Dark Muse

by David Simms

  The doorbell rang. The beast inside the house barked louder and threw itself toward the door.

  “What is that?” Poe whispered, her hand shaking in Muddy’s. “What kinda dog is…”

  BANG.

  Whatever it was, it threw all of its weight against the brittle door again, this time sending a blizzard of paint chips and dust into everyone’s hair and eyes. Muddy swore the wood buckled at least a couple of inches during the attack.

  “My eyes!” Otis shrieked. His voice rose an octave. The rest of the band rubbed the flakes out with hands and tears, but tears were a luxury Otis didn’t have. He shook his head and his white afro threw more dust into his face. There was no way they could get him home or to the ER if he started to bleed.

  “Where’s your saline?” Muddy asked, checking his pockets.

  He shivered. “I…don’t know.” His hand danced around his face, not wanting to make anything worse, but writhing in agony.

  Before Muddy realized what had happened, Corey had knocked him aside and leaned into Otis. In his hand, a small bottle shone in the red light. “Relax, lean back a little bit and shut up!”

  Corey, the gentle giant.

  As the drummer complied, Corey squirted a stream of solution into both of his eyes, washing away the debris. Several blinks later, all was calm again. Except for the strangled dog cry, sounding like it was gnawing on a human femur.

  “You okay, little guy?” Corey asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “I hate being ignored,” Poe said as she pounded on the door. “Anyone alive in there? We need to talk to you! Mr. Satriani sent us,” she yelled over the animal’s braying. “Can we talk, or what?” Her fist drummed against the wood. “Our friend went missing—at the crossroads.”

  “Shut the hell up you ugly beast!” came the reply. They thought the angry man was insulting Poe but then realized he was referring to his dog. It was a good thing, because Poe could be a real viper when she got mad.

  They all feared her temper. Sweet as honey on the outside, but cross her, and even a rattlesnake would curl up and roll away. Muddy couldn’t blame her though, not with the life she had.

  “Excuse him?” she said.

  Otis, fully recovered now, half-smiled. “I do think he means his dog.”

  A tense silence hung in the air for a few seconds, then stumbling noises sounded within the house.

  “What the heck do you want? If you gang-banging-little turds spray-paint my house, I’ll shoot a hole in your crack so big you’ll never have to sit down to move your bowels again!”

  “Sounds convenient to him,” Otis quipped.

  Poe smacked the back of his head. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll let that dog use you like a chew toy. Got it?”

  From the look on his face, Otis got it. The rest sure did. None of them wanted to laugh.

  Poe leaned toward the door. “Satriani told us to come here and we’re not leaving until you talk to us.”

  From inside, the voice bellowed, “I don’t know any Satch. Sounds like a half-wit, retread, no-talent hack to me. And I don’t help anyone. Leave before I let Sally have at you.”

  “Sally?” Otis said. “That monster dog’s name is Sally?”

  “HEY,” the voice from inside boomed. “What’s going on out there? I’m getting my gun now.”

  “Wait,” Muddy’s voice trembled. “We just need your help. Just a few minutes of your time. Please. We’re not from here, we’re a little—”

  “I already told you, I don’t know any Satch. Go away!”

  “We never said ‘Satch,’” Muddy called. “His name’s Satriani. You called him Satch.”

  Poe squeezed his arm. “Good one, Edgar. Nailed the mean old creep.”

  All was quiet for a minute. Even the dog didn’t budge.

  “Please, we need help. We've heard that you know all about our problem.”

  “What problem? What are you talking about, boy?” This time, the voice sounded normal, without murderous overtones.

  Muddy swallowed hard, and steadied his voice.

  “The Crossroads. I need to know all about them and how it works.”

  CLICK! It sounded like someone had cocked a gun. A big gun like in those lame cop shows.

  “You sick sons of demons! Get off my porch and don’t ever come back.”

  Otis and Corey began to run already, but Poe stuck her ground. So did Muddy, even though he was scared so much his shoulders shook.

  She held both his hands and gave him strength.

