Read Online October by Al Sarrantonio - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Al Sarrantonio
Tags: Horror
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facing Nick Backman . "You think because you're a couple of years older you can fuck with Buddy? I told you last year in high school to leave him alone. I don't give a damn if you're a big man in college now. The sameâ"
"Forget that," Nicky said, smiling. He turned to Buddy, and now Davey noticed the glassiness in Backman's eyes. "I'm sorry about that business. It won't happen again."
"Well . . . okay," Buddy said defiantly. "But if it doesâ"
Backman's smile widened. "It won't." He faced Davey. "I want to show you guys something."
Nick turned and descended the cellar stairs.
"This is weird," Buddy said. "I swear, Nick is high. That was Andrea Carlson down there. And Brenda Valachio .â
âWant to check it out?" Davey asked.
"If you want to. But I swear, Nick was high. Did you seeâ"
"He was," Davey said.
They descended the stairs into a well-paneled cellar, neons set into a dropped ceiling, wall-to-wall carpeting, sailing-ship prints in double-matted frames on the walls, furniture that might once have been in the playroom upstairs, a frayed couch against the stairwell wall, two slipcovered chairs huddling nearby. A billiard table squatted under a long Tiffany-style hanging lamp. Along the far wall, under the row of windows giving view to the backyard, was a long bar, curved edge at the right end, a real barroom rack behind it, filled with spout-topped bottles of scotch and liqueurs. Over it was a mirror etched with the Budweiser eagle, topped by a clock.
On a wall mount at the end of the bar was another television.
To the right, abutting the bar was a paneled wall with two doors, one of them ajar.
Andrea Carlson and Brenda Valachio rose from the couch. They were dressed, New Polk preppie, sweaters, gray and blue, circled at the neck with pink flowers, white shirts, short button-collared beneath, washed jeans, white socks, penny loafers.
"Hi, fellas." Andrea Carlson smiled. Brenda's smile quickly widened and she bent over, covering her mouth, tittering.
"Hi," Buddy said. He flashed his white teeth, embarrassed.
Andrea Carlson held Davey's even look for a moment, then turned to take Brenda by the arm and say, "Stop that!" before beginning to laugh herself. Davey noticed a glassy look in Andrea's eyes.
"Where's Nick?" Buddy said.
"He'sâ" Brenda Valachio began, pointing toward the doorway by the bar, before collapsing into giggles again.
"In here, fellas!" Nick called. He appeared, motioning them to follow him into the room. The girls went ahead, holding each other, laughing.
Buddy leaned over, whispered to Davey, "This is fucked up."
Davey paused at the doorway. It was almost dark within, musty smelling. He saw something flickering in a far corner. The light of a single basement window from the front of the house threw bare illumination. In the shadows, he saw the outline of an overhead bulb, unpulled , saw the boxy shape of what looked like an oil burner.
"Come on in!" Nick called.
Davey went in; Buddy followed.
Davey's eyes adjusted. A tool bench sat against the far, unpainted cement wall, tools on Peg-Board above it, sloppily kept. No dropped ceiling. Bare support beams. Off to the left, canned goods on a bank of pine shelving; to the right, the oil burner; behind it, the source of the flickering light.
Andrea's head suddenly appeared, looking around the oil burner at them. "Come on!" she said impatiently.
"It's cold in here," Buddy complained.
As they approached the oil burner; they heard a mewling sound. There was the flicker of a candle flame. Reflected in it was the curved side of a coffee can resting on the cement floor. Andrea bent over it, reading something from a paperback book.
"Davey, I don'tâ" Buddy began.
"Quiet."
They moved around the oil burner into a cleared-out area. Boxes had been pushed aside; the disassembled skeleton of an old bed was jammed against the wall, nicked pine boards up under the rafters. Dust balls slept in the corners.
The area in the
"Forget that," Nicky said, smiling. He turned to Buddy, and now Davey noticed the glassiness in Backman's eyes. "I'm sorry about that business. It won't happen again."
"Well . . . okay," Buddy said defiantly. "But if it doesâ"
Backman's smile widened. "It won't." He faced Davey. "I want to show you guys something."
Nick turned and descended the cellar stairs.
"This is weird," Buddy said. "I swear, Nick is high. That was Andrea Carlson down there. And Brenda Valachio .â
âWant to check it out?" Davey asked.
"If you want to. But I swear, Nick was high. Did you seeâ"
"He was," Davey said.
They descended the stairs into a well-paneled cellar, neons set into a dropped ceiling, wall-to-wall carpeting, sailing-ship prints in double-matted frames on the walls, furniture that might once have been in the playroom upstairs, a frayed couch against the stairwell wall, two slipcovered chairs huddling nearby. A billiard table squatted under a long Tiffany-style hanging lamp. Along the far wall, under the row of windows giving view to the backyard, was a long bar, curved edge at the right end, a real barroom rack behind it, filled with spout-topped bottles of scotch and liqueurs. Over it was a mirror etched with the Budweiser eagle, topped by a clock.
On a wall mount at the end of the bar was another television.
To the right, abutting the bar was a paneled wall with two doors, one of them ajar.
Andrea Carlson and Brenda Valachio rose from the couch. They were dressed, New Polk preppie, sweaters, gray and blue, circled at the neck with pink flowers, white shirts, short button-collared beneath, washed jeans, white socks, penny loafers.
"Hi, fellas." Andrea Carlson smiled. Brenda's smile quickly widened and she bent over, covering her mouth, tittering.
"Hi," Buddy said. He flashed his white teeth, embarrassed.
Andrea Carlson held Davey's even look for a moment, then turned to take Brenda by the arm and say, "Stop that!" before beginning to laugh herself. Davey noticed a glassy look in Andrea's eyes.
"Where's Nick?" Buddy said.
"He'sâ" Brenda Valachio began, pointing toward the doorway by the bar, before collapsing into giggles again.
"In here, fellas!" Nick called. He appeared, motioning them to follow him into the room. The girls went ahead, holding each other, laughing.
Buddy leaned over, whispered to Davey, "This is fucked up."
Davey paused at the doorway. It was almost dark within, musty smelling. He saw something flickering in a far corner. The light of a single basement window from the front of the house threw bare illumination. In the shadows, he saw the outline of an overhead bulb, unpulled , saw the boxy shape of what looked like an oil burner.
"Come on in!" Nick called.
Davey went in; Buddy followed.
Davey's eyes adjusted. A tool bench sat against the far, unpainted cement wall, tools on Peg-Board above it, sloppily kept. No dropped ceiling. Bare support beams. Off to the left, canned goods on a bank of pine shelving; to the right, the oil burner; behind it, the source of the flickering light.
Andrea's head suddenly appeared, looking around the oil burner at them. "Come on!" she said impatiently.
"It's cold in here," Buddy complained.
As they approached the oil burner; they heard a mewling sound. There was the flicker of a candle flame. Reflected in it was the curved side of a coffee can resting on the cement floor. Andrea bent over it, reading something from a paperback book.
"Davey, I don'tâ" Buddy began.
"Quiet."
They moved around the oil burner into a cleared-out area. Boxes had been pushed aside; the disassembled skeleton of an old bed was jammed against the wall, nicked pine boards up under the rafters. Dust balls slept in the corners.
The area in the
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