"Are they spirits?" Holly asked.
"Yes, and no," answered Sam. "They are like spirits, because they are not flesh and blood like us. The world the boogers live in, the world the Hopi believe we all came from, is like a spirit land. It is the place our ancestors came from, and it is the place we go to when we die. But there are other things living there besides spirits."
Holly shook her head. "I don't understand."
Sam shrugged. "It is hard for me to find the right words to explain the beliefs of my people to an outsider. Let's just say that the boogers are something my ancestors left behind in the old world, something that very much wants to be here with us."
"But why only my house?" Holly asked. "Why aren't they everywhere?"
The old man tapped the ashes from his pipe into the ashtray, then set his pipe aside. "I think the sawmill must have been built over a second Sipapuni. It was probably once closed, but over the years the boogers have been pushing and prying at it, trying to force it open so they too can come into our world. I think they opened it a little bit, but the fire at the sawmill caused them to shut it again. When I moved back here from the reservation, I went to look for the opening, but someone had built a house where the sawmill once stood."
"Vivian Martin," Holly said.
He nodded. "She was the first one brave enough to build a house in that area. Now those stories have been forgotten by all but a few."
"What about the faces on our kitchen floor?" asked Holly. "What are they?"
Sam smiled. "That is a booger looking at you from the world below ours. But there is no reason to be afraid. Even if the boogers open the doorway, the kachinas will keep them from getting through. One of two might come, but they are not dangerous unless there are many. As long as you have the kachinas you have nothing to worry about. The little statues are guardians. Protectors. They will move if there is any danger."
"The kachinas move?" Holly asked, astonished.
Sam nodded. "That is how you can tell if the boogers are coming; the kachinas will turn to face them. It is like they are turning to face an enemy. The kachinas are strong medicine. Very powerful. Very sacred."
Holly felt a sick feeling in her stomach. "But I took the statues down."
"You did what?" Sam asked, nearly jumping out of his chair.
"I took them off the shelves and packed them away in boxes. All of them. Even the wooden masks. I didn’t like them staring at me all of the time. It gave me the creeps. I also thought someone was playing a trick on us, turning the statues around to scare us."
"Your kachinas have been moving?"
Holly nodded. "But we thought someone was sneaking into the house and doing it."
"Which way are the statues turning?"
"They kept turning to face the walls."
"How many statues are turning? One? Two?"
"All of them," Holly answered.
Sam looked around the room nervously. "Not good. Not good at all. The kachinas are strong medicine. The boogers do not like the little statues. They will not come when the kachinas are watching."
"How was I supposed to know that?"
Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Did Vivian not tell you? Maybe she told your husband? Maybe she sent you a letter?"
"No. Yes. I'm not sure. Maybe in a letter. Long ago. But we thought she was crazy."
"Crazy? Crazy? Everyone in this town is crazy. But not Vivian. Not her. She's seen. She believed."
"But I didn't know that. Nobody bothered to tell me."
"Not good," Sam said. "Not good at all. All of the kachinas moving means a lot of boogers are coming. Maybe even a whole army of them. The way the kachinas are facing tells you which way the boogers are coming from. The kachinas have turned around backwards; that means the evil ones are coming through the walls."
Sam snatched at his pipe, but didn't bother to refill it. "You took the masks down too? Those masks were also medicine items, made to ward off evil. They were made by the Cherokees hundreds of years ago, passed down from one medicine man to the next."
"I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I didn't know."
"You made a big mistake."
Holly stood up. She wasn't sure how much of Sam Tochi's story she believed, but the old Indian was making her very nervous. She was thinking about her children, and wanted to get back to the house. "I've got to go home. I'll put the statues and the masks back where they belong. All of them. I promise."
Sam looked at her, fear etched upon his wrinkled face. "It may be too late."
26
"You bought a what?" Holly stood in the center of the living room, her arms folded lightly across her chest. She had had every intention of unpacking the kachinas and putting them back on the shelf, just to be on the safe side, but the sight that greeted her when she returned home made her forget all about the little wooden statues.
"I bought a shotgun," Mike answered, laying the box containing the 12-gauge on the sofa.
"Are you out of your mind?" she asked. "What in the hell did you buy that for?"
"For protection." He opened the box and removed the shotgun holding it up for her to see. "It's a Winchester 1200 riot gun. Holds five rounds in the magazine and another in the chamber."
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Protection from what? Bears? Elephants?"
"Protection from whoever is sneaking in here at night."
"Why not buy a cannon? Or a couple of landmines?" She shook her head, obviously angry. "You said you were going into town to see about buying an alarm system. Not that."
"I did look for an alarm system, but the store didn't have any."
"So you decided to buy a gun instead?"
"It seemed like the logical choice," he replied.
"Logical by whose standards?"
"Look, a lot of people living in the country own guns; it's a way of life with them. That's why there's so few robberies and break-ins. A thief wouldn't dare bother one of the farmers around here, because he would get his butt shot off."
"And just who told you this little bit of country trivia?"
"Otto Strumberg."
"Who?"
