Ravens Cove

by Mary Ann Poll

  Breaking the rules emboldened Miggie. He took a step onto the path. The anemic glow brightened and exposed once-invisible hag trees along the path's edge. The trail ended at a treed archway. A knurly, misty finger shot down the pathway, pointing to the door.

  “I can't go down there! It's forbidden.” Hesitation gave way to desire. The whisper of sanity urging him to run collapsed under the relentless craving to know the guardian's secret of knowledge and power.

  “That's why the guardian told me not to go!” Well, turnabout's fair play, as they say. I know the secret now and I will be free from that wretched fiend who proclaimed himself a friend, and is nothing of the sort. I will destroy him!”

  Miggie advanced to his destiny, a smile on his face at the revenge he would exact on Atramentous.

  Atramentous snapped alert. The deep, golden oak door of the Congregational Alliance began to bleed. Small, uniform tendrils coursed down its ornate top to its elaborate threshold. A roar of rage, smelling of burnt flesh and thousands of decaying, murdered souls, issued from the dark mist. Miggie was no more.

  That stupid mortal was his reward. He had anticipated the sweet nectar of the terror and pain mount when the life drained from the pastry bag of flesh. Stolen. His prize stolen.

  To make matters worse, Atramentous could not retaliate. The commander would not abide even the appearance of rebellion.

  He quieted. The blood crept back up the door and withdrew into the overhead. Better him than me, thought Atramentous while he settled again over his post.

  Josiah Williams awoke with a start from what had been a fitful sleep, at best. Blackness had crowded his dreams. He had been playing with his beloved Martha and Ezra, loving, innocent children who adored him, no matter how long he stayed away from home. They were in his arms again. He could smell those sweet children, just fresh from a bath, ready for a good night's sleep. A murky mist engulfed them and pulled. They screamed, small arms reaching, reaching. Their sweet bodies lay at his feet, thrown like rag dolls. Dead where such life had been before. Josiahs body heaved in uncontrollable sobs.

  “Why didn't you take me, Lord. Why my babies, why my wife!”

  Josiah went silent. He never received an answer. They were in heaven with the Lord now; Bonnie's belief in Jesus Christ was unshakeable. She had been a model example to him, an agnostic leaning toward atheism, during their marriage. Oh, how she had tried to make him see the truth. She had stuck with him, and by him, throughout all the years of his neglect.

  She raised those babies, not me. He felt an odd comfort in knowing that they and she were together in heaven. No more pain or terror now, not for them. They were in the hands of the One who had loved them through him and his coldness. They were drenched in God's warmth and love, a father's love he had come to know too late to have joined them in heaven, as he wished so many times he could now.

  In the irony of God, the day Josiah wanted to die, in fact, the day he was contemplating killing himself, gun held to his right temple, he found life.

  “Don't do it, Josiah,” rang through his head. “The living God exists. He wants you. He will avenge your children, your beloved wife.”

  The story of Job came to mind. He, too, had lost his family but had continued to proclaim God's sovereignty and goodness. And, just like Job, Josiah had prayed for death. He prayed for the misery to end. And, just like Job, he still lived.

  Josiah laid the pistol down beside him and felt utter despair, and defeat, a coward even in suicide. Couldn't do it. What if he was wrong? There was enough of a doubt, enough of a question, for him to resolve to put off death by his own hand to a later time. Maybe an hour or maybe a day.

  “When I can't take it anymore, God, I will take my own life. And if I don't believe in You, why am I talking to You?” Josiah's belief began to take hold. A seed in shaky, loose soil but a seed just the same.

  Josiah had walked to the window while consumed in the memory of his first encounter with salvation. He stared without seeing the night beyond. The cold that emanated through the under-insulated window sent a shudder through him, and he returned to the present. He noted the darkness. He noted that although there should be moonlight, there was none. The thing had taken another victim and had grown stronger. Minister Lucas must hear him. He alone could not get the good Minister Lucas to hear him. Josiah fell to his knees.

