Will quietly stood in the doorway, absorbing as much of the conversation as he could.
“On the way out of the office, Sheriff Stout tells me a couple of swimmers—teenagers—were attacked this afternoon downriver.” Dan gnawed on the temple of his glasses. “They’re trying to keep it quiet. One of the kids is missing. The other swimmers say they saw something big in the water. They claim their friend was, uh…pulled underwater by a thing with arms. Like a croc or a gator.”
“Do you think it could be alligators?” Deborah wondered.
“We’ve never had gators in the river. We’re too far north. But here’s the worst part.” Dan lowered his voice and cupped his mouth so the younger kids couldn’t hear. “Stout told me that along the shore they found bits of—” His eyes traveled beyond Deborah. “Eavesdropping isn’t polite, son,” Dan said, staring at Will.
Deborah threw an arm around Will and kissed him on the head. “How was your day, big guy?”
“Punishing,” Will said, glaring at his father and taking a seat at the table.
“Well, I’m glad you’re home,” Dan said earnestly. He put his glasses on and turned back to Deborah. “Anyway, who knows what’s in that water. And there is no way to offer real solutions if we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
“Just like the things that hit the roof today, Daddy?” Marin asked.
Dan Wilder’s jaw muscles started to flex. “Th-th-that—that’s different.”
“What things hit the roof today?” Deborah asked Marin, delivering two more plates to the table.
“Me and Leo were watching TV and there was a thud, thud, thudding noise.”
Will sat straight up in his seat, all ears.
“It sounded like rocks were hitting the house,” Leo added. “They were coming down three at a time.”
“Why don’t we eat?” Dan said, placing his folders on the floor and grabbing his fork.
“Daddy went up on the roof and looked. But he wasn’t for sure what it was,” Marin volunteered.
Deborah studied Leo’s and Marin’s faces as she sat down at the end of the shellacked oak table. “What was it, Dan?”
He started eating and didn’t look up. “I don’t know.”
Deborah and the children said grace. Dan continued eating.
After several minutes Will broke the silence. “So something hit the house, but you’re not sure what it was? What’d you see, Dad?”
“How much gardening did you get done today, son?” Dan casually asked, eyeing Will.
“Dug a hole, buried a stick in the heat, and learned a little bit about the relic of St. Thomas.”
“You didn’t go near the river, did you?” Dan asked.
“The yard is right next to the river, but I didn’t go swimming if that’s what you mean.”
“I’d keep away from the water, son. I think some fish or reptile population is out of control.”
Deborah pushed the hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her right ear. “So, tell us about the relic. Did you see it?”
“Please, let’s not encourage…” Dan grimaced and shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth. Each bite was like a protest against the current conversation.
“Don’t mind him, Will. Tell the rest of us about the relic.”
“I didn’t see it, but I’d like to. Mr. Shen said it has miraculous powers.”
Dan scowled at Deborah.
Will set his fork aside and got serious. “Do you think it’s real, Mom?”
Deborah nodded. “I do. It has a fascinating history. I did a Supernatural Secrets episode on the relic years ago. People say that the relic and the intercession of St. Thomas keep the river in check. But it’s not a good luck charm or anything. It’s the faith of the people.”
“Oh, I know, Aunt Lucille explained it to me….” The stern look on Dan Wilder’s face caused Will to stifle the rest.
Dan struck the table with his palm, shaking the dishes. “We are not going to talk about superstitious claptrap at this table,” he said, seething. “Do you all understand?”
Deborah cooed, “He has a right to ask questions about the artifacts. Your grandfather spent his life preserving them.”
There was a smoldering fire in Dan’s eyes, which he trained on his wife. “I don’t want him knowing all that foolishness, Deborah. ‘A relic is a key to unlock our faith,’ ” he said sarcastically, before turning to Will. “I know what they’re telling you. It’s tall tales and legends.” He tapped his finger on the table. “You be respectful of your aunt Lucille, but don’t accept everything she says as the truth. The truth is what we can see and touch. That’s real, Will. All the rest is make-believe—stories made up and passed on by people too afraid to accept reality. This is reality.” He patted his hand on the tabletop. “This is reality. I can see it; I can feel it. Put your trust in what you can verify.”
