Rockinghorse

by William W. Johnstone

  The kids shuffled their feet nervously, expecting their father to unload on them.

  Lucas sighed and shook his head. “All right, gang. Let’s hear it.”

  Johnny looked to Jackie. She said, “We thought it was Anna and Randolph calling us. But we were wrong. It was someone pretending to be them. We were tricked, I guess. Then we got lost in the woods. Both of us, I think, wanted to turn back and come home, but we’d have never found our way back. We just kept on going until we came to the Gibson house.”

  “The next time you hear voices, tell us about them,” Tracy said.

  “Yeah,” Lucas said. “Before you act.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Johnny said.

  “What?” Lucas said.

  “The boy is correct in that,” David said. “The Woods’ Children will not respond to adults. We have been attempting to contact them for almost a year—with no luck.”

  “They don’t trust adults,” Jackie said. “Kendra told me that. I remember.”

  “Tell me the names of the Woods’ Children you two have met,” David said.

  After the kids had called out the names, Professor Siekmann there, “There are some missing. What you heard tonight was probably Driscoll. He is known as the Speaker, or the Interpreter. He can assume anyone’s voice and make one believe it. He is no friend to any of us. Johnny, you left out Hedwig, known as the Stormy One, and Medea, the Sorceress. Jackie, you did not meet Colby, from the Dark Farm, or the one known as the Watcher. His name is Ira.”

  16

  Although none of the adults would admit it aloud, all were glad to see the morning light slowly creep through the landscape of the Georgia countryside. The four professors had returned home, after being thanked for their assistance, and the kids had been put to bed. The adults slept for a few hours, with Lucas and Kyle taking turns standing watch. The intruders from the Brotherhood—if they had been from the Brotherhood, and none doubted it—did not return that night.

  Sitting alone on the front veranda, his loaded shotgun by his side, Lucas was attempting to make some sort of sense out of all that had taken place since they had arrived in Edmund County. He was having one hell of a time doing so.

  Ira is dead. I killed him, Lucas thought. He was buried the same day. That does not make any sense. No investigator from any office has yet been to see me about the killing, and I have this vague feeling no one ever will. Now Ira’s body is gone, and Kyle says the pictures he saw show the grave was broken out of, not into. That makes even less sense, speaking from a purely scientific and legal point of view. Of course, wooden rocking horses that jump around and attack people and bleed after being shot don’t make much sense, either. Ira shows up at my kitchen door. Something showed up at the kitchen door that night. Now one of the Woods’ Children is supposedly named Ira. Any connection? Wouldn’t surprise me at all. The men and women who live in the Gibson house are not our enemies, but our friends. Grown men and women, all college professors, playing silly games. Or it is silly? Maybe not. I burned the rocking horse. But it refused to burn. Now what was left of the shot-up and ruined hobbyhorse is gone. Where did it go? And, more importantly, how did it go?

  And what in God’s name is the Brotherhood and how does it tie in with all that’s happened?

  “It is not very old as old goes,” Louisa’s voice came from behind him.

  Lucas suppressed a shudder. Forcing himself to appear at least outwardly calm—due to his exposure to other psychics he was not surprised they could get into a person’s head—he said, “You move very quietly, Louisa.”

  “Yes. Yet another of my . . . gifts.” She spoke the last very sarcastically.

  “Oh? Do I take that to mean you wish you did not have them?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. But I do think it must be nice to be normal.” She sat down in the chair to Lucas’s right.

  “How old is old?”

  “Three hundred and fifty years. The Brotherhood was originally formed in England. It was brought to America by some of the earlier settlers. When the witch hunts of Salem began, some of those suspected of being witches and warlocks fled southward. Some settled north of here; others stayed in the deep, uncharted wilderness on their way south. Descendants of them still remain in isolated pockets of the mountains. A few came here. They lived in caves and huts. The Indians—and this much is substantiated from Indian folklore and actual cave drawings—were very afraid of the new people because they possessed strange powers. They certainly did. They were the devil’s own children. It is a sad thing to have to say, but most of those killed in Salem were good witches and warlocks. The bad witches escaped.

