The Testimony of Jacob Hollow

by Joe Joiner

Chapter 4

The House of Rest

Jenny groaned at the sight of bloodstains on the steps up to the porch. She started trembling, but whether from anguish or anger I couldn't tell. Troy was quick to put a comforting arm around her shoulders. For a second I thought she would shrug him off, but then she leaned into the embrace. Earlier I would have sneered at them, but now it evoked no more emotion in me than a sneeze. I caught Nikki rolling her eyes and Josh was staring daggers at Troy. That did make me grin. Even after a very public humiliation he resented Troy for having the hot chick. Nikki saw me and we shared a smile and a wink. Yet beneath our secret humor we were both disheartened by the sight of the dried blood. Was this a sign that Robert Ripley was dead, or had he killed someone or something trying to break in?

Troy let go of her and went to the door. Trying the ornate knob, he found it locked. He set down the rifle and reached into his back pocket to remove a set of lock picks. "You know," he said, "when I first got to this town, it struck me as one of those nice little burgs where everyone trusted everyone else. Guys, keep me covered while I get this mother open." Crouching down, he inserted the pick and began to work. "'No one locks their doors around here,' the townspeople said. Well, they lied."

While he worked I looked over the exterior of the house. I'm not a carpenter, but I could recognize good work when I saw it. The walls of the first floor were stone, huge blocks of granite set together so perfectly the seams were all but invisible. Six tall columns graced the wide front porch, three to each side of the door. These weren't the faux wood columns so popular in the south, but genuine carved marble. The two upper floors were built of wood and smaller stone blocks. Apparently the mortuary business was booming. This place must have cost a small fortune to build. Iron bars protected every window, one detail I didn't fail to notice. I nudged Nikki with my elbow. "This isn't a mortuary," I said quietly, "it's a damn fortress." She nodded her agreement.

There was a muted click. "Gotcha," Troy grinned. Standing up he opened the door.

We all held our breath while it swung quietly open. Honestly, I expected something to jump out and tear into us, but instead all that came out was a puff of stale air and a musty smell that you usually find in long empty places. Beyond lay an entry foyer flanked on each side by a wide staircase. The one on the right would take you to the second floor and presumably the upper levels of the house, while the staircase to the left descended into what had to be the basement and working area of the mortuary. Nothing was going to get me to use the ones going down.

Jenny came up behind him. "The office and living area are upstairs," she said, keeping her voice low. "Above that is the attic, which was used for storage of business records. This floor is used for funeral services. There are two different parlors with separate entrances and private exits that we'll have to watch for, and the casket showroom is in the back with the kitchen. The embalming room and morgue are in the basement."

There were more than a few shivers at the thought of going down where the bodies were stored and prepared for interment, and not just by me. Even Troy the invincible seemed uncomfortable with the idea. "Where do you think your uncle would be?"

Jenny surveyed the quiet of the house. "Probably upstairs in his study," she said. "That's where he kept all of his research materials."

I glanced up past an enormous crystal chandelier to the second floor balcony and a lot of doors. My heart was beating rapidly and I was hoping that my fear didn't show on my face for Nikki to see. There was a faint odor of decay in the house that no one else appeared to notice, or else I was just imagining things. Then I saw Nikki wrinkling her nose, so she smelled it too. It wasn't too hard to figure out. If the power was out here like it was in the rest of the town, it made sense that any refrigeration units for the corpses would be off, allowing decomposition to set in and accelerate in the warm weather. Feeling clever for figuring that out, I stepped all the way inside and gently shut the door behind me.

The sound of the latch made the others jump. Joshua was so edgy that he spun around with his fist up ready to strike. Hank grabbed his arm. "Easy, boy," he slurred, the twang in his voice thicker with the effects of the alcohol. The teenager glared at him and jerked his arm free. "Leave me alone," he snarled.

If Troy noticed the brief exchange it wasn't important enough for him to comment on. He let his eyes wander all around the foyer, not missing any detail, looking for any sign of danger. I found myself admiring him and wishing I could be so sure of myself that I could face peril without the slightest outward trace of fear. I was also grateful that he was with us. Call it intuition if you will, but I felt sure Troy would save lives before this was all over.

