Richard Laymon - The Lake

A sudden draft caught at her legs. Earlier, jolting along on his back, it’d been hot.

Now… it’s icy cold…

Where am I? Where’s he taking me?

Deana started to cry.

Wishing that Warren were here.

If—when Warren finds me, he’ll get even with Mace. Pound his brains out. Tear him apart. Kill him with his bare hands. Then he’ll take me home.

She smiled faintly, feeling Warren’s hand caressing her thigh, his mouth hard on hers, moaning as her fingers curled around his shaft…

Dank, earthy odors stole through the blanket, curling into her nostrils. It was cold here… wherever it was… Damp and so cold .

A sunless place.

Oh my God!

She plummeted down. Hit something that gave under her weight; it felt soft, but not springy.

Like a mattress on a hard dirt floor.

She heard Mace’s breath, huffing out in short, sharp grunts. Felt him pulling at her middle, picking at the belt, loosening it. Unwinding the twine from her legs… Pulling the blanket from her face.

Christ, the stench… Bad, rancid dirt beneath her, water slick on the walls… She focused her eyes, but it was so dark , she couldn’t quite see where she was.

Uhhh… It’s so COLD!

Like the grave…

Shuddering, whimpering, she dragged the blanket to her. Fierce, fiery, tingly pain seared her legs as the blood came pumping back.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Let me go, Mace. PLEASE,” she blurted. “I’ve done nothing to hurt you. I kept quiet about you coming into my room like that. Mom doesn’t know a thing… When I get outta here, I promise I’ll never tell.”

“No sweat, sugar. Uncle Mace knows you won’t tell.” His voice dropped a notch. It went quiet, calm, confiding.

“Best listen up, kiddo. You won’t tell, ’cause—you’re—going—NOPLACE. Geddit?”

His eyes glittered, shining in the dark.

She stayed quiet.

A chill crawled up her spine. The numbness, the tingling, the pain in her legs were nothing to the fear she felt now.

Her heart hammered.

Goddamn maniac! He’s gonna kill me! I’m gonna die here and nobody’s gonna find me…

In her mind she pictured Mace carving, gouging all her intimate, secret places—then tearing her apart… slurping on her flesh with fiendish glee, sucking his lips, his bloodied fingers…

Her hands flew to her face.

Feeling grateful relief that he’d done with her.

For the moment.

She heard him stomp away.

Then she was crying, with hard, hurting sobs.

Peeking through her fingers.

Catching a slice of daylight as he went out the door.

The door slammed.

A scattering of debris hit the floor.

A key rattled home.

With a harsh scraping sound, it turned in the lock.

The thing came closer…

Moving quietly with animal stealth.

She heard its raspy breathing.

Felt its foul breath as it hung over her bed…

From out of nowhere a cloth fluttered down.

Covering her face.

Clinging so tight, it was like a second skin.

A surge of panic set her screaming, tearing at it.

All the while, the thing watched.

She saw the huge veined wings spread out behind it… Ropes of matted hair. Small darting eyes. Spiky teeth. Curved, clawed hands reaching down.

Her screams turned to whimpers and died. She lay rigid with fear. Sweat, like globs of blood, oozed down her body. She opened her mouth to cry for help, but no sound came. She tried again, straining, willing her voice to work. Her jaws ached; her throat was like sandpaper, dry and parched.

As she twisted and turned, the hands gripped her neck, tighter and tighter… until… she was falling… into deep dark space…

Leigh struggled awake, tearing the bedsheets from her slick, damp body, clutching at her neck, looking around for that eerie nightmare creature…

The curtains billowed softly. Cool air played on her sweat-soaked skin…

Still not convinced she was alone, she stared anxiously into the shadows, seeing familiar things—her wardrobe, dresser, wicker chair, hamper… pictures on the wall…

She sighed. Her breath evened out. Everything’s okay, she told herself.

Then:

No it’s not…

Panting again, she peered into all the gray creepy spaces, into the shadows where anything could hide…

She trod the bedsheet down with her feet.

Feeling her nightgown up around her neck, cutting across her throat, almost strangling her. This hadn’t happened since that last nightmare, when Edith Payne had grabbed her, shrieked at her by Charlie’s graveside…

Charlie’s funeral.

Now it could be Deana’s…

NO NO NO!!!

STOP THAT. RIGHT NOW!!!!

Deana’s safe.

I know it I know it. I’d know in my heart if she was d… Can’t say it. WON’T SAY IT…!!

The realization that Deana was gone engulfed her once more. This was the second terrible night of drugged, blacked-out sleep. Sleep broken by hideous phantoms. Ghosts invading the night like demented harpies.

Leigh’s heart sank. Mattie said she’d call the minute she had news… when any clue, no matter how small, showed up. There’d been nothing.

Zero.

Zip.

She knew the cops were on the case, and with Mattie on their tails they’d stick at it… But there’d been no sign of Mace. No sign of Deana.

Leigh swung her legs off the bed. The night air began to chill her skin. She shivered, feeling worn, unutterably weary; waiting for news. Mattie had insisted, you’re more use at home than out there, looking for Deana. She may call… You gotta be ready…

She’d waited. But there’d been no calls from Deana. Just anxious ones from Warren. Reassuring ones from Mattie.

There were two cops in the house. Guarding her. Watching out for intruders. Checking the office now and then for updates on the case.

None so far.

In her heart, she knew Mace had what he wanted.

Deana.

A surrogate Tania.

Oh God, Deana, don’t rile him.

Use your intelligence. Spy your chance…

Spy your chance?

With a rogue cop, a trained killer, a maniac like Mace for company?

Dear God please help my baby girl.

Leigh got to her feet. She swayed, put a hand to her forehead, fell back, and flopped on the bed.

Reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand, she saw the small brown container of sleeping pills… Her hand strayed forward, but she snatched it back.

I gotta stay awake.

Deana may call.

Don’t want to sleep anyhow… not with these nightmares…

Pulling on a robe, she went to the hallway, feeling ice-cool tiles beneath her bare feet. She padded into the living room. Dawn had broken; its pale gray light made eerie moving patterns on the carpet.

She looked around…

Caught her breath…

Something was wrong.

The place was quiet.

Too damn quiet…

Okay, Officers Halliwell and Bodine were probably catching a few z’s. One in the den, the other in the kitchen, where she’d left them…

But somehow, it wasn’t the peaceful quiet of people asleep. This was more an overall, deathly hush. Like the world was holding its breath. Waiting for… what? Armageddon?

Impatiently, she shook her head and huffed out a long, low breath. Don’t be a fool, she told herself. You’re hyped up. Worried out of your skull about Deana.

And fearful that…

Something isn’t quite right…

She screamed.

Loud and long.

Even as she screamed, she remembered Edith Payne, shrieking like a wounded animal when she discovered Charlie’s broken body all those years ago…