Richard Laymon - Tread Softly

The lights went out.

Shrieking, he thrust his other hand forward, ramming books from the higher shelf into the darkness, hearing volumes fall on the other side. He tried again, this time finding the shelf's edge, shoving at it, trying to brace himself as the fierce grip drew his lower hand forward.

She wants to drag me through!

With all the strength in his left arm, he tried to hold himself back. "Let go!" he yelled. "Help!" The tugging grew more powerful until he felt as if it might rip his arm from the socket. His other arm gave out. He flew forward, head bashing the edge of the upper shelf, then fell onto his back.

"No!" he cried as he was dragged between the shelves.

In a frenzy of panic, he reached out with his left hand, felt the dry stiff fingers clutching his other wrist, pried one away. There was no yell of pain. Just the sharp brittle pop, like the snap of a twig, as the finger broke off. The grip loosened. He jerked his wrist free, whipped his arms down, and grabbed the bookshelf edge above his chest. With a quick yank, he thrust himself out. The metal edge scraped the top of his head as he sat up.

He lunged to his feet, turning in the direction of the door — he hoped. To the left? Yes! It had to be! He reached through the darkness, slapping at the books to keep his bearings. Then the books stopped. He threw himself against the wall, felt along it, found the door. He flung it open and plunged into the stairwell.

Clawing blindly, he smashed his forearm on the banister. He grabbed the railing. Hand over hand, he followed it upward. The entire stairwell was dark. At the first landing, he dared to glance back. Only blackness. He blinked to be sure his eyes were open. He heard nothing but his own rasping breath and thudding heart, but a chill spread over his skin like a spray of ice water. She's there, she's coming!

He charged up the next flight of stairs, trying not to scream, and saw a thin strip of light from under the door. He shouldered the door open.

The librarian flinched, swiveled in her chair, and opened her mouth. She said nothing, though, as Benny sprinted past the desk in his mad race for the exit.

He shoved open the glass door. He ran down the steps to the walkway, and he didn't stop running until he reached the car.

Benny was lying across the backseat, sweltering in the locked car, when Tanya finally arrived. She opened the driver's door, and looked down at him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Nodding, he sat up.

"I got worried when I didn't see you in here. Thought I'd lost you."

"Sorry," he muttered. He climbed out. After the oven of the car, the air outside felt fresh and cool. He mopped the sweat off his face, and put on his shirt. Tanya, leaning across the front seat, unlocked the passenger door for him. He opened it, and rolled down the window before getting in.

She handed him a small, black book. Benny stared at the cover. Witch's Spells and Potions. "You got it?" he asked, amazed.

"Kristi did. What went on anyway?"

"Huh?"

"At the library."

"I had some trouble," he muttered.

"So I heard. When I showed up, Kristi said you'd run off like a bat out of hell. What were you doing down there? She said the lights were off, and you'd thrown books all over the floor. She was a little ticked."

"I didn't do it."

Tanya glanced at him with disappointment, reached forward, and started the car. "Nobody else was down there, according to Kristi."

"Somebody was," he said, trembling now with the memory of it. He held his right hand toward Tanya. His wrist was ringed with faint bruises, raw furrows where fingernails had raked his skin.

Tanya stared at the injuries. "Who did that to you?"

He shrugged.

"My God, Benny! You should've told someone. Who did it? Did he try to — "

"She."

"We'd better tell campus security."

"They won't find her. She's a witch."

"That's crazy, Benny, and you know it."

"Yeah," he muttered. "I figured you'd say that."

"We can't tell security that a witch — "

"I'm not gonna tell 'em anything. They'll just say I'm crazy, too."

With a sigh, Tanya shifted to reverse and backed out the car. She started driving toward the parking lot exit. The air coming through the open windows felt good to Benny. "I know you're not crazy," Tanya told him. "But you've got witches on the brain, and a very active imagination."

"Did I imagine this?" he asked, holding up his hand.

"Of course not."

"You think I did it to myself?"

"Did you?"

"No."

"Okay, I believe you. Now why don't you tell me what happened down there?"

"All right."

"And then her finger broke off," Benny said. "Right in my hand."

"Broke off?" Scott asked. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Bullshit," Julie muttered.

Scott frowned at her, and glanced at Karen. She was staring into her Bloody Mary, a look of disgust on her bruised face. "Okay," Scott said. "Then what happened?"

"Well, she let go and I got away."

"You never saw her at all?"

"It was pitch black."

Scott leaned back in his lounge chair. He wiped the wet bottom of his cocktail glass on his trunks, but it dripped anyway as he took a sip. On the sun-heated skin of his chest, the splash of icy water felt like a knife prick. He rubbed it with his fingertips. "Sounds like you had a rough time of it, pal."

The words of sympathy seemed to hit Benny hard. His chin started to shake. He pressed his lips into a tight line.

"You sure all this really happened?" Julie asked. "You weren't just dreaming or something?"

"It wasn't a dream," he mumbled.

Tanya, sitting cross-legged with her back to the pool, said, "The library worker went down to look around after Benny took off. She told me the lights were off and there were books on the floor. She thought Benny did it. According to her, nobody else was down there."

"I wonder how well she looked," Karen said.

"Did she happen to find a finger?" Julie asked.

"A finger doesn't normally just break off," Scott said. "Even if the bone. there are muscles, tendons, flesh."

"And blood," Julie added. "There'd be blood all over the place."

Shaking his head, Benny turned his hands over as if looking for stains. He said nothing.

Scott sipped his Bloody Mary. "Well," he said, "whatever happened, it was pretty bizarre. I don't know what to think. But at least you're okay, Benny. That's what really counts."

"What if it happens again?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"I don't imagine. well…"

"You should be all right," Karen said, "as long as you're with someone. Just don't go anywhere alone for a while, if you can help it. That way, if something funny happens again, you won't have to face it by yourself."

"Maybe he needs a bodyguard," Julie suggested.

Benny stared at her, blinking rapidly. "You won't think it's so funny when it happens to you."

"Spare me."

"It was the curse," he blurted, "and you're part of the curse, too. All of us are, except Tanya. She's gonna try to get us all."

"Who, Tanya?" Julie asked, smirking.

"The witch! She's got our stuff and I said we've gotta get it back and nobody listened. I'm just a crazy little kid and there's no such thing as witches and curses. Only there is, and she put a curse on us and it's gonna get us all if we don't do something! " He shoved himself off the chair and raced into the house.

Julie blew softly through her pursed lips. "He oughta see a shrink."

"That'll be enough out of you," Scott snapped. "The kid's been through God-knows-what and what he doesn't need is lip from you."

Julie flinched, her smirk falling away. "Excuse me," she muttered, and walked toward the house.