I managed three hours of sleep before the sound of growling woke me up.
Rolling over, I turned on the bedside lamp and squinted at the pups. They were sitting up and staring at the open bedroom door, heads lowered, ears flattened, fur standing up on their shoulders and backs, tails coiled down and over their privates.
That was when I heard the floorboard creak on the landing.
Someone was in the house and less than six feet from my room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I listened for a moment, my heart pounding like a trip hammer.
Silence.
Then I heard what sounded like someone dragging a large, heavy bag along the floor. I opened my bedside cabinet drawer, took out my Glock, leaped out of bed and ran out of the room, Mick and Keith following, barking loudly, their claws clicking on the floorboards.
The landing was empty.
Bemused, I ran downstairs, expecting to find the front door wide open. It wasn’t. I turned the doorknob. Still locked. Sprinted into the kitchen. Empty, the back door also locked. I opened it and stared into the night, Mick and Keith flying past me and disappearing into the darkness.
‘Shit!’ I said, flicking on the porch light and stepping onto the boards, a light, cold breeze flowing over me. I couldn’t see the intruder, or the pups, but I could hear them barking, the sound fading rapidly, echoing in the darkness. They were heading towards Pioneer Cottage. ‘Mick! Keith! Come here!’ I listened for a moment, but the sound of their barking continued to fade. ‘Fucking hell.’
I put on my coat and then a pair of sneakers, grabbed my torch, locked the door and ran down the drive. I found Mick and Keith standing on the blacktop a few yards from the cottage, staring into the trees, emitting occasional, half-hearted barks. They looked relaxed as if satisfied that the danger had passed and wagged their tails when I approached. I bent down and told them what fine fellows they were, their tails swishing with increased enthusiasm as if they agreed with me.
Whoever had broken into my house was long gone. How they had done so confused and frightened me in equal measure. However, to satisfy the nagging voice in my head, I went back and checked the house from attic to basement. No intruders. All of the windows closed and locked. After his run in with the poachers, Gary had fitted every door and window with the best locks he could find and yet someone had still managed to get in.
How?
I thought for a moment and then went into my office and opened the safe. When Gary had the locks fitted, he ordered three sets of spare keys for the windows and three sets for each door. I kept two of the backdoor spares in the safe and the third on a hook in the kitchen in case my main set of keys was elsewhere and I couldn’t be bothered to get them. All of the keys were there. I closed and locked the safe and went downstairs to the kitchen.
The spare backdoor key was missing, as was the key for Pioneer Cottage, although I had two more for that in the safe.
‘Fuck!’
How the hell did that happen? I tried to recall any instance when I may have gone outside without locking the door, long enough for someone to get in and steal the keys. I couldn’t. I hadn’t rented out any of the cabins or the guesthouses since I’d moved in, so apart from Cole and Eddie, I’d been alone. If it was the burglars then why hadn’t they taken anything? It didn’t make any sense. However, and this was a big however, someone had taken a key. The question was, who?
I chewed this over for a moment, then gave up. ‘I don’t fucking know,’ I said and looked at Mick and Keith. They were sitting on the kitchen floor, gazing up at me with inquisitive expressions, their heads cocked. ‘Do you fucking know?’
Mick sneezed and thumped his tail against the stone floor.
‘Gesundheit. I didn’t think you would. What about you, Keith?’
Keith barked as if to say that he didn’t know either but he’d give it some thought, his tail also beating a muffled rhythm against the floor.
‘Well, it looks like you scared him off, fellas, but now we’ve got two missing keys.’
I made a mental note to call a locksmith in the morning and order a new set of locks, the fingerprint kind with a deadbolt and password keypad. As I turned to leave the room, an absurd thought appeared in my mind. I stared at my huge Frigidaire, trying to dismiss the thought because to accept it would mean that Gary hadn’t reanimated a corpse: he’d resurrected a person, as Jesus had with Lazarus.
No way. Couldn’t be.
‘I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,’ I said as I opened the fridge. ‘I’m checking to see if a zombie has stolen some of my food.’
A bag of salad, some cooked meat and half of my milk were missing, as was a loaf of bread from the freezer. I walked into the pantry. Various canned foods, five boxes of cookies – somebody has a sweet tooth, I thought - and a box of Cheerios cereal were also missing.
‘Well, well, well. She’s squatting in my guesthouse and stealing my food. At least she isn’t roaming around Harkinen, attacking its residents and eating their brains. Ain’t that right, fellas?’
Mick and Keith barked and propped themselves against my shins, looking up at me.
‘Knew you’d agree.’
I didn’t know what to do. It was too crazy to comprehend let alone take action on.
‘This is seriously fucking with my head, fellas. And trying to figure this shit out at …’ I glanced at the wall clock. ‘… Jeez, 01.52 a.m. … is making my brain hurt. Zombie actress steals cookies from rancher. News at Eleven.’
I wondered if I should walk down to Pioneer Cottage and check it out. See if I was right.
You sure you want to do that? I asked myself.
Not really.
‘Let’s leave this crazy horror movie shit alone for now, fellas, and go back to bed. We’ll deal with it in the morning.’
