Black Rite

by Allen Caraway

  ‘Bronson County Sheriff’s Office is equally shocked by this crime and Sheriff John Cowley takes it personally.’

  Cowley, an overweight balding man in his mid-forties, spoke with the same tone of disbelief that McFadden had, although instead of looking distressed, Cowley looked angry.

  ‘My grandfather was Bronson County Sheriff when Miss Dashwood was alive and was a good friend of hers. I’m glad he’s no longer alive to see this. I honestly can’t believe such a thing would happen in a close knit community like Harkinen. It’s just a tragedy. I can’t imagine the mindset that it would take to do something like this. We spoke to personnel, management of the Redwood Hill Cemetery and in their one hundred and sixty years of experience here, they cannot recall any incident, anything like this. The entire community is outraged and it’s a case where every deputy has a hand in the investigation.’

  Returning to a shot of Copeland squatting beside Lizzy’s headstone, the reporter said:

  ‘If you know anything about why someone desecrated Elizabeth Dashwood’s grave or who that person may be, you’re asked to call the number on your screen. In Bronson County, Hank Copeland, WRHB Action News.’

  ~

  By the next day, WRHB and the other networks had moved on to other stories but the Bronson County Daily News and a few other newspapers continued running it, rehashing the TV reports until two days after the initial WRHB story when the Daily News discovered something that Larry McFadden hadn’t mentioned to the TV reporters.

  NEW EVIDENCE EMERGES IN THEFT OF ACTRESS’S REMAINS

  By Mikael Hammarsten, Bronson County Daily News staff writer

  New information has come to light regarding the theft of Elizabeth Dashwood’s remains from Redwood Hill Cemetery in Harkinen.

  Caretaker Larry McFadden, 61, stated to detectives from Bronson County Sheriff’s Office that he saw hand and footprints on the ground at the scene of the crime. Mr. McFadden also repeated the information to fellow customers at the Condor’s Nest bar in Harkinen.

  I interviewed a number of the bar’s regulars. One of whom, local man Tom Ginnley, informed me: “Larry told a bunch of us that he saw small handprints and footprints, like a woman’s, in the loose soil by the grave. He said there were two widely spaced handprints with deep finger indentations as if someone had been standing in it and gripped the side of the grave to boost themselves out. Between those was a footprint and a small, round, shallow hole that looked like someone had been kneeling down. Kinda like they were steadying themselves after getting out.”

  When I later spoke to Mr. McFadden, he confirmed this.

  “I seen other footprints, too,” he said, “leading away from the grave. The bizarre thing was that the thief was walking around with no shoes on. Hauled themselves out of Lizzy’s grave and strolled around barefoot. Can’t imagine what kind of weird idiot would steal a corpse and do it barefoot. Would make it easier to get themselves identified.”

  Det. Rob Schwartz, who is leading the investigation, said that the identity of the person who left the prints is, “yet to be determined.”

  If you have any information regarding this case, call the sheriff's hotline at 555-268-8570.

  If you ever find her, Detective Schwartz, I thought, prepare to be scared shitless.

  As it turned out, it wasn’t the sheriff’s office who found Lizzy.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  That night, I lay in bed trying to accept the reality of Lizzy’s resurrection, asking myself where she had gone after following me home and why someone else hadn’t seen her. You’d think that if a naked corpse decided to thumb a ride on Route 270 or go for a leisurely hike around the forest it would be hard to miss.

  I sighed, got out of bed, padded into my office, fired up my PC and searched online for any unusual sightings in Harkinen. Nothing. I widened my search to cover all of Channon Valley. Still nothing. This was ridiculous. How could she just disappear?

  Okay, where would she go after coming here? I thought for the twelfth time. Would any of her friends still be alive?

  I chewed that over for a moment.

  Highly unlikely. They’re probably all dead by now and any that might still be alive won’t be for much longer if she turns up at their house. The sight of her will give ‘em a heart attack.

  I gave up and went back to bed where I stared at the ceiling for several minutes, now feeling annoyingly awake.

  ‘Fuckin’ hell,’ I muttered and looked at my clock radio. 22:47. ‘Terrific.’

