Monster

by Christopher Pike

  Kevin took a moment to answer. “Are you going to see him again?”

  “No,” she lied.

  “Will you promise me?”

  She studied his lovely, innocent face. Those brown eyes that sparkled even in the darkness of the warehouse. She reached over and brushed his hair aside. She kissed his cheek.

  Yes. I promise you that you are wonderful. That much I know.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He continued to hold her eyes. He was sharp. Perhaps he believed her. Perhaps he didn't. But he did relax. “Why can't we go to the police?” he asked.

  “I want to do more research first.”

  “On what?”

  “Indians,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  She let go of him and stood, wiping her hands on her trousers, the flashlight tucked under her chin. “You said they lived here first. I want to hear their side of the story.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Angela drove Kevin home. They spoke little on the way. Kevin was still digesting the news that she had gone out with another guy. Angela couldn't stop thinking about food. She had nine bucks in her purse, but she wondered if she needed to stop at an automatic teller machine to get more money in order to satisfy her hunger. She hadn't a clue what was causing the immense craving. She couldn't be pregnant, that she knew for sure.

  Kevin was reluctant to leave her when she stopped in front of his house. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To the library.”

  “Why don't you want me to come with you?” he asked.

  “Because I'm in a weird mood.”

  “You're always in a weird mood. I can help you.”

  Her stomach growled. It actually felt as if it were digesting itself. “I have to go. Please? I’ll call you later.”

  Kevin got out slowly. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

  “I don't know. Resting. I think I do have the flu. I'll call you tomorrow.”

  “Fine.” He shut the car door. “Stay away from the bad guys, A and W.”

  “I will.”

  She drove straight to the McDonald's, doing well over the speed limit all the way. She ordered another Big Mac and a Coke, leaving off the fries. It was a relief to put the food in her mouth and chew it. Yet the hamburger didn't satisfy her. They had cooked the meat too much, she thought. Nevertheless, she ordered another burger before she was done swallowing the first one. This time she told them she wanted it extra rare. The second one tasted better, and her hunger finally began to diminish, although it didn't go away completely. She contemplated ordering a third for the road, in case she got hungry later, but she couldn't eat three Big Macs! She had never eaten two before.

  Next stop was the library. The old woman with the book tapes was behind the desk. She was listening to a Shakespearean play; it sounded like Hamlet. Angela wondered if she should explain to her that there were such things as headphones. The woman smiled kindly at her as she approached the desk.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Angela said. “I want all the material you have on two subjects. The Indians who lived in this area before the white man arrived, and the meteor that created Point Lake.”

  The old woman was excited. She looked like somebody’s grandmother who had just got stoned on marijuana for the first time. “Do you like Indians?” she asked, turning off her tape. “I love them myself.” She began to get up. “I know where every word on them is in this library. You just have a seat, and I'll bring you the material. What was the other thing you were interested in? Parking meters?”

  Angela had to smile. “The meteor that formed the lake.”

  “I'll see what I've got,” the woman said.

  She was gone for some time. Angela worried that she had sat down and dozed off. But eventually she returned with a handful of material. Most of it was magazine articles and loose papers. There was one book, however – small and poorly bound. It looked as if it had been published at home with desktop equipment. Angela thanked the woman and went off in the corner to study. The woman put her tape back on – Hamlet was talking to his father's ghost.

  There was only one article on the meteor and Point Lake. Angela read it first. The piece started with a discussion on how long ago the meteor – the article never debated for a moment whether it was a meteor or not – hit the Earth. Angela was surprised to learn the author had determined, using a carbon-14 radioactive decay test, that the meteor had hit the area as little as one hundred thousand years ago. Angela knew a little about astronomy. That wasn't very long ago. The author went on to describe the extremely high magnetic content of the rock in and around Point Lake. He finished by comparing it to another meteor site down in South America that was also now a lake. He said the two holes in the ground appeared to have been formed at the same time by the same highly magnetic ore from outer space.

  He didn't say anything about the water in the lake being unhealthy.

  Angela made a note of the author's name – Alan Spark. He was a professor of geology at the University of Michigan. That was only a ninety-minute drive from Point. Perhaps she’d visit him someday.

  The material on the native Americans took longer to wade through. Apparently the Manton had been the predominant tribe in the region until the white man had arrived a couple of hundred years ago and destroyed their lifestyle. There were numerous anecdotes of battles, of treaties signed, of more battles. It blew Angela's mind how many promises the US government made and broke with the Manton. These native Americans were either a trusting sort, or else they had short memories. Of course, they probably had no choice but to agree to the government's treaties. History was overrunning them, and there was no stopping it.

