18
Kyle was the first to awaken at the sounds of squeaking. For a moment he lay still in bed, trying to figure out what it was and where it was coming from. Then the events just prior to fighting and burying the rocking horse returned to the cop. He shut his eyes, mentally willing the squeaking to stop.
It did not.
Kyle sat on the edge of the bed, conscious of his wife’s eyes on him in the purple darkness.
He turned his head to look at her. “You haven’t been asleep, have you?”
“No.”
“Not at all?”
“No.”
“Why not? What have you been doing?”
“Waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“For the horse to return from the grave.”
Kyle could not suppress his shudder of revulsion at her choice of words. “That goddamned horse is back, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And it’s waiting.”
“Waiting for who?”
“You.”
Kyle dressed and picked up his .38 Chief’s Special, checking to be sure it was fully loaded with five rounds. He walked to the bedroom door and looked up and down the dark hall. He could see nothing. Only hear that damnable squeaking. The rhythm of the sound bothered him, working into his head and staying there, clouding it somewhat. He attempted to shake off the fog.
Very faint laughter drifted up the hall to him. It was taunting laughter. He looked into the darkness, trying to locate the source.
The rocking horse sat in the middle of the hallway, looking directly at the man. Even in the near-total darkness of the hallway, Kyle could see the evil painted mouth and lips, the yellow teeth, the taunting eyes staring and glaring at him, shining with a strange light.
The horse spoke in a language Kyle could not understand.
“You son of a bitch!” Kyle cursed the wooden hobbyhorse.
The horse laughed. It began rocking back and forth, squeaking on its runners. The horse was wet, covered with damp earth and bits of mortar clinging to the wood.
It was not scarred. Where it had once lain in broken pieces, the hobbyhorse was now whole. Kyle could not understand how that could be.
“Fool!” the word drifted up the hall to his ears.
The horse began moving slowly backward. The lips of the horse peeled further back, revealing teeth that were no longer paint-white and cute, but cruel and yellow.
Kyle moved as the horse moved, following it, his .38 ready, finger on the trigger.
The horse suddenly spun about and ducked into an empty room. Kyle made a grab for the animal, his fingers just grazing the tail. An odd sensation filled him. He shook off the feeling and stepped into the doorway, looking in. He could see nothing except darkness.
The laughter reached him. It was ugly and evil and taunting.
He heard whispered voices, speaking in a language he had not heard in years. Vietnamese. The voice switched to heavily accented English.
“Yankee pig!” the voice taunted him. “Baby killer. Slime. How ’bout it, ’Merican, ready go flip-flop?”
“I ain’t playin’ your game,” Kyle said, speaking through gritted teeth. “I ain’t pullin’ tail end.”
“All die. All die. All die. No TacAir here, Navy puke,” the whispered voice reached Kyle, edging him backward in time.
“Screw TacAir,” Kyle said. He was not sure where he was. Part of him, he knew, was back in ’Nam.
“Mary Foxtrot Two,” a metallic-sounding voice came to him, as if pushed out of a walkie-talkie. “You’re on your own, boys. Can’t get in. It’s too hot from the ground.”
“So what else is new?” Kyle said, as more and more of his being was spun back in time. “Ain’t we always on our own?”
“B-40’s incoming!” the voice yelled in Kyle’s head. “Down, down, down!”
Kyle’s experience took over. He hit the hard floor, belly down, his heart pounding, body tense for the explosion.
Mental explosions ripped through his head.
Laughter hooted and cawed throughout the small room.
“Sucker! Sucker!” the voice called. “Fooled you, didn’t I, Navy-puke!”
Sirens began roaring in Kyle’s head. The horse’s whinnying became savage. Kyle looked up just in time to avoid being struck by the leaping animal’s runners. He rolled on the floor. Vietnamese curse words roared in his head.
Then he was up to his waist in water.
Where in the hell was he and how in the hell had he gotten here?
He looked around him. He was in camouflage. He held a Stoner in his hands. One of his buddies floated past him, half his head shot off, his brains hanging out. Little fish darted up to the gray matter, tearing off a chunk, then darting away. Kyle remembered as time held him in a backward glance, throwing him back years, to a silent op. The team he was on had paid dearly for that operation. Paid in blood.
