Pitch Green

by The Brothers Washburn

  “Oh, just shut up!”

  Deputy Todd walked into the room with Cal’s parents. Cal’s mother was obviously very concerned. “Camm, you can’t stay here alone with the house wide open. You’re coming to stay with us until your parents get back home.”

  “I think that is a good idea.” The deputy nodded his head in an approving manner, wagging his finger at Camm.

  Camm breathed a sincere sigh of relief. She’d been hoping the Joneses would invite her over. She knew she couldn’t stay in her own house alone, especially with the missing sliding door.

  Late Sunday afternoon, Camm and Cal headed out to Homewood Canyon in Camm’s Bug. Camm did most of the driving whenever they went out together. Besides, Cal’s car still smelled bad. Lately, both had become especially sensitive to certain smells.

  “So, what do we know about this creature thing?” Camm asked, trying to marshal all their facts before they talked to Sarah.

  “We know it lives in the mansion and comes out when that freakin’ clock strikes twelve. You know, the one that is stopped, but still knows to start gonging when it is twelve midnight. By the way,” Cal added with a sly smile, “I bet that ol’ grandfather clock is going around the mansion each night doing all the house cleaning and repair work.”

  Camm chose to ignore that last comment. “We know, also, that the creature isn’t restricted to the mansion. It comes outside if it wants, like it did on the nights that Hughie and the other children disappeared. It must have a secret door somewhere, because it manages to get in and out when all known doors are locked, bolted, and sealed up tight.”

  “And,” Cal jumped in, “we know it doesn’t like light and can somehow turn off electric lights and even snuff actual flames. But it struggled with the fire in your fireplace, though it may have succeeded if Deputy Todd hadn’t gotten there when he did.”

  He stared thoughtfully out the window. “It seems to handle electric lights with ease, but it struggles with actual flames, and the bigger the flames, the more trouble it has.”

  Camm shuddered at the memory of the fire being reduced to red embers, almost going out completely. “How does it do that?”

  “I dunno.” Cal more like hummed the phrase than said it. “But whatever it is, that thing is not natural.”

  Camm shot him a glance. “I think that’s why they invented the word supernatural. In truth, all things in nature are natural. We just don’t understand some things yet. When we do figure them out, they won’t be supernatural anymore.”

  “Well, excuse me, Miss I-don’t-believe-in-ghosts.” Cal raised an eyebrow at her. “But for now, that thing is supernatural, all right, and it knows where you live, and it’s got a thing for you big time. It wants to have you in the worst way possible.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because it left the mansion and came all the way out to Pioneer Point looking for you specifically, and it found you, too. I don’t know if it found you by scent—you are kind of smelly—or just looked you up on the Internet. But, it did find you.”

  A familiar trickle of fear slid down Camm’s spine. She worried for a moment about having a supernatural stalker, then tried to shake it off by changing the subject.

  “You’re the smelly one, not me.”

  “Me? You’re a stink-a-saurus.”

  “Well, you’re a puke-a-potamus.” Both smiled.

  Camm went on with her analysis. “It apparently doesn’t like visitors to the mansion. It views us as trespassers.”

  “Ya think?” Cal snorted.

  Camm stared straight ahead and tapped the steering wheel, ignoring him. “It’s like protecting that place or something. I mean, all those people died in 1941, because they were in the mansion. There is more going on with that mansion than just a place for the creature to live. It might look abandoned, but something happens there each night. Otherwise, everything wouldn’t always be so clean and perfect in the morning.”

  Cal jumped in. “And where is that thing living in the mansion? There’s got to be another secret room somewhere.”

  “Ya think?” she mimicked Cal, smiling sweetly at him.

  When Cal had no immediate comeback, Camm added, “I think there is a connection with the Trona plant as well.”

  Cal looked at Camm with surprise. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that with old Alberto Sr. being a chemist and all, and the mansion being built right there by the plant, somehow, it’s all got to be connected.”

  They both sat in their own thoughts for a few minutes before Camm turned to give Cal a curious sideways glance.

  “By the way, what’s with that thing you yelled?”

  “What thing?”

