Angels of Mercy

by Laura J Underwood

  Katie shook her head, and turned the truck between the fence posts that marked her drive. She followed it past the pond, only to hit the brakes. A humped shadow washed over the road, diving into the water so fast, she never saw what it really was. She stared at the pond, but it was difficult to see in the dark. She couldn’t tell if the water was rippling or not.

  What the Sam Hill was that?

  Well, she wasn’t about to desert the safety of the truck to find out, not without sufficient light. Besides, it was probably a snapping turtle—the last thing she wanted to mess around with in the dark. They got rather large and testy, and were faster on the run than one expected a turtle to be. She did recall that last summer several of them became road kill not too far from her property.

  She pushed the truck into gear and drove on up the hill to the house. The sensor turned the lights on, flashing bright across the landscape and causing the shadows to race for the trees. Katie parked beside the porch and clambered out, digging for keys. Sally was probably back in her room.

  Indeed, as Katie unlocked the door and stepped in, she heard the faint drone of Sally’s television. “It’s just me!” Katie shouted.

  The television dropped in volume as a door down the hall opened, and a thin, silver-coifed black woman put her head out into the hall and smiled.

  “Miss Katie, you want me to fix you something?”

  “Thanks, but I ate at the diner with Dan,” Katie said. She’d given up trying to convince Sally to stop waiting on Katie hand and foot. The old woman thought it her duty to look after Katie when her parents died, even though a comfortable sum had been settled on the elderly housekeeper as a retirement gift. Besides, it had been nice to have her company over the last two years, but sometimes Katie worried. Sally had a weak heart, and was apt to push herself too much instead of enjoying her retirement. It was for that very reason Katie had closed off portions of the house—to keep Sally from killing herself cleaning them.

  “Been quiet?” Katie asked.

  Sally stepped on out into the hall, folding her hands before her. She wore a flowered cotton dress with a high collar and a low hem that flattered her frame. “Yes, Miss, almost too quiet.”

  “Too quiet?” Katie marveled, starting for the stairs. She wanted out of the work clothes and into comfortable ones. “Since when is this place too quiet?”

  “Since sunset,” Sally replied, and her eyes took on a hollow look as she glanced towards the back of the house. “I haven’t heard a single cricket tonight.”

  Katie frowned. Come to think of it, when she had gotten out of the truck, she had been struck by the eerie silence of the world. Like something lay out in the dark, waiting to pounce the unwary. “Oh, give ’em time,” she said. “Summer always throws them off with the extra light.”

  Sally nodded. “Well, if you need anything...”

  “I’ll call,” Katie agreed, knowing she wouldn’t. She hurried on up the stairs to the second floor where her own rooms were.

  She had taken over the master bedroom a few months after her parents died, packing their possessions with those of her brother and storing them in the wing once known as the children’s domain. This way, she had a bathroom and a study connected to the bedroom, and meant she could close off the old wing to reduce the amount of upkeep by more than half. It also gave her a grand view of the pastures leading down to the road and the old barn and pond, as well as the mountains wrapped in their famous blue haze. Of course, with night folded over the land, she couldn’t see those sights. Just the edge of the gibbous moon peeping over the dark rim of the horizon. As she recalled, it would be full in another few days.

  Just in time for Midsummer Night’s Eve, she thought as she shut the curtains and shucked the much-despised skirt for jeans. With the few hours left her before her self-imposed bedtime, she wanted to get to her typewriter. An unfinished tale lay beside it when she stepped into the study, carrying a mug of hot tea she had crept down and made for herself. She picked up the pages, glancing over her ghostly story. Fairy tales, indeed, she groused inwardly, recalling Durgan’s cruel words about her avocation. She’d have made a career of it by now, were it not for the death of her family and the bills she had to pay. She couldn’t even afford a computer to write on, and so resorted to banging away on an old portable Underwood.

