1 The Bank of the River

by Michael Richan

“I felt I was going to fall asleep, so I put myself into a trance. Sort of a defensive posture. I’m out of it now. I don’t need a hospital.”

  Steven turned to the operator again, “I’m sorry, false alarm – he’s OK.” The operator started to object but Steven hung up on her.

  “If you can protect yourself with a trance, why haven’t you been doing that all along?” he asked Roy.

  “Well, as you can see,” Roy said, wiping the rest of the blood from his nose, “it comes at a price. I only did it because I was desperate. I didn’t know how much longer you’d be, and I was starting to drift off lying in the cabin. I figured I’d walk back to the car to try and stay awake, and to be further from it, hoping it’d help. Seems to have worked.”

  “I’m sorry I took so long,” Steven said. “I should have retuned sooner. I got caught up once I found the cave.”

  “Cave?” asked Roy.

  “Yeah, another fifteen minutes past where you stopped,” Steven told him. “I went a ways into it, didn’t find a grave before I decided to turn around and come back.”

  “Did you go to the end of the cave?” Roy asked.

  “No, it went on past where I stopped. When I ran into animal bones I thought it might make more sense to explore it armed.”

  “Good thinking,” Roy said. “We’ll use my Benelli.”

  “We’re,” Steven replied, “not going to use anything. I’ll be using it. You can’t go back there.”

  “If I have my protection, I’ll be fine,” Roy said.

  “Forgive me if I doubt that,” Steven replied.

  “Look, you need me to find the grave in that cave,” Roy said. “I can locate it.”

  “Locate it?” Steven asked. “How are you going to do that? You can’t even get within a thousand feet of it, let alone locate it.”

  “That’s because I didn’t have my protection,” Roy said. “Look, you need to trust me on this. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing it a long time.”

  “You’re telling me if you drink that stuff, you’ll be able to walk into that cave without a problem? After what we saw today, you’ll be able to just walk along, carrying a shotgun, and help me survey a dark cave, full of water?

  “Yes.”

  “And not fall and break something, not get sick?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to have to carry you out of there.”

  “You won’t have to.”

  “How do I know?” Steven raised his voice, angry and frustrated. “How do I know that? If you collapse in that cave and I have to carry you out, I’m not sure I can do that.”

  Roy didn’t respond. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed. Steven remembered the fear he felt as he left the cave earlier that morning. He couldn’t imagine trying to do that with his father slung over his shoulder.

  “Listen,” Roy said calmly. “I realize you think I’m an old geezer who is two steps away from falling into my own grave. And I realize you think my protection is bogus, and I’m too weak to defend myself. You think everything is worse than it is, you always have. You don’t understand these things, they’re all a mystery to you, you’re frightened because of your perspective.”

  “No, that’s not it,” Steven said. “It has nothing to do with my perspective.”

  “Then what?” Roy asked. “Why do you think I can’t handle myself?”

  Steven felt tears surfacing, and he fought to stop them from appearing in front of his dad. “Because I’m worried you’ll get hurt. That you’ll misjudge something and be permanently hurt. Or worse, that I might lose you. And I don’t want that to happen.”

  Roy reached across the seat and placed his hand on Steven’s shoulder. Steven couldn’t remember the last time his dad had touched him this way.

  “I’m more worried about you, kiddo,” Roy said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They agreed on the way home that they would not return to the cave until the next day, when they’d have plenty of daylight to maneuver in the woods. They stopped for food and then returned to Roy’s house, the sky already starting to darken. Roy went about gathering the various guns he thought they should use, and ammo, and placed them on the kitchen table.

  “You could outfit the army of a small country,” Steven said, looking over the pile.

  “We can decide later which ones we want to take,” Roy said. “I’m going to be in my bedroom for a while.”

  “Not sleeping, I hope,” Steven said.

  “No, not sleeping. Making more of this,” Roy said, shaking the empty Mason jar.

  “Can I watch?” Steven asked.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Roy said.

  “Why?”

  “It’ll just make me fuck it up. I’ve always made it by myself, if you watch I’ll get something wrong.”

  “Nothing like confidence in the family,” Steven said.

  “I have enough confidence to know you need to stay the hell out while I make it. I want to be able to concentrate and make a strong batch.”

  “How long? I’m going to check on you if it goes past the time you tell me.”

  “Half an hour,” Roy replied, and walked back to the bedroom.

  Steven was intrigued by whatever was going on behind his father’s bedroom door. He could hear rustling, and once he thought he heard chanting. He was careful not to make any noise; he didn’t want to disturb Roy in any way, make him think he’d been distracted. Even if the stuff is just psychosomatic, it works for the guy, and he needs it, he thought. Anything that might help, he was for.

  Steven noticed the book on the kitchen table under the guns, the secret book his father had tossed there a day before. He had told him to look through it, to see if he could find anything that might help. He pulled it out and flipped through it.

  The book was both old and new. It was bound, but handmade, and had been expanded and reinforced several times. All of the writing was by hand, with some drawings. As he flipped through it he noticed that the writing became more modern as he progressed. At the end he noticed it was his father’s handwriting.

