The Hunter; The Chase; The Kill Page 6

  But most of all she wanted Tom.

  Tom, she thought fiercely. He’s the one in trouble. Not you. He’s going through God knows what, getting Julian’s special attention. And you have no business standing here moaning while that’s happening.

  The yelling at herself actually helped—it shut up the babbling little voices in the back of her mind telling her that she couldn’t deal.

  Julian had said it depended on her.

  All right. She was calmer now. She knew she had to start moving—but where ? Jenny tried to gather her scattered thoughts, to remember the configuration of the paper house. The parlor had been off a long central hallway on the first floor. At the end of that hallway there had been a staircase.

  Upstairs, Julian had said.

  Jenny found herself moving through the candle-lit hallway, past gold-framed portraits which looked down disapprovingly from the walls.

  She looked up at the stairway.

  It was wide, carpeted down the middle. There was absolutely nothing strange about it—and Jenny couldn’t force herself to put a foot on it.

  I could turn around and run, she thought. It was impossible to realize— emotionally —that she couldn’t just go back into the parlor and find a way home.

  But intellectually she knew there was nothing in the parlor to help her. And she didn’t want to think what she might see if she opened the front door of this house.

  So you can stay here and hide, or you can go up. You have to choose.

  She put a foot on the stairway. It was solid. Like any stairway. She started climbing toward the darkness at the top.

  The hallway on the second floor seemed to stretch on forever in both directions, so dark that Jenny couldn’t see any end to it. There were candles in brass candle holders at intervals on the walls, but they were far apart and didn’t give much light. Jenny didn’t remember any hall in the paper house looking this way. In fact, what this place really looked like was the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. Like every other kid in southern California, Jenny had been to Disneyland so often she knew it by heart, and she recognized the creepy wallpaper.

  But that was ridiculous. Why should it look like that?

  She walked with fingertips brushing the wall. A dozen steps down the hall she saw something far ahead in the dimness, moving under the flickering light of a candle.

  Jenny didn’t know whether to run toward it or away. Then she noticed something familiar in the long legs and the greyhound build of the figure.

  “Dee!”

  Dee barely glanced up as Jenny reached her. She was wrestling with a door which bulged just like a door in the Haunted Mansion, the one that had always scared Jenny as a child. A lot of the things in the Haunted Mansion were simply silly, and a lot of others were mind-boggling—but only one thing there had ever really frightened Jenny when she was young . . . and that was a door.

  A closed door, which bulged in the middle as if a great weight was leaning on it from the inside, deforming the wood, expanding, relaxing. While all the time guttural snarls, not the sort of sounds a human could make, came from behind it.

  The door that Dee was wrestling with was doing exactly the same thing.

  Only it was open a little. Dee had her lynxlike body braced against it, head down, knees bent, one long slender leg back so the toe of her sneaker dug into the black carpet of the hallway, but she couldn’t quite get the door shut.

  Without a word Jenny went and helped her, leaning to press on the door above and below the handle which Dee was grasping. The keyhole had a large key in it.

  “Push,” Dee gasped.

  Jenny leaned harder, throwing her weight behind it, while Dee pushed right above her, body stretched taut beside Jenny’s. The door pushed back and bulged. The low, thick snarling rose in tone. Angrily. Jenny felt her muscles begin to tremble. She put her head down and shut her eyes, teeth locking.

  “Push!”

  The door yielded a crucial fraction of an inch, closing. Dee’s hand shot to the key and turned it. There was a click, the sound of a bolt shooting home.

  The door wasn’t pushing anymore.

  Jenny stumbled back, legs weak with the sudden release of strain, and looked at it. No bulging. No snarling now, either. It was just an ordinary six-paneled door, as quiet and innocent as a door could be.

  There was utter silence in the hallway.

  Jenny backed to the opposite wall, then slowly slid down it until she was resting on her heels. Her forehead was wet around her hair roots.

  Dee was leaning one hand against the wall by the door.

  “Hi,” Jenny said at last.

  “Hi.”

