Halloween House

(continued)

By Russell H. Krauss

Rob spun around and ran through the open door, where he thought Jill had gone. He'd lead her upstairs once this thing got out of the way. But Jill wasn't there. It was just an empty storage closet. What the hell? Then who or what had gone downstairs? Or had he simply presumed? Maybe she opened and closed the door, and then walked back into the kitchen along the hardwood hallway floor. Jesus. He had to get back upstairs and find her!

The centivore had slunk halfway across the cellar floor when he emerged from the closet. He darted toward his right, intending to circle around the thing to the staircase, but it moved suddenly and quickly, cutting him off, coils sidewinding like a rattlesnake, and he ran back the other way. It anticipated him, moving faster than he could. It was herding him toward the corner. "Jesus Christ what the hell is this thing!" he bellowed, as it continued to close on him. He had no choice. He ducked back in the closet and slammed the door. There was a satisfying click as it latched. But there was no lock from the inside, of course. Could that thing open it?

He heard it scraping across the floor, then scratching the wooden door, thumping it. Or was that his heart, thundering in his ears now? His entire body trembled in terror and cold sweat poured out from his brow and armpits, as the thing rattled and battered the door, occasionally smacking the handle up and down. Sooner or later the door would pop open. He had to do something. He shined his flashlight around and spotted a two-by-four about three feet long in the corner. He grabbed it, turned the handle upwards, and shoved the board through it. It fit snugly against the door frame. No way the thing could pull the door open now. He sank down to the floor, exhausted, leaning against the wall, waiting, waiting, for that thing to give up so he could find Jill...

Rob woke with a start. For a moment he didn't remember where he was, as he sat on a hard concrete floor with his back to a wall. Oh God, he thought. He must have fallen asleep, waiting for that mechanical monstrosity to tire of attacking the door. He listened for a moment. No sound at all. Maybe, maybe. He checked his watch: Jesus, it was after six in the morning! He felt around for the flashlight, found it, turned it on and stood up. He approached the door, heart beating crazily now. He pulled the two-by-four away and opened it a crack. Light filled the opening, momentarily blinding him. And then he realized the electricity had come back on. He peeked through the opening, then looked around. No sign of that thing. He took a few deep breaths. Now! He burst from the closet and ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the door. He gasped for breath and pushed out into the first-floor hallway.

"Jill!" he screamed. "Jill! Where are you?" Frantically, he searched the entire house, once, and then again. On his second trip upstairs he remembered Jill's first outburst, but the photographic portraits were exactly as he remembered. Then what had frightened her, and where had she gone? "Jill, honey. Please! Where are you?"

The police. Yes, that's what he had to do. He remembered now that he'd passed the station the night before. He'd be there in ten minutes if he hurried. They'd help him find Jill. Oh God, where was she?

Rob raised his third cup of coffee to his lips, but his hands still shook, and he spilled some in his lap.

"Please, Mr. Johnson," the police detective said. "Try to calm down. We'll find her. Don't you worry. It's not the first time somebody's been frightened out of their skin from a night at the Halloween House."

Rob didn't know what to say. He'd only told them that Jill had gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. He'd drifted back to sleep. When he woke at six, she was gone. How could he tell them about that stupid centivore or whatever it was? It seemed even more ridiculous in the light of day. They'd think he was nuts. He couldn't stop the feeling of panic that ate away at him. An hour had gone by since a police detail had gone to search the house and grounds. Not a word yet. He had this terrible premonition that something awful happened to Jill. Well, it had. At the very least, something had scared her so badly she'd tumbled into some kind of fugue state. "Maybe she found some way out of the house?" he suggested. "Maybe she's wandering around lost in the woods?"

The officer nodded understandingly, when the door to the conference room suddenly opened. A patrolman stuck his head in. "They found her, Detective," he said, smiling.

Rob jumped up from the table.

But the policeman's smile faded quickly. "She's in a very confused, trance-like state: shock, really. They found her wandering aimlessly out in the woods behind the house, muttering that she'd lost her husband. A doctor and nurse are with her now. The doctor thinks that she might snap out of it once she sees Mr. Johnson, here, that he's all right. Shall I show them in?"

Rob whooped with joy and raised his arms into the air. "Yes!" he exclaimed. It was a miracle. All was right again. His beloved Jill had been found, and the nightmare was over. He couldn't wait to see her.

The detective waited for Rob's excitement to subside. It was infectious, and he smiled broadly. "By all means, Higgins, show them in."

A moment later, a nurse entered the room, followed by a frazzled, disheveled, thirtyish blonde woman, and an older man, presumably the doctor. The woman's eyes opened wide as she saw Rob. Rob's huge smile of joy melted into confusion.

"I don't understand," the woman said, voice cracking. "Where's my husband?"

Rob felt his knees buckling, the strength oozing out of his rubbery legs, until he thought he would collapse. But he managed to ask, "Who — who are you?"

"Janet Jameson," the woman said. "Who are you?"