if a child, he began to talk to the sleeping form.
“Don’t you tell, Agnes. Promise not to tell. You’ll be sorry. Please don’t tell. Agnes? Promise now. I won’t do it again. I just didn’t know. I wanted to. There now, don’t worry. It didn’t hurt. There’s no need to be upset. Don’t tell, Agnes. I won’t do it again. I couldn’t help myself, but it wouldn’t be fair for you to tell.”
Barbara stirred uncomfortable in her sleep, shifting her position.
“Stay still, Agnes. Stay still when I tell you to. It won’t hurt. That’s right. Just lay there. I promise it won’t hurt. Only you mustn’t tell anyone. That’s nice, Agnes. Oh, that’s nice. I told you it was nice. Pretty Agnes. Nice Agnes. Don’t tell. Go to sleep. That’s right, go to sleep. It didn’t hurt, did it?”
On the edge of consciousness, Barbara stirred again. The voice stopped and she awakened hearing a low, gurgling, choking sound, incredibly vile. Her eyes came open and she looked wildly about, sure she was having another dream—until she saw the shadow in front of her, heard the sound raising in intensity and then a voice shrieked out.
“Nasty Billy!”
In confusion she tried to focus her eyes on the shadow but could see only its eyes, the eyes of a mindless beast. It moved toward her and she reached her hand out for the lamp on the table, tried to cover her face with her pillow, to sit up, to call out but the scream stuck in her throat as she watched the thing come closer to her, a gleaming knife in its hand, raised in a high arc above her body.
Suddenly she could see the distorted face as well as the wild eyes and the terror of it forced the scream from her throat as the knife swung down into her chest and outside the children raised their youthful, optimistic voices in the final bars of the song as the frenzied man struck the knife over and over again into Barb’s helpless body.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jess stood there, unaware of the chill, applauding the children as a station wagon pulled up and a woman got out of the driver’s seat and ran across the lawn to the children and the middle-aged woman who was shepherding them.
“Jean,” she said in an agitated manner while keeping her voice low, “get the children into the cars.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Please, there’s no time for questions. I don’t want to talk about it here. They might hear. Just get them into the cars.”
Jess had slipped back into the hall and had gotten a dollar from her coat pocket which she carried out to the lawn as the two women were conversing.
“Let’s go, children!” the one called Jean was saying. “Pile into the wagons. Either one. We’re going to go now.”
There was a chorus of disappointment so she added, “We’ll get some hot cocoa and cookies at my place.”
Jess handed the woman a dollar and she said half-heartedly, “Thank you.”
The other one, the one who had driven up noticed the quizzical expression on Jess’s face, so she said, “There was a little girl found murdered over in the park tonight.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“Your phone is ringing.”
“Oh, yes, excuse me.”
“Certainly. Good night.”
Jean called from the door of her station wagon. “And thanks again for the contribution. Sorry we couldn’t stay longer.”
But Jess was already in the house and had closed the door. She went directly into the living room and then, taking a deep breath, lifted the receiver.
At headquarters the phone was ringing, too and Lieutenant Ken Fuller rushed into his office ready to grab it while down at the switching station Bill Graham stood alertly in front of the flashing light on the panel that told him that the number at the sorority house was being called.
Jess put her hand on the receiver but felt that it was frozen there. The room seemed suddenly dark and eerie despite the fact that all of the living room lights, including those on the Christmas tree, were on. Telling herself that she was being
“Don’t you tell, Agnes. Promise not to tell. You’ll be sorry. Please don’t tell. Agnes? Promise now. I won’t do it again. I just didn’t know. I wanted to. There now, don’t worry. It didn’t hurt. There’s no need to be upset. Don’t tell, Agnes. I won’t do it again. I couldn’t help myself, but it wouldn’t be fair for you to tell.”
Barbara stirred uncomfortable in her sleep, shifting her position.
“Stay still, Agnes. Stay still when I tell you to. It won’t hurt. That’s right. Just lay there. I promise it won’t hurt. Only you mustn’t tell anyone. That’s nice, Agnes. Oh, that’s nice. I told you it was nice. Pretty Agnes. Nice Agnes. Don’t tell. Go to sleep. That’s right, go to sleep. It didn’t hurt, did it?”
On the edge of consciousness, Barbara stirred again. The voice stopped and she awakened hearing a low, gurgling, choking sound, incredibly vile. Her eyes came open and she looked wildly about, sure she was having another dream—until she saw the shadow in front of her, heard the sound raising in intensity and then a voice shrieked out.
“Nasty Billy!”
In confusion she tried to focus her eyes on the shadow but could see only its eyes, the eyes of a mindless beast. It moved toward her and she reached her hand out for the lamp on the table, tried to cover her face with her pillow, to sit up, to call out but the scream stuck in her throat as she watched the thing come closer to her, a gleaming knife in its hand, raised in a high arc above her body.
Suddenly she could see the distorted face as well as the wild eyes and the terror of it forced the scream from her throat as the knife swung down into her chest and outside the children raised their youthful, optimistic voices in the final bars of the song as the frenzied man struck the knife over and over again into Barb’s helpless body.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jess stood there, unaware of the chill, applauding the children as a station wagon pulled up and a woman got out of the driver’s seat and ran across the lawn to the children and the middle-aged woman who was shepherding them.
“Jean,” she said in an agitated manner while keeping her voice low, “get the children into the cars.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Please, there’s no time for questions. I don’t want to talk about it here. They might hear. Just get them into the cars.”
Jess had slipped back into the hall and had gotten a dollar from her coat pocket which she carried out to the lawn as the two women were conversing.
“Let’s go, children!” the one called Jean was saying. “Pile into the wagons. Either one. We’re going to go now.”
There was a chorus of disappointment so she added, “We’ll get some hot cocoa and cookies at my place.”
Jess handed the woman a dollar and she said half-heartedly, “Thank you.”
The other one, the one who had driven up noticed the quizzical expression on Jess’s face, so she said, “There was a little girl found murdered over in the park tonight.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“Your phone is ringing.”
“Oh, yes, excuse me.”
“Certainly. Good night.”
Jean called from the door of her station wagon. “And thanks again for the contribution. Sorry we couldn’t stay longer.”
But Jess was already in the house and had closed the door. She went directly into the living room and then, taking a deep breath, lifted the receiver.
At headquarters the phone was ringing, too and Lieutenant Ken Fuller rushed into his office ready to grab it while down at the switching station Bill Graham stood alertly in front of the flashing light on the panel that told him that the number at the sorority house was being called.
Jess put her hand on the receiver but felt that it was frozen there. The room seemed suddenly dark and eerie despite the fact that all of the living room lights, including those on the Christmas tree, were on. Telling herself that she was being
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