Read Online Tales from the Crypt - Demon Knight by Randall Boyll - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Randall Boyll
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can’t touch it? Maybe you don’t want your fingerprints on it?”
“That’s absurd, Sheriff.”
“Then take it. You can wipe the prints off later.”
He hesitated.
“Jeryline,” Tupper said, “keep Mavis on the line. Salesman, let’s see some identification.”
The Salesman looked from face to face, grinning limply. “Are you mad, Sheriff? You think that I’m—”
“I don’t think nothing, yet,” Tupper interrupted. “But if you think I’m mad now, just keep on stalling.”
The Salesman’s grin vanished. “Very well.” He snapped the case shut and set it on the floor. “The time for stalling is over.”
Jeryline was just lifting the phone to her ear again to tell Mavis to get ready for more info, when the Salesman straightened and his right fist shot out toward Tupper in an instantaneous, whipping blur. It was in that millisecond that Jeryline realized, with the speed of sudden, unvoiced recognition, that Brayker was indeed a part of her destiny, of the destinies of everyone present at the Mission Inn on this howling night. The Salesman’s fist clove Tupper’s face in half, passed on through his brain, and with a hideous squelching noise, exploded out of the back of his head. Blood and clots of matter sprayed in a sudden wash across Brayker and Deputy Martel. Cordelia and Irene both screamed in unison, as did Roach, whose tone added a horrible contralto effect. Little Wally’s mouth fell open and he fainted across Uncle Willie’s lap. Uncle Willie himself had become a statue with a scraggly beard and huge, frozen eyes.
The phone dropped from Jeryline’s suddenly nerveless fingers and clunked on the floor. The twitching body of Sheriff Tupper hung from the Salesman’s arm. The Salesman tried to shake it free.
“Get me out of these cuffs!” Brayker shouted at Martel, but Martel was doing an Uncle Willie imitation without the beard. “Dammit!” Brayker howled. “Jeryline! Help me!”
She stared at him. Between her feet Mavis’s voice on the phone was a tiny buzzing.
“Jeryline,” Brayker shouted, his teeth clenched, his bloody face drawn up. “He’ll kill all of us if you don’t move!”
She blinked at him. Her mind could not unscramble the sounds he was making. The Salesman had Tupper’s body on the floor now and had a foot on his shoulder, still trying to jerk his hand out of the mangle of meat and shards of bone that had been Tupper’s head.
The antique key had fallen from Tupper’s hand when he died and now Brayker stepped to it and kicked it under the table. Moving backward, he got to Martel and tried to open a pouch on his belt that looked likely to hold keys. Jeryline watched all this from the safety of her senseless, dreamy world.
“Goddamn you, Jeryline!” Brayker shrieked. “Move your big fat fucking ass!”
She jerked. Her ass was not big. She had been told by many a man that her ass was to die for, so gorgeous was it. She unlocked her body and skirted the desk. “You’re a jerk,” she snarled in Brayker’s face, and dug Martel’s official set of keys out of the pouch. She pawed through them, found the smallest one, and unlocked the cuffs. Brayker twisted out of them just as the Salesman’s hand pulled free. The Salesman then swung his fist in a huge arc, catching Brayker only slightly as he ducked.
Martel finally came to life. With a hand shaking so hard he could barely unsnap his holster, he hauled his pistol out and stuck it toward the Salesman’s chest. “You stop doing that stuff!” he hollered, barely able to hold onto the pistol. Jeryline was reminded of Barney Fife and his case of nerves.
Uncle Willie stood up suddenly. Wally Enfield thumped to the floor like a rubber dummy. “I’ve knowed me some judo,” he shouted to the Salesman, and assumed an odd stance. “Take me on, Snakebite!”
The Salesman turned to look at him, laughing. Brayker coupled his hands together to form one huge fist and swung out hard, as if he held an axe. When
“That’s absurd, Sheriff.”
“Then take it. You can wipe the prints off later.”
He hesitated.
“Jeryline,” Tupper said, “keep Mavis on the line. Salesman, let’s see some identification.”
The Salesman looked from face to face, grinning limply. “Are you mad, Sheriff? You think that I’m—”
“I don’t think nothing, yet,” Tupper interrupted. “But if you think I’m mad now, just keep on stalling.”
The Salesman’s grin vanished. “Very well.” He snapped the case shut and set it on the floor. “The time for stalling is over.”
Jeryline was just lifting the phone to her ear again to tell Mavis to get ready for more info, when the Salesman straightened and his right fist shot out toward Tupper in an instantaneous, whipping blur. It was in that millisecond that Jeryline realized, with the speed of sudden, unvoiced recognition, that Brayker was indeed a part of her destiny, of the destinies of everyone present at the Mission Inn on this howling night. The Salesman’s fist clove Tupper’s face in half, passed on through his brain, and with a hideous squelching noise, exploded out of the back of his head. Blood and clots of matter sprayed in a sudden wash across Brayker and Deputy Martel. Cordelia and Irene both screamed in unison, as did Roach, whose tone added a horrible contralto effect. Little Wally’s mouth fell open and he fainted across Uncle Willie’s lap. Uncle Willie himself had become a statue with a scraggly beard and huge, frozen eyes.
The phone dropped from Jeryline’s suddenly nerveless fingers and clunked on the floor. The twitching body of Sheriff Tupper hung from the Salesman’s arm. The Salesman tried to shake it free.
“Get me out of these cuffs!” Brayker shouted at Martel, but Martel was doing an Uncle Willie imitation without the beard. “Dammit!” Brayker howled. “Jeryline! Help me!”
She stared at him. Between her feet Mavis’s voice on the phone was a tiny buzzing.
“Jeryline,” Brayker shouted, his teeth clenched, his bloody face drawn up. “He’ll kill all of us if you don’t move!”
She blinked at him. Her mind could not unscramble the sounds he was making. The Salesman had Tupper’s body on the floor now and had a foot on his shoulder, still trying to jerk his hand out of the mangle of meat and shards of bone that had been Tupper’s head.
The antique key had fallen from Tupper’s hand when he died and now Brayker stepped to it and kicked it under the table. Moving backward, he got to Martel and tried to open a pouch on his belt that looked likely to hold keys. Jeryline watched all this from the safety of her senseless, dreamy world.
“Goddamn you, Jeryline!” Brayker shrieked. “Move your big fat fucking ass!”
She jerked. Her ass was not big. She had been told by many a man that her ass was to die for, so gorgeous was it. She unlocked her body and skirted the desk. “You’re a jerk,” she snarled in Brayker’s face, and dug Martel’s official set of keys out of the pouch. She pawed through them, found the smallest one, and unlocked the cuffs. Brayker twisted out of them just as the Salesman’s hand pulled free. The Salesman then swung his fist in a huge arc, catching Brayker only slightly as he ducked.
Martel finally came to life. With a hand shaking so hard he could barely unsnap his holster, he hauled his pistol out and stuck it toward the Salesman’s chest. “You stop doing that stuff!” he hollered, barely able to hold onto the pistol. Jeryline was reminded of Barney Fife and his case of nerves.
Uncle Willie stood up suddenly. Wally Enfield thumped to the floor like a rubber dummy. “I’ve knowed me some judo,” he shouted to the Salesman, and assumed an odd stance. “Take me on, Snakebite!”
The Salesman turned to look at him, laughing. Brayker coupled his hands together to form one huge fist and swung out hard, as if he held an axe. When
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