The Frank Peretti Collection

by Frank E. Peretti

  “All right, all right!” Clayton hollered back.

  Jessie looked at her husband, too frightened to speak.

  “Go on, take care of the girls,” Clayton said.

  She hesitated.

  “Go on!” he repeated, then called out the door, “Ease up! I’m coming out!”

  “NO!” Jessie cried. At that moment, the two little girls ran into the living room. She put her arms around them, and they clung to her.

  Clayton took a last look at his family and then stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

  “Now what do you want!” He was immediately seized by two men and pulled off the porch.

  “Don’t worry,” said a third. “This won’t take long.”

  The first blow landed in his stomach. He doubled over. Another hooded man grabbed a fistful of Clayton’s hair and straightened him up again.

  “Didn’t we warn you about talking?” the man said, right before delivering a stunning blow to his jaw.

  He tried to answer, but someone else hit him first, and then someone else, and then someone else . . .

  STEVE HAD settled in for the night in his camper, and now he sat at the table, poring over Forest Service maps again, trying to compare Clayton Gentry’s sighting of the creature with the location of Saddlehorse Mountain. If the creature had a nest or den anywhere near Saddlehorse, then Gentry’s sighting made sense. The real clincher would be talking with Jules Cryor, the miner working a claim right on the mountain. Steve was double-checking the directions Charlie had given him. The map showed several old mines in that area, so he figured the old man’s mine shouldn’t be too hard to locate. If Cryor could report any sightings, the search would be narrowed down indeed.

  The next trick would be to gain some tangible evidence to establish that an undiscovered species really existed. He might be able to find droppings somewhere—droppings from a creature of this size should be unmistakable—or footprints from which to make plaster casts. The greatest prize would be a good photograph. With strong evidence, he could request help from the university, from the paleontologists he knew, from the entire academic and scientific community. Without such evidence, however, he was still chasing after a myth, and such professional people had no time for any more Sasquatches, Yetis, or Loch Ness monsters.

  At any rate, having taken the leap and having accepted the existence of the creature and its basic description—he marveled at that development alone—he was willing to postulate that the creature was a nonextinct flying dinosaur. The famed Loch Ness monster, if it existed, was thought by many to be a prehistoric species that had managed to survive the millennia in the great depths of Loch Ness. Steve could theorize that the “Hyde River dragon” had managed to survive in these mountains because of its nocturnal habits, its below-ground habitat, and its unique and uncanny ability to conceal itself—an ability yet to be explained.

  Steve tried to remain objective, but he was getting excited despite himself. The possibilities were absolutely staggering!

  There had to be more than one if the species had survived from prehistoric times; perhaps there was a whole colony of them nesting under the mountain somewhere. Perhaps the creature really was carnivorous, a cunning hunter. Perhaps, in addition to wild game, it had also acquired a taste for human flesh, which would not be unusual. If so, the Coincidence Theory could make sense after all. A bear didn’t fit the theory too well, but a carnivorous dinosaur could fit nicely, coming back regularly to Old Town knowing it might find lone, distracted humans there, ready for the eating.

  From these premises it was easy to see where all the myths and legends of Hyde River came from, and how those myths and legends served to conceal the creature’s existence from the outside world. A quirk of evolution, an anomaly, had fallen into the hands of simple people, and they’d attached moral, even spiritual significance to it. Like ancient pagans who worshiped the sun, they were worshiping and fearing something they didn’t understand.

  Disturbing. Awesome. Incredible. Steve had to get back into those mountains. He had to learn more, and quickly! He—

  The knock on the camper door was gentle, but it still made him jump. He was irritated at the interruption, then curious. These days, he never knew who might be outside this door. Or what their motive might be. He double-checked the accessibility of his . 357 and then asked, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Sara, Dr. Benson. I’ve got someone here to see you.”

  Sara, the lady who ran the RV park. He opened the door.

  She was standing next to a tall, lanky, Lincolnesque character dressed in work clothes. “Dr. Benson, this is Reverend Woods from Hyde River. He’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” said the minister.

