The Second Evil (12 page)

“You felt it too?” Debra asked, excited. “You felt the spirit?”

“It was just the wind,” Kimmy said, rolling her eyes. “Give us a break.”

“Try to concentrate, Kimmy,” Debra scolded. “We need total concentration. I can locate the spirit here. I know I can. But we have to concentrate.”

“I'm concentrating,” Kimmy muttered.

They held hands again. The candle flames dipped once more. This time none of the girls reacted.

“I'm going to chant now,” Debra told them. “When I finish the chant, the book says we should know where the evil spirit is.”

Corky swallowed hard. The rotting floorboards creaked. The candle flames dipped, then stood tall again.

This is going to work, Corky thought. The spirit of Sarah Fear
has
to be somewhere in this frightening old place.

“Give it the old razzmatazz,” Kimmy told Debra.

Debra glared at Kimmy. “Ssshhh.” She raised a finger to her lips and held it there. Then, closing her eyes, she wrapped both hands around her candle and began to chant.

The flickering light played over her pale, pretty face under the black hood. She chanted in a language Corky didn't recognize. At first her voice was soft, but it grew louder and stronger as she continued to chant.

Her eyes still closed, Debra began to move the
candle in a circle in front of her, still gripping it with both hands. Around and around, slowly, slowly, while chanting louder and louder.

Gripping the candle in her left hand and Kimmy's hand in her right, Corky stared straight ahead, concentrating on Debra's strange, musical words.

After a few minutes, Debra finished her chant.

She opened her eyes.

And all three girls cried out as the evil spirit rose from a hole in the rotting floor.

C
orky leapt to her feet, staring straight ahead through the darkness as the creature struggled to rise into the room.

Her mouth open in horror, Kimmy grabbed the flashlight and aimed it at the hole in the floor.

The creature whimpered and scratched at the floorboards.

“It's a dog!” Corky cried.

Debra's face fell.

Corky and Kimmy rushed forward and worked to pull the dog out of the hole in the floor. “You smelly thing,” Kimmy said, petting its head and scratching its ears. “How did you get stuck down there?”

The dog, a forlorn-looking mutt with damp tangles of long brown fur, licked Kimmy's nose appreciatively.

“Don't let him lick you, Kimmy,” Corky teased. “You don't know where he's been.”

“A dog. I don't believe it,” Debra said, sighing.

Wagging its shaggy tail, the dog circled the room excitedly, sniffing furiously along the floor.

“Maybe he
smells
the evil spirit,” Kimmy said sarcastically to Debra.

“Not funny,” Debra muttered, gathering up the candles. “I really thought we were close to something.”

“Me too,” Corky said, watching the dog as it loped out of the room. “I was so scared when we heard the thing start to come up from the floorboards.”

“Bow-wow,” Kimmy said dryly, rolling her eyes.

“I'm not giving up,” Debra insisted.

“I am,” Kimmy said emphatically. “I'm freezing.” She handed the flashlight back to Corky and started toward the front door.

“Kimmy, wait,” Corky called. “Want to come to my house?”

Kimmy turned back and shook her head. “No, thanks. I'm going home and getting into a hot bath.”

“But—”

“Let her go,” Debra said glumly.

“See you in school tomorrow,” Kimmy called from the front entryway, then disappeared from view.

Corky turned back to Debra, who slammed her book shut and tucked it under her arm. “I was so psyched,” she told Corky. “So psyched”

“Me too,” Corky said.

“We're the only ones who know the evil spirit is loose,” Debra said, heading to the front. “The only ones.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Corky agreed sadly. “My own parents change the subject every time I try to tell them the truth.”

“That's why we have to do something,” Debra said.

“I just keep thinking about Sarah Beth Plummer and Jon Daly,” Corky said with a shudder. She pulled up the collar of her down coat and buried her face inside it like a turtle as she followed Debra to the door.

They stepped outside, surprised to find it warmer there than in the house.

“Yeah. That sounded like a pretty bizarre scene, the two of them in the cemetery,” Debra said thoughtfully. Her expression brightened. “You know what? We should check them out.”

“You mean go talk to them?” Corky asked, following her toward the street.

Debra nodded. “Yeah.”

“Right now?” Corky asked, glancing at her watch. It was nearly ten.

“Why not?” Debra asked.

“Well …” Corky hesitated. That nice hot bath Kimmy had talked about sounded pretty good to her too.

“Come on. We'll take my car,” Debra urged, pulling Corky by the arm. “It'll only take a few minutes to drive to Jon Daly's house.”

“Yeah, but what do we say when we get there?” Corky asked. “We can't just barge in and say, ‘Jon, what were you and Sarah Beth Plummer doing in the cemetery the other night?'”

“Why not?” Debra said. She pulled open the back door to her car and dumped the candles and book on
the seat. “That's exactly what we'll ask.” She tossed back her hood and brushed her sleek short hair with one hand. “Come on, Corky. Get in.”

Corky hesitated for a long moment, then pulled open the passenger door and climbed in. Debra slid into the driver's seat and rested her hands on top of the steering wheel.

The glow of the streetlight fell over Debra's pale, slender hand.

And Corky thought of Chip.

Of Chip's hand. Lying forlornly beside the power saw.

She saw the hand, severed neatly at the wrist. And then the puddles of dark blood.

And then Chip lying facedown in his own blood.

