Читать книгу Best Little Witch-House in Arkham - Mark McLaughlin - Страница 5

A Beauty Treatment for Mrs. Hamogeorgakis

“Don’t look now,” Kyle said, “but that old scarecrow lady is staring at you.”

Melina and Kyle were having a cigarette break outside of The Perfect Profile, the most popular beauty salon in the seaside town of Innsmouth. There were three other salons, but they were just part-time operations out of people’s homes. Melina took a long drag off of her Belgian vanilla cigarette. They were expensive, but they were smoother than regular cigarettes and not as stinky as those clove things. “What old lady?” she said. She glanced across the street, where some people where talking in front of a doughnut shop.

“Not that way,” Kyle said. “Inside. You can look now. She’s talking to Marie.”

She squinted through the plate-glass window. Most of the women in the waiting area were overweight, so it was easy to tell which one he meant. A bony woman in a simple black dress and heavy black shoes was talking to the receptionist. The woman had long, thick gray hair, done up in a shaggy ponytail. At one point she turned and nodded at Melina. The old woman’s face looked like a parchment-covered skull with an eagle’s beak for a nose.

“Very scary,” Melina said. “I hope she doesn’t want me to work on her.”

“Well, I don’t want to get stuck with her.” Kyle flashed his big, lopsided smile. “Let’s both go home sick. Simultaneous food-poisoning. The twenty-hour Ebola virus.”

For the third time that day and probably the thousandth that year, Melina thought, Too bad he’s gay. She still couldn’t figure out why any gay man would want to be a beautician, surrounded by women eight hours a day.

“Hey, maybe she wants to be your friend,” he said. “You’re always saying that you wish you had more friends.”

“Yeah, but I’m not desperate. We’d better get back inside,” Melina said, “before Midget has a fit.” Midget was in fact Midge, their manager, a five-foot-four red-haired dictator. They also called her Little Miss Stopwatch, because she said things like, “You were in the bathroom eleven minutes and forty-five seconds. Did you fall in or what?”

“Mel, honey,” Marie said as they entered, “this is Miss Papadakis. She asked for you special.” The plump, middle-aged receptionist gave her a small, apologetic smile. “She’d like a makeover.”

“Lucky you,” Kyle whispered as he passed her to go to his workstation.

“Right this way,” Melina said, leading the old woman to her area. “So you asked for me? Which of my millions of happy customers sent you my way?”

Miss Papadakis settled into the hot-pink padded chair. “I saw you and decided you were probably Greek, like me, with those big brown eyes and that lovely olive skin. I thought we might have fun talking. Perhaps we are related. You are Greek, yes?”

“One-hundred percent. My name’s Melina.”

“And your last name?”

“We don’t give out last names here. Sorry. It’s not like I don’t trust you, but…”

The old woman nodded. “I understand. Young women these days, they have to be careful.”

“Marie said you needed a makeover.”

The woman smiled. She had good teeth, even and white. Maybe they were dentures. “I am no Miss America, but do you think you could make me—pretty?”

Melina turned on her best fake smile. “All us Greek girls are pretty. A little make-up’s all you need, and I’d love to do something with that hair.”

The woman’s smile widened. “Very good. You are skilled with the bullshit. You are being kind to an old lady with a face like death.” She looked into the mirror. “What is this ‘something’ you would do?”

“Add some color. Something soft. Muted. Anything too dark might look a little hard on you.”

Miss Papadakis thought about this. “Soft, yes. I do not want to look like a tavern whore. You may begin. But first I am going to give you your tip. As incentive.” She handed Melina a hundred-dollar bill.

“That’s great,” Melina said. She slipped it into a pocket. “I hope you decide to become a regular customer.” She leaned toward the old woman. “My last name’s Theodorakis.”

“A name from Crete, like mine. Marvelous!” Miss Papadakis gave her a wink. “Call me Kiwi, please. All my friends call me Kiwi.”

* * * *

During the appointment, Melina found out much of the old woman’s life story, including why friends called her Kiwi instead of her real first name, which was Angela.

