The Ragged

by Brett Schumacher

  Walking back into the house, Andrew heard the sharp crack of a branch being broken underfoot echo from the trees to his left. His head snapped to attention and he scanned the area, looking for the source. His heart rate picked up as he stood frozen in place, watching for any signs of movement. Seeing nothing, Andrew took a deep breath and reassured himself that it was probably just the wind.

  He quickly finished his walk up the porch steps and stepped inside the house, locking the door behind him.

  Now that Celeste was gone with their only mode of transportation, the farmhouse felt vast and cavernous to Andrew. Feeling remarkably unnerved, he went to every door and window in the house, locking and fastening them however he could, even drawing the curtains on the ones in the kitchen and living room.

  After thoroughly and methodically indulging his paranoia, Andrew walked over to the small bookshelf and peeked out the window through the blinds one last time. Trees swayed dramatically in the breeze and shadows grew longer, but that was all a result of the coming storm. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he let out a long, slow sigh before turning his attention to the books.

  The first book he picked up was the atlas sitting on top of the shelf. Andrew leafed through it and saw what Celeste had been talking about. Counting up all of the different markings, Andrew found twenty-nine locations in different towns, cities, and national parks across the state of Georgia, each with a date marked beside it.

  Shivering at the potential implications, he put the book back down and set his sights on a far more palatable option–faeries. The folklore books were in the box marked “KEEP” in Celeste’s boxy handwriting; Andrew had always joked that she had the penmanship of a high school social studies teacher. He had to pull the books out one at a time, grumbling as he did about how unfair it was to only have one good arm.

  Andrew sat the books in a stack on the coffee table, noting the library classification stickers on the spine of each. Killing coeds didn’t feel like Corvus at all. Stealing from a tax-funded institution, however? That was perfectly on-brand for the man Andrew had lived with.

  Starting with the only book on Icelandic folklore, Andrew checked the table of contents for ways to ward off what Icelanders called the “hidden folk.” Finding no distinct section for it, he heavily skimmed the book. Frustratingly, Andrew found nothing of value outside of reading that sunlight turned trolls into stone, a fact that J.R.R. Tolkien had taught him in middle school. Throwing the book aside, Andrew moved on to the next one.

  The entire stack of literature took him half an hour to leaf through and only yielded two possible leads–iron and salt.

  While accounts varied from country to country and myth to myth, the overall consensus was that salt could both be used to ward off the fae. Some stories told of people putting salt in their milk and meat to keep the fair folk from spoiling them, but that sounded to Andrew more like a case of common people not know that salt was a preservative. As far-fetched as it all sounded to him though, he found that he was open to another idea, which was that faeries and spirits can’t cross lines of salt.

  The stuff about iron was a little tougher to rationalize. Many accounts told of people using iron nails to hang iron horseshoes above their doors to ward off the fae. It seemed to be directly related to the modern notion of horseshoes bring good luck, but Andrew couldn’t make sense of where the idea had originated.

  He thought for a few minutes about where he could find those things. Salt was easy enough; Corvus had always kept a jumbo-sized container of iodized table salt in the cabinet above the stove. Iron was a little bit trickier, though. Andrew knew that there weren’t any horseshoes around, but he was willing to bet that the fire poker hanging on the wall below the mantle was made of the same stuff. And even if it wasn’t, he figured he’d still feel safer holding something sharp.

  A strange feeling washed over Andrew as he went into the kitchen and pulled the salt out of the cabinet, like some part of him was scared to move forward with this plan. Was he prepared to cross this line? Once he started salting the entrances and arming himself with iron, where did he stop? Sure, he had been nervous that it could all be real, but was he ready to jump off the deep end like this?

  A harsh wind picked up, pelting the side of the house with a light smattering of rain. Andrew thought of the coming storm and the increasing darkness before deciding that peace of mind was worth feeling a little kooky.

  He took the salt and did the front and back doors first, pouring out a thin, but unbroken, line across each threshold. Then, he went window to window starting in the living room. The salt container began the trip a little over half full, and Andrew had begun to run dangerously low by the time he finished lining the upstairs windows. Having saved the worst for last, he climbed wearily into the attic.

  The gentle stream of sunlight from the small window had soured in the dark pall of the clouds, casting a bleak light across the stacks of boxes and rows of paintings. Andrew stared at the back corner of the space for the longest time before fully entering the attic. Even in the daytime, the shadows that occupied that corner were thick and menacing.

  Reminding himself that he was a grown adult, Andrew swallowed his fears and made his way across the attic floor. Having confirmed that no spooks or specters were hiding in any nooks or crannies, he busied himself with salting the last window in the house. Small rivulets of water streamed down the glass as the rain began to fall harder outside.

  His thoughts drifted to Celeste, out on a mission to uncover the truth and get back before the storm hit in earnest, all while he sat home and poured preservative seasonings all over the house. As much as he loved seeing his wife in charge, Andrew was growing more concerned with her safety as the skies darkened. Lost in thought, he stared out at the backyard and watched the rain coming down in sheets for a few minutes.

