The Silent Scream (10 page)

She had begun keeping a sweater on the inside doorknob of her room, automatically shrugging into its warmth every time she entered. That done, she went to her desk and stood looking out the window into darkness. The fire escape was out there, winding its way up from the ground. Could someone be using it to get into their rooms?

Who would do that?

And
why
? To steal an essay, shred a bathing suit? That made no sense. If those things had happened to only one person, say, to Cath, it would look like someone was angry with her and acting out that anger. But
both
girls’ belongings had been vandalized.

And maybe the person who had committed those acts of vandalism wasn’t
finished.
If he could get into Cath’s and Linda’s rooms, he could get into anyone’s.

Trucker had better find those keys.

Then Jess laughed aloud, the sound echoing hollowly in her room. Keys? Where was her mind? If the vandal was using the fire escape and the windows, what good would door keys do?

Still, locking the doors might make them
feel
safer.

To take her mind off questions she couldn’t answer, she went back out into the hall. Jon was still on the telephone.

“Your lips are going to fall off,” she told him sternly. “Let someone else have a crack at the phone for a change.”

He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Is it an emergency?” he asked with an impish grin. “Do you need to call an ambulance, the police, or the fire department?”

“You’re going to
need
an ambulance if you don’t get off the phone,” Jess threatened. “Come on, Jon, didn’t anyone ever teach you to share?”

“Sharing is for kids. And I never did get the hang of it.” But he relented then. He whispered something into the phone and hung up. “You realize you could be wrecking my entire social life,” he said.

“It would take an act of Congress to wreck
your
social life,” Jess said curtly.

Laughing, Jon departed.

Another week passed without an invitation from Ian to the Fall Ball. Attending the planning committee meetings was hard for Jess, knowing she might not even be going. She fought to put that depressing thought behind her and concentrate on the task at hand.

As fall approached, Twin Falls was struck with one last summer heat wave. The temperature climbed steadily throughout the day. By the time Jess left campus, she was sweltering in her gray sweatshirt. Thoughts of slipping into one of her cool, short-sleeved T-shirts quickened her steps back to Nightingale Hall.

Jess ran lightly up the wide stone steps and into the house. It was dim, cool—thanks to the heavy draperies—and smelled faintly of burned toast.

Again she felt the strong sensation that the house was waiting for something.

Silly, silly. It was just a house.

Upstairs in her room, she hurried to the squat, ugly, old-fashioned chest of drawers against one wall. Crouching, she pulled the bottom drawer open. Her T-shirts should have been lying on top. But they weren’t. Instead, three heavy sweaters, their long sleeves tossed awry, met her reaching fingers.

That was odd. She distinctly remembered placing all warmer clothing at the very bottom of the drawer, her T-shirts readily accessible on top. When cold weather arrived to stay, she had planned to reverse the layers.

But she was positive she hadn’t done that yet.

Then … why weren’t her T-shirts where she’d put them?

Uneasiness crept upon her. Had someone been in her room, too? Going through her things?

The thought made her sick.

So far, nothing was damaged. Maybe she had switched the layers, and forgotten.

Her fingers began a search for the submerged T-shirts. Probing beneath the layers of sweaters and sweatshirts in the wide, deep drawer, her hand brushed up against something that didn’t feel like fabric. Instead of soft, cool cotton, she was touching something warm and smooth … and it felt like it was … moving!

Jess jerked her arm backward so fast, she cracked her elbow sharply against the drawer front. Yelping in pain, she reached with her left hand to comfort the wounded arm … and her fingers again touched wet warmth. Thinking she might be bleeding, her eyes darted to the elbow in search of bright, oozing red.

There was no red. There was pink, and lots of it, and the skin on her arm seemed to be alive …

From the back of her hand to just below her elbow, her flesh was thick with fat, pink, moist, wriggling …

Worms.

T
HE SOUND THAT CAME
from Jess’s mouth at the sight of her flesh crawling with fat, pink worms wasn’t a scream. It was a low, horrified moan of disbelief. She batted frantically at the repulsive creatures, flicking them from her skin onto the hardwood floor, where they lay, stunned. The floor writhed with pink.

