Darkness Falls (10 page)

William sat fuming on the ground. He wanted to get his tooth back, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to confront George physically. George was bigger and faster and nastier.

“Hey, I got an idea.” George knelt down next to where William had fallen. “How about you let me tell you all about the Tooth Fairy? Then you’ll
really
have something to mess your britches over.”

William sat there while George told the story of the fire. William knew all this—it was only a year ago, and he’d been hearing all about it.

Not that anyone really knew anything, except that there was a fire.

“The fire brigade saved the house, but she never came out.”

George had a huge grin on his face as he finished the story. William, who had at this point gotten up, just wanted him to be finished so he’d go away to that stupid fair and leave him alone with Emma.

But then Emma asked, “How badly was she burned?”

“Aw, you two are nuts goin’ up there. You know what I heard? After the fire, the old bat lost her mind. She got all scarred and burned. I heard she started covering up her face so no one would have to see her. So much for your pretty Tooth Fairy, huh?”

William didn’t care about any of this. He just wanted George to go away.

“Awwww,” George said with a vicious grin, holding out the tooth. “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, Willie. I don’t want your slimy tooth anyways. Besides, the way I hear it, it’s Matilda who comes looking for teeth nowadays, and I don’t need that.”

This William already knew. After the fire, nobody went to Lighthouse Point anymore. It was a small miracle that the fire brigade had managed to salvage the house.

And few people had seen the Tooth Fairy. When they did, it was a glimpse only.

But the children still left their teeth for her to take. She stopped baking—probably because of the fire—so she started leaving coins instead. She always left them at night. All anyone saw of her were quick flashes in the weak light of the street lanterns.

“So you’re all just wasting your time. You’re not gonna get anything.”

Emma stuck her finger into George’s face. “You leave us be, George! No one asked you along, and William’s not scared of your stories.”

George hadn’t lost the grin. William wished he had the courage to wipe that grin off his face.

“Sure he is. But he won’t show it. Not in front of
you,
anyways. Go on, Willie,” he said, shooting William a look, “tell her how much you like her.”

“Shut up, George!” William hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“Ah, I’m leaving anyway. I’ll give you and your belle some time alone.”

With that, George turned and started walking away, laughing.

William was glad to see the back of him, but he had the feeling he was going to hear that laugh for the next few hours in his head, at least.

“Belle?”

Turning, William saw Emma giving him a strange look. “Is this true, William? I—I had no idea you felt this—”

“I don’t feel anything!” William grabbed his tooth off the ground where George had dropped it. “And I’m not doing this to impress you,” he lied. “Let’s go.”

John Ames angrily snapped the bread apart as he stared with annoyance at the empty chair at the table perpendicular to him.

His wife, Martha, sat across from him, staring down at her own plate. No doubt, she thought that nothing was wrong. She always did. It drove him mad.

But not nearly as mad as that damn boy did.

Not that he was atypical or anything. Children today knew nothing about discipline. All those children going up to that—that
woman’s
house and taking bad food from her, and her taking their teeth. It was morbid, and it wasn’t right. That sort of thing would never have been tolerated when John was a boy, and it appalled him that the children today were being allowed to get away with it. Some were even encouraging it.

John stared at the empty chair again.

“That boy is just pushing for a taste of my belt,” he muttered. “I break my back to put food on this table, and he’ll eat it when I say so.”

“I ain’t seen William since this morning, but he swore he’d be home in time for supper,” Martha said timidly. “I’m worried, John.”

John snorted. “Way you coddle him, I ain’t surprised.”

He waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing.

Losing patience, he said, “Spit it out, woman. You’re worried, you said. Why?”

“Oh, John—he lost a tooth yesterday.”

“Is that right, now?” John shook his head. Damn their eyes, he was not going to let that devil woman bewitch
his
boy.

Dinner came and went with no sign of William. It was starting to get dark.

As Martha started cleaning, John grabbed his coat.

“Where are you goin’?” Martha asked, sounding worried.

“Out,” was all he said. Martha was worried enough about William.