  He returned to the front of the book and looked for changes. There were four sections where the style of writing and the paper incorporated into the book changed significantly. Steven realized this book had been given to Roy, and Roy was updating it with his own experiences and knowledge. This section just before Roy, Steven thought, was this the writing of Roy’s father? Has this been in the family for generations?

  He flipped back through the center of the book, tried to read the writing. It was difficult. The words were in English, but the meaning seemed to rely on something else not contained within the text, like a key or some bit of knowledge that Steven didn’t have. Some sections looked like lists, or recipes, but he couldn’t determine what they would make or what they were for. There were occasional drawings. He didn’t know how long he had been turning the pages when he came across one drawing that made his blood run cold. It was the head of a man, with no eyes. Curling out of the back of the head were horns, like those of a goat. The lower half of the image was charred and burned. He ran his fingers over it, and carbon came off on them.

  “That was where your mother tried to burn it,” Roy said, behind him. “That was something your great-grandfather dealt with, and his drawing of it scared her.”

  “What was it?” Steven asked.

  “Some kind of demon,” Roy said. “Would have been about 1890. He lived in California.”

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t know. Your mother burned up most of the page where he wrote about it. Hope we never run into one, we’ll have no idea what to do.”

  “I’m guessing the fact that the book is still intact means you rescued it from her?”

  “Yes,” said Roy. “She could barely stand the idea of me being involved with any of this. But when she saw that drawing, it flipped her Jesus switch big time. I stopped her from destroying it but she insisted I hide it away and make sure you kids never saw
it. Told me if she ever saw me reading it again, she’d divorce me. And I knew she meant it. Your mother didn’t make idle threats.”

  Steven shook his head in agreement. “So this book is the reason I had to sit through church all those years?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Roy said. “She’s probably pissed you’re seeing it now.”

  “How far back does this go?” Steven asked.

  “Four generations,” Roy replied. “Your great, great grandfather Thomas is first. Then his son, Charles, my grandfather. Then my father, David. Then me.”

  “This is incredible,” Steven said. “I thought when you said a secret book you meant some kind of…well, I don’t know, I don’t know exactly what I thought. But I didn’t think this. This is a family history. This is valuable.”

  “You think so?” Roy asked. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Because when I die, I’m not leaving it to Bernie.”

  Steven looked at Roy. “Well,” Steven stammered, “I’d be honored to have it. Really, Dad. I’m sure I can take care of it, maybe have it protected so it doesn’t deteriorate,” he said, turning the pages. “Some parts of this are so old, I’m worried they’ll become brittle.”

  “You do that. In the meantime, it’s mine,” Roy said, taking it out of Steven’s hands. “I’m not finished with it.”

  “Of course,” Steven said.

  “Potion’s done, made it extra potent. Time to work on a way to dispense of Mr. Johansen. You sleep first. I need to start going through this in detail, looking for something that will head us in the right direction.”

  Steven retreated to the guest bedroom and tried to go to sleep. He could hear his father turning pages in the other room, studying the book. He wondered what Roy would write about their current problem in the book, after it was finished. He wondered if Roy had memorized the look of Lukas’ image in the trance, so he could draw it in the book like his predecessors. He realized more was going on with Roy than it appeared. He’s a tough old man, Steven thought. Tougher than I thought.

  He drifted off to sleep.

  -

  Roy woke Steven around 4 a.m.

  “Any luck?” Steven asked.

  “No,” Roy said. “My eyes are tired from all the reading, I’m seeing nothing but blurs.”

  “Sleep,” Steven said. “I’ll wake you at nine.”

  Roy padded off to his bedroom, and Steven poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Roy had made during his stint. He sat at the kitchen table and stretched his eyes open, trying to clear the sleep from them. The book lay open where Roy had left it, and Steven tried to focus on the page. He decided to wait until after the coffee had done its job. He walked into the bathroom, intending to take a piss and splash some water over his face. As he flushed the toilet and moved to the sink, he noticed the sink was full of water. The stopper was up, but the sink was full.

  He turned to look at the bathtub. Also full. It’s here, he thought.

  He left the bathroom and walked down the short hallway to his father’s bedroom. The door was open a crack. He knew it was there before he could see inside. As he pushed the door open, the shadow came into full view against the far wall. The image was constantly shifting, as though it was obscured by moving glass. Roy was not in his bed, but suspended in the air near the ceiling between Steven and the shadow. Roy’s body was shaking in the same manner Steven remembered from their last encounter.

  Fearful that his father would fall to the floor, he ran to the center of the room and stood under him, ready to catch him. He then faced the shadow, intending to dispel it as he had learned.

  Something made him stop short of shouting the banishment. Once he positioned himself under Roy he felt the same ice-cold blade he had felt at the third encounter with the shadow. It sliced though his torso, but this time there was no pain, just shock. He felt the blade inside him, twisting, but he felt no need to run. He just stood there and waited for what might happen next. He saw his father’s body shaking above him, and he knew he didn’t have much time for experimentation. But something told him to wait and see what would happen.

  He felt the blade rise inside him. As it entered his head, the room was suddenly too bright to bear. Dark images were now white, and white images were a series of greys. Everything had been thrown into negative.