The House of Rest was as silent as the rest of the town. It was also an undisturbed quiet. I didn't say anything to avoid making Jenny worry, but it was clear that nothing had moved inside the house for some time. I ran my finger across the surface of a small decorative lamp table and left a track in the coating of dust. In fact, dust covered every surface I could see, and hung in the air. Old Uncle Robert was either a lousy housekeeper or not around. Worse, he was still in the house and in no condition to be of help any longer.

Unlike the police station, there was an air of unquiet in this place, an atmosphere of foreboding that made me feel slightly nauseous and jittery. If not for Nikki's strong presence so close to me, I would have been shaking in my boots. One thing I was positive on, and that was that I didn't want to be there. But there was strength in numbers, so I would stick with the group.

Jenny had started up the stairs before anyone really noticed, and Troy quickly jumped ahead of her. "I'll take point," he said soothingly. "You navigate." Smart man. Telling Jenny to stay behind could have lost him a few teeth. She acquiesced with a nod and let him lead the way. He looked back. "Hank, cover the rear and sing out if you see anything besides us moving." The big man gave him a bleary wink in answer, and I watched Troy study him carefully, as if considering whether or not to take away his gun. Then he turned away and continued up the stairs.

Following him and Jenny was Winston, then Joshua, me, Nikki and Timothy (still clutching her hand), then Hank walking slowly backwards. That was quite a feat considering how he stumbled every other step, and was mumbling under his breath something I couldn't hear.

At the top of the stairs, Troy and Jenny conferred and then moved to the left where a pair of breathtaking stained glass doors set in a lavishly carved doorframe beckoned. Bright sunlight bathed the doors from a tall transom window in the outer wall above the front door. A riot of colors danced all around us. It was beautiful, and Nikki said so. Her comment of, "How lovely," was well received by Jenny, and repaired some of the bad feelings between them.

"What's in there?" Hank wanted to know.

"This is Uncle Rob's library and study. He spent nearly all of his free time in here. Some of the books he has are very rare and considered quite valuable." There was pride in her voice. Grasping the polished silver knob, she opened the door.

For a private collection it was pretty extensive. I'm not a scholar, but even I could tell that many of the books on the numerous shelves were very old. Some were covered and bound with leather and thicker than a dictionary. The air was filled with the dry, musty smell I've always associated with libraries and museums, and the reek of dead flesh. It was furnished with a massive desk with a leather office chair, two recliners, parlor lamps, plush carpet, and the corpse of Robert Ripley.

Or so I assumed by Jenny's burst of tears and cry of grief. "Oh, Uncle Rob," she moaned. She buried her face against Troy's chest and wept while he held her. No one said anything, partly out of respect for Jenny's deceased relative, and partly because that small sense of hope we'd had in coming there was evaporating. I can't say what the rest of them were thinking, but seeing the desiccated and withered remains of Robert Ripley draped across the desk was a huge letdown. He was still seated in the chair, and if not for the way his arms were splayed out to the sides, hands hanging off either side of the desk; you would have thought he was taking a nap.

Winston was the first to approach the body and examine it. He waved me over. "He's been dead about three weeks," he said, bending over for a closer look. I winced. Ripley was pretty well dried out, but you could still kind of smell the rot. "Cause of death was massive trauma to the throat. It's been torn out. See the dried blood under the head? Death would have been fairly quick. I doubt he saw his attacker or knew what happened." His voice was so smooth and matter-of-fact that even I was appalled. He could have been discussing the weather.

I saw that the unfortunate mortician was lying on what looked to be a small but thick book. "What's he using for a pillow?"

Winston carefully removed the book and held it up to the window behind us to see it better. The leather cover was deeply stained by the fluids that had seeped from the body as it dried, but the pages within appeared untouched. "Looks like a diary."

Jenny looked over and stepped away from Troy, who tried not to show his disappointment. I knew just how he felt. "That's one of Uncle Rob's journals," she said. "He usually filled two every year. I've only seen them a couple of times. He always kept them locked up."

"Well, young lady, as his sole heir I believe you should have this then." He handed it to her, but she waved it away. "I snuck a peek at one of them once when he was called away from his desk. I was still young enough that what I read gave me horrible nightmares for a week. I don't want to see it." She lifted an afghan from where it was draped over the back of a chair and reverently covered her uncle.

