Bogeyman

by Gayle Wilson

  “She let me stir the corn bread.”

  “She used to let me do that when I was growing up. One day when you’re older, and if you promise to be very careful, she’ll let you dip the batter into the tins.”

  “I could do that now.”

  “Then we’ll tell Miz Ruth. What else did you do?”

  “Me and Delores looked at the photo album of you when you were little.”

  “You did?” Although Blythe knew those pictures existed, she would never have thought of showing them to her daughter.

  “Delores says you looked just like me.”

  “I guess I did at that.” Several people in Crenshaw had commented on the resemblance.

  “I saw your mama and your daddy when he was a little boy.”

  “He was Miz Ruth’s little boy. Did Delores tell you that? She loved him very much.”

  “And then he went to heaven to live with the angels. God rest his soul.” The little girl intoned the words as if she had been saying them all her life.

  There was something amusing and endearing at the same time to hear that near anachronism come out of her mouth. Almost as if she were channeling the two old women inside the big house.

  As long as they lived here, Maddie would be exposed to the same influences Blythe had been as a child. Manners and religion. Family and tradition.

  Which doesn’t seem to have hurt you any.

  Except she wasn’t sure Maddie didn’t need something more than those shields against a world that was increasingly more dangerous than it had been when her grandmother was growing up. Different even from when Blythe was a child.

  “I didn’t see her though.”

  “Her?”

  “That little girl.”

  “My mother? That’s because she didn’t live here when she was a child. She lived in Atlanta. Her grandmother probably had all those pictures in a photo album at her house.”

  “Can we go see it?”

  Blythe’s maternal grandmother had been dead for years. She realized that she had no idea what would have happened to her things. Although her mother had had a brother, they hadn’t been close. He hadn’t even come to her funeral.

  “I expect it’s long gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “I don’t know. I think you’ll have to make do with Miz Ruth’s pictures.”

  She pushed the swing, sending it once more in an upward arc. There was no noise in the big backyard other than the creak of the rope. The birds were huddled against the chill of twilight, and it was too late in the year for the hum of insects that was constant during the summer.

  In that peaceful stillness, Blythe’s tension had begun to ease, helped by the mindless, repetitive motion of pushing Maddie and even by the familiar noise the swing made. As the tensed muscles in her neck and shoulders began to relax, she drew a breath, releasing it as a long sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” Maddie asked.

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  It was true. At this moment, there was nothing more important in her world that what she was doing. This was what life was about. Or it should be.

  “Who’s that?”

  Maddie’s left hand unclasped the rope, causing the tire to cant slightly as it swung back toward Blythe. As her gaze followed the child’s pointing finger, she failed to send the swing forward again.

  A man stood at the back corner of the house, watching them. Shadowed by the trees that grew just beyond the fence, she couldn’t see his features. Before her stunned mind could command her body to move in order to get a better look, he turned, disappearing along the side of the house.

  “Mama?”

  “I don’t know.” But she wanted to, damn it.

  Blythe hurried toward the fence to see if she could identify whoever had been watching them. By the time she reached it, there was no sign of the figure. She leaned as far over the top of the pickets as she could, but the house and the overgrown foundation plantings blocked her view. And the gate, she realized belatedly, was on the other side.

  “Stay here,” she ordered, throwing the words back at the child in the swing as she sprinted across the yard.

  She pushed up the latch on the gate and slipped through, automatically taking time to close it behind her. Then she ran toward the front of the house, eyes searching in all directions.

  No car other than Ruth’s was parked in the circular drive. With most of their dinner already prepared and warming on the back of the stove, Delores had gone home for the day.

  The sun had sunk below the horizon, lengthening and distorting the shadows in the yard. In the fading light Blythe searched first the front yard and then the side where she’d seen the intruder. It was as if he had vanished into thin air.

  Or, she realized, he’d gone inside. That would explain everything. Even his survey of the back garden.

  Whoever she and Maddie had seen at the side of the house had been a legitimate visitor. Someone who’d come to see her grandmother. Hearing voices at the back of the house, he’d come there looking for Ruth. Given the events of the last few weeks, it was no wonder she’d let her imagination run away with her.

  She hurried up the wooden stairs, her footsteps echoing as she crossed the broad cypress planks of the porch. The front door was unlocked, just as it always was during the day. The lights in the hallway had not been turned on, however, making her question the explanation she’d just formulated.

  “Grandmamma?” she called.

  After a moment, Ruth appeared at the end of the long hall, a dish towel in her hands. “What’s wrong?”

  “Was someone just here?”

  “Now?”

  “A visitor.”

  “’Course not. Who’d come calling this time of day? It’s suppertime.”

  “There was someone out back—” Only with those words did the enormity of the mistake she’d made explode inside Blythe’s head.

  Without another word, she turned and ran out the front door, slamming it behind her. She headed around the side of the house where she’d first seen the man. Eyes darting from side to side, she realized that in the few minutes her search had consumed, what light there had been in the evening sky was now gone.

