Black Stump Ridge

by John Manning; Forrest Hedrick

  •

  Dave lay on his back. When the goblin had tossed him aside, he’d landed hard. Pain erupted from his ankle. It became his world, his universe. It expanded until it became unbearable. When even that became too much, he ceased to feel it any longer. He now floated on an endorphin cloud.

  So this is what a runner’s high is like, he thought. From somewhere beyond his field of vision he heard screams of pain and terror, but they were not relevant to his situation. He stared upward at the stars, so cold and bright in the darkness above.

  He heard music. At first it was so faint that he thought he imagined it. Slowly it grew louder until he realized that it was some kind of stringed instrument. Not a guitar. No. More like a sitar. Something with a Middle Eastern quality.

  Motion at the edge of his vision made him turn his head. A cloud of smoke grew and intensified in the air just to his right. As he watched, it took human form. It wore a turban and flowing robes. A scimitar rode inside of a wide sash that encircled its waist.

  “A genie,” Dave whispered.

  “We prefer to be called D’jinn, Master,” the creature replied.

  “D’jinn. Okay.” Dave gasped as a sheet of agony broke through the endorphin haze.

  “You are the one who freed me, Master. It is customary for me to grant you a wish.”

  “Just one?” Dave grunted. “Aladdin got three.”

  “That was a fantasy.”

  “There’s always a catch.”

  “I am afraid so, Master.”

  Pain gripped him once more. When it finally eased, Dave panted, “I think I know what I will wish for.”

  “And, that is?”

  “I wish to be free of this damned pain.”

  “As you wish, Master.”

  Dave barely saw the flashing, whirling blur of the scimitar as the blade severed his head from his shoulders.

  “Your wish is granted.”

  •

  Another thick tentacle stretched past Levi. He turned in time to see the end dancing upright over Dave’s body. Dave’s mouth moved. It looked as if he and the appendage were talking. Suddenly, the tip darted downward. Dave’s scream was cut short as the creature devoured his head.

  “What the hell?” Levi heard from behind him. He spun. Two men emerged from the house. The one in front stopped and stared. A tentacle snaked towards him. A strange look came over his face.

  The other man stood by the door, his head turning left and right as he struggled to make sense of what he saw.

  The tentacle grabbed the man in front, ripping him in half.

  “Johnny!” The other one started forward.

  “No!” Levi screamed. His paralysis snapped. He lowered his head and ran as fast as he could. The man never saw him coming. Levi’s shoulder drove into his midsection. The momentum drove them through the open door and into the garage. Both men hit the concrete floor with a sickening thud-thump.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “So what do you think?” Johnny stood before the sliding glass doors and looked at the mountain rising from just beyond the redwood deck. “Will they make it back by sunset?”

  Fred looked up from the couch. In his hands lay the open journal. He looked at the sky outside. “Hard to say,” he replied. He looked back down at the handwritten pages on his lap. “Hope so. It’s gonna be even colder tonight than last night.”

  “How can you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “That! Just sit there reading that book. Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

  “Of course I am. But, what can I do about it?”

  “It’ll be dark soon.”

  “Yes, it will. I can’t do anything about that, either.”

  “But, they might be lost.”

  “Yes, they might be.”

  Johnny turned back to the glass doors. “It’s gonna be cold.”

  “Yes,” Fred replied. He looked down at the book once more. “I believe I said that earlier.”

  “Don’t you care?”

  Fred looked up. “Of course I care. I care very much. It frustrates me, too, because there’s not a damn thing I can do to change the situation. Getting worked up certainly doesn’t accomplish anything.”

  “But, what if it gets dark?” Johnny faced Fred.

  “I’m sure it will.” Fred laid the book face down on a nearby coffee table and sat up. “Johnny, we have no idea where they went after we split up. I made a suggestion, but that was hours ago. They obviously went further. The point is, it won’t do any good to go out there looking for them. They could return from any direction and we wouldn’t see them. Then, they’d get here, see we’re gone, and assume we’re still out there. They’d come out looking for us and the next thing you know, there we’d be – all four of us out in the dark cold woods freezin’ our asses off while we looked for each other. That’s a pretty good example of a clusterfuck, don’t you agree?”

  Johnny started to argue and then closed his mouth. He looked at Fred for a moment. He exhaled, his body sagging as he did.

  “I guess you’re right,” he finally admitted. He looked out the window once more. “I just feel so helpless. I hate that feeling.”

  “I know. I feel it, too.” Fred picked up the book from the table. “Since I can’t do anything about it, I’m looking through my uncle’s journal. Maybe there’s something in here that will help us not only find Charlie, but the others, too. If they’re lost, that is.”

  “If,” he echoed. He pointed at the journal. “Any luck?”

  “In here?” Fred shook his head sadly. “Not yet. So far it seems like he was real interested in the Cherokee Indians.”

  “Really?” Johnny looked around. “That’s odd.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if he was interested in the Cherokees, you’d think he’d have some artifacts or something layin’ around.”

  Fred looked around. “Hmm. I don’t see anything that looks like it might be Indian designed.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  The two men looked at each other. Fred finally shrugged. “Maybe there’s something in here that will explain why. In the meantime, I have an idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why don’t you start some supper?”