“But there are things we can’t see and touch, like love and electricity and sound waves,” Deborah told Will. “Just because you can’t see or touch things doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Many people, including your mother, believe there is a world we can’t see or touch but can feel at times. I have seen the effects of that world on too many lives. When I am in the middle of an interview and a person tells me they found hope when everything seemed lost, or that an inexplicable thing happened just when they needed it most, or how their son or daughter was healed when the doctors said it wasn’t possible…I can’t dismiss that as make-believe. Those people are witnesses to the power of belief—of the divine. And their experiences are just as valid and real as any physical encounter.”
“Deborah, please. That’s emotionalism.” Dan petulantly stabbed at his food. “This is like having dinner at Oprah Winfrey’s house.”
THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.
The sounds were coming from somewhere down the hall. No one at the table moved. The thunks swiftly became louder and more frequent. Whatever the source of the noise, it was not coming from outside, but from the direction of the den. The sound vibrated through the walls of the house. Will’s breathing quickened. He moved to get up, but Dan pressed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into his seat.
“Stay there. All of you stay where you are,” Dan ordered, moving down the hall toward the den.
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Leo said in an undertone.
THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.
THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.
Swiveling in his chair, Will saw two shadows form in the upper corners of the wall opposite him. Suddenly, like spilled varnish, the shadows slid down the face of the wall and moved into the hallway, as if trailing after his father. Despite Deborah’s objections, Will leapt from the table and chased the shadows toward the den.
Dan Wilder stood outside the open doors of the family room, his hands clutching the back of his neck, trembling. Will could see shells, fish bones, rocks, and dead beetles raining down in zigzag patterns all over the den. The sofa, the carpet—everything—was covered in slimy green river trash. A moldy stench filled the hall. The bottom of the river is in our family room. The stuff continued hailing down at weird angles.
“Why is this happening? Where is it coming from, Dad?” Will sputtered.
“The ceiling,” Dan squeaked. When Will bent down, he could see the refuse materializing from the ceiling, leaving no holes. Dan slammed the den’s double doors shut, as if blocking the horrible scene would somehow make it go away. But Will could still hear the terrible plopping and crackling of trash and dead things pelting their furniture inside. The sound seemed to intensify throughout the house.
The kids and Deborah could hear it as well. Marin unleashed a high-pitched scream that cut through Will’s very being. When he looked back to the kitchen, a flood of twinkling lights, like those he had seen at Peniel, came rushing in his direction. He ducked as the mass of illumination flew down the hall and pushed past him and his father. The flickering lights passed through the seams in the double doors and vanished. Will ran to the doors and clutched
the flat knobs.
“Don’t, son,” Dan warned. Will was scared, but not enough to keep him from seeing what was inside. He ripped the doors open.
The flickering lights were gently disintegrating into the windows and up the chimney, and there before him was an immaculate den. Not a hint of a bone or a shell or anything out of the ordinary remained. Will scurried behind the chairs and peeked in between the leather sofa and the wall for some evidence of what he had seen only moments before.
“Dad, you saw it, right?”
“Our imaginations are powerful things, Will.”
“You saw it! You said it was coming from the ceiling.”
“I don’t see anything, son. Do you?” Dan walked back to the kitchen, smoothing the hair protruding from the side of his head. “It was probably a car backfiring,” he told his pale children at the table. “Or…it could have been anything. Let’s finish dinner.”
He returned to his seat. The sweat around his forehead caught Deborah’s attention.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
“He saw the whole thing,” Will yelled, pointing at his father. “There were shells and beetles and…”
“You’re scaring everybody with your stories, Will. How about you call it a night and go to bed,” Dan said.
“Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow?” Deborah offered, taking Will’s hand.
“I know what I saw and so do you,” Will sputtered to his father, droplets forming in his eyes.
“Sit down and finish eating?” Deborah begged.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” Will said, pouting. “I have some summer reading to do, and then I have to get up early to plant more trees.” Will stormed out of the room, grabbing his pith helmet in one hand and his backpack in the other.
Charging up the stairs, Will overheard Leo and Marin questioning their father about the weird sounds they had all clearly heard. But Dan provided no direct explanation and suggested that an early bedtime was in order for them as well.
In his bedroom, Will pulled his great-grandfather’s green journal from his book bag, topped the bedpost with his pith helmet, and flopped onto the mattress. Under the sheets he devoured the pages of the little book with the help of a strategically positioned flashlight. Most of the notes contained lists of stones and metals used to construct various sections of St. Thomas Church. Between the pages there were invoices charged to Wilder Mining, the old family company that his great-grandfather had used to finance the building. It was hard for Will to decipher Jacob Wilder’s tight scrawl or make sense of his sketches, but he determinedly plowed ahead, looking for something, anything, about the relic.
Finally, near the back of the book, he came across detailed notes about “the Undercroft,” a subterranean series of chambers beneath the church that led to “the Keep.” The Keep! Just as Mr. Shen said. Will studied the diagrams and notes, trying to visualize each of the rooms leading to the Keep. The only problem was: nowhere did the book show how to get into the Undercroft. Just as he began reading the final pages, sleep got the better of him. Will’s face fell against the pages, and his flashlight tumbled off the bed. Soon his snores filled the room.
Outside, at 11:35 that night, Dan Wilder’s slippers scraped across the driveway. Exiting his garage wearing a gray T-shirt and blue striped pajama bottoms, he carried an aluminum ladder and a flashlight. He propped the ladder against the side of the house, near the den. Quietly he climbed to check on the piles of shells and bones that had fallen from the sky earlier that day. He was sure he had seen them. He had scooped them from the gutter with his own hands—hadn’t he? But a little verification never hurt anyone. Standing on a rung near the top of the ladder, he shone the flashlight on the roof. Nothing. He directed the beam of light down the gutter. It too was completely empty. Dan quickly descended, passing the light over the grass where he had seen the debris fall from the roofline. It was clear as well.
Assured that no proof existed to confirm the afternoon disturbance, he breathed easier for the first time that night. It must have been a hallucination, he tried to convince himself. He ignored his lingering anxiety and headed inside, checking the den one last time before going to bed.
Had Dan Wilder stayed outside and turned his flashlight a bit farther down the lawn toward Heinrich Crinshaw’s house, he might have seen the mounds of wriggling river scraps that had pounded his roof and occupied his den. A long trail of bones, beetles, shells, and wood now jerked down the alley toward a street drain—returning to its source.
The moment he leapt from his bunk bed that Tuesday morning, Will picked up his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. When he found Andrew Stout’s name, he pressed a button and up popped a digital picture of his hearty redheaded pal. Will texted him:
Can u meet at Bub’s Treats and Sweets at 3? Sorry I can’t bike today, but need your help.
He texted a similar message to Simon Blabbingdale and Cami Meriwether. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he collected his pith helmet and his book bag and headed downstairs.
“You’re up bright and early,” Deborah said, pouring cereal for the kids, still in her purple nightgown.
“Gotta go plant my trees.” Will kissed his mother on the cheek.
“Do you want to talk about yesterday? What you saw? Did you see the old ‘fuzzy’ things?”
“No. Dad knows what I saw. Ask him.”
Deborah exhaled. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with the two of you. Dad left about ten minutes ago. I’m headed to Peniel later to scope out a new exhibit that I might feature on the TV show, so dinner could be a little late.”
“Works for me, Mom. I’ll see you later.”
