Richard Laymon

Once Upon a Halloween

***

    It's Halloween night. The old Witherspoon house stands all alone in the dark, the last house on a dead-end street. Its only neighbors are thick woods and a moonlit graveyard. Not long ago, a grisly murder/suicide took place in the house. Now, it is said to be haunted.

    Haunted but no longer abandoned. Three years ago, Laura and Shannon moved in. They're young, pretty, friendly... and, best of all, generous with candy on Halloween. Tonight, they're getting ready for a costume party. Shannon is upstairs getting dressed and Laura is downstairs handing out candy to trick-or-treaters.

    It's a perfect Halloween night until Laura opens the door and finds herself facing a lone teenaged boy... a terrified boy who says: "Let me in! They're gonna get me!"

    And, for Laura and Shannon, the party begins.

    It's Halloween night and there are ghosts and goblins in the streets. And something much worse in the graveyard.

***

    From Publishers Weekly

    Laymon and Halloween. That sounds like a perfect mix, with the author of the gleefully malevolent The Traveling Vampire Show (Forecasts, Apr. 24) taking on the spookiest night of the year. But his fans know that Laymon can be erratic, sometimes delivering shocking yet emotionally astute entertainments, at other times turning in tangled terrors drenched in sex and gore. The latter, unfortunately, more closely describes his new novel, despite its fast, smart start, in which horror descends like a howling banshee on two young women dispensing candy to trick-or-treaters. A teen boy, Hunter, comes banging on Shannon and Laura's door, claiming he's being chased by a pack of naked adults-witches? Soon the house is under attack by nude sword- and axe-wielding maniacs. A local dad escorting a bunch of kids gets caught in the ensuing mayhem, which features numerous cuttings and, in time, the spectacle of Shannon and Laura stripped and trussed together in the local graveyard as the villains prepare for human sacrifice. Laymon ups the ante to supernatural horror by tossing in a homicidal spirit who's haunting Shannon and Laura's house, but that element only adds to the confusion already made rampant through frenzied racing and chasing by too many characters who don't grow from beginning to end, despite their ordeals. Laymon boasts an intensely loyal following, so this novel will likely sell out its limited print run, but while his fans will love the richly depicted seasonal setting and Laymon's ability to make pages riffle as if in high wind, they'll also sense that, ultimately, this is one sputtering jack o'lantern.

***

    Scaning: heykiddego.

    OCR, formating & proofing: pua.

***

CHAPTER ONE

    Once upon a Halloween...

***

    The doorbell rang and rang and rang. It kept on ringing as Laura hurried toward the front door, scowling. "Jeez, kid," she muttered. "Take it easy."

    The bell rang again and again as she grabbed the basket of candy off the table and swung open the door, expecting a small tribe of children in Halloween costumes to chant, "Trick or treat!"

    But there was only one kid on the porch. A teenaged boy, out ‹›l breath and sobbing, arm jerking as he tried to yank open the screen door.

    "Hey! Stop that!"

    "Let me in!" he blurted. "You gotta let me in!" He glanced over his shoulder. "Please! They're gonna get me!"

    "Stop tugging on the door!"

    "Please, lady! Let me in! They're after me!"

    Laura stepped closer to the screen door and looked past the boy. Beyond the lighted porch, she saw only darkness. "Who's after you?"

    The boy glanced over his shoulder.

    "Oh, God!"

    "I don't..."

    "Please!"

    With a flick of her thumb, Laura unlocked the screen door. The boy threw it open. She leaped out of his way as he rushed into the house. He pulled the door shut and locked it.

    As he swung the main door shut, Laura called out, "Shannon, you wanta get down here? We've got a situation. "

    The boy leaned back against the heavy oak door, panting for air. He appeared to be fifteen or sixteen years old. His blond hair was a tangle, his eyes shiny and red, his cheeks wet. He wore a big checkered shirt, its tails hanging out over the top of his jeans. He sobbed and shuddered as he sucked air into his lungs.

    "What's going on?" Shannon asked as she rushed downstairs. She must've just finished her bath. Her short hair, dark with moisture, was flat against her scalp. She wore her pink robe and her feet were bare. Her quick descent of the stairs made her breasts jump around inside the robe.

    The kid didn't seem to care.

    "We've got a visitor," Laura said.

    "So I see."

    "He says somebody's after him." His head twitched up and down. "Who's after him?"

    "I don't know. He's pretty upset, though."

    "So you let him right in?"

    "Yeah. What was I supposed to do?"

    Shannon gave her a look. She didn't need words; the look spoke for her...I'm not sure myself, but letting a strange guy into the house probably wasn't the brightest move possible.

    She gestured for the boy to step aside.

    He shook his head.

    "Come on, kid, out the way."

    "You're gonna open the door."

    "Move."

    He moved and Shannon reached for the handle. "Don't," the boy said. "Please. They're out there!"

    She opened the door and suddenly lurched back, shouting "Fuck!"

    Laura yelled.

    Letting out a shriek of terror, the boy whirled around and ran for the stairs.

    On the other side of the screen door, five or six little kids in Halloween costumes were already screaming and running away. Laura started to laugh.

    Shannon muttered, "Shit." Then she called out, "Hey, kids! It's okay! I'm sorry! Come on back and we'll give you some candy!"

    Laura stood beside Shannon and called, "Don't run off!"

    Beyond the lighted porch, she could only see darkness. She still heard the children, though - their shoes smacking the driveway, their costumes clinking and swishing, their bags of candy rustling, their squeals and sobs loud in the night.

    From somewhere out there, the voice of a grownup woman called Out, "Shame on you!"

    "Sorry!" Shannon called back.

    "You oughta be ashamed of yourselves!"

    "We are," Laura answered.

    "Behaving that way in front of children..."

    "I said I'm sorry."

    "We're sorry," Laura called out.

    "What sort of people are you?"

    "Get over it, lady," Shannon yelled, and slammed the door. "Enough of her crap." She turned around. "Now where'd the kid go?"

    Laura nodded toward the stairway.

    "Hey, kid!" Shannon yelled. "The coast is clear. Come on down!"

    He didn't answer.

    Shannon met Laura's eyes.

    Laura grimaced. "I'll go find him. But maybe you'd better keep an eye on things down here. Make sure nobody tries to get in."

    Nodding, Shannon said, "I'll take a look around."

    "Be careful."

    "You, too."

CHAPTER TWO

    "I'm on the way," Laura called as she began to climb the stairs. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Why don't you come down and tell us what's going on?"

    The boy didn't answer.

    "We know you're scared. We just want to help you."

    He said nothing.

    Laura reached the top of the stairs. Just in front of her, the bathroom light was still on. The long hallway was dark except for light spilling out from the doorway of Shannon's bedroom.

    "Come on, kid," Laura called out. "We have to get dressed for a party. Would you please stop hiding?"

    No answer.

    "Terrific," she muttered.

    She entered the bathroom. The air felt warm and moist. The mirror was still steamy around the edges. The bathmat showed Shannon's wet footprints.

    I still have to lake my shower.

    This kid's going to screw up everything... but if he's really in trouble...

    No sign of him in the bathroom, so Laura returned to the hall. The air felt cool and good. She walked slowly, the tailing along the stairwell on one side, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the other, the glow from Shannon's doorway ahead.

    "You know," she called, "Shannon's all alone downstairs. If somebody tries to get in, she'll have to handle it by herself. Don't you think we'd better get down there?"

    What's he doing? Laura wondered. Is he so scared he just wants to hide?

    Maybe that's not it.

    Maybe nobody's after him, he just wanted in and now he's got me alone up here. Maybe the whole idea's to lure me away from Shannon and jump me. Take care of us one at a time.

    She felt squirmy and cold inside.

    Maybe he's waiting up ahead in the darkness... with a knife.

    She stopped walking.

    "Where are you?" she called.

    Silence.

    "I'm not coming any farther."

    Silence.

    Should I threaten to call the police?

    Threaten, hell - I should do it.

    She imagined herself swinging around and running for the top of the stairs... and the kid suddenly racing up behind her and plunging a knife into her back.

    Where would he get the knife? she wondered.

    Maybe he has one in his pocket. Or maybe it's too big for his pocket - a huge butcher knife or hunting knife. It could've been stuck in his belt, hidden by the hanging tails of his shirt.

    This is crazy, she thought. He won't attack me. He's scared out of his wits.

    Unless maybe he's a really good actor?

    "My name's Laura," she called out. "My friend is Shannon We've got couple of guys coming by pretty won to tike us to a Halloween party. Why don't you come out and we'll go downstairs and wait for them, okay? Shannon needs to get into her costume. So do I. Not into Shannon's costume, into mine."

    She listened. She heard noises from the wind outside the house, but nothing from the boy. "Guess you're not amused. Can't say I blame you."

    Downstairs, the doorbell rang. And rang again.

    "Laura!" Shannon yelled. "I'm in my robe. You wanta come down and get the door?"

    "I'm on my way," she called. She walked backward quickly, watching the hallway, saying, "I've gotta go down now."

    A dim, muffled voice called, "Don't open the door! They'll get you!"

    The bell rang again.

    "We'll be right there!" Shannon announced.

    "Come downstairs and tell us about it," Laura called to the boy. Then she turned around, hurried to the head of the stairs, and rushed down.

    As she descended, the doorbell rang again. "Just a minute!" Shannon said. "Hold your horses!"

    "Trick or treat!" proclaimed several cheery, muffled voices from the other side of the door.

    "We know, we know!"

    Shannon came into sight. She was standing in the foyer, frowning up at Laura, waving her hand in a gesture to hurry. Laura rushed down the final stairs.

    "Where's the kid?" Shannon asked.

    "You got me. Up there someplace. He wouldn't even come out and..."

    The bell interrupted.

    Don't open the door! They'll get you!

    Laura wailed a moment for Shannon to move out of the way. Then she opened the door. Through the screen, she saw three small kids and a teenage girl - probably an older sister - standing on the porch. The big girl, blonde and pretty, wore a cheerleader costume. The other kids were dressed as a tramp, a clown and a vampire.

    "Trick or treat!" the smaller ones yelled... more loudly than necessary.

    "Sorry I kept you waiting," Laura said. "Hang on just a second and I'll get the candy." As she stepped over to the table and picked up the basket, she noticed Shannon off to the side, watching her in silence.

    She returned to the screen door, unlocked it and pushed it open. Quickly, she looked around. Except for the kids on the porch, she saw nobody.

    Dropping miniature Milky Way bars into the bags, she asked, "Been having a good time?"

    "Yeah!" the three little ones blurted, pretty much in unison.

    The teenaged girl smiled at her. "They're having a great time."

    "Glad to hear it. Hey, you haven't seen anything funny tonight, have you?"

    "Funny like how?"

    "I don't really know. This kid showed up in a panic a few minutes ago, said somebody's after him."

    The girl scowled and shook her head. "That's sorta weird."

    "Yeah."

    One of her sweater-clad shoulders hopped up and down. "We haven't run into anything like that."

    "Well, that's good. Maybe the kid's just paranoid or something. Be careful, though."

    "Oh, we will. Thanks for the warning."

    "Have fun."

    They turned away. Laura watched them descend the stairs. Walking toward the driveway, they left behind the glow of the porch light

    Barely able to see them anymore, Laura stepped outside She looked around quickly, then cased the screen door shut. Standing at the front of the porch, she stared into the darkness. Though she could no longer see the kids at all, she listened to their footfalls and voices and the rustling of their bags. She also listened for others... for anyone who might be following them. Or sneaking toward the house.

    From off in the distance came sounds of car engines, thudding doors, kids yelling and laughing. The only nearby sounds, however, came from the four recent visitors and the strong wind.

    Bam!

    Laura jumped, then whirled around and saw Shannon striding toward her, long legs bare in front of her blowing robe. "Sorry," Shannon said. "The wind got the door."

    "No problem."

    The wind looked as if it also wanted to get Shannon's robe, but she held on with both hands. "Everything all right out here?" she asked.

    "Guess so. I just wanted to make sure nobody went after the kids."

    "There'll be a lot more kids tonight," Shannon said.

    "Yeah."

    "For the next hour or so, anyway."

    Laura nodded. She and Shannon had been living together in the house for three years. Though it was the last house on the end of a dead-end road, surrounded by wooded hills and so secluded that no other dwellings could be seen at night, it was within an easy walk of a crowded housing development called Beaumont Estates.

    On Halloween, children from the development swarmed the whole region, probably not missing a house - but especially not missing this one - one of the best places to visit on a night made for scary fun. Old and creeky and isolated, it looked spooky even to people who didn't know about the cemetery beyond the nearby Woods... and even to people who didn't know the house's grim history But most of the local people knew about both.

    Each year since Laura and Shannon had moved in, they'd been visited on Halloween by forty to fifty trick or treaters, mostly small children who arrived between about five o'clock in the afternoon and eight in the evening. After around eight, they rarely had more than a handful of visitors.

    "I wish there was some way to stop them from coming up here," Laura said.

    "We don't even know what's wrong... except we've got a strange kid running around loose in our house."

    "What if someone is after him?"

    "Guess it depends on who," Shannon said. "But if anybody dangerous is hanging around, maybe we'd better get back inside."

    Nodding, Laura followed her toward the front door. On each side of the doorway sat the jack-o'-lanterns they'd carved the night before. The faces of both pumpkins were dark.

    Laura figured the wind must've blown out the candles.

    Just as Shannon pulled the screen door open, Laura heard voices and laughter. She looked back. She couldn't see anyone in the darkness. From the sounds, though, she knew that another group of kids must be coming up the driveway.

    "I'll take care of them," she said. "Maybe you'd better go ahead and get dressed."

    "The kid oughta like that."

    "Maybe you can find him."

    "I oughta brain you."

    "Sorry."

    "I know, I know."

    Laura hurried into the foyer after Shannon, grabbed the candy basket off the table, then took it outside so she could watch the approach of the trick or treaters.

CHAPTER THREE

    Shannon climbed the stairs quickly. Not bothering to search for the boy, she walked straight down the hallway and entered her bedroom. She left the door wide open.

    "Can you hear me, kid?" she asked in a loud voice. She knew she sounded tough and annoyed. Might not be the best approach if the boy was truly terrified, but Laura had already tried the gentle, coaxing approach.

    "It'll take me a couple of minutes to get dressed," Shannon announced. "You can use that time to decide whether we're going to be friends or not. If you want to be friends, don't make me come looking for you."

    She turned around slowly, scanning her bedroom. No sign of the boy. Nor did he seem to be peering in from the hallway. More than likely, he had concealed himself in one of the other rooms or in a closet somewhere.

    She walked toward her bedroom closet. Its door was open, its light on. The kid obviously wasn't hiding inside, so she took off her robe. Standing naked in the doorway, she slipped her robe onto a hanger. Then she turned around.

    Still no sign of the kid.

    He's missing a good show, Shannon thought.

    Or maybe not missing it. Are you looking, kid?

    Striding toward the dresser, she watched herself in the mirror.

    How's this for a Halloween treat, fella?

    "You'd better not be spying on me," she said, unable to keep a teasing lilt out of her voice.

    No answer came.

    As if he's going to admit it.

    She turned around slowly, looking for him but also giving him a good long chance to view her body... if he happened to be watching. When she faced the mirror again, her skin was flushed.

    He probably isn't watching, she thought.

    "Everything okay up there?" Laura's voice came from a distance; she was probably calling up the stairway from the foyer.

    Shannon crossed her room and stepped into the hall. She glanced to the right and left. She saw no one.

    Can he see me now?

    Keeping away from the stairwell railing, Shannon called down, "No problem. How about down there?"

    "More trick or treaters on the way. I'll take care of 'em."

    "Real good. I'll bring the kid down when I find him."

    "Just be careful."

    "You, too."

    "I sure wish we knew who was after him."

    "You and me both," Shannon said.

    By the sound of a shutting door that came up the stairwell, she figured Laura must've gone outside. She was tempted to roam the hallway just as she was... announcing "Trick or treat!" as she stepped though the doorways.

    I could, she thought. No law says I've gotta wear clothes in my own house. If there happens to be some intruder spying on me, it's not my fault.

    But what if Laura comes upstairs and catches me?

    She could just imagine the poor girl's shock. Shannon! What 're you doing?

    Shaking her head, she returned to her bedroom. In the dresser mirror, she saw that she was not only flushed but had a rather glazed look in her eyes.

    What am I doing? she wondered.

    She shook her head at her reflection.

    He's not even all that cute, she thought. Why in hell do I want him to see me naked?

    "I don't," she muttered.

    She slid open a drawer, searched through an assortment of panties and took out a skimpy black garment. She put it on. Except for the touch of the slender elastic band around her hips and the silken push against her groin and buttocks, she felt as if she still wore nothing.

    From another drawer, she removed a bra made of the same lightweight, black material. After she put it on, her breasts looked nearly the same as before... their curves hardly altered at all, but their color transformed as if they'd been dipped in murky grey water.

    Looking mighty fine, she thought.

    She turned away from the dresser. On her bed was her costume for tonight's Halloween party. As she walked toward it, she heard a quiet groan.

    Hinges.

    She jerked her head toward the bedroom door. Wide open before, it was now slowly gliding shut. Pushed by the kid behind it.

    He stood near the corner of the bedroom, his back to the wall, his left arm extended sideways and slowly easing the door shut. He never took his eyes off Shannon. He had a dazed, blank look on his face and his mouth hung open slightly. He was breathing through his mouth, taking quick breaths. His eyes flicked from Shannon's face to her chest too her groin, then up again to her face.

    "There you are," Shannon said.

    His head jerked up and down.

    "Don't run off, okay?"

    His head jerked from side to side.

    "Good. What's your name?"

    "Hunter." He glanced at her breasts, then darted his eyes to her face.

    "What's your first name?"

    "Hunter."

    "Your name's Hunter Hunter?"

    "Hunter Gordon."

    "Huh?"

    He spoke slowly and loudly. "Hunter. Gordon."

    "Oh." Strange name, she thought, and saw him risk a glance in the direction of her breasts.

    I'd better finish getting dressed, she thought.

    On the other hand, she rather enjoyed the way Hunter couldn't take his eyes off her.

    The kid's enthralled.

    Looking her in the face, he said, "You're Shannon?"

    "That's right."

    "What're you going to do to me?"

    She shrugged. "I don't know. Why'd you run up here and hide?"

    "You opened the front door. I thought they'd be out there."

    "They who?"

    "The ones from the graveyard."

    "People from the graveyard are after you?"

    He nodded. His mouth twisted crooked. For a moment, he looked as if he might start crying again.

    "Well, they haven't shown up yet." She thought of Laura alone on the front porch, waiting for trick or treats. "We'd better go down and let Laura know what's going on."

    Hunter's gaze slid down her body.

    "Guess I'll get into my costume first," Shannon said. "Stay put."

    She went to the bed, picked up a white dress shirt and put it on. After fastening its buttons, she stepped into a pair of brown tweed trousers. She pulled them up, tucked in the shirt, and cinched her belt tightly to keep the baggy pants from falling down.

    "What kind of costume is that supposed to be?" Hunter asked.

    "Can't you tell?"

    He shrugged.

    Shannon put on a necktie and knotted it loosely around her neck. Then she put on a big brown suit coat that matched her trousers. "And this," she said. She jammed a battered old brown fedora onto her head and tilted its rim down over her brow.

    Hunter scowled. "You're suppose to be a man?"

    "Not just a man, a private dick."

    "Huh?" He blushed.

    Shannon laughed. "A sleuth, a private eye, a snoop, a gumshoe, a shamus. You know, Phillip Marlowe, Sam Spade, Duke Scanlon, Mike Hammer..."

    "If you say so."

    She shook her head. "You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?" Sitting on the edge of her bed, she put on a pair of socks.

    As she struggled into her brown wingtip shoes, Hunter said, " 'When a man's partner is killed, he's supposed to do something about it.' "

    A laugh burst out of Shannon. "Hey, okay! Kid, I got a feeling you 'n me are gonna get along."

    "The name's Hunter," he reminded her.

    "Okay, Hunter. Let's go down and see how Laura's doing."

CHAPTER FOUR

    Shannon led the way downstairs, crossed the foyer and opened the front door. Laura, alone on the porch, turned around and smiled "Found him," Shannon said. "Great. Where was he?"

    "Hiding behind my bedroom door. Where nobody ever in a million years would've thought to look for him. Any action out here?"

    "Kids just keep on coming."

    None seemed to be approaching at the moment. "Why don't you come inside?" Shannon said.

    Laura stepped in, shut the door, and leaned back against it. "Our friend here is Hunter Gordon," Shannon explained.

    "Hi," Laura said.

    "Hi. I'm sorry I ran away from you."

    "That's okay. So what's going on?"

    His mouth twisted. "I was scared."

    "He says someone from the graveyard's after him."

    Laura made a face. "What?"

    "Who?" Shannon asked the boy.

    He shrugged. "I don't know."

    "Just tell us what happened," Shannon said.

    "Is the door locked?" Hunter asked.

    "It's locked," Laura said.

    "Okay. Well, we went to the graveyard right after supper tonight."

    "We?" Shannon asked.

    "Who's we?"

    "Me and Connie."

    "Who's Connie?"

    "Sorta like my girlfriend."

    "You took her to the cemetery?"

    "Yeah. We just thought it'd be a neat place to go. You know, cause of this being Halloween. It'd be something kinda spooky to do."

    "So what happened?" Laura asked.

    "Well, it looked like nobody was there. We didn't see any lights or anything. So we just started wandering around. It was real quiet and nice. And you know that bench?"

    Laura nodded.

    "Bench?" Shannon asked.

    "It's a concrete bench at one of the graves," Laura explained. "Across from the Kneeling Girl."

    "Oh. The Kneeling Girl." Shannon didn't recall the bench, but she certainly remembered the Kneeling Girl: a life-size statue of a teenaged girl, down on both knees, a bowl of some sort in her hands, and her granite mouth wide open. What's this, the grave of Fellatio? she'd said to Laura.

    Oh, real nice, Laura had said.

    If you like that sort of thing.

    You're awful.

    "I know the statue," Shannon said. "So there's a bench there?"

    "It's a few yards away. Don't you remember it?"

    "Hey, I might've seen it once. I'm not big on bone orchards." To Hunter she said, "So what about the bench?"

    "We sat down on it for a while. Me and Connie. And... you know." One of his shoulders hopped slightly. "Talked and stuff."

    "And stuff huh?" Shannon said. Laura cast her a peeved look.

    "We weren't doing anything bad."

    "So what happened?" Shannon asked.

    "These people came. They weren't talking or anything, and they didn't have flashlights. We just heard them walking. The ground was all covered with dead leaves, so they made all these crunching sounds. They weren't very far away from us. They would've heard us, but we'd just been, you know, mostly kissing. So I guess they didn't know we were there.

    "Anyway, Connie heard them first and went, 'Shhhh. Somebody's coming.' We sat real still, then, and didn't say anything. Pretty soon, these people walked right past us. I think a few of them even looked at us. They might've thought we were statues, like part of the bench or something, because they didn't say anything or start trouble. They just kept on walking."

    "How many were there?" Shannon asked.

    "I don't know. A whole bunch."

    "Five or six?"

    "More. Maybe eleven, twelve. Maybe even more than that. It was hard to tell. They were all sorta clumped together and wearing these dark robes."

    Laura grimaced. "Dark robes?"

    "Yeah. With their hoods up."

    Shannon scowled at the boy. "You're kidding, right? Hooded robes? Gimme a break."

    "They were."

    "Okay, whatever. Go on. What happened next?"

    "Me and Connie, we just sat on that bench and didn't move a muscle. I was hoping they 'd keep on walking. But what they did was go over to the Kneeling Girl. They made a circle around and held hands. Then one of them started to chant something. She sounded like a woman. I guess she was probably their leader. Anyway, she wasn't very loud but we were close enough so I could hear her. Thing is, the words didn't make any sense. They were like in a foreign language."

    "Spectacular," Shannon muttered.

    "It was all really quiet except for the chanting. Well, it was windy, too. The wind was making a lot of noise sometimes. But not enough, and it sort of came and went. If we'd tried to make a run for it, they probably would've heard us. You know, all those dry leaves everywhere. So I thought we'd better just sit still and wait. Maybe they'd start making some noise... or they'd get done and go home.

    "Pretty soon, they all started chanting. It still wasn't very loud. They did it like they were whispering... it was sort of spooky, the way it sounded. I mean, I got goosebumps. I was about ready for me and Connie to head for the hills, but all of a sudden they didn't have their robes on anymore. The robes were down on the ground by their feet. And nobody had anything on."

    "Trick or treat," Shannon muttered.

    "They were all naked? " Laura asked.

    "Yeah. Except for... like shoes or boots or whatever. And equipment. The moon was really bright over where they were... We could see them really well. They didn't all have the same things... like a couple of them, I think they had coils of rope hanging around their necks. Most of them, though, they wore belts around their waists. And stuff was attached to the belts. Like hatchet cases and sheaths for knifes, like that.

    "Holy shit," Shannon muttered.

    Hunter nodded. "They had all kinds of knives and swords and hatchets."

    "You've gotta be kidding," said Laura.

    "I saw them with my own eyes."

    "Did they have guns?" Shannon asked.

    Hunter slowly shook his head. "I didn't see any."

    "Well, that's good news."

    "They must like to be silent when they kill," Hunter said. The doorbell rang. Shannon jumped. Laura flinched and squeaked.

    Hunter gasped, then whispered, "Don't open it again. Please."

    Shannon's eyes locked with Laura's.

    Laura slowly shook her head from side to side. "I don't know," she whispered. "Maybe we'd better not..."

    "Who's there?" Shannon called out.

    "Trick or treat!" shouted a chorus of child voices.

    "Your graveyard people," Shannon said. "They were adults, weren't they?"

    He nodded.

    "No kids?"

    "I don't think so."

    "Stay put," Shannon said, and opened the door.

CHAPTER FIVE

    Shannon stood by the door, ready to slam it, while Laura opened the screen door and passed out candy to the children. "Here you go," Laura said. And, "Here's one for you." And, "Oh, aren't you scary!" After each quiet thump of a candy bar landing in a bag or plastic pumpkin, a little kid voice said, "Thank you." Then the children ran off, calling out, "Happy Halloween!"

    Laura stepped out onto the porch.

    "What's she doing?" Hunter asked.

    "Wants to make sure they get away all right."

    "She wouldn't be able to save them anyway."

    Shannon called out, "Hey, Laura, why don't you come back in?"

    "Just a second."

    "They're gonna get her," Hunter whispered. "Just chill, huh?"

    Laura came back into the house, shut the screen door and locked it, The moment she was clear, Shannon closed the heavy oak door.

    "Maybe the kids'll stop coming," Laura said, "if we turn off all the lights."

    "It might slop some of them," Shannon said. "On the other hand, lights are a good way to discourage foul play."

    "You oughta keep them on," Hunter said. "If it's dark, they can sneak up on us easier."

    "Let's leave the lights on for now," Shannon said. She turned to Hunter. "Why isn't Connie with you now? Where is she?"

    "I think maybe they got her."

    "You don't know?"

    He shook his head. "We kept waiting on the bench, like I said. Figuring they'd go away sooner or later. But then they... you know how the Kneeling Girl's mouth is open?"

    "I know, all right."

    "Well, one of them stuck a flare in it."

    "A flare?"

    "A road flare. It really lit the place up. It even lit us up. Connie and me. I mean... God... we're just sitting there like an audience... with the lights on." He shook his head. He had a sick look on his face. "I figured we'd get seen if we moved, but they were gonna see us anyway as soon as one of them looked in our direction. I didn't know what to do, and Connie just sat there beside me like she was a statue. So we just sat and watched them."

    "What were they doing?" Shannon asked.

    Hunter shook his head and shrugged. "Well, they kept on chanting in that funny language. When the flare was going, they held out their arms and started turning around in circles."

    "They didn't see you then?" Laura asked.

    "Huh-uh. They had their heads tipped way back. I think some of them might've had their eyes shut, too. And then the chanting got faster and they started moving faster. Spinning and jumping and stuff. It got pretty wild. Some of them took out their knives and swords and things and started waving them around."

    "They were doing all this in the nude?" Laura asked.

    "Yeah."

    "By the light of a road flare?" Shannon asked.

    Hunter nodded.

    "That's a mighty well-lit orgy," Shannon said.

    Looking perplexed, Hunter said, "I don't think it was an orgy."

    "There were men and women?" Shannon asked.

    "Yeah."

    "Dancing around naked?"

    "Yeah."

    "Sounds like an orgy to me."

    "Been to many?" Laura asked her.

    "Not yet. But I keep hoping."

    "This wasn't any orgy," Hunter insisted. "I think it was like a ceremony... like Devil worship or... I don't know, it sort of looked like a war dance or something."

    Laura frowned as if focusing on an idea. "How many did you say there were?"

    "I don't know, maybe like a dozen?"

    "Were there thirteen?"

    His shoulders bobbed. "Maybe."

    She looked at Shannon and raised her eyebrows. "A coven of witches?"

    "You asking me? I don't know shit about witches."

    "This is the Eve of All Hallows," Laura said. "It's what, like the autumnal equinox? I think it's like a special time of the year for witches and things."

    "Ghosts and goblins and headless horsemen." Shannon shook her head. "Screw it." She turned to Hunter. "I want to know what happened to Connie."

    "She ran for it."

    "Huh?"

    "We were just watching. I thought she was scared to move, same as me. But all of a sudden she jumped up and ran like hell. They saw that. Some of them did, anyway. They pointed at her and yelled and then some of them saw me. A couple of them had already taken off after Connie, so I couldn't go that way so I ran the other way. They must've split up and chased both of us. I know I had a bunch running after me. They couldn't catch me, though. I'm on the high school's cross-country team..."

    "Left them in the dirt?"

    "I left 'em behind, but I don't know how far."

    "What sort of runner is Connie?" Shannon asked.

    The look on his face was answer enough. But he said, "She's not very athletically inclined."

    "So you think they caught her?" Shannon asked.

    "She might've gotten away. I bet they got her, though."

    "Where does she live?" Laura asked.

    "The Estates."

    "Doesn't everyone," Shannon muttered. "You ran this way and she ran the other way," Laura said, "so she was heading away from where she lives."

    "Yeah."

    "Deeper into the cemetery."

    "Yeah."

    "Maybe she didn't try to outrun them," Shannon said. "Maybe she hid."

    "Maybe," Hunter said. "I sure hope so."

    Laura turned to Shannon. "So what should we do?"

    "Guess we can forget about the Halloween party."

    "And do what?" Laura asked.

    "Call the cops."

    Shannon led the way into the living room. She dropped into an easy chair, reached over to the table and picked up the handset of the cordless telephone.

    The doorbell rang.

    Alarm filled Hunter's eyes.

    Shannon grimaced. "Maybe you'd better not get it this time."

    "The screen door's locked."

    The doorbell rung again.

    "The faster I give them candy, the faster they'll go away."

    "Just make sure they're kids."

    "I'll be careful."

    As the doorbell rang again, Laura hurried toward the foyer. Hunter started to go after her.

    "No." Shannon reached out and grabbed his wrist. "You stay here. You might need to answer some... SHIT!!!"

CHAPTER SIX

    Hunter jerked his hand out of Shannon's grip and whirled around.

    And squealed.

    Out of the darkness of the dining room came a man with a Bowie knife. He ran toward Shannon. He was flanked by two women, a blonde with a saber, a brunette with a hatchet. Except for shoos, leather belts and sheaths - and a rope coiled around the neck of the blonde - all three were naked. Their skin gleamed with sweat. They grunted as they ran. Their eyes looked fierce.

    Shannon hurled the cordless handset of the phone at the man. It hit him in the mouth with a clash of plastic against teeth, then bounced off. By the look on his face, it must've hurt. But it didn't stop him.

    Laura ran into the living room, let out a cry of alarm, and brushed past Hunter as she dashed toward the attackers.

    She's gonna take them on?

    Hunter ran the other way.

    As he raced into the foyer, the doorbell rang again.

    Trick or treaters or more of them?

    From behind Hunter came gasps and thuds, crashes of furniture and maybe bodies striking walls or the floor. Smacks of skin striking skin. Brawling sounds. But no sounds of anyone running toward him.

