Sanctum Arcanum

by Alexander Kautz

  Raymond had appeared from out of the bathroom, passing the shelves containing candy bars, and paused to select several. He had noticed my expression, and suspiciously peering around, instinctively reached for his revolver. Without drawing the weapon, he walked slowly to where I stood awaiting service. “Isn’t there anyone around?” His eyes flashed with a sudden fear and vivid intensity.

  The wind suddenly howled as the front door flew open, the little bell ringing as a heavy-set older man hurried inside. “Nasty night out there--,” He grumbled, removing his cap and hanging it behind the counter as he turned to look at us with a smile, “Sorry, boys—I was out back, fixing myself a turkey sandwich. It’s my favorite part about Christmas—leftovers.” He chuckled, “Will there be anything else?”

  “No—thank you—just what we have here,” Raymond’s hand moved away from the revolver as I pulled money from my wallet, and nodded to him as I paid for everything.

  “Sorry--,” Tim hurried out of the bathroom, “I was feeling a little sick. It must have been something that I ate earlier--,” He lied. Approaching the counter, he waved politely at the clerk while anxiously waiting for us to finish.

  “That’ll be twelve dollars and eighty five cents in total--,” The clerk scratched at the stubble on his chin, watching in obvious boredom while I counted out the money. He was a large man with short dark hair, and looked as though he hadn’t showered in a week. His dark eyes were flashing between my friends as he seemed to have considered, possibly even feared being robbed? But if he’d known what was waiting out in that storm, we would’ve been the least of his worries.

  I paid, and watching as he bagged our items, caught a sudden movement in the window. It was something that he had also noticed. Turning to look out through the large picture windows, he frowned. It was late and likely just a shadow in the corner of his eye, I could almost read his thoughts. As shaking his head, he slid our things across the counter, and smiling, said, “You boys have a good night—drive safe and Merry Christmas everyone.”

  We had all thanked him and wished him the best as we hurriedly departed. Moving swiftly out of the station and toward the truck, I prayed that nothing had followed. And that nothing was already waiting on the road ahead, and from just beyond sight. The wind moaned deeply as it whipped the snow into a blinding and stinging veil! Rushing to where the truck rested next to the gas pumps and beneath the little shelter, we hurriedly climbed into the cab.

  Raymond had started the engine, and solemnly peering through the windshield back into the station, had suddenly stared. Still shivering from the blizzard, I felt the short hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Raymond—is something wrong?”

  “I’m not sure--,” He squinted suspiciously, running a finger across his neatly trimmed blonde mustache, “But I thought that I saw something in the station—it was moving very fast….”

  Peering inside, we had all remained utterly still. But nothing moved or happened. The clerk just sat behind the counter, watching a little black and white television, and slapped at the tops and sides in frustration while fumbling with the rabbit ears. It was the usual reception trouble, something that was expected when dealing with interference caused by severe weather conditions.

  “It must just be my eyes and nerves--,” Raymond slipped the truck into gear and began pulling ahead, “It’s late and it’s been one hell of a night.”

  But as he had done this I saw a shadow or shape inside the little station! It moved so fast that the clerk had not even noticed, as it went from the far corner of the shop, across the ceiling and silently dropped down right behind where he now sat! “Something is in there with him!” I halted my friend as we all turned to look back!

  But the clerk still sat there frustrated and wiggling the antennas of his little television set. We had waited several moments until he had curiously looked out to see what we were doing. He slowly slipped off his seat, moving from behind the counter, and walked to the window. Placing hands upon the glass while shielding his eyes from the light, he peeked out into the darkness.

  “He’s fine—we better get moving before something really happens.” Raymond slowly pulled out of the station and back onto the road, “Like you said before—these things aren’t interested in Joe public—they want us….”