"Otto Strumberg. He owns a farm just down the road. I stopped by and spoke with him for a few minutes yesterday when I was on my way to the library. He says there's no crime in this area because the bad guys know the farmers own firearms. I told him about the trouble we were having, and he suggested that I get myself a gun."
"Oh, he did, did he/"
Mike nodded. "Otto told me to take the gun out back and shoot it off, put in a little target practice. He said word would get around that I was a gun owner and no one would dare come around at night to bother us."
"Remind me to send a little note to dear Otto thanking him for his advice," she said, sarcastically.
"When you think about it, Otto's suggestion makes sense."
"Your grandmother owned a gun and it didn't help her," snapped Holly. "What are you planning on doing? Shooting a few holes in the walls?"
"No. I'm more of a shoot-up-the-ceiling sort of guy," Mike joked. His wife was not amused.
"What about the children? It's not safe having a loaded gun in the house with the kids."
"I won't load it unless I'm planning on using it."
"It still won't be safe. You know how Tommy likes to get into your things."
As if on cue, they both heard the front door open. Glancing at her watch, Holly realized the children were already home from school. "Put that thing away," she said.
Rather than argue, Mike placed the shotgun back in its cardboard box and closed the lid. They heard footsteps, voices, and then their daughter appeared in the doorway.
"Hello," Megan said. "What are you doing in here?"
"Just talking." Holly flashed her a smile. "How was school?"
"Boring as usual." She spotted the box lying on the sofa. "What's that?"
Holly glared at Mike. "Oh, your father went out and bought himself a gun."
"
Oh," Megan said, obviously not the least bit interested in the contents of the box. "I'm going to go upstairs and listen to some music."
"Do you have any homework?" Holly asked.
"No. I finished it in school." Megan stepped back out of the doorway and disappeared. She had just left when Tommy entered the living room. The boy was holding a glass of Kool-Aid and clutching an oatmeal cookie in his left hand.
"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I'm home. Boy, you should have been at school today. There was a fight on the playground between two kids. I don't know who they were, because they were both bigger. It was pretty neat. One of the kids shoved the other to the ground, and—" He stopped talking when he saw the box lying on the sofa. "What's that?"
Again Mike received a dirty look from his wife. He ignored the look and answered his son's question. "It's a shotgun."
"Really? Wow! Can I see it?"
Removing the shotgun from its box, he held it up for his son to see. "Don't you ever touch this, Tommy. It's not for children. Do you understand?"
Tommy nodded, his gaze riveted on the gun in his father's hands. "Wow. Wait until I tell Jeff Parker about this. Jeff says he owns a .22, but this is even better. Wait until I tell him we own a shotgun."
"Whoa, hold on a minute," Mike said, stopping his son. He didn't dare look in Holly's direction. "We do not own a shotgun. I own a shotgun. Do you understand?"
The boy looked disappointed. "Can I shoot it with you?"
Mike shook his head. "I'm afraid not. A shotgun is a little too powerful. Maybe when you're bigger."
"How much bigger?" Tommy asked. "I'm growing pretty fast."
Mike smiled. "You're not growing that fast."
"Next week? Will I be beg enough next week?"
"You won't even be big enough next year. I'll tell you when you're big enough, but it won't be for a long time. Until then, you are not to touch this shotgun. Do you understand?"
Tommy nodded reluctantly. "But can I touch it now, just this once? Just this once and never again? It won't be much of a story to tell Jeff tomorrow if I never even touched it. Can I please touch it? Just once?"
Mike knew he was getting himself deeper into trouble with Holly, but he also remembered what it was like to be an excited little boy. "Okay, you can touch it. But just this once and then no more. Deal?"
"It's a deal." He set his cookie and glass of Kool-Aid down on the coffee table. "Thanks, Dad."
Mike held the gun out for Tommy to touch. The boy ran his fingers down the wooden stock and touched the metal barrel. With the touching came a dozen questions and comments.
"Wow, it's really big up close. Is this real wood? It looks heavy. Is it heavy? Is this where the bullets go? Can I see the bullets, Dad? What kind of gun is this again?"
Mike fielded the questions, then put the shotgun back in its box. "Okay, that's it. Touching time is over. Now you take your cookie and drink back into the kitchen. Your mother wouldn't like it if you left crumbs all over the place."
"Okay, I will. Thanks, Dad, for letting me touch your shotgun."
He waited for Tommy to leave the room, then turned to his wife. "See? He touched it once. He's happy. He won't touch it again without my permission."
"How can you be so sure? You know how boys are."
"Tommy's a good kid. He'll leave the gun alone. Besides, it won't much matter, because I'm not going to leave it loaded."
Holly threw her hands up in exasperation. "I just don't understand what's gotten into you. How could you buy such a thing?"
"I bought it to protect you and the kids. And I bought it to protect this house and the things we own. They may have been able to frighten my grandmother, but they are not going to frighten me. Not as long as I have this for protection.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go make a little noise."
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"I'm going to go try out this gun, fire a few rounds, get the feel of it. Having a shotgun won't do me much good if I don't know how to use it."
"What are you going to shoot at?"
"Oh, I don't know. Tin cans. Old records." He grinned. "Maybe even a shadow or two."