  From the windows at the back of the house, a soft glow poured out into the growing darkness. It was enough to light her path, and enough to see, when she reached the corner, that the tire swing, still moving gently back and forth, was empty.

  13

  “M addie?”

  Like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope, the images she’d formed of Sarah Comstock’s death swirled through her head, even the distorted ones created by the whispers she’d overheard as a child. She destroyed each unspeakable picture as it took shape, but its place was taken by another and then another. As her panic grew, it became impossible to keep them at bay.

  “Maddie? Answer me, Maddie!” As she screamed, she leaned over the fence, peering into the backyard. Her eyes frantically searched every dark corner, every shrub, every visible inch of ground.

  “What in the world is going on?”

  Blythe turned at the question. Her grandmother was standing behind her. In the gloom, Blythe could see the white of the dish towel she carried in her hand and her hair, its silver made gold by the light shining from the kitchen window.

  She would never find them, Blythe realized in despair. He might be holding Maddie, keeping her quiet with his hand over her mouth. And in this light, she would never see them.

  “Maddie. He’s taken Maddie.”

  “Who’s taken Maddie? Land’s sakes, child, calm down.”

  “Whoever was here. He was standing right here watching us, and when I went inside—He must have taken her.”

  “I didn’t hear anything. Maddie would have screamed if someone tried to carry her off.”

  Of course she would, Blythe realized with a sense of relief. Maddie knew the drill. She knew what to do if someone tried to abduct her. They’d gone over it time and time again.

  They
even had a code, so that she would know if her mother ever sent someone to pick her up at day care. Maddie would have screamed if anyone had laid a hand on her.

  If he’d knocked her unconscious? Or drugged her? Or, as she’d thought before, simply held his hand over her mouth?

  “Maddie?”

  Her cry echoed through the nighttime stillness. The same stillness she had thought so peaceful only minutes before.

  “Maybe she went inside.”

  The logic of her grandmother’s suggestion broke through Blythe’s terror. She’d left Maddie in the swing to disappear just as night fell. Why wouldn’t the little girl go inside, where the kitchen windows beckoned with light and warmth?

  “Come on,” Blythe said, turning to grasp Ruth’s arm.

  “You go on. I’ll stay out here and keep callin’ her. If she’s in there, stick your head out the door and let me know.”

  “I can’t leave you out here alone.”

  “In my own yard?”

  “I left Maddie, and now she’s gone. You’re coming with me. We’ll check inside.”

  “She’s probably in the kitchen,” her grandmother said, giving in to her urgency. “Maybe if she is, she’ll think to take the pie out of the oven. I expect it’s gonna burn to a crisp with all this running around.”

  Despite her anxiety, Blythe had slowed her pace to match her grandmother’s. Because of the uneven ground and the darkness, she kept a firm grip on the old woman’s elbow as they made their way back to the front.

  Even if Maddie hadn’t gone into the house, Blythe would still have had to go back inside to turn on the outside lights. And to call the sheriff.

  The thought was unwanted. Once she placed that call, this nightmare would become real.

  Dear God, let her be inside. Let her be sitting at the kitchen table eating one of the corn muffins she helped to mix.

  Remembering the excitement in the little girl’s voice as she’d talked about those brought tears to Blythe’s eyes. Such a short time ago they’d been together. Despite the fire, they’d been talking about all the things they should have been talking about. And for the first time in what felt like years.

  “You go on,” Ruth said, putting her hand on the banister that ran beside the front steps. “I got the rail here. I’ll be fine. You go find your baby.”

  Blythe didn’t argue. She released her grandmother’s arm and ran for the front door. As it slammed shut behind her, she began to call again, her words echoing along the long, dark hallway. “Maddie? Maddie, are you in here?”

  There was no answer. And the brightly lit kitchen, when she reached it, was empty.

  She could smell the pie. And the corn bread. Even the greens simmering on the back of the stove.

  “Maddie.” Not a cry, but a whisper of fear and despair.

  This had been her last hope. If her daughter wasn’t here, she was out there somewhere. In the darkness. A darkness where he was.

  Fighting the images that once more crowded her brain, Blythe ran over to the back door, flicking up the switch that controlled the backyard lights. She hurried down the steps, not bothering with the railing, her gaze again sweeping from one side of the enclosed garden to the other.

  The shapes that had been nearly indistinguishable from outside the fence resolved themselves into familiar objects. The potting shed. The well, long covered. Trees and shrubs she had known from her own childhood.

  “Maddie? Maddie, where are you?”

  When there was no answer, she ran toward the back of the lot. With the floodlights on, there were only a couple of places inside the fence that weren’t illuminated.

  The top of the well was still covered, but she took time to try and lift the boards that had been nailed across its top. Then she made for the shed.

  There was a lock stuck through the hasp that held the door closed, but it hadn’t been closed. The creak when she opened the door reminded her so strongly of the swing that she even glanced back to make sure that Maddie wasn’t there. That she hadn’t somehow missed seeing her in the depths of her terror.

  The movement of the tire that she’d noticed before had stopped. Empty, it now hung motionless from the oak.

