A bird flew above him and screeched like a banshee. He looked to the sky, which had darkened to gray. The bird was a nighthawk, alone in the daylight, he watched it encircle and felt like its prey. He tried to refocus, to think of his own prey, and what now possessed him, the eyes black as coal. The bird swooped down lower and flew right above him, and then all around him as if to attack. He flailed at the creature and thrashed at it wildly, his eyes were the target he had to protect. He covered his eyes and ran into the forest on legs that gave in as he fell to the ground. The bird perched above him and screeched as he struggled, his leg caught entangled in thick laurel vines.
She laid on a rock jutting into the water, which flowed all around her, the spray fresh and cool. The water had saved her and soaked her and cleansed her. She drank through the burlap and breathed the moist air. The bindings had loosened, the pain had subsided, but weak and defenseless she could not move on. The music had lingered and then it had faded, the words had sustained her, but now they were gone. But then in a moment of sudden awareness, the sound of a bird brought a sense of alarm. Its screech seemed a warning of some pending danger. She shifted her body, but could not do more.
The rock was her haven, had kept her from drowning, she could not go forward, she could not go back. If this were the end, she’d succumb to it bravely. The peace she had felt here would last to the end.
Regaining his footing, he trudged on with fury. What of freak force of nature had sent this bird? It dove and it hovered and tried to waylay him with maddening shrieks. But nothing would stop him, no creature with feathers. The stream was ahead, it was her time to die.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
THE DUST KICKED UP AROUND Farley’s cruiser as he turned onto the road leading to the Sutton Farm.
“I hope we’re not too late, Dev.”
“According to the map, the quickest way is to cut across the field,” Dev replied.
Jim Sutton was waiting and armed with a loaded shotgun, ready to join them.
Farley told him, “You can go with us as far as the edge of the garden to set us on the right trail down the ridge, but I need you to stay here in case he returns to the gravesite. We don’t know what’s going on in his mind or if he is even in the area. But this is our best shot.”
They headed to the garden and through the cornfield, trekking past the crime scene on the way to the tall pines. Sutton discovered the overgrown trailhead and showed them where to make their descent.
He said, “I did find out that the child was a boy and the age would be right for the man you are after. It’s hard to believe.”
Dev replied, “Not when you think of the crime he may have witnessed. If he’s carried that memory from childhood, it’s shaped his life and motivated him to commit murder. He may have even felt justified, until now. Joyce doesn’t fit his pattern, so maybe we have a chance to stop him if we get there in time.”
Farley added, “Without your help, Jim, we wouldn’t have this chance.”
They worked their way down the incline on a horizontal angle, which made the descent easier. Dev could see how a boy could have made the climb up and down this path once trampled by use. He could also envision a small broken body being carried up the path by a man of powerful strength, and then realized it was a physical trait the boy had inherited.
The lower half of the trail was more difficult because of the kudzu, but halfway through its obstructing vines, the sloping rear roof of the caving camp house came into view. Dev almost lost his footing when Farley signaled him to stop. Farley peered into the distance and listened. The forest seemed unusually quiet, not a rustle or a stir. The camp house appeared to be deserted, uninhabitable, abandoned, and there was not a vehicle in sight on the road beyond it. Farley continued on making barely a sound. Dev tried to be as quiet as Farley, but made noise with every footfall. Both felt dismayed by the eerie stillness in the atmosphere.
Unexpectedly, the loud screech of a bird startled both of them. When it repeated, Farley looked bewildered. Dev looked at him, but dared not whisper a question. Farley waved them forward. The bird was nowhere in sight. Farley was moving in the direction of the sound, not the camp house.
Dev assumed he knew what he was doing, but was surprised they didn’t check inside. When they crossed the road, they heard it again. Farley picked up his pace and pulled out his revolver. Dev pulled his out, too, without knowing why. They were either on some crazy bird hunt or the bird was leading them to danger. He’d learned enough about birds from the chirping brood he had at home to know they knew more than he did when it came to sensing trouble. Apparently, Farley believed this, too.
