The Golden Talisman

by J. Stefan Jackson

  Peter studied him curiously for a moment, clicking his pen absently in his hand. Truly anxious to be done with the interview, Jack took this as an opportunity to try and finish things up.

  “Once we recovered from our injuries enough to visit what was left of our place, we were surprised to find the old tool shed was still standing,” Jack continued. “We’d already decided to stay with my Uncle Monty and Aunt Martha in Tuscaloosa for the time being. Once we saw the barren plot of land that used to be our home, all of us knew we’d never be coming back there to live.

  “Almost immediately, we noticed we were being followed almost everywhere we went. Most of the time it was folks like you, agents driving nice sedans and who were hard to tell one from another. They almost always wore sunglasses and business suits, similar to what you and the others around here have on. They all made us plenty nervous, especially once we learned what had happened to Sheriff McCracken and Carl Peterson.

  “Anyway, this uninvited surveillance lasted till my freshman year in college, and then it stopped almost as suddenly as it had started. Until this week.”

  “Anything else you want to add to that, Jack?” asked Peter, frowning as he pondered Jack’s sudden change in demeanor.

  “No. That pretty much sums things up.”

  Agent McNamee rubbed his eyes and sighed. For the moment he remained seated where he was, silently studying the young man in the faded Metallica T-shirt sitting across from him. The silence grew uncomfortable, but after spending nearly a minute like this, Peter stood up and paced slowly across the room. Jack watched him intently, praying silently that he would now be set free. But intuitively he knew it wasn’t going to happen, and a moment later Peter confirmed this by resuming his interrogation.

  “I realize much of what we discussed so far must be very uncomfortable for you,” he told him as he returned to the table. “I cannot stress enough on how imperative it is that you share everything you know with me. Granted, it seems at first glance there’s very little here that connects your past experiences with the most recent one involving Dr. Mensch—though, I think you’d be surprised.” He stood next to Jack, smiling in a way that Jack could tell there was something the agent really wanted to tell him, but couldn’t, either due to his vocation or that he was waiting for the right opportunity.

  “You know, there were witnesses among your neighbors who saw the tornado that early morning in July, 1999,” he continued. He sat on the edge of the table and leaned forward. The agent’s cologne, an expensive Ralph Lauren blend, filled Jack’s nostrils. “The Palmers swore they watched the twister as it blasted through your house before turning on a dime to follow your family as you raced down Lelan’s Road in Jeremy’s truck. They watched it turn and come back up the street after it tossed his vehicle into the field we’ve discussed. Now, it may have been extremely foolhardy and dangerous of them, but Joey and Linda Sue Palmer ignored the safety of their storm cellar to witness this tornado methodically obliterate everything in your yard except, of course, the tool shed. We’ve already agreed that your home being the sole target of the tornado was very weird. I’m not professing that either of us are experts in meteorology or to what is considered typical tornado behavior. But, doesn’t the fact this particular tornado came back and took a second direct pass on your property seem preposterous to you?”

  Jack’s hands turned clammy and sweat began to form in tiny droplets above his temples and down along his spine. He never knew his next-door neighbors had witnessed those horrifying events in the early morning darkness that fateful day. According to what he had been previously told, no one living along Lelan’s Road had ever come forward.

  “I can see it in your face, Jack. You’re holding out on me,” Peter chuckled. “Well, that’s fine, because I’ve got all night if need be.” He straightened up and returned to his seat. Just before sitting down he took the two large books and stood them up so Jack could read the covers. Both were worn, although the one to his right was smaller and appeared much older than the one to his left.

  “As you can see, these two volumes are fairly old. I’d be willing to bet my life that you’d love to get your hands on either one, if you knew what they were. The larger one is the detailed journal of a man named Dr. Nathaniel Stratton, originally from Murfreesboro, Tennessee, but who spent much of his life traveling throughout the world. He spent quite a bit of his time in Carlsdale, where his brother owned the farm that later belonged to the Johnson’s—the same place, as you know, where that footprint was photographed.”

