Peculiar Country

by Stuart R. West

  I nearly collapsed. James did. Just laid down his bike and flattened on his back.

  “Was that…was that really the library gargoyle?”

  “It surely was. The Sooter sisters’ killing machine.” I don’t know why I handled the gargoyle’s visit with such matter-of-factness. For once, I felt calm and in charge. A natural response, I suppose, after looking the impossible in the eye and living through it.

  “But…why didn’t it kill us?” Balancing a fine line over hysteria, James spoke reverently up into the trees, treating it almost like a religious experience.

  “That’s a mighty fine question. One I intend to get to first thing in the morn.” I strolled over toward James, toed him a couple times. “Get up. I gotta get home.”

  Dazed, he sat up. “What’re you gonna do, Dibs? You can’t just go up to the sisters’ front door, knock, and say, ‘Hey, how come your gargoyle didn’t kill us last night?’”

  “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Soon as I stepped inside the door, Dad yodeled, “Dibby? That you?”

  “Who’d you expect?” I answered. “Mrs. Saunders?”

  Dad’s recliner snapped back into place, his feet slapped the ground. Drink in hand—his usual bedtime modifier—he corralled me against the stairwell. “I’m sorry, would you mind repeating that?” He knocked back the rest of his cocktail, apparently fortifying himself for the battle ahead.

  Frankly, I’d had enough fighting. For once, I just wanted to get to the point. Dispense with the emotional build-up.

  “Dad, will you just tell me the truth? For once?”

  Like his innards had caught fire, he winced, then sat down on the bottom step. “I’ll do my best, Dibs.” He studied his empty glass before setting it down. I sat next to him, not too closely. “What’s this about? Your mother?”

  “No. How close were you to Evelyn Saunders?”

  Dad reacted as if he’d sat on a land mine. His eyes went big, his mouth blew open. “Ah…that’s kinda out of the blue.”

  “That’s your best?”

  A good cleansing inhale, then he expelled all the bad. “Okay. Where to start… Well, as you know, Hedrick Saunders went missing back in…1953, it was. After that, no one saw very much of the Saunders’ boy, Thomas. Evelyn’d taken him out of school, said he was too saddened by the departure of his father to continue. The few occasions I saw the boy, he just seemed kinda dead to the world, not much life in him. Hardly how a boy his age should act. Not too long after that, Thomas vanished as well. At the time, I thought Hedrick came back and stole his son away. A lot of people thought that.

  “And while all of that was going on next door…your mother’s mental state was rapidly deteriorating. The Saunders’ misfortunes seemed to affect her badly and I couldn’t understand why.”

  “How? I mean…how bad did she get?”

  “I told you about her mood swings, her depression. One minute crying. At other times laughing and singing...”

  “I remember her that way.”

  “Me, too, Dibs. It’s natural to remember the best of people. But…she grew even worse. She started…seeing things that weren’t there. Shadows that moved, even ghosts. Sometimes she saw creatures, things flying through the skies. Late at night, I’d catch her looking out the windows. Just sitting there, staring for hours. Almost as if waiting for something.”

  For a mother I barely remembered, we apparently shared a good deal in common. Either I’d soon be bunking with her at the Lackasaw Mental Facility or we both had an affinity for creatures of the night.

  “It was only then I started realizing how deep your mother’s problems were rooted. Not nearly soon enough.” Dad pulled at his hair. “Stupid, stupid me. So damn stupid.”

  “Dad,” I said, “most folks probably would’ve had the same reaction.”

  He nodded. “But I waited too long. By the time I started mentioning a psychiatrist to your mother, she left. Just took off one night. I was distraught, Dibs. Really upset. So…not knowing what to do...I called Evelyn Saunders. Just without thinking, picked up the phone, and called her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew she’d understand what I was going through. I thought we could…support one another over the loss of our spouses. And maybe I could find out if your mom had truly run off with Hedrick. I needed an answer before I could move on with my life. Of course, now I know the gossip of her departure was a bunch of hokum, but anyhow… I needed someone to talk to. So we did. Long talks, too. Then I thought it was kinda ridiculous carrying on long telephone chats with Evelyn since we were neighbors, so I started visiting her. Our talks lengthened, our friendship strengthened. And…secrets were shared.”