  “No. Come on in.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good luck, Reverend,” Sara said, walking away. Steve wondered what she meant by that.

  Steve put away his maps and cleared a seat for Woods to sit down. “To what do I owe this visit?” Steve asked, pulling two cans of soda from the small refrigerator and offering one to the minister.

  “Thanks.” Woods seemed uncomfortable. “I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this.”

  “You’ve obviously got something on your mind.”

  Ron Woods was looking around the camper as if unable to meet Steve’s eyes. “Well, yes, I do.”

  Steve was still wondering about Sara’s “good luck” comment. “Did Sara ask you to come over?”

  “Oh, no, no,” he said quickly. “I called her to find out where I might locate you. Then when I got here she showed me where you were parked, that’s all. But she’s a longtime resident of Hyde Valley,” he added, “and she picks up on things. She’s concerned.”

  “Concerned about what?”

  His words were measured, cautious. “Well, Dr. Benson, let me lay some groundwork first, would that be all right?”

  “Sure.”

  “First of all, I’m here to speak for myself and no one else. Second, I’m sure you’ve had a chance to feel out this valley, and you’ve gotten a sense of how the people respond to strangers, to outsiders—”

  “Oh, in many ways, yes,” Steve said, hoping he didn’t sound too sarcastic.

  “All right, so maybe this will make sense to you: Dr. Benson, I would be less than honest if I didn’t tell you that—” He wasn’t quite sure how to say it. “I think you might be putting yourself in danger.”

  For Steve this was no big surprise. “I’m listening.”

  Woods continued, “I’ve—I’ve been around the town, talked to some folks, heard things. People confide in me, you know. Anyway, I’ve gotten a clear picture that the town right now is far from tranquil. These people have a lot of deep-seated traditions and fears, and they seem to regard you as a threat to those traditions.”

  Let’s get to it, Steve thought. “Are you talking about the dragon, perchance?”

  Woods actually chuckled with relief. Now he wouldn’t have to cover all that ground. “Yes, that is part of it, bizarre as it may sound.”

  “Oh, it’s bizarre, all right. But listen: You need to realize, and maybe you can help them realize, I’m not here to violate any of their traditions. I’m only trying to find whatever animal is responsible for killing my brother.” Steve knew that was no longer the only reason, but it was reason enough for now. He knew too little about Woods to trust him with any more than that.

  Woods stared at Steve, puzzled. “But—I understand you shot a grizzly.”

  “It’s a long story, but the evidence we gathered virtually eliminates a grizzly as the culprit.”

  “So, you’re not hunting for a particular bear?”

  “No.”

  Woods studied him for a moment, and then his face began to show a rising incredulity. “You don’t think—are you thinking there really is a dragon?”

  Steve admitted, “Well, I wouldn’t call it a dragon. But I am exploring the possibility
of a creature that could be construed to be a dragon.”

  “Ohhh. No wonder people are upset.” He shook his head, visibly dismayed. “Oh, Dr. Benson, I am sorry. You’ve been led astray.” He smiled, partly from amusement, partly from embarrassment. “You’ve been talking to Levi Cobb, am I correct?”

  “Among others, yes.”

  “Oooo-kay.”

  “Just what is it about Levi Cobb that elicits such reactions from people?” Steve asked.

  “That’s a difficult question,” Woods said. “Levi is—well, first of all, he’s a part of the town. I mean, he is a child of Hyde River, with all its beliefs and fears and superstitions. He had a rough life before he embraced religion—lots of fights, drinking—we won’t get into that. He goes to my church, and we love him; we put up with him, but, I’m sure you’ve noticed, he is one dogmatic character. He tends to see everything in black and white, right and wrong, true and false, and—well, if I were to define him, I would say he’s a Hyde River religionist. He holds to a dogmatic theology with all the Hyde River mythology mixed in. So he sees the mythological dragon in religious terms, and he’ll preach about it to anyone who will listen—which at this point is no one in the town, except you.

