Randy White - Haunted

True or not, his story would have to wait. “Come on. You can use my shoulder as a brace.”

Belton, sheepish again, said, “I’ve got clean slacks if there’s time.”

There wasn’t, which I was about to tell him when I saw in the frosted window someone approaching: a black silhouette, hunch-shouldered and moving with an odd loping gait.

No… not someone, something . Our visitor had distinctive ears, like two clamshells tacked to his head-chimpanzee ears. Oliver or the other one, Savvy, was tracking me but hadn’t yet settled on the camper.

I whispered, “Don’t make a sound,” and stupidly felt for the broken latch on a door that couldn’t be locked.

“Is it Carmelo?”

I hushed him with a hiss while I took the box cutter from the sack. Placed it beside me and got a firm grip on the doorknob using both hands.

I felt the camper shift with Belton’s weight. “A fillet knife-I forgot. There’s a knife in one of these drawers.”

“Quiet.”

Too late. Outside, the silhouette stopped… turned… listened. At the same instant, a drawer full of silverware clanged to the floor. I heard a grumbled “Damn,” then Belton made more noise by searching through the mess.

“Find that knife,” I whispered. “You’re going to need it.”

I expected the chimp to sprint immediately toward us, but he approached warily, limping on one bad leg. Carrying something in his hands, too-a bag, possibly. The combination struck me as more humanlike than monkeylike, but it certainly wasn’t Theo or Carmelo. And even if it was, there was no way I could hold the door closed if a man was determined to get in. We had to try something else.

“Go to the front of the camper,” I told Belton and pushed him along. “Did you find the knife?”

“A steak knife. And not a very good one… Who’s out there?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll wait until he’s inside the camper, then you jump out the driver’s-side door and hide. I’ll get him to follow me out the passenger side.”

“That’s crazy. How?”

“I don’t know. I’ll outrun him. Don’t worry, I’m faster than most people.”

“Hannah, I won’t use you as bait-”

“Please don’t argue.” The RV’s cab had twin captain’s chairs that swiveled. I took Belton by the shoulders, backed him into his chair, and turned him so he was closer to the door. A fire extinguisher was mounted next to the console. I popped the straps and freed it.

He said, “I should have thought of that.”

I hefted the canister-it was full-and removed the safety pin. “Don’t do anything until I tell you. Then try to get to the river. Theo has a canoe. Or said he did. I’ll meet you, but don’t wait if I’m not there. Or go to the road, if it’s easier, and flag someone down.” As I whispered, my eyes were fixed on the camper door. In one hand, I held the box cutter, razor out. In the other, the fire extinguisher.

Belton started to protest, but I hushed him, saying, “He’s coming in.”

Not quite, but the chimp-or whoever it was-was close enough to blacken the frosted window that had been silver with moonlight. My hip was braced against a bulkhead while my heart pounded. “Get ready,” I told Belton and walked toward the door.

“What are you doing ?”

Watching the doorknob, is what I was doing. Watched the knob turn while something in me decided which was the better weapon, a razor blade or a pressurized steel canister? I slipped the box cutter into my jeans and backed away, the fire extinguisher in both hands. First I would blind our intruder with spray, then throw the empty canister. After that, run for my life-if I was able.

Slowly… slowly… the door swung open. A black silhouette spilled in with a gusting breeze. I sniffed the air, expecting the worst, while the RV shifted with our intruder’s weight.

I took another step back and hollered, “I’ve got a gun and I’ll use it.”

A voice I didn’t recognize responded, “No, Hannah, you don’t. But I won’t hurt you.” More like a growl, the voice was so deep.

“Think what you want,” I said, while Belton yelled, “We’re both armed. Get the hell away.”

The shadow retreated while the camper leveled itself. The door closed but then opened a moment later. Along with the breeze, the shadow reclaimed the room. “Stay away from the campground. The Gypsies will call Theo and they’ll be watching the roads. Don’t trust anyone.”

I was stunned. “You’re willing to help? Call the police, if you want to help us. Or tell me where my car is.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why? Who are you?” I stepped toward the door. “Come in before someone sees you.”

The silhouette retreated. “No closer. And no lights. Head for the river. You’ll have to climb the fence. There’s a boat with a half a tank of gas. A little aluminum boat. Pull start with a kicker. Hike straight west if you can’t find the path.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Because I do. On the river, go north. The campground is south and Theo will find out. Remember- north . You saw what happened to that little girl?”

Krissie, he meant. “Then call the police,” I said. “At least tell them what happened. If we go north, there’s nothing for miles.”

A long dark arm appeared and placed a bag on the floor. I got a glimpse of the man’s jaw and his odd clamshell ears. “This is yours,” he said and started to close the door, then remembered something. “I’m glad Lucia’s dead. Did she dart you?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

Belton asked, “What’s he talking about?”

“Once,” I said, “but I pulled it out right away.”

“I think I saw Benadryl tablets in there.”

Only then did I realize that it was my backpack on the floor. “What kind of poison did she use?”

“Lucia was a vicious, evil woman,” the voice said. “I’ve always wanted to thank you, Hannah. Now I have.”

The shadow retreated. The door closed.

Belton asked, “Who the hell was that?”

I stood there dumbly for a moment, then rushed to open my backpack. A box of Benadryl tablets had been placed strategically on top. The 9mm Devel pistol, still loaded, was beneath it.

“I think I know,” I said, “but I hope I’m wrong.”

Belton didn’t have an opportunity to press. Outside the camper, security lights flashed on with the siren scream of the burglar alarm.

“Theo found Lucia’s body,” I told him. “We’ve got to run.”

RUNNING IS something an eighty-one-year-old man with a bad heart cannot be asked to do, but there was nothing typical about Belton Matás. He jogged ahead of me with an odd wide-legged, arm-pumping gait that would have been humorous in a movie but wasn’t funny under the circumstances. A Land Rover, lights blazing, had skidded around the side of the serpentarium, coming fast. Until then, we had been walking at a steady pace but were only halfway to the fence.

Belton ducked low. “Did they see us?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, removing the pistol from the backpack. “If they did, there’s nothing we can do but make our stand here.”

Wrong. That’s when the man from Virginia decided he was spry enough to run. He took off at a pretty good clip, fast enough to worry me, although it was no struggle to keep up. “A heart attack isn’t going to help our situation any. Belton? Belton? ”

The man kept running. He was a big fellow, still had some power in his thighs, but was also carrying a lot of weight around the belly. Finally I grabbed his shoulder. “They’re headed for your RV. Slow down. But be careful where you put your feet.”