Primal Fear

by Boucher, Brad

  No, John would spend the night in Harry’s own home, a guest Laurie had already made clear would be quite welcome to sit down to supper with them.

  It was an offer that Harry had kicked around silently as he and John had made the slow drive back to the station house. It had taken well over an hour to reach the center of town, the high winds and drifting snow making many of the secondary roads impassable even to Harry’s four-wheel drive truck. The plows were doing their best to keep the main roads clear, but could barely keep up with the rapidly falling snow.

  To make matters worse, upon reaching the station, they’d discovered that John’s rental car had been completely plowed in. It was then that Harry had extended the invitation to John to spend the night at his house. John had reluctantly accepted, taking ten minutes to clear enough of the snow from his car to at least retrieve his duffel bag.

  Now, as they climbed out of the truck and moved through the vicious wind towards the front door, Harry tried to make light of the situation. “John, look, if I thought you were a loony, I wouldn’t have offered.”

  “You thought I was a loony this morning.”

  Harry nodded. “Yeah, I did. But this morning seems like a long time ago. A lot has happened since then.”

  They moved inside, into an enclosed porch, where they could remove their boots without tracking mud into the house itself. The entryway wasn’t heated, but it still offered relief from the biting wind. Harry removed his coat and hung it on a brass hook beside the door, adding his hat and scarf to the sudden jumble of clothes. John followed suit and then Harry unlocked the inner door and led the way into the house.

  Laurie was on the phone when they stepped inside. She swung her gaze toward him, relief brightening her features and a broad smile spreading across her face.

  “Never mind, Dana,” she said into the phone, “he just walked in. Sorry to bother you.”

  “Dana’s still at work?” Harry called from the doorway.

  Laurie nodded. “Want to talk to her?”

  “No. Just tell her I said that Mary will be there to relieve her any time now, and she should go home and get some rest. Jesus, she’s been there for twelve hours.”

  Laurie relayed the message and said goodbye. She crossed the long living room, her arms folded across her chest to fight the chill from the open door.

  “Checking up on me?” Harry asked.

  “Well, you called over an hour ago. Are the roads really that bad?”

  “They’re terrible. If the storm doesn’t let up soon, we’re going to be digging our way out of here in the morning.”

  John came in behind Harry and closed the door against the cold.

  “This is John Artaqua, honey,” Harry said. “He’s the one who helped us out at the Stratham today.” He hadn’t told her about his strange spell at the edge of the quarry yet, and had asked John not to bring it up until he’d discussed it with her himself.

  “John, this is my wife, Laurie.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Laurie said, reaching out to shake his hand. “Come on in. Let’s get out of this draft.”

  John’s eyes scanned the house as they passed through the living room and into the large kitchen that ran along the far side of the first floor.

  “You have a beautiful home,” he commented.

  Harry grinned. “That’s all Laurie’s doing. My idea of interior decorating is a TV and a Marilyn Monroe poster.”

  “Don’t laugh,” Laurie put in. “That’s about all he had in here when we first got married.”

  John laughed, settling into one of the kitchen chairs. He seemed a little more at ease now, his fear of imposing all but gone now in the bright warmth of the kitchen.

  “Supper’s just about ready,” Laurie announced. “I hope you like beef stew.”

  “One of my favorites.”

  The wind howled by outside, shaking the windows in their frames. The floor vibrated beneath them as a snowplow rumbled by out on the street, moving slowly towards town in an effort to fight the mounting snow.

  During supper, Harry filled Laurie in on the details of the search, beginning with the effects the storm had had on their progress and concluding with John’s discovery of the cave in the face of the quarry itself. He purposely avoided some of the more mysterious details of the find, such as John’s sudden knowledge of a presence beneath their feet and his own moment of vertigo at the edge of the cliff. There would be plenty of time to discuss those matters later, but he saw no reason to ruin dinner by talking them over now.

  When they were done eating, Laurie suggested that they all move into the living room, and while Harry dropped another couple of logs into the fireplace, he realized that the time for idle chit-chat had long outstayed its welcome. It was time to talk about what was really going on in Glen Forest.

  John settled comfortably onto one of the two couches that dominated the central area of the long living room. While Laurie excused herself to pour a glass of wine, he let his head fall back against the soft cushions and closed his eyes.

  Harry let silence reign for a moment, getting his thoughts in order before he began. He listened to the crackling of the fire, the hiss of the oxygen being devoured by the insatiable flame, and he knew he could drift off to sleep easily enough if he wasn’t careful.

  When he looked up at last, he found John watching him, his eyes open and alert. His expression was pensive, his gaze intense. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know, this morning when I first got here, when I was waiting for you at the police station, I almost talked myself into climbing back into my car and driving away. I came really close, but finally I decided to wait, to sweat it out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I had to know if it was real. To see if I’d come all this way for nothing or if there was any truth at all to the old legends.”

  “So? Is there?”