  “And if you listen to him long enough, he’ll eventually try to make a convert out of you. This is why so many people dislike him, and I hate to say this, but guilt by association does work around here. People see you with Levi, and they equate you, they put you in the same camp.”

  Steve laughed.

  “It really is serious,” Woods insisted.

  Steve couldn’t stop himself from laughing again. “Levi Cobb and I in the same camp!” Then he said, “All right, sure, it’s serious. But can you see it from my perspective? Here I am, a wildlife biologist, alone in this area, and my brother’s been killed by some sort of creature, and I want to find out what it is. Now I find I’m offending people because they’ve made a religion out of whatever this creature is and because I’m associating with someone they don’t like. I have a hard time understanding that.”

  Woods took a sip of his soft drink, then asked. “Have you heard of the Hyde River massacre?”

  “Something to do with Indians?”

  “No. There were no Native Americans involved.”

  “Hmm. Well, tell me about it.”

  “Like everything else in Hyde River, it’s a closely kept secret. Some of the older folks know about it but won’t discuss it, not even with their children, so the memory is fading with the generations. As I’ve been able to piece it together, there was a major disturbance, a fight, a riot, something like that, back in 1882. Two different factions were fighting for control of the town and all the mineral wealth. One of the factions was led by Benjamin Hyde and his family. The other faction was . . . well, we may never know who they were because they were all wiped out, murdered. But that all took place on July 19, 1882. That’s when the Hyde faction gained full control of the town and wrote up a new charter, which they all signed.”

  Steve raised an eyebrow. “Ah, now that’s the part Harold Bly didn’t mention.”

  Woods’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, you know about this?”

  “Only about the town’s charter being signed. I saw the portrait of Benjamin Hyde in Harold Bly’s house, and I saw the table with the date carved in it.”

  “Ah, yes, that’s right. I suppose Harold Bly told you he’s a direct descendant of the town’s founder?”

  “Oh, yes. He seemed pretty proud of that.”

  Woods’s expression went a little sour. “It’s nothing to be proud of. It was a terrible day. A lot of people died, and while their bodies were still warm, Hyde and his cronies gathered in Hyde Hall and signed that charter with the blood of the people they’d killed. Now that’s a pretty gruesome way to start a town, and I believe it’s that heritage, that bloody beginning, that has given rise to the fears and superstitions.”

  “What about the Oath, the whole secrecy thing?”

  Woods nodded with recollection. “That goes back to the charter. The signers of the charter took an oath of secrecy that they would never betray the town’s dark secrets to outsiders, and that tradition has stuck. That’s why so little is known about the massacre to this day and why people still conceal things and won’t involve the authorities. The town settles things its own way.”

  “Tracy Ellis told me a little about that,” Steve said. “But I’m curious now about that charter. Is there a copy around?”

  “Levi claims to have a copy. I don’t know if it’s genuine, but he swears it is. He’s collected a lot of old documents over the years. It’s part of his obsession with all this.”

  “So does the charter explain any of this?”

  Woods shook his head. “I read it—that is, I’ve read the copy Levi has—but it said nothing about the specific acts that were shrouded behind the Oath. As I recall, it was basically a declaration of the settlers’ aspirations and dreams, the common goals that held them together. The signers asserted their inherent goodness and wisdom—”

  “Inherent goodness?”

  Woods smiled. “Well, of course. There were statements to the effect that they could build the town and run it by themselves, falling back on their own wisdom and resources, and that’s not an unusual attitude; it’s the typical pioneer spirit. But as for any details on what happened or any confession of wrongdoing—it’s all buried with that generation, and it’s been kept under wraps ever since.

  “Anyway, this is why people are so sensitive about strangers asking questions, and so afraid of Old Town, and have superstitions about Hyde Hall, and are afraid of Harold Bly—”

  “I certainly got the impression that people are afraid of Harold Bly,” Steve said. “I know he’s a powerful man in the town and all, but people’s fears seem to go beyond that. Why are they so afraid?”

