Read Online Death Trance by Graham Masterton - Free Book Online

transmitter with which they could summon either the forest rangers or the company that took care of Randolph's seaplane.
    'Well, we don't know for sure that it's a prowler,’ Marmie said. 'After all, we're a long way out from anywhere. We haven't heard a helicopter, have we? Or a seaplane? And it's nearly twenty miles to route one sixty-nine. I think maybe we're just letting ourselves get a little jumpy because Daddy isn't here.’
    'I think it's spooky,’ Issa said. 'I vote we go back to Memphis tomorrow.’
    ‘I’ll make some hot chocolate,’ Marmie volunteered.
    She had nearly reached the kitchen when there was a sharp, earsplitting crack and the blade of an axe penetrated the outside door close to the lock. Issa screamed and jumped off the sofa. John picked up the rifle and chambered a round with a quick, flustered jerk. Mark stepped back and stared at his mother wide-eyed.
    Marmie tried to shout out, 'Who's that? What do you think you're doing?’ but somehow her vocal cords failed to work. The axe blade cracked into the door a second time, then a third.
    'John, shoot!’ Marmie gasped. John aimed the rifle at the door and pulled the trigger but nothing happened.
    'It's jammed,’ he said desperately. 'It's all jammed up.’
    The axe chopped into the door with regular, powerful strokes, as if it were being wielded by a woodsman. Marmie thought wildly of going into the kitchen for a carving knife but a tiny voice of logic and self-protection asked what good that would be against a man carrying an axe and with the strength to chop down a heavy wooden door.
    With a hideous, splintering groan, the door was forced open. Four bulky men in white ice-hockey masks and black track suits pushed their way into the living room. One of them was swinging a long-handled axe; the others were carrying sawed-off shotguns. Marmie screeched at them, 'Get out! What do you want? Get out!’ and gathered the children close, but the men took no notice and strutted into the room, systematically kicking over tables, tugging down pictures and overturning chairs. They were faceless and menacing, like malevolent puppets.
    'What do you want?’ Marmie breathed, her voice choked with fear.
    The man with the axe came up and regarded them with expressionless eyes.
    'Who are you?’ Marmie demanded. 'What right do you have to come bursting into our house?’
    The man said nothing, although Marmie could hear him breathing harshly behind his mask. The other three men circled around behind them and stood with their feet apart, arrogant and stiff, holding up their short-barreled shotguns as if they were symbols of authority. Marmie glanced nervously over her shoulder at them and then back at the man with the axe.
    'There's no money here,’ she said, her voice trembling but firm. 'You can have my credit cards if you want them. There's a gun there; it's jammed but you can have it. Just take what you want and leave us alone. Please. We're on vacation, that's all.’
    The man with the axe beckoned to one of his associates and pointed to Mark. With his finger he made a throat-cutting gesture across his own neck.
    Marmie screamed, 'No!’ but another man stepped up behind her and gripped her arm, so tightly that the sleeve of her dress tore. He pressed the muzzle of his shotgun to the side of Marmie's head; its roughly filed-off edges dug into her temple, and it was then she suddenly realized that these men in their bland ice-hockey masks had come not for money, nor for shelter, nor for anything else she could possibly offer them. They had come to kill, and that was all. Because who would travel twenty miles through the forests of the Laurentide Provincial Park, to a cabin that stood by itself, armed with sawed-off shotguns and disguised with masks, but killers?
    Marmie said, 'I beg mercy of you.’ Her voice was proud and clear. Issa whimpered and covered her face with her hands, but John stared at Marmie as if amazed that she was not able to protect him from