The Nightmare People

It was fear, that was why she was sweating. She hoped that her terror wasn’t obvious in her voice when she told all these outrageous lies.

“She’s bluffing!” the one in the tub called. It started struggling harder, and one piece of tape came loose.

She kicked at the side of the tub. “Hush up, you!” she snapped.

The knob rattled, and then someone outside was leaning on the door; she could see it bending, giving slightly.

The bolt held. She bit her lower lip and looked around.

The only sharp object in the medicine cabinet was her little disposable plastic safety razor; that wouldn’t be any use. And there wasn’t anything sharp at all in the cabinet under the sink.

That left the vanity drawer, and that was where the old manicure set was.

The scissors and clippers weren’t any use, but the nail file might do. She pulled it out and looked at it.

Using a four-inch nail file to cut the heart out of a live, struggling monster didn’t seem possible. She put the file down on the edge of the sink.

Something thumped heavily against the door.

“Go away!” she said, panicky, “Or you’re next!”

“Joe,” something called, “What’s happening in there?”

“She tripped me up and tied me up in something!” the one in the tub bellowed.

“Shut up!” A

The thing was flopping like a fish, banging its feet against the bottom of the tub; on an upswing she caught hold of one.

Since the feet were bound tightly together at the ankles, wired together, catching one foot meant catching both.

The thing didn’t want its feet caught, and it took all her strength to hold them with one hand while she used the other to pry off its shoes – badly-worn te

“No reason I have to let you bang up my bathtub,” she muttered, more to herself than to her captive.

Another thump sounded as something rammed up against the bathroom door. A

When she had one shoe off and the other loose, the thing thrashed about, and she lost her hold; the feet slammed into one side of the tub, and the other shoe fell free.

The creature wore white sweatsocks – but they weren’t sweaty at all, despite the heat outside.

Something rammed into the door again as she tried to recapture the swinging feet, and she heard wood crack.

“Darn it!” she said.

Then she had them, had both feet, and in a moment of bravery, or maybe just insanity, she yanked down one sock, bent over, and bit down hard on the creature’s right achilles tendon.

It screamed, an ear-splitting squeal that echoed from the tiled walls. A

The pair outside the door fell silent. The banging against the door stopped.

A

Her captive shrieked in agony.

She kept biting, and chewing, until she had removed most of the skin from one ankle – she spat the bits down the drain as she went, and ignored the thing’s wails.

Then she peeled off the sock and the skin from its right foot, peeled the skin away as if she were peeling an orange, and looked at the stringy grey flesh beneath.

There were no true toes, just curving black claws, shaped to hold the skin out in its original form. There was no bone in the heel, no true tendon at the back of the ankle, just stuff that was something like clay, something like rubber.

She retrieved the nail file from the sink and rammed it into the thing’s arch.

It shouted, “Let me out of here, bitch!” It sounded frightened, angry – but no longer in pain.

Biting had hurt it; stabbing had not. Just as Ed Smith had said. She nodded.

Then she got up and stood at the door, listening.

The hallway outside was completely silent.

Carefully, slowly, she drew the bolt and opened the door a crack and peered out.

The hallway was empty.

She stepped out, checked carefully both ways, and made her way, step by step, downstairs. The front door was open, and she saw no sign of the other two nightmare people.

She closed the door and hurried to the kitchen, where she fished a good, strong carving knife from the drawer by the stove.

Thus armed, she searched the whole house, top to bottom.

They were really gone.

Maybe her bluffing about booby-traps and razors had helped, but it had been the sound of their companion’s pain that had sent them fleeing. Cowards!

Well, she told herself, they were gone now.

Except, of course, for the one that had ruined her shower curtain, the one that lay squirming in the bathtub, shouting obscenities at her.

She had that one.

She had wanted a chance at one of them, had wanted her share of revenge. Providing a base for the men, cooking their meals and keeping watch by day, that was all very well, and undoubtedly helped the war effort, so to speak, but she had wanted a chance at one herself, all the same.

She had hoped for the one that had gotten Kate, but this one would do.

Knife in hand, she went back into the bathroom.

Chapter Twelve:

After the Fire

1.

When Khalil turned off the engine they both heard it – something was wailing.

The two men looked at each other. Then Smith opened his door.

“Come on,” he said, swinging his crutches out.

Khalil climbed out, and led the way up to the porch. They moved slowly, step by step, sweeping the lawn and shrubbery with Smith’s flashlight.

Everything seemed peaceful – except that inside the house something was screaming and weeping wildly.

And all the downstairs lights were on, even though it was well after one in the morning.

The noise didn’t seem human – but then, it probably wasn’t.

“Damn, I wonder what the neighbors think!” Smith muttered, as he awkwardly tried to mount the porch steps. He had had little practice using crutches; it had been a long, long time since he’d broken any bones, and he had never before done anything like burning his foot this badly.

Khalil rang the bell.

“Who is it?” A

“It is Khalil Saad,” he answered.

“Oh,” A

Up until now, the standard procedure had been to open the front door and draw a few drops of blood there. Nobody had thought it was necessary to keep the door closed and use the window.

That didn’t mean it was a bad idea. Khalil looked at Smith, who tried to shrug and almost fell. They both made their way to the window.

Smith leaned on one crutch while he fished out his switchblade, then jabbed his left little finger and held it up where A

A

Khalil took the knife from Smith and pricked his own finger, reopening a wound he had already used several times.

A

A moment later the door opened, admitting them.

As they stepped inside A

“Mrs. McGowan,” he said, “If you would please?” He held out the switchblade.

A