It turned out that many years ago, an old boyfriend, a policeman, had given her a basket of kiwi fruit, and she’d found them to be absolutely delicious. And so every day, she always ate at least three or four kiwis, since they were so tasty and also, they reminded her of her beloved policeman, who had died in a car accident. That was back when she had lived in New York.

“After my Tony died, I came to Innsmouth with a patient of mine, Mrs. Hamogeorgakis,” Kiwi said. “I am a doctor, you see. Back in New York, I would drop by her place every now and then—she had many health problems, the poor dear, and she has always been a friend of the family. So when Mrs. Hamogeorgakis decided to come here—she has relatives in town—she asked if I would like to come with her. I was tired of New York, so I said yes.”

“You still call her by her last name after all these years?” Melina said as she rinsed out the bony woman’s hair. Kiwi’s old enough to be my grandmother, she thought. How old is this gal she’s taking care of?

The old woman laughed. “Mrs. Hamogeorgakis is like a queen. Her very presence commands respect.”

Finally, Melina finished her work. And the old woman looked—nice. Her hair was now a medium golden-brown and trimmed to shoulder-length. Her gaunt face, through the subtle use of foundation, shadow, lipstick, lip-liner and more, now looked pleasant but dignified. Almost grandmotherly.

Kiwi gasped at her reflection. “My child, this is a miracle! It is like I am only fifty again.” She got out of the chair and looked her closely in the mirror. “Interesting, how you’ve applied the color on the sides of my nose. It doesn’t look so big now. I will have to study this when I get home, to see if could do it myself.” She turned around. “Or perhaps you could come by sometime and teach me?”

Melina shook her head. “Sorry, we don’t give lessons. Otherwise you wouldn’t need the salon.”

Kiwi pouted. “But I wouldn’t have the time to come here every day. And I’d still need you to do my hair.” She moved closer to Melina and whispered, “I would pay very well for these lessons. Give me your home number. I’ll call you and we’ll talk more.”

Kyle walked over to Melina’s workstation. “Mel, you didn’t tell me you had a sister,” he said with his usual lopsided grin.

Kiwi ran a bony hand through the male stylist’s blond highlights. “This is an interesting effect. Very dramatic. Maybe you could do this for me sometime, Melina.”

Melina wrote her home number on the back of a business card and handed it to the old woman. “Whatever you like, Kiwi.”

“Your name’s Kiwi?” Kyle said.

“Have Melina tell you the story.” The old woman put a fingertip on Kyle’s cheek. “Such large eyes you have. Are you a Gilman, by any chance?”

He nodded. “Yes, how did you know?”

“The family resemblance is unmistakable.” She turned back to Melina. “I must go now—I still have some shopping to do for Mrs. Hamogeorgakis. I pay the receptionist, yes?”

Melina nodded. One hand was in her pocket, touching that hundred-dollar bill.

Later, during their next cigarette break, Kyle said, “That old lady looks about a hundred times better now. But what was the deal with her knowing my last name?”

Melina looked at his big soulful blue eyes and his wide, full-lipped, sensuous mouth. Too bad he’s gay. “Like she said, a family resemblance. That’s not so weird. Most of you Gilmans have the same look. Though you are better looking than most of the others. Your uncle Carl looks like a big toad-man.”

Kyle grimaced. “Thanks for telling me. Does that mean I’m going to look like an old toad someday?” He threw down his cigarette, crushed it under his heel and went back into the salon.

Melina just shrugged. “Maybe,” she said to no one.

* * * *

That evening, Miss Papadakis called Melina. The beautician was lounging in a beanbag chair in her apartment at the time, drinking a glass of wine and doing a crossword puzzle, when the phone rang.

“Mrs. Hamogeorgakis had much to say about your skill—all good, of course,” Kiwi said. “I must confess, I had a special reason for coming to your salon today.”

God, I hope it’s not kinky, Melina thought. “Is that right?”

“My visit was—what is the word I’m looking for?—let me think…”

“I’m good at crosswords—I’m doing one right now. What’s the word mean?”

“The word for when you try somebody out, so they can do a task later.”

“An interview?” Melina said. She grabbed the wine bottle and refreshed her glass. “An audition?”

“Yes, both of those,” Kiwi said. “You see, Mrs. Hamogeorgakis is in need of your services.”