    He stopped at the foot of the stairway. By the noises, the struggle was still going on.

    He imagined himself returning, joining in the fight and saving the girls.

    They haven't got a chance, he thought.

    But they seemed to be keeping all three of the attackers busy, because nobody was coming after Hunter yet.

    Quickly but quietly, he climbed the stairs.

    On his way up, the doorbell rang again and made him flinch. He kept climbing.

    At the top, he turned around. The stairway was empty. Crouching, he could see a portion of the foyer. Nobody was there.

    He no longer heard noises of struggle from the living room. Was the fight over?

    When they 're done down there, they'll come looking for me.

    He started making his way slowly down the hall toward the light from Shannon's room.

    Better not hide in there, he thought. At least not behind the door. They'll find me for sure.

    His mind filled with memories of the last time he'd hidden behind the door. The excitement of being concealed, the fear of discovery... and then the thrill of spying on Shannon.

    She knew I was watching, but she took her robe off anyway. She wanted me to see her.

    Oh, God, what if they've killed her?

    What if they've killed Laura? She was awfully nice... They both were, and I've probably gotten them killed.

    Connie, too.

    Groaning, he stepped into the spill of light from Shannon's bedroom. And saw a white telephone on the nightstand beside her bed.

    He ran to the phone and snatched up its handset. As he raised it toward his ear, he reached down and jabbed 911. Then he listened for the ringing to start. "Come on, come on," he whispered.

    He didn't hear any ringing. All he heard was a quiet sound like wind.

    He tapped the plunger and released it.

    No dial tone.

    Just the same windy sound.

    Then the breathless voice of a woman said into his ear, "He's still in the house."

    Hunter gasped, "Ahh!" and slammed the phone down.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    "Come on, kids," Jeff said. "Let's go."

    "I know they're in there," Phyllis protested in her usual whiny voice. How his daughter could have such an annoying best friend puzzled Jeff. Not only was Phyllis annoying, but embarrassing. Thirteen years old, and she was going house to house as a pint-sized version of Elvira... complete with the heavy makeup and low-cut black gown. "I heard them," she said.

    "Yeah, Dad," Mandy said. "I did, too." Mandy, thank God, was dressed in an angora sweater, poodle skirt and saddle shoes.

    "Well," Jeff said, "they're obviously not coming to the door. Maybe they've had enough trick or treaters for one night."

    "Maybe they ran out of candy," suggested Bret, nodding his head in agreement with himself. "That's what I think. I might be wrong "

    Jeff, standing at the bottom of the porch, nodded and smiled. His eight year old son was dressed as Dennis the Menace in a red T-shirt, bib overalls with a slingshot sticking out of his seat pocket, and sneakers. After supper, Sue had used an eyebrow pencil to give him freckles across his checks and nose, but the shock of yellow ban was all his own. Though he always looked like Dennis the Menace, the resemblance was only on the outside. Inside, he was Eeyore.

    "Maybe they did run out of candy," Jeff said.

    "Or maybe they just hate kids," Phyllis said.

    Or maybe just you, Jeff thought. "Whatever," he said, "we don't want to bother them. Come on."

    Phyllis trotted down the stairs, looking peeved in spite of her vampirish makeup, her boobs bouncing in spite of having none.

    What the hell did Patsy put in there?

    No telling, Jeff thought. Sue wouldn't have allowed Mandy outside the house in such a costume, but Patsy had apparently never considered the idea that an Elvira costume might be wildly inappropriate for a child the age of Phyllis. The revealing gown had not only been Patsy's idea, but she'd made it by hand. No doubt, her fertile imagination had come up with an exotic solution to the breast problem.

    Jeff stepped aside. As Bret and the girls hurried past him, he caught a whiff of exotic perfume from Phyllis. Mandy's pony tail bounced and swished. So did the dangling rubber strip of Bret's slingshot.

    When they were a short distance ahead of Jeff, he followed them to the driveway.

    "Last year," Bret said, "they gave us Three Musketeers bars."

    "How do you know?" Phyllis asked.

    "I remember." A moment later, he asked, "Don't you?"

    "Sure," Phyllis muttered.

    "They're nice."

    "Three Musketeers bars?"

    "Them, too. Only I was meaning Shannon and Laura."

    Mandy looked back at him. "You know their names?" She sounded surprised.

    Though Jeff was used to Bret's remarkable memory, he found himself surprised, too. "You remember their names from last Halloween?" he asked.

    "Huh uh."

    "No?" Mandy asked. "Then how do you know them?"

    Bret hesitated.

    Uh-oh, Jeff thought. What'd he do?

    "Oh, well, I phoned 'em up."

    First I've heard about this, Jeff thought.

    "You phoned them?" he asked.

    "What for?"

    "Just school."

    "What about school?"

    "Spill the beans, kid," Phyllis helped.

    "Why exactly did you call them?" Jeff asked.

    "On account of Mrs. Carter saying how there's no such thing as ghosts."

    "Mrs. Carter, your teacher?"

    He nodded. "She read us about the Headless Horseman so that's how ghosts came up."

    "When was that?" Jeff asked.

    "Wednesday."

    "This Wednesday?"

    He nodded. "So Mrs. Carter, she said there's no such thing as ghosts."

    "So naturally," Mandy said, "you corrected her."

    "Well, sure. She was wrong. Only then she said I was wrong, and how ghosts are nothing but fragments of the imagination, I said they're as real as she is, and then everyone laughed at me."

    "Can't imagine that," Phyllis said.

    At the foot of the long driveway, they walked through a glow of light and stepped into the middle of the road. This close to the dead-end, there was little need to worry about traffic.

    The kids started across the road, heading toward the house at the far corner.

    "Hang on," Jeff said. "Don't go traipsing off just yet."

    They came back to him.

    "So what possessed you to phone those two women?" he asked his son.

    "Shannon and Laura," Bret said.

    "Right. Them."

    "It was 'cause they live in a haunted house." Phyllis snorted.

    Bret glanced at her. He didn't look angry, though. He simply looked as if he knew more than she did, but chose not to hold it against her.

    "What makes you think their house is haunted?" Mandy asked.

    "You told me so."

    Mandy's mouth fell open. "Huh?"

    "Don't you remember? We came trick or treating and nobody was living in the house..."

    "Gosh, that was years ago."

    "I was four."

    "Jeez!"

    "And you said nobody lives in there 'cause of the ghosts."

    "Huh?"

    "You did. You said how old Mr. Witherspoon chopped his wife up into little pieces and ate her..."

    "Mandy?" Jeff asked.

    She grimaced at him. "Well, he did."

    "And you had to tell Bret about it when he was four years old?"

    "Neat play," Phyllis told her.

    "Butt out," Mandy said.

    Bret spoke up again. "And then how Mr. Witherspoon hung himself..."

    "Hanged," Jeff corrected him.

    "Mandy, she told me they were both haunting the house with their ghosts, and that's how come nobody wanted to live there. But then somebody moved in. Shannon and Laura. We saw them last year and the year before and I liked them. So I phoned them up to see if they'd seen the ghosts."

    Smiling, Jeff shook his head. "You actually... interviewed them?"

    "Well, we talked. They were real nice."

    "How'd you get their number?" Mandy asked.

    "The operator."

    "You 're the operator," Phyllis said.

    "So had they seen any ghosts?" Mandy asked.

    "Uh-huh."

    "Is that a yes?" Jeff asked.

    "Uh-huh."

    "They got a long-necked ghost. That's Mr. Witherspoon. And they got a ghost in pieces. That's Mrs. Witherspoon. They see Mr. Witherspoon walking around in the middle of the night sometimes and his neck is like about a foot long 'cause that's what happens when you get... hanged."

    "Sure," Phyllis said.

    "Laura said he was really scary at first, only later on they got use to him. Then he wasn't so scary anymore. But Mrs. Witherspoon, pieces of her keep showing up. Like in Shannon's cornflakes? And sometimes when Laura's making breakfast, the scrambled eggs suddenly get all bloody."

    Mandy shook her head. "They said that?"

    "Yes they did."

    "Cross your heart and hope to die?"

    "No hoping to die," Jeff threw in quickly.

    "Anyway, they told me all sorts of neat stuff. Like how a burglar broke in once and almost got hanged by Mr. Witherspoon."

    "By his ghost?" Mandy asked.

    "Yeah!"

    "Oh, sure," said Phyllis.

    "So anyway I asked them if they'd come to school and talk to Mrs. Carter's class about it."

    "They must've gone over big." Mandy said.

    "Well, Laura wanted to do it. She makes paintings of ghosts and graves and stuff. She was gonna bring them in this week, only Mrs. Carter said no."

    "What a stool," Mandy said, frowning.

    Jeff tried not to smile. "Be nice."

    "Well, she is. You know? I know there's no such thing as ghosts, but they're neat."

    "Mrs. Carter was probably just afraid of getting into trouble," Jeff explained. "Teachers can't do much of anything these days without someone causing a stink."

    "She's the one who stinks," Bret said.

    "A cowardly stool," Mandy added.

    Phyllis laughed.

    "Heck," Mandy said, "I'd like to see those paintings."

    "Me, too," Phyllis said.

    "You oughta hear her ghost stories," Bret added.

    In a suddenly chipper voice, Phyllis said, "Why don't we go back? Maybe she'll open the door this time."

    Jeff shook his head. "I don't think so. We were just there. If they wanted company, they would've opened the door then. I don't think we should bother them again. Let's just keep going."

    "But she might let us look at her paintings," Mandy said.

    "Maybe we'll get to see the ghosts," said Bret.

    Though they both sounded hopeful, Jeff shook his head. "Sorry. Maybe some other time."

    "Oh, sure," Phyllis said. "Some overtime. That's a good one."

CHAPTER EIGHT

    "Come out, come out, wherever you are." It was a woman's teasing, sing-song voice.

    But not Laura's voice.

    Not Shannon's.

    It sounded very much like the voice of the woman who had picked up the phone a few minutes ago. And it sounded as if she might already be at the top of the stairs.

    Was it the blonde with the sword or the brunette with the hatchet?

    Though only one had just spoken, Hunter supposed that both might've come looking for him. Maybe the guy, too. Why not all three? No reason for any of them to stay downstairs, not if they'd killed Laura and Shannon.

    And now they'll kill me.

    If they can find me.

    In search of a hiding place, Hunter had hurried past Shannon's bedroom, followed the hallway to the end of the stairwell railing, then cut across and entered a room that was utterly dark. Halting just inside, he 'd flicked on a light.

    Not a bedroom. A studio?

    Paintings everywhere. A couple on easels, many hanging on walls, others leaning against scattered furniture, and dozens propped against walls.

    Graves, ghosts, dead people...

    Leaning against a far comer of the room was a framed painting about four feet high. A happy-looking kid sitting on top of a tombstone, eating an ice cream cone.

    After a glance at it, Hunter had switched off the light and made his way toward it in the darkness. He'd walked slowly, feeling his way, careful not to bump into easels or trip on artwork or furniture.

    Finding the painting, he'd tilted it forward, stepped into the triangle of space behind it, then squatted down and eased it back into place.

    "Where arrrrre you?" the woman called.

    Go away!

    She won't go away, Hunter knew. She'll find me and kill me.

    "Come out, come out."

    She sounded closer, now. Somewhere in the hallway, not far from the bedroom door.

    Is she by herself? Hunter wondered.

    Even if she is, so what? If I try anything, she'll cut me to pieces.

    "Where are you?" she sang. "Here, kitty kitty kitty."

    Looking for a cat? Hunter had a moment of joyful relief before realizing he had misheard her. She hadn't said "kitty."

    She chanted again, "Here, kiddy, kiddy. Where are you? You can't hide from me, my little sweety-pie. I'll sniff you out."

    The light came on.

    Squatted behind the painting, Hunter cringed.

    She can't see me, he told himself. I can't see her, so she can't see me. She doesn't even know I'm in this room.

    "Hmmm," she said. "What have we here?"

    She can't see me!

    "What wonderful paintings! Oh, my! How macabre! How delightful! Ooo, that one gives me goosebumps. I'm prickly all over, just looking at it. All prickly and goosebumpy. Delicious."

    After saying that, she went silent.

    No voice, no sound of footsteps.

    Maybe she left.

    Silence.

    Trying to make no sounds himself, Hunter held his breath. He heard only the pounding of his heart.

    She is gone, he told himself. She went to look in a different room.

    Then he heard the floor creak.

    It creaked quietly, its sound almost silenced by the carpet, but it creaked so very close to Hunter, where he crouched behind the painting, that he almost groaned in despair.

    "Ah." The voice came from straight above him.

    Cringing inside, Hunter tilted back his head.

    He saw the undersides of two sweaty breasts. The woman did have goosebumps, just as she'd said. And very large, stiff nipples. Above and between her breasts, her face smiled down at Hunter.

    "Gotcha," she whispered.

    The painting blocked his view of everything below her breasts, so he couldn't see if she had the saber.

    "I give," he said to her.

    She looked amused. "Give what?"

    "Up."

    "You give up?"

    He nodded.

    "Glad to hear it."

    As she smiled strangely down at Hunter, her right breast lifted slightly. Then both breasts lurched. The lip of the saber popped through the canvas, rammed toward Hunter and pinned his shill to his chest. He tumbled backward, escaping from the blade but only for a moment.

    It jabbed him in the chest. "Ow!"

    A satisfied smile on her face, the woman stepped back and slashed the canvas to tatters. With the blade, she lifted the remains of the painting and hurled it out of the way. It crashed into others, knocking a few of them to the floor.

    Slumped in the corner with nothing to shield him from the woman, Hunter raised his hands in front of his face.

    "Don't," he whimpered. "Please."

    "Don't what?"

    "Kill me."

    "Why not?"

    "Please."

    "Put your hands down."

    He kept them up, ready to block the descending blade. "Down."

    Lowering them, he glimpsed the patch of red wetness on the chest of his shirt. He crossed his forearms over it and looked up at the woman.

    She was smirking down at him, the saber in her right hand raised high as if she were all set to slash downward and finish him off. Her body glistened with sweat. She looked sleek and strong, like women Hunter had seen sometimes on TV bodybuilding shows.

    Strong enough to cut me in two.

    She had no make-up on. No tattoos. No jewelry. She wore only a brown leather belt, loose around her hips. On the right side of the belt hung a large leather sheath with a knife in it. Below her belt buckle, she was hairless and smooth.

    "Take a good look, kid. I'm the last one you'll ever..." She flinched as if prodded in the back. Gasping, "Yah!" she whirled around and cocked her arm, ready to slash the intruder.

    An intruder she couldn't seem to find

    Her head jerked this way and that.

    Hunter saw no one, but the woman's naked body was blocking much of his view.

    "Screw with me," she said, "I'll chop you to ribbons."

    She was starting to breathe hard. Hunter saw her shoulders rise and fall as he scooted quietly toward her, feet first. Dribbles of sweat were running down her spine. A droplet slid down the crease between her round, solid buttocks.

    "Who's there?" she demanded.

    "Everything okay up there?" a man's voice called out. It sounded as if he were shouting from downstairs.

    "Fine and dandy," the woman muttered to herself.

    "Eleanor?"

    "No problem!" she yelled. "I've got the kid. I'll be right down!"

    Hunter drew back his right foot, aimed the sole of his sneaker at Eleanor's Achilles tendon, and kicked forward.

CHAPTER NINE

    Last year, a member of his cross-country team had accidentally gotten kicked in the Achilles tendon. The kid had let out a scream of agony. An axe to the back of his foot couldn't have done a better job taking him down. He hadn't been able to get up again. They'd carried him off the field and he'd missed the rest of the running season.

    When Hunter struck out at Eleanor's tendon, he hoped for similar results.

    He didn't get them.

    Instead of shrieking in pain, she gasped with surprise. Her right foot shot forward, flew high. She waved her arms. Her saber slashed the air. Then she fell backward onto Hunter. Sat down hard on his thighs, slammed his back against the hardwood floor. An instant later, the top of her head clipped his chin. His teeth clashed together.

    Though barely conscious, he felt Eleanor's weight on top of him and knew this was his only chance.

    Already, he could feel her trying to sit up.

    If I let her get away...

    He hooked his left arm across her throat and squeezed, trying to choke her. But something was in the way. Her chin? Then one of her hands was pulling at his arm while her other hand tried to bring the saber into play. He hammered his right fist down against her face again and again and again. She grunted and whimpered. She bucked. She thrashed and writhed, but she couldn't free herself from his squeezing forearm and clubbing fist. Though she jerked the saber this way and that, she couldn't get at him with it. Then she let it fall and caught hold of his wrist.

    "Stop!" she gasped. "Stop. I give."

    He stopped pounding her face, stopped trying to choke her.

    She released his arms, then lay limp on top of him, panting for air.

    After a few seconds, she said, "Let me up."

    "Don't move." Keeping his left arm across her throat, Hunter reached out with his other hand and grabbed the saber. He raised it over Eleanor's face to let her see that he had it.

    "Put your arms out," he said.

    "Huh?"

    "Like wings."

    She stretched out her arms.

    "Keep them that way and sit up. If you do anything, I'll chop you."

    With her arms out straight to the right and left, she sat up. Hunter winced at the weight on his thighs.

    "Now stand up," he said. "But keep your arms like that."

    She drew her knees in close to her chest and leaned forward. As she rose to her feet, Hunter sat up and shoved himself off the floor.

    Standing behind her, he pressed the edge of the blade against the side of her neck.

    "Now take off your belt. Unbuckle it and let it drop. Keep your hand away from the knife."

    She lowered her arms and head.

    Hunter could only see the backs of her arms down to her elbows. From elbows to hands, they were in front of her... unfastening the belt buckle by the sounds he heard.

    He watched the sheathed knife by her right hip. A couple of times, his eyes strayed over to her buttocks. He tried not to stare at them, though.

    Soon, the belt, sheath and knife fell to the floor.

    "Okay," Hunter said.

    "Okay what?"

    "That was good."

    "Right."

    "Okay." He took the sword away from her neck. "Now put your hands on top of your head."

    "Gonna book me?"

    "Just do it, okay?"

    She did it, then turned around, fingers interlaced on top of hoi head, a smirk on her face. Her cheeks were ruddy from the punch. One eye was puffy. Blood ran from her nostrils, coated her lips and dripped off her chin.

    Hunter felt a little sick, realizing he had done this to her. he fore the pounding, she'd had a pretty face... if you didn't count its smirk and meanness.

    She had it coming, he told himself. For godsake, don't feel sorry for her. Feel sorry for Connie. And Laura and Shannon.

    Crap, she almost killed ME.

    Hunter touched the point of the sword to her belly.

    "I know you're the guy with the blade," she said. "And you can skewer me if that's what you want."

    "I don't want to, but..."

    "All you really want to do is get out of this alive, right?"

    He shrugged. "Maybe."

    "That's what I want, too." She glanced down the saber, then looked Hunter in the eyes. "Live and let live, okay?"

    "Maybe."

    "Here's what we'll do. First, tell your friend to come out."

    What friend? he wondered. Connie had run the other way back at the graveyard. By now, she had probably been cut down or captured by the creeps who'd gone chasing after her.

    "Then let me have my weapons back and I'll take you both downstairs as my prisoners."

    "Oh, that sounds perfect."

    "Bryce and Simone'll go along with it. We need captives for the midnight ceremony back at the graveyard. On the way there, I'll let you and your friend get away."

    "Sure you will."

    "I promise."

    Hunter shook his head. The plan might work if Eleanor played it straight.

    She won't. It's just a trick.

    "I'm not that stupid," he said.

    "You might be too smart for your own..."

    "Eleanor!" called a man's voice.

    Hunter gave the saber a tiny push.

    She winced and sucked in her tummy. A dribble of blood started sliding down her skin.

    Sounding impatient, she shouted, "What do you want, Bryce? "

    "How much longer're you gonna take with that kid? "

    "Long as I want!"

    A woman, apparently Simone, called, "No problem. Want us to wait for you? Or we can start back..."

    "Good idea, " Eleanor yelled. "Why don't you go on ahead? I'll come along after I'm done up here. Shouldn't be too much longer. "

    "No hurry, " Simone responded.

    "Just don't be late for the ceremony, " Bryce warned.

    "Have fun up there, " Simone called.

    "lam. See you later."

    For a few seconds, Eleanor stared into Hunter's eyes. Then she stepped away from the sword, walked to the bedroom door and eased it shut. Facing him again, she leaned back against the door and crossed her feet at the ankles.

    "That worked out," she said.

    "Why'd you do it?"

    "Live and let live." Lowering her head, she stared down at the shiny red line of blood from her cut. It ran into the round dip of her navel, spilled out and slid down and down until it painted her thighs red. "See what you've already done to me?"

    "You got me worse," he said.

    She smirked toward the front of his shirt. "You'll live." Then she pushed herself away from the door and came toward him with long, slow strides.

    As she neared the sword, he raised it.

    She stepped up close to him. Not saying a word, she unbuttoned his shirt. When she opened it, the blood-soaked fabric peeled away from his skin.

    He looked down.

    His wound, about an inch in length, was just above and to the right of his left nipple. Blood was still leaking out of it, trickling down his chest. The thin red stream ran all the way down to the waistband of his jeans.

    Eleanor bent forward and kissed his cut. Then, smiling up at him with blood on her lips, she said, "Kiss mine?"

    The offer shocked him. "No thanks."

    She smiled. "Don't you want to be my friend?"

    "Huh-uh."

    "Lover?"

    Is she kidding?

    Hunter's mouth went suddenly dry and his heart pounded harder. "No," he said.

    "Why not?"

    "Just don't wanta. You're a... I don't know, a killer or something "

    "I'm not pure enough for you?"

    He shrugged.

    Eleanor laughed. "My, what a good boy you are."

    He glared at her.

    "A virgin."

    "None of your business."

    "I'd be glad to make it my business." Reaching down, she squeezed him gently through the front of his jeans.

    He smacked her hand away.

    She chuckled. "Was that a nice thing to do?"

    "Just keep your hands off."

    "That isn't what you really want. What you really want..." Going silent, she started to unbuckle his belt.

    "Stop it," he said.

    She undid the button at the waist of his jeans.

    "Don't. I'm warning you."

    "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

    As she fumbled with the tab of his zipper, he made a fist of his left hand and slammed it into the side of her face. Her head snapped sideways, spit flying. She staggered back a few steps, then crashed to the floor.

    The impact jolted Eleanor's entire body and seemed to shake the room.

    What if Bryce and Simone heard that?

CHAPTER TEN

    Hunter heard no sounds from downstairs.

    Doesn't mean they're gone, he thought. Maybe they're sneaking up the stairs right now.

    He looked at Eleanor. She was sprawled on her back, her eyes shut, face puffy and bloody from her earlier beating, her chest slowly rising and falling as if she were asleep. He supposed she was out cold.

    Not bad for a left hook, he thought. Wait'll I tell Dad.

    Won't be telling him anything if I don't get out of this alive.

    He didn't think Eleanor was faking it. But how long would she be out? In the movies and on television shows, the villains seemed to stay knocked out for quite a while. But he'd seen televised boxing matches, too. Guys who got K.O.ed in the ring usually woke up in a matter of seconds.

    He still held the sword in his right hand.

    I could kill her right now - before she comes to.

    Many times, when talking to his friends about movies, he'd complained about characters who refused to finish off the villain in situations exactly like this. Sooner or later, the creep they'd spared would come after them again. No gratitude, nothing, And they always ended up killing him anyway.

    Dumb movie crap.

    Eleanor moaned. She turned her head slightly.

    Finish her off?

    He stood there, staring down at her, the sword high and ready to strike.

    Do it, he told himself. You're always whining they should do it in scenes like this. So do it!

    He hesitated.

    If I do it, he thought, she'll really be dead.

    She's unconscious. She's unarmed.

    Unarmed? Hell, she's naked!

    And beautiful.

    You can't just finish off a beautiful naked woman who's out cold on the floor, no matter what she might've done or tried to do. No matter how "smart" it might be.

    If she makes a try for me...

    She moaned and moved a little more, like someone half awake but not yet ready to open her eyes and struggle out of bed.

    Hunter ran from the room. He leaned out over the railing and looked down the stairway. Nobody there.

    They're gone. They won't be coming up.

    Probably took Shannon and Laura with them - for that ceremony - or left them dead in the house.

    He suddenly realized that the bottom of the stairs was only a few strides away from the front door. If Bryce and Simone were actually gone, Hunter himself could be out the door in a matter of seconds.

    Or maybe take a few seconds longer, he thought, and check around for Shannon and Laura. Make sure they're gone... or don't need an ambulance.

    But what about Eleanor?

    He turned and looked into the room. She was still on the floor.

    Not a chance in hell she'll catch me if I run right now.

    His getaway would be a sure thing, bill so would hers.

    Before I do anything, he thought, I've gotta take her out of the game.

    So he turned away from the railing and hurried back into the room.

    Eleanor no longer seemed to be stirring at all. She lay on her back, arms and legs outstretched, eyes shut, breathing slowly as if asleep.

    Now maybe she's faking it, Hunter thought.

    "If you try anything," he said, "I'll cut your head off."

    She didn't react at all.

    Maybe she isn't faking.

    He knelt in front of her feet, gently set the sword on the floor, then reached out with both hands and took hold of her ankles.

    Don't look at her there.

    Why not? She's out cold. Nobody'll ever know.

    It isn't right.

    He shifted his eyes aside, pulled at her ankles and slid her legs together. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her belt on the floor. Its leather sheath, its knife.

    It wasn't near enough to reach from where he was kneeling, so he pulled his own belt out of its loops and used it to bind Eleanor's ankles together. When they were tightly wrapped, he fastened the buckle.

    She still seemed to be unconscious.

    And about half the threat she'd been before, now that her feet were strapped together.

    Hunter crawled over to Eleanor's belt. On his knees, he swung it around his waist. It was long enough. With the big, sheathed knife at his right hip, he fastened the buckle.

    Then he looked around for something he might use to bind her hands.

    Dozens of weird paintings throughout the room, a couple of easels with canvases on them, a stool, a box of paint on a small table... several lamps.

    How about a lamp cord?

    As a kid, he'd sometimes been tied up with electrical cords. He and his friends, playing games that often included being taken captive, had used whatever they could find: belts, cords, rags, tape, twine, ropes. Clothesline worked best. Tape could be pretty good, too, if you had the right kind and plenty of it. Most electrical cords weren't very good - too stiff. It was nearly impossible to pull the knots tight enough to hold someone. To get loose, all you usually had to do was shove the cords inward toward the knot.

    Hunter seemed to recall noticing a lot of rope recently. But where?

    Downstairs.

    When he'd first seen Eleanor charging across the living room like a demented savage, a big coil of rope had been hanging around her neck, flopping against her chest.

    She didn't have it now. Must've left it downstairs before coming up to search for him.

    Is it down there now?

    Maybe. Or maybe the others had used it to tie Shannon and Laura before taking them away for the ceremony.

    I hope they are tied with it, Hunter thought. If they're tied up, they aren't dead.

    Regardless of where Eleanor's rope might be, it wasn't where he needed it. The electrical cords, however, were right here in the room with him.

    Apparently, Laura used several different types of lamps to illuminate her canvases or subjects. All the lamps were dark at the moment, the room lighted by an overhead fixture.

    Hunter puked up the sword and rose to his feel.

    Eleanor still seemed to be unconscious.

    He walked toward the nearest lamp, crouched beside it and jerked its plug out of the wall. The cord was about six feet long. Long enough. With the sword, he cut off the cord at the base of the lamp.

    He would need both hands free for tying Eleanor, so he set the sword down on the floor. Better to leave it over here, well out of her reach, than to keep it near him.

    Besides, he thought, I've got her knife.

    He returned to Eleanor's side and stared down at her. She still looked like someone asleep.

    How am I supposed to tie her hands together, he wondered, with her arms stretched out like this?

    Have to bring them together.

    Without waking her up?

    He gave some thought to the matter, then squatted by Eleanor's right arm. He made a slip-knot near an end of the cord. With one hand, he lifted Eleanor's wrist. With the other, he put the loop around it. As he pushed at the loose, stiff knot, tightening the loop around Eleanor's wrist, the doorbell rang.

    No!

    Eleanor moaned softly.

    Faint, muffled voices called, "Trick or treat!"

    Eleanor's head turned slowly to her right.

    The doorbell rang again and again and again and Eleanor opened her eyes.

    Hunter shoved the slip-knot tight against her wrist.

    "Don't...!" he blurted.

    She jerked her arm away from him. Hunter held on to the cord, but she sat up very fast and reached for the belt around her ankles.

    Hunter tugged the cord. Her right arm flew toward him, but her left hand continued to pluck at the belt buckle.

    Still on his knees, he hauled back on the cord with both hands and all his weight, pulling Eleanor's trapped hand toward him. Her free hand lost its hold on the belt and her whole body came sideways in his direction.

    Shuffling backward, he would've fallen but the cord kept him up like a tow line. Finding his balance, he got to his feet, pulling on the cord, keeping it taut, keeping Eleanor's arm stretched toward him.

    She hurled herself at him - awkward with her feet bound together - but Hunter rushed backward, tugging the cord, and she fell hard onto her right side.

    "Quit it," he gasped. "Give it up."

    She made another lunge at him. Again, he dodged her and pulled the cord and she fell and landed hard.

    Then she lay there, curled on her side, sweaty, panting for air, fresh blood spilling from her nostrils and the cut on her belly.

    "I just wanta... tie you up," Hunter gasped. "Just... let me tie you. Or I'll have to... hurt you worse."

    She nodded slightly. Then her left arm moved slowly over the carpet. She lifted it and eased it down, resting it on top of her right arm, wrist to bound wrist.

    "Thanks," Hunter said.

    On his knees, he quickly wrapped the cord around both her wrists, wound it around them and between them until most of the cord was used up, then tucked its plug into the bundle to keep it all from coming apart.

    "Okay," he said.

    Eleanor rolled onto her back, arms overhead, legs straight out and tight together. She was flushed and sweaty. Her short blond hair lay wet and curly against her head and face. She breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath.

    Hunter stood up. He was out of breath, himself. Sweat was trickling down his face and the back of his neck. His open shirt was sticking to his back. His undershirts were soaked and clinging. Raising, an arm, he wiped his face with a sleeve of his shirt.

    Then he walked over to the sword and picked it up. He took it over to where Eleanor was stretched on her back. Looking down at her, he said, "Stay put. I'll be right back."

    Blinking her wet red eyes, she nodded.

    Hunter left the room. He took a few strides down the hall, then stopped. After counting slowly to twenty, he hurried back to I he doorway.

    Eleanor looked as if she hadn't moved.

    She stared into his eyes.

    "Just checking," he said.

    "Yeah."

    "Right back," he told her.

    When he left this time, he headed for the stairs.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    They stopped at an intersection. Jeff looked to the right and left. In both directions, houses lined the street. Fewer groups of trick ‹›i treaters were roaming about. "Too early to go home?" he asked.

    "Maybe not for an old coot like you," Phyllis said.

    Jeff laughed. Just once, he would like to hurt her. "Or we can keep on going," he suggested.

    "Keep going," Mandy said. "It's way too early to quit."

    Phyllis smirked at him. "If you want to quit, we can go on without you."

    "Cannot," said Bret.

    "My kids don't go trick or treating without adult supervision," Jeff explained. "Of course, you're free to do as you wish."

    Mandy scowled. "Daaad."

    "Or feel free to stay with us. We're certainly glad to have you along."

    "Some of us, maybe," Bret said.

    "Bite me," Phyllis suggested.

    Bret laughed.

    She gave him the linger. "Spin on it."

    Mandy simply rolled her eyes and shook her head, her pony tail swinging from side to side.

    "Okay," Jeff said. "Let's get this show on the road. Which way do we want to go, right or left? Makes no difference to me."

    The bickering stopped and the three kids turned, inspecting both directions.

    "More lighted houses that way," Mandy said, pointing to the right. With a nod to the left, she said, "Look at all those dark ones over there. They'll be a waste of time. Nobody's going to answer the door at any of 'em."

    "You never know," Phyllis protested. "Maybe they're just trying to look spooky."

    "Nah. Nobody's home. Or they're home but hate kids."

    "They just hate Phyllis," Bret piped in.

