The Pines

by Robert Dunbar

  “How’s at?”

  “This here gin mill’s haunted,” replied Dan. “I thought everybody knew that. You should see it sometimes when the spooks is out—things flyin’ around by themselves. You wanna hear about it?” He toyed with the cracked fruit jar he’d been drinking from, letting the guy see it was empty.

  Jagged laughter exploded from the corner.

  “Way I heard it, Lonny went after his brother’s wife one night, but she grabbed a shotgun and just ’bout blew ole Lonny’s head off.”

  “How’s about it, Lonny? Can the black bitch take you in a fair fight?”

  “Them ghosts—Hessian mercenaries they was.” Sooty lanterns flickered, and Dan’s eyes glinted as the words spun out. “Shot ’em against a wall in the old town. Back during the Revolution.”

  “You pullin’ my leg, ole man?”

  “Come to think on it, there ain’t been no ghosts in here fer a while. I remember once…” But the newcomer’s eyes had strayed to Lonny.

  “I know wha’ tha’ bitch really wants.” Muttering to himself, Lonny began to get loud.

  “I told you to lay off the stuff.”

  “Ah, let ’im alone, Al,” somebody yelled. “It’s just getting good. What you saying, Lon?”

  Lonny kept drinking. All around him voices blurred with the smoke, fogging into an uneven buzz.

  “Yeah, tell us ’bout it, Lonny. Whatchya gonna do to ’er?”

  “…what tha bitch…she ain’t takin’ nuthin’…’smy house, Jesus, ’Thena…what she really wants, my…”

  “At’s a boy, Lonny!”

  “You tell ’er!”

  “Tha’ bitch!” He pounded his fist on the bar. Voices splashed around him. Words whirled about his ears, piercing his head. Hands slapped his back. Many hands. His friends—a flickering blur. Al laughed, and Wes kept pushing him, pushing him and yelling things. Someone—old Dan?—tried to take his arm, but he shook free like a dog throwing off water. And suddenly he was sailing toward the door, riding a crescendo of goading that seemed to carry him out into the night. The hollow roar of the gin mill burst behind him, then trundled away.

  He couldn’t feel his feet, couldn’t see the ground, but he kept walking, somehow never falling, and one of the hounds that lay in the shadow of a truck got up to follow.

  So strange to be outside. Such relief. No lights to hurt his eyes. But even here the air felt dense, stirring with damp heat, like the breath of a beast. His thoughts churned: it was his house, but he had nothing because of her. Choking, he loosened his shirt. He was a grown man, and they all laughed at him, because he had nothing, no home even, and all he wanted was to go home. He stumbled down the road. He was going home, and nothing could stop him.

  His thoughts grew even more muddied. Had he lost his bearings? The house lay…that way. Ahead of him, pines swayed, and the breeze carried away the stink of the town dump.

  The hound that followed idly, stopped and sniffed the air. It sat back on its haunches to watch the man’s progress into the woods. The dog stiffened. The beginnings of a growl stirred in its chest, then it twisted around with a wrenching movement and ran away as fast as it could.

  As the sky began to flicker, the wind blew stronger.

  Pine detritus crunched under the tires. Raindrops plopped randomly across the roof of the car, and dust billowed around the house. In the woods, a dog was howling. As Athena pushed the car door open, sudden wetness splattered over the windshield. Couldn’t wait two more minutes, could it? She sprinted toward the dry shadow of the house while all around her hot sand hissed and sighed.

  Lightning illuminated the kitchen as she pulled open the back door. She slapped at the wall, groped for the switch. Thunder sounded distantly. The house creaked under the rising wind, and fitful rain tapped like moths at the windows. She moved swiftly through the first floor, switching on lights. Another clap of thunder detonated, the loudest so far, and through the rumblings came ragged shrieks.

  “Matthew?” She raced to the foot of the stairs. “Matthew, what’s the matter?”

  Shrill cries grew louder. She caught a flash of movement.

  “Pammy! Where Pammy an’ Chabwok got in his m-mouth and red…all red?” Crashing down the stairs, the boy charged at her. No time to get out of the way—she clutched at the banister as he slammed into her, tumbling her backward.

