But if Nehemiah’s tale was true….
You’re grasping at anything to figure out what happened here, Lance told himself. These are just stories.
“Anyway,” the sheriff continued, “maybe I shouldn’t have said anything to you, but I didn’t want you to go nosing around in town and find out some other way. Wouldn’t want you to feel like I hadn’t been honest. Some think there must’ve been a lot of bad blood between your Uncle Ballard and me. They say I think I was cheated out of my birthright, or some such nonsense. Fact is: I was pretty pissed for a time. This land’s been in the family for over a hundred years.” Perry laughed. “It’s all water under the bridge now. But those tales about Nehemiah…maybe they aren’t to be believed. Just local mythology. Probably the real story got twisted around into something more over time.”
“What’s the real story then?”
Perry blew a gust of smoke into the cold night air. “Real story? Hell if I know.” The sheriff gave a little chuckle low in his chest and said, “Hell, some folks down at Pine Gables say they saw Bigfoot here a few years back. That Lifetime show, Unexplained Mysteries, came and did a big investigation, the whole nine yards. So,” he rolled his eyes and crossed his legs, “the host of the show, Robert Stack, showed up to do the bit, and someone whispered in his ear about old Nehemiah Jacob and his devil babies. I guess it was too gruesome for them since they didn’t even bother to check it out. Maybe Bigfoot was bigger than demon-possessed babies and haunted waterfalls that week. Hell, maybe they got themselves enough stories about child brides and polygamists down there in Utah and Texas. Crazy Mormon offshoots, Latter Day Saints and all that.”
“Did anybody ever go digging around in the water to see if it was true—try and dig up some skeletons or something? I’d think the state university would send some archeology students or something up this way, local lore and all.”
“Naw, no one was ever sent that I know of. Course,” the sheriff laughed, “Maybe they were here, and the Falls got them too.”
Lance grimaced.
“Seriously though, back when Nehemiah was doing his thing this was open frontier, so any skeletal remains that surfaced would be long gone by now—either washed downstream or dragged away by wolves or mountain lions.”
They fell silent, listening to the sounds of the falls and the forest. Something stirred deep inside of Lance, a possibility that the deaths of his wife and son were not arbitrary tragedies of Job-like fate. That maybe something else was behind the nightmare of the past two days. And not just Colleen, Jeremy and the baby, but Uncle Ballard too. If that was the case that would change things, wouldn’t it? Lance looked over at Sheriff Perry. He wasn’t sure how to formulate the questions in his mind to the man without sounding like a paranoid kook. Perry took it all in stride, as if these things just happened and that was that. Sure the man was sympathetic, but he really hadn’t offered much in the way of consolation or comfort. Lance began to question why the lawman was hanging around at all. The urge to be alone was growing stronger now. His hands clenched the arm of the chair. Paint chips flaked off on his skin. Lance flicked it from his palm.
Cool air stirred the mingled scents of smoke, mountain stream, and evergreen pine.
The sheriff waved his cigarette in the air, the tiny dot of red ember bright against the darkness. “Hard to search in those waters, with the sand. There’s a lot of magnetite, a black iron oxide. It stays stirred up at the bottom of the falls, near the white water. Diving under there…sometimes it’s like getting sandblasted. That’s why they’re called Black Mercy Falls—the waters can be black sometimes. The town voted to drop the Black part in 1978, just make it Mercy Falls. Guess they thought the name was scaring away ethnic tourists or something. Anyway, someone at city hall botched things up; didn’t submit the right paperwork to the U.S. post office and here we are. Signs say Mercy Falls; mail still says Black Mercy Falls. Most people these days just say the hell with it and call it The Falls.”
Lance listened, the sheriff’s words mingling with his own morbid thoughts.
“This has always been a nice piece of property, if a little grim for its reputation.” The sheriff mashed out the shrinking cigarette. He retrieved the package from his pocket, and thumped the end against his palm. A Zippo flipped in the darkness, and he lit another cigarette. Visions of cancer danced through Lance’s head.
