Just past five o’clock that evening, Liz Raymond had a premonition as she sat with Adrian White on the stone patio at the back of Atwood House. “There’s something strange out there,” she remarked with an air of conviction. Pinching the collar of her jacket tighter to ward off the dampish air, she went to the edge of the patio, where she remained silent nearly a minute before speaking again. “Something doesn’t fit, Adrian. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something unusual in those woods.”
Ben came out the back door carrying a bottle of red wine, and Jenna, behind him, had a large platter of cold cuts, cheese, and crackers. Heavy shadows appeared at the edge of the lawn and deepened visibly as the evening advanced into early night. Darkness was already settling under the trees. The star most visible in the darkening sky, and boldly bright above a few remaining deep purple swirls on the horizon, was Venus.
“What’s back there, Ben?” Liz asked, pointing toward the woods.
“Forty acres of trees is all.”
“Nothing else?”
“Shanklin’s pond. It’s nothing more than a fishing hole.”
Liz continued with, “This afternoon I saw some small undulations on the east side of the house, and a larger rise just beyond the apple trees, at the edge of the woods.”
“I’ve never noticed them,” returned Manning. “I seldom go that far back, and the few times I’ve been back there, I didn’t pay much attention to the topography.”
“Except for the one larger mound, the others are subtle rises, easy to miss, but they are there,” Liz assured him.
“Most likely nothing more than natural formations indigenous to Southern Indiana landscapes,” offered Ben, as a possible explanation.
“That’s probably all they are, but I’d like to walk back that way, see what’s there.”
“Now?” asked Manning seriously.
“Well . . . ”
“How about it, Jenna?” interrupted Ben. “You up for an adventure?”
“I suppose,” she answered, “if you’re sure we won’t get lost.”
After putting another log in the fire pit, Adrian White poured his second glass of wine. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stay behind and restudy the map, see if I can connect the dots—make more sense of it all.”
Ben remembered a few nights before when he saw lights, then again last night, when he heard an engine in the woods near Shanklin’s pond. Though he hadn’t thought too much about it, he now dismissed the possibility of coon hunters. “I think someone’s been snooping around out there at night. Why, I don’t know.”
“You’ve seen them?” Liz asked.
“Just lights. I thought it was Shanklin’s sons coon hunting. Now I’m not so sure.”
With the lights of the patio behind them, a sizable moon slowly rising on the eastern sky, and a slight breeze in the apple trees, the three of them walked steadily toward the woods, not one, unless it was Liz Raymond, expecting to find anything more than trees. Liz stopped to sit a minute on the same bench where she and Ben had sat earlier in the day. The seat, still warm with sunlight, was only wide enough for two, so Ben stood a little to one side, looking at Jenna, who had her eyes closed and was seated close to Liz. Her hands folded in her lap, Liz regarded the woods as though she saw something the others did not.
Pointing to fireflies that flicked their small fires across the lawn, Liz appeared entirely at ease with the night. “They’re such beautiful little things,” she said, “their tails flicking on-and-off as they brighten the darkness—one of God’s charming little creatures.”
“Do you really expect to find something back there?” Jenna asked.
“Maybe we’ll find something that will help us answer at least some of the questions about Atwood House.”
They went on until they found the dirt road that went in the direction of the pond. With Liz several feet ahead, and the beam of her flashlight casting a bright glow, wide enough to illuminate the roadway on both sides, Ben deliberately slowed his pace. He whispered to Jenna that he was happy they were together in the “deep dark woods.” He was sure she was smiling.
Twenty minutes later, the noise stopped them in their tracks. There was no longer any need for flashlights. Thirty yards ahead of them, Shanklin’s pond was engulfed in white light. Instinctively, they ducked into the trees.
“They’re draining the pond,” Liz proclaimed.
The sound of a generator was muffled slightly by trees, most of the larger oak trees still with leaves. Only recently had the beautiful deep colors that came with fall begun to appear. Lights from a pickup truck cast distinct shadows on the water, while two men in overhauls stood at the edge of a wooden pier smoking.
Liz pushed her way deeper into the woods, Jenna and Ben a few steps behind, both more apprehensive than Dr. Raymond. Their footsteps were silent on the hard ground. With each step, they moved closer to the action—until Jenna recognized a third man, just coming into the light.
“Matt Jennings!” Jenna exclaimed out loud.
“Probably a friend of the Shanklin boys,” guessed Manning.
“Why are they doing this at night?” Liz asked rhetorically. “This is the kind of work more easily done in daylight.”
“My dad and I drained a pond once on our farm in Chrisney, Indiana. Just opened a drain tap behind the dam and walked away while the water drained out into the pasture. I was out there at night, curious about what was in the pond. Nothing but fish and turtles, which we moved to a large lake farther back on the farm.”
“I guess there isn’t a drain on this pond, Ben. Just got to pump it out,” Jenna whispered.
“But they don’t have to stand there watching it drain,” he returned.
“Not unless they expect to find something at the bottom,” hinted Liz.
