Black Stump Ridge

by John Manning; Forrest Hedrick

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  The door rattled in the frame as Amanda gave it her full attention. Fred burrowed deeper under the covers and pulled the pillow over his head.

  “Come on, Uncle Fred! I know you’re in there.” Her strident voice cut through the folded cushion like a razor through tissue paper. Fred looked at the clock on the nightstand. Eight o’clock – in the morning for Christ’s sake.

  “Go away!” he shouted. “Come back at a decent hour. Like next Tuesday. Afternoon.”

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  “Have pity, woman! There’s a dead person in here!”

  “Hey! What’s going on up there?”

  Oh, Lord.He thought. That’s the manager’s voice. It sounds like she’s at the foot of the steps. Not good.

  Despite the appearance of the clientele staying at the motel – or maybe because of it – Gina ran a tight operation and tolerated little nonsense.

  “What’s all that ruckus? Who are you and what’s your business on this property? Speak up! I ain’t got all day. You’re disturbin’ th’ rest o’ my tenants.”

  “It’s my Uncle Fred,” Amanda shouted from the landing outside his door. “I didn’t want to leave him alone last night because he was feeling bad. I came by to check on him but I can’t get him to come to the door. I’m so scared something might have happened to him. He has a bad heart.”

  “I didn’t know Fred had any fam’ly ‘round here. You got any ID?”

  “Damn,” Fred muttered. He had to intervene. The way this was escalating the only possible outcome was bad – for him. With a heavy sigh he tossed the pillow to one side and sat up. He waited for the room to stop spinning.

  “I don’t live around here,” he heard Amanda from the other side of the door. “I live in Missouri – with my brother. I’m staying at the Wiltshire Motel over off…”

  “I know the Wiltshire,” the manager cut her off. “You ain’t been by the office. Fred knows th’ rules. All visitors are s’posed t’ sign in at th’ office.”

  Fred heard Gina’s heavy footsteps thumping up the stairs. To say Gina was heavyset would be a kindness. Fred doubted there was room on the landing for both women together.

  “I’m awake!” he shouted. “I’m comin’ to th’ door!”

  “Fred? You okay?”

  “Except for th’ hangover, I’m right as rain, Gina.”

  “Uncle Fred?”

  Fred thumbed the deadbolt, turned the knob, and opened the door. He leaned around the doorframe. “Mornin’, Amanda,” he sighed, “Gina.”

  “Fred.” Gina looked from him to Amanda. Her left eyebrow arched suspiciously. “I didn’t know you had any family ‘round here.”

  “She’s my brother, Johnny’s, girl,” he replied. “He died in a terrible accident awhile back.”

  “Well, if she’s your niece I guess that’s okay. You know the rules about visitors.” The manager looked from one to the other as if she expected Amanda to sprout a price tag. She turned on the stair – a multi-step exercise due to her girth. “Sorry ’bout your brother.”

  “Thanks,” Fred replied as sincerely as her ersatz sympathy deserved. Gina lumbered down the stairway.

  “Have a nice day,” Amanda said to Gina’s retreating back. She turned and pushed Fred inside and shut the door behind her. “How long will it take you to pack your stuff?”

  “Pack? What the hell you talkin’ about? Why would I want to pack?”

  “When’s the last time you did your laundry? You got enough clean clothes for a week? Maybe ten days?”

  “Slow down,” he said. “What are you talkin’ about?’

  “We need to go to Oklahoma.”

  “Right.” Fred saw the determination in her eyes and shivered as a chill raced through him. For a quick moment he stood in the front yard of the cabin as people around him died. The scene vanished. He looked at the table and the floor beside the bed. Surely there was still a shot or two in the bottle from the night before. He just needed to find that bottle. “Why do you want to go to Oklahoma? An’ what on earth makes you think I’m gonna go with you?”

  “We need to find a medicine man – a Cherokee medicine man.”

  “Why?”

