Death of a Pumpkin Carver (9 page)

“Norman Cross . . . the author?” Hayley asked, looking up from her desktop computer at Bruce Linney, who hovered over her desk, smirking, rather pleased with himself.

“Yes. I did some digging and it turns out Otis Pearson's number-one moonshine client is the reclusive Master of Horror himself,” Bruce said.

Norman Cross was a fan of Otis's moonshine?

“And Otis made a delivery to Cross's mansion the same night he was found in the cemetery?” Hayley asked.

“Yes. So Cross may have been the last person to see Otis alive.”

“Good job, Bruce.”

“I finally seem to be earning my stripes back as a relevant investigative journalist. It's been a while.”

“It's like riding a bike. You never really forget how to do it,” Hayley said, going back to her computer to put the final touches on tomorrow's column.

She heard Bruce quietly chuckling to himself.

“What's so amusing?”

He snapped to attention, surprised she caught him in a moment of reverie.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You're laughing. I'm just curious what you're thinking about.”

“Nothing,” Bruce said, trying to brush it off.

Hayley decided to press him. “Come on. Tell me.”

Bruce seemed to be debating with himself on how to respond, but then he just shrugged and said, “It's just nice seeing you impressed.”

“Impressed?”

“For years whenever you looked at me, I could see your irritation or exasperation or even boredom, and I kind of eventually got used to it, but today, for the first time, you actually seem impressed.”

“That's because your skills as a reporter impressed me.”

“Right. And that's why I'm happy. It feels good.”

Hayley was certainly not used to Bruce being so open and honest with her.

Usually he would go to great lengths to make himself look self-assured and confident and unfazed by her sometimes critical opinion of ninety percent of his words and deeds.

But lately they had established a more friendly rapport.

And she liked it.

“I'm going to go question Mr. Cross about Otis Pearson at his house,” Bruce said. “Care to join me?”

Norman Cross resided in a hilltop mansion, very old and weathered and spooky.

The perfect home base for the Master of Horror.

The kind of house you would probably find the
Scooby Doo
gang poking around in for clues.

Bats flying around.

Creepy noises.

Faint haunting screams in the distance.

Okay, so most of that was imagined but it still was old and gothic and ominous after dark.

“So what do you say?” Bruce asked.

“Why not?” Hayley said, shutting down her computer and grabbing her bag from underneath the desk.

“See? I told you we make a great team!”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay, Bruce?”

“Got it.”

When Hayley walked up the creaky steps onto the porch of Norman Cross's mansion with its rotted wood and peeling paint, she felt a shiver down her spine.

Bruce was hovering next to her, looking around, a little weirded out by their eerie surroundings.

This was exactly the effect Norman Cross was going for when visitors came calling.

When Hayley pressed the doorbell, she hardly expected creepy organ music right out of
The Addams Family
, but then again she had seen Cross many times in TV interviews, and he seemed to relish his role of eccentric author with a love of the macabre, the scare maestro of Mount Desert Island.

With thirty-four best sellers, he could afford a face-lift on his dilapidated three-story house, but a fresh coat of paint and a new roof along with some sensible landscaping just might hurt the brand he had worked so hard to build. Better to leave his home in a state of disarray in order to frighten passersby, his spooky reputation fully intact.

A young man opened the door and greeted them with a crooked smile. He was blond, muscular, in his mid-twenties, good-looking in an offbeat sort of way, his longish hair almost covering his piercing green eyes. “Hello, I'm Shane Hardy, Mr. Cross's writing assistant.”

Bruce introduced himself and Hayley, and then Shane ushered them inside.

“Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, hot chocolate, lemonade? Perhaps something stronger?” Shane said, winking conspiratorially.

“No, thank you,” Hayley answered for both of them.

Bruce frowned.

He was a big fan of day drinking.

“We just need a few minutes of Mr. Cross's time,” Bruce said.

“Yes, of course. Let me go up and tell him you're here. He's working in his office,” Shane said, pulling some strands of his long blond hair out of his face and then bounding up the grand staircase.

Bruce and Hayley look around.

There were a lot of framed book covers of Norman Cross's past work hanging on the walls.

“I remember reading that one in high school,” Hayley said, pointing to one cover.

“
Blades
? What was it about?”

“A possessed lawn mower.”

“Are you serious? I was thinking it might be about a demented ice skater.”

“Nope. Lawn mower. It scared the daylights out of me. I couldn't sleep for a week. Let alone go out in our backyard or even touch any of my father's gardening tools.”

“I was a little more high-minded in my literary pursuits,” Bruce scoffed.

