Freddy Krueger's Tales of Terror #6: Deadly Disguise Page 3

  Peter pushed the girl toward Jack. She resisted, very bashful.

  "This is Maria," Peter said. "She's a huge, huge fan, but she's too shy to introduce herself."

  Jack looked at the girl, who was standing too close for comfort. She was pretty, Jack thought. And she had a major jones for him, he could tell. Another occupational hazard: meeting people who developed crushes on you — on who they thought you were, Jack corrected himself. Another reason he had kept out of the limelight since the fire. Too many demands by people with the wrong ideas.

  "Hi," said Maria, her face flushing deeply.

  Jack saw out of the corner of his eye that Vanessa was studying him. She expected him to break now. She would be disappointed.

  "Glad you're here," Jack told Maria with all the sincerity he could muster. At least Maria was pretty. Not my type, he thought. But a looker even so. "You'll stay later, too, won't you?"

  Maria looked like she had just been asked to sit at the Round Table.

  "I'd be honored," she said, wide-eyed. "Thank you."

  Her behavior unsettled Jack a bit. People who formed attachments as quickly as Maria made him nervous. If unrealistic expectations weren't met, things could turn sour very quickly. That had occurred once already with the obsessed fan in Los Angeles. Several times, she had managed to enter his house. One time, he had arrived home to find her cooking dinner for him. Despite the psychiatric evaluations, and the restraining orders, the woman kept returning. He needed her, she claimed. Jack had tried to be understanding through the ordeal. But finally, when he came home to find her soaking in a luxurious bubble bath, his frustration got the best of him. His words to her that time were relentlessly cruel. Finally, she took his rejection to heart, calling him a horrible person — in between expletives. That was the good news.

  The bad news was that his house was burned to the ground less than a month later.

  The fan's involvement was never proved, but Jack knew in his heart that she was responsible. The loss of his house, on the heels of so much else, almost caused him to crack up. But with the help of his friends, primarily Ron, he had come through that episode in one piece. It was Ron who had suggested using the fire as an excuse to lie low, regroup, then emerge more powerful than ever. "You'll be the phoenix rising," Ron had told him.

  Now here he was, in his hometown, dealing with infatuated «fans» once again.

  "Hey, can I get a picture with you?" RePete asked, holding up a camera. "I don't want to impose. I know it's your party and all, but when am I gonna get this chance again? You know?"

  Jack was about to refuse. Then he saw Vanessa's face. She knew he had reached his limit and was waiting for a chance to gloat.

  Uh-uh.

  Smiling, he pulled Vanessa swiftly to his side. "Might as well get one with all of us," he said cheerfully. Vanessa was about to protest, then saw that she would be the loser if she did. Historically, Vanessa hated photo opportunities even more than Jack. Her plan had backfired, and they both knew it. "Ron, why don't you get in here, too." Then, with evil glee, he told RePete, "Tell you what. You stand between me and Vanessa, with your arms around us both."

  RePete looked thrilled. Vanessa, trumped, scowled at Jack.

  "Would you take the picture?" RePete asked Maria.

  "Sure," she said softly. As the others got into position, she pointed the camera. She counted off. "One… two… three…"

  Everyone smiled and held their breath. But instead of taking the picture, Maria lowered the camera.

  "Isn't it advanced?" RePete asked.

  "Oh no, it's fine," Maria said. "I was just wondering, if, y'know, I could get a picture with me next." She looked at Jack with hungry eyes. Riding the wave of his victory over Vanessa's attempt to embarrass him, Jack agreed instantly. Maria gave a grateful smile and lifted the camera once more. "One… two… three…" This time, her finger pressed down and the camera gave a satisfying click.

  "Here, I'll take your picture," RePete said quickly.

  Vanessa turned quickly away. "I want to go dance now," she announced. She was declaring an end to the contest of wills.

  "Well, I want you to leave" Jack said, mimicking her. "I didn't invite you here."

  Vanessa turned on him instantly. "You didn't even have the decency to tell me where you were" she snarled. "No one walks out on me!"

  "Well, you better get used to it, Vanessa," replied Jack, taking a step toward her. Vanessa stood her ground, defiant. "With your cuddly personality, I see a whole slew of people walking out on you. If they're stupid enough to let you get that close in the first place."

