Cat's Eye

by William W. Johnstone

  “You object to animals in the house, Dee?”

  “Oh, no. I lost my chow last year and still haven’t gotten over the loss. I had him for twelve years. I love animals.”

  Carl noticed that Dingo occasionally glanced at the deep woods. Every time he did, the hair on the dog’s back bristled.

  “He knows something’s wrong in there.”

  “Like what?” She stared at the woods.

  Carl shook his head. “I ... I’m not sure. Come on. Let’s go into the house. I’ll tell you what I can remember.”

  * * *

  Carl relived the memories of Ruger County that night. He dreamed the horror again and again. The mangled and half-eaten bodies, the terrible transformations of people he’d known who became drooling beasts. The morning his father died so that the nightmare could end.

  But it hadn’t ended.

  Carl woke up bathed in sweat.

  The singing was once more drifting sweetly and seductively from the dark timber, floating like heady and hypnotic perfume through the open window.

  Carl slipped from bed and dressed, stepping out into the dark den. Dingo was lying at the foot of the stairs. But he was not asleep. The animal was tense and very alert.

  “What is that sound?” Dee called from the top of the stairs.

  “What I told you about. Don’t listen to it.”

  “How do you not listen to it?” She walked down the stairs. Dingo rose and stayed by her side.

  “Think about something else. Concentrate on your big toe—anything. What time is it?”

  “Four o’clock.”

  “Keep the lights out.” He looked at Dingo. “Guard,” he told him.

  The animal looked at him as if to say, “What the hell do you think I’m doing, fool!”

  “Sorry,” Carl muttered to the dog. “You know your job better than I do, I guess.”

  “I don’t need any lights to make coffee. I’ll make some toast too.”

  Dee turned toward the kitchen and Carl moved toward the front door. They both stopped as the chanting and singing ceased and a heavy purring began.

  Dingo growled.

  Scratch!

  The scratching came from the rear of the house, and it grated on those inside like a fingernail moving slowly down a blackboard.

  “That’s no house cat,” Dee said softly.

  “Certainly not any house cat that I’d want to meet,” Carl agreed.

  Dingo had whirled around, fangs bared, the hair on his back standing up like a wire brush.

  Purr. Scratch.

  Every fiber within the dog wanted to go outside to confront whatever was out there. But Jackson had trained him well. He would attack only if his mistress commanded it or if she was in immediate danger . . . from something the animal could see.

  Carl had carefully inspected all around the house. He had noticed the security lights mounted on both the front and rear of the A-frame. He moved toward the rear of the house.

  “Dee, when I give you the word hit the rear floodlights.”

  Carl hesitated, then walked to the fireplace and picked up a heavy poker. By the rear entrance, he softly unlocked the door and put his hand on the knob.

  “Now!” Carl said. The backyard filled with light as Carl jerked open the door.

  The stench that assaulted his nostrils very nearly overpowered him. But the shock at confronting ... whatever the hell it was ... standing on the back porch momentarily numbed the young man.

  With a wild shriek, the man—Carl could only guess it was a man—leaped from the porch just as Dee screamed. That was enough for Dingo. With a snarl of rage the big dog almost knocked Carl down as he tore out the back door, with one thought on his mind: to rip out just as big a piece of the intruder as he could.

  But the man scaled the high chain-link fence with the grace of a deer and was gone into the night, outside the perimeter of light.

  Dingo drew up short of the fence and let it be known in no uncertain terms that he now had the trespasser’s scent and would be waiting for a return bout.

  Dee had recovered from her fright enough to function and was spraying the kitchen with deodorant. The spray slowly overrode the stench.

  Carl called to Dingo and the animal reluctantly returned to the house, still clearly irritated that the foul-smelling intruder had gotten away.

  “What was that thing?” she asked, her voice trembly.

  “I don’t know,” Carl admitted.

  And in truth, he didn’t. The figure he had seen on the porch was not anything like those hideous creatures that had roamed Ruger County. But he was certain it was what he had seen prancing through the woods the previous afternoon.

  He could not see the face; that had been shrouded by a hood. But the hands were human. He had seen the hands; they were not animal paws, not hooked and gnarled.

  “He . . . it ... went over that tall fence like a deer,” Dee said, breaking into his thoughts.

  “Yeah. And so fast that Dingo couldn’t catch it.” So was it human or animal? he silently asked himself. “I’ll say it again, Dee. It isn’t safe here for you.”

  “It’s some sort of a trick, Carl. Many of the people in this county resent me and dislike me. I just don’t believe in the supernatural.”

  He had not told her about the events in Ruger, for many reasons. Chief among them was the fact that the government had warned them all: If any of them ever went public with it, the consequences could be dire—and besides, who would believe them?

  Carl had never told anyone about the events that led up to the death of his father. But he felt it was time to break that silence . . . at least with Dee.

  “Let’s make some coffee, Dee. It’s time for us to have a talk.”

  * * *

  She sat in silence, mentally trying to absorb and sort out all that Carl had told her. The coffeepot was empty and the sun was trying to push aside the darkness by the time he’d finished.

  “Your mother?” she finally asked.

