Trick or Treat (12 page)

Darkness was sifting down as they wound their way back towards the village. Martha leaned against the window, not really paying attention to the scenery, until something in a nearby field caught her eye. She hadn’t noticed the little cemetery on their way to the farm; now in the gathering dusk it looked almost like a mirage.

“Has that cemetery been here a long time?” she asked, straightening to see out the window.

Blake followed the point of her finger and nodded. “It’s used for both towns. Whitley was originally part of the Bedford estate till the family had to start parceling off the land. Everyone’s buried here now — even the family.”

“Then what about the one behind our house?” Martha asked. “I thought the Bedfords were all there.”

“That’s the
old
family and their servants. We’re talking eighteen hundreds. The town talked about moving them here, but that old family crypt is kind of intimidating to a lot of people. They finally decided to let the old Bedfords rest in peace.”

“So….” Martha hesitated, not wanting to bring up the past again, but somehow, needing to know. “So … Elizabeth —”

“Yes, she’s buried here.” Blake’s expression was very controlled. He glanced again at the cemetery in his rearview mirrow. “Dennis, too.”

“Dennis? But I thought —”

“They put up a marker for him,” Blake said scornfully. “In his memory. As if anyone would want to remember him.…”

For several miles they rode in silence. Martha chanced a look at Blake’s face, and it was stony and strangely cold. When he mumbled something under his breath, it was so quiet that at first she didn’t even hear him.

“They want him to be dead,” he said again, and Martha looked over with a start. “Everybody wants him to be dead. Including me.” Blake’s hands tightened on the wheel, and when he looked back at her, his eyes were dark with an emotion Martha couldn’t read.

“But … he
is
dead,” she whispered.

And Blake shook his head, his voice suddenly sad. “But they never found him, Martha. What … what if —
somewhere
— Dennis is still alive?”

Chapter 10

“Well, we made it.” Blake grinned triumphantly. “I think we beat him home.”

Martha sat stiffly against the door, her stomach so knotted that it hurt. Ahead of her the house lay in silent shadows — it was full twilight, and they’d forgotten to leave a light on.

“Hey,” Blake leaned over, peering anxiously into her face, “you’re not upset over what I said back there, are you? I should never have —”

“Don’t be silly. I’m not upset.”

“Don’t
you
be silly. You haven’t said two words all the way home.”

“I’m …” Martha thought quickly, “maybe I really
am
coming down with something.”

“You can’t.” Blake grinned again, tilting her chin up with his finger. “You have to go to the Halloween party.”

Martha stared at him, nothing registering. “Of course I’m not going to the Halloween party, I don’t have a date —” She broke off, flustered, as he laughed.

“You do now. So hurry on inside and play sick for Conor and I’ll see you later, okay?”

Martha’s head was spinning. Somehow she told him good-bye and let herself into the house.

She didn’t know why she hadn’t asked him to stay.

Now, watching miserably as the van disappeared from sight, she wished she’d thought of some excuse to ask him in, to have him stay with her, just until Conor got home….

Where is Conor anyway?

Martha pressed her hands to her temples, trying to squeeze away the doubts.
Never found … never
. She leaned back against the wall and slowly opened her eyes. Silence echoed around her — one gloomy staircase rose beside her, the upstairs swathed in shadows. She took a deep, shaky breath and pushed herself forward.
Damn you, Conor
….

The lights. If she could just get all the lights turned on, that would help. If she could just stop thinking about what Blake had said and get all the lights turned on, then she’d be okay, and Conor would get home, and everything would be nice and normal….

She found a switch, and the hallway stretched ahead of her like a dim tunnel. She saw the heavy draperies at the opposite end….

The slight stir of velvet….

The one fold, strangely out of line with the rest.

Her heart raced with terror. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and backed away.
There are no such things as ghosts … there are no such things as evil houses
….

She hurried up to her room, purposely averting her eyes from the yawning doorways as she passed. She shut the door, strangely uncomforted by the sight of her unmade bed, her books and records and posters, her dirty clothes on the floor in front of the closet….

Martha’s eyes fastened on the closet door, and she gave an involuntary shiver. How many ordinary, everyday things had suddenly become frightening to her since moving into this awful house? She
knew
better than to believe all the talk about this house, and yet how could she explain away the scary things that had happened to her here? Hadn’t Conor said that a house could harbor bad memories — and where
was
Conor, anyway? What could possibly be keeping him so long?

They never found him…. What if Dennis is still alive?

Martha pulled her sweats from a drawer and banged it shut. She didn’t want to think about Dennis now … not Dennis or Elizabeth Bedford or the Bedford house or the Bedford cemetery or — she’d just start getting her things together, like Conor had said, and move all her stuff into the other room — this would be a perfect time to do it and —

What was that?

Martha froze, her sweatshirt half over her head. As her eyes darted frantically from dresser to closet to bedroom door, she knew it wasn’t just the chill that had caused her skin to break out in goose-bumps. Something had floated up the stairs just then … along the hall to her room … a soft sound….

A whispering sound.

Like invisible leaves blown across the wooden floor by a cold, invisible wind.…

“Conor?” Martha called.

The noise stopped.

Slowly she tiptoed to the door and put her ear against it, straining to hear over the pounding of her heart.