  The house lights went out.

  Toppling in sudden darkness, she landed on her hip with the boy on top of her, pain and panic searing through.

  “Pammy…d-dark now…Pammy red and the rain! Go and…got to!” They grappled furiously in the blackness, Athena struggling to get up, the boy screaming and shaking her, desperation in his voice.

  “Matthew, it’s all right.” She got hold of his arms, tried wriggling free. “Everything’s going to be all right.” A glancing blow caught her on the side of the jaw.

  “Pammy! Chabwok, the dogs! Save Pammy. Save!”

  Somehow, she pushed him back, warded off beating fists. She tried to pull herself to her feet, but again he flung himself at her. He grabbed her around the waist and hung on, wailing with fear and need.

  “Matthew, stop this, please. Let me up!” She managed to free herself from one clinging hand. “What’s wrong? Can you tell me?” Prying herself loose, she stumbled into the darkened kitchen to lean against the table.

  Lightning probed at boarded windows. The boy hadn’t followed her. The flash showed him still lying on the floor, weeping as he hadn’t since infancy. Pam was in danger—his hysteria convinced her. “It’s all right now, Matthew.” She felt along the wall for the cellar door. The key grated, and the doorway opened deeply. An ammoniacal smell flooded the room: a damp musk, full of the stench of mouse droppings and dust-laden cobwebs. Steadying herself against the door, she reached for the shelf, groped among the cans and jars. Finding the flashlight, she turned it toward the choked sobs. “Everything’s going to be fine now.”

  “Pammy…n-n-no no don…Chabwok!” The boy stood at the kitchen threshold, face running with tears. “Pammy, no, don wanna…” The glare of the flashlight made his tear-swollen features appear even more distorted.

  She directed the beam back toward the shelf, then lifted down the kerosene lantern and took the rattling box of matches from the stove.

  “…dogs…the dogs inna woods…” He dropped to his knees, then slid to his side, moaning. “…gonna get Pammy! Pammy!” An explosion of wind brought a cracking noise from the walls.

  A quivering puddle of lantern light covered the table and overflowed into the rest of the kitchen. While the boy wept, she stood searching for her strength. She had to do something. Could the feral dogs really be near Pam’s trailer? And how could the boy know? How could he?

  Something scraped the back door. “Pamela?” Hurrying, she pulled it open—a burst of coolness. Rain gushed in. A dark shape heaved up from the porch. “No!” She tried to slam the door, but the shape struck against it with a yelp, shoving the door out of her hands and knocking her aside as it plowed through. Claws skittered loudly across the floorboards. “Oh.” She clutched at her throat, feeling her pulse hammer while the door flailed in rainy wind.

  Black and soaking, the dog ran twice around the kitchen, then stopped to lap at Matthew’s face before shaking, spattering her jeans and the room with mud.

  Drifting mist surrounded her, and she breathed in the scent of the rain. Then she heard fiercely chaotic barking, murky through the storm, definitely coming from the direction of Pamela’s.

  The boy grabbed her, startling her. When she put her hand on his head, he whined and shook all over. The words wouldn’t come out through his chattering teeth, and he pressed shut his eyes, his whole face clenching. The veins on his face swelled as though they’d burst at the temples if the choked-down sobs did not emerge.

  She knew what she had to do. Freeing herself, she moved quickly to the cellar door, reached again for the shelf. “Matthew, you’re to stay in the house with Dooley.” Her v
oice sounded odd, and she tried to imagine the expression on her face. “The lights should come back on soon. You’re not to touch the lantern. Understand?”

  The boy watched as she grabbed down first the shotgun, then the box of shells.

  “Do you understand?” With a steady hand, she loaded two shells into the gun, then picked up the flashlight. The boy tried to follow her out onto the porch.

  “I said stay in the house!”

  The boy hadn’t moved in long moments. He stood rooted to the spot, staring at the back door. It had already swelled from the rain, and she’d had to shove it several times before it had closed properly. He’d watched it jerk and tremble, listened to her grunt against it. Then the lock had clicked. Since then all had been silent save the storm.

