dk.coldfire-第52节

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　the　barn；　the　surrounding　fields；　and　the　distant　hills；　intent　on　observing　her　every　move。　
　〃Idiot；〃　she　said　self　mockingly　as　she　used　one　of　Jim's　keys　to　open　the　back　door。　
　Though　she　had　the　flashlight；　she　tried　the　wall　switch　unthinkingly。　
　She　was　surprised　to　discover　that　the　electrical　service　was　still　connected。　
　She　was　more　surprised；　however；　by　what　the　light　revealed：　a　fully　furnished　kitchen。　A　breakfast　table　and　four　chairs　stood　by　the　window。　
　Copper　pots　and　pans　dangled　from　a　ceiling　fixture；　and　twin　racks　of　knives　and　other　utensils　hung　on　the　wall　near　the　cooktop。　A　toaster；　toaster　oven；　and　blender　stood　on　the　counters。　A　shopping　list　of　about　fifteen　items　was　affixed　to　the　refrigerator　with　a　magnet　in　the　shape　of　a　can　of　Budweiser。　
　Hadn't　Jim　gotten　rid　of　his　grandparents'　belongings　when　they　had　died　five　years　ago？　Holly　ran　a　finger　along　one　of　the　counters；　drawing　a　line　through　the　thin　coat　of　dust。　But　it　was；　at　most；　a　three…month　accumulation；　not　five　years'　worth　of　dirt。　
　After　she　used　the　bathroom　adjacent　to　the　kitchen；　she　wandered　along　the　hallway；　through　the　dining　room　and　living　room；　where　a　full　plement　of　furniture　also　stood　under　a　light　shroud　of　dust。　
　Some　of　the　paintings　hung　aslant。　Crocheted　antimacassars　protected　the　backs　and　arms　of　the　chairs　and　sofas。　Long　unwound；　the　tall　grandfather　clock　was　not　ticking。　In　the　living　room；　the　magazine　rack　beside　the　LaZ…Boy　recliner　was　crammed　full　of　publications；　and　inside　a　mahogany　display　case；　bibelots　gleamed　dully　beneath　their　own　skin　of　dust。　
　Her　first　thought　was　that　Jim　had　left　the　house　furnished　in　order　to　be　able　to　rent　it　out　while　searching　for　a　buyer。　But　on　one　wall　of　the　living　room　were　framed　8　X　10　photographs　that　would　not　have　been　left　to　the　mercy　of　a　tenant：　Jim's　father　as　a　young　man　of　about　twenty…one；　Jim's　father　and　mother　in　their　wedding　finery；　Jim　at　the　age　of　five　or　six；　with　both　parents。　
　The　fourth　and　final　picture　was　a　two…shot；　head　and　shoulders；　of　a　pleasant…looking　couple　in　their　early　fifties。　The　man　was　on　the　burly　side；　with　bold　square　features；　yet　recognizably　an　Ironheart；　the　woman　was　more　handsome；　in　a　female　way；　than　pretty；　and　elements　of　her　face　could　also　be　seen　in　Jim　and　his　father。　
　Holly　had　no　doubt　that　they　were　Jim's　paternal　grandparents；　Lena　and　Henry　Ironheart。　
　Lena　Ironheart　was　the　woman　in　whose　body　Holly　had　ridden　like　a　spirit　during　last　night's　dream。　Broad；　clear　face。　Wide…set　eyes。　
　Full　mouth。　Curly　hair。　A　natural　beauty　spot；　just　a　little　round　dot　of　skin　discoloration；　marked　the　high　curve　of　her　right　cheek。　
　Though　Holly　had　described　this　woman　accurately　to　Jim；　he　had　not　recognized　her。　Maybe　he　didn't　think　of　her　eyes　as　being　wide…set　or　her　mouth　as　being　full。　Maybe　her　hair　had　been　curly　only　during　part　of　her　life；　due　to　the　attentions　of　a　beautician。　But　the　beauty　spot　had　to　have　clicked　a　switch　in　his　memory；　even　five　years　after　his　grandmother's　death。　
