Poltergeist by James Kahn Page B

branches that enveloped Robbie, as the wind rose to maniac heights. Then, with a final thunderous explosion of light, all three—Steve, Robbie, and Diane—were thrown to the ground. Moments later, the entire tree was uprooted with a single loud crunch, and sucked into the demon night.
    And suddenly the storm stopped.
    The four Freelings lay in a pile on the muddy earth, numb, buzzing, spent.
    Suddenly Dana pointed to the horizon and shouted: “Look, Mom . . . Dad!”
    They followed the line of her finger to the distance. It was a receding funnel cloud, just beginning to break up in the outlying hills.
    “A night twister!” Dana marveled.
    “It must have just skimmed us,” Diane nodded. “There wouldn’t be a house standing here if . . .”
    “Carol Anne!” shouted Steve.
    “Still upstairs?” They all looked at the shattered upstairs window.
    “My God!” Diane spoke softly.
    They ran into the house, but when they reached the children’s bedroom, they froze. Except for the two beds blocking the closet, and a few toys and broken bits of furniture, the room was stripped clean. Barren.
    Diane shrieked once, then she and Steve immediately started pulling at the junk. Robbie and Dana stood voicelessly in the doorway watching. E. Buzz whimpered at their feet.
    “Carol Anne!” Diane called, but there was no answer.
    They removed the last piece of debris, and pulled open the closet door.
    The closet was empty.
    “She’s not here!” Steve shouted. He was almost beside himself.
    “Carol Anne!” Diane called out. She ran to the broken window and called again.
    “I’ll check the kitchen!” said Dana.
    “Don’t go in there!” Steve warned. “I’ll check it. You look in our room.”
    “I’ll go.” Diane’s voice came in a rasp. “You look in the bathrooms.”
    They all ran out. All but Robbie, who simply stood, staring feverishly into the empty closet . . . empty, but for the stain high on the wall it shared with his parents’ bedroom. A stain in the shape of some kind of . . . thing. And far back in the corner, doubled over and grinning outrageously at him: the clown doll.
    Steve ran into the kitchen. The television was on, but the local transmitter must have been down—only static snow could be seen on the screen.
    “Carol Anne!” he shouted.
    Dana went into the downstairs bathroom. “Carol!” she called. No answer. The shower curtain was closed—she drew it back quickly: nothing there.
    Diane went through the master bedroom, the bathroom; looked in the closet, under the bed. Every exposed corner left her a little more frantic. “Oh Jesus Christ Almighty. Carol Anne !” The television hissed white static on the end table.
    Steve entered. “This is crazy. I’ve looked everywhere.”
    Suddenly, realization dawned on Diane’s face. “Oh my God. The swimming pool.”
    They broke into a run. Dana joined them in the hallway as they headed downstairs. Slowly Robbie emerged from his bedroom and walked into his parents’ room. Tensely, he stood in front of the television set.
    Dana, Steve, and Diane raced to the edge of the newly dug pool. The rain had softened the perimeter, though, and Dana’s feet began to slide with the shifting mud. The next second she was standing in the deep end, waist high in mud and rainwater.
    Steve ran in after her, and the two of them began plunging their hands into the quagmire, looking for the body. Diane sat down hard on the edge, just weeping and shaking her head. Her strength had reached its low tide.
    Robbie faced the picture tube, inches away, the bluish video glow flattening his features and his affect. For many minutes he lingered like that, then recognition flickered behind his eyes.
    Something registered. He squinted, first with half-awareness, then with growing terror, into the screen. Shadows. Whispers.
    An inarticulate moan passed his lips. Then he screamed. “Mommmmmmy!! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”
    The sound of her child’s shout jerked Diane’s