"So what's this?" he asked. "The Haunted Paper Mill of Angel Hill?"

"Cute. But no," Charley said.

"Then what?"

Charley started toward the back of the building.

"Follow me."

Jack did. Charley led him to a loading dock around back.

"You're not gonna mug me back here, are you?" Jack joked.

"Over here," Charley said.

Behind the building a little way was an undeveloped area of woods. Charley was walking into them and waving Jack to follow.

"Naw, I saw this movie," Jack said. "I follow you in there, and you come back out alone. In thirty years, while you're on your deathbed, you finally lead the cops to my body. No thanks."

"Just come on," Charley said. Jack followed him.

They walked about two hundred feet into the woods when they came up on a large concrete slab. That's a weird place for something like that, Jack thought. As they approached it, he could see the thing was just what it looked like, a big concrete block. There were no seams, no holes. Just the block.

"What's this, your altar?" Jack asked.

"This is the cover to The Pit."

"Alright, then," Jack said.

"About twenty years ago, some friends and I were playing here in these woods. Like kids do, you know, regular kid games. My friend Doug Parker and I were running through here one day and all of the sudden . . . he was just gone. I mean, I glanced over and there's no Doug. Strange thing was, there was nowhere he could have gone. I figured he'd taken off another direction, and when he didn't jump out at me, well, he must have gone home."

Jack started to take a seat on the slab.

"Don't sit there," Charley warned him. Jack stood up and moved instead to lean against a tree.

"So anyway," Charley continued, "I figured he went home, and the other guys we'd been hanging out with, Steve and Vernon Scotia, they'd left earlier, so I went home, too. Next day, Doug never showed up. Must be busy with his family, right? It happens. So me and the Scotias, we hung out, played in the woods or something that day. When I got home, my dad told me to call Doug's house. Well, it was late, I'll talk to him tomorrow, I figured, right? They called me the next morning asking if I knew where Doug was. They hadn't seen him in two days. Neither had I. I told them we'd been playing in the woods behind the paper mill, and that I thought he'd gone home."

Jack slapped a mosquito on his arm and wiped it away. Charley didn't seem to be bothered by them. In fact, he didn't seem to even notice Jack was there anymore, other than the fact he was talking to him. Or maybe he was talking to himself. Jack thought that's the look on his face, like he's telling himself this story.

"So Doug went missing. And over that summer so did a few other kids. When the police learned the last place they'd been seen was in these woods, right here, in fact, they started searching for stuff. Hair, clothes, blood, anything that might lead them to the kids, or to whoever took them. One day one of the cops came up missing."

Charley took a deep breath, let it out in a long, heavy sigh.

"There were four officers here that day, all working around this area. Two of them right here." He motioned to the slab. "One of them just happened to turn around and see this hole in the ground closing up. His partner was gone. The one that was left about lost his mind, but he was able to tell people what happened. This slab was put here that day."

He stopped and turned around, looked out into the woods, squinted at the sun. He was obviously finished.

"So that's it?" Jack asked.

"That's it," Charley said, shrugging. "You can think that--" he motioned in the direction of the apartment building, "--was set up all you want, but this right here, this is doc.u.mented fact, and you can look it up. It was in the paper."

"But if just the one guy saw it . . . h.e.l.l, he could have been the one responsible for the disappearances in the first place and just made up the stupid story about a disappearing hole in the ground. What I really can't believe is that anyone bought it."

"It's Angel Hill, man. We know stuff happens here--."

"Yeah, and that makes it easier to get away with. Someone gives you all a story like this--Oh, I don't know, officer, I turned around and he was gone and this great big hole in the ground is closing around him--you people buy it without question just because you've all allowed this reputation to build over the years. Come on, man, it's just a town. Tell me, after this," he indicated the concrete block, "did anyone search anymore for those kids or that missing cop?"

"No," Charley said, shaking his head. "They didn't."

"There you go, problem solved. He gets away with a few kids and a cop--who was probably just about to dig up something the other guy didn't want found--and gives you a stupid story, everyone believes it, he gets away clean."

"Not exactly. I told you, that guy about lost his mind. He got moved to the Fairfield State Inst.i.tute not long after that. He was there until they closed it down. Don't know where he is now, but it ain't on the Angel Hill Police force."

"Still," Jack said. "Come on, man. Think about that one for a minute, huh? Whether your story is true or not, or whether my explanation is right or not, you have to admit, mine does make a little more sense than *a hole opened up in the ground and swallowed them.'"

Charley looked at his watch.