  It rattled at the walls. He lifted the lantern from the table and carefully carried it into the living room, the dog barking and following. Shadows lurched and fled before him, swinging wide across the floor and walls. Matty set the lamp down on the little table and ran to the window. He stood there, his face pressed to the glass. Silent incandescence showed only the running pane, as though the world slipped away, pattering. The curtain of water glittered…and when the night-voice found him, he’d already begun to shake. Cries of distant hounds drummed through the window glass with the thunder.

  Reflected light gleamed dimly from the glass. Reversed, the room wavered on the pane. He stepped back, saw a face against the liquid night, a face like his, in a room such as this, framed by hair that held the lamplight like glowing coils, with eyes that seemed those of the night itself. “No! You! No, I won’t!” He screamed and the face screamed with him. He raced into the dark kitchen, struck a chair that overturned. Sand grated on the windows, trying to get in. “No, Pammy! Not again! I don’t want it to be! Save!” The dog growled once, then whimpered and began scratching frantically at the door while the boy yelled.

  “Gotta get out!” Froth clung to his lips, and he clutched his abdomen. His eyes rolled back in his head, and gasping shrieks tore in agony from his stomach.

  He lunged for the door. The dog scrambled away, whining, to slink into the living room. “Chabwok! Chabwok!” The boy screamed, and the door shook as he beat on it.

  Squeezing beneath the sofa, the dog lay very still.

  She’d been soaked through in seconds, yet she slogged on determinedly.

  Wet sand blew full in her face, then slackened somewhat. The flashlight broke the storm apart, reduced it to dazzling fragments. She tilted the light downward, and it threw a wavering patch on the yellow ground. She was glad the dog had come home, because she couldn’t have left the boy alone otherwise. Pamela must have had sense enough to lock her door and stay inside, she decided. She must have. Dashing for the road, she listened. She wouldn’t try to make it over here, would she? Muffled, the barking seemed to have moved away. If she were frightened?

  She was already running for the bridge when she realized she could have driven part of the way. Damn. She splashed through a puddle. The shotgun weighed so much, it interfered with her balance, its shaft so dense the lightning scratched no reflection on it. For just an instant, she considered going back for the car, then realized the road might well flood anyway. Ahead of her, the flashlight’s beam created a wraith of luminous vapor that darted from tree to tree and melted into the battering water, a pale and shimmering extension of herself.

  The rain picked up to gale force again, sweeping the road in thick, rapid sheets. Oh damn. Half drowned out, her footsteps drummed across the bridge. Below, water churned. She paused for a moment, breathing heavily, then ran forward. Her foot found nothing, empty air, then caught, wrenching beneath her. She thudded hard against the wooden bridge and rolled.

  She fell into blackness, one with the storm.

  Lightning flickered through missing planks.

  She splashed on her back, and water rushed up her nose. She reached blindly for the surface, and the flashlight swirled away from her, a blob of luminous churning. By instinct alone, she kept hold of the shotgun as the current pushed and spun her. The gun dragged her down. A thick root hit her thigh.

  Rolling, she fought her way up the streaming bank and lay panting in the mud. She hunched over, gasping and choking, wiping at her eyes, her body heat bleeding away with the water that poured from her. That was nearly it, girl. She coughed uncontrollably. Nearly it.

  She thought about hiding under the bridge until the storm lessened, but the stream swelled and twisted at her feet, growing wilder by the moment. And where was the bridge anyway? Grunting, she staggered up the embankment.

  Will the gun even work, now it’s wet? She considered abandoning it, but howls twisted all around her in the wind. Pines hissed with the rain. They seemed to dance in a shimmer of light. She listened, not sure of anything now. Trying to get her bearings, she pushed on.

  Those red eyes in my dreams. Again, her thoughts turned to the child who had been bitten. Please, Pamela, please be all right. Hurrying, she thought of the hound that had frightened her the other night. You have to be. If only for Matthew’s sake. She shivered. I’m almost there, Pamela. Don’t be afraid. Gripping the shotgun, she tried to keep it pointing straight ahead.

  In a burst of brilliance, the road seemed wrong somehow, unfamiliar. Thunder seemed to grow louder, to follow closer on the flash. She couldn’t spot the turnoff or the hanging tree or any other landmark, though she should have by now. A branch struck her shoulder. Forked lightning cracked the sky overhead, revealed a road grown narrower than it should have been.

