The Woods Are Dark by Richard Laymon
She looked over her shoulder. Sherri had stopped.
Neala appeared in the doorway with the rifle. She aimed and fired. Dirt and twigs exploded from the ground beside Cordie.
She lurched forward, plowing through a dozen crosses before another shot blasted the stillness. She threw herself down.
Something under her belly. She knew, without looking, what it had to be. With a gasp, she rolled off it. Her back hit a pole. She froze.
Nothing fell.
Lying on her side, panting, she could still feel the touch of what she had fallen on. She shut her eyes tightly, and reached down. With the back of her hand, she knocked it away.
Then she lay down flat, again, and waited for the next shot.
It didn’t come.
Finally, she looked back. Sherri and Neala were gone.
She pushed herself to her hands and knees. Ahead, through the tilting bars of many pikes, the Krulls waitied. They were silent. All seemed to be watching her.
She remembered Grar’s warning. If you betray us, your death will be horrible beyond nightmares.
They can’t get me here, she thought.
She lowered herself to the ground. She cushioned her face on an arm bruised by the poker, and shut her eyes. The ground felt good beneath her, in spite of the scratchy twigs and weeds.
She would stay here.
Though the breeze was mild, the sun baked her back. Sweat slid down her skin. Sometimes, she felt the tickle of insects. But she didn’t move. It would hurt to move. And it would do no good, because there was no way to escape the heat or bugs.
No way to escape the pain.
Or the Krulls.
No, this is how to escape the Krulls.
This is how.
This…
Then the terrible heat was gone. She opened her eyes, and saw that dusk had fallen.
Many of the Krulls were gone. Many remained.
Maybe when darkness came…
No.
If she left, they would find her.
Do unspeakable things. Your death will be horrible beyond nightmares.
She lowered her head, and closed her eyes.
This is a good place to be.
A good place.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Johnny, no.”
“Here, give me the rifle.”
“You can’t make it.”
“I can try. You two hold out as long as you can. If I don’t get back with help, go on out to the Krulls and make the best of it.”
Sherri handed the rifle to him.
Using it as a brace, Johnny pushed himself to his feet. He hobbled across the candlelit room. Sweat poured down his back. Neala saw that he was putting no weight on his bandaged leg.
“Johnny…”
“Once I get to the car, I’ll be okay. It’ll just take longer than…” The rifle slipped in his grip. He winced and fell.
Neala rushed to him.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said.
“No, it’s not.”
He planted the rifle butt, and started to push himself up. He gritted his teeth. He blinked sweat out of his eyes. His body trembled.
Neala took hold of his arm. “Wait. Just sit down and rest for a minute. Please.”
He lowered himself.
“Here, I’ll take the rifle.”
He gripped it.
“I need to go out for a second.”
“Again?” Sherri asked.
She sighed. “Must be something I ate. Or didn’t eat.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sherri said.
“Christ, I don’t need a guard.”
“Okay. Well hurry.”
“Be right back.” She kissed Johnny lightly on the mouth. Then she went out the open door. She walked quickly to the rear of the cabin. The gibbous moon hung low over the distant trees. She wished it weren’t so bright.
Propping the rifle against the cabin wall, she stepped out of her corduroys. She took Johnny’s key case from a pocket, and slipped it into the front of her pan ties. Then she took off her shirt.
The breeze had died, soon after dark, leaving the air still and warm. In spite of the warmth, she shivered as she picked up the rifle. She put the sling over her head. The rifle slapped against her back. The sling tugged at her shoulder. It crossed her body, its wide leather strap digging into her right breast. She adjusted it so it passed between her breasts. Then, crouching, she made her way toward the pikes.
“Neala!”
Sherri’s voice. Glancing back, she saw her friend run at her.
She rushed for the crosses, but Sherri grabbed her by the hair, yanked her to the ground, and dropped onto her. She grunted in pain as the rifle rammed her back. Sherri clutched her wrists and pressed them down.
“Let go of me, damn it!”
“You want to go off and get yourself killed!”
“Get off me!”
“No. I can’t. I can’t let you do it, Neala.”
“If I don’t go, Johnny will try.”
“We can stop him. Between the two of us…”
“Sherri, for Godsake, don’t you realize? We can’t stay in this cabin. We’ll all die. Even if the Krulls stay away, even if this devil never comes, we’ll just die in here.”
“We could give up, and live with the Krulls.”
“Sure. Only what happens to Johnny?”
“Yeah, I know.” She stared into Neala’s eyes. “You love him, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
She let go of Neala’s wrists, and gently stroked her face. “Oh Neala,” she whispered. “Oh goddamn it, Neala. Don’t forget me, huh?”
“Wha…?”
Sherri’s fist swung down. It struck the side of Neala’s head. She saw the other fist come down, and tried to block it, but she couldn’t get her arm up fast enough. The fist hit, rocking her head.