  Once again, Jack stiffened noticeably in his chair. Sure, he had seen the books sitting on the table. They both immediately looked interesting to him merely because they were old. He had been so intent on finding an opportunity to cut short the present interview that he hadn’t bothered to get a closer look at the faded titles on either one. A look of recognition flashed across his face before he could stop himself.

  “Well I’ll be damned, Jack, we might finally be getting somewhere!” Peter enthused. “I see that you recognize the name ‘Dr. Nathaniel Stratton’. He’s got a lot of interesting stuff in this journal of his. Much of which, I might add, pertains to your grandfather. It spans more than fifty years, from 1896 until his disappearance under mysterious circumstances in 1949.”

  Peter laid the journal down and turned his attention to the other, smaller book. “This volume here is much older than Dr. Stratton’s journal. It’s basically a collection of local legends from Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. Each one in this book is at least one hundred and fifty years old. Believe it or not, there’s stuff in here about your own family’s history as well. Plus, there’s some pretty interesting things about the founding of the town of Carlsdale in the late 1700’s.”

  He stopped for a moment to gauge Jack’s reaction, who couldn’t hide his fascination with the tattered and worn, black leather-bound book in front of him.

  “You know, Jack, there’s even a tale in here about your grandpa’s great-great-grandfather, Sherman Edwards,” advised Peter. “It may be especially interesting for you since it describes in detail the pain and effort he went through to rebuild the farmhouse you grew up in. I’ll bet you never knew it was erected on the very same spot where a previous house built by your family stood. Did you?”

  Speechless, Jack shook his head to indicate that he didn’t. If Peter had any lingering doubts about his attention and interest in this interrogation, they were now completely erased.

  “Obviously, I don’t need to tell you that most folks find stories containing dragons, witches, and the like to be pure fantasy. That’s why both of these books were locked up and nearly forgotten in our archives down in Richmond. We’ve already discussed a dragon-like creature here tonight, and there’s a piece of it on the table right in front of us. So, what most folks think doesn’t apply to us. Right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack replied, his respect for Peter steadily rising. He was hooked, scarcely believing his eyes and ears.

  “As I was explaining to you, your house was built upon another’s foundation. Can you venture a guess as to the only thing that was still standing back then from the original structure?”

  “Oh, my God!” Jack suddenly blurted out, and felt instantly ashamed at his inability to better control his emotions and excited reaction. “The tool shed??”

  “Yes. The tool shed.”

  “Would you mind if I take a quick look at that?” Jack reached for the book.

  “Uh-uh-uh,” Peter chided, waving his index finger. He quickly removed both books from the table, placing them back inside the attaché case.

  “What’d you do that for??” Jack’s eyes gleamed with fury. He hastily stood up, nearly toppling his chair again in the process. “I mean, why in the hell did you go and tell me about that shit if you weren’t intending to let me read it for myself??”

  Peter motioned for Jack to calm down, insisting that he return to his seat before he would explain his reasoning for doing what he did. Jack he
sitated. Finally, though sullenly, he returned to his chair.

  “I’d love nothing better than for you to read each volume at your leisure, Jack,” Peter told him earnestly. “But, there’s much I need to learn from you first. Not so much about Dr. Mensch as I do about what truly happened back in July of 1999. I know we’ve only scratched the surface in what we’ve discussed so far, and I’d give most anything to hear the rest. If you’ll divulge what you’ve kept hidden in your heart and mind, I’ll see to it that you’re allowed to review both books for as long as you like.”

  Jack slowly sank back against his chair, eyeing the agent curiously. What did the agent really want from him? Everything sitting upon the table engendered a thousand questions on their own. Not to mention the report Peter read earlier. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Peter was after something specific and different than what they had discussed so far.

  After pondering the proposal for another moment, he shook his head to advise he wasn’t sharing any more information. Whatever the government had gathered up until now would have to suffice, regardless of whether he could see the books or not.

  “Why are you so reluctant to talk about it?” Peter persisted, frustrated at Jack’s stubborn refusal to even elaborate on why. “What have you got to hide? What could possibly be important enough to keep quiet about all of these years??”

