"Don't," he heard his sister's voice whisper inside his head. "Oh, God, Jared, please don't."
Jared hesitated as Kim's voice, only dimly heard, tugged at him, tried to restrain him. It was as if he stood on the edge of a dark and fathomless abyss, feeling inexorably drawn to it. Every fiber of his being wanted to step over the edge, to drop into the darkness below, plunge deep into whatever lay within the blackness that beckoned to him.
And only Kim's dimly heard voice held him back.
"Don't," her voice whispered again. "Please, Jared. Don't."
Jared's eyes moved from the body of the creature to its head.
Scout lay on his back, his legs splayed wide as if to expose his belly in submission to some far stronger creature than he. His head lolled to one side. His mouth lay open, his tongue hung out.
And one of his eyes-his soft, trusting brown eyes-seemed to gaze up at Jared, as if joining in Kim's whispered plea.
But it was already too late. He plunged the knife into the dog's heart and Scout's life ended with a silent spasm.
Now all that remained was to carry out the ceremony, to offer his pet to his new master.
Pulling the knife from the dog's corpse, he lowered its point until it just grazed the skin of Scout's belly.
Yet still he hesitated, looking one last time into Scout's eyes, hesitating as, fleetingly, a brief, flickering doubt entered his mind, as though something within was telling him to step back-step back from the edge of the abyss.
Too late. With Kim's pleading voice fading away, he felt himself slide into the darkness. As Luke watched, Jared slipped the point of the knife through the retriever's hide and ran its edge up the center of its belly and chest to its throat. Four more slits ran up each leg, and then he began peeling the skin away from the flesh below. He worked quickly, the blade seeming to guide his hands as if the knife itself had performed the work so often, it needed no aid from him.
Deftly, he sliced through the abdominal muscles, then cut away the creature's entrails.
He cut through the rib cage and laid open the animal's chest, exposing the lungs and heart.
Raising the knife high, Jared muttered a dedication of the blood offering he was about to make, then plunged the knife deep into the heart. Dropping the knife, he plunged his hands into the blood that oozed from the punctured heart into the chest cavity. With reddened fingers he anointed Luke's forehead.
Plunging his hands again into the gore within the slaughtered dog, he moved away from the table and began tracing patterns on the cabin's wall, intricate designs that rose out of some hidden place in his subconscious, flowing from his bloodied fingertips onto the ancient wood. And as he etched the design in blood, muttered imprecations-unintelligible curses condemning the man who had lived his entire life within the cabin's shelter-flowed from his lips.
Jake Cumberland's eyes flicked open in the darkness of his cell. He felt disoriented for a moment, but slowly his mind cleared and he remembered where he was. And why.
He wasn't going to get out of jail-he already knew that. His mama had explained it to him when he was smalclass="underline" "Don't ever do nothin' that'll let 'em put you in jail," she'd told him. "'Cause once they gets you in, they ain't gonna be lettin' you out again. Not around here. Onliest way they ever gonna let you out is at the end of a rope. That's what they did to my daddy, Jake, when I was no bigger'n you. They came for him one night, and took him down and tied a rope around his neck, and after that I didn't have a daddy no more. So you watch yourself, hear?"
Now, in the blackness of the Halloween midnight, he heard another voice. An evil voice, whispering inside his head.
Do it yourself, Jake, the voice said. Don't wait, Jake. Don't wait for morning. Do it now.
At first Jake tried to ignore the voice, but it wouldn't be put off, and as the seconds ticked by and turned into minutes, it grew stronger, more insistent.
Do it, Jake. You know you want to. Come on, Jake. Now, Jake. Now!
The voice took on a mesmerizing rhythm. Without thinking about it, Jake rose from the cot on which he lay and took off his pants. He began ripping at the denim, tearing the legs into strips.
You know what to do, Jake, the voice whispered. Just do it. Do it now.
Jake began braiding the strips of denim together, his fingers working the material as easily as they knotted together the twine for his snares. Soon he was done.
The rope was nearly six feet long, plenty long enough to do what had to be done.
Now, Jake, the voice whispered. Do it now.
Jake tied one end of the braided rope around his neck, then stood on the cot and reached up to the sprinkler pipe that ran across the cell's width.
He tied the free end of the rope around it and tested the knot. It was solid; it would hold.
Die! the voice commanded. Die right now!
Without another thought, Jake Cumberland stepped off the edge of the cot. He dropped a foot, and then the rope jerked tight.
His neck did not break, but the loop around his neck dug deep, closing his windpipe.
His body twitched, his feet kicked out.
Then, in the darkness, he saw his mama. She was at the end of a tunnel, and her hand was held out to him. As Jake began hurrying through the darkness toward his mother, the voice faded away. Jake Cumberland was dead.
His incantations done, the inscriptions on the walls complete, Jared Conway severed the dog's head from the carcass and placed it inside the trunk where the night before he had hidden the head of the cat.
He cleaned the hide of the last remnants of flesh, rolled it tight, and slipped it into a plastic sack. As Luke carried the flesh, bones, and entrails outside, Jared blew the candles out, one by one. As the last candle flickered out, the room plunged into utter blackness.
Taking the skin of the slaughtered dog with him, Jared left the cabin, and as he and Luke disappeared into the darkness, the life of the night began again.
A trout broke the surface of the lake, snapping at a water bug.
An owl swept down from the trees, its talons closing on a mouse that had only a moment ago ventured forth from its burrow.
Bats flitted through the night sky, feeding on the gnats and mosquitoes that rose into the air from their hidden shelters in the grass and leaves.
And Jake Cumberland's hound crept out from beneath the cabin, sniffed at the pile of entrails left at the foot of the steps, and began devouring the unexpected feast.
Ted Conway slumped behind the wheel of the Toyota, waiting in the darkness. After leaving the house, he'd done exactly as he'd promised Janet he would-he'd driven past the Roberts' house. It was dark and quiet.
He cruised around the square, slowing as he passed the pizza parlor but barely glancing through its brightly lit windows, certain the boys would not be there.
Then he came back, parking the car in the darkness well away from the house, waiting.
He heard the night fall silent, saw the cloud slide over the moon. Still he waited, knowing that soon his vigil would end.
Finally the sky cleared and the night sounds picked up again. Ted straightened in the seat, his senses sharpening, his eyes scanning the edge of the forest that lay beyond the grounds. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Still he waited, until his patience was rewarded by a flicker of movement within the shadows. Two figures emerged from the trees and slipped as silently as phantoms across the grounds toward the house. Starting the engine of the Toyota, Ted shifted it into gear, switched on, the headlights, and drove down the street to the driveway. He pulled close to the carriage house, then shut off the engine, got out, and slammed the car door behind him. Entering the house through the back door, he paused at the door to the basement, listening.