The Doorkeepers

Epilogue

A week later, Josh woke up at two o’clock in the morning in a shivering sweat. He climbed out of bed and groped his way along the corridor toward the bathroom. He didn’t switch on the light, in case he woke Nancy, but trailed his hand along the wall to find his way.

As he passed the living-room door, he thought he saw something dark lying on the couch. He stopped, and peered at it through the gloom. It was his brown leather bowling-ball bag. What the hell was that doing there?

He went into the living room and crossed over to the couch. He distinctly remembered storing his bag away in the shoe closet by the front door. Nancy wouldn’t have moved it – what was the point?

He was about to pick the bag up when he heard a faint buzzing sound. He leaned forward, listening. There was no question about it. A soft, rattling whirr was coming from inside the bag. Yet all that was in it was his favorite ball.

Taking hold of the handles, he tugged the zipper down a little way. There was something inside the bag, something round and heavy, but somehow it didn’t feel like a bowling ball. He took a deep breath and tugged the zipper all the way down.

It was too dark to see what was inside, but he was sure that he could see movement. He leaned over toward the reading-lamp behind the couch and switched it on.

“Oh, shit,” he said, and stepped back in horror.

Inside the bag was the severed head of the Hooded Man. His hessian hood was ripped open, so Josh could see his face. His eyes stared out at him with sightless resentment, and his mouth was stretched wide open, as if he were shouting in silent protest. And he was crawling with blowflies, hundreds of them, glittering and green. They poured in and out of his mouth and his nostrils, they walked across his unflinching eyeballs. The Hooded Man was living putrefaction, decay without end, amen.

Josh opened his eyes. He was still in bed. Nancy was lying close to him, breathing softly and evenly. Sweat was trickling across his chest, so he dragged back the sheet to cool himself down. He lay on his back for almost five minutes, staring at the ceiling.

After a while, he eased himself out of bed. He stepped over Abraxas, who was sleeping on the floor on his favorite Indian blanket. Then he shuffled along the corridor toward the bathroom. As he passed the living room, he made himself look inside, just to reassure himself that he had only been having a nightmare.

But the bowling-ball bag was still there, lying on the couch.

Josh stood in the darkness, looking at it. Then he slowly approached it. Whatever it contained, he was going to have to open it, and confront it. He leaned over and listened to it. He couldn’t hear any buzzing. He took a deep breath and tugged the zipper all the way down.