Nightmares, p.46
Nightmares, page 46
“What are you doing?” said Sonny.
“Searching. What do you think?”
“What are you looking for, bus fare? Leave the sofa alone.”
Sonny played his light over the room. Witt checked his watch. They’d been in the room for fifteen minutes, but it felt like an hour. I might not be cut out for this life, he thought, but he kept his mouth shut.
Sonny pursed his lips like he was going to spit.
“There’s nothing in here. Let’s check the dining room.”
They went across the hall and inspected the room the same way they’d done the other. The dining room was even less interesting than the parlor. Just a big table, some chairs, and a sideboard. There was a crystal chandelier in the center of the room, covered in cobwebs. That was probably worth something, thought Witt, but how would they get it out of there?
“Nice.”
It was Sonny’s voice. Witt went and looked over his shoulder. He had one of the sideboard drawers open and was holding up a shiny butter knife. Sonny handed it to Witt.
“You know what that is?”
Witt shook his head.
“Gold-plated silver. Old too.”
Witt turned the knife over. It was pretty and it reflected a buttery light onto his jacket where the flashlight caught it. It was nice, but it didn’t seem like a fortune.
“Is this what we came for?” he asked.
Sonny took the knife back and shook his head.
“It’s a start. We’ve got a few thousand dollars here easy. I know people who love this kind of shit. They sell it to antique dealers and designer fags for a fortune.”
Sonny put the knife back in the drawer.
“Aren’t we going to take it?” said Witt.
“It’s heavy. We’ll get it on the way out. But this is exactly what we’re looking for right now. Smalls. The old man will know where the big ticket stuff is, but for now remember to keep your eyes out for cash or watches or rings. We’ll finish down here and go upstairs to roust granddad.”
A few thousand dollars already, thought Witt. Maybe I am cut out for this after all.
Sonny went ahead down the hall and Witt followed him inside an old office. There was a heavy wooden desk with an old-fashioned typewriter on top. To the side, an office chair with bad springs. It sat low and leaned back at a funny angle. There was a hat rack with a moldy fedora and ancient lacquered file cabinets so swollen with moisture that some of the drawers were twisted and wedged tight. Sonny started to work on them while Witt looked through the desk.
It was one of the old kind you see in movies, with lots of cubbyholes on top. He shone his light in each one and stuck a finger in the holes where he saw something. All he found were a few dead roaches, some rusted paperclips, and mouse turds. The drawers weren’t any better. Letterhead stationery, old pens, and a rusty letter opener. In one of the bottom drawers he found a dusty bottle of bourbon. He was tempted take it until he saw that the seal had been broken. Did whiskey go bad like beer? He didn’t want to take a chance, so he put the bottle back and opened the top middle drawer.
There was a doll inside, like the ones in the trees. A goddamn funny place for one, Witt thought. He reached in the drawer and picked it up. It hung for a second, like it was caught on a nail, but it came free with a little tug.
Something black boiled out from the drawer, spread across the desktop, up the walls and down onto the floor. Witt almost shouted, but kept himself under control. Some of what writhed on the desk hopped off and landed on the legs of his jeans. He pointed his light down.
There were spiders, pouring out of the desk and trying to crawl up his legs.
“Fuck!” he yelled, and shook his legs like he was barefoot dancing on coals. Someone grabbed his jacket collar and pulled him into the hall.
Sonny turned him around and looked him over.
“Spiders,” whispered Witt.
Without missing a beat, Sonny bent and brushed the spiders away with his sleeve. When they hit the floor, he stepped on them like it wasn’t anything at all.
“Thanks,” said Witt. “I’m scared shitless of those things.”
Sonny slapped him across the face.
“Don’t you make another goddamn noise, you hear me?” he said.
Witt was still trying to catch his breath. His cheek stung, but he nodded. Sonny walked over and closed the office door. Seeing the spiders locked inside, Witt relaxed a little.
“You got a thing about those bugs?” said Sonny.
Witt nodded.
“So did my old man. Turned to jelly at the sight of ’em. That’s okay. You just better hope the old man didn’t hear you and call the cops.”
“Maybe we should leave?” said Witt.
Sonny shook his head. Stood quiet for a minute, listening for footsteps or a phone.
“No. We’re just getting started,” Sonny said.
Witt looked around.
“This place is huge,” he said. “It could take all night.”
“No. When you’ve got a big place like this what you do is hurt somebody. In this case, the old man.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s obviously crazy and we’re going to want him back on planet Earth for a while. Don’t sweat it. I’ll handle things. You just watch and learn.”
Witt waited while Sonny walked down the hall. He wasn’t sure how he felt about what Sonny wanted to do. Witt had been in plenty of fights over the years, but they were always stand up man-to-man things, not slapping an old cuss around. Still, the gold up front was awfully pretty and he didn’t think Sonny was the kind of man who was going to be talked out of a plan once he’d set his mind to it. Witt knuckled his cheek where Sonny slapped him. Better the old man getting hurt than him.
He realized that he was still holding the doll. It was like the others. A few inches long and with a leather head. There was a piece of string around its waist, trailing off to a frayed end. Witt remembered the feeling of the doll getting snagged on something in the drawer. Then he thought of something else.
