Man lived on a farm between the two towns hacked
his wife to death with an ax last year. Violence is
everywhere all the time."
"But these deaths were near the house."
Goddamn, Kroger was stubborn. Got something
in his head, it was a bone for a dog to worry.
"Listen" Lobe said, fuming. "A sicko kid killed a
little girl. A drunk old lady slipped and fell. And a
dumbass kid running away from home because he's
got a slut for a stepmother climbed a drainpipe
because he was a good athlete and probably saw too
much stuntmen stuff on TV and that fence railing
dared him. Didn't even have anybody to show off
for; he just did it. Now this is all sad, and it's too
bad, but it isn't spooky. You sound as if you think

~qn

the house had something to do with all that, for
christ sakes.
"Lobe--"
But Lobe wasn't to be stopped now. "That house
has been the best thing ever happened to this town,
and a thing that's just wood and stone which can't
harm a flea is suddenly suspect because some coin-
cidences happened, and some fucking asshole gets a
bug up his behind that there's some connection
between it and unfortunate doings."
It was the most impassioned speech of his life for
sure, and he wasn't through. "You're jealous, Ed. I
told you tha~t before. You been jealous of me all
your life because among other reasons I'm indepen-
dent and you tied yourself down and never did any
of the hotsy-totsy things of the crap you bragged
about in high school. You're jealous now because
I've got the keys to the house, and you can't get at
'em except by vote. That's why I hired that slow-
witted son of yours, to make up to you because life
never turned out how you wanted. Well, I'll tell you
one thing. Anybody else comes to me with any of
this shit, and I'll close that house up, and you won't
open it because I'll vote against it. Then where'll
the town be? That house is the only exciting thing
to come along here."
He didn't know if he could legally shut it up. But


by God if he had to, he'd spend every penny of that
ten thou he was keeping in the bank for his retire-
ment to find the house's owner and get her backing
to shut it down. When he told her what was going
on, she wouldn't want any suspicious people inside
her beautiful gift. Maybe she'd even find a way to
take it back legally and then let him keep the keys
and live in there.
Ed Kroger had backed off, his big face gone red.

291


"You got no call to talk to me like this," he said,
striving to ignore the uncalled for outburst. "I
might not be the only one who feels this way."
"Feels what?" Lobe grated. "That the house is
evil?"
Ed's mouth dropped open. "Evil? Say now. I was
thinking more a bad-luck house."
"Evil--bad luck. What's the difference? It's all
sick thinking. And as for other people thinking the
way you do, nobody else has come here (well, only
one, but she didn't count--she was an outsider)
with this crap. So the only way for it to get around
is if you start spreading it. And if you do that, I'll
fire Billy. He likes this job. He's no shakes as a
student, and I have to explain everything three
times. The kid's not ever going to get any other
chance to learn a real business. He'll wind up
sweeping floors."
He went on glaring at Ed Kroger, who was
thinking he didn't want his boy working here for a
man just spoke to his father like Lobe had. But
Lobe was right. Billy was Ed's slow one, and he
wouldn't ever get another chance like this. "I won't
say anything to anybody," he said, hating himself.
But a father had to look out for a slow son, even if
it meant taking abuse.
"Damn right. Because it's all stupid anyway, and
they'd laugh at you. And if there was anybody who
felt that way, he can stay away from the house.
Twice as many people've been going on tour since I
opened back up this week."

After Ed Kroger slunk away, dragging his tail
between his legs, Lobe stood there still angry. It
was all bullshit. Kroger was all bullshit. But what if
a few people did feel the way he did? Lobe Peters
was not going to tolerate that kind of crap. An idea
took form in his head so fast it nearly blinded him.
He had a way to sound out the town without saying
anything.

It was a warm, end-of-April evening when the
party came off. And what a party it was. Nobody in
town had ever seen anything like it, much less
attended an affair this big.
Lobe himself spent two days carefully working on
a yard that needed mowing now even though spring
was dragging its heels coming into town. He lov-
ingly trimmed a bush here and there. Put some
potted pansies all over the porches, front and back.
He spent a moment in contemplation in the back
yard, about on the spot where they'd found Craig
Jorgenson. If he'd only had occasion to look into
the back yard that day, he would've spotted the boy
himself. But he hadn't. It had been raining hard,
and his concern had been to make sure the old
people who toured didn't track anything up or
touch anything they shouldn't. They had wanted to
look out the upstairs windows, but on the front side
where the whole town was laid out before them.
And he'd only been in the kitchen long enough to
boil up his tea and put it and some cookies on a
tray.
He thought about that now, though--about how
weird it was if you gave it much thought--that a
kid had been Iying out here dead all that time.