Of course, it was precisely because of William that he was going out in the first place.

The tavern was on the edge of the forest and not far from Lighthouse Point. Many of the men from the town were there, as John had hoped. Some, he was worried, were at that ridiculous fair outside of town—full of idolators, that was—but he was grateful to see that everyone he saw was a good Christian man, and he didn’t notice anyone missing who should have been there.

The first thing he did was ask if anyone had seen his boy. Joseph Montgomery said he thought he’d seen him with Emma Jackson earlier by Malachy’s.

“Well, Joseph,” John said, clutching a flagon of ale, “you’re right about the only one who
has
seen ’im, and my wife is worried something terrible. He’s not one to usually run off on his own—I raised him better than
that
—but Martha did say he lost a tooth yesterday.”

A knowing look passed among the men in the bar. These were, as John had thought, good Christian men. They didn’t like Matilda Dixon and her ilk. They had tolerated her peculiar behavior because she was married to a good man, but with Sonny Dixon’s passing, the wife had just gotten crazier. John Ames didn’t fancy having crazy people around his boy, and he knew many men in the town felt the same.

“If he’s done gone where I think he’s gone, well, then I think it’s time we got ourselves together and put some things to
rest
around here.”

John smiled at the rumblings throughout the tavern. “Yeah.” “Time we took care of that woman once and for all.” “Never liked the way she stayed in that house after the fire. Ain’t natural.” “Giving the kids money for teeth is just sick.” “We should take care of her.”

The men started to gather up equipment they’d need. One got a rope—after all, it might be necessary to bind her to bring her out of that damn house—and Duncan Williams, the lighthouse keeper, with help from two others, retrieved torches so they could see, since it was now dark.

Within an hour, twenty men, and even a few women, were gathered in front of the tavern. The torches were lit, casting an eerie, flickering light on the assembled multitude.

One of the men said, “I believe we should make sure that we know where they’ve gone. If they haven’t gone to Mrs. Dixon’s, we shouldn’t punish the poor woman. She’s been through enough.”

John had to bite back a reply when he saw who it was: Reverend Pitman. Out of respect for his collar, John instead said, “Our priority is to find the children, of course, Reverend. But my son did lose a tooth yesterday, and you know how the Jackson girl likes to fill his head with stories about the Dixon woman.”

Jacques Delacroix then brought his boy forward. “Go on now,
mon fils,”
the large Frenchman said to little George. “Tell us what you saw. Don’ be afraid, you.”

John remembered that George had sometimes bullied Wilham. Typically, instead of standing up to the boy—instead of behaving like a man—William would always come blubbering to Martha. Once he even blubbered to John. John had told him to stand up for himself.

George stood in the middle of the crowd, having removed his hat. Speaking respectfully, he said, “Yes, sir. I saw them both earlier. They were on their way up to the lighthouse. And Matilda’s. I—I told them not to go, but they wouldn’t listen to me.”

John snarled. “That tears it, then.”

“Indeed,” Pitman said, heaving a sigh. “This sort of thing cannot be tolerated. Her behavior has always been extreme, even before Captain Dixon’s passing.”

“Let’s go!” John cried, not wanting to wait any longer. Who knew what horrible things that madwoman had done to William? A weak boy such as that wouldn’t last very long under the satanic ministrations of such a creature.

It took only a few minutes for them to reach the lighthouse and the charred, burned-out husk that was all that was left of the house that Captain Dixon had had built years ago.

John had heard that Matilda Dixon had taken to wearing a mask this past year to hide her face. He didn’t know whether or not this was true, nor did he much care, though if it were true, it showed even more that something needed to be done about her. Preferably something permanent.

When they arrived, gathered around the entrance to the blackened structure, John could hear the waves lapping against the rocks on which the lighthouse was built.

“Matilda Dixon!” he screamed, loudly enough for her to hear. “Our children ought to be able to live in safety and peace! Now, come out so we can give them some!”

John saw movement near one of the front windows. One of the curtains moved aside, and John caught a glimpse of blond hair.

A small voice came from the window: “Don’t peek.”

