Snoop Dreams: Tricia (Monster/f)

[MisterMistoffelees]

This is the first of a series of short stories I posted at my deviantArt site, https://mistermistoffelees.deviantart.com/ involving my Snowden Snoops girl-detective characters and the dreams they dream of adventure and peril. The first one, which you are about to read here, involves the very first of the Snoops, one Tricia Dwight. As the story begins, Trish is a few weeks removed from a deadly and heartbreaking case at her college, Snowden State University (The Murder-Spree Mystery, available at my dA page), and has just had another girl-sleuthing adventure which has left even more marks on her. I admit the first pages are a bit heavy reading, but patience is its own reward as the story spurs up, especially if you like mysteriously ironic endings. Read and enjoy!
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Snoop Dreams: Tricia

by Mister Mistoffelees

Candi Taylor, the newest denizen of Snoop Towers, the big old rental house just off the campus of Snowden State University, smirked as Tricia Dwight dragged herself into the archway into the living room, sparsely furnished in college-coed used-furniture style, of what was also known as Chateau Snoop, depending on whom one asked. “For someone as smart as you are, you sure as hell don’t learn very fast!” Candi, slender and sardonic, flipped her long dark-chocolate brown hair over her shoulder and allowed herself a distinctly traitorous snicker at her old friend and new roommate’s dishevelment.

Tricia stood and glared back at Candi in reply, knowing exactly where Candi had gotten that fatuous remark. “I see Dr. McNeil has tweeted about me or something.” She tossed her Snowden State hoodie jacket in the environs of the hallway coat rack, and frankly didn’t care that it—as usual—had hit the floor. “I mean, I caught everybody’s favorite graffiti artist, so of course I need to have my butt kicked for it!” Dr. Jennifer McNeil, chairperson of Snowden State University’s renowned criminal-sciences department, looked upon Trish Dwight as much as a daughter as an advisee and student. Which meant that she felt perfectly entitled to scold the department’s prize pupil.

Krysten Parker, Trish’s most senior friend in Snowden, looked up from the overstuffed chair, into which her petite, redheaded frame had curled up with perfect comfort, and decided to add her own scolding, in her own sweet yet distinctly pointed style as her best friend Trish subsided into her living-room seat with an impatient swish of her miniskirt beneath her and a weary tug at her disheveled formerly-white blouse. “Well, she just wanted your butt to feel sort of like your eye has to feel right about now.” The wicked roundhouse right the “graffiti artist”—a smarmy little disgruntled sophomore graphic-arts student on the verge of flunking out who decided to express his opinion of Snowden State with spray paint on various campus buildings—had planted on Trish’s left eye when she apprehended him that night on the dark side of Mizerak Dining Hall was beginning to bloom into an impressive shiner despite the efforts of the university health clinic doctor. “You’ve stopped listening to your fingertips, after all.”

Trish’s fingertips were still numb weeks after her latest sleuthing exploit, the source of Dr. McNeil’s pointed scolding to her about taking on the graffiti artist on her own. A serial killer had struck in Snowden, a home-grown monster only a couple years older than freshman Trish herself. His mania had left a number of women dead, tortured to death in the old abandoned mine tunnels that undercut nearly all of that small college town, and but for a series of lucky realizations and strenuous actions by others of that gang of girls known as the Snowden Snoops, Tricia, Krysten, and Krysten’s mother Diane Parker would have been his next three victims. Darrell Holman had captured Tricia in his own lair when her investigations had led her straight to him, but without any backup. She had been tied into a tight hogtie, her wrists bound so severely that he had cut off their circulation, leaving her with mild nerve damage which still left her fingertips somewhat numb. Even as her hands suffered their damage, Trish had to watch as Krysten had been hung by her wrists from steel handcuffs, torn by the steel manacles by until rescue had reached them from Detective Janet O’Malley, retired FBI agent/Snowden State professor Rick Bentley, and one other, who shared the Chateau with them. While Krysten’s torn wrists were healing nicely, Trish’s fingertips, served by damaged nerve endings, remained uncomfortably numb. The doctors assured her that their sense would gradually return—mostly—but the process would take many months and a great deal of therapy.

Trish ran those half-numb fingers through her shoulder-length dark brown hair, badly in need of a shampoo after her evening’s contretemps. “Which is why Dr. McNeil told Valeria she should give me Judicial Punishment.” Tricia adjusted her filthy, torn blouse, thinking with a sour grimace of the most severe punishment meted out by the Gamma Kappa Epsilon sorority chapter of which Trish was now a sister. Her backside was already stinging just from the thought. “Yeah, I know, teamwork yadda yadda, but what the heck was I supposed to do? Stand there and wait for the campus rent-a-cops to show up? By then he would have painted the whole building!” Which would have left her own mom, campus facilities director Nancy Miyazaki, to have cleaned up, she didn’t have to say.