Before speaking again, Ben caught her eyes in the weak light. “What could be at the bottom of a country pond?”
“Well something’s keeping them here,” Jenna agreed. “I don’t think it’s fish or turtles they expect to find.”
The deep throaty sounds of the generator bit into the early night like steel teeth. In the white glow of the truck lights, the night took on an ethereal appearance. That piece of sky directly above the pond, blacker now, had filled with stars, and a couple familiar constellations were visible. The Big Dipper caught their attention. While Liz Raymond looked at an earth mound that rose nearly 20 feet into the darkness, Ben and Jenna searched for the Little Dipper. Not far from this large mound, and nearer the pond, was a cluster of smaller mounds each rising more than five feet.
Pointing, she asked Ben, “What do you think those are?”
“Don’t know. Kind of strange though, so many of them scattered around that big one.”
“Could be Native American, part of an effigy mound,” surmised Raymond.
A shout from the end of the pier, “Look at that,” yelled one of the men, his voice barely audible over the generator noise.
From their vantage point in the small thicket of trees, no more than 25 yards from the pier, they could distinguish a dark image in the center of the pond. They saw one of the men disappear into the shadows, and soon after, light on the object in the water became more concentrated. Having moved the truck closer to the edge of the pond, the man returned to the others with a large spotlight, which he flipped on even before he was on the pier. Instead of aiming the beam of light at the object, he moved it slowly around the perimeter of the pond. The light was so bright that it illuminated clearly 20 yards into the trees.
“Get down,” Ben cautioned, only seconds before the light came around to where they were hiding. “Don’t move.”
Suddenly, an explosion of white light near them. The night was gone. Trees stood out like a small army of ghost soldiers anxious to march. The oak tree, large enough to hide them, had cast a fat shadow, until consumed by the white light th
at was stealing way too much of this early autumn night. After what seemed minutes, the light moved away to expose other parts of the woods, leaving Ben and the two women once more in the dark.
“You expect to find someone out there, Kevin?” questioned his brother, Ray.
“It’s the Shanklin brothers,” Ben whispered.
Suddenly, Jenna’s mobile phone began playing the first notes of “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” And then Liz sneezed.
“Good Lord,” said Ben in a muffled voice.
The light that had passed them by came back around, moving fast through the trees, until it stopped at their oak tree. Crouched low behind the tree on a ground hard enough to be rock, Ben grabbed Jenna’s hand, which seemed cold. Liz had her other hand, squeezing lightly, as if to say things would be all right. Jenna quickly shoved the phone into her jeans pocket and hoped, then prayed, it would stay silent.
It was Matt Jennings who put a rational face on things. “Let’s finish the job and forget about ghosts in the night.”
“I swear I heard music, a mobile phone.”
“Just relax, Kevin,” advised Ray. “Who in their right mind is going for a stroll in these woods after dark?”
Matt laughed, “Probably a bunch of pixies in frilly dresses.”
Kevin kept shining the light on the thing emerging from the water. “It’s nothing but a damn rock.”
And that is exactly what it was. They could see the top of it from where they were hiding. Tapered slightly at the top, the rock became more imposing as more water drained from the pond.
“Maybe it’s a meteor,” surmised Ray.
“I don’t think so. A meteor that size would have caused a major sensation,” returned Jennings.
Ray conceded, “Then it’s nothing more than a big funky rock.”
“Why is a rock that size in our fishing hole?” Keven asked.
Matt hesitated a few seconds before saying, “The way the landscape is sloped, maybe it rolled down the hill—over there in that opening. Probably broke away from that rock face.”
Puffs of smoke off the generator, caught momentarily in the truck lights, hovered like miniature rain clouds above the pier. It was a larger pond than Ben expected, more than 50 yards across, and from their perspective among the trees, the pond appeared to be perfectly round. Ben’s first thought was that the pond had not been dug but was instead a natural depression—a sinkhole on the landscape.
“No sense hanging around here,” Matt told them. “We’ll come back in the morning and transport whatever’s alive to the lake.”
Ten minutes later the truck drove away, and with a greenish glow coming from the rock, there was more light than any of them expected to find this deep in the woods at night.
“Do you see that?” asked Liz.
“Strange, really peculiar,” Ben replied. Almost as soon as he said this, the light began to fade, until seconds later, only darkness remained.
“Well that’s it. The show is over for tonight,” said Jenna, “no reason to stay any longer.” Already, she tried to put the pathway in a narrow beam of light.
Liz dropped in behind her, but not before looking back at the large mound, which was directly under a generous expanse of open sky. “I think there’s something else here, something special . . . forgotten over time, and never documented.”
“Like what?” asked Ben, as they began their journey back to Atwood House. “You said the area had a considerable Native American history,” Liz reminded him. “After all, there are several sites identified on the map, and many of them are at locations not far from Atwood House. I’d even go so far as to say you have undisturbed Native American sites on this property.”
“You’re probably right, Liz,” Ben agreed. “There are several sites in Southern Indiana, which remain unknown, unmapped—virgin sites, which collectors would love to excavate.”
