Turning away from the hutch, he was about to unpack another box when he heard a car pull into the driveway. Curious, he left the living room and headed for the front door.
Stepping out onto the porch, he saw a sheriff's patrol car pulling to a stop in front of the house. He frowned, wondering what could possibly be wrong. Could they have done something without obtaining the proper permit? He was sure they had taken all of the legal steps necessary to repair the old house.
The patrol car pulled to a stop and a tall, muscular man in a tan uniform stepped out. He was about six foot three, and looked to be in his late forties, his brown hair little longer than a crew cut. He reminded Mike of all the marine drill sergeants portrayed in Hollywood movies, a flower child's worst nightmare. The man looked around, then removed his sunglasses and turned toward Mike.
"Mr. Anthony?"
Mike stepped off the porch and approached the officer, seeing by his badge that he was a sheriff.
"I'm Mike Anthony," he replied with a nod. "Is there something wrong?"
"No, sir. Nothing's wrong," the sheriff said, looking Mike over in that funny way law enforcement officers often do, mentally sizing him up. "I'm Jody Douglas, Sheriff of Hudson County. I heard you had moved into the neighborhood, and just wanted to stop by to say howdy."
The sheriff offered his hand but did not smile, leaving Mike to wonder if it really was a friendly visit. Mike took the hand offered him, feeling a hidden strength in the sheriff's grasp. This was not someone he would ever want to get into a boxing match with. Nor did he want to arm wrestle with him.
For some reason Mike felt as if he should know the sheriff. The name was vaguely familiar. Suddenly, as he stood there shaking hands, another forgotten piece of memory clicked into place.
Jody Douglas was a name from Mike's childhood, a name that left a bad taste in the back of his mouth. The man standing before him, a person who now upheld the law, once belonged to a group of local teenagers who had delighted in tormenting Mike's grandmother.
Several times a week Jody and his cohorts would drive down Sawmill Road
past the house, shouting “Crazy woman” and other derogatory things as loud as they could. Sometimes they would even pull into the driveway, daring the old woman to come outside and confront them.
Mike released the sheriff's hand and stood looking at him. He started to say something, but was interrupted by the feeling of Pinky rubbing against his leg. Jody looked down at the cat, a look of disdain clearly etched upon his face.
"That's one hell of a cat you got there, Mr. Anthony. He must weigh at least fifteen pounds."
"Seventeen," Mike answered.
"Never did much care for cats," Jody continued. "I'm a dog man myself. Got a couple of retrievers."
Almost as if he understood what the sheriff was saying about him, Pinky looked up at Jody Douglas and hissed.
The sheriff took a step back. "That cat of yours seems a little vicious. You might want to think about putting him on a leash."
Mike almost laughed. You couldn't put a cat on a leash, especially one as independent as Pinky. "He's never attacked anyone yet," he said, bending over to rub the big cat behind the ears. "He probably just smells your dogs."
"Maybe," Jody nodded, looking suspiciously at Pinky as he wandered off in search of attention elsewhere. The sheriff watched the cat enter the house, then turned his attention back to Mike.
"There's going to be a social dance at the VFW Hall this coming Saturday night, kind of a monthly gathering of the locals. If you haven’t got anything planned, you and the missus might think about stopping by. Practically the whole town will be there. You being a celebrity of sorts, I reckon a lot of people will expect you to show up. You wouldn't want to disappoint you fans. Would you?"
Mike doubted if any fans of his would be in attendance, but the dance might be just the thing to meet some of their new neighbors. Besides, he and Holly could use a little rest and relaxation after working so hard with the move.
"I'll try to squeeze it in," Mike said.
The sheriff nodded and walked slowly back to his patrol car. "I'll probably see you at the dance then," he said, opening the door and climbing behind the wheel. He nodded to Mike as he slipped his sunglasses back on and started up the car.
Mike watched as Jody Douglas turned the patrol car around and drove back down the driveway. He stood there, wondering if the man had really changed since his teenage years. Surely the cruelty he seemed to enjoy in his younger days was nothing more than the stupidity of youth, or the raging hormones of a teenager. In a rural county like Hudson, there probably weren't too many ways for young people to vent off steam. Tormenting Mike's grandmother, as mean-spirited as it had been, was probably nothing more than a way for a handful of boys to break the boredom.
At least Mike hoped Jody Douglas had buried his mean streak in the past, for a sheriff who still acted that way would be a terrible thing indeed.
5
Long ago, when the world was still new, the ancient people and the ancient creatures did not live on the top of the earth. They lived beneath it. There were four worlds: this one on top of the earth, and below it three cave worlds, one below the other. The Hopi people lived in the underworld, which was the original place of all human life. In the beginning life was good, and the people were happy.
But evil came to the underworld of the first Hopi, entering the hearts of the high priests. Instead of keeping the sacred rites and leading their people, as they were supposed to do, the high priests began to cheat the people. The underground world soon became a terrible place to live, and the people longed to live elsewhere.
Knowing they had to find a way out of the underground world, the people of good hearts gathered together to talk over their problems and to pray for a solution. They had heard stories that a world existed above theirs, and wanted to know if those stories were really true.