  “God and Satan, so it is rumored, fought in this area about 1700 or so. During one of Satan’s outbursts, when the Dark One was flinging lightning bolts Heavenward, he threw one against a tree—an oak tree. The tree exploded. What was left vaguely resembled a hobbyhorse. One of those who worshipped Satan found the horse and, with a knife, shaped it into what it is today. That is all rumor, old wives’ tales, and such as that. Probably true, though, at least to some degree. That is why the rocking horse is important to the Brotherhood and why it has strange powers. And why it will be back.

  “The Bowers family first came into this area—this general area, that is—about 1750; no one knows for sure. No records. The man, Lucas Bowers,” she felt Lucas tense beside her as she said that, “was very sick. Lung fever or some malady of that day. No one knows for sure. His wife said she would give anything if he would just go on and die. Obviously they were a very loving couple. Well, part of her wish was granted. She agreed to serve Satan forever if he would see to it her husband died. But Lucas heard of the scheme and ran off into the woods. He took refuge with a family named Garrett, and eventually married one of the Garrett women, one Anne Garrett. Her mother was a Cameron, first name unknown. All this is a matter of simply looking through old family Bibles and church records and old graveyards; I enjoyed doing that as a kid. Still do. Anne Garrett’s father was a member of the Brotherhood. And Anne herself was a witch, but one who did not know which side of the line to serve—Light or Dark. Anne and Lucas had children. The children were later adopted by a family named Taylor. I’m getting ahead of the story. Anne’s father finally killed Lucas by cutting off his head and pouring his blood all over the rocking horse. That was the favorite way of placating Satan. Many many gallons of human blood have been poured on that wooden horse over the years.

  “Well, Anne Garrett then killed her father. The Brotherhood then tortured, raped, and killed Anne. They crucified her. It is said she died horribly, but lingered for days, all the time swearing her love for God Almighty and vowing that someday she would return and have her vengeance on the Brotherhood. After that, very little is known of the Brotherhood. Except that they still exist and have grown stronger through the years.”

  “That, Louisa, is quite a tall tale.”

  “No tall tale, Lucas. Simply the truth. And it would behoove you to paid heed to it.”

  “All right. Assuming it’s true, ‘vengeance is Mine, sayeth the Lord.’ Right?”

  “So it is written. But ‘God works in mysterious ways’—right?”

  “So it is written. The rocking horse I shot and . . . attempted to burn—that is supposed to be the original horse?”

  “Yes. And I believe that. Didn’t blood pour out of It?”

  “Some type of . . . fluid did, yes.”

  “Blood. It never ends.”

  Lucas sighed. “What other revelations are you going to hit me with?”

  “The Rejects.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know of the legend of Bigfoot in the Northwest?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you believe in them?”

  “Yes and no. I believe that it is entirely possible the Snowman of the Himalayas might exist. So might Bigfoot. Why?”

  “Over in Louisiana they call them the Honey Island monsters. Do
wn in Florida they’re called Skunk Apes. Around here they’re called Rejects. There have been sightings of them for several hundred years. I’ve seen them.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Louisa.”

  “They are poor pitiful creatures, caught between time periods. They have never hurt anyone, and probably never will. Don’t fear them if you should see one, Lucas. They won’t hurt you.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” God! Lucas didn’t know what to believe. Ghosts, haunted houses, practitioners of witchcraft, and now some woods’ monsters called Rejects.

  They were silent as Tracy and Kyle joined them on the veranda. Tracy carried a tray of coffee mugs, steaming in the air, and Kyle carried a tray of hot sweet rolls.

  “The kids?” Lucas asked.

  “For the time being, sleeping soundly.”

  “That’s what we thought last night,” Lucas reminded her, but smiled as he said it.

  “Yes. I thought of that, too, smarty.” After she was seated, she said, “When is your lawyer friend and husband supposed to come up here for their visit?”

