to the house, moving slowly, the object she carried dragging in the mud behind her. It was getting colder, and there was snow mixed with the rain now.
Small sounds started to come out of Rose as she tried to come to terms with what she was seeing. The object in Sarah’s hand was clearly visible now, and as the realization of what it was came to Jack he had to fight down the rising nausea in his stomach.
It was a child’s arm, and it had been severed at the shoulder. It seemed to be badly lacerated, and the blood was slowly oozing from it, dripping from the ragged stump that bumped through the mud behind Sarah.
Sarah seemed unaware of the rain and snow, or of the cold. She moved forward steadily, her vacant eyes fixed on her parents as they stood on the porch waiting for her. Jack wanted to go to her, to pick her up and carry her home, but he was unable to. Helplessly he stood next to his wife as their daughter came toward them.
And then she was home. She stood at the bottom of the steps to the porch and stared blankly up at them. Then she lifted the severed arm and held it out, presenting it to them as if it were a gift.
The hysteria she had been holding back swept over Rose. Her mouth opened jerkily, and the scream that had been struggling in her throat burst forth to resound across the field. The trees in the woods almost seemed to tremble with the screams that tore out of the tormented woman’s being. Her eyes began playing tricks on her, and all she could see was the arm, the bloody arm, suspended against a background that was fast going black. It seemed to grow before her eyes, and then all she could see was the stump, the ragged flesh surrounding the bone. Her screams rose to a hysterical pitch.
Elizabeth’s first scream had awakened Mrs. Goodrich, and she had sat peering dazedly at her television set, unsure whether or not it had been the source of the sound that had awakened her. When she began hearing Rose’s screams she realized that it had not been the television. She got to her feet and headed stiffly for the front of the house.
The anguished cries grew as she approached the front door, but it wasn’t until she was on the porch that she realized the cause. Her eyes widened at the sight of the bloodied, mud-covered child. She fought down the nausea and glanced at Rose, quickly realizing that it was the mother, not the daughter, who needed immediate attention.
“Take care of Miz Rose,” she commanded Jack. She moved forward and, swallowing hard, disengaged Sarah’s fingers from the wrist of the dismembered arm. Taking Sarah by one hand and holding the grisly arm in the other, she led Sarah into the house. She took her quickly to the kitchen, and stood her in front of the sink. Then she wrapped the arm in a towel and set it aside. She began working on Sarah, stripping her clothes from her and wiping her off. Then she wrapped the child in an old blanket from her own room and went to the phone. She dialed the number for the police station and asked for Ray Norton.
“Ray,” she said. “This is Mrs. Goodrich out at the Congers’. You’d better get out here fast. Something bad’s happened. And bring a doctor with you. That one from White Oaks, if you can get hold of him. He knows us.”
The police chief started to ask some questions, but the old housekeeper cut him off.
“When you get here,” she said. “I’ve got other things to do.” She hung up the telephone and returned to Sarah. The child sat meekly waiting, and offered no resistance as Mrs. Goodrich led her upstairs to the bathroom.
Mrs. Goodrich’s command had brought Jack to his senses. He grabbed Rose and shook her.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Mrs. Goodrich is taking care of her.” When Rose continued screaming, he shook her harder and yelled at her. “It’s all right!” he shouted, and her screams suddenly stopped. She stared at him, her mouth working, her eyes wide.
“Come on,” he said. He led her into the house and forced her to come with him to the back study. He poured two large tumblers of brandy and handed one of them to Rose. “Drink this,” he commanded. “You need it.”