"Is it to remain unread then?" he asked her.

Jenny shivered. "You read it."

"Very well," Winston replied without so much as a shrug. He opened the journal to the first page. "It's dated three weeks ago," he said without surprise that his estimated time of death had been correct. "'My beloved niece,'" he read, and everyone stared at Jenny in astonishment. "'Should this find its way into your hands, then my time on this world has ended, and I have gone into that great Void between all worlds, and failed in my goal to keep you far from here and safe. Do not grieve for my passing, for having witnessed recent events in Castle Bay, I am more inclined to grieve for the horrors that you may discover. What the Biocyte Corporation has unleashed will destroy the town, and unless stopped, may destroy all that is good in the world.'"

He knew. At that moment I realized that Ripley had figured it all out. I had my own time with the journal later, and if you read it carefully, you couldn't help but wonder how he got it all down without committing suicide. When you read it, you could feel his fear. He knew what was happening at Biocyte, and he knew no one would live through it. You could also feel his pain, his sacrifice. Every word was another minute shaved off the end of his pathetic life. I pitied and hated a man I had never met for being dumb enough to get killed before he could help us survive this mess.

Winston went on. "'The events of the last few months of which I shall write have allowed a great evil to enter our once tranquil town. I lay the blame at the feet of the Biocyte Corporation. It is through their meddling into the unknown that has brought about the death and destruction of the last few days.

"'My own time grows short with every moment that passes. It is night as I write this, using only a hooded candle for light. There are screams coming from outside, and other noises I cannot ignore. I have heard pleas for help, for life, for forgiveness as those who succumb to evil cry out for heavenly succor. Yet I can only believe that if there is a God, he has turned his eyes from this part of his creation. I will not pray for my own life, as God will not hear my pitiful mewling. Though I am well hidden in my darkened house, they will find me eventually. I must go now to the attic, and continue in the morning, should I survive the night.'" Winston paused, but by the movement of his eyes he read further. Then he looked up, and I noticed he had gone slightly pale. "He goes on to mention noises coming from the morgue, and his suspicions that the dead are rising."

"Looks like Biocyte may have to be our next stop," Troy said. "How much more is there, Winston?"

Holcroft thumbed the pages. "Most of it is filled. The man was either a rapid writer, or he managed to stay hidden for some time. By the quality of the handwriting, I would have to say the latter. Somehow, whatever killed him caught him by surprise. The last entry is nothing but a streak of ink."

Jenny turned and faced the wall, holding herself tightly and trying not to break down. It was a near thing, but she held back further tears and got her trembling under control. "I think we should see if the house is safe," she suggested. "Whatever killed Uncle Rob could still be here and just waiting for nightfall."

Troy nodded. "I agree. While I don't like the idea of splitting up, I don't see much choice. This house is huge, and two small parties can cover it faster than one large one."

Call it a sudden burst of prescience, but I had this dread feeling I was going to be part of the basement group. Troy was going to do whatever he thought was necessary to keep me away from Jenny, even if I protested that there was nothing between us. Doubtless Jenny wouldn't object, what was I to her?

Sure enough, Troy picked the groups. "Winston, you and Jake will come with me to the basement, Hank and the rest can check out this floor and the attic."

Right then I wanted to crawl under a floorboard and pretend none of this was happening. Troy was watching me, waiting for me to complain or try to back out. If nothing else, it gave me the resolve to not say anything and go along. Besides, I was pretty sure I could outrun Winston.

Jenny touched Troy's arm. "With the power out it'll be dark down there," she said. Opening a drawer on the sideboard she removed a flashlight that she gave to Troy. Winston was handed a small penlight. "Be careful."

"We will," I said as snottily as I could.

Troy gave her a wink and we left the library with him in the lead and Winston bringing up the rear. Before I stepped through the library door Nikki was at my side. Her small hand grasped mine with surprising strength. She stared into my eyes with intensity. "You be careful," she said. I grinned and gently nudged her chin with my fist. "No sweat, kid. Be right back." Her answering smile was heartwarming. Jenny had undeniable beauty, but Nikki was a much warmer person. Sometimes, that's what really matters.