"Come on," he said. "You can go home now, just drop me off to get my car."

Jack followed him out of the woods and drove him back to Fett Tech.

After an hour, Liz had put the book out of her mind. By the time Jack got home that night, she'd forgotten it completely.

"You wouldn't believe the stuff Charley tried to tell me today," he said, taking off his boots. He told her about the apartment building and the b.a.l.l.s, and said, "And now that I think about it, that ball I had did feel kind of heavy. Probably the metal they put in it for the magnets in the floor. Can't believe they tried that on me. And then he shows me this cement block in the woods, saying some hole opened up and swallowed a bunch of people twenty years ago. That guy is desperate to get me to buy all this Haunted Angel Hill stuff."

Liz shrugged, and raised her eyebrows, a What'reyagonnado? gesture.

He kissed her on the head, then went into the kitchen to heat up the meatloaf.

Liz remembered the book again as she climbed into bed a couple hours later. By that time, it didn't seem as important as it had. Maybe she'd ask him tomorrow about it. She huddled to him, felt his arm moving down her side, his kisses on her cheek, her jaw, and she knew Joey was asleep, so she wrapped a leg over his and kissed him back.

When Jack had dozed off afterward, Liz felt herself drifting off just as a crash came booming through the ceiling. She leapt up, gasping. She looked at the ceiling, then down at Jack. Why hadn't he heard? Why was he still asleep?

The crash came again. She jumped again.

The piano--(We don't even have a piano, Liz thought)--sounded its out-of-tune notes.

She pulled on a pair of shorts from the floor, a tank top over her head, and she was in the hall, on the steps, ascending slowly.

Rounding the landing, she saw nothing. On the second floor, the darkness stood fast.

Then someone appeared out of the night, small and dull in the middle of the room. This wasn't the little boy she'd seen in the shower, this person was older, maybe ten.

Liz stood back, uncertain, but not quite afraid.

"You won't scare me away," she said.

The boy stared, but Liz couldn't tell if he was staring at her, or at something past her. Finally his eyes focused on Liz and his lips cracked open in a bad impression of a grin.

"It's not scaring you he wants," he said.

"What does he want?" She didn't have to ask who was "he".

"This place isn't good to families. It tears them up like trash."

"What does he want?" Liz asked again.

"Save yourself from this," the boy said. He took a step back and was swallowed in shadow.

In the main room, the piano sounded discordant notes. While she couldn't place the spot specifically, it was definitely coming from the main room, somewhere by the front windows.

She moved like a dream, drifting from one place to another, now by the stairs, her foot hovering above the bottom one, ready to step up. Her hand clutched the banister and from behind her the piano fell silent, the notes dead on the air. She moved upward as if gliding over the steps without touching them.

She turned her head backward and up to see the body dangling from the rail over her head, its weight dead, the features blurred by rot.

The body jerked, the mouth gaped and screamed, "You can't save yourself," and Liz found herself sitting up in bed, panting, sweating, naked.

She got up, slipped into a pair of shorts and a tank top from the floor, and went upstairs. On the second floor, she turned on the kitchen and bathroom lights then went into the main room. There was no light in here, but the others gave off enough to compensate.

In the middle of the room, she looked at the walls, quiet, listening, waiting. After a minute of nothing, she said, "Come on. Show me something. I thought you were all gone, but I guess I was wrong. I don't know what you want, or how to get rid of you, so why don't you just show me something. Quit f.u.c.king around."

The night made its noises, but the house made none. Crickets chirped outside. Traffic down the street on Pacific blew by. But the house was settled out for the night, it seemed. And the ghosts, if they really were still there, had also turned in.

She wanted to go back to bed, to tell herself there was nothing there. But she couldn't do it. Not yet. She knew if she had this chance and pa.s.sed on it, if she a.s.sumed everything was fine, then found out later that it wasn't, she'd regret it. So she waited. She listened. She expected. But still nothing happened. Nothing thumped. Nothing touched her. Nothing spoke to her.

She must have stood there for an hour. By the time she moved, her legs had begun to cramp and her feet were sore from standing. She hadn't spoken again, and neither had the ghosts. Maybe they really were gone. She'd dreamed tonight. She must have dreamed last night, too.

She sighed, relieved, and turned out the lights, then went back to bed. The clothes were drenched in sweat when she stripped them onto the floor. The bedroom was stifling. She draped the sheet over her legs, rolled over, and let herself sink back to oblivion.

Chapter Eleven.