“So you decided to go a few rounds with the guy!” Ginger O’Day, the third of the saviors down in that mine tunnel, chuckled as she trotted down the hallway stairs, her wan Asian face creased with a grin. Her left arm was still in a cast thanks to her battle with Darrell Holman, but her sense of humor had healed much faster than her funny bone. “Maybe your kid sister Abbie could, but you ain’t exactly the samurai type, you know!” Everyone knew that Trish’s adopted sister Abbie-Faith Dwight, the diminutive Samurai-chan of Darius Allen High School and her adoptive father Dave Myazaki’s Power Dragons dojo, the deadly karateka with the little-girl voice, would have wreaked murderous vengeance upon Darrell Holman with her favorite wakizashi sword, but Abbie had not been there that calamitous day.

Trish fought off a yawn. “Gee, thanks for all the support, guys! I’m trying to do my part to help the campus, and”—

“Nuh-uh!” Ginger would not let Trish finish her self-defense. “What you’re doing is still trying to make up for Shandi getting murdered, which means you’re still blaming yourself, which means that”—

Trish scowled. “Do you mind, dammit!”—

“Which means that Candi’s right, you still haven’t learned! Maybe that’s why Calico wants you to get another Punishment, to paddle some of the Nancy Drew out of you!” Literally, in the case of the Judicial Punishment of the Gamma Kappa Epsilon sorority. “Personally, I’m looking forward to it!” Ginger greatly enjoyed paddles.

“Oh for God’s…” Tricia dropped her face into her hands, cringing a moment when her blackened eye touched her palm. “Guys, I don’t have the strength for this crap. I’m going to bed.” She rose, muttering imprecations to herself, abandoning her low-heeled slings in a corner of the hallway arch. “I’m so sorry I actually give a damn about my university!” She ascended the stair with many more sarcastic mutterings on her lips as she hefted her diminutive hourglass frame up the stairs.

Her bedroom awaited. Every step toward her towel and toiletries and robe saw an item of clothing cast off until Trish, half wearing her favorite short bathrobe, had shuffled to the bathroom for a warm shower preparatory for bed. As she showered, her mind still sleepily defended herself against Candi and Krys and Ginger, telling herself that she had done the right thing to confront the vandal, justifying her sally against him before the cops arrived as necessary to make sure he didn’t get away. I was just doing what I’m supposed to do, doing what my wonderful professors are training me to do! Geez, anybody can just dial 911—why am I even studying if all I’m supposed to do is be a glorified innocent bystander?

But in the warmth of the shower, the low hiss and steam and the scent of the soap and shampoo left her defenseless against the name Ginger had said, the name she had yet to face after the Holman case. Shandi Duggan. Her first best friend in all the world in her hometown of Sunny Hill, the sweet little redhead grown up and reunited with Trish at Snowden State. But Holman had taken her, and in the very place where he had later hung Krysten by her wrists, had tortured her to death. Trish had implored Dr. McNeil, not only a professor but the county’s medical examiner, to let her stand in during the post-mortem on Shandi’s ruined body, and had herself noted the very clue that had led her to his lair in the tunnels just out of town, the coal dust Shandi had dug into her toes in the last moments of her life as she dangled where Krysten, another redheaded dear friend, would later dangle. I should have been quicker, Shandi. I should have found you before he could take your life. I escaped with nothing worse than numb fingertips—you died from torture more hideous than anything he did to me! And her tears mingled with the warm shower until she had meandered her way to her bed with the last of her strength. A perfunctory Hail Mary lay her in her bed. I’m supposed to be proud of having broken the case, found the clue that brought Darrell Holman down, but that doesn’t bring Shandi back to life again! Years of thinking I’m...what? Nancy Drew? What good does that do Shandi? Who do I think I am, anyway?

“Tricia…” She only half-heard her name, maybe even didn’t hear it at all… “Tricia Ma-rie…” Oh, no, don’t do this, don’t wake me up! “Tricia Marie!” and the sharp tone startled her awake—she blinked—

And there was Abigail standing over her, and Trish found herself slumped half-in half-out of the sofa, one sneaker on her feet, one on the floor in front of the sofa, and her brown eyes finally focused on her eldest sister Abby standing over her, her round, apple-cheeked face half-scolding half-teasing, lit by the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the trailer’s living-room window and the familiar old threadbare curtains which Mom hated but couldn’t afford to replace. “Aww, Abby!” she heard herself whine, “I was just takin’ a nap…school was hard today, an’…”

“And did you finish your homework?” Tricia moaned for a moment as she struggled to wake up. For a seventeen-year-old, Abby sure does like playing Mommy!