“Corky, what's the matter?” Debra cried, seeing Corky's horror-filled expression.

Corky shut her eyes tight, erasing the picture. “Let's go see Jon Daly,” Corky said, her voice a dry whisper.

The Dalys lived in the wealthy section of Shadyside known as North Hills, a few blocks from the high school. Debra pulled up the driveway to the house, a sprawling redwood ranch-style house behind a neatly trimmed front lawn.

At the end of the drive, the garage door was open. A Volvo station wagon was parked inside. Two bikes hung on the wall. Corky wondered if one of them had belonged to Jennifer.

So much death, she thought, climbing out of the car. The evil has claimed so many victims.

She and Debra walked side by side up the flagstone walk to the front door. Debra raised her finger to the doorbell, then hesitated.

“Go ahead,” Corky urged. “We're here. We might as well talk to Jon.”

Debra rang. They heard voices inside the house, then approaching footsteps.

The porch light went on. The front door was pulled open. Mrs. Daly's head appeared in a rectangle of yellow light, her expression quickly turning to surprise. “Why, hello, girls.”

Her faded blond hair was wrapped in a red bandanna. Her features seemed to melt together in the harsh light.

“Hi, Mrs. Daly,” Corky said, clearing her throat. “Remember me? I'm Bobbi's sister?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Daly replied, eyeing Debra.

“We came to see Jon,” Corky said.

Mrs. Daly's mouth dropped open.

“Who is it?” Mr. Daly's voice floated out from the living room.

“Do you have news about Jon?” Mrs. Daly asked Corky, ignoring her husband's question.

“Huh?” Corky couldn't hide her confusion. “News?”

“Who is it?” Mr. Daly said again as he appeared behind his wife. He was tall and balding. He had on a Chicago Cubs T-shirt and straight-leg corduroys. His forehead was furrowed.

The house smelled of stale cigarette smoke.

“They have news about Jon,” Mrs. Daly told her husband. She gripped his hand.

“No,” Corky corrected. “We came to
see
Jon.”

“We need to talk to him,” Debra added, self-consciously adjusting her cape.

“Oh.” Mrs. Daly's face fell. The light faded from her eyes.

“Jon isn't here,” Mr. Daly said sternly.

“We're worried sick about him,” Mrs. Daly added, gripping her husband's hand. “It's been two days. Two days. We called the police.”

“Huh? The police?” Corky glanced at Debra, who looked as startled as she did.

Mr. Daly nodded sadly. “Yes. Jon disappeared two days ago. We don't know
what
happened to him.”

A
fter dinner the next night, Corky waited for Debra at Alma's, the small coffee shop where she and Chip had talked to Sarah Beth Plummer. The restaurant was bustling now, the booths and long counter filled with college students, laughing and talking, their voices competing with the clatter of silverware and china and the saxophones of a salsa band pouring out from the jukebox.

Debra came hurrying in, ten minutes late, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She was wearing several layers of sweaters over blue corduroys. Her eyes swept over the crowded restaurant until she located Corky in the next-to-last booth.

After making her way past a white-uniformed waitress holding a tray of glasses over her head, Debra slid into the booth across from Corky and sighed. “Sorry I'm late.”

“No problem,” Corky told her, her hands encircling a white mug of hot chocolate. “Where's Kimmy?”

“She's sick,” Debra announced. “Her mom says she has a temperature and everything. That's why she wasn't in school today.”

Corky's mouth dropped open in surprise. “Sick? Will she be okay for the game tomorrow night?”

Debra shrugged. “I hope so.”

The waitress appeared, pad in hand, and stared down impatiently at Debra. “You need a menu?”

Debra shook her head. “Just a Coke, please.”

“Sarah Beth Plummer lives right across the street,” Corky said after the waitress left. “She pointed out the house to Chip and me that night—we sat over there.” She indicated the rear booth. “And she told us about Sarah Fear.”

Debra glanced at the booth Corky had pointed to. It was now occupied by four girls having hamburgers and french fries. “You think this Sarah Beth will be helpful?”

Corky sipped her hot chocolate. She made a face. It tasted powdery. It hadn't been stirred enough. “I just had the feeling that night that Sarah Beth knew a lot more than she was telling us. There was something suspicious about her, you know. Something
devious.”

Debra's Coke arrived. She picked up the straw and blew the paper covering at Corky. “This Sarah Beth Plummer. Is she old?”

Corky shook her head. She brushed a strand of blond hair from her eyes. “No. She's young—early twenties, I think.”

“What makes you think she'll talk to us?” Debra asked.

“I don't know,” Corky replied. “But I think we have to try to talk to her. I mean, I saw her dancing over Sarah Fear's grave with Jon Daly. And now Jon has disappeared.”

“Do you think Sarah Beth knows where the evil spirit is?” Debra asked, sipping the Coke.

“I intend to ask her,” Corky replied and sighed. “This is a crazy conversation, isn't it? If anyone overheard us, they'd think we were
nuts.”

“But we're not nuts,” Debra said quickly, gesturing with both hands, accidentally bumping her glass and spilling a small puddle of Coke onto the tabletop. “The evil is real. We know that.”

“I know,” Corky agreed quietly.

“Let's go see what Sarah Beth Plummer knows,” Debra said.

Both girls slid out of the booth and, after paying, hurried out of the restaurant.