  He paused, closed his eyes again. Things were about to get bang-on pertinent. His voice dropped. I leaned in closer so as not to miss a peep.

  “What secrets?”

  “This is…difficult. Evelyn started rambling on, saying things that didn’t make a lick of sense. I saw her sinking into a deep, dark hole of depression. Having gone through this with your mother, I recognized the signs. Naturally, I was worried for her. If I could do something to save her—unlike how I’d failed your mother—I’d give it my all. But Evelyn wouldn’t listen to reason, pooh-poohed the notion of psychiatric help. Just like your mother, I watched her deteriorate. After a while, I couldn’t separate what was true from her deluded babbling. One time, in one of her worst fits, she claimed she’d killed Hedrick.”

  “She admitted that?”

  “Well, not so much a confession, nothing that would hold up in court. From what I can recall…” He cradled a knee, closed his eyes, deep into recalling. “…she said something along the lines of ‘I didn’t mean to do away with Hedrick. I really didn’t. But it was out of my hands.’ Probably not her exact words, but close enough. Then she snapped back to reality, just started talking about how her brother, Devin, was going to move in to help her on the farm. Like her admission of murder never happened.”

  He grimaced, rocked back and forth. “Dibs, I was really at a loss as to what to do. I didn’t believe half the stuff she went on about. But on the off chance she had actually killed her husband, I couldn’t just ignore it. I went to Doc Willoughby, explained Evelyn’s mental condition. Then I slipped her confession in casual-like, using it to illustrate her behavior. Doc said it was normal behavior for someone who’d been through what she had and that I should keep an eye out on her.”

  “Did you? Watch out for her?”

  “I tried. For a while. But…things got complicated.”

  That familiar ball of turmoil in my gut turned. But I had to know. “Dad, did you have…’relations’ with Mrs. Saunders?” I hung heavy finger quotes, hoping they’d bear part of my discomfort.

  “What? No! Of course not. But… full truth here, Dibs… I was tempted. Mighty tempted. Your mom had been gone for a while. I was lonely. Broken. And the more time I spent with Mrs. Saunders, well…the more such thoughts occurred. One afternoon, we kissed. A long—”

  “Dad! Every little detail ain’t necessary!”

  “Don’t say ‘ain’t’.” He chuckled. “Sometimes I forget you’re still a…” He almost said ‘little girl,’ I just knew it. But he managed to stop himself. “Anyway…I was still a married man. Legally, at least. And I always uphold the law. Or try my best, I guess I should say.”

  “Yes sir, you do.”

  “Well, guilt got the better of me. After that one kiss, I told Evelyn it’d be wrong to pursue a romance. So…I visited less frequently. And she just fell deeper and deeper into whatever darkness was waiting for her. Started saying even wilder things about Thomas…about what had happened to him.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “She said a monster got him. Ate him.”

  Immediately the Sooters’ gargoyle came to mind. “And you didn’t believe her, of course.”

  “Course not, Dibs. As a scientist, I know there’s no such thi
ng as monsters. But human monsters? That’s a different story. I’ve seen plenty proof of them in my work over the years.” He paused, frowned as if considering a late career change. “But back to Evelyn, I was at a real crossroads. I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, I wanted to help her, guide her into proper care. On the other? I thought maybe her claims should be properly investigated.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Tried to have my cake and eat it, too. Which we all know is damned impossible.” Actually, I thought not, but didn’t want to derail Dad over semantics. “So I told Sheriff Grigsby about the things Evelyn’d been spouting off about. He regarded it the way he does everything, with little stride and a lotta’ laziness. Told me he’d look into it, but I shouldn’t hang too much credibility on the rantings of a mad woman. Then I made one last attempt to convince Evelyn to seek help. She refused. Grew angry with me. Told me to get out and never come back. So that’s what I did.”

  “Was that the right thing to do?”