Coroner had fixed time of death at approximately
eight A . M .
Well, wouldn't have been anything he could've
done anyway. Boy broke his neck. Dumbass kid,

292  29~


showing off to himself. Lobe went back to the task
at hand, which was proving the town's loyalty to the
house.
And how he did prove it.
They came by the hundreds. On a night turned
so balmy, looked like the Almighty himself had a
hand in the party. They ate and drank up all the
eight hundred precious bucks of house money Lobe
had spent on the food and wine. In fact, he had to
make a hundred dollar loan from Carl Bergins,
who was the only person around carried that kind
of cash, and send Pender to open up his store and
get more stuff.
"Let me just give you the hundred," Bergins said.
"This must've set you back a fortune."
"No, I'll pay tomorrow," Lobe said. This was his
party. Bergins shrugged and went back to his wife,
who was working hard at forgiving him since he
hadn't pressed any charges against her and Tressa
Allen had left town.
There were a few people not here, of course: Bert
Jorgenson--he was still understandably grieving.
Bessie came though, in a new dress.
Gloriana Reege wasn't there. She could have
come. The invitation had been issued in Thc Daily
Way to the whole town. But that probably would
have upset Bobbie, and Lobe hadn't expected her or
wanted her. This was an insiders' party.
Ed Kroger came. He was a little sullen, but he
shook Lobe's hand when he came around back to
where Lobe was manning the canned music under
the Japanese lanterns he'd strung. Ed Kroger
looked around at all the hilarity and realized he'd
been wrong anyway. It was just a house. But it
would be a long time before he forgave Lobe for
what he'd said about Billy. If ever.

A few incidents happened. Lobe was keeping the
party outside, but he led a few tours for people
who'd never toured. One of them managed to sneak
a wine glass inside and spilled its contents. He
didn't see who, but when he spotted it, he got down
on his knees right there to clean it up, holding his
temper, telling himself things like this happened at
a good party.
Food got spilled everywhere in the back yard.
Lobe hadn't hired anyone to clean up. He wanted
to do all that personally, make sure everything
looked the same after.
There was a lot of backslapping when they all left
along about midnight. They left glowing and talk-
ing about the wonders of the house. Lobe wasn't
able to keep a tally, but he was sure everyone in
town had shown up except the obvious ones:
Jorgenson and a few who were sick. Even the
Newmans had come, still looking pale and not
quite with it. But if thcy didn't hold anything stupid
against the house, how could anyone else? Lobe was
satisfied. The house could stay open.

When Bobbie read Lobe's glowing report of the
party, he wept helplessly.

It was the first of May before Bobbie Topin went
back to school. He still had shaking spells some-
times, though he managed to get away from Miss


Reege so she wouldn't see. Tears often welled unex-
pectedly, but he never shed them outwardly. There
were times, too, when things became unreal, and
he would hover in that state until the panic that
always followed struck him with clammy sweat and

- iit -i ~ D _~_


racing heart. Then it all would pass.
His isolation at school was now complete. Oh,
they spoke to him. The first day back Bottoms had
gasped, "Man you look like a skeleton" and walked
away. Bottoms didn't look too good either. He and
Joey Hetherington had lost their best friend, and it
showed in the way they wrestled too hard in the
school yard and talked too loud. Of them all, the
redheaded boy had come closest to some small
kinship with Bobbie. In another place they could
have been best buddies.
But he was gone now.
Among his other griefs, Bobbie felt a small
twinge of loss when he realized he had crossed clear
over the thin line that had always separated him
from the others. He guessed that somewhere deep
inside, whatever else had beset him, he'd always
harbored a hope that they'd all be friends. But he
was as orphaned as you could get now. And more
~ than that, he knew everyone must have heard about
his actions the night Grandpop died. And they
didn't want to associate with a kid who'd lost con-
trol of himself.
Well, there were worse things than loneliness.
The days went by, and May brought no light
airiness to Edgar Falls. In other parts of the coun-
try flowers unfolded their buds in bursts of excite-
ment to the warm and gentle sun.
In Edgar Falls, a few flowers bloomed and were
dead before you got a chance to notice, then hung
in drooping brown. The days went abruptly from
cool to hot, and the bog spots sent up sultry steam
and smelled of decay.
The weather lay heavy upon the mood of the
town. People began to speak of the summer they
knew was going to be uncommonly hot and humid
as an ordeal to get through, the way they'd always
regarded winter.
Pulie Gordon was found one day in a hospital in
another state. No effort had been made to deter-
mine if he were a runaway since his face had gone
so old he was listed as being approximately twenty-
five years of age, and in these days of drug abusers
and common crazies, the hospital admitted several
unidentifieds every week. Pulie had been there
three weeks when he finally revealed some informa-
tion about himself to a psychologist. He was Joan
of Arc, he said on the day he presented himself at
the hospital's receiving desk, and he wanted to be
burned at the stake in order to be purified of his
sins. He thought perhaps they could arrange that
for him. In the course of some sessions with the
doctor, he finally said that his greatest sin had been
the murder of someone named Augustine Gordon,
who had lived in a town named Edgar Falls.
Lobe printed the story, which some people said
was cruel to Charlie and his sister, but nobody
protested much. At least Pulie was in a safe place
where he couldn't harm any more little girls, and
the story was the first thing to come along of note
in Thc Daily Way since Gary Purdy.
People still toured the house, in bigger batches
than before. If anything, the adverse publicity--
three deaths out there--drew crowds. Maybe the
new ones came out of morbid curiosity. Lobe Peters
was prepared to acknowledge that. But they went


