Free Festival of Fear by Graham Masterton

Anka.
    Grace held her up. ‘Her name’s Anka. She used to belong to a little girl called Gabriela.’
    â€˜What happened to her?’
    â€˜Gabriela? I’m afraid she died. She was only about the same age as you.’
    Daisy carefully took Anka out of Grace’s hand. She pulled Anka’s dress straight and brushed back her hair.
    â€˜She’s weird . But she’s very pretty, isn’t she?’
    â€˜Gabriela said that Anka stopped her from having nightmares.’
    â€˜Can I look after her? Oh, please! I can take her to school for show-and-tell!’
    â€˜I think she needs disinfecting first.’
    â€˜But then can I have her? She’s so cool. She makes Barbie look totally dumb.’
    Jack raised his eyebrows, as if he didn’t always let Daisy get whatever she wanted. Grace said, ‘OK, then. But I want you to remember that this will always be Gabriela’s doll, and you’re just keeping it for her, in her memory.’
    â€˜I will. I promise. Anka and me, we’ll say a prayer for Gabriela every night.’
    It took over three weeks to place all the children in their various homes and hospitals, but at last Project Totally Bananas was all over, and Grace found that she was free again. Unexpectedly, she felt bereaved, as if the children had been her own, and she had given them up for adoption.
    But one evening in the second week of April she received a call from Frank Wells, the picture editor of Oyster magazine, who wanted her to go to North Vietnam to shoot travel pictures.
    â€˜Just don’t bring back a plane-load of Vietnamese orphans, you got me? If you do, Oyster isn’t going to pay for their air fares.’
    â€˜Don’t worry, Frank. I think I’ve done my Mother Teresa bit for one lifetime.’
    She poured herself a glass of Chardonnay and switched on David Letterman. She never watched much TV, but Jack was away for three days in San Diego, and the house always seemed so silent without him, especially after Daisy had gone to bed.
    She was sitting on the couch, leafing through Good Housekeeping and half listening to the TV, when she heard Daisy cry out. It was a strange cry, more like a moan than a shout. It sounded to Grace as if Daisy was so frightened that she couldn’t even articulate.
    â€˜ Daisy ! Daisy, what’s wrong ?’
    She threw aside her magazine and ran up to Daisy’s bedroom, which was the first on the left at the top of the stairs. Daisy cried out again, but this time her cry was shrill and piercing.
    Grace flung open the bedroom door. It was dark inside, but she was instantly aware that there was something in there – something huge and black that smelled of smoke. Something that shifted and crackled, like breaking branches.
    â€˜ Mommy ! Mommy ! What is it ? What is it ? Mommy, what is it ?’
    â€˜Come here, Daisy! Come here, quick!’ Grace held out her arms for her and Daisy scrambled off her bed and almost threw herself at her. Grace backed out of the bedroom door and set Daisy down on the landing. Then she reached inside and switched on the light. Daisy was sobbing and she herself was gasping with fright.
    She could hardly believe what she saw. In the far corner of the room, as high as the ceiling, stood the figure of a woman dressed in dusty, black sacking. Her hair was stuck up on top of her head with some kind of mud or wax, which made it look like a bundle of twigs, and it was her hair that was making the crackling sound as it brushed against the ceiling.
    Her face was long and emaciated, as if it had been stretched, and her skin was jaundiced. Her eyes were huge and red-rimmed, with yellowish pupils. Her mouth was curved downward to reveal a jagged crowd of sharp-pointed teeth.
    Her arms were insanely long, and almost reached from one side of the room to the other. Both of them were lifted up high, and her fingers were stretched wide like claws.
    â€˜ Jestem głodny ,’