The Midnight Tour (7 page)

“But kids aren’t allowed?” Derek asked, sounding disappointed.

“No kids under the age of eighteen. Beast House rules.”

“That stinks.”

“I know. But just figure it’ll give you something to look forward to doing when you’re a little older.”

“It still stinks.”

“Well, there won’t be much said on the Midnight Tour that isn’t in Janice Crogan’s books. So if you’re really interested, Derek, read the books. Speaking of which, we’ve come back to where I was heading; one of the main participants in the Beast House mayhem of 1979 was an eighteen year old girl named Janice Crogan. You’ve all heard of her, right? She happens to be a very good friend of mine, and my employer.

“After surviving her ordeal, she wrote a nonfiction book called
The Horror at Malcasa Point
. It contains portions of Lily Thorn’s diary, a general history of Beast House, and a detailed account of the terrible experiences she had there in 1979. It also has quite a few photographs, including those photos I mentioned of the dead beast.” She smiled toward someone at the rear of the bus and said, “Unfortunately, Marv, the photos don’t show the area you’re so interested in.”

“I’m not
that
interested,” he protested. “Just wondering if what they say is true, you know?”

“Well, can you make the Midnight Tour?”

“Not likely. I’ve gotta get back to Chicago on Saturday.”

“In that case,” Patty said, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I have it on good authority that the matter you’re curious about is true. But you didn’t hear it here. For those of you who don’t know what we’re talking about, you can satisfy your curiosity by going on the Midnight Tour or by reading either of Janice’s books. One of which is
The Horror at Malcasa Point
, a nationwide bestseller published in 1980. How many of you have read it?”

Owen raised his hand. Looking around, he saw that only three other people had their hands up. One of them, a heavy bald guy near the back, he suspected of being Marv.

“Four out of about fifty. Not bad, considering it
is
a book. How many of you have seen any of the Beast House movies?”

Owen raised his hand. So did Monica. So did nearly everyone on the bus.

“Let’s not get into the movies just yet. I need to finish plugging Janice’s books. First came the big bestseller,
The Horror at Malcasa Point
. It only took her two months to write, which is a truly remarkable feat in itself, considering her injuries and all the horrors that she’d just gone through. I think it’s amazing that she was able to write about those things at all. But she’s such a strong person...” Patty stopped and looked away for a few seconds. Then she faced the passengers again and continued. “Anyway, the book has been in print ever since 1980, and has been published in over fifteen different languages. If you’re interested in purchasing a copy, they’re available at the Beast House gift shop and at Janice’s museum. You can buy the book in paperback, hardbound, or in a special limited edition with a white leather binding that simulates beast skin. Janice is usually around to sign the books, but she’s off on an extended vacation with her husband. She did autograph a bunch of copies before she left, though, so nobody will have to be disappointed in that regard.” A grin spread across Patty’s face. “Though why anybody
cares
about autographs is beyond me.”

“It makes them more precious,” said an elderly woman sitting near the front. She had a soft, sing-song voice. “I’m Matilda.”

“Nice to meet you, Matilda.”

“I have an autographed copy of
A Light in August
by Mr. William Faulkner, and it just means the whole world to me.”

“Well, Janice Crogan ain’t no Faulkner, as the saying goes. But she
is
a whole lot prettier. And she did sign a pile of books before she left on her trip. If you’re interested, you’ll be able to buy autographed copies at the same price as those that aren’t. Of
both
books. Which brings me to Janice’s second book,
Savage Times
, which is also available. It was published in 1990, and...How many of you are familiar with that one?”

Owen raised his hand. So did Marv. Nobody else.

“We have a couple of
real
fans here.
Savage Times
is an absolutely gorgeous book, but it’s not cheap. It’ll run you eighty-five bucks, plus tax. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s worth more. We’re talking about a very complete, detailed history of Malcasa Point and Beast House, and it even gets into the background of the beasts. Janice prepared the book in collaboration with an old-time native of the area, Captain Frank Sullivan. If you’ve read
Horror
, then you know about Captain Frank. The thing is, he had special knowledge of the beasts and kept an extensive scrapbook over the years. Janice and Captain Frank worked together on the book for almost ten years, collecting information, interviewing people, and gathering photographs and illustrations. Make sure and take a look at copy of it sometime today. Even if you don’t buy one, you shouldn’t miss the opportunity to thumb through it.