The people called upon the birds for help, asking if they would fly up into the sky to see if there was an opening to the other world. The called upon the canary, the swallow, the hawk, and even the mighty eagle for help. While each bird flew as high as he could — and several of them saw that there was indeed an opening to another world — none were strong enough to fly through that opening to see the world that awaited beyond.
The situation was beginning to seem hopeless, when the good-hearted people called upon the catbird for help. The catbird, who is the cousin of the mockingbird, flew so high that he passed right through the narrow opening separating the underworld from the world above it. Nearly faint from exertion, the catbird returned to tell about the wonders that awaited the people in the world beyond darkness.
Knowing they could not fly up to the opening, the people called upon the chipmunk for help. The chipmunk planted the seed of a spruce tree, singing magical songs to make the tree grow quickly into the sky. But the spruce was much too short for the people to climb up through the opening.
Determined to help the people reach the next world, the tiny chipmunk planted the seed of a pine tree, but it was also too short to reach the opening. Next he planted the shoot of a bamboo plant, covering it with sacred cornmeal and praying that the bamboo would grow higher than the evergreen trees he had planted. The little chipmunk continued to sing his magical songs until the bamboo plant grew high enough to pass through the opening into the world above.
Gathering together their meager possessions, and carrying prayer offerings, the people cut an opening in the bottom of the bamboo plant and climbed up through its inside to the new world. They left behind an elderly wise man who waited for the people to make their climb into the new world, then cut down the bamboo plant so none of the evil people or creatures that lived in the darkness would follow them to their new home.
Sam Tochi had learned the creation stories of his people, in all their variations, when he was just a small boy living on the Hopi reservation in Arizona — years before the white man had taken him from his parents, forcing him to
go to the Indian boarding school in Phoenix — but it wasn't until he was a young man that he understood the truth in those stories. He had seen the truth with his own eyes, but few people believed him. To most he was nothing more than a crazy old Indian.
"Crazy old Indian. Maybe it is the white people who are crazy. They do not listen to the old legends, and have even forgotten the history of their town. The old people were believers, but they are all gone now. Vivian believed, but she too has crossed over to the spirit world."
Dressed in blue jeans, moccasins, and an old green work shirt, Sam sat cross-legged in his backyard and watched as the fading sun painted the western sky in shades of red and orange. Before him a small altar of sand had been spread upon the ground, the sand held in place by a frame of four boards each measuring two feet in length. In the center of the altar was a wooden bowl containing water, and for each direction an ear of corn had been placed. Each ear of corn was a different color: white for the east, red for the south, blue for the west, and yellow for the north. In addition to the corn, two prayer sticks and an eagle feather had also been placed upon the altar.
On the ground beside him was his medicine bundle: a beaded leather bag containing his sacred pipe, assorted herbs, feathers, prayer sticks, and other items of medicine. Opening the bag, he removed the pipe and a small leather pouch containing tobacco. The Hopi used three varieties of native tobacco in their smoke; the tobacco in Sam's pouch was the same type used by his people in the kivas for important ceremonies. Sam did not have an underground kiva in his backyard, but he knew the spirits would still help him as long as he prayed with a pure heart.
Opening the bag, he removed his medicine pipe and placed it on his lap. The clay bowl of the pipe was about an inch in diameter and a little over twice that in depth, decorated with zigzag lines that represented both snakes and lightning. Snakes were sacred to the Hopi people, for they were considered to be the bringers of rain which guaranteed a good harvest.
Sam had once been a member of the Snake religious society, and had taken part in many Snake ceremonies while living on the Hopi reservation. The Snake ceremony was conducted by the Snake and Antelope societies and lasted for nine days. For the first few days of the ceremony, the members of the societies, all men, would prepare themselves by praying, making prayer offerings, and setting up altars inside the kivas. Then for four days they would go out into the desert to capture snakes, both poisonous and nonpoisonous, which were kept in special pens inside the kivas.
On the morning of the ninth day, Sam and the other members of his society would remove the snakes from their pens. They would wash the snakes in water, and then dry them in sand. As a test to see if their hearts were pure and fearless, the men would then drape the snakes over their bodies. The snakes would sleep on those who passed the test, and they would sometimes bite those who failed.
At sunset of the ninth day, the Snake society members would dance in a circle around the village plaza carrying the reptiles in their mouths. Accompanying each dancer was a second man who carried a snake whip made of eagle feathers. The snakes were terrified of eagles and the touch of the feathers was often enough to keep one from striking the dancer who held it. After the dance the snakes were returned to the desert, carrying the prayers of the people to the spirits so rain would come again to the land of the Hopi.
Sam smiled. It had been a long time since he was a member of the Snake society, longer still since he last danced with a live rattlesnake in his mouth. He no longer danced the Snake dance, but he still had his society kilt and feathered headdress. They were his most precious possessions, and he would not trade them for all the money in the world.
He opened the small leather pouch and removed a pinch of tobacco, placing it in the bowl of his pipe. A second pinch soon followed, and then a third. Closing the pouch, he removed a butane lighter from his shirt pocket and lit the pipe.