  John nodded, a glint of apprehension showing in his eyes. “Yes. I felt it today, out by the quarry. Out by the mouth of that cave. It’s real alright. But now part of me wishes it wasn’t, that I could just walk away and shut it all out of my mind forever.”

  “But you haven’t.”

  “No. It wouldn’t be right. I’ve never been the type to turn away from my responsibilities.”

  “You’re not responsible for this, John. You said it yourself: we’re both a part of what’s going on here, whether we like it or not. But neither of us started it.”

  “You could still back out. It’s your choice. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  Harry shook his head. “No, I’m not backing out. Not after . . .” He broke off, hesitant. “Not after everything I’ve seen.”

  John watched him closely, but said nothing. Instead, he only waited for Harry to go on, as if understanding that to press him now might keep him from revealing the truth.

  Taking a deep breath, Harry lowered his voice. He began slowly at first, the words coming with great difficulty. But then, once he got going, he was able to recount feelings and details he’d been trying so hard to forget.

  He told John all of it, from the grisly wounds Hughes had found in Slater’s ears during the autopsy, to the first appearance of his impossibly animated corpse later in the coroner’s office, to his own feeling of almost helpless terror as Slater’s body had suddenly attacked him.

  Laurie returned as he reached the story’s climax, settling quietly onto the couch beside Harry as he described how he’d finally repelled Slater with a shard of broken glass from the picture frame.

  Through it all, John listened intently, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face. Not once did he interrupt, not once did he pose a question to clarify some detail or other. He just took it all in, letting Harry go on at his own pace.

  Harry was grateful for that, and by the time he was finished, he felt sure he’d done the right thing in sharing the story with John. Maybe John could make some sort of sense out of it that he couldn’t.

  “What did he try to s
ay to you?” John asked. “It’s important that you try to remember, word for word if you can.”

  “I remember it, don’t worry. I just don’t know what the hell it means. You filled in a part of it in my office this morning. ‘Jhuk katta iti huttut. It begins with death.’ He said that at least twice, maybe even three times.”

  “What else?”

  “He said something that sounded like a name, at least the way he was using it.”

  “Who? What was the name?”

  “Atay,” Harry said. “I’m sure of it. He said it several times, just like that. Atay.”

  John frowned, his hand rising to rub his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Laurie asked. “Does that mean something to you?”

  “It means things are even worse than I thought.” He took a deep breath and went on. “The name you heard was Atae, but it’s not a man’s name. It’s really not a name at all, when you get right down to it. It’s more of a way of crossing over.”

  “Crossing over to what?”

  “Do you remember what I told you in the truck, about the shaman’s ability to commune with the other side, to speak to the spirits?”

  Harry nodded, intrigued.

  “I told you they used a familiar to do it, a kind of spirit guide.”

  “Right. They used the guide to make predictions or decisions.”

  “That’s right. And it is believed that these guides are actually the spirits of our departed ancestors, former friends and loved ones who have not yet . . . crossed over . . .”

  “To where?” Laurie asked. “To heaven?”

  John cocked his head. “More or less. Close enough, to help me reach my point. You see, our people believe that when someone passes on, his soul remains in a sort of limbo, waiting to return in the form of an infant.”

  “Reincarnation?”

  “Exactly. And so when a baby is born, its parents won’t give it a name until they spot some feature or characteristic reminiscent of a loved one that has recently passed on. For instance, if a male infant has the same shade of eyes as a beloved brother or uncle who has just died, the parents believe it to be his soul reborn, and will name the child after him. The soul will continue to return, over and over again, through several lifetimes, until it has attained great wisdom. And then . . .”

  “And then it’ll cross over, into heaven.”

  “But before it does, or before it is reborn into another life, the shaman has the ability to contact it, to use it as a familiar to cross over himself. And that’s where the name Atae comes in. It’s not so much a single soul as it is a collection of them, a sort of . . . sacred deity formed from the souls of many who have passed on. Only the most powerful shaman are said to be able to contact it, and an even smaller number can actually use it as their familiar. Apparently Mahuk is one of those who has successfully contacted Atae.”

  “Just because Slater spoke its name doesn’t mean Mahuk has anything to do with it.”

  “I’m afraid it does. Because I think I know what happened to you yesterday. To both of us, really. And now I think I understand the link between my vision and your experience at the morgue.”

  He rose to his feet, looking nervous and agitated, and began pacing back and forth across the living room. Harry’s eyes followed him, his attention centered completely on the young man’s story.

  “When I first saw you this morning and realized that my dream on the plane had definitely been a sort of vision, I began to wonder if you’d been contacted in any way as well. I suspected Mahuk was responsible for my own vision, though I had no idea how, and I was curious whether he had found a way to issue a warning to you, too, or at least to prepare you in some way for what’s supposed to be coming. You didn’t seem to recognize me at all, so I automatically assumed my vision was not a shared experience. But now, after hearing your story, I’m convinced that’s exactly what it was.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. I mean, I see the obvious: you witnessed what happened to me at the morgue, at least in your vision. But I don’t see another connection beyond that.”

