Goat Mother and Others: The Collected Mythos Fiction of Pierre Comtois

by Pierre V. Comtois

  Ruth had to admit it was so and had to smile despite herself at the memory of those long ago trysts.

  Suddenly, Daniel stood, gulping the dregs of his coffee and placing the empty cup in the sink. “Gotta go now. I’m burning daylight. Might be back a little later than usual tonight.” Stooping, he gave Ruth a peck on the cheek, grabbed his hat from the rack by the door and pushed the squeaky screen door open. Ruth heard his booted feet clomp hollowly on the back porch before they crunched down on the gravel driveway.

  Standing, she went to the door where the early autumn breeze was still warm enough to warrant leaving the kitchen door open. Outside, the sky was just beginning to pink in the east and the tall line of pine trees along the edge of the kitchen garden were silhouetted against a few low lying clouds. Out back, she heard the rooster give out with a cockle doodledoo and she remembered in the days when they were first married how hard it was to be parted even for a few hours when Daniel used to hurry back to the house at lunch time…all the way from the north forty…just to make love with her.

  Ruth’s reminiscences were interrupted at the sound of an engine turning over and with a squeak of brakes, Daniel backed the pickup out of the barn. As he always did, he stopped briefly in front of the door to blow her a desultory kiss and she sent one back to him.

  “Take care, Dan,” she called as he began to back the truck the rest of the way down the driveway. “See you tonight.”

  The sun was full up by the time Ruth had cleaned the breakfast dishes, fed the barnyard animals and gone through the kitchen garden. She set down the basket of fresh picked vegetables with a thump on the back porch, wiped her hands on her apron, and stepped back into the cool interior of the house. Taking a few minutes to wash up and change, she tucked her wallet in the back pocket of her jeans and left the house again. This time, it was her turn to head to the barn and back out with her old Chevy Cavalier. It was a car she and Daniel had picked out the year before in nearby Boxton Township to be used for household errands but which they both referred to as “her” car ever since. At the end of the driveway, Ruth paused to make sure the road was clear before pulling out; it almost always was, but once her brother had made the mistake of assuming it was as empty as usual and ended up being clipped by Hank Zygot’s pickup. It was only luck that Hank just managed to slow down enough to avoid a full collision. Seeing the road was clear, Ruth pulled out and headed north toward the center of town. A few miles farther on, she crossed the Aylesbury Pike and glanced in the direction where it led toward Dunwich. Seeing how the trees on the sides of the road seemed to crowd closer overhead, making it appear as if the Pike narrowed to a trail in the distance drew Ruth’s mind back to her concerns regarding Daniel’s working i

  It wasn’t as if she took any stock in the stories of haunted farmhouses, unholy rites or Indian legends of monsters and were-things that moved about deep in the forest. They were fine for children gathered around a campfire eager for the pleasant thrill of a spooky story, but not for adults. Not that there weren’t plenty of people in Dean’s Corners who, if they didn’t necessarily believe in ghosts and monsters, at least gave enough credence in their spirit to avoid going to Dunwich if they could. And it didn’t help that Dunwich was almost completely depopulated, filled with abandoned farmhouses, dilapidated barns and overgrown fields. The few people who still lived there, were old timers who refused to leave, families more attached to their land than making a better life for themselves or outsiders who went there to get away from it all. And while some development was slowly creeping in the area, none at all was going on in Dunwich. So far as she knew, there hadn’t been a new home built there in thirty years; there were no stores except one or two feed stores that also offered general provisions and almost no town government to speak of. She’d heard that there was a Board of Selectmen but that they met infrequently, a broken down fire engine that hadn’t been used in decades sat behind the old town hall and emergency services and law enforcement had to be provided by neighboring towns. There were, however, a couple churches whose spires could still be seen at a distance, poking hopefully above the treetops from the summits of the Four Sisters hills that surrounded Dean’s Corners. Ruth remembered how she and her friends used to speculate on what lay beneath those trees on summer days when they were on vacation from classes at Boxton High School. They’d pack lunches as they did when they were younger and hike up to the top of one of the Four Sisters and picnic amid the rings of old stones up there. It was while on one of those excursions that Daniel noticed her for the first time, really noticed her. Dean’s Corners being such a small town, they’d known each other for years before that, but as usually happened among younger children, you took each other for granted. After that, whenever the gang went up to one of the Four Sisters, she and Daniel would pair off and find a place to neck…

  The honk of a car shattered Ruth’s daydreaming and she suddenly realized that she’d driven all the way over from the Pike to the town center without ever noticing it. Quickly, she pulled into the small plaza off Route 12 and stopped in front of the A&P. Still wondering at her absentmindedness, she took a carriage from the small corral in the parking lot and headed for the main entrance. It sure had been an improvement when the supermarket, small sized though it was, first came to town. She remembered when her mother used to have to go all the way in to Boxton to do her weekly food shopping. And with the supermarket came a branch of the local 5 cent savings bank and even a laundromat!

