by Rick Hautala
Granger snickered, shifting his weight in his chair and joining his hands behind his head. “Come on, Ted. You and I both know there ain’t no wolves in New Hampshire, haven’t been for over a hundred years.”
Ted walked over to Granger’s desk and slammed his fist down. “Well I don’t give a shit what it is! Me and Gene and few other guys have decided to do something about it.” He cleared his throat as though making a speech. “We’re organizing a hunt. We’re here to ask for permission to carry loaded guns after dark. That’s when the animal hits, so that’s when we’re gonna hunt it.”
“Now wait a minute, Ted,” Granger said, slowly rising from his chair. “You know I can’t suspend the hunting laws like that.” He snapped his fingers under Ted’s nose.
Ted exploded. “Roy, we’re gonna do it whether you give us permission or not. Enough of us have lost enough livestock and are worried enough about it to take the chance of gettin’ fined.” Having said his piece, Seavey went over to the door and leaned against it. His eyes bore into Granger, but the blood drained slowly from his face and he relaxed. He picked up his coffee where he had left it and took a sip. It was cold.
“Well, we do have a problem here,” Granger said thoughtfully. “The first thing I want you to do is give me a list of everyone who’s going to be out on this hunt.”
“Sure,” Ted said.
“Good, that way if I decide to arrest you, I’ll be able to get you all.” Seavey missed the attempt at humor and glared at Granger.
“Now another thing,” Granger said. “I don’t want you or anyone else spreading any stories about wild dogs in our woods. We don’t need the panic, and we don’t need any bad publicity.”
“What if it is wolves?” Gene said, almost dreamily, as though he hadn’t heard the last five minutes of the argument. “I think I heard something about how they were gonna bring some Canadian timber wolves into the state, you know, to give ’em a chance to expand their range. Maybe they already started and didn’t tell anyone, you know, ’cause of the fuss.”
“I doubt it, Granger said, “because I think we would have heard something about it.”
Ted snorted. “Not if they didn’t want us to, we wouldn’t.”
“Well I’ll tell you one thing.” Granger pointed his finger at Ted. “If this here animal is a wolf, you just keep in mind that wolves are protected by federal law. You guys can hunt at night, and if I don’t like it, I can get the warden to slap a fine on you. But if you kill a wolf, it’s a federal crime.”
Gene shrugged his shoulder, dismissing the thought. “Maybe it’s coyotes, them coy-dogs, they call ’em.”
“Whatever it is, I just want you fellas to be careful. I have the authority to, but I won’t pick any of you up for this. Just be goddamn careful. I don’t want anyone getting shot; it’s bad enough once hunting season starts.”
Gene shook his head sadly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Roy, you know it’s always out-of-staters that get shot up during hunting season.”
Ted went over and put his coffee cup on the table and then started out the door. “Yeah, well, we just wanted to talk it over with you. For the next couple of nights or so, we’re gonna be out in the woods.”
“OK,” Granger said. “And keep me posted. Ted, I’ll be out your way later today to check that henhouse.”
“Sure. Thanks a lot,” Ted said as he left. Gene scrambled to his feet and followed him out the door. Just as he left, someone else walked into the office. Granger looked up and nodded to his deputy, Rick Thurston.
“Sorry I’m late,” Thurston said. “I had a little trouble with my car this morning. Guess it needs a tune-up.”
“Don’t sweat it, Rick,” Granger said. “It’s not like we have a murder case on our hands.” He paused and looked out the window for a moment, then said, “But I do think we got some trouble brewing.”
Briefly, Granger filled Rick in on what had just transpired in the office. Thurston listened attentively, nodding but saying nothing.
“So,” Granger concluded, “they’re gonna be out hunting for the next few nights. I don’t think there’ll be any trouble, but it won’t hurt to be on the alert.”
Thurston squared his shoulders and said, “I try to be ready all the time.”