  Jack looked down at his distorted reflection in the table’s face. He sighed and slowly shook his head from side to side. “You’d never understand. Unless you’d been there yourself, there’d be no way in hell you’d ever understand.”

  The sadness in his voice revealed the heaviness of the secret he carried within his heart. Peter stood up from his chair. He moved over to him and stooped down to his knees, so that he was now looking up into the trembling young man’s face. He slowly brought his arm around as if to hug and comfort Jack, but stopped short of actually doing so, afraid how this simple act of compassion would be perceived. Instead, he tried to use his words to comfort him, and in so doing unleashed the pent-up torment and pain in his own soul.

  “Jack”, he began, surprised that his voice was now quivering. “I have my own reasons for wanting to know what you know. I’m about to take a huge risk here that could cost me dearly. Beyond the complete exposure of my personal demons, it could cost me my livelihood. That’s how badly I need to know everything that happened to you. You’ll soon see that my hell and yours are connected, Jack. Probably in ways you might never imagine.”

  Jack turned enough to face him, narrowing his eyes in a determined effort to discern the true depth of sincerity in Peter’s words. It was difficult to know for certain, but he really thought Agent McNamee was on the verge of tears. A volatile mixture of bitter sorrow and anger seemed to bubble and boil within the agent’s eyes, turning them into dark pools of sadness.

  “Does the name Bobby Northrop mean anything to you?” Peter remained in his awkward stance, peering anxiously up into Jack’s face. For the moment, Jack gave no indication he had any idea what the agent just asked him.

  “I’m going to take a chance and assume that you have heard this name. Even if for some reason you haven’t, I hope you’ll bear with me as I tell his story. Can you do that for me?”

  Jack nodded he would.

  “All right.” Peter paused momentarily, gathering his thoughts until he was ready to begin. “About two months after the destruction of your home in Carlsdale, on October 24th, 1999, Bobby Northrop celebrated his eighth birthday. Up until that day, he was a beautiful and happy child. His parents were affluent, having recently purchased a magnificent home in Shipley Farms, which was located near the edge of Bienville National Forest. That’s just to the east of Jackson, Mississippi. Ever been there, Jack?”

  “No. I can’t say that I have,” Jack quietly responded.

  “Yeah, I guess it’s most likely that you haven’t,” Peter sighed sadly. “I suppose you haven’t been out of the state of Alabama much. Except for baseball and your recent journey here.” He smiled weakly. “Well, that day promised to be special. It turned out to truly be a special day, though not for the reasons anyone had hoped for or even dreamed of. Bobby’s parents, Robert Northrop the Second and his wife, Eileen, had prepared quite an event for Bobby. Perhaps this was because their little boy’s birthday was the first ever to be celebrated in their fabulous brand-new home.

  “It seemed like there were kids everywhere, and the main level of the home was completely decorated with expensive garlands and balloons. The place was crammed full of people as they watched Bobby blow out the candles on his cake. You may have seen the video of this event later on CNN and the major networks, as Robert Northrop was recording it with his digital camcorder. Bobby looked up and smiled at his daddy, right after blowing out the last candle. His eyes sparkled with excitement, for he hoped the wish he just made came true. Such a simple pleasure only the innocence a kid his age can know...” Peter’s voice trailed off and he looked down for a moment. He shifted his weight to relieve the pressure upon his knees, and then looked back up into Jack’s face again. Tears welled in his eyes.

  “As soon as the cake was cut and everybody had their plates heaped with it and ice cream, Bobby’s parents took him outside to open his birthday gifts. They were in a huge stack out on the back deck. Are you familiar with RavenWolff?”

  “Yeah,” Jack replied, thinking of the cartoon superhero of his youth. His tongue feeling thick and slow, he cleared his throat before completing his answer to the agent’s question. “That was all the rage back then, I remember.”

  “Yes it was,” Peter responded thoughtfully. “It’s pretty much all little Bobby talked about. For his birthday present, his mom and dad really splurged and bought him a Tower Den Clubhouse. Are you familiar with that, also?”

  “Complete with the double slides on either end of it? That Tower Den??” Jack remembered how much he wanted one.

