Night Show by Richard Laymon Read Free Book Online Page B

gas fumes scorching her nostrils, bringing tears to her eyes. She returned the can, wondering if Bob would notice the missing fuel when he mowed the lawn next Saturday. Probably not. The two-gallon tin hadn’t been completely full, and plenty of gas remained for filling the mower’s small tank.
    She picked up the milk carton. She pushed the car door shut, killing the light. Then she made her way through the darkness, one hand trailing along the car as a guide. She passed its rear, stepped across a gap to the trunk of her mother’s Omni, felt her way up its far side, past the window, and found the garage’s back door.
    The night outside seemed almost bright, and cooler than the stuffy garage. Staying close to the shrubbery, she rushed across the yard to the gate. Its hinges squeaked , but in moments she was beyond it and striding down the alley.
    Loose gravel crunched and scratched along the asphalt under her feet. A few nightbirds twittered, crickets sawed. Electricity hummed from the lines overhead. Linda listened for voices, for cars, for shutting doors or footsteps, ready to duck out of sight at the first hint of approach. But she heard none.
    She began to wish for a human sound – even the far-off tinny voice from a television – or anything to assure her that someone, at least, remained awake, alive.
    Nothing.
    She walked alone in the night, vulnerable from every side, peering at the dark recesses behind garbage cans and telephone poles, between garages, often casting a glance over her shoulder.
    At the end of the block, she looked up and down the street. Deserted. This is how I want it, she told herself, and hurried across. No people around, no witnesses. But her feeling of isolation grew like a hollowness inside as she entered the alley.
    She thought about turning back.
    No. She’d wanted this night since she first came out of the coma. Even before that, even while her broken body hurtled toward the windshield of the shrieking car. Wanted it, waited for it, prepared for it. Tonight was just the beginning. She couldn’t quit now. Couldn’t quit until she’d finished it all.
    A rattling, metal noise startled Linda from her thoughts . She froze, gazing into the darkness ahead. Far down the alley, a dark shape broke away from the shadows and moved towards her. Linda’s heart thundered like a fist trying to smash out of her chest. Gasping for breath, she squinted at the approaching shape.
    What is it?
    The clinking, rumbling sound grew louder as it moved. Then it entered a spill of moonlight and Linda saw a hunched figure shambling along behind a shopping cart.
    She jerked the pistol free so it wouldn’t hurt her, then whirled around and raced from the alley. She sprinted up the sidewalk At a lighted street corner, she stopped to catch her breath, and looked back.
    No sign of the weirdo with the shopping cart.
    She pushed the pistol into her jeans and started walking. Though the street was deserted, it seemed less forbidding than the alleys. She felt as if she’d stumbled onto humanity after a detour into a strange, desolate land. The parked cars, the streetlamps, the rare lighted porches and house windows gave her comfort.
    Once, a car turned onto the road. She pressed herself tightly to the trunk of an oak until it passed.
    Though she walked for blocks, no other cars appeared. She saw a three-legged dog hobble along, glance at her without much interest, and urinate on a tree with a twist of its rump as if lifting the lost leg.
    She saw a few fireflies glowing and vanishing. She saw a cat dash across the street and vanish beneath a parked station wagon. And then she was in front of the Benson house.
    FOR SALE BY OWNER.
    After tonight, Linda thought, maybe someone will dare to buy the place.
    We heard strange sounds at night , Sheila had once told her.
    Like women crying.
    In the Freeman house?
    And laughter. Real creepy laughter. The police came out, but they never found anyone.
    Ghosts?
    Don’t laugh.
    I