by Brad Ashlock
It was almost four o’clock as he turned onto M12 and aimed the burgundy station wagon homeward. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but, as the sun began to embark westward, it started to tinge, the bright blue becoming a polished silver plate streaked with jet trails. The sky was whitening and Naumkin’s mood was turning burnt umber. There it was, white and brown, snow and dirt, albinoid and pigmented, evil and not so bad. Naumkin now accepted that he was in a mystery. It was as concrete as poetry, as objective as aesthetics, as reasonable as art, which is to say not concrete, objective, or reasonable at all; still, it was real, it was all real and he had a move to make, the chess clock was ticking, the ghosts restless. He had to go to the pines where the river dies… if he could.
Naumkin slowed as he entered his driveway and passed the four-wheeler. There didn’t look to be any damage; he must have only bumped into one of the back tires. As for the station wagon, it was on its last legs anyway; a couple more dings and dents weren’t going to matter. Naumkin exited the car and looked at the open door to the house. In his haste to return Warpath, he must have left it ajar. He was usually so careful. The mystery was burning him like a fever, disturbing his usual routines and caution. He hadn’t cleaned the house all week, and had hardly worked on his chess book. He had to be more disciplined if he wanted to find the underlying cause for all of this pandemonium. He entered the house, closed the door behind him, and went to the refrigerator. He was out of cream soda, so settled for a ginger ale. He took a gulp right out of the bottle, and began to make a liverwurst sandwich. He commenced spreading mustard on the bread when a child’s voice from the hallway said hello.
Naumkin looked up from the unmade sandwich. A naked boy, no more than four or five, was leaning against the chessboard display case. He was smeared in dried mud, but between the streaks of grime, his skin shone milky pink. A wispy pinwheel of fine chest hairs resembled a swastika. The child looked down the hallway. Naumkin caught a whiff of pine as a black dog entered the dining room. Naumkin stared into the animal’s eyes, blinked, and looked back to the boy, but the boy wasn’t there. Where the child had once stood now sat a bullmastiff with an erection.
Naumkin held up the mustard-slick knife. The dogs glanced calculatingly at one another. The one with the hard-on snickered and flashed its fangs. Naumkin, still holding the knife, backed into the refrigerator, his eyes agog.
“I want his balls,” the excited dog chomped.
“Pro’lly shriveled as prunes.”
The dog on the right stopped, tilted its head, and perked an ear. “Something comes.”
The other raised its muzzle and sniffed. “Boy.”
Someone knocked on the door.
“There might be others.”
The dogs gnashed their teeth in frustration and bolted from the kitchen toward the guestrooms. Naumkin heard the sound of breaking glass.
“Mr. Naumkin?” Cal had opened the door and was in the kitchen now, looking perplexedly at the chess master. “I heard voices. Are you OK?”
Mustard-splattered knife in trembling hand, Naumkin walked past the boy and down the hall to the guestrooms. The door to the right was ajar. Naumkin stepped inside and saw that the window overlooking the field had been shattered. Cal rushed to the smashed pane, looked out to the field, and then down to the triangles of glass in the snow. Naumkin sat on the bed, head bowed.
“What happened?” the boy asked.
Eyes beckoning, the chess master dropped the knife and stretched out an arm toward his student. Cal grabbed hold of the offered hand and squeezed.
“You saved me, boy,” Naumkin said.
Call hugged him and then pulled away. “What was it?”
“Something.”
Call looked out the broken window to the field and the forest beyond.
Naumkin said, “You might think I’ve lost my mind. I won’t hate you if you think that, Cal. It was the dogs.”
“You’re not crazy, Mr. Naumkin. I saw those animals, too, when they chased us on the four-wheeler. Is that what I heard? Talking dogs?”
Naumkin looked up to the boy and nodded. “You scared them off.”
“Just me?”
“You have impeccable timing.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We?”
“Who else do you have to help you?”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I think I need to visit Gordon Dudley again.”
“We should go now.”
Naumkin scowled. “What are you doing here?”
Cal turned his head in profile. His neck was bruised. “I stood up to him, Mr. Naumkin. I told him to take that deer rifle and shove it straight up his ass.”
“I see.”
“It’s going to be dark soon. I don’t think we should stay here. Let’s go to Dudley. You can fill me in on the way.”
* * *
Down the dirt road through the forest, Naumkin tried to explain everything. He told Cal about the paw prints around the ATV, the dreams, the connections in Warpath, the pile of pine needles, and about the desecrated Indian mounds. He told him one of the dogs had been a boy, but that the transformation wasn’t like in the movies, it wasn’t a grotesque metamorphosis of shifting facial bones, sprouting fur, and elongating canines: it had happened in less than the blink of an eye. Naumkin disagreed with Calvin that they were dealing with werewolves. Naumkin couldn’t quite explain his reasoning, but, beyond the fact that the incident had occurred during the day when there could be no moon, he, when faced with the creatures, had felt an overwhelming sense of animality, as if the naked boy form had been nothing but a mask.
