Read Online October by Al Sarrantonio - Free Book Online
Authors: Al Sarrantonio
Tags: Horror
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not to stroll here," Johnston said. "Especially not with Scalizi ."
"I'm sorry, Officer. I guess I didn't hear you."
"Get your hearing checked. What are you doing here?â
âWe're on our way to Nick Backman's house to get help on some of Buddy's homework."
"What about your homework, Putnam?"
Davey said nothing.
"Get what you need and get the hell home." The officer turned back to his steering wheel, revved his engine. "I'll be around to talk to your old man."
The officer let the patrol car begin to roll, then braked it. He turned to glare at Davey. "You hear me?"
"Yes, Officer," Davey said.
"Any trouble, it's your ass I haul in, whether it was you or not." This time he hit the accelerator.
"What is it with that bastard?" Buddy said. "Why is he always on your tail?"
Davey watched the patrol car turn the corner. "He had some trouble with my old man once." Before Scalizi could say anything, he added, "My real father."
Nick Backman's house was a block ahead, painted the inevitable white with black shingles. The driveway, which sloped slightly down to a garage set into the foundation, was empty.
"Let's go around back," Buddy said, resuming his strut.
They walked the flagstone path to the left of the driveway. There was a green chain-link fence at the backyard, tripped with a latch. They opened it and entered. The backyard had just been mowed, wheel marks of the mower in fresh ranks. The pool, near the back right corner of the yard, was covered with a tied green tarp, flecked with blown leaves and grass.
They went to the sliding glass door off the porch. It was locked, covered on the inside by a curtain. The windows along the back of the house were curtained.
"Dragged me over here for nothing," Davey said. "There's nobody home."
"He said he'd be here," Buddy protested.
"Wellâ"
A glare of light caught Davey's eye. There was a light in one of the basement windows set down into the foundation. As he watched, the light was eclipsed.
"Somebody's in the cellar," Davey said.
They went to the window. It was long and narrow, double paned, screened.
"See anything?" Buddy said.
"Be quiet."
Davey got down on his knees, brought his face close to the window. Buddy crouched beside him.
The light was once again blocked. As Davey watched, the figure blocking it stepped back. A long, white, naked body was revealed, ample breasts with standing nipples, long dark hair, the tight roundness of buttocks. Someone stepped forward, another naked female, to cup the left breast in her hand, guide it to her mouth while the girl with the long hair threw her head back, closed her eyes, opened her mouth.
"Jesus, that's Andrea Carlson," Scalizi said. "And Brendaâ"
"Hello, boys."
Davey and Buddy pushed themselves up from the window to see Nick Backman , hands in pockets, regarding them mildly from the edge of the porch. The sliding glass door was open behind him, the curtain billowing out. Backman wore a deep-gray crew-neck sweater over the collared, buttoned wings of a blue oxford-cloth shirt. His creased gabardine slacks were cuffed, bottomed by oxblood loafers.
"Weâ" Buddy began.
"No problem. Come on in."
Backman turned, climbed through the sliding door.
"Jesus," Buddy said. "I can't believeâ"
Davey took him by the arm and said, "Let's go."
They followed Nick Backman into the house. The sliding glass door led into a playroom, large-screen television centering one wall, a couch, a couple of easy chairs, a leather recliner angled around a coffee table covered with copies of Vogue and Architectural Digest along with the current TV Guide. The room was dimly lit. Nick Backman stood between the kitchen and playroom, near an open doorway with a downward staircase, waiting for them.
"Close the door, please," he said, and Buddy turned to slide the heavy glass frame closed.
"Lock it," Backman added.
After a moment's search, Buddy located the flip-switch and secured the door.
Davey balled his fists, stood
"I'm sorry, Officer. I guess I didn't hear you."
"Get your hearing checked. What are you doing here?â
âWe're on our way to Nick Backman's house to get help on some of Buddy's homework."
"What about your homework, Putnam?"
Davey said nothing.
"Get what you need and get the hell home." The officer turned back to his steering wheel, revved his engine. "I'll be around to talk to your old man."
The officer let the patrol car begin to roll, then braked it. He turned to glare at Davey. "You hear me?"
"Yes, Officer," Davey said.
"Any trouble, it's your ass I haul in, whether it was you or not." This time he hit the accelerator.
"What is it with that bastard?" Buddy said. "Why is he always on your tail?"
Davey watched the patrol car turn the corner. "He had some trouble with my old man once." Before Scalizi could say anything, he added, "My real father."
Nick Backman's house was a block ahead, painted the inevitable white with black shingles. The driveway, which sloped slightly down to a garage set into the foundation, was empty.
"Let's go around back," Buddy said, resuming his strut.
They walked the flagstone path to the left of the driveway. There was a green chain-link fence at the backyard, tripped with a latch. They opened it and entered. The backyard had just been mowed, wheel marks of the mower in fresh ranks. The pool, near the back right corner of the yard, was covered with a tied green tarp, flecked with blown leaves and grass.
They went to the sliding glass door off the porch. It was locked, covered on the inside by a curtain. The windows along the back of the house were curtained.
"Dragged me over here for nothing," Davey said. "There's nobody home."
"He said he'd be here," Buddy protested.
"Wellâ"
A glare of light caught Davey's eye. There was a light in one of the basement windows set down into the foundation. As he watched, the light was eclipsed.
"Somebody's in the cellar," Davey said.
They went to the window. It was long and narrow, double paned, screened.
"See anything?" Buddy said.
"Be quiet."
Davey got down on his knees, brought his face close to the window. Buddy crouched beside him.
The light was once again blocked. As Davey watched, the figure blocking it stepped back. A long, white, naked body was revealed, ample breasts with standing nipples, long dark hair, the tight roundness of buttocks. Someone stepped forward, another naked female, to cup the left breast in her hand, guide it to her mouth while the girl with the long hair threw her head back, closed her eyes, opened her mouth.
"Jesus, that's Andrea Carlson," Scalizi said. "And Brendaâ"
"Hello, boys."
Davey and Buddy pushed themselves up from the window to see Nick Backman , hands in pockets, regarding them mildly from the edge of the porch. The sliding glass door was open behind him, the curtain billowing out. Backman wore a deep-gray crew-neck sweater over the collared, buttoned wings of a blue oxford-cloth shirt. His creased gabardine slacks were cuffed, bottomed by oxblood loafers.
"Weâ" Buddy began.
"No problem. Come on in."
Backman turned, climbed through the sliding door.
"Jesus," Buddy said. "I can't believeâ"
Davey took him by the arm and said, "Let's go."
They followed Nick Backman into the house. The sliding glass door led into a playroom, large-screen television centering one wall, a couch, a couple of easy chairs, a leather recliner angled around a coffee table covered with copies of Vogue and Architectural Digest along with the current TV Guide. The room was dimly lit. Nick Backman stood between the kitchen and playroom, near an open doorway with a downward staircase, waiting for them.
"Close the door, please," he said, and Buddy turned to slide the heavy glass frame closed.
"Lock it," Backman added.
After a moment's search, Buddy located the flip-switch and secured the door.
Davey balled his fists, stood
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