Dark Mountain

by Richard Laymon

  “So?” Flash said.

  “What I mean,” Julie continued, “is how do we know there aren’t more people here? Maybe another man. Maybe a whole bunch.”

  Flash stared at her. “Damn, I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  “It’s possible,” Nick said.

  Benny started looking around, searching the darkness through his dripping glasses.

  “That’s all the more reason we’d better keep watch. Even if it’s just a woman, we don’t know but that she’ll try to get back at us. The rest of you go on and hit the sack.”

  “I’ll stay up with you,” Nick said.

  Flash considered insisting that the boy turn in, but he liked the idea of having company.

  “I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, and if something does happen”—Nick shrugged—“it’d be better if there’s two of us.”

  “I guess you’re right. Okay.”

  The hatchet swinging at his side, Nick walked Julie and Benny to their tent. Benny crawled inside. Julie faced Nick, put her arms around him, and kissed him. The kiss was not brief. Flash felt he shouldn’t be staring, so he went over to the poncho he’d used to cover the body. Pools of water had formed on its rumpled plastic. He picked it up and flapped it, shaking off as much water as he could. When he turned around, Julie was gone, and Nick was walking toward him. “This’ll help keep us dry. We’ll sit back to back so we’ve got a three-hundred-sixty-degree view.”

  They moved two stumps together, sat down, and draped the poncho over their heads. The rain made loud, hollow sounds as it struck the plastic. Flash stared through the downpour, moving his gaze slowly over the black lake, the dim pale rocks along the shoreline, the place where the body had fallen, the rocks and trees beyond the border of the clearing, Karen’s tent, the pines close behind it, the gap between it and the next tent. Awfully dark behind the tents. A lot of trees. A small rocky rise farther back. Plenty of cover for someone sneaking in. Someone with a knife….

  “I’ll check around,” Flash said. He left the sheltering poncho. With the knife in one hand and his flashlight in the other, he walked to the far side of Karen’s tent. He stepped behind it, being careful not to trip over the guy line. He shined his light on the blue fabric long enough to see that it hadn’t been rent. Then he swept the beam across the pines, the bushes, the head-high clump of broken granite. The light threw squirming shadows that sent a chill up his back, but he saw no one. He moved on. Behind the next tent, a sudden voice made him jump.

  “Who’s there?” Julie asked.

  “It’s me.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. Just checking around.”

  The tent after that was his. He knew it was deserted but he flashed his light across its rear, just in case. It looked all right. He stepped to the last tent. “Just me,” he said quietly, in case Alice or the girls should be worried. There was no response. They must be asleep, he thought, but he felt a stab of fear. He put his light on the tent. The red fabric, shiny with running water, was intact.

  He made a last check of the trees and rocks behind the tent, then hurried around to the front. The flaps were zipped shut. He opened them. Ducking low, he swept his light over the three crowded, motionless shapes. They looked okay. He shut the zipper, and walked toward Nick.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “So far. We’d better check once in a while, though. We’re awfully vulnerable back there.” He sat on the stump with his back to Nick, and pulled the poncho forward to shield him.

  For a long time, Flash stared into the darkness. His eyelids grew heavy. His mind drifted. He imagined he was driving through the rain, fighting hard to stay awake. Alice cried out, “Don’t hit him!” and there was a one-armed man staggering up the road, pale in the headlights, a hatchet embedded in his chest. Flash shot his foot at the brake pedal. The heel of his boot skidded on the wet ground and he snapped awake as he started to fall. He caught himself. He wondered how long he’d been out.

  Twisting around, he saw that the stump behind him was deserted. He spotted Nick in back of the tents, the flashlight beam sweeping over the rocks and trees.

  “Everything shipshape?” Flash asked when the boy returned.

  “No problem.” Nick sat down and covered his head. “Maybe she won’t try anything.”

