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  Behind them, David pumped away on his mountain bike, his face red with exertion, drawn in a frown, intent with purpose. Peter wondered if David ever let down his guard. Even riding his bike, he looked ready for a fight, ready to make sure no one took advantage of him. His buzz cut hair stood up with military precision.

  And of course, Marlene, “Miss Perfection,” couldn’t be far behind. Marlene was never late for anything.

  And just as he thought this, Peter saw her far back at the end of the road, coming up over a rise. Her long, dark coat blew back with a gust of wind. Her stride was purposeful; her face was composed. If Roy looked younger than the rest of them, Marlene looked older. She already seemed like an adult. Peter wondered if she realized she was being watched.

  * * *

  “I don’t know if I want to go inside.” Erin stopped them all at the bottom of the sagging front porch steps. She pulled a strand of dark hair to her mouth and chewed on it, her gaze nervously darting, examining the front of the run-down house.

  “C’mon,” David muttered.

  “It’ll be okay,” Peter said. He was eager to get started, to begin his story. He also couldn’t wait to see what the inside of the house looked like.

  “It’s old,” Erin whined. “What if we fall through the floorboards or something? I mean, rain has seeped in there over the years and those floorboards have to be warped and buckled. Pipes probably burst. Who would know if something happened to us?”

  “I’ll let you guys go in first. If I hear any crashes, I’ll whip out my cell and call 911.” Marlene rolled her eyes. A glimmer of a none-too-patient smile played about her lips.

  “It’ll be okay, Erin. We’re all here. We’ll be careful.” Roy took Erin’s hand. “Come on, I’ll watch out for you.”

  The rest of the group suppressed giggles, their eyes meeting. Peter suspected they were thinking the same thing he was. How much protection could tiny Roy offer them?

  Erin drew back her hand with a little giggle. “All right. But don’t blame me if something happens we’re all sorry for.”

  “We won’t. Let’s just get on with it.” David clambered up the stairs, not slowing his pace even as the rotting wood beneath his feet screamed in protest.

  The rest of the group followed David into the house. As they entered its dark confines, they all grew silent. It was empty, nothing more than barren rooms with little clue as to the kinds of lives that had been there. Peter wondered who had come in and cleared away the Tuttles’ belongings after they all died.

  Late afternoon shadows filled the corners of the living room. A smell of mildew hung in the air. The walls were dirty, with lighter patches where pictures had hung. One of them in the living room had been papered, its fading bouquets of flowers nothing more than ghosts of shape and color. The paper clung to it in pieces, while paint peeled from the other walls.

  Cobwebs hovered in corners, near the ceiling. Erin looked at them and everyone could tell she was searching for spiders.

  Wooden floorboards, bare and in some places broken, wore a heavy coat of dust. The five friends left footprints in the gray fuzz that covered the floor so thickly it was almost like fur.

  “Where are we going to do this thing?” David asked. “What room?”

  Peter moved through what must have been the dining room and then into the kitchen. White metal cabinets stood open. The few remaining doors hung by broken hinges. The shelves held inches of black dirt, rat droppings, and dust. A film of black gunk spread over the cracked porcelain of the kitchen sink.

  Peter imagined a dark figure at the sink, rinsing blood down the drain. He turned, hoping the others hadn’t seen the look of fear on his face. They were gathered at the entrance to the kitchen, watching him.

  “Are we going to get started?” Marlene asked. “I believe you were the one that had the idea for this little adventure, Peter. It’s up to you to start things.”

  “I know, I know. I just wanted to see if there were any traces of, you know, something the family left behind. Wasn’t there a little girl? Maybe one of her dolls is still here, waiting for her to come back and get it.” Peter shivered as the image of a ghostly toddler girl rose in his imagination, searching for her favorite doll that hadn’t accompanied her on her final journey to the grave.

  “Give me a break! Whatever happened here, happened fifteen years ago. I doubt if there are ‘traces.’ I’m sure whatever wasn’t cleaned out by the police and survivors has long ago been snatched up by ghouls who want souvenirs from the ‘murder house.’” Marlene put mocking emphasis on the last two words.