  “Yes, that Tower Den. Bobby’s dad and uncle, Lawrence Northrop, spent the better part of two days setting it up. How they kept Bobby from finding out about it before his birthday celebration is a story in itself...perhaps for some other time. It truly was a magnificent piece of equipment.”

  “I would’ve died for one of those things when I was a kid,” Jack admitted. “But, there’s no way in hell my grandpa’d ever shell out two grand for something like that.”

  “It may have been pricey,” Peter said, “but the thing was definitely worth it, you’d have to admit. It had the spiral slides you mentioned and all kinds of other fun stuff between them, and could keep up to twenty kids occupied for hours. The coolest thing about it was the clubhouse on top. It sat fifteen feet above the ground, and was large enough to hold five or six kids at once. You could only reach that part of the Tower Den by way of a rope ladder or a striped fire pole. Hell, if it wasn’t for all of the outdated RavenWolff insignias plastered across the damn thing, I’m sure most any kid would still dig it now.” Peter paused, giving in to a moment of nostalgia.

  “As soon as Bobby discovered this ‘surprise’ birthday gift waiting for him in the backyard, he immediately went nuts, thrusting his fists into the air as he ran screaming and dancing over to the Tower Den,” he continued. “All the other kids converged on it with him, and they remained there until each one’s parents arrived later that afternoon to pick them up from the party.

  “It was after four o’clock, and by that time, the temperature had started to drop. Once Bobby’s aunts, uncles, and cousins had also left, he and his older sister, Jenny Northrop, went back into the house. Jenny decided to remain inside and visit with her grandparents for a while, who were in from New Orleans. Before long, she went upstairs to play Bobby’s Nintendo 64 with her eighteen-year old uncle, who had also come up from New Orleans with her grandpa and grandma. Meanwhile, Bobby grabbed a jacket and ran back outside. Along the way out, he picked up the RavenWolff mask, cape, and glove-claws that his sister had given him for his birthday to go along with the Tower De
n...” Unable to finish, Agent McNamee lowered his head and began to weep.

  Jack was overwhelmed with compassion and alarm for the man, but didn’t know how to properly respond. Why was he so upset? Jack was also beginning to tremble inside, wondering how this incident was connected to him. He started to say something, but Peter abruptly looked up, causing Jack to recoil. Peter’s face was red with fury and his eyes were blurred by grief. Jack prepared to hear something horrible.

  “That was the last time anyone ever saw him, Jack!” he nearly shouted. “At least, on record, that’s the last time. But, you know what? Bobby’s eighteen-year old uncle saw something! ‘Goddamned right, he did!!!”

  Peter was now openly sobbing. Deeply alarmed, Jack looked toward the door, expecting the agent’s colleagues to bust into the room at any moment. For the present time, though, the door remained shut and undisturbed.

  Undeterred, Peter continued to sob. “And, you know what else?? Some kid in Carlsdale, Alabama saw the exact same type of thing just two months earlier!”

  Jack felt the words hit him physically, as obviously the kid he referred to was him. Peter’s discerning eyes saw that he made the connection.

  “Yes, Jack! I’m talking about you!!” he declared. “Bobby’s uncle just happened to look outside into the backyard from Bobby’s bedroom window the same instant the little boy jumped down off the deck. He was all dressed up in his RavenWolff outfit with his arms stretched out in front of him. But, as soon as he landed on the grass, he stopped in his tracks, Jack. Do you have any idea why?”

  Jack quietly shook his head from side to side, knowing why, but wishing he didn’t.

  “He stopped because a goddamned golden mist started pouring out of the Tower Den’s clubhouse. It headed right for him. Do you know what happened next? The fucking thing took him!” Peter moved closer to Jack, his rage and pain radiating heat fervent enough for Jack to clearly feel it from where he sat. “The uncle and his niece screamed through the window for Bobby to get away from the mist, but this innocent little kid walked right into it on his way to the Tower Den. All of a sudden, the mist began to shimmer and glow, steadily growing brighter until the entire backyard seemed like it was immersed in an ethereal fire. The intense energy from this became so unbearable that Jenny and her uncle were forced to turn away from it.