  “Moved to Florida. She tried to stay in Valentine, but she just couldn’t. Too many memories, both good and bad.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Dink, that’s her nickname, went with her. She’s attending the University of Florida.”

  “Your friend, Mike?”

  “Believe it or not, Mike did graduate and moved up into the Northwest. He has his own construction business and is doing well.”

  “You witnessed your father’s . . . death?”

  “No. I was with Mother. Captain Taylor told me about it. He said it was the bravest and most unselfish thing he’d ever seen another man do.”

  “The priest?”

  “Father Denier. He died with my dad. I wish he was here. I don’t know if I can go through this again.”

  “Do you have a choice?”

  Carl looked long at her, as the sun’s rays began to touch the land, driving away, temporarily at least, the evil that darkness always brings—creeping insidiously and relentlessly on silent feet through the purple shadows. “What do you mean, Dee?”

  “You listened to the tapes last night.”

  “So?”

  “You heard what the others couldn’t hear.”

  That he had. The filth that had poured out of the speaker was unequaled in intensity and verbal degradation. “Yes. So I did.”

  “We both saw the silent storm the other morning. No one else did.”

  He had to admit that was true.

  “You’re obviously in this as much as I am.”

  “Dee, you may think this is off the subject, but I’m not so sure of that. You surely must have known how many residents of this county feel about your father.”

  “Sure. Probably a good twenty-five percent hate him. If he can buy a piece of property and turn it into a nature trail or safe haven for birds and deer and all sorts of animals, he will. He owns property all over the United States that he’s turned control of over to environmental groups or wildlife groups. And he always doe
s it right in the middle of so-called prime hunting land, or where the rednecks come to ride their three-wheelers or four-wheelers, not caring what they destroy or pollute with those stinking damn machines.”

  Carl grinned at her as the rhetoric became heated. “You don’t have to convince me, Miss Daphne. I’m with you in the treatment of the land and the wild critters who live in it.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s one of my pet peeves. Why did you ask that, Carl?”

  “Did you come in here and build this A-frame—and I can see that it’s not over two or three years old—just for spite?”

  She grinned back at him. “You damn right I did! I told you about all this acreage my father owns. Dad has tried to turn all this over to some conservation group; turn it into an animal refuge, with hiking trails and so forth. Make it for all people to enjoy. But every time some group agrees to take it, they get really hassled. A few of the cops ticket them every time they get behind the wheel of a car. Tires are cut, windshields smashed out. And more than one person has been verbally intimidated, and a few have been brutally beaten. No group wants to take it and put the lives of its members in danger. Carl, I’m a Virginian, I love this state. I’m very wealthy, Carl. I could live in the south of France if I so chose. But I chose to live here. Right here in Reeves County. And I’m not picking on this state. I know from personal experience, working with environmental groups since I was fourteen years old, that you can go into parts of any state, any county in the United States, and find cruddy and crappy people. But I live here, Carl, and nobody is going to run me off this land.”

  Carl sensed that part of that last sentence was a clear message to him: that she didn’t want to hear any more talk about it not being safe and that it would be best if she packed up and left.

  “Some things are coming back to me now. Over the last couple of years, haven’t there been several people lost around here and nothing ever found of them?”

  “Oh, yes. And the state police suspect that a lot more than just a few have vanished around here. More than a dozen families of transients have pinpointed this area as the last place their relatives were spotted—never to be seen again.”

  “We didn’t get them all.” Carl spoke the words very softly. “They just moved northwest about fifty miles—into the timber—and waited for another signal that the Old Ones were ready to surface.”

  Dee rubbed her arms as if she was cold. She probably was—from fear. “And you think these . . . Old Ones are surfacing?”

  “Looks like it. And I doubt that Sheriff Rodale is aware of the horror. That fat pig—no pun intended—hasn’t got the imagination to understand what’s about to bust wide open all around him.”

  “I’m . . . not really sure that I do myself. I mean, I heard all your words, and could feel some of the horror—it came through in your voice. But I’m not sure I really understand.”

  “All those people who were in Ruger County, from the CDC . . .” Carl was talking more to himself than to Dee. “I don’t know how to get in touch with them. I have only that worm on which to base my story. No solid proof of any killings. Captain Taylor is retired. I don’t have any idea where he went.”

  “How about those men from the government?”

  “I don’t know. I never knew their real names. They all go by phony names.”

  They were silent for a time, enjoying the coolness of the early morning. It would be warming up considerably in a few hours.

  “There is something else you have to consider, Dee.”

  She waited for the other shoe to drop, with a feeling she wasn’t going to like what she heard.

  “If you decide to stay here, we may be all alone in this fight.”

  Chapter 4

  Dingo came out onto the porch and sat between their chairs, reminding them that they were not entirely alone.

  Dee laid a hand on the dog’s big head. “Whatever that thing was standing on the back porch this morning, Dingo certainly wasn’t afraid of it.”

  The dog looked around at the sound of his name, and then swung his head back toward the woods at the side of the house.

  “No. He wasn’t. That thing was almost human, Dee. I saw its hands. But it possessed superhuman athletic abilities.”

