Flesh by Richard Laymon

mind, she saw Roland whirl around and lay open her head with the bar.
    She wouldn’t put it past him.
    He’s a fucking wimp, she thought, but he’s not exactly stable.
    She saw him drag her body into the restaurant.
    The thoughts began to frighten her.
    Roland got the door open. He lifted his sleeping bag off the porch, glanced back at Dana, then went inside. The door swung shut.
    Dana shut off the headlights.
    Leaning across the seat, she locked the passenger door.
    She reached for the ignition key, intending to turn the engine off. But she changed her mind, shifted to reverse, and slowly backed the car away. She considered leaving. It would serve the shit right, getting stranded out here. If he realized she was gone, however, he might decide to spread out his sleepingbag on the porch. He had to spend the night inside. That was the bet. That was the punishment, the price he had to pay for being such an asshole.
    And for looking at the pictures.
    He has them with him.
    Dana, suddenly realizing she might be dangerously close to the rear of the parking area, hit her brakes. The car jolted to a stop. She set the emergency brake and killed the engine.
    When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found that she could see the restaurant. It was about fifty years ahead of her, a low dark shape the width of the parking lot, black beneath its hooded porch.
    It looked forbidding.
    And Roland was inside.
    Dana smiled. “You’ll have a real good time,” she muttered.
    When Roland closed the restaurant door, he stood motionless and scanned the darkness. He could see nothing. He heard only his own heartbeat and quick breaths and the sounds of the rain.
    There’s nothing to be afraid of, he told himself.
    His body seemed to believe otherwise.
    He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to drop the sleeping bag, take off his pack, and get his hands on the flashlight. But he couldn’t move.
    Go ahead and do it.
    He was sure it would be all right, but part of him knew with absolute certainty that something was hunched silent in the dark nearby. Aware of his presence. Waiting. If he made the slightest move, it would come for him.
    The quiet whinnying of Dana’s car engine broke through his fear. He turned around and opened the restaurant’s door. The Volkswagen was backing away.
    She’s leaving?
    The thought alarmed him at first, then filled him withrelief. If she actually drove off, he wouldn’t need to stay inside. Spend the night on the porch, maybe. Keep a lookout and make sure he was back inside when she returned.
    If she returned.
    And if she didn’t come back in the morning, the hike back to town was only a few miles and he’d still win the bet.
    The car didn’t turn around. Near the far end of the parking lot, its red brake lights glowed briefly.
    It stopped.
    The engine went silent.
    Roland’s hope died. Dana wasn’t leaving, after all, just putting some distance between herself and the restaurant. She must’ve been nervous about being close to it.
    He watched for a while, but the car didn’t move again.
    Leaving the door open for a quick escape, Roland dropped his sleeping bag to the floor. He took off his pack and removed the flashlight. With his back to the doorway, he thumbed the flashlight switch. The strong beam shot out. He whipped it from right to left. Shadows jumped and writhed, but no foul shape was lurching toward him.
    Roland allowed himself to breathe. He wished his heart would slow down. It felt like a fist punching the insides of his chest.
    He shut the door and sagged slightly against it. He locked his knees to keep them from folding under him. His kneecaps began to flutter with a spastic, twitching bounce, as if they wanted to jump off his legs.
    Roland tried to ignore them. Aiming the flashlight ahead, he took several steps until he could see around the corner of the wall. The wall extended down the right side of the main dining room. Something just beyond the corner caught his eye. He held his breath