Sonny was halfway down the hall, headed for the kitchen. Witt came up behind him and grabbed his shoulder.
“I think it was a trick,” he said.
“What?”
“The spiders. Look.” He held up the doll so Sonny could see the string. “They could have been in a bag of a net or something and when I picked up the doll it let ’em loose.”
Sonny looked at him and a smile crept across his face.
“Be cool, man. You’re just spooked. We’re about done down here. We’ve got the kitchen and if there’s a basement, maybe give the downstairs a quick once over. Then we go upstairs and we’re out. Okay?”
Witt wanted to agree. He didn’t want Sonny mad at him, but he didn’t want spiders even more.
“I still think it was a trick,” he said. “Something the old man set up.”
Sonny glanced upstairs.
“I doubt this old guy can find his way down to the shitter. Stay focused and do the job.”
Sonny started away and Witt wanted to say something, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He played his flashlight over the walls and floor.
“Stop,” he said.
Up ahead, Sonny stopped. He dropped his head a little. His shoulders were tense like he was about to hit something.
“What?” he said.
Witt didn’t get any closer to him. He kept his light pointed at the floor a few feet in front of Sonny.
“Look down there.”
Sonny took a couple of steps forward and stood for a moment, then went down on one knee.
“I’ll be goddamned,” he said.
Witt came to where Sonny knelt. Their lights illuminated a length of monofilament fishing line across the hall about six inches off the ground. Sonny grinned up at Witt.
“What do you think? More spiders? Maybe ninjas’ll fall from the ceiling?”
“Don’t touch it,” said Witt as Sonny hooked a finger around the wire and pulled. It snapped. Witt froze. Nothing happened. Sonny looked up at him, then stood.
“I’ve got to give you points, man. You were right. Grandpa has been up to some funny games. But he’s still an addled old man. This one didn’t work.”
Witt looked around the hall, expecting more spiders to come raining down. But nothing happened. He pointed at something shiny near the ceiling.
“What’s that?” he said.
Sonny saw it too. He moved closer, pulling a pistol from his jeans. He used the barrel to brush the tiny specks of light above his head. They made a small sound swinging against each other, like tiny wind chimes. It was fishhooks. Dozens of them hanging at eye level on more monofilament.
Sonny swept the gun barrel through the hooks, sending them swinging.
“This is good news. Know why?”
Witt shook his head.
“Because it means there’s something in this house worth protecting. We’re going to make ourselves some money tonight.”
Sonny walked under the hooks and stood when he reached the other side. He turned all the way around, checking the floor and walls for wires. When he was done, he motioned for Witt to follow him.
Witt hated creeping under the hooks almost as much as the spiders. He darted through and didn’t stand again until he was past Sonny.
“We do the job just like we planned,” he said. “Just keep your eyes open for any more pranks.”
“Yeah. Okay,” said Witt.
“And get rid of that fucking doll. You look like an idiot.”
Witt looked down. He was still holding the doll with the string. He tossed it back down the hall the way they’d come and flinched, afraid it might set off another trap. But nothing happened.
“There’s another wire up ahead,” said Sonny. “I’ll go that way. You check the closet.”
As Sonny moved off, Witt looked over the closet door. He checked the ceiling for hooks, and moved his light slowly over, around, and below the frame. Ran his fingers around the doorknob feeling for a tripwire. He didn’t find one. He looked down at Sonny, wondering if he could just say he’d checked the closet. But Witt knew he wasn’t a good liar. There was nothing he could do.
He put his hand on the closet doorknob and turned. It opened. Nothing happened. He swung the door opened the rest of the way and shone his flashlight inside.
The closet was full of rotting coats and rain boots, some umbrellas and a couple of canes with silver tops. Those could be worth something, he thought. There were boxes on the floor and more on a shelf above the coats. He checked around for more lines, but didn’t see any signs of them. The canes first, he thought, and reached for one.
A board under his foot sank a couple of inches. Witt froze. There was a metal-on-metal squeak. He pointed his flashlight at the floor. A board with long butcher knives pushed through it hung a foot away from his legs. It was supposed to swing out when he stepped on the board and hit him in the knees, but the house had betrayed the old man. The hinge the board hung from was caked with rust. Witt was so happy he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to piss Sonny off by making noise. He grabbed one of the canes and stepped back. The board under his foot rose back up into place.
And another board swung out, this one chest-high. Witt jumped back, slamming his head into the wall opposite the closet. He went blind for a second as light exploded behind his eyes. When it cleared, he saw the second knife board, embedded in the closet door. It had missed him by a few inches. The doll he’d thrown away earlier lay by his side. He kicked it into the closet.
Footsteps pounded down the hall.
Sonny grabbed his shoulder and pushed him out of the way. He looked over the scene and then at Witt.
“You okay?”
Witt nodded, but he was still a little light-headed from the fall. Sonny grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to his feet.
“Fuck this,” said Sonny. “Let’s find him.”
He was already on the stairs when Witt saw it.
“Stop!” he yelled.
Too late.
