Final Reckonings (11 page)

Fear was Maitland's companion all that evening. He sat there, staring at the skull on the table, and shivered with repulsion.

Sir Fitzhugh was right, he knew it. There
was
a damnable influence issuing from the skull and the black brain within. It had caused Maitland to disregard the sensible warnings of his friend; it had caused Maitland to steal the skull itself from a dead man; it had caused him now to conceal himself in this lonely room.

He should call the authorities; he knew that. Better still, he should dispose of the skull. Give it away, throw it away, rid the earth of it forever. There was something puzzling about the cursed thing — something he didn't quite understand.

For, knowing these truths, he still desired to possess the skull of the Marquis de Sade. There was an evil enchantment here; the dormant baseness in every man's soul was aroused and responded to the loathsome lust which poured from the death's-head in waves.

He stared at the skull, shivered — yet knew he would not give it up; could not. Nor had he the strength to destroy it. Perhaps possession would lead him to madness in the end. The skull would incite others to unspeakable excesses.

Maitland pondered and brooded, seeking a solution in the impassive object that confronted him with the stolidity of death.

It grew late. Maitland drank wine and paced the floor. He was weary. Perhaps in the morning he could think matters through and reach a logical, sane, conclusion.

Yes, he was upset. Sir Fitzhugh's outlandish hints had disturbed him; the gruesome events of the late afternoon preyed on his nerves.

No sense in giving way to foolish fancies about the skull of the mad Marquis . . . better to rest.

Maitland flung himself on the bed. He reached out for the switch and extinguished the light. The moon's rays slithered through the window and sought out the skull on the table, bathing it in eerie luminescence. Maitland stared once more at the jaws that should grin and did not.

Then he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. In the morning he'd call Sir Fitzhugh, make a clean breast of things, and give the skull over to the authorities.

Its evil career — real or imaginary — would come to an end. So be it.

Maitland sank into slumber. Before he dozed off he tried to focus his attention on something . . . something puzzling ... an impression he'd received upon gazing at the body of the police dog in Marco's room. The way its fangs gleamed.

Yes. That was it. There had been no blood on the muzzle of the police dog. Strange. For the police dog had bitten Marco's throat. No blood — how could that be?

Well, that problem was best left for morning too. . . .

It seemed to Maitland that as he slept, he dreamed. In his dream he opened his eyes and blinked in the bright moonlight. He stared at the table-top and saw that the skull was no longer resting on its surface.

That was curious, too. No one had come into the room, or he would have been aroused.

If he had not been sure that he was dreaming, Maitland would have started up in terror when he saw the stream of moonlight on the floor—the stream of moonlight through which the skull was rolling.

It turned over and over again, its bony visage impassive as ever, and each revolution brought it closer to the bed.

Maitland's sleeping ears could almost hear the thump as the skull landed on the bare floor at the foot of the bed. Then began the grotesque progress so typical of night fantasies. The skull climbed the side of the bed!

Its teeth gripped the dangling corner of a bedsheet, and the death's-head literally whirled the sheet out and up, swinging it in an arc which landed the skull on the bed at Maitland's feet.

The illusion was so vivid he could feel the thud of its impact against the mattress. Tactile sensation continued, and Maitland felt the skull rolling along up the covers. It came up to his waist, then approached his chest.

Maitland saw the bony features in the moonlight, scarcely six inches away from his neck. He felt a cold weight resting on his throat. The skull was moving now.

Then he realized the grip of utter nightmare and struggled to awake before the dream continued.

A scream rose in his throat — but never issued from it. For Maitland's throat was seized by champing teeth — teeth that bit into his neck with all the power of a moving human jawbone.

The skull tore at Maitland's jugular in cruel haste. There was a gasp, a gurgle and then no sound at all.

After a time, the skull righted itself on Maitland's chest. Maitland's chest no longer heaved with breathing, and the skull rested there with a curious simulation of satisfied repose.

The moonlight shone on the death's-head to reveal one very curious circumstance. It was a trivial thing, yet somehow fitting under the circumstances.

