The Mountain King by Rick Hautala Page B

mean that the way it sounded, I hope.” 
“Course I didn’t, but the store’s only half a mile down the road,” Dennis said, pressing the point. “Who the hell’s gonna care or even notice at this hour?” 
“I am,” Polly said tightly. She grabbed him by the wrist and removed his hand from her breast. “And as drunk as you are, if you wrapped that car around a telephone pole or something, I think Mark might notice, too.” 
“Shit, I can drive just fine like this.” 
“The hell you can!” 
Polly shifted forward to sit rigidly on the edge of the couch. 
“If you’re so friggin’ desperate for some beer, you could walk to the store!” 
    Dennis snorted and shook his head. “We could both go. Get a little fresh air ‘n all. Might even revive me, if you know what I mean.” 
Polly didn’t reply. She focused her attention on the television instead. 
“Well, then,” Dennis said, standing up slowly and with great effort. “I guess I’ll have to go all by my lonesome.” 
He buttoned up his shirt, adjusted his pants, patted his wallet in his hip pocket, and then headed out into the kitchen. 
“Be back in ten or fifteen.” 
“I’ll be waiting,” Polly called out. 
Her gaze was fixed firmly on the TV; she didn’t bother to turn and wave to him as he walked out into the kitchen. He was just about to go outside when the Corvette key ring, hanging on a hook by the door, caught his attention. Without any deliberation or hesitation, he snatched it up and stepped out into the crisp, cold night. 
“What the fuck,” he muttered. 
The only problem he could foresee was getting the garage door up without alerting Polly. Once he started up the car, he could haul ass and be gone before she even got to the front door. Of course, there’d be hell to pay once he got back, so maybe he should make it worth his bother and take an extra-long spin around the block—maybe even head out to Route 26 and see just how fast this baby could go. 
“Probably faster than Markie-boy’d ever dare goose it,” he whispered as he lurched down the walkway toward the door on the side of the garage. His plan was to get the car started, then open the garage door from the inside, hop into the car, and wheel on out of there as fast as he could. 
As he was reaching for the doorknob, though, something—a faint snorting sound from behind him—caught his attention. He turned and peered into the backyard but could see nothing in the darkness. The small expanse of lawn was backed by trees that stood out like thick, black lace against the starry sky. A chilly wind blew into his face, making him shiver and wish he had grabbed his jacket. Shaking his head to clear his mind, and figuring it had just been the wind or something, he turned and opened the garage door. He was just about to enter the darkened garage when he heard or sensed something moving behind him. As the heavy thump of running feet filled his ears, he spun around just in time to see the quick motion of— something—-black against the dark wall of the trees. A large, lumbering dark shape was charging straight at him from the backyard. 
“What the fuck—” 
Before he could say anything more, the shape was on him. 
It towered above him, outlined against the night sky like a mountain. Two large arms materialized from the bulk and swung at him from both sides, catching him up in a crushing embrace. 
Jesus, God! Help!.. . Help me! Dennis thought, but he couldn’t make the tiniest of sounds. 
Powerful arms applied steady pressure, crushing him in their embrace. Dennis heard his pulse filling his ears with thunderous beats as whoever—or whatever —this thing was started squeezing him tighter and tighter. 
Help me!. .. Polly!. .. Please!. .. Help me!  
    Dennis tried to resist the pressure that was bending him steadily backward, but his arms were pinned uselessly to his sides. A loud snapping sound was accompanied by a bright, white jolt of pain that slammed