  “God, help Your servant; I have sinned. But You say that if I repent You will wash me clean. Forgive me, Lord. You have ordained my days. You have ordained my purpose, O gracious God. Send Your holy angels before me; I cannot bend the ear of Paul Lucas to what is happening here, but, You can, O Lord. Please hear my prayers. In Your mighty Son Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  He rose and headed for a shower and fresh clothing. He knew where he must go and he knew time was of the essence. Even in his town, the thing had not moved at this speed. This time, it was bolder and less patient.

  “Maybe this is good, Lord?” Josiah wondered. It would show itself sooner rather than later. Maybe this town could be rid of it before the evil from without that was feeding on the evil within the town, could take hold and destroy it. The deaths were just the appetizers. The town was the main course and the believers the sweetest of desserts.

  Across town, Kat jumped as her eyes opened into black glittering ones, catching a red glow. She screamed, and then covered her mouth. BC placed a velvet black paw on her cheek, as if to comfort her, then turned two fluid circles and melted as only a cat can, into a furry ball, weight against her chest, and began to purr.

  Kat's dreams had been bad before, but tonight she was sure someone had been in her bedroom, ready to do her great harm. She shivered and cuddled into Black Cat, her greatest consolation when the terrors of the night came. And, yes, they did come.

  An owl, close, hooted. It was late evening and the bird was on the hunt. The ancient omen of death.

  Kat shivered again, and dragged her old, tattered quilt to her neck, just as she had done at 12, after watching the Bella Lu-gosi version of Dracula.

  For many, dark nights, she was sure Dracula would kill her. The quilt was a comfort then, just as it was now. It had been a gift of love from Grandmamma Tovslosky. And, though she'd tell no one, she still believed it protected her. She drifted into a much-needed sleep, smiling in memory of those wonderful days that had ended all too soon with the passing of Gran.

  Her cell phone played Pachebel's Canon in D. She hated ringing phones—classical music, even in the tinny-tone played by a cell phone, was better than that horrid ring.

  “’O,” Kat croaked. BC, awakened by the noise, jumped in disgust from the bed, the warm indent still where he had comforted Kat to sleep.

  “Kat, thank God, you're okay!”

  “Why in the name of goodness, wouldn't I be? The closest thing to danger is the phone waking me up with the start I just had!” She was more than irritated.

  “There's been another one.”

  “Another what—” The import of Bart's words began to connect and the fog in her brain shot away.

  “Another murder? Please tell me there hasn't been another murder.”

  Bart's confident baritone was strangely quiet. “Another murder.”

  “Where?”

  “Top of Ravens Ravine, same as the other. This time it's one of our own, more of less.”

  “Who?”

  “Believe it's Miguel Salisto, or what's left of him.” Miggie had not been an involved town member, but still a part of the town that was under Bart's protection. Bart saw the safekeeping of this town and its people as his primary duty. He had failed.

  “The owner of that adult, new-age, whatever it is, shop?”

  Kat had never understood how Miggie stayed in business but he had. His business had not only remained open, it had prospered in this small town dominated by churchgoers. In fact, the Congregational Alliance made Miggie a member in good standing. Even in her limited knowledge of Christianity, she had always thought that was weird.

  “
Yep.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I need you to be at the office today. All hell's gonna break loose when this gets out and you know it will. Small towns are so much louder about news of this kind than the big ones. Can you be ready in an hour? I'll come get you.”

  Kat didn't argue this time. She did not want to cross paths with the killer and be victim number three.

  “I'll be ready. PLEASE bring coffee. No food. I don't think my stomach can handle it.”

  “Will do.” Bart hung up.

  The wheels of the old, faded, red pickup crunched the gravel, announcing Bart's arrival. Kat hopped off the porch and met him halfway. The rich aroma of dark chocolate and coffee struck her nose when she opened the passenger door.

  Kat rewarded Bart with a thankful smile. They traveled the short distance to town without saying a word.

  Main Street was quiet when they pulled up in front of the sheriff's office. No one had heard. Kat thanked God for that.

  Bart rounded the truck, opened the passenger door and Kat jumped down. Kat unlocked the stationhouse door and threw her coat and keys on the desk.

