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Timmy he-ard a new so-und-the muf-fled rumb-le of a di-esel en-gi-ne. It was
the back-hoe. It had to be. Su-re eno-ugh, fart-her up the tun-nel, dirt
sho-we-red down from the sur-fa-ce. Con-fu-sed by the fal-ling deb-ris, Ka-ren
we-aved right and dar-ted in-to one of the si-de tun-nels.
"No," Timmy sho-uted. "That's the wrong way!"
If she he-ard him, she ga-ve no in-di-ca-ti-on. She pas-sed be-yond the
re-ach of his flash-light be-am. He pa-used for just a mo-ment, un-su-re of
what to do. The gho-ul grow-led, and then sur-ged for-ward. It re-ac-hed for
him, ta-lons clic-king to-get-her. Timmy ran af-ter Ka-ren. Bo-nes crunc-hed
un-der his fe-et. The tun-nels be-gan to sha-ke.
The first thing Clark Smelt-zer was awa-re of was the no-ise-a lo-ud,
ste-ady rumb-le that ma-de his he-ad throb and his te-eth ac-he. It thrum-med
thro-ugh the very earth and cle-aved the air aro-und him. A mac-hi-ne, by the
so-und -may-be a mo-tor. The se-cond thing he no-ti-ced was that the pa-in in
his he-ad was mi-nor com-pa-red to the rest of him. Each bre-ath bro-ught
fresh jabs of agony in his chest and si-des. His fa-ce and thro-at felt li-ke
they ' d be-en bur-ned. He tri-ed to mo-ve and fo-und he co-uldn 't. He' d
be-en ti-ed up with bun-gee cords. Clark to-ok a few shal-low bre-aths and
then le-aned for-ward, trying to lo-osen his bonds. His musc-les scre-amed,
and so did he. His vo-ice was lost be-ne-ath the din of the mac-hi-ne.
The bun-gee cords tigh-te-ned, then went slack, tigh-te-ned and slac-ked,
as he slowly roc-ked back and forth. The rub-ber bands squ-e-aked aga-inst the
tombs-to-ne' s marb-le sur-fa-ce. Fi-nal-ly, they slip-ped down his body. He
pul-led his arms free and un-fas-te-ned the cords.
Clark squ-in-ted at his hands thro-ugh crus-ted eyes, saw half-dri-ed
blo-od, and then to-uc-hed his che-ek. He shi-ve-red. The ac-ti-on bro-ught
mo-re pa-in. His fin-gers ca-me away red, fresh blo-od co-ating the al-re-ady
dri-ed blo-od.
Fucked me up, he tho-ught. Damn thing fuc-ked me up go-od.
He shud-de-red. It was very cold. But that co-uldn't be right, co-uld it?
Cold-in the mid-dle of June? His te-eth wo-uldn't stop chat-te-ring.
He for-ced his eyes open furt-her. Only one of them obe-yed. The ot-her
sta-yed shut.
He tur-ned his he-ad slowly, se-eking the so-ur-ce of the rumb-ling
no-ise, and mo-re pa-in rip-ped thro-ugh him, ca-using his en-ti-re body to
spasm. Clark clenc-hed his hands in-to fists and for-ced his he-ad to turn.
His re-ma-ining go-od eye wi-de-ned in surp-ri-se.
Somehow, Barry had got-ten in-si-de the uti-lity shed. The lit-tle
bas-tard had pic-ked the lock and hi-j-ac-ked the back-hoe. As Clark watc-hed,
the sco-op threw anot-her clod of earth in-to the sky. He was dig-ging up the
ce-me-tery -obvi-o-usly ta-king re-ven-ge for the be-ating Clark had han-ded
down to him ear-li-er.
"Hey!" he sho-uted. "You lit-tle fuck. What are you do-ing?"
Barry ig-no-red him.
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"Don't pre-tend you can't he-ar me, you son of a bitch. Get off that
fuc-king back-hoe!
I me-an it."
The en-gi-ne rev-ved hig-her. The mac-hi-ne rol-led for-ward, the front
end bo-un-cing over a tombs-to-ne.
"Barry! You mind me, boy."
Fists still clenc-hed, Clark stumb-led to his fe-et. So his worth-less son
was pis-sed off abo-ut get-ting his ass be-at? He' d te-ach him now. This was
van-da-lism, pla-in and simp-le. Barry was abo-ut to get a be-ating he 'd
ne-ver, ever for-get.
"Okay. I war-ned you. You still ain't le-ar-ned. This ti-me, you don't get
anot-her chan-ce."
Clark stag-ge-red for-ward, grin-ning thro-ugh the pa-in. Blo-od ran in-to
his one go-od eye, and he saw red.