  “Whatever you say, Marlene. Let’s start in the living room. That’s where I’ll tell my story. The rest of you can choose what room you want to tell yours in when your turn comes.” Peter brushed by the others, leading them back into the living room. He walked slowly, making sure his friends were close behind him.

  * * *

  Peter had brought a votive candle, stolen from his parents’ bedroom. He touched a match flame to the wick and sat back, satisfied, as the candle threw flickering light on the walls around them. It made the room seem alive with changing shadows and even darker where the light did not penetrate.

  Peter licked his lips. “This is the story. It really happened. All sorts of versions of the Tuttles’ murders have gotten around now, but the authenticity of this version is without question.”

  “And you know this how?” David asked, a smirk he didn’t bother to conceal sliding across his face.

  Peter ignored him. “The Tuttles were a very quiet family. They lived up here on the road, far from any neighbors. They liked it that way. They kept to themselves. The only time any of them came into town was for what was necessary: Elvin to work at the foundry, Paul to go to school, and Eve, the mother, to grocery shop or to get some things for the four-year old, Stacey. When people saw them together, they didn’t seem like an unhappy family. The Tuttles were the kind of people that always looked happy together, like they really loved each other. Paul was always taking care of his little sister. If you saw the family together, it would always be Paul who was holding little Stacey or keeping her amused.”

  “This is really fascinating,” David said, deadpan.

  “Shut up, David. I want to hear.” Marlene pushed her hair out of her eyes and waited for Peter to continue.

  “I can’t tell you why what happened, happened. Probably no one will ever be able to say, except for maybe Paul, and who knows what happened to him.” All of them knew that Paul was the only member of the family who had never been found.

  “Just get on with it,” David whispered. He was swinging a yo-yo back and forth in front of his face.

  Peter glared. He couldn’t wait until it was David’s turn to tell a story. Then we’ll just see how good of a job he does. Him with his bravery and smart aleck ways that we all know is just a big show.

  “Back in 1991, not everybody had a DVD player. They were a lot more expensive than they are now, with a lot fewer features. But Elvin Tuttle loved his family and more than anything, wanted to keep them happy. So he went down to Sears and bought a DVD player.”

  “What kind was it?” Roy piped up. His father owned an electronics repair shop downtown.

  “What difference does that make?” Erin asked. Her question appeared to embarrass him enough to shut him up. He sat back, reddening, and rested his elbows on the dusty wooden floor.

  “The night Elvin brought home the DVD player was a big night for the Tuttles. They all knew it was coming, and it was kind of like a party, y’know? Mrs. Tuttle made a turkey for dinner, and there was cherry cheesecake for dessert. After she had cleaned up the dishes, they all settled in the living room to watch Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which was what Elvin had brought home with him.”

  “This is some horror story. I’m peeing my pants,” David said.

  Marlene added, “I’m not even sure that movie was out then.”

  Peter said nothing. He waited for the quiet to sur
round them.

  Outside, it was getting dark. Cold air pushed in through the open windows, cracks, and crevices in the Tuttle house, raising gooseflesh on their arms, drawing them closer to each other.

  “It wasn’t until everyone was in bed that it happened.” Peter paused again to look at each of his friends in turn. Their eyes were alive with interest. “The night had become cold, unusually cold, as a front moved in from the north. Earlier in the evening, there had been rain. But by the time Paul got up and started to sneak downstairs, the rain had turned to sleet. It was about 1:30 in the morning, and Paul crept downstairs, making sure to avoid the steps he knew creaked.”

  Just then a big gust of wind blew up, and one of the stairs complained as the house moved in the wind. Floorboards creaked, and a loose shutter upstairs banged twice against the side of the house. The group of friends all stared at one another for a second, then burst into nervous laughter.