  I could only hope that he was right. As glancing into the side mirror, I could have sworn to have seen the clerk violently torn away from the glass. For an instant I had been somewhat apprehensive and questioned what I thought to have seen. As through the flurries and darkness, it might just as easily been some strange illusion of light, shadow, angle and distance. Contemplating the great magicians and illusionists, I convinced myself of having just been deceived by a weary mind and tired eyes. But something told me that, had we decided to return, the clerk might have not been himself….

  5:25 a.m.

  We had slowed even more. Cautiously descending through the deep snow in the Frazer Canyon, we dreaded each weaving and slippery turn. To our immediate right were sheer cliffs which were covered in ice and snow. On the opposite was an abrupt and deep drop into the jagged rocks of the raging Fraser River. It was a narrow two-lane highway, which was separated from certain death by a low cement barrier. There was a sense of seclusion and suffocation in the blackness and the storm, a creeping terror that had every nerve on edge as we now feared the possibility of an avalanche….

  We had eaten our sandwiches, indulged the soda and assorted candy bars, and Tim had thankfully fallen asleep. Although he was a strong individual and worked well under duress, it had all been too much for us. I was glad to see that he had escaped for a little while.

  As I finished the last candy bar I had felt a little guilt about breaking my diet, but even prisoners on death row were permitted a final meal. “How are we doing for fuel?” I had whispered, leaning closer to my drowsy friend. Not really being concerned, I had only asked while intending to make conversation as we fought to stay awake.

  “I switched tanks about half an hour ago--,” He rubbed at his nose, peering over at me with a wearied glance, “The four wheel drive is really sucking up the fuel, especially in all of this snow.”

  “Will we make it into Hope?”

  “If nothing else happens, we should be just fine.” He spoke quietly while chewing at a candy bar, “It’ll be daylight in a few more hours—let’s just hope that our luck holds out.”

  Leaning back into my seat, I yawned, rubbing sleepily at my eyes, “We should’ve picked up some coffee at that service station. I’m sorry—I was in such a hurry that it never even occurred to me at the time.”

  “Well, we’ve already gone through Princeton and passed the town of Merritt--,” He peered out and into the blinding flurries, “There won’t be anything open in Hope at this hour--,” He peered sadly at me, “Except the Husky gas station—we could stop there. But if it was all the same to you, I would rather keep moving until we got home.”

  “I agree—if we have enough fuel, there really isn’t any point in risking anyone else.”

  “How long have you been doing this?” He turned the cassette player on as Christmas songs played quietly to the sound of Tim’s gentle snoring in the back.

  “Do you mean writing stories—or chasing things that go bump in the night?”

  “Both--,” He thought briefly, and yawning, asked, “Where did it all start?”

  It had seemed like an eternity since I had last pondered that question. As wearily drawing upon memory, I shuddered at the thought, “I suppose that it all started when I was very young, and my father died in a mine accident. My mother was very supportive and gave me enough freedom to wander. And one day, I just wandered too far. I ended up going into that old mine and managed to get lost in the tunnels.” I had chuckled nervously with the thought, unwrapping and nibbling at a candy bar, “I’m not exactly sure what it was—but something down there scared the life out of me. But instead of being intelligent enough to just avoid things like that, it became a f
ascination—an obsession really, and the rest is history.”

  “Out of everything that you’ve ever done or experienced---,” He became solemn, his features appearing somewhat sinister in the red and green flashing toggle lights of the cab, “What scared you the worst.”

  “I’d have to answer that in several parts--,” I explained while thinking aloud, “The first incident happened shortly after I began writing short stories for a magazine. I was in my mid-twenties at the time. I’d been investigating rumors of a werewolf, and encountered a pack of wild dogs that had been responsible for several murders in a small, rural community. I spent several days on the roof of a barn until I was rescued by an old farmer and his son.” I looked to Raymond with the memory fresh in my mind, “There’s just something insidious about being cornered by a pack of killer dogs. They hung around and just waited—like they knew that sooner or later I would have to come down, or just die up there. They were evil—not like other animals. You could see it in the way that they anxiously watched, licked at their lips, drooled. They knew the taste of human flesh—and blood….”