  Anne Garrett-Cameron! The name and its silent ramifications leaped into Lucas’s mind. Still a lot of loose ends, but the overall picture was clearer now. “Weekend after next, so far as I know.”

  “Her name is Anne Garrett-Cameron?” Louisa asked, once more peering into Lucas’s brain. To Lucas, it was still more than a little unnerving.

  “Yes.”

  Louisa sat for a moment in silence. “That is interesting. Matters might come to a head when she gets here.”

  “What do you mean, honey?” Kyle asked.

  She did not respond to his question. Instead, she said, “Her father and grandfather were killed in Edmund County.” It was not posed in question form.

  “That is correct. Well, one is known dead and the other presumed.”

  “Cameron is an interesting name, too. Is it not, Lucas?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I picked up on that, too.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Tracy asked.

  Lucas stood up and stretched. “Louisa, while I’m showering and shaving, why don’t you tell Kyle and Tracy all that you just laid on me? Since you seem to think all of us are involved in this matter, they’d better know what you think we’re up against. Don’t you agree? ”

  She met his eyes. “Yes. I think it is time for that.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  On the way to the shower, Lucas heard Kyle say, “What?”

  Lucas was back in fifteen minutes, freshly shaved and smelling of Stetson cologne. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower. As he sat down, he noticed that Tracy and Kyle wore confused and somewhat stunned expressions, their coffee and sweet rolls apparently untouched and cooling.

  Louisa had unloaded on them, and they both were having a difficult time accepting any of it. Lucas knew how they felt.

  Lucas sat down, poured fresh coffee, took a bite of sweet roll, and said, “Quite an interesting story, huh, folks?”

  “To say the least,” Kyle said. He looked at his wife and blurted, “Are you serious?”

  She silenced him with a look.

  Tracy said, “Bowers, Taylor, Cameron—all the names are connected. A Bowers married a Garrett; the attorney’s name is Garrett. Everything is all interwoven.”

  “Yes.” Lucas then surprised Tracy by saying, “Louisa, what would happen if we—Tracy, the kids, and me—just packed it all up and pulled out?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “That is probably what the Brotherhood wants. You’d be giving in to them, that’s all. But I don’t think you would be allowed to do that. I think it’s too late. You weren’t marked with that tattoo for nothing. There was some purpose behind it.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. It’s puzzling.”

  Tracy stood up. “No,” she said, a firmness to her voice. “No. I won’t be driven off. If I decide to leave, it will be our choice, not at the dictates of a gang of thugs.” She sat back down and took Lucas’s hand.

  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “For now,” she admitted. He could see fear in her eyes.

  “All right. For now.”

  * * *

  They all took turns watching the kids and napping that morning. Kyle phoned the incident into the sheriff’s office of Edmund County, and then to his own headquarters. He told his captain about the shooting, but had not mentioned anything about it to Sheriff Pugh. He informed his captain of that fact.

  “Surely you don’t think Bill Pugh is tied in with this, do you?” his captain asked. “But it’s damned odd about that quick burial, I got to admit that.”

  “Yes, and that has me puzzled. As for Sheriff Pugh . . . I don’t know. I doubt it.” He did not tell his captain about the Brotherhood. Who to trust? Christ, Kyle thought, I’m getting paranoid. “I’d just like to see what comes to the surface in this thing.”

  “All right, Kyle. You think we have any business in this thing—legally?”

  “Yes, I do. Both the elder Garrett and his son were killed on Georgia highways—or while traveling on or off them, Captain.”

  “One was killed,” the captain corrected. “The old man just disappeared, remember? But you’re right. Want to call in the FBI?”

  “No,” Kyle was quick to say. He wondered if he had been too quick. If he was, the captain didn’t pick up on it. Or, at least, didn’t mention it. “I’d rather handle it myself. I’ve had the training.”

  “All right. I’ll see what I can do. I think I can clear it for you. Hang in. If it falls through, we’ll see you Tuesday.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lucas had stood by the pay phone outside Jim’s station, listening to the one-sided conversation. On the way back to the mansion, he asked, “Now what was all that about back there?”