The cry of the bird led them into the woods where Farley picked up a trail. They could hear the stream and quickened their pace towards it. The shelter of pines opened to an expanse of boulders and flowing water, and a scene that seemed as surreal as a horror film.
The face of the actor looked down on the body he’d pulled from a large boulder into the stream. He stood in the water and pushed it down under, and then something swooped down and it bobbed up again. The body was wrapped like a mummy in burlap, the head sunk back under then up like a top.
He flailed his arms wildly, while they ran to save her. They pulled her to shore, while he fought off the bird. The nighthawk fought back at the eyes, pecked and bleeding, until he cried out, “Please, no more, please, no more.”
He was led to the bank and secured into handcuffs. The bird flew away, and he whimpered in pain. Dev bandaged his eyes with a torn piece of shirt cloth. Farley checked out the body, and how still she lay. He took out his knife and cut through the roping and gently removed the rough sack from her head. The face of the woman he’d wanted to save was as white as a sheet and surely dead. He pulled out the cloth that was stuffed in her mouth. She suddenly coughed, and her eyes opened wide. Dev couldn’t believe it, relief flooded through him as he watched Farley with Joyce. She smiled with the joy of still being alive.
Farley picked up a signal and called for assistance, but there would not be a need for a trip to the morgue.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
RICHARD SHERWOOD SAT BESIDE THE hospital bedside of sleeping Joyce. She’d been heavily sedated and was bandaged from head to toe. She was hooked to intravenous tubes and monitored for heart arrhythmia. The strain of her ordeal had taken its toll, but her prognosis was good. Sherwood was grateful for that. It helped him wrap his mind around the catastrophic ending of his film project.
Strangely, he felt detached from the collective hysteria of his producers and bankers. They would never understand the creative mind. He’d created a masterpiece. Professionally he’d reached the mountaintop of his personal goals. He recalled films currently hailed as masterworks that had been held back from release for a variety of reasons. He’d spent the last few days putting his film under wraps, and it might have to stay that way until things died down. That was fine with him because he had more important things to attend to, having broached the subject of marriage with Miss Pen. He’d decided that if she could not leave the mountains, he was prepared to leave Hollywood behind.
A national media circus was currently underway since the arrest of Buddy Larson in connection with what had become the infamous Hollywood linked Scarecrow Murders and the kidnapping and attempted murder of Joyce Crenshaw. It would be some time before Larson would have to face those charges due to the possible loss of his eyesight resulting from a freak accident and the heart attack he suffered prior to his arrest.
His leading lady, Megan Murphy, had been held for questioning and could face charges as an accessory after the fact in one of the murders. The fact that she had eventually come forward was being taken into consideration. A tremendous amount of public sympathy was generated when she revealed how Buddy had saved her from being brutally raped. She was being hailed for shedding light on a subject in need of attention and gave an interview on the courthouse steps in which she promised to continue speaking out about rape and abuse issues.
The sensational Scarecrow Murders that had affected the town of Serena so dramatically were now affecting the nation. Scarecrow sightings were popping up everywhere. Trent Williams kept close tabs on the phenomenon by following the headlines on the new laptop his parents bought for him to keep up with his studies while in psychiatric care.
Kate and Dev no longer had their houseguest. He’d been offered another screenplay and had flown to Hollywood to negotiate a contract. Before his departure, he’d put a down payment on a spacious log home that had recently gone on the market. He’d been ecstatic describing to Kate and Dev what an ideal place it would be to write, and share with Eleanor. They could work from home and travel when necessary. He would contribute to her theater group endeavors and she would inspire his writing. His film contracts would stipulate his need to work in a positive environment of his choosing when not on location. Now that he was back in favor, he could make demands that supported his recovery. He might even start attending AA.
Kate and Dev were alone at last, and Dev said he’d like to keep it that way for a while.
“You were the one who said we shouldn’t be selfish about sharing our home when there is a need,” she replied.
“Did I say that? Come over here, my darling girl, and rid me of my noble ideas. When you are in my arms, I turn into such a selfish beast.”
At that very time, Farley was on his way home from visiting Mamma Phoebe. They had talked of many things. She had fallen asleep in her rocker, Jeremiah asleep on his sturdy reinforced roost. Mamma Phoebe was back in retirement, her work done once more.