  “Almost human?” She glanced at him. “Are you convinced this is not just some sort of elaborate hoax?” Dee still clung to a faint hope.

  “I’m convinced. But convincing others is going to take some doing considering the skimpy evidence.”

  “Do you want to meet with my father, Carl? I can assure you he has the money to hire a private army.”

  “Suppose he orders you to pack up and leave this area.”

  “I’ll tell him to stick it in his ear!”

  She probably would too, Carl thought, a grin crossing his lips. “If it’s all right with you, let’s wait a couple of days.”

  “Suits me.”

  Carl stayed close to the house all that morning. Nothing out of the way happened. No singing or chanting, no more unwanted intruders, no sightings of dark-robed beings, and no more foul smells. But the feeling they were being watched did not go away. Dingo did not appear to be alarmed or unduly alert. He circled the yard about once every half hour, then returned to a spot, usually the same one, on the front porch.

  Carl approached Dee with an idea he’d been mulling over. “How do you feel about spending some money, Dee?”

  “Whatever you think is necessary, do it.”

  “It’s going to be expensive,” he cautioned.

  She smiled at him. “What do you consider expensive?”

  “Off the top of my head, I’d say between five and ten thousand dollars.”

  She put a hand on his arm and proceeded to tell him just what Daphne Conners was worth.

  * * *

  She had named a figure that was so high Carl could not even fully grasp the enormity of it. He had then asked Dee what she did with the money she earned from book sales. Without blinking she’d said, “I give it all to various charities.”

  Her income from the interest alone on her inheritance amounted to something like eighty-five hundred dollars a week. Most of it she put back into interest-bearing accounts or relatively safe stocks and bonds. And that didn’t take into account the monies she received from her stock in the family’s dozens of factories and businesses scattered all around the Free World.

  Carl just couldn’t comprehend that much money.

  Dee was not blase about her wealth. It was just that she had been born into money and was not impressed with it, since she had not had to lift one finger to earn it.

  Carl spent about thirty minutes on the phone, lining up a company to do the work he had in mind.

  “It’s going to be very noisy around here for a few days,” he told Dee. “This outfit has security at night for its equipment, so the house will be guarded. We’ll leave Dingo here—the automatic food-and-water-dispenser Jackson brought will insure he has plenty to eat and drink; he’s used to those things—and we’ll pull out and prowl the county. When we get back, the work will have been completed.”

  “For all that’s going to be done, it seems like a low figure.”

  “They’re getting the timber,” Carl told her. “That’s why it’s low.”

  * * *

  The workmen and the trucks began arriving just after dawn the next morning. Carl showed the foreman what he wanted done.

  “Piece of cake,” the hard-hatted man said. “Four days, max.”

  Carl and Dee pulled out in Dee’s Jaguar. “I’ve been through all the defensive driving schools,” she told him. “How to avoid terrorists and kidnappers and all that. This car is armor-plated and the glass is bullet-proof.”

  “It isn’t cop-proof, though,” Carl said, twisting in the seat and looking back just as a sheriffs unit pulled in behind them and cut on its flashing lights.

  Dee glanced in the rearview mirror. “Harrison,” she said, her voice dripping disgust.

  “Naturally. Well,
go ahead and pull over,” Carl told her. “There isn’t any point in making matters worse by refusing to stop.”

  Harrison made a big deal out of the stop by getting on his outside speaker and telling Dee to step out of the car and keep her hands in sight.

  “That asshole!” Carl said, having had a gutful of Deputy Harrison. He pointed to the modular phone. “That thing work?”

  “Sure.”

  “How do I use it?”

  She quickly showed him.

  “Thanks. Now go on and see what Stupid wants. I got a call to make.”

  Carl made his call and adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see what was going on in the sheriffs car behind him. After a few moments, Dee got out, slammed the door, and stalked back to the Jag.

  Harrison pulled out and waved cheerfully as he drove past.

  Dee opened her mouth and let loose a stream of cuss words that would have sobered up a career wino in less time than he could chug-a-lug a half pint of sweet lucy.

  Carl let her wind down. When she paused for breath, he said, “I don’t see any tickets. He’s just a hotdog cop. They just like to hassle people.”

  She cut her hot eyes at him. “Carl, I could have bought a publishing company in order to get published. My father could probably buy ten of them! But I have never believed in using my wealth as a lever against people. Harry Harrison has just changed my mind. That is the last time that man is ever going to hassle me. And that’s a promise.”

  Carl didn’t tell her that he had just hung up from calling his home office, and that right that moment, the boss was on the horn to Mister Edgar Conners at his corporate headquarters in Richmond. It would be interesting to see what the next few days brought.

  “You want me to drive?” he asked.

  “Please. I am so damned mad I don’t know what I might do.”

  Carl headed south, out of Reeves County. He had given up his plans of touring the county, getting a feel of it. At least for awhile. He had some serious thinking to do.

  * * *

  “Sit down,” the mayor of Butler, Virginia, county seat of Reeves County, said to Sheriff Rodale. “Shut your big fat mouth. And keep it shut.”

  “You cain’t talk to me like that!” Rodale hollered.

  “I just did, you fat pig,” Mayor Purdy told him.