  “Sir, I need your help. My brother disappeared there last night. I saw everything. I need to know how to get Zack back. Please…”

  The dog howled as objects smashed inside. It sounded like the guy was breaking everything in sight. A minute later, the front door creaked open.

  The band stood there, not sure what to do.

  “Well, are you going to stand there all day, or come inside? If you want to learn how to kill yourselves, come on in and I’ll show you how.”

  Chapter Four

  Within the ramshackle house a shrine to blues music existed—everywhere. Pictures of Jimi Hendrix, B.B. King, Buddy Guy, Ella Fitzgerald, Albert King, all the greats hung from the walls. The frames made the room seem almost homey, instead of homely. Almost. It smelled like something had died in there, long, long ago. The man who sat in the rocking chair in front of Muddy seemed familiar—very familiar. Then it dawned on him. This old guy was in every picture on the walls with the greats of the blues! Hugging Jimi, jamming with B.B., getting a kiss from Ella; the man knew all of them.

  Geez. This guy, living in this broken down shack, with his ugly dog over in the corner, half-growling, half-drooling, he knows, or knew all these famous people. And now, he lives in the worst part of town? Without a pot to pee in? Muddy’s mind reeled.

  At first, when they saw the man behind the door, Muddy almost laughed. The older guy looked anything but threatening. Maybe thirty or forty years ago the man might scare the group, but not now.

  That mongrel that he'd originally thought to be a demon was only an old beagle. Yet when she howled in this old house, her little voice echoed through the walls, transforming into something deeper and darker.

  Corey fed her doggie treats from a bowl on the table, but the dog kept glaring at him. Black eyes locked onto his even as she chewed away.

  The black man ambled over to his rocker, motioning with a wrinkled hand for all of them to sit wherever they could find a spot. Piles of old newspapers and old vinyl records filled most of the space but they managed to find openings on the floor. Poe snagged a ratty couch covered in beagle hair. It was probably better, Muddy mused, that her vision wasn’t so sharp.

  The guy looked about seventy, but with a hundred years of wear on the tires. Wearing a moth-eaten wool blazer and sky blue pants, he looked like he could fit in any senior citizens home. He was a bald Bill Cosby without all the smiling. When Muddy finally got a good look at his face, he winced.

  The old man's eyes were mismatched. The right one was cocoa, but the left was silver! Not icy blue, or one of those colored contacts that Chelsea or the girls at school would probably wear to prom—it was shining silver where the color should be. The teen wondered if the old man could see out of it.

  He looked deeper. Yes, those eyes had seen a lot. The hair stood up on his neck as he held the gaze.

  “Seen too much,” said the old man, jarring Muddy from his stare. “Way too much.”

  “What?”

  “You in charge of this little posse?” Old Silver Eye asked him.

  Again, Muddy swallowed. “I guess so. Yes, sir.”

  The old man chuckled to himself, coughed then drank a swig of iced tea. “Yes sir,” he repeated and shook his head. “Most kids out this way are disrespectful little runts. They come and spray paint my house, kick my dog, shoot each other, whatever. I should’ve never come back.” His head dropped a bit.

  “From where, Memphis? Chicago? That where you�
�re from?”

  He shook his head, still dropped. “Nope, not what I meant at all, but you might find out if you’re unlucky enough.”

  “What do you mean? I just want to find my brother. Where did he go?”

  “Where do you think? You don’t seem like an idiot to me. Are you?”

  Poe, once again, jumped into battle for her friend. “Relax there, Mr. Music Man. Just because you know all these famous people,” she swirled with her arms, “doesn’t mean you can put us down. We’re not stupid. We’re just…different.”

  Muddy smiled at the angel of his life, his secret angel. Could she really see who was in the photos? No, he guessed, but she things figured out real fast.

  “You don’t say?” he asked, amused at her reaction. “I can tell. Easily.”

  The whole gang tensed up. They'd always had to deal with that stuff in school. They didn’t need it here, too, not with Zack missing. Something, or someone, was going to explode.