  “Hello, Mrs. Mills,” said Cindy Stewart from behind one of the store’s two cash registers.

  “Good morning, Cindy,” replied Ruth. “How’s your mother? Up and around yet?”

  “Oh, you know her, Mrs. Mills, a few hours after the delivery, she was up making dinner!”

  Ruth laughed. “She hasn’t changed since high school!”

  Some time later, Ruth was just finishing up her shopping and had stopped in the canned fruit aisle when she heard a familiar voice. Standing with a can of peaches in her hand, she listened and discovered that the voices were carrying over the shelves from the next aisle.

  “…visiting with my brother in Arkham,” said one person. “You know he’s an attorney there? And he was telling me about having to settle an estate issue in Dunwich and how it was a nightmare to figure out because of either poor record keeping at the registry of deeds or there being no records at all!”

  “That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” replied the second person, whose voice Ruth recognized immediately as Myrtle Potter’s. “Dunwich has disintegrated to the point where the state is considering discontinuing it as a legal township…read it in the Boston Oracle. If it happens, it’ll be the first time that’s happened in who knows how long. What with no Fire Department, no Police Department and hardly any town government to speak of and only a two room schoolhouse that’s always looking for a new teacher, it’s no wonder.”

  “How did that town ever get so bad, I wonder?”

  “Pshaw, Janey, you’ve heard all the same stories as I have…”

  “But they don’t explain such neglect…”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, things weren’t always so bad,” went on Myrtle. “It mostly happened after that business with the Whateley’s years ago. Tossed such a scare in folks that a lot of ‘em sold their farms and moved away. Those that stayed…well, it’s not polite to speak in such terms, but those that stayed was never regarded as being the sharpest needles in the old pin cushion if you know what I mean.”

  Janey Sawtelle chuckled guiltily, but agreed.

  “’Course, that doesn’t mean that there still ain’t a few folks there that knows what they’re about. Take Josh Turner’s wife, Adele for instance…”

  At the name, Ruth straightened and listened more intently.

  “What about her?” asked Janey.

  “Not as slow on the uptake as a lot of those other Dunwich folk,” said Myrtle. “I heard from Emmaline Craddock that her family’s not from Dunwich at all but from somewher
es else. Not sure where. Boston maybe or out of state.”

  “Why’d they move to Dunwich of all places?”

  “Emmaline said she heard that Adele’s grandfather came to Dunwich to research the Indian tribes that used to live around here in olden times,” Myrtle explained. “He bought the old Coburn place up near Dead Indian Road and fixed it up some.”

  “And Adele married Josh Turner? Didn’t set her sights too high, did she?” said Janey, unkindly.

  “Ain’t that so? And her being such an attractive thing too. I mean, there might not’ve been much stock to choose from in Dunwich, but there was no reason she couldn’t do some shopping in Dean’s Corners or Boxton for that matter. Anyway, I hear she’s come to her senses somewhat lately…”

  Janey giggled. “Oh, I know what that means! Who’s she takin’ up with?”

  Here, Myrtle lowered her voice somewhat so that Ruth was forced to listen very carefully to hear what she said.

  “Well, I hear from very reliable sources…Lizzy Doderholz, who works for the telephone company manning the old switchboard for Dunwich…they still haven’t got a modern phone system up there you know…”

  “Yes, yes, go on!”

  “…that Adele and Dan Mills are foolin’ around.”

  “No!”

  “It’s true. Lizzy said she accidentally listened in on a phone call Adele made to her father, who still lives up at the old Coburn place, and she told him that Josh wouldn’t do for her but that Dan was quite ‘satisfactory.’ Can you believe that?”

  “That’s what she said, ‘satisfactory?’”

  “Lizzy swears it…makes you wonder why Ruthy was constantly smiling those first years after she and Dan were married!”

