Ed Gorman - Nightmare Child

Huddling in her coat; not expecting to be this cold, Diane broke into a trot…

As she neared the intersection that was completely cordoned off, and where a block of buildings shot yellow-red dragon fire into the smoky sky, she saw a group of officials huddled around a police van.

The closer she got, the more she saw everything in silhouette, dozens of men in rubber fire suits standing in relief against smoke and fire and lights. Several different TV crews competed for position by running cameras as close to the burning buildings as officials would let them get. For Diane, this was a scene from hell-nature out of control, small men doing mighty battle against what seemed, at present, anyway, an implacable foe. An uncle of hers had been a fireman and had died of smoke inhalation. She'd never forgotten the man, and every time she was around a fire, she thought of him and his early death, and the way her mother had mourned for years afterward.

"Get the hell back, lady!" shouted a young fireman, drenched with water and holding a fire axe in his hand. "Nobody's allowed past that rope. Can't you read?" He sounded enraged.

An idiotic idea came to Diane. She would explain to this young man about her uncle and then he'd understand…

Shaking her head, hating her need for approval even under such circumstances as these, Diane said, as forcefully as possible, "I'm looking for the police Chief. Have you seen him?"

"No, I haven't," the fireman said. "Now, get the hell back!"

She was just about to give in to him when a familiar voice shouted, "Diane! Over here!"

From the left side of the frenzy she glimpsed Robert Clark moving quickly toward her. Dressed in a gray gabardine topcoat with a black fedora, he managed to look both dashing and official.

"It's all right," Clark said to the fireman, who merely shrugged and walked away. To Diane, he said, "People get a little testy after a while."

She nodded. "I'm sure I would, too."

"It's great to see you. And a surprise."

"I was wondering if I could borrow you for a few minutes."

He glanced around. "Sure. Even though the fire's still burning, everything seems to be pretty much under control. At least they've got it isolated now. Just give me a minute."

Moving back toward the knot of men gathered around a hook-and-ladder truck, Clark had a conversation that seemed especially animated in silhouette-lots of gesturing and nodding and pointing. Finally, after giving them something resembling a salute, he moved away from the truck and came back to Diane.

"I don't know about you, but I'm hungry."

She said, "I'll just have coffee. I'm too keyed up."

"I should stay within walking distance of the fire." She smiled. "That leaves us a choice of Arby's or Ma's Place."

He smiled back. "Any place named 'Ma's' is bound to be bad."

She laughed. "I'm afraid I agree."

The restaurant was crowded with young married couples and their children. The aroma of roast beef and French fries hung pleasantly over everything. I can just taste all the cholesterol, Diane thought to herself.

They took a booth near the back. Black night filled the windows. As Robert Clark went back up front for the napkins neither of them had remembered to bring, Diane looked out the window at a man and his small daughter in the parking lot. The wind was becoming so strong that they were being blown around as if in a hurricane. Finally, the man managed to get the car door open and his daughter installed in the front seat. Then he had to go through the arduous business of walking around the car and getting in on the driver's side.

"I just noticed something," Clark said, sitting down and setting napkins in front of them.

"That I went ahead and snuck a few French fries?"

"You did?"

"I confess."

"Well, since I'm the Police Chief, I guess I can refuse to press charges." His bantering tone ceased. He looked at her somberly. "You're afraid of something."

"How can you tell?"

"Little things. I've never seen you bite your nails before, but you take a nibble every few minutes tonight. And the sighing. You're pretty good at it."

"Anything else?"

"Your eyes. Very lovely as always, but very troubled, too. In fact, a few times you looked on the verge of tears."

"I sound like pretty great company."

He surprised her by reaching across the table and taking her hand. "That's one thing you never have to worry about, Diane. You're always great company."

Then he sat back, almost boyishly, and ate his formidable meal of roast beef sandwich, small order of fries, and vanilla shake. A few times, to complete the boyish image, he managed to have a vanilla moustache painted across his upper lip.

Several times, Diane tried to bring up what she'd seen that afternoon, and tell Robert everything that had happened. She thought again of Jenny's voice, asking for her help. She still felt guilty for leaving the McCay's place, but, given the fact that Mindy and Jeff had been coming back, she'd really had little choice.

Or was she simply rationalizing away her own cowardice?

"Now's as good a time as any."

Diane, lost in her own thoughts, glanced up from her coffee. "Pardon me?"

"I said now's as good a time as any-to tell me what's bothering you so much."

"I suppose you're right."

"I know I'm right. You really need to talk, Diane. You look more worried by the minute."

"I just keep thinking of Jenny."

"So something did happen this afternoon. I had a feeling that was it."

"I think I really let her down."

"Tell me about it," he said.

And so she did, the story coming out in a jumble of words and images. She described the appearance of the house, the curious circle on the kitchen floor with its evidence of animal slaughter, the dead animals upstairs, the feces and blood on the walls, and Jenny's voice, which curiously seemed to follow her throughout the upstairs.

"So you never actually saw her?" Clark asked.

"No."

"Did you have any sense of which room she might have been in?"

"No."

"Did you call out to her?"

"Yes."

"But you never actually saw her?"

"No."

"Then you left?"

Diane could tell by his tone that he thought it odd that she'd leave before finding Jenny. "I'm afraid I got scared."

"From what you're describing, I don't blame you. It sounds pretty eerie."

"I got frightened because the McCay's were coming back."

He shrugged. "I'm beginning to understand."

"You are?"

He nodded solemnly. "You feel guilty because you left before finding Jenny."

She felt her cheeks grow warm. "I'm afraid you're right. I wasn't very… brave."

He touched her hand again. "On the contrary, you were very brave. Even with a gun I wouldn't have been too happy about going into that house as you describe it. A few years ago I worked on a series of satanic murders and I got pretty scared. Damned scared, in fact."

She thought of the McCays' glowing eyes. Now seemed an ideal time to describe them to him. "So you believe in occult things?"

He smiled bleakly. "Afraid I don't. These turned out to be some young derelicts who liked to kill people and who had tried to convince themselves that they were following orders from Satan." He shook his head. "Nothing satanic about it, I'm afraid."

"Oh." She knew then that she would not tell him about the McCays' eyes. Suddenly, sitting there in the busy restaurant, she felt curiously alone, isolated.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No. Why?"

"You look…sad."

"No, I'm fine."

He studied her a moment longer, then said, "Like some more coffee?"

"Please."

While he was gone, Diane started thinking of Jenny again. Her voice. Her plea for help.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind something a little stronger right about now," Clark said, setting down Diane's coffee.