“Conor?” she called again, more softly this time. She inched the door open and peered out into the hallway. It was hazy with shadows, but she could see Conor’s room from here, and it was still dark.
Besides, I would have heard the front door open … he would have said something
…. Unsettled, Martha eased the door back into place and wished it had a lock.

He
couldn’t
be much longer — any minute she’d hear the car pull in and he’d walk into the house, weird as ever, and for the hundredth time she’d hear the rationalizations about old houses settling and drafts seeping in and….

They never found him
….

Martha slammed a disc into her her CD player and turned it up. The first song was a love song, one of her favorites, and she curled up with the pillows on her bed and concentrated on trying to relax. Conor would be here any second now, and all the doors and windows were locked, and as long as the music played, the house couldn’t trick her with old, scary sounds….
I’ll think of something nice … something wonderful
. She closed her eyes and thought, of Blake so warm and strong beside her, and his lips so insistent on hers…. She turned her head dreamily as rain thrashed the windowpane, and then the music … and Blake … pulled her gently … gently … into a deep, dreamy embrace….

She didn’t know how long she’d dozed off, but she knew on some level of consciousness that something was wrong.

Fighting her way back from sleep she realized she’d just had another nightmare — where eyes watched her from unfathomable darkness — so close, so
near
to her, seeing every single thing she did … everything she even thought —

And then it was more than the eyes.

It was a presence.

A presence even stronger, even more frightening than the eyes had been — a presence so malevolent that it almost wasn’t human….

Martha’s eyes flew open. For a long terrifying moment she lay there, bewildered and afraid, trying to figure out what was so
wrong
about the room —

And then she knew.

Her light was out.

The record, long since ended, scratched softly over and over again on the turntable. Rain hissed and streamed against the windowpane. As Martha’s eyes painstakingly adjusted to the darkness, she turned her head slowly to her closet.

It was open.

And someone was standing inside.

The shriek that formed in her throat stuck there, threatening to choke her.

She could see the thing — only ten feet away from her bed — the dark, indistinct outline of someone standing there, not moving, not making a sound — just watching her with a terrible, silent patience.

A sliver of lightning flashed at the window….

She saw the cold glint of his eyes.

He doesn’t know I’m awake
— and Martha’s chest heaved as she fought to control her breathing —
dear God, he doesn’t know I’ve seen him — he doesn’t realize
—

A boom of thunder shook the house, rattling the very foundations.

The whole room — darkness — closet — tilted and swayed —

As Martha bolted up, she could see the whole closet now — how the shadows had shifted within and lost some of their blackness and terror —

The closet was empty.

And even as she snapped on the lamp, even as the room burst into soft colors and familiarity, even as she flung open the closet, filling it with light, she knew with dreadful certainty that she wouldn’t find anything, nothing but the memory of a waking nightmare and the few clothes she ripped aside and flung back —

And when the phone rang, she was beside herself with fear and anger, and she raced into the hallway, furious that everyone had abandoned her, snatching up the receiver with uncontrollable panic —

“Conor! Where
are
you? You’ve got to come home —”

But he wasn’t answering — he wasn’t saying anything — just struggling to breathe — and then giving a soft laugh that chilled her heart —

“Elizabeth,” the voice scolded, “don’t you like being in the house all by yourself?”

“
Who is this!
” Martha screamed.

“You’re mine, Elizabeth … trick or treat.”

Chapter 11

As Martha raced to the front door, her hand made a grab for the doorknob — only to recoil again instantly.

The handle was turning.

She staggered back, eyes glued in horrible fascination on the handle moving … the door opening….

Conor stood there, one hand still on the door, twisting the key from the lock. Martha sagged back against the wall and felt her knees give out, her body sliding slowly down until she was sitting on the floor looking up at him.

“Conor….” She was struggling for control, struggling to breathe, struggling with every ounce of willpower not to scream hysterically. “Where the hell
were
you?”

“I had car trouble.” For a long moment he surveyed her, in a crumpled heap, then he seemed to remember the rain and wind whooshing through the hall and closed the door. “Why?”

She couldn’t speak. For several seconds her voice seemed permanently displaced, and she could only look at him with dull eyes. Conor squatted down on his heels beside her.

“The phone,” Martha said. It was even too much of an effort to explain, although Conor — for once — was giving her his undivided attention. She gazed back into his blue stare.

“He knew you weren’t here. He knew I was alone.” When Conor didn’t respond, her voice grew frantic. “I think he was in my closet!
Again!
Doesn’t anybody care what’s
happening
around here!” Whirling to the stairs she ran smack into the newel post and grabbed her midsection with a groan.

Conor bent over her, easing her down onto the bottom step. “Your exit could use some work — are you okay?”

“Just leave me alone — you —” All her wind had been knocked out, and she could barely speak.

“All this,” Conor sighed, “and the flu, too.”

“What flu?” Martha moaned.

Conor sat beside her, half smiling. “The flu they told me you had at school. So how’d you get home? As if I couldn’t guess.”

Martha shot him a venomous look. “For your information, Blake just
happened
to come by when I started feeling bad, and he was
nice
enough to bring me home —”

“That was certainly lucky.” Conor reached over and carefully pulled something from her hair as Martha tried to swat his hand away.

“At least he cares how I feel —” She stared down at the strands of hay Conor held between his fingers, and a rush of fire went through her cheeks.