    Jeff managed not to laugh.

    "Ha ha ha," Phyllis said.

    "So, the right?" Jeff asked.

    "I say the left." Phyllis nodded to the right. "If we go that way, the street dead-ends."

    "Does it?" Jeff asked. He wasn't sure, himself. This neighborhood, while probably no more than a mile from their house, had winding streets that he rarely traveled and had never bothered to study.

    "It goes to the graveyard," Bret explained.

    "Exactly," said Phyllis, wrinkling her nose.

    Smiling, Mandy said, "Elvira loves graveyards."

    "Yeah, well, I'm not Elvira."

    "Could've fooled me," Jeff said.

    "That's very witty, Mr. Wilson."

    "Aren't you supposed to be Elvira?" he asked.

    "I'm me. I don't even like Elvira. This whole stupid dress was mom's idea, not mine, I wanted to be Madonna."

    "Holy cow," Bret said.

    Jeff couldn't help himself. "Not the virgin mother, I take it."

    She ignored him. "I don't wanta go anywhere near some fucking graveyard."

    "Hey hey hey," Jeff said. "Watch your language, okay?"

    "Sure. So sorry."

    "We're not allowed to say fuck," Bret explained. Mandy snorted.

    "Okay, okay. That's enough." Standing at the curb, Jeff looked to the left. Of the three or four dark houses he could see, none even had lighted jack-o'-lanterns. To the right, he saw porch lights and pumpkins at most of the houses. "Tell you what," he said, "let's go that way." He pointed to the right.

    "Not me," Phyllis said.

    "We'll just go till it dead-ends, then we'll turn around and come back on the other side of the street and keep going that way." He nodded to the left. "You don't have to worry," he added. "We won't go in the graveyard."

    Phyllis groaned.

    "If we do," Mandy told her, "you'll fit right in with all the ghouls and vampires already there... waiting for you."

    "Get bent, Mandible."

    "Come on," said Jeff.

    They started across the street, Jeff walking behind the kids. He wished Sue had come with them. It was a wonderful night, windy but unusually warm for the end of October - even by southern California standards. She loved to be out on nights like this. And there wouldn't be that many more times to take the kids trick or treating. Give Mandy another couple of years, and the whole idea of dressing up and going door to door on a quest for candy (especially with Dad in tow) would probably strike her as inane or demeaning и just plain boring,. Bret had quite a few more Halloweens left to him. Too soon, however, they would both outgrow it.

    This is stuff you don 't want to miss, Jeff thought.

    He waited on the sidewalk while the kids hurried toward the first house on the block. The porch was brightly lighted. In the big bay window were three jack-o'-lanterns, all carved, their grinning faces bright with yellow candle light.

    Two nights ago, Jeff's whole family, including Sue, had gone through the annual ritual of carving pumpkins on the kitchen floor. She'd appeared to have a good time. The usual complaining about the mess, of course. But nothing had seemed wrong.

    Nothing seemed wrong tonight, either, Jeff thought. Except that she insisted on staying home. "Suppose everyone went out trick or treating?" she'd asked. "There wouldn't be anything but empty houses. Nobody'd get anything. It'd blow the whole set-up."

    "But you've always come along."

    "You can go without me. It'll be good for you to have some time alone with the kids."

    "Time alone? Phyllis'll be with us."

    Looking quite amused, Sue had said, "Oh, you're gonna have a great time. That Phyllis is a regular ball of joy."

    "She's a ball of something, all right. Why don't you go and I'll stay home and pass out the candy?"

    "I wouldn't want to deprive you."

    Serious, he'd told her, "I hate for you to miss out."

    She'd put her arms around him. "It'll be fine, honey. You go on and take the kids around. I'll stay here and hold down the fort."

    "Trick or treat!" the kids all shouted, pretty much in unison.

    Jeff saw that the front door of the house was already open. A husky woman stood in the doorway, dropping some sort of goodie into each bag. "Oh, what have we here?" she asked. And she said, "Aren't you darling!" And, "Oh, look at you!"

    "Thank you very much," from Bret.

    "Thank you," from Mandy.

    "Thanks, lady," from Phyllis.

    Then they were all calling out "Happy Halloween" as they turned away and descended the porch stairs. Instead of joining Jeff on the sidewalk, they took a shortcut across the front lawn to the next house.

    Jeff continued along the sidewalk, keeping an eye on them. They bypassed the next house. Its lights were off. They must've deemed it not worth the waste of time. Now they were hurrying across its lawn toward another house, leaving Jeff a little too far behind.

    "Slow down, kids," he shouted.

    Of course, they didn't. So he quickened his pace.

    Just when he was about to call out again, they hustled up the stairs of a lighted porch.

    This would slow them down, give Jeff time to close the distant e He walked faster. Halfway past the dark house the kids had skipped he heard them call out "Trick or treat."

    A moment later, someone nearby said, "Sir?"

    He turned his head. A teenaged girl was sitting on the curb in front of a parked car, looking over her shoulder at him.

    He stopped. "Hi," he said.

    She stood up and came toward him, her long blond hair blowing behind her in the wind. She looked slender and very pretty in the glow of the streetlights, but her face was shiny with tears.

    She wore a bright yellow crew-neck sweater with a block В on its chest. Probably for Beaumont High School. She also wore short, pleated skirt of dark plaid that the wind was flinging around her thighs, plus dark kneesocks and white sneakers.

    A cheerleader outfit.

    Maybe just a Halloween costume. By the looks of her, though, Jeff suspected it might be the real thing.

    She sniffed and rubbed her face as she came over to the sidewalk.

    "Is everything okay?" Jeff asked.

    She shook her head. "I lost them. I don't know where they are don't know what to do. I've just been sitting there..."

    "Hang on," Jeff told her. He turned away and looked at the porch where he'd last seen his kids and Phyllis. They were no longer there.

    Moved on without me.

    He shouted, "Kids! Mandy! Bret! Phyllis!"

    No answer. Were they already out of hearing range?

    They hadn't gone into the house, had they?

    He faced the girl. "I'll try to help you, but I've got my kids out here and it looks like they've taken off without me. Why don't you walk along with me till I find them."

    "Hope you can," the girl said.

    "They're probably just up ahead."

    "That's what I thought, too."

CHAPTER TWELVE

    Before starting down the stairs, Hunter propped Eleanor's sword against the wall. Hands free, he pulled off his shoes. He set them on the carpet, then lifted the sword by its hilt and began to make his way down the stairs.

    Though he wanted to descend in silence, he also needed to hurry. No telling how long Eleanor would follow his orders. Even now, she might be trying to work herself free from the belt and cord.

    Hunter had bound her as securely as he could under the circumstances. It shouldn't be too easy for her to get loose. It would take a long time for a normal woman to escape - maybe an hour or longer - but Eleanor was no normal woman. If she put her mind to it, she could probably work herself free in just a few minutes.

    Gotta get back to her fast or there'll be hell to pay.

    As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard kids' voices and footfalls from outside. More trick or treaters were coming.

    Terrific.

    Just ignore them.

    Hunter turned away from the door. Over to the right, he could see part of the living room through its arched entryway. No sign of anyone. Holding the sword so lightly that his hand ached, he stopped into the entry and stopped.

    Nobody.

    Unless someone was hiding...

    The doorbell rang and he flinched, startled even though he'd known kids were on their way.

    Get outa here.

    They rang the bell again as Hunter entered the living room. The coffee table had been shoved crooked, one corner pushing against the sofa. Shannon's armchair was overturned. So was a nearby lamp table. The lamp had fallen to the floor. Its shade was jammed crooked, but the bulb still worked, spreading yellow light across the carpet.

    The doorbell rang.

    Give it up, guys.

    Several magazines and books were scattered on the floor. They'd apparently flown off tables during the fight. A few feet from Shannon's overturned chair was the fedora of her Halloween costume, somewhat mashed as if someone had fallen on it.

    He found no bodies, though.

    Shannon and Laura seemed to be gone, taken away by Bryce and Simone. There was no sign of Eleanor's rope, so it had probably been used to tie them.

    I'd better get back to Eleanor.

    The doorbell rang again.

    I oughta let them in, take the little shits upstairs and introduce them to Eleanor.

    Freak them out.

    Unless maybe they aren't little kids. How about three or four teenaged guys? They'd think they'd died and gone to...

    What if they're the dates?

    When Laura had first gone upstairs to look for him, she'd mentioned a couple of guys coming by to take them to a Halloween party. Might've been a lie. You're a couple of young women and you've suddenly got a stranger in the house - someone who might be dangerous - it'd be smart to claim men would be showing up any minute.

    But they'd obviously been getting ready for a party. A Halloween party. Laura hadn't been in her costume yet, but Hunter had watched Shannon get dressed.

    Suddenly distracted by thoughts of Shannon and how she'd looked and what she'd said in her bedroom, Hunter stared into space. Then the doorbell rang again.

    The guys are real.

    But this isn't them, Hunter told himself. I heard their voices. They were kids.

    But the boyfriends might show up any second.

    Hunter wondered if he could get them to help. If they cared at all about Shannon and Laura, they'd probably be willing to help him.

    Help me?

    Go to the rescue.

    Go to the rescue?

    A chill scurried through his body.

    They can save Shannon and Laura, I'll save Connie.

    But it would be just the three of us against maybe a dozen of those creeps.

    We can do it if we take them by surprise.

    He noticed Shannon's remote phone on the floor near her chair. Staring at it, he realized he ought to forget about trying to pull off some sort of glorious rescue - might get myself killed - and just call the police instead.

    What if they think I had something to do with all this?

    He shifted the sword to his left hand, crouched and picked up the phone. It made no sound at all. Eleanor had probably used it last, shut it off and thrown it down after hearing him try the upstairs phone.

    He thumbed the talk button. A tiny red dot of light appeared. He brought the phone closer to his ear and heard a dial tone.

    "HUNTER!"

    Startled by the distant outcry, he jumped and dropped the phone and whirled around.

    "HUNTER! HELP!"

    Panic in the voice. Eleanor's voice?

    He raced for the stairs.

    What the hell is she yelling about?

    He leaped up the stairs, took them three at a time.

    Might be a trick.

    It probably is a trick, he told himself. What could be so wrong in that room that it would freak out Eleanor?

    She screamed.

    The terrified sound of it almost made Hunter scream. Throat tight, skin crawling, he sprang to the top of the stairs and lurched around the newel post. Sword raised overhead with both hands, he ran down the hall.

    No more outcries or screams... just wild thumping sounds.

    Skidding to a halt in front of the room, he glimpsed enough through the doorway to know it wasn't a trick. Eleanor had gotten herself loose, but...

    He rushed in.

    Legs kicking, she was being dragged on her back by the electrical cord. Its loop was around her neck. The length of the cord was stretched taut, close to the floor, at a slight upward angle. Plug first, it was moving slowly toward the nearest electrical outlet, towing her.

    But only Eleanor was touching the cord - clutching it with both hands just above her head, holding on as it dragged her, kicking and twisting across the floor.

    Her face was flushed and sweaty, her eyes bulging, her tongue sticking out.

    Hunter thought, No way.

    Then he rushed into the room, hurried past Eleanor's thrashing body and chopped downward with the sword. Midway between her hands and the plug, the cord leaped apart. The blade chomped into the floor. And Eleanor came to a halt, fingers digging into the loop around her neck.

    She pulled it off and threw it aside. Sprawled on her back, she-gasped for air.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

    Worried but not yet alarmed, Jeff hurried up the sidewalk with the girl keeping pace beside him.

    "I'm Rhonda, by the way," she said. "Rhonda Gale."

    "Hi, Rhonda. I'm Jeff."

    Where are they?

    "Gale, that's my last name. I'm not like Rhonda Gale Something. Just Rhonda Gale."

    "Oh. Okay."

    Far ahead of him, one house from the end of the block, Bret and Mandy and Phyllis came down from a driveway and gathered on the sidewalk.

    Thank God.

    "There they are," Jeff said.

    All three of the kids turned toward him. The smallest of them, ret, waved.

    "Wait for me!" Jeff shouted at them. "Don't go anywhere!"

    They stayed. Probably not so much from obedience to Jell as from curiosity about the girl walking with him.

    He looked at the girl. "So tell me what happened, Rhonda."

    She shrugged both shoulders "I don't know what happened. I wish I did. They got away from me."

    "Who did?"

    "My little brother and... two of his friends. I was taking them around, you know? I was supposed to take care of 'em." As she said that, her voice broke. She was crying again, making quick, soft gasping sounds.

    "It's all right," Jeff said. He reached behind her and patted her on the back. "I'm sure they're fine."

    He realized he was a thirty-seven-year-old man with his hand on the back of a teenaged girl and he only meant to comfort her but the way things had gotten to be in recent years, the slightest little touch or glance or comment might be viewed as sexual misconduct or abuse.

    He took his hand off Rhonda's back. "What are their names?" he asked.

    Rhonda sniffed, rubbed her nose. "My brother, he's Gary. The others are Doug and Rosie." With a sleeve of her cheerleader sweater, she wiped her wet cheeks. "They're brother and sister, Doug and Rosie."

    "How old?"

    "They're all in first grade... six, I guess." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know Gary's six. Guess the others are, too."

    "My Bret's eight," Jeff said.

    "My parents are gonna kill me."

    "No they won't. Everything'll be fine."

    "Hey!" Phyllis called out when they were still more than twenty feet away. "You're Rhonda Gale!"

    "Hi," Rhonda said.

    Phyllis turned and whispered something in Mandy's ear. Mandy nodded. Bret complained, "Isn't polite to whisper."

    Ignoring him, Phyllis continued to whisper.

    To Rhonda, Bret said, "Hi."

    "Hi there," said Rhonda.

    "My son, Bret," Jeff explained. "And the one in the poodle skirt's my daughter, Mandy."

    Mandy nudged Phyllis aside and said, "Pleased to meet you."

    "Hi, Mandy."

    "And Elvira there, she's Phyllis."

    "I'm not Elvira," she said, frowning. Then she cast a large smile at Rhonda and stepped up to her, extending a hand. "It's so nice to meet you."

    Rhonda shook her hand, and Phyllis kept it, pumping it vigorously.

    "I'm a huge fan. I've been to all the games. I'm Jason Filbert's sister. You know Jason?"

    Rhonda nodded.

    "You're the best on the whole squad, everybody says so. The prettiest, too."

    "Well, thanks."

    "I'm gonna be on the squad when / get to be in high school."

    "It just takes a lot of hard work," Rhonda said. "I'm sure you'll make it if you really give it all you've got."

    This is a very nice girl, Jeff thought.

    Then Phyllis said, "You go with Brad Farris."

    "Used to."

    "Did you break up with him?"

    "Phyllis," Jeff said. "Calm down and stop asking questions."

    "Don't you know who she is?"

    I do now.

    To Phyllis, Rhonda said, "Say hi to Jason for me, okay?"

    "Oh, I will."

    Rhonda retrieved her hand.

    "He'll wanta just die when he finds out he missed you. He could've been here, but he had better things to do. That's 'cause he didn't wanta go around with his 'punk sister,' meaning me. This'll teach him."

    "You've got to excuse Phyllis," Mandy said. "She gets easily carried away."

    "I'm not carried away."

    Bret chuckled.

    "So how come you broke up with Brad?"

    "Hold the phone," Jeff said. "Look, kids, there's a problem. Rhonda was out with her brother and a couple of other little kids and now she doesn't know where they are. Two boys and a girl, all six years old."

    "What're they wearing?" asked Mandy. Her tone was no-nonsense; she was on the case.

    "Gary, my brother, he's a clown. Doug's dressed up like Dracula and Rosie's a tramp."

    "Like a whore?" Phyllis asked.

    Mandy elbowed her. "Like a hobo."

    "Oh."

    "Where did you last see them?" asked Mandy.

    Rhonda turned halfway around and waved a hand toward the street behind her. "Back there," she said. "I'm not too sure. I think I'm a little lost."

    "Let's start heading in that direction," Jeff said. He patted her shoulder to start her moving, suddenly realized his mistake and dropped his hand to his side.

    She was already on the way. As she glanced back at him, he hurried forward to walk beside her. Looking over his shoulder, he said, "Everybody keep a sharp eye out."

    "Are we going on a search for them?" Phyllis asked, following close behind Rhonda.

    "We'll see what we can do," Jeff said.

    "Search and rescue!" Bret announced, running past everyone In the lead, he jumped onto the sidewalk in front of Rhonda and walked backward. "Don't worry, we'll find them. Won't we, Dad?"

    "More than likely." To Rhonda, he said, "They're probably wondering what happened to you."

    "I sure hope so."

    "How did it happen, anyway?"

    She shrugged. "They went on ahead. We were going down till driveway and I stepped on one of my shoelaces and almost fell. So then I stayed careful till we got to the street and I told them to wait up for a minute and I stooped down to tie my shoe. I was down on one knee and they were all standing around me and it was fine, but suddenly Rosie whacked me on the head and yelled, 'Not it!' and ran off down the street laughing. And Gary and Doug ran off with her. I yelled and told them we're not playing tag and to come back. But they kept on running. I couldn't go after them, not with my shoe untied. Besides, I wasn't really worried. They hadn't gone very far. I could still see them and everything. But I screwed up a couple of times tying my knot..."

    "I quadruple-knot my laces," Bret announced, still walking backward. "They never come untied."

    "I should've thought of that," Rhonda said.

    "I have some pretty good ideas sometimes. Mostly they aren't."

    Rhonda smiled at him. "I bet you have lots of good ideas," she said. To Jeff, she said, "Anyway, it didn't take me very long to get my shoe tied. Even with the screw-ups. But they were almost to the corner by then and they had a pretty good headstart on me. I didn't want them to go around the corner. Especially because this woman at the last house, she told me about some kid who said people were chasing him. So I yelled and told them to wait up. But they didn't. They laughed. Rosie even yelled, 'Can't! catch us!' And then they went running around the corner."

    "They should've stopped when you told them to," Bret said.

    "And you'd better stop walking backward," Jeff said, "before you fall down and crack your head open."

    Half-turning, Bret sidestepped briskly along in front of them. "How's this?"

    Behind them, Phyllis muttered, "What a wad."

    "Cut it out," Mandy told her.

    "Well, he is. I'm glad my brother isn't some little dork."

    "Hey, Dad," Bret said, "what's a dork?"

    "Never mind," Jeff told his son.

    "Anyway," said Rhonda, "that's how it happened. They just ran around this corner. I bet they weren't even half a minute ahead of me. By the time I got there, though, they were gone."

    "I bet they hid from you," Bret said.

    Rhonda nodded. "That's what I thought. I didn't think anything had happened to them. I figured they must've ducked into some bushes or something close by, you know? To play a trick on me. So I told them, very funny, ha ha, time to come out, game's over, that kind of thing. But also, I kept on walking in case they'd gone into hiding a little farther up the block. I kept thinking they'd get tired of screwing with me and come running out any minute, you know, laughing. But they didn't. Pretty soon I saw some kids so I ran and caught up to them, but it was just some other kids. Then I was another block away, and another, and I went around corners and hurried after kids I saw, thinking it was them, but it never was. Finally, I didn't know where I was any more. That's when I sat down on the curb and... sort of lost it. Then pretty soon you came along."

    Mandy's voice came from behind Jeff. "Didn't you ask anybody about them?"

    Rhonda looked back at her. "Not till your dad. I didn't exactly want everyone in the world to find out I'd screwed up. Besides, I kept thinking to find them. I really did think they were just, you know, hiding... playing a trick on me. But it went on way too long for that."

    "By the time they quit hiding from you," Jeff said, "maybe they couldn't find you."

    "I keep hoping it's something like that."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

    Hunter stood near Eleanor, watching her. She was still sprawled on her back, panting for air. She was shiny with sweat and a little bloody, but her skin had lost some of its flushed redness. She kept a hand at her throat as if to convince herself she was no longer being strangled.

    When she seemed better, Hunter said, "Do you want to gel out of here?"

    Instead of answering, she sat up. Then she raised her knees and slumped forward and rested her arms on them. Her head drooped.

    "Are you all right?" Hunter asked.

    "What do you think?"

    "Can you get up?"

    "Sure." But she didn't try.

    He looked at the looped cord. It lay nearby on the carpel, gray and motionless.

    "I think we'd better get out of here," he said.

    "Do you? Really?"

    "Before something else happens."

    Head still drooping, she muttered, "What is this fucking place, the House on Haunted Hill?"

    "I don't know, I don't know what's going on."

    "The fucking cord tried to hang me, that's what."

    "I guess so."

    "You guess so." She raised her head and looked at Hunter. "Wanta help me up?"

    Worried she might try something, he said, "I'd better not get too close."

    "Forget about it," she muttered, and struggled to her feet. Swaying slightly, she fingered her throat. Then she twisted halfway around and gazed down at the cord. She stared at it for a long time. Then she murmured, "Jesus." Meeting Hunter's eyes, she nodded slightly.

    Is that a thanks? he wondered.

    "Want me to go first?" she asked.

    "That'd be a good idea."

    She staggered toward the door.

    Following her out of the room and into the hallway, Hunter watched her back. It was red with rug burn, marked here and there with small scratches. Her buttocks shifted and flexed as she walked.

    "I need to use the John," she said.

    "I don't know..."

    "I do." She pointed straight ahead. "It's right there."

    As they approached it, Hunter said, "I don't want you out of my sight."

    "You wanta watch?"

    "I just don't want you getting away."

    "Yeah, right." She entered the bathroom and turned its light on. Leaving the door wide open, she walked past the sink. She bent over the toilet, raised its lid, and peered down into the bowl. "Looks okay," she muttered. Then she turned around and sat down.

    Still in the doorway, Hunter had a full view of her. She was sitting with her back straight, hands resting on her thighs. She looked toward the bathtub straight in front of her, apparently paying no attention to Hunter. He turned his head away when she started to pee.

    "Wasn't really the cord," she said

    "Huh?"

    "Not like the cord came to life. Felt like someone was there, you know? I was all set to go. Had my hands loose, had the belt off my feet. I'm about to stand up and all of a sudden the noose goes over my head and someone pulls it. Like there was a guy behind me doing it, some kinda maniac."

    In his peripheral vision, Hunter saw Eleanor turn her head toward him. Even though he still heard her urine drilling the water, he looked at her. She asked, "What's the story? This place got ghosts?"

    "I wouldn't know," Hunter said. "I've never been here before I just ran here to get away from you and those other creeps."

    "It's got something," she said.

    "That's for sure."

    "Maybe it's just in that room. You know? Maybe it can't get out. You never know. Weird shit has rules all its own."

    "I guess so."

    "I know so. I'm into some pretty weird shit, myself, in case you didn't notice."

    "I noticed."

    The splashing sound stopped. She reached sideways and spun a roll of toilet paper. "Don't know what that was. Ghosts, they can't do shit like that." She reached down with some paper. "Or so they say."

    Standing up, she twisted around and flushed the toilet. When she turned in Hunter's direction, he saw an angry red stripe high around her neck. Then his eyes traveled downward.

    "Give me a second," she said. She faced the sink, turned the faucet on, and put a hand under the spout to feel the water. " I just wanta wash up."

    "Okay."

    She glanced down at the front of his jeans and smirked. She didn't make a crack, though. Turning away, she bent low over the sink and dipped water up to her face. She rubbed her bloodstainted face with both hands, pink water spilling down her chin and neck and forearms.

    Done cleaning her face, she straightened up slightly, splashed water onto her chest and rubbed her breasts with both hands. She moved them around, squeezed them, swirled her hands all over them. When she finished, they looked clean and shiny and the nipples were stiff.

    Staring at herself in the mirror above the sink, she said, "So what do you wanta do, Hunter?"

    He shrugged. "Get you out of here, I guess."

    "You guess."

    "Yeah."

    She splashed lower, washed the blood off the small cut a few inches above her navel, then splashed her entire belly. As she splashed and rubbed, rosy water spilled downward, slicking her groin, trickling down her legs, making a wet place on the gray rug under her feet.

    She stared down at herself. "That's better," she said. She turned to Hunter. "Better?"

    He nodded.

    "Still think you don't wanta fuck me?" He shook his head.

    She smirked. "All evidence to the contrary aside, huh?" She pulled a towel off a bar and dried her face.

    "I want to get Connie back," Hunter said.

    Eleanor rubbed her neck with the towel. "The gal you were with at the graveyard?"

    "Yeah."

    "She your girlfriend?"

    "I guess so."

    Eleanor's towel-wrapped hand massaged one breast, then the other. "Maybe she got away."

    "If she didn't, I want them to let her go. And I want them to let Shannon and Laura go, too."

    "Don't want much, do you?"

    "If they want you back, they'll let 'em go."

    She chuckled, patted her cut with the towel, then began drying herself below the cut. "You want to trade me for them, is that it?"

    "That's the idea. Do you think it'll work?"

    She shrugged. "Might." Running the towel down her right leg, she bent over and Hunter watched how her breasts hung from her chest and swayed. "You never know. I'm pretty popular... at least with the guys in the group." She straightened up, then bent over again and dried her left leg. "Yeah, they might go for a trade. It 's sure worth a try. Hell, I'm all for it."

    Done drying herself, she tossed the towel to the floor.

    Hunter backed away from the door as she walked toward him He stopped with his rump against the newel post at the top of the stairway. He held the sword in his right hand, its point resting on the floor near his foot.

    In the doorway, Eleanor stopped. She casually leaned sideways Right shoulder against the door frame, she crossed her ankles, folded her arms beneath her breasts, and said, "Trading me isn't the best way to get 'em back, though. If you wanta play it really safe, we oughta gather up a few kids and take them along. Shouldn't be too hard to get our hands on some ankle-biters. I mean, it's Halloween." A smile spread across her face. "They're all over the place. I'll help you grab a few and we can take 'em out to the graveyard and trade 'em in for Connie and your other two friends."

    "Kids? Children?"

    "The younger the better," Eleanor said.

    "What do they want kids for? What the hell are they doing out there? Why do they want anyone?"

    "You know, for the ceremony The midnight sacrifices."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

    From the rear, Mandy said, "We might want to stand still till we figure out where we're going."

    Bret, a few paces in front of Jeff and Rhonda, raised an open hand and called out, "Halt."

    They stopped, spread apart on the sidewalk and turned toward Mandy and Phyllis.

    "Thank you," Mandy said. Looking into Rhonda's eyes, she-said, "Now here's what I think. I think we should go back to where you stopped to tie your shoe. We start from there and retrace your steps."

    "Sounds good to me," Jeff said.

    Frowning, Rhonda said, "I'm not sure I know where that was."

    "I know how to make you remember," Bret said. "I'll hypnotize you. You can always remember everything when you get hypnotized."

    "Get real," Phyllis told him.

    "It's true."

    "So what if it is true, you don't know how to hypnotize anyone."

    "Well, I sorta know how to try."

    "What do you remember about the house?" Mandy asked Rhonda.

    "Well, it had a really long driveway. It's the house where the woman told me about the kid who'd gotten chased."

    "What did she look like?"

    "Gosh... She was about my size, only older. I guess she was sort of pretty. She had light brown hair and it was cut short... pixie style, you know?"

    "Any distinguishing marks?"

    "Good one," Phyllis muttered.

    "I don't guess so," Rhonda said. "Not that I noticed."

    "What was she wearing?"

    "Oh, that I can tell you. A long-sleeved white blouse, open at the throat, and brown corduroy pants. I'm not sure about her shoes. She might've had sneakers on. Or maybe she was barefoot. I really don't know."

    "Doesn't ring any bells with me," Jeff admitted. Glancing around at the kids, he asked, "Does she sound like anyone we saw tonight?"

    Mandy shook her head. Phyllis shrugged, then reached into the open top of her gown and adjusted one of her fake breasts.

    "Oh, something else," Rhonda said. "She had paint on her. The woman. Like on her hands, and some on her blouse, and she even had a little smudge on one cheek, like she'd touched her face with a painty finger."

    "Laura does paintings," Bret pointed out.

    "Who?" Jeff asked.

    "Laura who lives in the old Witherspoon house," Mandy explained.

    "Yeah, her," Bret said. "Maybe she's the one."

    Mandy said, "Remember it, Dad? That was the big old house where we heard them inside but nobody came to the door. We thought maybe they'd run out of candy or gotten tired of trick or treaters, or something. Anyway, you made us leave."

    "It did have a really long driveway," Phyllis pointed out.

    Mandy turned to Rhonda. "The house where your shoe cam untied, was it like all by itself on a dead-end street?"

    "It was! It sure was! There was the dead-end over to one side. I remember it, the barricade? And woods all around. And the nearest other houses were maybe half a block away and across the street."

    Mandy nodded. "That's where we need to go. The old Witherspoon house."

    Bret grinned. "Gonna go and see Laura and Shannon?"

    "Well," Jeff said, "I suppose we'll start looking somewhere near there, anyway."

    "Grrrrrr-ate!"

    "Don't get your hopes up, dwarf," Phyllis said. "We won't be ringing their doorbell."

    "We will, too. Won't we, Dad?"

    "We'll see," Jeff told him.

    " 'We'll see,' " Phyllis mimicked. "That's grown-up for 'No way in hell, dickhead.' "

    Weary of Phyllis, Jeff said, "As a matter of fact, since they didn't answer their door when we went there the first time, maybe we should give it another try. No harm in that."

    "We can ask if they've seen Gary and Rosie and Doug," Bret said.

    Naturally, he would remember the names of the missing kids.

    "Who says they'll even come to the door?" Phyllis asked.

    "Didn't last time."

    "Oh, they will. They're my friends. I'm pretty sure they are."

    When Bret said that, Rhonda reached over to him and ruffled his hair. He beamed at her.

    Mandy watched, a strange look on her face as if she didn't know whether to be amused or troubled. A corner of her mouth twitched. Then she turned to Jeff, "Do you know where it is?"

    "Where what is?"

    "Jeez, Dad. The Witherspoon house."

    "Yeah, I think so."

    "You don't know, do you?"

    "I'm sure I can find it," he said. "I mean, we were just there. Not just there, but..."

    "I'll lead the way," Mandy said. "I know exactly where it is." She gestured for her father to move. He stepped aside. She went striding between him and Rhonda, saying, "Follow me."

    Out front, Bret shifted his treat bag to his other hand and took hold of his sister's hand.

    Jeff smiled at Rhonda. "Mandy," he said, "has a thing about being in control."

    "She seems to be very smart," said Rhonda.

    "Oh, she is. She might or might not be as smart as she thinks she is, but she is smart."

    Mandy glanced over her shoulder. "I heard that."

    "Sorry."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

    "I'm not gonna trade kids for them," Hunter said.

    "Suit yourself."

    "That'd be sick."

    "Up to you," she said.

    "I'll trade you back to your group, that's all." He stepped away from the upstairs newel post and put on his shoes. "Let's get you something to wear first."

    She smiled. "You don't really wanta do that, do you?" Still standing in the bathroom doorway, leaning sideways with her arms and ankles crossed, she gave her shoulders a little shake. Hunter watched her breasts wobble from side to side.

    "Gotta... Shannon's stuff might fit you."

    "Up to you." Eleanor uncrossed her ankles, nudged the door fame with an elbow, and stood up straight.

    "That way." Hunter pointed down the hallway with the sword. "If s that room there. You go first."

    She started walking. "Just don't let something get me, okay? My ass gets killed in this spook house, I won't make much of a trade-in."

    "I'll take care of you," Hunter followed her down the hallway toward Shannon's bedroom "That door there," he said.

    It was the door he'd stood behind when trying to hide from Laura and Shannon - the door that had concealed him while Shannon wandered around naked, talking to him, trying to tempt him out of hiding though she hadn't realized he was in the same room with her.

    Eleanor stepped through the doorway. Hunter went in behind her. The bedroom's lights were still on.

    A few strides into the room, Eleanor turned around and faced him. Smirking, she said, "What would you like me to wear?"

    "Doesn't matter. You just can't go around like that. We'll be outside. Somebody might see you."

    "Not too likely if we go out the back. Nothing between here and the graveyard. Just trees and darkness. But I guess you know that, don't you?"

    He nodded. "You need to put on something anyway."

