Mystery Dance: Three Novels

by Scott Nicholson

  She didn’t need a nudge from Walter. She didn’t need a carpenter to fix her house. All she wanted was strong locks and tightly nailed shutters, all light barred from her rooms. All she wanted was to disappear, into the shadowed corners of her attic or the musty depths of her cellar. Alone in the ruins.

  Walter pressed against her in the cramped closet. He shook her and whispered, more urgently this time. “Listen to me. Don’t break down right now. I need you.”

  Need? He needed her? Again she almost laughed, but even that took too much effort. As always, surrendering was the most painless option.

  “They’re outside,” he continued. “Deke Hartley, Snead, and the others.”

  “Snead?” She wondered how the cop could have gotten to the house so fast. And how had Walter gotten inside? Was he the one with the key, the one who had left the pentagram drawing, who stole the skull ring, who tricked her with the digital clock?

  That made sense. Foolish Julia, she had asked him to check the clock. She had turned to him for comfort, had made the insane mistake of putting faith in this man who now seemed the most desperate of Creeps. This stranger hovering over her, sweat on his pale face, eyes flicking, lips pressed white.

  You don’t have to let the Creep into your house. HE’S ALWAYS INSIDE.

  Before she could scream, Walter crouched in the corner of the closet. He pulled at a plywood panel set in the wall. The wood came loose, revealing water pipes and insulation. Walter ripped the insulation away in clumps.

  The musty smell of the crawl space rose up and filled the closet. The gap between the shower stall and the wall was about two feet wide, with the subfloor cut out. “What are you doing?” Julia asked.

  “Access,” Walter said. “For working on the plumbing. Or sneaking out.”

  Walter wriggled down into the narrow opening between the floor joists. His feet touched the dirt beneath the house and he turned, looking almost comical, like a Jack-in-the-Box that was too large for its container. “Come on. Or do you want to stay here and wait for them?”

  Julia thought she heard a scrabbling sound at the front door, but she couldn’t be sure. “Did you take the ring?”

  “What ring?” His eyes met hers, blazing brown not with anger, but with a strange determination.

  “And the clock. What does ‘4:06’ mean?”

  “Don’t talk crazy,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.” He ducked into the opening, contorting his tall frame. His shoulders disappeared, and then his head, and lastly his arms. He called her name from the crawl space, his voice muffled.

  Julia got on her hands and knees, pulling her purse behind her. She looked longingly across the room at the Louisville Slugger beneath her bed. Even if she had the bat, she wouldn’t be able to wield it in the cramped crawl space. Snead and the rumored Deke Hartley might be outside, and might be after her for whatever reason, or they might not. Despite Walter’s strangeness, she would rather go with him than face Snead and Hartley.

  She peered down into the darkness of the crawl space. This was worse than the cellar of her dreams, bones or no bones. This was surrender without oblivion, this was a willing, conscious decision. This was a leap into an unknown future.

  But then, the future had never been known, and even the past was uncertain.

  Julia dangled her legs into the crawl space, the fabric of her slacks scraping on the rough plywood edge. She lowered herself into the dank air, feeling Walter’s hands on her. His touch was cool and moist, but was gone as soon as her feet were planted on the ground three feet beneath the floor. She bent the rest of her body into the crawl space just as a loud knocking came from the front door.

  Walter reached up and tugged the panel back into place, throwing the crawl space into almost complete darkness. The only light leaked from several vent grills set into the walls of the block foundation. Julia’s heart thudded in her chest. Voices came from outside the house, a man’s which sounded like Snead’s giving orders, followed by a woman’s.

  Julia couldn’t see Walter, but she could sense his body several feet away. “What the hell is this?” she whispered.

  “I should have told you,” he said, barely loud enough for Julia to hear.

  Julia grabbed out blindly and caught his shirt. She tugged herself closer to him, scooting along in the moist dirt. “Why the hell is everybody keeping secrets? What do they want?”

