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It rang eleven times. Then it was picked up. |
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Oh, thank God. 'Maureen?' |
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'Maureen? It's Trevor Hudson.' |
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'Hi, Trevor.' A woman's voice, low and husky, and not Maureen. |
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The skin on the back of his neck prickled. |
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'Come on over, honey. It's lonesome here. We'll have us a party.' |
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He closed his eyes. He felt as if his breath were being squeezed out. 'You're all alone there?' |
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'Have you got any bodies?' |
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'Mine. And it wants you, Trevor. Real bad.' |
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'I want dead people,' he said. |
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'Maybe we can go out and find some.' |
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'None in your house, though?' |
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'I wish there was. But you come on over, now. OK? We'll have us a real good time.' |
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'Fine,' he said. 'See you.' He set the phone down on its cradle and struggled to fill his lungs. |
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