by Neil Olson
“If we say folklore comes from someplace. You know, however changed. Then somewhere in England, or New England, where our people come from, the locals knew this name. In their folk traditions, without hearing it in a Sunday sermon.”
He could explain how freely source material flowed from one tradition to another, over great time and distance. But he knew what she was getting at.
“I suppose.”
“We want a name like that,” she continued. “A name our ancestors might recognize. Not the name of some Babylonian god or whatever.”
“If Johnny was studying with your grandfather,” Will said, the pain in chest subsiding. Trying to see the matter rationally. “I don’t know if that’s the right word. But if he was reading Tom’s books, imbibing his ideas and interests, this seems like exactly the sort of demon he would have called.”
“So maybe we’ve got something.”
He hoped so, but then another thought suddenly hit him.
“Why the hell would it tell me its name?”
“Well.” He could hear some of the enthusiasm drain from her voice in that one word. “It may not be that it was telling you, only that you heard it. Remember, it’s not necessarily a name, like we understand names. It’s a word. A word that means something.”
Will closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. This was all too vague, not to mention completely ridiculous. They sat in silence for a minute or so.
“Sam,” he finally said. “Where is the book? The grimoire?”
“I think it’s at my grandfather’s house,” she answered in a small voice.
“This is your grandfather’s house.”
“No, where he lives now.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her, still confused.
“I thought he was in a rest home?”
“I never said that.”
“You told me he was, what?”
“Retired from the world,” she answered. Exactly the phrase she used that night. “He lives in a cabin on Mount Gray. This house was too big, and he didn’t want to deal with other people. He almost never leaves there.”
“Is he, like, functional?”
“More or less,” Sam replied. “He can cook and take care of himself. He has a car. He can drive if he really needs to. I do most of his shopping.”
“So you see him often,” Will said, surprised.
“Once a week, at least. Sometimes more. Why?”
“I don’t know, I just thought he was put away somewhere. I didn’t realize he was up and around and you were seeing him. I mean, come on, Sam.”
“Wait.”
“He was there that night, after all the bad stuff went down. He taught Johnny. He knows about the book. Maybe he knows a lot more. My God, why wouldn’t you tell me—”
“He’s not right,” she said. “He’s not really himself. That’s why.”
“He’s not right how?”
“He knows who I am, most of the time. But he doesn’t always recognize other people.”
“Is this Alzheimer’s?”
“They haven’t diagnosed it. There are days he’s good. I mean, really sharp. He’ll talk for an hour, nonstop. Like one of his old lectures. All the words he needs are right there, the history, the quotes from his philosophers. And then, the light just goes out, you know? He’ll stop in the middle of a sentence and stare into space. Other days,” she sighed, “he can barely tie his shoes.”
“Is there a home health aide?”
“He doesn’t need that.”
“Because he has you.”
“Don’t make me into a martyr,” Samantha complained. “The man was the only parent I ever had. Why wouldn’t I do this much for him?”
“Of course you would,” he agreed. “It’s only that you and I have spent so much time together. Talking about this stuff, the families and the history. And all this time you’re going up there to see him and I don’t even know?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it.” Her face showed that she knew it was a feeble answer. “He’s fragile. Things upset him. Talking about my grandmother, talking about Johnny—it can mess with his mental balance.”
“You’ve raised the subject with him?”
“No. He brings it up. But there’s no way to have a good discussion, he just starts to shake and get confused.”
An odd and disquieting thought occurred to Will. Had Tom Hall taken the oath as well?
“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I wish I knew sooner. I’d like to see him.”
“I figured. Problem is, you’re one of the subjects that upsets him.”
“Because of what happened that night.”
“Yes.”
He said no more right away. The old guy had hung around them like a benevolent spirit during all the hours they had spent in this house. Will had known he wasn’t dead, but imagined him in ghostly terms nonetheless. To learn he was living up there on Mount Gray, that she had been seeing him right along... Well, they all had their secrets, didn’t they? What things had he not told her? Was it possible for two adults to trust each other completely? Ever? Never mind under these strange circumstances.
His eye caught the framed photograph once more. He didn’t look away this time. Tom and Jane Hall. Middle-aged, arm in arm, on a porch somewhere. Happy.
“Sweet, huh?” she said. “They were so close. In love since they were children. He’s never gotten over her.”
“I saw her,” Will said calmly. “Jane. A few days ago in the graveyard behind the Congregational Church. Tending the Hall graves. Anyway, it sure looked like her.” She was quiet long enough that he finally turned to look. He saw alarm in her expression. “What? You see her all the time.”
“It’s normal for me,” Sam replied. “Seems like you’re seeing things more and more. Like the line is getting thin.”
“What does that mean?”
“The line between you and them. Between here and... I don’t know what it means.”
“Nothing good, judging by your expression.”
She ran her hands through her hair vigorously.
“We’ve got to figure this out, William.”
“You really think he has the book?”