“I've seen what you read, Bruce. James Patterson isn't exactly Tolstoy!”

Hayley continued down the line of book covers and pointed to one. “
Feline Fury
. . . I loved that one!”

“Let me guess. Possessed cat?”

“Yes. I recently reread it and I swear it could be Blueberry's biography.”

Bruce snickered and then pointed at another framed cover. “
Hell Seed
?”

“Possessed baby. That one cost me a lot of money because I stopped babysitting after reading that one my sophomore year of high school.”

“You've read every one, haven't you?”

“Some of them twice.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Shane said gloomily as he descended the stairs. “Unfortunately Mr. Cross is not feeling well so he cannot accept visitors today. He's been working very hard to meet his latest publishing deadline and the stress has sadly taken its toll.”

Bruce wasn't ready to give up. “I only have a few questions. I promise it won't take long.

Shane managed a sympathetic smile and then shook his head firmly. “I'm afraid not. Another time.”

Bruce was like a dog with a bone. He wasn't going to let it go. “Well, can we come back first thing in the morning? Maybe Mr. Cross will be feeling better by then.”

Shane's sympathy was slowly fading and he now appeared slightly annoyed with Bruce's pushy demeanor. “I would appreciate it if you called first instead of just showing up at the door. It would be a shame to come all this way if Mr. Cross is still feeling ill and unable to see you.”

“Thank you. You've been very helpful,” Hayley said, taking the hint. “Come on, Bruce, let's go.”

Hayley knew Bruce's reporter instincts had kicked in and he was questioning this kid's story.

Was Norman Cross really not feeling well?

Or was he purposely dodging having to talk to a couple of nosy newspaper journalists?

And why?

“Wait,” Shane said as they were halfway to the door. “I have something for you.”

They turned back around to see Shane cross to a desk by the bay window and open a rickety drawer that got stuck halfway. He yanked on the knob several times, swearing to himself, before it was finally open enough for him to get what he was after.

He breezed back over to them and handed them two printed tickets.

“What are these?” Bruce asked, not at all happy about being turned away when he was trying to investigate a story.

“I hate the idea of you coming all the way here for nothing so I thought these might help make it up to you.”

“What are they?” Bruce asked.

“Two free passes to the Cross House of Horrors.”

The Cross House of Horrors was an annual Halloween tradition started by Norman Cross, who thought it would be fun to transform the abandoned house he owned next door to his mansion into a spooky fright fest complete with moaning ghosts, sticky spider webs, spine-chilling screams, and a host of other carefully orchestrated scary surprises. He even made a habit of hiring local actors from the community theater and high school drama club to dress up as haunting ghouls and murderous maniacs and jump out at you when you least expected.

Every kid in town couldn't wait to go every year during the first week of October when it opened.

Gemma and Dustin had been countless times with their friends.

Hayley had gone once during high school with Mona and Liddy but was so traumatized by the experience she vowed never to go back.

And she didn't.

Once Hayley and Bruce stepped back outside on the porch, Shane slammed the door behind them with a whoosh, obviously grateful to finally be rid of them.

Bruce stared at the two tickets in his hand.

“Don't be frustrated, Bruce. We'll keep checking back in until he's well enough to see us.”

“It's not that. I . . .”

“What is it?”

“I've just always wanted to go to the Cross House of Horrors.”

“Are you telling me you've
never
gone? Not even when you were a kid?”

“No. My parents never allowed me to go because I had a very weak stomach and they didn't want me throwing up on everybody when I got scared.”

Hayley stifled a laugh. “That's perfectly understandable.”

“Don't make fun of me,” Bruce warned.

“Never. Never,” Hayley said, biting the side of her mouth hard, hoping the concentrated pain would stop her from bursting out into hysterics.

“When I became an adult and could make my own decisions, I didn't think it was a cool thing to do anymore.”

“Well, once was enough for me.”

“I'd really like to check it off my bucket list.”

“Well, first of all, Bruce, the fact that visiting the Cross House of Horrors is actually on your bucket list is scary enough, but I really think you should go.”

“We have two free tickets. Don't you want to come with me?”

“Well, gosh, let me think about it . . . No! I barely survived the first time. I was never so scared in my life.”

“But you were a kid back then. Come on, you're all grown up now. What are you frightened of?”

“You mean besides my credit card bill? Nothing, I guess.”

“So come with me.”

“Only if you admit the reason you want me to come with you is because you're too scared to go alone!”

“I will freely admit that. Plus, if I do throw up, you can hold my head.”

Freddy Krueger lunged out of the shadows, grabbing Bruce by the shirtsleeve and causing him to scream like a frightened little girl.

