by Carol Weekes
“What do you know about it?” he countered.
“You willing to roll down your window and talk directly to me? I’m a harmless old woman. It isn’t me you have to be afraid of, Mr. Cobb. It’s my husband and who he cavorts with. I’m only here to talk to you because I’m old, I’m dying with the cancer, and I’ve lived with this secret for the last number of years. I even called the police about it at first, but they didn’t believe me. Told me I should think about seeing a doctor.” She tapped one temple with an index finger. “They think it’s all in my head. Animals going missing all the time, including people’s pets. Street people disappearing. Soon enough, it’ll be someone’s family taken.”
Terry debated. “Okay, you can get in the truck.” He unlocked the passenger door and let Emily Gerhard step inside. “Now, you tell me what’s going on. What about your husband?”
Emily sighed and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m only here because I heard you have trouble, and I know what that trouble is. Twenty years ago Duane…that’s my husband, and I got the well serviced. We’d been having problems with the water. A lot of iron in the rock around here; it tainted everything. Called in a local well driller to fix the problem. They came out and drilled and for a while everything seemed fine. Then, the water started tasting bad again. Real bad. I stopped drinking it when I started to get an itch on my skin, but Duane brushed me off and said I was being too fussy. He kept on drinking it, but I only used it for watering the plants around the garden and such.
One day, three years ago, I went to get garden water and when I pumped, it was blood that came out of that spout, Mr. Cobb. Not water, and not mud. Blood. I know blood when I see it. I grew up on a farm, and my daddy used to slaughter our cows, pigs, and chickens. What came out of that spout was pure, fresh blood. I dropped my watering can and went screaming all the way back to the house for Duane to come see. He did. He told me to go back to the house to get cleaned up. He got some tools and took the cover off the well so that he could shine a light down there to see what might be up. Told me some animal must have gotten into the well and was breaking apart. He said he’d get it taken care of.
“Well, he didn’t come back to the house for two hours. Finally, when the supper hour came around, I walked back down there to see what he was up to. The sun was setting. It was late summer, August, and everything had this sheen of gold about it. I came around the corner of the field and saw Duane standing in front of the well. Its cover was clean off and his tools were scattered around him. He was standing with his back to me, and his hands were in a praying position, held up in front of his chest. He was mumbling something. I got closer and I heard a few of his words here and there. He was speaking in some language I’d never heard before. Something old. Then I saw him walk around the other side of the well and pick something up from the ground. I saw he had a dead rabbit in his hands. He drops the rabbit into the well. I said ‘Duane, what are you up to?’ Well, he looks up at the sound of my voice, but his eyes were different. His eyes caught the glare of the sun and for that moment, it looked like his insides were on fire, the way a candle reflects at night. He didn’t seem to know me. We stood there, man and woman who’d been married for over forty years, and he’s staring at me the way a mean dog will look at a squirrel or cat it wants to take down.”
Terry shifted in his seat. He tapped a cigarette out of its package. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Go ahead,” Emily said, her voice soft. “I used to do it too. That’s what got me. Better than him getting me.”
“Go on,” Terry urged her on. “I’m listening.”
Emily picked up. “I shouted ‘Duane! What’s wrong with you? That’s when I saw something come out of the well behind him, this shadow that rose like thick smoke. The dead rabbit came up with the smoke and it was shredded like something had torn it apart with its teeth. Duane dropped his head back and opened his mouth. That smoke started going into him, Mr. Cobb. It entered him, like some kind of reverse tornado that pushed instead of sucked. Next thing I know, Duane goes for the remains of the rabbit. He starts chewing on it, tearing at the bones and hair with his teeth, blood running down his chin and neck. He’s looking at me the entire time he’s doing this until there was nothing left of that rabbit. Then, he came for me, feral as a rabid dog.”
“My God…” Terry began, horrified. “What did you do?”
“I ran, Mr. Cobb. I ran back to the house as fast as these old legs could carry me. I got there just seconds ahead of him and slammed the door in his face, locking it. I went through the place, slamming windows shut and locking them too, him following me from one to the other, hurling himself at the glass to get in. His eyes were still electric, with blood smearing glass wherever he hit with his fists. I called the police and told them to get out here—that my husband had lost his mind and was after me. By the time they arrived, some twenty minutes later, he was gone. I told them what happened; Duane in front of the well and about this cloud that came out of the thing. They didn’t believe that part at all. In fact, I think they figured I must have been mad and that my husband had finally snapped on me for it. They looked around for him and couldn’t find him. They left without doing anything.”
Her hands shook. “Maybe I’ll take your offer of a smoke, Mr. Cobb.”
“S-sure,” Terry handed her the pack and his lighter.
“What you saw, Mr. Cobb, was either my husband…what’s left of him…or the power that got into him in the first place and changed him. It’s old, it’s bad.”
“What is this power?” Terry asked.