"That's not funny."
His grin faded. "Sorry. I couldn’t resist. I'll probably set up a target in the apple orchard. I just want to make some noise, let anybody know who might be listening that the Anthony family is no longer putting up with shit from anyone."
Holly looked at the gun and frowned. "Just make sure you go way out in the apple orchard, and aim away from the house. I don't want anyone getting shot."
"I'm not stupid. I have no intention of aiming toward the house. Even if I did, a shotgun doesn't have much range. That's why I picked this gun instead of a rifle."
"Whatever," she said, still annoyed that he had purchased any kind of firearm at all. "Just make sure Tommy doesn't follow you."
"He went upstairs. I'll slip out the front door." Transferring the shotgun to the padded carrying case, Mike grabbed the box of .08 shells and started to leave the living room. He stopped in the doorway and turned back to his wife. "By the way, where did you go today?"
"What do you mean?" Holly asked, still angry about the shotgun. "How do you know I went anywhere?"
"I passed a taxi on Sawmill Road
when I was coming home. Since we don't have any neighbors on this road, I figured you might have gone somewhere."
Holly nodded. "I took a ride into town. I just got back before you did."
"Shopping?" he asked.
"No. I went to see Sam Tochi."
Mike gave her a funny look. "The old Indian? What on earth did you go see him for? And how did you even know where he lived?"
Holly crossed the room and lifted her purse from the coffee table. Removing her cigarettes from the purse, she turned back to face Mike. "His address was in the phone book. I went to see him because everyone says he's an expert on local history. I thought maybe he might know something about the strange things that have been going on here."
Mike chuckled. "Everyone also says that old man is crazy in the head."
"He may not be as crazy as people think."
"Why? What did he tell you?"
She lit a cigarette then told Mike about her visit with Sam Tochi. He listened without talking, shaking his head when she finished telling her story.
"That old man is a nutcase." Mike laughed. "Surely you don't believe anything he had to say. Do you?"
Holly's jaw muscles clenched. "A lot of things he said made sense. Why shouldn’t I believe him?"
Not waiting for an answer, she left the room and entered the library, grabbing Vivian Martin's scrapbook off the shelf. Returning to the living room, she opened the scrapbook to the newspaper clippings about the sawmill.
"Here. Read these, and then tell me there isn't something strange going on around here."
Mike set the shotgun and box of shells on the coffee table, and then took the scrapbook from her. Holly sat on the sofa, waiting for him to read the articles. He read the first two and started to hand the book back to her, but she pointed out that there were more articles in the back.
"So?" Mike said, looking up from the book. "It sounds like the reporter who wrote the last article was prone to repeating gossip and local lore. He would make a great tabloid writer."
Holly opened her purse and took out the newspaper article she had shown Sam Tochi. "Look at this picture, the one on the bottom. Look at the names of the men in that picture. Sam Tochi was one of the men in the photo. He used to work at the sawmill. He was there the night the fire was set. He said everything in that last article was true: the workers were attacked by shadowy creatures. Some of the men got hurt pretty badly."
"Working in a sawmill is a dangerous job," Mike said. "Someone falls down, gets hurt, and then blames it on a shadow. Probably used that excuse to keep from getting fired for being clumsy. Or because they were drunk at the time."
"Then how do you explain why the men were carrying guns. S
am said they carried them for protection against the boogers."
Mike laughed. "If they were certain evil shadows were attacking them, then they would have known guns would not be of any help. They probably took guns to work with them to shoot rats."
He picked up the shotgun and shells. "That crazy Indian is probably the source for all the stories about spooky shadows. I bet he makes up the stories, and then gets rich selling his magical kachinas to anyone foolish enough to believe him. No doubt he made a fortune off my grandmother."
"Then how do you explain the kachinas turning around by themselves?"
"By themselves? We actually haven't seen them turning. Have we? Sam probably pays some teenager to sneak in here at night and turn the statues. Probably figures if he scares us he'll be able to sell a few more kachinas."
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" she said.
"Pretty much," he nodded.
Holly was not amused. "What about the kids? What about me? We all saw the shadows."
Mike smiled. "No doubt you saw something, or you think you saw something. I still say there has to be a logical explanation for everything that is going on around here."
"You had better hope you're right," Holly said, standing up. "Because if anything happens to the children I'm going to stick that shotgun up your butt."
Mike thought about making a comment, but decided to let the conversation end with his wife having the last word. Instead he left the living room, stopping by the kitchen to fish an empty milk carton out of the trash.
Carrying the protective gun case containing the Winchester in his right hand, and the empty milk carton and box of shells in his left, he left the house by way of the front door and circled around to the apple orchard. He was almost to the forest before he decided he was far enough away from the house to safely shoot the shotgun.
He placed the milk carton near the base of an apple tree, then walked about fifty feet away and set the protective case down on the ground. Mike flipped the latches and carefully took out the shotgun. A twinge of nervous excitement danced through him as he lifted the gun. Although he had handled several firearms during his lifetime, he had never actually fired one, something Holly didn't know. His wife would have had a fit had she known he had purchased a firearm without ever firing one before.
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