    "If you say so." Eleanor turned around and walked toward the closet. Its door was wide open, its light on. As she neared it, she raised an arm as if to reach in for a hanging garment. But she suddenly stopped. She lowered her arm and stood there, not moving.

    "What's the matter?"

    Shaking her head, she backed away from the closet. She turned around. She was breathing hard and her eyes looked scared. "I'm not... You want me to put on something, you get it."

    Some kind of trick?

    "Just reach in and grab..."

    "Huh-uh, not me. I'm not going anywhere near that closet."

    A chill hustled up Hunter's back. "What's wrong with it?" His voice came out barely louder than a whisper.

    "I don't know. I just got a bad... like maybe he's in there."

    "Who?"

    She touched a finger to the red mark on her throat. "Him."

    Hunter stared at the closet. It was brightly lighted and looked line. On a hanger in plain sight was the robe that Shannon had been wearing.

    I could just reach in and grab it out.

    But what if something grabs me?

    Eleanor suddenly rushed over to Shannon's bed. Bending at the waist, she grabbed the cover and flung it aside. "What're you doing?"

    She tugged the bed's white topsheet away from the mattress. "I'll wear this," she said, and wrapped it around her body.

    Hunter shook his head. "I don't know. Makes you look like a nude woman wearing a sheet. I'll get you some..."

    "How about this?" She unwrapped the sheet, swept it up over her head and let it drift down. "It's Halloween. I'm a fucking ghost."

    The sheet draped her body, front and back, almost down to her knees.

    "Pretty good," Hunter admitted. Not only was Eleanor no longer naked, but the sheet concealed her identity and resembled a traditional Halloween costume. "It just needs eyeholes..."

    "And a belt to keep it on," Eleanor said. "Give me a pen or something and I'll mark the eyes."

    Not turning his back on her, Hunter went to Shannon's desk. He propped his sword against it, then opened one of the top drawer, pens, markers, scissors, a stapler, paper clips, computer ink. He took out the scissors and a blue Sharpie marker. Uncapping the marker, he approached Eleanor.

    "Put your fingertips where your eyes are. And don't try anything."

    "I won't try anything. You saved my life, Hunter."

    "Like that'll hold you back."

    "It does." She touched both her forefingers against the front of the sheet. Hunter could see slight indentations where her eyes were; lower, the jut of her nose; lower still, the way the sheet draped the smooth tops of her breasts and how her nipples pushed it out. "I'm not gonna do anything against you," she said. "Not anymore."

    "I hope not," Hunter said and reached out with the Sharpie. He traced around her left fingertip, drawing a half-circle on the sheet in front of her eye.

    "Besides," she said, "you're taking me outa this place and back where I wanta go."

    He traced around her right fingertip. Backing away, he said, "Okay, take off the sheet and I'll cut the holes."

    She pulled it off. "I'll do it." Nodding at the scissors, she held out her hand.

    "I'm supposed to give you scissors?"

    "You've got my Bowie knife, pal. You've got my saber, if you wanta go grab it. What'd I gonna do to you with a little pair of scissors?"

    "Okay." He backed his way to the desk, tossed the Sharpie onto it, then gave the scissors an underhand toss to Eleanor. Just as she caught them, he picked up the sword.

    Standing where he was, he watched her snip eyeholes in the sheet. After the eyeholes were done, she cut out a hole the size of a silver dollar.

    "Here." She tossed the scissors to him. He caught them.

    While he turned sideways and returned the scissors and Sharpie to the desk drawer, Eleanor put the sheet over her head. She pulled at it, adjusted it, and soon Hunter saw her eyes and mouth through the holes.

    "Now I need a belt," she said.

    "No belt," Hunter said.

    "It's windy outside. The sheet'll blow off."

    "I'm not giving you a belt."

    "I'm not gonna garrote you."

    "Yeah, well, no belt."

    "A necklace? Gimme a necklace. That'll help hold it on."

    He stepped over to Shannon's dresser. On lop was a jewelry box in the shape of a small steamer trunk. He set his sword down across the top of the dresser, then opened the box. Various small compartments held rings, earrings, pendants and thin chains. In the large bottom area, he found a jumble of bracelets and necklaces. He pulled out a handful, untangled them, and selected a heavy necklace that looked as if it were made of stainless steel links. "Try this." He tossed it to Eleanor.

    Her right arm flew out from under the sheet and snagged tin necklace out of the air. With both hands, she slipped it over her head Its weight held the sheet down around her neck.

    "We're just borrowing it," Hunter said. "Shannon gets it back when we're done."

    A secret voice in his mind whispered, If she's still alive. If we are.

    "How about some safety pins?" Eleanor asked. "I can pin the sides of the sheet."

    He looked around, opened a few drawers. "I don't see any."

    In one of the dresser drawers, however, he found brightly colored scarves and sashes. He pulled out a long green sash made of glossy fabric - satin or silk, he supposed.

    "That'll do perfect," Eleanor said.

    "It's not for you." Hunter tied the sash around his own waist and let the loose ends hang by the side of his left leg. Turning to the dresser mirror, he could see his own reflection and Eleanor's behind him.

    "What're you doing?" Eleanor asked.

    He picked out a paisley scarf and started tying it around his head "You're a ghost, might be smart if I'm in costume, too. Anybody sees us, they'll think we're dressed up for Halloween."

    In Shannon's jewelry box, he found a pair of large hoop earring. He picked one up and frowned at it. As a kid, he had sometimes worn his mother's earrings. On Halloween. The two or three years he'd made the rounds dressed like a pirate. He remembered how they haul to be screwed onto his earlobe so tightly that they hurt. This one, however, didn't seem to have a screw.

    It's for pierced ears, he realized.

    "What're you gonna be, a pirate?"

    "Aye-aye," he said.

    "Pretty good. Gives you an excuse to be running around with a sword."

    "Exactly." Hunter put the earring back into its compartment, shut the jewelry box and turned around to face Eleanor. "How do I look?"

    "Lose the shirt."

    It was already wide open, untucked, smeared with blood and clinging to him with sweat.

    "Go on and take it off," Eleanor said. "You wanta look like a pirate, don't you?"

    "I don't want to freeze."

    "Not much chance of that. It's balmy outside, case you didn't notice."

    He pulled his shirt off and let it fall to the floor. "Now all you need's a hook, a pegleg, an eyepatch and a fuckin' parrot."

    Hunter actually smiled. "This'll do."

    "So can we get outa here now?"

    "I guess so." He turned around and lifted his sword off the dresser. "You go first," he said.

    As she started toward the bedroom door, Hunter backed away and studied his reflection in the mirror.

    Not bad, he thought. A nice, simple pirate costume - made even better by the small red gash on his chest and the blood smeared around his chest and belly.

    Everyone'll think the wound's a fake.

    Not that we're likely even to see anyone, he thought, following Eleanor into the hall.

    She turned and walked toward the head of the stairway. Hunter took his time, watching how the sheet flowed around her.

    Better when she didn't have it on, he thought. He'd been able to take good, long looks at every inch of her body. Now he could see none of it - only her bare calves and feet below the bottom о I the sheet.

    He couldn't even see those after she started down the stairs in front of him.

    He'd been feasting his eyes on her, and now he felt starved Get over it, he told himself. Connie probably got caught by those freaks in the graveyard. God only knows what they're doing to her. To Shannon and Laura, too. And I'm feeling crummy because Eleanor is finally wearing something? Forget it! I shouldn't ever be...

    The doorbell rang.

    Hunter flinched.

    "I'll get it," Eleanor said and rushed down the final few stains, the sheet swirling behind her.

    "Don't!" Hunter gasped.

    In the foyer, she stopped and leaned forward. Her right arm came out from beneath the sheet and she swung the front door open.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

    Lying motionless, Laura felt the slight rise and fall of Shannon's back against her own back. Then Shannon's buttocks flexed and she moved one of her legs a fraction of an inch. "Shan?" Laura whispered.

    Shannon didn't answer.

    Laura shook herself slightly.

    Shannon groaned. Then muttered, "Don't."

    "Sorry."

    "Hurts."

    "Me, too," Laura said.

    "Some Halloween."

    "Trick or treat."

    "Where...?"

    "The graveyard."

    "I mean... them. They around?" Facedown in the graveyard grass, head turned toward her left shoulder, Shannon probably couldn't see much.

    Face up on top of her, Laura could see most of what was around: moonlit tombstones, the Kneeling Girl statue, the stone bench bushes. Above her, tree branches swayed in the wind.

    "I think they 're gone," she said

    "Thank God."

    "I don't see anybody."

    "Me neither," Shannon said.

    "Very funny."

    "Where'd they go?"

    "I don't know."

    "Loved us and left us."

    Underneath her, Shannon started weeping. Her shoulders and back made quick, small jerking motions. She was the big one, the tough one, and she was crying like a hurt child.

    Tears came to Laura's eyes. "It's all right," she said. "Hey. It's fine. You'll be fine. We'll both be fine."

    Shannon kept crying. Laura, riding her back, jiggled up and down.

    Tears slid down from the corners of Laura's eyes and rolled into her ears. They tickled. She wanted to scratch the itch, but couldn't. Not with her arms bound tight to Shannon's arms. "At least they didn't kill us," she said.

    Shannon went on crying.

    "They are gone," Laura said. She felt a little as if she were talking to herself. Raising her head off Shannon's head, she looked to the right and left and felt the teardrops sliding around inside her ears. "I can't see 'em anywhere. I can't see anyone. Looks like they left us here and went away." She eased her head down again and stared at the windblown branches high above her face. Leaves were flying sideways. "They probably aren't done with us. Might be. I sorta doubt it, though. I think they'll come back and... I don't know. The kid said he saw like a dozen of them. Some kind of cult. They'll probably wanta come back and sacrifice us or something fun like that."

    Shannon sniffed. "Thanks... for cheering me up."

    "You're welcome."

    "We 'd better... get our asses outa here."

    "The sooner the better," Laura said.

    Neither of them moved.

    After a while, Shannon said, "You can't get off me, can you?"

    "Not unless the ropes go away."

    Ropes passing under Laura's armpits bound her shoulders to Shannon's shoulders. Laura's left upper arm was tied to Shannon' right upper arm. Their elbows and wrists were also tied together, and ropes bound their other arms together in the same way. Another length of rope, wound twice around their waists, lashed them back to back, rump to rump. Lower, they were roped together at the thighs, knees and ankles.

    "I don't think they mean for us to leave," Laura said.

    "What-say we do it anyway."

    "How?"

    Underneath her, Shannon squirmed and flexed her muscles, stirred her arms and legs, rocked gently from side to side, apparently testing the limits of her motions, the tightness of the bonds. From the sounds she made, the efforts hurt her and tired her.

    When she finished, Laura felt the firmness go out of Shannon body. She seemed to go limp, but her chest expanded and contracted quickly as she panted for air, raising and lowering Laura.

    After a while, her breathing slowed down and she said, "Too tight. They've... got us good."

    "There has to be a way out," Laura said.

    "You tell me and we'll both know."

    "How do they get out of this stuff in those mysteries you're always reading?"

    "Sometimes," Shannon said, "they don't."

    "Sure they do."

    "This kind of shit... happens to minor characters. The ones who get found dead."

    "Oh, great."

    "And then the main guy, he gets all pissed off 'cause maybe he knew one of them... met her in a bar or something... and she was a swell kid."

    Laura let out a laugh, and felt Shannon laugh once underneath her.

    "At least we'll make lovely corpses," Shannon said.

    "Speak for yourself," Laura said. "They pounded me pretty good."

    "Yeah. Me, too."

    "Did they?"

    "Yeah."

    "I was so out of it," Laura muttered. "I hardly knew what was going on after a while."

    "Just as well."

    "We're probably neither of us so lovely right now."

    "If I can't be a lovely corpse," Shannon said, "I'm not gonna be one at all."

    "Attagirl."

    Shannon chuckled, then groaned. Then she said, "I read a book once, they left this guy tied to an armchair. He was the main guy. What he did, he hopped around and threw himself backwards down some stairs and smashed the chair to smithereens. No trouble getting loose after that. I read that chair-breaking thing in a couple of books, now that I think about it. Must be a good idea."

    "So... I'm the chair?"

    "It's a thought," Shannon said.

    "No stairs."

    "Must be a lot of marble and granite around here."

    "Terrific. I've got an idea - let's have a plan that doesn't involved smashing one of us to smithereens."

    "Okay. Good. Have you got a knife on you?"

    "Let me check my pockets."

    Laura expected at least a small, mocking laugh, but didn't get one.

    "I'll see if I can reach any knots," Shannon said. "Stay loose."

    Laura's arms, spread out wide, were drawn in toward her body on top of Shannon's moving arms. When her hands met the sides of her legs, she felt thick ropes underneath her fingers - the ropes binding her thighs to Shannon's, probably.

    Ropes, but no knots.

    She also felt Shannon's hands searching around down there. "Any knots?" she asked.

    "No. Not here. Where're all the damn knots?"

    "Mostly up here. On me." Laura had noticed several knots before, but now she turned her head from side to side and looked for them. "They're on the sides of my arms, up near the top." Raising her head, she looked down her moonlit body. Beyond her breasts and ribcage, her belly and hips were elevated high enough by her own and Shannon's buttocks to let her see the rope at her waist. "I've got a knot right about at my belly button. Can't see my legs." She tried to raise herself a little higher, but the shoulder ropes anchored her to Shannon.

    Shannon arched her back. Rising slightly, Laura glimpsed the ropes around her thighs. Then she lowered her head and Shannon stopped straining upward. "Saw the knots. They're on top. No place I can reach them. I don't think we can reach any of these knots."

    "I guess we'll have to try Plan B," Shannon said.

    "What's Plan B?"

    "I'll think of it pretty soon."

    Laura stared straight above her. Leaves were tumbling, falling, sailing sideways, sometimes rising in the strong wind. Through the tangle of high, black branches, she watched shredded rags of clouds blow across the moon.

    In different circumstances, she would've been delighted by the sights. So Halloween.

    Tonight, they felt like a lousy joke.

    I'll probably hate Halloween from now on, she thought.

    Yeah, right. What do you mean, from now on?

    Something skittered up between her breasts, tickling, pricking, racing toward her face. She gasped and flinched, jerking the ropes, making Shannon grunt with pain. Then the attacker climbed her chin and scooted over her lips, leaped off her nose.

    "You okay?" Shannon asked.

    "Just a leaf," Laura said.

    "Take it easy, okay?"

    "Yeah. Sorry. I didn't know what it was at first." Another leaf swooped down. After bumping her left nipple, it flipped over and climbed skyward. "How're you coming with Plan B?"

    "I've been thinking about escape artists."

    "Yeah? Too bad one of us isn't Houdini."

    "You know how some of them do it? Escape artists? They hide keys and saws and things on their bodies. Like in their orifices."

    "Orifices, huh?"

    "You wouldn't happen to have a knife up your ass?"

    "Not at the moment. Sorry."

    Shannon's laugh shook Laura.

    Laura said, "If I did have a knife up my ass... or any other orifice... we couldn't use it anyway, not tied like this."

    "That wouldn't have stopped Houdini," Shannon said.

    "Too bad he's not here."

    "I think he died on Halloween."

    "Oh, well, nice to know we'll be in good company."

    "I guess it's time for plan C," Shannon said.

    "Do you have a plan C?"

    "Not yet."

    "Well," said Laura, "maybe I do."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

    As Hunter hurried down the rest of the stairs, voices from those on the porch called out, "Trick or treat!" and Eleanor threw open the screen door.

    "Wait!" Hunter called.

    Eleanor rushed out. She tried to dodge past the larger of the two men - who seemed to be dressed as Sherlock Holmes. Laughing, he sidestepped and intercepted her. He threw his arms around her, pulled her against him and kissed her. She struggled for a moment, then wrapped her arms around him.

    Couldn't he tell this was a stranger under the sheet?

    Even though Eleanor seemed to be about the same size as Shannon, shouldn't her boyfriend know the difference?

    Hard to imagine they kiss the same.

    The way Eleanor and the man were writhing and moaning maybe the guy was too turned on to notice. Or to care.

    His friend smiled as he watched the two go at it. Then he noticed Hunter in the doorway, and nodded a greeting, He was smaller than Holmes. The way his head was wrapped with white bandages Hunter thought at first he might be a mummy. Then he noticed that the bandages over his left ear were bloody and he wore a paint-spattered shirt similar to what Laura'd been wearing.

    "Van Gogh?" Hunter asked.

    Smiling and nodding, Van Gogh entered the house. He held out his hand. "I'm Charles," he said.

    "I'm Hunter." As they shook hands, he explained, "Laura'll be down in a minute. She isn't quite ready yet."

    "No problem."

    Holmes led Eleanor through the doorway, towing her by the hand. His deerstalker cap was slightly askew. It hadn't been that way before. As the screen door banged shut, he said, "Hi, I'm Tony."

    "I'm Hunter."

    Hunter released Charles's hand and shook Tony's.

    "I'm a neighbor," Hunter explained.

    "Nice to meet you. Didn't know they had any..."

    "I'm from down the block."

    "Nice sword," Charles said. "Careful with it. I'd hate to lose my other ear."

    "I'll be careful."

    Charles glanced up the stairway as if hoping for Laura to appear.

    Releasing Hunter's hand, Tony turned to Eleanor. "What happened to your hardboiled dick costume?"

    Underneath the sheet, her shoulders moved up and down. "You don't like this?"

    She doesn't sound much like Shannon, Hunter thought. But apparently her voice was similar enough to fool Tony. He hadn't caught on during all that kissing and hugging on the porch, so why should he notice a difference in her voice?

    "I think it's great," he said.

    "Thanks."

    Grinning at Eleanor, Charles blurted, "He's always wanted to get you between the sheets."

    As Eleanor laughed, Tony swept off his deerstalker cap, let go of her hand, Lurched toward Charles and whipped him on the bloody side of the head.

    Eleanor whirled around and ran for the door.

    "No!" Hunter yelled.

    She shoved the screen door open and dashed outside.

    Hunter lunged forward to go after her, yelling, "Stop her! She isn't Shannon! She..."

    Tackled from behind, he slammed down hard on the porch floor His sword scooted away and fell down the stairs. He tried to gel up, but someone scurried onto him. Sat on his rump. Bent both arms up behind his back.

    Breath knocked out, he raised his head.

    Eleanor was gone.

    "It's all right!" Tony shouted. "Shannon? You can come back now! I've got him!"

    Hunter lowered his head.

    "Charlie, go and get her, okay?"

    "You got this guy?"

    "Yeah. Go get Shannon."

    "Not till I've checked on Laura. Jesus. If he did anything to..."

    Hunter heard quick pounding sounds of Charles running across

    the foyer and up the stairs. In a scared voice, Charles called out, "Laura? Laura!"

    "She better be all right," Tony said. His voice, hardly more than a whisper, sounded savage.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

    "That's your plan?" Shannon asked.

    "Have you got a better idea?"

    "I'll squash you."

    "You're not that much bigger than me."

    "I'm a lot heavier."

    "I'll be okay. Anyway, whatever happens, it'll be better than staying here. They are gonna come back. We'd better be gone when they do."

    "All right."

    Laura and Shannon brought their arms in against their sides and slid their legs together.

    "So which way should we go?" Shannon asked.

    "To my right. That'll be your left."

    "I know."

    "The creek's over that way."

    "Great idea," Shannon said. "If we get that far, we can drown."

    "If we get that far, maybe they won't be able to find us, But don't know if we can make it." She turned her head and peered through the moonlight, "I think we can clear the end of the bench all right." Beyond the marble bench, she saw shadows, shifting patches of moonlight, scattered bushes and trees and the pale shapes of several tombstones. "If we can't make it to the creek, at least we can get away from where they left us."

    "I guess anything's better than nothing," Shannon said.

    "Attagirl," said Laura.

    "Attagirl my ass."

    "Ready?"

    "I'm ready if you are. You're the one about to be squished."

    "Think light," Laura told her.

    "Here we go."

    The way they were lashed together, Laura had worried it might be difficult to roll over. But Shannon didn't have any trouble at all. She rolled to her left, tilting Laura sideways. Laura's right arm met the ground. A moment later, Shannon mashed her down, squeezing her breath out, pushing her bare skin into crunchy leaves, soft grass, scratchy twigs and rocks, dry things and moist things. It only lasted a second, though, before her right arm, right hip, right breast lifted off the ground. For a moment, her left breast, left ribs, left thigh and hip took all the weight. Then her left arm was pinned to the ground. Then the rolling swept her upward. She was once again on her back, facing the sky. Here and there, things were clinging to her. Leaves, she supposed.

    Nothing worse than leaves, she hoped.

    The rolling, not stopping, tipped her sideways and swung her down, driving her right arm against the ground, mashing her flat, rolling her up to the left and again to the top where she took a deep breath and glimpsed the moon behind the blowing limbs before rolling onto her side and down again.

    It's working, she thought.

    It's demolishing me, but its working.

    When she was on the bottom, the crushing wasn't the worst par!. The worst part was not knowing what might be in the grass with her.

    Worms, snails, spiders? Was she mashing them, bringing up their smeared bodies along with the leaves on her skin?

    Then she remembered coming here on a warm evening last summer to work on a painting she'd called, "Twilight in the Garden of the Dead," and how she'd watched a stray dog digging furiously with its forepaws, snuffling at the ground, digging some more, then shoving its muzzle into the shallow hole, coming up with a bone in its mouth and trotting off, head high, tail wagging.

    Am I rolling over old bones?

CHAPTER TWENTY

    Hunter heard quick, heavy footfalls on the stairs. "She's gone," Charles called.

    "Let's get this guy inside," Tony said and climbed off.

    A moment later, both Hunter's arms were grabbed and he was hoisted to his feet and hauled backward off the porch, through the doorway and into the house. In the foyer, they let go and he fell. His rump pounded the floor. His back hit the edges of the two bottom stairs and his head bumped the third.

    "Go out and get his sword," Tony said.

    Charles hurried outside.

    Tony pointed a finger at Hunter's face. "Don't move a muscle or you're dead."

    "I didn't... do anything."

    Charles returned with the sword. As the screen door banged shut, he closed the main door.

    Tony glanced back at him. "What did you find upstairs?"

    "No sign of Laura. There's broken stuff in her art room." Rage suddenly twisting his face, Charles raised the sword and lurched toward Hunter. "What did you do with her, you fucking bastard!"

    Hunter cringed and flung his arms up t o protect his head. "I didn't touch her! I didn't touch either of them."

    "The flick you didn't!"

    "Please!" Hunter shouted. "I'm on your side! Somebody else took Laura!" He looked at Tony and cried out, "Shannon, too. That wasn't Shannon in the sheet! I tried to tell you!" He jerked his eyes toward Charles. "Put that down! I didn't do anything! They've got my girlfriend, too!"

    Tony lifted a hand, signaling Charles to hold off with the sword. "They've got who?"

    "My girlfriend. Connie Harris."

    Something changed in Charles's eyes. "You know Connie Harris?"

    "We... we sorta go together."

    Tony glanced at Charles. "You know her?"

    Charles asked Hunter, "Margaret's sister?"

    Hunter nodded. "We were over at the graveyard and... this bunch of weirdos showed up and chased us. That's how I ended up here. Laura let me in."

    Charles slowly lowered the sword.

    "They were both trying to help me," Hunter said. "Laura and Shannon. I told 'em everything, and they were gonna call the cops but then we got jumped by these... the three that chased me in the graveyard. I got away and ran upstairs, but one came after me. Eleanor. That was her in the sheet." He stared into Tony's eyes. "Eleanor. The one you were kissing and everything, she was Eleanor, not Shannon."

    Tony looked confused. "So where's Shannon?"

    "And Laura?" asked Charles.

    "The other two took them somewhere. I think to the graveyard. They're supposed to be sacrificed. Some sorta cult thing. A ritual, Connie, too, if she didn't get away."

    Tony scowled down at him. "You've gotta be shitting us."

    "A sacrifice?" Charles asked.

    "A midnight sacrifice," Hunter said. "Eleanor told me about it, I had her as my prisoner before you guys showed up. I was gonna take her over to the graveyard and try to make a trade... her for Connie and Laura and Shannon. But now she's gone. Thanks to you," Hunter added, looking at Tony. "Should've listened to me in the first place and we could've caught her."

    Tony glanced at Charles. "Do you buy all this stuff?"

    "I don't know."

    Hunter muttered, "Sherlock Holmes, my butt."

    "Shut up," Tony said.

    "You kissed her. Haven't you ever kissed Shannon before? Couldn't you tell the difference?"

    He hesitated. "I guess it might've been a little different, but..."

    "And didn't you notice she didn't have any clothes on under the sheet?"

    "Yeah, I noticed."

    "What, did you think Shannon was gonna go out with you in nothing but a sheet? To a party or whatever it was supposed to be?"

    He shrugged. "Maybe. I did think it was kind of funny she had the sheet on. I mean, we'd talked it over. I was supposed to be Holmes and she was supposed to be a hard-boiled private eye. I asked her about it, remember?"

    "I remember," Charles said.

    "What I really thought, I guess, was she'd put the sheet on to be funny. You know, like it wasn't really supposed to be her costume."

    "You didn't happen to notice she didn't have Shannon's voice?"

    Again, Tony shrugged.

    "Forget Holmes," Hunter muttered. "You should've dressed like Clousseau."

    Charles said, "I thought she sounded odd."

    "And you with just one ear," said Hunter.

    "Knock it off," Tony snapped.

    Looking at him, Charles said, "I think he's telling the truth about the gal not being Shannon."

    "It's the truth, all right." Still sprawled backward against the stairs, Hunter touched the wound on his chest. "This is where Eleanor stuck me with her sword." He patted the knife sheathed at his hip. "This is her knife." From the look on Tony's face, he hadn't even noticed Hunter had a knife. "The other two with her, they were a guy named Bryce and a woman named Simone. Bryce had a big old knife and Simone had a hatchet. They're the ones who took Laura and Shannon. Go look in the living room. You can see where they had the fight."

    While Tony remained standing over Hunter, Charles walked into the living room. "Yeah," he said. "Things are pretty messed up in here."

    "I was upstairs when the fight happened," Hunter said. "But I know how it turned out. They tied up Laura and Shannon with some rope they brought along. Eleanor stayed behind to take care of me. She told 'em to go on ahead without her."

    "So they took Shannon and Laura away and left you two here," Tony said.

    "That's right."

    "So how do we know you're not in on it?"

    Before Hunter could think of an answer, Charles came out of the living room carrying Shannon's fedora. "Found this," he told Tony.

    Tony looked at the hat and seemed to go slack.

    "She was in her private eye costume," Hunter said. "The ghost thing was just Eleanor. Shannon was dressed like she'd said she'd be... the hat..."

    Staring at the hat with blank eyes, Tony asked in a dull voice, "Was there blood?"

    "I didn't see any," Charles said.

    "I think they want people alive for their ceremony," Hunter explained. "So I don't think they did anything... you know, like fatal... to Shannon or Laura. Or Connie," he added, and was a little surprised when, in the middle of saying her name, his voice broke and tears came to his eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

    "You haven't gotten us lost, have you?" Jeff asked.

    Mandy looked over her shoulder at him. "Very funny. I know precisely where we are." Facing forward, she pointed ahead. "When we reach the corner there, you'll be able to see..." Her voice went dead.

    Bret yelped.

    Jeff himself flinched when he noticed the ghost running past the corner.

    Phyllis said, "Get real, guys. It's someone in a sheet."

    Someone in just a sheet, Jeff realized.

    The back of it fluttered and flapped behind her as she raced into the well-lighted intersection, and Jeff could see her beneath it: her bare legs, her naked buttocks, her low back.

    "I can see her can," Bret announced.

    And Phyllis called out, "Hey, lady, you forgot something!"

    At which the sheet-clad woman stopped running and turned in their direction.

    Rhonda, standing close beside Jeff, muttered, "Oh, great."

    Phyllis chuckled.

    The woman began walking toward them. The windblown sheet, still Clapping behind her, dinged to the front of her body.

    Jeff stepped past Mandy and Bret so that he would be the one to confront the woman... and protect the kids from her, if necessary.

    "Stay here," he said and hurried forward.

    Something isn't right about this, he thought. Even on Halloween, people don't normally run around naked under sheets. She's either a nutjob or...

    "I need help!" she gasped.

    "What's wrong?"

    Stopping a few paces in front of him, she swung a bare arm out from under the sheet. Turning slightly, she gestured toward the corner. "I got jumped back there. Three guys... they attacked me. My friend, too. I got away, but... they've still got her. They took her. They were dragging her away. They're gonna... I don't know. Look what they did to me." She swept the front of her sheet aside.

    Jeff glimpsed her bare breasts, belly, pubic mound, thighs. "No no no," he blurted. "Don't do that. Kids."

    Still holding the sheet aside, she said, "Tore off my clothes. See where I got stabbed?" She pointed to a small, raw gash just above her navel.

    "I see. Yeah. Cover up. Come on. Please. There're kids."

    She let go of the sheet. The wind pasted it to her body, wouldn't let it fall, kept her bare all the way from her right shoulder down to her left hip as if it wanted everyone, kids included, to have a good long look at her.

    Plucking the sheet down, she said, "They're gonna rape her and then... maybe kill her, I don't know. If we don't get to her fast..."

    "Where are they?" Jeff asked.

    "Around the corner." She pointed again. "Down the block... They got us by the dead-end. They were gonna take us into the graveyard."

    "Cool," said Phyllis.

    Jeff swung around. Phyllis was standing just behind him. "I told you to stay put."

    "I don't have to take orders from you. You're not my father."

    He turned to the woman. "Look, I've got these kids with me. We're trying to find some trick or treaters who disappeared."

    "But they've got Julie and they're gonna..." She whirled around, the rear of her sheet blowing sideways before shifting position and finally moulding itself to her back and buttocks as she ran. "Follow me!" she called over her shoulder.

    "We can't!" Jeff shouted.

    Phyllis gave chase, Halloween bag swinging by her side.

    "Phyllis, get back here!"

    "Come on, everyone!" Phyllis yelled.

    Jeff turned around to face the rest of the kids as they rushed toward him.

    "What's going on?" Mandy asked.

    "She says some guys attacked her. They've still got her friend She wanted me to..."

    'To the rescue!" Bret shouted.

    As he bolted by, Jeff reached out, grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. "Not so fast, buddy."

    "We should help her," Mandy said.

    "I can't let anything happen to you kids."

    "I'll go and try to help," Rhonda said. When she ran by, Jeff almost reached out for her.

    No touching!

    Rhonda raced in pursuit of Phyllis. The woman in the sheet was almost to the corner.

    "Dad," Mandy said, "we have to help. I mean, Phyllis is going-"

    "The shit."

    "Yeah," Mandy said, "but she's our responsibility, isn't she?

    Jeff whirled around. "Phyllis! Get hack here, damn it! Right now!"

    "Sony, Mister W!" she called out, and didn't sound sorry at all.

    "Oh," Jeff said. "This sucks so bad."

    "Dad," Mandy said. "Come on."

    Bret looked up at him. "Come on, Dad! We gotta go to the rescue!"

    At the corner, the woman ran to the left and vanished behind a parked mini-van. Phyllis, close behind her, vanished a few seconds later. Rhonda, almost to the corner, glanced over her shoulder.

    "Wait up!" Jeff shouted. "We're on our way!" He took off running, staying ahead of his kids but holding back, unwilling to pour on the speed.

    Damn that Phyllis, he thought. It's all her fault. Never should've let her come along.

    Had to. She's Mandy's best friend.

    And her mom's Patsy's friend.

    No choice in the matter.

    Oughta just let her go.

    But she is my responsibility, Mandy's right about that. I knew it without being told, but Mandy likes to remind people.

    God I hate Phyllis!

    But she's making me do what I wanted to do... wanted to help... just can't let the kids get hurt. Gotta keep them out of it.

    Doing a wonderful job of it so far, Jeffery!

    Rhonda, waiting just short of the corner, began to run again as Jeff neared her. A few strides behind her, he raced around the corner. Phyllis and the sheet woman were well in the lead, now running side by side.

    "Rhonda," Jeff gasped.

    "Yeah?"