  The house creaked from a sudden onslaught of wind, and Andrew abruptly remembered where he was standing. Goosebumps spread across his arms as he turned to face the attic. Nothing had changed since the last time he had looked, but the eerie feeling that had settled over him wouldn’t listen to reason. His imagination ran wild, conjuring up images of forest spirits attacking the house, furious that he had barred their entrance.

  Maybe the storm was just nature’s wrath.

  Having creeped himself out more than enough, Andrew quickly made his way down the stairs. He thought briefly about closing the door to the attic but decided against it. He had already salted the window up there, and theoretically, that was all the protection he needed.

  Returning to the living room, Andrew completed his faerie-proofing mission by taking a couple of practice swings with the fire poker. Figuring he had done all he could with the salted windows and a weapon nearby, Andrew decided to use the rest of his time to finish Corvus’s journal. He sat down on the couch and slid the fire poker underneath it by his feet for safekeeping, then picked up the book.

  There weren’t very many entries left to read, and he figured that was because his grandfather probably stopped writing in it shortly after Eileen’s disappearance. Opening to the next unread page, Andrew immediately got more than he bargained for.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  September 30th, 1992

  Ragged finally told me what it is that it wants, and I’m not sure if I can go through with it.

  Everything he’s told me so far has felt true. We all come from women, so that part didn’t confuse me much. The part I didn’t understand was what Ragged said about returning to women. I asked him what he meant by that when I went back out to talk with him last night, and he told me that it wasn’t about sex like I thought.

  He said it was about consuming the flesh that gives us life, and that women hoard vitality if we allow them. He promised me that my crops would grow if I could bring him flesh. He said that the only way to replenish the vitality of the soil is to take it back from the women who stole it.

  Then, he told me that by consuming the flesh of a woman, he can retur
n her vitality to the earth she stole it from.

  I’m not sure what to feel.

  I thought Ragged might be a kind spirit, but I don’t think he is. And now I fear I may have no choice but to obey him. The crops were horrible this season.

  Another year like this and I’ll lose the farm.

  ***

  October 3rd, 1992

  It’s been a few days since my last talk with Ragged, and I’ve decided against obeying him.

  At least, I had decided that until Eileen ran her mouth off again.

  That no good, ungrateful wife of mine had the nerve to threaten to leave me. She said she was done with all of my “stupid superstitions,” and that I was lucky she was just leaving and not throwing me in the loony bin. After all the year I’ve spent bending over backward to please her, she had the gall to look at me and call me crazy.

  But you know what? I was crazy. Crazy enough to put up with her for so long.

  But that ends tonight.

  I’m fed up and sick and tired of being mistreated all the time. If she wants to leave, then she can. But I’m getting what’s mine.

  I’ve got her tied up, and I’m about to do the antlers just like Ragged taught me.

  Tonight, all that vitality she took from me is getting dumped straight back in the ground.

  ***

  October 5th, 1992

  Ragged gave me Eileen’s wedding dress back today. It was all covered in blood.

  He told me that she was a good start, but was just too old. I couldn’t agree more. He said the next one had to be much younger, that the next girl had to be in the prime of her life.

  I thought I’d feel bad for what I have done, but I feel the opposite. I feel good. For the first time in my life, I feel like I know my purpose. I spent so many years just getting by, but now I can excel.

  Ragged gave me a purpose and a connection to nature I’ve never had before.

  I’m no longer at the mercy of droughts and storms because I’m on the good side of the thing that makes them.

  Just one sacrifice a year, and he’ll be happy.

  What did Eileen, or any other woman, ever do for me anyway?

  ***

  September 1st, 1993

  This year has brought the best crops I’ve ever seen in my life!

  Ragged seems to have kept his end of the bargain, which means I just need to keep mine. If things keep going this good, I don’t think I’ll need this journal anymore. Especially since there’s no one around to tell me to shut up.

  The police keep coming over every few weeks, asking if I’ve heard anything from Eileen. They searched my property a dozen times but never found anything. People in town think I did it, but they can’t prove nothing.

  Cleaning the house after Eileen was a pain, so I came up with a new idea to make things easier on me. I’ve dug a hole out in the barn, right in the middle of the floor, and covered it up with a trap door I made myself.

  It’ll be the perfect place to prepare for this year’s sacrifice.

  ***

  Andrew slammed the book shut and tried to steady himself. The room was spinning as his whole world came crashing down around him. His stomach turned.

  If the journal was to be believed, then Corvus was guilty of far more than Andrew ever could have thought.

  He threw the book down onto the coffee table and went over to grab his jacket. He slid his good arm into the left sleeve and draped the rest of the jacket over his right shoulder. Zipping it up and throwing the hood on, Andrew unlocked the front door and went outside.

  He needed to see the barn for himself. He needed to know the truth. Storm or no storm, this ended now.

  ***

  Dark clouds were beginning to amass overhead as Celeste pulled into the pharmacy parking lot. She had practiced the plan in her head the entire drive over, but now that she was there, her mind was blank. She softly banged her head against the steering wheel, trying to jog her memory.