  As the argument gathered momentum, Maria and RePete watched, completely forgotten.

  "You were stupid enough," Vanessa spat back.

  "Yes, but I wised up. We broke up weeks ago. Get it through your skull and get out of here!"

  "Are you gonna kick me out?" She was in his face, seriously challenging him this time. "Not your hired goons, but you"? If you have the guts to throw me out of here personally, I'll go."

  Jack locked eyes with Vanessa. Trembling with rage, he grasped her by her wrists. Tightly. He was on the verge of yanking her off her feet and dragging her to the nearest exit. Then he'd be rid of her.

  Vanessa, trying not to wince at the pain, looked down. Then slowly, she raised her head, seething with fury.

  In a low voice, she spoke slowly, enunciating with precision. "I will scream. So loud."

  They locked gazes again. Then the moment of danger passed and Jack released her. He had come so close.

  Looking hard at his watch, he said to Ron, "I have to get the Haunted Mansion going." With a disgusted look at Vanessa, he added, "Deal with her, please. I can't." Spinning on his heels, he walked away.

  * * *

  RePete and Maria, back to serving punch, watched Jack plunge into the crowd. Maria appeared shell-shocked by the scene they had witnessed.

  "Guess all the action's over, huh?" RePete asked, with a chummy, nasty smile. "Actors, Hollywood." He said the word with great distaste. "They're all trash. Especially Jack Spyder."

  "I thought you were a fan," Maria said, confused.

  RePete laughed and dropped all pretenses. "Not of anyone in that sorry group. I'll tell you something. I know Jack Spyder, or rather, knew him when he was John Appleby. And he didn't even recognize me. Hee hee." He rubbed his hands together in evil glee. "Is he ever in for it!"

  "What are you talking about?"

  RePete looked around. Ron and Vanessa stood a few yards from the table in stony silence. Pulling Maria near to him, RePete whispered into her ear.

  "You know how the Appleby's still own a lot of the real estate around here, right?" Maria nodded uncertainly. "Now it's all Jack's, although I'm sure he's removed from the day to day stuff. But years ago, his father ran it all himself. He was like one of those robber barons of old. Raymond Appleby. My father used to work for him. He was his right-hand man. But there was only room for one at the top, so my father left to find his own fortunes. And believe it or not, he did. My father turned land Appleby considered worthless into lucrative property."

  RePete was no longer into the party. As he gazed ahead, he saw only the past, his father, and his fledgling real estate empire. A look of wonder stole over his face. Then his eyes narrowed with bitterness.

  "Appleby saw my father as a threat to his local monopoly. He initiated several partnerships with my father's firm. A Trojan horse. When the time was right, Appleby took over my father's company, kicked him into the streets. We lost everything."

  The spell broke and RePete returned. His eyes blazed with mad energy.

  "After that, my father proceeded to drink himself to death. At his funeral, I promised I would find some way to get back at Appleby for what he did. When he died in California in that car accident, I was so bummed. There went my chance for revenge."

  "That's a horrible thing to say," Maria told him, horrified. "You don't mean that."

  "I mean that so absolutely you co
uld look it up in a dictionary," he declared. "But now little John Appleby has come home, and I've got a skeleton full of bones to pick with him."

  "Whatever Mr. Appleby did isn't Jack's fault."

  "Sins of the father, Maria. Sins of the father." RePete knew he was scaring Maria. He didn't care.

  "What are you going to do, RePete?"

  RePete just smiled.

  Chapter 5

  Jack turned on the wireless microphone he wore on his lapel. As he ascended the stairs, the music faded out.

  "It's almost midnight, folks," he announced when he had reached the top and gotten the crowd's attention once more. "The witching hour, the moment when the dark forces of the universe are at their strongest. And tonight," he intoned dramatically, "Halloween Night, Death actually walks among us."

  In the crowd, people were exchanging glances. Half of the crowd was amused by Jack's speech. The rest seemed genuinely spooked. Perfect, Jack thought.