  “What?”

  “Supper. You know, the meal that usually follows lunch – but before the midnight snack.”

  “Asshole.” Johnny looked around for something to throw. “I know what supper is. How can you think about food?”

  “I can come up with a few good reasons to fix a meal.” Fred began to count off with his fingers. “One, it will give you something to do while we wait for Dave and Peete to get back. And, they will get back. I’m sure of it. Two, by the time it’s ready, they will be back. But, if they’re not, we’ll still need to eat so that we’ll be in some kind of shape to go looking for them tomorrow.”

  “And?”

  “And, I’m already hungry. I suspect you will be, too, once you get started cooking.”

  •

  Johnny set a plate on the coffee table next to the sofa where Fred lay stretched out reading the journal. “Soup’s on,” he said as he returned to the kitchen for his own supper.

  Fred looked it over. “Mmm. Smells good. What is it?”

  “Thanksgiving leftovers, of course,” he laughed as he uncovered the plate. “What could be more traditional? Warmed up turkey. Warmed up mashed potatoes. Reheated dressing with warmed up gravy. Green bean casserole. Candied yams. Devilled eggs.”

  “Damn, Sam! A veritable feast.”

  “Well, quit talkin’ about it an’ start eatin’ it.” Johnny speared a slice of white meat from the plate and popped it into his mouth. “Yoofindinennyhingudinnere?”

  “What?” Fred stopped, a forkful of dressing half way to his waiting mouth. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to eat an’ talk at the same time?”

  Johnny chewed rapidly and then swallowed. He took a big gulp of beer
. He swallowed. “Okay. You find anything good in there? Is that better?”

  “Much. And, I’m not sure.” He forked the dressing into his mouth.

  “What do you mean? Is it just more about the Cherokees?”

  “Yes and no.” Fred took a drink of his beer and sat back. “What there is seems to be a mix – kind of historical and kind of sociological. There’s stuff about medicine men and some creature from a long time ago.”

  “Like what?”

  Fred set aside his plate and picked up the book. He leafed through until he found the place. “Like this:

  Legend tells of a young medicine man a long time ago calling upon the grandfathers to help him defeat some sort of shape shifting being that had been preying upon them. Evidently the creature was sealed up in the cave up on the ridge they call Black Stump.

  “Sounds like a bad Sci-Fi movie to me.” Johnny gulped down a devilled egg in one bite. After washing it down, he belched loudly and continued. “The Creature from the Mine at Black Stump Ridge, starring Victor Cortolini and Cesare Saladino and introducing Brigitte Boobierre.”

  “Why the Italian names?”

  Johnny shrugged. “Because all of the really terrible horror movies are either Italian, French, Spanish, or Mexican.”

  “That’s just wrong.”

  “So, what do you think it all means? Do you think it has anything to do with our situation?”

  “Well, I’d think it was just a bit of interesting lore, except for some of the later passages.” Fred turned a few pages before stopping to read:

  I’ve noticed activity on the nights of the new moon. Jake and his boys stay away from the ridge and everyone locks up early on those three nights. I’ve gone out and sat on the rear deck during that time. When the wind is right, I can hear music. It sounds like someone playing a fiddle up on the ridge. It’s faint but very exciting. It pulls at you. I’m reminded of Charlie Daniels or maybe even a breakdown. Kind of like Foggy Mountain Breakdown. That kind of fiddle music.

  Charlie White Feather, who says his grandfather was a real medicine man, told me that the creature in the mountain uses music as a lure. Of course, when you’re talking to someone of Cherokee heritage, someone who still follows the old ways, the term grandfather takes on multiple meanings and I’m never sure which one Charlie means.

  Johnny scratched his head. “What’s that all about?”

  “I read a few other passages in here about that. It seems that the Cherokee religion doesn’t have gods like most others do. They believe that everything has a spirit – a grandfather.”

  “So, if a medicine man wants something from the spirit world…”

  “…he asks a grandfather for help.”

  “Does your uncle tell you how to do this?”

  “No, I didn’t see anything.” Fred laid the journal on the table and turned his attention to his supper. Both men ate in silence for several minutes.

  “There are some things in there, though, that make me wonder.” Fred finally broke the silence.

  “Like what?”

  “Well,” Fred hesitated as if searching for the right words. “My uncle – the man I remember, anyway – was always a serious, no nonsense kind of guy. I glanced at some of the titles in his book collection upstairs. I saw very little fiction, and those he did have were mainly political or military fiction.”

  “Okay.”

  Fred leaned back, staring at the wall behind Johnny as he gathered his thoughts. “He has enough fertilizer and diesel fuel in the barn to make the Oklahoma City bomb look like a fire cracker.”

  Johnny’s eyes widened as he sat straight up. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. And, from what I’ve read, it wasn’t there for any political statement. He was considering using it to seal up that cistern.”

  Johnny whistled.

  “Yeah. And, it’s not a cistern. It’s not a well, either.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a vertical cave opening leading down into an underground river and a passage that connects to a cave up on the ridge.” Fred took another sip of his beer. “And, there was something else.”