away enchanted, the bad forgotten. As for the
regulars, well, what else was there to do for real
entertainment when the house only cost a dollar?
These regulars talked fondly of what had come to
be known as thc party and hoped Lobe would have
another.


Bobbie thought a lot about the house--not from
choice. It would present itself to him at unlikely
moments. Maybe while he sat in the tiny garden
out back of Miss Reege's house. These were the
only moments he really had alone. Miss Reege
expected him to come straight to her realty office
after school, where he did his homework in the
back. The authorities had agreed to let him stay on
with her; single foster parents were more and more
being permitted these days, kids his age being hard
to place.
The moments he thought about the house often
came to him just before the unreal feeling and the
panic.
He knew now what a fool he had been. He hadn't
really understood, or no form of madness would
have made him go for it that night to burn it down.
Those days he spent in the dark pit had taught him
all he needed to know. Something ghastly and
unbelieveable had stalked the world since its begin-
ning. Something as old as God Himself. And
maybe as powerful.
Whatever it was wrapped itself in innocence--in
such things as the white beauty of a house--and it
did not have to come to people; people were all too
willing to come to it. He understood now what Soul-
Eater meant. It dined well, and when it spit out the
bones, there was nothing left but an old man
rotting in a grave or a young one cringing against
hospital walls praying that the trial for heresy
would be over soon and the blessed fire of deliver-
ance set.
Bobbie did not look at the house again. And he
never mentioned it to Miss Reege, nor she to him.
She seemed to have given up on her promise to
help him "get over his feelings." But sometimes she

2~P~

would come onto the back porch and stare at him
sadly where he brooded among the decaying
flowers.
Bobbie kept a light burning in his room at night.
Miss Reege never questioned him about it or com-
plained about the waste of electricity. She seemed to
know a lot about him without asking, and he felt
the bond growing between them and was grateful.
Sometimes he remembered the day he had seen
the skulls behind her eyes, and then panic would hit
too. But one day she mentioned she was growing
tired of Edgar Falls, and he allowed a small hope to
take hold of him. Maybe they would go away.
He would feel guilty about that. After all, he
knew what the house was. But he couldn't do
anything about it. The one chance he might have
destroyed it had been lost when he stumbled over
Craig Jorgenson's body that night. He needed the
courage of craziness to do what should be done to
save nice people like Mrs. Letkins, who had led the
cleaning contingent on the cottage and helped ar-
range Grandpop's funeral. But Bobbie was no
longer crazy. He hoped they moved before the
house decided to go after someone else; he didn't
trust how he would handle that. Maybe go into that
black pit and never come out again.
Then one evening in June, when there were only a


couple of days of school left to go, Miss Reege was
waiting in her Pinto outside the gates. "I shut the
office up early, Bob," she said. "Let's go to dinner in
Gloaming." This was a rare treat. Miss Reege
worked hard at her business and didn't have much
time.
He felt his spirits lift. He still didn't have a whole
lot of appetite. But just the idea of getting out of
Edgar Falls a while made him happy.


Miss Reege ignored the shortcut past the house
in Pellam Woods. She took the highway instead,
driving out east of town to make the long circle
around. She was being thoughtful, and he felt a
huge and overwhelming gratitude.

Isn't this fun?" she asked.
They had done some canned goods shopping
first. Then she had chosen a little Italian restaurant
for dinner. Green-checked cloths lay upon the ta-
bles; candles flickered in glass bowls. Miss Reege
had ordered wine and insisted he have a small
glass. It made him feel lightheaded, but it was kind
of a good feeling.
"Yes," he said eagerly, and ate a lot more of his
lasagna than he thought he'd be able to.
Then, when they had finished the leisurely meal,
she suddenly pulled the wine bottle from its straw
basket and poured herself a full glass, him a half.
The blue eyes sparkled behind her dark-rimmed
glasses. "Bob, my boy," she said. "We're celebrating
tonight. Your grandfather's house sold today. I let it
go cheap so it wouldn't hang over your head. But
you still have a tidy sum which will be put in trust
for you till you're eighteen. Then you can have a
high old time."
He smiled at her, relieved. He had never been
back to the cottage.
"Wait a minute," she cried, giggling. "I'm not
through. I've put my own business on the market.
Advertised it in all the papers, far and wide. You
and I, my boy, are getting out of Edgar Falls.
Maybe we'll go all the way to the Big Apple."
He stared at her. "Do you mean it?" he gasped.
"But what's the Big Apple?"