  Celeste had never been much of an actor. She preferred to work behind the scenes in all areas of her life; a skill set that didn’t lend itself to deception. Even as a child, her parents always knew when she was hiding something, which led to her strong dedication to telling the truth. Lying wasn’t an option for her, so truth became her modus operandi. Not to mention that she also found out through trial and error that life was almost always easier if she was just honest.

  Of course, there were a handful of exceptions to that rule, and Celeste had found herself smack dab in the middle of one. Her heart rate picked up when it sunk in that she was about to do this, and that she really could fail. The car suddenly felt hotter and more cramped. She turned the air conditioner up a few more notches and let the fans cool her off.

  “Take a deep breath,” she chided herself, doing a quick search on her phone for ‘how to lie.’

  Most of the results that came up were less than helpful. How on earth was she supposed to try not to sweat? Celeste dug for a few more minutes and found a few needles of solid, actionable advice amongst the haystacks of useless articles. Keep it simple and base it on truth. She could do that.

  She gave the steering wheel a few more small head butts as she racked her brain for something simple and truthful that she could build her lie around. She needed a reason to be in the pharmacy, which meant she probably needed something medicinal. He had picked up her inhaler a few days ago, so that wouldn’t cut it. And Andrew wouldn’t reasonably need any more pain meds after only three days, so that wasn’t a good reason either.

  Celeste had begun to lose hope of pulling her plan off when a well-timed cramp gave her an idea.

  Small spurts of rain had begun pelting the windshield by the time Celeste was getting out of the car. Speed walking across the parking lot, she snuck a peek through the pharmacy window. There was a perfect gap for her to look through between an informational HIV poster and an advertisement for the 2016 Peanut Jamboree, an event that Celeste would’ve given her left kidney to attend.

  From her vantage point, as she shuffled past, the place looked devoid of customers. Good. Fewer people meant fewer chances to get caught up in her lie. If Dry Creek was anything like her hometown, everyone would have something to say about her business.

  The small bell above the door jingled cheerfully as she pushed it open and darted in to get out of the increasingly heavy rain. Celeste’s breath caught in her throat when she made eye contact with Jax, who lifted his head at the sound of the bell. Pavlov’s pharmacist flashed her his iconic grin, and she did her best to return it, knowing full well that she looked more constipated than excited.

  “Hey stranger!” Jax called across the store.

  “Cramps!” Celeste shouted in response. Crap.

  She had been repeating her cover story over and over to herself in her head, and it had unintentionally slipped out when she opened her mouth to say hello. Great, now Freud was there too.

  Flexing her atrophied deception muscles was going to be harder than she thought.

  Thinking on her feet, Celeste placed a hand on her gut and grimaced.

  “Sorry,” she blushed. That part wasn’t acting. “I’m just having the worst cramps. They really scramble my brain, if you know what I mean.”

  She lifted her other hand and twirled it next to her temple in the universal ‘cuckoo’ gesture. Jax’s smile grew somewhat strained at the mention of her cramps, and Celeste silently rejoiced. She may have been laying it on way too thick, but no amount of bad acting could overcome a small-town man’s fear of periods.

  He fumbled over his words for a moment before saying, “Yeah, definitely, me too. Uh, I’ll give you some privacy while you get what you need.”

  And with that, Jax disappeared into the back of the pharmacy.

  She didn’t want to lie to her new friend, but there was no way to know if she could trust him or not until after she had verified her theory. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence if all the missing person posters in the pharmacy had the same locatio
n and date as a page in the atlas. Corvus was an old man, and if her theory was correct, then it was all but guaranteed that he wasn’t working alone. As much as she hated to consider it, there was a strong possibility that Andrew’s childhood friend was Corvus’s accomplice.

  Moving quickly, Celeste went over to the feminine hygiene products and pulled out her phone. Thunder boomed loudly outside as she opened the camera, zoomed in, and took aim at the corkboard, then snapped as many pictures as she could. Jax walked back in as she was taking the last picture, and Celeste abruptly pivoted, holding her phone higher and moving it around a little bit.

  “I just can’t get service out here!” She said far too loudly before grabbing a random bottle of cramp relief pills off the shelf. Scurrying over to the counter, Celeste continued over-explaining, apparently unable to stop. “I couldn’t find my normal brand, so I was trying to look up the next best thing, but I guess the storm is probably interfering with the cell signal right now, so I’ll just go with this one. How bad could it be? Anything’s better than nothing!”

  Jax’s eyes narrowed briefly, and he took a slow breath in before asking, “Are you okay, Celeste?”

  “What, me? Yeah, I’m fine.” A quiet moment passed before she added, “Like I said, period brain.”

  His discomfort became palpable as Celeste said the word ‘period’ out loud. His posture abruptly stiffened, and he practically tore the bottle of pills out of her hand in his haste to get her checked out and end the conversation.

  “Are we still on for tomorrow night?” He asked, changing the subject as she handed him her card.

  “Absolutely,” she said, plastering on her best smile. “We’ll eat dinner, play games, and maybe even go on a joy ride around town. I’m dying to hear all about Andrew’s old stomping ground.”