the horror, and for the time being that was enough. Jessie Burlingame went into the darkness without a murmur of protest.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She struggled briefly back to consciousness some time later, aware of only two things: the moon had made it around to the west windows, and she was terribly afraid... of what she at first didn't know. Then it came to her: Daddy had been here, was perhaps here still. The creature hadn't looked like him, that was true, but that was only because Daddy had been wearing his eclipse face.
Jessie struggled up, pushing with her feet so hard she shoved the coverlet down beneath her. She wasn't able to do much with her arms, however. The Littering pins and needles had stolen away while she'd been unconscious, and they had no more feeling than a couple of chair-legs. She stared into the corner by the bureau with wide, moon-silvered eyes. The wind had died and the shadows were, at least for the time being, still. There was nothing in the corner. Her dark visitor had gone.
Maybe not, Jess-maybe he's just changed location. Maybe he's hidingander the bed, how's that for a thought? If he is, he, could reach up atany second and put one of his handf on your hip,
The wind stirred-only a puff, not a gust-and the back door banged weakly. Those were the only sounds. The dog had fallen silent, and it was this more than anything else which convinced her that the stranger was gone. She had the house to herself.
Jessie's gaze dropped to the large dark blob on the floor.
Correction, she thought. There's Gerald. Can't forget about him.
She put her head back and closed her eyes, aware of a steady low pulse in her throat, not wanting to wake up enough for that pulse to transform itself into what it really was: thirst. She didn't know if she could go from black unconsciousness to ordinary sleep or not, but she knew that was what she wanted; more than anything else-except perhaps for someone to drive down here and rescue her-she wanted to sleep.
There was no one here, Jessie-you know that, don't you? It was, absurdity of absurdities, Ruth's voice. Tough-talking Ruth, whose stated motto, cribbed from a Nancy Sinatra song, was "One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you." Ruth, who had been reduced to a pile of quivering jelly by the shape in the moonlight.
Go ahead, toots, Ruth said. Make fun of me all you want-maybeI even deserve it-but don't kid yourself. There was no one here. Yourimagination put on a little slide-show, that's all. That's all there wasto it.
You're wrong, Ruth, Goody responded calmly. Someone was here,all right, and Jessie and I both know who it was. It didn't exactly looklike Daddy, but that was only because he had his eclipse face on, Theface wasn't the important part, though, or how tall he looked-be mighthave had on hoots with special high heels, or maybe he was wearing shoeswith lifts in them. For all I know, be could have been on stilts.
Stilts! Ruth cried, amazed. Oh dear God, now I've heard evvverything! Never mind the fact that the man died before Reagan's Inauguration Day tux got back from the cleaners; Tom Mahout was so clumsy beshould have had walking-downstairs insurance. Stilts? Oh babe, youhave got to be putting me on!
That part doesn't matter, Goody said with a kind of serene stubbornness. It was him. I'd know that smell anywhere-that thick,bloodwarm smell. Not the smell of oysters or pennies. Not even the smellof blood. The smell of...
The thought broke up and drifted away.
Jessie slept.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
She ended up alone with her father at Sunset Trails on the afternoon of July 20th, 1963, for two reasons. One was a cover for the other. The cover was her claim that she was still a little frightened of Mrs Gilette, even though it had been at least five years (and probably closer to six) since the incident of the cookie and the slapped hand. The real reason was simple and uncomplicated: it was her Daddy she wanted to be with during such a special, once-in-a-lifetime event.
Her mother had suspected as much, and being moved around like a chesspiece by her husband and her ten-year-old daughter hadn't pleased her, but by then the matter was practically afaitaccompli. Jessie had gone to her Daddy first. She was still four months away from her eleventh birthday, but that didn't make her a fool. What Sally Mahout suspected was