Chapter 6

Rosalyn pulled up to the huge house and peered out through her car window. She could just barely make out the number on the mailbox. 224- Hawkins. This was it.

Steven Hawkins, Rosalyn thought. Sounds weird. You'll always be Steven Lloyd to me.

She yawned and stretched. Now that she saw where the house was she could go back. There was nothing she could do tonight until she came up with some kind of plan. She shifted the car back into gear. It stalled.

"God damn it!" She turned the key again and the engine sputtered to life. "I hate this car," she muttered to herself.

Suddenly white light flooded her vision, blinding her temporarily. After a second it dimmed a little. Headlights, Rosalyn thought, panicked. She put on the gas and pulled easily into the driveway next door. I hope no one's home, she thought as she shut off her own headlights. She watched as a black car pulled up in front of the Hawkins house. The driver shut off the car and sat there.

That must be Wynn. Rosalyn gasped as it hit her. He's here for Steven!

She waited a minute more before making a decision. Wynn couldn't get to Steven if she could get to him first. She snuck out of the car, shutting the door quietly behind her. The yard around the house was lined with thick shrubs and she followed these around the back until she was well out of sight of the car. She stepped out of the bushes and checked out the house. She spotted an upstairs room with a model airplane in the window. She smiled. Steven's room.

The ground was damp beneath her fingers as she felt for a pebble. Finally she found one and tossed it up at the window. After the third round of pebble throwing, a light finally came on in the room. Rosalyn darted back into the bushes and watched as a little boy with dirty-blonde hair came to the window.

He looks just like his father did at that age, Rosalyn thought fondly.

The boy gave up looking and disappeared from the window. The light went back out. Rosalyn crept back out and started throwing pebbles again. She hurried back to the bushes when the light came back on again in the little boy's room.

Come out and play, Steven. Rosalyn grinned.

Up in his room, Steven was rubbing his eyes. Who keeps tapping my window? He went to the window again, opened it and looked out. He gasped when he saw the bushes move. "Rocky?" The German Shepherd pup had run off a few days ago and he'd been very worried. Was this him? Steven decided to find out. "Hang on boy, I'm coming out," he said and shut the window.

A minute or two later, Rosalyn heard a door open. Steven stepped out into the moonlight.

"Rocky," he called softly. He pulled his jacket closer and called again.

Rosalyn watched the boy intently, wondering how she could capture him or trick him into coming with her. Suddenly, her gaze was replaced by an expression of shock as her eyes widened and she froze.

Steven sighed disappointedly. The dog just wasn't coming. Sadly, he turned to go back into the house and ran face-first into someone. His eyes followed the body up to the ghostly white face of a mask. Stunned, he watched as the figure's head tipped a little as it looked at him.

The little boy turned tail and ran as fast as he could, not recognizing his own bloodcurdling screams.

He's getting away! Rosalyn jumped out of the bush and grabbed the boy. He fought her tooth and nail, but she managed to hold him where he was. She spun him around. "Say hello to your father!" she said, grinning wickedly at the Shape in front of her.

Steven gasped when he saw the glint of a blade. "Mom! Dad! Help m- "

His words were cut off when Rosalyn cupped her hand over his mouth. He responded by biting down hard on her thumb. She shrieked and let go.

"Steven?" A call came from inside the house and the light came back on in Steven's room. Rosalyn looked around frantically.

The Shape was advancing on Steven. She saw the boy run blindly up the steep bank past the bushes.

I don't have time to get him now. I've blown it. I'll have to think of something else, Rosalyn thought and ducked into the bushes again. When she made it to the front of the house she noticed that the black car was gone.

When the Shape reached the top of the bank he saw nothing. There was nowhere to hide except for an old wishing well. There was a creaking noise coming from inside. He reached it and looked over the edge.

Steven peered up at him from the bucket. His hands were clenched together and he was muttering under his breath:

"Haila Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Haila Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our deaths. Amen. Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power, and the glory forever and ever. Amen."

The Shape slashed downward, but the boy had lowered himself just out of reach of the blade. Frustrated he began to chop at the thick rope. Every chop drew a shriek from Steven, who by then had stopped praying- at least out loud. But, he realized, he couldn't just sit there.

He's my dad? My real dad? Why would he do this?

The rope was dangerously frayed by now. The Shape heaved as he gave another chop.

"Dad?" The call echoed through the well.

Michael stopped mid-swing.

Steven peered up at him from the bucket. "You're- you're my real dad?"

He lowered the knife and looked down at Steven.

There was a snap as a fiber broke in the rope. Steven reached out to him. "Help me. Please, Dad. Don't let me die," he pleaded tearfully. The rope creaked.

Michael looked around and then looked back down at him. He seemed confused.

Finally the rope couldn't hold out any longer. There was another loud snap and the bucket began to fall. Steven clenched his eyes shut and screamed, waiting to drown in the murky cold water of the well. He waited for the impact, but it didn't come. He opened his eyes.

Michael was bent forward over the edge of the well. One hand held the tattered end of the rope. Steven looked up into his father's eyes. Was he crying? Steven saw a glimmer of hope, but in an instant it was gone. Michael blinked and the Shape returned. The cold pitiless glare came again. He released his grip on the rope and watched the bucket fall until it was too dark to see. A splash put an end to the boy's screams.

Michael shook his head. For several moments he appeared to reach down into the darkness of the well, searching for something he couldn't see anymore. It was too late. He gave one last long look at the well before picking up the knife and, exhausted, staggering off into the night.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~