by Bruce Jones
Halfway down the wooden steps the flashlight went out.
“Shit,” Richard said.
“Well, this is just ridiculous,” Laurie started but then, in darkness, heard the shaking sound of the silver tube in his hand and the yellow beam stuttered and came to life again. Richard stayed put a moment, shining the beam downward to the grey cement floor, perhaps giving his partner the job to decide whether to continue. Laurie pushed on ahead of him and down they went, Richard thinking: in light of her first statement what else could she do?
It was cool down here, even chilly. Chilly in the summer. Richard liked the sound of it, made a mental note for a future book title while the fine hair along his arms stirred under goose pimples.
“Dad’s old office is right over here,” and as if on cue the beam died again, but not quite all the way out this time. He shook it and it amped back up. We could go back for new batteries, he thought, but he didn’t know where to look and they were halfway there now. Halfway there, another good title; was fear making him creative?
The light found a dark figure before them and before Laurie could jump back Richard caught her arm, steadied her: it was only his reflection in the dusty glass of his father’s office door. Richard turned the handle and they were inside.
“What was that?”
Richard was at the desk, pushing aside the swivel chair so she wouldn’t trip over it. “Just a chair.” He smiled nervously. “Not a rat.”
“I didn’t think it was a rat.”
He smiled wider, swung the light toward the south wall. Shelves of hardcover books lit before them, seemed to move like parade sentinels under their own shadows. Richard trained the light at the middle rows, swung it left, then right. Then he realized the black cavity of empty space was gone, that all the rows were solid with faded red and green and brownish spines.
And a single gold one.
“This one?” Laurie said, reaching for the shelf.
“Don’t!” Richard said. Louder than he’d meant to.
She turned to him in his father’s basement room. “What is it? Jesus, Richard, you look like death.”
He jerked around to her so fast she actually took a step back. “Richard. Your face.”
He stepped back too. He frowned anger and resolve and stepped forward again, reached out and pulled the book from the shelf by the spine. A large, heavy book, swathed in thick, aged leather that actually creaked richly like a saddle. But Richard wasn’t looking at it, despite the obvious weight of it in his hands; he was looking at the empty space it had occupied.
“Are you all right?”
“It wasn’t there, Laurie. I was down here in dad’s office just a few weeks ago rummaging around, and there was no book there.” He lifted his hand to the shelf. “Just empty space where a book should be. The only empty space in the whole bookcase.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. He didn’t like it…”
“Who didn’t?”
“Dad. He didn’t like my coming down here when he worked. I mean, he never actually said anything, never chased me off. Maybe he really didn’t mind so much me being in his little office with him, I always thought he kind of enjoyed my company, but he didn’t like me near his bookshelf, messing with his books. I could always feel it.”
He looked down at the book now in his hands. “This is it, Laurie. The book Scroogie told me he saw at Maser’s house.”
“You’re absolutely sur--”
Richard held it up. “Look at it.”
Laurie squinted at the title. “Latin.”
“Touch it.”
She touched the richly bound cover tentatively. “Real leather.”
“No dust.”
She looked up at him. To emphasize the point, Richard reached up to the empty space, drew down a thin, wine-colored book, and blew across the top of it, creating a miniature sandstorm of dust.
Laurie watched the dancing motes, open-mouthed.
Richard replaced the thin book, carried the heavy gold tome to his father’s old desk and laid it down. He started to turn back the cover, then stopped himself. Stared down at the book. His hand was trembling.
Laurie touched his arm gently, took the flashlight from him, ran a finger over a title set in bass relief. “The Book of Nhalls,” she translated.
When she looked up she found Richard had stepped back several feet as if offended at the musty odor, eyes riveted to the book.
“You read Latin,” he said.
Laurie nodded. “High school and college. Someone told me to really be a writer was to understand the English language, and to do that you really need to understand Latin. Do you read it?”
Richard shook his head, still eyeing the book balefully.
“The other Deadenders, any of them know Latin?”
Richard looked up at her, eyes slightly haunted. Who among them had become a doctor?
They answered her question in unison: “Maser.”
Laurie opened the heavy lid. The title again, in swooping cursive.
She turned the page. Richard’s breath caught behind her.
He took the flashlight back and angled it left to the facing page. A tier of handwritten names were written there in dark sepia in youthful scrawls:
John Scrooge
Peter Chevalier
Robert Maser
Richard Denning
Laurie bent closer, squinting at the names, touched the D in Denning with a finger. “Sepia ink,” she said.
“Blood,” Richard swallowed behind her.
Laurie gazed at him. Turned back and paged through the book slowly, old pages brittle and stiff-feeling but not yellowed, not browned. “Feels almost like parchment,” she said.
She turned another page. “What’s this?”
It was an illustration. An old woodcut, it looked like. Crude, rough lines spiked with dancing edges of printer’s ink. It was a kind of portrait, a man. And not a man. The ears. The snout…
“Oh,” Laurie said, then whispering, “oh…”
She turned to Richard. He’d stepped back again, and his eyes were looking elsewhere. A drop of perspiration leaked from one ear. He was scared, too scared to face the book.