  “To this day, Dibs, I don’t know. It haunts me. And truth be told, I had to get away from Evelyn. Her mental issues were weighing on me. I know it’s silly, but I almost felt like they were contagious. I was in a vulnerable position myself, knew from experience how anyone could become afflicted.” He tapped a temple.

  “Anyone,” I echoed.

  “All these years later, I still wonder if there was an inkling of truth to Evelyn’s confessions. And I’ve never come up with a solid answer, not one that satisfied me. I had no proof either way. But I knew enough to keep you away from Evelyn Saunders.”

  “I ‘spose I understand that.” Although I had no intention of adhering to that rule. Not now. Especially not now. “Seems like you did your best, Dad.”

  He worked a dry knot down his throat. “I try. But I’m only human.” We sat in silence for a spell. “Why in the world do you want to know about this, Dibs? Again about the Saunders?”

  Although it took some leg-pulling, he’d favored me with the truth. He’d earned some pay-back. “Because I want to find out what happened to Thomas Saunders.”

  “Why? It’s not your place. You’re a teenage school-girl, not a law enforcement—”

  “Because it is my place, Dad! The sheriff’s not doing his job, even you said that!”

  “That’s true, but—”

  “I’ve been…dreaming about Thomas Saunders. He wants me to find out what happened to him.”

  Dad straightened. Looked at me. Reacting carefully, measuring every move and word. Scared to set off the crazy girl, the one taking after her mother, the neighbor, a rampant crazy epidemic.

  But this week, both of us had grown a bit.

  With more quiet respect than usual, Dad said, “Dibby, I appreciate that. But you know you shouldn’t put too much stock into dreams.”

  “Rightly so, but this is different. I’ve seen things that I shouldn’t, things I know are the absolute truth. Pointing me toward Thomas’ murderer.”

  “Dibby…there’s no proof that Thomas Saunders was murdered. A monster certainly didn’t eat him, either. He ran away.” Dad rattled off the official line behind Thomas’ disappearance, but in a dull monotone, one void of conviction.

  “Do you really believe that, Dad? Deep down in your craw?”

  “Well, as long as we’re talking about craws …” He flashed a quick grin, then just as suddenly dumped it. “No. I don’t think Thomas ran away.”

  “Hallelujah!” I nearly pulled a victory cartwheel. “Dad, it’s not too late to help Evelyn Saunders.”

  Puzzled, he gave his head a little shake.

  “Help me. Help me find out the truth about Thomas Saunders. Make things right. Not just for Thomas. For Evelyn. And maybe for yourself, too.”

  Silence stretched into an eternity. Dad retreated behind closed eyes. When he opened them, he brought along clarity. “Okay, Dibby, fine. But we do it by my rules. Everything aboveboard and legal. Nothing dangerous. You don’t do anything without my accompaniment. And you definitely don’t go calling on the Saunders. Agreed?”

  “Absolutely.” Absolutely not. Not after the highly irregular visit I had planned for the Saunders, one Dad or the law wouldn’t abide by for a second.

  Because, now more than ever, I knew—those dang bones acting up again—what Hettie had told me was right on the nose. Everything had started at the Saunders’ homestead and that’s where it’d end.

  * * *

  Plum-tuckered and bone-weary, how my grams used to describe herself. Until now, I never rightly understood it, either.

  It’d been a while since I’d treated myself to a nice bath and by gum, I thought I’d earned it. Sure it was getting on late—well after ten o’clock—but since Dad had his evening tonic to prep him for bed, I may as well let a nice, warm bath caress me into a relaxed state.

  In the bathroom, I cracked the window just about four fingers high. I planned on building up a good head of steam. Heavy on the hot faucet, I drew the water.

  Much older than me, the tub fit like a glove. The back lip rose high, perfect to rest my head. The opposite end lowered a bit, custom built for my feet to roost on when I slid into the water, immersing myself in deep water and thought. ‘Course I never rightly understood why the tub had gold-plated lion paws hoisting it off the floor. Seemed a might odd combination: the white, porcelain body and paws that gleamed like costume jewelry. When I was younger, I’d asked Dad about the paws, absolutely fascinated.

  “Why, they take bathers for walks,” he’d said in an uncustomary, very non-scientific, flight of fantasy.