Then the curtain closed again.

Someone threw a rock at that window, and the figure dropped to the floor.

Having had more than enough of that, John led the crowd forward to the house. She had the chance to come out willingly and didn’t take it. It was time to end this.

They found her clambering to her feet, grabbing for something on one of the shelves. Delacroix and Colin O’Donnel snatched at her legs, and she fell to the ground.

As she did so, a green urn fell from the shelf and shattered on the floor.

Hundreds of teeth cascaded out. All of them were fairly small, some brown and pitted, others still pristine and white.

It was one of the most revolting sights John Ames had ever seen.

A whimpering sound came from the woman who was now facedown on the floor. “Don’t peek,” she muttered.

Pitman stared in horror. “Sweet Mary, Mother o’ God.”

John snorted. “God ain’t got nothing to do with this, Reverend. Bring her out!”

Delacroix and O’Donnel turned her over.

Sure enough, she was wearing a mask. It was a porcelain one that covered her entire face, except for her blue eyes.

The madwoman put up no fight, simply muttering, seemingly to herself.

“Look at this!” Hiram Jackson came running out of the house, holding something up. It looked like some kind of scarf. “This is Emma’s! My little girl’s!” Hiram had a look of pure fury on his face. “What’ve you done to my girl, you witch?”

All Matilda Dixon could say in her defense was, “Don’t—don’t peek.”

Delacroix grabbed one of the ropes and tied it into a hangman’s noose, then threw it over a low-hanging branch.

Originally, John had had no intention of committing violence to Matilda Dixon, but he realized that was foolish. Corrupting children was one thing, but to do what she had done . . .

John almost shuddered.

Delacroix and O’Donnel got the noose around the madwoman’s neck. She was still muttering, “Don’t peek, don’t peek . . .”

O’Donnel yanked the other end of the rope, pulling the noose taut around the woman’s neck, which, if nothing else, stopped her from saying “Don’t peek” over and over again.

Even as they did this, Duncan Williams ran over to the lighthouse. John wasn’t sure why.

The reverend walked up to her. “Matilda Dixon, you have been condemned for crimes committed against the children of this town.” Pitman then reached out and removed the porcelain mask.

A gasp came from the preacher’s throat, followed by a like noise from many in the crowd.

John was not among them. Even as Pitman got down on his knees and retched at the sight of what was left of Matilda Dixon’s face, John Ames stared straight onward.

“God damn it, the whole
town’s
gone soft.”

John walked up to her. There were burns all over her face, half her lips weren’t even there anymore, her nose was withered, and her forehead was a crackling mass of red flesh.

The only thing about her that was normal was her blond hair. That and her blue eyes, which stared at John Ames with a look of—

What?

He couldn’t figure it out. He expected her to be defiant or scared, but she just looked odd.

Then he went over to the other side of the rope and pulled it all the way down, tying it to a root.

Matilda Dixon breathed her last only a few seconds later.

John turned to the crowd. “This witch whore ain’t fit for no place but
hell!”

“Ames! Stand you back!”

The voice was that of Williams, calling from the top of the lighthouse.

Looking up, John saw that the lighthouse keeper had adjusted the giant mirror and the lamp in the lighthouse so that it would shine directly on the corpse of the so-called Tooth Fairy.

Understanding what the man intended to do, John smiled and stepped back. Meanwhile, Delacroix and O’Donnel guided Reverend Pitman, still dry-heaving, away.

Light shone down on Matilda Dixon, probably the first time true light had shone on her since the fire. Unlike the dark, foreboding, uneven light from the torches, this was a blinding, pure glare.

It was the light of God.

It was the light of righteousness.

And it burned in His glory.

Her dress caught fire first. Then her skin started to blacken. The rope also ignited, and soon the corpse fell to the ground.

A huge cheer went up from the crowd. John led it.

And then, for some reason, the cheers started to die, even as the corpse of Matilda Dixon was now a tiny inferno. John didn’t understand why, until a small voice said, “Papa?”

John Ames whirled around at the familiar voice.