~
I awoke just after six feeling like crap. Shuffled downstairs, let the dogs out and made them breakfast while they relieved themselves all over my English daisies. Munched on a bowl of Wheaties. Told Eddie and Cole what needed to be done on the ranch that day and that I’d join them soon. Dragged myself upstairs, Mick and Keith in tow, took a shower and then shaved while sipping a Red Bull, my new companions watching me with great interest. Dressed. Ambled towards the stables.
Heather called as I was saddling Gus.
‘I hear you now have dogs,’ she said. ‘Two mastiff puppies, to be exact.’
‘Nothing stays secret in this fucking town for long.’
She laughed. ‘Can I come over and play with them?’
‘Play with your own dogs and aren’t you supposed to be working?’
‘I am but I could come over later. Perhaps I could feed them.’
‘Done it.’
‘Take them for a walk?’
‘Jeez, you and puppies. Anyway, mastiffs don’t need much exercise, especially when pups. They spend a lot of time sleeping.’
‘Are they doing that now?’
‘They were snoring away like two pint sized grizzlies driving bulldozers when I left the house.’
Heather laughed again. ‘Well can I come over later? As they’re pups they’ll need feeding again and I haven’t seen you since Dad and I spoke to you in town.’
‘Well, if you must.’
Heather blew a raspberry and I grinned.
‘Do you have anything for dinner,’ she said, ‘or do I need to go to the store?’
I thought of Lizzy, my friendly neighborhood zombie, who’d put a sizeable dent in my larder. ‘Actually, yeah, that would be appreciated. I’m running low. Bread, cereal – Cheerios and Wheaties - milk, some salads, cooked meats, cheese, grab some tinned stuff – you know what I like – and some microwave meals and a couple of pizzas. I’m not in the mood for cooking right now.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Oh yeah, some cookies. Grab two packets of every flavor they’ve got.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. And buy yourself something nice and put it on my tab.’
‘I-’
‘Heather?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Buy yourself something nice and put it on my tab.’
She sighed. ‘O-kay. I’ll see you later, you bossy sonofabitch.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ I said, grinning again.
Heather spent most of the evening at the ranch, fussing over the pups as we caught up with each other’s news. At 9 p.m. I went to bed and woke up the next morning feeling, by recent standards, reasonably refreshed. A positive triumph.
As I was drinking my coffee, I told Mick and Keith that Father Kearney was coming over and not to chow down on his loafers. I’d called him the day before while waiting for Heather to arrive and asked him to bless the ranch in exchange for lunch, dinner and a game of chess. The horrific revelations in Gary’s journal and my encounter with the entity were enough reason to call him, but it had taken a nocturnal prowler to finally get my ass in gear.
At midday, I stood in the driveway watching a panting Father Kearney as he extricated himself from his navy blue Honda Civic. He was a tall rotund man in his late sixties whose passion for food and fervent commitment to avoiding exercise had earned him the nickname of Friar Tuck. As always, he had neatly combed his thin supply of iron gray hair over his bald patch, the neatness not extending to his clothes, which looked rumpled as if Father Kearney had slept in them.
‘Afternoon, Father.’
‘Hullo!’ He closed the door and shook my hand, then leaned forward and greeted the pups who were trying their hardest to jump all over him. ‘My, aren’t you two just adorable, eh?’ As I directed Father Kearney into the living room, he said, ‘So, what exactly are we dealing with?’
I told him everything, his cheerful round face growing pale as I talked and by the time I had finished, we were sitting at the kitchen table eating dessert.
‘I’ve experienced things in my forty years as a priest that most people would consider impossible. What you have said, however, easily bests the most horrific of them. Do you still have Gary’s journal?’
‘Yes, it’s upstairs. I’ll go get it.’ I swallowed my last mouthful, collected our empty dishes and stood up. ‘I’ll put the kettle on for coffee and then bring it into the living room.’
‘I’ll handle the coffee while you get the journal.’
‘Okay.’
I returned ten minutes later – waylaid by a phone call - and found Father Kearney sitting on the sofa with Mick and Keith vying for his attention, a tray holding two cups, milk, sugar, a plate of cookies and my large French press on the coffee table.
I gave him the journal. ‘Brace yourself, it’s a difficult read.’
Father Kearney was already several pages in, his eyes moving rapidly across the pages, by the time I had poured myself a second cup of coffee. I took it into the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, prepped dinner and then returned to the living room to throw a ball around for the pups, occasionally glancing at Father Kearney, his expression shifting back and forth between incredulity, disgust and anger. It took him just one hour to read the journal. When he had finished, Father Kearney dropped it onto the coffee table, then sat for a moment massaging his eyes with his fingertips as if Gary’s words had given him a headache. Eventually, Father Kearney took his hand away from his face and looked at me.
‘Horrific.’
I nodded, walked over to the drinks cabinet, poured three shots of brandy into a glass and gave it to him. When he took it, I noticed that his hands were trembling.
‘Thanks.’
‘Where did you learn to read so fast?’
