Darkness tell us, p.1
Darkness Tell Us, page 1
Darkness Tell Us
Series: The Richard Laymon Collection [7]
Published: 2006
Rating: ★★★★
Tags: Horror, Fiction
Horrorttt Fictionttt
* * *
SUMMARY:
DARKNESS, TELL US It starts at an end-of-term party. Six college kids and a Ouija board. The board that Professor Coreen Dalton had hidden at the back of a cupboard and sworn never to touch again - not after Jake's death. And now here are these kids falling for the revelations of a spirit called Butler, swallowing it's promise of a fortune hidden in the mountains. Not that Corie believes they would be stupid enough to head off in to the wilderness on the say-so of a child's plaything. To embark on a two-day hike into the unknown where any foul danger may lie in wait to cut and slice and tear them limb from limb. But then, professor or not, Corie could be wrong... ONE RAINY NIGHT The water drops like a shroud on the town of Bixby. Warm, viscous and unnatural, it coats the inhabitants in an unending torrent - and turns them into crazy, hate-filled maniacs. A helpful stranger at a gas station shoves a petrol pump down a customer's throat and squeezes the trigger. A soaking-wet queue of cinema-goers smashes its way inside the movie house to slice up the dry people within. A loving wife attacks her husband, bouncing the back of his head on the marble floor until it sounds like sloppy wet meat...
DARKNESS TELL US
Richard Laymon
A LEISURE BOOK
March 2003
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10001
Copyright (c) 1991 by Richard Laymon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
ISBN 0-8439-5047-1
The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
Visit us on the web at www.dorchesterpub.com.
To our great friends Chris & Dick Boyanski,
adventurers in mixology and the supernatural
To Kara and Kyle
And, of course, to Timmy
wherever you are
whatever you are
But 'tis strange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's
In deepest consequence.
-- Macbeth, Act I, scene iii
Chapter One
"I don't think that's such a good idea," Dr. Dalton said.
"Oh, come on. It'll be kicks." Lana, standing on tiptoes, continued to pull the flat box of the Ouija off the bookshelf. The games stacked on top of it teetered. Monopoly and Careers, high above her, started sliding.
"Look out!" Keith warned.
She flung up a hand and blocked the boxes. But a leather dice cup, out of sight until now, slid down the tilted ramp of the Monopoly box and fell. It bounced off her forehead. She flinched, muttered, "Shit!" and plucked out the Ouija. The rest of the games dropped, jolting the shelf.
Howard grinned. Served Lana right for going against the professor's wishes. Some of the other students were laughing.
Dr. Dalton neither grinned nor laughed, but Howard saw a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "I told you it wasn't a good idea."
"I didn't know you had booby-traps," Lana said.
"Every so often I get lucky and trap a booby."
"Funny," Lana muttered. Bending down with the Ouija box under one arm, she picked up the dice cup and set it on a shelf. She turned around and met the professor's eyes. "You don't really mind if we give this thing a try, do you? I've never seen a Ouija board in action."
"You're better off that way."
Keith went, "Oooooo, ominous."
Lana gave him a quick look as if she didn't appreciate his interference. To Dr. Dalton, with a smile and a shrug of her shoulders, she said, "It's just a game, Corie."
"So is Russian Roulette."
"Woooo," said Keith.
What a scrote, Howard thought. But he kept the opinion to himself. He was no dummy. Keith, who looked and acted like a jock in spite of being an English major, could probably demolish him with a single blow.
From a padded chair in a corner of the den, Doris said, "The analogy seems somewhat inflated, if you ask me."
"Nobody asked," Keith pointed out.
Lana, on tiptoes, studied the stack of games. "Have you got a revolver up there, Corie?"
"Of course not."
"Then why a Ouija board, if it's just as dangerous?"
"It's sort of a keepsake. Obviously, I should've gotten rid of it."
"What's the big deal?" Keith asked.
"One must beware of tampering with the unknown," Doris said, her voice full of menace. She widened her eyes at Keith, though he wasn't even looking in her direction. Then she swung her thick legs off the foot rest, bounded up and pranced toward the group.
Here she comes, Howard thought. Our fat Puck. Our spritely, pedantic gnome.
She raised a warning finger. "There are forces lurking in the shadowy corners of the universe that . . ."
"Stuff it," Keith suggested.
"That's enough," Dr. Dalton told him. She said to Lana, "Hey, we're here to have a good time. If your heart's set on fooling around with that thing, be my guest. But just keep me out of it. A deal?"
"Sure! Great! OK, who's going to do it with me?"
"I'll do it with you any chance I get," Keith said.
He probably does, Howard thought.
Ignoring the remark, Lana asked Dr. Dalton, "How many can play at a time?"
"Up to four, I guess. More than that, it would get awfully crowded around the board."
"OK. We need two more hearty volunteers."
"Include me in," Doris said.
Keith looked as if he would rather "include in" a wad of used toilet paper, but he made no protest.
"That's three," Lana said. "One more. Any takers?"