　The　sense　of　being　watched　had　not　entirely　left　Holly　even　after　she　had　entered　the　house。　Now；　as　she　stared　at　Lena　Ironheart's　face　in　the　photograph；　the　feeling　of　being　under　observation　grew　so　acute　that　she　abruptly　wheeled　around　and　looked　back　across　the　living　room。　
　She　was　alone。　
　She　stepped　quickly　to　the　archway　and　through　it　into　the　front　hall。　
　Deserted。　
　A　dark　mahogany　staircase　led　up　to　the　second　floor。　The　dust　on　the　newel　post　and　bannister　was　undisturbed：　no　palm　marks；　no　fingerprints。　
　Looking　up　the　first　flight；　she　said；　〃Hello？〃　Her　voice　sounded　queerly　flat　in　the　empty　house。　
　No　one　responded　to　her。　
　Hesitantly；　she　started　to　climb　the　stairs。　
　〃Who's　there？〃　she　called。　
　Only　silence　answered　her。　
　Frowning；　she　stopped　on　the　third　step。　She　glanced　down　into　the　front　hall；　then　up　toward　the　landing　again。　
　The　silence　was　too　deep；　unnatural。　Even　a　deserted　house　had　some　noise　in　it；　occasional　creaks　and　ticks　and　pops　from　old　wood　swelling　or　contracting；　a　rattle　from　a　loose　windowpane　tapped　by　a　finger　of　wind。　
　But　the　Ironheart　house　was　so　hushed；　Holly　might　have　thought　that　she'd　gone　deaf；　except　that　she　could　hear　the　sounds　she　made　herself　She　climbed　two　more　steps。　Stopped　again。　
　She　still　felt　she　was　under　observation。　It　was　as　if　the　old　house　itself　watched　her　with　malevolent　interest；　alive　and　sentient；　possessed　of　a　thousand　eyes　hidden　in　the　wood　moldings　and　in　the　pattern　of　the　wallpaper。　
　Dust　motes　drifted　in　the　rays　of　the　landing　light　above。　
　Twilight　pressed　its　purple　face　to　the　windows。　
　Standing　just　four　steps　below　the　landing；　partly　under　the　second　flight　that　led　into　the　unseen　upstairs　hallway；　she　became　convinced　that　something　was　waiting　for　her　on　the　second　floor。　It　was　not　necessarily　The　Enemy　up　there；　not　even　anything　alive　and　hostile…but　something　horrible；　the　discovery　of　which　would　shatter　her。　
　Her　heart　was　hammering。　When　she　swallowed；　she　found　a　lump　in　her　throat。　She　drew　breath　with　a　startling；　ragged　sound。　
　The　feeling　of　being　watched　and　of　trembling　on　the　brink　of　a　monstrous　revelation　became　so　overpowering　that　she　turned　and　hurried　down　the　steps。　She　did　not　flee　pell…mell　out　of　the　house；　she　retraced　her　path　and　turned　off　all　the　lights　as　she　went；　but　she　did　not　dally；　either。　
　Outside；　the　sky　was　purple…black　where　it　met　the　mountains　in　the　east；　purplish…red　where　it　touched　the　mountains　in　the　west；　and　saphire…blue　between。　The　golden　fields　and　hills　had　changed　to　pale　gray；　fading　to　charcoal；　as　if　a　fire　had　swept　them　while　she　was　in　the　house。　
　As　she　crossed　the　yard　and　moved　past　the　barn；　the　conviction　that　she　was　under　observation　only　grew　more　intense。　She　glanced　apprehensively　at　the　open　black　square　of　the　hay　loft；　the　windows　on　either　side　of　the　big　red　double　doors。　It　was　a　gut…clenching　sensation　of　such　primitive　power　that　it　transcended　mere　instinct。　
