gone, all right. The loss gave him a squirmy feeling.
Where are they?
He knew for sure that he’d been wearing them when he ran into Thompson near the front door. And he’d kept them on when he went down into the cellar. And when he’d said that stuff to the little girl. But what about after her father went after him?
He didn’t know.
He tried to remember if he’d still been wearing the headphones when he dived into the hole.
No idea.
He sure hoped so. If he’d lost them in the tunnel, no big deal; he would probably find them on the way out. But finding them wasn’t his main concern.
If they’d fallen off his head before the tunnel, then someone might find them in the cellar and put two and two together.
Someone like Thompson.
But she’d already been down in the cellar looking for him. If the headphones had been there, she—or that girl’s asshole of a father, Fred—probably would’ve found them.
I lost them down here, Mark told himself. It’s all right. They’re here in the tunnel somewhere.
With the small pack resting on his chest, he raised his arms and put his folded hands underneath his head. His elbows touched the walls of the tunnel.
I’ll probably find them on my way out, he thought. And if I don’t, no big deal.
Someone’s coming into the tunnel next month… or next year… or twenty years from now might find them and wonder how they got here and wonder if they’d fallen off the head of a victim of the beast.
Little will they know.
The truth can be a very tricky thing, he thought.
A voice, muffled by distance, called ,Heeeerre beastie-beastie-beastie!’
Dumb ass, Mark though.
‘Heeerre, beastie! Got something for you!’
He imagined himself letting out a very loud, ferocious growl. It almost made him laugh, but he held it in.
A while later, he thought about looked at his wristwatch.
But he felt too comfortable to move.
Why bother anyway? It’s still way too early to leave. It’ll be hours and hours.
Hours to go…
A couple of years ago, Mark had memorized Frost’s poem, ‘Stopping by the Woods on a snowy Evening. Now, to pass the time, he recited it in his mind.
He also knew Kipling’s ‘Danny Deever’, by heart, so he went through that one.
Then he tried M The Cremation of Sam McGee, but he’d only memorized about half of it.
After that, he started on Poe’s ‘The Raven’. Somewhere along the way, he got confused and repeated a stanza and then it all seemed to scatter apart… dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to scheme before… scheming dreams… dreaming screams upon the bust of Alice… still is screaming still is screaming…
It had been a raven. He thought for sure it had been a raven at first, but not anymore. It was still a very large bird, but now it had skin instead of feathers. Dead white, slimy skin and white eyes that made him think it might be blind.
Blind from spending too much time in black places underground.
But if it’s blind, how come I can’t lose it?
It kept after Mark, no matter what he did. He felt as if it had been after him for hours.
It’ll keep after me till it gets me!
Gonna get me like the birds got Suzanne Pleshette.
Peck out my eyes.
Oh, God!
Mark was nor running across a field of snow. A flat, empty field without so much as a tree to hide behind. Under the full moon, the snow seemed almost to be lighted from within.
No place to hide.
The awful bird flapped close behind him. He didn’t dare look back.
Suddenly, a stairway appeared in front of him. A wooden stairway, leading upward. He couldn’t see what might be at the top.
Maybe a door?
If there’s a door and I get through it in time, I can shut the bird out!
He raced up the stairs.
No door at the top.
A gallows.
A hanging body.
Gus Goucher.
Maybe not. Gus belonged on the Beast House porch, not out here… wherever out here might be. And Gus always wore his jeans and plaid shirt, but this man was naked.
Naked and dangling in front of Mark, his
Where are they?
He knew for sure that he’d been wearing them when he ran into Thompson near the front door. And he’d kept them on when he went down into the cellar. And when he’d said that stuff to the little girl. But what about after her father went after him?
He didn’t know.
He tried to remember if he’d still been wearing the headphones when he dived into the hole.
No idea.
He sure hoped so. If he’d lost them in the tunnel, no big deal; he would probably find them on the way out. But finding them wasn’t his main concern.
If they’d fallen off his head before the tunnel, then someone might find them in the cellar and put two and two together.
Someone like Thompson.
But she’d already been down in the cellar looking for him. If the headphones had been there, she—or that girl’s asshole of a father, Fred—probably would’ve found them.
I lost them down here, Mark told himself. It’s all right. They’re here in the tunnel somewhere.
With the small pack resting on his chest, he raised his arms and put his folded hands underneath his head. His elbows touched the walls of the tunnel.
I’ll probably find them on my way out, he thought. And if I don’t, no big deal.
Someone’s coming into the tunnel next month… or next year… or twenty years from now might find them and wonder how they got here and wonder if they’d fallen off the head of a victim of the beast.
Little will they know.
The truth can be a very tricky thing, he thought.
A voice, muffled by distance, called ,Heeeerre beastie-beastie-beastie!’
Dumb ass, Mark though.
‘Heeerre, beastie! Got something for you!’
He imagined himself letting out a very loud, ferocious growl. It almost made him laugh, but he held it in.
A while later, he thought about looked at his wristwatch.
But he felt too comfortable to move.
Why bother anyway? It’s still way too early to leave. It’ll be hours and hours.
Hours to go…
A couple of years ago, Mark had memorized Frost’s poem, ‘Stopping by the Woods on a snowy Evening. Now, to pass the time, he recited it in his mind.
He also knew Kipling’s ‘Danny Deever’, by heart, so he went through that one.
Then he tried M The Cremation of Sam McGee, but he’d only memorized about half of it.
After that, he started on Poe’s ‘The Raven’. Somewhere along the way, he got confused and repeated a stanza and then it all seemed to scatter apart… dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to scheme before… scheming dreams… dreaming screams upon the bust of Alice… still is screaming still is screaming…
It had been a raven. He thought for sure it had been a raven at first, but not anymore. It was still a very large bird, but now it had skin instead of feathers. Dead white, slimy skin and white eyes that made him think it might be blind.
Blind from spending too much time in black places underground.
But if it’s blind, how come I can’t lose it?
It kept after Mark, no matter what he did. He felt as if it had been after him for hours.
It’ll keep after me till it gets me!
Gonna get me like the birds got Suzanne Pleshette.
Peck out my eyes.
Oh, God!
Mark was nor running across a field of snow. A flat, empty field without so much as a tree to hide behind. Under the full moon, the snow seemed almost to be lighted from within.
No place to hide.
The awful bird flapped close behind him. He didn’t dare look back.
Suddenly, a stairway appeared in front of him. A wooden stairway, leading upward. He couldn’t see what might be at the top.
Maybe a door?
If there’s a door and I get through it in time, I can shut the bird out!
He raced up the stairs.
No door at the top.
A gallows.
A hanging body.
Gus Goucher.
Maybe not. Gus belonged on the Beast House porch, not out here… wherever out here might be. And Gus always wore his jeans and plaid shirt, but this man was naked.
Naked and dangling in front of Mark, his
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