Farley thought of the workings of nature, the way he’d been taught as a boy; to listen to those who were wiser, and at one with the land and the sky. How everyone moved with a purpose, whether for evil or good, driven by their individual nature, maneuvering through the shifting winds of life.
He considered Margaret Bowling, who’d been driven by the need to be loved. Deputy Purdy had located her and Rupert Mills. They’d eloped to Pickens, South Carolina, to get married the night of Tanner’s murder. She was now in the process of buying a fish camp restaurant down by the river. She and Rupert planned to run it together. It had always been his dream. He, apparently, had become hers. She’d paid for Zack Tanner’s funeral, but had not attended.
Farley thought of his own life in retrospect, how he’d gone and come full circle home. How his first love had come back and left once again, to establish a relationship with her son. She had not left him lonely or saddened. He trusted everything would work out in the end. His town was at peace and the turbulence settled. He drove on feeling the red glow of an autumn setting sun.
As he turned onto the highway, just as he rounded the bend, a small shaggy creature ran into the road. He slammed on the brakes and got out of the cruiser. It sat there shaking all over, wagged its tail and lifted a paw. Its fur was all matted and covered in burs. Its eyes were the color of chestnuts. It had a slight overbite, giving its face a comical expression.
He reached down and picked it up saying, “I’ve got you, wee beastie,” then laughed.
Wasn’t that something Dev would say? He lifted it higher and checked underneath. It was a male and a smelly one at that. He put the collarless pup in the cruiser and drove on down the road. Hadn’t Dev mentioned something about Kate wanting a rescue dog?
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to thank Isaac William Penrod for his assistance bringing authenticity to the adolescent age group depicted in the book. I thank Calvin Levi for input involving the audition and hiring of extras. He appeared as an extra in the remake of the film, Dirty Dancing, and shared information with me about that experience. My gratitude is extended to Saluda, North Carolina Police Chief, Charles Conner, for sharing his criminal justice expertise to the relevant chapters of this book. To the town of Saluda, the Saluda Police Department, and Thompson’s Store, the oldest grocery store in North Carolina, and its adjacent Ward’s Grill for inspiring the settings. The Saluda Events Center inspired the setting for the Halloween event and the audition depicted in the story.
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Check Out the Prequels to The Silent Scream of the Straw Man:
The Strange Case of the Doyle Diary Murders
It’s Halloween in the quaint, mountain town of Serena, North Carolina, and Kate Delaney is about to discover a hidden secret long tucked away in the dark corners of her century-old church that she and her husband spent several years renovating into a home before his tragic death.
The old building’s previous owner used the sacred edifice to practice spiritualism, and her books and objects remain. One book in particular is the work of none other than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who traded-in his most famous detective character to prove that ghosts and fairies exist. Kate also unearths a surprising séance message: “Doyle Diary.” An avid Sherlock fan, Kate decides a mysterious force has placed this investigation before her, and she compulsively dives into a case that wakes a sinister adversary with a deadly purpose.
Murder in a Moonlit Mason Jar
It’s summertime and the living is easy in the idyllic mountaintop town of Serena. When two seemingly-accidental deaths send Police Chief Jeff Farley into the dense forest on a chilling investigative journey, he finds a legacy of property ownership, illegal moonshining, and the ancient art of hoodoo practice that have kept intruders at bay since the early settlers made claim to the land. Charlotte, wife of an ambitious Congressman, has come to Serena to escape her husband’s political career. She’s in search of some peace, and possibly, herself. When her husband shows up unexpectedly, strange events and ghostly happenings are set in motion that challenge the beliefs and intentions of all. Set amidst a haunting wilderness where magic still flows, the residents of Serena must solve an ancient mystery and battle a supernatural foe. The human dynamics of love and yearning, greed and madness, and rebellion and redemption unwind at a spellbinding pace beneath the mystifying North Carolina moon.
Also By Corinne F. Gerwe:
Blood Runs Cold on the Black Side of the Mountain
The Orchestration of Joy and Suffering
The Silent Scream of the Straw Man Page 26