“But what about you?”

“I need them, too. But Mrs. Hamogeorgakis needs them even more.” Kiwi paused, and then said, “Much more.”

“I see.” Actually, Melina didn’t want to see how ugly the ancient woman in question had to be.

“Mrs. Hamogeorgakis would not be able to visit your salon. You’ll have to come here, to 605 Cherrywood Lane. Do you have pen and paper so you can write that down?”

Melina wrote it in the margin of her crossword puzzle. “You know, I am really busy these days, and the salon would be mad if they knew—”

“One-thousand dollars.” Kiwi stated. “You will receive one-thousand dollars for your visit. Tomorrow night at eight o’clock.”

“Great! I’ll be there,” Melina said. “I look forward to meeting your friend.”

“You will like Mrs. Hamogeorgakis. She is a fascinating person, and she will be very grateful. We will see you tomorrow night.”

Melina hung up the phone and had some more wine.

A fascinating person.

The old hag probably looked like a mummy. A fascinating mummy.

* * * *

The sky was overcast the next morning. By noon, the clouds were roiling black and grey. Rain was pouring down, accompanied by gale-force winds.

Midge locked the front door of The Perfect Profile and the employees all went down into the basement. It would have been impossible for any of them to go home at that point. Midge was afraid the wind might blow a branch or a trashcan through the salon’s plate-glass window.

Melina and Kyle sat away from the others in a corner, smoking.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Melina said.

“That’s okay,” her friend said. “It’s not your fault. I guess I’m just afraid I’ll end up like my uncle. That’s all.”

“But you really are a lot better looking than—”

“There’s more to it than just looks,” Kyle said. “Carl disappeared last week.”

“Oh no.” Melina lit up a fresh vanilla cigarette. “Didn’t you have a grandmother who disappeared?”

Kyle nodded. “And my grandmother’s brother. What would that be—a grand-uncle?” He reached over and took one of her expensive cigarettes. Ordinarily she’d have complained, but she decided to let it slide this time.

“I don’t know why they’ve disappeared,” he continued. “They just go away and the thing is, nobody talks about it. It’s like everybody’s in on the secret except me.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. Probably because I’m not like them.”

Melina shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Do you really think your family is off somewhere saying, ‘Let’s not tell Kyle the truth about the disappearances because he’s gay’? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Kyle’s large eyes glistened with tears. “So what’s the truth?”

Melina sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. Does it have to be something bad? Maybe it’s something really cool. Something wonderful and mysterious.”

Kyle sat up. “Like what?”

“Well, maybe you’re all royalty. Or aliens. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Her friend grinned. “Maybe we all grow fingerwebs and swim off to an underwater palace.”

“Whoa! Where did that come from?”

“I have dreams like that all the time.” An oddly blissful look crept across his face. “I dream that my hands are green and there are webs between the fingers, and I’ve swimming past all these beautiful fish and eels to this big palace, but it’s really more of a coral reef. And there are all these green and yellow people waving to me, and I know they all love me. I had that dream again just last night.”

Melina looked at her friend’s hands. The fingers were long and slender—and between them, there did seem to be a little extra skin. Maybe a fourth of an inch. Not much. Certainly nothing freaky.

But when she looked up into his face, it suddenly dawned on her that yeah, she could see a touch of his uncle Carl in his face. That forlorn, toadlike quality. But in Kyle’s case, it was more froglike.

Maybe it was just as well that this frog would never be her prince.

* * * *

The storm was over by two-thirty, but the skies still looked terrible. All the day’s clients had called to cancel, so Midge told everyone to go home.

Melina had to tell Kyle about her appointment with the old women that evening. It would be best if somebody knew her whereabouts, in case something weird happened. Kyle said, “We have the rest of the afternoon to kill. Why don’t we drive around Cherrywood Lane? Check out the neighborhood before your big gig tonight.”

“That’s in the rich part of town, isn’t it?”

“You bet. So we’d better take my car. It’s nicer,” he said. “Besides, if we took your car, they might recognize it when you came by later and they’d know you’d been snooping around in their neck of the woods.”

“Good idea you’ve got there.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “First time for everything, I guess.”

