another palmful of hair off her skirt but seemed unsure what to do with it. Tovah held out her hand for the fur. Maybe someday she’d be able to stuff a mattress with it.
“Take care,” said Richards with a little wave. “See you.”
Inside, Tovah tacked the Realtor’s card on the bulletin board with everything else. “Wonder how long it will take me to lose that?”
Max woofed. She laughed. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Queen of Disorganization. That’s me.”
She stuck another pin into the card to make sure it didn’t fall, but it would be covered in a day by something else, she was sure of it. The bulletin board was her repository for anything that didn’t fit in her junk drawer.
“Don’t give me that look,” she told the dog, and waited for an answer.
But of course, since this was the waking world, there was none.
Chapter Three
The boy had been listening to the sound of screams for a long time. When they stopped this time, he cocked his head to listen for more. And, in a moment, fresh cries echoed around him from the walls.
He didn’t know how he’d arrived here, or how long ago, or why. He knew days passed like a string of beads, each the same and without end. He knew he was safe only from moment to moment, but he’d stopped worrying about being the next to scream.
After a while, even terror must fade.
Still, he was only a boy, and when he heard the sound of footsteps on the stone floor outside his door, he stood. Waited. When the shadow fell across the threshold, he shrank away from it. Away from the stink and the sound of panting, that short, sharp snorting of the dogman.
“Go away!”
Growling laughter greeted that command, but the dogman didn’t enter the room. The boy watched the shadow grow, stretching across the floor toward him. He took another step back, his hands flung out as though to thrust away the shadow. But he couldn’t, could he? Shove away something like that? Hadn’t he learned that already?
“You know what you have to do,” said the witchwoman in the doorway. She wore dark denim jeans and a blue T-shirt. Her gray-streaked hair fell over her shoulders in messy waves. Her long nails clicked against each other.
His mother had long hair, but she was not his mother. This was…someone else, someone he knew but wished he didn’t. She detached herself from her own patch of darkness and looked out into the hall.
“Go ahead,” she urged. “Try it. See what happens.”
The boy shook his head. Bad things happened when he tried to keep the witchwoman and the dogman away. Bad things happened to other people. “No.”
The dogman growled again. The shadow stretched. Once, a long time ago, the boy had seen a movie about a vampire whose shadow moved when it did not. Gnarled, clutching fingers had sought to throttle a victim and pulled back before they could reach. But one day, he thought, stepping back, pushing the shadow away with his will, the dogman wouldn’t pull back.
“He’s never going to stop or go away.” The witchwoman said this matter-of-factly.
His teacher had spoken that way about homework and tests. But this woman wasn’t his teacher, Mrs. Bellestead, who’d kept him after class to work on multiplication, reciting the numbers over and over until at last they’d clicked. This woman moved toward him and he put out a hand to keep her at bay, too, though this effort made his arms tremble with the effort.
“You stop,” he told her. “ You stop.”
She shook her head. Light crossed her face. Dark eyes. Red smear of a mouth. She’d been eating berries or jam. Something sticky and red. It coated her lips and teeth when she grinned.
“I can’t stop. Neither can he. And we don’t want to.”
“No!” cried the boy. “That’s not fair!”
“It might not be fair,” the witchwoman said. “But it’s the truth, and you know it. So do it. Do it now! He’s coming. And he will bite you this time. I will let him bite you!”
Her voice got high and excited.
“Take care,” said Richards with a little wave. “See you.”
Inside, Tovah tacked the Realtor’s card on the bulletin board with everything else. “Wonder how long it will take me to lose that?”
Max woofed. She laughed. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Queen of Disorganization. That’s me.”
She stuck another pin into the card to make sure it didn’t fall, but it would be covered in a day by something else, she was sure of it. The bulletin board was her repository for anything that didn’t fit in her junk drawer.
“Don’t give me that look,” she told the dog, and waited for an answer.
But of course, since this was the waking world, there was none.
Chapter Three
The boy had been listening to the sound of screams for a long time. When they stopped this time, he cocked his head to listen for more. And, in a moment, fresh cries echoed around him from the walls.
He didn’t know how he’d arrived here, or how long ago, or why. He knew days passed like a string of beads, each the same and without end. He knew he was safe only from moment to moment, but he’d stopped worrying about being the next to scream.
After a while, even terror must fade.
Still, he was only a boy, and when he heard the sound of footsteps on the stone floor outside his door, he stood. Waited. When the shadow fell across the threshold, he shrank away from it. Away from the stink and the sound of panting, that short, sharp snorting of the dogman.
“Go away!”
Growling laughter greeted that command, but the dogman didn’t enter the room. The boy watched the shadow grow, stretching across the floor toward him. He took another step back, his hands flung out as though to thrust away the shadow. But he couldn’t, could he? Shove away something like that? Hadn’t he learned that already?
“You know what you have to do,” said the witchwoman in the doorway. She wore dark denim jeans and a blue T-shirt. Her gray-streaked hair fell over her shoulders in messy waves. Her long nails clicked against each other.
His mother had long hair, but she was not his mother. This was…someone else, someone he knew but wished he didn’t. She detached herself from her own patch of darkness and looked out into the hall.
“Go ahead,” she urged. “Try it. See what happens.”
The boy shook his head. Bad things happened when he tried to keep the witchwoman and the dogman away. Bad things happened to other people. “No.”
The dogman growled again. The shadow stretched. Once, a long time ago, the boy had seen a movie about a vampire whose shadow moved when it did not. Gnarled, clutching fingers had sought to throttle a victim and pulled back before they could reach. But one day, he thought, stepping back, pushing the shadow away with his will, the dogman wouldn’t pull back.
“He’s never going to stop or go away.” The witchwoman said this matter-of-factly.
His teacher had spoken that way about homework and tests. But this woman wasn’t his teacher, Mrs. Bellestead, who’d kept him after class to work on multiplication, reciting the numbers over and over until at last they’d clicked. This woman moved toward him and he put out a hand to keep her at bay, too, though this effort made his arms tremble with the effort.
“You stop,” he told her. “ You stop.”
She shook her head. Light crossed her face. Dark eyes. Red smear of a mouth. She’d been eating berries or jam. Something sticky and red. It coated her lips and teeth when she grinned.
“I can’t stop. Neither can he. And we don’t want to.”
“No!” cried the boy. “That’s not fair!”
“It might not be fair,” the witchwoman said. “But it’s the truth, and you know it. So do it. Do it now! He’s coming. And he will bite you this time. I will let him bite you!”
Her voice got high and excited.
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