  “Did they get the dogs in the end?” Raymond stared ahead, not daring to take his attention from the winding, descending and slippery highway.

  “That old farmer and his son got most of them.” I vividly remembered the morning when it had happened, “Those things were so blood-thirsty and insane that they ran straight for the old man and his son. Even as they shot them down, they just kept coming, mindless rage, voracious and without fear. In the end, the few that got away were caught with traps within a few weeks. Without the leaders they became careless—and desperate in the end.”

  “I’m surprised that you could ever go wandering around alone in the woods again after that.”

  “Well, old Harry gave me a 38.caliber pistol--,” I shrugged while admitting to the weapon, “I carried it whenever I went on investigations in rural and out of the way places—never in town.”

  “I suppose that it’s not registered.” He guessed simply enough, winking as he added, “I checked into your background. You’ve never possessed a firearms acquisition certificate or legally licensed weapon.”

  “It belonged to Harry—he owned several.”

  Rather than pursuing the subject he quietly asked, “Continue with your story—what came next.”

  “Well, there was the McCreary house in the Duff Glenn--,” I pointed westward, “It actually isn’t very far from where we are now. I’m not sure whether the house still stands—there was some kind of legal issue and things were postponed pending an investigation—involving several deaths…”

  Raymond had peered out of the corner of his eye, and just quietly nodded in his knowing way.

  “I encountered something there that was similar to what we experienced at Woodlands and are currently dealing with.”

  “And did you actually find a way to deal with it—or is it out there somewhere still?”

  “In all honesty, I really never knew for certain.” The thought had always troubled me. Licking at dry lips I reached for a bottle of soda, drinking deeply before saying, “You really can’t beat some things—just bury them deeper….”

  “That really isn’t too reassuring.”

  “The truth never is--,” I stared out into the blizzard as we crawled within ascent, the cliffs rising ever steeper and the river dropping deeper from view, “And then there was the winter of 1972 in Hedley—and the unknown…”

  “I read the police files of the incident—as well as your book.” His knuckles were white upon the wheel as he slowed for a sharp turn in the darkness.

  “Then you don’t need an explanation as to why that left my hair standing on end, and still does at times.”

  “I’d prefer to believe the police report.” He attempted a smile, “I might actually sleep again some time.”

  “Have you read any of my other books?” I had asked more out of curiosity than anything else.

  “Of course I have—all of them, But not because I was a fan. You were under investigation and it helps to know how a person thinks and feels.”

  “Then you already know about everything and anything that has ever scared me--,” I admitted openly, “Because, it’s all there in black and white.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that all those stories are true?”

  “For the most part—emitting the names of certain people and places, discretions and changes made to protect privacy.”

  “If we survive this—remind me to never read anything that you write, ever again…”

  “To complete the answer to your question--,” Speaking in little more than a whisper, I finished my soda, and looking to my friend, said, “My one and truly greatest fear has always been the thought of losing my wife, Caitlin. She means everything to me—I could never imagine life without her.”

  “I used to feel the same way about my wife, Lorraine.” He sighed deeply, and rubbing at his eyes, slowly shook his head, “When I was a beat cop she had a hard time. But when I was promoted to homicide and became a Detective, it was just too much for her. Between the long hours and wondering, worrying if she would be getting a call that something happened to me, it just all fell apart. Don’t get me wrong, we never stopped loving each other—we just somehow drifted apart. The divorce was quick and we never had children, so we just cut everything in half. That was five years ago now. I dated a little—but it just never felt right again.”

  “I can relate—I lost my fiancé to a drunk driver—many years ago.” It still hurt to remember, “She was a school teacher, it was snowing and she was crossing a busy street. She never even saw him coming. I stayed alone all of these years—my work took up every bit of my time. I never even looked at another woman until two years ago, when I met Caitlin. She brought me back into the world of the living.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking--,” Raymond suddenly appeared uncomfortable, “If she really means that much to you, why didn’t you give all of this up before it came to this?”