"New York, silly."
New York. Oh, jeez, that would be about as far
away from the house as you could get. "Would you
like that?" she exclaimed. "Oh, of course, I'd have
to get permission from the authorities, but I don't
think they'll balk."
"Would I like it?" he practically shouted. "Is this
wine re~?"
She threw back her head and laughed. "Not
anymore," she cried. "You've drunk it."
She was like a little kid as they went weaving arm
in arm and giggling back to the car. Some people
coming into the parking lot stared at them in
disgust. "Don't mind us," Miss Reege said. "We got
married tonight." Bobbie fell into peals of laughter.
It was the first time in weeks there was no sign of
blackness inside him. Getting out of Edgar Falls.
New York. Oh, man !
"You sure you're okay to drive?" he asked.
"Oh, hey." She ruffled his hair. "I'm fine. I only
had two glasses of wine. I'm just feeling good. I've
never really liked Edgar Falls, and it's never liked
me."
Bobbie got into the car, and they had to stop for
gas. he was starting to feel a little drowsy from the
wine, and he laid his head against the seat and shut
his eyes.
"Too much excitement?" she said, poking him in
the ribs.
He opened one eye and grinned at her. "I guess


so." Too much relief more than anything; it was
spinning around inside him. In a moment they
were driving through the streets of Gloaming again,
and he kept his eyes shut, liking the way he felt.
But he opened them after a time when they hit a
bump.


And sat suddenly upright. Stiff. Frightened.
They weren't on the highway. This was a shortcut
that would take them past the house. Oh, Christ, it
had been such a good night. Now he felt the panic
, beginning to rise.
He forced his eyes to close again, forced his head
back against the seat, not wanting her to worry
about how much the house could still affect him.
~    The road seemed to go on forever. But the trip
I ~ had to end sometime, and the house wasn't going to
reach out and grab him was it?
When the car braked, it seemed a thousand years
later. He opened his eyes with a relief that made
them swim. And let out a cry. They weren t at
home! Across a moonlit field, the house stood
gleaming white.
"There's something you have to do before we
leave Edgar Falls, Bobbie ," Miss Reege said.
"You've got to face your fear of that place head on."

"I'm not going in there." He said it bitterly,
nauseated by her betrayal.
"You've got to," she cried. She grabbed for both
his trembling hands. "You've got to go in there and
see that it's just a house. I know you think it did
something to your grandfather. You babbled a lot
~- in your deliruum, and I don't think that's changed."
Bobbie turned fiercely on her. "He went crazy,"
he yelled. "He tried to kill me with that knife."
Oh, Bob," she moaned. "I didn't understand that
l part of your rambling. But that was the stroke
I coming on, honey. He had a fire raging in his brain
that was on the verge of kil}ing him."
     .    Bobbie stopped shaking and went very cold in-
~ side. His voice turned cold. "I thought you were my

I                        ~n2

:
friend."
"It's because I am," she said pleadingly, "that I'm
doing this. Bob, I don't think you realize what it's
like when a gloom comes down over you. Thos~
times the house is on your mind, the atmospkere
around you goes black. And you're never entirely
free of it, are you?" She squeezed his hands hard,
but he didn't respond. "You have to understand; I
can't handle it when you're that way."
"In New York--"
"It will always be with you," she insisted. "Even
there. You can't escape until you've faced it. You've
got to walk in there and show yourself that nothing
happens."
Only Bobbie's eyes felt alive. He could feel them
burning. "You've been in the house, haven't you?"
he said in that same cold voice.
"Not recently."
"But you have been in it."
"Of course I have--long ago. I had to check on
the workmen's progress for Ms. Benedictine. I al-
ways came out at dusk so the watchers would be
gone. For a time I had the keys before they were
tu-rned over to Lobe Peters."
The fire burned suddenly into Bobbie's voice. "I~
wants me," he said. "It knows I know about it, and
it's using you to get me here."


"Oh, my God," she groaned. "I only want to help
you get rid of this obsession because I see what it's
doing to you." She began to cry.
Bobbie watched her warily. But in a moment, he
softened. Maybe the house couldn't get her. A lot of
people had been in it several times, some even a
lot--Lobe for instance--and nothing had happened
to them. "Please don't cry," he said. "I'd go in if I
could."