“He must. Not anywhere obvious, or I would have seen it.”
“So he hid it,” Will said, letting them both chew on what that meant. “You’re going to ask him for it?”
“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I’m taking him to his doctors day after tomorrow. GP and heart. I drop him and pick him up later. He can be there two hours or more.”
“And you plan to ransack his cabin in the meantime.”
“You don’t have to put it like that.”
“No, I think it’s a fine plan,” Will clarified, making sure he had her attention for what he said next. “There’s just one thing.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“I’m going with you.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
The sidewalk was scattered with orange and brown maple leaves. Overhead, the oaks were touched with russet, but most clung stubbornly to their green. The promised documents from Beth had come the previous day. Will filled them out, dropped them into the out-of-town mail slot and had just left the post office when he caught sight of Eddie Price across the street.
Eddie had gotten paunchy, and his black hair was streaked gray. But he was still a large man who moved with dangerous self-assurance. Will watched him go into the Green Apple convenience store, then crossed the street after him. He had no plan, but his instinct said the opportunity should not be wasted. He stood by the store’s entrance for a minute, then looked around. No police cruiser. He had almost stopped thinking about Jimmy. The street was lined with tightly parked vehicles, and he tried to figure which one was Eddie’s. Probably the blue Ford pickup. Will peeked in the windo
ws, as if to find evidence of foul play.
A moment later he heard boots scuffing and the creak of a leather jacket, and turned to see Eddie approaching, carrying a paper bag with a lime-green apple on it. The big man wore a pissed-off expression, his mouth opening to tell off whoever was peeking into his truck. When he recognized Will, he went back on his heels and his jaw snapped shut. Hardly missing a stride, Eddie stepped into the street and went around to the driver’s side without speaking.
“Eddie.”
Will went the other way, around the hood, and they met at the driver’s door together. The older man was half a head taller. His close-set eyes looked Will up and down with something like contempt. He shoved the bag of groceries into Will’s chest. Will caught the bag just before Eddie let go, then the big man opened the door and got in.
“How’s your mom?” Eddie asked, in a voice wrecked by cigarettes. His knee seemed to bother him, and it took a little while to get settled in the driver’s seat.
“Good,” Will said. Sick to death of the question. “She’s good. Unfortunately for you.”
“What the fuck does that mean? I never wished her any ill.”
“Yeah, but maybe I’d sell you the house cheap, with her out of the way.”
“There was nothing cheap about that offer. It’s more than anyone else will pay.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want your money,” Will suggested. “Maybe she likes her house.”
“That moldy, falling-down piece of crap?” Eddie gestured for the grocery bag, and Will handed it back to him. “If any house needed demolishing, it’s that one. I’ll drive the bulldozer myself.”
“What about the Hall house?”
“What about it?”
“It’s a beauty,” said Will. “But you want to knock that one down too, right?”
Eddie pursed his lips, considering. Will could not imagine what.
“If that’s what bothering you,” Eddie said after a moment, “we can work that out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if I left the Hall house alone, would you consider selling your mother’s?”
What sense does that make? Will wanted to ask. The Hall house has four times as much property. And I don’t own either of them. How can I make a deal with you? He heard Sam’s voice, as if she were beside him. You’re getting distracted.
“I need to talk to you,” Will said. “Not about houses.”
“Like the talk you had with Jimmy Duffy?” Eddie replied, sneering. “Is that the kind of talk you had in mind?”
His dark eyes bored into Will’s for two or three seconds, then looked away. The muscles in his face quivered oddly. He’s afraid of me, Will suddenly realized. This lumbering, bullying psychopath is afraid of me.
“Jimmy and I had a misunderstanding.”
“Yeah, well, I’d just as soon not have one of those.”
“These questions. I think you may be the only person who can answer them.”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Eddie barked, slapping a thick hand on the steering wheel. “I was just there. It was that silly bastard brought all this on.”
“I know,” Will agreed. “But he’s not around for me to ask anymore.”
“A lot of people aren’t around anymore.”
“Come on. I am not the angel of death.”
“Tell those others that,” Eddie shot back. “Heard you went to see Molly Jordan.”
“Yes, and guess what?” said Will. “She’s still breathing.”
“For now.”
“Listen to me.”
“You listen,” the big man insisted, leaning toward the door handle, which Will was blocking. He stepped aside and Eddie slammed the door hard. “I won’t go down easy. Not like the others, all right? I can take care of myself. I’ve got a gun under the seat right now.”
“Good for you,” said Will.
“Got more at home. I don’t care if you’re a good guy, a bad guy, or if you mean to do it. I don’t care if it’s just something that clings to you. That doesn’t matter, does it? Dead is dead. Don’t come near me again. Don’t come near my truck, my house. You do, and I swear I’ll kill you. Understand? Next time I see you, I’ll kill you.”
Will nodded. Then stepped closer to the window, meaning to say something conciliatory.