  Behind her, something moved. With a harsh cry catching in her throat, she spun. A solitary tree swayed wildly. Saplings seemed to leap at her with each bright glare, and thunder left her too deafened to listen for dogs.

  Is that it? Is it Pam’s place? Ahead lay a low structure. I must’ve come around from the other side somehow. She trotted forward, realizing even as she ran that the dark form couldn’t be the trailer. “Pamela! It’s me!” The shape was all wrong, somehow flattened and broken, and beside it rose a black obelisk.

  Dark pillars surrounded her, and she stood absolutely still. The chill she’d been fighting went through her, forcing her teeth together with a sharp click. She blinked at the thing she’d mistaken for the trailer: one wall only, cut through with window holes that opened to nothingness. Lightning slanted behind it.

  Thunder staggered her. The creek. She must have gotten turned around in the water. I’m lost. This had to be the old town, but a part she’d never seen before. Motionless in the ruins, she stared, her teeth chattering.

  Through the pines floated an agonized, choking scream.

  There was no way of telling if it came from a man or a woman, but there was no mistaking that it was a cry of terror and pain. And close.

  Isolated in the downpour, she listened. There was no way of knowing even from what direction the cry had come. While the gale whipped through the pines, they seemed at last to have merged—this force and this terrain—to have become a single unit, a rippling universal shadow.

  And something bulky moved with a heavy sound, crouching through the blurring trees. And a horrible stench sifted up through the rain.

  Numb with terror, she backed away. She heard it moving again, could almost see it now, there in the underbrush.

  Backing away, backing farther, she felt it, felt it slowly emerge. No, it’s not. Dimly, she glimpsed it—a form. Not there. A shape, all wrong. It’s…not.

  Squat and heavy, it hunched on four legs in the flattened brush.

  It’s a patch of mud or a tree trunk or…

  It scrambled toward her.

  Shoot! The gun shook wildly in her hands. Shoot it! She tried to aim. Why don’t you shoot?!

  The gun exploded, rearing upward, striking her shoulder. The shot went high. The muted tearing of the pellets through the trees mingled with the soft battering of raindrops. After the flash, she could see nothing. The storm had become a steady drizzle, and the water pressed down her
body like a hand. Wishing she had more than one shell remaining, she took a step backward, aiming at first one dark area, then another.

  Flames sprang in the air, heat and a crackling shock that sent her staggering backward, stunned and reeling.

  Don’t look!

  Lightning slithered on the ground, and a lump of ore fused in blinding brilliance.

  Its eyes! As a red afterimage, she saw it standing erect now, scant yards away. Oh my God looking into mine its eyes. Returning to black, the ground seemed to shake, and her weaker leg gave out. The mouth God I can’t run the snarl with its lips drawn back. She fell to one knee. Teeth in the red mouth.

  Rain already beat down the flames that crept across the cloven earth between them.

  Now, she ran with no knowledge of how she’d risen. Tripping, she slid on her face, the gun discharging on the ground beneath her. She was slow to get up, sure some part of her had been ripped away. Again, the full force of rainfall hammered from the sky.

  Crashing sounds surged toward her.

  No. She lunged through the woods, shotgun left behind. You won’t get me! The tearing pain in her side jolted. Not this easy! Branches clawed. I won’t let you! Then the ground was gone in sliding mud, and rushing black water knocked the breath from her, filling her mouth. Cold and powerful now, the creek boiled, tumbling her like a leaf.

  Narrow here. Lightning glowed off the water, freezing her as she crawled up the sand.

  Doubled over, she hobbled on, shivering and limping. I won’t look back. I won’t. Then she staggered into the clearing.

  “Pamela!” She launched herself at the trailer. “Pamela, it’s Athena!” She pounded and yelled, her voice lost in the shriek of wind that buffeted and pulled at her. “Open the door! Let me in! Hurry!” Bubbling up through the downpour, the screams emptied out of her. “I think I hear it coming! God damn you! Open up!”

  “Go away!” There came faint, frightened squeals. “I can’t unlock the door. They’re out there. I can’t now!”