    "Stay with us." He glanced back. Mandy was running along just behind him and to his left, her treat bag swinging by her side, her poodle skirt flapping around her legs, her saddle shoes smacking the pavement. Bret was a little farther back. He now clutched his slingshot in one hand, his bag of Halloween candy in the other.

    Both bags gave off dry papery sounds as the collected treats bounced and shook inside them.

    "Whatever happens," Jeff said, "do exactly what I tell you. Understand?"

    "You bet!" Bret called out, cheer in his voice.

    "Whatever you say," said Mandy, sounding slightly peeved by the command.

    "No ifs, ands, or buts. And no hesitation."

    "Right, Dad."

    He turned his head forward again. "Rhonda, same goes for you. I know you're not my kid, but I don't want you getting hurt."

    "I'll do whatever you say, Jeff."

    "Good deal."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

    "Gotta stop," Shannon gasped.

    Laura grunted.

    Can't stop with her on the bottom, Shannon thought. Squash her good.

    But she didn't want to be on the bottom, either, so she ended her roll halfway up, lying on her side. "Okay?"

    "Okay."

    She huffed for air. Her heart pounded fast and hard. Sweat streamed down her body. Laura felt so slippery against her back and buttocks, it was as if someone had poured warm oil between them. She never would've guessed that rolling across the ground could be so tiring.

    Well, she thought, I'm doing most of the work for both of us.

    And I'm not exactly in the best condition.

    Didn't help, getting trounced. Didn't help, getting...

    Don 't think about it.

    But she couldn't help thinking about it. In the midst of panting for air, she let a whimper slip out.

    "Shan?"

    "Huh?"

    "You okay?"

    "Yeah. No."

    "Me either."

    "Nobody's ever... done that to me."

    "You mean... what he did?"

    "Yeah. Or her."

    "Me either. Not what she did. These three guys got me once. Kids. They were like sixteen."

    "What about you?"

    "Fourteen."

    "God."

    "It wasn't like this," Laura said. "It wasn't this bad. It was bad, but they didn't... they didn't hurt me... not much, anyhow. They just... screwed me, you know? No funny stuff."

    "Funny ha-ha?" Shannon muttered.

    "These two were... like deranged."

    "You don't approve of... their alternative lifestyle?"

    "Not much," Laura said.

    "Sick fucks."

    "I wonder why they went away."

    "I don't know," Shannon said. "Glad they did, though."

    "I hope they did."

    "Huh?"

    "Maybe they haven't... really left. Maybe they're watching us. You know, hanging around... somewhere out of sight... enjoying the show."

    "Wonderful," Shannon muttered.

    "Not that it matters."

    "Not that it matters?"

    "We've gotta do... what we're doing. Whether they're watching or not. So it's... like irrelevant."

    "Won't feel irrelevant if they come over and stomp our asses."

    "How we doing?"

    Stretched out on her right side, Shannon was facing the direction from which they'd come. Though they'd been forced to alter their course a few times to avoid obstacles such as trees, bushes and grave markers, she still had a clear line of sight to the marble bench near their starting point. The bench was pale under a splash of moonlight. Beyond it, the Kneeling Girl statue was a dim gray shape in the dark.

    "We aren't where we were," she said.

    "How far?"

    "Forty, fifty feet?"

    "Not bad."

    "How far to go?"

    "Hard to tell," Laura said. "Real dark this way. I'd say... another thirty feet?"

    Shannon moaned. That far?

    "To the creek?" she asked.

    "To the edge of the slope."

    "After that, all downhill."

    "Only trouble is, we've got... a big old headstone in the way. Maybe six feet from here. We'll have to..."

    Off in the distance, shapes moved among the shadows far to the right of the bench. Shannon's stomach went cold and tight.

    "Shhhh!"

    "What?" Laura whispered.

    "Someone's coming."

    "Oh, God."

    They both went silent.

    The shapes came out of the shadows, walked into moonlight, and Shannon saw they were people. Four of them wore dark, flowing garments. The robes Hunter had talked about? If so, these were probably members of the group. He'd said there were a dozen or more of them.

    Those who'd attacked Shannon and Laura didn't seem to be among them.

    Might be. Maybe they put robes on after they left us.

    She doubted it, though.

    This must be four of their pals.

    One walked at each end, and one on each side, of a line of smaller people.

    The smaller people walked single-file with their heads down. They didn't wear robes. They seemed to be in different kinds of costumes. A clown? One seemed to be sporting a cowboy hat. Another wore a cape that fluttered in the wind. One looked white from head to toe and seemed to be some sort of monster.

    In all, Shannon counted seven smaller people.

    Are they kids? she wondered. They must be. Some were larger than others, but all were smaller than their robed escorts. And all of them appeared to be wearing costumes.

    She whispered, "Oh, man."

    "What?" Laura asked, her voice so quiet Shannon could barely hear it through the sounds the wind made.

    "They've got kids."

    "Huh?"

    "Looks like... this cult or whatever... they've snatched a bunch of trick or treaters."

    "Oh, my God."

    "Must be seven kids over there. They're all in a line, maybe tied together."

    The group came to a stop in the area between the marble bench and the Kneeling Girl.

    Shannon heard a rough male voice. Though she couldn't make out the words and her view was partially blocked, she saw kids get down on their knees.

    It made her think of grainy, black and white film... documentaries in which a man walks up behind each kneeling person and puts a Luger to the back of the head and fires and the person tumbles forward into a pit.

    They wouldn't...

    "What're they doing?" Laura whispered.

    "I'm not sure."

    One of the kids... the white monster... suddenly leaped up and made a break for it.

    "Get him!"

    "Stop him!"

    Two of the robed figures gave chase.

    "Go, kid!" Shannon whispered.

    "What?"

    "Kid's making a getaway. Two assholes chasing him and... Oh, shit."

    "What?"

    "Kid's running straight toward us."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

    Don't do this to us, kid! Shannon shouted in her mind. Turn! Dodge 'em! Run somewhere else!

    He didn't. He sprinted over much the same route Shannon and Laura had used, leading the two robed adults closer and closer to them.

    One of the pursuers was gaining on him fast. A man. Very large and strong-looking. His hood had fallen away and his robe was open, his bare legs reaching out with long strides.

    Kid doesn't stand a chance.

    If this guy nails him quick enough, Shannon thought, may be we won't get seen.

    They're so close already.

    The lead pursuer leaped and tackled him. The kid grunted as he slammed against the ground.

    Fifteen feet away?

    If we lie very still and don't make a sound...

    Now that the kid was down, the second pursuer stopped running. This one was tall and thin. The hood had fallen away. By what Shannon could see of the face, she appeared to be a woman. Her high, narrow head seemed entirely hairless

    Is she looking at us?

    Shannon doubted it. Though the woman's eyes were shadowed pits, she held her head at an angle that suggested she was watching the struggle between her accomplice and the kid.

    The kid wouldn't give up. Facedown under the man who'd tackled him, he thrashed and squirmed and kicked.

    Then the man bent an arm up behind his back.

    The kid gasped, "Yeeeah!" and stopped moving.

    "Cocksucker," the man said. "I oughta rip yer arm off."

    He shoved it higher. The kid squealed.

    The woman stopped beside them. Looking down, she said, "We told you what would happen if you tried to run away. We warned you, didn't we." It didn't sound much like a question. "So what did you do? You tried to run away. Royce, get him on his feet."

    Royce climbed off the kid and hauled him off the ground.

    "What's your name?" the woman asked.

    "Betsy."

    "Betsy?" The woman chuckled. "Had me fooled."

    With Royce holding the girl from behind, the woman reached out with both hands and pulled off Besty's mask. The mask, completely covering the girl's head, came off with a rubbery, peeling sound. Her short, dark hair was matted down.

    "What're you supposed to be?" the woman asked.

    "A monster."

    She laughed. "We're the monsters around here, honey."

    That got a chuckle from the man.

    Then the woman swung the leather mask, slapping Betsy across the face with it. The girl flinched and gasped.

    All three - Royce, Betsy and the woman - were standing with their sides toward Shannon and Laura. The girl seemed to have the full attention of the two adults.

    With a little luck, Shannon thought, they'll never look over here and see us.

    But she flinched, herself, when the woman again whapped Betsy across the face with the mask. This time, Betsy began to sob.

    "What'd I say would happen if you tried to run away?"

    "Said... you'd kill us."

    "Didn't you believe me?"

    "Yes."

    "Did you think I was joking?"

    "No."

    "Did you want to get killed?"

    This time, her voice climbed high as she said, "No."

    "Then why did you run?"

    Betsy sniffed a couple of times. "I... I didn't think you'd catch me."

    "You didn't think. That was your problem."

    The girl didn't answer. She stood there, held by Royce, her head tilted back, apparently staring into the woman's eyes.

    "Now," the woman said, "I'm afraid I'll have to kill you, just to teach you a lesson, but also as an example to the others. When they see what I do to you, well... I don't think any of them will try to run away."

    "Don't. Please?"

    The woman turned her head away. "See? They're all watching."

    Royce and Betsy looked, too.

    The woman called out, "Watch this, children!" Facing Betsy, she reached inside her robe and pulled out a dagger.

    "You better not," Betsy said, her voice quivering. " 'Cause of you'll go to Hell if you do."

    Royce chuckled softly.

    "Isn't that cute?" the woman said.

    "Leave her alone," Shannon said.

    The three heads jerked sideways. Though their eyes were hidden in shadow, Shannon fell them searching the ground for her, finding her, locking on to her and Laura.

    "Sorry, Laura," she whispered.

    "It's okay. I wanted to. I was just too scared."

    "Who's there?" the woman asked.

    "Mulder and Scully. You're under arrest."

    "A comedian," Royce said.

    "Hang on to the kid," the woman said. Walking slowly toward them, she reached into a pocket of her robe and took something out.

    A flashlight.

    Its beam leaped through the darkness, lit the grass in front of Shannon, then swept over her. She squinted when the glare hit her eyes.

    "I don't think these two'll be giving us much trouble," the woman called.

    The brightness slid away from Shannon's eyes and she was able to see the woman walking toward her.

    "Well, well, well," the woman said. "All trussed up and nowhere to go."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

    Hunter and Charles waited at the foot of the stairs for Tony to come down.

    Hunter was sitting upright on the third stair from the bottom, close to the banister where he'd scooted to let Tony climb by. Charles stood on the foyer floor, facing the stairway, the sword resting against his shoulder.

    "What's taking him so long?" Hunter asked.

    "I don't know." Charles didn't seem worried.

    "He said he'd be down in a minute."

    "Guess it's taking him a little longer."

    "A lot longer. What'd he go up for?"

    "None of your business."

    "Do you know?" Hunter asked. He'd watched Tony whispering close to Charles's bandaged ear just before hurrying upstairs, so he figured that Charles must know something.

    "I'm not supposed to tell."

    "What, did he have to take a dump or something?"

    Charles swung up a foot and kicked Hunter in the shin. Not hard. More of a warning than a punishment.

    It hurt, though. Hunter said, "Hey."

    "Don't be a wiseass."

    "Aren't you worried about him?"

    "Why should I be?"

    Hunter hesitated. Though Charles and Tony had seemed to believe him about the girls being abducted - and had talked about attempting a rescue - they still didn't trust him very much.

    "I just hope he's all right," Hunter said.

    "Why wouldn't he be?" Charles had a sharpness in his voice. "Is someone up there?"

    "No. Not really."

    "Not really?"

    "I mean no," Hunter said. "Nobody's up there. You went upstairs. You didn't see anyone, did you?"

    "Plenty of places to hide. If you've got a... an accomplice or something upstairs..."

    "I don't."

    Charles tipped back his head and frowned up the stairway. "Tony!" he shouted.

    No answer came.

    "TONY?" he shouted again.

    When silence answered this shout, too, Charles lowered his eyes to Hunter and raised the sword off his shoulder. "What's going on?"

    "I don't know."

    He saw the look in Charles's eyes.

    "I don't!" he insisted. "But some weird stuff happened up there with Eleanor. She got... she almost got hanged, but nobody was there."

    "What're you...?"

    "It was like someone invisible put a cord around her neck and he was dragging her across the floor with it."

    "But no one was there?"

    "T know it sounds..."

    "Old man Witherspoon?"

    "I don't... no, it wasn't anybody. Nobody was there."

    "He's supposed to be a ghost," Charles explained.

    "Huh?"

    "I don't know. Shit. Laura and Shannon, they say they've got these ghosts. But... TONY!" he shouted.

    Again, no answer.

    Gazing up the stairway, Charles muttered, "Shit."

    "Can ghosts hang people?" Hunter asked.

    "How do I know? No. They've never done anything to Laura or Shannon... scared 'em a few times... if they even. thought maybe the gals were pulling our legs... TONY!"

    Gripping the banister, Hunter rose to his feet. "We'd better go up and look."

    Charles glared at him. "Is this some kinda trick?"

    "I wish."

    "I don't know if we oughta go up there. TONY! DAMN WHAT'S GOING ON? ARE YOU OKAY? ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!"

    Tony didn't answer.

    "I'll go up," Hunter said.

    "You're supposed to stay here."

    "Give me the sword."

    "No." Raising it high, Charles backed away from the stairs, "You've got your knife. I'll keep the sword."

    "You coming?"

    "Yeah. Okay. But you go first."

    Pulling Eleanor's knife from its sheath, Hunter raced up the stairs. He stopped at the top. Stopped and looked around.

    Charles, halfway down, asked, "What're you doing?"

    The hallway was dark. So was every doorway. The lights in every room seemed to be off.

    "Where was he going?" Hunter asked.

    "Shannon's bedroom."

    "It's dark," he said. "They're all dark. There were lights on when I was up here before."

    "When I came up, too," said Charles. "I think almost every room was lighted."

    "You didn't turn any off?"

    "No."

    Remaining at the top of the stairs, Hunter called out, "TONY?"

    He stood motionless and listened. He heard only the sounds of the old house creaking, the sounds of the wind sighing and howling outside.

    And the pounding of his heart.

    No reason to be scared, he told himself. Whatever it is, I've dealt with it before. I saved Eleanor and it didn't hurt me. It let both of us go.

    From halfway down the stairs, Charles said in little more than a whisper, "Shannon's room's the second doorway from..."

    "I know where it is."

    He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, then stepped around the banister and walked down the dark hall to Shannon's room.

    Standing in the doorway, he gazed in. Shapes of black. Shapes of gray. No light at all except for a dim, dusty paleness coming in from the windows.

    "Tony?" he asked. Quietly.

    No answer.

    Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Charles motionless at the top of the stairs.

    "Go on in," Charles whispered.

    Hunter moved the knife to his left hand, wiped his sweaty right hand on a leg of his jeans, then leaned into the room and felt along the wall until he found the light switch.

    He flipped the switch.

    Tony lay sprawled on his back in front of the dresser, his deerstalker hat on the floor nearby. His face looked gray. His eyes bulged and his tongue stuck out.

    Around his neck, a thin black noose.

    Hunter knelt beside him for a closer look.

    The noose was a wire clothes hanger. Someone must've spread it open, dropped it over his head, then viciously twisted it tight from behind.

    "Oh, my God."

    Hunter looked around. Charles stood in the doorway, a hand to his mouth.

    "He's dead," Hunter said.

    Suddenly gagging, Charles lurched out of sight. Moments later, Hunter heard choking sounds, gushes and splashes.

    He rose to his feet and looked around. Just in front of Shannon's closet, a pink robe lay on the floor. It looked like the same one she'd been wearing when Hunter first saw her.

    The robe she'd taken off and hung in her closet before roaming

    around naked.

    The closet that had frightened Eleanor so badly.

    Hunter glanced down at Tony.

    The guy must've been standing at the dresser when his killer crept up behind him with the hanger. In spite of the mirror, he hadn't seen anyone coming.

    Of course not, Hunter thought. Nothing to see.

    The top drawer of Shannon's dresser still stood open.

    Hunter stepped over Tony's feet and looked in.

    A tumble of colorful bras and panties... and a pistol.

    That's what he came up here for! Tony had planned to help rescue the gals, all right, and he'd come up here to get Shannon's pistol.

    This'll save the day.

    Though it was partly hidden under a pair of glossy blue panties, it appeared to be a semi-automatic. Maybe a.380 or a 9 mm.

    "I'm calling the police!" Charles yelled from somewhere in the distance.

    "Don't!"

    Hunter reached in, brushed aside the panties, and saw the shiny chunk of metal around the pistol's trigger guard.

    What's that?

    He picked up the pistol and looked more closely.

    The strange attachment had three small wheels with numbers on them.

    What is it, a combination lock?

    "Oh, Jesus," he muttered.

    Then he heard an outcry of alarm followed by heavy thuds and tumbling sounds.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

    "Dad?"

    Jeff glanced back at Mandy, then slowed down. She caught and ran alongside him.

    "This is weird," she said.

    "You're telling me."

    "No. I mean we're going... where we were going."

    "Huh?"

    "You know, to look for the kids. Rhonda's brother... the others."

    Rhonda had obviously realized it, too. A few strides ahead of Jeff, she turned her head to the right. Then she veered in that direction, stopped running and gazed toward the corner.

    Must be where she lost them, Jeff thought.

    Nobody was there now. In fact, except for Phyllis and the sheet woman far ahead, nobody else was anywhere in sight.

    Where are all the trick or treaters? Jeff wondered.

    Gone.

    Almost as if the neighborhood's been evacuated. Nobody left but us.

    It's just getting late, that's all.

    Jeff stopped beside Rhonda. Mandy stopped, too.

    Rhonda cupped her hands to the sides of her mouth and shouted, "GARY! DOUG? ROSIE?"

    Bret came up from behind and stood with them. "They're getting away!" he gasped, pointing down the street with his slingshot.

    Just as Jeff looked, the sheet woman cut to the left in front of the dead-end barricade, Phyllis close behind her. "Wait!" he called out.

    They both glanced his way but kept running.

    He muttered, "Shit."

    Bret said, "Quick or we'll lose 'em!"

    "Everybody just hold your horses." Jeff bent over and put his hands on his knees and panted for air. Sweat streamed down his face, dripped off his nose and chin.

    "Dad!" Bret warned.

    He straightened up and wiped his face. The sheet woman and Phyllis were gone.

    "Hang on. Hang on. I've gotta think. They were supposed to wait, damn it."

    "Like Phyllis is gonna listen," Mandy said.

    "Rhonda?"

    She turned to Jeff, eyebrows lifting.

    "Look," he gasped, "why don't you... stick around here and... look for your brother? I'll go ahead and see... what I can do about that." He flapped a hand in the general direction of the dead-end.

    "They're getting away!" Bret blurted.

    "Take it easy," Mandy told him.

    "But..."

    "You two." Jeff glanced from Bret to Mandy, saying, "Stay here. Stay with Rhonda. Help her look for..."

    "Gary, Doug and Rosie," Bret rattled off.

    "Yeah." Including Rhonda in his glances, he said, "I'll go after Phyllis and that woman and... do what I can. But I want you three to stay out of it. Don't come after us. Stay on the street here. Stay where it's well lighted and keep your eyes open. I'll come right back here... as soon as I can." To Rhonda, he said, "Keep an eye on them?"

    "I sure will."

    "And if anything... I don't know... strange starts to happen... like anyone fishy comes along... get the hell away. Stay away from everyone, okay?"

    A grim look on her face, she nodded.

    To his kids, "Stay with Rhonda and... do exactly what she says. She's in charge till I get back."

    Bret looked pouty.

    "You be careful, too," Mandy said, looking worried.

    "I will." He took off running. As he raced toward the end of the street, he glanced back. Rhonda and his kids were standing in the street, watching him. Bret waved good-bye with his slingshot. Jeff returned the wave. As he faced front and picked up speed, a sick feeling swept through him.

    What if something happens to them?

    They'll be fine. I'll be right back.

    Yeah, sure, he thought. What the hell am I doing? Going up against three guys? To help this Julie, whoever she is? I don't even know her.

    But he would want someone to do this if Mandy ever got into such trouble. Or Sue. Or Bret, for that matter.

    At least they're out of it.

    I hope.

    Running past the end of a driveway, he realized this must be where Rhonda had stopped to tie her shoe. The driveway of the Witherspoon house. Where Bret's pals lived.

    They hadn't come to the door.

    But the kids had heard sounds from inside

    And Rhonda'd said the woman had told her something about a boy being chased.

    A lot of weird shit going on around here, Jeff thought.

    Nearing the barricade, he veered to the left and slowed down. He glanced back. The kids were close together in the well-lighted intersection, walking slowly and looking around.

    They'll be fine, he told himself.

    He stopped at the end of the barricade. Ahead of him, a footpath sloped upward into an area of bushes and dense woods. A few yards up the path, the glow of the nearest streetlight vanished into darkness.

    This must be the way they went, he thought.

    Damn it, why didn't they wait?

    Stepping over the curb, he wondered if he would even be able to find Phyllis and the sheet woman.

    Might be lucky if I can't.

    I've got to find Phyllis, he thought. She's my responsibility. I have to get her home safe even if she is an obnoxious snot.

    If she'd listened to me...

    Bending over slightly to avoid overhanging branches, he started up the path.

    He fought against an urge to call out.

    Surprise'll be our only advantage.

    Won't be much surprise, he thought, with all this noise I'm making.

    The path was ankle deep with fallen leaves. They crackled and crunched with every step he took.

    A short distance up the path, he halted and listened. The wind sighed and moaned all around him. He was surrounded by the dry hissing sounds of leaves being shaken and rubbed against each other by the wild wind. But he heard no crunching noise of footfalls.

    He resumed walking, but slowly. Though he set his feet down gently on the carpet of leaves and twigs, the effort seemed wasted. He might've been trying to sneak through a field of cornflakes.

    Maybe it doesn't matter, all this other noise.

    If I don't hurry, he thought, I'll never catch-up to Phyllis and that woman.

    Did they even go in this direction?

    He couldn't be sure.

    But the woman had said the men grabbed her and Julie at the dead-end and intended to take them to the graveyard. Jeff knew the graveyard was somewhere in this general direction and not terribly far away. This path probably led to it.

    And these thick woods won't last forever, he told himself. The trees'll thin out by the time I get to the graveyard.

    He'd wandered through the cemetery a couple of times - though not recently - and remembered it was shady with numerous trees but had plenty of open ground... plenty of graves, tombstones, burial vaults, statues. Not at all like this.

    Pausing to rest and listen, he looked all around. In every direction he saw the dim shapes of bushes and tree trunks lit by flecks and dabs of moonlight. He also saw great slabs of blackness.

    A bit of the moon showed through the high, blowing, branches. If the Headless Horseman puts in an appearance, he thought, I'm gonna shit.

    For a few moments, Jeff consoled himself by considering that the Headless Horseman couldn't possibly come galloping down this particular path; the low branches would rip him off his saddle.

    That's one thing I don't need to worry about.

    He resumed walking, this time trying to move faster than before, both hands out in front of his face to guard against low branches,

    Staying on the path wasn't very difficult. Though his eyes gave him no more than vague hints of where it must be, he encountered hushes or a tree trunk or rises in the ground each time he strayed to one of the path's borders.

    I oughta just give it up and turn hack, he thought. Get back to my kids. If anything happens to Mandy or Bret while I'm in here looking for Phyllis and these strangers...

    My God, I can't go home without Phyllis.

    She can't be that far ahead. Just tough it out.

    When Jeff finally noticed a dim gray shape ahead of him, he thought it was moonlight. Perhaps he was approaching a break in the woods, maybe an edge of the graveyard.

    All right!

    As he trudged nearer to it, however, the paleness seemed to possess the general size and form of a person standing motionless on the path in front of him - someone draped in a sheet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

    Jeff's heart lurched with a heavy, sick thud.

    Calm down, he thought. It's just the woman. She stopped to wait for me, after all.

    Though the sheet fluttered in the wind, the person underneath it didn't seem to be moving at all.

    Jeff intended to walk right up to it, but his legs wouldn't let him. They stopped him several paces short of the sheeted figure.

    "Is that you?" Jeff asked.

    No answer came.

    "Where's Phyllis?"

    He heard nothing except the wind and all it was blowing through.

    "Phyllis!" he shouted.

    No answer.

    Frightened but growing angry, he said, "Where is she? Where's Phyllis?"

    Nothing.

    He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, hoping to clear his vision. Eyes open again, however, his sight didn't improve. Still, he could see only the faint, blowing shape of grayness surrounded by the dark.

    This sucks so bad, he thought.

    Does she think she's being funny?

    Not at all.

    I knew she had a screw loose the minute I saw her running around naked under that sheet... I KNEW it... should've gotten the hell away from her... .

    Probably is no Julie, he thought. This nutjob probably made up

    the story to lure us in.

    "What's going on?" he demanded. Though he trembled inside,

    his voice sounded good and stern. No answer came. "Okay," he said. And strode forward. Am I out of my mind? Jostling in his vision, the gray blur grew larger.

    What if she's armed?

    She didn't seem to be making any move at all.

    He stopped in front of her and grabbed her shoulders through the sheet. They felt thick, hard, lumpy.

    He jerked the sheet away.

    Something dark, not a person. He ran his hands over it.

    Bark? Splintered wood? What was it, the remains of an old tree that had...?

    Crunching sounds came at him from behind.

    He whirled around and let out a startled cry.

    It was a woman. Probably the woman from under the sheet, but he couldn't be sure. All he saw was a large human shape rushing at him, a gray blur darker than the sheet but clearly a woman, a naked woman with her arms upraised.

    Something in her hands?

    He flung up his own arms to protect his head.

    But not fast enough.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

    Walking was hard, lashed back to back, especially because of the difference in their sizes. Nor did it help that they were already in rough shape from the earlier assaults and worn out from so much rolling across the graveyard.

    Forced to return to their starting place, it would've been easier

    to roll than walk.

    When you're rolling on the grass, you don't fall down. When you don't fall down, you don't get smashed against the ground or ripped by the ropes or have to fight your way back to your feet to resume walking.

    For a while, they'd made some progress by sidestepping.

    Then the woman had pushed them, made them fall, and stood over them and taunted them. What a couple of klutzes. Don't you know how to walk? Come on, come on, get up. Don 't just lie there On your feet. We haven't got all night.

    Up again, they continued their journey but didn't get very far before the woman pranced over to Laura. Matching her sidesteps, she shined her flashlight up and down Laura, then reached out with one hand and clipped her right breast.

    "Don't."

    She squeezed.

    "Ow!"

    "Nice."

    Laura kicked. Her toes jabbed the woman's right leg just below the knee.

    "Hey!" The woman hopped away but came back fast, raising her flashlight, swinging it at Laura's face. She missed, but not by much.

    And she only missed because Laura was lurching backward, carried out of range by Shannon, Shannon staggering, struggling to stay up after the sudden shift of balance. A moment later, Shannon gasped "Shit!" and Laura felt herself rising, tilting back. Her feet left the ground behind. She faced the windblown branches, the shredded white clouds, the bright moon.

    She felt a quick flutter of fear.

    A bad carnival ride.

    One that throws you backward.

    Afraid of bumping heads, she tucked down her chin.

    Her fall stopped with a jolt, a grunt from Shannon, and a slight forward motion as Shannon skidded on the grass. The impact jostled Laura, gave her injured body a rough shake, but didn't hurt too much.

    Thanks to Shannon.

    "Sorry," Laura muttered.

    Shannon groaned. "No... problem."

    Standing over them, the woman pulled off her robe and threw it to the ground. She wore nothing except a belt around her waist and a pair of black leather boots. "Royce," she said, "take the kid over with the others."

    "What're you gonna do?"

    "The bitch kicked me."

    "Ya don't wanta kill her."

    "Think not?" She unfastened her bell buckle.

    "I know she ain't a kid, Fain, but she's young. You shouldn't

    go and waste her."

    "Mind your own fucking business."

    "Yeah? We come up short, she's yours."

    Belt in hand, Fain slipped her dagger from its sheath and turned toward Royce.

    "I'm going, I'm going." He gave Betsy's arm a tug and hurried away with her.

    Fain waited, watching them leave. She waited and waited.

    When she's done waiting, Laura thought, she's going to use the dagger on me. She's going to kill me.

    My God.

    It didn't seem possible. She wanted it to be a nightmare, wanted to wake up from it. But she knew it was no nightmare, knew it was real.

    A few minutes from now, she thought, I'll be dead.

    This can't be happening.

    Only it is.

    It's happening all right. It happens to people all the time... no, not all the time, just once. But it happens every day to someone and why should I be any exception? It's just the way it goes.

    She'll probably kill Shannon, too. That'll be too bad, but at least we'll go together. It's not like we'll miss each other.

    It'll kill Mom and Dad.

    The tall, hairless woman, dusky under the moon light, turned around and looked down at her. The shadows of bare, wind-shaken limbs trembled across her naked body.

    "Please," Laura said. "Don't. I'm sorry I kicked you."

    "Sorry doesn't cut it, honey." She smiled. "But I do. I cut it." She chuckled softly.

    "Don't. Please."

    Fain s hook her head. "Hut not right now."

    "Uh?"

    "The cutting will come later. The cutting and the killing, Royce really thought I'd do you now," Again, the soft chuckle "Don't worry, I won't. Royce has his head up his ass, but he was right about wasting you. You and your buddy get to stay alive a while longer."

    "Thank you."

    "You're so very, very welcome." Fain plunged the dagger into its sheath and pulled the sheath off her belt. Bending over, she slid them down into the top of her left boot. Then she wrapped her right hand around the buckle of her belt, swung the belt overhead and whipped it down.

    Through the Halloween wind, Laura heard it whussss on its way. Then came the krak! as the leather strap smacked her across the chest. She felt its fire. Felt her body lurch. Heard her cry of pain.

    "What'd she do? " Shannon blurted from underneath her.

    "Twenty lashes," Fain explained, and whipped Laura again.

    "Damn you!" Shannon cried out. "Leave her alone! Stop that! You wanta pull shit like that, try it with me! Leave her alone!"

    "My, oh, my, aren't we gallant?"

    "I'm gonna kill you, you fucking..."

    Fain reached high with her right arm and twirled the belt overhead, her body shimmying with the circular motion of her arm. Shannon continued to yell, but Laura didn't listen to her words, all her focus on the twirling belt...

    And here it comes again.

    "No!" Laura cried out.

    Her word didn't stop it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

    "Hi," Hunter said.

    Charles, sprawled at the foot of the stairway, squinted up at him.

    "You all right?" Hunter asked.

    Dumb question.

    "Don't... Don't hurt me."

    "I'm not gonna hurt you."

    But Charles was eyeing the sword in Hunter's right hand, the pistol in his left.

    Hunter raised the pistol. "Shannon's. It's no good anyway. Has a trigger lock." He raised the sword. "I got this off Eleanor. Your lucky sword, man. You had it when you fell down the stairs and you didn't even get cut."

    "I... fell?"

    "Down the whole stairway, sounded like, and you got knocked out. I was starting to think you might not wake up."

    Charles grimaced. Moving slightly, he gasped with pain. "What's... what's wrong with me?"

    "You got banged up a little."

    During the fall, his Van Gogh bandage had fallen off. He had the ear after all, but now it was bright with real blood. Above it, his bloody hair was matted to the side of his head.

    His paint-spattered shirt was torn open. His khaki trousers were twisted crooked and down so low around his hips they looked as if they might fall off if he stood up. If he stood up, however, his pants wouldn't be his biggest problem.

    His legs, slanting upward at a steep angle, were still on the stairs. The left leg was crooked below the knee, the high-top walking shoe sideways so it pointed toward the banister.

    "Well," Hunter said, "at least you got your ear back." He realized he didn't sound very sympathetic.

    That's because I'm not, he thought. Why should I feel sorry for this guy? Or for Tony? Roughing me up, treating me like a criminal from the moment they laid eyes on me.

    Shannon and Laura seemed too nice to be going with a couple of guys like these.

    Maybe they're just casual acquaintances.

    Shannon won't be going with Tony anymore.

    Probably a good thing for Shannon, he thought.

    Is she even still alive? Is Laura? Connie? I have to go after them.

    But what about Charles?

    Charles raised his head, winced but raised it higher. "My leg," he muttered.

    "I think it's broken," Hunter said.

    "Oh, my God." Charles lowered his head gently to the floor.

    "You were lucky, though."

    "Oh, yeah. Real lucky."

    "Luckier than Tony."

