Never Fear (75 page)

The whole room, in fact,
had gone dead quiet. The television was back on the old Christmas
special, Andy Williams singing
Silent
Night
now. Everyone’s eyes rotated between
the various gifts Trevor had come bearing and the boy himself.
Paying them little heed, Trevor zipped his backpack back up and
shouldered it.

“
Guess I won’t be needing
that meal,” he told Celia. “But thanks all the same.”

He retraced his steps down the center
of the bar. Almost to the door before he turned and took a few
steps toward Ray Dunwoodie.

“
Unless there’s a
publishing contract in there, don’t bother, kid.”

“
Thought I recognized
you,” Trevor told him. “Raymond Dunwoodie. I’ve seen your books.
How come you stopped writing?”

“
I didn’t. Publisher
stopped buying.”

“
Sorry.”

“
Perfect word to describe
my sales, kid,” Dunwoodie said, seemingly unfazed by all he had
just seen. His eyes fastened on the kid’s backpack. “Wouldn’t
happen to be carrying around a great story in there, would you?
Something original that I could sell for sure?”

The boy eyed the backpack slung behind
him. “In this? No.”

“
Well, if you find one in
your travels, you know where to find me.”

“
I’m headed south. Little
place just like this, only with warmer weather.” Trevor pulled a
scrunched-up piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans and handed
it to Dunwoodie. “Give them a call. Tomorrow, maybe the day after.
Ask for me.”

Dunwoodie held the paper without
straightening it, as Trevor flashed his gleaming smile,
straightened his shoulders and aimed himself for the door
again.

“
Merry Christmas,
everyone.”

For a time anyway, the backpack had
seemed thinner. As Trevor slid back into the storm, though, it
suddenly looked as crammed and stuffed as ever.

“
Merry Christmas,” five
voices said back to the boy, but the night had already reclaimed
him.

*

The kid wasn’t dressed for
the weather, not wearing a bulky jacket and sweatshirt on the
warmest Christmas Eve on record, the bartender thought as he
watched the floppy-haired boy take a seat at the bar.

“
You better have an ID,
son.”

“
Oh,” the boy said,
pulling an overstuffed backpack from his shoulders, “I’m not
drinking.”

A FAMILY CHRISTMAS
TERROR

CHAPTER 23

Grandpa read the last words and closed
the book. He felt an odd sense of relief, but not enjoyable one. He
stared at the cover, pondering.

“
What did you do to us?
You’re not a gift... you’re a curse.”

He went to the fireplace and threw the
book in.

He watched the corners of the book
darken and heard the pop as the glue caught fire. The flames
flickered and red glints of embers floated up.

“
And to all a good night,
indeed,” he muttered. With that, he slowly turned and walked to the
stairs, not noticing the one stray ember that floated out and up
from the fireplace.

Nor did he see the ember land in a
pile of discarded Christmas paper.

*

“
So what do you think
happened here?” Rick Turnbill asked his partner Frank Bates as the
two firemen slogged their way through the sodden rubble of the
building.

“
I don’t know. It’s weird.
I mean, it’s seems like there was some kind of accelerant used.
Five bodies charred beyond recognition. The whole place burned to
the ground. How long was it burning before anyone noticed? I mean,
there’s
nothing
left. I’ve never seen a house fire like this.”

“
It’s Christmas. They
probably had candles burning, paper by an outlet, dry tree. Maybe
they left a fire burning in the fireplace.”

They walked over to the bricks; the
only part of the house that didn’t seem to have burned. Frank
kicked at the ashes there. “Well, it wasn’t a lit
fireplace.”

“
How do you
know?”

“
Look.”

Rick looked down into the ashes Frank
had kicked away. “What the hell?”

Frank bent over and reached down.
“It’s a book. Perfectly clean. Not a mark on it.” He turned it back
and forth. “How is that possible?”

“
You got me. Maybe the
ashes protected it?”

“
Yeah, right,” Frank
studied the cover, then turned it over and read.
Never Fear—Christmas Terrors
. Twenty-two tales of terror.”

“
It sure was a tale of
terror for this family,” Rick said.

“
Now this is strange.”
Frank had flipped to the table of contents. “The cover says there
are twenty-two stories, but in the beginning here there are
twenty-
three
listed. The last one’s called:
A
Family Christmas Terror.
” He frowned. “You
don’t think this story has—”

“
Don’t be stupid. Throw it
out.”

“
Naw, I think I’ll keep
it. Bridget and I are going to Cancun for New Year’s.” He held up
the book in his hand. “I can read it on the plane.”

“
Whatever. Let’s get back
to the station.”

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