“Clever! I should just let those two old witches eat you.”

Twenty minutes, Kyle was steering his car onto Cherrywood Lane, which led up a hill overlooking the town. This part of Innsmouth was old and moneyed, and all the houses had winding driveways and expansive, well-groomed lawns. “You’d better scoot down in your seat,” Kyle said, “so they can’t see you.”

605 was certainly the most impressive house on the street. It was a huge, sprawling structure, three stories high and covered with ivy. “Good God,” Kyle said. “Yeah, I guess they can afford thousand-dollar beauty treatments. That’s the old Marsh place. I used to have a boyfriend who lived on this street. He showed me who lived where.”

“Marsh?” The Marsh family was one of the most prestigious in Innsmouth. “Kiwi said Mrs. Hamogeorgakis came here to live with relatives. The Marshes aren’t Greek.”

“Maybe they’re related by marriage somehow.”

Melina pointed. “What’s behind that big wall?”

Kyle looked in that direction. A short distance behind the house was a high wall made partly of large, pale stones and partly of red bricks. “Well, we’re right on the ocean, but we had to drive up this hill a ways…Must be a cliff. Let’s turn around.”

A minute later, they were heading back toward downtown Innsmouth. At the base of the hill, Kyle took a side road to a small seaside recreational area, with picnic benches and a white-painted metal pavilion.

Kyle got out of the car, so Melina did, too. He nodded toward the sun-bleached cliff to their left. “There’s what’s on the other side of that wall.”

She looked up. “Yeah, you can see a little bit of it from here. And some of their roof.” At the base of the cliff were rocks and boulders, strewn with green crap. Probably seaweed or moss. “So, Sherlock. What have we learned?”

“Well, Mrs. Hamogeorgakis and her pal live in the old Marsh estate.” Kyle looked up toward the house. “They want you to go there late at night. And, they have a big cliff a little ways outside their back door.”

“Do you think I’m in danger? Should I tell them to get lost?”

“What, and lose out on the chance to make a thousand bucks?” Kyle thought for a moment. “Take your cell phone with you tonight. I’ll be parked down here with my phone. Call me if you think you’re in trouble and I’ll come help.”

“Thank you, Kyle,” Melina said. “I’m so lucky to have you for a friend.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Hey, if those two old harpies kill you, I won’t have anyone to mooch fancy cigarettes off of.”

* * * *

That evening, she parked in the driveway near the front steps of 605 Cherrywood Lane, carried a large, red plastic make-up case up to the door and knocked.

A plump, middle-aged man with a jowly face answered the door. “Come inside. You are expected.” He picked up her case. “Let me carry that for you.”

“Great. Thanks.”

As she followed the man down a hallway, she noticed something odd about him. Though he had a big belly, his legs were very thin, and his shuffling gait was slightly jerky, as though simply walking was a strain for him. “So what’s your name?” she said.

The man turned his head to reply. “Tyler.”

“Is that your first name or last?”

This time he didn’t turn his head at all. “Tyler Marsh,” he said gruffly.

Melina decided the man wasn’t in the mood to talk, so she simply followed. At least someone named Marsh still lived in the house, though he seemed to be acting more like a servant.

He led her up some stairs and down yet another hallway. Here the walls had numerous portraits hung on them. Most of the people in the pictures were fat and toadlike, like Tyler. Others were large-eyed and gangly, with loose folds of skin around their throats.

They came to a room with a black, heavily lacquered door. Marsh tapped on the shiny surface with a knuckle. “Your visitor is here.”

The door opened halfway and Kiwi looked out into the hall. “Thank you, Tyler. Please come in, Melina. Come and meet Mrs. Hamogeorgakis.”

The man handed the make-up case to Kiwi and shuffled off down the hall.

Melina entered the room. It was very large, with beautiful old furniture, including several bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes. The wallpaper pattern seemed to be either leafy vines or tendrils of seaweed, or maybe both. The carpet’s design depicted a scattering of seashells and rounded, multi-colored stones.

Along the far wall was a four-poster bed with sky-blue silk curtains. Lounging in the middle of the bed on a pile of navy blue pillows was a willowy dark-haired woman in a white dressing gown edged with pink lace.

