But they wouldn’t leave a pale pink rosebud on the plate, would they?
He called Molly.
“Yak’éi yagiyee, Grampa,” she said.
“Wáa sá iyatee, ‘Kots’èen’?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“I am fine. George and I found his grandson, and some other children, too.”
“I know,” she whispered, excited. “Did…did anything special happen, Grampa?”
“I had a visitor—someone very special.”
She squealed with delight.
“First of all, I want to thank you, Molly-girl.”
“The bad alligator, he’s really gone, Grampa?”
“Yes. We won’t see him again.”
“I’m glad. Nobody messes with my grampa!”
“Molly, this gift of yours…you’re being careful, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Grampa. Great-uncle Will is helping me.”
“Does your daddy know about these things?”
“Nuh-uh. Great-uncle Will said it must be our secret for now.”
Jimmy wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it seemed wise. On the other, he felt guilty that such a monumental secret was being kept from Thomas and Kate.
“Grampa, are you there?”
“I’m here, ‘Kots’èen.’ Say, what would think about you, your mom, and dad joining me at Disney World sometime to meet all of Uncle George’s family.”
“That would be splendid,” she said, imitating a British comedy her family watched.
Jimmy laughed.
“All right, tell your dad it’s something in the planning stages, but I want you three to be my guests.”
“Okay. Grampa, I gotta go. I have a soccer game. I love you!”
And with that, she was gone, just a little girl who could apparently draw powerful creatures into existence.
He wondered if that ability would grow or fade over time.
—
That night, Jimmy woke with the clear knowledge that someone was outside waiting for him.
It was Uncle Will.
“Hello, old man,” Uncle Will said. “Did I disrupt your beauty sleep?”
“Funny, I thought I was the impertinent one in this relationship.”
Uncle Will chuckled and gave him a hug, then clapped him on the back, like he did when Jimmy was a boy.
They sat on the porch, looking out toward the lake.
“You should have a clearer view of the lake,” Uncle Will said.
“Have you seen what lake view or lakefront property costs?” Jimmy asked.
Uncle Will shrugged. “You could move back to Alaska…”
“My home is here now.”
Uncle Will nodded and puffed on his pipe. “You and George, you did a fine job. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, but Molly was a big help.”
Uncle Will nodded, but he wasn’t smiling. “Raven’s taken notice of her. Not sure what that will mean,” he said.
“She deserves a childhood, Uncle Will.”
“I’d like that, but anyone with what they call a ‘wild talent’ is probably not fated for that.”
Jimmy fumed. “You tell Raven to leave her alone.”
Uncle Will looked at him. “Since when would Raven listen to me?”
“You just tell him I’ll run his errands as long as he stays away from Molly.”
Uncle Will took his arm and squeezed it. “You know the Trickster is a capricious god, Jimmy. He’ll do what he wants, and we just hope it’s of benefit to us.”
Jimmy tried to speak, but he was too conflicted.
“I think I’ve had enough of adventuring,” Jimmy said. “I just want to enjoy the cool weather and the water, and my family and my friends. More than anything, I want to be with Rose. Why can’t I have that and know my granddaughter is going to grow up like any little girl should?”
Uncle Will smacked him on the shoulder. “Because you have a wild talent as well. Don’t be so gloomy! You’re home and many are safe, two foul creatures have been dealt with, and you seem to be moving with more ease…Last time I saw you, you had all the grace of a bear filled with tranquilizers.”
“It was Shay-Shay Moon. She saw that black ice had taken root in my bones and burned it out of me.”
Uncle Will winced. “Damn, that must have hurt.”
“Like a son of a bitch,” Jimmy agreed.
“I’d like to meet her,” Uncle Will said.
Jimmy called to her, and Shay-Shay Moon came, and the three of them talked of the worlds they had traveled until it was almost dawn.
George, who got up to pee, saw them on the porch—Jimmy, his ghost uncle, and a little creature who had escaped from some Disney cartoon.
Just another day on 152nd Street, he thought, and went back to bed.
Chapter 32
LOOSE ENDS
Using Trang’s directions, members of the Iberville Parish Sheriff’s Department and park rangers were able to locate Maison Lémieux. The bag of bones abandoned by Ethan out front would put a tragic CLOSED on several open cases of missing children.
Inside, the place was much as the children had described it. None of them had ever been upstairs, and there the sheriff’s deputies found mummified bodies dressed in period costumes. Many of the bodies were dated as being a hundred years old or more, and theories were advanced as to how they found their way to Maison Lémieux. Several movies and a miniseries would be written about the place, and one, Nightmare Swamp, was said to rival Psycho in intensity and horror.
After the house was processed, it was debated on whether it had any historical value. The point was moot, because arsonists burned the place to the ground three months later. No one mourned its destruction.
Once the detectives and various authorities and witnesses compared notes, they would find that all accounts jibed, the children corroborating what the adults had said. Since all the children, including Donny, had gone missing before George and Jimmy arrived, they were not under any suspicion. The public declared them heroes, and the relevant law-enforcement agencies were glad to have some of that cachet rub off on them.
—
George and Jimmy’s rental car was declared stolen. They had not taken out insurance, but the rental company wrote it off after getting Jimmy and George—the “heroes of the Atchafalaya”—to pose for a picture with the owner and manager. Such PR was worth ten of those cars.
—
Detectives McCarthy and Satsuma were never found, of course. Theories abounded at the department, all of them tame compared to what really happened. Around town they became the basis of several urban legends, one involving UFOs and the other a creature that was half-man, half-alligator, and wore a top hat. For both tourists and locals, McCarthy and Satsuma became a cautionary tale about wandering off into the bayou alone, and, over the years, they kept quite a few children from doing so.