  “To put it back.”

  “To put what…there you are!” Fred spotted the neck of the whiskey bottle sticking out from under the bed. And, Lord love a duck, the cap was screwed on! He grabbed it and sat on the end of the bed. He looked at Amanda as he unscrewed the cap. “Why don’t you go back to th’ beginning and let me ride this car from the start?”

  “I’ll give you better than that.”She slid her laptop from its carrying case and opened it. She typed as soon as the screen lit up. “Hmm. You have a much better signal here than I thought you would.”

  Fred caught a glimpse of Johnny’s face grinning back at them before the screen changed. “Signal?”

  “My laptop’s wireless. I was pretty sure you didn’t have a land line here so I found a wireless store and picked up a broadband device. Prepaid, like a cell phone.”

  “All I have’s the cable TV that comes with th’ room.”

  “It’s a little slower than I’m used to but it works. That’s all that really matters, right?”

  “If you say so. I haven’t had a lot of use for a computer since, well, since that weekend. I don’t know anything ’bout laptops or notebooks or whatever you call them ’cept what I see on TV.” He tilted the bottle back and swallowed the last of the whiskey. It was less than a shot – just enough to tease.

  “There we go.” She turned the notebook towards him. The words Cherokee Nation showed in large letters. Strange characters – some sort of lettering he couldn’t decipher – showed below each word.

  Fred looked at her. “So?”

  “You got any of that whiskey left?”

  He shook his head.

  “Beer?” She got up from the chair and crossed to the small refrigerator. She opened the door, looked inside, and then frowned at him. “We need to get you restocked.” She swung the door closed.

  “Now? I need to put something on, first.”

  “You’ve got me used to having a drink or two while we talk.” She looked from the screen to Fred and back. “How about this? You get dressed. I’ll tell you what I discovered and why I think we need to go to Oklahoma.”

  “Okay.” Fred went to the far side of the bed and reached down for his trousers. Whiskey was always a good motivator. “Start talking.”

  “I was thinking about what you said about the creature. It made me wonder if maybe the Indians who lived in that area might have some kind of legend about it or something.”

  Fred paused, one leg in the trousers, one out. “The Cherokee were the main tribe in the region, but they were removed back in the 1800’s, I believe.”

  “The late 1820’s to early 1830’s, to be specific. It was called the Trail of Tears because so many died. That’s how the Cherokee ended up in Oklahoma.”

  “True.” Fred resumed dressing. “I don’t think anyone living in Tennessee remembers the old stories. I don’t even know how many Cherokee live there any more even though there’s a national park or state forest or something named after them. I doubt any Cherokee still live there.”

  “According to what I read, there are more than you might think. Evidently quite a few snuck back into North Carolina, Tennessee, and northern Georgia after the relocation. They’re not the ones we need to find, though.”

  “They’re not?” Fred finished buttoning his shirt and looked at his reflection. “Why?”

  “For one thing, they’re pretty scattered. If they’re keeping to tradition, then they won’t talk to us – especially about something like this. They’ll just hand us the usual stories they give to tourists, pat us on the head, and try to sell us some authentic bauble or other.”

  “And, the ones in Oklahoma will talk to us? Somethin’ like what? You keep makin’ these turns without signalin’ an’ I’m havi
n’ trouble followin’. ”

  Amanda shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they will. Maybe not. But the Oklahoma Cherokee have changed over the years. Many don’t follow the old ways as closely. They’ve become more modern.”

  “More white, you mean.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I just think we’ll have a better chance of finding someone we need there than we will anywhere else.”

  “You keep coming back to this idea that we need someone.” Fred’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What is it you think we’re doin’?”

  “Not just someone. We need a real Cherokee who knows the old ways. Preferably a medicine man.”

  Fred stared at her.

  “You ready?” She asked. “We can talk on the way to the store. You think my laptop’s safe here?”