After a long moment, she raised her eyes and
looked at him. The moonlight made glistening
jewels of the tears on her cheeks. She sighed deeply.
"Either you go in," she said, "and get this monkey
, off your back, or everything I said about keeping
I you with me is null and void. I can't handle a boy
who keeps part of himselœ in shadows."
That got to him, drove his voice to a desperate
pitch. "I've been in the house before. It does ugly
things."
But she didn't seem to hear him. She had sud-
denly opened the car door and was getting out.
"Where are you going?" he cried.
"Into the house. To prove to you nothing at all
I will happen. I want you to see it's all been your
imagination."
"Don't do that," he cried. "The house can see
you're with me, and it must hate me."
She had reached his side of the car and started
up the walk. Now she whirled on him in savage
fury. "Stop it," she snapped. "This is sick!"
She was in motion so fast, he didn't realize what
was happening for a moment. Before he could
, react, she had flung herself back at the car, had his
door open, and was yanking him out. Surprise gave
her success, and he found himself standing outside
; the car. "You're coming with me," she grated. "We're
going in there, and we're going to put an end to
this sickness. Right now!"
He fought her, pulling back with all his might.
But he had become frail these past weeks, and she
was a sturdy woman, and her intensity lent her a
strength he would never in a normal moment imag-
ine possible of her.
She had both his wrists, and she yanked and
tugged, so that nothing he could do could resist her.

~n4

He tried to sit down on the ground, and she kept
on yanking so that it was impossible.
"You," she said, her voice coming in panting
gasps, "are going inside that house."
The moon shone blandly down on a strange
struggle that involved two people moving in erratic
spurts across an open field. They reached a road.
Bobbie had turned to animal, his breath pushing in
terrified grunts. "If you go in there, you'll die," he
shrieked out at her. "I saw it in your eyes once."
But she was beyond any attempt to talk. She was
using all her strength to accomplish her goal. And
she was succeeding. He fought, trying to kick her,
but she seemed to anticipate his every effort. He
threw his weight backward and saw stars when her
ferocious yank made his head snap forward.
The steps. The steps would stop her. But when
they reached them she gathered all her forces to-
gether and plunged upward, her momentum carry-
ing him along.
The door. He would be able to get away at the
door. She would have to find something to jimmy it
with.
But when they reached the door, it seemed al-
ready to be unlocked. It swung open swiftly, and
she pushed him hard.
"Why do you carc? Let me go. I don't have to live


with you."
But he was in the house. In blackness. He heard
the door slam, so loudly it nearly burst his head.
"There!" she cried. "You're in. Now where are the
goblins you fear so much?"

The whole world had stopped movement. There
was only darkness. And the listening.

305


 His or the house's?     f
 Bobbie stood like a cornered animal, all his
senses alert. Something sighed through the house,
like a soft, purring breath of pleasure.
 It had him now. It had wanted him for a long
time, was sorry it hadn't gotten him on Halloween.
But it had him now. And it crooned, and sighed,
and purred, and blew him kisses through the deep
halls.
 An it's-all-over-now feeling, if you could call it a
feeling, came down over Bobbie. It had been inevi-
table all along. The house was too powerful for
him; he should have known that. He should have
offered himself up to it long ago instead of fighting
and trying to fool himself it couldn't get him.
 He knew when something slammed against his
head, knew for one brief instant before the crashing
pain and blackness claimed him, that this was the
last of it--and was nearly glad. But he sobbed one
wrenched sob of grief for Robert Louis Topin, who
had been doomed from the beginning.

He knew what had him. All the time it pulled
him in fitful starts and jerks along the floor through
the black house, he knew. There was pain in his
head. It tried to smash an escape route through his
skull. But it was nothing against the knowing.
He'd been crazy to think it could have been any
other way. Poor stupid little kid to take on some-
thing eating a whole town.
Despair sickened through him. Underneath it, he
wished that the blow to his head had killed him.
Because a time worse than death was coming.
Things wild with ecstasy crooned around him in
the dark and patted him with soft, eager pats.
"I love you," the house whispered. "I have loved
you through eternity."
Vomit rolled from his lips; its acrid odor smelled
of his death. He was lost. But before he died, he
was going to learn what the house was all about.
Something laughed bitterly inside him. After all,
hadn't he wanted that knowledge?
But he already knew enough, had learned it in
the brief moments--or whole eternity--right after
~hf~ .~trll~k him

