by Kirk Dougal
A light flickered ahead and off to one side. A two-handed thrust bent our path toward the glow. What I thought at first was a family mausoleum quickly shrunk to the size of Blarney's van.
“The grave's ready, Jack,” a voice said from the darkness.
“Jack's hurt,” I said between gulps of air. “What do I do?”
“Hijo de perra!” The van's interior light popped on and shone through the open door. It was bright enough to reveal a massive gravestone topped by a marble tree, branches spreading from side to side. In front of the monument was the dark abyss of a hole, the smell of fresh-turned dirt fighting its way through the draugr's stink. Blarney appeared in the doorway, blocking out most of the light. “Force him into the grave, Stick.”
I poked at the creature, but the bill felt as if someone had tied a fifty-pound weight to the end and added two more to my feet. The draugr turned when I prodded, and it swung its arms, striking at the shaft. Twice it hit the wood hard enough to almost knock the polearm out of my hands, and another swipe pushed the butt into my face, causing stars to bloom in my eyes.
“You've almost got him,” Blarney said, urging me on despite the throbbing below my right eye. “One more good shove.”
I reached out.
The draugr was gone. The creature tumbled backwards into the dirt and pieces of broken coffin boards, settling into the bottom of the hole.
“Is that it?” I peeked over the grave's lip, but the draugr didn't move, remaining flat with its arms crossed over its chest.
Blarney jumped out of the van.
“Not yet.” He took the polearm and handed me a hammer and two nails. “They're iron. You need to drive them into his heels so he won't climb out again.”
“Why don't you do it?”
Blarney laughed.
“Jack does the jobs. I'm the one who builds all this stuff.” He shook the polearm.
What he'd said didn't sound any more incredible than anything else I'd seen during the night. So, I climbed into the grave and in a few seconds found myself pounding a nail into the heel of a man who had been dead for more than one hundred and fifty years.
*****
I touched below my eye and felt the rising knot. The sun rose, a full circle above the neighboring houses as I watched Blarney pound a nail into the last board over the death door. The recently opened doorway now had a rough frame and a solid wall of siding covering it again.
“That shoe's good and tight now,” Jack said from the base of the two-by-four ramp. He held his right arm in close to his ribs, but he was grinning. “Time t' pack and be gone. I got an ahnvee for some boudin.”
Blarney walked away with his toolbox in one hand, and I followed him down the ramp. Jack handed him some money on the way by and then turned to me.
“You ain't no capon runnin' down the road, Stick.” Jack held out a stack of folded bills. “Guess ol' Chot was right about you. Be a full moon in two nights, and there be another bebette to take care of then. This one with a lot of fur.” He let loose with a cackle that ended in a snort.
I watched Jack limp away before I glanced down at the money in my hand. Mr. Everson, my high school guidance counselor, would have laughed, too, and probably thrown in an “I told you so.” He had warned me to get serious about my life, or I'd end up doing the jobs that no one else wanted.
He had no idea how right he'd been.
The Bike
There it was again.
The bike's red frame stood out from the trees while the chunky, white-walled tires gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. I turned and stared at the road as I drove on, checking my rear view mirror to see if anyone walked out of the woods to ride it away. Knowing how many times Jack had asked for one just like it, I half-expected him to trot into sight, throw a leg over the bar and pedal off.
But that was not going to happen.
The bike sat alone, still untouched, just as it had for the past three nights as I drove home from work on this side road.
I gripped the wheel tighter and told myself, if it was still there tomorrow, I would stop and see if the rider needed help.
*****
My stomach flopped as I rounded the curve, and the bike came into view.
I had almost driven a different route tonight, and now I hesitated, my foot steady against the accelerator. I pulled off the pedal and slowed, easing my car to the side of the road. I glanced ahead and then into the mirror once I stopped. No other vehicles were in sight. When the bridge over the lake had been shut down for repairs, I considered myself clever for finding this little-used side road that circled the northern edge of the water and allowed me to avoid the long lines of congested traffic each night on the main roads as I drove home from work. Right now, I wished another car would motor around the curve so I could flag the driver down and ask for help.
The wind moaned through the trees as I stepped out of my car, leaves whispering in response, and then slid across my jacket while I walked around to the bike. I blamed the breeze for the shiver that raced through me when I noticed the layer of dust on the red frame. One glance told me the bike had been standing here for longer than just the few days since I first saw it.
Jack had begged for the same pedal assist model for Christmas and then later his birthday. But with a top speed of nearly twenty miles per hour, everyone had been leery about him handling the bike in traffic around the neighborhood. Jack had nearly cried when he was told no, tears his eight-year-old ego barely held in check. It did not help when his mother wanted to cave in and buy it anyway, not wanting to make him walk to his friends' houses anymore.
This model was outfitted differently, however. A credit card receptor and geo-locator were attached to the handlebars, making it the property of one of the local scooter share services that had popped up in the area. I wiped off the screen and noticed the map was blank. A quick check on my phone revealed I did not have service out here, either, the woods and the hills around me blocking any signal.