She seemed normal enough—from a distance. But as Melina walked closer, she gradually realized there was something very wrong with the woman.

Mrs. Hamogeorgakis had fine bone structure and large blue eyes. But the eyes had an intense, vicious look to them, like those of a wild animal.

The woman’s pale skin had a slight olive cast—and was coated with a shining layer of tiny, iridescent scales.

Her dark hair was full and lustrous—far too lustrous. It glistened with a slick sheen, as though covered with a layer of oil.

Mrs. Hamogeorgakis smiled, revealing a mouthful of yellow, needle-thin teeth. “So this is the fancy expert,” she said in a wet rumble of a voice. “The miracle worker. Do you think you will be able to make a goddess of me?”

Melina turned toward Kiwi, who was standing by the door, pointing a knife at her.

“We shall begin very soon,” Kiwi said.

Melina stared again at the woman on the bed. Woman? She looked more like some kind of deep-sea creature.

“Do I frighten you, little girl?” Mrs. Hamogeorgakis said. “So sorry. I didn’t always look like this. I used to be very pretty, like you. Men used to fight over me. But there are families…” She paused to clear her throat, spitting a thick fluid into a handkerchief. “Families that come from the sea. Some are here in Innsmouth. Some are in Crete. And in other places, many other places. We are all related. We are the children of Dagon, the Sea Father.”

Melina realized that these two old freaks were as scary as Hell, and whatever they were planning, they probably had no intention of letting her leave. She had to get to her cell phone, which was in the make-up case next to Kiwi.

“I’ll need a few things,” Melina said, moving toward the case. She also kept a pepper sprayer in it, for when she had to walk to her car after dark.

Kiwi and Mrs. Hamogeorgakis both laughed as she picked up the case and took it to the side of the bed.

“Foolish girl,” Mrs. Hamogeorgakis said. “Your silly powders and notions would only make a ridiculous clown of me.”

“Just wait. I’ve got some great new products here…” Melina bent to open her case, even as Kiwi walked toward her with the knife.

“Don’t be foolish,” Mrs. Hamogeorgakis said. “We know what we are doing. We have done this many times before. So many times. So many stupid girls.”

Melina lifted the case and scattered its contents on the bed and the floor. She found the cell phone and jammed it in a pants pocket. She then spotted the pepper sprayer, snatched it up and fired a stream toward Kiwi’s eyes.

“You bitch!” the old woman screamed, dropping the knife. Melina turned and fired the sprayer at Mrs. Hamogeorgakis—and missed. The creature slid off the bed and reached for the blade.

“No you don’t!” Melina screamed, kicking Mrs. Hamogeorgakis out of her way. The old woman uttered a gurgling squeal, and then turned her head quickly to rake her teeth across the girl’s ankle. Melina grabbed the knife with her free hand and ran out of the room.

Tyler Marsh was running down the hall toward her.

She ran to meet him and plunged the knife into his gut. What else could she do? It was her only choice

“Very good!” Mrs. Hamogeorgakis cried from the doorway. “Such spirit!” Kiwi appeared behind the creature, rubbing furiously at her streaming eyes.

The man clutched at the knife handle and fell to the floor screaming.

Melina ran down the hall, looking frantically for the stairs. Finally she saw them to her left. She look behind her—Kiwi and Mrs. Hamogeorgakis were less than ten feet away. The hideous fish-woman was holding the bloody knife.

The girl raised the pepper sprayer and pumped at the cylinder furiously, creating a cloud of the spray between her and the two women. They stopped immediately.

“So clever,” Mrs. Hamogeorgakis said. A hard smile played on her lips. “What a pity you must die.”

Melina rushed down the stairs, pulling the phone from her pocket. She frantically punched in Kyle’s number.

“Call the police!” she screamed into the phone. “The fire department, anybody! Then come help me!”

“Sure! Okay, but wha—”

She cut off the call—there just wasn’t enough time to explain. She was about to call 911 when she saw the two old women rushing down the stairs, frantically fanning the spray fumes away with their hands.