  “It should be. We’re not going anywhere until you explain why you want a medicine man. What makes you think one will even talk to you? Do you really think you’ll find one who’s authentic? How will you know the difference?”

  •

  “It was the marks that got me to thinking,” Amanda said as she stirred her drink with her finger. Ice tinkled against the glass. The laptop was open on the table between them. This time the screen displayed the odd letters arranged in vertical columns. Next to them were the corresponding English letters.

  “The ones around the cistern?”

  “Right. Did they look anything like these?”

  “I don’t know. It was a long time ago. I only saw them one time.” He looked closer and then shook his head. “No. Sorry. Those don’t look at all familiar.”

  “Don’t be sorry. That’s a good thing.”

  “Why?”

  She pointed at the screen. “That is the – let me see if I remember this right – the Sequoyan Syllabary. It’s the alphabet that Sequoyah developed for the Cherokee language in the 1820’s. If what you saw looked like this, then it was too new to be of any importance.

  “I wish Dave was still around so we could ask him, too. Just to be sure.”

  “Well, if we ever find his head you can ask him,” Fred replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “What?” She saw the pain in the man’s eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Sometimes I don’t think when I speak, especially if I’m thinking out loud.”

  The gesture surprised him. Off guard, he started to put his arms around her. Realizing what he was about to do, he stiffened and pulled back. He turned his face away.

  She misinterpreted and stepped closer. “Really, Uncle Fred. I didn’t mean…”

  He raised one hand. “It’s not that. It’s just that, well, I don’t think we should…”

  He faced her with his hands spread wide and an embarrassed expression on his face.

  He’s blushing! she suddenly realized. My touch makes him uncomfortable for some reason. Awareness suddenly exploded in her mind. He’s attracted to me and he finds it uncomfortable. Any other time, it would be kind of cute. Not now. It could only get in the way. I may have to find a way to defuse this.

  She pulled away from him and turned back to the computer. “Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that the marks might be some sort of magic writing.”

  “Like runes?”

  “Maybe. I think they were supposed to be some kind of protection.”

  “From what?” Fred kept as much distance between them as the small room permitted.

  “Different things. In this case, I imagine they were protection from whatever is down in that hole. Maybe they were supposed to keep it in there.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “Don’t get coy on me.” She started ticking on the fingers of her left hand. “You saw a naked old lady get bashed around and thrown into the side of a barn. Was she the granny woman from the journal?”

  Fred shrugged but said nothing. His mind revisited the front yard that night. Again the creature rose above him – long, segmented body; three-eyed face; tentacles; energy dancing over its skin – and, yet, rather than fear, a feeling of familiarity filled him. He was not repelled; he was drawn to it. He felt…

  “There was another man, a stranger.”

  Fred blinked. What was he feeling?

  “You saw him get beheaded. You saw Dave get beheaded.” She hesitated. “My father got torn in half right in front of you. Then some little creature you called a goblin knocked you back into the garage and unconscious. That little goblin probably saved your life, you know.”

  Amanda looked up. Fred sat on the bed, eyes wide, as he stared, slack-jawed, at the wall. Horror filled his eyes. He was no longer in the room with her, but back on that dark, Tennessee mountainside facing something not meant for human eyes.

  She slowly and carefully sat on the bed beside him. Taking a deep breath, she put her arms around him and tried to pull him to her. It was like pulling on a tree trunk. His body was rigid. Every part of him thrummed with a terror only he could see.

  Amanda leaned closer and pulled harder. After a long moment, he relaxed. She reached one hand up and pulled on the back of his head. Slowly, his neck muscles relaxed. His head lowered until it rested on her shoulder.

  “Oh, you poor, poor man,” she whispered as she held him as close as possible. She stroked his hair and spoke soothingly. “Come back, Fred. Come down off the mountain.”

  Slowly he relaxed. His body shook. Amanda realized he was crying. She crooned to him as if he was a frightened child, gently rocking him as she spoke. “That’s it. Let it out. Let it all out. You’re safe, now. Everything’s all right.”