  “Everything. But they ain’t going to get it.” He started toward one of the air circulation vents, his elbows and knees scraping softly on the ground. “Follow me,” he whispered.

  The weak daylight from one of the vent grills was momentarily blocked as someone passed by. How many were out there? Were they members of Snead’s department? Were they all Creeps?

  As she scrabbled along after Walter, she felt disembodied, outside herself, wondering whether she should scream for help. She bumped her head on a water pipe and the pain drove the nonsense away. The pipe vibrated along the bottom of the floor from the blow, and Walter stopped and shushed in warning. Julia rubbed her head, grateful for the pain. Now she had something to focus on, something that was real. She wrapped her purse strap around her wrist and wriggled onward, her eyes adjusting to the dimness.

  Her hands raked across hard things which she thought were rocks. One of the objects was tilled from its resting place by her fingers. It gleamed pale in the muted light, showing its curved length.

  A BONE. Sweet merciful God, a bone!

  It looked like a small rib, dry and smooth. Julia knocked it away and it clattered against a concrete support pier. She rolled away from the burial ground and pressed her hand against her mouth to muffle a scream. Walter heard the choking sound and turned, crawling to her side.

  She grabbed his hand, thrust it toward the soft dirt where the bones were scattered. They both touched the tiny skull at the same moment.

  Walter’s eyes widened. “Hartley,” he whispered. “That goddamned scum.”

  His body trembled, either from fear or anger. Julia thought of Rick O’Dell’s theory, about a widespread network that offered human sacrifices to a supposed dark master. Those bones were so tiny. The devil liked them young. Or perhaps only the devil’s worshippers did.

  Julia stretched so that her mouth was near Walter’s ear. “It’s a child,” she said, her voice breaking.

  “I know,” Walter said, tears glistening on his cheeks.

  The pounding at the front door grew louder, and someone shouted into the house. If the Creeps entered the house, they would soon find out she was gone. And presumably they wouldn’t think some angelic hand had lifted her up to the clouds. Not while Satan was spinning his dark spells below.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked, squeezing Walter’s arm.

  A crashing sound reverberated along the floor. Someone was kicking in the door.

  “My Jeep,” Walter said. “It’s on the other side of the woods.”

  “Do they know you’re here?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Crawl.” He wiped at his eyes and moved underneath the floor, Julia close behind, her elbows and knees sore. A splintering sound erupted above them.

  Walter reached the service access, a small wooden door set into the foundation at the rear of the house. Feet pounded across the floor, and shouts rang out overhead. At least three people, maybe more, were in the house.

  “Now!” Walter said, knocking the access door open. “Run for it,” he said, pushing Julia through the opening.

  Julia tumbled into the back yard, grateful for the trees, hoping all the Creeps were inside and that no one had been left to guard the rear of the house. If they were going to get her, they’d have to take her down running.

  God, give me flight.

  As she dodged between the branches, leaves falling around her, she felt almost giddy with a new freedom, September on her face, the smell of creek mud in her nose, nothing to lose but a past that she had been trying to lose
for years. Leaving behind bones, Creeps, almost everything except fear.

  Yet even the fear was welcome now, because it gave her energy. Life had simplified, reduced now to its basic purpose. Live in order to have more life. Flee so you can make it to the next breath, to the next fleeing, part of the biological cycle that was as old as bacteria. This was God’s solo spectator sport, the survival of the fittest or the luckiest. If God cared to grant her strength, she would gratefully accept. All else in the world had failed her, even her father.

  She glanced behind her, saw Walter enter the forest, running toward her. He motioned to the creek that slid silvery and cold down the slope, the water splashing between dark mossy rocks. She almost took off along the creek bank, ignoring Walter and choosing her own random path. But she thought of the tears he had wept under the house. Creeps couldn’t cry.

  She leaned against a big oak to wait for him, catching her breath. “Did they see us?” she asked as he dashed up.