  I’m being attacked now, Steven thought.

  Correct, he heard Roy think. His father was still suspended above him, but he knew the message was coming from Roy.

  What do I do? he thought.

  See if you can talk to it, he heard.

  Talk to it? To the shadow?

  Yes, he heard. I can’t. See if you can learn something about it we could use against it.

  Steven turned his attention to the shadow. The eyes were still there, looking at him. He sensed awareness behind them, and he tried to communicate with it, but nothing seemed to work. He thought sentences: “Who are you?” “What are you?” “What do you want?” but got nothing in return except the continued staring.

  Anything? he heard from Roy.

  No. Nothing.

  Try another way, he heard.

  Steven considered what this meant, and closed his eyes. Immediately his mind was filled with a rushing torrent of motion, flowing from his father down into him and then on to the shadow, which now looked more like a man. This is the draining, he thought. The shadow forces the flow to him from us. Steven pictured going inside the flow, as though he was riding an inner tube through a waterslide tunnel in an amusement park.

  That worked. The shadow was now the creature he had seen in the hallway, grotesque and threatening. In a moment, he was at the creature from inside the flow. He was stopped from getting close to it by the panes of glass, shifting and distorting the image beyond, which appeared in pain. He strained to see more, but the shifting glass caused him to lose focus and he couldn’t concentrate on any one thing long enough to figure it out. The image beyond was moving its lips, but the distortion kept him from making out what it was saying. He felt his lungs collapsing, as though he had held his breath for too long, and felt as though he might pass out. He waited as long as he could, gasping for air, before he decided he could bear no more.

  Steven opened his eyes and thought, “Be gone!”

  In an instant, the room changed back to its former light, the shadow began to recede, and he felt his father fall on top of him. Steven broke the fall with his own body, and the two lay in a heap in the middle of the room.

  “Help me up,” Roy said. “I gotta know what happened.” He was pushing himself off Steven, who struggled to his knees.

  “Ow,” Steven grimaced, holding his head. “Oh, damn, that hurts.”

  “I don’t weigh that much,” Roy complained.

  “It’s not you,” Steven said, holding the side of his head and furrowing his brow. “It feels like someone is jamming an icepick in my brain.”

  “Oh, that,” said Roy. “You’ll get used to it. I suppose now I should get you some aspirin.”

  “Yes, please, this is fucking unbearable,” Steven said.

  Roy got to his feet and led Steven out of the bedroom and back to the kitchen table. After sitting him down, he rounded up the medicine and gave it to Steven, who downed it quickly.

  “It’ll go away after a few minutes,” Roy said. “Jumping in can fuck up your head for a while. Especially when it’s your first time in charge, which I’m guessing that was.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Steven cried, holding his head between his knees. “This really hurts. I think I’m gonna be sick.” He raised his head and raced for the bathroom. Roy could hear him retching for the next several minutes. He took the time to make a new pot of coffee.

  Steven emerged from the bathroom and stood at the kitchen entrance, staring at Roy.

  “Feel better now?” asked Roy.

  “Yeah,” Steven replied, “I do. It still hurts, but not like they’re slicing my head open with a cleaver anymore.”

  “I reme
mber my first time,” Roy said, smiling, pouring a cup of coffee for Steven. “Nineteen sixty-two, in Arizona. Had an interesting experience with a Thunderbird. And I don’t mean a car or booze.” He handed the cup to Steven, who took it.

  Steven sat at the table, sipping the coffee, coming down from the pain. He saw the book on the table and noticed the page it was turned to. He glanced over it, but was surprised to find that a couple of the words made sense. Not all of it, but some of it, here and there. The more he read the clearer it became.

  “You were reading this when I took over for you?” Steven asked, pointing at the page.

  “Yes,” answered Roy.

  “This section here? This part? ‘Invitations’?” Steven asked.

  Roy smiled broadly, surprised. “Yes, that very part!”

  “You set that up, didn’t you?” Steven asked. “You read about this in your book while I was sleeping, and you woke me up just to see if this would work, right? That’s why the attack started moments after you went to bed. That wasn’t a normal attack from you falling asleep, like before. You made it happen. You invited him.”

  “Yes!” Roy said enthusiastically. “Now, tell me what you learned.”

  “Wait just a minute,” said Steven. “I want to make sure I understand what just happened here. You put yourself into a trance that you knew would draw the shadow. Something you read about.”

  “Yes,” replied Roy, “and he showed up almost immediately. The guy is following us everywhere we go, waiting for any opportunity. He’s hungrier than a cranky bear after hibernation.”

  “And you banked on me coming to save you,” Steven said.

  “Yes,” said Roy. “And this trance I used, it was different. It made it easier for him to get at me, but it also made it easier for you to join and take control.”

  “That’s why you were floating near the ceiling instead of an inch off the bed,” Steven said.

  “Was I?” Roy asked. “That’s right, I fell on you, so I must have been above you. Anyway, you did jump in. That’s what matters.”

  “My point is,” Steven said, “what if I hadn’t? How much faster was he draining you?”