  I got up again, went downstairs, turned on the TV, watched the tail end of a Friends rerun, then switched over to WRHB Action News. Lizzy was back on their radar, although demoted to the last story, which – given its National Enquirer-esque subject matter – wasn’t surprising.

  ‘You may think that Halloween has come early this year,’ the glossy female anchor said with an impressively straight face, ‘because in a bizarre twist to the unsolved theft of Golden Age actress Elizabeth Dashwood’s corpse three days ago, a local man is claiming that it wasn’t stolen, that Dashwood is in fact alive. Hank Copeland returned to Harkinen and sent us this report.’’

  While strolling through Redwood Hill Cemetery, Copeland summarized his previous stories and then paused by Lizzie’s headstone.

  ‘… and this, according to one local resident,’ Copeland said, ‘is where the mystery gets even stranger, because he claims to have witnessed Elizabeth Dashwood rising from her grave the night her corpse disappeared.’

  The scene cut to a prerecorded interview with Mitchell Theogrant, a short wiry bald man in his forties who had drifted into town last fall and was currently working on Guy Deschamps ranch. What he said to Copeland would probably follow him around for the rest of his life. It was beyond ridiculous.

  I believed every word.

  ‘So, Mitchell, what exactly did you see?

  ‘Umm …’ Mitchell paused. He looked scared. ‘Well, it was payday see so I was, um, I spent the evenin’ down the Condor’s Nest an’ Dave – that’s the bartender – he took the keys to my truck coz he said I weren’t fit to drive an’ he called me a cab. So like, I waited, an’ the cab didn’t show, so I started walkin’, thinkin’ I’d meet it coming down, y’know? Redwood Cemetery is on the way back to the ranch an’ I seen that McFadden, um Larry, hadn’t locked the gates. Y’know, sometimes he forgets. So I stand outside waitin’ for the taxi, then thought f … damnit, I’d take a wander inside. Cemeteries are kinda cool in the dark. I’ve done that a few times. After a while I sit down an’ was havin’ a smoke – by that stage I’d forgotten all about the taxi – an’ that’s when I hear it: the sound of somethin’ pushin’ through loose earth. I thought it was an animal, then I hear this grunt an’ the howl of somethin’ that sounded like it was in pain, real pain.

  ‘I gotta pen light hangin’ from my belt, so I take it off an’ shine it in the direction of the noise an’ that’s when I seen her. At least I think it was a her. Someone was climbing out of a grave. Not only that but she looked like …’

  Theogrant paused, clearly struggling to find the words.

  ‘It looked like she was forming right in front of me, like she was comin’ together, y’know? She was naked an’ covered in blood an’ had her hands up to her face an’ she was just … like I said, howling in anguish an’ pain. I tell ya, I have never, never been so goddamn scared in my life. I’ve travelled all around America an’ been abroad too, an’ I’ve seen some weird stuff, but this … man.’ Theogrant shook his head. ‘Nothin’s come close. Nothin’.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Theogrant looked at Copeland as if he thought the reporter was an idiot. ‘I ran.’

  The scene cut back to Copeland standing next to Lizzie’s grave.

  ‘I honestly don’t know what to make of Mitchell Theogrant’s story, but there is one thing I’m certain of: he genuinely believes he saw Elizabeth Dashwood and was obviously traumatized by the experience. So much so that s
hortly after our interview, Mitchell quit his job at Ferry Ranch and left town, presumably forever.

  ‘In Bronson County, Hank Copeland, WRHB Action News.’

  I switched off the TV and stared into the darkness for a while, then trudged upstairs.

  It took me two hours to get to sleep.

  ~

  When I’d finished for the day, I drove into town to buy some new tools from Anderson’s Hardware, then parked in front of 4/4 Native and walked inside.

  ‘Bro, I’ve seen road kill that looks better than you,’ Tony said.

  I gave him a wry smile. ‘Thanks, man. I love you too.’

  ‘Yeah? Does this mean we’re having a bromance, ‘cause if so, you never call, you never write …’

  I gave him the finger and he laughed.

  ‘So, what’s up, brother? How come you look like you haven’t slept in days?’

  Well, I recently discovered that Gary was into black magic and was also a psycho pedophile who brutally murdered two young girls during a ritual to resurrect a dead actress that he’d become obsessed with, which - ridiculous as it may seem – I’m convinced he actually succeeded in doing ‘cause I saw her last week.

