Chapter Twenty Four

Jane Lane stood in her upstairs bedroom, looking out at the snow. The two story wood-framed house shook from the fierce wind, and the house's heater strained to keep it warm. The flickering power had shut off several times already. Though the young artist normally didn't mind being alone, she now half wished that she had asked Kevin to spend the night. They were good enough friends now for him to know it wasn't an invitation for sex, but Jane liked her independence, and so hadn't. The swirling columns of snow kept taking on even more and more fantastic shapes that seemed to become almost real, before they would blow away in a frosty sparkle.

Heavily bundled in a thick sweater, the black-haired girl slowly sipped the steaming mug of coffee she had made the last time the power had been on. She had been musing on the stories her sister Penny had told her from her trips to Central America, stories of blood drinking ghosts, monster jaguars that were actually men or women, the goat eating Chupacabra, and other things.

She had slowly realized that Penny had told these stories in one of two different ways. One was with a sardonic tilt of her head, her feet up on a chair, as if saying, "Here's the story, take it or leave it!"

The other one was less common. Penny would be half drunk, with her back in a corner of the room, far away from any windows or doors, muttering in a low tone of voice to one or two of her brothers, sisters, or parents. Wind and Summer were hardly ever the recipients of these less told stories. Trent had heard a few, and always left white faced and shaken, as would be their father Vincent. Their mother Amanda would always retreat into a spasm of new age ritualism, burning candles, wearing crystals, and putting up bundles of herbs. Jane had never questioned it, thinking it was one of the inexplicable things that families did.

The one time she had asked Penny about it, feeling like she was being left out of an important activity, Penny had sighed and shaken her head.

"Janey, I'm not leaving you out because I don't like you. It's just that there are some really bad things in the world that most people don't know about. The more you know about some of them, the more some of them might notice you. Most of the things I know are fairy tales, things that kids tell each other at campfires just before they go to bed. Give you a little shiver, that's all."

"But there are other things out there too, and just because you don't think they're real, don't mean they can't hurt you. I wish I didn't know as much as I've found out over the years, myself. When I talk about this to Trent, or Mom or Dad, it's a form of release. I know that they don't always know if I'm just drunk or what. But just telling somebody else who half-believes you always helps."

Jane looked confused.

"Penny, if there are all these scary things down there, why do you keep going there?"

Her older sister had sighed.

"Because it's the curse of our branch of the Lane family. We're always wandering, and I always wander to Central America."

Jane now frowned.

"What about Trent? He hardly ever goes anywhere, he just sleeps all the time!"

Penny had shaken her head.

"No, Janey, he dreams, and dreams are wandering, too. I know it makes him look like a lazy slacker, and he pretty well is, but it's like the rest of us, and we just can't seem to stop it."

"Does that mean I'm going to have to move around or sleep all the time when I get older, too?"

The normally undemonstrative Penny had squeezed her little sister in a fierce hug.

"I hope not, Janey, I hope not! It would be nice to think that one of us could have a happy settled relationship!"

Penny had left early the next morning. She sent the occasional card from Nicaragua or Mexico, but never said anything of interest, just a few lines about "I'm fine" or "the local ceramic industry sucks."

Jane had treasured that moment of sisterly bonding for a long time, wondering if their family's wanderlust was the reason they didn't seem as close as other families. Then she had meet Daria Morgendorffer in Self Esteem class. She herself had always maintained a cautious distance from the world, though she wasn't opposed to the occasional dip in its social waters. But she was an amateur compared to her new friend. Daria kept up an armor-plated shield at all times between herself and everybody.

After she had met Daria's parents and sister, though, she understood had her better. She had seen Daria outmaneuver her sister and father with ease, though doing it to her mother, Helen was a lot harder. Jane had always thought that Daria and Helen were a lot alike, though she had made a firm point of never mentioning it to her sometimes thin-skinned friend. Daria had always made a point of her distance from her sister, Quinn, who had denied all through high school that they were sisters. Still, Jane always remembered the look of pain on Daria's face the first day they had met. Daria had just told her that the fashionably dressed redhead vamping one of the local boys was her sister, and Quinn had said, very loudly "I'm an only child." Daria had looked so lost. She had never again seen her looking so vulnerable for years.

For years afterward she had disliked Quinn as much as Daria had. Quinn had actually spent a night at Jane's once, when the rest of her family was out of town, which hadn't helped. The redhead had spent the whole night talking like she'd vanish if she ever stopped, and a frazzled Jane had literally pushed her home the next day.

Still, Quinn seemed to have gotten her act together in Daria's senior year. She had finally admitted to the world they were sisters, and the two actually had some heart to heart talks. Daria's defenses had relaxed too, and they seemed to become closer to a traditional sister relationship.