“Abby, it’s Friday!”—

“Because if you haven’t, I’ll just tell Candi-cane she’ll have to go home!” Which name instantly roused Tricia—

“Candi-cane’s here?” and now Trish was full awake, bouncing to her feet, straightening a pink tee-shirt thoroughly twisted about during her nap, grabbing for the abandoned hand-me-down Beauty and the Beast sneaker—“Yes, I did my homework!” Somehow, Abigail seemed unconvinced. “Honest, Abby, I did, I promise! I really really promise!” But Abby’s expression remained skeptical—“Well, except for just one or two math problems.” Abby’s expression remained fixed—“And two sentences for language arts.” Still no movement—“Aww, Abby! I wanna play with Candi-cane! Pleeeeease?” And still the maternal glare—

For just one second too long, then Abby’s dewy round face smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. “Well, okay,” and Trish exulted—“But!” and Tricia’s happy leap hesitated, “you have to promise that all your homework will be done before Mom gets home from work!”

“I promise, I promise!”

“And you have to be home in time to help Jenny-Kate and Megan finish supper”—

“I promise!”

“And you have to help put Little Richie to bed tonight”—

“Abby!”

“And you have to stay out of trouble!” Which was the one thing Abby knew her smallest sister Trish would have the hardest time with. “If I get home from the Quik-Stop and find out you got yourself in trouble again, I’ll take you over my knee myself!” As Abby was perfectly capable, Trish’s bottom remembered for her, especially after Abby has had to spend the evening working at the Quik-Stop convenience store on Sunny Hill’s main street. But even after her usual warnings, Abby couldn’t repress her smile. “Now you and Candi-cane go have fun! Maybe stop by the school and tell Travis to come straight home after practice!” His pee-wee football team played on Saturday mornings, and all the Dwights tried hard to be there for all of them.

Her clothes straightened and shoes re-tied, Trish fairly skipped out the door and down the wooden stoop from the trailer to see her best-friend-in-the-whole-world Candi Taylor sitting in one of the old lawn chairs that had occupied the small Dwight yard for as long as Tricia could remember. Candi was still dressed for school, having run up to the Hillside Trailer Park straightaway from arriving home from Sunny Hill School on the bus; she had dressed for that warm early-autumn day in a brand-new Hello Kitty shirt and denim skorts accessorized with short white socks and white Keds. And, knowing that her bright but impoverished little classmate and friend Tricia Dwight was embarrassed by her down-at-heel house-trailer home, she had waited with as much studied casualness as she could manage, pretending to be occupied with a little cloud-gazing while Trish talked her big sister Abby into letting her come out to play. “Hey Candi-cane!” cried Trish as she bounced down from the step, quickly running her hands through her pert, chin-length brunette locks to straighten the effects of her nap. “Sorry ‘bout being late. I had to talk Abby into letting me come out.”

Candi stifled a spluttering little laugh, tossing her dark-brunette tresses back over her shoulder. “You mean she makes you do homework on Friday? What a nerd!” She should have known better after a kindergarten and three grades’ worth of school together—

“She’s the best student in her class!” For all the inconvenience her biggest sister could put her through, Trish would always stick up for her. “Why, I bet she’s going to be the valley—valla—vall-a—well, whatever, she’s gonna be the tops in her class, you wait and see!” Trish had always been sensitive about her family, even against obvious light-hearted jests “But what’re we gonna do today?” she asked, her spurt of temper forgotten quickly as it usually was. There simply wasn’t enough weekend to waste any of it arguing.

“How ‘bout we go play with Shandi? They got a brand-new DVD player, and her mom and dad got her every movie Mary-Kate and Ashley ever made! You wanna?”

Trish smirked. “Well, maybe.” She loved Shandi as much as any of her sisters and brothers, but seeing all the nice things she or Candi had that Trish’s family couldn’t afford got her down sometimes.

“Or we could explore down in the woods behind her house.” Candi understood Trish’s reluctance to enjoy material goods she could never aspire to. “Maybe we’ll find something cool back there!”

“Okay!” Candi smiled in reply, knew Trish loved to explore. “Let’s take the short cut!”

“I’m in skorts, Tricia! The briars will get me!”

“I’ll go first, then!” Candi can be such a chicken! “That’ll keep the briars off you!” Candi smirked, then huffed out an okay.

Tricia fairly skipped down over the brow of the hill which gave Hillside Trailer Park its name, and in moments she faced the head of a snaking backwoods trail which led down the hill straight into the side yard of Shandi Duggan’s house. But the effects of a wet summer and early fall stared back at her in the form of a weed-overgrown path which looked nearly impassable even for a Trish protected by her hand-me-down jeans, much less Candi in her light shirt and skorts. “I ain’t going down that path!” cried Candi. “My legs would get torn to bits!” But Trish wasn’t about to faced down, even by a wall of briars—

“You don’t have to be such a ‘fraidy-cat, Candi!” Trish spun about to face Candi-cane with a trace of sneer on her face. “All we gotta do is”—and her diatribe was cut short—

“I’ll get it for you, Tricia!” a little girl’s voice interjected—Trish gasped and started—turned toward the voice, that of a little girl she could not recognize—

But no little girl was there to be seen. Before her stood a teenager, not very tall but clearly a well grown-up teenage girl, with long brown hair combed down her back. She wore an odd outfit that Trish recognized from a picture in a school book as a karate uniform, all in white except for the black belt tied tightly around her narrow waist and the pink choker around her neck. But the sudden appearance of the strange teenager wasn’t the most startling thing about her—for in her hand, the teenager carried a wicked-looking sword on her shoulder, with a long, gently curved blade that glinted white in the late-afternoon sun. Tricia backed off at the sight of the menacing sword—“It’s okay, Tricia,” said the teenage girl in that odd little-girl voice, “I’ll cut the briars for you! You don’t have to be scared!”