Sam inhaled deeply, bringing the flame to the bowl and drawing the sacred smoke into his body. He exhaled, raising the pipe above him in offering to the Great Spirit. He inhaled again, and offered the pipe to the earth and the spirits of the four directions. He prayed to the winds, and to the sacred spirits, asking them to watch over his people. Last he raised his pipe and asked the spirits to please tell him what had happened to him on Tuesday, because, while he could clearly remember the Snake dances and creation stories of the Hopi, he could not remember what he had done the day before.
"Great spirit, please hear my prayer. I offer this pipe to you in a sacred manner. Please open my ears so I may hear your voice. Open my eyes so I may see the things you put before me to see. Let the cloud that covers my mind be lifted so I many know of the things I have said and done. Please, if it be your will, let me remember."
It was not the first time Sam had had a blank spot in his memory, and it would not be the last. He remembered yesterday morning, but then a spell brought on by his sickness had occurred and everything else was a blur. He must have gone to the pharmacy to have his prescription of pain medicine refilled, for the bottle once empty was now full, but he could not remember going or coming back. Nor could he remember if he had talked to anyone along the way. He had been out of his head yesterday, pure and simple, a babbling old Indian driven to the point of insanity by the pain of an ever growing brain tumor.
His memory of the previous day was gone, and in its place was the feeling that something bad was about to happen. It was a feeling he could not shake, no matter how hard he tried. Even taking twice his normal dosage of pain medicine had not helped. The pain had gone away, but the bad feeling had remained to haunt him.
Finished with his prayers, he dug a small hole in the ground and buried the ashes from his pipe. To the west the colors of the sunset were being quickly swallowed by the darkness of the coming night. A shudder of fear passed through the old man as he watched the approaching darkness, remembering the terrors that nighttime had once brought to the area years earlier. Again the feeling came over Sam that something bad was about to happen.
6
Thursday.
Tommy was excited, but Megan was less than thrilled about going to a new school, especially one in a town as small as Braddock. She had tried to stall for a few more days off, claiming exhaustion from the move, but her parents wouldn't hear of it. They said she had already missed a week of school, and could not afford to miss any more days.
Nor did Megan like the idea of having to ride a school bus, crowded in with a bunch of kids she didn't know. Country kids. They probably wore bib overalls, smelled of livestock, and chewed tobacco. Gross.
Of course, Megan had never met any real country kids before, so she couldn’t swear they all wore overalls and chewed tobacco, but that's what they always looked like on television. Shows like those shown on Nickelodeon always portrayed country kids as social misfits spawned from cousins marrying cousins, and even brothers marrying sisters.
Boys weighing three hundred pounds, in raggedy jeans, with a pack of Redman in their back pocket, or a tin of Skoal, carrying a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, on their way to the junkyard to steal hubcaps, or the fishing hole to feed frogs firecrackers to watch them explode. Girls wearing gunnysack dresses, with long stringy hair never touched by either conditioner or shampoo, missing front teeth because their daddies got drunk one night and decided to beat someone besides the wife, putting out for any boy in the trailer park who would even look their way, smelling of cheap wine, sweat, and odors best not thought about.
Standing where the driveway connected to Sawmill Road
, Megan wished she was back in New York City among the sights, sounds, and friends she loved. Why did her father have to move to the country in the first place? There was nothing but trees, fields, and old farmhouses, absolutely nothing to do.
It wasn't like they were poor and had to move to the country. Her parents were wealthy enough to afford living in a nicer part of the city, sending her and Tommy to private schools. Crack dealers didn't hang out on the str
eet corners where they had lived; gangs didn't run rampant, spray painting their graffiti on the walls, like they did in other neighborhoods. Upper Manhattan wasn't like the bad places they always showed on 20/20 and Dateline.
Just because a friend of her father's had been killed they had to move. It wasn't fair. It wasn't her friend who had died, nor did the murder happen anywhere near their neighborhood.
For all she knew the guy might have deserved to die. Maybe he was a gangster with ties to organized crime. Perhaps he was a crooked drug dealer, or he had fooled around with someone's wife or girlfriend. She wasn't sure why her father's friend had died, but she knew it had nothing to do with her or where they lived. And she wasn't scared because of it.
But the murder had scared her father. He had come home that night as white as a ghost, trembling and crying. He had told the story to Holly, his fingers clutching a full glass of scotch, shaking so hard the ice cubes rattled like bones. He had kept his voice low so the children wouldn't hear, but Megan had heard every word he said.
Her father had changed that night. He had lost his nerve, growing afraid of the city he once loved. The very next day he had called a company to install an alarm system in their apartment, and an extra deadbolt lock. They had started staying home more, having ‘family nights’ instead of going out like they used to.
New York was fun in the daytime, but the city was at its best at night. Lit up in fiery brilliance, all shiny and glimmering, like some fabled city out of a fantasy. Before her father had lost his nerve, she used to go out with her friends at night to do a little shopping, take in a movie, or grab a sandwich at one of the many little coffee shops. Sometimes they would even venture down to Times Square to look at the lights and watch the tourists. Forty-second Street was always exciting and vibrant, a circus performance of humanity acted out on a stage of concrete.
Darker Than Night Page 5