  “He’s a descendant of the original Hyde clan, and so all the curses and superstitions and secrets are still associated with him. You wouldn’t believe the rumors that go around: that he once danced with the devil, or that the devil lives in Hyde Hall and Harold Bly has lunch with him on occasion, or that the dragon is the devil’s pet and it knows Harold and obeys him. It’s all rubbish, of course. But in that town, it works, and I think he enjoys it.”

  “When I spoke to him, he made it sound like it was a real hassle for him.”

  Woods smirked. “Don’t believe Bly. He enjoys it. People cower around him, and that gives him power. As far as I’m concerned, the dragon is Harold Bly’s way of ruling the town through fear.” Woods stopped to draw a deep breath. “And that’s why I’m here, to—enlighten you, I suppose, to let you know that you’ve been drawn into the middle of something that is not going to be worth the trouble—and I mean a lot of trouble. Now, I know Levi can make the dragon sound like it’s just as real as you and I sitting here. To hear some people tell it, that dragon lives right up in the mountains, and all you have to do is go up there and take a look and you’ll see it. But trust me, the dragon is a myth, a tale that grew out of Hyde River’s sordid past.”

  “How?”

  “How? How what?”

  “Well, okay, you’ve got murder and greed and grabbing for land and power. I can understand that those things lead to superstitions, fears, and a code of silence. But a dragon? How do you get a dragon to pop up in the middle of all this?”

  Woods shook his head. “The Hydes again. I think it’s a scare tactic they concocted a century ago, and it’s worked ever since. As for why it works so well, I have my theories.”

  “Let’s hear them.”

  “I think there may be a lingering guilt, a sense of participation in what happened a hundred years ago. The tradition of silence won’t let people talk about it, so they can’t deal with it. In a way, I think they’re punishing themselves with this imaginary beast. The dragon is retribution for what happened over a hundred years ago, and, I suppose, anything else that’s happened since then.”

  Steve digested that
a moment. “So you’re saying there’s no such thing?”

  “It’s real in people’s hearts and minds, and that’s one of the reasons people are so upset right now. The way I see it, the dragon is an embodiment of guilt feelings. That’s why, if an outsider like you comes into town and starts asking about the dragon or hunting it, they feel as if someone is prying into their inner secrets, their hidden faults. Let’s face it. Nobody likes that.”

  Steve thought that over and then asked, “Well, what if there really was a dragon? Wouldn’t those people be glad to be rid of it?”

  “There isn’t one.”

  “But I’m saying, if there was, wouldn’t they want to be rid of it?”

  “I know this may sound strange,” Woods said, “but I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? Why would they want to keep a creature around that eats them up?”

  “It goes back to guilt again,” Woods answered. “It’s a psychological thing.”

  My brother must have felt awfully guilty, Steve thought.

  Reverend Woods stood. “I think I’ve taken up enough of your time,” he said. “I hope you’ll think over what I’ve told you.”

  Steve stood and extended his hand. “I will,” he said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  At the door of the camper, Reverend Woods turned and said, “I also hope you’ll keep the town’s traditions in mind. And,” he added, “be careful.”

  “I will,” Steve said. “To both.” He watched the minister walk away, then closed the door and grabbed another soda out of the refrigerator. He put it back. Reverend Woods was gone now. He grabbed a beer. Then he sat down to think things over.

  So Bly must have concocted that tale about the Indians being responsible for the massacre. Tracy’d never heard the tale, and Woods had contradicted it. Steve could understand a descendant of Benjamin Hyde wanting to hide his ancestors’ hideous sins. Besides that, Steve didn’t like Bly anyway, so Bly could be a liar without damaging Steve’s impression of him.

  As for Reverend Woods’s insistence that the dragon was a myth, that raised another nagging question. Was he protesting too loudly? Considering the weight of Steve’s own recent experiences and observations, Woods’s denials rang a little hollow. If nothing else, the minister seemed to be right in sync with the rest of the town. If there was a dragon, he was helping the town protect and hide it.