Donna let out a deep, trembling breath.
“You okay?” Sandy asked.
“I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
“You don’t look so fine.”
“Are you about done eating?”
“All done,” Sandy said.
“Ready to go?”
“I am. Aren’t you gonna finish?”
“No, I don’t think so. Let’s be on our way.” She picked up the bill. Her hand shook as she reached into her purse. She tucked three quarters under the edge of her plate, and got up quickly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just want to get outside.”
“Okay,” the girl said doubtfully as she followed Donna to the cash register.
Outside, Donna looked down the sidewalk. A block off, an old woman with a poodle was stepping awkwardly off a curb. No sign of the two men from the cafe. She checked the other direction.
“What’re you looking for?” Sandy asked.
“Just trying to decide which way looks best.”
“We’ve already been that way,” the girl said, and nodded toward the left.
“Okay.” So they turned right, and began walking.
“Do you think we can leave this morning?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t know how long it’ll be. I think we’re a good hour or so from where we left the car. The girl at the motel didn’t say what time Axel went to get it.”
“If we aren’t gonna leave right away, can we go see Beast House?”
“I don’t know, honey.”
“It’s half-price for me.”
“Are you certain you really want to see a place like that?”
“What is it?”
“It’s supposed to be the home of a horrible beast that kills people and tears them up. It’s where those three people were murdered a few weeks ago.”
“Oooh, that place?”
“Yes indeed.”
“Wow! Can we see it?”
“I’m not sure I’m up to it.”
“Oh come on. We’re almost there. Please?”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to see what time the tours start.” 3.
Standing at the northern corner of the wrought-iron fence, Donna looked at the bleak, weathered house and felt a reluctance to approach it.
“I’m not sure I want to do this, honey.”
“You said we can check on the tours.”
“I’m not sure I want to go in there, at all.”
“Why not?”
Donna shrugged, unwilling to put words to her dark chill. “I don’t know,” she said.
She moved her eyes from the slanted bay window to the veranda with its balustraded balcony overhead, past a gable to a tower at the south end. The tower windows reflected emptiness. Its roof was a steep cone: a witch’s cap.
“Afraid it’ll gross you out?”
“Your language is enough to gross me out.”
Sandy laughed, and adjusted her slipping sunglasses.
“Okay, we’ll have a look at the tour schedule. But I’m not guaranteeing anything.” They started toward the ticket booth.
“I’ll go alone, if you’re scared.”
“You will not go in there alone, young lady.”
“It’s half-price for me.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is?”
You might never come out, Donna suddenly thought. She took a deep breath. The air, scented like high mountain pine, calmed her.
“What is the point?”
Donna made her grin as evil as she could, and muttered, “I don’t want the beast to eat you.”
“You’re awful!”
“Not as awful as the beast.”
“Mother!” Laughing, Sandy swung her denim handbag.
Donna blocked it with her forearm, looked up, and saw the man from the cafe. His eyes were on her. Smiling at him, Donna fought off another assault by her daughter.
She saw a blue ticket in his hand.
“Okay, honey, that’s enough. We’ll go on the tour.”
“Can we?” she asked, delighted.
“Shoulder to shoulder, we’ll confront the awful beast.”
“I’ll smash it with my purse,” Sandy said.
As she approached the line at the gate, Donna saw the man turn casually to his nervous friend and start talking.
“Look.” Sandy pointed at a wooden clockface near the top of the ticket booth. The sign above it read, “Next tour departs at,” and the clock indicated ten. “What time is it now?”
“Almost ten,” Donna said.
“Can we do it?”
“All right. Let’s get in line.”
They stepped behind the last person in line, a pudgy teenage boy whose hands were folded judiciously across his belly. Without moving his feet, he swiveled enough to cast a critical eye at Donna and Sandy. He made a quiet “Humph,” as if insulted by their presence, and swung his shoulders toward the front.
“What’s his problem?” Sandy whispered.
“Shhhh.”
Waiting, Donna counted fourteen people in line. Though eight seemed to be children, she only saw two who might qualify for the “children under twelve” discount. If none of the others had complimentary tickets, she figured the tour would net fifty-two dollars.
Not too shabby, she thought.
The man from the cafe was three from the front.
A young couple with two blond girls stepped up to the ticket booth.
“That makes sixty-four,” Donna said.
“What?”
“Dollars.”
“What time is it?”
“Two minutes to go.”
“I hate waiting.”
“Look at the people.”
“What for?”
“They’re interesting.”
Sandy looked up at her mother. Even with sunglasses hiding most of her face, Sandy’s skepticism was obvious. But she sidestepped out of line to check the people more closely.
“Fiends!” someone shrieked from behind. “Ghouls!”
Donna swung around. Crouched in the middle of the street, a thin pale woman pointed at her, at Sandy—at all of them. The woman was no older than thirty. She had the trim, short hair of a boy. Her sleeveless yellow dress was wrinkled and stained. Dirt streaked her white legs. Her feet were bare.
“You and you and you!” she screeched. “Ghouls! Grave sniffers! Vampires, all of you, sucking the blood of the dead!”
The ticket-booth door slammed open. A man ran out, his gaunt face scarlet. “Outta here, damn you!”
“Maggots!” she shouted. “All of you, maggots, paying to see such filth. Vultures! Cowards!”
The man jerked his wide leather belt free of its loops, and doubled it. “I’m warning you!”
“Corpse fuckers!”
“That about does it,” he muttered.
The woman scampered backward as the man rushed her, belt high and ready. Stumbling, she fell hard onto the pavement. “Go ahead, maggot! The ghouls love it! Look at ’em gawk. Give ’em blood! That’s what they’re here for!” Rising to her knees, she ripped open the front of her dress. Her breasts were huge for a woman so small. They swung over her belly like ripe sacks. “Give ’em a show! Give ’em blood! Tear my flesh! That’s what they love!”
He raised the belt overhead, ready to bring it down.
“Don’t.” The word shot out, quick and sharp.
The man looked around.
Turning, Donna saw the man from the cafe step out of the line. He walked forward.
“You just stay put, bud.”
He kept walking.
“We don’t have need of interference.”
He said nothing to the man with the belt, but walked past him to the woman. He helped her to her feet. He lifted the dress, covering her shoulders, and pulled it gently shut in front. With a shaking hand, the woman held the torn edges together.