Hayley would have erupted in laughter if not for the fact that Michael Meyers from the
Halloween
movies in that ghostly white mask with the eyes cut out was hovering over her right shoulder.

Bruce squeezed Hayley's hand so tight he cut off the circulation to her fingers. And then he nearly yanked her left arm out of the socket as he dragged her down a darkened hallway away from the cackling Freddy Krueger, who merrily chased behind them.

They rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with Pumpkinhead, who wielded a fake chainsaw.

Or at least Hayley hoped it was fake.

He was pulling on the cord and the deafening roar of the engine caused both her and Bruce to scream at the top of their lungs.

It took her a moment to realize the chainsaw wasn't real and the sound of it roaring to life was coming from a pair of speakers on the wall.

All of Bruce's false bravado about keeping Hayley safe as they entered past the Styrofoam tombstones planted along the gravel driveway outside leading up to the main door evaporated instantly the minute they actually stepped inside the house.

They struggled through thick, sticky cobwebs and then jumped as a pair of bony white hands grabbed at their legs and arms. They stomped their feet free, screaming, and made their way deeper inside the Cross House of Horrors.

Bruce continued dragging Hayley through the dark, dizzying maze past a dining room filled with carved-up dead bodies seated around the table and then through a parlor populated by a family of decapitated corpses.

A giant spider with red eyes and long, furry, crooked spider legs popped up from the floor with a bloodcurdling scream that did very little to drown out Bruce's own high-pitched squeals of terror.

The shock caused him to finally let go of Hayley's hand.

She shook it hard, trying to get the feeling back in her fingers.

Then Jason from the
Friday the 13th
movies, brandishing a sharp-edged razor, sprung out of a closet.

Bruce screamed bloody murder and grabbed Hayley, fastening her into an iron-tight embrace.

And he wouldn't let go.

“Bruce! Bruce! You're crushing me! I can't breathe!”

She finally managed to extricate herself from Bruce's grip.

“Look, you're disoriented. You keep leading us away from the exit. Now follow me. I think we can get out if we go this way,” Hayley screamed, taking charge.

“Just get us the hell out of here! I'm done!” Bruce wailed.

Hayley grabbed him by the shirtsleeve and led him back in the direction from where they had just come.

As they rounded the corner, they found themselves trapped in a pitch-black dead end. Pinhead with the tattooed scalp from the
Hellraiser
movies appeared behind Hayley and grabbed her around the waist lifting her off the floor.

Bruce just stood frozen in place as Hayley noticed the actor, a six-foot-two lumbering kid around college age who they cast to play Pinhead, was obviously enjoying his job a little too much because he was enthusiastically fondling her breasts as they grappled.

Hayley had to slap his hands away until he got a firm message and stopped trying to paw her.

That's when he pushed Hayley to the side and focused his attention on Bruce.

But poor Bruce had been through enough.

He just wanted out.

Spinning around, he tried hightailing it out of there but he slipped on something wet on the floor.

His legs flew out from under him and he landed hard on his back.

He was lying on the floor groaning as Pinhead stepped over him and trotted off to find some more unsuspecting victims.

Hayley scooted over and knelt down by his side. “Bruce, are you okay?”

“I'm all right. I don't think there's anything broken.”

As Hayley gingerly tried helping him to his feet, he howled in pain as he made an attempt to stand up. “My back! My back! I think I pulled a muscle or something . . .”

“Okay, take it easy. I'm going to get you out of here.”

Hayley put his right arm around her neck and slowly, carefully managed to get him standing on his feet, and then led him through the darkened maze while ignoring the screams and ghostly apparitions projected onto the walls, and swatting away any live actors who tried to slow down their progress with their various surprise scare tactics.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hayley spotted a red exit sign, and after dragging Bruce over to the door, she used her shoulder to shove it open. Then she escorted Bruce down a flight of wooden stairs and out a back door that led to the rear of the abandoned property.

Bruce hobbled over to a tree and leaned against it, moaning and wincing in pain.

“I'm so embarrassed . . .” Bruce whispered.

“Don't be. I was just as scared as you. It's no big deal. How's your back?”

“I think I better go see a doctor. I'm in agony.”

“What did you slip on?”

“I don't know. There was something wet and gooey on the floor.”

He lifted his foot and examined the sole of his shoe.

It was covered with a green, gelatinous substance.

Hayley raced over and scooped some off his shoe with her finger to examine it more closely.

“This is the same stuff we saw on the bottom of Otis's boot when they found his body in the cemetery,” Hayley gasped.

“Which means?”

“Which means he was here before he was killed.”