Rob Zombie - Lords of Salem

He pulled up to the curb. She wasn’t on the porch, wasn’t visible either, and the light in her bedroom was on, so she was probably still upstairs. He watched the window for a little bit, waiting to see the curtain rustle or if he could catch a glimpse of her face peeking out, but nothing happened.

He checked his watch. Damn, time was getting tight. Herman would be pissed if they were late. Maybe he should just let her know he was here.

He doused the lights and turned off the engine and then, hands in the back pockets of his jeans, made his way up the front steps. He was looking for her buzzer, getting ready to buzz, when he realized that the front door was open. Since it was cold outside, he just let himself in.

Megan was behind the door to Lacy’s apartment, pressing her eye to the peephole. She watched for a moment, then stepped away.

“Looks like our little Heidi has another gentleman caller,” she said.

Across the room, Lacy sat in a rocking chair, calmly rocking back and forth.

“How nice,” she said.

She was resting her feet on Francis’s chest. Every time the chair rocked forward, they made a squishy sound against the blood-sodden fabric of his shirt. The skin of his lifeless face had begun to change, the bones seeming sharper now, the skin lying tighter on the bone as the remaining blood pooled lower in the body and rigor mortis began to settle in. Around him were torn and mangled pages from The End of the American Witch , which had been covered with strange symbols painted in Francis’s blood. A candle had been set at his head and at his feet, and his mouth had been stuffed full of pages from the book.

Across from her, sitting in an armchair and drinking tea, was Sonny. She took a sip, made a face.

“What kind of tea is this?” she asked.

“Lemon verbena,” said Lacy. “It reduces stress. It’s very relaxing.”

Sonny stared into her cup. “I’m not sure that I like it,” she said.

Lacy nodded. “You’re used to something a little stronger,” she said.

“What do we do about Romeo?” asked Megan from near the door.

Lacy waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing to worry about,” she said. “I’m sure that Heidi can manage him. And who are we to get in the way of young love?”

Whitey knocked on the door to Heidi’s apartment, but there was no answer. He pressed his ear to the door but couldn’t hear anything inside. Or didn’t think he could anyway—it was hard to hear anything over the sound of music coming from the end of the hallway.

He turned and looked, saw that the door at the end there was open, with Heidi standing in the doorway. She didn’t look like she was doing so well. She was as pale as a ghost, with dark circles around her eyes. He’d heard of Goth chic but this was ridiculous. And he’d never really taken Heidi for the Goth type.

“Hey, what’s up?” Whitey asked. “You okay, girl? Whose apartment even is that?”

But Heidi didn’t answer. For a moment she stared at him and then she took a step backward, was immediately lost in the darkness of the apartment.

What the fuck? he wondered.

He slowly headed down the hall toward the apartment, the music growing louder as he got closer.

He stopped in the doorway. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. When they did, he saw Heidi moving around the room in a kind of wispy, random fashion, as if she were lost in a psychedelic haze and dancing to her own drummer. Shit, she was definitely on something. Herman was going to be pissed. He had to get her out and dressed and sober, and he had to do it quick.

“Hey,” he said. “We should get going. Herman will fucking shit if we’re late.”

But Heidi didn’t answer. It was like she hadn’t heard him. She just kept dancing, eyes lidded, head loose and swaying.

“Come on, girl,” said Whitey. “Seriously, we should get going.”

She still didn’t answer. So what was he supposed to do? Physically drag her out of there and force her to get ready? Not exactly his style. Just say fuck it and leave her? Not exactly his style either. Maybe keep trying to reason with her? He stepped into the room and moved toward her. “Heidi,” he said. “I really think—”

The door behind him slammed shut with a boom loud enough to make his teeth rattle, making the room a whole lot darker. It was suddenly silent. Confused, he spun around, searching for the door. He felt along the wall, found the edge of the frame, found the doorknob. He tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t turn. The door was locked somehow. He felt for a button or a latch of some sort but couldn’t find anything. He rattled the knob again, trying to open it, but it wouldn’t move.

“Jesus, the door is stuck,” he said, turning toward where he thought Heidi must be. “I can’t get this open.”

He could see her still, though the room was dark enough now that she was more of a vague semihuman shape in the darkness—if he didn’t know already that it was Heidi he would have had a hard time identifying her. Again, she didn’t answer. She danced, turning slowly, and then suddenly stopped, fell to her knees.

“Heidi?” he said, and took a step forward.

And suddenly she collapsed in a heap on the floor. He moved forward and bent down to try to help her up, but when he grabbed her he realized it was not Heidi at all but just a tangled and twisted sheet.

Astonished, he lifted it up and looked at it. Where had she gone? He’d been sure he’d seen her—otherwise he wouldn’t have come in. Where was she?

He looked around the room now. His eyes were beginning to adjust further, the darkness not quite as total as it had been before. Here and there in the shadows, he began to see shapes. He began to think of one of them as human. He stepped forward, squinting, trying to get a better look. Yes, there was someone there, but someone hunched and deformed. He was sure it wasn’t Heidi.

“Hello?” he said. “Can you help me?”

He took another step forward, peered closer. Yes, someone was there, just in the corner, head down. Why wouldn’t they answer? He stepped again and looked closer. Was there something wrong with their skin? It seemed overly pale in some places, weirdly bruised in others. Mottled. The hair, too, seemed to have come out in clumps.

“Hey,” he said, and reached out and touched the person’s arm.

The arm was ice-cold, the shock of that so surprising that he yanked his hand back as if he’d been stung. As he did so, the head jerked up and he cried out in horror. The skin of the face had begun to decay, in some places had fallen off to reveal stretches of bone. The lips had fallen off or had been bitten off, revealing a length of jawbone and rotted teeth. The eyes, too, were gone, in their place only two deep black holes.

He stumbled back. Holy fuck , he thought. It’s a corpse. I must have knocked it or something to make its head come up like that.

But then, as he stared at it, he saw the head turn, the empty eyes staring right at him. Its arms stretched toward him and the remnants of its face tightened in a horrific grin.

He made a break for the door, tried to open it again. It wouldn’t come. He began to pound on it, shouting and crying out. After a moment, he made the mistake of looking behind him and saw that the creature had made it halfway across the room and toward him, moving slowly but inexorably forward. Not only that, but also there were more of them now, at least three, maybe four. He began to pound harder, shouting himself hoarse.

But the door held firm and nobody came to let him out. He felt something touch his shoulder and he shook it off and then something was on his arm, too. He turned and there were six or seven of them on him, all of them dead, clawing at him, their mouths hanging open. One of them managed to press its mouth against his arm and bite it hard enough to draw blood. He screamed and shook it away and struck out and shoved and kicked and managed somehow to break free and run to the other end of the apartment where there was a window.