  Both women laughed then and moved on but Ruth stood rooted to the spot, the can of peaches forgotten in her hand. Could it be true? Daniel had seemed more distant ever since he began working with Josh a few weeks before. And before that, his relationship with her had settled into a dull routine but no more routine than what was expected of a couple married for many years. But as Ruth continued to turn what Myrtle had said over in her mind, she began to see a pattern of impatience and short-temperedness in Daniel over the past few weeks that was out of character for him. Could he have taken up with this woman? The notion seemed so outlandish. Cheating like that only happened on television or to other people. Nevertheless, all the way home, Ruth couldn’t help but turn the possibility over in her mind.

  As the afternoon wore on to evening, she prepared supper as usual but when Daniel didn’t show up at his regular time, all the fears she’d gone over earlier in the day returned. Adding to her doubts was the fact that Daniel had told her that he might stay later that night. To work in the field or…? Suddenly wracked with doubt and fear, she decided to give Josh a call and picking up the telephone receiver she dialed the Dunwich exchange…hopefully, the Turner’s did have a phone. But when she heard Lizzy Doderholz’ voice come over the line, she immediately hung up. One thing was for sure, if she was going to call Josh’s place, she didn’t want Lizzy listening in and passing the gossip along to Myrtle Potter!

  Looking outside, she saw that there was still an hour or so of full daylight before sunset and determined to drive out to Josh’s farm and find out for herself if anything was amiss. If things were as Myrtle said, well…she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

  Throwing on her coat, she left the house and backed the car to the road. Her decision made, she had to consciously keep from pressing too hard on the gas pedal and watch her speed. In a few minutes, she had reached the Aylesbury Pike crossing and turned north as the road led out of Dean’s Corners. Immediately, the forest seemed to grow thicker, wilder, and more impenetrable as she proceeded. She hardly noticed the roadside placard informing motorists that they were entering the town of Dunwich, est. 1718 so overgrown it was with creepers. The going was easy so long as she stayed on the Pike which, as a state road, was well maintained, but as soon as she took the turn off for Dunwich proper, the way became more difficult. At first, the roads were paved, although cracked and crumbling fast with long neglect, but soon enough, after she’d left the main road, they turned to bare earth and forced her to slow to a crawl in order to keep her car from being damaged.

  She’d forgotten to take into account the wild nature of the forest in Dunwich and how soon it would cause the region to darken as the sun began to set. In no time at all, it seemed, the world around her settled into the gloom of dusk alleviated only by the occasional firefly or kitchen light shining from some far off farmhouse. More than once, the crooked shape of an abandoned barn or silo would bulk up against the sunset sky and then vanish behind her as she continued along windy, twisty back roads that she knew led to Josh Turner’s farm. Leaning forward tensely in her seat, Ruth peered anxiously into the gathering darkness looking for the remote crossroads at the intersection of Old Swamp Road and Turner’s Landing. She knew she would need to pass it before coming to the turnoff that was actually the long drive leading up to the Turner’s farm. Suddenly, something shone off to the side of the road, like eyes, and then there was movement directly in front of the car! Ruth slammed on the brakes, her chest striking the steering wheel. Heart pounding, she caught a glimpse of three deer as they passed out of the glare of her headlights into the woods at the side of the road. Breathing a sigh of relief and allowing herself a little laugh at her own nervousness, she started forward again. Good thing she’d not been going very fast, otherwise, she might have been looking at a smashed windshield and a ruined suspension. Something Daniel would not be happy about. But thought of Daniel reminded her of where she was, in the dark, trying to find her way around unlit country roads. Finally, she passed the crossroads and slowing down even more, began to keep an eye out for the Turner’s mailbox…there it was! And right beside it, the entrance to the Turner farm.

  Sighing with relief and leaning back in her seat for the first time since leaving the Pike, Ruth guided her car up the long twin ruts that led to the farmhouse passing Daniel’s truck that was parked off to the side. A light over the front door led her in the last few hundred yards and she braked to a stop alongside the Turner’s own shiny new Ford Ranger pickup truck. Also in the yard, was a good selection of farming vehicles from tractors to harvesters and seeding trailers, even a big hay bundler. And they all seemed to be new, without hardly a scratch on their paint jobs. Vaguely, Ruth wondered how Josh could afford it all and if he could, why he needed Daniel to help him clear his fields when it was obvious he could easily pay to hire some hands to do the job.