Howard looked around. Professor Dalton was shaking her head. He saw Glen over in a corner, stuffing potato chips into his mouth. Angela was sitting at the far end of the sofa, hands folded on her lap, gazing into space.
I probably ought to go over and sit with her, he thought. He hadn't really spent much time with Angela tonight. She might think he was trying to ignore her.
But God, she was so weird. As if she were from a different planet or something, and longed for home.
Keith slapped Howard on the shoulder. Harder than necessary. "Join the fun, Howitzer. You can play kneesies with Doris."
He looked at Lana. "Is it OK with you?"
"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"
He shrugged, feeling a little dumb for asking Lana's permission.
"So, Corie, how do we play?"
Before she could answer, Doris said, "I've done it before."
"Where'd you find a blind guy?" Keith asked.
"Oh, that's rich, Mr. Harris. It's wonderful that you've achieved the capability of amusing yourself with quips of such startling inanity."
"Oink," he said.
Lana swung her arm out. The back of her fist whapped Keith's chest. It struck his left pectoral, a solid mound under his clinging shirt, with a sound like a mallet smacking raw beef. "Knock it off," she said.
Dr. Dalton raised her eyebrows. Her lips, pressed together tightly, were turned down at the corners. Howard had seen that expression before. She was delighted that Lana had given Keith a thump. Delighted, but determined to keep her grin in check.
"I have a card table in the kitchen," she said. "Why don't we bring it out here so the rest of us can keep an eye on you."
They went into the small, tidy kitchen. Dr. Dalton scooted chairs away from the table. She folded one of them. As she handed it to Howard, she gave him the special look. A look she never gave anyone but him. He returned his version of it. Not a wink, but it seemed to hold the meaning of a wink: they were secretly sharing a wry amusement at the antics of the others. What are a couple of folks like us doing in the midst of all this?
He felt himself blush. He supposed he always blushed when she looked at him that way.
She handed chairs to Doris and Lana, then squatted down and tugged at a metal cuff to release one of the table's folding legs.
Howard saw the way her white shorts were drawn taut against the smooth curves of her rump. Her blouse was stretched across her back. Through its fabric, he could see the pink hue of her skin and the bands of her bra.
His throat tightened. His heart pounded faster and he felt a tight pressure in his groin.
Turning away, he carried his chair toward the den.
He'd taken this special summer session class for only one reason: to be in Dr. Dalton's presence. He'd taken so many of her classes during his three years at Belmore University. But they were never enough. Ever since she'd stepped to the lectern on his first morning of freshman English, he'd been captivated by her. She was just so beautiful, so smart and funny, so caring.
She liked him a lot, too. He knew that.
But he also knew that she didn't think of him as a possible lover. Never would. A, he'd been born nine years too late. Not an overwhelming age difference, but still a barrier. B, he was on
Just be glad she's your friend, he told himself.
But an awful feeling of loss swept through him as he set the chair down in the den. Dr. Dalton's party tonight marked the end of the summer session. Howard would be packing tomorrow, flying home the day after. He wouldn't be seeing her again until the fall semester, nearly two months away.
As the others came in with chairs and the table, he found himself regretting that he'd agreed to join in. Dr. Dalton had no intention of messing with the Ouija. If he'd refused, he could be spending the time with her.
Keith held the table steady on its edge while Dr. Dalton snapped its legs into place. He flipped it upright, and she directed him to position it near the center of the living room.
Keith sat across from Lana, Howard across from Doris.
Lana was shaking open the box when Glen came over, a heap of potato chips cupped in his hand. The floor stopped shaking when he halted behind Doris. He gazed down at the Ouija and poked a chip into his mouth.
"Would you like to take my place?" Howard asked.
"When they're ice skating in hell, pal."
"Very sensible," Dr. Dalton said.
Does she think I'm not sensible? Howard wondered. No, she understands. She realizes I was pushed into this.
Maybe he could get Angela to take his place.
He looked toward the sofa. Angela was staring at him with those big, gloomy eyes.
"Angela?" he called. "Wouldn't you like to play?"
"Thank you, no."
"Quit trying to squirm out, Howitzer."
"I think you guys are nuts," Glen said. A wet fleck of chip flew from his mouth, sailed over Doris's head and landed on the Ouija. On the Y of the YES in its upper left-hand corner. Only Howard seemed to notice. "Didn't any of you read The Exorcist?"
"Get real," Keith said.
"That's how that little twerp got possessed, fuh . . . messing around with her Ouija board."
Doris said in her menacing voice, "No good can come of it." Then she chuckled.
Lana looked up from the back of the box. "It says here we put our fingers lightly on the message indicator and just start asking questions." She set the box on the floor, then placed the heart-shaped plastic pointer in the middle of the board and rested two ringers of her right hand on it.
"Atmosphere!" Keith said. "We oughta be doing this in the dark, don't you think?"
"How would we read the messages?" Lana asked.
"A flashlight. Have you got a flashlight, Prof?"
