The Year's Best Horror Stories 11

THE HOUSE AT EVENING by Frances Garfield

Frances Garfield was born Frances Marita Obrist on December 1, 1908 in Deaf (rhymes with “leaf”) Smith County, Texas. Not long afterward, her family moved to Wichita, Kansas, where Garfield grew up, attending Wichita University (now Wichita State University). There she met neophyte writer, Manly Wade Wellman; in 1930 she and Wellman were married, and the couple soon moved to New York, where Wellman became a regular contributor to Weird Tales and to the science fiction pulps. Although Garfield’s background was in music, it was perhaps inevitable that she would try her own hand at writing, which she did quite successfully. In 1939 and 1940 Garfield published three stories in Weird Tales and another in Amazing Stories. The birth of a son at this time brought a halt to her budding writing career, and one wonders what might have been. However, there is something about having once been a Weird Tales author that draws writers back to the horror-fantasy genre even after decades of abstinence. E. Hoffmann Price, Hugh B. Cave, and the late H. Warner Munn are cases in point—and so is Frances Garfield. In recent years she has written a number of horror stories and sold them to today’s new publications—Whispers, Fantasy Tales, Kadath, Fantasy Book, as well as several anthologies. In 1951 Frances Garfield and Manly Wade Wellman moved to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and if you pass by their pine-guarded house on a foggy evening, you probably will hear two typewriters at work.

The sun had set and another twilight had begun. The western sky took on a rosy tinge, but none of the soft color penetrated into the lofty bedroom.

Claudia leaned toward the bureau. Her stormy black locks curtained her face as she brushed and brushed them. It was a luxurious, sensuous brushing. Her hair glistened in the light of the oil lamp.

Across the room sat Garland. She quickly combed her short blonde hair into an elfish mop of curls. “Thank goodness I don’t have to worry about a great banner like yours,” she said.

“Never you mind,” Claudia laughed back. “We both know it’s impressive.”

They both applied makeup generously. Claudia fringed her silvery eyes with deep blue mascara and Garland brushed her pale eyebrows with brown. Each painted her lips a rosy red and smiled tightly to smooth the lipstick.

They finished dressing and went down the squeaking staircase to the big parlor. Darkness crept in, stealthily but surely. They picked up jugs of oil and went about, filling and lighting all the ancient glass-domed lamps. Light flickered yellow from table and shelf and glistened on the wide hardwood floor boards. Claudia took pride in those old expanses, spending hours on her knees to rub them to a glow. Garland arranged a bowl filled with colorful gourds on the mahogany table that framed the back of a brocaded couch. She put two scented candles into holders and lighted them.

Then they stood together to admire the effect of the soft light, Claudia in her red satin, Garland in her dark, bright blue. They checked each other for flaws and found none.

“I’d like to go walking outside, the way we used to do,” said Garland. She glanced down at her high-heeled slippers. They weren’t too high. “I’ll only be gone a little while.”

“There’s not much to see out there,” said Claudia. “Nobody much walks here anymore. It’s been a long time since we’ve had company.”

“Maybe I’m just being sentimental,” smiled Garland. Her eyes twinkled for a moment, as if with some secret delight. “But maybe I’ll bring somebody back.”

“I’ll stay here in case anybody calls,” Claudia assured her.

The big wooden front door creaked shut behind Garland. She crossed the gray-floored piazza and ran down the steps to the path of old flagstones. Periwinkle overflowed them and knotted its roots everywhere. Ivy and honeysuckle choked the trees, autumn leaves poured down from the oaks. An old dead dogwood leaned wearily at the lawn’s edge. Garland picked her way carefully.

An owl shrieked a message in the distance. Garland smiled to herself. She had worn no wrap out in the warm evening, but she nestled into the soft collar of her silky dress to feel its closeness. She breathed deeply of the night air.

Falling leaves whispered like raindrops. But there were only vagrant clouds in the sky. A young moon shone upon the old sidewalk, upon old houses along the way. They were large, pretentious houses, the sort called Victorian. They were ramshackle. No light shone from any window. Garland might have been the only moving creature in the neighborhood. Once this had been an elegant area on the edge of the old town that existed mainly for Ellerby College, but people had moved out. Deterioration had set in. Urban renewal threatened the neighborhood.