Laurie started to come toward him, then turned back to the illustration. “Is this the creature you sa—“
“Yes.”
TWENTY
Lots of colored balloons
lots of laughter
Scroogie’s wife Sally cutting the big birthday cake
An old dog
Old yellow dog like in the Disney flick only skinnier, emaciated
Yellow dog
Red blood, bright
The Pyx
The Pyx
A single piece of paper, writing on it, in his hand, his hand
Shivers—
Screaming…Shivers screaming at the top of his lungs…
Maser shouting, “Shut up! Shut up!”
Through the pasture, through the woods,
Scroggie quoting Frost again
The woods are lonely, dark and deep
Dark and deep
But little shafts of sunlight through the canopy of trees, glinting off the book
The gold book and small Pyx
The earthen depression in the clearing, the big white rock
Whispering
Maser’s mother whispering, whispering something strange, whispering in his ear
Maser scowling at them, not liking it, no not a bit
The clearing, The Pyx, the hole
The hole
Maser has the gun, he brought the gun, Maser did
Scroogie crying
The old yellow dog, poor ole yeller dog
Scroogie with the candle, crying, Maser’s face lit from below by candlelight
Hands
Hand smeared dark, dark with blood, but--
Hands lifting heavenward, a voice, a voice, a voice
Intoning The Words
In Latin
; The gun
The shot
Blackness
TWENTY-ONE
The light
Bright light, very bright
In his eyes. The cellar’s ceiling light in his eyes.
But the cellar lights were out, weren’t they? That was why they got the flashlight, right? When was that? When was that…?
“Richard?”
Laurie’s face now, hovering over him, blocking off the harsh light in his eyes. Laurie’s lovely face.
Laurie. Laurie. I love you so…
“Richard.”
…best say something, Bucko…she looks pretty worried…
“What happened?”
…brilliant…
“I’m not sure—you passed out, I think. How do you feel?”
Good question. Bad headache for starters. “Passed out?”
“I think so, yes. Can you sit up? This basement floor is cold.”
Yes, he could sit up, he thought he could manage that, with her help.
“What! Richard, what is it?”
“What’s what?”
“You winced! Are you in pain?”
“Headache. I think maybe I hit my head on the floor. Ow! Don’t touch it, please.”
“Sorry. Count your fingers.”
“What?”
“Count them, Richard.”
Richard counted them. That seem to relax the tension from her face. Laurie got an arm under him, helped drag him to his feet. His legs felt rubbery.
“Whoa! Easy. Okay?”
“Headache.”
“You look like shit.”
That’s what Maser had said. “That’s what Maser said…”
Maser.
Wide awake now. Scanning the little room that was his father’s office. Scanning the swivel chair, the desk…the bookcase… “Do you have—“
“Right here.” She held up the gold book.
Held it out, but Richard declined to take it. “Was there a picture in there, a kind of crude drawing?”
“Yes.”
The headache got worse. He had to close his eyes a moment.
“Richard?”
“S’okay, I’m okay. Just getting my breath. And the names, our names, they were in the book too, right? In brown? In blood?”
“Yes.”
He felt her hand on his arm, steadying him. He opened his eyes again. She looked scared, but mostly for him. Scared and beautiful.
“I love you,” he said.
That took some of the scared away, brought a little smile. “What can I do for you, Richard?”
“A kiss would be nice.”
She pecked his cheek.
“On the lips would be nicer.”
She stayed close but her eyes drifted away.
“Oh. Right. Chased you around the room with a knife, didn’t I? It’s all coming back now. Unfortunately.” He took a breath. A deep one. He didn’t feel afraid of the basement anymore. But he still didn’t want to touch the book.
“Richard? You… talked.”
“Talked?”
“When you were passed out on the floor. You talked.”
“What did I say?”
She studied him a moment. Then cupped his cheek with a warm hand. It felt wonderful. “Let’s have a drink first.”
* * *
Scotch this time, not wine.
Upstairs in the well-lit living room, Laurie checked the back of Richard’s head, finding a mild goose egg, no broken skin and how come you’ve got such thick hair for a man your age and, say, am I losing it or weren’t you grayer back here the last time I—
“Yes. And I seem to be growing new teeth.”
She stared at him above her Scotch glass from her place on the sofa. Richard was doing the pacing again. “New what?”
“Molars. I had them pulled after college but they seem to be growing back.”
“That’s possible?”
“In my mouth, apparently.” He stopped pacing when he saw her expression. “Please stop looking at me like that, Laurie, it’s creepy.”
“It shouldn’t be. I was thinking how young you look, despite everything. What’s your secret?”
He gave her a wry look. “Yes, that’s the question of the hour isn’t it? My secret.” He started pacing again, shaking his head. “I have a feeling that’s a whole other story.”
“Maybe it’s part of the story.”
