Figures of Fear

by Graham Masterton

  By mid-afternoon I was an experienced hunter, a woodsman of legend, so I decided to ring home again. No answer.

  Dammit!

  I phoned the airline enquiries desk at Thief River Falls and asked when the next flight from Minneapolis was due in. Shirley, the cheery lady on the flight desk, confirmed that Marie, Tabitha and Conrad were scheduled on board the 18.15, and my heart sank. Why the hell had I married such an obstinate woman? I guessed if they arrived in TRF at 18.15, they’d be another hour or so getting their luggage then the long drive to Roseau would take at least until midnight. No doubt Marie would call me when they landed, so I decided it was time to get to work. The rifle broke down into three pieces and fitted neatly inside my rucksack with the ten boxes of ammunition. I dressed in my warmest outdoor clothes and headed out.

  The North Star Bar wasn’t as busy as it had been the previous evening, but it was still early. I ordered a large Jack and Coke and sat down in the corner behind the pool table, studying the local barflies, people who might know something more about the peculiar John Shooks.

  I nodded at a swarthy bear of a man who wore a bushy brown beard and peered back at me with black, soulless eyes. He was dressed in the traditional garb of the North American logger, checked shirt and heavy cord trousers, feet the size of snowshoes inside well-worn boots.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, pulling my stool alongside his. ‘Bill Ballard.’ I extended my hand and smiled. ‘You from around here?’

  The big man stared vacantly at me, as if appraising this dweeb trying to latch on to his serenity, then his expression softened and he smiled. ‘Name’s Bobby Ray.’ Bobby Ray gripped my hand and squeezed.

  ‘Some grip you got there, Bobby,’ I said, gasping as he squeezed even harder.

  ‘What’cha doin’ in Roseau?’ Bobby Ray asked, still gripping my hand like a vice.

  ‘Passin’ through,’ I replied nonchalantly. He must have seen the tears welling up in my eyes since he released his grip and returned to his drink.

  ‘Wanna Bud, Bill Ballard?’ asked Bobby Ray, beckoning to the hostess. I nodded.

  The squat, middle-aged woman waddled to our end of the bar and slapped a notepad down on the worktop. ‘What’s it gonna be, boys?’ She hovered her biro over the blank pad.

  ‘Two Buds,’ said Bobby. She turned to the fridge without scribbling on the pad, before Bobby shouted, ‘Oh, Norma, get us a couple packets o’ them cheesy chips from out back, will ya?’

  Norma grunted something unintelligible then disappeared through the door to the kitchen. I was alone with Bobby Ray.

  ‘Do you believe John Shooks is trying to kill you, Bill?’

  The question knocked me sideways. I looked at the big man and felt the blood drain from my face. He obviously knew more than he’d let on, so I came clean. ‘He killed my brother,’ I said. ‘And I’m damned sure he killed Alma Lindenmuth.’

  ‘Not sure old John’d be too happy ’bout you spreadin’ rumours like that,’ said Bobby. ‘Maybes you should pack up and get yourself outta Roseau before you go causin’ any more trouble.’

  ‘I need to know where Shooks is,’ I said to Bobby. I belched a foul combination of Jack Daniel’s and donuts. ‘Can you help me find him?’

  ‘I’ve lived around here all my life,’ said Bobby, ‘and the one piece of advice I’ve learned is to keep away from the natives. Shooks is not all that he seems. But one thing is for sure, he ain’t no killer. If he says it’s the Wendigo, then that’s what it is.’

  ‘I need to find him,’ I repeated. ‘I need to know who killed Jack.’

  ‘Get out of town,’ said Bobby. ‘Go to your family and never return.’

  I noticed the edge of Norma’s frock through the doorway. Bobby Ray followed my gaze, and upon seeing the hostess’s return he fell silent.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, as the hostess handed over our order.

  I’d taken my first mouthful of icy Bud when my cellphone vibrated in my trouser pocket. I glanced at the antiquated clock mounted beside the head of a stuffed moose and shivered, noting that it was already 18.30. My eyes widened. Written in big bold neon green letters on my cellphone’s LCD was the name I’d been dreading.

  Marie.