Granger chuckled. “Good, good,” he muttered. “Now to get down to more serious matters. Who’s going to run over to the B&B and see what Ruthie’s got for donuts?” He took a quarter from his pocket and flipped it into the air.
.II.
As he got closer to the library, Bob slowed his pace and walked leisurely along the asphalt path that angled across the park. He had had a simple breakfast of toast and eggs at the B&B and was enjoying the sense of satisfaction he got walking along the Main Street of his new town. Lisa had a lot to do with it. They had been seeing each other quite a bit during the past month; they hoped they had not generated any suspicions.
There was a football game in progress at the far end of the park, and Bob stopped for a moment to watch. Apparently there was a difference of opinion. The boys were gathered in a circle, and Bob could hear their shrill, angry voices rising higher and higher. At last the disagreement was settled, and the boys split into two opposing lines again. Bob watched the snap of the ball and the resulting pile-up, then started up the granite steps.
At the top of the steps, just before entering the library, Bob turned to look again out over the peaceful Saturday morning park. The trees and the ivy that climbed up the walls of the library were just starting to turn. A squirrel skittered across the lawn, its cheeks filled with acorns.
Suddenly, a big cloud overhead passed in front of the sun, blotting out the light and plunging the park into shadow. This had an unnerving effect on Bob, and he stood there for a moment, rigid.
Why, he wondered, does that feel so ominous? He watched the darkness shift over the park. The boys playing football didn’t even notice it; they kept on playing.
While he was eating breakfast in the B&B, he had heard a few men at the counter talking about the wild dog. They were sure it was still around, running in the woods. Then one of them told everyone that something, the wild dog, he thought, tore up someone’s chicken coop. All of this brought back the warning Vera Miller had given him about not walking around after dark.
“You never know what’s going to be out there…”
Somehow, the cloud passing overhead brought all of this back to Bob, and it gave him an extremely uncomfortable feeling. He opened the door to the library and rushed in, feeling almost as though he was seeking refuge from something.
“Good morning,” Lisa called to him brightly. She got up from her desk and came over to him quickly. He noticed that she was looking better and better every time he saw her. She glanced around furtively, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Good news, too,” she said, smiling. “I finally found that book you were looking for, the Greek Anthology. It had fallen down behind the shelf.” She giggled. “Shows how much I dust around this place, huh?”
Bob nodded his head and said nothing.
“Hey! What’s the matter?”
Bob shrugged. “Aww. I don’t know.”
“You still need the book, don’t you?” Lisa asked earnestly.
“Yeah, I do. Thanks for getting it,” he said dully.
“Come on, Bob. What’s bugging you?”
“Nothing. Really, nothing, just, well, forget it. So where’s the book?”
Lisa slapped her open palm against her forehead. “Stupid me. I was cleaning, so I put it back on the shelf and then left it there.” She studied him for a moment, her green eyes sparkling. “Hey, you know, if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”
He saw that her concern was genuine and tried hard to return a brave smile. “I’ll go get that book,” he said, heading toward the door to the stacks, “then maybe we can talk.”
“Sure,” Lisa said warmly. “I’ll go put on a fresh pot of coffee. It’ll be done by the ti
me you get back.”
Once he was alone in the stacks, Bob felt a measure of relief. He had always felt a certain peacefulness in library stacks. The ceiling-high metal shelves jammed with dusty old books offered a pleasant quiet and protection. He walked slowly down the aisle, clicking off each title as he went. He located the Hadas book, tucked it under his arm, and continued down the line without interruption.
His thoughts were muddled as he tried to sort out why he had gotten such a funny feeling as he looked out over the park. There was no way he could deny it; there had been a distinct feeling of foreboding, of danger. He realized that he was letting little things bother him. This talk about a wild dog in the woods just wasn’t as serious as the guys around town were making it. He tried to force his mind into a lighter mood.
He snapped up straight suddenly. Has it been his imagination, or had he really heard faint laughter? He cocked his ear and listened intently. He heard it again; not right-out laughter, but muffled, as if behind a hand.