  Not that there hadn’t been expenses before her folks died. Adam’s illness had been a steady drain on family coffers. His cancer had been diagnosed terminal, and it was only a matter of time as none of the treatments he underwent were able to arrest his gradual decline. He’d been ten years younger than Katie, but the disease had made it seem like so much more. Adam was a thin, frail, dark-haired lad—when he had hair, she mused dryly—who never lost his cheerfulness.

  Katie sighed, reaching for the silver locket she wore. She’d kept one item from each family member before storing away the rest of their belongings. Her mother’s favorite earrings, little feathers carved from bone always dangled from Katie’s ears. Her father’s favorite book of Scottish folklore stayed by the bed. Her brother’s locket, though Adam never wore it, always rested under her shirt. Dad had presented it to Adam when his cancer was pronounced terminal, telling some vague story of the locket being sacred to MacLeod men for what it bore. Adam had merely wrinkled his nose at the fragment of brown silk, thin as a spider’s web, though nowhere near as fragile, and declared, “Looks too girlish.” He had been far more excited by the trip to the beach that took him and his parents to their death...

  A whicker caught her attention, the low chuckle of a horse. Katie frowned, letting the locket fall from her hand. It thumped against her chest as she crawled out of her chair. I don’t have a horse anymore. She laid aside her pages and went to the window to look out over the landscape.

  The moon was higher now, and its baleful light was casting a milky glow over the land, revealing the pond and the pasture and the barn, but no horse, as near as she could tell.

  “Must be one of the neighbors,” she muttered and rubbed her eyes. The farm across the road still had livestock, and they boarded a horse or two. She shook her head, closing the drapes and glancing at her watch. It was getting late, and there was a long day tomorrow. And the display to consider. And the rats to report, she thought glumly. She was not looking forward to that confrontation.

  Quiet pervaded the house, which meant Sally must have gone to bed. Katie left the study, flipping off the light and returning to her room. She slipped into the sweat pants and T-shirt that passed for pajamas. One quick round of the downstairs told her everything was secured for the night. She returned to her room, setting her alarm and dousing the light before crawling into bed.

  Sleep came quickly, and with it dreams. Not the usual fragmented stuff either. She dreamed she was lying in her bed, playing with the locket. When she opened it, the bit of silk streamed out like long scarf. Somewhere in the distance, a horse was neighing. Or was it calling her name? “Katie, my love, Katie my sweet,” floated on the air and tickled her ears. She sat up in bed, looking around, trying to locate the source of the call. Bluish light flooded the room, and pale mist crept under the door, hovering over the floor like fog on a moor.

  “Katie, my love, I wait for thee. Come to me, and I will make thee my queen.”

  “Dan?” she said, for it certainly sounded like his voice, if not his manner of speech. Gone was the gentle East Tennessee nasal drawl, and in its place, a sweet, alluring sound. “Dan, where are you?”

  “Come to me, Katie, for I am here,” he said.

  Her eyes trailed towards the window with the shades pulled. A silhouette was visible. She stepped out of bed, nearly tripping over a long trail of silk that looked like the piece from her locket. With it wrapped around her, she crept over to the window and drew back the shade.

  Dan stood there, smiling. Blue light filtered his hair and created an eerie aura about him. “Katie,” he said and held forth his hand so it nearly touched the glass. “Let me in, Katie.”
/>   “What are you doing out there on my porch roof, you fool?” she said, reaching for the window latch.

  But as soon as she drew the glass casements in—what happen to the old sliding windows—a hand reached through that was not like any she had seen. Blue skin stretched over a bony claw with black talons for nails snagged her wrist. She gasped and looked into a gaunt, eldritch face beset with glowing red eyes. The hair was midnight and unkempt, parting over long pointed ears. The thing smiled at her, revealing sharp white teeth. It wore garments that appeared courtly, and ancient, and a crown of black thorns.

  “Come, Katie my bride,” the creature said.

  “NO!” Katie shrieked and jerked back. The other talon was reaching for her as well, but it brushed the silver locket about her neck. With a shriek of its own, the creature fled, and she fell to the floor.

  Only the floor was no longer there, and she was tumbling through a misty abyss, seeking desperately to grasp hold of gnarling roots that grew from walls of limestone and clay.