  “Because it was already like this long before I even knew about it.” Grabbing another candy bar, I thought to fight the weariness and nervous tension with sugar, “In the grand scheme of things we all have our parts to play. Some just don’t end as well—or end at all….”

  “I hope that your story has a happy ending--,” His sincerity was touching, “I hope it ends well for all of us….”

  We had just reached the crest of the hill when out of the blizzard and within the floodlights loomed an immense shadow! Ray had attempted to steer to avoid it, but the truck slid sideways and we crashed into the cliffs edge! The vehicle coming to a sudden and grinding halt as Tim cried out from the back! “What happened—is everyone okay?”

  “I don’t know?” Raymond peered out and into the storm, “There was something on the highway and I tried to avoid hitting it. But now it seems to have just vanished?”

  “We need to keep moving--,” Insisting, I waved him onward, “Hope isn’t far from here.”

  He had maneuvered the vehicle back and forth as he fought to gain a grip, slowly pulling away from the rocks as snow fell from above and we narrowly missed being buried in the slide! The truck pulling away not a moment too soon as the rumbling of rocks and sliding snow caused the earth to tremble beneath us!

  “That was much too close!” Tim leaned into the front seat, and wiping the sleep from his eyes, asked, “What time is it—and do you have any idea of where we are?”

  “It’s almost six--,” Raymond glanced at his wrist-watch, “And we’re approximately an hour out of Hope.”

  “Two hours until dawn--,” I sunk back into my seat, still pondering as to what the shadow might have been and to where it might have gone, “We’re almost home, Tim—hang in there.”

  “I don’t even consider my place a home--,” Raymond had sighed deeply, “It’s just a place where I once lived with my ex-wife. To tell you the truth, going back there really kills me. It’s a reminder of everything that I did wron
g—and the reasons that I’m still alone.”

  “Have you ever considered just selling the place--,” I posed the obvious question, “And, just starting a new life somewhere else? Maybe you’ll meet someone nice and settle down again?”

  “I doubt that--,” He frowned, peering out through the steady whining of the laboring wipers, and said, “I’ll never feel the same about anyone else. And with my career and everything that’s happening, I wouldn’t want to risk anyone else.”

  “You’re always welcome in my home--,” I felt remorse for his emptiness and could relate to the loss, “I realize that it’s not the same thing, but consider us extended family.”

  Obviously touched by the sentiment, he had simply saluted and silently looked back to the road.

  “I have decided that I’m not returning to Hedley--,” Tim announced, shuddering somewhere between fatigue and fear, “I’ll sell the old place for whatever I can get—if it hasn’t already burned to the ground. I have some savings. I’ll find something in town. Harry’s gone—and with all that’s happened there, it’ll never feel safe again, anyway.”

  “You’re welcome to stay with us.” The thought suddenly occurred to me, “We’ve built something of a museum, an addition to my property. It’s a little unsettling, but rest assured, the safest place that you could be, especially under the circumstances.”

  “After tonight, anything would be better than going back there.” He slunk back into the shadows of the back seat and slipped beneath a woolen blanket, “I should never have stayed after what happened in the winter of ‘72. Harry and I should have---…..” And with that, the thought slipped away as we all fell silent.

  Chapter Twenty TWO

  The windshield wipers pounded incessantly as I stared blindly into the blackness beyond the headlights. The snow came at us as though we traveled through some densely populated solar system, and billions of streaming stars flowed straight toward us. It was almost mesmerizing. As pondering the bright glow and sheer blackness beyond, I wondered what others might see. As witnessed in the distance, and the blizzard’s reflection caught between the head-lights and flood-lamps, it might appear as a pale phantom slowly creeping down from the mountain.