  Getting out of the car, Ruth approached the house where the light shone above the back porch. There was another light on somewhere inside so she knocked at the door. While waiting for a reply, she looked around some more admiring how neat everything appeared. Standing away from the house were the various outbuildings including chicken coop, tool shed, hoppers and stalls for the farm equipment. A big, brightly painted barn stood a hundred yards off with a pair of silos sticking up from the far side. Ruth noticed the wooden sigil placed over the main doorway that most barns sported, a bit of traditional superstition that could be found across the country. But on this particular example, Ruth noticed that instead of sporting the usual gaily colored circular design pattern, the placard was quite plain and shaped in the form of a five pointed star with a single, open eye in the center.

  Turning back to the door, Ruth knocked again, this time harder but with the same result. Peering in at the window, she couldn’t see any evidence that anyone was home. Could the men still be working out in the field? Maybe Mrs. Turner, Adele, had gone out to bring them some supper? Since Josh Turner was family, Ruth decided it wouldn’t be impolite to step inside and wait a few minutes until someone came back. Testing the door, she found it was unlocked, which didn’t surprise her. Stepping inside, she eased the door closed quietly and looked around. The kitchen was much like her own; neat with many feminine touches including curtains decorated with a fru
it and vegetable pattern and refrigerator magnets in the shape of barnyard animals, some holding notices and household messages. The light she had seen earlier was coming from the next room and when she followed it, found herself in a small parlor. There too, everything was in order: stuffed chairs and sofa, lamps and a fireplace with kindling laid aside in anticipation of colder weather. The walls included a couple cheap prints and a few portraits of family members including one obvious patriarch with huge, mutton chop sideburns and dark eyes that looked out from beneath great, bushy eyebrows. Not the most endearing visage Ruth had ever seen. On the frame was a small metal plate engraved with the name “Ezekiah Coburn Winthrop.” Adele’s grandfather maybe? If so, it seemed that he hadn’t move into the old Coburn place by chance after all.

  The light she saw now, was coming from a small oil lamp sitting on a roll top desk set in an alcove across from the front door. Moving in its direction, Ruth saw that there were a few scattered articles on the desk: a holder filled with pens and pencils, a stapler, some loose papers. Pinned to the wall over the desk however, was what looked like a hand drawn map. Looking more closely, she saw that she was wrong. It wasn’t a map but a diagram of some sort. Bringing the lamp up for a better look, she saw a series of curved lines, some dotted and some solid along which had been written numbers, some in decimals but no matter how long she concentrated, she couldn’t find a pattern to any of it. Here and there among the lines were what looked like little drawings, circles maybe, but with their edges all irregular and jagged. Inside the shapes were markings that suggested symbols like letters or numbers but of a sort Ruth could not interpret. There was something familiar about them though. Had she seen markings like those somewhere before? Giving up, she moved the light across the rest of the room and noticed a chair in a corner holding a pile of books with library tags on the spines. Curious, she picked one up and opened it. She was a little surprised to find that the stamp inside the front cover indicated that the book had been taken from the Boston Public Library. The book itself seemed to be one on higher mathematics…geometry or something. At least that’s what all the pages of diagrams reminded her of. Flipping the book shut again, she read the title Three Dimensional Numbers for a Four Dimensional World: Mapping the Landscapes of Dis. Frowning, she looked at the pile again and saw the next book was entitled Finding the Way to Carcosa and Other Places: A Mathematical Guide. The subject matter seemed far beyond anything she’d expect a farm couple in Dunwich would be interested in, let alone understand. She noticed that the rest of the books seemed to cover similar esoteric subjects…except one, much to her relief. But upon picking it up, she wasn’t sure if her initial reaction was premature: Azathoth and Other Horrors it was called, by Edward Derby. What was a book of fiction doing mixed up with the math texts? Idly, she thumbed through the book’s pages until they stopped by themselves where a bookmark rested. “…at length his vision opened to many secret vistas whose existence no common eye suspects,” read the passage. “And one night a mighty gulf was bridged, and the dream-haunted skies swelled down to the lonely watcher’s window to merge with the close air of his room and make him a part of their fabulous wonder…” A section of the text that had been highlighted in yellow marker attracted Ruth’s eye to the bottom of the page: “Azathoth: find the secret name and the demon sultan in his blindness must appear. Azathoth: ask the question and the seething chaos must give answer. Azathoth: voice the secret name and control your destiny…”