“Lots of history, though. Your uncle even did some prospecting here. Did a little bit of unauthorized blasting, too. I had to talk to him about it six years back or so. He found a vein, but I’m not sure he ever finished mining it out.”
“Yeah, I saw the permits.”
“Permits, huh? That’s something. He never mentioned permits. Wouldn’t have mattered if he had them. I still would’ve stopped him from blasting on account of the place being protected by ecological measures.”
“It’s private property.” Lance said, his voice tired.
Perry grunted in the darkness and gave a short laugh.
They were quiet again. Lance was starting to come out of his daze, the dull throb of pain returning at his subconscious wonderings of why he hadn’t heard Colleen calling, or why he hadn’t heard the sound of Jeremy’s feet running through the house or rooting through the kitchen. The dark hole inside was the result of their absence, and the nocturnal force of Black Mercy Falls.
He swallowed hard, fatigued. “Do you need to get home, sheriff?”
“Nothin’ to get home to. ‘Course I’ve been jawin’ your ear off imposin’ myself…you probably need some time to yourself.” The sheriff stood.
“No family at home?”
“Kids moved on twenty years ago. My wife of forty years, Mary Ellen, died three years ago. Too bad Mercy Falls wasn’t known for healing properties instead of killing ones. Not much good cleansing souls. Dead’s still dead.” The sheriff gave a tired smile. “So it’s just me—upholding the law and smoking myself to an overdue grave.”
The unbidden thought of Perry tossing his wife over the falls made Lance shudder.
“Well, guess I’ll hit the road then. Sure you’ll be okay out here tonight?”
“I’ll be fine. I do appreciate your hanging around a while.” They walked downstairs and shook hands. At the door, Lance watched Perry get into his vehicle and drive off.
10
The following morning found the new day’s sun breaking over the ridge with Lance at the edge of the pool, looking up at the majestic waterfall. Solid streams of crystal water fell from above, crashing over the broken angles of granite. The water frothed where it roared into the pool. Rays of morning cast rainbows of refracted light through the mist.
After the sheriff left last night, Lance drank the rest of the bourbon and slept for a couple of hours. He awoke on the couch where Jeremy had slept the night before, and then stumbled into the kitchen to make fresh coffee. He absently poured a cup, staring into the liquid more than drinking it. When it went cold, he dumped it into the sink and went outside.
Lance gazed at the falls. Surrounded by the beauty of creation, knowing first-hand its deadly force, he thought about God and the devil, and wondered if either had ever truly been at work here.
The mere thought of God’s involvement was a circular argument in his mind; God hadn’t killed Colleen or Jeremy, or Anna for that matter, but he sure didn’t save them either. Lance had never been much of a church-going man, but he’d spent some time there growing up, and he knew the litany preachers laid out for folks in situations like his: His ways are higher than our ways, and we can’t know His will unless we submit ourselves to it. They’d say that God didn’t kill people, but that people died because of a curse passed down from Adam and Eve, those damned original sinners, and anyway, there’s a purpose for everything that happens in life. Even the bad things. And what Satan intends for evil, God can use for good.
Well, he couldn’t say if this was evil, but standing here alone, in the still morning air, facing the roaring might of Black Mercy Falls, he f
elt something, if nothing more than a deep heart sickness that spread poison into all the dreams he’d had for his life.
Everything he’d dreamed was over now. Only he and the falls remained.
“Well, God,” he muttered, “If you’re there and you’re listening, help me. And, well, if you’re not, then I guess I haven’t bothered you any.”
Lance waded into the water, heading toward the churn at the base. With each step, the bottom of the pool eroded beneath his feet and he began to swim, feeling the undercurrent swirl.
He dived. He tried to search, but black sand clouded the water making it difficult to see. He searched with his hands and his feet, groping the base of the pool…desperately searching every inch that he could. He worked his way around the outer edge until he came to the raging waters where the falls cascaded, their constant roar deafening up close. The water was black just like Perry had described.