  “Sure hope not. We’ve gotta stay on our toes, though.” The warning was more to himself than to his son. He was ashamed of falling asleep. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

  When he felt himself becoming groggy, he went into his tent for cigars. He returned to the seat, unwrapped a cigar, and clamped it between his teeth. He pulled the poncho forward enough to shield the cigar from the rain. To save his night vision, he shut his eyes when he struck the match. Then there was only the soft red glow of his cigar. Flash smoked slowly. When only a hot, bitter stub remained, he tossed it down and crushed it under his boot. “Still with us?” he asked Nick.

  “I’m awake.”

  “I’ll make the rounds.”

  He stood up, and stretched his stiff back. His light probed the darkness ahead of him. A shape lurched from behind one of the pines, and his heart seemed to jump. Nothing but a shadow. He satisfied himself that no one lurked among the trees or crouched in the tumble of rocks, then turned his beam to the back of the tent.

  For an instant, he thought the two-foot vertical slash was another trick of light—nothing more than a shadow. Crouching, he set the knife by his foot and touched the slit. It parted, and his fingers slid in.

  He muttered, “Jesus.”

  Shoving the flashlight through the gap, he tugged the fabric wide. It split more. He dropped to his knees and peered inside.

  Scott squinted up at him. He looked alarmed. His forehead was smeared with blood.

  “It’s me,” Flash said.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Karen, beside Scott in the sleeping bag, raised her head. She squeezed her eyes shut when the light hit her. The left side of her face was swollen and discolored. So was her mouth and chin. A speck of fresh blood glistened above one eyebrow.

  “Flash?” Scott said.

  “Someone was here. I’ve gotta…” He shoved himself away from the tent, staggered backward, and caught his balance. “Nick!” he yelled. “Check Julie!” He rushed past Julie’s tent, glimpsing its gashed fabric. His own was the same. He fell to his knees at the rear of the last tent, rammed his flashlight through the split, and yanked a wide opening. Alice lurched upright.

  “It’s me.”

  Her forehead was bloody.

  “What’s going—”

  “See if the girls are okay.”

  Rose was already lifting her head. She blinked into the light. There was blood on her right cheekbone.

  Alice shook Heather awake. The girl was buried in her sleeping bag. As she scooted forward, Flash saw a small patch of blood at the top of her head.

  Alice touched her daughter’s bloody hair, then looked at her finger. “What’s going on?” she asked in a low, frightened voice.

  “I don’t know,” Flash said. “Somebody—”

  “They’re okay!” Nick called. “They’re both cut, though.”

  “Get dressed,” he said into the tent. “We’re getting out of here.”

  “To night?” Alice asked.

  “Right now. As soon as we can break camp.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Benny, sitting on top of his sleeping bag, shoved his foot into a boot as Julie slipped a poncho over her head. She started crawling toward the tent flap held open by Nick. Benny blurted, “Don’t leave me here!”

  “All right. But hurry.” She stopped. “Do you know what’s going on?” she asked Nick.

  “I don’t know.”

  Benny got his other boot on. “Ready,” he said. Grabbing his poncho, he followed Julie outside. He stood up and donned the poncho, thrusting his head through the hooded hole.

  Mr. Gordon came around from behind the last t
ent.

  “Is everybody okay?” Nick called.

  “Just cut. Nothing serious. Christ!”

  “They’re all cut?” Nick asked.

  “All of ’em.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  The front of Karen’s tent bulged and Dad crawled out, wrapped in a sleeping bag. Karen came out next. She wore gray sweatpants and a quilted parka that reached only to her waist. Her floppy hat covered her head. Her feet were bare.

  Looking at her, Benny got a hollow ache in his chest. “Are you hurt much?” he asked.

  “Not bad,” she said. She slipped a hand from her pocket and held it out to him. He clasped it gently.

  “I think we should haul ass outa here,” Mr. Gordon said. “What do you think?”

  “Is everyone okay?” Dad asked.

  “So far. But who knows what we’re up against? We’re too damn vulnerable here. I say we move out. Once we’re on the trail, we can see what’s coming. The trip’s shot anyway, right?”

  “I’d say so,” Karen muttered.

  “Leave the body here?” Dad asked.

  “It’s gone,” Julie said.

