by T L Barrett
“Go ahead, Benji, take a shot. It’ll be good to get that out of the way,” the shadow being lifted his arms up and they stretched out to twice their original length. The shadow swelled. A cold wind lifted bloody wood chips in a swirl.
Ben fired the 30.06. The crack resounded across the mountain valley. The bullet must have passed through the shadow, for it blew off a chunk of the lean-to post in back of it.
“Bravo!” the shadow gave another cruel laugh. “I feel sorry for the poor deer around here. They won’t stand a chance with a shot like that!” The shadow drifted a bit closer and grew larger still.
“Run, Abby!” Ben said. Abby looked at her husband; her mouth hung open in abject fear. She turned.
“Stay!” the shadow commanded. Abby froze.
“I want both of you to hear what I have to say. It concerns your children, you see.”
“You’ll stay away from our children!” Ben roared, finding courage where he thought all courage had fled. He loaded another bullet in and fired it straight through the head of the shadow being.
The shadow being swooped across the space between them and grasped both of the Higginsons by the necks. His touch sent the ice of January deep into their bones.
“Not a quick learner, I see,” the shadow hissed. “Let’s listen now, shall we? We’ve got a situation here. In forty-eight hours, I’m going to go into that ugly house of yours and do what I did to your pooch here to those cherubic little babes of yours. If you don’t want that to happen, you will fetch me someone to stand in their place. Bring them here, or watch me tear Cody and Kayla to bits. That’s your choice. It's simple; and even a couple of rubes like you should be able to understand. If you understand, blink twice.”
Ben and Abby gasped, their faces blue with the touch of the shadow. The shadow waited patiently until both of them had blinked twice.
“Good,” the shadow said. The evening seemed to descend all at once. The Higginsons fell to the cold hard ground and gasped like fish out of water.
***
Kayla took Beau’s death hard, which meant Cody took it harder. Kayla did a lot of screaming, and Cody just trembled and bawled for an hour straight. Ben and Abby explained that it wasn’t Cody’s fault, but like most things, the children didn’t listen to what their parents told them. They seemed to believe, however, the story of how their parents had witnessed a catamount tearing Beau apart. Ben told the children that he thought that he had hit the cat with his second shot, but couldn’t be sure, because it ran off into the woods. Abby ordered the kids to remain inside the house for the time being. Ben didn’t think that would be an issue. Finally, after much cajoling and promising that they would some day, maybe next spring, get a replacement for Beau, the children were sent off to bed.
At the kitchen table, the adult Higginsons conferred upon their dilemma over beer and black coffee.
“What choice do we have, Abby? You saw that thing. You heard what it said. I shot that thing twice!” Ben banged his beer on the tabletop.
“Keep your voice down!” Abby said. “But, Ben, we can’t just kidnap someone and bring them to him, we’d be murderers!”
“And so we just wait until that thing comes and tears our kids apart? Is that what you want?”
“How dare you say that?” she spat, her face a mask of insane indignation. “I would do anything for those kids, but… Maybe we should just call the police.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Sheriff Freeman will be able to figure out something,” Ben quipped. “I bet he could give that thing a breathalyzer and everything.” Ben had come back from the Moose club one night two years before and had been pulled over by Sheriff Freeman. Ben had neither forgotten nor forgiven.
“Well, maybe if we could find a bad person… a criminal, or something, someone who deserved to die,” Abby suggested. Ben was moved by the haggard look on his wife’s face. He took her shaking hands and held them.
“Honey, it’s a good idea, but we’re not superheroes. We only have forty-eight hours. We have to find someone, or our kids are going to die!” Ben’s eyes misted up and his voice dropped with the weight of his grief. Abby keened, and dropped her head.
They stayed like that for some time.
“Oh, Ben, what are we going to do?” she asked and sniffed.
“I’ve got an idea,” Ben said.
“What, you do?”
“Yeah, I think it might be our only shot,” he pulled his hands from her and sat back. He wiped his face with his palms and sighed. He moved his eyes back and forth and then nodded.
“What is it, Ben? Tell me!” Abby insisted.
“Mrs. Pothier,” Ben said.
“Oh, Ben, no!” Abby said. Mrs. Pothier, a kindly old widow, had been their neighbor for years.
“Yes, Abby, think about it. That poor old lonely woman has had cancer, what, three times? You even said this time she probably won’t make it. The doctor gave her what, a few months probably?”
“Yes, but Ben, she’s the sweetest- I mean the kids, she loves the kids. She keeps clippings whenever they get in the paper,” Abby said.
“Yes, Abby, she does. She loves the kids like her own grandchildren. She would probably be happy to know she had given her life for them. In any case, she’s old, her time’s up. It’s the way of nature, don’t you see?” Ben said.
“I don’t know about that, Ben. It’s all too terrible,” Abby hugged herself and shivered. Ben leaned over and pointed his finger into Abby’s face.