Bob peered along the row of books he had been following. The stacks were quiet again except for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. Then, a third time, he heard it: a high, almost childlike laugh.
He found that he was holding his breath as he edged his way around the bookcase into the next aisle. There was no one there, and just as he had concluded that he hadn’t pinpointed the direction correctly, he caught a shadow of motion in the next aisle over.
Someone else was in the stacks. That wouldn’t have unnerved him, ordinarily, but that laughter: so childlike, yet so spooky sounding.
Silently, Bob tiptoed to the aisle and sneaked a look at whomever it was who had invaded the sanctuary of the stacks.
When he first saw the woman, he had to choke back a gasp of surprise. He immediately recognized the mass of tangled black hair. The woman, sensing that someone was watching her, snapped her head around and nailed Bob with a harsh stare.
It was Julie Sikes.
She was holding a large, leather-bound volume in her hands. Keeping her pale blue eyes locked on Bob, she slowly closed the book and, without looking, slid it back into place.
Bob was transfixed by her appearance. Her wild shock of black hair framed her face which, in the harsh electric light, looked pale and waxen. She was wearing a long back dress that brushed the floor and a white shawl over her shoulders. When she turned around, Bob saw that the top of her dress was open, exposing a vast area of her chest.
“You surprised me,” she said softly, airily. Her voice was nothing like the angry voice Bob remembered from that argument in the bar. She held Bob’s gaze with her eyes.
“I’m, I’m sorry,” Bob stammered, feeling embarrassed. “I, uhh, I didn’t know there was anyone else up here.”
Julie smiled slightly. “It is a public library, isn’t it?” she said with a faint laugh.
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Bob tried to take his eyes away from the woman, but the piercing blank gaze held him.
“You gave me quite a start, too,” Julie said. Her smile widened and she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.
“I didn’t mean to,” Bob said. “Sorry.”
Julie took a step closer to him. He felt a tight tingling in his stomach. “Uhh, what were you reading that was so funny?” he asked, aware that his voice sounded strained.
“Oh nothing, nothing,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. Bob couldn’t help but notice that the movement emphasized the woman’s ample cleavage. “I was just looking for something to read, a novel or something.”
She took a few more steps closer to Bob, and he pressed back against the bookcase to let her pass. She stopped, standing right up close to him. He caught an aroma of cloves and he could feel her body-heat.
Looking directly into his eyes, she said, “Do you have any suggestions?” Her breath was warm on his face.
“Ahh, no. Not really,” Bob said awkwardly. He tried but was unable to look away.
“Hmmm,” she said, looking thoughtful and faraway. “Well, maybe later.” With that, she moved past him and walked down the aisle. Bob watched her hair bounce and flutter with each step. Just before she turned the corner to leave the stacks, she turned around and nodded, almost imperceptibly. Bob nodded back silently, and then she was gone.
Once she was gone, he would have seriously wondered whether or not she had been there had he not been left with the cloying aroma of cloves.
.III.
“She must have come in when I was in the back room or something,” Lisa said, blowing on her coffee before taking a tentative sip. “I didn’t know she was up there.”
Bob smiled slightly, shook his head, and looked down at the floor.
“Well?” Lisa said. “Did you speak with her?”
“Uhh, no.” Bob shook his head and started to raise his cup to his mouth. Some coffee spilled and burned his fingers. “God! This is hot,” he muttered.
“What was she looking at?” Lisa asked. She was making an effort to sound casual, conversational, but she could see that meeting Julie had put Bob on edge.
“I don’t know,” Bob replied. “I didn’t even check. It just startled me because I thought I was up there alone, that’s all. But I’ll tell you one thing, Lisa. You were right. She does have some kind of a, some kind of an energy or something. I don’t know. It seemed like she had some kind of power or something.”
Lisa laughed and took a sip of coffee. “Now you’re starting to sound like her.”
“Huh?”