  “Shh,” he panted, stopping and putting his hands on his sides. Soft forest noises filled the silence, the settling of leaves, the high chatter of a bird.

  “I don’t hear anybody.” Walter looked into her eyes. Dirty streaks ran down his face where he had cried.

  “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

  “Later. My Jeep’s over that ridge. They’re probably already searching for you.”

  “How many?”

  He took her hand. “Don’t know. Enough. More than enough, knowing them.”

  “Who is ‘them’?” Julia asked, but Walter was already tugging her along, leading her to the creek. He helped her across, stepping on slick stones. Julia scrambled up the muddy bank, holding onto a flaking grapevine. Walter nearly lost his balance and fell, but Julia grabbed his shirt and pulled him onto the bank.

  They ran onward, Walter leading the way, Julia holding up her arms to keep the branches from slapping her face. Briars tugged at her clothes, and she stubbed her toe on a root. Once she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and nearly shouted, but she turned her head and saw nothing but more trees, the corridors between them full of still shadows.

  They slowed as they hiked uphill, reaching a clearing on the top of the ridge. Jagged hunks of granite protruded from the edge of the slope. A flat slab of gray rock sat in the middle of the clearing, worn smooth by the elements. Between the trees, Julia could see the mountains rolling away, blue and smoky in the distance. Layers of clouds wended over the ripples of land. Under other circumstances, the setting would have been peaceful and humbling. But the trees surrounding the open ground were a little too gnarled, with knotholes like obscene eyes.

  “Here’s where they found the girl,” Walter said, fighting to catch his breath.

  Julia looked around. Flat stone. Cold against her own back. Bad people around her. The knife’s blade touching her belly.

  Her muscles quivered from the exertion of the climb, but she didn’t dare sit on the rock. The place felt evil. Like the barn near her childhood home in Memphis, the air here tasted like poison, and a sick energy worked its way through the soles of her feet.

  Julia wondered how many other altars of human sacrifice existed. Was the entire earth stained with blood and bones, the substance of the innocent given to the dirt for the satisfaction of a demanding master? The devil might not exist, but his followers most certainly did. His followers were legion. More widespread than anyone dared guess.

  Walter knelt with his back to her, scanning the woods below for any sign of Snead’s people. “Hartley disappeared right after they found the body.”

  “Didn’t the police do anything?”

  “Hartley had ways of keeping folks quiet. One way or another. I reckon that’s Snead’s job now.”

  Julia shook her head. She couldn’t believe that Snead and Hartley were connected, that Snead took the job when Julia moved here. The only people who knew she was thinking of moving to Elkwood were Mitchell and Dr. Danner. But the conspiratorial network apparently existed long before she left Memphis.

  She stared at the flat stone. Julia tried not to picture the girl, small and shivering and nude on the stone, mad people dancing around her under the cold and soulless moon, chanting their sadistic prayers. She shut her eyes to fight back tears.

  She felt Walter’s hand lightly touch her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  “It’s all too crazy to be real.”

  He wiped at her face with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. “I’ve been telling myself that for a long time. Ever since my wife walked off the face of the Earth.”

  She opened her eyes and looked into his. The loss was there again, inside him, that big hurt that would stay hidden if she didn’t know it was there. “Do you believe in the devil?”

  “I believe in Hartley,” he said, looking away, up at the veiled sky. “The Lord never makes it easy.”

  He took her hand. “The Jeep’s only a few hundred feet from here. There’s an old logging road that runs down the valley.”

  They left that sorrowful clearing, Julia wondering just how many sacrifices had been offered at this unhallowed site over the centuries. She walked gingerly, as if over the graves of infants.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Jeep was parked in a high bank of weeds, amid goldenrod and white Queen Anne’s lace in fall bloom. Walter stepped onto the leaf-covered logging road that wound between the trees across the slope, looked in each direction, and climbed behind the wheel. Julia got in beside him, tired both from tension and exertion.