He ducked as Sonny’s foot broke the fishing line.
A shotgun blast ripped across the hall, right by Sonny’s head. It looked like an old sawed-off was inside the wall, hidden behind a flap of wallpaper, now scorched and torn by the blast. Sonny stumbled down the stairs, holding a hand over one ear. He pulled his hand away and checked it. There was blood on the palm.
Witt came over.
“You okay?” he said.
Sonny looked at him for a second, then snapped out of it.
“I think I’m fucking deaf in this ear. I think that fucker blew out my eardrum.”
“Maybe we should get the knives and forks and just go,” said Witt.
Sonny took out his pistol.
“We’re not going anywhere. I’m going to find out what that old fuck has and kill him.”
Under normal circumstances, Witt would argue about something like killing a person, but these circumstances were damned far from normal and the old bastard was kind of asking for it, Witt thought. He followed Sonny up the stairs. They weren’t quiet as they went. The old man had to have heard the shotgun. There wasn’t any point in being quiet anymore.
“Careful,” Witt said.
A few steps up Sonny said, “There’s another doll and another wire. Duck.”
Sonny bent over and when he was through, Witt followed him. As Sonny stood Witt saw the other line, the one strung so if you missed the first, you’d hit the second. Witt closed his eyes and what felt like a thousand pounds crashed down on them.
They were pinned to the steps. Sonny cursed and thrashed. Witt tried to push the weight off, but every time he moved the net ripped into his skin. He managed to get his flashlight turned around and finally understood what had happened. The net they were trapped in was made of barbed wire. And they weren’t alone. There was a body with them. A bag of bones and rags. Some other poor asshole who’d wandered into the old man’s house and never left. Behind him, Sonny cursed and growled about all the ways he was going to murder the old man.
“Hold it,” said Witt. “Stop moving a minute.”
Sonny thrashed few a few seconds more and stopped.
“Barbed wire don’t weigh much, but this net has got big weights on the ends,” Witt said. “We keep thrashing, we’re going to wrap ourselves up and die here like Mr. Bones.”
“Who the fuck?” said Sonny.
“Turn your head.”
Sonny did. The net dug into Witt’s skin again as Sonny jerked back from the body.
“Fuck me,” said Sonny.
“What are we going to do?”
“One of us has got to get out. Then he can hold the net up for the other to get out.”
“So who does what?” said Witt.
“I hate to admit it, and if you repeat it I’ll deny it, but I think you’re stronger. I can’t lift for shit flat on my back here. You get me out and I can help you.”
“Okay,” said Witt. “Can you help push a little?”
“I’ll do what I can. Just keep those goddamn bones away from me.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know. Forget it. Just push.”
Witt got hold of one of the weights holding the net in place. The problem was that it was wrapped in barbed wire. Each time he grabbed it, the metal barbs tore into his fingers and palms. On his first try, he moved the weight up about six inches before the pain got to be too much. The good news was that it allowed Sonny to turn and wriggle up next to him. They both got ahold of the weight and lifted it just high enough for Sonny to crawl out. Witt dropped the net back where it was. Sonny lay on the stairs, panting.
“Sonny?”
“Yeah.”
“Think you can start helping me out of here? I don’t want to spend the night with this dead boy.”
Sonny got to his knees and came up a step to where the weight lay. He put his hands on it and yanked them away.
“What’s wrong?’ said Witt.
“That dead fucker touched me.”
“Use your jacket,” said Witt. “It’ll help with the barbs and you won’t feel the bones.”
Sonny looked at him like Witt was speaking Chinese. Then he took his jacket off and wrapped it around his hands. Taking hold of the weight, he pulled up, leaning back against the staircase railing for support.
There was a spark and a thump. The weight came down, almost smashing into Witt’s hand. Sonny flopped on the stairs next to it.
“Sonny,” said Witt. “You all right?”
Sonny opened his eyes and looked at the banister.
“The railing is electrified. Zapped me good,” he said.
“Can you lift the weight without touching it?”
Sonny reached up and pulled off his ski mask. His face was slick with sweat. He wiped it out of his eyes with his jacket sleeve.
“No, I can’t,” he said. He looked over. Witt knew Sonny was staring at the bones more than looking at him. Sonny frowned.
“I think I’m about done here, Hoss,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Sonny put his jacket back on.
“I’m done. I’m over. The old fucker won.”
Sonny stood and pulled his ski mask back on. He jerked back when he almost touched the railing and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, man. I can’t help you.”
He turned and started down the stairs.
“Sonny,” yelled Witt. “Please.”
Sonny kept walking. Witt yelled after him.
“You can keep my share of the forks and stuff. Just don’t leave me.”
Sonny stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Witt waited for him to come back up. Sonny said, “Sorry, man.” He turned and headed for the door.
“Sonny!”
Down in the dark, Sonny cursed.
“What is it?” said Witt.
“The goddamned door. It’s locked.”
Witt listened to Sonny walk around downstairs, cursing and punching things.
He came back into the hall.
“The windows are barred from the inside. What the hell kind of house did you bring me to? This is your fault, you hayseed prick. I hope you fucking rot up there with your dead pal.”