Trish trembled. “H-how do you know me?” Despite the reassuring, caressing piccolo of the young lady’s voice, Trish was still frightened by the sword more than she was assured by the young woman’s sweet, affectionate nature.

The teenager giggled. “I’m your baby sister, silly!” leaving Trish to stare. Sister? “Here,” said the girl, flicking the sword from her shoulder and slicing through the first wall of briars with an effortless stroke, “you just follow me, and I’ll get you to Shandi’s right away!” Another couple casual flicks, and the path seemed to fall open at Tricia’s feet—“Well, come on, big sister! You don’t want to be late for Shandi!”

“But—but”——Tricia stared uncomprehendingly at the cheerful young martial artist. She’s not my sister! I don’t even have a baby sister!—but the sight of the sword flicking its way through the overgrown weeds held Tricia silent. Don’t argue with a girl who has a sword, even if she does say she’s your baby sister that you don’t even have! So Tricia settled for following the young lady’s lead, wondering how to ask her just why she thought she was Tricia’s baby sister without getting cut in two by that sword. Besides, it wasn’t as if the girl was really giving her a chance to talk, for she herself kept up a running monologue in her odd, singsong little-girl voice which was so at odds with her buxom frame and her obvious easy mastery of that sword, and which somehow made Tricia feel loved and protected. “…and I love doing things for you, Tricia, because sometimes I feel like you’re so much smarter than I am and I really can’t do anything for you that you couldn’t do better. But you know I love you, don’t you? I love you just as much as any sister I could ever have! I just wish I could make you know how much I love you! Well, here we are!” and suddenly Trish realized that she was at the end of the path, could see Shandi Duggan’s yard in its usual perfectly-trimmed order just ahead—“You go have fun with Shandi, and I’ll be back to help you get home!” For an instant, Trish gazed into Shandi’s yard, realizing that it hadn’t felt at all to her as if she’d fought the twisting downhill path at all, as if it had been perfectly flat and straight—but before she would enter the yard—

“What’s your name?” she asked, wanting to thank the odd young woman—but when she turned, only Candi was there. “Did you see her leave? Where did she go?”

“Where did who go?” asked Candi, obviously wondering whether Tricia was seeing things. “Well, we’re here anyway. Let’s go get Shandi!” So Candi, her bare legs mercifully briar-free, ran to the house, Tricia following on her shorter legs.

Out from the back a woman, wavy blonde tresses spiced with a trace of red—Mrs. Duggan! “Why hello, Candi-cane! Hello there, Trishie!” Which made Trish bridle as always—

“Mrs. Duggan, I hate that name! It makes me sound stupid!”

“Oh, little Trishie, I’m sorry, but ever since Shandi started nicknaming you that, I can’t help it!” she said with that same dewy smile that always disarmed Tricia no matter how irritated her temper. “Besides, no one can possibly think you’re stupid—you’re the brightest girl in your whole class!”

“The brightest kid in the whole class, Mrs. Duggan!” cried Candi, further disarming Tricia back into amiability. “Maybe the brightest kid in the whole school!” Which went far toward mollifying Trish to Shandi’s nickname for her. “So, can Shandi come out and play?” Which sent a quick cloud of concern over Mrs. Duggan’s face—

“I thought she was already out here.” Mrs. Duggan’s voice was calm and bright, trying to mask a sudden concern but failing. “Her snack is ready and I was coming to get her. I thought she was already playing with you!”

“No, we just got here, Mrs. Duggan!” said Trish, puzzled and suddenly worried about Shandi. “I hope she’s okay! Maybe she went down in the woods!”

Mrs. Duggan seemed to agree. “Shandi!” she cried out toward the woods. “Shannnn-deeee!” But no answer.

“Maybe she’s taking a nap,” said Candi. “She was wore out from afternoon recess today.”

“I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Duggan, obviously worried now. “She wasn’t in her room or in the living room.”

“I got an idea!” said Trish. “How about you check the house again, Mrs. Duggan, in case she fell asleep down in the basement or out in the gazebo, and Candi, you check up the street in case she walked up to the Poky for a snack, and I’ll check in the woods.” The Poky Little Diner on Main Street was a favorite place for snacks.

“I think that’s a very good idea, Trishie,” said Mrs. Duggan. “You’re turning into a real Nancy Drew! Let’s all meet back here in fifteen minutes.” And in a heartbeat Mrs. Duggan was back inside, Candi scampered around to the front street—and Trish faced the big woods behind the Duggan house all alone.