Emily lit her cigarette and took a long drag like a woman familiar with the pleasure of a smoke. She explained what she’d learned about the history of the land around their home. “Seems that the original owners of the house, a Zachary and Bernadette Waters, had been involved in some unsavory practices back at the turn of the century. He’d been a prosecutor for local trials. Back then, petty criminals were often condemned to death, sometimes for crimes they didn’t do. I dug deep for this information, Mr. Cobb. I started talking to townsfolk who, at first, wouldn’t divulge a thing. Finally, I found one woman in town who put me on to a great-nephew of the Waters. He wasn’t going to talk until I came out and told him what was going on with my husband and that, if he didn’t help me, I’d send my husband after him. I said to this younger Waters ‘You can call me crazy all you want, but you can come out here and I’ll show you what happens at that well. You’ll see the blood for yourself.’”
“So what did he do?” Terry prodded her. “I’m afraid for my family. I’ve seen it…this thing. Is it your husband?”
“It could be him. It could be Waters or his wife. Waters and his wife had taken on the practice of drinking blood. They were part of a club, a secret club in town who’d gather to do this sort of thing. They’d capture wild animals or steal local pets. But, as Waters’ nephew finally admitted to me, they loved nothing better than human blood. It supposedly brought a special kind of power to them—that whatever they took from, they possessed its best attributes, be it good or evil. Seems they found a particular succulence drinking the blood of other men and women. That’s where some of the local prisoners came in, those sentenced to death. All of them terrified; all of them pleading for their lives…all of them vowing revenge as they died. They weren’t executed in traditional style, Mr. Cobb. They were taken out into the woods and slaughtered, used, and their bodies hurled into that same well that sat fresh and new on the Waters’ land. Convenient it was; a hundred feet down it drops if it drops a foot and no one questioning a figure of authority back then. People were told these prisoners were buried in an unmarked grave deserving of murderers. Think of it. Killers calling the kettle black. It went on for years.”
“Unbelievable,” Terry muttered. “No, not your story!” he exclaimed when he saw Emily’s face. “Just the facts of what happened.”
Emily nodded, grim. “Duane came back a few days later. Quiet, moody, changed from what he was. He starte
d going down to the well all the time with animals he’d caught in traps, offering them to the darkness in the well. He wished for things with his tokens; for money, for longevity. We came into money in odd ways for a while…an inheritance from an aunt of his who just up and died without good medical cause; insurance from an automobile accident when some car, without reason, suddenly swerved and slammed into Duane, killing the driver but Duane walking away without injury. Blood money, I called it. That’s when things between him and I got really ugly. He laughed at me when I threatened to expose him. He said, ‘go ahead; see who believes you. You bring them down here and all they’ll find is rank well water with too much iron in it. Guess where the iron comes from?’ He came home less and less. One day I found his body half in, half out of the well…torn to shreds like some big animal had gotten him. Maybe he wanted to die. He’d become completely devoted to them, getting fresh meat for them—whenever they wanted. He’d become one of them.
“You sell this house, Mr. Cobb. Put it back on the market and get your family out of here. I tried destroying that well. I poured poison into it. I used holy water. I even tried setting off dynamite in it…Duane kept the stuff around to get rid of boulders out in the fields…nothing worked. Every time I took a stand against it, it took a stand against me. They got into the house, into the pipes, into the foundation, into the core of my home. Accidents, mishaps, and now the sickness. So, I left while I could. But I can’t sit here and watch this happening to another family.”
Terry’s fingers shook as he finished his cigarette. He looked at Emily. “So what am I supposed to do? You’re telling me dead people are in my well, and that they still move about. My wife wanted this house. She loves it.”
“You love your wife and boy? You leave with them. You go now while you’re all still safe. The Waters, Duane, and the others they associated with…they’re in the ground, in the ground water, in the soil, in the property. You can’t get rid of them. They’re in every cell, every ounce of soil, every rain drop here, Mr. Cobb. I have nothing else to tell you, except leave with your family while you still can. All I’ve ever told is the truth. I hope you’ll believe me instead of just thinking me another senile old woman who’s lost her mind. You can take my advice any way you like. Thank you for the smoke. I bid you good day.”
Emily got out of the truck and shut the door. Terry watched her walk away in the reflection of his rearview mirror. He smoked another two cigarettes once she disappeared around the bend, and he mused over what Emily had told him. He wanted to scoff, but the gooseflesh along his arms told him otherwise.
* * *
Twilight, the sky clear and freckled with stars. Terry made his way down to the well with the body of a young mourning dove that he’d hit by accident in the road while driving into town after Emily had left. He’d gone to the beer store to get a six-pack; he needed to quell himself. Jan had taken Cory into the village to get Cory a new pair of running shoes. She’d come home with two more bills; more than they had the money to pay that month. He felt desperate.
He stood in front of the well he’d just boarded over, and using a pry bar, removed one of the boards. He tossed it aside to the ground and stood before the dark, foul hole, containing the toxic ground waters and the remnants of killers.
“I don’t want to become one of you,” he said, making his wish. “I just want some extra money so that I can take care of my family. Okay? So, I’m offering a small thing. A little favor for a little extra money. If you want more meat, I’ll get you meat. I’ll get you blood.”
He left the dove’s body on the boards and stepped away from the well. Within a minute something approached through tall grass opposite him, and when it stepped out into the moonlight, Terry knew that it was the entity that had been Emily Gerhard’s husband. He was naked, his skin as slimy as his soul, his eyes filled with the light of greed, pestilence, and…admiration.
