Trick or Treat (16 page)

Wynn nodded, but they exchanged nervous glances and began moving in a half trot towards school.

“Do you see Conor?” Wynn asked.

Martha shook her head, a strange dread growing in the pit of her stomach. “He’ll be here. You don’t have to wait.”

“Don’t be silly, I — oh,
darn
!” Wynn checked her watch and looked helplessly at Martha. “I’m supposed to
baby-sit
, for crying out loud —”

“Then go on — Conor’ll be here any second, I’m sure.”

“Martha, I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I’m a big girl,” Martha chided, giving her a push. “I have to go in and get some stuff from my locker anyway. I’ll wait under the overhang — I won’t even get wet.”

“Are you sure?” Wynn asked worriedly. “I mean, Bedford’s not like Chicago, I don’t think — we
can
go out at night alone here without guns … well … most of the time —”

“Get out of here,” Martha laughed, waving her away. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Are you
sure
Conor remembers you’re here?”

“Wynn —
good-bye
.”

“Okay, then —” Wynn took off at a run, pausing at the corner to turn and wave. “’Bye!”

“’Bye.” Martha stood there with her hand up, rain trickling down her cheeks, running into her collar.

“
I think he’s dead, Martha…. I think he killed himself
….”

She looked back at the school, looming against a starless sky, and her blood chilled within her.
Wynn … come back … please don’t leave me alone
….

Chapter 14

The heavy doors groaned as Martha swung them open.

She hadn’t even considered that she might not get in — with football practice and drama rehearsals and club meetings going on, she felt confident that someone would still be here in some part of the building.

Anything was better than waiting outside in the dark … and now the rain had turned into a steady downpour….

She hurried towards the stairs at the closest end of the hall. Funny how different everything seemed after school hours: classrooms empty, corridors uncomfortably oversized and damp and cold — and everything echoed — each step she took across the floor, each breath she breathed — all thrown mockingly back at her from the high old ceilings and peeling green walls. Martha quickened her pace and tried not to look at the gaping rooms on either side as she passed.
I guess I was wrong … there doesn’t seem to be anyone around
….

The staircase, just ahead of her now, angled upwards into murky shadows. Martha stopped at the bottom, biting her lip. She
had
to study this weekend for Tuesday’s history discussion; if she didn’t pull her grade up, she’d really be in serious trouble — not to mention the lecture she was sure to get from Dad —
and
Greg Chambers. She couldn’t believe she’d been so dumb as to go off without her book in the first place….

She sighed, glancing up to the second story. There was no choice, really — whether she wanted to or not, she had to go up there to her locker and get that stupid book.

She’d just put one foot on the bottom stair when she heard the sound.

Martha froze, her hand outstretched for the banister, and for one crazy minute she thought
she’d
made the sound herself because it was so
close
—

A footstep.

As fight as a whisper, yet so unmistakable that the hair began to rise along the back of her neck.

It was just behind her.

With a gasp Martha whirled, her mouth open to scream —

The hall was empty.

Stunned, she gazed in disbelief at the black, endless corridor, her heart bursting in her ears. She groped for the railing and took a step up. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

There’s no one here, Martha, it’s just the old building or the wind or maybe mice in a closet somewhere or rats
…. She shuddered and started up, angling her body so she could still see the hallway below. Even beneath her slight weight the old wooden stairs groaned and creaked — she couldn’t remember it ever having taken so long to walk upstairs before.

Gratefully she reached the second floor, the dirty overhead lights illuminating rows of metal lockers lining the walls. With a relieved sigh, Martha headed towards her own locker, casting a last backwards look at the staircase as she grabbed her lock and began to spin the combination.
It’s a good thing Conor isn’t here to see me … I’d never live this down
…. She pulled out her history book and gave herself a firm mental shake. This place was really creepy; it was too easy to imagine all kinds of horrors. Well, this would be
her
little secret — no sense letting anyone know how a creaky old building had sent her into a near panic. Smiling at her own silliness, Martha slammed the door.

The hall plunged into total darkness.

In the first split second she felt more surprise than fear — one minute she was heading for the stairs; in the next breath she was pinned against the lockers, the suffocating darkness worse than any darkness she had ever known. She couldn’t even see the book in her hand or the fingers she put up to her lips to press back the scream forming there….

She couldn’t see a thing.

But she could hear the footsteps … slow … purposeful … climbing the stairs.

For one insane instant Martha felt hope leap inside her — she actually thought the janitor was making his rounds in the dark.

“Hello!” Martha called. “I forgot a book in my locker — could you turn the lights back on?”

Nobody answered.

Martha felt her heart sink deep into the frozen pit of her stomach. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

The footsteps stopped.

And waited.

And then, hesitantly, they started again.

Martha’s eyes, wild with terror, were totally useless to her now — as she moved cautiously from her locker, she waited for hands to grab her, hands that were used to the dark … the hallway swarming with hands….

The footsteps kept coming — one stair at a time — unhurried and unconcerned.

As if they knew right where they were going.

Martha swallowed a sick taste of fear.

The footsteps reached the second floor.

They didn’t stop. They came straight towards her.

