The House That Jack Built by Graham Masterton

Author:Graham Masterton
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Leisure
Published: 2012-01-10T23:00:00+00:00

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 30, 10:18 P.M.

He burst into the room as if demons were after him. 'Effie! Jesus Christ! What happened?'

She was lying on her bed at the Pig Hill Inn reading a slew of glossy magazines which Wendy O'Brien had brought up for her: Vanity Fair and Architectural Digest and Vogue. On the nightstand, there was a half-finished mug of hot chocolate and home-made cookies. Effie had washed her hair and her head was wrapped in a towel turban. Her feet, in their bandages, looked the same. She was very white: waxy-candle white, but she looked - and felt - very composed.

'I told you,' she said, trying to smile. 'I cut my feet on some broken glass.'

He sat down on the edge of the bed. He was gripping a bunch of yellow roses as if they were a weapon. 'What broken glass? Here, at the inn? We could sue them!'

'I went to Valhalla with Pepper Moriarty. There was broken glass in the ballroom.'

'I don't understand. You went to Valhalla with Pepper Moriarty? For why?'

'She's a sensitive, Craig. I wanted to find out what was going on there. I wanted to exorcise it, if I could. Cleanse it. There's something badly wrong with Valhalla, Craig, something really abnormal, believe me.'

'Taking some crackpot like her around it, trying to play exorcists? Come on, Effie. Be serious. These are the 1990's, not the 1790's.'

'Well… I'm not so sure about that. I'm not sure what these are,' said Effie; and managed to look at Craig strongly and steadily. There was a long, oblique pause between them. She knew now that they were no longer partners but combatants.

'So how did you cut your feet?' he asked her. 'Weren't you wearing shoes?'

'Of course I was… in the 1990's.'

'What does that mean?'

'I think it means that I cut them some other time, when I wasn't wearing shoes.'

'Some other time? When? I don't understand.'

'Why are you so impatient with me? Why do you keep trying to suggest that I'm talking nonsense? I cut my feet when I was dancing barefoot in the ballroom, with a man in evening dress. The ballroom was crowded with people; the orchestra was playing The Blue Danube.'

Craig smacked his forehead with the flat of his hand. 'Effie... I don't know what this Pepper Moriarty's been telling you, but I've had it up to here. Steven was murdered. They cut his throat and made him look like a Happy Face. I'm in shock. I'm in grief. I'm mourning here, can you understand that? And you cut your feel because you weren't sensible enough to wear shoes and you blame it on some fantasy. Some goddamned psychic crap.'

'I'm really sorry about Steven. But that doesn't alter what happened. I'm asking you to believe me, Craig. I really need you to believe me.'

He suddenly smiled, shrugged, changed his expression. 'Listen… hey, I didn't mean to come on aggressive. I'm still kind of shaken by Steven, that's all.'

She reached out and held his hand. 'Me too. It doesn't matter how he died; and it doesn't matter that I didn't particularly like him.

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