  They continued to look at each other blankly.

  “Have you seen the others?”

  Dee shook her head.

  “Me, either. He said—you know, him”—Jenny paused until Dee nodded—“he said you guys were scattered around the house. Waiting for your nightmares.” Jenny looked at the door. “Were you in there?”

  “No. I was in the parlor watching Tom, and then all of a sudden I got dizzy. I woke up on the floor here. There was only one door, and I wondered what was inside, so I opened it.”

  “Oh. What was inside?”

  “Just your average butt-ugly monster.”

  “Like the ones in the pictures—the Creeper and the Lurker or whatever?”

  “No, really ugly. Sort of like Coach Rogers.”

  Dee was taking this rather calmly, Jenny thought. She looked strained and stern, but very beautiful, like a statue carved out of ebony.

  “We’d better look around,” she said. “See if we can find the others.”

  “Okay.” Jenny didn’t move.

  Dee, still standing, reached out to her.

  “Come on. Up.”

  “I’m going to faint.”

  “Don’t you dare. On your feet, soldier!”

  Jenny got up. She looked down the hallway. “I thought you said there was only one door. What’s that, then?”

  “It wasn’t there before.”

  They both looked at the door. It was just like the other one, six-paneled, innocuous.

  “What do you think is behind this one?” Jenny said carefully.

  “Let’s see.” Dee reached for the knob.

  “Wait, you lunatic!” Trying not to flinch, Jenny pressed her ear to the wood. She couldn’t hear anything but her own breathing. “Okay—but be ready to shut it again fast.”

  Dee flashed her a barbaric grin and stood ready to kick the door shut. Jenny put her hand on the knob, turned it.

  “Now,” Dee said, and Jenny flung the door open.

  CHAPTER 6

  The room behind the door had golden-ocher walls. On one of them an African mask hung in primitive glory. Several clay sculptures rested on built-in teak shelving, including a bust that could have been Nefertiti. Leather cushions were tossed around the floor, one resting beside a complete home gym.

  It was Dee’s bedroom. The bust was one that Dee’s grandmother, Aba, had made of Dee. There was a stack of textbooks by the bed and a pile of half-completed homework on the nightstand.

  Jenny loved this room, loved to see what Aba would bring Dee next from her travels. But seeing it now was unnerving.

  Once they were inside, the door shut behind them—and disappeared. When Jenny turned at the sound of slamming, she saw nothing but a blank ocher wall where the door used to be.

  “Great—now we’re trapped,” Jenny said.

  Dee was frowning. “There must be a way out.”

  They tried the window. Instead of the Ice Age outside it was the ordinary view from Dee’s upstairs room. Jenny could see the grass below, illuminated by a porch light. But the window wouldn’t budge, or—as they discovered when Dee swung a ten-pound barbell against it—break.

  “So now what?” Jenny said. “Why are we in your room? I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “If this place is like a dream and we know we’re dreaming it, we should be ab
le to change things. With our minds. Maybe we’re supposed to make a way out of here.”

  They both tried, with no results. No matter how hard Jenny concentrated on making the door reappear, nothing happened.

  “I give up.” Dee took off her jacket and flopped on the bed—as if this place really were her room.

  Jenny sat beside her, trying to think. Her brain wasn’t working properly—shock, she supposed. “All right, look. That guy said we’re each supposed to face our nightmares. So this must be—” she began, but Dee interrupted.

  “What else did he say? Who is he?”

  “Oh. Do you . . . do you believe in the devil?”

  Dee gave her a scornful look. “The only devil I know is Dakaki, and he only makes you horny. According to Aba.”

  “I think he wanted me to believe he was the devil,” Jenny said softly. “But I don’t know.”

  “And he wants us to play the Game with him? Just like the one in the box, only for real?”

  “If we get to the turret by dawn, we can go,” Jenny said. “If we don’t, he wins.” She looked at the other girl. “Dee, aren’t you scared?”