  Benny felt Karen’s fingers tighten around his hand.

  “Either the guy wasn’t dead,” Mr. Gordon explained, “or someone snuck in and made off with him.”

  “It had to be that woman,” Nick said.

  “What woman?” Dad asked.

  Nick repeated the story about the three girls who’d been swimming here yesterday until a weird woman yelled at them and frightened them away. “She must be the one who slashed the tents, too,” he added.

  “Why would anyone do that?” Karen asked. “It’d make sense if she wanted to cut our throats, but…”

  “Just one woman,” Mr. Gordon said, “couldn’t have killed everyone. Not with two or three to a tent, and me and Nick on watch. She might’ve got a couple of us, but we’d have nailed her.”

  “Why just scratch us, though? What does that accomplish?”

  “You don’t suppose…” Julie’s lips drew back, and she shook her head.

  “What?” Nick asked.

  “It’s crazy.”

  “What’s crazy?” Dad asked.

  “Well…maybe her blade was poisoned.”

  Benny’s stomach knotted. “Curare,” he muttered.

  “Nobody’s got curare out here,” his father said. “And if they did, we wouldn’t be standing around talking about it.”

  “Maybe something,” Karen said. “Some kind of poison or germs.” With her free hand, she touched the cut on Benny’s face. “I don’t feel any swelling. There’d be swelling with snake venom. Besides, it’d take quite an amount to do much damage.”

  “Rabies?” Nick suggested.

  Julie groaned.

  “I don’t want to get creepy,” he went on, “but all it’d take is some saliva or blood from a rabid animal—”

  “I’d say it’s pretty unlikely,” Dad interrupted. “This had to be a spur-of-the-moment thing. Who’s gonna have a rabid animal on hand?”

  “A crazy old woman,” Julie said.

  “Pretty remote chance.”

  “It’s possible, though,” Mr. Gordon said. “You’ll admit it’s possible?”

  “Anything’s possible.” Dad sounded annoyed.

  “It does seem a little farfetched,” Karen said, “but something like that, at least, would explain why she cut us. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad admitted. “I just hate to think that…I guess we’d better play it safe.”

  “We’ll hike straight out,” Mr. Gordon said. “I bet we can reach the roadhead in a day, if we really push it.”

  “It’s mostly downhill,” Julie added.

  “Right,” Dad said. “We’ll lighten our packs. We can leave most of the food behind.”

  “What about the tents?” Nick asked.

  “Forget ’em,” Mr. Gordon said. “They’re ten pounds each, and they’re fucked anyway. We can make better time without ’em.”

  “I’m with you,” Dad told him. “Leave the things. Let’s pack up fast and—”

  “Murderers!” The shrill outcry made Benny jump. Karen jerked her hand away and whirled around. Benny staggered backward a step. Through the sheets of water he saw a woman perched on a boulder near the shore. He felt warm urine spill down his leg, and fought to stop it.

  Everyone stood motionless, staring at the woman. She stood with her feet spread apart, dress clinging to her legs, face a thin pale mask streaked with ropes of dark hair, arms raised overhead. The blade of a small knife jutted from one hand. From the other hung a pouch the size of a baby’s head.

  “Murderers!” she shrieked again. “You’re cursed!” She shook the pouch. “I have your blood and hair! You killed my son and you’ll die, every one of you! Cursed! My curse is on you!”

  She leaped off the rock and took a few steps sideways, waving the pouch. Then she turned away and started to run.

  Mr. Gordon lunged forward, but Dad grabbed his arm. “Let go! I’ll nail her!”

  Benny saw the woman dash behind an outcropping.

  “Just wait,” Dad told Mr. Gordon. “What if she’s not alone? What if someone’s waiting to pick you off?”

  Mrs. Gordon rushed from her tent, Heather and Rose following close behind. They wore yellow slickers and rain hats, and Benny couldn’t tell which was Heather until one of the girls waved at him. “Who was that?” Mrs. Gordon asked.

  “Some crazy old bag,” said Mr. Gordon.

  “Apparently the mother,” Dad explained, “of the guy who attacked Karen and Julie.”

