Darkness Demands Part 9

"Go get the ball, Paul, please," John called.

John walked down toward the stream to check that Paul would make an effort to retrieve the ball. Paul ran toward the stream in a slow lope. By the time he was even halfway there the ball rolled down the bank into the stream.

"Dad!" Elizabeth stamped her foot. "Dad! It's gone in the water."

"Don't worry, hon. Paul will get it."

"He'll get it off me if it's ruined."

The current was faster than Paul antic.i.p.ated. It whisked the yellow moon ball away downhill to the house.

"Get it, you idiot," Elizabeth told him.

"I'm trying, I'm trying."

John watched Paul run after the ball as it bobbed downstream. If anything he and the two girls were enjoying the chase. All three now ran after the ball, shouting advice to each other on how best to rescue it.

"Get a stick!" Emm shouted.

"No, he can go in for it," Elizabeth countered. "He's not got his shoes on, so he's OK."

"I hope he falls in."

Elizabeth sang out with glee, "So do I."

John walked briskly along the stream, following them.

"Paul, you're going to be too late," Emm squealed.

"It's going to get swallowed up."

"I'm trying my best," Paul protested.

John watched as the yellow ball swung out on the current then back again, as if teasing the three into following. There the stream wasn't at all wide. In fact, at a pinch (and with a slight risk of crotch strain) John could span the stream by standing with one foot on either bank. Only as the channel narrowed the water's speed quickened. So, it didn't come as any real surprise to John that the ball moved even faster. In no time at all it approached the stone arch in the side of the house. There the millrace ran under the building before it would strike the blades of the waterwheel.

Elizabeth squealed "Paula geddittt!"

But he was too late; the ball plunged into the mouth of the tunnel. A second later it vanished into darkness beneath the house.

"Paul!" Both girls were outraged by his failure.

"It was too quick for me," he protested. "I couldn't keep up with it."

"You can buy me another one, Paul."

"Don't worry," John told them walking up. "The stream comes out at the other side of the house. We'll be able to find the ball there."

Emm shook her head. "That ball's gone forever now."

"You'll get it back, Liz." John smiled. "The stream runs under the house just for a few yards, that's all."

"No." Emm spoke with certainty, her eyes large and solemn looking. "The ball's gone forever now. Lost."

With an angry walk Elizabeth marched round the house to the other side. John followed along with Paul and Emm. The channel broadened again after the stream disgorged from the house, slowing the water right down to a gentle flow.

"I don't see it," Paul said.

"Neither do I," Elizabeth added bitterly. "My moon ball. They only had one left in the supermarket and now it's gone."

"Wait a minute," John suggested. "It might still be working its way through under the house."

All four stared at the archway where the waters tumbled out, after travelling the few yards of inky darkness beneath the house.

Val appeared. "Any joy?"

Paul shrugged.

Elizabeth scowled at the water then at Paul.

Emm said, "Lost."

John tried to sound optimistic. "Give it a little while. It might appear yet."

"It won't." Emm folded her arms. "I knew it wouldn't come out again."

"Why not?" Paul asked with a touch of irritation.

"Because," she said in a low voice, "Baby Bones has got it now."

Val raised a questioning eye at John.

"Baby Bones?"

John replied with a shrug that said Don't ask me.

"Did you hear that, stupid?" Elizabeth shot a savage look at Paul. "Baby Bones has got it, and he never gives anything back."

"Who the h.e.l.l's Baby Bones?"

Val shot him a withering look that was a pure clone of Elizabeth's. "Paul? Language."

"Paul, you can buy me another ball." With that Elizabeth marched away. Emm followed.

Val nodded toward the front door, mentioning to Paul that there was a sink full of dirty dishes. He accepted that he was in the doghouse and headed off to wash up. Meanwhile, John squatted at the edge of the stream so he could look into the black maw of the tunnel. From its depths he could hear the roar of the water as it ran whatever mysterious course it followed beneath the house. He shielded his eyes, stared harder, but there was nothing to see but complete and utter darkness.

CHAPTER 7.

1.

Stan Price stared out of the window. In his mind he was a boy again.

Yet he didn't ask himself why an old man's reflection stared back at him.

