Cry for the Strangers Page 0,99

Whalen, and his sense of worry deepened.

Missy Palmer lay in bed asleep, her hands clenched into small fists, her face twisted into an expression of fear. The rain pattered on the roof, and Missy began to toss in the bed. At the sound of a twig snapping outside, her eyes flew open.

She was suddenly wide awake, the memory of her nightmare still fresh in her mind.

“Robby?” she whispered.

No sound came from the bunk above.

Missy lay still, her heart thumping loudly in her ears. Then she thought she heard something. A snapping sound, like a branch breaking.

Her eyes went to the window and the thumping of her heart grew louder.

Was there something at the window? Something watching her?

Her dream came back to her. In it the … something at the window was chasing her. She was on the beach with Robby, and it was chasing both of them. They ran into the woods, trying to hide, but it followed them, looming closer and closer. Her legs wouldn’t move anymore. Try as she would, she couldn’t run. Her feet were stuck in something, something gooey, that sucked at her, trying to pull her down.

Then she fell, and suddenly the shape was above her, towering over her, reaching for her.

She screamed.

She felt her mother’s arms go around her and began sobbing, clinging to Rebecca.

“There, there,” Rebecca soothed her. “It’s all right. It was a dream, that’s all. You had a dream.”

“But there was someone here,” Missy sobbed. “He was trying to get us. Robby and I were running from him but he was after us. And then I fell …” She dissolved once more into her sobbing, and Rebecca stroked her hair softly.

Robby, awakened by the scream, hung over the top bunk, a look of curiosity on his sleepy face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked groggily.

“Nothing,” Rebecca assured him. “Missy had a nightmare, that’s all. Go back to sleep.”

Robby’s head disappeared as Glen came into the doorway.

“Is she all right?” he asked anxiously.

“She’s fine,” Rebecca told him. “Just a bad dream.”

Missy’s head stirred in her mother’s lap. “It wasn’t a dream,” she cried. “It was real. He was here. I saw him outside the window.”

“Who did you see, darling?” Glen asked.

“A man,” Missy said. “But I couldn’t see his face.”

“You were dreaming,” Rebecca said. “There isn’t anyone out there.”

“Yes there is,” Missy insisted.

“I’ll have a look,” Glen said.

He threw a raincoat on over his pajamas and opened the door of the cabin, shining his flashlight around the surrounding forest. There was nothing.

Then, as he was about to close the door, Scooter dashed between his feet, his tiny tail wagging furiously, barking as loudly as his puppy voice would allow. Glen reached down and scooped him up.

“It’s all right,” he said to the puppy, scratching its belly. “Nothing’s out there.”

Scooter, soothed by the scratching, stopped barking.

But Missy kept on crying.

Two miles away, while the wind rose to a vicious howl, the back door of Glen Palmer’s gallery flew open. The horror began.

22

Early the following morning Glen Palmer put on his slicker, opened the cabin door, and let Scooter out. The puppy scuttled around the corner, and when Glen followed, he found the dog sniffing under the window of the children’s room. He squatted down, picked up the wriggling puppy, and carefully examined the ground. There was a slight depression, obscured by the still-falling rain, that might have been a footprint.

Or it might not.

Glen frowned a little and tried to find another, similar depression, but the ground was rough, soggy, and covered with pine needles.

“Well, if anything was there, it isn’t now,” he muttered to Scooter, then set the puppy down again. Scooter, having lost interest in whatever he had been sniffing at, trotted happily off into the woods, looking back every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t lost sight of Glen. Clumsily he lifted a leg next to a bush, then ran back to the front door, where he began yapping to be let in.

As Glen followed the puppy into the house, Rebecca looked curiously at him from the stove, where she was frying eggs.

“Find anything?”

“What makes you think I was looking for anything?”

“You were. Was there anything to find?”

“Not without a liberal dose of imagination. There’s a dent in the ground outside the kids’ window, and I suppose I could claim it’s a footprint if I wanted to, but I don’t think anybody’d believe me. I certainly wouldn’t.”

Rebecca put down the spatula she was holding and began setting the table. “You want to get