  “The sleet was tapping on the window, like fingernails. Tap…tap…tap.” For effect, Peter tapped his fingernails against the floor. “Paul went into the living room. Underneath the cushions of the couch, he had stored his own movie, a movie he wanted to watch alone.

  “It was The Exorcist. Elvin would have had a fit if he had known it was in the house. He never would have allowed Paul to see it in a movie theater, let alone his own living room. But Paul had heard about the movie since he was a little kid, and when he realized his family was getting a DVD player, all he could think about was getting a chance to see that movie.

  “Paul didn’t turn on any lights. He had even taken the precaution of hooking headphones into the TV so no one would hear anything. He settled right in front of the TV and slid the disc into the player. Soon the black screen came up with the red letters saying, ‘The Exorcist.’”

  “Are we gonna get a frame-by-frame description now?” David asked. He picked a piece of lint off his sweater.

  “No, David. You’re not, because Paul didn’t get very far along in the movie when something really weird happened.” Peter paused for effect. “You know how the movie starts off with these dogs fighting in the Middle East or someplace like that? Then at the end of the sequence you see a statue of this demon? When Paul saw the statue of the demon, everything changed. Outside, the wind began to howl, and the sleet changed into an almost blinding rain that pounded against the house. Thunder roared. The wind shrieked.”

  Peter stopped again for just a second, hoping the mood was sinking in.

  “If Paul had been in the kitchen, he would have seen the little light over the stove wink out, would have heard the refrigerator stop running, and the digital numbers on the clock radio go dark. The power had gone off. Lights went out throughout the neighborhood, things grew silent.

  “But if you looked in the living room window at the Tuttle house, you’d still see the flickering images from the TV screen. The TV and DVD player continued to run, even though there was no electricity.

  “Paul was mesmerized by the movie and stared at the statue of the demon on the screen. As he stared, the statue began to turn, facing him. The stone of the statue cracked, and pieces fell away.

  “Paul was really scared, but he had no way of knowing that this just wasn’t special effects.

  “The demon started to turn, facing him. Underneath its stone was live flesh—yellowish white, mottled with purple sores.”

  “Gross,” Erin whispered.

  “In one big piece, the entire face of the statue dropped to the ground. When that happened, Paul let out a scream and pushed himself away from the TV screen, yanking out his headphones as he did so. The demon’s eyes seemed to bore into his. They were bright yellow, and Paul found he couldn’t look away from them. The demon’s eyes eventually filled the screen.

  “Paul watched, drooling. He was no longer conscious. No longer aware of his surroundings. It was as if Paul had left, and the demon was the only thing in the room.

  “The wind outside grew stronger. A foul smell rose.

  “Paul stood and walked to the mud room off the kitchen at the back of the house with all the animation of a zombie. There, in the cold, dark room, a hatchet glinted in the moonlight.”

  “Wait a minute!” Marlene cried. “You just said how stormy it was. How could anything be glinting in the moonlight?”

  Peter grinned and sat silent for a moment. “Okay, so maybe it wasn’t glinting, but Paul knew right where it was, in the corner near the door. He lifted the hatchet, feeling its weight. Then he swung it to test its heft. A smile spread across his face as he listened to the blade whistle through the air.”

  Peter stopped then, looking around at his friends. None of their faces held a smirk any longer. They looked frightened. Erin twisted a lock of her long brown hair around and around one finger. Roy was biting his nails and spitting them out. Even David glanced cautiously toward the kitchen every few seconds.

  “Most people don’t know that Paul Tuttle was demon-possessed the night he killed his family. He slung the hatchet over his shoulder and made his way up the back staircase, smelling the blood and the warm flesh, knowing that soon he would be bringing terror and death.”

  “That’s enough!” Erin cried out. “I think we get the idea. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

  “Me, neither,” Marlene said.

  Peter shrugged. “I guess it’s pretty common knowledge—”

  He stopped suddenly as he heard a floorboard creak. They all stopped breathing for a moment, listening.

  “What was that?” Roy whispered.

