No, Jolene thought. That wasn't right. It was more like a scene from the past was being overlaid on the present and they were seeing the ghosts of things that once were.
Anna May's bloody body was no ghost, however, and she and Leslie backed away from the door, both of them still looking furtively around the hall as though expecting some sort of phantom to jump out from another doorway at any time. "Let's get out of here," Jolene said. "We'll call the police, let them figure out what happened."
Leslie was already starting to regain some of her composure, and as the two of them hurried back down the stairs, she whipped out her cell phone and called 911. "Anna May Carter's been murdered!" she shouted. "We're at the Williams mansion! ... I don't know! It's on Fistler! ... They'll know where it is-just tell them to get over here fast! ... Leslie Finch." They were downstairs by now and making their way through the maze toward the front door. "No, we don't want to wait! ... Okay, we'll wait in the car, but if we see anything, we're out of here!" They ran outside as Leslie finished talking to the dispatcher. She turned toward Jolene as they sprinted across the asphalt toward the car. "They want us to wait here. I told them we'll stay in the car. The phone's still on, in case something happens, so don't say anything you don't want recorded for posterity."
Already they could hear sirens, and for once the sound had a soothing effect on her. Jolene opened the driver's door and jumped in, the image of Anna May's brutally murdered body front and center in her mind, overriding everything else. Suddenly the bodies of the family she'd found in the gulch seemed nice, comforting, almost pleasant.
"She didn't scream," Leslie said as Jolene automatically locked all of the car's doors. "She didn't make a sound."
Jolene hadn't thought of that, but it was true, and in a way that was the oddest thing of all. The reaction to pain was instinctive. Even if she'd died almost instantly, Anna May should have cried out at the first blow. And why hadn't they heard the footsteps of her murderer?
Because he was a ghost.
She didn't want to go there, didn't want to think about that.
It had been less than three minutes since Leslie's call, but the first police car was already arriving. Even for a town this small, that was damned impressive. Two other cars followed, skidding to stops in the circular driveway, a total of six officers emerging with guns drawn.
Thank God, Jolene thought.
One officer, obviously the man in charge, motioned for them to remain in the car, then led four of the others into the house. One remained near the first patrol car, pistol drawn and at the ready should mayhem spill out into the driveway. She and Leslie were silent, waiting, listening, and they sat like that for what seemed like an hour but was probably only ten minutes or so. She hoped this wasn't going to take forever, because she had to pick up Skylar from school pretty soon. If the police had to interview them and take statements, she'd probably have to call her mom and tell her to pick up the boy.
She didn't want her mom picking him up.
Two policemen emerged from the house with stunned looks on their faces. One was holstering his gun; the other had already put his weapon away and was numbly carrying a Yu-Gi-Oh! backpack.
Skylar's backpack.
Jolene's heart lurched in her chest and it was suddenly difficult to breathe. She unlocked and opened the car door in one impossibly perfect motion and was running toward the front of the house before Leslie could even get out a surprised, "What's the matter?" She flew past the startled cops and dashed inside the house calling her son's name at the top of her lungs, the rational and suddenly subservient part of her brain telling her this was a stupid move, that there were three rattled cops at a murder scene, that she was likely to get herself accidentally shot.
"Skylar!" she screamed. "Skylar!"
There was some sort of answer-not her son's voice but the deeper baritone of one of the policemen-and it seemed to come from downstairs.
The cellar.
She should have known. She was terrified to go back there again, frightened to the bone by the very idea, but her fear for her son was far greater and she was not going to let anything or anyone stop her. She sped through the messy maze into the kitchen, then took the steps to the basement two at a time. As she'd feared, as she'd known, the trapdoor to the secret cellar was open and two of the policemen were looking down at it.
"Skylar!" she screamed, and the two men turned slowly toward her. The blank expressions on their faces sent a searing bolt of pure terror straight through her, and like a wild animal she shoved the men aside and looked into the cellar.
Where Skylar was naked, rocking back and forth on the dirt floor in his own excrement, laughing to himself like a person who had gone completely insane.
"Hey."
The voice came from right next to him, and Skylar jumped, whirling around, but the school hallway was empty, no one in front, no one in back, the doors to all of the classrooms closed. He desperately had to pee, but he was suddenly afraid to even walk down to the end of the hall, let alone go alone into the boys' bathroom. He wondered, if he returned to class, whether he'd be able to hold it until recess.
No way.
Luckily, the door to another class opened a little ways up ahead, and a girl walked out carrying a hall pass just like his. She strode purposefully toward the restrooms, and he followed, feeling braver now that his courage was being shown up by a girl. He'd almost caught up to her by the time they'd reached the bathrooms, and he pushed open the door marked boys while the girls door was still swinging.
The lights were off-part of the efforts by the school to save money on electricity-but the high, frosted
window and double skylight were not enough to fully illuminate the tall space, and though it was a sunny day, in here it felt overcast. The gray tiled room was empty, and, frightened, he quickly sped over to the closest urinal, pulling down his zipper as he walked, in a hurry to get out of here.
"Hey."
Skylar jumped, almost peeing on his shoe. It was the same voice, and it echoed between the tiles, the added reverberation making it sound not only strange but sinister. It had followed him here, and his heart was pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. He tried to finish quickly before it came again, and planned to run out of the bathroom even if he wasn't fully zipped and haul back to class and the safety of other people.
"Hey."
He'd peed enough. He could make it to recess. He stopped, shoved his penis back into his pants and turned without flushing.
"Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey hey. Heyheyheyhey ..."
The voice sped up, became higher. Other words were added, words he didn't understand, and in seconds it was the voice from the grave.
Mother Daughter
A shadow passed over the skylight, over the window. The bathroom was thrown into darkness, and Skylar started screaming. "Help! Help!"
The alien language now sounded like laughter.
He was afraid to run, afraid to move. He was no longer alone in the restroom-of that he was sure- and the only thing he could do was keep calling for help and hope a teacher or a janitor heard his cries and came to rescue him.
Suddenly there was a light, although where it came from he could not say. It illuminated an area between himself and the door, and Skylar saw a small figure dancing on the tiled floor, held up by strings. His breath was coming in short harsh gasps that hurt his throat. It was a puppet, a brown ugly-looking thing with a hideous grinning face that reminded him of something he had seen before. The puppet seemed to be growing, getting bigger, but he realized that was because it was moving closer to him, the mysterious light accompanying it as it danced crazily.