  “What now?” Julia asked as Walter started the Jeep.

  “I know a place where they might not find us.”

  She touched his hand that was cupping the gear shift. “Why are you helping me?”

  He looked at her. “Let’s just say I got a debt to pay.”

  Walter pulled out onto the dirt road, the Jeep bouncing on the ruts. A few saplings had taken root in the roadbed, and the Jeep’s bumper pushed them over. Their tracks were barely visible in the damp leaves.

  The Jeep lurched over a rut and a book slid from beneath the seat and bumped Julia’s ankle. It was a Holy Bible. Walter saw her looking at.

  “I got somebody riding shotgun,” he said. “You ought to try it sometime.”

  “I’m not ready to believe in anything,” she said.

  “Except the devil?”

  She picked up the Bible and opened it. “I’m hardheaded, okay? Just don’t try to save me.”

  “I can’t save you. You can only save yourself.”

  The Bible fell open to a page with a folded-back corner. “Luke” was printed in bold in the header. A section of the text was highlighted in yellow and Julia read it aloud. “‘To thee will I give all this power, and the glory of them; for to me they are delivered, and to whom I will, I give them.’“

  “Luke chapter four, verse six. The devil said that to Jesus. I use it to remember to stay on my toes.”

  Or maybe to remember who’s the real boss. 4:06, huh?

  She closed the book and tucked it back under the seat. “We’re going to have to tell the police.”

  “Julia, those were the police.”

  “They can’t all be in on it. The sheriff’s office, the State Highway Patrol, the S.B.I. The devil doesn’t own everybody.”

  “Maybe not, but how do you tell?” Walter kept glancing in the rear-view mirror. “We better guess right on the first try, or else we’re in even deeper trouble.”

  Julia fished in her purse for her cell phone. “Can’t we make an anonymous tip?”

  “They screwed with your clock and VCR in ways I can’t figure out. You reckon they won’t be able to trace a phone call? For all I know they’ve planted a GPS tracker on my Jeep.”

  Julia glanced at the cell phone and saw that it had no bars. “Dead.”

  “Not many towers way out here.”

  The logging road widened as the slope became less steep. The forest was a blur of gold, red, a
nd brown as the Jeep gained speed. Julia fastened her seatbelt and held on to the roll bar overhead to keep from being thrown around by the juddering. Walter slowed briefly, engaged the four-wheel drive lever, and accelerated down the muddy road.

  The trees thinned out, and they came to a stretch of pasture bounded by a barbed-wire fence. A few cows gazed at them, not pausing in their cud-chewing. The Jeep crossed a shallow creek that intersected the road.

  “They were after me in Memphis,” Julia said over the roar of the engine.

  “On your last trip?” Walter kept his eyes on the road.

  “No. Before I moved here. I didn’t know it until recently.”

  “What do they want?”

  “I’m not sure. Either to shut me up or finish the job.”

  “Job?”

  “My father was one of them. One of the Creeps. When I was four years old….”

  She didn’t want to tell the story again. She wanted to leave it undisturbed in the basement of her head, to let it gather dust and cobwebs until it was safely insulated, forever lost in shadows. Telling Dr. Forrest was difficult enough, but telling someone she’d only known a few days was impossible. She didn’t want Walter to think she was crazy.

  But Walter wasn’t exactly unscarred, either. He’d suffered his own loss and harbored his own sorrows. But he still was holding something back, and she realized faith couldn’t be based on logic. She’d either have to trust him or jump from the Jeep and take her chances, and she was out of second chances.

  “What happened when you were four?” Walter asked.

  She studied his face. His jaw was set in determination, as if he were a man with a mission. He’d already made sacrifices for her. If only she could be brave enough, for once in her life, to let somebody reach her. And maybe help him in return.

  Walter stepped on the brakes and the Jeep slid to a stop. “What’s wrong?”