  “Before you started shooting at the creature in the mansion, you yelled, ‘Die, you freaking’ something. What’s up with that?”

  Cal shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan it—it just came out. You know, kinda like a battle cry.”

  “A battle cry?”

  “Yeah, you know, a battle cry. My blood was all up and boiling, and it all just felt so insane and everything. I yelled out a battle cry. It just came out, natural like.”

  “Well, do a different one.”

  “What? Excuse me? You didn’t like my battle cry? You’re the battle cry sheriff now? You get to pick the battle cry?”

  “No, you can pick it. That one just sounded so . . . so immature. Pick a better one.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course, Your Royal Highness.”

  “Shut up.”

  Cal thought for a second, then twisted in his seat to stare at her. “Camm, what are you saying? Are you saying that we’re going back again? Back into the mansion to try to kill it again?”

  Camm took a big breath. “I guess so.”

  “I thought you said to forget about killing it.”

  “That was before last night. We can’t just wait until it comes back to our homes again to attack our families. And it will just go on killing children. Mr. Samuel has already tried pretending it wasn’t there, but that didn’t stop it.

  “Cal, we know too much—more than anyone else. If we don’t do something, no one will. Either we hide our heads in the sand, like Mr. Samuel, or we do something to stop it.”

  Cal held up his hands in frustration. “How are we going to kill that thing? We shot it with a .357 and a twelve-gauge shotgun. What do we bring next time, a bazooka?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know yet, but we have to figure out something. Too many people have died already. We must stop it. We got to kill it—we just got to.”

  “So, what do we do about a light? How do we get a light on it to see it, to kill it?” Cal’s eyes narrowed. “So we can see what the heck it is that we’re fighting.”

  “I don’t know that either. I’m working on it.” Camm hesitated, a little unsure. “Cal, are you with me on this?”

  Cal looked at Camm steadily and smiled. “Camm, we’re in this together. We’ll finish this together. We’re Team One. We will think of something; I don’t know what, but I do know that I am with you two hundred percent, all the way to the bitter end.”

  Camm sighed in relief. “Let’s hope it’s not that bitter.”

  At Sarah Daniel Samuel’s house, Camm took them right to the side door. They knocked several times, with no answer.

  “Maybe she’s not here,” Cal suggested.

  “That’s what I thought last time, but the car was here then, and so was she. The car is here now and . . .” Camm stopped to look at it. “And it’s been moved. Someone has been using it.”

  “Maybe Mr. Samuel took her to a rest home or something.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so. I don’t think he wanted her talking to people. He’d rather have her out here alone.”

  “Not a very nice way to treat your grandma,” Cal mused.

  “Maybe someone else is visiting her, too. Who knows?” Camm cracked open the door and peered in. “Sarah, are you here?”


  A weak voice answered, “What are you doing here? Go away.”

  Camm opened the door all the way and walked in. Cal followed. Sarah was hunched in a corner of the kitchen, shielding her eyes from the bright desert sun shining through the open door.

  “Sarah,” Camm announced in an authoritative voice, “we need to talk.”

  As Camm pulled a chair out from the table, Cal circled the room, pulling the curtains back, letting in bright sunlight.

  Sarah, her hand still in front of her eyes, protested, “Oh, you can’t be here. I can’t talk to you. Bucky said I shouldn’t talk to anyone. You must leave. Please go.”

  Camm and Cal looked at each other and together mouthed, “Bucky?” Looking sternly at Cal, Camm whispered, “Whatever! We shouldn’t be surprised. Somehow it seems to fit.”

  Camm walked over to the old woman and put an arm around her, gently leading her to the kitchen table. Cal sauntered over to the kitchen door where he tried to make himself invisible.

  Once Camm had settled Sarah’s tiny form into a chair, she drew up another chair and sat next to her. “Sarah,” she said softly, reaching for a wrinkled hand, “is Bucky Mr. Samuel?”

  “Yes,” Sarah answered hesitantly. “He was supposed to come yesterday and bring my groceries, but he hasn’t come yet.”

  “Sarah,” Camm spoke gently, “is Bucky your grandson?”