Before the speculations could mushroom, they arrived at the wrought iron gate. Naumkin pressed the little white button beneath the speaker.
“Mr. Naumkin?” Mr. Williams said through the crackle.
“I need to speak to Gordon. It’s an emergency.”
A pause. “One moment.”
A full minute later, the electronic gate swung open on its squeaky hinges. They drove to the manor. Dusk bathes Lusker House in tints of pink and orange. Naumkin parked, and then he and Cal exited the station wagon. They climbed the green marble porch, but before Naumkin could ring the bell, Mr. Williams opened one of the double doors.
“What’s this about?” he asked. His plum attire had been replaced with black leather pants and an orange sweater; the gold cross still hung at his neck.
“I need to speak to Gordon.”
Mr. Dudley is indisposed.”
“Well,” Cal grunted, “un-indispose him.”
Mr. Williams asked who the boy was.
“A student of mine. He saw the dogs, too”
“I took care of those dogs, Mr. Naumkin,” he said, shutting the door.
Naumkin shoved his foot into the jamb.
Mr. Williams looked down at the foot, licked his full lips and smiled. “Unless you wanna be limping outta here on a stump, I advise you get your motherfucking foot out the door.”
“The dogs were in my house.”
“So call the pound.”
Call suddenly charged, broke through between Naumkin and Williams, ran into the foyer to the end of the stairs, and shouted for Dudley. Williams gave Naumkin a one-handed shove that sent the old man sprawling backward over the porch steps. The bodyguard chased Cal across the foyer, cornering him between a bookcase and suit of armor. He grabbed Cal by his coat collar and held him aloft. The boy flailed like a weasel in a sack, slipped his jacket and plopped unceremoniously on the floor.
“What the hell is going on down there?” the millionaire shouted from the top of the stairs.
“I’ve got it under control,” Williams said and pulled Cal up off the floor by his neck and belt.
“Let go of me, bitch!” Cal, still flailing, cried.
Williams lowered the boy to about four feet off the floor and dropped him with a thud. “There you go, little bitch.”
Naumkin
stepped into the foyer from the double doors. “The dogs were in my house.”
The color washed out of Gordon Dudley’s complexion. “Mr. Williams, apologize to the boy. What’s your name, son?”
“Calvin Burgess.”
“Would you like to play some video games? Me and Mr. Naumkin have to talk privately.”
“Come on , kid,” Mr. Williams motioned and Cal reluctantly followed him out of the atrium.
Naumkin followed the millionaire up the huge staircase. They turned several corners and eventually came to a white door set in a mahogany wall, Axminster carpet under their feet. Dudley fished a shiny key out of his breast pocket.
“Nobody gets in here without my permission. It’s off limits to all but my most intimate associates.”
The den was white from floor to ceiling. Behind Dudley’s desk, set inside an oval cutout in the far wall, hummed an unlit aquarium, black and big like a whale’s pupil. Dudley flicked a switch; the aquarium became luminous with ultra-violet light. The tank was filled with jellyfish. Dudley took a moment to admire the creatures and then crossed the room to the liquor cabinet.
“It’s been a terrible time,” Dudley said while making their drinks.
“Yes?”
“Losing Meeko.”
“Where are her parents? I saw them a week ago.”
“They’re still in Grand Rapids. They actually live in Kentwood, but I put them up in the Grand Plaza. It’s safer that way.”
“Safer?”
Dudley handed Naumkin a glass and sat at the desk.”
“Tigran, do you have any enemies?”
“Enemies? No.”
“Of course not. I do, though. Lots of enemies, but there’s one in particular I’ve been trying to deal with of late. A terrible enemy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I barely understand myself. What I do know is who I am. And what is mine. I inherited all of this. I’m part of a great American dynasty.”
Naumkin squinted and took a sip of whiskey.
“The Dudley name brings money, prestige, and responsibility. Much responsibility.”
“What are you talking about? I’m here to discuss the dogs that—”
“I owned those dogs.”
“You?”
“Yes. Of course, when they were my dogs, they were normal. Then he came and they followed him. God knows where, but I can certainly tell you this—they didn’t return the same. I guess they were always his dogs. Like this house. He’s still got his name on it.”
“Lusker?”
“Looks like you did your homework. Yes, Lusker.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, “ Dudley chuckled and finished his drink. “I can’t fathom it.”
Naumkin leaned back in the white chair. “Joost Lusker is long dead.”
Gordon Dudley’s eyes narrowed. “He came back.”