Chapter Thirteen


It was Gloriana Reege who had tied his hands,
mumbling excitedly all the while to the house, "I've
got him. I brought him as I promised." There had
been one brief moment of shocked denial. And then
he had realized with her, too--of course. The house
had gotten her. The skulls had come home.
He would have cried--for all the lost everything.
But except for the pain, he was void of all feeling.
Empty. Finished.
Suddenly the journey stopped. She released his
ankles, and he lay with the house's love song in his
ears. Waiting.
Light spired up, its tiny flicker hurting his eye-
lids. But he couldn't open them. He couldn't see
her as Grandpop had been: a crazed thing. That
memory jarred something not quite dead inside
him. Somewhere a small tear did form, reaching
his eye, his cheek.
"Oh, Bobbie," she said softly. "Don't cry. It had to
be, don't you see?"
His eyes opened then. Through their own will,
not his. He had no will. A candle flickered in the
room--the kitchen.
She smiled at him in candle shadows, a gentle
smile. She wasn't wearing her glasses now, and he
stared at the same warm look she had worn that
first time he emerged from another darkness and
knew he had a friend. Only this time, the skulls
grinned behind it.
"I wish it could have been some other way,
darling," she said ruefully. "I like you. I tried to
argue with the house, I really did. I said let me
keep the bright young psychic as the son I never
had. But it says we can't trust you. You tried to
move against it once--you babbled that in your
delirium. And it says you would again, when you're
older, stronger."
He watched her as she cocked her head and said,
"I know. You want him in the cellar. But let me tell
him first."
He turned his head so that he stared into a black
cavern and wondered idly what it was going to feel
like to have his soul eaten. Something came eagerly
to the foot of the stairs.
She bent and turned his head again,- so that he
looked up at her. "Why don't you kill me now?" he
said. He wanted that.
And she threw back her head and laughed--in
the same sweet laugh that had meant so much to
him. "But that isn't my job, darling," she cried.
"Would I deprive the house?"
For a moment her voice reeled off in the merri-
ment. And then her face returned to- the smile, and
she sat down on the floor beside him and drew her
knees up to her chest.
She looked as bright and innocent as a child of
the sun.
"Someone has to know the story, Bobbie," she
said conspiratorially. "Someone who has a right to
it, even though in a little while that won't mean
anything anymore."
At the foot of the stairs, it stirred. Impatient.
"My real name is Reba Munck, Bobbie," she
went on. And then snapped suddenly. "Pay atten-
tion, Bob. This is Reba Munck's story, and you
have to hear it." His mind had gone off into that


cavern, only wanting it over. But she had jabbed
him with her foot, jarring him back.
"Reba Munck spend her childhood in Edgar
Falls. Oh, her family got out eventually, but not
before she learned what it meant to be poor white
trash in an upstanding American town. They tried


to destroy that little girl, Bob my boy. Called her
Munckey and made fun of her because her clothes
had patches and her shoes had holes. All of them
looked down on her--Miss Penny, the Amways,
Lobe Peters...."
Oh, Jesus, no. That wasn't a hope, was it? It had
come out of nowhere--unbidden, unwanted, born
of Lobe Peters's name. He couldn't stand that. The
giving up was better.
But it was there. Wheeling suddenly and wildly
through a brain he had thought already dead. Lobe
Peters often came out here. Everyone knew he slept
in the house. Maybe he would come tonight.
"What's Gloriana's car doing out here?" he'd say.
"And why is there a light glowing off in the
kitchen?"
Bobbie fought the hope. But he had no control
over it. His mind swirled with it. Keep her talking.
Say something, the hope begged. Anything. Try to
reach Lobe mentally while she talks, part of him
babbled. He was supposed to be the great psychic,
wasn't he? Maybe he had telepathy, too. "The house
does things to people, doesn't it? It works on some-
thing inside them." Had that been his own voice?
He went on fighting the hope, but it would speak.
She clapped her hands delightedly. "Blessed
saints," she cried. "Facing the cellar and you can
still ask questions? No wonder the house-wants you
so badly. No wonder it says you're the most worthy
adversary it's ever had. Yes, the house works on
people. But there has to be something in the person
first, Bobbie. It's like the tree that falls in the
forest, but there is no sound unless there are ears to
receive it.n
"Like with you?" He heard those unexpected
w~rr~ ~n~ l~nPw th:~t h~o h~ Pt nff wh:~ hco rn~

see in her eyes. A moment ago he wouldn't have
cared. But now the hope cared.
But she only grinned at him. "You think the
house got me? Because I tricked you here tonight
when it grew impatient waiting for you to come
alone?" She shook her head. "I understand the
house, Bob. It's my friend, my instrument. All
Reba Munck's life, I prayed for revenge against this
town, and I lived in this house a long time before I
saw what that revenge should be: Bring it to Edgar
Falls; let it play with the town."
The thing at the base of the stairs stirred again.
Filled Bobbie with the horror he had not felt be-
fore. Plcase hurry, Lobe. I'm here. In the kitchen.
Sad her voice suddenly. "I came back to give the
town a chance, you know, Bob. But it hadn't
changed. They still treated Bitsy like dirt. I was
sorry the house got her, but she was stupid, and
stupidity is fair game for the house. I suspect it
somehow got Gary Purdy, too."
Her smile returned. "You want to hear some-
thing funny, Bob? I went to Lobe Peters and told
him I wanted to bring a psychic here. I went to
sound him out on the town feeling. He almost
threw me out. It's a good joke, don't you think?
And now I have brought a psychic after all."
The pain still throbbed in his head, and his
tongue felt engorged with blood. But the hope
scrabbled frantically in the garbage of his mind


fragments and spewed out another thick question.
"Who is Ms. Benedictine?"
"Your curiosity is wonderful ," she cried . "Ms .
Benedictine was just a frustrated actress who knew
only that she worked for an eccentric rich widow
making a rich gift to a town she owed a debt to."
Gloriana Reege chuckled softly. "She loved flashinlJ