"I'll get one," she told him. "You'll probably want a pen and some paper, too."
Lana looked up at her. "Is this thing really going to say something?"
"I wouldn't be at all surprised," Dr. Dalton said, and walked off.
"I'll get the lights," Glen said.
As he started away, Angela reached up and turned off the lamp at her end of the sofa. She sat in the gloom for a few moments, gazing toward Howard and the others. Then she got up and came over. In her soft, hesitant voice, she said, "If it's all right with everyone, I'll record the messages."
"Thata girl," Keith said.
Howard suspected that she just didn't want to be left sitting alone in the dark.
"I like all this confidence," Lana said. "God, it'd be cool if the thing actually does come through."
"The spirits of the dead are always eager for human contact," Doris said, this time using her normal voice.
Could she be serious? "Spirits of the dead?" Howard asked.
"Who else?"
"Us? I mean, I've studied a little about this kind of thing. From what I've read, the consensus seems to be that the pointer's movements are probably controlled by the subconscious mind of one of the participants."
"Which, in itself, could be interesting," Lana said.
"A nice theory," Doris said. "Nice in its Elizabethan sense -- meaning simple, naive, and ignorant."
Keith nodded, grinning. "Right. All the smart people know it's dead folks talking."
"You may mock me now, but . . ." Her head turned as Dr. Dalton came into the room. "Hey, Professor, do Ouija messages come from the subconscious of someone guiding the pointer? Or from discarnate entities?"
"I'm no expert," she said.
"But you've used this board, am I right?"
"I've used it. That's why I want nothing to do with all this. Who wants the light?"
"Me," Angela said. "I'll be taking the notes."
Dr. Dalton gave her the flashlight, a ballpoint and a pad of paper.
"OK?" Lana asked. "Let's give it a try."
As those at the table reached out and rested their fingers on the pointer, Dr. Dalton said, "Remember what I told you. Don't mention my name while you're fooling around with that thing."
"Mine either," Glen said, taking up his position behind Doris. "Can't be too careful when it comes to fooling around with spooks. Not that I believe in any of this."
"We won't mention anyone, OK? Let's get started."
"Just one of us should ask it questions," Doris whispered.
"I'll do it," Lana said. "OK. Here goes." Then she spoke in a clear, steady voice. "Oh, great spirit of the Ouija board, we your humble servants ask that you address us. Hello? Hello? Anyone out there? Yoo-hoo. Calling all ghosts, calling all ghosts . . ."
"Don't be frivolous," Doris muttered.
"Spirits of the netherworld, we beseech you to communicate with us. Denizens of the other side. Ghoulies, ghosties, long-leggity beasties . . ."
"Damn it, Lana."
"Speak to us. Oh great subconscious, oh great id, get this mysterious message indicator moving. Come on, we're losing patience."
The platform under their fingers suddenly began to slide.
"All right!" Keith whispered.
"Shhhh."
It made loops, jerked from side to side.
"Is somebody doing this?" Lana asked.
It stopped near Howard, at the end of the top row of the alphabet. Angela's hip brushed against his upper arm. She leaned over and turned on the flashlight. "M," she whispered, and kept the light on the pointer as it slid away and stopped. "E."
It remained motionless.
"Me," she said.
"Ooo, boy," Keith muttered.
"It made sense," Lana said. "Jesus. I asked who was . . ."
The plastic heart darted for a corner of the board. It stopped on NO.
"Not Jesus," Doris said.
"Thing's got a sense of humor," Keith said. He sounded nervous.
"You pushed it over there," Lana said.
"No way. I swear."
"Howard?"
"I didn't. Honest."
"Doris?"
The pointer moved. But not the way it had moved before. This time, it didn't glide lightly over the surface of the board. It felt weighted down, sluggish, pushed. "That," Doris said, "is how it feels if one of us steers it."
Lana pulled her hand back. She brought it up to her chest. Fingering a button at the top of her blouse, she stared at the board.
"Problem?" Doris asked. Her voice reeked of sarcasm.
"Shut up," Lana said.
"We aren't feeling quite so frivolous now, are we?"
"Let's ask it something," Keith said.
Lana tapped the button with her fingernail. "I don't know about this."
"This is what a Ouija board is supposed to do," Doris informed her.
"Come on, Lana."
"OK, OK." She lowered her hand to the pointer. "Who are you?" she asked.
It moved slowly across the alphabet, stopping long enough at each letter for Angela to check with the flashlight, speak the letter, and copy it on her pad. "F-R-I-E-N-D."
"Friend," Lana said. "Glad to hear it. Where are you?"
"N-E-A-R."
"Ask if it's a ghost," Keith whispered.
"Are you a ghost?"
The pointer sped toward the crescent moon in a corner of the board near Howard.
"No," Angela said.
"Not a ghost. That's a relief. What are you?"
"S-E-R-V-A-N-T."
"Whose servant?"
"U."
Lana let out a quick laugh. "Well, terrific. What're you going to do for me, servant?"
