He wrapped an arm around her neck and held on tight. “Did big bad Nora scare you?”
“That’s it, turn the kid against me. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t be here. If I hadn’t flipped the bird at that jerk on the highway…”
“That’s right. Say thank you, Scotty.”
Scotty sobbed.
“Which reminds me,” Nora said. “Guess where I spent last night? The Welcome Inn. They were full up, just like you guys, but Janice let me stay in her parents’ room.”
“How is she doing?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Well, I’ve seen her on television a few times and I know the book has been on the bestseller list for the past six weeks.”
“She got—good Christ—over a million for the paperback rights. The film’s all set to go into production in about two weeks. They’ll be shooting on location.”
“But how’s she doing?”
The brightness left Nora’s face. “She woke me up last night, screaming. A nightmare. We stayed up till morning, talking. She has these nightmares but they used to be every night and now they’re not so frequent. She said it helped, writing the book—got a lot of it out of her system. It also helped because she got involved with this guy, Steve Saunders. Hardy’s agent sent him out to help her with the thing. He ghosted it for her, and then did the screenplay. I guess the two are thick as thieves, but he’s back in LA till the shooting starts. I talked her into phoning him at about seven this morning, and that cheered her up. I guess she’s doing okay.” Nora’s smile returned. “Hey, we went over to the Last Chance after dinner last night. Good old Captain Frank was in rare form. He’s one hell of a local celebrity.”
“Bet he loves it.”
“The man’s in his glory. You should’ve heard him. ‘Aye, I laid the beast low, mateys.’ Everybody in the place buying him drinks. He said to give you his regards, and I’m supposed to tell you that you’re welcome to keep his belt.”
“I’ve been meaning to send it back.”
“You can save your postage.” She pushed herself off the bed. “Well, kiddo, I’d love to stay here and chat all afternoon, but I have this pressing engagement. You know how it is.”
“I know.”
Nora stepped past her and opened the door.
“Wait,” Tyler said. “Did you take the tour?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. For one thing, the line was about half a mile long. And they’ve raised the ticket price to twelve fifty. Must be making a mint.”
“Who?”
Nora shrugged. “Kutch’s daughter owns the place. I don’t know who’s guiding the tours. I caught a look at her. Some kid, can’t be older than fourteen or fifteen.”
“The place should’ve been closed down.”
“Shit, it should’ve been burnt to the ground. But at least it hasn’t got Dan anymore. I checked with somebody coming out, and he’s not part of the Ziegler exhibit. I guess they haven’t bothered to have him replaced.”
“I’m glad.”
“Hey, I almost forgot your book.” She stepped over to her open suitcase. From under the gown on top, she pulled out a book with the familiar dust jacket: The Horror at Malcasa Point by Janice Crogan. The cover showed a crude, childish sketch of a beast, pencil scratches obliterating its anatomy from hips to knees. “Have you already got a copy?”
Tyler nodded.
“Well, I bet yours isn’t autographed. Let me make sure this isn’t Jack’s.” She opened the book. “Yep, this is the one.”
Tyler sat on the bed, rested Scotty on her lap, and accepted the book.
“See you later,” Nora said.
“The cocktail lounge at six,” Tyler reminded her.
“Right. We’ll be there.”
Then Nora left.
Tyler turned to the title page. In blue ink just below the author’s name was scrawled: To my good friend, Tyler, and to Abe who saved my life—my thanks and best wishes. The things that go bump in the night are dead. Long live us. Love, Janice Crogan August 3, 1980.
Rave Reviews for Richard Laymon!
“I’ve always been a Laymon fan. He manages to raise serious gooseflesh.”
—BENTLEY LITTLE
“Laymon is incapable of writing a disappointing book.”
—NEW YORK REVIEW OF SCIENCE FICTION
“Laymon always takes it to the max. No one writes like him and you’re going to have a good time with any-thing he writes.”
—DEAN KOONTZ
“If you’ve missed Laymon, you’ve missed a treat.”
—STEPHEN KING
“A brilliant writer.”
—SUNDAY EXPRESS
“I’ve read every book of Laymon’s I could get my hands on. I’m absolutely a longtime fan.”
—JACK KETCHUM, AUTHOR OF OFF SEASON
More Praise for Richard Laymon!
“One of horror’s rarest talents.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
“Laymon is, was, and always will be king of the hill.”
—HORROR WORLD
“Laymon is an American writer of the highest caliber.”
—TIME OUT
“Laymon is unique. A phenomenon. A genius of the grisly and the grotesque.”
—JOE CITRO, THE BLOOD REVIEW
“Laymon doesn’t pull any punches. Everything he writes keeps you on the edge of your seat.”
—PAINTED ROCK REVIEWS
“One of the best, and most reliable, writers working today.”
—CEMETERY DANCE
Other Books by Richard Laymon:
THE CELLAR
INTO THE FIRE
AFTER MIDNIGHT
THE LAKE
COME OUT TONIGHT
RESURRECTION DREAMS
ENDLESS NIGHT
BODY RIDES
BLOOD GAMES
TO WAKE THE DEAD
NO SANCTUARY
DARKNESS, TELL US
NIGHT IN THE LONESOME OCTOBER
ISLAND
THE MUSEUM OF HORRORS (Anthology)
IN THE DARK
THE TRAVELING VAMPIRE SHOW
AMONG THE MISSING
ONE RAINY NIGHT
BITE
Copyright © 1986 by Richard Laymon