His buddy suddenly rose out of the waist-deep water, his right teeth all shining where the flesh had been blown away. He opened his arms and held out his hands to Kyle, his mouth working silently, his fingers waggling in a gesture to come. Come to him. Join him.
“No!” Kyle roared. He jumped to his feet in the dark little room. He shook himself like a big dog, attempting to clear his head of the awfulness. Fought away the memories. Fought away the long dead. Put his buddy back into that long sleep. Came back to hard present reality. Saw the horse grinning at him through the darkness. Leveled his .38 and began pulling the trigger. The reports momentarily deafened him, the muzzle blasts filling the room with sparkling illumination.
The .38 jumped in his hand. The slugs tore into the hobbyhorse, ripping great chunks from the animal’s head. The horse reared and bucked and screamed in pain.
A foul odor filled Kyle’s nostrils, almost causing him to puke.
It smelled like . . . a stinking grave, where the corpse had rotted.
The lights came on. Kyle stared in open astonishment.
The room was empty.
He looked at the still-smoking pistol in his hand. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled. “What the hell is going on?”
Someone called his name.
He spun around, eyes darted, seeking the rocking horse.
But it wasn’t the rocking horse this time.
“Kyle!” Louisa called. “Kyle!”
“Here, baby!”
He turned as hurried footsteps came closer. Looked up into the faces of wife and friends.
“That goddamn rocking horse came back,” Kyle explained. “I just barely touched the thing and lost control of my mind. Thing spun me back to ’Nam. But where did it go? I shot it. Hit it every time at this range.”
No one said anything. They all just stood and looked at the man. “Kyle. . .” Lucas finally said. “Buddy. . .”
“What the hell is everybody lookin’ at me for?” the cop shouted the question. “Goddamn it, I didn’t dream it. It happened, I tell you. It did.”
“No one is doubting it happened in your mind, Kyle,” Lucas said.
“What the hell are you talking about?” the cop roared.
“Check your pistol,” Lucas asked.
Kyle looked at the .38 in his hand. “Check it?” he questioned. “Why? What for? The damn thing is empty.”
“Check it, honey,” Louisa urged.
Kyle dropped the wheel. He stared. Shook his head in disbelief. “No. No, by God—that is impossible.”
The bright glass gleamed at him. Kyle ejected the loads. They were fresh. He closed his fingers around the ammunition. He lifted his eyes. “You all heard me fire, didn’t you?”
“We didn’t hear anything, buddy,” Lucas said. “We came on the run after Louisa woke us. Then the lights popped back on. There were no shots fired, Kyle. None. Only in your mind.”
“But. . .”
“The horse was here, Kyle,” his wife told him. “I know that. You didn’t imagine that. It was and is real. I told you all: it has powers that are beyond human understanding.”
A squeaking sound came from above and the small gathering. It came from the landing above them. Kyle shook his head, refusing to look up. He stood and quietly cursed in at least two languages.
“This is not real,” Kyle said. “It isn’t. Now, I can maybe accept some of what’s happening. But I know I fired at that horse. I hit it. I didn’t dream that. Ammunition cannot reload itself.”
The rocking horse squeaked and rocked and whinnied softly. Then it laughed. It was the most evil sound any of them had ever heard. And it was taunting.
“Navy puke!” the words came to them. “Slime. Baby killer.”
“Shut up!” Kyle yelled.
Laughter echoed around the great mansion.
Lucas stepped out of the hallway and looked up. The rocking horse was looking down at him, its head sticking through the bannisters. It grinned its yellow grin.
“I’ll destroy you,” Lucas said.
The horse’s lips moved. “How?” it taunted him.
Before Lucas could speak, Louisa said, “It’s getting stronger. Very much stronger.”
“How?” Tracy asked.
“I don’t know,” the woman admitted. “But I can sense that it is.”
“It’s feeding off our minds and other human minds,” the girl’s voice came from behind the group.
They turned to look at Jackie.
“It’s what?” Tracy asked.