Trembling, rubbing her arms to erase the feel of crawling flesh, she stared down at the drawer. She couldn’t bear the thought of putting her hands in there again. But … she had to make sure there were no more creatures.

She despised slithery things: snakes, lizards, crawly creatures. She had never understood how anyone could actually pick up one of the slimy things to bait a fishing hook. Yet Ian, Milo, and Trucker did it all the time. Gross!

Slowly, carefully, scarcely breathing, Jess peeled aside the top layer of sweaters.

Nothing.

Breathing shallowly, she dug deeper, beyond the second layer, her sweatshirts.

Still nothing. Only soft, worn fabric. Nothing warm and moist and slimy.

Carefully, gingerly, she removed, in two separate stacks, the bottom layer of T-shirts.

And stared in openmouthed horror.

The bottom of her dresser drawer was a teeming mass of slithering pink.

She screamed.

Outside, a startled Trucker dropped his hammer and ran for the porch steps.

Ian, reaching the top of the hill on his way home, saw Trucker race for the house. Sensing trouble, he broke into a run.

When Trucker burst into Jess’s room, he found her kneeling on the floor in front of her dresser. She was white-faced and silent, rocking back and forth, her arms wound around her chest.

Ian was right behind Trucker. In simultaneous strides, they reached Jess. “What?” Ian demanded, kneeling. When his eyes followed Jess’s glazed stare, he let out a soft whistle. “Oh, man,” he moaned, and folded Jess into his chest, hiding her face in his shoulder, “you poor kid.”

“They must have come up from the cellar,” Trucker said crouching to get a better look. “Maybe through the chimney? Geez, Jess, I’m sorry!”

Jess lifted her head. From the cellar? So many worms? No. “Someone
put
them there,” she said, her voice amazingly calm.

Ian stared down at her. “You saw someone in your room?”

She shook her head. “No.” But Cath hadn’t seen anyone in
her
room, either, or Linda in hers. “People who do disgusting things like this don’t
let
themselves be seen. They’re too sneaky. But someone was in here. There are too many worms for this to be accidental.”

“I’ll get rid of this mess for you,” Trucker volunteered. “I’ll take it out back and dump it.” Using a piece of folded paper, he collected the worms Jess had knocked off her arm and slid them into the drawer.

It was too heavy and awkward for one person to carry. Although Trucker was accustomed to lifting weighty loads, his back and shoulder muscles strained against his white overalls when he attempted to lift the drawer.

“Ian, help him!” Jess urged.

“I’m not leaving you up here alone. You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I’m not going to be sick. I’m fine. Just help Trucker, okay?” Her voice rose. “I want that drawer
out
of here. Toss the clothes in the laundry in the kitchen, okay? I’ll wash them later.” The thought of wearing anything that had been in the drawer made her sick. But she couldn’t afford a whole new wardrobe.

She stood up. Her legs proved unreliable, so she moved to the bed and sat down. “Go on. Please, Ian. Help Trucker.”

Reluctantly, Ian took one end of the drawer while Trucker moved to the other end.

When they had taken the drawer out, Jess sank back against the pillows. Her body felt leaden, and her head ached from restraining tears she had refused to shed.

Was she overreacting? Could the worms have been someone’s idea of a practical joke? Who would think something that disgusting was funny?

Milo, Trucker, and Ian all fished. They were used to handling worms. Would one of them think dumping a bunch of worms in someone’s drawer was a great gag?

She couldn’t believe that
anyone
in the house would find any humor in something so revolting.

But if it wasn’t a joke … then what
was
it?

A scare tactic? She had certainly
been
scared.

Why would someone want to frighten her?

Joke or scare tactic, someone had been in her room. Someone had touched her things. Someone had come in and out, leaving a repulsive message behind.

Trucker
had
to find those keys. Or put new locks on their doors. This couldn’t keep happening. How could any of them feel safe?

She got up when Trucker and Ian returned with the empty drawer. “We hosed it down and dried it,” Trucker told Jess in a comforting voice. Ian removed a handful of papers that had slid underneath the chest and then they pushed the drawer back into place.

It looks like nothing happened in here, Jess thought. Anyone who walked in now would never guess I was totally freaked-out fifteen minutes ago.