Jane sighed. All of which brought her back to the present. Daria was the most level headed person she had ever met. If Daria said, she'd seen Sandi Griffin's ghost in a bathroom mirror at City Hall, she'd believe it. But what did it all mean? She really wished Penny was here. Of her family, she was the one who might actually be able to help.

She also wished that Andrea had been able to take them to that graveyard. Uninterested as she was in research for most things, she didn't mind doing it for her art projects. She had done some sketches of tombstones before, and had looked up the various designs on them, and the wording of the epitaphs. She watched the X-Files, and various horror movies, and knew the importance of good detective work, in a vague unprofessional way.

Jane's eyes jumped from the view of her front yard to the painting that had so freaked out Daria, lit only by a flickering candle. The vague ghostly image framed in what Daria had called a torii, seemed to grow clearer, more distinct. Jane had the uneasy feeling that it was looking at her, that her painting was some sort of link to those other things Penny had mentioned. Those things that Penny had spoken of in a drunken whisper.

Jane blinked. Surely, the branches in the painting weren't moving, were they? It was just the wavering light from the burning candle. That and Daria's anxieties, and being alone in the old house on a stormy night. She glanced away from her painting, nervously sipping from her suddenly cold cup of coffee.

She moved closer to her bedroom window and stared down outside at her front yard. The mobile and sculptures her mother had put on it were buried by the deepening snow. The snow kept spinning into columns and small tornados, which almost, but not quite, would resemble a human figure, before it collapsed.

Until they didn't collapse.

Jane's coffee cup dropped from her nerveless hand, shattering on the wooden floor, the cold coffee soaking her pants legs, as pale figures seemed to step out of each one of the spinning columns of snow. Jane's keen artists eye quickly noted the figures were each different.

Jane convulsively grabbed the lintel of the window, staring down at the figures even as they raised their heads to stare up at her, their hair flowing in the wind almost like running water, and somehow, she wasn't surprised to see their dead white faces looking hungrily at hers, their eyes large and luminous, burdened with the tortures of an restless eternity.

The more you know about some of them, the more some of them might notice you.

Jane now really wished she wasn't alone at home.

Halloween Night

Sandi laid trembling in the in the tall dry grass while the soft rain spattered down on her. Her long manicured nails dug deeply into the crumbling earth. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, but hot salty tears still squeezed out from under the lids and running down her reddened cheeks, disappeared into the dead soil. Dead soil. Her tight chest constricted with a low, painful whimpering nobody at school would have ever suspected coming out of Sandi Griffin.

How deep did they bury people? Sandi had a vague memory of several funerals she had attended over the years, but didn't remember how deep the holes had been. But somewhere under her, lay dry-rotting wood, and somebody who had been dead for a very long time. Somebody, a man or woman, who had friends, had loved other people, had gone to a job, who had laughed or cried, and now was gone.

What happened to you when you died? Sandi had never really thought about it much. Quinn's flirtation with the idea of guardian angels came to her mind. The Griffin family weren't devout, weren't regular church goers. In fact, Sandi didn't really know anybody at school who was. There was a family Bible in the bookcase in their den, but Sandi had certainly never opened it. Her parents were devoted to their jobs, period. The family was part of their public face.

Good people went to Heaven, and bad people went to Hell. God and his angels lived in Heaven. The Devil and his devils lived in Hell. Memories of Christmas clashed with those of Halloween. Angels with wings, and white robes, Wise men riding on camels, witches in pointed hats flying on broomsticks, ghosts in white sheets, cartoon devils with tails and horns, jabbing at you with plastic pitchforks. Like many modern Americans, Sandi only had a hazy idea of religion or religious holidays, or the deeper meanings they had sprung from.

Now, she, Sandi Griffin, was crawling in the mud, crying in the rain. She would probably catch pneumonia and die. Still, in spite of being such a creepy place, it was very peaceful there. It wasn't raining too hard, yet. Nobody was yelling at her, here. No father to let her down, and no mother to accuse her of being a failure and hurting her. No mean brothers to punch and kick her, locking her outside the house. No two-faced friends to smile at her one minute, while scheming behind her back against her.

Stacy had used to be her friend, ever since the first day she had met her. Pretty, shy little Stacy Rowe, who was always stuttering and stammering, blushing constantly. But she was so sweet, so friendly, so good at keeping things running. They used to have such fun sleep overs with each other. Then Tiffany had come to school. She had been shy too, but still was dressed so elegantly. Sandi and Stacy had taken right to the new girl. Now there were three of them!

They discovered Waif Magazine. They talked about nail polish and lip balm, discovered the mysteries of eyelash density. They had started to date, and eagerly discussed the details of their personal encounters with each other. Their dates had no idea how intimately each and every part of their behavior was examined, in microscopic detail. Sandi slowly became the leader of the newly formed "Fashion Club," while Stacy, the organizer, became the secretary, talking notes, and writing the rules down that Sandi kept coming up with. Tiffany, as usual, was uncertain as to what to do, so she became the wardrobe coordinator, making sure that the well-dressed girls never wore the same outfits on the same days. Waif magazine said that was bad, so it was so.