Although nighttime, the moon was bright enough to reveal the cemetery. Amid the trees, gravestones stood like a battalion of soldiers waiting for the order to attack. He tapped the window. His fingernails, longer than a woman's, but twisted, misshapen and a bloodless gray color, clicked against the gla.s.s. When he spoke his voice was hoa.r.s.e from the day' shouting. "Harrya Harry? It's Stan Price. Find Mr. Kellya tell him it's started again. Harry? Why don't you come and see me anymore?" He rapped the gla.s.s. "Harry. I want to talk to you. I'm frightened."

He stared out, his filmy blue eyes expectant, as if the answering call would come at any moment. Then, shaking his head, he went downstairs where his daughter and son-in-law sat watching television.

"Cynthia. Is it suppertime?"

"Oh, Dad. You've only just had your supper."

"I'm hungry."

Robert Gregory gave the old man a bright smile. "You can't be hungry again so soon."

"I am hungry. I haven't had anything to eat all day."

"Dad," Cynthia sighed. "Robert brought some sandwiches up to your room just twenty minutes ago."

"Have you polished them off already, Dad?" Robert beamed. "You must have hollow legs."

"But I feel like I-"

"Now, you get yourself off to bed, Dad." Robert then turned to his wife. "Right, I'm just popping down to the Swan for a swift one."

"All right, dear. I'll get Dad back to bed. Then I'm going to turn in, too. I'm shattered."

"You do that love." Turning on the hearty voice again, he said, "Good night, Dad."

"I-I just wondered if it was suppertime yet?"

"Suppertime's been and gone, Dad."

Cynthia looked uncertainly at the thin old man. "Maybe I should get him a slice of toast or something?"

Under his breath Robert said, "Best not." He rubbed his own stomach, imitating someone with indigestion. "Might keep him awake if he over does it. Get him off to bed." Then he boomed, "Sleep well, Dad."

As Robert Gregory left the house he pulled the carrier bag from under a bush. In it were sandwiches and a wedge of cake. When he reached the trash can at the end of the street he dropped in the bag, pushed it well down out of sight, dusted his hands, then strolled toward the pub lights that shone brightly across the village green.

2.

Mary Thorp had been sat on a chair for an hour. She wasn't crying. She didn't speak. Once she had looked at the framed photograph of the blonde haired child on the wall, then shuddered. That was all.

The policewoman a.s.signed to sit with her said gently, "Would you like a drink, Mary, or do you think you might like to sleep now?"

Mary Thorp shook her head.

The policewoman glanced at a clock. It bore the image of Homer Simpson's face. The comic image jarred with the grim atmosphere of the room. And not yet ten. It was going to be a long night.

In the kitchen sat a policeman. "Any joy?" he asked as the policewoman walked in.

"No. She's clamed up."

"I don't suppose it matters now we've got Sonny Jim in custody. Did you see what happened to the chocolate chip cookies?"

"Believe it or not, Keith, I've got other things on my mind. You'll want another coffee, I suppose?"

"Three sugars."

"Fill the kettle for me, will you?"

"My G.o.d, a poor cop's work is never done." He scratched his stomach. "You know, I bet it was that fat hog from forensics that took the last one. That's why he looked so d.a.m.n smug after he'd finished bagging up the kid. Christ, the pig must have an iron gut. Y'know, he had to use the kid's toy spade to sc.r.a.pe the brains off the window. They'd dried hard as concrete. He also said they found an eyeball in the kid's potty, but if you ask me-"

"Keith." The policewoman caught his eye. Mary Thorp stood in the kitchen doorway.

The policeman wiped a crumb from his chin. "Uh. I'll check if forensics have finished in the garage. Give me a call if you need me, Susan.

The policewoman glared at him. "I'll do that." Then she turned to Mary Thorp, who stood there somehow detached from the rest of the universe. "Mary, the coffee will be a minute yet. Can I get you anything to eat?" Pray G.o.d, did she hear that insensitive idiot's verbal diarrhea? she thought. But if Keith Spivey gets decked for unprofessional conduct I'll wind up hitting the deck with him.

Mary Thorp looked around the kitchen as if she didn't even know her own home. Then she fastened her eyes on the policewoman. They were strangely glittery. Oh G.o.d, here it comes-she'd heard Spivey's tactless drivel.

"Susan?"

"Yes, Mary?"

"They're going to cut him open, aren't they?"

"Mary, sit down, you-"

"They're going to cut my little boya"

"Don't think about that now." The policewoman's voice was soothing. "Look, you go-"