Resting against a smooth boulder, he clung to it, panting. The stone was cool under his cheek. He looked up, thinking of the little bodies of deformed children, born with horns and tails, bouncing from the rock wall and falling to brutal deaths. He wondered how he’d react if he found a skeleton lending credence to the tale. He thought about Ed, Perry’s brother, and of Mary Ellen, Perry’s dead wife.
And what about Ballard’s wife? She died so soon after they were married….
The thought of dying wives choked him up, and he focused his eyes on the majesty of the waterfalls to chase away the pain.
Lance wondered what might lay hidden behind the falls. He strained to see through the cascade into the black mouth yawning in the rock. Behind the falls was a recessed cliff, enclosed by the heavy curtain of water, with an oblong opening in the slick wall. The gash was a little taller and wider than a grown man. Looking at it through the stream of falling water, the cleft resembled an arched doorway.
Lance swam to another boulder and heaved himself onto it, staring at the hollow. The sun was warm against his wet skin. He sat on the stone allowing the hot rays to dry him. Birds flew from the trees to the edge of the pool, dipping into the shallow regions. He noticed they grew quiet near the water. You’re spooking yourself, man. Of course they’re quiet near the water; they’re cautious while they’re vulnerable.
Lance returned his attention to the cave entrance.
He surveyed the rocky path leading behind the falls. There was a narrow ledge that would allow passage, but he’d take a serious beating from the water. Mentally, he calculated the odds of getting thrashed against the jagged rocks below should he lose his balance.
“What the hell does it matter?” He slid into the churning waves and swam as close as he could before scrambling onto the ledge. With a quick pivot, he stood and pressed his back against the rock, fitting his shoes onto the wet lip of stone. It was dangerously slick.
He edged around an outcropping and then climbed over two boulders before reaching the shelf of rock leading behind the plunging falls. Breathing heavy, he gripped the mountain’s side with fingernails turned blue from the cold. He took a final deep breath, held it, and pushed through the cascade. The water came down with such force that it almost ripped his grasp from the stone. And then, just as it seemed the pressure might crush him, the water was behind him and he was inside of the cave.
Lance took a moment to recover from the watery bombardment as he took in his surroundings. The passageway behind the falls disappeared into the center of the mountain from a shelf above the undercutting. Now that he could see it clearly, he realized the passage was more crevice than cavern, arched at the top and following a massive crack that thinned as it branched up the cliff face. A few slivers of sunshine lanced the gloom, illuminating the rocky chasm enough to see.
He stuck out a hand, steadying himself against the wall, slick with moisture, as he made his way along the shelf and entered the narrow rock corridor. Ahead in the distance, the pathway glowed brighter, and he figured the crevice must go all the way through the mountain to the surface above. He groped his way along the passage until he emerged into a beam of sunlight. From there, the crevice sloped a few feet down, opening into a sinkhole: a cavern formed by hundreds of years of churning backwater.
He squeezed through the narrow opening, and breathed deep as he stepped onto the ruddy surface of rock, slipping down into the large cavern. Lance caught himself on a steep slant and looked around, musty air filling his lungs. Half a mile or so overhead he could make out dripping stalactites, the distant roots of trees hanging like ropes, and a gaping hole allowing sunlight to pour in. The path was larger here as it snaked around the circumference of the room. He could hear the echo of drips coming from the grand ceiling.
Continuing on, he discovered another passageway. Entering it, he ventured as far as he could until the rocky corridor narrowed. It was a tight fit and there wasn’t much light. He started back the way he’d come when a noise caught his ear…a bubbling sound. He stood motionless, listening.
He heard it again.
It sounded familiar. What came to mind was the sound of boiling volcanic pools at Yellowstone. But the liquid sounded thicker, like magma might sound bubbling from the core of the earth. It was coming from an opening the size of a bowling ball close to the ground where the passageway funneled down to an apparent ending, but it was deceptive—at a slightly different angle he could see that there was enough room to turn sideways and go in farther.
He inched into the deep shadows, wary of falling rocks or sudden drop-offs. The sound of each bubble bursting was followed by a wet hiss. Wishing for a flashlight, he crouched to the ground, closer to the noise’s origin. What meager light seeped into the small chamber was just enough to see the floor. He wedged a few more inches into the passage and cringed at an acidic scent.
