Richard Laymon - No Sanctuary

Table of Contents

RAVE REVIEWS FOR RICHARD LAYMON!

A brilliant writer.

Sunday Express

Laymon doesnt pull any punches. Everything he writes keeps you on the edge of your seat.

Painted Rock Reviews

One of the best, and most reliable, writers working today.

Cemetery Dance

Laymon is incapable of writing a disappointing book.

New York Review of Science Fiction

Laymon lets out the stops in typically ferocious fashion. The Traveling Vampire Show contains some of the wisdom of Kings The Body or Robert R. McCammons Boys Life, but the book belongs wholly to Laymon, who with his trademark squeaky-clean yet sensual prose, high narrative drive and pitch-dark sense of humor has crafted a horror tale thats not only emotionally true but also scary and, above all, fun.

Publishers Weekly (Starred Review)

Laymon always takes it to the max. No one writes like him and youre going to have a good time with anything he writes.

Dean Koontz

If youve missed Laymon, youve missed a treat.

Stephen King

If, like me, you consider Ray Bradburys Something Wicked This Way Comes an American classic, you are in for a real treat. The traveling Vampire Show will put you in the same vicarious world that no one has entered since the master.

Denver Rocky Mountain News

Laymon is an American writer of the highest caliber.

Time Out

Laymon is unique. A phenomenon. A genius of the grisly and the grotesque.

Joe Citro, The Blood Review

Other Leisure books by Richard Laymon:

DARKNESS, TELL US
NIGHT IN THE LONESOME OCTOBER
ISLAND
THE MUSEUM OF HORRORS
IN THE DARK
THE TRAVELING VAMPIRE SHOW
AMONG THE MISSING
ONE RAINY NIGHT
BITE

A LEISURE BOOK

July 2003

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10001

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

Copyright 2001 by Richard Laymon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

ISBN 1-4285-0349-8

The name Leisure Books and the stylized L with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Visit us on the web at www.dorchesterpub.com .

Chapter One

Saturday May 24

The sound of breaking glass shocked Rhonda Bain awake. She went rigid on the bed and stared at the dark ceiling.

She told herself it wasnt someone breaking into the house; a framed picture or a mirror had fallen off one of the walls.

She didnt believe it.

Someone had smashed a window. Shed heard glass hitting a floor, so it was the kitchen window; the other rooms had carpet.

Rhonda imagined herself bolting from the bedroom, racing for the front door. But as she rushed past the kitchen, a dark shape would lurch out and grab her.

I cant just lie here and wait for him!

She flung the sheet aside, sat up, snapped her head toward the bedroom window. The curtains were open, stirring slightly in the breeze. She shivered and clenched her teeth, but not because of the mild night air on her bare skin.

Ive gotta get out of here!

The window was no good. The damn thing was louvered. There wouldnt be time to pull out enough slats, remove the screen and climb through. If she barricaded the bedroom door and smashed an opening with a chair ...

She flinched at the sound of a footstepa shoe crunching broken glass.

Hes still in the kitchen.

If I try smashing the slats, hell know Im here, and what if he gets to me before I can

He doesnt know Im here!

Rhonda swung her legs off the bed. She rose slowly. The boxsprings squeaked a bit, but then she was standing. She turned to the queen-sized bed. With trembling hands, she smoothed her pillow, drew up the top sheet, then the electric blanket, then the quilt. A few tugs and the bed looked as if it hadnt been slept in.

She crouched. She sat on the carpet. She lay back and squirmed sideways, the hanging quilt brushing across her body. It passed over her face. She kept moving. It slid over her left breast, then her shoulder. She scooted in farther. Stopping, she fingered the hem of the quilt. It was five or six inches beyond her left hip and about two inches short of touching the floor.

Good enough.

She lay still, hands pressed to the sides of her thighs. She was trembling badly. She heard her quick thudding heartbeat. She heard herself panting. But she didnt hear footsteps.

Hes probably out of the kitchen, walking on carpet. Where?

Turning her head, Rhonda could see out with one eye. She watched the bottom of the doorway.

Calm down, she told herself.

Oh, sure thing.

Want him to hear your damn heart drumming?

She let go of her legs, rested her hands on the carpet, and concentrated on letting her muscles relax. She filled her lungs slowly and let the air out.

Calm, she thought. Youre not even here. Youre lying on a beach. Youre at the lake, stretched out on a towel. You can hear the waves lapping in, kids squealing and laughing. You can feel the sun and the breeze on your skin. Youre wearing your white bikini.

Youre naked.

Her stomach twisted.

Youre naked and hiding under a bed and somebodys in the goddamn house.

She suddenly felt trapped. Though the bed didnt touch her, it seemed to be pressing down, smothering her. She struggled for breath. She wanted out. She ached to squirm free, scurry to her feet and make a dash for safety.

Calm down. He doesnt know youre here.

Maybe he does.

The pale beam of a flashlight danced through the darkness beyond the bedroom door. Rhonda glimpsed it. Then it was gone. She held her breath and stared through the gap, waiting. The beam scrawled a quick curlicue, darted high and vanished again.

Hell come in soon, Rhonda thought. Hell find me. God, why didnt I make a run for it when the window broke?

Why didnt I go with Mom and Dad to Aunt Bettys?

She forced herself to take a breath.

The beam of the flashlight slanted through the doorway, swept toward Rhonda and up.

Hes checking the bed, she thought.

See, nobodys here. So get on with it. Rob the place. Take whatever you want, you bastard, just dont look under the bed.

With the snap of a switch, the lights came on.

Rhondas fingernails dug into her thighs.

Her one eye saw a pair of old jogging shoes in the doorway. The ragged cuffs of blue jeans draped their tops and swayed slightly as the man walked forward.

The shoes stopped, turned, moved toward the closet. Rhonda watched the closet door swing open. She heard some empty hangers clink together. A loop of threads hung from the back of the jeans frayed left cuff, dangling almost to the floor.

The shoes turned again. They came toward her, veered away, and passed out of sight as the man walked toward the end of the bed. She heard quiet steps crossing the room.

A sudden clatter and skid of metal made Rhonda flinch.

He mustve yanked the curtains shut.

What for? The backyard is fenced. Nobody can see in. Maybe he doesnt know that. Or he knows it, but isnt taking any chances. Not with the light on.

The bed shuddered. It kept shaking above Rhonda. The edge of the bedspread trembled. She turned her face up. There was only darkness above her, but she pictured the man crawling over the mattress.

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