The Fashion Club had taken Lawndale High by storm. Ms. Li, impressed by their drive, as well as intimated by Sandi's mother, Linda, Advertising Vice President at KSBC, had made them an official high school club. They were on a level with the football team, the cheerleaders, the Honor society, in a single stroke. Through it all, Sandi strode like a Queen.

And then it happened. A big blue Lexus pulled up in front of Lawndale High, where Sandi and Stacy were waiting, as usual, for Tiffany to arrive. A gorgeous girl, wearing a pink, midriff showing shirt, and tight blue slacks stepped out, like a princess leaving her carriage. Sandi was shaken. This girl had such poise! Stacy was shaken too, with her regal grace. She blurted out, "Hi! You're cool. What's your name?"

"Quinn Morgendorffer."

"Cool name." Sandi said.

"Will you go out with me?" said the boy, who a moment earlier had been working up his nerve to ask Sandi out. Sandi was so taken with this new student that this fact didn't register till much later.

Tiffany's blood burned through Quinn's body like liquid fire. Her bare body seemed bathed by liquid flames. She had gone clubbing for years on her fake id, but had never tasted any liquor like this. It ate at her body along her veins. Quinn felt like she was floating in a lake of fire. It gently lapped at her flesh, both inside and out. She weakly thrashed around, flailing her arms and legs, but kept her eyes tightly shut. Faint whispers came to her ears, but nothing she could understand. She could hear a faint noise behind them, the noise of a mighty roaring, like a great wind. She slowly, reluctantly, opened her eyes.

She frowned, looking around her, but still seeing nothing. Things stirred in the back of her mind, unpleasant things she didn't want to remember, things of horror and pain. The whispering slowly grew louder. The events of the past two weeks, their enforced isolation, their starvation, Sandi's strange "pregnancy," if that's what her condition was, and her savage attack on Tiffany, and then Quinn. Her own drinking of Tiffany's blood off the floor.

Stacy's 'possession', followed by her disappearance. Her "Snow Lady" story. What was going on with that? Stacy's story seemed almost vampiric, ghostly. Stacy's behavior seemed elegantly, well, slutty.

But the other stuff, was almost it's opposite. It was earthy, dirty, animal like, but somehow twisted, not an animal, but people forced to be animals? It also seemed to be so very old. Vague memories of werewolf movies drifted though her mind. She didn't want to think about this kind of thing, not here and now.

In a nice movie theater, with an attentive date catering to her every whim, that was the time. Or watching the movie with her friends, with Sandi pretending not to be sniffing at the sad parts like the rest of them did. Having a sleep-over at each others house, eating low calorie dip and chips, with celery and carrot sticks, discussing the current crop of dates, clothing styles.

But now it all seemed so long ago, almost like a dream. She thought about her parents, knew they would be worried about her. Why hadn't they found them yet? Didn't they care about them anymore?

So slowly she didn't notice at first, things faded out of the darkness surrounding the starving girl. The interior of the cabin reappeared, with Sandi and Tiffany where she had last seen them, the slowly dying fire, the rough benches, bed, and table. Quinn looked down at her own body, laying sprawled on the wooden floor like a broken doll.

Her hair was spread out on the floor, dirty, lifeless, with white strands mixed into it. Her skin was shrunken in on her face, starkly outlining her skull underneath. Her lips were dry and chapped, her tongue had started to swell in her mouth. Her once soft hands were dirty and chapped, her nails broken off in their struggles to survive, gathering wood for the fire. Her right hand pulsed and throbbed with infection from Sandi's bite.

Why didn't I take care of that, Quinn thought. I could have washed it, put a bandage of some sort on it. Oh, yeah, that's right, why bother anymore? Who cares? Stacy is probably frozen to death outside. Sandi's dying, or almost dead, if she doesn't break loose, and kill Tiffany and me. Tiffany's dying from that bite on her neck, and I'm infected from the bite on my hand!

It all struck Quinn as very funny. She drifted in the air humming, looking down at herself.

This will work out fine. Daria can go to college, and forget she ever had a sister. Mom and Dad can pretend I was never born, that I look and act more like my Aunt Rita than either of them. No more stupid little Quinn, with her stupid friends. I remember when Ms. Li made Daria teach my Junior English class, when Mr. O'Neill and the other teachers were all on strike. I tried to get her to give the Fashion Club a break on grading, and she said, "Why go out of your way to defend the stupid? You're not one of them."