  “Of the supernatural?” Dee shrugged. “What’s to be scared of? I always liked sword-and-sorcery stuff; I’m glad it’s true. And I don’t see why we can’t beat him. I swore to kick the Shadow Man’s ass before—and I’m going to. You wait.”

  “But—this is all so crazy,” Jenny said. Now that she had time to sit and think, reaction was setting in. She was shaking again. “It’s like you’ve always thought, sure, maybe there’s ESP, maybe there’re strange things out there in the dark. But you never think it could happen to you.”

  Dee opened her mouth, but Jenny rushed on.

  “And then it does and everything’s different and it isn’t possible and it’s still happening.” She looked hard into the dark eyes with the slightly amber-tinted whites, desperate for understanding.

  “That’s right,” Dee said briefly, returning Jenny’s gaze. “It is happening. So all the rules are changed. We have to adapt—fast. Or we’re not going to make it.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Jenny. You know what your problem is? You think too much. There’s no point in talking about it anymore. What we have to worry about now is surviving.”

  Dee’s straightforward, razor-sharp mind had gone to the heart of the matter. What was happening was happening, possible or not. They had to deal with it if they wanted to live. Jenny wanted to live.

  “Right,” she breathed. “So we adapt.”

  Dee flashed her brilliant smile. “Besides, it’s kind of fun,” she said. “Don’t you think?”

  Jenny thought of Tom cowering from something invisible on the floor. She leaned her forehead onto her fingertips.

  “Something must scare you, though,” she said after a minute, looking up. “You drew a nightmare.”

  Dee picked up a beaded Ndebele bracelet from the nightstand and examined it. “My mom scares me. Really,” she added, at Jenny’s disgusted look. “Her stuff at the university—computers and all.” Dee glanced toward the window.

  Jenny saw only the curtains made of appliqué cloth from Dahomey.

  “You’re afraid of technology ?” she said in disbelief.

  “I am not afraid of technology. I just like to be able to deal with things—you know, directly.” Dee held up a slender clenched fist, and Jenny looked at the corded tendons in the dark forearm. No wonder Dee wasn’t afraid of the “sword and sorcery” stuff—she fit right into the heroic mythos.

  “It’s the same reason I won’t go to college,” Dee said. “I want to work with my hands. And not at anything arty.”

  “Aba would smack you,” Jenny told her. “And your brain’s as good as your hands—” She broke off because Dee was once again looking at the window.

  “Dee, what did you draw?” she said, sitting up straight and finally asking the question she should have asked in the first place.

  “Nothing’s happening.”

  “What did you draw?”

  A red light was blossoming outside the window, like the glow of a distant fire. Jenny whipped her head toward a crackling sound and saw that Dee’s stereo had begun to smoke.

  “What—?” Jenny breathed. Dee was already moving toward the window.

  “What’s going to happen?” Jenny yelled, jumping up. She had to yell because of the throbbing sound that suddenly permeated the room. It resonated in Jenny’s bones.

  Outside, a silhouette appeared against the light.

  “Dee!” Jenny grabbed for the other girl, trying to pull her away from the window. She was panicking and she knew it. The thing outside was huge, blocking out the stars, dull black and nonreflective itself but haloed in its own red glow. The eucalyptus trees outside were thrashing in a violent wind.

  “What is it?” Jenny screamed, dimly aware that Dee was clutching back at her. But that was a stupid question. What could it be, hovering outside a second-story window, shaped like a half-sphere with the flat side down? As Jenny watched, six beams of light, bright as phosphorous flares, shot out from the bottom of the thing.

  One of the lights swung around to shine directly through the window. Jenny was blinded, but she heard the shivery tinkle of glass, and a blast of wind blew her hair straight back. The window’s gone, she thought.

  The wind roaring past her was freezing and felt somehow electric. Behind her a brass tray fell off a wooden stand with a crash.

  That was when Jenny found she couldn’t move. The light was paralyzing her somehow, her muscles going like jelly. There was the strong pungent odor of an electric storm.

  She was losing consciousness.

