The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson

that case, Father," the detective interrupted.
    "So Charlie told me when he called back the other night." Father Mancuso brought the tea and sat down across from Gionfriddo. "Anyway, I had a hard time falling asleep last night. I don't know why, but I kept thinking about the DeFeos."
    He looked up at Gionfriddo, trying to read the expression on his face. It was difficult, even though Father Mancuso had years of experience in probing people for facts, fancied or real; from his clients in family counseling who came before him. He didn't know whether to reveal what had happened to him on the first day in 112 Ocean Avenue or on the telephone to George.
    Gionfriddo quickly read the priest's thoughts and solved the problem. "You think there's something funny going on in that house, Father?"
    "I don't know. That's what I wanted to ask you."
    The detective put down his cup of tea. "What is it you're looking for? A haunted house? You want me to tell you there's something spooky about the place?"
    The priest shook his head. "No, but it'll help me if you can tell me what happened the night of the murders. I understand the boy said he heard voices."
    Gionfriddo looked into a pair of piercing eyes and saw the priest was troubled. He cleared his throat and put on his official voice. "Well, basically, the story is that Ronald DeFeo drugged his family at dinner on November 13, 1974, and then shot them all with a high powered rifle while they were out cold. At his trial, he did claim a voice told him to do it."
    Father Mancuso waited for more details, but Gionfriddo had finished his report. "That's it?" the priest asked.
    Gionfriddo nodded. "Like I said, that's it, basically."
    "It must have awakened the whole neighborhood?" Father Mancuso continued.
    "No. Nobody heard the shots. We found out about it later when Ronnie went into The Witches' Brew and told the bartender. The Witches' Brew is a bar near Ocean Avenue. The kid was stoned out of his head."
    Father Mancuso was confused. "You mean he used a high-powered rifle to kill six people, and no one heard all that noise?"
    Gionfriddo thinks it was just about then that he began to feel nauseous in the priest's apartment. He felt he had to leave. "That's right. People in houses on both sides of the DeFeos said they never heard a thing that night." Gionfriddo stood up.
    "Isn't that rather peculiar?"
    "Yeah, I thought so myself," the detective said, slipping on his overcoat. "But you got to remember, Father, it was the middle of winter. A lot of people sleep with their windows shut tight. At 3:15 in the morning, they're dead to the world."
    Sergeant Al Gionfriddo knew the priest had more questions, but he didn't care. He had to get out of there. No sooner was he outside the Rectory than he threw up.
    By the time he returned to Amityville, Gionfriddo felt the uneasiness passing. At first he thought of driving past 112 Ocean Avenue, but changed his mind. Instead he headed home, rolling up Amityville Road. He drove past The Witches' Brew on his right.
    The Witches' Brew was a hangout for a lot of the kids in town, especially during the season when Amityville was filled with summer-house renters. But now, on a December Sunday afternoon, Amityville Road, the main shopping street in town, was empty. The pro-football playoffs were on television and the regulars were at home, glued to their sets.
    As he rode by, Gionfriddo didn't really notice the figure going into The Witches' Brew. The detective was a good fifty feet beyond before he swerved his police car and braked to a stop. He looked back, but the man was gone. The shape of the body, the beard, and the swaggering walk were the same as Ronnie DeFeo's!
    Gionfriddo continued to stare at the doorway to the club. "Agh! I'm getting jumpy," he muttered. "Who needs that priest?" The detective turned around, jerked the gear shift into drive and pulled away from the curb, burning rubber like a hotrodder.
    Inside The Witches' Brew, George Lutz ordered his