She tried to remember which way to turn to get to the front door…Finally, hoping for the best, she chose left. At one point she bumped into a small table and fell down, overturning the table and smashing the vase on top. She scrambled back to her feet and continued down the hall. But soon she saw some paintings she hadn’t seen earlier. She must have turned the wrong way. She decided to keep running until she found either an exit or a place to hide and call the police.

After she had turned down a new hall, she came across large double doors with golden handles. Double doors? She opened one and rushed through into a huge hallway, over twenty feet wide with pine-board walls and a cheap linoleum floor. The lighting fixtures were simply yellow bulbs. Maybe deliveries came through this way—which meant it led out of the building. Yes, she decided, that had to be it. She ran on until she’d turned a corner. She couldn’t hear them behind her—now she could call the police. She jammed a hand into one pocket, then another.

The phone was gone.

Had she even put it back in a pocket after she’d called Kyle? She must have dropped it when she ran into that table. She couldn’t go back. The only thing to do was to follow the hallway.

The floor seemed to slope slightly downward. She rounded a few more corners, and as time passed, it occurred to her that she had traveled a considerable distance. Too great a distance to still be in the house. Was she in some kind of tunnel?

Eventually she came to the top of a spiral staircase made of huge beams and well-worn board steps. The walls here were brick, coated with layers of mildew and cobwebs. The cracked, eroded bricks were probably red, but the light of the yellow bulbs gave them a pumpkin-orange cast.

She followed the stairs downward. They were slippery, so she had to hang on to the filthy banister. Soon her hands were smeared with black mildew.

She walked down another hall. The damp floor was surfaced with thousands of small, flat stones. She began to hear faint splashing sounds. She figured she had to be underground—how far, she couldn’t even guess.

Hey, I’m not scared, she thought. She was impressed with herself. Even though she was in some strange underground passage, she really wasn’t frightened. That horrible fish-woman had been terrifying, but she’d managed to escape that. Surely she’d find an exit pretty soon. Surely this nightmare was nearing its end.

Then the hall brought her to a large open area.

A cave.

The people gathered in the cave, lounging on rocks around an algae-choked pool, were totally naked. But that was not the most startling aspect of the sight that confronted her.

All of these pale, flabby people had scales and wild eyes, like Mrs. Hamogeorgakis. Then she noticed they all looked a little like Kyle—in fact, one of them was his uncle Carl. But he was covered with scales now, and had webbed fingers, claws, and needlelike teeth. She had to cover her mouth with her hands so not to cry out, or scream, or even laugh hysterically. So this was what had happened to those relatives of his. They had…changed…with age. They had to be one of those families from the sea the horrible old woman had mentioned…

The sea-people turned and glared at her. But they didn’t try to attack her—they didn’t even change their positions. A few simply bared their needle-teeth in smiles—cruel smiles that said, We know something that you don’t.

Then she saw a statue, half-hidden in a shadowed alcove. It was carved from pale yellow stone, and stood almost eight feet tall. It looked like a bloated man with scaly skin and a wide, fish-lipped, horribly pouting mouth. The eyes were huge black gems. She saw gnawed bones piled around the base of the statue. Dry, rotten loops of intestines were wrapped around the body and legs, as though bored, monstrous children that tried to clothe the thing.

She moved quickly along the wall of the cave, desperately hoping to get to the far end without touching any of the creatures. The other side had to have an opening to the outside world. Maybe it led to an opening behind the rocks—the ones at the base of the cliff that she and Kyle had seen from the seaside pavilion.

When she reached the other side, she found only a low passage hewn out of the dirt and stone, shored up with timber and rocks. The yellow bulbs did not go down this path—probably because it was so wet. The muddy walls dripped and ran with moisture. The tunnel led off into midnight blackness.

Tired but determined, she crawled in.

She closed her eyes, even though she was in total darkness, and crawled and crawled, on and on, through mud and slime. Soon her pants were soaked with cold water and filth, and the air in the tunnel took on the stench of rotting fish.

I wish I had my vanilla cigarettes. They’d make this place smell better, she thought. A half-laugh, half-sob escaped her lips. God, I’m trying to find my way out of Hell and I’m thinking about cigarettes.

Suddenly she realized: her lighter was in the breast pocket of her blouse.

She dried off one hand as best she could on her shirt, and then found the lighter. She flipped up the cover and lit it.