Out in the corridor Holcroft and I got out our guns without being told to. I didn't know about him or Troy, but I intended to shoot first and run like hell second. The bounty hunter was all business, peering down the stairs for several minutes before starting down to the foyer. He was careful to put his weight on the portion of each step by the wall to reduce the chance of the stairs creaking. We followed his example and managed to make it down silently.

He flicked on the flashlight and shone it down the stairwell that would take us into the bowels of the house. The stairs were covered with a soft beige carpet that was probably meant to be soothing to either those who visited, or those who worked below. The walls on both sides of the steps were decorated with paintings of landscapes, again, to distract from the presence of death. A noxious scent wafted up to us, and I almost bolted. I grabbed the banister and steadied myself. Troy would probably shoot me down if I deserted. Heck, even Winston looked to have paled a few shades. If Troy was scared it didn't show. The man was a rock.

He turned to us and spoke in a whisper. "Look, guys, I don't want to go down there any more than you do." Well, that was a big comfort. "The hard fact is that it has to be checked out. Night comes fast this time of year and we only have a few hours before dark to get ready. I'll rest easier knowing we're the only ones in the house." Several smartass comments came to mind but I bit them back and simply nodded. Troy appeared to relax when he saw I wasn't going to bail out on him. "Jake, watch our backs." He started down, gun aimed ahead.

We all moved as silently as we could, and I could swear I was able to hear not only my own heartbeat, but also those of my companions. The beam of light stabbed the darkness and drove back the shadows but did little to alleviate the tension. I know I was jumpy, even more so than when I started the day on the road. Not for the first time, I wished I hadn't got lost.

I counted sixteen steps, and by the time we reached the bottom I was shaking like a leaf. A short hallway came to a dead end at a thick metal door that was slightly ajar. The odor of decay was thicker down here, despite the cooler air. It was so thick it caught in my throat, and I could almost taste the cloying rot. It wasn't going to be pleasant on the other side of that door. Troy eased it open with the barrel of his gun, shining the light inside.

We found a slaughterhouse.

Ripley hadn't mentioned having an assistant in his journal, but it made sense that with Jenny off at college, he would have hired someone to replace her, and that small detail would not have been important enough to mention. Whoever he had been, what little that was left was scattered around the room. He had literally been torn apart. Blood was everywhere, and had dried to black stains on the walls and floor. Shining the light around Troy found an arm, a leg and a portion of the torso, but the rest was gone. Bloody footprints on the floor showed that at least two people had been walking around barefoot through the gore. The tracks led to another door across the room.

I had never been in the working area of a mortuary before, and hope I never have to again. Once upon a time it had been spotlessly clean, with that antiseptic smell you associate with hospitals. Now it was a charnel pit. To our right were the drawers where the dead were lain out. There were twelve of them, stacked three high and four across. Three of them were open and empty. I didn't want to see if the others were occupied or not.

In the center of the room were two stainless steel tables where the embalming process was carried out. One was still clean and unused, while the other bore the remains of another corpse. This one had been female, and young. Whether she had died prior to her arrival at the house, or if she was another employee we couldn't tell, but regardless, her corpse had been savaged. Arms and legs hung over the sides of the table, and like the assistant, she was covered with bite marks and ragged wounds where the flesh had been ripped away. Her face was turned away from us, and for that I was grateful. I was close enough to Winston to feel him shudder. "I think we can safely say that there is no one here any longer," he whispered to Troy, but the ex-Ranger shook his head. "That other door could let anything in here," he replied. "I want to check it out and make sure it's secured."

Yeah, he would. We stepped inside and the door closed softly behind us.

He started off across the room, moving lithe as a jungle cat and making no sound. I admired that while cursing him for a showoff. In the meantime, Winston had trained his smaller light on what appeared to be a leg bone on the floor. Crouching down he examined it closely. "Horrible," he said under his breath.

"What?" my morbid sense of curiosity made me ask. Have you ever wished you could turn off parts of your brain?

"See the gouges in the surface of the femur?" He used the beam like a pointer, and I could indeed see small dents all over the bone.

"Yeah. So what?"

"Those are marks made by teeth, Mr. Hollow. Human teeth. This bone has been gnawed upon."

"Oh," I said, my voice small. "Gross."