  ‘Just had a few rough nights.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Tony looked at me expectantly, waiting for an additional answer. When I didn’t give one, he studied my face for a moment, then changed the subject. One of the things I liked about Tony was that he never pried. I knew that if I needed to talk, he would listen, but it was always down to me.

  ‘Coffee?’ Tony said.

  ‘Love one.’

  I followed him into the back room and Tony busied himself with kettle, mugs and Nescafé.

  ‘How’s the ranch?’

  ‘Fine. Busy. Always something to do.’

  Tony nodded. ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘I’m going to buy another dog.’

  He glanced at me. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I need another soul around the place. I’ve always enjoyed living alone, but in the last few weeks the house has started to feel too large, too silent. And, well, stuff has happened at the ranch since I moved in.’

  Tony cocked an eyebrow. ‘Stuff?’

  The kettle boiled and he filled the mugs, handed me one, poured milk into his and then stirred in four sugars.

  I told him an edited version of my encounter with the old man, omitting how he had gotten inside my head, and then about seeing Lizzy, but without mentioning her name, and watched the concern grow in Tony’s face.

  He waited until I had finished, then said, ‘Good idea. There’s some crazy mother fuckers around and you’re right out in the boonies. It’s not like a neighbor can run over if you yell for help. The nearest one is what, two miles away?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah, Ted and Mary Ashmont.’

  Tony shook his head. ‘Those poor bastards.’

  ‘I know, right? They’re going through hell. Whenever I see them they look like they’re on the verge of dropping from physical and emotional exhaustion.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Tony paused, thinking, then said, ‘A dog’s a great idea. Get yourself something big that can take a chunk outta someone’s ass.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  A dog wouldn’t be able to protect me from the entity, but it would alert me to its presence and protect me from the thing that Gary had brought back. This may sound harsh, but Lizzy was dead. I couldn’t accept that the person I had seen was the same Lizzy who had lived in my house. He had resurrected a body, no more, and he had used an ancient god who was the personification and deification of evil, darkness, death and chaos to do it. As far as I was concerned, the way her eyes glowed proved that. It was inhuman. For Lizzy to come back untainted by Aritenkhede made no sense to me and I feared that she could be as dangerous as the entity.

  ‘How about another German Shepherd, like Max?’ Tony said. ‘He was a great dog.’ Tony shook his head again. ‘Can’t believe it’s been two years since he passed. Man …’

  I nodded, thinking fondly of Max, then said, ‘I dunno. Was thinking about buying an English Mastiff.’

  ‘A mastiff? Don’t know shit about mastiffs, apart from they’re frickin’ huge. Let’s Google ‘em.’

  After learning more about them, we searched for approved breeders in California and eventually found one named Jennie Portland who lived in Chico.

  I gave her a call and after she’d quizzed me about my background and why I wanted a mastiff, she said, ‘Normally you’d have to go on a waiting list, but I cleared that yesterday and have two pups left. First time in twenty-three years. You’re lucky.’

  ‘Two? I only wanted one. Feeding a mastiff costs a fortune. Two could bankrupt me.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, come down and meet ‘em. Take it from there. I’m not expecting you to take on two pups.’

  We chatted for a few more minutes and then made an appointment to meet at 2 p.m. the following afternoon.

  After hanging up, Tony said, ‘Want some company?’

  ‘Aren’t you working tomorrow?’

  ‘Bro, I haven’t had a day off in four months. June keeps nagging me to take one and says she’ll look after the store. I was thinking while you were talking that a day out would be nice, so yeah, if you’d like company, I’ll call June now.’

  ‘It’s gonna be a seven hour round trip. You sure?’

  Tony shrugged. ‘We don’t get the chance to hang out as much as we did in high school. Be nice to shoot the breeze like we used to.’

  ‘True. Pick you up at nine?’

  Tony nodded. ‘’K.’

  ~

  The following morning was cold, gray and wet. As I pulled onto Route 270, I glanced at the trees that shielded the ranch from the road and thought about Gary, Lizzy and the entity. It felt good to get away, if only for one day.