“Our kids are too young to die. I won’t let them. You don’t have to do anything, all right? Just don’t try to stop me. Do you understand?” Abby stared at Ben’s face with tired misery. Finally she sniffed and nodded.
“Just make sure those kids are safely away from the house tomorrow evening.”
“Where am I supposed to send them to?” Abby asked. The woman seemed frail and old herself, now. Ben wondered how he had failed to recognize just how much like her mother she had always been. He didn’t want to look at her right then. He didn’t want to look at anyone. He stood up from the table, went to the refrigerator and took out two more beers.
“Send them to your damned sister. Tell her we had a fight. Tell her anything you want, all right?”
“Yuh, yes, dear,” she said and started keening again. Ben went into the living room, turned on the TV and turned off his mind.
***
That next evening, Ben drove by Mrs. Pothier’s house the first time. He thought he had seen headlights coming in the cold dying light, but it must have come from Darren Hill Road a quarter of a mile down the road. He was breathing fast and his hand trembled as he turned around and started back.
He wished for the twelfth time that he had tried to find some chloroform somewhere. No, he reminded himself, he didn’t know just how much chloroform would kill the feeble old woman. Besides, in case someone did drive down their lonely end of the road, he wanted to be sure everything looked so nondescript that people coming home from a long day of work wouldn’t notice anything worth noticing. He just wished he had even a little smidgen of faith in his ability to act.
“Time to break a leg,” Ben whispered to himself as he got out of the car and approached the old woman’s house.
He rang the doorbell three times and knocked four. When no one answered, he tried the door knob. It turned; people in the area, especially those who grew up around here, never locked their doors. Mrs. Pothier was just coming into the kitchen from a dim living room using her walker when Ben entered. She looked ashen and sunken-eyed, too ready for the grave, in Ben’s opinion.
“Well, hello, Ben,” Mrs. Pothier said with the start of a grin. “Is anything wrong?” Ben realized the haunted expression that painted his features and forced a grin.
“No, no, Mrs. Pothier, it’s just awful cold. My Abby sent me over to ask and see if you would join us for dinner tonight,” Ben said.
“Oh!” the old lady said, seeming to struggle with this bit of news. “That Abby sure is sweet, bless
her heart. But, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company tonight, Ben.” Ben could see the deep lines of pain drawn into her face. Mrs. Pothier slurped at a bit of drool and continued: “My lady from the home health came by just a half hour ago and dropped off a very nice dinner for me. Maybe I can take a rain check, all right? Besides, like you said, it’s awful cold outside.”
A strange anger started percolating deep down inside of Ben as he listened to this decrepit old woman complain when his young children were in such peril. He blinked at the severity of it, but didn’t quell it. If he was going to do what he needed to do, he would need that anger to do it.
“Well, Mrs. Pothier, I do wish you would reconsider. It means so much to Abby, you see. She’s made a meal you’ll really like.”
“Oh, bless her heart! What did she make?” Mrs. Pothier asked. Ben wracked his brain to think of a meal that might interest the old bird, but not rebel her stomach. He discarded four ideas quickly, and settled on the fifth.
“Old fashioned Turkey Pot Pie with dumplings!” he said, with as much gusto as he could.
“Well, that does sound rather tasty… and I don’t want to upset the poor dear. All right. But it will take me a few minutes to get ready. I hope the dinner’s not ready right now, is it?”
“No, Mrs. Pothier, that’s fine. Abby will be very excited.” Ben said. An alien feeling of self-loathing washed over him. He clenched his teeth as if against a pain.
“But, I don’t think I have anything to bring,” Mrs. Pothier moaned. “I’d feel terrible. Maybe, you should-”
“No, Mrs. Pothier, we’ve got plenty. I think Abby just wants you to taste her cooking. We don’t care about the rest,” he said.
“Well,” Mrs. Pothier said. She looked like an old turtle as she slumped to the other side of the kitchen. “I guess that’s all right.”
Ben waited in agony, as the kitchen clock ticked and Mrs. Pothier shuffled into some other part of the house to prepare herself. He heard a car drive by, and sent a silent prayer that no one would turn into the driveway, nor look too closely to see who was visiting Mrs. Pothier.
When Ben helped Mrs. Pothier down the steps and up into the truck, full dusk had arrived. He got in and started up the truck. He answered Mrs. Pothier’s questions about his children automatically as he neared the disused logging trail turn off that ran between their two properties.
Ben swore quietly to himself when he turned off the road and humped over the trail head. The truck bucked against some good sized rocks. Mrs. Pothier moaned from the jostling.
“Ben, what are you doing?” Mrs. Pothier asked in dismay.
“I… ah… I just wanted to show you something, Mrs. Pothier.”
“Out in the back fields?” she said. “Well, I really don’t want you to. This isn’t a proper road. I’m awfully sore right now.”
“Sorry about that, I think the rest will go easier.”