  “Nothing. A floorboard creaked, that’s all,” David said. “This is an old house and it’s windy outside. You guys.” David shook his head, but he didn’t look entirely convinced. He stood. “C’mon, it’s almost dark. Let’s get out of here.”

  No one argued with him. They all stood at once. “Good story, Pete,” Roy said and held his palm aloft for a high five. Peter ignored him as all of them rushed outside where even the cold air felt more normal, as if the atmosphere outside the house was different from the atmosphere inside.

  “Your turn next week, Marlene.” Peter turned to her as they all gathered on the porch, buttoning and zipping up their jackets.

  “I’ll be prepared.”

  “No surprise there,” David said.

  The group hurried into the gathering dusk, trying to shake the images of a hatchet-wielding teenager out of their heads.

  * * *

  From behind the stairwell, I peek out and watch them go. Kids. It’s been so long. My fingers grip the staircase above me, knuckles white.

  How dare they come to my house! How dare they.

  The girl with the frizzy hair said she’d be prepared for next week. What was her name? Marlene?

  You’ll be prepared next week, Marlene. Yes. So will I.

  I slip back into the cold embrace of the shadows. The darkness has always been my friend.

  I move to the window and watch the five of them running down the road, the pretty girl casting anxious glances back.

  You better run, I think, and laugh.

  CHAPTER 3

  Marlene’s Tale

  Carnegie Library in Summitville was small. An old domed structure, its rust-colored cupola had graced the downtown of the little city along the river for almost one hundred years. Inside, there was a main desk and behind that were the adult fiction and non-fiction titles. If you stepped to the right after entering, you’d be in the children’s section. When Marlene was a pre-schooler, she’d go there every Wednesday afternoon for story hour. She always loved the Halloween story hour the best, when Maggie the Witch would make her appearance and tell them stories about a dead man with a golden arm, or the “blue lady” who would appear near a big boulder in Summitville’s only park.

  If you stepped to the left in the library, as Marlene had just a short time before, you’d wind up in the reference section, among files of old newspapers and magazines. Cabinets held boxes of microfiche and two readers for them. A map collection
and some historical documents about the development of Summitville rounded out the area.

  Marlene swung her coarse brown hair over one shoulder and looked down at the articles she had photocopied from The Summitville Review, October 1991. She had collated the series of articles (there were seven) into five piles, one for each member of “The Halloween Horror Club.” Marlene smirked as she glanced down at the headlines. Peter and his vivid imagination. Well, there would be plenty of time to prove him wrong before the meeting later this afternoon.

  Right now, Marlene had other things to do. She stood and sighed. There was a lot of work to be completed if she was going to make the weekly meeting on time. And Marlene was always on time. Her mother, who had been a lawyer before Marlene’s father passed away, had taught her the value of being punctual. Now, she taught Marlene very little.

  Stuffing the articles into her backpack, Marlene wished she could go home as some of her friends did after school, kick back, have a soda, and watch a little TV. Even doing her homework would be preferable to the list of chores she needed to complete this afternoon.

  But homework would have to wait until before bed. Marlene hoped she wouldn’t be up until after midnight again tonight. But the house had to be cleaned, beds made, dishes washed, trash emptied. And there was no one but her to do it all.

  Marlene trudged out of the library. The afternoon was crisp and sunny. She could smell the dying leaves in the air. Someone, perhaps in one of the houses down by the river, was burning leaves. The pungent smoke reached her, making her think of other autumns. Autumns when her father hadn’t been dying from cancer. Autumns when her mother was like other moms.

  But Marlene didn’t need to think about that now. She made her stride purposeful, trying to ignore the warmth of the sun on the top of her head and how the breeze, with an undercurrent of chill, was heated by the sun as it lifted her hair, playful.

  Marlene began counting the blocks as she made her way home. She didn’t want to think about the pile of dirty dishes in the sink waiting to be washed, or the laundry lying in a pile in the basement, or the dinner she would have to make for herself and her mother, if Mom cared to eat.