  “Yes, he is. Oh, I don’t know what to do. He said not to talk to anyone.” Sarah looked up at Camm intently. “You’re that pretty, young woman who came to my house before. You came with the other woman, who asked too many questions. I didn’t like her. Bucky said not to talk to her, not to talk to anyone.”

  Camm continued to pat Sarah’s hand in a comforting way.

  “Sarah, we came here to tell you about Bucky. I’m afraid that something has happened to him.”

  Sarah stared around the room, confused, finally focusing in the direction of the kitchen door. “Who is he?” She inclined her head toward Cal. “Why is he here?”

  “Sarah,” Camm persisted. “Sarah, please, look at me.”

  Camm waited until Sarah’s gaze left Cal and swung back to her, their eyes meeting again. “Sarah, we came here to tell you about Bucky; something bad has happened to him.”

  A worried look came over Sarah. “What happened? He was supposed to bring my groceries yesterday. He always brings my groceries on Saturday, but he didn’t. Oh, I’m not supposed to be talking to you, and now someone new is here.” She glanced again at Cal. “Bucky will be so upset.”

  “Sarah!” Camm raised her voice, drawing Sarah’s attention away from Cal. “We were with Bucky in the mansion.” The worried look on Sarah’s face deepened. “The three of us were together in the mansion, and Bucky tried to save us, but that thing that lives in the mansion killed Bucky, Sarah. It killed him.”

  Sarah’s eyes immediately filled with tears. She continued to stare at Camm, but it was impossible to tell how much she really understood. Camm softly cupped the old woman’s papery cheek.

  “Sarah, do you understand? Mr. Samuel—uh, Bucky—was with us in the mansion, and it—that thing—killed him there.”

  Sarah looked down, and then back up at Camm, staring intently into her eyes. “Why was he there in that awful place? Why were you there? No one should ever go there, ever. He knew that. Bucky knew that is an awful place. He told me that no one should go there, ever. Why did you go there? I told you not to go!”

  Staring back at Sarah, Camm thought, This poor old woman has lost her grandson, her only connection to the outside world, and now she’ll probably have to go to a rest home.

  Camm’s face reflected the guilt she felt. She had gone inside the mansion to resolve Hughie’s disappearance, which she felt partly responsible for, but going there on her own had made things worse. First, Ginger was killed, and then Cal had insisted on going back. Now, Mr. Samuel was dead, and Camm had almost been killed in her own home. Things just kept getting worse and worse.

  “I’m sorry your grandson died. We tried to kill it. We were all shooting it, but it just kept coming. Bucky is a hero; he died saving our lives. He stepped between us and the creature, telling us to run, delaying it long enough so we could escape.”

  Sarah continued gazing up at Camm with a confused look, a look that inflicted pain in Camm. Her heart was aching for Sarah. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sarah.” Camm didn’t know what else to say. At that moment, staring into those large, tear-laden green eyes, Camm felt like giving up, like running away.

  “We didn’t mean for your grandson to die. I’m so sorry. I wish we could make things better, but I don’t know what to do.”

  Suddenly, Sarah straightened in her seat and leaned toward Camm. “You must kill it. It killed my grandson. It killed my son and my husband, too. It is evil. You must kill it!”

  Sarah had always seemed so old and disconnected, but now she seemed completely coherent. Camm studied Sarah’s eyes, trying to measure the change that had just taken place. Did Sarah really mean what she said? Camm could see in Sarah’s eyes that the old woman truly expected her to kill it.

  As the full impact of what Sarah was asking sank in, Camm felt her heart break; despair washed over her. “We don’t know how to kill it. We’ve tried, we really have, but we don’t know how.”

  A commanding voice came unexpectedly from the doorway into the bedroom. “Then I will tell you how to kill it.”

  Camm and Cal both jumped and looked over with surprise to where the voice originated. Someone was stepping into the kitchen—it was Miss Cathleen, the librarian.

  XIV

  Miss Cathleen walked over to the table and sat next to Sarah opposite Camm. She gestured at the remaining free chair and said to Cal, “Come here, young man, and have a seat. We must talk, and I want your full attention.”