“Feeding off human minds,” the girl repeated. “Randolph told me all about it. I can remember it now.”
“And Anna told me,” Johnny said. “We couldn’t leave now if we tried.”
“You want to explain that last bit, son?” Lucas asked the boy.
“I can’t,” the boy said. He looked at his sister. “Can you?”
“No,” she said. “But I know that from the moment we entered this house, we were unable to leave even if we had tried.”
“How would it have stopped us?” Lucas asked. “I mean—”
The horse’s laughter stopped his question.
Lucas again glanced up at the evilly grinning hobbyhorse. He spun around to face his friends and family. “Pack,” he said tersely. “Pack it up. We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“Yes, yes!” the rocking horse cried. “Let’s all pack! Pack, pack, pack.”
Then it rocked and laughed and rocked and laughed.
Panic struck them all. They collided with one another in the rush to get to their rooms and pack and get out.
They jerked out overnight bags and suitcases and boxes. They tossed the suitcases on the bed. The suitcase lids slammed shut and could not be opened. Keys broke off in the locks.
The rocking horse laughed and squeaked and rocked and yowled in glee.
Panic built in the people, and the more it grew the more infectious it became, until it finally reached nearly uncontrollable levels. They flung clothing on the bed. The clothing sailed from the bed to the floor to land in piles around the room. The suitcases leaped and jumped on the beds, falling and crashing to the floor.
The rocking horse rocked faster and faster, its laughter howling throughout the house. It whinnied and hooted insanely.
Dresser mirrors suddenly cracked and splintered. Dresser drawers opened and banged shut. Carpets rippled like oceans, causing the people to grab at bedposts for security. Doors in the mansion slammed shut and could not be opened. Beds and dressers were moved, dancing dangerously around the rooms. Clothes hangers became lethal weapons as they were violently ripped from rods and sent hurling about the rooms.
“Enough!” Lucas shouted, his voice rising above the panicked clamor.
The strange movements of inanimate objects ceased. The people froze in their places in the littered rooms.
Lucas went to his bedroom door and tried the frozen doorknob. It turned easily in his hand. Taking a deep breath, Lucas slowly opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
“And now? . . .” the whispered voice drifted to him.
“We’re staying,” Lucas said softly.
“But of course.”
Lucas walked to the stairwell and looked up toward the landing.
The rocking horse was gone.
Sitting on the floor in Jackie’s room, Johnny took his sister’s hand in his as the sound they had both been hearing since first entering the mansion breathed again.
“I’m sure now,” Jackie said. “Are you?”
“Yes. But I wish Anna would come back and tell me what to do.”
“Anna and Randolph will contact us,” his sister assured him. I hope, she thought.
* * *
Sunday dawned peacefully, the violence of the storm having blown on eastward, leaving the land behind it sparkling clean, the moisture washing the earth. The greenery lay fresh and vibrant under the breaking sun.
Those in the house slept on, mentally exhausted from the past night’s ordeal. Since Lucas had announced his intention to stay, there had been no more incidents caused by the rocking horse.
Tracy was the first out of bed. Quietly, she showered, dressed in jeans, blouse, and tennis shoes, and walked to the kitchen. She made toast and coffee, and took the tray outside to the veranda just off the kitchen area. She sat in a rocking chair and looked out over the quiet estate grounds. Everything looked so peaceful. Baby stuck her head around the corner of the house and Tracy whistled softly. The mastiff came to her side and lay down with a soft wuff of air.
They had straightened up the bedrooms as best they could before falling exhausted on the beds. All had slept hard and, speaking for herself, dreamlessly. Now, as she looked out over the fresh and green calmness, it was difficult for the woman to believe that what had happened the previous night had really occurred.
But she knew it had.
And it began to sink into her mind that they were trapped.
They couldn’t leave.
Perhaps they could sneak away?
But she knew they couldn’t.
It was all so . . . so incredible.
She had to somehow warn her friends in New York not to come down for their planned visit. That thought almost caused her to break out in hysterical laughter. How to warn them? What to tell them?
Should she tell them the house is haunted? Possessed? By what? A rocking horse?