  “What about the steel cover? Did your uncle put that on there? I know the Indians didn’t have the technology to do that.”

  “Yes, he did. Back before I was born. And, it was meant to keep people out.” He leafed through the book again. “Listen to this.”

  I never paid much attention to the well before. When we were growing up, Granddad always told us to stay away from it. Back then, if the grown-ups said don’t, they meant don’t and if you disobeyed you got a switch across the back of your legs – usually hickory or walnut. It wasn’t till I inherited this place that I paid it any mind. I was out on the porch having a smoke when I saw the glow on the rocks. I’d never seen anything like it so I went down to check it out. That’s when I saw the marks glowing all along the outside of the stones. And, that’s when I heard the music, too. It sounded like someone was down inside the well playing a fiddle. Whoever it was, he was playing fast. It sounded kind of like Foggy Mountain Breakdown or Orange Blossom Special or even that song by Charlie Daniels, The Devil Went Down to Georgia I think it’s called. It was kind of hypnotic, too. It pulled at me. It made me want to get closer so I could hear it better. In fact, I found myself at the edge looking for a way to climb down inside when I managed to catch myself and step back.

  That was the first time I figured something was wrong.

  The next day I went up the mountain to talk to Granny Truly and see if she could shed any light on this. She told me about the creature that lived in the cave up on Black Stump Ridge. She also told me how the cave connected to the one on my property. I didn’t believe her, of course, even though I’d seen the glowing marks and heard the music.

  After hearing the music three months in a row – always on the new moon part of the cycle – I was ready to believe. I could feel the pull each time, and each time it got stronger. So I went out and got a sheet of boiler plate and cut it to fit the stones without disturbing the marks. I cut a hole in the middle and put in a door because I wasn’t ready to give up the cold, sweet water. But I put a padlock on the door for those dark nights so I wouldn’t be pulled in.

  “Who’s Granny Truly?” Johnny asked around a mouthful of turkey. “Is that your mom’s mother?”

  “I have no idea,” Fred replied. “My mom’s mom – my Grandma, Ina – has been dead a long time. A copperhead bit her when I was, um, six years old, I think it was. We couldn’t get her to a doctor quick enough. I never really got to know her.”

  “That’s the second time he mentions fiddle music.”

  Fred nodded. “He mentions it all through the journal. He seems to think it’s important.”

  “Maybe it is,” Johnny said, “but I can’t see how. I mean, music’s music, right?”

  Fred turned to the journal once more.

  “That lid. It looked like it might’ve been meant to keep something in, too.”

  Fred shook his head. “No, that’s what the marks were for.”

  “The ones your uncle was writing about?” Johnny shook his head. “I didn’t see any marks. Course, I wasn’t really looking for any either.”

  “Dave saw them the night we got here.” Fred stood and walked over to the glass doors. “I saw them when I visited with my mom last summer. They’re little silver marks, kind of like hieroglyphics or Chinese pictographs.”

  “How would little marks keep something in?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s probably some kind of Cherokee hoodoo or something. I think we might have a bigger problem, though.”

  “How so?”

  “Dave said he saw the marks glowing so he went over for a closer look. He scraped one with his pocket knife and the glow disappeared.” Fred turned and looked outside once more. He sighed. “I think he might have let something out that should have been left alone.”

  Johnny opened his mouth to reply when a commotion from the front of the hou
se distracted him. Both men looked toward the front door and back at each other.

  “What the hell?” Fred asked as both men headed for the door.

  Johnny led the way down the stairs and into the darkened yard. He took five more steps and then stopped. A familiar form stood before him. He knew the black hair, the almost albino complexion, the black eyes.

  “Michael.”

  “Hello, Johnny.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here? Is that any way to greet me?”

  Johnny took a faltering step forward. “How did you find this place?”

  “It wasn’t easy. Come a little closer. Give me a hug and a kiss. We can talk about that later.”

  “I thought…I mean, you were going to…”

  Michael opened his arms and shrugged. “I was upset. I wanted to spend the holiday with you. Can’t we put that behind us?” Michael pouted. Johnny could never resist his pout. “Forgive me?”

  Johnny relaxed, opened his arms wide, and walked closer. The tentacles ripped him in half before he could scream.

  •

  Fred followed Johnny down the stairs and through the door into the yard. He stopped as if he’d run into a wall ashe tried to take in the gruesome tableau. He watched as a naked old woman was hurled through the air to slam into the barn. An older man he’d never seen before was beheaded in front of him. Within seconds Dave suffered the same fate. Ahead of him Johnny stopped. He took a few short steps only to be ripped in half.

  Standing in front of the cave opening was a glowing, writhing thing that looked like nothing so much as the creature of the id from the movie, Forbidden Planet. The satellite dish at the edge of his vision only added to the illusion.

  “What the hell?” he cried as he stepped forward.

  “Noooooo!”

  He turned to his right. A short goblinoid creature charged him running low to the ground. Before he could react, it struck him just above the belt and pushed him backwards. Off balance, Fred hit the garage’s concrete floor hard. His head cracked against the smooth surface. Blackness claimed him.