Reposing on the chest of the man it had killed, the skull of the Marquis de Sade was no longer impassive. Instead, its bony features bore a definite, unmistakably
sadistic
grin.

The Bogeyman Will Get You

T
HE FIRST TIME
Nancy met Philip Ames he didn't even notice her. Of course you really couldn't blame him. After all, she was only fifteen—just a kid. But that was last year, and this time it was different.

Nancy's folks went back to Beaver Lake for the summer in June, and she could hardly wait to find out if Philip Ames still had his cottage down the road.

Hedy Schuster said he was up, all right. She said Mr. Ames lived at the cottage all year. Everybody knows how cold it gets at the lake in winter — practically out of this world. But Hedy Schuster knew, because she talked to Mr. Prentiss down at the store and he said so. That Prentiss was like an old woman. He had his nose in everybody's business.

The first chance she got, Nancy took a walk up the road past Philip Ames's cottage. The door was closed and there were curtains on the windows, so she didn't see anything. But then, Mr. Ames wasn't around much in the daytime. Practically a hermit. Hedy Schuster said it was because he was writing his Ph.D. thesis for the university. He only shined around at night.

"But after all, that's the best time, isn't it?" Hedy Schuster said. It was just like her to make such a snotty remark to Nancy, knowing how it would burn her up.

Not that Nancy ever tried to hide the way she felt about Philip Ames. Why should she? After all, she was sixteen, she had a mind of her own. And Philip Ames was really something.

Nancy always liked tall men, and Philip Ames was positively statuesque. He had such luscious black hair and dark eyes and his skin was so white. That came from not getting any sun at the lake. She wondered how he would look in bathing trunks and if he would spend much time with her folks again this year. He was very friendly with them the last season. He seemed to like Ralph — but then, everybody liked her Dad. And Laura was glad to have company.

Of course, if her mother even suspected how Nancy felt about the man she would be positively furious. But she needn't know, yet. Not unless that Hedy Schuster gave it away, and she'd better not or Nancy would kill her.

Hedy knew some boys around the other side of the lake who had a roadster, and she wanted Nancy to double-date some night, but the first few evenings Nancy stayed at the cottage. Of course she was hoping Philip Ames would come over, and she dressed very carefully; no bobbysocks or kid stuff, only her best slacks and one of those luscious sweaters Laura bought for her at Saks. Those sweaters really did something for her, and it was about time Mr. Philip Ames found it out.

But he didn't come over and he didn't come over, and it was almost a week now and Nancy was going stark raving goony because Hedy kept telling her what she was missing not coming along.

And then, Philip Ames came over. He was even better than she'd remembered — she'd forgotten all about that deep voice of his. A real man's voice, and he didn't laugh all the time like those repulsive young icks Hedy was so excited about. He really was reserved; you could tell he was deep. He was glad to see Ralph and Laura, but he didn't smile.

Then Laura said, "You remember our Nancy, don't you, Phil?" and he looked at her and nodded and then he just looked.

Honestly, it just sent shivers through her. You'd think she was a mere infant, standing there and trying to keep from blushing. But he didn't seem to notice that. He noticed other things, though, because when they all went out on the porch and sat down, he sat next to her and asked her all sorts of questions.

It wasn't that he was trying to be polite. Nancy could tell the difference. For the first time he was looking at her as a woman; she knew it. And she would never forget it, never. Some day they would both remember this moment together. Some day —

Ralph and Laura kept interrupting Philip with questions about his thesis. He said it was coming along and he hoped to finish it this summer. Then Ralph insisted on telling him about his old construction job, and Nancy knew he was just enduring it all. He wasn't really interested a bit.

Philip asked her why she didn't have much of a tan, and she said she wasn't going out much these days.

"I don't know what's gotten into her," Laura butted in. "She just mopes around the cottage all day, reading. I wish she'd get some fresh air."

"Oh, Mother!" Nancy said. You'd think Laura was talking about a ten-year-old child or something.