　She　felt　as　if　she　were　a　guinea　pig　in　a　laboratory　experiment；　with　wires　hooked　into　her　brain；　while　scientists　sent　pulses　of　current　directly　into　the　raw　cerebral　tissues　that　controlled　the　fear　reflex　and　generated　paranoid　delusions。　She　had　never　experienced　anything　like　it；　knew　that　she　was　teetering　on　the　thin　edge　of　panic；　and　struggled　to　get　a　grip　on　herself　By　the　time　she　reached　the　graveled　drive　that　curved　around　the　pond；　she　was　running。　She　held　the　extinguished　flashlight　like　a　club；　prepared　to　swing　it　hard　at　anything　that　darted　toward　her。　
　The　bells　rang。　Even　above　her　frantic　breathing；　she　heard　the　pure；　silvery　trilling　of　clappers　rapidly　striking　the　inner　curves　of　perfectly　tuned　bells。　
　For　an　instant　she　was　amazed　that　the　phenomenon　was　audible　out　side　the　windmill　and　at　a　distance；　as　the　building　was　halfway　around　the　pond　from　her。　Then　something　flickered　in　her　peripheral　vision　even　before　the　first　spell　of　ringing　ended；　and　she　looked　away　from　the　mill；　toward　the　water。　
　Pulses　of　blood…red　light；　originating　at　the　center　of　the　pond；　spread　outward　toward　the　banks　in　tight　concentric　circles；　like　the　measured　ripples　that　radiated　from　the　point　at　which　a　dropped　stone　struck　deep　water。　That　sight　brought　Holly　to　a　stumbling　halt；　she　almost　went　to　her　knees　as　gravel　rolled　under　her　feet。　
　When　the　bells　fell　silent；　the　crimson　light　in　the　pond　was　immediately　snuffed　out。　The　water　was　much　darker　now　than　when　she　had　first　seen　it　in　mid…afternoon。　It　no　longer　had　all　the　somber　hues　of　slate；　but　was　as　black　as　a　polished　slab　of　obsidian。　
　The　bells　rang　again；　and　the　crimson　light　pulsed　from　the　heart　of　the　pond；　radiating　outward。　She　could　see　that　each　new　bright　blossom　was　not　born　on　the　surface　of　the　water　but　in　its　depths；　dim　at　first　but　swiftly　rising；　almost　bursting　like　an　overheated　incandescent　bulb　when　it　neared　the　surface；　casting　waves　of　light　toward　the　shore。　
　The　ringing　ceased。　
　The　water　darkened。　
　The　toads　along　the　shoreline　were　not　croaking　any　more。　The　evermurmuring　world　of　nature　had　fallen　as　silent　as　the　interior　of　the　Ironheart　farmhouse。　No　coyote　howl；　no　insect　cry；　no　owl　hoot；　no　bat　shriek　or　flap　of　wing；　no　rustling　in　the　grass。　
　The　bells　sounded　again；　and　the　light　returned；　but　this　time　it　was　not　as　red　as　gore；　more　of　an　orange…red；　though　it　was　brighter　than　before。　
　At　the　water's　edge；　the　feathery　white　panicles　of　the　pampas　grass　caught　the　curious　radiance　and　glowed　like　plumes　of　iridescent　gas。　
　Something　was　rising　from　the　bottom　of　the　pond。　
　As　the　throbbing　luminescence　faded　with　the　next　cessation　of　the　bells；　Holly　stood　in　the　grip　of　awe　and　fear；　knowing　she　should　run　but　unable　to　move。　
　Ringing。　
　。　brighter　Light。　Muddy…orange　this　time。　No　red　tint　at　all　more　than　ever。　
　Holly　broke　the　chains　of　fear　and　sprinted　toward　the　windmill。　
　On　all　sides；　the　palpitant　light　enlivened　the　dreary　dusk。　
　Shadows　leapt　rhythmically　like　Apaches　dancing　a