'Salem's Lot(64)

2

Every window on the lower floor of Matt's house was lit up, and when Ben's headlights splashed across the front as he turned into the driveway, Matt opened the door and waited for him.

He came up the walk ready for almost anything, but Matt's face was still a shock. It was deadly pale, and the mouth was trembling. His eyes were wide, and they didn't seem to blink.

'Let's go in the kitchen,' he said.

Ben came in, and as he stepped inside, the half light caught the cross lying against his chest.

'You brought one.'

'It belongs to Eva Miller. What's the matter?'

Matt repeated: 'In the kitchen.' As they passed the stairs leading to the second floor, he glanced upward and seemed to flinch away at the same time.

The kitchen table where they had eaten spaghetti was bare now except for three items, two of them peculiar: a cup of coffee, an old-fashioned clasp Bible, and a .38 revolver.

'Now, what's up, Matt? You look awful.'

'And maybe I dreamed the whole thing, but thank God you're here.' He had picked up the revolver and was turning it over restively in his hands.

'Tell me. And stop playing with that thing. Is it loaded?' Matt put the pistol down and ran a hand through his hair. 'Yes, it's loaded. Although I don't think it would do any good . . . unless I used it on myself.' He laughed, a jagged, unhealthy sound like grinding glass.

'Stop that.'

The harshness in his voice broke the queer, fixed look in his eyes. He shook his head, not like a man propounding a negative, but the way some animals will shake themselves coming out of cold water.

'There's a dead man upstairs,' he said.

'Who?'

'Mike Ryerson. He works for the town. He's a grounds keeper.'

'Are you sure he's dead?'

'I am in my guts, even though I haven't looked in on him. I haven't dared. Because, in another way, he may not be dead at all.'

'Matt, you're not talking good sense.'

'Don't you think I know that? I'm talking nonsense and I'm thinking madness. But there was no one to call but you. In all of 'salem's Lot, you're the only person that might . . . might . . .' He shook his head and began again. 'We talked about Danny Glick.'

'Yes.'

'And how he might have died of pernicious anemia . . . what our grandfathers would have called "just wasting away."'

'Yes.'

'Mike buried him. And Mike found Win Purinton's dog impaled on the Harmony Hill Cemetery gates. I met Mike Ryerson in Dell's last night, and - '

3

' - and I couldn't go in,' he finished. Couldn't. I sat on my bed for nearly four hours. Then I crept downstairs like a thief and called you. What do you think?'

Ben had taken the crucifix off; now he poked at the glimmering heap of fine-link chain with a reflective finger. It was almost five o'clock and the eastern sky was rose with dawn. The fluorescent bar overhead had gone pallid.

'I think we'd better go up to your guest room and look. That's all, I think, right now.'

'The whole thing seems like a madman's nightmare now, with the light coming in the window.' He laughed shakily. 'I hope it is. I hope Mike is sleeping like a baby.'

'Well, let's go see.'

Matt firmed his lips with an effort. 'Okay.' He dropped his eyes to the table and then looked at Ben question?ingly.

'Sure,' Ben said, and slipped the crucifix over Matt's neck.

'It actually does make me feel better.' He laughed self?-consciously. 'Do you suppose they'll let me wear it when they cart me off to Augusta?'

Ben said, 'Do you want the gun?'

'No, I guess not. I'd stick it in the top of my pants and blow my balls off.'

They went upstairs, Ben in the lead. There was a short hall at the top, running both ways. At one end, the door to Matt's bedroom stood open, a pale sheaf of lamplight spilling out onto the orange runner.

'Down at the other end,' Matt said

Ben walked down the hall and stood in front of the guest room door. He did not believe the monstrosity Matt had implied, but nonetheless he found himself engulfed by a wave of the blackest fright he had ever known.

You open the door and he's hanging from the beam, the face swelled and puffed and black, and then the eyes open and they're bulging in the sockets but they're SEEING you and they're glad you came  -

The memory rose up in -almost total sensory reference, and for the moment of its totality he was paralyzed. He could even smell the plaster and the wild odor of nesting animals. It seemed to him that the plain varnished wood door of Matt Burke's guest room stood between him and all the secrets of hell.

Then he twisted the knob and pushed the door inward. Matt was at his shoulder, and he was holding Eva's crucifix tightly.

The guest room window faced directly east, and the top arc of the sun had just cleared the horizon. The first pellucid rays shone directly through the window, isolating a few golden motes as it fell in a shaft to the white linen sheet that was pulled up to Mike Ryerson's chest.

Ben looked at Matt and nodded. 'He's all right,' he whispered. 'Sleeping.'

Matt said tonelessly, 'The window's open. It was closed and locked. I made sure of it.'