I jumped when a chittering sound escaped the trees, jerking my head from side to side while I searched for what had made the noise. I whirled when a bird flew off a branch and flapped away. For half a second, the noises had whispered strange words in my ears, harsh and high pitched, but instead I laughed at my nervousness.
“Hello! Is anybody there?”
I waited after my shout, head cocked to one side while the words fell hollow against the trees. Rustling in the underbrush was my only answer. I stepped around the bike and over the shallow ditch, stopping on the edge of the shadows.
“Hello! Do you need help?”
Shuffling leaves to my left were followed by wood snapping in front of me. Since I was still standing in the sunlight and staring into the dark beneath the trees, I could not see what had made the sounds. It was probably just squirrels, but Jack's face popped into my thoughts, and suddenly I needed to know the bike rider was not in trouble.
“I'm in no mood for any damn games,” I said. “Just yell out and tell me you're okay, and I'll leave you alone.”
Nothing.
I checked my watch and then glanced over my shoulder at the sun. A sliver of blue remained between the orange orb and the hill to the west. Another hour and the sky would be as dark on the road as it was in the woods.
“I'm going to get back in my car and leave if you don't answer me.” My words echoed back, mocking me with a false reply. “Well, shit,” I mumbled. With a shake of my head, I stepped into the shadows.
The sun followed me for a few strides while I weaved between trunks, fingers of light reaching into the murk and pushing it aside. The trees thinned as I moved, opening up and spreading around me, even while the leaf canopy remained a solid ceiling above my head. Although it was green above, on the forest floor the undergrowth was brown, a straggling mass of dying decay without sunlight to give it life.
“Hey! Is anybody here?”
My words were as dead as the world around me, soaking into the rot, hidden from the road whil
e nobody noticed as they drove by. Another minute passed with no answer, and I started to turn to leave when the chittering reappeared, this time directly ahead but fading in the distance.
“Wait! I just want to make sure you're okay!”
I ran after the noise. Up a rise and down the other side, I paused only long enough to listen for the rustling before I started again. Finally, my chest heaving in and out, I stopped on the edge of a gully, the ground dropping into a wide channel before continuing on the other side.
With blood rushing through my ears, I waited for a hint about which direction to go. Minutes passed and still nothing sounded around me. I opened my mouth to shout, but nothing came out, my tongue glued down. Silent before, the air now pressed on my shoulders, and the forest closed in a box, crushing me in its grasp. My skin crawled under unseen eyes.
Feet pounded across the ground, crackling leaves in their flight. I whirled in time to see a small figure running through the trees, zig-zagging out of sight.
Shit, I scared him.
I pushed down thoughts of Jack, wondering how scared and trapped he must have felt, and ran after the boy.
I crested the next rise and stopped short, grabbing a tree for support. A valley sat in front of me, a shallow bowl of green grass with a brook flowing along one side. Near to the water, a cabin sat tucked in close to the trees, but still in the sun. As I watched, a man walked around the front corner, a hoe slung over his shoulder.
Movement to the side caught my eye. The boy was there, darting from tree to tree, working his way toward the back of the cabin, a dark figure among the shadows. Sweat dotted my lip when I realized he was not trying to stay out of my sight. He was avoiding the man.
They nearly ran into each other where the back of the cabin reached the shadows. The man roared when he noticed the smaller figure, swear words echoing across the valley to me. In one swift move, the hoe was off his shoulder and swooping in a low arc, clipping the dodging boy and spinning him deeper into the darkness beneath the trees. The man stood on the edge of the forest, yelling a string of profanities so fast I could barely make out the words.
I was running before I realized I was moving. I followed the line the boy had taken, working my way into the valley while zipping between the trees, trying to stay out of sight. The boy needed rescued. I had to get him out of here, take him to the nearest police station, so he would be safe from this monster.
I slowed as I neared the cabin and finally came to a stop when I realized the man was no longer on the edge of the tree line. Noises at the back of the building caused me to turn, and I saw a small shadow slip past a tree. I eased in that direction.
Step by step, I worked my way forward. Twice I stopped, one foot in the air, when I was afraid the man had returned. But, each time, he never appeared, and I continued on, every move a lesson in caution.
A dark mass loomed up in front of me. Sheltered from the front by the cabin, I found a small shed standing alone. I wiped a hand across my face and leaned against one wall before letting out a long breath. The wood against my back steadied me, lending courage to continue my search for the boy.
I froze when I heard chittering in the distance followed by a twig cracking around the corner of the shed. I had no more than turned in that direction when the underbrush moved, and a shadow flitted past the corner of my eye. All three warnings had come from different directions, and I froze, confused by which one was the man with the hoe.
None of them.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder, spinning me around. I shouted, but the sound died in my throat when I saw the man's face. Jagged scars crisscrossed his cheeks, drooping down onto his neck on one side with a thin gash across the width of his forehead. Some of the wounds were red or pink, still trying to heal, but most were the pale white of long-ago injuries. He stepped back, tossing me into the clearing with one hand, and I tumbled end over end before rolling to a stop in the sunlight. Adrenaline helped me scramble to my knees.