  “NO! she shrieked.

  And sat up in a sweat-soaked bed, in a familiar room full of furniture and moonlight.

  “Oh, god, what a dream,” she murmured. “Maybe I should write that one down.” It certainly had all the makings of a scary story.

  Sweat trickled down her skin. The room was too stuffy now. She slowly crawled out of bed, carefully looking down to make certain no silk trailed about her legs. No. Just sweatpants. Good. She shuffled feet into house shoes and made her way towards the hall. Her throat was parched, and she wanted water.

  There was no glass in the bathroom when she turned on the light. That meant sneaking down the stairs to the kitchen. Don’t be childish! This is my house. I don’t have to sneak. Still, she knew if she hadn’t awakened Sally by now, Katie probably didn’t have to worry about doing so getting a glass of water.

  Still, she crept down the stairs and made her way quietly past Sally’s door. Moonlight streamed through the kitchen windows. The back door’s multiple panes of storm glass let the light cast tiles across the linoleum. Katie counted the diamonds they made on the floor as she leaned against the sink, her back to the windows, drinking her water slowly in hopes of cooling and calming her body.

  Too much excitement for one day. Humiliation, fright, and now bad dreams. Maybe I should watch what I eat. She thought she remembered reading something in one of the magazines at work about how food could cause dreams to seem more vivid. There was a time when she and her mother were into eating pickled sausage, and Katie had dreamed several nights in a row that their old Scottish Terrier Farley sat up, asked for a glass of Glenlivet, and quoted Burns while Katie danced with a haggis that had managed to sprout arms and legs. Weird, she mused. Those dreams had been funny enough to make Katie wake up laughing. Once they gave up the sausages, the dreams stopped. I never had that reaction to fried chicken and peach cobbler before. Must have been the excitement.

  She carefully inverted the empty glass into the dishwasher, kneeling to close the door as gently as possible so as not to alert Sally, and turned to straighten up.

  A shadow had cast itself across the kitchen floor. Katie froze, staring at the shape, trying to understand what she was seeing. A tall, willowy figure with long tatters of cloth fluttering about it. She could definitely distinguish arms, and the hands ended in what looked like talons. She sat down with her back to the counter and the dishwasher, watching the shadow. The motions reminded her of someone trying to peer through the panes of glass.

  She was tempted to crawl towards the hall. Her shotgun was in the closet, but to get there, she would have to cross an expanse of floor that would put her into the view or whoever—or whatever—was at the door. Still, curiosity was managing to surface under the cold sweat of fear. What was that? What was it doing at her kitchen door this time of the night?

  She crawled towards the edge of the counter, hoping to get a peek at whoever stood there. Carefully, she moved towards the edge, holding her breath. The frame of the door came into view. The knob. The first set of panes...

  It moved away so suddenly, she gasped. Quickly, she looked towards the door, but all she saw was a bare flap of something like the tail of a cloak that whipped out of view. Still, it was more than enough to spur her. She bolted out of the kitchen and into the hall, jerking the closet door open and reaching for the pump action shotgun in the back corner. Then she stretched overhead, pulled down a box of shells, and loaded the gun.

  She backed out of the closet just as a door opened in the hall. “Miss Katie?” Sally said, her face pinched with worry.

  “Go back in your room,” Katie said, checking the safety on the shotgun. “Call the sheriff, and tell him we’ve got a prowler.”

  “Oh, my.” Sally drew back. “You’re not going outside, are you?”

  “No, but I’m going to check the doors and windows.”

  Sally nodded, looking satisfied. She drew back into her own chamber, closing her door, and Katie waited to hear the bolt thrown before she made her way through the house.

  Room by room, Katie searched, keeping the shotgun barrel aimed at the floor—in case it went off. Most of the windows were shuttered in the closed-off sections of the house. Only the living room, kitchen, dining room, bathroom and Sally’s quarters had exposed windows, but as Katie moved from one to the next, she saw no sign of the intruder. And she was pretty well beginning to believe she had imagined it all as she made one more pass down the hall to reassure Sally.