"I don't get out very much myself these days," Philip said, rescuing her. "We serious students have to stick together. What say we go for a hike tomorrow evening? Like to see what's going on at the pavilion across the lake, Nancy?"

Would she? Imagine showing up with Philip when Hedy Schuster and her crowd was around. Why it would be —

"No objection, I hope?" Philip was asking Ralph and Laura now and it was OK, of course.

"All right, young lady. See you about eight, then."

That was all that mattered. Of course Ralph had to kid her later about her new boyfriend, and the next afternoon Laura made her promise on her bended knees that she'd be back before eleven. "After all, we don't really know very much about Mr. Ames. He seems like a very fine young man, but — "

"Please, Mother! I hope you don't tell me about the bees and flowers."

Laura looked just a little bit shocked, but she didn't say any more, and Nancy went back to work on her hair.

She scarcely took time out for supper because the upsweep was so difficult. Her hair wasn't really long enough for an upsweep yet, but it added years to her appearance and it was worth it. After all, Philip was older. Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Certainly not thirty. Maybe she could ask him tonight. Or in a couple of nights. Because there would be other nights. The whole summer was ahead of them. Their summer.

At quarter to eight, Nancy was out on the porch, waiting. It would be just childish to pull that old gag about not being ready yet. Philip didn't deserve such treatment. So she was all ready when he came up the path.

"Good evening, my dear."

Yes. He said it. "My dear." Nancy was glad he couldn't see her face plainly in the shadows. The sun was just setting.

She started down the path to join him. Tm all ready," she said. Philip sort of backed away and looked down.

"I — I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Came around to tell you I couldn't make it tonight. Something came up all of a sudden — "

"Oh!"

"I hope you understand — "

Why did he keep backing away from her? What was the matter? "Well, I'll have to be running along now. Some other time, perhaps." Nancy just stood there with her mouth open. It was a brush-off, all right. Who did he think he was, anyway? Was he crazy?

She wanted to say something but couldn't seem to think. It made her so mad she almost cried. The tears came into her eyes and she saw Philip sort of swimming away from her. The moon was just rising over the lake now, cutting the darkness. Philip was disappearing down the path.

All at once he was gone, and then she noticed this thing flying low, along the trees. It squeaked at her and came for her head.

It came straight from where Philip had been standing, and when it got close she could smell it, all rubbery, and see its little red glaring eyes.

It was a black bat.

Nancy didn't scream. She didn't make a sound, just ran straight into the house and up to the bedroom. She didn't begin to cry until she had her mouth biting into the pillow.

Laura was really swell about the whole thing. She didn't say a word. She pretended she never even noticed. Nancy would have died if she did.

Besides, what was there to say?

The brush-off wasn't so bad. Nancy got over that. But when she was lying there in bed, in the middle of the night, she got the other idea. And you wouldn't even dare whisper about things like that.

But it had to be that way. He couldn't have just stood her up on the spur of the moment. He wanted to be with her.

Oh, she was being silly. Frightened of a bat. Just because Philip Ames lived up there all year and nobody saw him in the daytime and he broke a date when the moon came up and all at once this bat —

Maybe somebody would know something. That old woman of a Mr. Prentiss down at the store. Of course you couldn't come right out and ask him that.

Then Nancy thought of a way. The next morning she went down to the store and gave Mr. Prentiss the works.

"We're going to have Mr. Ames over for dinner this week and Mother wanted to find out if there's something special he might like — you know, some kind of canned stuff—"

Mr. Prentiss said it, then. She knew he would.

"He don't trade here at all. Never seen him in my place."

Yes. Philip Ames lived here all the year round, but he never came out in the daytime. Never. And he never bought any food. Never. And it was a lie about having him over for dinner because come to think of it, Nancy had never seen him eat anything.

That proved it.

But — she had to be sure. Weren't there other tests?

In the afternoon Nancy made a date with Hedy Schuster to visit the boys across the lake. She was glad, because when she got home after dark, Ralph said he'd met Philip. Philip was coming over tonight for a while.