“You didn’t check to see what she was looking at. I’ll bet you next week’s paycheck it was some kind of occult book. You know, witchcraft, ESP, whatever.”
Bob raised his eyebrows.
“That’s all she ever takes out, books like that.”
“Well then she really likes to play it up, I’ll tell you that much. It’s like she has this kind of control over things that nobody else has. Like, like, I don’t know.”
“Now, maybe you understand what I was trying to tell you that night I met you at the Royal. She always has that kind of aloof detachment, even when she was at the funerals for her baby and her husband.”
“She’s weird, all right. I don’t know what she’s into, but it sure must be a strange trip.”
“She really shook you up, didn’t she?”
Bob nodded and drained his cup with three gulps.
“Here. Do you want a refill?”
Bob held out his cup and Lisa started to pour. His hand was shaking. Lisa reached out with her other hand to steady Bob’s cup.
“God! Your hand’s as cold as ice,” she said with surprise.
Bob smiled tightly but said nothing. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply. He straightened up and said, “Hey, let’s forget it, huh?” He looked into Lisa’s eyes and drew her closer to him.
“The library isn’t going to get very busy today. It’s a beautiful September day, and it’s almost time for lunch. What do you say we drive out to North Conway and see if we can find a restaurant with a decent menu?”
Lisa hesitated, cast a nervous glance into the empty library, and then said, “Well, OK. But I have to be back by one o’clock.”
“Two at the latest,” Bob said, grinding out his cigarette and taking Lisa by the arm.
.IV.
Through the dust and cobwebs that covered the hayloft window, Ned could see the sun slanting down behind the hills. A beam of light sliced through the grimy window, illuminating a small cloud of dust that hung suspended, glittering over Ned’s head. Below, he could hear the cows shuffling in their stalls.
Ned grunted and started to push a bale of hay across the floor to the open trap door. He paused, wiped the sweat on the back of his neck, then shoved the bale up to the opening. The bale balanced on the edge, teetered, and then fell to the floor below with a dull thud. He looked down and saw that the bailing wire had snapped, and the hay lay spread out like an accordion.
Ned sat back on his heels and stared vacantly a
t the wall. He felt a line of sweat carve its way through the grime on his neck. Slowly he raised his hand and pulled his damp hair away from his eyes, then, shaking his head as if just waking, he stood up. From below, he heard the side-door spring stretch open, then the spring twanged and pulled the door shut. Footsteps scuffed along the cement floor and then stopped.
“You up there Ned?” his mother called sharply.
He stood, tensed, unable to answer.
“Well, supper’s on.”
“K,” he answered, his voice as thin as paper.
He heard her take three quick steps and then stop.
“You got everything done?” she yelled, and when he didn’t answer, “I said, did you get—”
“Yeah, yeah, just about. I’ll be right down.” He glanced out the window where the sky was now tinted orange with thick purple streaks in it. A spot right between his shoulders got a sudden chill, and he shivered as he shifted his gaze back to the trap-door hole. “Be right down,” he whispered as he curled his upper lip into a sneer.
He waited without moving until he heard his mother leave the barn, then he lowered himself through the hole. His arms trembled, supporting his weight, but before he dropped, he glanced down at his legs. He let them hang loosely, suspended, swaying above the floor. For a moment he fantasized that he was a hanged man, and the image amused him until he glanced at the worn, shiny wood at the edge of the trap door. The fantasy took on a harsh degree of reality. He looked at his hands; they looked pale, the skin seemed thin as onionskin.
“No, no,” he whispered, the words barely above a croak. The image of the gallows remained as he snapped his arms to his side and dropped.
He hit the floor with a groan, his knees giving way with a sharp, burning pain that shot down to his ankles. Moving slowly, he went over to the stall and grabbed the pitchfork he had left there. As he was forking fresh straw into Tillie’s stall, she looked at him over her shoulder. Softly she mooed.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Ned muttered, his eyebrows creasing into a deep slash across his forehead. “You’ve got it pretty goddamn easy.”