I bet if Daria was here, she'd have figured a way out of this days ago. She'd be long gone. But here I am, stupid Quinn, the fashionable girl. I'm here looking at one of my only friends, and I'm not thinking about things we've done.

Quinn drifted over to Tiffany, staring down at her. She slept deeply, they all did anymore, it was about the only thing they could do. The Vietnamese girls neck, blouse and jacket were all soaked with dried blood.

What's that thing they always say on vampire movies? Oh, yeah, that's right, "The Blood is the Life." Tiffany's blood tasted almost, right, like it was something I should have done. What would it feel like, I wonder, to take the bandage off her throat, and drink some more? Just a little bit, I don't need too much more. Animals lick their wounds, after all, it might even be a good thing for her.

A small, tiny part, that was all that was left of the old Quinn screamed at this, beat her hands against the cage trapping her in her own mind.

"No! I can't do that! It isn't right! We're all just going crazy from being so hungry and alone! They'll find us!"

If they even bothered looking, came the sardonic reply.

"Of course they'll look! Our parents all love us!"

Like Linda loves Sandi?

"Linda and Sandi have problems! They can work them out!"

Sure they can! Linda kills Sandi, keeping her place, or Sandi kills Linda, replacing her. We'll have to do the same thing you know, first Daria, and then Mom. Dad won't be any trouble after that.

"No! Shut up, just shut up!"

I don't want to, and you can't make me! was the childish reply, followed by a deep, bestial laughter, almost more of an insane howl.

"Oh my God! I'm going crazy! That's all this is, just a crazy part of my own mind!"

A sudden roar filled the cabin, slamming Quinn's drifting spirit back into her weakened body, forcing her eyes open. She struggled weakly, unable to do much more than roll over on her side, facing Tiffany. The other girl's eyes were also open. Tiffany stared at Quinn in desperation and fear, her lips forcing the words out.

"Please, Quinn, don't do it, it's the thing in Sandi, it's getting you too, it wants death, death and blood . . . "

Each tortured word had caused blood to trickle out from under the crude bandage. Quinn's nose, deadened by the stale odors in the cabin, sharpened at the scent, inhaling it like the sweetest scent of a flower.

Go, on, just a little taste, it'll help her wound, after all. It'll make you stronger, too, and then, a little nibble on her ear, just like a kiss . . .

No. Quinn moaned weakly. I can't. I won't. I'm not a monster. I won't kill anybody. Not Tiffany. She might not be all that much, but she's a friend! I, I really don't have that many real . . . friends.

Just the four of us, Sandi, Stacy, Tiffany and me. We were, are friends! We really are!

I will not kill! Not anybody!

She slowly faded away into a light, uneasy slumber. Laughter filled her dreams, a harsh, howling laughter mixed with snarling and ripping sounds, followed by the sound of an animal gnawing on its bone, a sick, diseased thing, hiding in its filthy den. She could hear it slobbering over its meal, some poor animal it had dragged down into the darkness of its lair.

Quinn squirmed in confusion. She was being held gently, being rocked almost like a child. Somebody cradled her, gave her small sips of water, small scraps of food she tried to gulp down to fill her gnawing, empty belly. A sudden joy filled her heart.

We've been found! Rescuers are here at last! Thank you God! Thank you thank you! I hope they helped Sandi and Tiffany first! Surely they did! Oh, poor Stacy! How long was she gone? I never did find out from Tiffany.

Slowly Quinn's mind forced itself out of her stupor, to a slight alertness.

Something's wrong. How come I can't hear anybody talking on radios, calling for help? None of that 10-4 stuff you hear on tv? Nobody's saying anything at all! Wouldn't they be feeding us crackers or something, because we've been so hungry for so long, but I've been eating little pieces of . . .

Her dreams came back to her. Quinn had a sudden, sickening idea of what that animal actually was.

Oh, no, oh my God no.

The sick, trembling girl slowly opened her eyes. Sandi had sat up, leaning against the wall. Quinn was pillowed up against the huge balloon of her cold stomach. Sandi's flesh felt cold, almost icy. Once Quinn had stirred, all of her movement had stopped. The chill air in the cabin was barely being heated by the low fire, and there was a fresh smell filling the air, the thick, wet smell of ... blood.

Quinn stared for a long moment at the rafters, not daring to look at the floor. But her eyes slowly shifted lower, taking in the details of the rough wooden walls, still covered in places with bark.

It's bad, it's bad, don't make me look, don't make me look, Sandi is insane, what did she do, what did I do, to Tiffany, poor Tiffany, oh, please, let her be all right . . .

Tiffany lay on the floor, her back to the other two girls. Her long black hair had been neatly pulled out of the way, brushed with care. A whitish gleam appeared where Tiffany's ear should have been. Quinn focused harder, then passed out in a merciful faint.

Tiffany's face was gone.