  “Just a hunch, buddy. Just a hunch. Say, where is that bad dog of Lige’s? Ira, I mean?”

  As they pulled into the drive, Lucas said, “Why, I don’t know. I haven’t given it any thought. Surely not in the pen. She’d be starving and raising hell by now.”

  As they walked from the drive to the house, Jackie called, “Look who we found. It’s Baby!”

  The women joined the men and all went around to the side yard. Baby sat docilely on the porch, Jackie on one side, Johnny on the other. The mastiff looked up and wagged its tail.

  “Well, Kyle,” Lucas said. “I guess that answers your question.”

  “Baby came back home,” Jackie said brightly.

  “I guess so,” Lucas said, eyeballing the big dog. “It’s probably the only home the animal has ever had.”

  “Can we keep Baby, Dad?” Johnny asked, one hand on the dog’s thick neck.

  Lucas laughed and squatted down beside the mastiff. He petted the big head. Baby licked his hand and nuzzled him. “Probably couldn’t run her off if we tried. Sure. Why not?”

  Tracy said, “We all ready to start exploring the house?”

  Lucas stood up. “You all go ahead. I’m going to go through Ira’s things. No point in putting it off any longer.”

  “Want me to come with you?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. Not just yet, anyway.”

  “Need any help, holler,” Kyle said.

  “And join us when you get through,” Tracy said.

  Lucas nodded and looked at Jackie and Johnny. “You kids stay close to the house. And stay out of the woods. I mean that. Voices or no voices—stay out.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said. They understood. The tone of their father’s voice had warned them they had better not cross him.

  Lucas walked across the yard to Ira’s cottage. He stood at the front door for a moment, not wanting to enter the place, but knowing he had to do it. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it, slowly pushing open the door.

  He stepped into what had been his only brother’s home for the past . . . no telling how many years.

  And that didn’t se
em right to him. No matter what Ira had done, it just didn’t seem right. And something else tried to push its way out of the dark reaches of Lucas’s brain. But it just wouldn’t come. It was there, darting and zinging around, but refusing to come to the surface. Maybe in time, Lucas thought.

  The place was as dim and dank as a boar’s den. And smelled just about like Lucas imagined a boar’s den would smell. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. It was a hog pen.

  The curtains blocking out the sun were no more than stinking rags. One large room served as living room, bedroom, and kitchen. A tiny bathroom with only a dirty curtain for a door. The bathroom was filthy, the tub and walls of the shower encrusted with grime. The toilet was so dirty it was black. And the small sink was even worse.

  “This is where my brother lived,” Lucas said aloud. “I would never have believed it. Not in a million years.”

  He inspected the shelves lining the bathroom walls. No medicines of any kind. Not even an aspirin. He shook his head. With a sigh of relief, he stepped out of the dirty bathroom and closed the curtain behind him.

  With a grimace of resignation, Lucas began his search of the living quarters. Dirty clothes were tossed in every available chair and on the broken-down and ratty-looking sofa. He went through the old bureaus and dressers, finding only tattered and ragged shirts, pants, and underwear. He shook his head and stepped to the open door.

  “Jackie! Bring me that box of big garbage bags out of the kitchen, please.”

  “God!” the girl said, standing in the doorway. “What a dump.”

  “We agree on something,” Lucas said with a grin. “At last.”

  She ignored that. “You want some help in here, Dad?”

  “No, babe, but thanks. Look, ask Mr. Cartier if he’d come in here, OK?”

  “Sure. I’ll be with Johnny in the side yard. Us and Baby. And we won’t leave there unless you need us.”

  “Good girl.”

  Kyle’s reaction was very much identical to Jackie’s. “Good God! This is the absolute worst I have ever seen.”

  “My thoughts exactly. But I’ll tell you something. It somehow makes it easier on me.”

  “Like it makes the distance between you two even further, huh?”