Deborah straightened his pith helmet and gave him a long hug.
Will grabbed a granola bar and was out the door, beginning the six-block trek to St. Thomas Church. It was one of those steamy days. Will could almost taste the moisture of the river in his mouth and feel it on his face. He was less than excited by the idea of doing hard labor in this weather for two weeks. But the thought of whittling the punishment down to a few days didn’t seem so bad. During the walk, his phone blinged three times.
Andrew and Simon texted that they would see him at the ice cream parlor that afternoon. Cami was more cagey:
Since it’s summer, I know u don’t want homework assist. Y all the mystery? What do u need help with?
Will typed with one hand as he walked:
Come at 3 and find out!
Like the others, Cami relented and finally agreed to meet him at Bub’s:
As long as the ice cream is on u!
Will laughed, dropping the phone into his backpack.
Tobias Shen was already hard at work in the St. Thomas churchyard by the time Will reached the end of Falls Road. The stubby man was dragging the last of the trees into place for planting.
Shen laughed when he caught sight of Will. Pointing to the lopsided stick protruding from the earth, he said, “If you’re going to bury a stick, at least bury it straight so people don’t think you’re crazy.” Brushing his hands together, the old man continued to snicker to himself.
Will’s good mood evaporated. Was Mr. Shen calling him crazy? Shen was doing exactly what the Captain had warned Will about: demanding that he perform a ridiculous chore, then mocking him for it later! For a moment Will’s face flushed with anger.
“Why are you so sour? I did half the job, Mr. Wilder,” Shen said, indicating the trees scattered around the yard. “Though I saved the best part for you. Dig, dig, dig. When you finish digging holes, I’ll come help hoist the trees.”
Will squinted at the old man. He desperately wanted to tell Shen that he could plant his own stick next time—plant a whole yard full of sticks. But he held his tongue, calmed by the thought that this would soon be over once he had the relic. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Ahhh. This is progress,” Shen announced, a satisfied smile on his face. “Obedience, Mr. Wilder, is the beginning of true growth
. Dig, dig, dig, and keep your distance from the river. Death runs through those waters.”
“I saw some dead fish when I was going home yesterday,” Will said, picking up the shovel.
“Nature is in rebellion. The river is verrrry dangerous now.” He pointed a wrinkled finger at Will for emphasis. “I’ll go clean the church—the visiting priest made a mess in the sacristy. When you finish digging your holes, we’ll plant together, yes?”
“Sure,” Will said, jamming the blade of the shovel into the turf.
“Very good, Mr. Wilder. We also can speak of your great-grandfather when I return.” Shen shuffled up the path to the church, his legs moving stiffly.
Will did as he was told. Within minutes his allergies ambushed him. He muffled the sneezes with one of the eight tissues he had shoved in his pocket that morning just in case. As he lifted the dirt from the ground, he kept an anxious eye on the river, hoping Captain Balor would appear.
Sweat dripped from beneath his pith helmet as the hours passed. Will’s thoughts turned resentful. Why was he baking in the sun while Mr. Shen got to enjoy the cool of the church? Why wasn’t Leo being punished? After all, Leo had given Will permission to ride the donkey so he could test the catapult. And what about Simon and Andrew? They had bet him that he wouldn’t do it. They were all partly responsible. Now while Will dug holes in the blazing sun, Leo was enjoying himself at home watching TV in the air-conditioning; his friends were out playing; Aunt Lucille, who was responsible for this gardening expedition, was kicking back at Peniel; and his dad was cool as a cucumber at city hall. Will violently jammed the blade of the shovel into the earth with his heel.
“Will! Will, lad, where are ye?” a voice urgently called from the riverside.
Will threw down the shovel and scampered to the edge of the yard. He glanced down the slope that led to the river. There on the gravelly shore stood Captain Nep Balor, his toadlike face filled with excitement. His massive hand yanked at the air, gesturing for Will to come his way.
Will Wilder Page 7