    He blinked a few times. "Tony?"

    "Your pal Tony. Sherlock Holmes."

    "I know who Tony is, for... oh, my God!"

    "Yeah."

    "Oh, my GOD!"

    Charles suddenly shoved at the floor, got to his elbows, pushed at the stairs with his right foot and scooted himself backward, his face crimson and twisted. He cried out when his left leg dropped to a lower stair. "Help me! We've gotta get outa here!"

    "Take it easy," Hunter said. "You're hurting yourself."

    "Help me!"

    "Just settle down. It's not gonna get you." Not completely sure of that, Hunter glanced up the stairway. "I don't think it cometh downstairs. It might, but..."

    "Get me out of here!"

    His broken leg dropped to another stair and he squealed.

    "You shouldn't be moving," Hunter told him. "Why don't you just lie still?"

    "Please!"

    "It's not gonna get you."

    His shoe slid off the edge of the next stair, fell and thudded. He cried out.

    "It's an upstairs ghost."

    "Witherspoon?"

    A smile broke across Hunter's face. He couldn't help it, but regretted it. Not so much because of Tony or Charles, but because of the girls. The smile felt like he was betraying them.

    Charles's foot dropped from the bottom stair. It struck the floor and he shrieked.

    "Look," Hunter said. "I've gotta go. I just stuck around to make sure you're all right."

    "I'm not all right!" He was scurrying backward toward the front door, his rump sliding over the floor, his right leg pushing, his left leg dragging.

    "I'll call 911 for you."

    "You haven't called them yet?"

    "I didn't think I should leave you by yourself."

    Alarm in his eyes, he blurted, "Why?"

    "I wanted to make sure you kept breathing and everything. And I didn't want the ghost to get you."

    "It's an upstairs ghost!"

    "Seems to be. But I'm not so sure it plays by the rules."

    "Huh?"

    "Not even so sure it's a ghost. I don't know what it is, but it only seems to nail people when they're alone. Now that you're awake, it'll probably be safe for me to leave you. You can yell if something happens." Hunter raised his left hand and pointed the pistol toward the living room. "I know right where the phone is. It's just in there."

    "Wait. No. Don't leave yet."

    "I'll be right back."

    "No! Help me get outside first! Please! Just on the porch. Okay? Please? I don't wanta be in here."

    "We'll get you outside after I call the paramedics."

    "Damn it, no!"

    Hunter almost smiled. Though slightly ashamed of himself, he liked how it felt to give Charles a taste of trouble.

    You should've treated me better, he thought, when you had the upper hand.

    "I'll be right back," he said.

    "Don't you dare leave!"

    "Yeah, sure."

    Hunter turned away and walked into the living room.

    The two people hurrying silently toward him wore gray robes. The hoods were up, but didn't hide their faces. Hunter knew the faces. Bryce and Simone. Bryce held a very large knife. Simone carried a hatchet.

    Hunter gasped.

    They rushed at him.

    But froze when he jammed the pistol in their direction and shouted, "Hall or you're dead!"

    "Hunter?" Charles yelled.

    Ignoring him, Hunter commanded, "Drop your weapons! Right now! Now! Drop 'em or I'll shoot!"

    They stood side by side, staring at him.

    "The knife!" Hunter shouted. "The hatchet! Drop'em!"

    Bryce and Simone glanced at each other.

    "Drop 'em!"

    "We just came for the woman," Bryce said.

    "Woman?"

    "Our friend."

    "Where is she?" Simone asked.

    "Gone."

    "Gone where?"

    "Away. I don't know. She ran out the door and got away."

    "That's her saber," Bryce said.

    "She gave it to me. Now drop your knife and put your hands up." He jerked the muzzle toward Simone. "You. Drop the hatchet."

    Frowning, she lowered her arm.

    "I'll be damned," Bryce said, sounding suddenly, strangely pleased. "What's that on your piece, kid? Is that a trigger lock?"

    "Drop your knife or you'll find out!"

    "I'll drop it, all right. I'll drop you, you dumb fuck." He charged.

    Simone charged, raising her hatchet.

    Hunter whirled around and ran, yelling, "Watch out, Charles!" A moment later, he saw Charles in the foyer. Squatting, leaning back against the front door, trying to stand up. He was sobbing. He had terror in his eyes.

    Shit! Dead meat!

    Hunter ran for the stairs.

    Worked before.

    I run get 'em one at a time when they come up...

    "Get that one!" Bryce gasped.

    "No!" Charles squealed.

    Hunter changed course. Threw himself against the newel post. It hurt him, but it stopped him. Pivoting, he slashed sideways with the sword and Bryce ran into its path. Bryce's hood had already slipped off. He had short, neatly trimmed hair as if he'd recently had a haircut. He looked young and powerful like a Marine. The blade of Hunter's sword clipped off the top of his ear and chopped into the side of his head.

    As Hunter jerked the blade free, Bryce veered off to the side and crashed into the wall beyond the stairs.

    Simone, hatchet raised over Charles's head, turned to see what had happened. Then she gave Charles a shove. As he cried out and fell to the floor, Simone turned to face Hunter.

    She reached up with one hand and swept her hood off.

    My God, she's beautiful. Are they all this beautiful?

    Sleek, black hair draped the sides of her head. A loose hank of it dropped across her brow. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips a glossy crimson.

    She was breathing hard. She didn't look frightened, though.

    "Where's Eleanor?" she asked.

    "I already told you."

    "She really isn't here?"

    "She escaped."

    A smile lifted a corner of her mouth. Not only beautiful, but smug.

    "In that case," she said, "I'll let you go."

    "Really?"

    She nodded. "Instead of kill you."

    "What did you do with Shannon and Laura?" The smile spread to the other side of her mouth. A big smile, but a cold one. "Oh, we had a very fine time with those two." He felt himself go cold inside.

    "Did you... hurt them?"

    She chuckled. "Maybe a touch."

    Then she must've realized something about the look on Hunter's face. Her smile died. She hurled her hatchet at him. As he tried to dodge it, she broke for the living room. The hatchet brushed the side of Hunter's arm.

    It didn't stop him.

    She was fast. Her sneakers pounded the floor. Her black hair streamed out behind her. Her robe fluttered.

    She made it into the middle of the living room before Hunter swung his sword.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

    "This is no good," Rhonda said, sinking down and sitting on the curb. She put her knees up and rested her forearms on them.

    Bret sat down on the curb, too, but Mandy stayed on her feet. Though she was tired of standing, she wasn't about to sit on some dirty old curb. Not in her good poodle skirt that she'd worn for the past three Halloweens.

    If you don't take care of stuff you like, you ruin it and then it's no good any more.

    Down on the curb, Bret reached out and patted Rhonda on the arm. "It's okay," he said. "We'll find 'em."

    "I'm starting to wonder," Rhonda muttered. She looked up at Mandy. "I read on the internet where all these kids vanish every Halloween. Like dozens of them."

    "No fooling?" Bret asked.

    "They just... disappear into thin air. They go out trick or treating and they don't come home. A lot of them, they're never seen again."

    "Jeez."

    Rhonda shrugged. "And some, their bodies gel found later. You know, like in shallow graves and stuff. What's happening, they're like getting snatched by devil worshippers and stuff. You know, for human sacrifices."

    "Really?" Bret asked. He sounded impressed.

    "I've never heard anything like that," Mandy said.

    "I got sent an e-mail all about it. Just a few days ago. You know, to warn me. Told me I should forward it to everyone I care about so they'll be extra careful or not even go trick or treating at all."

    "I guess we didn't get that one," Mandy said.

    "I did. I sure wish I'd listened."

    "That stuff s mostly B.S.," Mandy told her. "All those warnings they send around. I bet nine out of ten of 'em aren't even true. Like that one about the deadly spider that hides under airline toilet seats and bites you on the keester? Not true. Hardly any of 'em are true. They're like urban legends and stuff? I think a lot of people like to get their jollies starting crazy rumors. Just to scare people, you know?"

    "I don't know if this one was such B.S.," Rhonda said. "I mean, something happened to..." Her voice cracked. She stopped talking and clamped her lower lip between her teeth and lowered her head.

    "It's all right," Bret said, patting her arm.

    "I'm sure they're okay," Mandy added.

    Sure hope Dad is. He's been gone a long time.

    Well, maybe not that long. Ten minutes? But she'd expected him to be back before now.

    Though he'd supposedly run off to help rescue that Julie woman, Mandy couldn't exactly picture her dad taking on three attackers. He was pretty dopey in a lot of ways, but he wasn't stupid.

    Not that there ever were three attackers, Mandy reminded herself.

    What she pretty much expected to happen, her dad would come out of the woods with Phyllis in tow, and maybe some kind of a story about how they gave up on looking for Julie. And with any luck, maybe they'd lost the oddball in the sheet.

    Mandy'd had a funny feeling about that woman from the start,

    Wouldn't surprise her if there wasn't any Julie in the first place, and the gal just made her up as a way to get Dad to run off into the woods.

    The gal, after all, was butt-naked under her sheet. Maybe all horny.

    It's kind of a horny night, Mandy thought. She'd been feeling a little that way, herself. Maybe because of the strong, warm wind and how it felt against her skin and how it blew her skirt against her legs,

    It would feel great to run around in nothing but a sheet, she thought. Or in nothing at all.

    Not that she would do such a thing.

    You'd have to be a real mental case to actually do it - to go out on the streets like that where other people are around. Maybe okay in your own backyard...

    "Know what I think?" Bret asked, looking up at her.

    "What?" Mandy asked.

    "We oughta ring some doorbells."

    "We're done trick or treating."

    "I don't mean that. I mean, and ask people whether they know where Gary and Rosie and Doug are."

    "I don't know."

    "We're supposed to wait here for your dad," Rhonda told him.

    "He just doesn't want us going away and getting lost. We can go to some houses right here." Thumb out, he raised a hand above her shoulder and pointed behind him. "Like theirs. Maybe Laura and Shannon know where they are. And even if they don't, I bet they might help us look for 'em."

    "They didn't even open the door last time," Mandy reminded him.

    "That's 'cause maybe they were busy, I bet they'll open it now."

    Lifting her head, Rhonda said, "I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask around a little. Somebody might've noticed something."

    Mandy shrugged. "Okay with me. I guess it'd be better than just waiting."

    Bret grabbed his treat bag and sprang up grinning.

CHAPTER THIRTY

    The lashes seemed to be over. Finally. Shannon had lost track of the count, but she thought there'd been more than the twenty.

    Done flinching and thrashing, Laura seemed limp. She didn't move much except for the gasping and sobbing.

    "Now get up," Fain said.

    Shannon, herself weeping quietly, didn't move fast enough.

    "A lash for pokiness," Fain announced.

    Shannon heard the familiar krak! Laura jerked rigid and cried out.

    "Stop it!" Shannon yelled. She kneed the ground, twisted her body and rolled onto her side, taking Laura with her. Then she brought her legs toward her chest, bucked, lurched, tried to fling herself off the ground and sit up. Couldn't.

    She'd managed to sit up before. Then, however, Laura'd been helping.

    "You've gotta try," Shannon told her.

    Laura kept crying.

    "Come on."

    "Incoming!" a man called out.

    Fain reached down, grabbed the rope binding Shannon's upper arm to Laura's, and gives it a powerful pull. Shannon went with it, fighting Laura's weight. For a moment, ropes tore her in opposite directions. Then she was sitting up, cool grass under her buttocks.

    Fain stepped back. "Now stand up."

    Nodding, Shannon took a deep breath. She wasn't ready for the struggle to gain her feet, but...

    Fain turned away to look at something.

    Shannon glanced toward the others. They all seemed to be staring in the same direction as Fain.

    Shannon looked, too.

    Someone was coming.

    Incoming.

    One of theirs, she supposed. But maybe they weren't completely sure. With the darkness and the distance, the person striding their way was hardly more than a pale shape.

    A pale, strange shape.

    Carrying something over its shoulder?

    Coming closer, closer. Vanishing in darkness, reappearing in moonlight, changing course to avoid trees and tombstones.

    The shape became a woman.

    A woman carrying someone over her shoulder.

    For a confused moment, Shannon thought this might be a mother bringing her dead child into the cemetery for a secret, nighttime burial. It shocked her, saddened her.

    Then she realized the burden was larger than she'd first thought. Not a small child, at all. Maybe a teenager... a brunette wearing what appeared to be a black dress.

    The woman seemed to be naked.

    One of them, and she's got a kid. A prisoner to join the others.

    Fain glanced back at Shannon. "Stay," she said, then walked over to her group.

    Nobody seemed to be speaking. While the seven captured kids remained on their knees, Fain and the robed adults walked closer to the woman.

    In their midst, the woman bent forward and unloaded her burden, The kid flopped off her shoulder, fell, and landed back-first on the ground.

    Shannon winced.

    "What?" Laura whispered.

    "They've got another kid."

    The kid lay sprawled on the ground, not moving.

    Something familiar about the woman looming over her. There wasn't enough light to make out the features of her face, but Shannon was certain she'd seen her before: blond hair, wide shoulders, large breasts, slender waist, strong-looking arms and legs...

    Her!

    One of the three who'd attacked them in the living room.

    I didn't just see her before, I fought with her.

    Shannon remembered being thrown to the floor by her, wrestling with her and Bryce while Simone held Laura at bay with a hatchet. This had been the one with the rope. But she hadn't tied them with it; she'd gone upstairs after Hunter.

    Just before taking them away, Bryce had called upstairs to her, Called her by name. Lenore? No, that wasn't quite it. Eleanor. She'd told them to go on without her, and Bryce and Simone had smiled about it. Smiles nasty with the knowledge of what Eleanor intended to do with Hunter.

    Probably along the same lines of what they did to us in the woods Shannon thought.

    But this isn't Hunter.

    Did she kill him?

    "What's... happening?" Laura asked. She didn't seem to be crying anymore, but Shannon heard pain in the low huskiness of her voice.

    "One of our pals is here," Shannon whispered, "The big blonde."

    "With the sword?"

    "Yeah. But no sword now."

    "How's Hunter?"

    "Don't know. He's not here. She has some girl with her."

    "Connie?"

    "Who?"

    "Hunter's... girlfriend."

    "I don't think so. She looks too young."

    One of the robed figures bent over the girl and grabbed her by the wrists. As he dragged her to the line of kneeling kids, Fain and Eleanor turned away from the other two members of their group. They walked side by side toward Shannon and Laura.

    "Here comes trouble," Shannon muttered.

    Laura moaned.

    Fain had a flashlight in one hand, her belt in the other. She led Eleanor in a circle around Shannon and Laura, shining the light on them.

    "These are the two from the house," Eleanor said.

    "But you didn't bring them here?"

    She shook her head. "Bryce and Simone. I stayed behind to take care of the kid."

    "So these two belong to Bryce and Simone?"

    "Right."

    Fain bent down and picked up her robe. Putting it on, she said, "They almost got away. I found them way over there."

    "Would've been too bad for the dynamic duo."

    Fain chuckled. She bent over, pulled the sheathed dagger out of her boot, and slipped it onto her belt.

    "Where are they, anyhow?" Eleanor asked.

    "No idea. Looks like they just came back to dump their catch, then took off again."

    "Looks like they did more than dump 'em off."

    "They like their fun."

    "Don't we all."

    "Have you seen them around?"

    Eleanor shook her head. "They probably went into the streets to look for some younger stuff."

    "Don't blame them. These two're getting up there."

    Up there? I'm twenty-six!

    "My kid's a little older than I'd like," Eleanor said, "but she sorta fell into my hands. I want to go back, myself. She was with some other kids. Three of 'em. They'd be good. Girls maybe seventeen and thirteen, and a little boy around seven or eight. We get them, we'll be all set no matter what the others bring in."

    "Want some help?"

    "Long as I get the boy."

    "No problem," Fain said. "I've already got a six-year-old for myself."

    Still talking, they began to walk away.

    Shannon caught bits and pieces of their conversation,

    "... always use more..."

    "... younger..."

    "... no telling how many..."

    "... or none at all..."

    "... to have extras..."

    "... weed out the older stuff..."

    Though Shannon was tempted to call out and ask what had happened to Hunter, she remained silent rather than draw unnecessary attention to herself and Laura.

    Besides, maybe it was better not to know.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

    When Rhonda pushed the doorbell, Mandy heard it ringing inside the house.

    "They gotta come to the door," Bret said.

    "They don't gotta" Mandy told him. "They didn't last time."

    "That's 'cause they didn't know it was me." He set down his bag of candy, cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth and shouted, "LAURA! SHANNON! IT'S ME, BRET WILSON! YOU HOME? OPEN UP, OKAY?"

    "Don't say that," Mandy warned him.

    Bret shrugged.

    No sounds came from inside the house. The door stayed shut.

    Rhonda called out, "HELLO? I'M RHONDA GALE! I'M WITH BRET AND MANDY. WE'RE LOOKING FOR SO ME MISSING KIDS!"

    The moment Rhonda's voice stopped, Mandy heard the metallic snik-snak of a deadbolt snapping back. Through the screen, she saw the wooden door swing open. A boy stood in the doorway holding a towel in one hand. He looked old enough to be a high schooler. He didn't have a shirt on, but he was wearing a paisley scarf around his head and a shiny green lash around the waist of his jeans, so Mandy figured maybe he was supposed to be a pirate. He even had a wound on his chest, but it wasn't bleeding. A beat-up pirate at the end of a hard battle.

    "Rhonda?" he asked.

    "Hi," she said.

    "I'm Hunter Gordon."

    "I've seen you around school," she said.

    "You have?" He seemed surprised.

    "A junior, right?"

    "Yeah." He pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch.

    "These are my friends, Bret and Mandy."

    "Hi," Hunter said. He nodded at Bret, then looked at Mandy and smiled. "Nice to meet you. Both of you."

    Suddenly feeling strange, Mandy said, "Same here."

    "We came to see Laura and Shannon," Bret said.

    "They aren't here right now."

    "What'd you do to them?"

    "Bret, stop it." Blushing, she looked into Hunter's eyes. "I'm sorry. Bret can be..."

    "But he must've..."

    "I didn't do anything to them," Hunter said. "They got abducted."

    Bret's mouth fell open. "By aliens?"

    Hunter shook his head. "Humans." To Rhonda, he said, "They went after Connie Harris, too."

    "I know her. She tried out for cheerleaders."

    "Well, they chased me and her. Earlier. I got away, but I think they might've caught Connie. And I know they grabbed Shannon and Laura. You said some kids are missing?"

    "My brother and two of his friends."

    "Gary, Rosie and Doug," Bret tossed in.

    "They might've gotten taken, too."

    "What do you mean?" Rhonda asked.

    "I don't really know what it's all about, but there's this weird cult over in the graveyard. I think they're grabbing people for some sort of special midnight ceremony. A sacrifice. They're planning to sacrifice everyone they can find."

    Rhonda's mouth hung open. "You mean like kill them?"

    "I think so."

    "Tonight?" Mandy asked.

    Nodding, Hunter looked at her. It gave her a funny feeling, and she liked it.

    Rhonda said, "What for?"

    "I don't know. But they're really interested in young people, This gal said maybe I could get Connie and Shannon and Laura back by trading little kids for them."

    "They want to sacrifice children?" Rhonda seemed appalled.

    "Yeah, that's the idea."

    "Do you know where?" Mandy asked.

    His eyes turned to her again. "The graveyard." His eyes strayed to Rhonda.

    Of course, Mandy thought. Why would he look at me when he can be looking at Rhonda? She's only like the most popular girl at Beaumont High and I'm nothing but an eighth-grader. Not to mention she's beautiful and stacked and here I stand holding, this dumb bag of Halloween candy like some kind of kid.

    Mandy suddenly felt guilty for having such thoughts at a time when her dad and Phyllis and a lot of other people were missing and someone might even end up dead.

    Anyway, she thought, Hunter's too old for me. He's got to be at least three years older, so even if we wanted to see each other, Mom and Dad wouldn't allow it in a million years.

    Did Dad get abducted, too?

    That wouldn't make a lot of sense, not if they're after kids. With her mind wandering, she'd missed most of Hunter's explanation about where the ceremony would be taking place.

    But if I tell him, she thought, he'll know I wasn't paying attention. He might think I'm an idiot.

    "To the rescue!" Bret blurted.

    Rhonda glanced at him. "Not so fast. I'm in charge here. I'm supposed to take care of you, and your father said we shouldn't go anywhere."

    "But we can't let 'em kill everybody!"

    "We have plenty of time," Rhonda said. She slid a sleeve of her sweater up her forearm and checked her wristwatch. A nice forearm - lightly tanned, free of blemishes - a little too furry in Mandy's opinion-but Hunter looked as if he might want to lick it. "Not even nine yet."

    "They might start early," Bret warned.

    "I doubt it," Hunter told him. "If it's supposed to be at midnight, that's probably when they'll do it."

    "Maybe or maybe not."

    Before Hunter had a chance to respond, Mandy stepped in. "Rituals have to be done a certain way." Hunter was watching her, nodding in agreement. "Step by step. Or they don't work. That's why they call them rituals."

    "So?" Bret asked.

    "So they won't start early."

    "But they might."

    "Anyway," Hunter said, "I don't want to wait any longer. I was just about to leave. Nobody..."

    From inside the house, someone called, "You were just about to get me out of here!"

    Hunter turned his head and called back, "Just a second." To Rhonda, he said, "That's Charles."

    "Get me outa here!"

    "Why can't he come out himself?" Rhonda asked.

    "He's a little wrecked up."

    "I've got a broken leg!"

    "I'd better bring him out," Hunter said. "I'll be right back. Can you wait here?"

    Rhonda nodded.

    Hunter opened the screen door and stepped into the house.

    As the door began to swing shut, Bret lurched forward, grabbed it and threw it wide. He rushed in, yelling, "LAURA? SHANNON?"

    "Get back here!" Mandy demanded. She swept his treat bag aside with her foot, dropped her own bag near his, leaped over the threshold and reached out for him.

    Behind her, Rhonda gasped, "Hey! You shouldn't..."

    In the foyer, Bret skidded to a stop. Mandy almost collided with him, but veered aside just in time.

    Hunter whirled around and spread his arms. A pained look on his face, he shook his head and muttered, "No, you weren't supposed to..."

    "Welcome to the funhouse." The grown-up man who said it was sitting on the floor of the entryway, back against a wall, legs out in front of him. Like Hunter, he was bloody and looked as if he'd just finished a battle. Though he wore a shirt, it was torn open. One of his legs was crooked.

    The other man, curled on the floor near the foot of the stairs, wore a gray robe like a monk in a horror movie and he was bloody all over and Mandy knew right away that he was dead. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew.

    But maybe it really is a funhouse and its all a fake to scare trick or treaters...

    Behind her, Rhonda let out a yell. Not a scream like in the movies, but a loud, quick, "YAHHH!"

    "He's one of the bad guys!" Hunter blurted.

    "Another in the living room," said Charles, seeming pleased with himself.

    Mandy turned, sidestepped past Rhonda, and looked into the living room. A woman was sprawled on her back. She wore a gray robe like the man in the foyer, but it was wide open and she seemed to have nothing else on except a leather belt and a pair of sneakers.

    Mandy walked toward her.

    "She's one of them, too," Hunter called. "One of the kidnappers."

    Her long, dark hair was fanned out around her head. Her eyes were wide open, but had an odd, flat look. Her gray face was colored here and there by small swipes of blood.

    All over her front, her bare skin was smeared with blood. Mandy saw no wounds, just blood. Crimson smudges. Streaks made by fingers. Imprints made by hands. On her throat, her breasts, her belly and groin and thighs.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

    From where he stood in the foyer, Hunter heard Mandy gagging Bret and Rhonda turned their heads toward the living room, but didn't go to investigate.

    "You all right?" Hunter called.

    She answered by gagging some more.

    "You shouldn't look at that," he called.

    "Too late," said Charles.

    "If you hadn't told her..."

    "You should've gotten me out of this house when I told you to."

    To Rhonda and Bret, Hunter said, "You weren't supposed to come in and see all this."

    They both stood there, dull-eyed, jaws drooping, looking stunned and disoriented.

    "I know it looks awful," he said. "I had to do it, though. See that knife there?" Hunter pointed at it. "That guy came after me with it. He would've killed me. And the other one, that's her hatchet." He pointed toward the hatchet embedded in the wall. "She was gonna kill Charles. Then she threw it at me. I had to... do this."

    Rhonda looked at him. She took a deep breath, blinked and muttered, "It's so... horrible."

    "I know," Hunter said. "I know it is. I wish it hadn't happened. But these are the two who kidnapped Shannon and Laura."

    Bret seemed to come alive. "They are?"

    "Yeah. There were three of them. One chased me upstairs and these two... they took Shannon and Laura away. They must've... I don't know, delivered them to where the ceremony's supposed to be... then come back. Maybe to look for Eleanor... I don't know."

    Mandy walked slowly out of the living room, rubbing her chin with the back of a hand. She looked pale, shaky. The front of her poodle skirt was stained by some bloody fingerprints.

    "Are you okay?" Hunter asked.

    "She's so... bloody." Mandy raised her own bloody hands. "I slipped and..." She shook her head.

    "I'm sorry."

    "What happened to her?"

    "She... she wouldn't stay down. I got her with my sword, but... she got up again and fought me. I finally... I had to strangle her." He lifted his hands, looked at them. "It was awful."

    He saw Mandy staring at his hands, too.

    "I washed up," he explained. "I had her blood all... all over me."

    Bret tugged on the sleeve of Rhonda's golden cheerleader sweater. "We'd better go to the rescue now."

    She still seemed to be in a daze.

    "Rhonda!" Bret tugged again, harder this time, jerking the sweater again and again, stretching its neck hole down over Rhonda's shoulder.

    Hunter saw her bare shoulder, the white strap of her bra.

    "Stop pulling on her," Mandy said.

    He let go. Turning to Mandy, he asked, "We've gotta go to the graveyard."

    "I don't know," she said. "Dad wanted us to..." Her voice trailed off. Looking Hunter in the eyes, she said, "Maybe we should call the police."

    "Yeah, I know. I was gonna do that... I was just on my way to the phone when these two showed up." He nodded toward Bryce. "All hell broke loose." Smiling in a way he knew must look slightly mad, he reached behind his back, slipped his hand under the pirate sash and pulled Shannon's pistol out of the waistband of his jeans.

    Mandy's eyes widened.

    "It's okay," Hunter said. "Well, not that okay. Look. Shannon put a trigger lock on it. These two lunatics come in here with knives and hatchets and shit and what've I got... a SAFE pistol!" He realized he was shouting. In a quiet voice, he continued, "So all I could do was use my sword. That's all I had. My sword and my hands." He shook his head. Trying to smile, he held the pistol out "Anybody happen to know the combination?"

    Rhonda didn't seem to be paying any attention.

    Bret shrugged. Mandy shook her head.

    "It did me a real lot of good."

    "I bet Shannon knows the combination," Bret said. "We should take it to her and she can unlock it and then we can shoot all the bad guys."

    "It's worth a try," Hunter said. Reaching behind his back, he shoved the pistol under his sash and down the waistband of his jeans.

    "Hey," Charles said. "Remember the cops? I believe the young lady suggested calling them? How about a couple of you giving me a hand outside and somebody calls 911? Then I can go to an emergency room and Beaumont's finest can hustle out to the graveyard and save the night. How does that sound to everyone? Sound good to me. How about it? Me, I'm not too interested in staying in this house one more fucking minute! I don't like it in here."

    "Take it easy," Hunter told him.

    "Oh, yeah?" He looked up at Mandy, at Bret. "You don't know this, children, but my best friend is upstairs dead as shit.... strangled by a coat hanger wielded by a fucking spook!"

    Mandy wrinkled her nose. "Huh?"

    "This is your lucky Halloween, kiddies. Not only have you wandered into a charnal house but a haunted house. Two thrills in one! And the spook upstairs likes to kill people and he might be coming down for you. So I suggest we haul ass outa this dump."

    Mandy looked at Hunter.

    Hunter nodded. "Whatever's upstairs... it did kill his friend, Tony. Tried to kill Eleanor, too. I got there in time for her."

    "Witherspoon," Bret whispered, awe in his voice.

    "No such thing as ghosts," Mandy said.

    "I don't know," said Hunter. "But something's up there. It's invisible and it killed Tony. Whatever it is, though, it hasn't hurt me yet."

    Maybe it's on my side, Hunter thought.

    So far, both attacks had taken place against people who'd posed threats to him.

    But why would the thing be on my side? he wondered.

    Because I'm on Shannon's and Laura's?

    If that's the reason, why'd it kill Shannon's boyfriend?

    Because Tony was an asshole?

    "If s gotta be old Witherspoon," Bret whispered. Leaning toward the banister, he peered up the stairway.

    "It's not old Witherspoon," Mandy said.

    "Wanta bet?"

    "I'm getting outa here," Charles said. "Kid. You. Bret. Conic here and give me a hand. You too, Mandy. Come here."

    Obeying without question - maybe because he was an adult - Bret and Mandy started toward him.

    "No, wait," Hunter said. "I'll do it."

    "You and me," Mandy said.

    "I can help," Bret protested.

    "You can open the door," Mandy told him.

    "It's already open."

    "The screen door."

    "Oh. Okay."

    Bret hurried toward the screen door while Hunter and Mandy went to Charles. Mandy took a careful step to avoid the puddle of blood from Bryce. Then she crouched beside Charles and took hold of his right upper arm. Hunter gripped his left. Up near Charles's armpit, his shirt felt warm and wet.

    While they lifted, Charles shoved at the floor with his good leg and began to rise, his back sliding up the wall. His teeth were clenched. Sweat poured down his face. He made quiet whimpery sounds.

    Standing on one leg, he said, "Let go." The moment his arms were free, he spread them wide. He put one across Hunter's shoulders, one across Mandy's. Braced up between them, he said, "Okay, Let's move."

    He hopped toward the doorway, but the rough motion must've hurt his broken leg. He shuddered and gasped and seemed to lose strength. They clutched him, pinned him between their bodies, staggered toward the doorway.

    They couldn't fit through, three across, so they turned and Hunter went first. When Charles hopped down from the doorway to the porch, he yelled with pain and his good leg seemed to give out.

    Mandy gasped, "Whoa!"

    We're going down!

    Arms across their shoulders, Charles was plunging them toward the porch stairs.

    Hut suddenly he grunted and stopped. Clinging to him, Hunter and Mandy stopped just as abruptly.

    Hunter jerked his head around.

    Behind Charles stood Rhonda, hands clamped on his shoulders, wrenching at him. Everyone seemed to stand still for an instant. Then Rhonda flew backward, dragging Charles free from Hunter and Mandy, falling over the threshold. She grunted as Charles dropped on top of her.

    He cried out, "My leg! My leg!"

    Mandy, crouching by his hip, grabbed his arm and pulled him.

    "Let go!" His head knocked against the door frame. "Ow! Stop it!" Then he swiveled and slid until his back met the porch floor.

    Rhonda pulled her legs out from under him, and Bret helped her stand up.

    "Are you okay?" Bret asked.

    "Yeah."

    Mandy said to her, "Thanks. We almost got ourselves obliterated."

    "No problem. Are you all right?"

    "Fine."

    "I'm not," Charles gasped, raising his head off the porch floor.

    "We got you out of the house," Hunter told him. "Just like you wanted."

    "Probably not just like he wanted," Mandy said.

    "Can somebody please call me an ambulance?"

    "You're an ambulance," Bret said.

    "Oh, kid, you're a fuckin' riot."

    "Don't talk to my brother that way."

    "Yeah, right. So sorry."

    Rhonda gave him a soft kick in the side.

    "Hey!"

    "You're supposed to be nice to people who've helped you."

    "Big help. They fuckin' dropped me."

    "I'll go back in and call," Hunter said.

    "Not by yourself," Rhonda said. "I'll go with you." Glancing from Bret to Mandy, she added, "You two stay out here with Charles. And don't go wandering off, okay? We'll be right back."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

    Waiting on the porch, Mandy stared into the woods beside the house. She saw only trees and darkness, heard only the wind. "Dad should've come back a long time ago," she said.

    Bret looked up at her, his nose wrinkled.

    "He's been gone way too long."