  I’m going to die, she thought. I’ll never wake up.

  With a great effort she turned her head toward Dee for help. Dee was facing the light stiffly, pupils contracted to pinpoints. Unable to help Jenny or herself.

  Fight, Jenny thought weakly.

  This time fainting was like oozing into a black puddle of sludge.

  The room was round. Jenny was lying on a table that conformed to her body’s shape. Her eyes were burning and tearing, and she felt a great disinclination to move. A white light shone down on her from above.

  “It’s exactly the way I thought it would be,” a husky voice said. Jenny fought off the lassitude enough to turn her head. Dee was on another table a few feet away. “It’s just like what I’ve read about the Visitors, just like my dreams.”

  Jenny had never thought much about UFOs at all, but this wasn’t what she would have expected. The only thing she knew about aliens was that they—did things—to people.

  “So this was your nightmare,” she said.

  Dee’s perfect profile was tilted up toward the white spotlight above her, looking exactly like an Egyptian carving. “Oh, brilliant,” she said. “Any other deductions?”

  “Yes,” said Jenny. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Can’t move,” Dee said. “Can you?”

  There were no obvious restraints, but Jenny’s arms and legs were too heavy to lift. She could breathe and move her torso a little, but her limbs were dead weights.

  I’m scared, Jenny thought. And then she thought about how Dee must feel. As an athlete, physical helplessness was Dee’s worst fear. The strong, slim body that she’d cultivated with so much care was no use at all to her now.

  “This place—it’s so sterile,” Dee said, her nostrils flaring. “Smell it? And I bet they’re like hive insects, all the same. If we could just get up to fight them . . . but they’ve got weapons, obviously.”

  Jenny understood. Muscle and ingenuity wouldn’t do anything against sterile, hellishly efficient technology. No wonder it was Dee’s personal nightmare.

  Jenny noticed a movement in her peripheral vision.

  They were small—Summer’s size. To Jenny they looked like demons: hairless, with slender bodies and large glittering dark eyes. No noses, slits for mouths.

  Their skin glow
ed like bad mushrooms—very pale mushrooms grown in a cellar without ever seeing the light. Jenny noticed an odor of almonds.

  They were alive, but they were as alien and wrong as the bleached things that crawl around at the bottom of caves. Just the sight of them struck Jenny with sick terror.

  They were naked, but Jenny couldn’t see anything that would make them male or female. Their bodies were hideous blanks, like dolls’ bodies. They’re its, Jenny thought.

  Somehow, Jenny knew they were going to hurt her.

  Dee made a faint sound.

  Jenny turned toward her. It was easier than it had been the other time, and after an instant she realized that the spotlight above her had dimmed fractionally. Dee’s light was brighter, because Dee was trying to get away.

  Jenny had never seen Dee frightened before—even in the parlor Dee had looked more alert than anything else. But now Dee looked like a terrified animal. Droplets of sweat stood on her forehead with the effort to move. The more she thrashed, the brighter the light above her got.

  “Dee, stop it,” Jenny said, agonized. She couldn’t stand to watch. “It’s just a dream, Dee! Don’t let it get to you.”

  But Julian had said if they got hurt in the dream, they got hurt for real.

  The Visitors were clustering around Dee, but they didn’t seem alarmed. They seemed absolutely indifferent. One of them pushed a cart over to the far side of Dee’s table. Jenny saw a tray of gleaming instruments.

  God—no, Jenny thought.

  Dee collapsed back on the table, exhausted.

  Another being picked up something long and shiny from the tray, examined it with lustrous black eyes. It flexed the thing a few times like a painter making practice runs with a brush. It seemed dissatisfied, although with its masklike face Jenny didn’t know how she could tell this. Then it casually flicked the thing up Dee’s thigh and Dee screamed.

  It was like hearing your father scream. Jenny was so frightened that she tried to get up, and only succeeded in disarranging her legs slightly. One of the beings repositioned them carefully, stretching her feet toward the bottom corners of the table.

  She had never felt so open, so utterly vulnerable.