Richard Laymon: Fiends

I keep a sly watch on Kelly too. When she was a tiny little girl, she was so cute you could have dangled her from one of the branches of a Christmas tree, and everyone would have been so dazzled by her that they wouldn’t have noticed any other decorations - yet she always had an unexpected wit that was more sophisticated and astringent than the average child’s sense of humor. One night, when six of us adults sat around the Laymon dinner table, having a grand good time, Gerda realized that Kelly was standing in the doorway, in her pajamas, quietly commenting on our conversation; Gerda nudged me, and when I tuned out the adults and tuned in Kelly, she was funnier than any of us - even though we thought ourselves reasonably amusing. Not long thereafter, during a visit to an amusement park with the Laymons, as we were suddenly swept up in a surging crowd, little Kelly - then no bigger than an elf- reached for my hand, gripping it tightly, and I was touched by her genuine vulnerability and more deeply touched by the fact that she trusted me to keep her safe; yet this same little girl eschewed the usual doll house and played, instead, with a miniature haunted castle full of monster figures and beheaded victims. That is a fact, not a comic exaggeration. Now, many years later, Kelly is a young lady of seventeen, quieter than the sprightly imp of yore, even demure. Nevertheless, she is her father’s daughter, with those strange genes, and if at dinner some evening she were to say, ‘Let me carve the roast, Mom,’ I’m certain that I’d have another catastrophic muscle spasm and wind up on the lawn amidst shattered window glass.

I hope that you enjoy this collection of stories as much as I have enjoyed it. 1 only wish all of you could have the additional pleasure of knowing Dick Laymon and his family as well as I do. In truth, the strangest thing about them is that they tolerate me as a friend.

Willy had left the window pane for last. Now it was done. He stepped backward, careful to keep his bare feet from landing on pine cones, and looked at it.

Great. Real class. Best damn shack in Wisconsin.

And he didn’t look to bad, himself, in the window’s reflection. A little bony, but what the hell?

‘What a fuckin’ stud,’ he muttered.

Then he whipped his putty knife at a dead, barkless poplar far across the clearing. It struck blade-first, glanced off, and disappeared into the thick undergrowth near the tree. Turning, he hurled the putty can high toward the lake. It plopped into the lily pads just beyond the shore.

He picked up a red bandanna and wiped the sweat off his face. A mosquito lit on his arm. He watched it for a moment, then rolled it under his fingertip until it disintegrated into a red smear.

‘That’ll teach you, y’little turd.’

He went into the one-room shack. It still smelled of mildew, but what could you expect from a place that’d been boarded up for three years? Besides, he’d be gone tomorrow.

The mattress in the corner was cluttered. He tossed his handcuffs onto a table in the middle of the room, set his flashlight and pocket knife on the floor, and sprawled backward.

A piece of paper crunched softly as his head pushed it against the mattress. He raised his head and picked up the paper.

It was brown with age. Creases from many foldings obliterated some of the lines.

Holding it above his face, he read the headline:

NORTH GLEN GIRL RAPED, KIDNAPPING FOILED

Foiled, all right. Thanks to that fucking neighbor.

Fix her wagon.

Taking care of that snoopy old bag would be kicks. He looked forward to it.

But not as much as he looked forward to Martha.

Marty.

She’d only been fifteen, way back then. Fifteen and cute and fresh and a virgin.

She had changed a lot since that morning ten years ago when he’d nailed her.

But not her address.

After the curtain slid shut and the lights came on in the movie theater, Dan let out a sigh of relief.

‘Unimpressed?’ Marty asked.

‘It was better than a hangover, but just barely.’

‘That good?’ Grinning, she pulled her hand away from him and stood up. It felt good to get out of the seat. Straining upward on tiptoes, she enjoyed the luxury of stretching her muscles. ‘Hope the second show is better.’

‘Couldn’t be worse. Hungry?’

‘For what?’

‘How does popcorn sound?’

‘Popcorn. Sounds great.' Turning around, she scanned the people in the rear part of the theater. She had spent most of her twenty-five years in North Glen, and knew most of the faces.

‘You want the butter flavoring?’ Dan asked.

‘But of course.’

‘What size Pepsi?’

‘Medium.’

‘For an extra twenty-five cents, you can get a large.’

She laughed and said, ‘Medium will be…’ Her voice stopped dead as the man near the back of the theater smiled at her and she suddenly recognized him. She sat down fast and scooted low in her seat until the back of her head was against the cushion. She propped her knees against the sticky metal of the seat in front of her. She folded her arms across her belly.

‘What’s wrong?’ Dan asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Okay. I’ll be right back.’

She grabbed Dan’s arm. ‘No. Wait. Don’t go.’

He frowned and looked worried. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Do you think we could just leave?’

‘You don’t want to see the second show?’

‘I’m not… I feel sort of icky.’

‘We can go.’

‘You won’t mind missing it?’ she asked.

‘Hell, we can always rent it from Blockbuster if we really want to see the thing. We can leave.’

Dan got to his feet and Marty followed him, sidestepping carefully, trying not to tread on feet, tumble over knees, or bump into heads along the row in front. At the aisle, she took Dan’s arm and looked down so she wouldn’t have to see that face again.

She kept her eyes fixed on her sandals and the carpet until Dan pushed open the door and they entered the lobby. The lobby lights seemed very bright. Fighting the impulse to look behind her, she hurried with Dan to the exit doors.

‘Wait,’ she said, and took off her yellow pullover sweater. ‘Won’t need this outside.’

Dan pushed open the door. The chilly air from the theater followed them outside until the door shut. Then the muggy night settled over them.

Marty took hold of Dan’s hand. They walked down the block and round the corner. Dan’s old Ford was squeezed into a stretch of the curb between two driveways. He opened the passenger door for Marty.

She climbed in. The air inside was stifling. While Dan walked to the other side; she rolled down the window.

‘I’ll have the air-conditioning going in a minute,’ he said as he dropped into the driver’s seat.

‘Yeah, right. Mother Nature’s air-conditioning.’

‘The best kind. Doesn’t deplete the stratosphere.’

Marty managed to smile.

When the car was moving, a warm breeze came in through the window. Marty let her arm hang outside and leaned against the door to feel the air’s calm touch. ‘It’s a beautiful night,’ she said. ‘I love it when it’s hot like this. Makes the night seem so… friendly. Sort of friendly and quiet.’

‘And romantic,’ Dan suggested.

‘Why don’t we go somewhere?’

‘Do you feel up to it?’

‘I think so,’ she said.

‘Where to. My place?’

‘Nah.This is too beautiful a night to be cooped up.’

‘Cooped up?’ He put an arm around her shoulders and reached down to her breast. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’