The tunnel floor was littered not only with dead fish, but with bits of dead dogs and other animals as well. She wanted to throw up. Then she saw that side tunnels branched out from the path every few feet. She had just been proceeding straight ahead in the dark.

There was no way of telling which of the paths led to the outside.

She snapped the lighter shut and stuck it back in her pocket—and kept moving. All her turns before had been bad choices. This time, she was just going straight ahead. She couldn’t keep going much longer—the exertion was too draining. She had to find a way out, and soon.

In a few minutes, she could hear an odd, wet, slithering sound. Or rather, a series of sounds. She tried to imagine what it could possibly be. If several people were to start dragging around big sacks of wet laundry, it might sound like that…Or perhaps it was just the echoes of water running and trickling…It was hard to tell.

Soon the floor of the tunnel changed. Instead of mud and rocks, she found herself on a smooth, flat surface. The stench in the air was even worse than before.

She felt overhead—no boards or dirt. She was out of the tunnel. Suddenly she had a horrible thought. Had all her wandering led her right back into the mansion?

She stood up, dug out the lighter and flicked it on again. The small wavering flame cast writhing shadows.

She was now in a small cave with a floor of slick gray stone. To one side was a pool with long bones and chunks of raw meat floating in it. Odd, flat, wet things were moving through the pool and around its rim. They were what made that slithering sound. At first she couldn’t tell what they were. They appeared to be shiny blankets—some beige, some pink, some olive-brown—moving aimlessly like misshapen slugs.

One worked its way toward her and she saw it was coated with fine scales, and parts of it were fringed with hair…some parts seemed to be shaped like stockings, and those ended in flattened, boneless toes…

She screamed when she realized that the sluglike creatures were in fact living skins.

She heard something moving in the passage behind her.

Then something hit her on the back of the head, and she passed out.

* * * *

When she woke up, she found herself in a warm, comfortable bed.

Kyle was standing by the bed looking down at her, and so was Kiwi.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

“Do not alarm yourself,” Kiwi said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” She put a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Your friend’s uncle brought you to us.”

“Where is that thing—that monster?” Melina said.

Kiwi sighed wearily. “I hope you are not referring to Mrs. Hamogeorgakis. That’s not a nice way to talk about your hostess. Now follow us. It’s time to eat. You’ve been asleep for quite a long time. Surely you must be hungry.”

Kiwi and Kyle then left the room.

Melina got out of bed. Someone had dressed her in a white silk dressing gown.

“Kyle!” she shouted, running after them. “What the hell is going on? I can’t believe you were in on this whole thing.”

In the hallway, the two turned to face her. “Please,” the thin woman said, “there’s no need for raised voices. And we won’t be having any more calls to the police.” She smiled as she looked toward Kyle. “It took quite a while to convince the police that his call was simply a prank. Later he came back, and well—we dealt with him. You know.”

Melina shook her head. “No, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

“And to think she said you were a clever girl! Haven’t you figured anything out?” Kiwi laughed. “Dear Mrs. Hamogeorgakis should have gone to the sea many centuries ago. But she is in no hurry to do so. So the women of my family have always helped to replace her skin when the scales start to emerge. She heals with amazing speed—she is a living miracle. But the skins become a part of her, so in time, the scales return. The old skins live on after they are replaced, for they have become undying, like her. We put things in their pool for them to…absorb.” Kiwi cocked her head to one side and gazed at Kyle. “Her new look is quite fanciful, yes? Pretty in a different sort of way.”

“Such a lovely boy,” Kyle said in a thick, rumbling, yet distinctly feminine voice. His lips parted in a smile, revealing needle-thin yellow teeth. He turned and walked down the hall.

Melina could see the thick stitches in the back of his neck.

“We wanted to use you,” Kiwi said, “but it’s just as well we didn’t. The scales would have emerged far too soon. Just look what her bite—such a tiny amount of venom!—did to you.”

Gently, she raised the girl’s arm and pulled back the sleeve of the dressing gown.

Fine scales glistened on her forearm, with a slight touch of rainbow iridescence.

“Do not worry. You will make many new friends,” Kiwi said. “In the caves.”