The weight of Sherri’s body left. She tried to raise her head, but couldn’t. She felt drunk, powerless to control her movements.
Sherri pulled the rifle sling away from her breasts. Rolled her. Pulled the rifle away. She flopped onto her back again. The ground felt much better without the hardness of the rifle.
Sherri, standing like a giant above her, quickly stripped.
“Don’.”
Sherri slung the rifle onto her back.
Neala raised her head. “Don’,” she said again.
“Oh Neala.” Sherri crouched beside her.
Neala concentrated on her arms. They felt heavy, as if she held a large stone in each hand. But she forced herself to lift them. She felt the girl’s big hands slide under her, and raise her off the ground. She felt the breasts brush lightly against her breasts, the mouth push against her mouth. She hugged Sherri as hard as she could. Then Sherri forced her down.
“You and Johnny stay put,” she whispered, “till I get back with the cavalry.”
Her fist smashed down.
Neala tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t. She tried to lift her head, but the muscles of her neck wouldn’t work.
Not even when she heard Johnny calling.
Then he was above her.
“Neala? Neala, what happened? Where’s Sherri?”
She found that she could open her eyes. “Gone,” she managed. “Went…for cavalry.”
A few minutes passed before she was able to get up. She put on her shirt. “I was going to go,” she said. “I stripped, you know, so I’d look more like one of them. But Sherri stopped me. She…Oh, my God!” Neala pushed her hand into the front of her pan ties. “No! Oh Johnny!” She pulled out the leather case.
“My keys.”
“I took them while we were bandaging you. I forgot…. When she…She just attacked me, Johnny. I couldn’t…. Oh God, what’ll she do, now?”
He shook his head. “If she makes it that far—well, she’ll be fairly close to the road. She can hitch a ride. As long as she doesn’t get picked up by Barlow people…”
“She hasn’t got
“Sure she does. She’s got as good a chance as…” He didn’t finish.
“As we do,” Neala finished for him.
“Let’s get back inside.”
She fastened her pants. Johnny struggled to stand, using the fire poker as a staff. Neala helped him up. He leaned on her, and they slowly made their way to the front of the cabin.
As Neala shut the door, a single gunshot blasted in the distance.
Her eyes met Johnny’s.
He said nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lander heard a far-off clap of thunder. It rumbled over the treetops.
“All-shaking thunder!” he cried out. “Smite flat the thick rotundity of the world! Crack nature’s moulds!”
He held out his hands to feel the rain, but felt none. Tipping back his head, he peered at the sky. Only small patches were visible through the trees, but the patches glinted with stars.
If not thunder, then perhaps a gun. He could use a gun.
Not half the fun of laying them low with knife or ax, but handy. He could plink the rogues from ambuscade! And gobble them up!
Like his friend, la belle dam.
He walked in the direction of the gunshot, grinning as he remembered. Oh, he’d spent hours with her. Delving, exploring, carving, tasting. Such rare delights!
His body, even now, was dark with her blood. He’d bathed in it, rubbing it onto every inch of skin that he could reach, then rolling in her heaped organs to color his back. He’d been careful, drinking at the stream, to wash off as little as possible.
Now, looking down at himself, he saw that he was as dark as the night.
A shadow moving through shadows.
He darted from tree to tree, often pausing to listen for foreign sounds and search the darkness. He seemed to be alone. If others were nearby, they moved in silence through the shadows.
Let them show themselves.
I’ll lay them low.
“Lo,’ tis a gala night,” he said.
Ahead of him, the ground moved. He froze. Not daring to breathe, he watched the matted leaves and twigs bulge from the ground as if a great beast were rising from its grave. Debris cascaded off the growing mound. A massive head appeared. It slowly turned toward Lander.
A yell of terror exploded from him, and he ran. He dashed past the thrashing mound.
As he sprinted through the darkness, he heard heavy, crushing footfalls behind him. He looked back, and gasped.
What is it!
Oh, he shouldn’t have let it up! He should’ve pounced while it was down—hacked it apart!
Now he had no chance.
No chance!
His breath whimpered out as he charged through a thicket that tore at his legs and genitals. He broke free, and looked over his shoulder.
Oh, it towered!
Its wild hair flew.
Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Oh God, don’t let him….
Lander heard voices of alarm. To the left. He lunged sideways, dashed toward them.
Pain seared his shoulder. The vest tore.
Oh God, oh God!
Krulls turned to him. Then they looked up, horror on their faces. Lander crashed two of them to the ground and dashed past.
A roar shocked the forest.
“KRULL!”
Lander glanced back. Saw the monstrous shape lift a screaming woman by her hair. Swing her. Rip the head from her body.
He threw himself against a tree trunk. He scurried up its rough bark, grabbed limbs and pulled himself higher. Higher. Hugging a branch, he looked down.
The thing had another Krull. A man. Had him by the legs. Spread the legs. Bit off the genitals. Jerked the legs until they popped from their sockets, and tore them off.