  After picking up a grinning Tony, we cruised down four state routes and then the I-5 before reaching Chico. Portland Kennels was in the suburbs, just off Highway 99. I followed the sat-nav’s directions and turned into Signal Avenue, a quiet, tree-lined street with small single story houses, a two-story apartment complex and Piquet Mobile Home Park. As the street progressed, it took on a more rural feel with large widely spaced plots, paddocks and ranch-style houses; the cars newer and more expensive, the houses bigger and better kept.

  Jennie Portland’s sandstone house was on the corner of Olivia Drive and Signal Avenue. It was large and pretty. The windows and doorways framed with chocolate colored bricks. Red-brown tiles protecting the roof, a section of which extended over a wide porch. Lawn neat, green, freshly mown. A young tree planted near the drive. Flowerbeds weed free, shrubs neatly trimmed.

  I stopped at the curb and turned off the engine.

  ‘Nice crib,’ Tony said, scanning it. ‘Well maintained and with a well-kept front yard. That’s a good sign.’

  ‘Was thinking the same thing,’ I said as I climbed out of the truck.

  We walked up the concrete path and I pressed the doorbell.

  I was about to ring it a second time when a woman dressed in blue jeans and a green jacket strode out of a side gate, swiftly appraised me, decided I was harmless and said, ‘Mr. Kain?’

  ‘Yeah, hi.’

  Smiling, she walked towards us, hand outstretched. ‘Jennie Portland.’ She transferred the smile and handshake to Tony. ‘Hi.’

  Her grip was brief and firm, smile broad and sincere. Tall, early fifties, curvy and with short gray hair, a hint of mascara around her light green-gray eyes, Jennie Portland was more handsome than pretty, which was at odds with her attractive, feminine voice. She looked tired, moving with the slow, economical movements of someone who has worked long hours with little sleep over an extended period.

  ‘Long night?’ I said.

  ‘Long year. How was the drive over?’

  ‘Not too bad, thanks, considering all of the holiday traffic.’

  Jennie nodded, then s
aid, ‘Well, follow me.’

  We walked through the gate and into a huge backyard while Jennie talked about the pups. A ten-run indoor/outdoor kennel dominated the area, the property surrounded by high mesh wire fences. The fawn colored puppies were playing on the lawn, a brindle colored adult sitting in the shade cast by a young oak tree.

  ‘This is their mom, Rose,’ Jennie said, gesturing towards the huge dog which got up, sauntered over and buried a black muzzle in my crotch.

  ‘I think you’ve scored, bro,’ Tony said as I scratched Rose behind the ears.

  Amused, I gave him a look and then watched the pups as they galloped towards us.

  ‘And those bundles of fun are Mick and Keith,’ Jennie said.

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Mick and Keith?’

  ‘I’m a big Stones fan. But I expect you’ll want to change their names.’

  ‘No, I like them.’

  She smiled. ‘Cool.’

  ‘How old are they?’ I said as they greeted Jennie affectionately, then investigated Tony and me. Tony picked one up, which promptly licked his face, while I hunkered down and made a fuss of the other pup.

  ‘Eight weeks. They were ready to go to new homes at seven weeks, but one family on the waiting list changed their mind at the last minute and another guy was … well …’ She thought for a moment.. ‘Let’s just say he wasn’t suitable.’

  Within a few minutes, I wanted to buy both pups. They were adorable, I didn’t want to break them up and they could keep each other company while I was working. For the next hour, we chatted while Mick and Keith took turns nibbling my shoelaces. Eventually, Jennie seemed satisfied that I would make a decent owner and readied the pups for departure while Tony and I shopped for puppy supplies at Costco.

  We got home just before 9.30 p.m. and Mick and Keith bounded into their new home fully charged after a long nap in the truck. I played with them in the backyard for a while in an attempt to tire them out, made sure they took a leak before coming inside and then attempted to put them to bed. I’d bought the biggest dog crates I could find and set them up side by side in the bedroom, but Mick and Keith were more interested in playing than sleeping. I didn’t want to force them inside and have them associate the crates with punishment, so I let them wander in when they were ready (both pups deciding to occupy one crate) and then, as they were accustomed to being near their mother, I wrapped towels around two hot water bottles and put them inside, more for psychological comfort than anything else, and then got ready for bed.