  The sobs slowed. Fred’s arms encircled her in a tight embrace. She squeezed back. She felt his lips against her neck. She resisted the urge to pull away. His lips moved up and brushed her ear. She felt his breath against her cheek.

  Are you ready for this? her mind asked. Are you really ready to take it to that level?

  Fred pulled away slightly and looked down at her eyes. As his lips came down to meet hers she thought, No, not now. It’s too soon. We don’t need this. I don’t need this.

  With that, she pressed the palms of her hands against his chest and gently pushed him back.

  “No, Uncle Fred,” she murmured. “Please.”

  He looked down into her eyes. The moment seemed eternal. Finally, he nodded and pulled away from her.

  •

  “No.” Fred’s voice was calm. He showed no outward sign of the terror that boiled within him.

  “Why not?” Amanda’s exasperation showed clearly. “I don’t see any choice. We have to do this.”

  “No. We don’t.”

  “We can’t leave it free to do what it wants to.”

  “Why not?” Fred asked. “Me an’ it been doin’ fine for twelve years doin’ just that.”

  “Don’t you see? It’s your fault it’s out there. Well, partly. Yours. Dave’s. Charlie’s. Peete’s. Even my dad’s. If y’all hadn’t gone up there that Thanksgiving, it would still be locked inside the mountain.”

  “You don’t know that,” he rebutted. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. He tried to stare her down but failed. He looked away. “Not for sure.”

  “Yes, I do. And, so do you.” She poked her finger into his chest. “You know it right here, even though you try your best to deny it. It’s what drives you to drink. Guilt. Guilt and the nightmares.”

  “You don’t understand,” he whispered. She couldn’t know that the creature was the least of his fears.

  “No, I don’t.” She replied. “Not the fear. Not the terror. Maybe if I did, I’d be frozen, too. I do know, however, that my father had a hand in this. Since he’s not here to fix it, then I’ll have to do it for him. And, you need to do it, too, if for no other reason than to give you a decent night’s sleep.”

  He saw the resolve in her eyes, the determination in her clenched jaw. He sighed. “I can’t do it. I can’t go back there.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and covered his eyes with his hands. In the back of his mind he could h
ear the mountain calling to him. It was a song he’d ignored all of his adult life. It sang louder since that night – so loud no amount of alcohol could deaden it.

  Amanda looked at him. She felt sympathy boiling up inside her, but she also felt, what? Disgust? Was that it? Disgust at this alcohol-soaked, spineless creature sobbing on the bed before her? She took a deep breath and then let it out in a heavy sigh. She held out her hand, palm up. “Keys.”

  “What?”

  “The keys,” she repeated. “The keys to the cabin. Directions would help, but all I really need is the address and zip code. I have those.”

  Fred looked at her hand and blinked. “Why do you want the keys to the cabin?” He looked up at her face. Realization dawned. “No.”

  “No, what?” Amanda asked.

  “No keys.” He stepped toward her, his arms wide.

  She shook her head.

  “I can’t let you do this.”

  “Do what? Clean up your mess? Yours and Daddy’s?”

  “I can’t let you go up there alone.”

  “It would go better with your help, but you’re too frightened for that. Less easy would be the keys and directions, but it looks like you won’t do that, either.” She reached for her purse. “That leaves going there on my own. I don’t really need the keys since the cave’s in the front yard.”

  “Amanda.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t do this.”

  “I don’t want to,” she replied. “You don’t leave me any choice.”

  “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “No, I probably don’t.” She turned toward the door. Her hand grasped the knob.

  “Wait.”

  “Why?”

  “I need time to pack a few things. I can’t let you go alone. Besides, someone has to explain it to the medicine man, and I don’t think you can do it second hand.”

  “I don’t want you doing this if you’re too scared. It might make things, I don’t know, more dangerous.”