Karen mo-aned.
Timmy tur-ned aro-und and po-in-ted the flash-light back the way they'd
co-me.
"Oh God& Oh God&
Karen kept re-pe-ating it over and over. Timmy wasn' t su-re if she was
pra-ying or just go-ing in-to shock. If it was a pra-yer, it had go-ne
unans-we-red. They had re-ac-hed a de-ad end -a mo-und of dirt and rock
se-aled the si-de tun-nel off from the sur-fa-ce. An ash-gray bo-ne
prot-ru-ded from the cen-ter of the pi-le. All aro-und them, the walls
tremb-led.
Timmy co-uld he-ar the back-hoe very cle-arly now, and it was easy to
fi-gu-re out what had hap-pe-ned. This tun-nel had led to a gra-ve. With Barry
dig-ging abo-ve them, the so-il aro-und the gra-ve had col-lap-sed, sin-king
down in-to the chasm be-low. Now they we-re trap-ped.
Timmy sta-red back down the tun-nel. It cur-ved away in-to the dark-ness,
slo-ping down-ward.
He won-de-red if the-re was ti-me to run back out to the ma-in pas-sa-ge
and find anot-her ro-ute. But even as he con-si-de-red this the pa-le
lu-mi-nes-cen-ce thrown off by the gho-ul ' s body lit up the tun-nel walls
be-yond the bend. Timmy shrank away, pla-cing him-self bet-we-en Ka-ren and
the-ir pur-su-er. She re-ac-hed out and to-ok his hand. Numb with ter-ror, he
ba-rely felt it when she squ-e-ezed.
He tho-ught of Ka-tie, and how her hand had felt in his. He tho-ught of
his pa-rents, and wis-hed he co-uld see them aga-in, one mo-re ti-me, if only
to tell them that he was sorry. He tho-ught of Do-ug.
"I don't want to die," Timmy whis-pe-red. "Ple-ase."
The walls aro-und them sho-ok and rumb-led. Dirt spil-led down on them,
sho-we-ring the-ir ha-ir and sho-ul-ders. Co-ug-hing, they brus-hed it off. A
clo-ud of dust fil-led the nar-row pas-sa-ge-way, obs-cu-ring the flash-light
be-am. The-ir hands squ-e-ezed tigh-ter. When the dust cle-ared, the gho-ul
had ro-un-ded the cor-ner and sto-od se-ve-ral yards away. The cre-atu-re
coc-ked its po-in-ted he-ad and la-ug-hed.
"There is now-he-re left for you to flee. You ha-ve of-fe-red go-od sport,
boy, and for that I am gra-te-ful. But it is ti-me to end this cha-ra-de.
I will ma-ke yo-ur de-ath qu-ick, not out of kind-ness or pity. Be-li-eve
me, I wo-uld re-lish the chan-ce to flay yo-ur skin slowly for yo-ur
transg-res-si-ons. But I must still de-al with what is trans-pi-ring on the
sur-fa-ce. Did you and the gra-ve dig-ger ' s son re-al-ly think to sha-ke the
fo-un-da-ti-ons of my king-dom?"
Timmy lic-ked his lips, too frigh-te-ned to res-pond. His nost-rils and
the back of his thro-at tas-ted li-ke dirt. His mo-uth was dry.
"Never mind," the gho-ul sa-id. "To-night, you shall both fe-ed me. And
fe-ed my wi-ves, as well."
Karen squ-e-ezed Timmy's hand so hard that his knuck-les pop-ped.
The gho-ul ra-ised its claws and to-ok a me-na-cing step for-ward. Timmy's
eyes we-re drawn to the kni-fe wo-und-or whe-re the kni-fe wo-und sho-uld
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ha-ve be-en. It had he-aled al-re-ady, and the only sign that Deb had even
stab-bed the cre-atu-re was the dri-ed blo-od on its thighs and legs.
The tun-nel sho-ok aga-in and the ce-iling rust-led. Mo-re dirt sho-we-red
down upon them all. The gho-ul stumb-led back-ward. Timmy and Ka-ren pres-sed
them-sel-ves aga-inst the wall, hol-ding the-ir bre-ath so they wo-uldn 't
cho-ke. The so-und of the back-hoe's en-gi-ne swel-led, fil-ling the tun-nels.
You we-re right, Barry, Timmy tho-ught. We sho-uldn't ha-ve tri-ed to do
this our-sel-ves.
We sho-uld ha-ve just told the adults. We can't fight a mons-ter&
The clo-ud of dust dis-si-pa-ted, and the gho-ul lun-ged for him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]