It dropped the carcass. Crouching, it twisted off the head. It picked up the woman’s head, and tucked it under one arm. Then it slowly turned.
Toward Lander?
Cringing, Lander pressed his face to the tree and shut his eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Cordie, lying belly-down among the impaled heads, heard the roar of Manfred Krull. It came from far in the distance.
But she knew he would soon arrive.
Bringing new heads.
And he would find her.
She’d spoken his name to Lilly. The worst kind of luck. Some say he hears it if you say his name, and comes for you.
Now he’s coming.
She raised her head. Beyond the pikes, the open field looked deserted. The others must have run when they heard him.
My chance!
They’ll all be hiding!
But if they catch me…Better they get me. Better anything than him.
At least she’d stand a chance, out in the woods. Maybe she could find Dad, and they’d escape together.
She glanced back at the cabin.
They might let her in, if she begged.
No. That’s the worst place to be, even worse than here in the heads.
The door couldn’t keep him out.
And they didn’t have the rifle, anymore. The big girl, Sherri, must have taken it. She’d seen Robbins and Neala come back to the door without her. Later, she’d heard a gunshot far away.
Somebody got Sherri.
Good.
The bitch had really hurt her with that poker—would have killed her if she could.
Good riddance.
The bitches deserve what ever they get. If they’d only come along with her, they’d all be safe now.
She looked again at the moonlit clearing. Again, she saw no Krulls. She’d better not go that way, though. The roar had come from that direction.
So she turned to her left, and began to crawl. She moved slowly, careful not to bump the poles. When she reached a pair too close together, she squeezed through on her side, her back rubbing one stick, her breasts brushing the other.
There were so many! They seemed endless.
But she kept moving, kept crawling, kept dragging herself forward.
Until a quiet sound stopped her.
The pop of a breaking stick.
She dropped to her side, and looked back.
Him!
Stabbing a cross into the ground near the place where she’d entered, so long ago.
How long had he been there?
As she watched, he raised a head high and rammed it down. It made a wet sound. Then he stripped the limbs from another stick. He lashed a crosspiece into place, and plunged the cross down. He shoved a head onto its tip.
Then he entered the field of crosses.
He glided through them, turning silently, never bumping a single cross.
Cordie watched, afraid to move.
How could he travel so fast, and not knock the heads off?
He is the Devil!
Suddenly, he turned toward Cordie.
He’d seen her!
She heard a tiny whine in her throat. Warm liquid spurted down her thigh.
Then he turned away.
She moaned with relief, and watched him move through the last of the heads.
The ground seemed to shake beneath her as he thundered “Krull!” and kicked open the cabin door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Lander hugged the high branches long after the creature had gone. He didn’t dare move, for what if it came back!
Oh, it would tear him asunder!
Break his legs like wishbones.
Eat his cock.
Oh, there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio…. More things in hell. Spewing forth demons to walk the night.
He gazed down at the moonlit dead.
Perhaps they were left as bait to lure him down. Cheese for the mouse.
Wee timorous beastie …
Bait for the beastie.
Minnows and worms. The play is the tragedy “Man,” and its hero the Conqueror Worm.
Worm me no worms.
Bird food.
As he watched, the headless woman raised an arm and pointed at him. His skin shriveled.
No no no!
I didn’t see that. Impossible. No no no! A trick of light.
He rubbed his eyes, and looked again.
Still pointing at him, she sat up.
“You’re dead,” he whispered.
Oh, I’m dreaming. Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. No mortal, she.
She can’t do this!
“Lie down!” he shouted.
Oh God, he’ll hear me. He’ll come, and she’ll point me out. She’ll finger me. He’ll shake me from the tree and eat my cock and break off my legs like wishbones and run away with my head!
“Damn you!” he sputtered.
He scurried down the tree, and rushed to her. She was lying down, playing innocent.
“Villainous whore!”
He punched his knife into her belly. Again and again. As he stabbed, he noticed her breasts. Though the moonlight was dim, he saw their strange, wrinkled folds and lumps.
He looked more closely.
The breasts were covered by pale rags of flesh tied to her body with thongs. He cut the garment free. He raised it into the moonlight, and groaned.
The rags were human faces.
Small faces, peeled from small heads.
The faces of children.
He threw them to the ground, and stared. Then he heard quiet footfalls behind him.
Tricked!
With a shriek of terror, he looked back. The bushes parted, and out stepped a woman.
A big woman.
An Amazon armed with a rifle.
She aimed at him.
“Don’t shoot!”
She hesitated. “What the fuck?” she muttered. “You…Who are you?”
“One whose name was writ in sand.”
“Hey, I know you!” She lowered her rifle. “You’re…”
With a laugh, he flung his knife.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Cordie, crouched in the darkness, watched Robbins and Neala follow the old man through the barrier of heads.
She wondered if she might join them.
But she remembered Grar’s warning.
Your death will be horrible beyond nightmares.