  “I do. I think Mahuk was trying to warn both of us yesterday, and he was using me as a sort of . . . conduit. A relay for his powers.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “I don’t know. But some of the things I might have called impossible a few days ago, I’m beginning to believe in today. Think about it. Not only did I see you in my vision at the same time that Mr. Slater’s body was attacking you, I also witnessed it from his perspective. I saw myself entering the room; I saw you look up, directly at me. I think I was watching you through his eyes.”

  “Wait a minute. It was a dead body, John, and you were hundreds of miles away, you said so yourself.”

  “I think what happened is pretty simple. Hard to accept maybe, but easy enough to explain. I think Mahuk used me as a link to warn both of us at the same time. He warned me through the vision, and he used his powers over Slater’s body to warn you.”

  “Come on, John, you told me he was an old man. You said he’s dying. How could he—”

  “If he can commune with Atae, then his powers are immense, even now, even near death. And if Slater’s soul hasn’t crossed over yet, then it is susceptible to Atae’s will. His body is just an empty shell. Commanding it would have been a very simple matter at that point.”

  “But from so far away?”

  “Apparently distance means very little in the spirit world,” John said with a wry grin.

  “Well, as it turns out, there’s even more to it than what happened to you and me. Something happened to Laurie yesterday, just about the same time that Mahuk contacted the two of us.”

  John turned to Laurie, a frown creasing his face. “What was it? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  “Oh no,” Laurie told him, “not at all. I was more scared than anything, but for a while there, I felt like someone was smothering me.”

  She quickly went over what had happened, her voice shaking slightly as she recounted her own feelings of helplessness and despair. Finally, drawing to the end of the story, she got up and went into the kitchen, returning with the pages from the computer’s printer.

  “I went over it again this morning,” she said. “It took a little while, but I was able to make out the points where the words start to repeat themselves. There’s six sets of the same words, just over a hundred words in each set.”

  “The printer wasn’t even turned on,” Harry pointed out. “And look at all the writing. Any of that make sense to you?”

  John nodded immediately. “Yes, I recognize this. These are the words to one of our prayers, one of the traditional prayers of my people. It’s a kind of plea to the spirits of the sun and sky, asking for safety, for protection.”

  “Protection from what?”

  “From the dark spirits. From the demons of the earth and of the darkness, from the sea and storms.”

  Laurie shivered, moved closer to Harry. “So what does it mean? Why did the printer spit that out?”

  John shrugged, though the gesture of uncertainty wasn’t reflected in his gaze. “I can’t be positive, but I think this means that you’re to be involved in this, too. I don’t know when, or how, but you’re going to play some part in what’s to come.”

  “What about the word in English?” Laurie asked. “Coming. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Another warning, I imagine. But beyond that, I have no idea.”

  “And do you think Mahuk is responsible for that, too?”

  “I wish I could say yes, because if anything else is behind what happened to you, then we have even more to worry about than I thought.”

  Harry looked up. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just that there are a great many spirits and powers in the belief systems of my people. I’d hate to think another of those could be involved. It’s like the attack on you. If I’m wrong about Mahuk trying to send you a message through Mr. Slater, then we’d have to start from scratc
h to figure out what caused it.” He looked at the pages Laurie had given him once more and then laid them down on the coffee table. I don’t think I’m wrong about that, though.”

  “Okay, let’s get back to that, then,” Harry said. “Let’s say you’re right, that the old man did raise Slater’s body to warn me. Why would he have it attack me?”

  “That’s something else that’s been troubling me. I didn’t witness the attack. I only saw you turning around and starting to back off and then everything was cut off. Everything went black. But I felt something . . . terrible, just before I woke up. It was like an uncontrollable rage. I can’t even begin to describe how it felt. It wasn’t natural, and it wasn’t a part of my own emotions.”

  “Mahuk’s maybe? Maybe something was going wrong.”

  “I don’t think so. I think Mahuk was beginning to lose control of Mr. Slater’s body at that point, almost like his power to influence it was taken away from him.”

  “By who?”

  “By the one I’ve been sent here to hunt. That would certainly explain why the body became vicious at that point, why it attacked you.”

  “Why? To warn me off?”

  John shook his head. “What we’re dealing with here isn’t the kind of presence that warns people off, Harry. It wanted you dead. The intent of that attack was to kill you. You’re more fortunate than you know.”

  “So what stopped it? Are you saying I fought off an evil spirit with a piece of broken glass?”

  “I don’t think that had much effect on the spirit, at least not directly. But I think it served to break Mahuk’s influence over the body, and once that was done, it was no longer open to anyone’s manipulation. We’re not fighting something that’s afraid of broken glass. We’re not fighting something that’s going to be afraid of guns or bullets or anything else that could physically harm a man of flesh and blood. Right now it’s still weak, it’s still in a state of preparation, and I have a feeling it fed off of Mahuk’s power more than its own to take over Mr. Slater’s body. But if that hadn’t been the case, if it had sent that body to destroy you of its own will and under its own power, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you right now.”