310                 31 1

     _ ;. ~    ..


through the town. And she loved the money I paid
her to be a go-between and let me sign the house
into her name. I found her though a theatrical
agency, and I chose her because of her name.
Clever, don't you think? Benedictine and Munck?
When I came back to town, I took the name of
Gloriana for glory. Reege was my very rich hus-
band's middle name. Incidentally, the house took
him eventually, but I'm too strong for it. I knew
what it was from the moment I saw it and had to
have it, and we understand each other."
She stopped and looked at him expectantly, as if
she deserved applause. But Bobbie saw only the
skulls.
"Let me go, Miss Reege. I can see what the town
did to you. I won't tell anybody." Hc was talking
now, not just the hope. "I'll go away."
"Munck, darling," she said gently. "Not Reege.
But, Bob, it would stay with you, don't you see?
Someday you would come back, and the house is
impatient with interference. And you must under-
stand that it is a natural thing. To go against it is
an act against nature."
But he wasn't listening suddenly. A picture of
Grandpop knuckling his head had moved behind
his eyes.
Shc had brought the house here? Shc was the one
who had turned Grandpop into a slobbering thing?
Tiny beginning of reality. Tiny wisp of true recog-
nition. He was starting to think clearly. The hope
had done that.
"My grandfather was just an old man," he heard
himself saying. It was crazy. He couldn't afford this
sudden surge of rage now that he had chosen to go
with the hope. But he had no control over the way
the ra~e came screamin~ back with the same inten-
' sity as the night Grandpop had died. As if the time
between then and now had only been a breath.
She understood his meaning and stood abruptly,
eyelids filming the skulls. "All glory to the deserv-
ing, Bob," she said. "I'm tired of toying with you. I
only wish I could be here when the tour finds you.
Perhaps the great and eternal mystery of the house
will be in your eyes when they find poor little
Bobbie Topin. 'Whatever could he have been doing
in the house?' they'll say. 'Oh, surely not stealing?'
But a silver candlestick thrown into the cellar after
you will give them all the answer they need. 'Not
another child!' they'll say. But it won't keep them
from the house. It holds them all, you see."
It was coming. He could feel the gathering of
forces deep in the recesses of the house, not just in
the cellar. Whatever they were--and there was
more than one--they were banding to greet him.
And his rage swelled violently. Maybe the house
was going to get him. But he was going to try and
take her with him. It came rolling through him like
a tidal wave. Hold it. Hold it back a minute. She
had to make contact with him--with her hand or
foot--to push him into the cellar. Hold it, Bob.
Don't start screaming. Don't blow it now.
The rage roared and plunged. There. Now! Her
foot was coming out to kick him down those cellar
steps. A picture of a girl holding his hand at a
?icnic was all he saw as the rage spewed out of him.
He shrieked with the fury and doubled up and


kicked out to hook her leg with his own unham-
pered legs.
She pitched forward into the cavern. The sudden
I - movement had sent physical pain crashing back
through him, and he lay there in agony while her
scream tore up through the blackness. But even in


the throes of the pain, he heard every thud of her
body against the steps, heard the last terrible thud
and reveled in the sound that was the most beauti-
ful he had ever heard. It was the sound of a head
smashing.

The pain fled almost as soon as it hit, routed by
the magnitude of what he'd done. Bobbie Topin lay
stunned in the kitchen of the house and knew that
the sobs he heard were not his own and were slowly
turning to rage. Its forces were gathering swiftly
now. The game had taken an unexpected turn. And
the shadows were coming to finish it.
Bobbie lay there cringing. He knew what lay in
him that the house could use to get at him: the
despair that had willed death.
But it had returned only a moment, then his
own rage came tearing back. His eyes fell on the
flickering candle. And the rage arrived in his brain
again like a locomotive filling him with a strength
that culminated in the same roar he had issued one
night on a dark road of Edgar Falls.
The house had taken everything from him, even
Miss Reege. Maybe all that with her had been a lie,
but he had believed in it. Had she been crazy
before the house? It didn't make any difference. All
that mattered was that he survive long enough to
bring it down.
Even as the thoughts slammed through him, he
was in motion, forcing himself to his feet. He didn't
need matches this time. He had Miss Reege's can-
dle, and that seemed so fitting, he laughed out loud
with the justice of it.
A cord bound his wrists. From one of the house
drapes? That caused him to shudder with revulsion.

