She could no longer sense the malignant entity.
Where had it gone?
Why had it come and then left within seconds?
She slipped back under the covers again and lay facing Melanie. The girl was terribly drawn, thin, and frail.
I’m going to lose her, Laura thought. It’s going to come for her sooner or later, and It’s going to kill her like It killed the others, and I won’t be able to do a damned thing to stop It because I won’t even be able to understand where It comes from or why It wants her or what It is.
For a while she huddled miserably under the covers, draped not only in blankets and sheets but in despair. Nevertheless, it was not in her nature to surrender easily to anyone or anything, and gradually she convinced herself that reason ruled the world and that all things, no matter how mysterious, could eventually be examined and understood if one only applied wit and logic to the problem.
In the morning she would use hypnotic-regression therapy with Melanie once more, and this time she would press the child harder than she had the first time. There was some danger that Melanie would crack completely if forced to recall traumatic memories before she was ready to handle them, but it was also true that risks had to be taken if the child’s life was to be saved.
What was the door to December? What lay on the other side of it? And what was the monstrous thing that had come through it?
She asked herself those questions again and again, until they flowed through her mind like the endlessly repeated verses of a lullaby, rocking her down into darkness.
When dawn came, Laura was deep asleep and dreaming. In the dream she was standing in front of an enormous iron door, and above the door hung a clock that ticked toward midnight. Only seconds remained before all three hands of the clock would point straight up (tick), at which time the door would open (tick), and something eager for blood would burst out upon her (tick), but she couldn’t find anything with which she could bar the door, and she couldn’t move away from it, could only wait (tick), and then she heard sharp claws scraping at the far side of the door, and a wet slobbering sound. Tick. Time was running out.
PART FOUR
IT
THURSDAY
8:30 A.M. – 5:00 P.M.
33
Laura was at the small table by the window, where she had sat with Dan last night. Melanie sat across from her, the table between them. The girl was in a hypnotic state; she had been regressed back in time. In every sense but the physical, she was in that Studio City house once more.
Outside, no rain was falling, but the winter day was sunless and somber. The night fog had not lifted. Beyond the motel parking lot, the traffic on the street was barely visible through curtains of gray mist.
Laura glanced at Dan Haldane, who was perched on the edge of one of the beds.
He nodded.
She turned again to Melanie and said, ‘Where are you, honey?’
The girl shuddered. ‘The dungeon,’ she said softly.
‘Is that what you call the gray room?’
‘The dungeon.’
‘Look around the room.’
Eyes closed, in a trance, Melanie turned her head slowly to the left, then to the right, as if studying the other place in which she believed that she was now standing.
‘What do you see?’ Laura asked.
‘The chair.’
‘The one with the electric wires and the shock plates?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do they ever make you sit in that chair?’
The girl shuddered.
‘Be calm. Relax. No one can hurt you now, Melanie.’
The girl quieted.
Thus far, the session had been considerably more successful than the one that Laura had conducted the previous day. This time, Melanie answered directly, forthrightly. For the first time since their reunion in the hospital the night before last, Laura knew for sure that her daughter was listening to her, responding to her, and she was excited by this development.
‘Do they ever make you sit in that chair?’ Laura repeated.