Then the whore-girl cackled, too, worse than the man. The cackle sounded like a flock of big catbirds picking at a dead possum in the road.
“Ay-uh, an’yer’s real cute, boy. Wannas come in an’ let Nanc suck yer thang? That like ya think, boy?”
Phil was shivering like he was buck-naked in the dead of winter. Then the girl’s weird ten-fingered hand slowly reached out—
“No!” Phil cried, head shaking and eyes pinched shut.
—and trailed tickling down his face. It felt like a bunch of big beetles crawling there on his cheek.
Phil thought he might die…
But then the whore-girl turned real fast and clopped out into the hall.
Toward Dawnie.
thah-THUNK, thah-THUNK, thah-THUNK…
“No-uh, Nanc, pull-eeese!” Dawnie cried.
“What-choo doin’ bringin’ boys in hee-uh!” the girl yelled, pitching forward. Her hand swept up and—
ka-Crack!
—smacked Dawnie in the face so hard she fell down. The girl’s hand flailed up and down, then, smacking away at Dawnie’s head like it was a tetherball.
“Nev-uh, nev-uh! Girl so dumb you! Nev-uh bring no one up hee-uh!”
ka-CRACK, ka-CRACK, ka-CRACK
“Yer daddy gonna so bad whup ya, but ain’t’s be gonna much left of ya after I’se through…”
It was horrible. Now the girl was not only slapping Dawnie, she sat right on her stomach, pinning her to the floor, and was punching and choking her. “ Bringin’ boys up hee-uh—crazy you? Bet you’s fuckin’ him, were yas? Girl-huh, were yas?”
“Stop it! Leave her alone!” Phil shouted. “She didn’t do nothin’!”
Then Phil peed some more in his pants, peed till there was nothing left in his insides.
Other naked Creeker girls on the floor, who must’ve heard all the noise, one by one opened their doors to look out. A girl with a bunch of belly buttons, a girl with a humped back and arms hanging down almost to her feet, a girl with no neck and no mouth. Also the girls he’d already seen through the keyholes: the one with the big watermelon head and whipmarks on her thighs and stomach. And the girl whose arms and legs were just stumps that ended where her knees and elbows should be. She edged out into the hall on all four stumps and jabbered something…
And at once the hall was full of sounds: mish-mash words, cackling and laughter, and dogs barking.
All that sound seemed to press against Phil’s head. He’d never been so terrified in his whole life…
The whore-girl climbed off of Dawnie and clopped toward Phil, and then that big weird ten-fingered hand of hers reached out and snatched him by the collar of his Green Hornet T-shirt.
“Get you-uh outta hee-uh, boy,” she said.
Then, in a split second, she opened her mouth and bared her teeth at him.
Big crooked fang-like teeth, like a dog’s.
Phil screamed high and hard, pulled away till his shirt tore to ribbons, then ran for the stairs faster than he’d ever run in his life…
— | — | —
Twenty-Six
The after-image remained:
The teeth.
Jesus God…
Jagged fangs, just like a dog’s or a wolf’s.
Phil kicked the sheets off his bed. He leaned up in the dark and sighed heavily. Another dream, he thought. They’re wearing me out…
This was an understatement. The dreams drained him. He felt hungover and exhausted now, mentally sapped and as physically devitalized as if he’d just dug ditches for six hours.
The dreams were boring into his mind, piece by piece unearthing what had happened that day twenty-five years ago. And there was one thing he was sure of—
There were still a few more pieces.
Why couldn’t he remember?
Do I even want to remember?
Phil didn’t think he did.
Vicki was still asleep on the couch, tossing fitfully. Her red hair lay across her face like a crimson drape, and she seemed to mumble things in her slumber. The room was stiflingly hot; sweat shined evenly as lacquer on the V of skin that her blouse exposed. Phil slipped into the bathroom and took a quick, cold shower, but as soon as he stepped out, he was burning up again. With a towel about his waist, he went to his dresser, was about to reach for some shorts, when
“Nuh-nuh-no!”
Phil turned and looked quizzically at Vicki. Her eyes squeezed shut against her sleep, and, evidently, against a nightmare. At least I’m not the only one who has them, Phil considered.
“No, pleeeeeeeease…”
Indeed, Vicki was dreaming up a storm, tossing and turning in the torment of her own mind. Phil wondered what she was dreaming about, but then he thought he had a pretty good idea, considering what had happened to her last night.
“Ona… Ona,” she murmured on.
Phil’s eyes narrowed.
“Skeet…inner…”
He peered at her.
“Ona…prey…bee.”
What?
Phil leaned closer, studying her.
Then, very clearly, and with her eyes shut so tight her face distorted, she whispered:
“Mannona.”
Dream jibberish? Phil wondered. But…
The word sounded familiar, and now that he thought of it, so had the other words she’d mumbled.
Onn. Ona.
Skeet-inner
Ona-prey-bee.
And, especially:
“Mannona,” the whisper came off his lips.
Phil felt momentarily adrift.
Then it dawned on him. Last night. The ambush at Blackjack’s. Now he remembered. That last Creeker kid, he’d said the same words, right before I blew him away.
Yes…
Phil felt sure of it.
What did the words mean? Or did they mean anything? Was it part of the Creekers’ sublanguage? Most were clearly deficient in verbal skills—
“Mannona,” Vicki again whispered in her sleep.
Then she sprang bolt upright and screamed.
“Jesus Christ, Vicki!” He rushed to her, to try and settle her down. The scream had rung out like a siren, and shocked her awake. Phil leaned over, gently jostling her by the shoulders.
“Vicki, Vicki, are you okay?”
Her eyes were frozen open, bloodshot. She shivered where she sat and just stared…
“Vicki?”
“Oh…oh, God,” she muttered and finally came out of it. She numbly pushed her hair back, her eyes fluttering. Phil could actually see a vein in her neck beating manically.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
“Yeah. I—”
“You must have had yourself one hell of a nightmare.”
She paused, catching her breath. Her hand came shakily to her bosom. “I did. It was…awful.”
“I guess so. You screamed so loud you probably woke up every stiff in Beall Cemetery.”
“Sorry,” she wavered. She shook her head, rubbed her eyes. “I have nightmares like that all the time.”
“What was it about?” Phil asked.
“Nothing, nothing—”
But Phil wasn’t even thinking. He should’ve been.
Because a moment later the door swung open—
“Phil, are you all right?” a worried voice rushed. “I heard someone scr—”
Susan stood in the open doorway.
Awwwwwww, shit, was the only thing Phil could think, standing there agape with just a towel around his waist.
The next two or three seconds seemed like two or three years. Plenty of time for Phil to curse himself up and down. Goddamn it! How could I be so goddamn STUPID! How could I have left the goddamn door UNLOCKED! Meanwhile, Susan just stood there. The expression on her face showed worry, confusion, and disbelief, all percolating at once. Then the expression hardened. She glanced at Phil, then at Vicki, and then at Phil again.
Then she said, none too quietly, “Fuck you!” and turned around and ran back up the stairs.
Phil ran after her, ludicrously holding the towel around his waist. “Susan, wait!” he yelled.