“Now, let’s talk about the movies. Everybody’s seen the movies. At last count, there were seven of them. They’re
all
available on video tape at the Beast House gift shop and at the museum. But of course, the ‘must see’ film is the original.
The Horror
. 1982. It was done by an independent film company that called itself Malcasa Pictures. Directed by Ray Cunningham. Screenplay by Steve Saunders based on Janice’s nonfiction bestseller,
The Horror at Malcasa Point
. The film starred Melinda James in the role of Janice Crogan, and introduced Gunther Sligo as ‘The Beast.’ It almost didn’t get made at all. I bet someone can tell us why.”

Owen raised his hand.

Patty smiled at him and nodded. “You are?”

“Owen.”

“Hi, Owen.”

“Hi, Patty”

A quiet grunting sound came from Monica.

“The reason it almost didn’t get made?”

“Well, for one thing, they didn’t know how to deal on film with the beast’s ‘apparatus.’”

Several passengers laughed. Monica groaned.

“But that’s not what you’re looking for.”

“It’s something I try very hard to avoid,” Patty said.

More laughter.

“What I think you were getting at,” Owen continued, “is that a couple of things happened just before they were supposed to start principle photography. For one, the guy who was originally going to direct it... I don’t recall his name.”

“Marlon Slade.”

“Yeah, that’s him. He apparently assaulted Tricia Talbot, who was supposed to be playing Janice Crogan. I guess he tried to, you know,
nail
her But she got away from him and left town that night. And then be disappeared the next night.”

“He’ being Marlon Slade, the director.”

“Yeah. And I guess nobody ever found out what happened to him.”

“That’s right,” Patty said. “He vanished into thin air, went
kaput
, disappeared without a trace and has never been seen again. There is speculation that he ran off with a teenaged girl named Margaret Blume, who was the guide for the
real
Beast House tours before the arrival of the movie company. Slade’s assistant told authorities that he’d gone looking for the girl’s trailer home that evening. Evidently, he was planning to offer
her
the Janice Crogan role vacated by Tricia Talbot. But he never returned, and the beautiful young guide also disappeared, along with her trailer. Maybe she and Slade ran off together. Maybe there was foul play. Nobody knows. Another Beast House mystery.”

Chapter Five

SANDY’S STORY—August, 1980

After their shower, Sandy kissed Eric and lowered him into his crib. This time, she didn’t bother trying to lock him in; he’d already broken out to save her from Slade, destroying two of the wooden slats at the front. The gate of his crib looked to Sandy like a smile with two missing teeth.

Besides, he seemed groggy and ready for sleep.

Sandy turned off his bedroom light, eased the door shut, then walked quietly into her own bedroom. Her tan shirt and shorts were still on the floor. She picked up the shirt, studied it in the red light, and found several drops of blood.

“Thanks a lot, Marlon,” she muttered.

She went ahead and put it on.

Her shorts had caught some blood, too.

As she stepped into them and pulled them up, she figured that her days as a Beast House guide were probably over, anyway. She
had
to leave town. Someone—if only Slade’s assistant—knew that he’d intended to pay her a visit. He probably wouldn’t be missed until morning. When they
did
miss him, though, suspicion would quickly turn toward Sandy. She and Eric had to be long gone before that happened.

Fastening her shorts, she scowled at Slade’s body. The pudgy corpse lay sprawled on the floor, arms and legs in awkward positions that he never would’ve put them in on purpose. His shirt and trousers, ripped by Sandy’s knife, looked as if they’d been twisted crooked and pasted to his body with gore. His face looked horrible: tom, purple and slimy. His blood-sotted hair was flat against his scalp.

Got what he had coming, the crud.