Some mechanism took over then — some instinct for self-preservation — before Martha even realized what was happening, she was stumbling through the darkness, away from him. She put out her hands, groping —
Think, Martha, think!
There was another stairway at the opposite end of the hall — if she could just reach it — run down and get outside — find Conor — The enormity of the situation suddenly overwhelmed her — in terror she felt her fingers slide over a light switch and she hit it — again — again —
my God, he’s cut off the power
.

Desperately she began to run, legs numb, clumsy with fear. She didn’t care anymore if he heard her or not — all she knew was she had to get out of there —

She hit a wall, fought to keep her balance. And still the footsteps came, never changing their pace.
The stairs — the stairs!
She knew she’d reached the end of the hall and the stairs should be to her left — flinging her arms she suddenly hit double doors. She threw herself against them, pounding on the handles, but they wouldn’t budge. Whimpering, she slid down the wall, her fist rammed into her mouth. Behind her the footsteps halted, blocking her escape.

Where
was
he? How far behind her? Yet she could
sense
that he was close —
so close!
— and she wondered crazily where there was left to run —

Later she couldn’t remember diving for the open classroom — later she was astounded that she’d even remembered it was there at all — but suddenly she was throwing herself through the door and slamming it, and falling over furniture before she finally found the back windows that opened out onto the fire escape.

She tugged at the bottom section of glass.

The window stuck fast.

Behind her the doorknob turned and the door began to open.

Martha ducked down behind some desks, molding herself as flat as she could to the wall. The feet came slowly into the room and stopped. The silence was endless and terrifying. She pressed both hands to her mouth to keep from screaming.

And then he closed the door.

Martha heard the groan of the hinges and knew that she was completely and hopelessly trapped. There was no way out now, except to go right past him, and now there was only the silence again … endless … agonizing … silence … and her heart splitting her body with convulsions of terror.

His hand came out of nowhere.

It sprang from the darkness and clamped down on her shoulder, and with a shriek Martha broke away from him and hurled herself where she thought the door should be. Her hand grappled with the knob — the door strained for a brief instant — stuck — then popped open, spilling her out into the hall.

Behind her he swore under his breath.

And began to run.

Martha beat frenziedly upon the doors that blocked the stairway. Without warning they suddenly came open, and she pitched forward, missing the banister. Her arm made an awful cracking sound as she landed on it. Then, half running, half falling, she somehow got to the bottom and ran for the nearest exit, throwing her weight against the door.

It was locked.

No … no … God … no
. She was crying now; the pain in her arm excruciating.

And now she heard him, behind her, on the stairs….

She screamed — screamed again — the pain like a ragged knife in her arm, up her shoulder — screaming, praying somebody would hear —

She was almost past her last chance when she remembered.

The side door that led off through the teachers’ lounge, that none of the students were ever allowed to use….

Martha turned the corner so abruptly she nearly fell again. She pulled herself along the walls, and heard the footsteps falter, confused by her sudden turn.

The white-hot pain burned through her whole body — she went down on one knee, hugging her arm against her. Her shoulder hit the door as she wrestled with the metal bar that would open it — as the door burst open she felt the cold shock of wind and rain and a different kind of darkness — a paler darkness — where streetlights glowed through fog, throwing puddles of distorted light —

“Conor!” she screamed. “
Conor!
”

Behind her the door burst open.

Martha screamed and ran, mindlessly now, only knowing she had to get away.

“
Conor!
”

Miraculously, through tears and rain she saw the parking lot. And as the familiar station wagon came into view with its interior light on, Martha was suddenly conscious of two things —

The station wagon was empty.

And the footsteps behind her had stopped.

As reality began to flood her terrified brain, she collapsed against a light post, eyes wide and dull, staring at the empty car. The headlights beamed hazily through the night.

“Conor —” she tried to call, but no sound would come. She looked behind her, and saw a black silhouette slide back into the darkness.

“Oh … help me….” Martha suddenly felt faint. As she groped for the post, her legs turned to jelly and began to buckle. She saw the wet gleaming pavement rushing up towards her face — she threw up her hands in slow motion and waited for the impact —

“Martha!”

And she
knew
that voice, it was Conor’s voice, coming out of nowhere, out of the dark….

And she felt his arms beneath her … saw his eyes … and then she felt nothing, falling into the deep, smothering night.

Chapter 15

“It hurts.”

“Of course it hurts. You nearly twisted your arm off.”

Martha groaned and tried to raise her head. “Conor —”

“No, we can’t leave till the doctor says we can.” He watched the confusion on her face and added, “You remember where you are, don’t you? You drifted off again just now.”

Martha stared at him for a moment, then without warning her face crumpled and she began to cry.

“Hey —” Conor came to the bedside, patting her shoulder awkwardly. “Martha, come on now, don’t —”

“But somebody tried to kill me,” Martha sobbed. “Don’t you believe me?”

Conor regarded her unhappily, but before he could answer a nurse leaned through the doorway, giving them a smile.

“You can take her home in a little bit — the doctor wants to give her a prescription.”

“Thanks,” Conor said, and looked down again as the nurse left.

“I don’t want to go home,” Martha cried softly, and the throbbing in her arm squeezed her whole body. “Please, Conor —”

“Martha.” Conor sat down on the side of her bed, his eyes clear and troubled. “I called the police after I brought you here. They didn’t find anyone, and they didn’t take me very seriously.”