John Saul - Cry for the Strangers

Harney Whalen had disappeared into the night.

When the pounding on the front door began Brad Randall’s first impulse was one of fear — the sudden, gripping fear that always accompanies an unexpected sound in the night. But when he heard a voice calling from outside, his fear dissipated and he hurried to the door.

“I can’t find him,” Chip Connor cried as he came in out of the storm. “He’s gone, and I think it’s going to happen again!”

“Can’t find who?” Brad asked. “For Christ’s sake, calm down! You’re not making sense.”

“It’s Harney Whalen,” Chip gasped. “I’m sure of it. He’s been sick lately, then he got mad at me today. So I went and found Doc Phelps.” Chip dropped into a chair and tried to catch his breath.

“Phelps?” Glen asked. “What the hell does he have to do with anything?”

“He told me about Harn,” Chip said. “He told me that Harn’s been having blackouts.”

“Blackouts?” Brad repeated. “What kind of blackouts?”

“The same kind Robby has. He doesn’t pass out — he just can’t remember what he was doing. As soon as Phelps told me that I went back to the station, but he was gone. His raincoat’s still there but he’s not.”

“Maybe he went home,” Glen suggested, though he was sure it wasn’t true.

“That’s the first place I went,” Chip said. “He’s not there. So I figured I’d better come out here and warn you. If what you think is true, he’s probably prowling around the beach somewhere.”

“My God,” Elaine moaned. “Is the house locked up?”

“It’s been locked up all evening,” Brad said.

“I’m going to check anyway.” She picked up a lantern and started toward the dining room, intent on circling the main floor.

“We’ve got to find him,” Chip said as soon as Elaine was out of the room.

“Maybe not,” Brad replied. “As long as we’re all here there isn’t much chance that Whalen will find anyone on the beach. Not tonight.”

As if to confirm what he said, a bolt of lightning struck, briefly illuminating the room, then the clap of thunder shook the old house, rattling the windows.

As the thunder died the sudden void was filled by Elaine Randall’s scream of horror. A second later she appeared at the bedroom door. “They’re gone,” she cried, her face pale and her voice strangled. “The children are gone.”

Glen Palmer started for the bedroom and Elaine stepped aside to let him pass. He looked frantically around the icy room, then went to the open window, the cold, wind-driven rain stinging his face.

“Please,” he prayed silently. “Leave me my children.”

When he returned to the living room, Chip and Brad were waiting for him, their coats on, flashlights in their hands. Next to the fireplace, Mac Riley stood uncertainly.

“I think I should go too,” he said. “I’ve known Harney since he was a baby. If something’s happening to him …”

“No, Grandpa,” Chip replied. “Stay here. You can’t move as fast as you used to, and Mrs. Randall shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Please,” she begged. “Please stay with me. If I have to wait by myself I’ll go out of my mind. I know I will.” Sobbing softly, she sank into a chair. Brad started toward her, but Mac Riley held up his hand.

“Go on,” he said. “Find the children. We’ll be all right, I promise you.”

As Chip, Brad, and Glen went out into the night, Mac Riley poked at the fire, then began one more circuit of the house, checking the doors and windows. When he came back to the living room he tried to comfort Elaine.

“They’ll find the kids,” he said softly. “Don’t you worry.”

But inside, the old man was worried.

The maelstrom crashed around them, the high keening of the wind screaming in the treetops providing an eerie counterpoint to the roar of the surf as the tide came to full flood. The beach had shrunk to a narrow ribbon of sand between the roiling sea and the tangle of driftwood that creaked and shifted in the storm.

“I can’t see anything,” Missy cried out, clinging to her brother’s hand, stumbling blindly along after him as he moved quickly through the night.

If he heard her Robby gave no sign. The excitement of the beach was upon him, and his senses took in the wildness of the elements, absorbing the unleashed energy of the tempest. His body was filling with a strange exultation, exciting him, yet at the same time calming him. It was a feeling he didn’t quite understand, but he accepted it and was grateful for it.

Missy stopped suddenly and Robby nearly lost his footing as she jerked on his hand.

“Something’s here,” Missy whispered, pulling close to Robby and putting her lips to his ear. “I can feel it.”

“Nothing’s here,” Robby said. “Only us.”

“Yes there is,” Missy insisted. “Something’s in the woods looking for us. Let’s go back. Please?”

“We can’t go back,” Robby told her. “Not anymore.”

He started forward again, pulling Missy with him, and she began sobbing, her terror overcoming her. As they moved along the beach she began to see shapes, strange glowing figures, moving along beside her, in front of her, behind her, coming closer, reaching out for her.

She began screaming.

Harney Whalen crouched behind the pile of driftwood that separated the beach from the forest and listened to the sounds in his head. The laughter was getting louder and the screams of his grandmother seemed to be fading away.

There was a flash of lightning and he saw two figures coming toward him across the beach. They were small figures but he knew who they were.

They were strangers.

Strangers had killed his grandparents while he had helplessly watched.

He wanted to run, wanted to go away and hide, as he had done so many years ago.

But he couldn’t. He felt something gripping him, forcing him to stay where he was. He turned and there was someone beside him in the night. His grandmother, her strong, chiseled features gleaming in the night, her dark eyes flashing, was beside him.

While the rain slashed at him and the wind tore through his clothes, chilling him, she whispered to him, her words echoing against the pounding of the surf.

Don’t run away. Avenge. Avenge .

Harney waited behind the log, waited for them to come near.

He crouched lower, huddled in upon himself, and listened to the words of the old Klickashaw at his side. She spoke to him of ancient wrongs.…

On the beach Robby and Missy, the wind whirling around them, hurried along, unaware of the danger waiting for them in the forest.

Far down the beach, Chip Connor, Brad Randall, and Glen Palmer hurried through the storm, their flashlights playing over the sand, nearly useless in the rain.

“We’ll never find them,” Brad called out, raising his voice against the wind. “Not if we stay together. Let’s spread out.”

“You take the surf line,” Chip yelled. “Glen, stay in the middle of the beach. I’ll go up by the forest. And call for them. They might hear and it will let us keep track of each other. I don’t think we should get too far apart.”

They spread out, and the three dots of light scattered themselves across the beach, visible for only a few yards but lighting the way for the searchers. They began calling out the children’s names.

Robby began pulling Missy toward the forest but she hung back, her terrified eyes seeing nothing but the strange figures closing in around her, reaching for her. A faint sound drifted through the night, nearly lost in the storm. Missy pulled Robby to a halt.

“Someone’s calling us. I can hear my name.”

Robby glared at his sister, tugging on her arm. “We have to go into the woods. We’ll be safe there,” he hissed.