  "In fact, Death has taken up residence in this very mansion." He pointed up the stairs behind him. "He's remodeled a few of the rooms. They have become Death's guest quarters." Jack punctuated his speech with a sinister laugh. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll walk up these stairs, you'll discover the joy — and the horror — of… the Haunted Mansion!"

  The landing at the top of the right staircase lit up. Immediately, a thick carpet of fog rolled down the stairs. The effect was eerie and impressive. The crowd needed no further encouragement. The revelers swarmed up the stairway, eager to see what surprises their wealthy and inventive host had in store for them.

  As the first guests approached the foggy doorway, Jack pushed his way down the stairs and found Rachel.

  "Wow! What do you have up there?"

  Jack just smiled. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough." He glanced up the stairs expectantly. Moments later, he heard what he was waiting for.

  Screams, floating down from the floor above.

  At the refreshment table, Vanessa stood beside Ron, scowling.

  "Look at them. Excited over a funhouse," she sneered. "Toto, you little mongrel, we are back in Kansas."

  "Why so grumpy, Vanessa?" Ron asked her. "Things are going great. Your entrance couldn't have been more perfect."

  "I suppose," Vanessa replied skeptically as she smoothed her dress with her hands. "Those goons were a little rougher than I expected. I thought you were going to take care of them? They might really have hurt me, you know."

  "Oh, didn't I tell you?" Ron said, smiling wickedly. "I decided not to clue them in. I didn't want to risk their giving us away with poor acting."

  "You would know about poor acting," Vanessa countered. Then, without warning, she struck him a blow to the shoulder. "That's for letting me nearly get hurt."

  "Ouch!" Ron said, rubbing his eyes. But the smile never left his face. If anything, it only took on a harsher edge. "Don't be such a princess. It worked beautifully. Jack's having a horrible time."

  Vanessa laughed with evil glee. "Yes he is!" she declared. "Did you see? When I dared him to drag me out of here?" Ron nodded and smiled. "I was certain he was going to lose it. It was in his eyes."

  "You should have seen your eyes, my dear. You were scared."

  The observation flustered Vanessa slightly. "Well, my dear, I do believe there was murder in Jack's eyes."

  Jack laughed. "Perfect."

  "Yes, perfect," Vanessa agreed. Jack Spyder was on the edge, and she had almost pushed him over. It wouldn't take much longer to finish the job. Then everything that was his would be hers. And Ron's, she thought dryly, for a little while.

  "Just as well Jack didn't crack right then and there," Ron told her. "The game would have been over before it began."

  "Before it began? My sweet, it all began when you burned down his house in Beverly Hills."

  Ron nodded in agreement. "Yes, but I mean this round of the game. You only just got here. Would you want him breaking down in your first five minutes? I've taken you for more of a… sportswoman than that."

  "Yes, you're right," answered Vanessa, considering the spirit of the matter. "I did come all this way." She shook her head sadly. "Poor Jack. What did he ever do to deserve what we're doing to him?"

  Ron appeared to concentrate very seriously for a moment. Then he just threw up his hands. "Not a darn thing," he answered, as if surprised to have come to that conclusion. "Maybe we should call this off."

  With a look of serious concern, he locked eyes with Vanessa. They almost seemed to share the worry that they were doing the wrong thing. But then Ron's lips began to tremble.

  Suddenly, they both burst into gales of laughter.

  "Sorry," Ron said when he could finally speak again. Vanessa was wiping tears from her eyes. "I couldn't keep a straight face any longer. Can you imagine? Developing a conscience at this late date?"

  "I think not," Vanessa giggled. Then she searched the crowd. "Where is Jack?"

  Ron picked him out easily. "At the bottom of the stairs," he said pointing. "With Rachel."

  "Oh yes. That girl has old flame written all over her." An idea sprang to mind. "We'll have to find some way to work her into our plan. Set them against one another. You know, like they do on Melrose Place."

  "We may not need to go that far," Ron reminded her. "But we'll see. Why don't you go up to your room and change out of that costume?"

  "Might as well," she said, yawning suddenly. "I hate wearing period clothes unless I'm getting paid at least scale."

  At this, the evil smile blazed from Ron's face. "When this little melodrama is over, honey, we'll both have made a lot more than scale."