More good came from their disappearance. An investigation by Internal Affairs turned up many instances of abusive and racist practices by the two, particularly McCarthy. Jimmy’s statement about his interrogation supported such claims, and others in Green Water soon came forward. The department did not release these findings to the public but did institute programs for greater sensitivity on the part of deputies, and the replacements for McCarthy and Satsuma reflected that.
Epilogue
There were a number of changes at the little house on 152nd Street.
George, mute for so long, now sang every day. He had a fine voice, and Jimmy enjoyed hearing him sing—not only because it was entertaining but because this was the true George, who had been silenced for far too long.
George joined a local group, the Lake Nisqually Squallers. They did everything from show tunes to standards to rock, and George enjoyed himself immensely.
Jimmy found himself possessing more energy and stamina than he had in years. He joined a local hiking group, and many of the people half his age were often tagging after him.
A week after they got back to Washington, George had taken real notice of Jimmy’s miraculous recovery, and Jimmy told him about the events that night.
“Hmmph,” said George, “what she should have cured was your snoring.”
Jimmy nodded. “Have you ever heard yourself, George? I wake up and think we’ve been moved next to a lumber camp.”
“That may be, Squanto, that may be. What I really wished she had addressed was your gas, especially on nights you’ve had barbecue and coleslaw.”
“You’re the one that’s been telling my granddaughter that I fart!” Jimmy accused.
“She has a right to know,” George said solemnly. “Now, you’re coming to that dance at the Vet’s Hall on Saturday. Several of the more eligible ladies in town were asking me about you…”
“I’m too tired,” Jimmy lied.
“B.S.,” George said. “I’ve seen you power up that hill to get to our street.”
“I think I’m supposed to call Molly that night,” Jimmy began.
George looked at him. “No one’s asking you to fall in love, Pathfinder. Just have a good time and make me look good.”
“I’m not sure anyone has that power,” said Jimmy.
In the weeks ahead, George would speak often with his children, especially Delphine. Now that they were both home, some of her old hurt and resentment had resurfaced, but George could tell things were getting better.
It was good to have a family again.
Donny would sometimes call him late at night, when he had a nightmare about the thing in the top hat and Maison Lémieux. Sometimes his dreams were especially vivid, and he would be in tears.
“He’s gone, Donny, and he’s never coming back. Mo’ssah is looking out for all our family now, and that includes you.”
“I’m sorry, Granddaddy,” Donny said. “They all said I’m brave, but I’m not.”
“But you’re wrong, grandson. You never lost faith, you never lost your sass. You kept me going.”
“I did?”
“You bet. If you had lost hope, I would have been done in, and Trang, too. But you were tough, and that helped us get everyone out.”
“Sometimes my moms say I have too much sass.”
George laughed. “You’re a Watters, boy. Sass comes in your DNA. Your Mel-Mom is plenty sassy, always has been.”
“And Tru-Mom?”
“Ha, if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was a Watters, too.”
“I love you, Granddaddy.”
“I love you, too, Donny.”
—
One night in October, George woke to a whining and scratching at the back door. He got up, thinking some stray was out in the rain.
Jabbo was in the kitchen staring at the door, his back arched, his tail puffed.
George peeked out.
I ain’t openin’ the door for no hoodoo, he thought.
It was Patch.
He opened the door, and the dog came in, wagging its tail.
George hugged him while Jabbo ran upstairs.
Later, Jimmy woke up. It was near four in the morning, and he could hear George humming contentedly.
He crept down the stairs, and there was George on the sofa, the ghost dog curled up next to him, Jabbo curled up next to the ghost dog.
George looked up and shrugged.
“I guess we have a dog.”
Jimmy grinned.
—
It was three in the morning on the North Shore of Hawaii, and most of the island residents were sleeping peacefully.
A Range Rover drove through heavy mist, turning on a back road tourists didn’t know about and locals avoided.
After three miles, the driver spotted a thick chain blocking access to a small side road. He got out to remove it, ignoring a sign in Hawaiian that warned all to stay away. The mist fogged his glasses, but he didn’t care.
The man got back into his vehicle and drove far back into the jungle.
A light rain began to fall, making a gentle hiss as it struck the leaves of lush, abundant vegetation.
After a moment, a faint, golden light flickered into existence and touched the trees nearest to an immense sugar vat, long abandoned. The dancing light played through gaps in the wood, turning the entire structure into a giant, fanciful lantern, like something out of a fairy tale.
Inside, dozens of hideous dolls hung from the ceiling. They were fashioned from scraps of clothing and bone, animal skulls and jewelry, and many had horrible, oversized teeth.
The man sat cross-legged on the floor in the center of the vat, surrounded by candles.
He chanted in a low voice, the words harsh and guttural as he turned over two cards from a well-worn deck.
The first card was a canary.
The second was a raven.
The man smiled. He dipped his index finger into a bowl of blood and drew a smear on each of the two cards, obscuring the bright eyes of the birds.
Soon, now.
This is for Chan and James,
who I am proud to call family.
About the Author
MARK ONSPAUGH is a California native and the author of more than fifty published short stories. Like many writers, he is perpetually curious, having studied psychology at UCLA, exotic animals at Moorpark College’s exotic animal training and management program, improv comedy with the Groundlings, and special-effects makeup. Mark has also written for film and television. He currently lives in Morro Bay, California, with his wife, writer Tobey Crockett, and two Tricksters who have taken the form of cats.
markonspaugh.com
@MarkOnspaugh
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Deadlight Jack Page 26