"Indeed." Finished with his impromptu post-mortem, he stood and shone the light on the table with the body of the girl. Something caught his eye and he went to check it out. Being the only one without a light and not wanting to stand in my own pool of darkness, I went with him. He stopped at the foot of the table and shone the light across the top. The smell of rotting meat was thick enough to cut. The girl may have once been young and attractive, now her body was in an advanced state of decay. I remember thinking that this was what awaits us all.

"Ugh," I gasped, covering my nose and mouth with my hand. "Why is she so... you know, disgusting? Ripley was completely dried out."

"A simple matter of air circulation," he replied, slipping into professor mode. "This room would normally be well ventilated by air conditioning, but with the power off there is little airflow to allow for adequate evaporation of fluids. The upper levels of the house are large enough and have sufficient airflow so that the deceased Mr. Ripley became mummified."

Peering over his shoulder, I saw a design drawn in blood between the naked thighs. "What the hell is that?" I asked him.

"That, my young friend, is an inverted pentagram. The mark is well known among those who study the occult, and is considered one of the predominant symbols used by the Black Church and in witchcraft. Its use here was as the foundation for a spell to awaken the dead."

"How the hell do you know that?"

He swept the light around the outer edges of the pentagram where I saw letters arranged in a language I didn't recognize. "That is Latin," he explained. "A very archaic form of it, I might add, and written in this unfortunate child's own blood. I don't recognize all the words, but the ones I can translate read, Rise, Walk, Live, Feed."

Now it was my turn to shudder.

"Poor girl," he added softly. "To die so young. Her last moments must have been terrifying."

"Why would you say that? Wasn't she already dead?"

"Not in this case. I believe that this spell requires the ritual sacrifice of a maiden. This girl was alive when she was placed upon the table." He shone the light up, revealing a gaping hole in the chest between the breasts. Splintered bone revealed how her ribcage had been ripped open. "Her heart was removed while it was still beating. See how the blood is sprayed in spurts on the floor? The organ was pumping out the last of the blood it held."

I swallowed hard to keep from vomiting. "Dear God."

"God was not here," Winston said bitterly. "In fact, I think He has vacated Castle Bay entirely." Good point.

"How do you know all this weird stuff?"

He granted me a gaze of pure condescension. "I read, Mr. Hollow. They make these wonderful items called books. They contain information on numerous subjects. Perhaps you've heard of them?"

God, I wanted to hit him so bad. At the same time, the fact that he knew what he did bothered me, and I started to get anxious for Troy to return. "I know how to read, Holcroft," I snapped. I didn't tell him my usual choice when it came to literature, as he struck me as the kind of guy who wouldn't be impressed by Playboy and Spider-Man comics. "Did you see any books upstairs that might help us?"

He considered my question before answering. "A few titles I recognized among Mr. Ripley's collection are most impressive, and quite valuable. The first edition of Anatomia de Ghouls I saw is worth several thousand dollars to any worthwhile collector. How a small town mortician came to possess an original copy is astounding to me."

Troy came back before I could ask how he was familiar with such a book. "I was right," he said, no longer bothering to whisper. "It's a short passage to the garage and parking lot. I think it's how bodies were delivered here. I pulled down the door and set the lock. The doors are metal and pretty sturdy, so nobody will be getting in that way. The tracks lead out and disappear into the woods behind the house. You two find anything?"

"It appears someone held a ritual in this room, one designed to raise the dead. This young lady was the sacrifice." Winston was annoyingly unaffected by the violence of her death or how her remains had been left to rot.

Troy glanced down and winced. "Ouch." His nose wrinkled. "She's ripe too. Let's get away from the stench."

I was disturbed by the way he so casually dismissed a murder. "It doesn't bother you that someone was killed here?"

He spun around and at first I thought he was going to hit me, his eyes were that wild. "I care, Hollow. I care more than you might believe, but it doesn't change anything. She's dead. I can't change what happened here, so I'm not going to let it bother me, okay? She's out of it, and part of me envies her because we're still stuck in the middle. So I'm going to concentrate on surviving and not worry about those that fall by the wayside."

"Fall by the wayside? You arrogant prick, will you still feel that way if Jenny dies?" My, was that ever the wrong thing to say, I could see the violence in his face. Was that really my voice?

His eyes narrowed. "Feeling suicidal, Jake?" His tone was half jest, but it wasn't difficult to deduce that he wanted to see how serious I was.