Every once in a while, she'd remember the book under Jack's side of the mattress and she'd think again of asking him what it was, why it was hidden. But she only remembered when Jack was gone, and by the time he came home, she'd forgotten it again.

As summer progressed in Angel Hill, the temperature was incredible. No, not the temperature. The humidity. It had been hot and humid if Texas, too, but for some reason this summer was almost too much. She didn't know if it was specific to the region, or if it was a killer summer everywhere.

Jack had called his brother a few days ago and Liz had him ask about the weather. Allen said it was hot, but nothing too bad. Standard Texas summer fare, he said.

They got the air conditioner, finally, and shoved it into the window in the bedroom. Liz said in the middle of the day, she could handle a simple fan in the living room, but that nighttime heat was killing her. They kept the door connecting their bedroom to Joey's open at night, and cooled both rooms.

Then one night in the middle of July, it rained. Blessed, beautiful, cooling rain. It came while everyone slept.

From her dreams, Liz sensed the thunder and lightning, but she was dreaming about swimming. Jack rolled over in his sleep and moved his arm to rest against Liz's back. He pulled the sheet tighter and shivered.

Joey dreamed of a midnight chase through the house, the man d.o.g.g.i.ng his heels while outside everything was black and flashing with thunder cracking in his head.

The rain came in sheets, blown by the wind. Everything was wet. The lightning came every few seconds, accompanied by vicious thunder. Liz moved in her sleep, but didn't wake.

Joey found the first floor and darted down the hall into his parents' bedroom, but they weren't there. He thought he heard them in the living room, but going across the hall would show the man where he was. But he had to find his dad, or Liz. He dreamed he was wearing his fast shoes, and he zoomed across, into the living room. The sound was from the television playing a s...o...b..-Doo cartoon. The gang was in a haunted house. Velma said "Jinkies", and lightning flashed again. A shadow fell across Joey and he turned around to see the man outside the window, the world glaring behind him. The man raised his arms and screamed rage as his fists crashed into the gla.s.s, shattering it and sending shards flying across the room.

Joey screamed himself awake.

In the living room, gla.s.s shattered, spraying the floor with shards and rain.

The combination of Joey and the gla.s.s woke Jack and Liz.

Liz was up first, yelling, "Something broke." Jack leapt from the bed, not sure what was going on, but he knew Liz had screamed.

He rubbed his eyes and asked, "What?"

"I think a window just broke."

"Where?"

"I don't know, maybe in Joey's room. He's crying."

Jack was in Joey's room but returned just seconds later. "It's not in there. I'll find it, you get Joey."

Liz slid into a pair of shorts and Jack went into the living room.

The window behind the couch was an empty pane and slivers of gla.s.s covered the couch and floor. Rain flew into the room. His foot sank into the carpet, cold and wet. He turned on the light and said, "s.h.i.t."

Think about it, he told himself. It's a process.

First he had to stop the rain from coming in. Cover the window with something. What? The room behind the bathroom upstairs, there was a roll of plastic up there. And a staple gun in the kitchen drawer. Jack took the stairs two at a time to the top and turned on the third floor bathroom light. Actually, that was the only room on the top floor with a light. He found the plastic leaning against the wall in the storage room and he slung it over his shoulder. He flipped off the light and went back to the stairs.

But he stopped at the top, listening.

Was someone up here?

No. There was no one else in the house, and Liz was downstairs with Joey.

But that sounded like whispering.

He c.o.c.ked his head toward the darkness and waited. After a second, he snapped himself out of his daze and said, "No, it's the rain on the roof." And he ran back downstairs thinking, Which is also getting into the house so I'd better hurry up before anything's ruined.

He laid out the plastic on the living room floor, then ran to get the staple gun and a pair of scissors from the kitchen. Cutting the plastic was harder than he had expected; it kept sliding over itself and he couldn't get a good enough grip, let alone an even piece. He ended up with a piece that looked as if a blind man with one arm had cut it. But it was big enough to cover the window behind the couch.

Jack hung it, centering it over the open pane, and shot a staple into the center. Then he finished both sides of the top and shot staples down along the sides and bottom. He stood back and looked at the job. Not pretty, but the rain would stay outside.

He brought towels from the bathroom, all the dirty ones he could find, and as few clean as possible, and soaked up the rain from the carpet. Then he brought in the kitchen trashcan and began tossing the bigger gla.s.s shards into it. When all he had left were the smaller pieces, he got on his knees and spent over thirty minutes plucking them from the couch and the carpet.

He finally climbed back into bed to find Liz already there.