The House That Jack Built by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online Page A

A.M.
        
        She opened her eyes. Somebody was standing at the end of the bed, watching her. A bulky, shadowy shape, its eyes glistening in the darkness. She was clutched with such fright that she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. She tried to whisper, 'Craig' and reach out for him, but her voice wouldn't work and her hand wouldn't do anything but grip the sheet.
        'Sweetheart?' said the shape, all of a sudden. 'Are you awake?'
        She let out an exhalation of relief that was practically a scream. 'God, you scared me! God, you almost gave me a heart attack!'
        He came around the end of the bed and sat down close to her. He was wearing his white cotton pyjama pants, but that was all. He gently held her wrists and kissed her on the forehead. 'I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep.'
        'I thought you were a ghost or something.'
        'A ghost, weighing 200 pounds?' He kissed her again.
        'Do you want a Nytol?' she asked him.
        He shook his head. 'I don't feel like sleeping. I feel like I've just woken up.'
        'What do you want to do, then? Play Scrabble?'
        'I know this sounds crazy, but I thought I might drive back to Valhalla.'
        'Well, I don't mind. But I thought you were going to talk to a realtor first.'
        'I can't talk to a realtor at three-thirty in the morning.' Effie propped herself up on one elbow. The sheet slid down, and her breasts were bare. 'You want to drive back there now?'
        'I don't know. I have the urge to, that's all. I never felt this way before. It's like, if I go there, I'm going to find the answer to all of my problems.'
        'Oh, Craig, that's impossible. We can't. I don't mind going back with you in the morning, when it's light. But not now.'
        He sat up straight. For a moment she was afraid that she might have lost him again; that he was going to lose his temper. But then he nodded, and nodded again, and said, 'You're right. We'll talk to the realtor first, then we'll go back.'
        He climbed back into bed. She thought for a split second that he might make love to her, but then he turned his back like he always did, and by the time the clock in the hallway below struck four he was deeply asleep.
        

SATURDAY, JUNE 19, 10:19 A.M.
        
        'Mr. Van Buren can see you now,' announced the secretary with the fiery hair and the firetruck-coloured lips and the huge circular spectacles. She waggled her way along the corridor in front of them, her bright green dress swinging from side to side.
        Walter Van Buren turned out to be an amiable old coot in a beige seersucker coat and brown Staprest pants and a necktie that proclaimed him to be a friend of the Hudson Valley Philharmonic. He had a soft, beige, jowly face, and the palest eyes that Effie had ever seen, eyes that were strained to the colour of weak tea.
        On his beige hessian-covered walls hung photographs of his children and grandchildren, and framed awards from the Hudson Valley Realty Association and the Cold Spring Elks. Out of his window there was a view of a parking-lot, where a 10-year-old full-sized Buick baked in the morning sun; and a children's playground, where a lone mother sat reading, while her scarlet-suited child went around and around on the merry-go-round.
        'Understand you're interested in Valhalla,' said Walter Van Buren, indicating with a wave of his hand that they should sit. They sat. 'Valhalla's stayed empty since 1956. There's been some restoration work, but the only reason it's still standing is that it hasn't fallen down and nobody's gotten around to knocking it down.'
        'I'd still like to see it,' Craig put in. His hands were resting calmly in his lap.
        Walter Van Buren shrugged. 'You can see it, I guess. But if you're looking for large, high-class Hudson Valley property, then I can show you scores of homes you're going to like better, and which are much better value. One of them