It had sure felt good, stabbing him. Maybe she shouldn’t have done it so many times, though. She’d gotten a little bit carried away.

For a while there, he’d fought her. That accounted for plenty of his wounds. Sandy’d had to cut through his thrashing hands and arms to get at the vital areas. And he’d
kept on
struggling while she pounded the blade into his chest and neck and face. But she hadn’t quit stabbing him even after he’d stopped fighting back.

Even after she knew he was dead.

Because he’d thrown Eric. He’d flung her
son
across the room and hurt him. That was Slade’s worst offense. But he’d also
inflicted
himself on Sandy. If Eric hadn’t come to the rescue, he would’ve raped her for sure.

“You’re lucky I
ever
stopped stabbing you,” she muttered, then smiled as she realized what she’d said.

“Lucky,” she repeated. “You’re just brimming over with luck.”

But she’d made
such
a mess.

Too bad I didn’t strangle him, she thought, and shook her head. It would’ve been impossible to strangle the man. Without Agnes Kutch’s butcher knife, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.

He would’ve raped her, beaten her, maybe even killed her.

And God only knows what he might’ve done to poor little Eric.

The knife had been her salvation.

The bloody mess was part of the price that had to be paid for survival.

Before getting into the shower with Eric, Sandy had decided to leave the cleanup for later. First things first. Get the hell out of town,
then
worry about disposing of Slade’s body and trying to scrub the blood off the walls and floor.

She finished fastening her belt. Barefoot, she walked over to the body. The rug felt sodden and sticky under her feet.

Now I’ll be tracking blood through the place!

Annoyed, she crouched beside Slade’s right hip. She patted the outside of his front trouser pocket, felt a flat object and heard a slight rattle of keys.

She reached into the pocket. The wet lining clung to her hand. She wrinkled her nose, but dug deeper until she wrapped her fingers around the key case.

She pulled it out.

She wiped the black leather case against her shirt to clean it off, then dropped it into a front pocket of her shorts. Her hand felt tacky from Slade’s pocket, so she rubbed it on her shirt.

She hoped the sticky wet stuff was only blood.

Standing up, she wondered how to avoid leaving a trail of bloody footprints on her way out.

Earlier, she hadn’t been clear-headed enough to worry about such things. She’d carried Eric from the bedroom to the bathroom without giving a thought to the mess she was making. Those tracks would have to be cleaned up. But why double her work by making a
new
set all the way to the front door?

Her shirt was already ruined, anyway.

She took it off. Standing on her right foot, she used the shirt to wipe the blood off the bottom of her left foot. Then she took a giant step toward the bedroom doorway and set her clean foot down on a section of rug that didn’t seem to have much blood on it. She shifted her weight to that foot. Standing on it, she crossed her right foot over her knee and wiped it clean.

When she started down the hall, her feet felt dry against the rug. She knew she wasn’t leaving a trail, so she didn’t bother looking back. There wasn’t enough light to see much, anyway. Ahead of her, the bathroom light was still on. It filled the short hallway with a dim glow so she could see where she was going. She didn’t want more.

She entered the bathroom, filled the sink with cold water, and stuffed her shirt into it. The water turned rosy. As she swirled the shirt around, hoping to rinse off the worst of the blood, she looked at herself in the mirror and found no blood on her face or chest or belly.

She didn’t want to put the shirt back on. It would be cold and wet. Worse, it would still be stained with Slade’s blood in spite of the washing. The idea of his blood touching her skin... She couldn’t wear the shirt again. Wouldn’t. But she didn’t want to go for a clean one, either. She’d seen enough of Slade for a while. She’d
smelled
enough of him, too. And if she returned to her bedroom, her feet would get bloody again.

She let the water drain out of the sink, then held the shirt underneath the spigot and ran clean, cold water over it. She started to scrub the ruddy stains with a bar of soap.

And tried to think of something she might wear instead of the shirt. She didn’t have a great many clothes. All that she owned, she kept in her bedroom dresser and highboy.

Anything hanging outside on the line? No. And nothing but diapers and blankets in Eric’s room. No clothes in the living room or kitchen.