“Thanks, guys,” Jess said weakly. “I couldn’t have lifted that drawer by myself.” After a moment, she added, “Look, how about if we keep this to ourselves, okay? I don’t want people giving me weird looks at dinner. It was probably just a joke, anyway.”

And even though no one in the room believed that for a second, Trucker and Ian nodded. But their faces were glum.

“Listen, let’s not cook tonight,” she said, desperately needing to get out of her room and out of Nightingale Hall. “We deserve a treat, after what we just went through. There’s Hunan Manor, the Chinese place in town. How about it, guys?” She knew she was talking too fast and too loud, but she couldn’t help it. She was in a hurry to escape.

“Sure,” Ian said, putting his arm around Jess, “great idea!” He hesitated, then added, “Trucker, you up for Chinese?”

“Sounds great.” Then Trucker looked from Jess to Ian and back to Jess again. He shrugged. “But … too much to do.”

Jess smiled at him. Very perceptive guy.

Ian tried, and failed, to look disappointed. “Oh, well, sure. Next time, right?” Turning to Jess, he said, “Well, looks like it’s just you and me, kid. You ready?”

“What about everyone else?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we see if the others are home and want to go?”

“No, we shouldn’t.” Ian’s voice was firm. “They’re on their own tonight!”

Jess was amazed to find that she was laughing as they left Nightingale Hall.

To Jess’s disappointment, they weren’t alone at the restaurant very long. Ian had made many friends on campus and Jess, too, was collecting new friends rapidly. In a short time, their table was crowded, with people pulling up chairs and squeezing in. The table filled up with food, which rapidly disappeared and was just as rapidly replaced with more dishes and platters.

It was crowded, noisy, and hot, but Jess found all of it comforting after the afternoon’s horror.

And she still had the walk home with Ian to look forward to.

Home … the walk there was the
only
part she was looking forward to. The thought of actually being back inside Nightingale Hall, in that room, with that chest of drawers, made her stomach churn.

Had Trucker collected every single one of the worms she’d slapped from her arm? What if one or two of them had slipped under her chest of drawers and hidden there?

Telling herself that she or Trucker or Ian would have spotted them, she returned her attention to the table.

“So, how’s life at Nightmare Hall?” a small, red-haired girl named Tina asked Ian. “Are you ready now to join the real world and move into an on-campus dorm?” Her lips curled in a coy smile. “We’d be glad to have you.”

I’ll just bet you would, Jess thought.

“It’s not that bad,” Ian said, avoiding Jess’s eyes. “The place sort of grows on you.”

The girl laughed. “Like fungus?”

“And the fishing’s great.”

“Ugh! Fishing? Boring! Sitting around putting worms on hooks is
not
my idea of a good time.”

A vision of the mass of moist, pink, creepy-crawling creatures slammed back into Jess’s mind so hard, her eyes closed and she was forced to lean back in her chair.

“Hey, you okay?” Ian grabbed for her hand.

“I need air.” And
lots
of it.

“Right. Let’s go.” There were protests from their friends, but Ian had thrown some money on the table and was already gently moving Jess to the door.

“Those girls at the table won’t invite me to join
their
sorority,” Jess joked weakly as they began the walk home. “They hate me for taking you away.”

Ian laughed. “A minor loss. They’ll get over it.”

I’m not sure
I
would, she thought, and was surprised. She really didn’t know him all that well. Since when did Jess-The-Cautious fall for someone she hardly knew?

That’s ridiculous, she corrected herself. I haven’t
fallen
for anyone.

He didn’t ask her what had upset her back in the restaurant. She guessed that he’d figured it out and didn’t want to bring up the subject again. Good thinking.

Instead, they talked about living away from home for the first time. Everyone at Nightingale Hall came from small towns around the area and could have, had they chosen to, made the trip back home in a couple of hours. It wasn’t as if they’d moved across the country.

“But we’re still on our own,” Ian said, “even if our folks aren’t that far away. I bummed around some last summer. Hopped on my Harley and went exploring. It was fun, and it showed me I could take care of myself.”

No wonder he seemed older, more self-confident than everyone else at Nightingale Hall. It wasn’t just his height or build or his long hair. It was because he’d already been on his own for a little while.