  Buried in the history were several intriguing references to Point Lake. First off, its Indian name was Sethia, which meant Bath of Blood. Angela stopped and asked herself why they'd have given such a picturesque lake as Point Lake such a terrible name. She couldn't imagine it and dug deeper for an explanation, figuring there must have been a major battle on its shores. But she could find no such reference. The name Sethia seemed to go way back, thousands of years perhaps. The word appeared loosely connected to another strange word – KAtuu. There was one story describing how the KAtuu emerged from the depths of the lake. Another spoke of the KAtuu coming out of the sky above the water. Try as she might, Angela couldn't find out exactly what the KAtuu were. In one place they were described as tiny insects too small for the human eye to see. In another they were spoken of as huge bat-like beings that could cross great distances rapidly. In all ways they described as deadly and to be feared. Above all, it was clear the Manton avoided Point Lake. It appeared that they successfully quarantined the area around the lake for decades at a time. It was a sacred rule among the Manton that no one of their tribe, under any circumstances, was to drink the water in the lake.

  “Oh, my,” Angela muttered to herself. “Somebody should have shown the local board of education these stories.”

  “Did you say something, dear?” the old librarian asked, turning off her book tape. Angela had been so engrossed in her research she didn't know what the woman was listening to now.

  “I was just remarking to myself how fascinating the Indian history is in this area,” Angela said.

  The woman clapped her hands – she was pleased to find a mutual fan. “Isn't it?” she asked. “But if you really want to hear wonderful stories about the Indians who lived around here, you must talk to Shining Feather. He can tell you stories first-hand. He's been around a long time.”

  “Pardon?”

  “He's an old Indian who lives off Highway Seventeen near Wind Break. There's a shop there called Cheap Stuff. It's run by Shining Feather's great-great-granddaughter. You'll have to be careful with her. She'll try to sell you one of the rugs she makes whether you want it or not. I have three of her rugs at home in the closet.”

  “How old is this Shining Feather?” Angela asked.

  “I don't know
. He had white hair when I went to visit him for the first time.” The old woman stopped and scratched her balding white head. She frowned. “That was back in the Depression, when I was a little girl.”

  Angela drove from the library to the shop, stopping along the way at a deli. Maybe she was pregnant and had conceived during an erotic dream. She bought the strangest thing to eat: a foot-long German sausage and a loaf of bread. She didn't even touch the bread, though. She gobbled down the sausage as she drove along Highway I7. It was only when she was done that she realized it hadn't even been cooked.

  Still tasted great.

  Cheap Stuff looked cheap from the outside. A wooden shack built against an aging brick home, it was set back from the road and had a peeling wooden pony standing guard outside on a lawn of dust. Angela parked and went in. The great-great-granddaughter greeted her. It had to be the woman. She was native American, and she had a blanket in her hands that she wanted to show Angela.

  “I’m really here to see Shining Feather,” Angela said, glancing about. The shop held shelves of pottery, woven baskets, hand-carved wooden figures – nothing that would interest a young woman raised in shopping malls.

  “Feather, he's taking nap,” the woman said. She was about thirty and very fat. She wore her black hair in a long, thick ponytail that reached past her waist. She shoved her blanket into Angela's arms. “This I give you for sixty bucks. It's a genuine Manton blanket.”

  The brown blanket looked as if it had been purchased at Wal-Mart and then had a couple of white pictographs sewn on it with thread. “I don't have sixty bucks,” Angela said. “But I have a report on the Manton that I have to finish for class Monday. It's real important I speak to your great-great-grandfather. Could I come back at a later time?”

  The woman was interested. “Are you saying good things about us?”

  “Very good things.”

  “How much money do you have?”

  “About two bucks.”

  The woman reached for a small clay figure on a nearby shelf. It was of a young native girl. “I'll sell you this and then go wake Feather.”

  “I don't want you to wake him. He might not like that.”

  The woman shrugged and put the figure in a brown bag. “He sleeps all the time. I'll have to wake him sooner or later so that he can get up to go to the bathroom.”

  Angela handed over her remaining two dollars, and the woman disappeared into the back. Angela decided she definitely had to stop at an ATM on the way home. She wasn't going back to her grandfather's place without groceries. She checked the time – five thirty-two. Jim had said he wanted to see her again at seven.

  The woman reappeared and gestured that Angela was to follow her into the house portion of the structure, which was a questionable improvement over the retail part. They went through a messy kitchen and an impoverished living-room into a tiny bedroom. Here things were neater; the bed was made, and the window was open, facing the sunset. The room smelled nice; a stick of incense burned in the corner. Shining Feather sat wrapped in a blanket in front of a fuzzy TV. He didn't look as if he'd been asleep at all. He glanced over as Angela entered and said something she did not understand.

  “What?” she mumbled.

  “He said, ‘Hi, how are you?’” the woman said.

  “He doesn't speak English?” she asked.

  “He used to, but he's forgotten most of it. He prefers Manton. I will translate for you.” She pointed. “Sit there in front of him, on that blanket. You like that blanket? I got it at Wal-Mart, on sale.”

  “It’s very fine,” Angela said, taking her place on the floor at the old man's feet. He was small and bent; the threads of white hair on his head were few and far between. But his skin was not excessively wrinkled for someone of his great age, and his black eyes, as they peered down at her, were keen and alert. It was almost as if he saw things about her she'd rather he couldn't see.