Beyond the narrow passage in which he’d wedged himself, the cavern widened into a circular chamber. Its walls were like carved ebony, glistening. On the chamber floor was a rocky pit about three feet wide. The pit was full of a pulsing black substance that shivered and seemed to breath like some kind of living tar. Bubbles rose to the murky surface, each one popping and hissing as drops met with the nearby water. Water dripped against the stone; the black goo responded by trembling. Chest tight, Lance stared, blinking in the dim light. The substance quaked with every echo.
“What the hell?”
The black mass convulsed at the sound of his voice.
A few rocks shook loose from the nearby wall.
Lance instinctively backed away from the chamber.
The subterranean ooze heaved itself upward, expanding over the lip of the pit, and crept forward as if seeking the source of his voice. Fear seized him; panic welled in his chest, tightening the tendons in his neck. Lance scrambled backward, almost losing his footing on a small shelf.
One look behind confirmed what he could hardly believe was happening—the primordial slime rolled toward him in a thick layer of muck over the rocks. The air thickened with a foul stench and, perhaps it was the talk of the paranormal with the sheriff the night before, but he had a distinct awareness of malevolent forces stirring, awakening to his presence. It was as if static electricity filled the air around him, raising the hair on his arms and at the back of his neck. The dark energy raised his pulse, rippled the darkness that became heavy and pressed around him, like a damp cloak weighing him down, making it hard to breathe. Something he could describe only as evil permeated the air.
The sludge flowed over the rocks toward him.
Lance ran.
He scrambled toward what he thought was the main cavern, but he’d gone the wrong way. The dim light from the sinkhole grew more distant. He turned around and worked his way back, heart pounding at the thought of the crawling slime engulfing his feet in the darkness. He stumbled; his ankle twisted and hit a large rock. He winced.
“Shit!” His curse reverberated through the cave. Rocks shook from above, pelting him. His feet slipped as the ground fell away in a small avalanche. Stones cascaded and t
he sudden whooshing sound of rushing water followed him.
Blind in the darkness, he was swept into water. He was submerged for a panicked moment until the flow surged against him, pushing him, coughing, to the surface. A strong wave thrust against Lance’s back and propelled him forward. His flesh was raked over rocks. He was bounced against boulders, unable to get his bearings, caught like a blind surfer in the curl of a wave. Water enveloped him again, rushing in a torrent. He struggled to hold his breath, lungs wanting to explode. Eyes squinted shut, arms folded protectively over his head, he braced against inevitable death.
Then, with a huge force, he was expelled from the cavern, spewed forth, sent through the cascade of the falls in an explosion of prismed water, soaring into the sunlight. He fell like a cannonball into the pool. Moments later he rose to the dark surface, arms breaking the waves, head in the air, coughing. He reached for something to grasp. Found a rock. Hands clawing, knuckles bone-white, he clutched it, gasping for air.
Slowly he made his way to the jagged shore. Cupping his eyes against the sun, he watched as the projecting water joined forces with the cascade from the fall. The pool deepened.
“Fuck you!” he shouted, fists clenched, raised toward the falls. “Why not take me, too? Why not take me?” He raged, blood rushing until it formed a piercing headache behind his eyes, until his throat was hoarse and his face was flushed.
His fury abated and left him drained of energy. Lance staggered to a large boulder and leaned against it, breathing hard. That was when, under a lopsided pine tree across the driveway from the cabin, he spotted the old wood shed.
The shed was at the bottom of a slope, close to where the pool at the base of Mercy Falls flowed into the creek. The old building was near collapse, but was supported by the trunk of another fallen tree.
Sniffing, wiping his face, he walked to the dilapidated shed. As he neared it, a bird flapped noisily from the eaves. He ducked instinctively. Grasping the rotting wood, he yanked on the door. A chunk of it came away in his hands. Tossing the crumbly bits onto the ground, he seized the door again, managing to jerk it right off the rusty hinges.
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