“It’s pretty boring stuff till you get into April,” Janice said. “Then she gets into it pretty hot and heavy with the family doctor. Around May eighteenth is when she starts with the beast. She called it Xanadu.”
“Xanadu? As in Kubla Khan? ‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alph the sacred river ran through caverns measureless to man—down to the sunless sea.’”
“I guess,” Janice said. “That’s what she called him, anyway. Xanadu. It gets pretty far out, the diary, and I would’ve figured she made it up, you know, but it pretty much explains what’s behind the killings in Beast House. I mean, those murders really happened, no question.”
“Mmhmm.” Gorman opened the diary at random, and began to read. “‘His warm breath on my face smelled of the earth and wild, uninhabited forests. He lay his hands upon my shoulders. Claws bit into me. I stood before the creature, helpless with fear and wonder, as he split the fabric of my nightgown.’”
Brian whistled softly.
Janice glanced at him, and made a slightly lopsided smile. The drink, he figured, was getting to her.
“‘When I was bare,’” Gorman continued, “‘he muzzled my body like a dog. He licked my breasts. He sniffed me, even my private areas, which he probed with his snout.’”
Janice eased her knees closer together.
“Well,” Gorman said, shutting the book, “it appears that this little memoir does, indeed, live up to your reports. How exactly did it come into your possession?”
“Like I said in my letter, I found it in one of the rooms here.”
“Could you be more specific?”
She drained her martini, and nodded.
“Refill?” Gorman asked.
“Sure, okay,” She opened her eyes wide as if to test how well the lids were still working. Gorman took her glass, poured in an inch of the clear liquid, and handed it back to her. She took a small drink. “Anyway…”
“Would you mind if I record you?”
A puzzled look crossed her face. “Aren’t I not supposed to be in the book?”
“That’s true. None of what you say need find its way into the work, but we’ll be on safer ground with a statement regarding the manuscript’s origin. You may not be aware of it, but there were accusations regarding the veracity of our previous book.”
“Huh?”
“Horror at Black River Falls,” Brian told her. “Some people accused us of making up the whole damn story.”
Janice frowned. “No, you didn’t do that. Did you?”
“No way,” Brian said. “But we didn’t have much proof to back up our claims. That’s why we want to tape what you say. Then, if somebody gets on our case, we’ve actually got a recorded statement to prove the conversation happened.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “I see. Okay.”
Gorman lifted his small recorder off the dresser top. He switched it on. “The following is a statement by Janice Crogan of Malcasa Point, California, in which she explains how she came into possession of the diary of Elizabeth Thorn.” Leaning forward, he placed the device on the bedspread by her hip.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m Janice Crogan. My folks own the Welcome Inn here in Malcasa, and I help them with it. I found the diary in room nine, one day last summer. In June. Late June. We haven’t got any maids here. Dad says that’s the kind of overhead that kills you. Me and my mom—my mom and I—we do all the cleaning. That’s how I found the diary. It was under one of the beds. In room nine. Did I already say that? Anyway, it was in nine. One of the guests must’ve lost it there.”
“Do you have any idea who that might have been?” Gorman asked.
She shook her head. Her left cheek bulged out as she pushed it with her tongue. She frowned at her drink and took another sip. “Could’ve been under there a while. I don’t know. But there was a woman and her kid in nine a couple days before. That was when…uh…this guy…”
Suddenly, Janice’s face crumpled. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth twisted into a parody of a smile as tears spilled down her cheeks. Sobbing loudly, she pressed one hand across her eyes. Her other hand shook, sloshing her drink up the walls of her glass.
Brian took the glass from her. She hunched over, burying her face in both hands. He sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her quaking back. “Hey, it’s all right,” he said in a soothing voice. “It’s all right, Janice.” He squeezed her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted between sobs. “You must…”
“Shhh.” Gently, he stroked her hair. He caressed her back. It bounced under his hand, but he liked the warm feel of her skin through the fabric.
Slowly, she regained control of herself.
Gorman gave her a Kleenex. She blotted her wet cheeks, wiped her eyes, blew her nose. Then she sat up straight and took a deep breath that sounded shaky as she let it out.
“Better?” Brian asked.
“Better.” She sniffed. She shook her head as if ashamed of her behavior. “I’m sorry. I…I thought I was over it. Guess I’m not, huh?” She made a feeble smile. “See…This guy I was telling you about, he…God.”
Brian’s hand slowly roamed her back. “It’s all right,” he said.
“I caught him trying to break into one of the cabins,” she said quickly, as if to get it over with. “He had this girl with him, a little kid named Joni. He’d killed her parents and kidnapped her, and—God, the awful things he did to her! We found out all about it later. But this guy, his name was Roy, he grabbed me and he tied us both up in one of the rooms and…messed with us. Raped us.”
“How awful,” Gorman said.
“Yeah. He…he was a…so horrible.” She shut her mouth tightly, jaw muscles bunching, and took a hissing breath through her nose. “Anyway, that was two days before I found the diary. I don’t know if it has anything to do with it. Joni got loose, and ran off, and the guy took off after her. That was the last I ever saw of him. He just vanished, and so did four of our guests. All five of them…” She shrugged. “Like they fell off the face of the earth.”
She lifted her glass off the floor, and took a sip. “Something else strange, too. These people—they were in nine and twelve—they left all their luggage and stuff behind. A car, too. That stuff was still around that night. But when morning came, everything was gone. Except the diary, which I found the day after. Whether they left it or not, I haven’t got the slightest idea. It could’ve been under that bed for days, a week, no telling how long. Anyway, that’s about all there is on how I found the diary.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone about finding it?” Gorman asked.
“No. I was alone in the room. Vacuuming. I looked inside the thing, and knew right away it had to do with Beast House. I recognized the woman’s name—Thorn. She’s the one that built the place, and her kids and sister were the first victims. She wound up in a nut-house someplace. I knew all of this from the tour. I used to go on the tour all the time. Not that I enjoyed it much, but I mean it’s kind of a major attraction around here so whenever we had visitors from out of town—like relatives and stuff—it’s a place we always took them to. So I was pretty familiar with the story you get on the tour and my eyes nearly fell out when I read the diary. Anyway, I hid it in my room and read the whole thing later on. It gave me a pretty good scare.”
“Why is that?” Gorman asked.
“Read it, you’ll find out. I mean, I knew someone had murdered all those people, but I figured it was…I don’t know what, but not a monster, for Godsake. I figured that was all bullshit till I read the diary. Then also I got a little nervous about just having the thing. If certain people found out…”