The man swung the hoe down, and stars exploded in my eyes. Everything went black.
*****
Rough hands turned me over, reaching into my pockets. My stomach lurched like the time Shelly and I had taken a cruise before Jack. I spent almost the entire vacation in our room, doubled over the toilet with seasickness.
“...found the damn bike...no one else see it...use the car...”
My keys jangled as he jerked them from my coat. As the ebony curtain swept over me, I thought I heard chittering in the distance.
*****
I saw Jack in the dark. He ran through the woods, trying to remain quiet, but his terrified sobs echoed off the trees, louder even than the leaves crunching beneath his feet. Running behind him was the scarred man with the hoe, swinging and cursing with each stride. But as the chase continued, and Jack's crying increased, the man's faced blurred. In a blink, I watched myself pursuing the boy, waving the hoe over my head as I screamed at him to stop. Through it all, however, chittering echoed a song in my nightmare.
*****
My hand pressed against something rough and hard. I opened my eyes, and pain shot through my head, my body spinning. I slammed them shut again, begging for the darkness to return.
I drifted in and out, falling into a bottomless abyss where light was a forgotten memory, only to rise to the surface again. Slowly, my body became my own again, and I woke.
This time I cracked one eye open, waiting for the pain to douse me in piercing white again. But the room was not bright, and the agony did not return. After a few minutes, I realized I was lying on a wooden floor and pushed myself up until a wave of nausea swept over me. I stopped moving, hugging my knees to my chest to stop their shaking, unsure if I would puke up whatever was left in my stomach.
The pounding in my head slowly receded, and I tried again. My eyes adjusted to the dim light around me. I was sitting on the floor in a small room. At the other end, a barred door opened to the outside, the back of another building looming under a lightening sky not far away. It took longer than I wanted to admit to figure out I was sitting in the little shed behind the cabin, and the sun was rising on a new day.
Don't worry. They'll come for you.
The police would be looking for me by now. Shelly would have called them when I didn't make it home from work. They had probably found my car on the side of the road. I listened, waiting for the sounds of the search, maybe even the baying of hounds as they followed my scent. They would be here soon, and then the man would be caught, punished for what he had done. Once I was free, I would help the police search the woods for the little boy. We would return him to his home.
A tear slid down my cheek.
The thought was a comforting lie. There would be no rescue. Shelly had left nearly two years earlier, not long after Jack was gone, with only a withering stare of disgust as she slammed the door shut. There was no one waiting at my house to miss me when I didn't return, no one but the whiskey bottle on the back seat of my car that I had intended to be my nightly company.
I listened to a door slam. Heavy footsteps approached and soon the man walked around the corner of the cabin. His scars were even redder in the early morning light, but my attention was fixed on the hoe leaning against his shoulder. It was hard to see in the semi-dark, but I thought I saw dried blood on the blade.
He glanced around, his eyes searching the woods around the shed. Satisfied with what he saw, the man leaned down and slid a plate and fork underneath the barred door. I noticed his hand was wrapped with a bandage, blood spotting in the middle. When he stood again, he stared at me for a few seconds before shaking his head.
“Here's something to eat.” His voice sounded squeezed, as if he was accustomed to shouting and these quiet words wanted to explode in his normal volume. “I've got to go get the bike. Stay in there or you'll just get yourself killed.”
I shivered as he walked away. This time I did puke up the bile in my stomach.
*****
Chittering wafted
between the bars on the door, and I sat up slowly, holding off the pain I was sure would reappear. I cringed away from the scratching on the wall behind me, and I grabbed the fork the man had left with my breakfast. Movement outside in the shadows made me turn in that direction, slowly so I would not scare off whatever was making the noise. A figure moved beside the wall of the cabin, ebony against the gray of the old wood. I blinked when another shadow joined the first, and then a third appeared.
The mystery of the multiple noises in the woods was solved. It had not been one boy I chased through the trees the day before. There had been several.
Tears rolled now, dripping off my chin as I wiped a sleeve under my nose. But underneath the sorrow shaking my body, anger was building.
This was Jack all over again. The sick bastard who grabbed Jack off the street as the boy walked home from a friend's house, without the bike his mother wanted him to have to ride, had thrown him into a van and trapped him with empty promises the same as he had done to a half-dozen other boys in the past. When the police finally found Jack's broken body, his mother had barely recognized him, screaming his name only when she saw the blood-soaked t-shirt.
But someone had seen the van screeching through our neighborhood streets that night. A man rushing home for an unimportant, forgotten reason had cussed when he was cut off at an intersection, maybe even flipping the guy the finger. But the neighbor had not called the police, not given a description of the van, not done anything even when the missing child alert was broadcast across the entire state. Jack had been the life of the neighborhood, and everybody treated him like a part of their own family, including the man hurrying home. The boy had been given a slim chance to live, but the watcher stole the possibility away by doing nothing.
Shelly had left when she found out what I had not done, disgusted by my inaction. But that didn't matter. I never forgave myself for not calling the police or telling Jack's mother about the van.