  “Who found him?”

  “Amos Thralling.”

  “Again?” Kat said in disbelief.

  “Uh-huh. I'm going to have to bring Amos in for questioning. I'm not convinced he had anything to do with the murders. All the same, I can't let my feelings run this investigation.” He turned. “Would you track him down?”

  Kat looked at her watch. “He's fishing by now.”

  She looked at Bart. “Don't know why he thinks he can fish at this time of year, but just like the sun, Amos rises every morning and goes out for the big one.”

  “Always has. See what you can do to find him, just the same?”

  “I'll call his brother. Get him to track down Amos and bring him to the station.”

  “Thanks. I'm going to the ravine to take a look at Miggie before he's shipped to Anchorage. Man, that FBI guy will be much harder to get rid of after this.”

  Shaking his head, Bart turned on his left foot, and strode to his office to grab his hat. He breezed past Kat, out into a much greyer, gloomier day than yesterday. The mountains hid behind a blanket of low-lying clouds. Rain was imminent. Any forensic evidence would be destroyed if it rained on what was left of Miggie.

  Bart arrived, the crime scene tape from yesterday still in place. Wouldn't need to move it. Miggie occupied the exact spot and was in the exact same position as John Doe.

  “You sicko,” Bart said to the unknown perpetrator. “I'll get you, whoever you are.” Something rustled from the direction of the path.

  Bart drew his gun, pointing it down the ravine. “You hiding in there, you show yourself right now!”

  “Whatcha doing?”

  Bart jumped a few inches to his left, swung around and pointed the gun at Kenneth Melbourne.

  Unshaken, Kenneth crouched down and studied the path that lead to the dark opening of the ravine. Full daylight, gloomy day though it is, and not an ounce of light shining into the chasm. Curious.

  Kenneth shot a questioning look at Bart.

  “What on earth are you doing here, Melbourne?” Bart growled, lowering his gun and reholstering it with a snap.

  “I was coming up to look at yesterday's crime scene. Odd to see a corpse. I'm sure yesterday's is under autopsy in Anchorage.”

  Bart's shoulders sagged under the weight of failure. His inability to protect the people of Ravens Cove shamed him.

  “This would be one of ours. Same place, same position, same everything.”

  “May I take a look?”

  Bart gestured with his head towards Miggie Salisto's corpse. Ken walked over, looking as he went, to ensure no evidence was missed or disturbed by his intrusion.

  He was shocked when his stomach lurched. He had seen all types of murders in his career. Both at the crime scene and in pictures. Human teeth marks so perfect and so deep in flesh, they could cast a mold and arrest the perpetrator once caught. He had witnessed firsthand his share of the horror men could do to each other. This surpassed anything he had seen.

  The stench reminded him of a monthlong, decomposed drowning victim. But it got worse. There was no skin. The red muscle, what was left of it, seeped fluid into the ground. The land had absorbed any fluid, leaving the area stained but dry.

  Kenneth leaned closer. There were no eyes! The sockets drained a black and purple fluid. In fact, most of that stench was coming from the eye sockets.

  Kenneth straightened and turned a wan face toward the sheriff.

  “In all my time, I've never seen any chemical or poison that could cause this.” Ken was troubled.

  Sheriff Bart looked surprised. In all his dealings with the suit guys, he had never heard one admit not knowing everything, even when it was obvious they didn't.

  “Well, then, is there any reason for you to be here, Agent Melbourne? I've come up with that much.”

  “Sometimes, Sheriff, it takes two to make sense of something. I believe we should combine our knowledge and get moving on solving this before there's another victim. Serial killers have patterns and this pattern is frightening.” Kenneth turned back to look at the body. He tilted his head up in his Bart's direction.

  “That would mean to expect another murder tonight. There won't be much left of this town, in very short order, if we don't stop the perp soon.”

  Bart pondered this. Whether he liked it or not, this FBI'er was making a good point.

  “Tell you what, Melbourne, you can follow along. But if you try to take over, if you even think about giving orders to anyone, you'll be out of here.”

