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Back THE HOUSE Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
  1. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  2. PROLOGUE
  3. PART I
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. PART II
  20. ONE
  21. TWO
  22. THREE
  23. FOUR
  24. FIVE
  25. SIX
  26. SEVEN
  27. EIGHT
  28. NINE
  29. TEN
  30. ELEVEN
  31. TWELVE
  32. THIRTEEN
  33. FOURTEEN
  34. FIFTEEN
  35. SIXTEEN
  36. SEVENTEEN
  37. EIGHTEEN
  38. NINETEEN
  39. TWENTY
  40. TWENTY-ONE
  41. TWENTY-TWO
  42. EPILOGUE

He didn’t want to think about this, and he was grateful that Carlene brought his beer over to the table at just that moment. He paid her and tipped her, made some small talk to try and keep her there, but The Hogan was getting crowded as other people got off work and she had to hurry over to fill their orders.

Ken was about to tell him something else about the reservation, some other supernatural event that had happened, but Stormy cut him off before he got out the first word, changing the subject, asking if Ken had had a chance to look at any of the videotapes he’d lent him last week. He had, and he’d really hated one of them, and he started going off on it, telling Stormy how much he’d disliked the movie, and Stormy pretended to be offended, pretended to defend the film, but inside he breathed a sigh of relief, thankful they’d gotten off the subject of the reservation.

But it was still there, in his mind, and he thought about it through drinks, through dinner, on the way home, and by the time he went to bed that night, crawling next to an already sleeping Roberta, he was almost positive that he himself had once owned a doll that had been alive.

FIVE

Mark

Kristen is dead.

Mark was sitting alone in the large corner booth of Denny’s in Indio when the knowledge came to him, and it took a moment for the information to register. He was holding the cup of cold coffee in his hand, pretending to drink so the waitress wouldn’t come over and ask if he wanted a refill, staring out the window at the rusted boxcars sitting unattached on the train tracks across the highway. The sky was brightening, the high desert clouds now sunrise pink against the light blue background sky. Early morning traffic—cross-country trucks and occasional cars—was beginning to congest the formerly empty roadway outside.

Then the realization hit him.

Kristen is dead.

He nearly dropped the cup but managed through a sheer effort of will to force his trembling hands to replace it on the saucer. He had no idea how she had died or why, there were no specifics, but he knew with certainty that she was gone.

He was the only one left.