Father Kearney swallowed a mouthful of brandy, the color returning to his cheeks. ‘I took a speed reading course before college. Thought it would help when studying for exams and it most certainly did.’ He was silent for a few seconds, lost in his thoughts as he gazed out of the window, then his eyes returned to mine. ‘When you spoke to Robin’s spirit and she asked you to delay handing the journal over to the authorities, do you think it was because she wanted me to read it?’
I nodded. ‘I think so, and someone else.’
‘Elizabeth Dashwood?’
I nodded again.
‘And you really believe that Gary succeeded and it’s Elizabeth that you saw and who stole your keys?’
‘Definitely.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s just …’
‘Downright crazy?’
Father Kearney smiled. ‘Yes. I can’t believe we’re even discussing it.’
‘I know, right?’
‘And you think she’s now hiding out in your guesthouse?’
‘Yup.’
‘But you haven’t gone down to see if you’re right?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Will you?’
‘Yes. She’s stealing my food.’
He laughed. ‘Is she really?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well that goes some way to supporting the probability that Gary didn’t create a brain eating zombie and really did bring her back to how she used to be.’
‘Up to a point, yeah. But is Lizzy the same as she was before she died? I dunno. The missing food convinced me that she’s alive, but the glowing eyes? That’s inhuman. We can probably assume that she is physically the same, but I find it hard to believe that something as foul as Aritenkhede didn’t taint Lizzy; put something evil inside her instead of restoring her soul.’
‘I understand your point of view, but it might not be the case. It’s hard to imagine something evil crying, as you said she did. That sounds very human to me, like someone in great distress. And if something dark is inhabiting her body I’m sure it would have attacked you by now. A dark entity’s purpose is to wreak havoc.’ He grinned. ‘Stealing your cookies doesn’t quite fit the profile.’
I grinned back as I considered Father Kearney’s argument. It made a great deal of sense.
‘As to seeing if she really is squatting in the cottage,’ I said, ‘due to the recent spate of burglaries I’m intending to regularly check both guesthouses, the cabins and the rest of the outbuildings anyway. I just haven’t gotten down to Pioneer yet, perhaps because I feel like I should give her some privacy and space while she gets her head straight. I’ve been worried that if I went now, I might scare her off. However, if she is one hundred percent Lizzy Dashwood then I think I should get my ass in gear and talk to her and do what I can for her. I’m torn between the two.’
Father Kearney nodded. ‘I understand your dilemma. However, offering your assistance would be the Christian thing to do. If it really is her, then she must be very distraught and confused.’
‘Exactly.’
He smiled. ‘That’s a moment I’d like to witness, you meeting the resurrected Elizabeth Dashwood. As the kids say – and please excuse the language – it’s a total mind fuck.’
‘Father!’
His smile broadened. ‘What can I say, I’m down with the kids, but we’ll keep that between ourselves. As to the journal: you’re not going to contact the girls’ parents or the sheriff’s office until Lizzy’s seen it?’
I shook my head. ‘No. It’s what Robin wants.’
‘I don’t entirely agree, but I understand why you’re acting as you are.’
‘Then I can count on your silence until I feel the time is right?’
‘Of course. I doubt that having Gary’s journal will make it any easier for the authorities to find Kathryn, if there’s anything left of her to find. All they would have is his written confession. If we knew exactly where she was, then I would have urged you to go to the authorities.’
I nodded. ‘Perfectly understandable, and thanks.’
Father Kearney shrugged. ‘A sacred trust is formed when a person unburdens his or her soul to a priest and that priest must maintain absolute secrecy about everything a person shares.’ He paused for a few seconds and loo
ked out of the window again, his expression growing distant and thoughtful, then Father Kearney smiled wanly. ‘I’m still having trouble believing all of this.’
‘Understandable. It took me a long time to accept it. But you do believe me?’
‘Your own experiences, yes. What Gary wrote … the murders … Elizabeth Dashwood returning from the dead … Despite what I’ve just said, that’s the part I’m finding hard to believe. Jesus bringing back Lazarus, sure. Your brother doing the same with her? Very hard to accept.’
‘Yeah … although the recent news reports do validate some of it and then me seeing Lizzy …’
‘True.’ He looked down at his brandy glass for a moment, then took a sip. ‘Do you regret moving in?’
‘In some ways, yes. I’m hoping that your blessing will keep the entity off my property.’
‘From your description, I’m wondering if it was once human, maybe someone who used to live here. Or perhaps – and I don’t want to alarm you – it’s a demon that chooses to show itself in human form.’
‘I’ve been thinking the same thing. The encyclopedia makes no mention of Aritenkhede manifesting as an old man.’
‘Whatever it is, it’s clearly very powerful.’
‘Yeah. To get inside my head like that? Scary. That pissed me off. I wish I could kick its ass.’
‘I bet you do, but remember that you can’t fight Satan and his minions, or any other dark entity, in the same way that you could fight another person. Only God Himself, working directly, or through a priest or through one of his devout servants can do so and only if one has faith. Faith is power. It’s not the religion one follows or the words one uses in prayer; it’s the faith one has in that religion and in those prayers. Belief makes miracles possible, not a particular religion or a particular God. God could work through you, give you the power if you believed, but without it, it would be like trying to drive a car without gasoline. Until you regain faith, you’re extremely vulnerable.’
Black Rite Page 11