    "We oughta go and find him."

    "I don't know. He said to wait."

    "But what if he needs help?"

    "Just take it easy, kids," Charles said from the floor. "The cops'll be here pretty soon. Let them take care of it."

    "He's our dad," Bret explained.

    "Lot of good you'll do him if you get yourselves killed... People are getting killed tonight, kid. Seriously dead. This isn't a game So just..."

    "Mandy!" Rhonda called from inside the house. "Bret! Get in here!"

    Bret rushed ahead of her, beat her to the screen door, threw it open. As he ran into the house, Mandy yelled, "Wait!" She flung the screen door out of her way and leaped after him.

    "Hey!" Charles yelled. "Don't leave me alone out here!"

    "In here," Rhonda called again.

    Bret dodged to the left and ran into the living room, Mandy close behind him. A couple of strides into the room, he gasped and suddenly stopped. Mandy veered and lurched to a halt beside him.

    In front of them stood two figures wearing gray robes.

    Bloody gray robes.

    Hunter and Rhonda. Both looking flushed and uneasy.

    The dead woman on the floor was now sprawled facedown and missing her robe. She had a long gash down her back, curving from her right shoulder blade to her left buttock.

    Turning around, Mandy looked through the entryway at the dead man in the foyer. He now lay on his back. His robe was gone. Glimpsing his genitals, she thought, Oh, my! and quickly turned again toward Hunter and Rhonda.

    Hunter held his sword in one hand. Rhonda held the hatchet.

    Below the hems of their robes, their legs were bare. They had shoes on, but wore no socks. Their clothes were piled in two different stacks on a nearby sofa. Mandy glimpsed a white bra, underwear...

    They stripped naked... in front of each other?... and put on those yucky robes?

    All that sticky blood right up against their bare skin?

    "What's going on?" she asked.

    "I know," Bret said.

    "What happened to calling 911?"

    "We've got a better idea," Rhonda said.

    Hunter nodded. "We'll go in with our hoods up... Rhonda and me... with you two as our prisoners."

    "Go to the graveyard?" Mandy asked.

    They both nodded.

    "Infiltrate them," Hunter explained.

    "Cool! "Bret blurted.

    Mandy felt squirmy inside.

    "They'll think we're Bryce and Simone."

    "Maybe for two seconds," Mandy said.

    "Maybe that'll be long enough," Rhonda said.

    "Or maybe not."

    "You don't have to come," Rhonda told her. Not with any reproach, but in a friendly, understanding way. "It might be better if you don't. I mean, I know you're not supposed to go anyplace and I promised to stay here and look after you, but this is my brother. I have to try to save him."

    Bret tugged on Mandy's sleeve. "Maybe they've got Dad."

    "They might," Rhonda said. "It seems like he should've been back by now. Maybe they took him prisoner, too. And that girl."

    "Phyllis," Bret informed her.

    "HEY!" Charles yelled. "WHAT'S GOING ON IN THERE?"

    "Everything's fine," Hunter called back. "The cops and ambulance are on the way."

    "WHAT'RE YOU DOING?"

    "Nothing. We'll be out in a minute." Lowering his voice, Hunter said, "I didn't really call."

    "Didn't think so."

    "If we call the cops," he explained, "no telling what'll happen. I mean, here we are in a house with three dead people. And I killed two of them. Trying to explain..." He shook his head, "Even if we could get them to believe the truth, it might be a disaster. Who knows what'll happen if a bunch of our town cops go in and try to rescue everyone?"

    "They'd probably do better than us," Mandy said. "At least they've got guns."

    "We'll have the element of surprise."

    "Maybe, maybe not."

    "Thing is," said Rhonda, "the cops won't believe us. I mean, who would? They'll blame us for all this and in the meantime midnight'll come and go and... you know what that'll mean."

    Bret drew a finger across his throat, making a slurpy wet sound with his mouth.

    "How many are there?" Mandy asked.

    "About twelve," Hunter said. "There were about twelve. So maybe ten, now."

    "And three of us."

    "Four," Bret said. "You counted wrong."

    "No I didn't."

    "Did, too."

    Rhonda spoke up. "Bret, don't argue with your sister."

    "But..." He pressed his lips together and frowned.

    The frown became a smile when Rhonda reached out and ruffled his hair.

    "I know we're outnumbered," Hunter said. "But I'm almost positive they don't have any guns. With a little luck, we can probably take down three or four of them before they even know what's happening."

    "Maybe the others'll panic and run," Rhonda added.

    Wishful thinking, Mandy thought.

    They aren't gonna panic. What they'll do, they'll kill us.

    But what if they do have Dad and Phyllis? she wondered. The woman in the sheet might've been one of the cult members and maybe she lured Dad and Phyllis into the woods to capture them. And they'll get sacrificed at midnight along with Shannon and Laura and Hunter's girlfriend and Rhonda's brother and anyone else they've caught.

    "Okay," Mandy said. "I'll go along with you."

    "Yes!" Bret blurted.

    "Not you."

    His mouth dropped open. He looked betrayed. "I am, too."

    "It's too dangerous."

    But where isn't dangerous? she wondered. Where can I leave him? Not here.

    "You can't leave him here," Hunter said, almost as if reading her mind. "Even if the thing from upstairs doesn't bother him, more people like Bryce and Simone might show up."

    Take him home and leave him with Mom?

    Try that, she thought, and neither of us will be going on any rescue tonight.

    "If we keep him with us," Rhonda said, "at least we'll know where he is and be able to watch out for him."

    Hunter began, "We could make him wait..."

    "WHAT'S GOING ON?" Charles called. "COME OUT HERE!"

    "Just a second!" Rhonda shouted to him.

    To Bret, Mandy said, "I guess you can come with us, but you've gotta promise to do whatever I say."

    "Okay. I promise."

    "Cross your heart and hope to die?"

    With two quick swipes of his forefinger, he crossed his heart.

    Mandy looked from Rhonda to Hunter. "Okay. Only thing, can we take the same path Dad took? It starts by the dead-end barricade."

    "Charles'll see us if we go out the front," Hunter said.

    "We can go out the back," said Rhonda.

    Hunter led the way. Rhonda followed him, Bret tagging along behind her and Mandy bringing up the rear.

    "We oughta get some knives or something," Bret said. "Me and Mandy. All I got's my slingshot." Reaching back, he patted the slingshot in the seat pocket of his overalls.

    "You don't need a knife," Mandy told him.

    "But if we're gonna..."

    "I'm not going to have you running around with a weapon For Pete's sake, you're eight years old."

    "Eight and a half."

    As they entered the kitchen, Hunter flicked a light on. Looking back, he said, "Maybe you should grab a knife or something, Mandy."

    "I'm fine the way I am."

    "You oughta have something," Rhonda said.

    "If Bret and I are supposed to be your prisoners, we shouldn't go walking in with weapons."

    Bret scowled over his shoulder at her. "If you don't want a knife, I'll take one."

    "No you won't."

    "Mannnndyyy."

    "Let's just keep going, Hunter," she said.

    He led them to the rear of the kitchen, then used his free hand to open the back door.

    The door had a broken window. "This is how they got in," Hunter said. Shards of glass crunched under his shoes as he walked through the doorway.

    From far away, Charles's faint but angry voice called out, "WHAT'RE YOU DOING IN THERE? DAMN IT, GET OUT HERE! I MEAN IT! THIS ISN'T FUNNY! I'M GETTING SERIOUSLY PISSED AT YOU GUYS!"

    "What about him?" Mandy asked as she followed the others onto the back porch.

    "We can't take him with us," Rhonda said.

    "He'll be fine where he is," said Hunter.

    "I don't know," Mandy said. "Maybe we should call him an ambulance."

    "He's an ambulance," said Bret, and laughed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

    They sat quietly, back to back, still a few yards away from the others. Ever since Fain's departure with Eleanor, nobody had spoken to them or bothered them.

    The three remaining guards - Royce and the two others - stayed together near the group of kids. The kids were kneeling or sitting on the ground, some of them quietly weeping, others whispering among themselves, but nobody causing trouble. Whatever else might've happened to them earlier, they'd obviously seen Betsy's attempted escape and they' d watched Laura get whipped. Enough to scare any but the most reckless kid into behaving.

    "How you doing?" Shannon whispered.

    "All things considered... not so great." Laura realized, however, that the fiery pains from the whipping had subsided. "I'm a little better," she admitted.

    "Good. You feel like some action?"

    "You're kidding."

    "I don't mean right now."

    "What're you thinking of?"

    "They aren't paying much attention to us."

    "Why should they? We can't go anywhere."

    "We might."

    "Rolling?"

    "Do you think you can stand up?"

    Though ropes still bound them tightly arm to arm and back to back, nobody had retied their legs. From their waists down, they were free.

    Laura supposed it might be possible to rise if she braced herself against Shannon's back and pushed upward with her legs. "Maybe. Then what? Sidestep vigorously?"

    Shannon laughed. She did it quietly, but Laura felt the shaking of her back.

    "Not exactly," Shannon whispered. "But maybe I can run."

    "What about me?"

    "You come along for the ride."

    "On your back?"

    "That's the idea."

    "We might do better rolling."

    "What I was thinking, we sit tight for now. Sooner or later, stuff s gonna happen. There'll be a distraction. Like when Eleanor brought the girl in. Or maybe a kid'll act up. We wait for something like that, then get up and make a break for it. Go for the embankment, maybe."

    "You running, me on your back?"

    "Right."

    "You might be big and strong, but you're not that big and strong."

    "I can do it."

    "They'll chase us down in five seconds."

    "Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, it'd beat just sitting here and letting them butcher us."

    "I guess."

    "And who knows, if we get one or two of these creeps chasing after us, maybe some of the kids'll have a chance to get away."

    "I guess it's worth a try," she said.

    The hell it is, she thought. We won't get away. Neither will any of the kids. Two guards will stay to make sure none of them make a break. Just one'll come after us. Probably Royce. He'll catch us. before we get anywhere near the embankment, and he'll take us down hard. And then he'll give us a little payback for causing trouble.

    "We'll probably end up getting creamed," Shannon said, as if she knew what Laura was thinking.

    "Probably."

    "What I wouldn't give to have my Sig Sauer about now..."

    "That'd be nice," Laura said.

    "Even nicer if I'd had it on me when those three fucks broke into the house."

    "Think you could've gotten all three?"

    "No sweat. Double-tap each of 'em."

    "Maybe it's harder than shooting cans."

    "Gotta be easier. People are bigger."

    This time, Laura laughed softly. "Anyway," she said, "I guess it's water under the bridge."

    "God, if I had it to do over again..."

    "That'd be nice. Too bad life doesn't work that way."

    "It oughta. You oughta get a second chance sometimes."

    "Sometimes, maybe you do. But not this time."

    "I'd give my left nut for a pistol right now."

    Laura laughed again. "That's safe."

    "I was speaking figuratively."

    "I figured."

    "Is there any such thing as a Halloween wish?" Shannon asked.

    "I've never heard of one. You can wish upon the first star you see at night."

    "A little late for that."

    A little late for anything, thought Laura

    "Just the same," Shannon said, "I think I'll wish for a firearm It doesn't have to be my wonderful little.380 Sig. Any gun will do."

    "Oh, sure," Laura said.

    "Yeah, okay. If anyone out there is interested in granting my wish, please give me a decent caliber. Something bigger than a.22 or a.25... though they'll do in a pinch. And please give me as many rounds as possible. A revolver might not quite do the trick, if you know what I mean. On the other hand, much as I would love an assault rifle or shotgun, that sort of thing wouldn't be practical under the circumstances. So it should be a handgun, please. If possible."

    "What's going on over there?" Royce called.

    "Nothing," Shannon said.

    "Knock off the talking."

    "Yes, sir," Shannon said.

    "Gettin' smart?"

    "No, sir," Shannon said.

    "Want me to come over there?"

    "Would you happen to have a handgun we might borrow for a minute?"

    Royce laughed. "Wanta commit suicide?"

    "Something like that."

    "Sorry. Fresh outa guns. But don't worry, we'll put ya outa yer misery pretty soon."

    "Thank you, sir."

    Shannon waited for Royce to turn away and say something to one of the other guards. Then she whispered, "Well, it was worth a try."

    "Oh, of course," Laura said.

    "Couldn't hurt to ask. You know what they say. 'God helps those who help themselves.' "

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

    "Shouldn't we be going first?" Mandy asked.

    Hunter, leading the way along the forest path with Rhonda by his side, stopped and turned around.

    "If we're pretending to be your prisoners..."

    "Yeah," Bret said. "We oughta go first."

    "That's a good point," Rhonda said.

    "It's more dangerous in front," Hunter said. "Somebody might come along."

    "It doesn't look right if we're following you. If we really were your prisoners, it'd be too easy for us to get away."

    "The way it should be done," said Rhonda, "is one of us takes the lead and one of us takes the rear. With the prisoners in-between."

    "I don't know," Hunter muttered. He liked having Rhonda walk beside him. She was one of the most popular girls in school and every guy who saw her probably dreamed of being with her... he certainly had. He'd gone to football and basketball games for no other reason than to watch her prance and twirl and leap with the cheerleader squad. But he'd never spoken to her before tonight. Now, they were not only talking to each other but were comrades in arms.

    She undressed in front of me...

    He'd turned his back and hadn't watched, but she'd done it, taken off all her clothes in the same room with him. And he'd taken off his in front of her.

    Afterward, as they left the house and hurried across the back yard to the woods and began hiking up the path, he'd hardly been able to take his mind off the fact that she was naked underneath her robe.

    Rhonda Gale herself.

    They'd talked quietly as they walked through the woods. Sometimes they'd bumped against each other and a couple of times she'd stumbled and Hunter'd saved her from falling. It had been like something out of a dream.

    This whole night's been incredible, he thought.

    Horrible in some ways, wonderful in others.

    "I'll take up the rear," Rhonda said. She patted him on the upper arm, then stepped around Mandy and Bret.

    "If we're gonna do it this way," Hunter said, "let's at least stay close together."

    He resumed walking. Instead of Rhonda by his side, Mandy was a stride behind him. It wasn't the same.

    Better this way, he told himself. Rhonda was too distracting. I shouldn't be thinking about girls at all, not with everything that's going on. People dead all over the place. Maybe some of us dead before too much longer.

    Besides, what about Connie?

    She might already be dead.

    Dead or not, she seemed like the distant past after all he'd seen and done tonight with Shannon and Laura, with Eleanor, with Simone... especially Simone... and Rhonda. Even Mandy seemed more real and vibrant to him than Connie.

    Mandy's just a kid, he reminded himself. She might be cute, but she's too young.

    Kind of sexy in a way, but...

    Stop it, he told himself.

    "Hunter?" Mandy quickened her pace and came up beside him.

    "Yeah?"

    "I've been thinking maybe this prisoner thing isn't such a hot idea."

    "It'll be a good way to get in close."

    "I don't want Bret to get in close. I think if we find the place where they've got everyone, we should maybe leave Bret out of it, He can hide when we go in. And then he can run away if things don't go right."

    "Things'll go fine," Hunter said.

    "I doubt it."

    "Then why are you coming?"

    "Need to find my dad. And Phyllis, I guess."

    "You don't sound too sure about Phyllis."

    "She can be a pain in the keester. She's my best friend, though."

    "Your best friend is a pain in the keester?"

    "Sure."

    "Sounds like you need a new best friend."

    "Nobody's perfect," Mandy said.

    "That's for sure."

    "Hey, can I ask you something?"

    "Sure."

    "That woman back at the house? That dead woman?"

    A sudden rush of heat made him feel sick. "Simone?"

    "You didn't... do anything to her, did you?"

    "I killed her."

    "She had all these... handprints and things all over her. Like someone had... you know, fooled around with her."

    "Jeez, Mandy."

    "I'm just wondering,"

    "We had a real fight. After I got her with the sword. I already told you that. And how I had to strangle her."

    "Nothing else happened? I mean, I've heard how it can be with guys and how they can lose control over certain things."

    He shook his head. "Jeez, Mandy."

    "I was just wondering, is all."

    "How could you even think I'd do anything like that?"

    "Well, the handprints..."

    "I told you how that happened."

    "Okay."

    "What's the matter with you?"

    "Sorry," she said.

    "You should be. You oughta be ashamed of yourself for even thinking I'd do something like that."

    "Yeah, well." Sounding a little as if she might start to cry, she said, "I didn't want to have bad thoughts about you. I just want us to be friends."

    "Why would you want that if you think I'm the sort of guy who would... fool around with Simone like you said?"

    "But you didn't, right? You just... she got that way because you had to strangle her."

    "That's right."

    "Okay."

    "It's the truth."

    "Okay."

    The quick crunching of leaves and twigs warned him of someone's approach. He glanced back and found Bret hurrying closer. "What're you talking about?" he asked.

    "Nothing," Mandy said.

    "Tell me."

    "None of your business." She raised her arm and pointed down the path. "Just slow down and stay back there with Rhonda." Sudden concern in her voice. "Where'd she go?"

    Hunter halted and turned around and gazed into the darkness. He saw blurs of gray and black, pale moving bits of moonlight, and no sign of Rhonda.

    "Oh, my God," he muttered.

    They stood together, looking down the empty path.

    "Where is she?" Mandy asked.

    "She was right behind me," Bret said.

    "RHONDA!" Hunter shouted.

    No answer came. Hunter heard only the wind.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

    "She's gotta be there!" Bret started to take off down the path but Mandy lurched forward and clamped a hand on his shoulder and jerked him to a stop. "Let go!"

    She kept her grip on him.

    "Mandyyyy!"

    "Quiet."

    "RHONDA!" Hunter shouted again. "Where arc you?"

    "We've got her now."

    Hunter whirled around, raising his sword. A few yards ahead of him, a vague shape stood on the path. The shape of a woman with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, powerful-looking arms and legs, Mostly a dim gray blur of bare skin with dark smears here and there she was too obscured to recognize except for her voice.

    Hunter knew the voice.

    "Eleanor?"

    "Miss me?" she asked.

    He shrugged.

    "I'm sure you did. I missed you. And now I've come back for you."

    "Where's Rhonda?" he asked.

    "We have her."

    "Let her go."

    "I don't think so."

    He shook the sword at her. "I'll chop your head off."

    "I don't think so."

    "Let Rhonda go!"

    "Drop the sword."

    Eleanor's hands seemed to be empty. She wore no belt around her waist. She seemed to have no weapon at all, and to be wearing nothing except a pair of sneakers.

    "Let her go or I swear I'll kill you."

    "Fain!" she called. "He doesn't want to drop the sword."

    A moment later, someone cried out in pain. The agonized voice came from somewhere down the path, not very far away. It sounded like Rhonda.

    "Rhonda!" Bret shouted.

    Mandy kept a tight grip on her brother's shoulder.

    After the outcry came sobbing sounds.

    "Drop the sword, Hunter."

    He lowered it. "You didn't have to hurt her."

    "Drop it. Right now."

    Go for her! Take her out!

    Though he could no longer hear Rhonda sobbing, the pain in her sharp outcry still filled his head.

    I can't.

    He let go of the sword. It fell into the dry leaves of the path.

    "Where'd you get the robe?" Eleanor asked.

    "Bryce."

    "And Rhonda... Simone's robe?"

    "Yeah."

    "And what became of Bryce and Simone that their robes became available?"

    "I... took care of them."

    "Did you now?" She sounded amused. "Good for you. Took care of them, and then put on their robes and here you are, trekking, through the woods. On your way to the graveyard?"

    Hunter nodded.

    "What did you think you'd do, infiltrate us?"

    "That was the idea."

    "Lame."

    "Yeah, well..."

    "Take it off."

    "I'm not wearing anything."

    "Wonderful. That'll make two of us. Take it off."

    It's all right, he told himself. It's so dark nobody'll be able to see much anyway.

    Still, he shook with strange tremors as he unfastened the cloth belt. The robe blew open. He slipped it off his shoulders and let it fall behind him. The wind felt warm and dry on his moist skin.

    "Ah-ha," Eleanor said.

    He looked down at himself. The night wasn't as dark as he'd hoped.

    "Now the knife," Eleanor said.

    He reached down for it.

    "Not just the knife. The whole works. The belt, the sheath... Just unbuckle the belt and let it all drop."

    He lowered his hands to the buckle.

    "OW!" Mandy blurted. "You little...!"

    Turning, Hunter glimpsed Mandy hopping on her left leg, clutching her right shin. Bret must've kicked her. Released, he sprang toward Hunter.

    "Stop it!" Eleanor shouted.

    Bret hurled himself against Hunter's back. As the boy collided with him, he felt the pistol get snatched from under the back of his belt.

    Oh, my God!

    Eleanor yelled, "Stop!"

    Jerking his head around, Hunter caught a glimpse of Bret vanishing into the trees.

    "Get back here!" Mandy shouted.

    "Don't move!" Eleanor yelled at her. "Bret! Come back here this instant, you little shit!"

    Hunter heard Bret racing through the crunchy leaves.

    Suddenly, the sounds stopped.

    "Fain!" Eleanor shouted. "Did you get him?"

    "No!" came a voice from somewhere down the trail. "But I've still got the girl."

    "Bret, come back here right now or Rhonda's gonna get it!"

    The only sounds that came from the woods were those of the wind shaking the trees and bushes.

    Then came another outcry from Rhonda.

    Hunter winced. His throat tightened and his eyes went hot.

    They'll pay! I'll make them pay for this!

    Still, no response from Bret.

    "Okay, kid," Eleanor shouted. "We're taking everyone over to the graveyard. That's where you can find us. You come on over and give yourself up, or we'll kill them all. You understand? Be there in ten minutes or we'll kill your sister and your dad and Rhonda and everyone else!"

    No response.

    Eleanor again faced Hunter. "The belt."

    He unbuckled the belt and let it fall.

    "Now move back so I can get my things."

    Why not grab the sword instead? Take her apart with it!

    "If I have to ask again, Rhonda gets another dose."

    "No, please." Hunter backed away, Mandy staying by his side.

    Eleanor walked forward.

    Crouching, she lifted the belt out of the leaves. She swung it around her waist, fastened the buckle, and adjusted the sheathed knife at her right hip. Then she crouched again and picked up her sword. "That's better," she said. "Felt a little naked without my weapons." She swung her sword, slashing the air in front of her.

    "Do you really have my dad?" Mandy asked.

    "Yep."

    "What about Phyllis?"

    "Her, too. It'll be a regular reunion. Too bad your little shit of a brother had to ruin everything."

    "Don't call him that."

    "Yeah, right." She stepped to the side of the path. With a swing of the sword, she motioned them forward. "You two take the lead. Follow the path till I say different."

    As Hunter began to walk, Mandy came up and took hold of his hand. The path was too narrow for them to walk side by side, but she kept his hand and walked slightly behind him.

    She gave his hand a squeeze. "It'll be okay," she said.

    "No talking."

    "Sorry," Mandy said.

    "Fain!" shouted Eleanor. "We're on our way. The kid has ten minutes to give himself up, or we kill 'em all."

    "You bet!" came a voice from the woods to their rear.

    "Meet you there!" Eleanor yelled.

    "We'll be along soon."

    Eleanor laughed softly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

    "Something's coming," Laura said.

    "What?" Shannon asked.

    "A van?"

    Shannon thought she could hear it - an engine sound in there with the rushing hisses of the wind. "Let me see."

    Tight against each other's backs, they twisted their torsos

    Then Shannon turned her head as far as she could and gazed over her left shoulder.

    The vehicle appeared to be a van, all right. Still a distance away it was moving in their general direction without any headlights on.

    "Maybe it's a night watchman or something," Laura said, "The main entrance is over that way. The cemetery office."

    "Have they got a night watchman?"

    "Not that I know of. But they might."

    "If it is," Shannon said, "you'd think he'd drive with his headlights on."

    She looked over at the three robed guards. They were staring toward the van, heads turned away from Shannon and Laura.

    "This might be a fine time to skedaddle," Shannon said.

    "Oh, God. "

    "Before the van gets here."

    "It's gonna hurt."

    "I know. Ready?"

    "No."

    The van, apparently following one of the cemetery's service roads, began to veer away.

    It isn't coming here?

    "Wait," Laura said.

    "I see."

    She now had a full sideview of the van. It was a pale color that seemed to glow in the moonlight. The shadows sweeping over it looked black.

    "It's going away," Laura whispered.

    "Looks that..."

    It cut hard to the right and sped toward the group, swooping down a slope, swerving to avoid a headstone, swerving again to miss a tree.

    "Now!" Shannon gasped.

    Laura moaned.

    Shannon brought up her knees and braced her feet against the ground. Feeling the push of Laura's back, she shoved with her feet.

    No longer felt the grass under her buttocks.

    Rose higher, higher, Laura's back and buttocks against her own, rising.

    Shannon looked to the side. The guards were still turned away and watching the van.

    "Here goes," she said. Gritting her teeth, she bent over quickly at the waist. The ropes around her shoulders and arms and crisscrossing her chest seemed to dig into her skin as Laura's weight dragged at them. Laura made sounds like a tortured mouse - high and full of pain, but quiet.

    Then the ropes eased, the pain faded. Shannon had Laura on her back.

    So far, nobody had yelled.

    She turned toward the embankment and tried to run.

    More of a trudge. Bent over, arms stretched out straight to both sides as if she'd been crucified on the cross of Laura, she forced one leg up and forward, put the foot down, then brought up the other and moved it forward. Her entire body was so heavy she fell as if someone had filled her with wet concrete.

    Gasping for air, she tried to move faster.

    Come on! Faster!

    She gained speed. Laura's weight almost seemed to be helping now, adding to the momentum.

    More like it.

    Faster and faster she plowed forward, her head so low she could hardly see where she was going, her breasts lurching and swimming beneath her, Laura grunting and bouncing, hot and slippery on her back.

    Laura blurted, "Hurry! They spotted us!"

***

    Bound to Shannon, riding her like an ungainly backpack, Laura could hardly believe Shannon was able to run beneath such a burden... and she was amazed by the distance they made before anyone noticed they were on the move.

    The guards had all their attention on the approaching van until it stopped not far from the Kneeling Girl statue and the driver's door swung open.

    Maybe the driver said something.

    Suddenly, Royce and the other two guards jerked around and

    looked toward Laura. Then Royce broke away from them and gave chase and Laura blurted her warning to Shannon.

    Somehow, Shannon picked up more speed.

    Laura bounced and slid on her back, wincing as the ropes tore into her skin. From the start, she'd kept her knees up, high and close to her chest. It seemed to help with the center of gravity. Now that Royce was closing in fast, she was appalled by the view she presented him. She tried to put her knees together, but she was bouncing around too roughly and they kept flying apart.

    Not like it matters, she thought. We're gonna be dead soon, the hell with it.

    But she hated it, hated that she was so exposed to him.

    Royce was closing the distance very fast. She saw that his robe was open now, flapping behind him in the wind. Like the others, he wore nothing under the robe except a belt around his waist. In her lurching vision, she glimpsed his genitals. She looked away fast, raised her eyes to the sky.

    Leaves were flying through the night. High above her, the branches of trees scratched and clawed at the sky. High above the black branches, shreds of clouds flew past the moon.

    Though her eyes were raised, she couldn't help but see Royce beyond her upraised knees, closing in fast.

    She looked at him.

    He seemed to be staring exactly where she'd expected. He seemed to be grinning.

    Another moment, and he was near enough to reach out and grab her foot. Or push her and send Shannon diving headlong.

    But he didn't.

    Drastically slowing his speed, he jogged along only a pace or two behind Laura.

    Enjoying the show?

    Underneath her back, Shannon struggled on, grunting and wheezing for breath.

    Royce reached out a hand.

    Reached between Laura's legs.

    She shot out a foot and smashed him in the face. Her heel seemed to burst his nose. He let out a yelp of pain and surprise and dropped backward, disappearing from her line of sight.

    Even before she had a moment to savor her victory, however, she realized that the recoil of her kick had thrown off Shannon's balance.

    Shannon cried out, "Aaah!" as she careened forward out of control.

    Then she seemed to be flying.

    Headfirst, face up, arms stretched out as if ready to embrace the Halloween sky, Laura rode her to the ground.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

    Jeff opened his eyes. He was on his back. Above him, leaves were blowing by and the high black branches of trees were shaking against the sky.

    His head ached horribly.

    What happened?

    He lifted one of his arms and gently patted the top of his head. His wet, sticky hair was pasted against a lump on his scalp.

    How'd that happen?

    He turned his head slowly to one side, but saw only vague, dark shapes of bushes and trees. When he turned his head the other way, the motion made him feel dizzy and sick. He took deep, slow breaths,

    I'm in a forest, he thought. What forest? Where?

    Then he noticed a dim, gray patch of something on the ground nearby. Bits of whiteness here and there swayed and trembled on it.

    It looked as if it might be snow.

    Where am I? Up in the mountains somewhere? Can't be warm. Much too warm for the mountains at night.

    Maybe it's a patch of sand?

    He moved his arm slowly away from his side.

    Just before touching the paleness, fear stopped his hand.

    Whatever it is, I've seen it before. It just didn't look the same, but...

    He went ahead and touched it and jerked his hand back quickly before he realized it had felt like cloth.

    A bedsheet?

    He put his hand on it again, clenched the cool soft fabric, and remembered a woman wearing a sheet, naked underneath it, running up to him and the kids.

    Said something about getting attacked.

    And about helping her friend.

    And then she'd run off and Phyllis had chased her and they'd both vanished into the woods by the dead-end barricade.

    These woods?

    Is that where I am? he wondered. Probably. I must've gone after them.

    I did.

    He suddenly remembered making his way along the path and seeing the dim pale shape ahead of him. Going to it. Finding a sheet, an empty sheet draped over the broken remains of an old tree...

    Then she came at him from behind.

    He remembered turning around, seeing her rush toward him with her arms high. Then the blast of pain in his head.

    Apparently, the blow had knocked him unconscious.

    How long ago?

    Where are the kids?

    Left them back on the street. With that girl, that cheerleader, Rhonda. Told them to wait for me. They should be safe.

    Bret and Mandy, anyway.

    Phyllis, anyone's guess. Why the hell did she have to go running off with the sheet woman?

    Why the hell does Phyllis do anything? Messed up little creep.

    I've gotta get up, get going.

    Jeff rolled over, groaning, head spinning. He made it to his hands and knees, then threw up. When he was done, he used the sheet to wipe his mouth. Then he crawled closer to a tree and put a hand on its trunk. Holding himself steady, he struggled to his feet.

    Where'd the path go?

    It should've been right here, but it wasn't.

    What'd she do, drag me somewhere?

    She couldn't have dragged me very far, he thought. Not without help, anyway.

    Maybe dear sweet Phyllis lent her a hand.

    Letting go of the tree, he took a slow, unsteady step forward and began to search for the path.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

    The woods ended, but the path continued into the graveyard.

    "Go left," Eleanor said from behind them.

    Hunter turned to the left. Mandy, holding his hand, made the turn and stayed beside him. Away from the dense woods, there was a lot more moonlight. She couldn't avoid seeing Hunter out of the corner of her eye, but she tried not to look at him.

    It would've felt strange to be anywhere near a naked boy, but to be walking close beside one, holding his hand... Good grief, wait until Phyllis hears about this.

    As if I'll ever tell, she thought. This is just between me and Hunter.

    And Eleanor. Don't forget Eleanor. Not that she'll go around blabbing to anyone.

    Not that any of it'll matter if she kills us.

    Would she really do it?

    Hunter's the only one around here who's actually killed anyone... that I know of, anyway.

    But Eleanor said she would, told Bret she'd kill us all - even Dad - if he didn't show up in ten minutes.

    How long ago was that? she wondered.

    It seemed as if she'd spent half an hour walking down the dark path with Hunter, but it couldn't have been that long. Must've been at least five minutes, though. And now they'd already spent a couple of minutes in the cemetery.

    Walking through a graveyard on Halloween night, holding hands with a naked boy, held prisoner by a naked woman with a sword.

    Weird, weird, weird, she thought.

    It intrigued Mandy that she didn't feel more frightened.

    Something wrong with me?

    She did have a tightness in her stomach. And she felt shivery all over. Her chin was trembling slightly. She had goosebumps and her nipples felt stiff and sensitive against the angora of her sweater.