All at once Garland heard something—voices, hushed, furtive. She saw two tall young men coming toward her. She looked at them in the moonlight. They were handsome, sprucely dressed, looked like muscular young athletes. She hadn’t seen their like for a while, and she felt a surge of warmth through her body.

They were near now, she could hear what they said.

“My Uncle Whit used to come here when he was in college,” one young voice declared. “He said this was called Pink Hill. Said you’d be mighty well entertained.”

Now she passed them, and turned at once to go back toward her house. She quickened her steps. For a moment she didn’t know whether to be sad or happy. If only she hadn’t lost her touch—but she knew her body, firm, sweet-looking. As she passed them again, she spoke.

“Hey,” she greeted them.

One, tall with a neat, dark beard, spoke shyly. “Nice evening, isn’t it?”

Garland smiled. If she had had dimples, she would have flashed them. “Yes, but there’s a chill in the air. I think I’ll just go back home. Maybe make some hot chocolate—or tea.”

Away she walked ahead, her hips swinging a trifle, not so fast as to lose touch with them.

They seemed to be following her, all right. The bearded one was speaking, and Garland strained her ears to hear.

“After all,” he was saying, “we did sort of think we were looking for experience.”

The other, the fair-haired athletic one, said something too soft for Garland to hear. But it sounded like agreement.

She walked on, watching her feet on the treacherous pavement. There were so many cracks in that old cement. Sure enough, the two boys were coming along with her. Again she felt a flood of internal warmth. She felt almost young again, almost as young as she must look. Carefully she timed the sway of her hips. There was the house. Along the flagstones she minced happily, and up the steps and in at the door.

“We’re going to have company, Claudia,” she said.

Claudia swept the room with an appraising glance, and smiled a cool smile. “Tell me,” she said quickly.

“Two really lovely young men, coming along to follow me. One with bright hair and a football body. The other tall, bearded, neat, sophisticated looking. We’ll have to do them credit.”

“Well, there’s a bottle of port out, and some of those cheese biscuits I made.” Claudia studied the table in the lamplight. “We’ll be all right.”

From outside they heard footsteps on the porch, and hesitant whispering.

“They’re beautiful,” said Garland.

Silence for an instant. Then a guarded tattoo of knocks on the panel of the door. A knock, Garland guessed, taught them by good old Uncle Whit.

“Okay, here we go,” said Claudia, and gave Garland a triumphant look. “Remember your company manners.”

She glided to the door, her red gown hugging her opulent hips and her slim waist. Her dress was long. It swept the floor and it accentuated every curve and hollow of the well-used body. She could be proud of how she looked, how she moved. She graduated magna cum laude in every way.

She opened the door, and the lamplight touched the two young men.

Garland had appraised them accurately. They wore well-fitting suits and open shirts. The taller one had a close-clipped beard, dark and sleek. Promising and intelligent. The other, of medium height but with broad shoulders, looked powerfully muscled. Undoubtedly undergraduates at Ellerby College. Fine prospects, both of them.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Claudia gave them her personal, hospitable smile.

“Good evening, ma’am,” said the dark one, like a spokesman. He would be for Garland, thought Claudia. For her the other, the sturdy one.

“Well,” said the tall one. “Well, we thought—” He paused embarrassedly.

“We thought we’d come walking this way,” spoke up the other. “My name’s Guy and this is Larry. We—we’re students.”

“Freshmen,” added Larry. “We go to Ellerby.”

“I see,” Claudia soothed them. “Well, won’t you come in?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Guy gratefully. They entered together and stood side by side. Their smiles were diffident. Claudia closed the door behind them.

Larry studied the parlor with politely curious eyes. “This is a great place,” he offered. “Wonderful. It’s—well, it’s nostalgic.”

“Thank you,” Garland smiled to him. “Come sit here and see if this couch wasn’t more or less made for you.”

He hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he paced toward the couch. He wore handsome shiny boots. He and Garland sat down together and Claudia held out her hand to Guy.

“You look like somebody I used to know,” she said, slitting her silvery eyes at him. “He played football at State. Came visiting here.”

“Maybe all football players look alike,” Guy smiled back. “I came to Ellerby to play tight end, if I can make it.”

Beside Larry on the couch, Garland turned on her personality. It was as if she pressed a button to set it free.

“Would you like a glass of this port?” she asked. “It’s very good.”

