ask it in to your heart.”
Steve raised one eyebrow, a little miffed. “So where were you with all this handy information when I could’ve used some backup?”
“In the end,” said Taylor, “you must fight your own battles with your own resources.” Then his face lost its sternness. “But in the beginning, too, I think.”
He put the truck in gear and, burning oil to blue smoke, rattled off down the street.
The kids were napping quietly upstairs when Diane heard the knocking. She jumped and just stood in the kitchen for half a minute, motionless, listening. Like a deep thud, toward the front of the house . . . it happened again.
She froze; she didn’t know what to do. It was the man in black again—she was sure of it—that unsettling, skeletal-looking . . . or maybe it was the supernatural knocking again, the noise that had driven them from the bouse last night, the rumbling, shaking . . .
But this wasn’t that pervasive; this thumping was coming very specifically from the front of the house. From the front door, in fact.
Knock, knock.
She should really go look, at least, to see what it was. Steve would want to know. Taylor might need to know. She picked at a cuticle. She checked the back door to make sure it was locked.
She walked to the front door.
The knocking returned. Diane seized her courage, opened the viewing latch in the door, and peered out. The knocking stopped.
No one there.
The knocking returned.
“Who is it?” Diane whispered.
A voice said: “It’s me—Tangina.”
Diane pulled the door wide and looked down; there, below the viewing field of the peephole, was Tangina Barrons—dwarf and psychic extraordinaire.
“Tangina!” Diane exclaimed, ushering her in and stooping to hug her all in one motion.
“Sorry to come unannounced, sweetie,” said Tangina, “but I need to speak with you.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” whispered Diane, choking back tears. This woman of small stature and grand spirit had saved them four years ago—saved Carol Anne from the horrors of the void, saved the entire family from destruction by the Beast. Diane was glad with all her heart that Tangina was there, and she prayed that the insanity was over now.
“I’m glad you’re glad,” said Tangina. “Because we’re running out of time.”
CHAPTER 5
Tangina Barrons was hanging on by her fingernails at the end of a rocky four years, for if a salesman on the skids hits the bottle, then a psychic dwarf hits the brink; and Tangina was at the brink of everything, waiting for the boot-heel to fall.
The beginning of the end had come for her the day after she’d talked Diane Freeling through the astral plane, to save Carol Anne from the clutches of the Beast. She’d told the Freelings then: “This house is clean.”
But it wasn’t.
It was in fact so befouled by that sick spirit that the next night they were all nearly destroyed; and the house itself was destroyed.
And so was Tangina’s self-confidence.
How could she have been so wrong? she wondered. Had the Beast deceived her so completely? Had her senses been so distorted?
Or was she somehow, subconsciously, in collusion with the Evil One?
It was this last question, a doubt of her own soul, that was her undoing.
She began to lose her ability to have visions, yet at the same time she was visited by pavor nocturnis: night terrors. She would awaken screaming, but with a blackness of memory, a veil she could not penetrate. She became afraid to sleep; consequently, she avoided sleep.
To regain her visions, she returned to the place from which she felt her nightmares must be emanating—Cuesta Verde Estates. More specifically, the Freeling property.
It was a house no longer, of course. A splintered floor, a foundation, a few feet of crawl space—that was all. The city had come, during the intervening weeks, to fill in the half-dug swimming pool that had been the site of so many cadaverous eruptions from the cemetery over which the house
Steve raised one eyebrow, a little miffed. “So where were you with all this handy information when I could’ve used some backup?”
“In the end,” said Taylor, “you must fight your own battles with your own resources.” Then his face lost its sternness. “But in the beginning, too, I think.”
He put the truck in gear and, burning oil to blue smoke, rattled off down the street.
The kids were napping quietly upstairs when Diane heard the knocking. She jumped and just stood in the kitchen for half a minute, motionless, listening. Like a deep thud, toward the front of the house . . . it happened again.
She froze; she didn’t know what to do. It was the man in black again—she was sure of it—that unsettling, skeletal-looking . . . or maybe it was the supernatural knocking again, the noise that had driven them from the bouse last night, the rumbling, shaking . . .
But this wasn’t that pervasive; this thumping was coming very specifically from the front of the house. From the front door, in fact.
Knock, knock.
She should really go look, at least, to see what it was. Steve would want to know. Taylor might need to know. She picked at a cuticle. She checked the back door to make sure it was locked.
She walked to the front door.
The knocking returned. Diane seized her courage, opened the viewing latch in the door, and peered out. The knocking stopped.
No one there.
The knocking returned.
“Who is it?” Diane whispered.
A voice said: “It’s me—Tangina.”
Diane pulled the door wide and looked down; there, below the viewing field of the peephole, was Tangina Barrons—dwarf and psychic extraordinaire.
“Tangina!” Diane exclaimed, ushering her in and stooping to hug her all in one motion.
“Sorry to come unannounced, sweetie,” said Tangina, “but I need to speak with you.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” whispered Diane, choking back tears. This woman of small stature and grand spirit had saved them four years ago—saved Carol Anne from the horrors of the void, saved the entire family from destruction by the Beast. Diane was glad with all her heart that Tangina was there, and she prayed that the insanity was over now.
“I’m glad you’re glad,” said Tangina. “Because we’re running out of time.”
CHAPTER 5
Tangina Barrons was hanging on by her fingernails at the end of a rocky four years, for if a salesman on the skids hits the bottle, then a psychic dwarf hits the brink; and Tangina was at the brink of everything, waiting for the boot-heel to fall.
The beginning of the end had come for her the day after she’d talked Diane Freeling through the astral plane, to save Carol Anne from the clutches of the Beast. She’d told the Freelings then: “This house is clean.”
But it wasn’t.
It was in fact so befouled by that sick spirit that the next night they were all nearly destroyed; and the house itself was destroyed.
And so was Tangina’s self-confidence.
How could she have been so wrong? she wondered. Had the Beast deceived her so completely? Had her senses been so distorted?
Or was she somehow, subconsciously, in collusion with the Evil One?
It was this last question, a doubt of her own soul, that was her undoing.
She began to lose her ability to have visions, yet at the same time she was visited by pavor nocturnis: night terrors. She would awaken screaming, but with a blackness of memory, a veil she could not penetrate. She became afraid to sleep; consequently, she avoided sleep.
To regain her visions, she returned to the place from which she felt her nightmares must be emanating—Cuesta Verde Estates. More specifically, the Freeling property.
It was a house no longer, of course. A splintered floor, a foundation, a few feet of crawl space—that was all. The city had come, during the intervening weeks, to fill in the half-dug swimming pool that had been the site of so many cadaverous eruptions from the cemetery over which the house
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