214

But he didn't pause to give it any real thought.
Hurry, hurry. He ran for the candle, propelled by
the rage and wild, maniacal glee that had begun to
fill him.
It took a few precious seconds to singe the cord
He could feel the shadows swelling. In the attic
recesses. In the halls. In the cellar. But the house
had lost time while it rallied from shock.
The last sputtering threads of the cord snapped
loose. The fire seared his wrists, but he didn't
notice. He laughed again and seized the candle in
both hands.
There were curtains at the two high kitchen
windows. Shouting with glee, he tore for them. The
first set went up with a great moaning sound that
sent a thrill racing up his spine. He fired the
second.
Now. He should try for the door in here. But he
knew that he had to be sure. Maybe these curtains
weren't enough.
The rage gave him strength to surge on into the
rest of the house. Why hadn't it gotten him yet?
Then he heard it. A new sound. A blessed,
beautiful sound. Was it screaming in fresh shock
and confusion? He thought it was screaming, and
he had to pause a moment to let a wave of nausea
brought on by his triumph pass. Then he hit the
curtains in this room. The flames grabbed the


material eagerly and ran joyously upward. This
time he waited until the fire thrust hungry fingers
into the wooden frames of the windows.
On into the room with the fireplace. The drapes
accepted their flames like martyrs eager to fulfill
destiny. Surging with power, screaming invectives at
the house, Bobbie blazed a fiery path through that
room. There was no longer weariness in him, no


frailty.
He had to try to get out now.
He raced for the foyer, flame shadows lighting his
way.
I~ will never let you go.
It couldn't stop me from firing i-t.
But it hasn't played all its cards yet. It stopped Miss
P~nny from getting in; it can keep you from getting out.
You71 burn with it.
He had to try.
Only something got him suddenly, wrapped him
in a vise. The candle flew out of his hand. The
house was dying. But it was going to take him with
it.

"What's the matter with you? Have you gone
crazy? What have you done to my house? Oh,
Jesus. Oh Mother of God, I've got to save it."
As suddenly as he had been grabbed, Bobbie was
released. Someone went racing away from him into
the big room. Bobbie turned back, stunned. Lobe?
Was that Lobe Peters tearing madly at the burning
curtains--Lobe sobbing and leaping up to smack at
the higher flames and crooning words like, "I'll save
you?"
"Lobe, get out of here," Bobbie cried. "You don't
understand. I tried to tell you before. The house is
evil. It's got to die!"
He ran for the man who was doing a strange
dance on the parquet floor, leaping upon burning
bits of curtain, trying to stamp them out. Bobbie
grabbed for his shirt. But Lobe flung his arms out
and sent him spinning backward. It was an instinc-
tive reaction; he no longer seemed aware of Bobbie.
He ran past the boy, heading for the stairway.

Bobbie ran after him. The flames were filling th
stairs now, and Lobe plunged up them yelling, "O
God, oh God, oh God." He slapped at the flamt
with his hands. "My poem!" he screamed.
"Lobe, please." Bobbie was crying now. "Plea~
come back." Of all the people left in this town, h
didn't want the house to get Lobe Peters. Lobe ha
been kind to him, and given him his only joy i
long months of darkness.
But the flames took hold of Lobe's pants' legs. O
up the stairs the figure plunged, a human torc~
still screaming, "Oh God, oh God," until a gre~
wall of fire went up and there was no more sight of
him, no more sound except for the crackling and
whooshing like a cyclone as the flames broke
through the ceiling above.
Bobbie stood a moment longer. But there was
nothing he could do. Lobe was only one more
horror now.
He spun and ran for the door. It stood open
where Lobe had come in. A few feet before he
reached it, Bobbie's feet suddenly connected with
something, and he tripped and went sprawling. He
thought the house had done it, but he saw it was
something rolled up: a sleeping bag? He threw
himself to his feet. But even gibbering in pain and
confusion, the house had rallied one last trick for
him. The door began to swing shut.
With superhuman effort, Bobbie plunged. Made
it through just as the thing crashed to. He stumbled


onto the front porch. Behind him the flames
roared.
His knees went weak suddenly, and he almost fell
again. But he made it off the steps. And ran. Past
Miss Reege's car. Past Lobe Peters's pickup. To the
meadow where he had sat so many times watching

~ 1 7


the house being built.
In the meadow he sank to his knees, feeling the
damp earth beneath his fingers. Free. He was fret~.
He knelt that way a long moment.
Then he stood slowly. Turned. There was no
sound now but the flames. The house was old, the
wood dry. While he watched, the fire broke through
the outside walls and went screamin~ and whoosh-
ing up the facade. Something exploded inside
there.
In the flames he saw all their faces, but mostly
one old. The tears went on rolling down his cheeks.
Above the house in Pellam Woods, the night sky
began to glow.

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