She’d never been in that woods by herself before, and the loneliness of it nagged at her nerves a little. She had never seen anything like monsters in the woods before, but even though she was the smartest kid in the fourth grade, the idea that there might be monsters in there prodded at the pit of her tummy, leaving her dithering at the head of the path into the trees. I hope there ain’t any monsters in there right now!

“Shandi!” she called out, her voice attenuated so that any monsters in the vicinity would not hear her, and she realized after a moment that if the monsters couldn’t hear her, Shandi probably couldn’t either. She vacillated another moment, wondering just how to call out so that Shandi could hear her but the monsters couldn’t. “Shandi!” she tried a little louder, but no answering call back from her missing friend. I guess I gotta go in the woods for real.

Her feet were hesitant as she edged into the wood, casting quick glances behind her at every step as if seeing the Duggan house provided a safety line against any monsters in the woods. Another step—a glance back—another step again—another glance—

But no house! All of a sudden, Trish found herself surrounded by dense forest, and as unnerving as the sudden disappearance of the Duggan house was, the disappearance of the familiar old path was even more frightening to her. Which way is out? I want out! She spun around, looking for either the house or the path; finding neither, she squeaked out a frightened gasp, her lip quivering above a wobbly chin. I’m lost!

No, Tricia, you can’t cry! No crying! You have to find Shandi! What if the monsters got her? You have to get her away from the monsters! But I’m so scared! And as frightened as she already was, the sudden crackle of footsteps on old leaves and twigs—monsters!—sent her screaming behind a fallen trunk, covering up against the approaching monsters—I wanna go home!—

“Little girl, have you seen my friends?” The voice was right above her—they’re gonna eat me up!—but no, it didn’t sound like a monster—it sounds more like a girl!—her eyes brimming, Tricia peeked out from the refuge of her arms—

And saw what looked like another young girl, maybe the same age as the girl up the hill who said she was Tricia’s sister. But this girl had long, flowing hair, very reddish-blonde in a shade much like Shandi’s, with a kind and intelligent face. But what finally seized Tricia’s attention was the way she was dressed—not in jeans or a cute little dress or anything that looked modern—but somehow old-fashioned, a crisp white blouse and a tweedy skirt whose hem fell just at her knees and penny loafers, like a girl from maybe the 1950s or even earlier. Now she leaned down above Trish, who was still frightened enough of the sudden apparition to quickly bury her head in her arms again behind her fallen log. “Oh, don’t be afraid, little girl!” said the young lady sweetly, laying a hand on Tricia’s curled back. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, not at all! Are you lost?”

Tricia sniffled back tears. “Yeah,” and the sudden release from imminent peril of being a monster’s snack oddly allowed a gush of tears from her eyes as she again looked up at the nice girl speaking to her. “I—I was here in the woods lookin’ for Shandi, an’ I looked around an’ I got lost, an’ Shandi’s out here where the monsters could get her an’”—

“And this Shandi girl is lost too?” asked Tricia’s visitor, and Tricia nodded, sniffling and trying to stanch her tears. “Well, that’s odd, because I think I’ve got the same problem.”

“Are you lost an’ looking for somebody too?” asked Tricia, finally mastering her tears as she sensed the worry on the girl’s face.

“As a matter of fact yes, little girl. My friend George and I were searching for a missing girl too, and all of a sudden I got turned around and lost up here, and George is nowhere to be found! In fact, I’m not sure myself where I am! Would you know if I’m anywhere near River Heights?”

“River Heights?” asked Tricia, her eyes now dry and her nose crinkled in puzzlement. “I never heard of any River Heights! You must be a long way from home! You’re in Sunny Hill! Is George your boyfriend or something?” Which produced an odd little laugh from her new friend.

“Oh, of course not! George is a girl! Her real name…I think it’s Georgia, but she’s never gone by that, just George.” The young lady paused a second with a how-silly-of-me smile. “My name’s Nancy, by the way,” she introduced herself, gently holding out her hand—

“That’s my mom’s name too!” said Tricia, taking this new Nancy’s hand and shaking it. “My name is Tricia, Tricia Dwight. If I see your friend George, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her! What does she look like?” Nancy described her; short black hair, brown eyes, very athletic, wearing a blouse and jeans. “And if you see Shandi, could you tell her Tricia’s looking for her too? I don’t want any monsters getting her!”

“Of course I will, Tricia! What does she look like?”

“Well, she’s about my size, and my same age, and she has red hair about the same color as yours, Nancy, and I think she’s wearing pink shorts and a white top. Thank you for helping me, Miss Nancy!”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Tricia!” Nancy replied. “I’m very happy to have met you!”