“I want you to turn us around. I’ve changed my mind. I need to get back and get to bed. I don’t feel very well,” Mrs. Pothier rubbed her arthritic hands together. Ben ignored her, picking up a little speed as the truck went down an incline and humped over a few hummocks. Mrs. Pothier groaned from the great jerks.
“Turn around,” she moaned like an old witch from a story book. “Turn around; I want you to turn around!”
“You need to be quiet, now,” Ben said. The truck lurched again, nearly rising up on two wheels and slamming back down. The old woman cried out.
“This isn’t easy for me, okay?” Ben shouted. “You aren’t making it any easier.”
“I have to get out of this,” Mrs. Pothier moaned and scrambled her useless fingers for the truck door handle.
“Just sit back!” Ben said and stuck his arm out to push her back from the truck’s dash. He accidentally drove the back of his wrist into her face and knocked her back against the head rest.
“Oh!” the old woman cried. Then she put her old fingers around Ben’s arm and came forward quickly. Her dentures sank into the flesh of Ben’s hand.
“Ow!” Ben roared. He jerked his hand free, pulling Mrs. Pothier’s dentures from her mouth with viscous strings of attached drool. Then he curled his fist, and snapped it back against the woman’s forehead.
The old woman bounced back, bounced forward from the head rest and slumped over.
“Jesus, I’m sorry, it’s just… It’s just…” Ben looked at the slumped woman and grabbed her by the shoulder. “Hey, you can’t die! You better not.”
The old woman’s eyes rolled in her head and she made a little puffing noise in her hanging toothless mouth. Then she brought a shaking hand up to her head. She started making dry sobbing sounds.
The truck lights fell on the lean-to and the neat stacks of wood underneath. The tall shadow figure cut that light in twain. It grew as it approached, like the shadow of a man with purpose.
Ben swallowed and got out of the truck.
“Hey, you made it!” the shadow said congenially. Ben didn’t respond to it. Instead, he ran around the back of the truck and got the passenger-side door open. The old woman shrank against the blast of cold. Ben reached in and hauled Mrs. Pothier out of the truck as he would a disobedient whelp.
“I’ve got you someone, so you can take her, all right? You can take her and leave my family alone!” Mrs. Pothier shrank against Ben in his grasp. Ben pushed her out to the shadow, holding her to her feet.
“Oh, I see,” the shadow said, “culling the herd of the old and sick. How like the noble hunter you are.”
The old woman was shaking and weeping from the confines of her down filled coat.
“Take her! You said that was what I had to do, so, take her!” he said, hating himself, refusing to look at the old woman who hung from his hands.
“That’s not how it works, Benji.” the shadow said. “Here, let go of her and talk to me.” He motioned, and then laid a hand upon Mrs. Pothier’s shoulder. “You stand and wait,” he said to Mrs. Pothier. Mrs. Pothier became still and stood in the lights of the headlight beams.
Ben took his hands away from Mrs. Pothier.
“We had an agreement,” Ben told the shadow.
“No, I threatened you; there’s a difference,” the shadow reminded. “Nevertheless, I will leave your family well enough alone, you just have to do one little thing for me first.”
“What?” Ben said.
“Go get your gun, Benji. I want you to kill her for me,” the shadow said. Ben looked at the terrible darkness of the shadow’s head. His eyes fell on the old mesmerized woman.
“No! I won’t do it,” Ben said.
“If you don’t use your gun now, you’ll have to wait to see if you can man up enough to use it to put your son out of his misery after I castrate him and take his nose and limbs off.” The image described by the shadow filled Ben’s mind like an awful movie screen. He shook with a chill.
Ben went back to the truck keeping his head down. He pulled out the hunting rifle and placed a bullet in the chamber.
He moved quickly, blotting out the false memory of that image with a silent scream. He pulled up the gun, leveled it carefully at the back of the old woman’s skull and fired.
The shot echoed through the mountain valley. He looked down to see the woman lying on the ground, her head a dark ruined shape.
“Holy shit!” someone said from a few dozen feet from the lean-to. Ben whirled around to see a man standing in the gloom. It was a hunter holding a rifle. He looked at the old woman’s dead body. He looked up at Ben. Ben vaguely recognized the man for being one of those rich uppity bastards who had moved into the housing development down the road in the past couple of years.
“Hey, man, this isn’t what it-” Ben started.
“Put your gun down!” the man ordered and brought his own gun up.
Seeing the man do that, Ben instinctively to lifted his own gun and turned it toward his neighbor.
A shot rang out.
Ben’s universe jarred like an
old film that had jumped its track.
***
Ben rose through levels of consciousness, which he dimly realized, like a revelation, was really pain.
He was crucified so that his toes dangled a few inches from the ground. A hell wind drove its burning ice against him. The ruined remains of a house that he found himself in did not have a roof or high enough walls to keep him from it. The walls shut most of the horrific scenery from his sight, but this just aided in driving his imaginative anticipation wild in consideration of the source of the terrible screams and ululations that was carried on the wind.