She squinted at a faded wood sign above the door.
She could just make out the words: “The Flora Dawes Rest Home for Distressed Gentlefolk.”
Deana grimaced.
This is so spooky.
Time I was gone.
Her heart beat faster.
Gotta catch up with Warren, before it’s too late.
Desperately, she wished he and Sabre were with her now.
At her side, Mommy Dearest let out a gasp. She was clutching her chest.
Deana’s heart sank.
“Maybe I should just see you inside,” she said quickly. “Then hurry on home. Promised Mom I’d be back by ten-thirty…”
With a loud groan, the door swung open. Mommy’s hand gripped Deana’s arm. She dragged her forward into the shadowy hallway.
Gray light sliced the gloom. Darkness fell as the door clanged shut. The noise echoed eerily through the house, and Deana’s heart stood still. Panic set in. A closed, musty smell met her nostrils. She’d smelled something like it in a thrift store in Sausalito—a mix of old clothes, cooking, bodies, musty books, and other junk.
As she became accustomed to the gloom, Deana saw dozens of bright eyes staring at her. It seemed like an army of dwarfs had gathered in the lobby to greet them. The dwarfs were curious. Impatient, craning their necks to get a better view.
Jesus H. Christ!
She held on to Harry and stared closer.
These aren’t dwarfs… they’re little old women!
Like one of the living dead, a wizened hag stepped forward. She reached out a scrawny, blue-veined hand…
Deana reeled back. Into the arms of Mommy Dearest.
No sign of “one of her derned attacks” now…
Like bands of steel, Mommy’s arms grabbed her.
Harry yelped, leapt out of his blanket, and scooted into the shadows.
Struggling, panicking, Deana twisted around, trying to free herself. The hag held on tight.
“No you don’t!” Her voice was high and strong.
It had an insane ring to it.
The hairs on the back of Deana’s neck crawled.
Goose bumps rose on her body.
My God, the woman’s a fucking lunatic. She’s raving mad!
Christ! How did I get into all this? I shoulda left her to die out there… Hell, I do one good turn and look where it gets me!
A horrible thought crossed her mind.
Nobody knows I’m here.
I’m trapped with all these… loonies!
“Say something, girl!” demanded a witch with an eye patch and long white hair. Deana backed away.
Mommy Dearest shoved her forward.
“Best I could do,” she told the hags. “Not too many young ’uns out on Del Mar t’night!”
“What d’ya think of Mr. President?” called out a shaky voice from the back. “Ya reckon he’s onto them delinquents throwing bombs inta classrooms yet?”
A raucous voice shouted: “Whassyername, honey?”
“Aw, give it a rest, Clarabel,” somebody said. “Can’t ya see the kid’s scared? Reckon we oughta bring her inter the back, give her a cuppa coffee ’n’ a slice of pie…”
A low mumbling filled the hallway, punctuated by hissy, whispering sounds. A shriek of laughter rang out.
The hags looked at Deana, waiting for her to speak. They were like gaunt gray vultures. Restless. Needy. Hungry, like they hadn’t seen young flesh in a long time.
Deana froze at the thought.
They came for me in a pack. I guess they could tear me to pieces.
Oh my God!
Her eyes narrowed. She gritted her teeth.
Just let them try!
The hags shifted forward.
The white-haired one taunted her.
“Don’t ya like it here, dearie? Ain’t fixin’ to leave us, are ya?”
Deana saw red. She screamed, “Bank on it, you fuckin’ old witch. I’m outa here…”
She whirled around, but Mommy Dearest grabbed her arm. “Mind ya manners, young’un,” she snarled, “Pay more respect to ya elders!”
Deana shook herself free. She glared at the hag.
What’s the bitch got against me? I did my Girl Scout thing. Helped her when she was in trouble.
I coulda left her there to die.
Wish I had now…
Boy, does this place suck…
If the bastard’s brought me here to entertain her gang of trolls, she’s gonna be mighty disappointed. Show’s over, folks. I’m outa here before I get eaten alive!
A scrawny hag in a long, cotton frock limped forward. Stretching out a knobby finger, she touched Deana’s arm. “Don’t go, dearie,” she said. “Talk to us. We won’t hurt ya none. Promise. We jest wanna see some young blood, is all. Haven’t set eyes on a youngster like you in a long, long time… Tell me… seen any good movies lately?”
The old woman’s eyes held a pleading look. She smiled, her face creasing into a network of wrinkles.
Deana gasped.
My God, I gotta get outa here!
She turned, made for the door, but with viselike fingers Mommy grabbed her again.
She was incredibly strong.
A hag at the back of the crowd elbowed her way to the front. She stroked Deana’s free arm, then plucked at her sweatshirt sleeve.
“Nice top you got there, young’un. Hey, Martha. Come an’ take a peek at this sweater. Sure ain’t Neiman Marcus, but it’s better’n the one you’re wearin’!”
Martha toddled over, her head shaking with every step. “Why, yes,” she said in a trembly voice. “You’re right there, Betty-Lou. Think I’ll have me this one. Jest my color, too.”
Betty-Lou shrieked with laughter. “Black? You aimin’ to wear it to ya funeral, Martha?”
Deana gasped. They’d take my sweater?
The bastards.
And there’d been a moment back there when I felt sorry for them!
Betty-Lou snatched at her sleeve.
She tore it down.
Exposing Deana’s bare shoulder.
Mommy Dearest hung on to her other arm.
There were whistles. Hoots of laughter. Hands tugged at the flapping black cloth. Deana’s left breast suddenly burst free.
She panicked, tearing herself away from Mommy’s iron grip. “Lemme GO!” she yelled. “HELP!!!”
“Whassamatter, dearie? Don’t ya like it here?”
The hags hadn’t enjoyed themselves so much in ages. Betty-Lou couldn’t stop cackling.
“Remember that time in Vegas, Martha? The night the lights went out at The Sands…”
Tearing herself free, kicking, shoving, knocking Mommy out of the way, Deana charged for the door.
With a triumphant yelp, she reached it, flung it open, and raced out into the night.
“Y’ain’t bein’ very friendly,” Mommy Dearest croaked after her. “Gals here only want a li’l ol’ chat. They get lonesome sometimes…”
“Hey. You like Tyrone Power?” yelled the raucous one. Her voice got carried away on the wind. Deana caught the words “He’s my favorite y’know. Did ya see The Mark of Zorro? Well, did ya?”
“Dear God,” Deana muttered as she ran. “What a madhouse. They plan to eat me alive, or talk me to death—they’ll have to catch me first!”
Way behind, she heard the inmates pile out of the house. They sounded bewildered. Confused. Gabbling to each other in high, tetchy voices. Going quiet as they hit the cool night air…