“And me you!” Tricia smiled now, shaking Nancy’s hand one last time as if she were a kindred spirit to Trish. “Good luck finding your friend George!” Nancy in her turn bid Tricia a farewell and a good-luck-finding-Shandi, and all of a sudden Tricia was alone in the woods again. But now, after the odd meeting with that old-fashioned Nancy, Tricia didn’t feel afraid anymore; it was as if her new friend had given her a gift of courage. That Nancy is real brave, and if she can be brave, so can I!

So Tricia plunged into the woods in a renewed hunt for Shandi, secure that somewhere in those same woods, her new friend Nancy was looking for Shandi at the same time she was looking for her friend George. We’ll find our friends, and we’ll all go home, and I’ll help Nancy and George get back to that River Heights place wherever that is, and—a

And she hadn’t even had time to gasp before a pair of long, scaly, monstrous arms seized her in their grip.

Two long, tentacle-like arms pinned Tricia’s own arms to her sides before she even knew what was happening. A startled moment, and Tricia gathered a quick breath to scream for help—but even before she could make a sound, another gooey, scaly tentacle wrapped itself around her mouth, silencing her completely—a monster! A monster’s got me! Tricia writhed feverishly in the monster’s grip as he plunged at a running pace deeper and deeper into the woods—she wriggled, kicked, twisted her body in his scaly monster grip—but all her wild struggles were in vain; the more she squirmed, the tighter the monster’s grip on her became, until in only a few moments his grip on her body was so tight she could barely breathe. She tried to bite at the tentacle around her mouth, but the slimy, scaly flesh seemed to easily evade her desperate teeth. And still the monster ran even faster and faster still through the woods, bearing Tricia helplessly away. Even as she decided to fight again even if the monster crushed the breath out of her, the monster—as if it had read her thoughts—sent yet another tentacle to wrap around her flailing legs, cinching them tightly together even as it ran even faster through the woods. She could hear its raspy breath as it ran, feel it tickling ominously through her hair and on her back, and the low, hungry growl in its throat—

Now a cave appeared ahead, and Tricia knew with a thrill of horror in her throat that it was where the monster was taking her. Her scattered mind told her that if the monster got her into that cave, she would never ever get out again—

But as soon as the thought had seized her, she had indeed been carried into the dark recesses of the cave. Her gaze flew frantically around her at the cool stone walls, expecting to see bones—and there they were, human bones scattered all around the cave. Some were clumped together, confirming that they were indeed the skeletons of people left behind by the monster. The horror of the scene prodded Tricia to try again to wriggle free—

But even as she thought the thought, smaller tentacles seemed to pick between the bigger ones clamping her immobile, grabbing at her wrists and ankles. Her wild eyes looked down and saw that the small tentacles were spinning rope-like fibers around her pinioned ankles and knees, binding them tightly together; she felt her wrists being pulled painfully behind her back, bound together by the same sticky cords as were spinning from the tentacles binding her legs, even more of the strange stuff wrapping around her arms, securing them so tight she could not move them at all. Her only chance of resistance was to get her mouth free and scream for help—maybe Nancy will still be able to hear me!—but again, even as she gathered the will to fight, the tentacle covering her mouth dodged back, spinning from its tip more sticky, silky goo which it spun tightly around her mouth, leaving her completely silenced.

Through all the harrowing ordeal, Tricia had not been able to see the face of the monster, and indeed much of what was left of her thoughts had painted a series of phantasmagoric pictures of what face the monster would finally show her. Now, his task of binding his captive complete, the tentacles deftly twirled her about to face her captor—

And the monster had a human face. It was a boy—a young man—she couldn’t quite place it, but somehow the sandy-haired head’s face was one she had seen before. And despite the fact that her shattered mind was unable to put a name to the monster’s face, her instincts knew instantly that it was an evil face, the face of a monster as terrible as any monster she had ever heard about in any story—and her heart shattered inside her as she realized she was going to be his next victim, the next pile of bones among those that littered the cave.

The monster laughed, threw her hard against the wall of the cave and slammed her down to a seat on the ground at the foot of the rough rocky wall, so hard her bottom was stung with pain. While one tentacle pinned her against the wall, another spit out even more of the sticky, silky cords, which seemed to tape her against the wall of the cave so that she couldn’t move a muscle, only sit helplessly in her place and gaze with huge, horrified eyes up at the laughing monster—“Well, now, Tricia!” said the monster in a maniacal giggle which seemed somehow familiar as was the face, and which like the face inspired an animal terror inside her which provoked her to convulse against her bonds, “It looks like you’re going to be my next meal!” Tricia shook her head desperately, hopelessly—“And there’s nothing you can do to stop me! I’m going out and catch me a little redheaded appetizer, so when I come back I’ll be ready to make you my best meal ever!” And with a snarling giggle, the huge, tentacled monster turned and stomped out of the cave, leaving Tricia wriggling ineffectually against her bonds.

