Read Online The Year's Best Horror Stories 7 by Gerald W. Page - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gerald W. Page
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she went ahead with her tour, and I sailed to England and studied at Oxford. I never saw her again, but she's more or less why I never married."
Silence a moment. Then: "The Land Beyond the Forest," Laurel repeated. "Isn't there a book called that?"
"There is indeed, my child," said the Judge. "By Emily de Laszowska Gerard. About Transylvania, where Dracula came from."
"That's why we use the title, that's what Transylvania means," put in Drumm. "It's all right, the book's out of copyright. But I'm surprised to find someone who's heard of it."
"I'll protect your guilty secret, Phil," promised Isobel Arrington. "What's over there in your window, Judge?"
Pursuivant turned to look. "Whatever it is," he said, "it's not Peter Pan."
Cobbett sprang up and ran toward the half-draped window. A silhouette with head and shoulders hung in the June night. He had a glimpse of a face, rich-mouthed, with bright eyes. Then it was gone. Laurel had hurried up behind him. He hoisted the window sash and leaned out.
Nothing. The street was fourteen stories down. The lights of moving cars crawled distantly. The wall below was course after course of dull brick, with recesses of other windows to right and left, below, above. Cobbett studied the wall, his hands braced on the sill.
"Be careful, Lee," Laurel's voice besought him.
He came back to face the others. "Nobody out there," he said evenly. "Nobody could have been. It's just a wall-nothing to hang to. Even that sill would be tricky to stand on."
"But I saw something, and so did Judge Pursuivant," said Isobel Arrington, the cigarette trembling in her fingers.
"So did I," said Cobbett. "Didn't you, Laurel?"
"Only a face."
Isobel Arrington was calm again. "If it's a trick, Phil, you played a good one. But don't expect me to put it in my story."
Drumm shook his head nervously. "I didn't play any trick, I swear."
"Don't try this on old friends," she jabbed at him. "First those pictures, then whatever was up against the glass. I'll use the pictures, but I won't write that a weird vision presided over this birthday party."
"How about a drink all around?" suggested Pursuivant.
He poured for them. Isobel Arrington wrote down answers to more questions, then said she must go. Drumm rose to escort her. "You'll be at Deslow tomorrow. Lee?" he asked.
"And Laurel, too. You said we could find quarters there."
"The Mapletree's a good auto court," said Drumm. "I've already reserved cabins for the two of you."
"On the spur of the moment," said Pursuivant suddenly, "I think I'll come along, if there's space for me."
"I'll check it out for you, Judge," said Drumm.
He departed with Isobel Arlington. Cobbett spoke to Pursuivant. "Isn't that rather offhand?" he asked. "Deciding to come with us?"
"I was thinking about Chastel." Pursuivant smiled gently. "About making a pilgrimage to her grave."
"Well drive up about nine tomorrow morning."
"I'll be ready, Lee."
Cobbett and Laurel, too, went out. They walked down a flight of stairs to the floor below, where both their rooms were located. "Do you think Phil Drumm rigged up that illusion for us?" asked Cobbett.
"If he did, he used the face of that actress. Chastel."
He glanced keenly at her. "You saw that."
"I thought I did, and so did you."
They kissed goodnight at the door to her room.
Pursuivant was ready next morning when Cobbett knocked. He had only one suitcase and a thick, brown-blotched malacca cane, banded with silver below its curved handle.
"I'm taking only a few necessaries, FH buy socks and such things in Deslow if we stay more than a couple of days," he said. "No, don't carry it for me, I'm quite capable."
When they reached the hotel garage, Laurel was putting her luggage in the trunk of Cobbett's black sedan. Judge Pursuivant declined the front seat beside Cobbett, held the door for Laurel to get in, and sat in the rear. They rolled out into bright June sunlight.
Cobbett drove them east on Interstate 95, mile after mile along
Silence a moment. Then: "The Land Beyond the Forest," Laurel repeated. "Isn't there a book called that?"
"There is indeed, my child," said the Judge. "By Emily de Laszowska Gerard. About Transylvania, where Dracula came from."
"That's why we use the title, that's what Transylvania means," put in Drumm. "It's all right, the book's out of copyright. But I'm surprised to find someone who's heard of it."
"I'll protect your guilty secret, Phil," promised Isobel Arrington. "What's over there in your window, Judge?"
Pursuivant turned to look. "Whatever it is," he said, "it's not Peter Pan."
Cobbett sprang up and ran toward the half-draped window. A silhouette with head and shoulders hung in the June night. He had a glimpse of a face, rich-mouthed, with bright eyes. Then it was gone. Laurel had hurried up behind him. He hoisted the window sash and leaned out.
Nothing. The street was fourteen stories down. The lights of moving cars crawled distantly. The wall below was course after course of dull brick, with recesses of other windows to right and left, below, above. Cobbett studied the wall, his hands braced on the sill.
"Be careful, Lee," Laurel's voice besought him.
He came back to face the others. "Nobody out there," he said evenly. "Nobody could have been. It's just a wall-nothing to hang to. Even that sill would be tricky to stand on."
"But I saw something, and so did Judge Pursuivant," said Isobel Arrington, the cigarette trembling in her fingers.
"So did I," said Cobbett. "Didn't you, Laurel?"
"Only a face."
Isobel Arrington was calm again. "If it's a trick, Phil, you played a good one. But don't expect me to put it in my story."
Drumm shook his head nervously. "I didn't play any trick, I swear."
"Don't try this on old friends," she jabbed at him. "First those pictures, then whatever was up against the glass. I'll use the pictures, but I won't write that a weird vision presided over this birthday party."
"How about a drink all around?" suggested Pursuivant.
He poured for them. Isobel Arrington wrote down answers to more questions, then said she must go. Drumm rose to escort her. "You'll be at Deslow tomorrow. Lee?" he asked.
"And Laurel, too. You said we could find quarters there."
"The Mapletree's a good auto court," said Drumm. "I've already reserved cabins for the two of you."
"On the spur of the moment," said Pursuivant suddenly, "I think I'll come along, if there's space for me."
"I'll check it out for you, Judge," said Drumm.
He departed with Isobel Arlington. Cobbett spoke to Pursuivant. "Isn't that rather offhand?" he asked. "Deciding to come with us?"
"I was thinking about Chastel." Pursuivant smiled gently. "About making a pilgrimage to her grave."
"Well drive up about nine tomorrow morning."
"I'll be ready, Lee."
Cobbett and Laurel, too, went out. They walked down a flight of stairs to the floor below, where both their rooms were located. "Do you think Phil Drumm rigged up that illusion for us?" asked Cobbett.
"If he did, he used the face of that actress. Chastel."
He glanced keenly at her. "You saw that."
"I thought I did, and so did you."
They kissed goodnight at the door to her room.
Pursuivant was ready next morning when Cobbett knocked. He had only one suitcase and a thick, brown-blotched malacca cane, banded with silver below its curved handle.
"I'm taking only a few necessaries, FH buy socks and such things in Deslow if we stay more than a couple of days," he said. "No, don't carry it for me, I'm quite capable."
When they reached the hotel garage, Laurel was putting her luggage in the trunk of Cobbett's black sedan. Judge Pursuivant declined the front seat beside Cobbett, held the door for Laurel to get in, and sat in the rear. They rolled out into bright June sunlight.
Cobbett drove them east on Interstate 95, mile after mile along
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