  ‘Bill,’ she spluttered, ‘I’m not staying on. We’ve landed in Thief River Falls and I’ve managed to get a cab to take us all the way into Roseau tonight. Stay at the hotel. We’ll be with you by midnight.’

  I was dumbstruck, so I said the only think I could think of. ‘OK … I love you.’

  Bobby Ray looked at me with disdain as I slid the cellphone back into my pocket. ‘I can’t believe you’ve placed your family in danger by bringing them out here.’

  ‘It wasn’t my idea—’

  ‘Listen,’ said Bobby Ray, his voice urgent. He leaned closer and whispered, ‘If you wanna get through tonight, you’ll do exactly as I say. Follow me.’

  Donning our coats, we hurried from the bar, taking our beers into the parking lot. Night was fast approaching. The cold light of day had been reduced to an animated grey streak on the horizon, just visible through the trees at the edge of town. High above us, the Great Bear, Ursa Major, resolutely pointed north towards Polaris at it had done for countless millennia. I turned to face Bobby Ray, feigning an air of confidence I certainly wasn’t feeling inside. The alcohol, mixed with the shock of the cold north wind, made my voice quiver. ‘What’s the plan, Bobby?’

  ‘Things, Mr Ballard, are not entirely as they might seem. To defeat the Wendigo, you need to believe in its power. You’ll need to understand what drives it if you expect to survive.’

  I listened intently. I had to; I had no option. This was my only lead. Nodding slowly to Bobby Ray, I said, ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’m only agreeing to help you because of your family, Mr Ballard. Children have no place in a feud with the spirits, but the spirits care not for the sanctity of the innocent. Souls are souls, Mr Ballard, and tonight, the Wendigo will feast.’

  I gulped. He was sincere. Even if I didn’t believe his words, I believed this burly logger was frightened. More scared than I’d ever seen anyone. Christ, he really did believe we were in mortal danger.

  ‘What can I do?’ I said, voice breaking in the growing darkness.

  ‘It can be killed,’ said Bobby Ray, ‘but you’ll need help.’

  ‘Will you help me?’ I implored.

  ‘I can guide you, but I cannot kill it. Only you, whom it seeks, can kill the Wendigo. It was summoned against you, and only you can send it back to the spirit world.’

  I must have looked scared out of my wits. ‘What … what do I need to do?’

  Bobby Ray pointed to the trees where the last frontier of dark-grey daylight blipped out and night took us, and the fear came rushing at me like a steam train running with a full head. ‘We’ve got quite a trek ahead. It’s a two-mile hike to Timber Wolf Crag. We must be there by one.’

  ‘One?’ I asked.

  ‘We must begin preparations at least a half-hour before the ritual.’

  ‘Ritual?’

  ‘John Shooks will explain when we get to Timber Wolf Crag,’ Bobby Ray said. ‘Come.’ He beckoned to me to follow. ‘We must collect a package from my trailer.’

  ‘We’ll die of exposure if we’re up there all night,’ I said. I hadn’t lost all threads of logic just yet.

  ‘Unless we die at the hands of the Wendigo, we’ll be fine,’ Bobby Ray said. ‘Hurry, we can afford no time for chatter.’

  We climbed into my rented Ford Explorer and drove to the edge of town where we entered the forest. After a short walk we came to the river bounding the town from the wild borders of the hills. Bobby Ray trudged over the wooden bridge then turned sharp right down the riverbank into the darkness. ‘Hurry,’ he called.

  The gap between us increased with every stride. I picked up the pace, then without thinking I began to run. As I rounded a corner, I stopped dead in my tracks. A massive shape loomed out of the darkness in front of me. The thing was thirty fee
t long, black and menacing with a silhouetted horn on top, and it smelled sweet, yet somehow fetid.

  I let out an audible screech as its single illuminated eye lit up the night. Then as fast as I’d panicked, I felt stupid and ridiculous. This was no beast: it was Bobby Ray’s trailer. The big man had ducked inside and switched on the kitchen light, illuminating the satellite dish on top of the roof, and casting a laser beam of light on to the split bin bag on the ground in front of me. I chuckled to myself, commanded myself to get a grip. Jesus, this whole affair really had me spooked.

  Bobby Ray emerged from the caravan with a black carry case under one arm. It was flat, five feet long and looked heavy even for him.