  Vanessa's pupils practically turned into dollar signs. "Yes we will!" she gushed. Then, with a quick look at the staircase, she found Jack and Rachel again. Their backs were to the refreshment table. Seeing it was safe, she threw her arms around Ron and gave him a long kiss.

  "Mmmm… thanks," he said softly.

  "It has been a while," Vanessa purred. "You've been back and forth between LA and this godforsaken place forever it seems."

  "All for the greater good," Ron assured her. He then gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Get going, and I'll cut out the power in a little while, when Jack's in the middle of his Haunted Mansion. We'll end this little soiree. I'll be up shortly thereafter, so we can coordinate tomorrow's festivities."

  "Don't keep me waiting too long. You know how I hate that." With one last quick kiss — she always had to have the last word and the last kiss — Vanessa turned and walked away.

  Ron watched her disappear into the crowd. Smiling to himself, he sauntered away. It was almost time to lower the boom on this little shindig. He was so focused on the task before him, that he didn't hear the quiet click behind him.

  * * *

  As most of the crowd shuffled forward and up the staircase, two figures furtively edged themselves away. No one noticed them. It was exactly as they had planned.

  "As far as I can tell," Todd Winkle told his partner, we've got roughly an hour to loot the west wing."

  Van McBride smiled greedily. "Just like Shop 'Til You Drop on TV!"

  "You watch shows like that?" Todd asked in disbelief. "You wuss."

  "Shut up!" Van whined defensively. "Let's just get going, okay?"

  "Fine… wuss," Todd couldn't help adding. "You got upstairs, I got down here. Meet you out by the car." Van gave him a thumb's up. "And Van?"

  "Yeah?"

  "No screwing around, okay?"

  "Shut up!" Van snapped, wounded by Todd's lack of faith. "I never screw around."

  As Todd started down the long corridor a floor below the festivities and on the opposite side of the house, he thought how easy this was going to be. Easiest take yet in their burglary career. That chump Jack had practically asked them to relieve him of a portion of his valuables. He'd even gone to the trouble of sending them party invitations. Now that, Todd thought, was asking for it.

  Not long ago, they had been protégés of Skrag Morton, acting as his
advance team, his lookout, his accomplices, his alibi, and more. Skrag had taught them everything.

  Then, of course, Skrag's brain had ended up on the business end of his own jumper cables.

  For several months after Skrag's death, Todd and Van had laid low. Convinced their leader had been killed in revenge for some past crime, they felt certain they would be next. But no one came after them. And once they realized no one was going to come after them, they decided to go into business for themselves.

  Naturally, Todd ascended to Skrag's position of leadership. Van was too dim-witted for almost everything but taking strict orders and performing explicit tasks. At this, he excelled. But he had one other talent — a gift really — that served him well. Van was a human divining rod, always able to find the most valuable items in a home, no matter how well their owners hid them.

  Todd continued down the corridor, carefully opening each door he came to. As he expected, most of the rooms were empty. Some contained only a few pieces of furniture, sheet-covered to protect them from dust while the house remained unoccupied. The sheets were white, giving the impression that this was not really furniture at all, but the ghosts of furnishings past. The stale air combined with the eerie decor to send a chill through him.

  Before long Todd could no longer hear any sounds from the ballroom. He felt as if he was on another planet. A creepy feeling shivered up his spine.

  Then he came to the room that made him smile: a bedroom filled with boxes, each box bearing a Los Angeles return address.

  "Bingo!" he said out loud. Todd knew he had hit the jackpot. "I'm gonna know soon," he said, and the dead air of the room absorbed his voice like a thirsty sponge. He took a flashlight out of his pocket; turning lights on was a no-no, he had figured out long ago. Pointing the beam of the Maglite over the pile of boxes, Todd approached, ready to help himself to whatever he liked.

  * * *

  Rachel and Jack stood before the curtain of fog that led to the so-called "Haunted Mansion" beyond. Since the first group had crossed the threshold, the screaming had not stopped. Now, ready to plunge into the dangerous unknown herself, Rachel could hear other sounds: the growls of feral beasts, the moans of the dead, the shriek of bats — all before a faint background of Elvis Presley music.