I didn't answer, and I didn't look away either. I wasn't suicidal, but I was getting damned fed up with his hero routine and the feeling I was under constant suspicion. A man can only take so much of being stepped on. "Bite me," I said.

His hands clenched around the rifle and the flashlight. I could see him clenching his jaw and deciding whether or not he should give me the beating of my life, or save time and just shoot me. Then, as if a switch had been turned off, the anger melted from his features and his eyes sparkled. A half-grin touched his mouth. "I don't think you're as much of a coward as you or Jenny think," he said. Of all the possible outcomes I had expected, being complemented was not one of them, and I guess it showed. His smile of amusement was more evident as he turned to Winston. "Did you check out the rest of the drawers?"

Holcroft seemed embarrassed. "Your pardon, Mr. Williams. As I was rather preoccupied with the mess on the table, I neglected to do so."

Troy shrugged it off. If it had been me he would've taken several large bites out of my ass. "Let's check it out quick and get back upstairs." He stepped around us and positioned himself in front of the first set of drawers. "Winston, you open them. Jake and I will cover you since we have the bigger guns." That was my cue to get my gun ready, and I did so without argument. He was right after all.

It was another of those strange moments when time seems to stand still and elongate. Did I breathe? I don't think so. My senses all seemed hyper-tuned to what was going on. I acutely aware of everything around me in a way I had never known. I could smell my own sour sweat, could feel the dampness between my shoulder blades and the chill as a shiver streaked up my spine. Where I was about as sturdy as a stalk of limp celery, Troy was a steel rod. If he moved at all in those brief seconds I never saw it. It all slowed down as Winston reached for the latch and opened the first door. I readied myself for an abomination of some sort to leap out. I don't think anything would have surprised me at that moment. I was charged with adrenaline and ready to be terrified. A scream hovered in the back of my throat and my finger increased its pressure on the trigger.

When Winston pulled open the cabinet door, the hinges squealed loudly enough to echo. Then he jumped back from the opening, ducking down should anything come flying out.

Nothing happened. The drawer was empty. All of them were, and Troy was thorough enough to check each one. Weird as it may seem, I was kind of disappointed. It's like opening that big box at Christmas you've been so excited about. You just know it's a new television, and then finding out they just used the box to throw you off so you wouldn't suspect the fruitcake that's inside is a huge letdown. I had expected to do battle with a monster, and all we found was cold emptiness. Troy even went so far as to stick his head in the last one and shine his light around. "If there was anything in here it's long gone," he said, his voice muffled and tinny from the metal storage unit. He withdrew his head and shut the door, the snick of the latch loud in the darkness.

"I must say, I'm relieved," Winston remarked, "but I am not comfortable remaining here any longer. Perhaps we may go back to the others now?"

Troy nodded and went to the door, Winston close on his heels. I stayed behind for a few seconds, the said, "What about her?" and pointed to the corpse on the table.

Conflicting emotions battled on Troy's face. He wanted to be mad at me for even asking, but he was also sympathetic. His features softened. "Jake, we're losing daylight. I'd like to give her a decent burial, but right now we can't spare the time."

Winston piped up. "The rate of decay is much increased by the recent heat and humidity, Mr. Hollow. If we tried to lift the body it would probably fall apart in our hands. It's best to leave her."

My stomach whirled at the image, and I felt a little dizzy. I took a single deep breath (and wished I had not, since I imagined I could taste the reek in the air), and the spell passed. Both men were watching me closely, waiting for me to agree or argue. I nodded weakly and said, "Okay." They both relaxed, having expected me to give them some lip. I was a slightly surprised at myself, but wise enough not to make further comment. To be honest, I was glad to be leaving, despite a heavy feeling of guilt for further denying the girl a proper resting place.

Winston at last showed he was capable of compassion. Spying a white sheet wadded up on the floor by the door, he shook it out and covered the body. I felt a little better. Not much, but a little. He took a last look around, his brow furrowed. "I knew something wasn't right here, and I just realized what it is."

Troy and I watched him and waited. He returned our stares levelly. "Can't either of you see what is missing?"

We looked around, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Then it hit me. "Holy shit, he's right."

"Want to let me know what you two are going on about?"