“Not if I see you first,” he said quietly. He had no idea why he said it.
Eddie looked at him closely. Like Jimmy had done that night. Then his eyes went big and he looked away fast.
“You sonofabitch,” he whispered, turning the ignition and roaring the big machine to life. “Why did you mess with that stuff?”
The rear tire nearly ran over Will’s feet as the truck pulled away. He was left standing in the middle of the road. Feeling that mean smile on his face, which he quickly removed. Feeling also like he had overheard a conversation between two other people.
* * *
Sit. Only that. No words, no thoughts. Just sit and be with yourself.
My knees.
The body complains, yes? The mind too. Ignore them. Sit with the pain. Sit with the thoughts. Do nothing. Say nothing. Breathe, if you must, nothing else. Shut up and sit.
But he has to rise. The room is dark and he goes to the moonlit window. The figure is there, by the bushes. First a shadow, then a girl, then a shadow once more. Back and forth it flickers. Darkness, golden hair, darkness again. What does it mean? It cannot be both things, can it? He leans closer to the window...
And came awake. Will stood in the middle of his room, wondering how he had gotten there. Something disturbed his sleep. A cry. Cats fighting in the bushes? He heard it again. Distant, human. Samantha? No, he was dreaming about her, that’s all. He went to the window and gazed across the field. There was a single light on at the Hall place. First floor, maybe the study. At two o’clock in the morning? The light wobbled, and he heard the cry a third time.
He dragged on his jeans and, what seemed a moment later, was flying out the kitchen door, no memory of coming down the back stairs. Cold air prickled his bare skin, weeds and pebbles stabbed his feet. Yet he ran as fast as he could, because she was in trouble.
The pine branches raked him, scraping his ribs. A narrow branch caught him above the eye. He saw or sensed movement near her front door before he was even through the trees, but once he reached the porch he saw nothing. Will stopped halfway up the steps, nearly hyperventilating. Sounds caught his ear from every direction. A small creature scuttled through the shrubs below. The wooden stairs creaked underneath him. What might have been footfalls echoed around the side of the house and he took two steps in that direction. Then saw that the door stood several inches ajar. He pushed it open and slipped in.
There was, in fact, a dim light coming from the study. He went to the door to see the desk lamp on the carpet, the glare right in his face. A chair was knocked over, and a fat book—the Latin dictionary—lay facedown, pages mangled. It took him a moment to see Samantha. Sitting on the floor in the corner, her face in shadow. He moved toward her and saw her flinch. Saw her fold more tightly into herself. She had said nothing when he entered the room. Had not cried out to him for help. She remained as still as possible, as if hoping to be missed.
“Sam,” he said, continuing toward her. Slowly, carefully.
He could see her clearly now. She wore only a white T-shirt and underwear. Her eyes were wide, and her hand clutched something. A letter opener. She held it out in front of her, like a dagger. Looking like she would strike him if he came closer. Will crouched down about four feet away.
“Hey, Sam, it’s me. It’s Will.”
Her eyes softened. She dropped the weapon with a rattling clang and reached for him. He crawled over and took her in his arms. She grasped him fiercely, as if fearing being dragged away. Will fumbled for words, but his mind was distracted. Disturb
ed by her behavior, and listening for noises elsewhere in the house. His knee hurt and there was dampness on his brow.
“It was here,” Sam finally rasped.
“Someone was here?”
“It was here, in the house.”
“The shadow,” he said. So that they would not have to use that other word.
“Yes,” she answered, voice trembling. “I felt it, in my sleep. Then I woke up, but the feeling stayed. I thought it was looking for something. I came down here.”
“Jesus, why? You should have...”
“I feel safer in this room. The energy is stronger.”
He looked down at her bare legs, folded under, then saw marks on the floor. A circular shape scratched into the boards surrounding her. Using the letter opener, no doubt.
“You did a protection spell.”
“It had been here already, scattering things. I could feel it moving through the house.”
“Sam.” His mind was not willing to face what was becoming plain to him. “When I came into the room, you were frightened of me.”
“I thought it had come back. You came in and I...”
“But I don’t look like a shadow,” he said, a plea in his voice he had not intended.
“Sometimes,” she whispered. “When you’re angry, I feel the same energy in you. You feel the same way it feels.”
He began, unconsciously, to release her, but she held on even tighter.
“Will, I have to tell you. I was afraid to before, I didn’t want you to hate me.”
“I couldn’t hate you.”
“This is my fault,” she said, head still pressed against him, speaking into his chest. “When you call a demon, you have to command it. You have to tell it why you brought it, what you want it to do. If you don’t, it overwhelms you. It does what it wants to do. It’s free.”
Why was she telling him this?
“When you came to me in the field,” Sam went on, her words rattling around inside his rib cage. “When I saw the demon with you, I knew I had to do something. I didn’t know the rules then, not exactly. But I could sense it waiting. Waiting for me to speak. I knew I had to give it an order or something bad would happen.”