    She supposed she was frightened, but it seemed almost like excitement.

    Something must be wrong with me, she thought.

    "Trick or treating'll be a bore after this," she said quietly to Hunter.

    "Maybe you should make a run for it," he said. "I'll block for you."

    "She'll get you with the sword."

    "I don't know. Maybe. But... if it'll help you get away."

    She squeezed his hand. "Thanks. I'll stick it out. They've got my dad. And Bret might show up. I can't just..."

    "Knock off the talk," Eleanor said from behind them.

    Then they were trudging up a long gradual slope, Hunter changing course to lead her around trees, monuments, tombstones and fenced plots that got in their way. Sometimes, he bumped softly against her when he turned, nudged her with his bare arm or hip, muttered, "Sorry." She knew he wasn't doing it on purpose. She liked it, though. Each place he touched her, she kept on feeling him after he'd stopped.

    She wondered how it might feel to actually hug him.

    I can't hug him! He hasn't got any clothes on! Besides, Eleanor would probably chop us to pieces.

    As they started down the other side of the low hill, Mandy saw a gathering of people off in the distance. They were on lower ground, some in tree shadows, some in moonlight. Several seemed to be standing around. Others were kneeling or sitting. Near them was a pale van.

    It's them!

    Her stomach went cold and seemed to shrivel.

    Is Dad down there? Phyllis?

    She supposed Rhonda was probably still on the way, Fain's prisoner.

    Where's Bret?

    Mandy looked over her shoulder. Eleanor was only a few steps back, striding along with the sword resting on her shoulder. Here, there were no trees above them. In the moonlight, Eleanor looked as if she'd been painted with cream. The wind blew her short blond hair. Her eyes and mouth were two black pits and a sideways slash in the paleness of her face. Her breasts bounced and swayed with the motions of her powerful body. Her nipples looked as if they might'd been dipped in blank ink.

    "Watch where you're walking, kid."

    "How much of the ten minutes is left?"

    "Who knows? Who cares?"

    "But you told Bret..." She tripped over the back of her other foot and stumbled forward. Hunter tried to hold on, but lost his grip on her hand. As she fell, a gravestone raced toward her face. She flung her left arm up and twisted sideways. Her arm crashed against the marble block. She cried out in pain, tumbled away from the stone and landed on her back.

    Hunter rushed over. "My God, are you okay?"

    Looking up at his moonlit body, she thought, Good grief! and turned her face away.

    Eleanor stopped near her feet. "Told you to watch where you were going."

    "My arm."

    "Get her up," she said to Hunter.

    "But she's hurt."

    "Do it!"

    Hunter crouched beside her.

    "Don't touch me!" Mandy blurted.

    "Get away from her," Eleanor ordered.

    Hunter scurried back and Eleanor came forward. She shifted the sword to her left hand. Planting her feet on both sides of Mandy's hips, she bent down and clutched the neck of the sweater and pulled.

    "No!" Mandy cried out.

    The angora stretched away from her neck, made sounds of starting to rip, but her head and back began to rise off the ground. Her left arm dangled toward the ground, erupting with pain. As she whimpered with the hurt of it, Eleanor hauled her upward and she pushed at the ground with her feet. A moment later, standing, she was jerked forward by a rough tug of Eleanor's hand, pulled up close to her.

    "Told you to watch where you're going," Eleanor said.

    "I'm... sorry."

    "She tripped" Hunter pleaded. "You don't have to..."

    "Shut up or I'll give it to her worse."

    Mandy put her right hand quickly up under her poodle skirt to Simone's knife in its sheath belted low around her hips. She grabbed the hilt and jerked upward. Her skirt came up with her hand and Eleanor made a perplexed sound, then grunted when Mandy punched the blade into her belly.

    Grunted and jerked rigid.

    Sensing she'd be in deep trouble unless she finished the job fast, Mandy jerked the knife upward hard while it was still inside Eleanor.

    The woman went up on tiptoes. Her mouth leaped open, but only a harsh gasp came out.

    Then the fist clutching Mandy's sweater punched her in the chest, blasting her backward. She kept hold of the knife. It pulled out of Eleanor. When she hit the ground, pain exploded through her arm.

    Eleanor lurched toward her, sword raised high, right hand pressed against her split belly.

    Leaping in from the side, Hunter grabbed her sword arm. She turned toward him, let go of her belly and pulled her knife from its sheath.

    "Look out!" Mandy warned.

    They both suddenly went down, Eleanor falling backward, Hunter on top.

    Eleanor grunted.

    There was no struggle. Hunter climbed off her.

    Mandy sat up, gritting her teeth against the pain from her arm, and saw Eleanor sprawled out on top of a low iron fence that surrounded a family plot. The uprights looked like miniature spears. She must've fallen on at least three of them.

    She was still alive.

    Still conscious.

    Writhing on the spikes, she screamed.

CHAPTER FORTY

    For a short while, Royce had been down on his knees and clutching his nose. Now he was up, staggering toward Laura.

    "Oh, God," she murmured.

    Shannon, spread-eagled underneath her, groaned and squirmed, maybe wanting to get up but too weak, too hurt from the fall.

    Royce stopped just beyond the reach of Laura's feel. "Ya busted by bose, ya puckin'..." A distant scream caught his attention. He looked over his shoulder.

    Laura, on the ground and lashed to Shannon's back, couldn't see what he was looking at.

    His robe was blowing behind him.

    The size of him made Laura feel sick and shaky.

    Please, God, don't let him...

    He turned his face again toward Laura. The blood running from his nostrils gave him a dark mustache and goatee.

    "Leave us alone," Laura said. "Please."

    He took a step closer and she kicked out at him. Too far away.

    "You an' yer puckin' poot," he muttered. Then he pulled out his knife.

    "No," Laura said. "Please."

    He stepped toward her and she shot her foot out, aiming for his groin.

    Flashing moonlight, the blade slit her across the instep.

    She jerked her leg back, crying out.

    He kicked her other leg aside and dropped to his knees. She felt him between her thighs.

    And heard a quiet pok!

    Royce remained kneeling for a moment. Then he toppled forward. She grunted as his thighs forced her legs wide and his torso came down on her pelvis and belly. His head followed, shoving his face between her breasts.

    Underneath her, Shannon moaned, squirmed, flexed her buttocks. "What... happened?"

    "I don't know," Laura said. "He got hit by something? I think he's out cold."

    "Can you... get him off us?"

    "I don't..."

    Someone ran in from the side, skidded to a halt and looked down at her. A kid with wild, pale hair. He wore bib overalls and held a slingshot in one hand.

    "Hi, Laura," he said. "Hi, Shannon."

    "Hey," Laura said.

    "Who is it?" Shannon asked.

    "Dennis the Menace?"

    "I'm Bret. Bret Wilson. Remember me?"

    "What's going on?"

    "I'm here to rescue everyone. I'm supposed to give up, but I'm not gonna."

    Suddenly, kids started screaming. Eight, ten of them, boys and girls together, shrieking in terror.

    Bret turned his head. "Uh-oh."

    "What?"

    "Somebody's watching."

    "Oh, God."

    "It's okay."

    "Get outa here, Bret," Shannon warned.

    "Don't worry."

    "You'd better run," Laura told him.

    "I'm fine," he said, reaching behind his back with the slingshot A moment later, his hand came forward empty. He shoved it into a front pocket of his bib overalls and pulled out something that looked like a pistol.

    "Shannon?" he said. "What's the combination for your trigger lock?"

    "What?"

    "I think he's got your gun," Laura said.

    "You're kidding!"

    "Uh, oh," Bret said. "Here they come."

    "Double-oh-seven!" Shannon cried out.

    Bret raised the pistol higher, studied it in the moonlight, worked on something with his thumb. "Now what?"

    "Twist the thing sideways and pull it apart."

    He fiddled with it.

    Laura strained her head upward. The top Royce's head blocked most of her view, so she couldn't see who was coming. She could hear them, though. Footfalls, panting sounds.

    She looked over at Bret.

    Two big shiny chunks of something metallic fell away and he shoved the pistol straight out in front of him.

    BLAM!

    The pistol spit out fire, leaping in the boy's small hand.

    BLAM BLAM!

***

    Sword high overhead as if leading a cavalry charge, Hunter raced down the slope, dodging grave stones and trees. On the level ground in the distance, all the robed figures seemed to be watching him.

    I must look crazy to them.

    Maybe even scary, coming down through the graveyard like the Headless Horseman, sword waving. No horse, though. No clothes or missing head.

    Hunter let out a war cry.

    A lot of the kids started screaming.

    Suddenly, a couple of the robed adults turned around and ran in the opposite direction.

    Afraid of me?

    Maybe not. Looked like some others were over there, down on the ground.

    He heard a quick BLAM!

    One of the running shapes fell. Two more bangs. The other tumbled to the ground.

    Somebody shot them?

    As if the shots were a signal, chaos broke out. Yelling kids started to stand up, struggle with their ropes. Some of them, already loose, sprinted away. None of the guards tried to interfere; they had problems of their own.

    Namely me and Wild Bill!

    The four remaining robed figures were striding around, looking every which way, shouting, grabbing kids, pointing at Hunter, throwing kids to the ground, pointing toward the scene of the gunfire.

    Who the hell turned up with a gun?

    He only knew of one firearm; Shannon's pistol that Bret had run off with. But it had a trigger lock.

    Did he get it off? How could he? The kid's only... what, eight?

***

    Hunter had told Mandy to wait, so she was waiting at the top of the hill even though it made her nervous being so close to Eleanor

    As Hunter charged down the slope, she glanced over at the woman.

    Not dead yet. Moaning and twitching on the fence spikes, intestines slipping around and falling off her sides as if snakes were escaping from her belly.

    I did that.

    The blast of a gunshot made her flinch. Then came two more

    She jerked her head around. She'd missed where the shot came from. By the sounds, however, they must've been fired from somewhere down below.

    Are they shooting at Hunter?

    If so, they'd missed. He was still racing down the slope, waving his sword overhead like a madman.

    "Mandy?"

    She whirled around.

    Rhonda was down on her knees a few yards away, a woman standing behind her. The woman wore a robe. He bare head gleamed in the moonlight.

    She had one hand on Rhonda's shoulder. The other, raised high, held a hatchet.

    "Take it easy," the woman said. "Don't try anything or I'll split Rhonda's head open."

    "What do you want?" Mandy asked.

    The woman smiled and said, "You."

***

    "You got 'em?" Shannon asked. Mashed beneath Laura and

    Royce, she hadn't been able to see anything except grass and a nearby gravestone. But the gunshots were still ringing in her ears.

    "Sure," Bret said.

    "Any more coming?" Laura asked.

    "Not yet."

    "Can you get this guy off us?" Shannon asked.

    "I guess so."

    "No," Laura said. "Just leave him for now. Get us loose first."

    What's the matter with her? Shannon wondered. Doesn't she know I'm getting crushed under here? Does she like having that creep on top of her?

    "Can you untie us?" Laura asked.

    "I can do better. This guy's got a knife."

    Moments later, Shannon felt the flat of a cool blade slipping between her wrist and Laura's. The boy began to work it back and forth, cutting into the rope.

***

    None of the four remaining guards seemed eager to rush toward the place where someone had just gunned down their pals. While two of them tried to round up kids who hadn't gotten away yet, the two others pulled weapons from inside their robes and rushed toward Hunter. The way they were shrouded by shadows, he couldn't see what their weapons were.

    But he'd had a pretty good look at the whole group earlier that night when they'd shed their robes and danced in the light of the flare, and he hadn't seen any firearms. Just hatchets, all sorts of knives and a couple of swords.

    Bad enough going up against anything like that.

    I don't have to do this!

    But he wondered if Connie was there among the captives.

    Is she watching, amazed by the naked wildman charging to the rescue? She'll go nuts when she finds out it's me.

    He wanted to look for her, but couldn't take his eyes off the two robed figures who were now only a few strides away.

    One threw a knife at him. It tumbled end over end, blade flashing moonlight.

    No time to dodge, so he slashed his sword at it.

    Missed.

    The knife struck him hard in the chest.

    Hilt-first? Glancing down, he expected to see it bounce off and fall. But the handle, a couple of inches below his right nipple, was sticking out straight.

    Oh, my God.

    He felt the blade deep inside him, hot and stiff.

    The man dodged away after throwing the knife, but the other, a woman with flowing blond hair, ran toward him with an upraised hatchet.

    He swung his sword.

    Her head leaped off her neck and bumped her raised arm, knocking the hatchet aside. An instant later, Hunter collided with her, caught a faceful of blood from her spouting neck stump, and took her over backward.

    When he landed on the woman, her chest slammed the knife deeper into him.

    Squealing, he tried to roll off her.

    Someone helped.

    A hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and flung him over. He tumbled off the woman. On his back, he saw the man who'd thrown the knife bend over him, grab the knife by its hill and pull it out.

    The man put the blade to Hunter's neck.

    Oh, no.

    Then came a quick hard BLAM! and the man's head jerked as if he'd been punched in the face and pieces of his chin flew off and he stumbled sideways and disappeared from Hunter's line of sight.

***

    He'd said, "Just a second."

    "What?" Laura asked.

    Not answering, Bret had left the knife's wide blade sandwiched between their upper arms, leaped up and run.

    "Where are you going? " Laura had called.

    "What's he doing?" Shannon had asked.

    "I don't know."

    "He shouldn't have left! If something happens to him..."

    BLAM!

    "What's he doing?"

    Laura raised her head, but Royce's head remained in the way.

    "I can't see."

    Royce raised his head and looked her in the eyes. Then he turned his head, opened his mouth and licked the side of her right breast. Squirming and lifting himself slightly, he licked his way to the top of her breast. His mouth opened wide.

    Obviously unaware that Laura's right arm was no longer bound to Shannon's arm.

    Fingers searching the grass by her side, she found what she wanted.

    Her breast in his mouth, Royce raised his head, sucking and pulling and stretching it.

    She clutched the heavy chunk of metal so that its smooth oval side was against her palm, its stubby barrel-like rod jutting outward, and swung it u p hard, slamming it against the side of Royce's head...

    His head jumped up. Her breast popped out of his mouth with a wet slurping sound. As he bucked higher, Laura let go of her weapon - half of Shannon's trigger lock. It stayed with Royce, its rod embedded in his temple.

    He made it to his knees, then tumbled sideways. His weight came down on Laura's left leg, Shannon's right. They both yelled in pain.

    With her right foot, Laura shoved at the body. It wobbled, started to roll.

    Then she heard an engine sputter. It died, then caught and roared as someone gunned it.

    Then came another gunshot.

    "What the hell's going on?" Shannon blurted.

    After the shot, the engine quieted to an idle.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

    A girl in a shiny, pale monster suit ran over to Laura and Shannon.

    "Betsy?" Laura asked.

    "That's me. Bret sent me over." Crouching, she look hold of the knife and started to cut through the ropes that bound Laura's upper left arm to Shannon's right.

    "Where's Bret?" Laura asked.

    "Over by the van. He has a prisoner of war."

    Underneath Laura, Shannon said, "Huh?"

    "That's what he called her, a 'prisoner of war.' He has to keep her covered, so he sent me over."

    Finished with that rope, she started working on the one around their forearms. "A couple of them almost got away. They had me and some other kids in their van, but then Bret ran up to the door and shot the driver and rescued us all and took his prisoner of war."

    "He got 'em all?" Shannon asked.

    "Oh, he did. If you count the ones that went after you, he shot

    four of them."

    "Jesus," Shannon muttered, "He's a kid. He shouldn't even know how to work a gun like that."

    "He says it's easy," Betsy said.

    Shannon laughed, shaking Laura.

    Soon, the last of the ropes were cut away. After Betsy stood up, Laura gave Royce a hard shove with her foot and he rolled clear.

    She rolled in the opposite direction, tumbled off Shannon's slippery hot back and buttocks, and lay face down on the grass. The wind felt wonderful against her own wet skin.

    Turning her head, she looked at Shannon.

    Shannon, still flat on the grass, smiled. "Nice to have you off my back, kid."

    "Nice to be off."

    "You weigh a ton."

    "Oh, yeah?"

    "Yeah."

    She slid her arm across the grass, found Shannon's hand and squeezed it. "I didn't think we'd make it out of this one."

    "Ah, I always knew we'd be fine."

    "Do you call this fine?" Laura asked.

    "Could be worse."

    "Oh, yeah. A lot worse."

    "Just goes to show," Shannon said, "we can get along without our guardian spooks."

    "Guardian spooks?" Betsy asked.

    Laura grimaced, and saw Shannon do the same. Apparently, they'd both forgotten that the girl was standing nearby.

    "What's a guardian spook?" Betsy asked.

    Shannon shrugged her shoulders, then groaned as if it hurt.

    "Sort of like a guardian angel," Laura explained. "But with attitude."

    "Do you have guardian spooks?"

    "Nah," Shannon said. "We were just kidding around about that."

    "Bret's our guardian," Laura said. Thrusting at the ground with hands and knees, she pushed herself up. But when she tried to stand, a fiery streak of pain reminded her of the knife cut on the bottom of her right foot. She jerked that foot off the ground. Standing on her left leg, she hopped to keep her balance and saw a group of kids standing around Bret and a robed woman beside the van. Bret, whose head wasn't quite as high as the woman's chest, was aiming the pistol at her face.

    When he noticed Laura, he used his free hand to wave.

    Most of the kids turned their heads to look at her.

    Giving them a spectacle.

    She stopped bouncing, put an arm across her breasts, pressed her other hand between her legs, and would've fallen over except that Betsy hurried over and held her up.

    "Thanks," she said. Then she raised her voice. "Shannon, would you please get up here and help me? I've got a slashed foot."

    "Oh. Sorry."

    Shannon struggled to her feet and hobbled over. Betsy got out of the way. Shannon put an arm around Laura's low back and planted a hand against her hip. Laura leaned against her.

    Facing the kids and making no attempt to hide her own nudity, Shannon said, "So, kids, trick or treat." To Bret, she said, "You did a great job, buddy."

    "Thanks." Keeping the pistol aimed at his prisoner, he glanced toward Laura and Shannon and said, "But there's people missing, Mandy and my dad. And Rhonda. I don't know where they are. And I think Hunter needs an ambulance."

    "Any of you kids have a cell phone?" Shannon asked.

    "I had one," said a boy in a Freddy Krueger costume, "but they took it away from me."

    "Me, too," said a girl who seemed to be dressed as a ballerina.

    "What did they do with 'em?" Shannon asked.

    "I think they're in the van," Krueger said.

    "Somebody go look, okay?" Shannon said.

    "Not okay."

    Off to the right, a fair distance from the kids but closer to where Laura and Shannon were standing, a girl in a sweater and pleated skirt suddenly stumbled out from behind the Kneeling Girl statue. Arms windmilling, hair flying, she tried to stay up but lost her balance and flew headlong.

    "Rhonda!" Bret yelled.

    She slammed against the ground and skidded toward the concrete bench.

    Then a smaller girl was shoved around the side of the statue by a woman walking behind her.

    A woman with a hairless head.

    Fain?

    The bitch who whipped me with her belt.

    The girl looked no older than twelve or thirteen. She wore a torn sweater, a scarf around her neck and a poodle skirt. Her left arm was pressed close against her side. Something seemed to be wrong with it.

    Fain, behind her, was clutching the girl's pony tail with one hand. Her other hand held a hatchet over the girl's head, ready to strike.

    "Mandy?" Bret said.

    Fain said, "Kid, put down the gun."

    Though Bret was looking over his shoulder at Fain and Mandy, he kept the pistol pointed at his prisoner. "You put down the hatchet," he said.

    "I'll put it in this girl's head."

    "You'd better not."

    "I will."

    "You better not." He suddenly sounded close to tears.

    "Fain," Shannon said.

    The woman turned her head.

    Shannon let go of Laura, stepped away from her, and began walking slowly toward Fain. "You're pretty tough when it comes to picking on little kids or people who are tied up. How would you like to deal with me?"

    "One more step, and I'll split this kid's head open."

    Shannon halted.

    Laura nearly fell over, so she spread her arms and began to hop on her left foot.

    "Kid," Fain called. "Hand that pistol over to your prisoner."

    "You'll kill Mandy anyhow," he said.

    "No, I won't. I promise."

    "Put your hatchet down, and then I'll give over the pistol."

    "Afraid it doesn't work that way, kid. You go first."

    "No, you go first."

    "Give her the pistol before I count to three, or I'll chop this girl's head open. One."

    "Leave the girl alone," Shannon warned.

    "Two."

    "You touch her, I'll kill you."

    BLAM!

    Laura jerked her head sideways in time to see Bret's prisoner take a step backward and fall.

    Then he swung around and aimed at Fain and but didn't fire. He let out a whine of surprise.

    Laura saw that the slide was back, the pistol out of ammo.

    "Oh, kid," Fain said.

    "No!" Bret yelled.

    Shannon sprang forward, but Laura knew she would never be in time.

    Fain started to swing the hatchet down.

    POK!

    Fain's head flew back as if she'd been kicked in the forehead and for just an instant Laura thought Bret must've nailed her with his slingshot. But she glimpsed a darkness splash up from behind her head and vanish into the night. And down she went, still clutching the hatchet in one hand, the girl's pony tail in the other, and the girl fell on top of her.

    "EVERYBODY DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" came a tinny, amplified voice.

    Bret dropped his pistol.

    They came running from a long way off, dodging gravemarkers and trees, hustling through the Halloween night, men and women in dark, baggy trousers, flak jackets and helmets, carrying assault rifles.

    After they'd swarmed in, Laura noticed the lettering on the backs of their jackets.

    BEAUMONT P.D. SWAT.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

    Jeff stood in front of the dead-end barricade and looked up the street. He saw nobody.

    They weren't supposed to go away, he thought.

    Maybe around the corner.

    The way his head ached, the corner looked awfully far away. So he cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth and shouted, "KIDS!"

    Listening, he heard only the wind.

    "MANDY? BRET? RHONDA?"

    He watched and listened. Along the road, nothing moved except the tree branches and the patterns of light and shadow they cast on the pavement. And leaves falling sideways, tumbling, some scooting along just above the road as if in a hurry to be somewhere else.

    He heard only the sounds of what the wind did. Whistles, howls, whispers of leaves brushing against this or that, bumps and clatters, the tingle and clink of wind chimes somewhere.

    But he heard no voices.

    Nobody called out, "Dad!" or "Over here!"

    Damn it, they weren't supposed to go wandering off!

    Where are they?

    Oh, God, what if something happened to them?

    He began walking up the middle of the road, leaning into the warm wind, moving slowly to avoid jostling his head.

    Never should've left them. What was I thinking?

    "MANDY! BRET! RHONDA!"

    They've gotta be okay, he told himself.

    Oh, yeah?

    There has to be a simple explanation as to why they aren't here. Maybe they found Rhonda's brother and the others and took them home.

    They were supposed to wait!

    Maybe they decided to search door-to-door.

    Grimacing, he turned his head slowly to the right and saw the end of a driveway.

    That's where Rhonda said she stopped to tie her shoe.

    Up the driveway was the house where those two gals lived, the ones Bret had gotten involved with about ghosts or something. Bret had really wanted to see them tonight.

    I bet that's where the kids went!

    Jeff began walking up the driveway.

    They have to be there, he thought.

    If they aren't...

    They are. It makes perfect sense. Especially when I didn't come back. They weren't supposed to leave the area, so they went to a house instead... the house of these two gals Bret seems to like so much.

    I'll probably find them waiting on the front porch.

    The driveway curved past bushes and trees and the house came into view. The porch was dark except for the glow from a couple of lighted windows. Nobody seemed to be waiting there.

    They must be inside, Jeff told himself.

    They'd better be.

    Please, let them be inside.

    As he followed a walkway toward the porch stairs, the front doors came into sight. The screen door was shut, but the main door seemed to be wide open and he could see into the lighted foyer.

    That's a good sign, he thought.

    Maybe.

    On his way up the porch stairs, he saw jack-o'-lanterns on both sides of the open door. A cheerful face was carved into one. The other had a gleefully vicious face with sharp teeth. But the face holes didn't glow and shimmer as they should. They looked black. The candles had probably burnt out.

    He saw nobody in the house's foyer.

    As he crossed the porch, however, he glanced both ways. Saw someone on the floor. Flinched and yelled, "Yiii!"

    The shape on the porch floor didn't move.

    He stepped toward it and slowly crouched.

    A man was sprawled on his back, wearing dark pants and a shirt. The shirt was wide open.

    Jeff reached down, touched the man's cheek, and jerked his hand away fast.

    Dead!

    Maybe not, he told himself.

    From far away came a pop!

    It passed through Jeff's mind that some older kids, done trick or treating, must've set off a firecracker.

    Pop pop!

    Wish I were with 'em, Jeff thought.

    Though reluctant to touch the body again, he reached down to check the neck pulse. Instead of a pulse, his fingertips found a thin cord pulled so tightly that it felt embedded in the skin.

    As he look his hand away, something snagged his forefinger. A loop? He felt it.

    The seemed to be tied with a bow knot at the front of the dead man's neck.

    A shoe lace?

    Jeff found his gaze pulled to the man's feet.

    While most of the body lay in darkness, the light from a window slanted down on the man's high-top walking shoes. One was neatly tied. The other had no lace. Its flaps were loose, its tongue bulging.

    Jeff let out a quiet moan and stood up. He whirled around, rushed to the screen door, threw it open and ran into the house.

    Blood in the foyer. Another body, a man, this one naked.

    So much blood.

    Jeff went to the left, lurched through the living room entryway and stopped.

    Another body was sprawled on the floor, naked and bloody. A woman. Black hair.

    Not Mandy, thank God. Not Rhonda, either.

    "MANDY!" Jeff shouted. "BRET! IT'S DAD! ARE YOU HERE?"

    No answer.

    He ran from the living room, leaped over the man's body and raced up the stairs.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

    She whirled around, rushed to the screen door, threw it open and ran into the house.

    Blood in the foyer. Another body, a man, naked.

    Halfway up the stairs sat another man, gazing down at her, his eyes grim.

    "Oh, my God, Jeff." She leaped over the body and raced up the stairs.

    Jeff rose to his feet. He looked haggard.

    She stopped one stair below him and wrapped her arms around

    him and hugged him hard.

    "I lost 'em, Sue. I lost 'em."

    "They're not lost, honey. Bret just called. He told me I'd better come looking for you, knew you'd be worried. He said if I couldn't find you on the street you might be in here."

    "Are they all right?"

    "Mandy has a broken arm. She's being taken to the hospital."

    "How'd she break her arm?"

    "Bret's not sure."

    "Bret's okay?"

    "He called, didn't he?"

    Jeff started sobbing. Sue held him more tightly. "It's all right, honey. It's all right. Everything's fine."

    "Phyllis?"

    "She's fine."

    "Rhonda?"

    "Who's Rhonda?"

    "This other girl. She was with us."

    "Far as I know, everyone's fine. Bret sounded... pretty excited. Come on, let's get out of here."

    They let go of each other and Sue turned around. As she started down the stairs, she felt Jeff's hand settle on her shoulder.

    "They're really okay?" he asked.

    "If you can call a broken arm okay." Her eyes drifted sideways to the man at the bottom of the stairs. Glimpsing his genitals, she looked away fast. "What on earth happened here, honey?"

    "I don't know. Something... really bad."

    "I'll say."

    "Another body upstairs."

    Sue made a detour around the naked man, trying not to look at him again, but giving him one last glance anyway that made her feel a little sick and a little ashamed of herself.

    Outside, Sue managed not to look at the dead man on the porch. She trotted down the stairs and hurried over to the driveway with Jeff holding on to her shoulder all the way.

    Then he stopped her and turned her around and put his arms around her.

    Sue's throat tightened. "Are you all right?" she asked.

    "I... I was so scared. In the house. So many bodies. I thought I'd find them in there. I went hunting through every room upstairs and every time I opened a door or turned on a light... I thought I'd find Mandy or Bret. Their bodies."

    She stroked the back of his head. "Oh, honey."

    "I found their bags. Their Halloween bags. Upstairs. In one of the bedrooms. Somebody'd been in them. Eating the candy. There were wrappers all over the floor... and on some dead guy who's up there."

    "Are you sure they were our kids' bags?"

    "Bret had his name on his. And Mandy was using that Macy's bag from The Cellar."

    "That's right," Sue said, nodding. "Do you suppose they were up there?"

    "I don't know, I don't know. Where are they?"

    "I'm not entirely sure. Bret said he'd meet us at the hospital. Apparently, he was calling from the cemetery. He had a cell phone You should've heard him, honey. He was so excited. He said he'd saved everyone except Mandy and how he meant to save her but couldn't, and how a sharpshooter got to save her instead."

    "What?" Jeff stepped out of Sue's arms and held her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes as if he needed to see her to believe what she was saying.

    "Well, apparently Mandy was saved by a SWAT sharpshooter."

    "Holy shit."

    Sue gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged. "That's what Bret said."

    "Bret said 'Holy shit'?"

    "No, no. About the sharpshooter."

    "SWAT showed up at the cemetery?"

    "That's what it sounds like. According to Bret, it sounds like maybe a dozen or so kids got grabbed off the streets tonight and taken to the graveyard. A couple of older gals, too. Bret sounded like they were his good buddies, but I'd never heard of them."

    "Shannon and Laura?"

    "That's it. Yeah. You've heard of them?"

    "Not before tonight. That's their house right there."

    "Oh. Well. Maybe that explains the bodies."

    "What the hell was going on?" Jeff asked.

    Again, Sue shrugged. "Apparently, a bunch of nutjobs were planning to sacrifice the kids and everyone in some sort of midnight ritual."

    "Like... Satanists or something?"

    "Something. I don't know. Bret didn't seem to know, either."

    "Holy shit," Jeff muttered again.

    "Or unholy shit, as the case may be."

    He almost smiled. "But everything's okay now? Except for Mandy's arm?"

    "Some other kid got hurt pretty seriously, I guess. I don't know. It sounded like all sorts of crap hit the fan. But yeah, it's okay now. Cavalry arrived. Ambulances. The whole nine yards."

    "Let's go see the kids," Jeff said.

    "Good plan."

    Holding hands, they walked down the driveway.

    Sue turned her head. "So how did the trick or treating go?"

    "Great. Up to a point."

    "Next year, it's all of us or none of us."

    "All of us."

    "I should've gone with you tonight," Sue said. "If I'd been along, none of this would've happened."

    Jeff chuckled. "Probably not."

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

    They crept closer to the lights, then ducked behind a large marble tombstone and peered around its sides.

    "What do you think happened?" Al asked.

    Whitney turned around and sat down, her back against the slab. "The cops showed up, that's what."

    Al sat down beside her, leaned back and stretched out his legs. "Guess we lucked out," he said.

    "You can say that again."

    "Guess we lucked out."

    Whitney nudged him with her elbow.

    He laughed softly.

    "Dope," she said.

    "Don't call we a dope. I'm the one figured we oughta stay away. I knew there was gonna be trouble."

    "Only you wanted to come back and warn 'em. Talk about bonehead moves. Like they woulda thanked us for letting that bitch get away."

    "You think she's the one called the cops?"

    "What do you think?"

    "Maybe her boyfriend called 'em."

    "Nah," Whitney said. "Nobody gets away from Eleanor. It was that bitch we went after."

    Al sighed. "Guess no ceremony tonight."

    "I figure it's bullshit anyway."

    "Yeah, me too," Al said. "I'm gonna miss it, though. I mean, shit, what a rush, you know what I mean?"

    "Just a glorified orgy."

    "But all that blood," Al reminded her.

    "Yeah. The blood."

    "Nailing all those kids."

    "Yeah."

    "Shit. I'm really gonna miss it."

    Whitney raised her hand in front of her face and pushed a button to activate her wristwatch light. "Still a couple of hours till midnight."

    "So?"

    "Plenty of time. Let's haul ass outa here, grab a couple of kids and have our own ceremony. Who needs the rest of 'em?"

    Al looked at her. "You serious?"

    She reached over and patted his thigh. "Hell yes."

    "What're we waiting for?"

    Hunched over, the two robed figures rushed away from the tombstone and ran into the trees and the dark Halloween night.

***

    And they all lived happily ever after.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR