Shepherd's Warning

by Cailyn Lloyd

  After touching up the bruise with concealer, Laura grabbed her tablet and sat at the kitchen table. She logged into Ancestry to enter the names she had discovered in the cemetery, hoping to reveal some significant mystery about the family. To justify what otherwise felt like a wasted trip.

  She entered the first name, Henry MacKenzie, only to discover that he already had a profile. She pulled another name from her phone, George MacKenzie. He also had a profile. Laura clicked to the Tree View, startled to find the MacKenzie paternal line filled out to four generations—in all, six people she hadn’t entered. Henry was Lucas’s great-grandfather, George his great-great-grandfather.

  Something was wrong.

  She had only entered Lucas’s father and paternal grandparents on the MacKenzie side. A sense of dread crept over her, an empty sensation in the pit of her belly.

  She hadn’t made these entries, and Ancestry didn’t automatically populate family trees. She had to approve each hint, photo, or document in a simple Yes, No, or Maybe format. George, Lucas’s great-great-grandfather, sat on the far right side of the tree. She clicked on the arrow to expand that branch of the family tree, and four more generations appeared, going back to Joseph MacKenzie. Joseph was Lucas’s sixth great-grandfather, born in 1710, who had lived and died in Bristol, Rhode Island with his wife, Sarah Smith. Both had died in their forties.

  She hesitated, afraid to click on Joseph’s arrow to expand the tree back further. She had searched for this information for months. Now it appeared unbidden in her Ancestry tree. Unable to stop, she clicked on the arrow and four more generations appeared back to the birth of Edward MacKenzie in 1590. He had lived and died in Derlinton, County Durham. The place name was vaguely familiar. Where had she heard it before?

  It was time to log off. Log off, close the computer, and leave this be. She could live with Mrs. Moskopf, or MacKenzie, or whoever was hanging around the house, but she couldn’t handle someone or something who could infiltrate her Ancestry page and fill in the blanks. Haunting a house and hanging around flicking knives onto the floor was one thing. Logging into her account and making data entries? Could a ghost do that?

  The answer was simple.

  No. No way. Yet the entries were there.

  She couldn’t stop, couldn’t look away. A morbid compulsion to see how far this madness went possessed her. How far back would it go? Like a gawker at a nasty freeway wreck, she couldn’t look away.

  Her pointer hovered over Edward’s name. She closed her eyes and clicked on the arrow, then opened her eyes.

  Three more generations appeared. She had reached the end and almost felt relieved. Almost, until she saw the last name on the right:

  Anna Flecher

  Laura nearly choked. Who the hell was Anna Flecher?

  She grabbed her phone and searched frantically back and forth through her photos, but the pictures of the stone bearing the name of Anna Flecher were gone. Instead, she found two photos of a small marker which read:

  Audra Fletcher

  Had she misread the stone?

  She hadn’t misread the family tree. Anna Flecher (1481-1516) was the first wife of Edward MacCoinnich (1478-1529). After Anna’s death, he had remarried. Edward and Catherine MacCoinnich were Lucas’s thirteenth great-grandparents according to Ancestry, though she didn’t understand the odd surname. She typed MacCoinnich into a Google search and discovered it was a Gaelic name, pronounced mac-co-neesh. The page also listed anglicized variations, including the name MacKenzie.

  So who was Anna Flecher? Why did her name keep popping up? They weren’t even related to the woman.

  There might be a simple explanation for this. Not sinister but malicious nevertheless, an elaborate practical joke. Perfect too. She nearly fell for it. Someone was messing with her and she suspected Lucas. He knew her email address, her favorite passwords; it would be easy for him. The why was less clear. Trying to rattle her? Gaslight her? Make her question her sanity? She checked the sources for the earlier MacKenzies and they looked legitimate. If this was a ruse, it was thorough and believable.

  She ticked off possible answers until she saw the clock on the range. Jesus! It was after four! She had forgotten about Leah. Laura jumped up and ran for the car, hoping Brenda would understand. At the front door, she looked out in surprise. Fog had developed while she was indoors, and the yard and trees were now shrouded in a ghostly mist.

  Ten minutes later, Laura pulled up to Brenda’s house as night fell in fading shades of grey. The local radio station issued a forecast alert for dense fog with freezing fog developing by midnight, the grave voice of the announcer sending a chill through Laura, an apprehension her life was about to come unraveled in a destructive way.

  Brenda was waiting at the door and looked visibly upset as Laura walked up the steps, as if she’d been crying. The storm door swung open. Something was wrong. A dark foreboding ran through her. She wished she could turn and run, wanting to hear no more bad news, but it was too late. The unraveling had begun, and Laura knew whatever Brenda told her would only draw her deeper into the uncharted quicksand her life had become.

  “Brenda, what’s the matter?”

  “Janice Foster is sick, very sick. I just got the call. I’ve got to go over there. Mom’s all shaken up—they’ve been friends since grade school. It’s terrible. She’s in the ICU, and they don’t know if she’ll make it.”

  “What happened?” Laura felt shocked and numbed. First the strange phone call this morning. Now Janice was seriously ill.

  “Heart attack, I don’t know—they aren’t sure. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later when I know something.”

  Laura zipped Leah’s coat as Brenda bundled her children in winter gear, then Laura watched them disappear into the fog on foot. Strapping Leah into the car seat, she sensed imminent danger, a feeling that had been growing and swelling all day. Events were rising to a climax.

  On the highway, Laura strained to see. Even with low beams and fog lights, the road was seldom clearly visible, and Laura struggled to pay attention. This morning she shrugged off Janice Foster’s call. Now, it haunted her. Janice had something important to tell her, and now she was in the ICU.

  A coincidence? A miserable but meaningless fluke? Or a sign of a darker nature, of a nameless menace set free when she and Sally had touched hands, or when Nate opened the room, or—?

  Stop it!

  The road was a dim blur as Laura turned onto Firelane Eight, but they were nearly home.

  A dark shape emerged ahead. She squinted. Was there something on the road? The vague impression of a dark animal, a bear or something, loomed. Laura swerved and slammed her foot onto the brake, heedless of the danger on the slick road. The car spun out of control.

  Laura let out a yelp as the Honda bucked and slammed, nose up, into the ditch. For a moment she stared in a daze at the wipers clicking back and forth, at the fog illuminated by the headlight beams which were tilted to the sky like airport beacons.

  A giggle from behind broke the trance.

  Laura looked at Leah, grateful she was unhurt. Nor was she scared. She thought it was a game. Feigning composure, Laura leaned back and kissed her lightly on the cheek. For a wistful moment, Laura envied Leah, her innocence; life was so much simpler for two-year-olds.

  Gently pressing the accelerator, she tried to ease out of the ditch, but the wheels just slipped and spun in place. She pushed harder, softer, harder, softer, trying to rock the car, hoping to coax it back onto the road. It was no use. The car was firmly planted and showed no inclination to move. If anything, they were sliding deeper into the ditch.

  Grabbing her phone, Laura tapped in the number for emergency roadside help.

  Silence. Zero bars. How the hell did this happen in this day and age? Jesus!

  She tried rocking the car again, but it stalled. She cranked the CR-V again and again. The battery ran down, the lights dimmed, and Laura knew she was pushing the battery to zero. She panicked, irrationally blaming t
he house, feeling something coming in for the kill.

  Frustrated beyond reason, Laura yelled as she pounded on the steering wheel, “Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!”

  Leah’s anguished crying was a slap in the face.

  Laura pulled her from the car seat and rocked her gently. “It’s all right, baby. Grandma’s sorry.”

  They would have to walk.

  Though frightened at the prospect, Laura was more afraid to stay in the car, worried the cold, or something lurking in the woods, would get them. But that was a crazy thought, and Leah didn’t need crazy just now. Laura tried to be mindful. Holding Leah, she climbed from the car, slipped in the mud, regained her footing, and side-stepped up to the pavement and turned left.

  She was nearly blind in the dense night fog and saw the road mostly through her boots as she slowly shuffled forward. Laura tried to control her panic, pushing away thoughts she might be walking in circles or in the wrong direction altogether. The fog and darkness were all-enveloping and she could see nothing. Leah whimpered in her ear. She imagined at any moment something horrible would materialize out of the mist. None of this was enough to distract from the cold, bone-chilling fog which slowly drenched every inch of them. Soon, her hair was dripping, and the road seemed to be freezing beneath her feet.

  Laura sensed something behind them, a feral presence. It was just a feeling but the sensation was powerful, frightening, and real. In a panic, Laura ran, stumbled, got up and ran again. They were being stalked by something she could neither see nor hear, a creature evident only to her sixth, psychic sense.

  Or she was imagining all manner of nonsense and suddenly afraid of harmless night shadows.

  A tremulous feeling in her gut said they were in danger. She couldn’t be mindful. The darkness, the fog had rendered her blind. The anxieties stacked up and up. Her fear spun out of control. Her innards were churning, her heart racing, and it felt like death following them, stalking her, long talons reaching for her slender neck.

  Forty

  A light!

  Someone ahead beckoned with a lantern or flashlight, walking away from them but signaling the way. Difficult to see in the fog, it looked like a man in bib overalls and a cap. The creature behind them seemed to fade, receding as she followed this stranger, this good Samaritan leading them forward. A name popped into her head—Tom. His name was Tom. A neighbor? They didn’t have neighbors. At that moment, it didn’t matter.

  She saw light in the distance, weak in the dense fog.

  It was the house! The windows grew brighter with each step, like the teeth and eyes of a grinning monster. Laura was heartened, running, thinking it impossible she would ever be this happy to see the house again.

  As they reached the front door, Laura stopped and looked back, but whoever had been there was gone.

  She yelled, “Thank you” into the fog.

  Weary, damp, and cold, she peeled their wet outer garments away, marched upstairs to the bathroom, and ran a hot shower. Laura pulled Leah in with her, and they luxuriated under the strong stream of water. Washed their hair, soaped up, laughed and giggled as they played with the bubbles. After donning pajamas and drying their hair, they went to the kitchen where Laura prepped a bottle of juice for Leah and strong coffee for herself.

  Lucas wasn’t home, and she felt alone and vulnerable. Laura carried Leah to the Hall, laid her on the sofa, and built a fire, watching the flames first lick at the wood, then consume it. The fire was soothing, a talisman, warding off the dark, and as her ancestors perhaps felt, warding off creatures lurking in the darkness.

  Laura was shaken by the what ifs—Janice, the fog, the thing in the dark. Leah, unperturbed, slid off the sofa and wandered over to her toys.

  The spin into the ditch was a consequence of her own stupidity. She should’ve known better, but why hadn’t her anti-lock brakes helped? Had an animal or something loomed up on the road? She didn’t know, the fog unwilling to reveal that secret. Had something stalked them, or was it just her overactive imagination? The guy with the flashlight? How did she know his name was Tom?

  Janice Foster needed to tell her something and now, Janice was in an intensive care unit. An unfortunate coincidence? Laura questioned everything, this coincidence loaded with portent. Janice Foster kept coming back to her. What did she know? It was driving Laura crazy.

  It was in the cards.

  Tarot cards? The situation was devolving into lunacy. Tarot cards?

  The timing of Janice’s illness though—

  The grandfather clock chimed the hour, intruding on her confused thoughts.

  Leah!

  Gone. Disappeared.

  Laura jumped off the sofa and began a frantic search.

  “Leah!”

  She heard a giggle toward the kitchen.

  Nope. Not in the kitchen. She then glimpsed blonde hair halfway up the stairs. Another giggle. The little shit thought she was funny. Leah was rushing now, peeking back and giggling as Laura charged up the stairs after her. She was mischievous, turning on lights as she went. Leah topped the staircase and stopped.

  “Stop, you little scamp!” Laura ran up the stairs, and Leah shrieked with delight. She beelined across the landing and disappeared into the bedroom, her footsteps padding on the wooden floors.

  As Leah pushed the door shut, she let out an anguished cry. Laura ran up the remaining stairs two at a time.

  She found Leah behind the door, one leg stuck in the floor. When she tried to pick her up, Laura realized Leah’s leg was snagged in some sort of trapdoor. She lifted the opposite edge of the door and lifted her free. Laura soothed her and rubbed the leg, which appeared to be fine, and carried her to the bedroom.

  Time for bed. Laura changed her diaper, laid her in the crib, sat and quietly read a bedtime story. Ten minutes later, Leah was asleep.

  Laura poured herself a glass of wine, grabbed a flashlight from the junk drawer, and walked upstairs. She sat and pressed on the floorboard where Leah had snagged her foot and the door popped open. She closed it and marveled at the way it blended with the floorboards and essentially disappeared. Only because Leah’s foot was so small did it trip and grab her leg.

  She flipped it open and peered inside. A cross lay in the dust, and Laura recognized its antiquity at once. Cast from grey metal, either pewter or lead, it was slightly wider at the end of each arm. A circle of metal inset at the center of the cross ran through all four arms. Flashing the light around, the chamber appeared otherwise empty.

  She reached for the cross. As her fingers wrapped around the heavy metal, a charge surged up her arm, and the chamber disappeared.

  She was trapped in a black place…

  Hungry, so very hungry. And thirsty. Dying. She was dying. No escape, no escape, delirious, afraid. But most of all, angry. Venomous.

  Vindictive.

  Laura threw herself backward, flat on her back, breaking the spell. Panting, her heart raced as she tried to erase the awful sensation in that dark place.

  What the hell was that?

  She fought the urge to panic. Stared at the ceiling light. Forced herself to relax. Took a deep breath, then another and another. Slowly calm returned. As did her curiosity.

  Laura grabbed a pencil from the bedside table, reached down, and flipped the cross with the pencil, careful not to touch the metal. Noticed a single word carved into the crossbar in old English script:

  Dryhtdðm

  Reached for her phone, but it was downstairs. Slipped a piece of paper from the nightstand and wrote the word on it. Slamming the door shut, Laura grabbed her wine and walked down to the Hall. Pulled her iPad into her lap and typed the word cross into the search box, then clicked on Images. She quickly learned it was a Celtic Cross, a religious symbol that arose in England eons ago.

  Laura wasn’t sure how to translate the word with that odd letter before the ‘m’. With a further search, she discovered the ð was an old letter called Eth from early written English. Substituting ð into her sear
ch, the word came up as the Old English word for Judgement.

  That word jarred a memory loose. Where had she seen that word? She remembered and felt her insides tense and twist with anxiety.

  The album.

  Laura ran downstairs and grabbed the album from the box in the root cellar. Flipped it open. An image filled the first page. An angel blowing a horn stood above figures of men and women rising from the ground. Beneath the picture was a single word:

  JUDGEMENT

  She carried the album upstairs and sat by the fire. On a hunch, ran an image search for Tarot cards. Clicked on the image of the card labeled Judgement. The card and the album were almost identical.

  The implications? She didn’t know but this was no coincidence. A connection existed, disparate strands that were coming together into…

  She had no idea.

  Maybe tomorrow this would make sense. Tonight, she was too tired to think.

  She shoved the album under the sofa, checked on Leah, then decided to sleep in her room tonight. Laura slid into her big bed and fell asleep moments later.

  Forty-One

  Lucas sat at the dimly lit bar of the White Birch Inn, idly casting glances between Murphy, the game on TV, his beer, and the motley crew of drinkers in the bar. It was Monday night, and the Packers were playing the Bears. The crowd in the bar roared as the Packers scored. He thought it was a touchdown, but he hadn’t really been watching. His concentration had deteriorated in the past few days, his jumble of thoughts continually returning to the dangers of living under the same roof as Laura. Maybe he was overreacting, maybe he wasn’t. He dwelt on Nate’s accident and her apparent seizure and premonition in the mall. That business was the reason Ashley left and one of the reasons he no longer trusted Laura.

  The announcer was droning on the TV, “…and there you have it, the incredible running talents of—”