  There was something at the kitchen door, quite visible from the hall. Something peered through the panes of glass with hellish red eyes that glowed like embers. The face from her nightmare blinked at her and grinned to reveal the white, pointed teeth.

  “Jesus!” Katie hissed and raised the shotgun.

  But before she could even consider pulling the trigger, the thing flitted away and was gone.

  And the sound of a siren came screaming up the hill.

  FOUR

  Katie could hardly call it the best of nights since she was barely able to sleep. Sheriff Cannon’s swift arrival turned out to be more than fortuitous. He had already been down at the MacGreeley mansion, trying to calm the sisters. They too had been disturbed by the sight of a prowler striding boldly across their land. Before that, the Sheriff had been over at the Henderson farm where their dogs had gone mad and their prize Tennessee Walking horse was found with its mane and tail full of knots and burrs. Vandals had been the conclusion, for the horse was sweaty and nervous. And even as the Sheriff finished making his report of the events at Katie’s place, he got a call from the Reverend complaining that someone had turned all the pews upside down in the Mercyville Baptist Church.

  “Busy night,” Cannon had said before he left. “By the way, you had a horse running loose on your property when I pulled in.”

  “A horse?” Katie repeated, recalling the faint whinny she heard earlier.

  “Yeah, a big black one, but it ran off into the forest before I could get a good enough look at it. My sirens probably terrified it.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out,” Katie assured him, puzzling this bit of news. She had been reluctant to mention that her prowler looked like something out of her dream, so she claimed he was little more than a silhouette, and that he fled when she showed him the shotgun. Cannon didn’t press. She wasn’t sure he’d believe her anyway. It might have been the moonlight that made the man look blue skinned, but that didn’t explain the fiery embers of his eyes.

  For the rest of the night, she lay in bed, the shotgun in easy reach, and stared at the shaded windows, reluctant to fall asleep. Morning found her dozing lightly, and as she struggled out of bed, she felt miserable. She was tempted to call in sick, but knowing Durgan, he’d think she was doing it to avoid her “pet” project. So she crawled out of bed, dragged on work clothes and consumed nearly a whole pot of coffee before she drove into town.

  There were no other cars behind the library yet, which meant she was probably first to a
rrive. No matter. She had a key and could let herself in, but she seriously wished she had brought a pellet gun—in case the rats had escaped from the trunk. She leaned over in the seat to collect her purse and sat up again.

  Someone stood at her truck window, a ragged figure peering through the glass. Katie hissed an oath, nearly dropping her purse. For a moment, she thought it was last night’s intruder. Instead, it was a craggy face with crisp green eyes and shoulder-length, unkempt silvery hair. The bushy brows rose, revealing a smile. Katie closed her eyes. It was only Crazy Tom, who motioned for her to lower the window. She opened the door and climbed out instead. The last thing she wanted was a whiff of his odor in her truck.

  In height, Tom stood perhaps a head or so taller than she. He was a thickset man, belying the theory that times were lean and so were bums.

  “Hail to thee, gracious lady, most Valiant Keeper of the Key,” Tom said in his thickest brogue, and flourished a bow.

  “What do you want, Tom?” Katie asked. Like as not, he’d come to beg for a handout of cash.

  His friendly face turned grave. “You have set him free, lady,” Tom said. “Your blood has called him forth, and now you must send him back. You hold the key, and he will have it, if you let him.”

  “He who?” Katie said.

  The green eyes darted back and forth, mischief lighting them. “I dare not speak his name, though I must answer true, for that is my gift and my curse. The Erl-King is free, and Tom must flee for he is no longer keeper of the gate. That duty now belongs to you.” Tom suddenly danced back a step or two, stadium blanket flapping as he drew forth a tin whistle and put it to his lips. A shrill ditty rang on Katie’s ears. Tom hurried away, whirling and skipping to his own tune.

  “Tom, wait!” Katie called. “What do you mean?”

  But she might as well talk to the wall. Tom stopped his jig long enough to bow to her again, then danced his way down the alley and disappeared around a corner of the library.