"Flies. Right, Winston? There aren't any flies."

Holcroft nodded. "Exactly. There should be some sign of insect activity, yet there is not."

"But you said this was a sealed environment," I rebutted, "Wouldn't that keep flies from getting in?"

"The door was only slightly ajar when we got here," he explained. "I cannot say why there are none to be found, but their absence disturbs me."

"Why?" Troy demanded.

"I have no idea, Mr. Williams. I wish I knew."

"Fine then," Troy said. "If the science lesson is concluded, let's get out of here."

Back on the main floor he held a finger to his lips and then swept the light around the vast foyer. "We still need to check out this floor," he hissed. "So be alert."

"Yeah," I whispered to Winston, "be alert. The world needs more lerts."

Holcroft rolled his eyes and stepped away from me. Troy shook his head and began scanning the room, shining the light into dark corners. It was still early afternoon outside, but sometime before he died Ripley had closed the shutters and drawn the shades, so the lower portion of the house was fairly dark. Something about the covered windows bothered me, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

We searched the two chapels. Both were empty save for the podium and the chairs. Flowers, long wilted and dead from thirst, adorned the pulpit. Dust covered everything, putting a gray film over the furniture and the pictures on the walls. It seemed Jenny came by her political correctness through having lived here. Not a single frame held anything even remotely religious. Landscapes all. In the casket showroom all the empty coffins on display gave me the creeps, and I caught Winston shuddering as he looked around. They sat open, like mouths waiting to be fed, as if we were the main course. Troy, ever careful, insisted on checking each of the display models. As before, Winston opened them while he and I kept our weapons ready should something come charging out.

Again, nothing happened. It seemed that events at the House of Rest had played out long before our arrival, and we were little more than the cleanup crew. The carnival had left town, and we were stuck picking through the detritus of its passing. Watching Troy, he struck me as being a little disappointed that he didn't get to shoot anything, but he was also visibly relieved that we had found nothing dangerous. Disturbing, yes, but nothing that would come back to haunt us later.

In the kitchen we found an abundance of non-perishable food. Crackers, potato chips, canned goods, fruit cups and juice boxes, so at least we wouldn't go hungry. Nobody bothered opening the refrigerator since anything in there was long spoiled. The amount of food suggested that Ripley had been stockpiling for some time, as if he knew it would all go bad eventually. Unfortunately for the town, and us he had been right. I pulled out a drawer of towels and found a cache of chocolate bars, which I quickly pocketed. Always the romantic, I pictured myself presenting one to Nikki and being rewarded with a kiss.

Troy and Winston found some plastic grocery bags, and we filled them full. Troy had slung his rifle, and Holcroft and I pocketed our own guns so our arms would be free to carry the supplies. Heavily laden, we made our way back upstairs, but not before Troy made certain that all doors and windows on the main floor were locked. We wanted no unpleasant surprises during the night.

The fear-driven excitement was wearing off as I carried my two bags into the library. The day's events were piling up like heavy weights on each shoulder. It seemed we would be safe here. The rest of our group greeted us warmly, expressing relief at our safe return. For a moment, the camaraderie overcame the petty differences of such a diverse group. I set down my bags and slumped onto the sofa, suddenly very aware of just how tired I was as I looked around.

Jenny scooped up the groceries and began an inventory, talking softly to herself while she planned the dinner menu. Timothy sat in one of the high back chairs, a book propped on his knees. Hank and Troy were in deep discussion, apparently going over what each group had discovered in their search. Then I noticed something missing and sat up.

The desk was empty.

Had anyone else noticed? How long since Ripley's corpse had moved? Was he wandering the house?

"Relax," a soft voice spoke in my ear. "We moved Jenny's uncle to his bedroom. She couldn't stand to have him looking like the world's scariest paperweight."

I sank back down as she placed a comforting arm around my shoulders. Wow, she was soft, and very warm. I leaned my head back against her shoulder, completely comfortable and totally relaxed for the first time in hours. Closing my eyes the voices of the others grew muffled and fell away. The last thing I heard was Nikki's gentle whisper. "We'll talk when you wake up." Then her lips pressed against my forehead and a tingle of headiness shot through me like a surge of electricity.

Oh yeah, we would talk. First things first, however.

I went to sleep.

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