For long moments, her mind effaced of all rational thought, Tricia’s tightly bound body wriggled and strained against the hardening silky bonds, but as it had been with the monster’s tentacles, the very act of struggle only served to make the bonds even tighter. They pinned her even harder against the rough rock wall which poked and scraped at her back—they constricted her pinioned wrists even tighter until her hands went numb and cold—they squeezed her chest until she could barely breathe—they coiled around her legs until it felt to Tricia like they were breaking. Even the slathered silk which gagged her mouth seemed to tighten over her lips until they were pinned immobile. And in those moments her failing mind knew she had no chance of escape. She was doomed to be the monster’s meal, doomed to be reduced to nothing but another pile of bones in this cave from which she would never ever escape. She couldn’t even move a muscle to help herself—there was nothing to do but wait helplessly to be devoured by the monster.

But in that helplessness her mind seemed to gather itself, gather itself not in terror but sadness. He was going to catch himself a redheaded appetizer—that must be Shandi! He’s going to catch Shandi and eat her up, and then he’s coming back here to eat me up too! It’s not fair! We’re just little kids, why should he be allowed to eat us up like this? I’m only nine years old, and I won’t never get to be ten! I won’t never get to grow up like Abby and Mom, and graduate from school and get married and have babies of my own! And Shandi, she wanted so bad to go on a trip to Ireland to see where her family came from, and now she won’t never get to do that! He’s going to eat her up, and she’ll be nothing but a pile of bones just like I’m going to be, and she’ll never grow up or anything!

And it was thinking about poor Shandi, who didn’t have any brothers or sisters and would leave her poor parents all alone when she was eaten up and gone, which finally broke Tricia’s heart, leaving her to gush out an ocean of miserable, heartbroken tears which she could not stanch nor wipe away. When I’m gone, Mom will still have Abby and Jenny and Travis and Megan and Tyler and Richie, but Mrs. Duggan won’t have anybody any more! She’ll be so all alone and so sad! The thought of sweet Mrs. Duggan no longer having Shandi to raise only made Tricia’s tears the more bitter, knowing how much Mrs. Duggan loved Shandi. And I can’t do nothing about it!

Then a shadow from the mouth of the cave, and Tricia’s heart pounded in her chest—the monster’s back! He’s coming to eat me up!—Despite her experience with her bonds, she instinctively writhed with all her might against the now-hardened silk bonds, quailed hopelessly as they constricted her even more tightly—I don’t want to die!—the shadow grew bigger—bigger—footsteps ever closer—closer—the shadow took shape—into a—

The tears Tricia had wept kept her from seeing clearly, but the shadow that fell upon her from the form which entered the cave wasn’t that of a monster, but rather a person—a human being, a young woman—long legs—a skirt—red hair—Nancy!—you came for me!—the figure hurried toward her—reached out a slender hand to her face—

“It’s okay, Trishie, everything is all right now!” the voice was a reassuring coo, and a slender hand brushed away the tears from Tricia’s face—She’s here to—and only then, when the realization struck that she might actually be saved from the monster—she called me Trishie! The only redhead who ever calls me that is… “Here, Trishie,” said the young woman, reassuring her with a voice Tricia had never heard but somehow found wonderfully familiar and encouraging, even as the girl deftly tore the silken cords binding her legs, then tore away the webs which pinned her against the wall, “you hold still and let me get you loose. It’s all right, that monster can’t hurt you now. He can’t hurt anybody now.” And Tricia saw that by the girl’s side lay one of the monster’s tentacles, as if she herself had torn it from his body. And she calls me Trishie! Now the young lady knelt beside Tricia, now reaching behind her and tearing away the cords binding Tricia’s wrists, ripping the webbed cordage around her arms, and last of all freeing her mouth from the plastered silken goo. “See? Everything’s better now, Trishie! Everything’s all right!” She reached down, took Tricia’s trembling hands in hers—it can’t be—but it is—

“Shandi?” Tricia’s voice was a stunned squeak, unable to think of anybody else in the world this grown-up young woman could be—but she’s only nine, just like me, only a little kid!

The young woman didn’t answer directly, but the sudden glow in her blue eyes told Tricia that yes, she really was Shandi Duggan, the grown-up girl whose hands held Tricia’s really was her dear friend—“Shh. It’s okay, Trishie. Everything is all right now. Here,” and she smiled, rising and pulling Tricia up to her feet along with herself, “it’s time for you to go home now, Trishie. This has been so terrible for you, but it’s all over now.” The warmth in the young-woman Shandi’s hands seemed to put Tricia’s heart back together inside her, and the healing in her hands seemed to weigh down Tricia’s eyelids with sweet sleepiness. “It’s okay, it really is. Everything is all right now, Trishie,” and the hypnotic balm of her voice soon had Tricia slipping into sweet sleep—

“Trish! Trish, wake up!” She started—the cave! the monster!—Where—who—“Trish!” A gasp—sudden breath—her eyes flashed open to morning sunlight streaming through the familiar old blinds in her Snoop Towers bedroom. And a familiar, red-tressed head hovering over her with a crease of worry on its brow—Shandi?—“Trish, are you okay?” No, Trish mourned for a half-asleep half-awake instant, not Shandi—then she recognized—