  ‘What’s in the case?’ I asked.

  ‘To kill the beast, you must first see that which you intend to kill.’

  I must have looked confused. Bobby Ray smiled. ‘John Shooks told you the beast is only visible when viewed face-on.’

  I was still baffled. What did he mean? ‘I know what John Shooks said, but I don’t see how …’

  ‘Look,’ said Bobby Ray. ‘To see the Wendigo, you must see all of it at once.’ He began to unzip the canvas shroud. When he’d exposed no more than three inches of the contents, everything snapped into place. The light from the caravan window glinted off the mirrored surface and I counted the number of flat polished panels.

  ‘With these twelve mirrors,’ said Bobby Ray, ‘we encircle the site of the ritual. Shooks’ magic will summon the creature to the site …’

  ‘Then it’s my job to kill it,’ I said.

  Bobby Ray smiled and refastened the zip. ‘Where you will kill it,’ he confirmed.

  ‘You had these mirrors made specially? I asked him.

  ‘Them’s as don’t make no inquiries don’t have to listen to no evasions,’ said Bobby Ray. ‘Come on now, the night’s running out and it’s time we hauled ass.’

  ‘Wait up a minute,’ I told him. ‘Why would anybody have twelve custom-made mirrors in a case, except for the specific purpose of trapping a Wendigo?’

  Bobby Ray stopped, and looked around, as if he was sure that he had heard somebody asking a stupid question, but couldn’t think who it was.

  ‘Well?’ I persisted. I was shaking with cold, and I was terrified of trapping the Wendigo, but this was one of those situations where you need to know who your friends are, and what their motivation is. From years and years of liability law, I can absolutely assure you that no two people ever have the same agenda.

  Bobby Ray came back toward me, and loomed over me. He smelled of body odour, and tobacco, and something else which I couldn’t identify but I didn’t like.

  ‘All you need to know, Mr Ballard, is that I am your enemy’s worst enemy.’

  ‘So what are you telling me?’ I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so cold. ‘You’re a professional Wendigo-hunter?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘How serious do you want me to be? I was called in by the Lost River Logging Corporation, round about April-time. Ever since they started cutting down the trees in the forests north-east of here, they started to lose their loggers – six or seven men a day sometimes. Heads torn off, guts ripped out. Naturally they thought it was bear, to start with, but as soon as I saw those cadavers I knew what’d done for them.

  ‘I advised the company to keep their men out of the forests after sundown, and to bivouac them twenty miles away, in Wannaska. They gripe about the commute but at least it keeps their heads on their shoulders. I patrol the logging operations during the day, but that’s mainly for show. The Wendigo, that son of a bitch only comes at night.’

  I listened. The forest was unnaturally silent. Even in the dead of winter, as this was, you could usually hear owls hooting, and small creatures scurrying through the underbush. Not tonight, though.

  Bobby Ray said, ‘You may as well ask why the company called me in. Well let me tell you this, Mr Ballard, I know more about the Wendigo than most, having lived here in Roseau all of my life, and I’ve made it my business to know. When I was away in the service, my father came out here to the forest to cut down some trees. Three nights later our family home was torn apart and my father was killed and my mother was killed and my three little sisters were reduced to rags.

  ‘That’s when I first got to know John Shooks, because John Shooks made a point of coming up to me after the funeral and explaining what had happened. First of all, I didn’t believe him, any more than you did, I’ll bet. I was only twenty-four, and I thought I knew everything about everything, in them days. But Roseau is a pretty small town and I saw him a few years later and asked him to tell me more.

  ‘I talked to him again in April, after I was given the job of hunting down that Wendigo and coming home with its hide. He told me that you couldn’t set a trap for the Wendigo, not like you can with a bear. The Wendigo only appears when it’s getting its vengeance for the spirits that live in the trees, and that means you have to go out looking for it with somebody it’s hell-bent on killing. You have to have bait.’

  ‘Bait?’ I hesitated for a moment, and then said, ‘Bait? You mean that’s what I am? Bait?’

  Bobby Ray gave me a nonchalant shrug. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Ballard. You were determined to stay here in Roseau and you probably would’ve gotten yourself killed anyhow, so I thought I’d kind of make the most of the situation.’

  ‘And John Shooks? What about him?’