  Small victory, but victory just the same. Ken held out his hand. This time the sheriff took it. “Agreed.”

  There was no evidence to collect per se. But Bart and Ken scoured the area just the same. The medical team arrived and took what was left of Miggie Salisto to the funeral home, the closest thing to a morgue in Ravens Cove, to await dispatch to the medical examiner in Anchorage.

  Chapter 6

  A Suspect Surfaces

  “No, Mrs. Tellamoot, this is not a ghost.” Kat listened. The old legends of Ravens Ravine were being stirred up like a long-silent bees’ nest being bumped in the spring.

  “That is a legend, Mrs. Tellamoot, these are murders!”

  “That's the legend, Katrina. That's the legend handed down! This thing is back.”

  “These are murders, Mrs. Tellamoot. Don't believe this is supernatural. So, lock your doors and make sure Benny is on guard.” Benny was Mrs. Tellamoot's half wolf–half husky who didn't do much more than bark these days but at least he could warn her.

  “And if Benny barks, you call here or my cell, do you hear me?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Tellamoot sounded somewhat relieved as they hung up the phone. The fire of gossip was being whipped to a frenzy after this second incident.

  The door chimed just as Kat returned the phone to its cradle. Bart and Agent Melbourne walked in. It was obvious that they had reached a truce but that didn't explain why Bart was also acting like Melbourne was his long, lost friend.

  “Bart?”

  “Mornin’, Kat. Thanks for coming in. How was the mocha?” he asked as he and the FBI guy continued toward Bart's office, deep in conversation. Mr. Smooth stopped in his tracks, as if he'd just been snapped out of a trance, looked over his shoulder, and said, “good morning, Kat.”

  The ire rose. This man had no invitation to call her by the pet name reserved for her closest friends and family.

  “Ms. Tovslosky to you, Agent Melbourne.” Kat returned to her report and began to type, fast.

  Ken smiled. She was a looker, as his Uncle Ed would have said. Dark hair, green eyes, small upturned nose. Appeared somewhat Irish and yet not. Whatever the genes, they had come together to make her someone hard to ignore. He made a decision to call her Kat anyway. That fit. On the ready, claws out, one warning-swipe accompanied by a growl. This could get to be fun. I wonder ho
w angry she'll get?

  He turned back and resumed the conversation with Bart, who was much more knowledgeable than Ken had first thought. Bright man and well studied. Made it somewhat understandable as to why he was so resistant to any help. His stubbornness struck a deep chord in Ken. It was like studying his own reflection.

  Bart stopped at his doorway. “Did they find Amos yet?”

  “Nope. But his brother did say they would get here as soon as he could track him down.”

  “Interrupt me for Amos or a call from the Anchorage ME.”

  Bart and Ken entered the office. Kat could hear murmuring and hushed sounds as they began to try to piece the puzzle together. Kat prayed that they could. A dead John Doe made it scary. A dead member of Ravens Cove made it personal, then terrifying.

  “God help us.” Kat was not a religious woman, but she thought a small prayer couldn't hurt.

  The ME's office called right at the same time Amos and his brother sidled through the door.

  “When it rains, it pours.”

  “What?” Arnold Thralling asked.

  “Sorry, talking to myself today. I'll be right with you.”

  “Do you need me for anything? I've got a boat to overhaul and winterize.”

  “No, just Amos. Thanks for finding him for us, Arnie.” She graced him with a dazzling smile.

  Arnie relaxed, hung his head, and grinned like a schoolboy.

  “Welcome, Miss.”

  Kat put the call through to Bart and escorted Amos to the coffee room, which doubled as their interrogation room.

  “How's the fishing?”

  “No luck. But there's always tomorrow. I sure won't have any luck later today when I'm done here, thanks to Sheriff Bart wantin’ to talk.”

  “I know. But you have discovered two bodies in two days. Don't you think that might be a little more important than fishing?”

  Amos wrinkled his brow in thought. That gesture said it all about Amos and about most of the town's residents. Nothing took precedence over fishing.