“Krys,” said Trish as her eyes focused on the best friend Trish had ever found in Snowden, Krysten sitting on the side of her bed, her small pink fingers gently brushing Tricia’s shoulder. Trish blinked, and her eyelids flicked back moisture—tears—helping her brown eyes focus on that best friend. “Dream…weird dream…”

“I’d say!” said Krysten, happy to hear Tricia’s voice sounding mostly calm. “You’ve been tossing and turning all night! We were worried about you! About…the case, right?” The case had quickly become Snoop Towers code-speak for Darrell Holman’s murderous spree which had come so close to killing both of them. “I heard you calling her name.”

“I…there was this monster, back in Sunny Hill, Darrell’s face, and he grabbed me—but Shandi, she found me, rescued me. She told me it was okay now.” She yawned, blinking herself awake, instinctively reaching up to wipe her eyes, “She said that everything is”—and a sudden gasp nearly tossed Krysten out of the bed—“Hey!” Trish stared hard at her fingertips—“My fingers—I can”—and she tentatively brushed her damaged fingertips against her bedsheet—“yes! I can feel it! My fingertips—they’re not numb anymore!” And Shandi’s words from the dream resounded in Trish’s head—“Krys, that was what she said in the dream! Everything is all right now! I think this is what she meant!” Trish bolted out of bed, rushed to her vanity—

Where her face gazed in wonderment back at her, conspicuously absent any trace of the shiner the campus graffiti artist had delivered to her eye. Trish brushed the supposed-to-be-sore spot with her reviving fingertips, reveling in the touch those now-healed nerve endings were sending to her brain—

“Dr. McNeil said your nerve endings would recover, you know.”

“Not this fast! It should have taken months! But…” She ran her fingertips over her vanity top—“Yes! I can feel that! And my eye—I should have a black eye, but I don’t! Look at it! There’s nothing there!” She gazed blankly, remembering everything that had happened in the—but was it really just a dream?—“Come on, Krys!” Trish dove into her dresser for a change of clothes. “I think—I—I just have this feeling…” And Trish Dwight’s quickest wakefulness soon had her zooming her little Kia across the county toward Sunny Hill—in particular to one place her intuition seemed to insist upon.

Up on one of the hills above Sunny Hill, the old town cemetery was unseasonably warm in late-morning sunlight as Trish plowed her crackling little car to a stop on one of the small unpaved access roads around the graveyard. And even long weeks after Shandi’s funeral, her grave was decorated by the wilting remains of the flowers which bedecked her last resting place. With a nonplussed Krysten in her wake, Tricia, in the best blouse and miniskirt she still had clean before laundry day, fairly ran toward the grave—

And on the far side, kneeling down by the mound of earth and floral gifts, she saw Mrs. Duggan, not the young woman of her dream but worn down and defeated by life, sitting by her daughter’s grave. Trish hesitated—the Duggan couple had embraced Trish as if she had been Shandi’s real-life sister, but now, she was certain, Mrs. Duggan could probably not see Tricia without seeing the daughter she had lost. She wavered—tried to think what to do next—

“Trishie!” cried Mrs. Duggan, not looking up but seeming to have seen Tricia’s approach without setting eyes on her. “I…I felt…somehow I was sure you’d be here today. The strangest dream…then…I found something this morning. I was—was cleaning up her bedroom, and…” She blinked up at Tricia above her, proffered an old Polaroid picture. “I don’t remember this picture, Trishie, I’ve spent all morning trying to remember taking it! Look, Trishie!” She thrust the picture into Tricia’s hands—

It was a sunny afternoon in the Duggan back yard, the overexposure common to Polaroid shots in bright sunshine. There was Trish herself, no more than nine or ten years old, in her old hand-me-down pink tee shirt and jeans. And there was Shandi in her favorite pink shorts and white shirt, holding Tricia’s hands in her own and smiling as if encouraging her impoverished little friend—could it have been that very day—but no, it was a dream, just my imagination!—but on the white bottom border of the photo, in delicately precise little-girl cursive lettering, a message which made Tricia’s newly-healed fingers tremble as they held the picture—

Dear Trishie,

It’s okay! Everything is all right now!

Love forever,
Shandi

“What…it feels like it should mean something, Trishie,” said Mrs. Duggan. “I swear I never saw this picture before! What does it mean?” And Tricia knelt beside Shandi’s still-heartbroken mom, held her hand as they both gazed at the otherworldly photo with misting eyes—

“It means she’s all right now, Mrs. Duggan.” And just maybe it means that I’ll be all right too.

finis

[jayarieldrillowup]

What a lovely story but the cameo by Nancy Drew reminds me of Trixie Beldin and not Tricia.

[WickedJason11]

I’m not really too much into fantasy stories but this was really great