  ‘I called him and he’s supposed to meet us here round about one thirty a.m.

  ‘For the ritual, right?’

  ‘Well, it’s kind of a ritual. John Shooks will whistle for the Wendigo and once that thing has caught the smell of you, it won’t need any further encouragement, any more than it did with your brother, or Alma Lindenmuth.’

  ‘So once the Wendigo has caught the smell of me, then what?’

  ‘It’ll come rushing in, determined to take your head off. But you don’t have to sweat it none. John Shooks isn’t Ojibwa himself, of course, but he knows all of their magical hocus pocus, and he can do that shaman whistling stuff. I’ll have set up my mirrors, John Shooks can whistle north, and he can whistle east, and that should keep the Wendigo turning around and around in front of my mirrors so that he can never turn edgewise on to you, and vanish. That’s when you do the necessary business with that .388 rifle you’re carrying there.’

  I hefted up the Winchester and dubiously tucked it into my shoulder. It must have weighed nearly ten pounds, and after a few seconds my hand started to tremble and I had to lower it.

  ‘I just hope this does the job, that’s all.’

  Bobby Ray grinned. ‘You don’t want to worry about that particular piece of ordinance, Mr Ballard. That’s what we call a North Forty, because south of the fortieth parallel there’s no indigenous animals big enough to shoot at with a sucker like that. That sucker can drop a bull elk at four hundred yards.’

  ‘OK, then,’ I said. ‘We’d better go do it. I just wish you’d told me all this stuff sooner.’

  ‘You can’t say that I didn’t warn you to go, Mr Ballard.’

  ‘I’m a lawyer, Bobby Ray. I can recognize when a warning is a veiled encouragement.’

  ‘Last veiled encouragement I ever saw was my Betsy, the day that I married her.’ We made our way down a steep, dark slope, with ferns almost up to our shoulders. The shadows from Bobby Ray’s flashlight jumped and danced through the forest like attenuated devils. The forest was still holding its breath. The only sound was our boots sliding down the loose pebbles, and the crackling of twigs, and Bobby Ray occasionally saying, ‘Shee-it!’

  At last we reached the edge of a steep, craggy, eighty-foot precipice, overlooking the Lost River itself. As we emerged from under the pines, we could see that it had started snowing again, and occasional gusts of wind made the snowflakes twirl into ghostly shapes. Below us I could see the dim, silvery curve of the river, with three oxbows, and a thin tributary that meandered all t
he way to Foxville and Etheridge and Skeleton Head.

  ‘Used to bring Betsy up here in the summer,’ said Bobby Ray, kneeling down and tugging open the zipper of his carrying case. ‘As a matter of record, I used to bring all my girlfriends up here in the summer. Should have renamed it Busted Cherry Crag.’

  He arranged his mirrors in a circle about twenty yards across, keeping each of them upright with four metal spikes. They looked like a circle of reflected headstones. ‘There … no matter which way the Wendigo spins itself around, you’re going to be able to see where it is. Don’t worry where you hit it so long as you hit it. That North Forty of yours has a two-fifty-grain bullet which travels at two thousand feet per second.’

  I checked my watch. It was 1.20 a.m. My nose was running and my throat was sore from breathing through my mouth. I took out my cellphone and tried to call Marie at the AmericInn, but there was no signal out here in the forest. I couldn’t tell her I loved her. I couldn’t even tell her goodbye.

  Bobby Ray knocked in the last of his spikes and then came over to me, his breath smoking. ‘John Shooks should be here in five. You ready for this?’

  ‘I don’t think I have a whole lot of choice, do you?’

  ‘You realize, don’t you, that if you bring down this Wendigo here tonight, I’m going to be looking for a new job?’

  We waited and waited. Eventually I sat down on a rock. Bobby Ray lit a cigarette and paced up and down, whistling between his teeth.

  At 1.51, I said, ‘Do you think he’s going to show?’

  ‘Let’s give him ten more minutes, OK? He’s coming through Foxville but it’s still pretty slow going, especially in this weather.’

  We waited ten more minutes, then another ten. At last, I said, ‘He’s not coming, is he?’

  ‘No, sir. I guess he ain’t. I reckon I’d better take down all of these mirrors and call it a night.’