“Let me do it.” He took the bottle and poured. His hand trembled just a trifle. “Here.” And he held out the glass.

“No, it’s for you,” she said. “I’ll wait until later.”

Larry sipped. “Delicious.”

“Yes, only the best for our friends.”

“We surely appreciate this, ma’am,” he said, sipping again.

“You may call me Garland.”

Claudia had seated Guy in a heavily soft armchair and had perched herself on its arm. They were whispering and chuckling together.

“Larry,” said Garland, “you look to me as if you’ve been around a lot.”

“Maybe my looks are deceptive,” he said, brown eyes upon her. “I—I’ve never been at a place like this before.”

Garland edged closer to him. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

“Oh, I’m just a freshman at Ellerby. Nothing very exciting about that.”

“But it must be.” She edged even closer. “Just being on campus must be exciting. Come on, tell me more.”

She put her hand on his. He took it in his warm clasp.

“Well, freshman year is rough.” He seemed to have difficulty talking. “There’s no hazing at Ellerby any more, not exactly, but you have to take a lot of stuff to get ready to be a sophomore.”

She pulled his young arm around her shoulder and began to count the fingers on his hand with delicate little taps. Across the room, Claudia was sitting on Guy’s lap, pulling his ear. They seemed to have come to good terms.

“This is really a great house,” Larry said slowly. “It’s—” He gulped. “It’s nice,” he said.

And right here it would come, Garland thought, something about how she was too lovely a girl to be in such a sordid business. To her relief, he didn’t say it. Again she must take the initiative. She pulled his hand to where it could envelop her soft breast and held it there.

“Like it?” she whispered.

He must know what was coming, but plainly he was drowned in all sorts of conflicting emotions. Uncle Whit hadn’t coached him, not nearly enough. He looked around the lamplit room with his eyes that were somehow plaintive. His beard seemed to droop.

“All right, Larry,” said Garland, “come with me.”

She got up and tugged his hand to make him get to his feet. He smiled. Of course, get him somewhere away from Claudia and Guy, there so cozy in the armchair. She picked up a lamp and led him into the hall.

“Wow,” he said. “That staircase. Spiral. Looks like something in a historical movie.”

“Does it?”

The staircase wound up into dark reaches. Gently Garland guided him and he seemed glad to be guided. She shepherded him past the torn spots in the carpeting, away from the shaky stretch of the balustrade, up to the hall above. She held up the lamp. It showed the faded roses on the carpet.

“Here,” she said, “this is my room.”

She opened the heavy door and pushed it inward. They stepped across the threshold together. She set the lamp on a table near the oriel window.

“I swear, Garland,” he muttered, “this is great. That old four-poster bed, the bench—they must be worth a lot. They’re old.”

“Older than I am,” she smiled at him.

“You’re not old, Garland. You’re beautiful.”

“So are you,” she told him truthfully.

They sat down on the bed. It had a cover of deep blue velvet, with dim gold tassels. Larry seemed overwhelmed.

“I can’t tell you how lovely all this is,” he stammered.

“Then don’t try. Put your feet up. That’s right. Now relax.”

He sank back. She pulled the loose shirt collar wider. “What a beautiful neck you have.”

“Oh,” he said, “it’s Guy who’s got the neck. All those exercises, those weights he lifts.”

“Let Claudia attend to Guy. You’re here with me.”

Outside the door, a soft rustling. Garland paid no attention. Larry was quiet now, his eyes closed. Garland bent to him, her tender fingers massaging his temples, his neck. He breathed rhythmically, as though he slept. Closer Garland bent to him, her hands on his neck. Her fingers crooked, their tips pressed.

The lamplight shone on her red lips. They parted. Her teeth showed long and sharp. She crooned to him. She stopped. Her mouth opened above his neck.

Outside, voices spoke, faint, inhuman.

Garland rose quickly and went to the door. She opened it a crack.

Shapes hung there, gaunt and in ragged clothes. “Well,” she whispered fiercely, “can’t you wait?”

“Let me in,” said one of them. Eyes gleamed palely. “Let me in,” said another. “Hungry, hungry—”

“Can’t you wait?” asked Garland again. “After I’m finished, you can have him. Have what’s left.”

She closed the door on their pleas, and hurried back to where Larry lay ready, motionless, dreaming, on the bed.