“So…you aren’t so chickenshit, after all,” Gerhard told him, its teeth shining like pearly needles behind its blackened, wet lips. “The bigger the gift, the bigger the prize. Bring something larger if you want to keep your home.” Its breath stank of decay.
Two days later Terry discovered he’d won several hundred dollars on a chance lottery ticket he’d purchased on a whim earlier that week. He returned to the wishing well that evening, this time with a young buck he’d shot in the woods that morning.
“It’s bigger,” he told the things in the well. “How big do you need for me to be able to pay off my house? I need three hundred thousand dollars just for that. Okay? Just that. I’ll be able to afford the rest.” He left the deer on the wood and watched as its body was dragged over the edge, followed by a splash of fresh blood as they dug into it.
His bank account read an extra ten thousand dollars a day later. Better, but not good enough. Terry sat and thought about what he might be able to offer next that would bring about the kind of money they needed to pay off the house. Cougar perhaps? Bear? Jan came into the room behind him and lovingly stroked his head.
“You seem so lost in thought these days,” she murmured and kissed his cheek. “Where’d we get the several extra thousand from?”
“Old business contact I’d forgotten about,” he lied. “Extra money came through.”
In fact, his business had declined over the last little while, given all that was going on.
“I’ve got to go into town to pick up some groceries,” she said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Okay.” He kissed her on the lips and thought it better she be away from this place anyway. He had to find something bigger to offer them while she was out. She couldn’t discover what he was up to. She’d never forgive him.
An hour later, as he prepared to hunt for bear or moose, the doorbell rang. Terry answered it, to discover two police officers standing in his doorway, their faces grim.
“Are you Mr. Cobb?”
“Yes,” he paled. Had someone witnessed his offerings at the well, he wondered?
“You might want to sit down, sir. We have terrible news,” one of the officers said.
* * *
Jan was gone. Car accident; weird accident. She’d swerved, on a dry road in clear daylight, their car hurling through the covered bridge and into the river below it. She was killed instantly. Cory survived with only some bruising. As Terry sat, his hand shaking with his cigarette later that evening, Cory sobbing in his grandmother’s lap, it occurred to him that Jan had taken life insurance out on herself while she’d worked…two hundred fifty thousand dollars, enough to bury her and to take care of her husband and son, should anything ever happen to her. He knew, before the funeral parlor called with more terrible news, that her body would go missing. He knew where it would be and that she’d be one of them by now; the price enough to pay for this house. He couldn’t say a word if he hoped to save Cory. He placed the house up for sale the next day, stating they couldn’t stay there, given their pain.
He didn’t bother to cover the well again before they moved. It would make no difference. He couldn’t say a word to the new buyers. He took the insurance money and he and Cory drove back into the city, but he never stopped checking his rearview the entire time.
The End
The Umbrella Man
By
Carol Weekes
The Umbrella Man
It had rained all week and the weather report was pessimistic about when the downpours would end. Water churned past sidewalks, miniature rapids overfilling gutters, flooding basements and turning everything into a soppy mess. Drew listened to the radio for another few minutes, but when two songs in a row sucked, he shut it off. He’d left the village perimeters behind, the pickup truck’s wipers barely swashing a clear view of the path ahead, and moved onto the back roads towards home. It was going on a little past four in the afternoon, the clouds as black as coal dust as another storm front moved in on the tail of the last. Crazy weather. Things had been a little odd around town lately. Folks complaining of ba
d dreams and restless nights. Animals acting strange. A freak twister had torn the roofs off two houses and a barn just last weekend. A lightning strike had started a massive fire in an animal feed processing plant. And someone from the town had gone missing—old man, likely dementia, Drew figured, who’d just ‘up and disappeared’ a few days ago according to his grieving relatives. Local police and rescue workers were still out there, combing woods, fields, and nearby rivers and creeks in hopes of finding him.
His cell phone rang. He flipped it open. “Yeah?”
“It’s just me,” Bonnie, his wife said. “Are you on your way?”
“Just left the dump. What’s for supper?”
“Potatoes, burgers, corn.”
“Got beer?”
“Picked you up a case of twenty-four earlier today.”
“Good girl,” he said. “I’m looking forward to just sitting down with one after supper.” His back was killing him. He hauled junk for a living, some of it salvageable, some of it worth a bit of money at local dumps. People were always looking for someone with a truck to get rid of stuff. He sidelined in grass cutting and snow removal to help make ends meet. He knew almost everyone in town. When he saw the dark figure walking along the road, hunched forward under a wet, black umbrella, he slowed a little, not wanting to splash the man with the puddles that had formed in deep potholes. He didn’t recognize the figure. The man wore a long, black coat that appeared to be drenched, and the umbrella was the wide variety with many silvery spindles that held each section tightly apart, like webbed fingers. Drew debated whether to offer the guy a lift. Where he might be headed on a back road like this, moving away from town rather than towards it and with another five or more miles before he’d reach anything else like it, was anyone’s question. It was early September and the nights had already begun to cool. Still, Drew wasn’t fussed for picking up strangers.