run, to climb into the rusty Cherokee outside and—
The keys! The thought steadied him, giving him something to think about beyond his own terror. Bob had driven; no doubt Bob had the keys. If he ran now, he would have to run in actual fact, flee along the rain-swept sidewalks of Castleview. As he realized it, he realized too that he would not run; his fear was ebbing—he had not run when it had been worse.
He returned to the hall and strode to the next door; this time the doorway was on his left. When he pressed the switch, floodlights in the ceiling revealed a model town: red brick and shiny black asphalt streets, tiny red and white houses flanked by bright green trees, a town as charming as a child’s drawing. Castleview, of course. He chuckled softly at his own fears as he crouched to look beneath the big table that held the model. The shadowy space was empty of all but dust; and yet something stealthily walked, and there was a pervasive
animal reek, faint but distinct, throughout this upper floor.
As he straightened up, he felt illogically sure that Bob was no longer in the building. He would find Bob, dead, behind the wheel of the Cherokee, perhaps. Or never find him at all.
From the floor below came the sound of breaking glass.
8
HITCHHIKERS
THE HEADLIGHTS seemed merely to polish the oily black road that wound through the tunnel of trees. Mercedes studied its asphalt surface obsessively, afraid to close her eyes and equally afraid to look squarely at the back of Long’s rain-soaked hat. Black-and-yellow signs crowded by trees warned of steep descents and abrupt curves ahead, yet it seemed to Mercedes that it was the trees themselves that moved, skipping lightly by the motionless car: rapt in their secret dance, they twirled left, then right.
Something inky and shapeless crouched by the road, its eyes glowing green in the headlights.
Seth hit the brakes hard, and the Olds spun in a sickening skid. It was as though the giant on the horse were back again, as though she were in the Buick again; she implored God that it be so, that Mom and Dad be with her as before, in their own car on the way to the safety and warmth of a motel.
It was not. The Olds stopped, angled diagonally across the narrow road. “That’s her,” Jim Long said. “Damn, but I’m glad we found her.”
The dark, shapeless thing rose, became a human figure with a pale blur of face. Long left the car, edged around the front bumper (it was among the trees) and hurried over. They did not embrace, though they joined hands; for a moment they
talked, or so it appeared—Mercedes could not hear what was said, and did not want to hear. “Seth, let’s get out of here.”
He glanced back at her, surprised. “We can’t just go off and leave them.”
“Please.”
He rolled down his window. “Everything all right?”
Turning toward them, Long said, “Sure. She’s just a little upset, is all.”
Seth switched off the ignition and got out. Mercedes heard him through the open window: “I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect you to be in the middle of the road.”
Mercedes opened her door and got out, too; it seemed to be the only thing to do. The white-faced figure was a woman, very blond, whose pale hair fell to her waist. Mercedes said, “Are you okay?”
The blond woman nodded. “Yes, I am fine. It was too quick for me to be frightened.” She dabbed at her eyes with something that looked like a rag.
Long told Seth, “Dead animals—dead things in the road get her upset.”
“It was a mother and her baby,” the blond woman explained. Her voice was low and sweet. “What do you call the babies? Her cub, her kitten. They killed them both.”
Mercedes looked. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness now that they no longer followed the headlights. A large raccoon lay dead. Near it, almost touching, was a much smaller raccoon; it, too, was dead.
The blond woman said, “They drive so fast, even when they cannot see. They never think
The keys! The thought steadied him, giving him something to think about beyond his own terror. Bob had driven; no doubt Bob had the keys. If he ran now, he would have to run in actual fact, flee along the rain-swept sidewalks of Castleview. As he realized it, he realized too that he would not run; his fear was ebbing—he had not run when it had been worse.
He returned to the hall and strode to the next door; this time the doorway was on his left. When he pressed the switch, floodlights in the ceiling revealed a model town: red brick and shiny black asphalt streets, tiny red and white houses flanked by bright green trees, a town as charming as a child’s drawing. Castleview, of course. He chuckled softly at his own fears as he crouched to look beneath the big table that held the model. The shadowy space was empty of all but dust; and yet something stealthily walked, and there was a pervasive
animal reek, faint but distinct, throughout this upper floor.
As he straightened up, he felt illogically sure that Bob was no longer in the building. He would find Bob, dead, behind the wheel of the Cherokee, perhaps. Or never find him at all.
From the floor below came the sound of breaking glass.
8
HITCHHIKERS
THE HEADLIGHTS seemed merely to polish the oily black road that wound through the tunnel of trees. Mercedes studied its asphalt surface obsessively, afraid to close her eyes and equally afraid to look squarely at the back of Long’s rain-soaked hat. Black-and-yellow signs crowded by trees warned of steep descents and abrupt curves ahead, yet it seemed to Mercedes that it was the trees themselves that moved, skipping lightly by the motionless car: rapt in their secret dance, they twirled left, then right.
Something inky and shapeless crouched by the road, its eyes glowing green in the headlights.
Seth hit the brakes hard, and the Olds spun in a sickening skid. It was as though the giant on the horse were back again, as though she were in the Buick again; she implored God that it be so, that Mom and Dad be with her as before, in their own car on the way to the safety and warmth of a motel.
It was not. The Olds stopped, angled diagonally across the narrow road. “That’s her,” Jim Long said. “Damn, but I’m glad we found her.”
The dark, shapeless thing rose, became a human figure with a pale blur of face. Long left the car, edged around the front bumper (it was among the trees) and hurried over. They did not embrace, though they joined hands; for a moment they
talked, or so it appeared—Mercedes could not hear what was said, and did not want to hear. “Seth, let’s get out of here.”
He glanced back at her, surprised. “We can’t just go off and leave them.”
“Please.”
He rolled down his window. “Everything all right?”
Turning toward them, Long said, “Sure. She’s just a little upset, is all.”
Seth switched off the ignition and got out. Mercedes heard him through the open window: “I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect you to be in the middle of the road.”
Mercedes opened her door and got out, too; it seemed to be the only thing to do. The white-faced figure was a woman, very blond, whose pale hair fell to her waist. Mercedes said, “Are you okay?”
The blond woman nodded. “Yes, I am fine. It was too quick for me to be frightened.” She dabbed at her eyes with something that looked like a rag.
Long told Seth, “Dead animals—dead things in the road get her upset.”
“It was a mother and her baby,” the blond woman explained. Her voice was low and sweet. “What do you call the babies? Her cub, her kitten. They killed them both.”
Mercedes looked. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness now that they no longer followed the headlights. A large raccoon lay dead. Near it, almost touching, was a much smaller raccoon; it, too, was dead.
The blond woman said, “They drive so fast, even when they cannot see. They never think
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