When they were back among the apple trees, Jenna slowly stretched an arm in front of her, pointing beyond the trees. “Look.”
A green aura enclosed the entire house. It was in the windows, shining on the chimneys and doorway lentils, and illuminating shrubbery, as it washed across the grass all the way to the stone bridge.
“There’s dancing on the patio,” murmured Liz.
Chapter 23
“I see it but I don’t believe it,” Jenna proclaimed.
Hoping Liz would have an answer, Ben asked, “What’s happening?”
“One thing’s sure—we all see it,” Liz said excitedly. But it was what she said next that held their attention. “Could this have something to do with Shanklin’s pond?”
“That rock?” Ben replied. “How is that possible?”
Liz regarded them both before saying, “Again, though I can’t explain what it is, I’m absolutely convinced that the strange appearances at Atwood House are in some peculiar way connected to that pond.”
Staring with disbelief, they stopped near one of the large oak trees at the back of the house, watching two dancers, dressed in clothes from a century before, move rhythmically across the stone patio. The man, with a well-trimmed mustache and beard, was in his early 40s, and the woman several years younger. Once or twice, the woman dropped her head back, releasing coils of dark curly locks down the back of her purple gown. Incredibly light on their feet, executing each turn with precision, they seemed entirely caught up in the music—in the night, and in each other.
“Are they friends of yours?” asked Jenna pointedly.
Both Ben and Liz looked at her curiously, and it was Ben who said what both were thinking. “I never saw them before.”
“Then they must be ghosts.” Even as she spoke, Jenna’s words sounded macabre and shockingly uncanny.
Liz smiled. “This is without a doubt the most extraordinary thing in my entire career. Call me crazy, but we are witnessing what few others have seen, a real time slip, a fracture in the fabric of time. There can be no other explanation.”
“Impossible as it seems, there they are, dancing across the patio of Atwood House,” admitted Ben hesitantly.
“Adrian,” shouted Liz. “Where is Adrian White?”
The music stopped. The dancers spun each other for the last time. The green illumination began to fade, until only a crease of radiant light appeared near the far edge of the patio. Slowly, as though they regretted that the dance had come to an end, the young man and woman turned toward the light. The man continued into the brightness and was instantly gone. The young woman, however, her arms outstretched, turned back to regard the three of them separately for several seconds, as though she wanted to speak.
Taking several steps closer to the woman, Liz reached out to touch her. Their hands were just inches apart, when the light behind her began to dim. “Please,” began Liz, “please don’t go,” she pleaded.
“It is time,” said the woman, drawing back her hand, leaving the three of them staring at a line of low stars in the sky above the Ohio River.
Minutes later, they went into the house, to find Adrian asleep in a rocking chair near the fireplace. With only a weak fire burning, the room was oddly silent. On the desk were both maps.
“Look at him. Poor thing’s been working too hard. He doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, always trying to figure out what it all means.” Liz took a blanket off the couch and put it over White, who moaned softly. “Never heard a thing,” she smiled.
Hoping he could revive the fire, Ben stirred the ashes with the tip of a poker until orange sparks appeared. After putting fresh kindling on the grate, the flames took hold and in 15 minutes the fire would mute the shadows that were so often present in this large room. As he snapped on a couple of lamps, the library began to take on a homey relaxing ambiance.
As the room warmed and night passed into the deeper hours, Liz and Jenna looked at the two maps, and were surprised to see a few new notations White had made
while they were in the woods. Liz was especially interested in a circle around the town of Saint Meinrad and a line connecting that town with Newburgh. Had Adrian White found a connection of some kind between these two towns that were only 50 miles apart? The word Abbey was written in and underlined. A longer line was drawn from Saint Meinrad south to the town of Rockport on the Ohio River. The short distance between these two river towns of Newburgh and Rockport was also connected by a line, with all three lines forming a triangle.
“I wonder what it means?” asked Jenna.
“I’m not sure how Rockport fits in,” Liz answered, as she traced the three lines with her index finger, tapping the map near the town of Rockport, which White had circled in pencil. “I think he’s discovered points of relevance near the three primary locations of this triangle. Anything special about Rockport?” she asked Ben, as he crossed the room to join them.
“It’s a small river town. Several old buildings, and a scenic road along the Ohio River, where people used to stop for picnics, or to explore caves high up in the bluffs.”
“Caves?” pressed Liz.
“Long limestone overhangs in the cliff face. Disappointing as caves but fun to climb the cliffs if you’re looking for a small adventure. I recall great views of Kentucky across the river. Apparently, sometime in the early 1800s, a family spent a winter inside the lower cave. There’s quite a bit of history attached to the area, but I don’t recall anything really significant, unless it’s the excavation done near the caves.”
“Do you remember what was excavated?” Liz asked.
“It’s been several years ago. But from what I remember, the excavation uncovered remnants of a Native American site. There’s still a large boulder only a few yards away from the precipice of the cliff. The land was privately owned, and all the artifacts found there were moved to a reconstructed village at the other end of town.”
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