  “A witch,” Benny said.

  The others acted as if they didn’t hear him. “What did she want?” Mrs. Gordon asked.

  Her husband shrugged. “God only knows.”

  “Is she the one who took the body?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “She put a curse on us,” Benny said loudly. “A death curse. She’s a witch.”

  “Bullshit,” Mr. Gordon said.

  “Bullshit or not,” Karen told him, “that woman did, in fact, put a curse on us. In a way, though, it’s a relief. I don’t think she cut us to infect us—just to get blood for her hex or whatever.”

  “That is how it sounded,” Dad admitted. “The gal’s obviously a nutcase. Unless it was all a show to lure us after her.”

  Benny took a deep breath. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose. He shoved them back into place, and wrinkled his nose to hold them there. “Do you want to know what I think?” he asked.

  “I think we’d better get out of here,” Mr. Gordon said. “Rabies or no rabies, the quicker we get back to the cars, the better. We don’t want to spend another night out here if we can help it. A loony like that gal, there’s no telling what she might do.”

  “Especially,” Julie added, “if she’s not alone.”

  “Can I say something?” Benny asked again.

  “What’s this about rabies?” Mrs. Gordon asked.

  “Probably a false alarm, but—”

  “Benny has something to say,” Karen broke in.

  “Shoot,” Dad told him.

  “I know I’m just a kid and everything, but I think we better not leave here till we get our stuff back.”

  “What stuff?” Dad asked.

  “Our blood and hair. She’s got it in that pouch, I think.”

  “She’s welcome to it,” Dad said.

  “She’ll use it. You know, like with a voodoo doll? You need the person’s hair or clothes to make it work. If she’s got our hair and blood, she can use it like that.”

  “To make voodoo dolls?” Karen asked.

  “Or something. I don’t know. I just know she can’t mess with us if we take our stuff away from her.”

  “For cryin’ out loud, Benny.”

  “What if he’s right?” Nick asked. “I mean, I’m not saying I believe it, but—”

/>   “You’d certainly better not believe it,” Mrs. Gordon scolded. “It’s blasphemy.”

  “It’s bullshit.”

  “Please, Arnold.”

  “Can’t we just get out of here,” Julie said, “before anything else happens?”

  “We can’t get away from a curse,” Benny warned. “I’m telling you, we’d better—”

  “Spare us, okay?”

  “Look, Benny,” Dad said, “I understand you’re worried about this thing, but a curse is in the same category as zombies and vampires and ghosts. It’s make-believe. It doesn’t really exist. All it can do is frighten us; it can’t really hurt us. Guns and knives and hatchets can hurt us, but a curse is just words. Okay? So let’s just try to forget about it and move out of here before we have something real to contend with.”

  Benny shrugged. He knew it was pointless to argue. “All right,” he muttered. “But we’ll be sorry.”

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Good grief, hon, you’re a wreck.”

  “Tell me about it,” Karen said. She swung her pack to the floor, crossed to the couch, sat down, and started to unlace her boots.

  “A disaster, huh?” Meg lowered her husky body into a chair, and hooked a leg over one of its padded armrests. She took a cigarette from the side pocket of her house coat. “How’d you get the shiner? Bump into a tree, or did Scott smack you around?”

  “A guy attacked me.” Karen pulled off her boots and leaned back against the soft cushions.

  Meg groaned as she lit her cigarette. She inhaled deeply and blew smoke out her nostrils. “How do you mean, attacked?”

  “He raped me.”

  “Good Christ! Are you kidding? Are you okay?”

  “Mostly bruises.”

  “My God,” she muttered. “Jesus Almighty Christ, that’s…” She shook her head. Her face was twisted with disgust. “How could it happen? There was a whole army with you.”

  “I was alone in the tent.”

  “Must’ve been…Karen, Karen.”

  “I don’t remember any of it. He knocked me unconscious. Scott was with me when I came to.”

  The cigarette trembled in Meg’s fingers as she raised it to her lips. “What happened to the bastard that did it?”