He thought about that, finally nodded. “Maybe.” He looked at her. “Tell me what I said down there. In dad’s old office when I swooned.”
Laurie smiled at the word ‘swooned.’ “It was pretty jumbled, some of it nearly unintelligible.”
“Try.”
She sipped her drink a moment. “Let’s see. You said something about a hole.” She looked up at him.
“A hole.”
“Yes.”
“Go on. Don’t wait for me unless I stop you.”
She looked at her glass. “You said something about ‘the woods.’ Something about ‘caring for the woods.”
“’Caring for the woods.’ Huh. Go on.”
“Let’s see. You mentioned Scroogie’s name several times. And—“
“How?”
“About Scroogie? I don’t know…you sounded…what, sad maybe? ‘Don’t’ something ‘Scroogie’. ‘Don’t lie,’ or “don’t try’ or something. And you mentioned a dog several times.”
Richard jerked toward her. “What kind of dog?”
“You didn’t say. Just a dog. Wait! An old one, I think.”
He watched her, waiting.
“What else…um, something that might have been ‘run’ or ‘dumb’—I couldn’t quite catch it. That’s when the lights came back on in the cellar. You woke up a few seconds after that.”
“I didn’t mention the book?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
Richard stared at the floor. “And I sounded sad?”
Laurie hitched her shoulders. “Sad, melancholy…anxious. You looked…I had your head in my lap, caressing your brow and you looked…troubled.”
Richard rolled it over. “Anything else?”
“Probably. I don’t remember all of it, couldn’t understand the rest. I was pretty upset. I kept worrying you had a concussion from hitting the floor but I didn’t want to go upstairs to the phone and leave you down there alone.”
“Were you scared? Of something in the house?”
“Like the monster? No. Just scared for you.”
Richard paced. “ ‘Caring for the woods’ doesn’t make sense.”
She threw up her hands. “Maybe I heard it wrong.”
“Anything more about the hole?”
Laurie thought about it. “I don’t think so.”
“When did I say that about the hole? Was it in connection with anything?”
“Mmm…you said it around the time you mentioned the woods.”
“‘Caring for the woods.’”
“Yes.”
He paced. Looked up at her. “What if it was ‘clearing’ instead of ‘caring’?”
Laurie nodded immediately. “Yes. Yes, I think it might have been.”
“A clearing in the woods’?”
“That could have been it, yes.”
“But I didn’t say which woods?”
“No. I’d have remembered that.”
He paced. “A clearing in the woods.’” He looked at her. “ ‘A hole in the clearing in the woods’?”
She watched him.
Richard chewed his lip. “And I talked about Scroogie…”
“Yes. Clearly.”
“’… ‘don’t try’ or ‘don’t lie’ or something like that...”
“I think so.”
“‘Don’t try’…’don’t lie’. How about, ‘don’t cry.’”
Laurie’s mouth opened a little.
“‘Don’t cry, Scroogie.’” Richard said, “could that have been it?”
�
��Why ‘cry.’?”
“Because I’m having an image of Scroogie crying as a kid.”
Laurie was nodding now, like it was coming back to her. “I think that could have been it.” Then, with a confident snap. “Yes!”
Richard fumbled out his car keys.
“Where are we going?”
“To see Scroogie.”
TWENTY-TWO
Sally, Scroogie’s wife, and Meg and Lauren, his two daughters—twenty and twenty-two respectively—had arrived from the airport and were gathered near the still, pale form amidst the banks of monitors and tubes, the shusssssh of the respirator.
Sally was mostly in white, jarringly so in the somber setting, and seemed plumper than the last time Richard had seen her. Her daughters, in bright shades of pastels but just as jarring, were pale and blonde with white shoes like their mother, plumpish like their mother as well and not in areas that enhanced their beauty. They huddled together above husband and father as if waiting for him to awaken for Sunday morning church.
Pete Shivers was still there too, talking in low tones to Maser, who looked wrinkled and in need of sleep. Richard smiled at the two girls and kissed Sally on the cheek and hugged her with one arm and said something meaningless about being brave. Sally didn’t respond. Plumpish and somewhat smaller somehow in spite of it, as if she had drawn into herself, as if she might shrink away into her whiteness at any moment like a collapsing star. As if sensing this, Laurie came to her, took her arm and spoke quietly to draw her out. Sally said something to Laurie that Richard didn’t quite catch, but it made Laurie frown with compassion and squeezed Sally’s arm, and it made Laurie look up at the two lost-looking girls in a strange way.
Richard stepped back and joined Maser and Shivers by the awful visitor chairs. “What’s up?” in even lower tones and he kept moving toward the window so the two men had to follow him even further away from the bed.
“Bobby says we’ve got to pull the plug,” Shivers murmured, so low Richard actually hoped for a moment he hadn’t heard it.
He looked quickly at Maser and the doctor nodded, eyes closed. “There’s nothing more I can do, Rich. Just not a goddamn thing I can do.” His eyes were red and puffy.