Oscar mumbled to himself, “I’m drunk. Like… really drunk, and I got all horny at the party, I was dancing with some girl, this way-out-of-my-league girl and my brain got all sexed up, and her tits got me all chubbed out when she was feeding me guacamole in sexy ways—”
In the middle of working on his excuse, maybe practicing what he would tell Cameron if—when—Allyson ratted him out, the case of beer slipped through his sweaty hands. One can fell free, hit the ground hard and sprayed foam all over.
“SHIT!”
He grabbed the cardboard container and more cans spilled out through the ripped opening, rolling in different directions. Scrambling around, he grabbed cans and shoved them inside the damaged box. As he straightened up, he saw a dark shape standing twenty feet away in the middle of the yard, cast in silhouette against the motion-detection spotlight. Shielding his eyes from the light, Oscar could only make out a pale mask.
“Happy Halloween, Mr Elrod,” Oscar said, trying to act nonchalant. “Cool mask. Sorry… I’m not trying to trespass on your shit, but I was talking to this pretty girl over there.” Oscar pointed toward Allyson, near the far end of the yard, to bolster his excuse. “It’s just I guess I always kind of liked her. And I know she’s bummed out about Cameron, so I thought maybe… Stupid, right?”
The Shape stood there, unmoving.
If Oscar had hoped for a little sympathy from another guy, an older guy who had probably had an unrequited crush or two back in the day, he was disappointed by the complete lack of response. Not that he knew Elrod all that well, but enough to know he wasn’t one of those “get off my lawn” geezers who hated anyone young enough to still have a life.
“All right,” Oscar said. “Peace. Thank you.”
Suddenly, the motion-detecting spotlight winked out, casting Oscar into darkness until his eyes could readapt to the ambient light. He blinked frantically, blinded by afterimages of the bright bulb, frozen to the spot to avoid tripping over his own feet or a misplaced can of beer.
At the far side of the yard, Allyson heard Oscar talking to someone but thought it as likely that he was talking to himself. The motion-detecting light he’d tripped winked out by the time she reached the fence. On this side, facing an alley, the fence was six feet high and each iron fence was tipped with a spike, a dangerous design to discourage trespassers, although she needed to get out of, not into, Elrod’s yard. Using the calf-high horizontal rail to boost herself up, she carefully climbed the fence, pulling her hand away when it pressed into one of the spikes. It was certainly not razor sharp, but she wouldn’t want to put any of her weight on one of them as she navigated the top of the fence. Taking as much care as possible, she supported her weight by placing her hands on the upper horizontal rail, swinging her legs over the top. Once her body cleared the spikes, she pushed off and dropped down on the other side.
Proud of herself, she brushed her gritty palms on the front of her trousers. She’d scaled the nasty fence on her own, injury-free. A small victory in an otherwise crappy night. But she’d take it. Don’t need Oscar or his grabby hands and lame excuses.
Again, the motion-detecting sensor switched the yard light back on.
Shielding his eyes with his forearm, Oscar looked at where The Shape had been before the lights winked out. Nothing. He looked left and right. More nothing. Oscar had started to get a bad vibe about the time the light went out, beginning to wonder if the figure hadn’t been Mr Elrod after all.
“Yo!” he called. “Where’d you go, bro? You’re acting super sketchy right now.”
Okay, don’t panic, Oscar thought, hoping the fog of alcohol had begun to clear out of his mind. Maybe it was Elrod and he went back inside. He had his back to the light, so his eyes were adapted to the dark. So, after seeing I’m just a goofy, lovesick teen, he ignores me and goes inside. Or decides to call the cops on me. Either way, I’m out of here!
With as many beers as he could recover, he clutched the case to his chest and rushed toward the far fence to rejoin Allyson, who couldn’t have gotten f—
He slammed into the unmoving figure, the dark shape with the creepy pale mask—and gasped. Instinctively, he backed up a step, ready to utter another apology when the figure raised his right arm, revealing a long kitchen knife gripped in his hand, the blade gleaming with reflected light. Oscar’s damaged case of beer slipped free of his numb hands again, crashing to the ground. Several cans hissed.
Desperate, he raised his forearm to block the knife.
The spotlight switched off—
—plunging Oscar into total darkness.
33
Not that she wanted to admit it, even to herself, but Allyson had been nervous walking through the dark alley, breathing through her mouth to avoid the unpleasant odors of rotting food and fresh urine. Several smelly metal dumpsters lined the alley, hulking shapes, no doubt harboring rats and other squirmy vermin she’d rather not think about, but her imagination ran wild anyway. Each trash bin offered hiding places—yuck—and blind spots for someone to lie in ambush. They might try to grab her as she passed or wait until she thought she was clear and pounce on her from behind.
When she passed the last dumpster, she whipped her head around to the left, making sure nobody crouched beside it. She sighed in relief—then nearly jumped out of her skin when a feral cat yowled and bounded out of the dumpster. For a second, it balanced on the edge, then leapt to the ground and scurried to the street ahead of her.
She didn’t resent a hungry cat. Best case, he reduced the rat population in Haddonfield, specifically in the creepy alley. Worst case, he contracted rabies during his nocturnal hunting. But that unpleasant thought had her obsessing about nearby rabid rats.
She quickened her step and turned onto the connecting street, grateful for the wan illumination provided by the widely spaced streetlights. After a few steps, Allyson heard a scream and stopped, turning to look back the way she’d come. To her ears, the sound seemed to have originated from the far end of the alley.
Returning to the alley entrance, she looked back the way she’d come. The thought of going back filled her with dread.
By the time the light switched on again, Oscar was already running toward the fence. Blood ran from the stab wound in his forearm down to his elbow, dripping in his wake. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed The Shape—definitely not Elrod—walking after him, unhurried but determined, Oscar’s blood staining the deadly knife. Too panicked to think about who had attacked him or why, Oscar simply focused on surviving. He stared at the wrought-iron fence in front of him, fixing its location in his mind so he’d remember exactly where it was when the lights went out. One imperative ran though his mind on repeat.
Get over the fence; outrun the monster!
Primed by a surge of adrenaline, Oscar leapt for the top rail of the fence. He swung one leg over and felt sudden resistance—not from the lunatic with the knife but from his cape, snagged on one of the sharp post points.
A primal cry of fear and frustration erupted from his throat, “FUUAAHH!”
Another quick glance back. The Shape was closing the distance between them—knife raised, gleaming in the light, dripping with Oscar’s blood.
Oscar pulled against the resistance, trying to rip free of the cape—
He gasped at the sudden, jarring impact of the knife plunging into his back. The pain felt like a spike of fire ripping through him. Unable to breathe from the overwhelming agony, poised above the wrought-iron fence, he felt the muscles in his arms and legs quiver with fatigue. A moment later, strong hands gripped his feet, tugging down. Oscar struggled to hang on, but the pain and blood loss betrayed his efforts.