  Sarah leaned her wizened head onto Miss Cathleen’s shoulder and said sadly, “They say Bucky is dead. He died in the mansion. Why did he go into the mansion? He knew better. He said never go into the mansion. He said no one should ever go into the mansion, ever.” She hid her face in Miss Cathleen’s shoulder and sobbed. “Bucky is dead. Oh, no, whatever will we do?”

  Miss Cathleen softly stroked her wispy hair, crooning reassurances. Over Sarah’s head, she gave Camm and Cal severe, censuring looks, making Camm feel six years old again.

  As Sarah began to calm, Miss Cathleen said, “I hadn’t told her yet that Bucky has been missing all week, or that his car was found at the mansion. I didn’t want her to worry, and until now, I could only guess that the worst had probably happened.”

  Camm expected the librarian to lecture them about young people going places they shouldn’t go and about being warned away from the mansion, and them not heeding that warning. Instead, Miss Cathleen narrowed her eyes at Cal. “I know you. You’re California Gold Jones. And I know you,” she said, looking at Camm. “You’re Camelot Mist Smith.”

  Camm blinked, staring at Miss Cathleen’s stern, hard face. The identification sounded a lot like an accusation.

  “Are you going to call the police?” Cal asked.

  Miss Cathleen softened, laid her cheek on top of Sarah’s head and sighed. “Why would I? The police have never been able to do anything in the past. This is beyond their methods.”

  “What are you going to do?” Camm asked.

  “I already said. I’m going to tell you how to kill it.”

  “You know how to kill it?” Cal leaned forward, his whole body focused on Miss Cathleen.

  “Maybe. I have something, and I’m giving it to you.”

  “Why us?” Camm was suspicious. “Why not the police, and why didn’t you give it to Mr. Samuel?”

  “The police are fools, and the sheriff’s office is full of

  idiots. They would never believe what I’m about to tell you, and would just botch the whole thing like they’ve done in the past.”

  In the library, Miss Cathleen had seemed like a doddering old woman. Now, she was sharply in
control. “And as for my son, well, Bucky was a fool, too. He thought he could kill it with guns and mercenaries, but that didn’t get him anywhere, did it?”

  Camm gave Cal a sideways look. “Mr. Samuel was your son?”

  “Yes, though we’ve not been on speaking terms for many years. He left home at eighteen and never looked back. Long ago, I stopped mourning his loss, but still, he was my son.”

  “And then . . .” Camm stated, nodding toward Sarah.

  Miss Cathleen slid her arms gently around Sarah, smiling lovingly down at her. “Yes, this is my sweet mother-in-law.”

  Cal had a quizzical look on his face. “Okay, now, I don’t understand. Who is who here, and what . . .”

  Sitting up straight, Miss Cathleen interrupted. “Who is whom, you mean. California Jones, I have been watching you, and I fear that your education is lacking. You would do well to follow the example of Camelot. But let me now answer your questions.

  “My son, Buckwald, was a major stockholder in the corporation that owns the Trona plant, and an executive manager at that plant. His father, Sarah’s son—my husband—was killed in the mansion years ago, I suppose by the same beast that has now killed Bucky.

  “Bucky’s grandfather, Sarah’s husband, was Alberto Samuel Jr., and it was his father, Alberto Samuel Sr., who bought the mining rights to Searles Lake from Borax Smith—Smith had bought up all the local mining rights

  after the death of John Searles.

  “Alberto Sr. built the first plant here and also the mansion. He brought the plans for the mansion back from Europe. The plans included some old calculation or formula that determined exactly where the mansion and the plant had to be located in the valley. For some reason, Senior believed that his mansion and plant had to be built in only one specific location and configuration.

  “The mansion was not built like a normal building. The building plans were very unusual, and once the construction was completed, Senior either destroyed or hid away the drawings he had brought from Europe. He never allowed anyone to see what he was doing, but he intended for the mansion and plant to be connected somehow. From the beginning, there have always been strange things happening in the mansion. And then in August of 1941, that creature showed up unexpectedly. No one was prepared for it.