  What have I got to hide?

  Things. A strange story of monsters. An illicit kiss. A warehouse stained with blood. A huge appetite. She was keeping a few secrets these days.

  “Hello,” she said to the old man.

  He nodded. He might have understood some English even if he didn't speak it. He said something to the woman in Manton.

  “Feather wants you to mention in your report that the Manton were the greatest warriors that ever lived,” the woman said.

  Angela smiled back at Shining Feather. “Tell him that I have already done that.” The woman translated her words before Angela continued. “Tell him that I would like to ask him some questions about Point Lake.”

  Once more the woman relayed the message. Angela was surprised when Shining Feather forcibly shook his head. “He doesn't want to talk about the lake,” the woman said. “He says it's a bad place.”

  “That's specifically what I wanted to talk to him about,' Angela said.

  Shining Feather continued to speak. “He says he was the one who convinced some white settlers not to drink the water from the lake,” the woman translated. “He says they didn’t listen to him at first but they learned to listen. He says that all the water drunk in the area comes from wells, not the lake, and he is responsible for that.”

  Angela shook her head. “Tell him that the water for the new school that was built on the lake comes from the lake, and that several kids have got sick at the school, and that we don't know what the sickness is.”

  After the woman relayed the message, Shining Feather grew agitated. He pulled his blanket tighter and squirmed in his seat. He began to speak more rapidly than before.

  “He says the sickness is from the water in the lake,” the woman said, “and that children must not drink the water. He says if they stop immediately they will get better, but if they don't stop, terrible things will happen to them. He says you must go to the people in charge of the school and alert them to the danger. He says this happened before to white settlers. Many of them got sick until they listened to him. But he says all those settlers got better just by staying away from the water.”

  “Ask him what things will happen if people continue to drink the water,” Angela said.

  The old man shook his head when the question was relayed. “He will not speak of it,” the woman said.

  “Why not?” Angela asked.

  The old man kept shaking his head. “He says you don’t want to know what will happen,” the woman said.

  “Ask him why the lake was named Sethia by the Manton,” Angela said.

  Shining Feather responded. “He says you don't want to know,” the woman said.

  “Tell him I know the name means the Bath of Blood,” Angela said.

  Shining Feather became silent for a moment, staring at her. Finally he spoke softly to his great-great-grand-daughter. “He wants to know what else you know,” the woman said.

  “Tell him I have read about the KAtuu, and that I—”

  Shining Feather interrupted her with a yell. He shook his head vigorously and began to speak in Manton. “You are not to say that word,” the woman said. “He says it is an evil word from an evil time. But he wants to know why you want to know about that word.”

  Angela looked the old man in the eyes. “Tell him that several of the kids at the school may have changed in some way, and I am wondering if they have changed into – KAtuu.”

  Shining Feather was obviously disgusted that she had said the cursed word again because he did not immediately respond. When he did his voice was once more soft. “He wants to know in what way the children have changed,” the woman said. “He wants to know if anyone has died, and he wants to know how they died.” She added, “This is weird.”

  “Two people have died,” Angela said. "They were killed by a girl who was convinced the people had changed into something evil. But the people, before they died, might have killed others.” Angela paused. “They might have eaten four people alive.”

  Shining Feather was distressed by her answer. He continued to watch her, his eyes mo
re alert than before, less kind. He spoke again. “He wants to know if the girl was able to kill all the strange children,” the woman said.

  “No,” Angela said.

  Shining Feather spoke. “How many are still alive?” the woman asked.

  “I don't know,” Angela said. “Why did the Manton call the lake the Bath of Blood?”

  Shining Feather answered. “Because it was where the drinking of blood always started,” the woman said.

  “I don't understand,” Angela said. “The lake was filled with blood?”

  Shining Feather responded. “The lake is filled with water,” the woman said. “The – he doesn't want to say the word – are filled with blood.”

  “I’m confused,” Angela said. “Are the KAtuu normal people who have changed as a result of drinking the water in the lake?”

  Shining Feather scowled at the word. It really annoyed him. Angela didn’t know how to get around using it. He responded. “He says that nothing about the ‘changed ones’ is normal,” the woman said. “He says they change all at once, but very slowly, too.”

  “What does that mean?” Angela asked. “He's contradicting himself.”

  Shining Feather spoke. “He says they change on the inside before they change on the outside,” the woman said. “They are hard to recognize at first.”

  “How can you recognize them?” Angela asked.

  Shining Feather's eyes bored into her as he spoke. “They are always hungry for blood,” the woman said.

  No, I don't want blood. I just want hamburgers and sausage. I don’t want blood!

  “Oh, no,” Angela whispered.

  Shining Feather suddenly leaned over and grabbed Angela's wrist. She tried to shake off his hold, but he was strong. He tightened his grip and felt along the soft tissue just below her thumb. He was feeling for her pulse. She went still and let him complete his examination. He didn't like what he found. A few seconds later he threw her hand aside and pointed angrily towards the door, yelling something in Manton at her.