  Near the faucet, I dumped a heaping handful of Mr. Bubble—a holdover from my childhood I wasn’t quite ready to relinquish yet—into the water. A healthy head of bubbles grew, foaming, nearly overflowing. I cut the water, doffed my clothes on the floor, and slipped in.

  Every bit as glorious as I’d wanted it to be, the water tended to my abused muscles, soaked my dirt-clogged pores, replenished me. Bubbles tickled my chin, my nose. At the foot of the tub, I tested the dexterity of my toes by flicking bubbles with them. With a wet and warm washcloth over my eyes, I relaxed.

  And slipped down into the water.

  And kept right on slipping.

  I heard, then felt a hollow thump, similar to a large stone dropped into a pond.

  Water sloshed above me, then volleyed back. I shot up. Inhaled deeply through my draining hair. Yet the tub’s contents kept moving, sloshing this way, then that.

  Dad had been right. Like a confused dog, the tub carried me in a circular pattern. Tongues of water lapped at the tub’s sides.

  Frightened, flummoxed, worried I’d fallen asleep—dreaming and most possibly drowning—I flailed my arms about attempting to wake. But the water felt all too real, a tad on the hot side, cooking my skin into a baby’s pink. The tub jagged away from the sink and cut a sharp turn before crashing into the door. Water splashed out onto the floor. My hands slipped across the tub’s slick sides, failing to grasp a solid hold. The tub’s nowhere journey hastened. My hind-end scooched down on the bottom, dragged my head back under the water. I reached up, finally latched onto the sides. A strain on my arm muscles, I pulled hard, broke the water. And gasped in a great big breath.

  Right before hands snatched my ankles and yanked me back under.

  Inexplicable hands inside the tub with me.

  I thrashed my legs, kicked up more bubbles. Prepared for the soap product’s sting, I opened my eyes. I saw nothing, but felt the hands slip away. Only to return to my shoulders. Strong hands attached to stronger arms held me under. They moved up, slipped around my throat. I gripped the wrists, pulled at them. My feet lashed out, stirred up a whirlpool. I twisted, yanked at the hands. Dug my fingernails into my assailant’s flesh. The iron grip held.

  My lungs burned, ached for release. Dizziness took me, at first frightening, then strangely relaxing. Multi-colored dots paraded before me, dancing in the now settling water. I’m not rightly sure when the hands released me
, but they had. Everything calm, the turbulence passed.

  Now I had a very clear view, one to make a mermaid jealous. The water deepened and I fell with it. Above me, my view of the bathroom ceiling narrowed, grew small, blinked out. I sunk. Soon, the idea of a small encapsulated bathtub of water just seemed silly. I had free reign, gave into it, and swam deep into a large body of water.

  From a distance, something sharked toward me. Not something. Someone. In his underwear, Thomas Saunders fishtailed up in front of me. A few bubbles popped from his lips. His dark hair waved like seaweed. The other boy, the blond I’d seen earlier—Boot’s grandson, Richard—swam up behind him. His motions slowed by the water, Thomas raised his hand, gestured for me to follow him. The two boys took off, their feet kicking up a gentle current behind them.

  I pedaled after them, no match for their speed. In the distance, they appeared no larger than flesh-colored tadpoles. The harder I tried to kick, the farther behind I fell, nearly at an irritating stand-still.

  Darkness blotted over the boys, swallowed them like ink from an octopus. The blossoming black cloud rushed toward me, formless, massive, terrifying. Undisguised death.

  The black mass expanded, swallowed the body of water, became it. Thick and murky like oil, it enveloped me, squeezed hard. I panicked, kicked, tried to scream but I had no voice.

  The substance encasing me hardened. Able now to fight against something solid, I punched at it. My tomb’s walls flaked, crumbled around me. I clawed and climbed. Light poked through at the top, just a peep. I thrust an arm through and felt fresh, beautiful air cool my skin. I hauled myself topside and burst through the ground. Rolled over, inhaled deeply. And looked up into arms of cornstalks welcoming me. Clouds rolled across the moon, putting a face on it. Winking at me.