  She stepped inside the dimness of the shed, the smell of fertilizer and compost strong, but not unpleasant. Gradually, as her eyes adjusted, the items inside it became identifiable. A rotary lawn mower hung by its handle on one wall. A wheelbarrow was propped against another. Every inch of shelf space was covered with pots and sacks and tools.

  She bent to look under the counter where her grandmother repotted her flowers, certain that despite the lack of light she would be able to spot Maddie’s pale jacket. There was nothing there but a couple of market baskets, a clutter of tomato cages and some tin pails stacked one inside the other.

  “Oh, Maddie.” An expression of regret for having left her daughter unguarded for those few crucial minutes. A mistake in judgment she could never take back.

  A rustling at the back of the small structure caused Blythe to whirl, eyes widened with hope. “Maddie? Is that you?”

  The sound came again, even as Blythe pushed aside a sack of fertilizer in an effort to reach the back wall. She stooped, literally feeling along its length. Trying to find the warm, still breathing body of her daughter.

  “Maddie!”

  “I’m here.”

  Her heart leaped into her throat. “Where, Maddie. I can’t see you.”

  “Back here.”

  Behind the shed, Blythe realized. Not inside, but behind.

  She ran out through the door, throwing it back so hard it hit the outside wall of the shed. Before the sound had faded, she was at the back of the building.

  There was a narrow space, perhaps a foot wide, maybe less, between the back wall and the fence. Maddie huddled there, the small, pale oval of her face raised to look up at her.

  “Why didn’t you answer me?”

  In spite of her joy, she couldn’t prevent the question. If Maddie had only called out, she wouldn’t have gone through these terrifyingly endless minutes. All she would have had to do—

  “Is he gone?”

  For a fraction of a second, Blythe didn’t understand the question. Then that, too, came flooding back. She meant the watcher. Whoever had been standing at the edge of the house.

  “Did he come back here?”

  In the darkness, Maddie’s featureless face moved from side to side, denying. “She told me to hide.”

  Blythe examined the words, trying to fit them into the context of what had happened. Or of what she believed had happened. “Who told you to hide?”

  “The little girl. She said he’s the one.”

  “The one?”

  “Who taps on the window. She told me to hide from him.”

  A chill began on the back of Blythe’s neck, the hair there lifting. “Who told you to hide, Maddie?” She bent so she was eye level with the child who still crouched in the shadows.

  “That girl. The one he hurt.”

  “Do you know her name?” Blythe asked, her voice very soft. “The girl who told you to hide. Do you know who she is?”

  The oval moved from side to side again.

  “Was she out here? Here in this yard?”

  As far as she knew, Ruth’s house had no connection to the murder. Or to the Comstocks. Maybe she could accept the things that had happened at the Wright house, but this…

  There was no explanation for this. Not any she could bring herself to consider.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Of course, you remember,” Blythe said, her voice too harsh. “It was only a few minutes ago that we saw him.”

  “I don’t want to swing anymore.” Maddie sounded on the verge of tears, tired and petulant. “It’s too cold to stay out here. I want to go inside where it’s warm.”

  Inside. Where Ruth was waiting to hear. And by this time, she might already have called 911.

  “Come on,” Blythe said, holding out here hand. “
Miz Ruth has supper ready. You can eat the muffins you helped make. Would you like that?”

  Whatever was going on, she wasn’t helping her daughter by her anger and impatience. Maybe Maddie didn’t remember. Or maybe she had imagined the girl and the warning. Or maybe…

  Maybe we’re all going insane. That was what this felt like.

  “Did you find her?”

  Blinking back tears, Blythe turned to look at the back door where her grandmother stood, silhouetted against the light.

  “She’s here,” she called. “She was behind the shed.”

  “Well, praise the Lord. Y’all come in now and get warm.”

  “Maddie?” Blythe turned back, holding out her hand again.

  “Is he gone?”

  For now. Blythe wasn’t sure where the thought had come from, but it represented a truth she had accepted. He was watching them. As he had been last night. And more than likely that meant he was the one who’d set the fire.

  “I’m sure he is. With all the lights on out here.”

  Maddie turned her head, trying to look toward the house as if she had just become aware of the floodlights.

  “Miz Ruth’s waiting supper for us. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Me, too.” Blythe stepped closer, turning sideways to enter the shadowed area behind the shed. “Come on. Let’s go inside now.”

  A small, cold hand reached up to grasp hers. She pulled, lifting the little girl to her feet.

  Together they began to walk toward the back steps, where her grandmother kept vigil. Halfway there, Blythe slipped her hand out of her daughter’s to put her arm around her shoulders. As she held Maddie against her side, they crossed the last few steps to the warmth and light and safety of the big house.

  “Right there,” Blythe said.

  She had chosen to direct him from inside the fence where she’d been standing when she’d seen whatever she’d seen. Cade stopped, shining the flashlight he’d brought from the cruiser down on the spot she’d indicated.

  “Are there prints?”

  He hated to destroy the note of hope he heard in her voice. The truth was he could tell nothing from the packed earth. “The ground’s pretty hard here.”