IT KNOWS YOUR fear.
That’s what Mrs. Rapaport said to me in the other Windale. And it’s the warning that Ricky Montoya wrote on the label of his tape. This thing, the Dagger Hill monster, whatever it is. Ricky said it knows what we’re afraid of, knows how to use it against us. But this whole time, I’ve only really been afraid of one thing: losing Kimberly. What’s going to happen now that I have to face that fear? Am I giving the anomaly exactly what it wants? Am I feeding it?
I pull Chief Albright’s cruiser into the Widow’s Lodge parking lot. The buckled slab of asphalt jostles the car around, and I can hear weeds scraping along the undercarriage. The dark mass of rotted, collapsed wood is behind me, taking up all the space in the rearview mirror. The old motel is earning its nickname tonight—even from inside the car, I can hear the wind whistling through the exposed eaves. The part that’s freaking me out, though, is that there isn’t any wind. Ahead of me, across the street, a tree stands perfectly still. Not a single leaf is twitching. It’s like my nightmare all over again.
With a badly shaking hand, I open the door. The keys are still in the ignition, the engine is still running. If I have to make a quick getaway, I don’t want the engine to die on me the way it did back at the Triangle. I leave the driver’s door ajar, and I don’t look directly at the Banshee Palace as I walk around the front of the car and pull the passenger door open, too. This way, all we have to do is get the hell out of there, hop in, and go.
We.
In my head, not only is Kimberly still alive, but she’s also in good enough health that she can just jog out of the motel along with me. I can’t help but laugh at myself. I feel so stupid and afraid and pathetic. How did I ever let any person, human or not, have that kind of power over me? To make me feel so small, so closed in … It isn’t fair.
I set my shoulders, lift my head. Room 6 is up there on the second floor, where it’s always been. The door is shut, the brass number 6 slightly askew. Dark burgundy curtains hang in the window, pocked with holes that reveal only black behind them.
This is it.
I take a step forward … And when my foot comes down, something crunches beneath it. I look down and scream, pull away, hop up onto the trunk of the cruiser and pull my legs up with me. The bottom of my shoe still has the crushed body of a thousand-legger glued to it.
The parking lot, from corner to corner, is covered in bugs.