They would have her committed in the nearest funny farm.
Trapped.
And Jackie and Johnny . . . they seemed to be taking all this so calmly. Frightened, yes; but with a certain, a certain . . . knowing quality about them both.
How much did they know they were not telling? That they couldn’t remember? And why, why, was all this happening to her family? Why?
Questions without answers.
Her rocking chair began rocking of its own volition. Tracy tried to rise from the chair. She could not; some invisible force held her in place. The coffee mug fell from suddenly numb fingers, to shatter on the deck. She felt her mind begin to fragment. Memories seemed to spring forth with vivid clarity, but yet all of them were jumbled. She was conscious of Baby looking at her strangely. The chair began rocking faster and faster. Tracy tried to scream, but no sound could push past her lips. Then the jumbled memories became as one. The memories of her friend’s father violating her returned in exact detail, as if it had occurred only yesterday.
She began weeping silently.
Faster and faster the chair rocked, becoming a blur on the porch. Those young men returned to her mind. The assault. The humiliation. The secret she had never told.
The rocking chair slowed, slowed, then stopped. Her mind began to clear. She looked around her. Saw the shattered coffee mug, the liquid staining the veranda floor. She felt weak, drained, exhausted . . . and helpless.
She half slid, half fell from the rocking chair. She put her head against the bannister. On her knees on the damp, rain-washed deck of the veranda, she tried to think of some prayer, some supplication to a higher power, some way of conveying her wishes to be free of this awful place. Some message of hope for help.
Her mind drew a blank.
She could think of nothing. It was as if all former traces of God and His help were forbidden from entering or leaving her mind.
“It’s not fair!” she whispered. “I want to ask for help. Please!”
Nothing.
Then the awful thought came to her: were they alone in this? Did they have to fight this by themselves. Had He abandoned them? Why? Why?
She looked up, tears streaming from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, misting her vision. She saw someone walking toward her, from out of the woods. No, not walking. Gliding, she first thought. No, not gliding. More a lurching type of movement. Not fluid at all. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The man lurching toward her was naked from the waist down. And he was filthy. As she recognized the shape, she tried to scream. No sound would come from her throat. The . . . thing drew closer. Closer. It opened its arms and held out its dirty hands, beckoning to her.
“Help,” the apparition said, breath from its mouth fouling the air. “Help.”
Tracy shook her head. Scurried away. Her back hit the wall. Baby was on her feet, snarling horribly at the sight.
“Help me!” Ira said.
He reached through the railing and tried to touch her.
Tracy fainted.
* * *
“Easy, honey,” Lucas’s voice drifted through the fog in her brain. “Easy, now. It’s gonna be all right.”
“What happened, Tracy?” Kyle said.
“Ira,” she managed to croak. “Rocking chair. It rocked faster and faster. I couldn’t get out of the chair. Memories came to me. Awful. Then Ira came lurching out of the woods. He kept saying ‘help.’ He tried to touch me.”
“What kind of awful memories?” Lucas asked.
She refused to answer.
Lucas and Kyle looked at each other, then shifted their eyes to the staggering, wavering line of bare footprints in the wet grass.
“Jesus!” Kyle said.
“Something is very wrong here,” Louisa said.
The men looked at her. “What do you mean?” Lucas asked.
The woman’s face held an expression of alarm. She clutched at her throat. “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand my feelings. My . . . I’ve never experienced anything like this. I can’t explain it. It’s as if my ability to convey thoughts into words is somehow blocked.”
“The same thing happened to me,” Tracy said, getting to her feet. “I tried to pray, but found I couldn’t.”
“What if we all just ran off,” Kyle said. “I’m no coward, God knows that, but I don’t know how to fight this thing.”
“Yes,” the voice came to them. “Try to run. Try to run. I won’t try to stop you. I promise. Tell all your friends you are afraid of a wooden hobbyhorse. Tell them the house is filled with evil spirits. Booooo!”
From inside the house, from its place on the landing, the rocking horse began laughing. Its laughter was taunting, ugly, evil, mad, nasty. It laughed and laughed.
And rocked.