The Woods Are Dark - The Woods Are Dark Part 29
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The Woods Are Dark Part 29

Dead.

Oh Christ.

At least, if she didn't move, the Krulls might not notice her. She could die here, and save herself from them.

Time passed.

A long, long time.

Longer than Cordie thought a night could last. Then the sky turned pale blue, and finally the sun came up.

Hearing a sound, she raised her head. And saw Heth swinging his legless torso through the crosses. His eyes met hers.

"No," she whimpered.

A strange noise filled her ears, a fluttering whupwbup-whup. She raised her eyes. At the far edge of the clearing, a helicopter sped over the treetops.

"Jesus," she muttered.

She glanced at Heth. His hideous, bloated face seemed to grin.

She scrambled to her feet. She raced toward the cabin, waving her arms high, not giving a damn about the crosses she bumped, the heads that tumbled before her.

The helicopter set down in front of the cabin.

The passenger, a tall woman, stepped out. She wore a red jumpsuit. She carried a rifle.

"Sherri!"

Cordie rushed toward her.

Sherri shouldered the rifle.

"No! Please! I'm sorry!"

The shot smashed through the roar of the rotors. Cordie spun around. Heth, a yard behind her, teetered on his outthrust arms.

A hole in his forehead.

He fell facedown.

"Get your ass over here!" Sherri yelled.

Cordie ran to her.

Channel 3 News July 2 "On the local front, a Mariposa County Sheriff's posse has failed to return from their search of a wilderness area west of Barlow. The eighteen men entered the rugged forest terrain on Tuesday to investigate reports of multiple killingsa"

EPILOGUE.

What ho! What ho!" Lander sang quietly as he limped through the dark woods. His gunshot leg had nearly healed.

"What ho! What ho! Sing merry-a-day!"

He carried the girl through the clearing, and dropped her at his feet. She groaned.

Not dead?

"Passing strange," he muttered. "Soon fixed."

He slid the hatchet from his belt.

Her eyes opened. She reached up, and clutched a handful of hair, nearly pulling down his nice new skirt. "Please," she said.

"Please? The King's tongue?" He knelt beside her. He gazed at her moonlit body, a body he'd taken such pleasure from, earlier, after bashing her head. A young, lithe body. "What do they call you?" he asked.

"Lilly."

"Lilly. Oh, Lily sweet and fair, how like a flower you are." He touched her small breasts. "Buds and petals. Sweet nectar. Shall I spare you? Shall I take you to my palace?"

Her hand slipped through the hanging hair, and touched him.

"Perchance I shall.

He put the hatchet away, and lifted her. He kissed her breast. "Come, let's away. We shall be God's spies."

He carried her into the forest of impaled heads.

"Grar," said the girl, looking at one.

"You knew him? A fellow of infinite jest. Quite chapfallen."

"A prick" said Lilly.

Lander laughed. "What ho! What ho! So merrya-day" he sang, and carried her toward the cabin.

Channel 3 News July 11 "On the local front, a twelve-man search-and-rescue team has failed to return from the wilderness area west of Barlow where, last week, a sheriff's posse vanished without a tracea

Turn the page for an advance look at Richard Laymon's next terrifying novel.

BEWARE.

Had you been rags or wood I could have stuffed you and burned you.

But you were some bad breed of blood and bone With arms that stretched an entire room, Eyes without end and a heart of stone.

from "The Bogeyman" by R. S. Stewart

CHAPTER ONE.

On the night it began, Frank and Joan Bessler left the stifling heat of their home and walked four blocks to Hoffman's Market. Frank wanted a six-pack.

"Doesn't look open," Joan said.

"It has to be." Frank checked his wristwatch. "I've got nine fifteen."

"Why aren't the lights on?"

"Maybe she's saving on electricity," he said. He hoped he was right, but didn't believe it. For as far back as he could remember-and he'd spent all of his twenty-nine years in Oasis-the market had remained brightly lighted until closing time.

Closing time was ten o'clock to keep an edge on the Safeway that shut at nine. When Elsie Hoffman's husband died, three years ago, there'd been talk she might sell out, or at least close down earlier. But she'd held onto the tiny market and kept it open till the usual hour.

"I do think it's closed," Joan said as they stopped by its deserted parking lot.

The store sign was dark. The only light in the windows was a dim glow from the bulb Elsie always left on overnight.

"I can't believe it," Frank muttered.

"She must've had a reason."

"Maybe she changed hours on us." Joan waited on the sidewalk, and Frank stepped up to the wooden door. Crouching, he squinted at the window sticker. Not enough light for him to read the times.

He tried the knob.

No go.

He peered through the window, and saw no one. "Damn," he muttered. He knocked on the glass. Couldn't hurt. Maybe Elsie was in the back someplace, out of sight.

"Come on, Frank. She's closed."

"I'm thirsty." He rapped harder on the window.

"We'll go over to the Golden Oasis. I'd rather have a margarita, anyway."

"Yeah, well, okay."

He tooka final look into the dimly lighted store, then turned away. Behind him, the door banged and shook.

Frank jumped. Whirling around, he stared at the door, at its four glass panes.

"What was that?" Joan asked in a whisper.

"I don't know."

"Come on, let's go."

He backed away, staring at the windows, and decided he would have a heart attack, then and there, if a face should suddenly appear. He turned away fast before it could happen.

"Who's minding the mint?" Red asked.

Elsie sipped her whisky sour. It was sweet and tart. Nobody could make whisky sours like Red. "I closed up a little early," she said.

"Must get lonely in there."

"I tell you, Red, I'm not as young as I used to be, not by a long shot, but I've still got my senses. I haven't gone mush-brained. Not yet. Wouldn't you say so?"

"You're sharp as a tack, Elsie. Always have been."

"Now, I went through pure hell when Herb passed on. Miserable old skinflint that he was, I did love the man. But that was three years ago, come October. I've perked up pretty well, since then. Even at my worst, though-right after I lost him-I never cracked up."

"You were solid as a rock, Elsie." He glanced down the bar. "Right back," he said, and went away to serve a new customer.

Elsie sipped her drink. She looked both ways. To her left was Beck Ramsey, his arm around the Walters girl. A pity on her, Elsie thought. Beck would bring her nothing but trouble. To her right, separated from Elsie by an empty stool, sat the newspaper gal, Lacey Allen. A pretty thing. The men say she's a cold fish, but they'll say that about any gal who won't drop her pants first time you smile at her. She always seemed pleasant enough in the store. A pity to see her sitting all alone at the bar like she didn't have a friend in the world.

"You're an educated lady."