“From where? What—”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s family business and I plan to keep it in the family. We’re trying to deal with something here… that’s beyond our understanding. Uh, do you have a wife?”
“I’m a widower.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know what it’s like. Now, I’m sure if your wife were around today, she’d want you to enjoy your golden years, as lonely as they might be, to the fullest. Wouldn’t she want that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Two hundred thousand,” Dudley said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Get out of Rogue, Tigran. Just leave. Visit your family in Russia. You can do whatever the hell you like with two hundred thousand dollars.”
“I can do whatever the hell I like right now, Gordon.”
“Do you have any children? Grandchildren?”
“My wife’s kids, yes.”
“Well, think of what you could leave them once you’re gone. Let’s face facts, here—you’re an old man. I will give you, right now, under the table, two hundred thousand dollars. All you have to do is get the hell out of Rogue. The goddamn dogs are on your trail anyway. All that snooping around—”
“I’m not snooping around! Something is calling me. In my dreams. Everything connects to it. I think your granddaughter is alive and she’s calling for me to help her.”
“Lusker claims she’s alive. How do you think I’m being blackmailed?”
“Blackmailed?”
“The albino wants me to hand everything back over to the Lusker clan. All of it. I’d burn the money first.”
“How can Joost do anything? He died a hundred years ago.”
“He didn’t just die.”
Naumkin raised his eyebrows.
“One night, my father and I were drinking together, in this very room, and he told me the story. I believed it then, but I sure didn’t want to. It was in his eyes, you know… fear. I never saw that in him before. Genuine fear. Hell, it scared the living shit out of me just seeing him afraid.”
“What did he tell you?”
“It all began with their first factory here in Rogue. Weird things kept happening just trying to get the fucking place built. Workers disappeared. Christ, how can a place be haunted before it’s even built? It took awhile, months of this strange activity, you know, and my grandfather and Lusker finally found the source.”
“The source?”
“Sub-basement. It had kind of, well, eaten its way up through the foundation.”
“What?”
“A door. My grandfather and Joost were the only two who knew about it. They both started to get strange ideas. Premonitions. Every business decision that pair ever made was golden. They could do no wrong.”
“You said Lusker didn’t just die.”
“Lusker wanted to close the door. He thought there was something bad down there. I guess my grandfather gave him a little shove so he could find out. Lusker had a lot of ties to the underworld. Mafia. His disappearance was no surprise to anyone. No questions asked.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Dudleys got everything. The whole company. Even kept this house as a trophy. Ah, the fortunes of war.”
“When did you first meet Lusker?”
“He appeared on my doorstep last October, the day before Halloween, of all things. I thought he was a nut. I had Mr. Williams escort him off the property in no uncertain terms. You see, I didn’t recognize him. How could I? Fucking thing. He came back the next night glowing like a torch in my front yard. After dark, the dogs were always loose. It was fucking Halloween, for Chrissake! Mr. Williams and I watched from the front porch as the dogs surrounded Lusker. It looked like they were going to tear him apart, which was fine by me. That’s what the dogs were for. But they didn’t attack. They just sat around him, tongues out of their mouths.
“Lusker walked up to me and Mr. Williams on the porch, introduced himself, and said he was going to destroy me. First, though, he was going to make me suffer. Mr. Williams unloaded his pistol into the crazy son of a bitch. You know what happened?”
“What?”
“Nothing. It was like shooting a hologram. Anyway, Lusker walked right out the front gate and the dogs just followed him. They were already his.”
“I see.”
“He appeared again,” Dudley said and looked around the room as if someone or something might have been crouching menacingly in a corner. “In my bedroom. He told me I had to sell all my stock to the Lusker heirs or he was going to do something so nasty even my granddaddy would flinch.”
“And you didn’t comply?”
“No.”
“And now Meeko—”
“Yes, yes. He took her through the door, I suppose.”
“So all the detectives, bloodhounds, and rescue choppers—”
“I had to make it look like I was trying.”
“But you know where she is, Gordon!”
“No I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Neither do you.”
“Don’t you care about your own g
randdaughter?”
“Of course I do, but Dudleys don’t respond to blackmail, not for anything.”
“You’re not going to lift a finger to help her?”
“I hate to admit this, but she’s probably dead already.”
“You’re wrong. I don’t know how, but I know she’s still alive. It’s in my dreams. She’s crying out for us to help her.”
“Balls. The whole thing is insane. And I’ve got—”
“Insane? What’s insane is—”
“Is you refusing my offer.”
“But the girl—”
“Is no concern of yours. Tigran, now come on, buddy, be reasonable. I don’t have time to argue right now. Everybody’s out of time with this mess. I’ve got a flight to catch.”
“Where are you running off to?”
“Somewhere safe. Somewhere away from these crazy woods. If you were smart, you’d do the same.”