  Corey stood. “What does that mean?”

  More laughter erupted from the old guy. “Relax, relax.” He waved at them to sit down. “I didn’t mean anything derogatory by it. Look, I just met you. I have no idea what you’re about. All I meant were two things.”

  Muddy felt his muscles untangle a little. “Oh, yeah?” He still wondered where the old man had stashed the gun he'd heard click. “And what’re those?”

  The man downed the rest of his iced tea then called Sally over to sit by him. “First, some of you are going to be surprised at what the crossroads can do to a person. It ain’t natural—at least to this world.”

  “What do you mean?” Corey asked. “There’s no such thing as supernatural…stuff. And what do you mean by some of us? Why not all of us? Aren’t we different enough?” He’d spent his life labeled as different, just like all of them. Nothing got under his skin more.

  Poe tried to diffuse the stress. “So, you said there were two things. What’s the second?”

  “Hmmm,” the man replied. “You guys have no idea what music really is all about.”

  “You old dog!” Otis was never one to mince words.

  “Otis!” Poe sounded disgusted. She turned to the man, who still had not introduced himself. “Who do you think you are to tell us what we know about music? Is it because we’re not famous like those people you posed with on the wall? Because we’re young? Not from the ‘ghetto?’ What?”

  Otis drew back and leaned into Muddy. “Are you’re sure you want to date her?”

  “Shut up,” he whispered, hoping she'd missed Otis’ comment.

  The old man still sat there, shaking his head. “No ma’am. It ain’t any of that. That there was ‘Silver Eye Watkins’ up there on the walls with those so-called famous musicians. They know what it means, what it takes to be the music. When ol’ Silver Eye brought them over, their talent exploded from little seeds into whole fields of song. So, unless you’ve been over, my beautiful little dear, you have no idea what music really is, or can do. Got it now?”

  Poe’s expression changed to something else, as though she’d just smelled Otis after leaving Taco Bell. “Umm… I have no idea what you’re saying at all. What do you mean by over?”

  She turned to the rest of them. They simply shrugged.

  “Bottom line,” he added. “If you want to find your brother, sit down and tell me what happened so you can go over there and get him back. But unless he’s got it, he’s probably dead by now.”

  * * * *

  After Muddy finished his story, sweating in the stuffy living room, nervous as all get out, the silence washed over the group like a swampy wave. His fingers drummed the coffee table, thoughts rolling through the possible options.

  Would Silver Eye believe me? Would he laugh or think I’m nuts? What was up with that eye?

  When the tension swelled in the room, Otis broke the taut line.

  “Well? How do we get Zack back? Can you help us or are you just going to stare at Muddy there with that freaky silver eye?”

  The old man’s head came up, and instead of telling off the little drummer, he gazed around the room. “Who the heck is Muddy?”

  Poe leaned toward her friend. “Edgar here likes that nickname. It goes well with his last name, Rivers. We’re all big fans of the blues and classic rock.”

  The eruption of laughter from Silver Eye Watkins shook the photos on the wall. His eyes teared up and his one foot stomped the floor.

  “Muddy Rivers? Muddy Rivers? You named that, kinda like Muddy Waters? Was ‘Dirty Stream’ or ‘Cruddy Creek’ already taken? Come on, speak up, blues boy.”

  The boy burned with pure embarrassment. He'd always felt confident with the name, but now this old coot had stripped him of his armor in one fell swoop.

  It started with Otis then Corey, and after a few seconds of those two giggling to themselves, even Poe fell apart. Suddenly, everyone cracked up, even Muddy.

  “I like the name,” Poe said. I think it fits him.”

  The older bluesman gazed into Muddy's eyes. “Okay, Edgar.”

  More waves of laughter shook through the group.

  “Please,” the Muddy begged.

  “Okay, boy. You want that name you call yourself?”

  Muddy stared right back at the old man, suddenly serious again. “Definitely.”

  “Then earn it.”

  I will, Muddy thought stubbornly to himself. I will.

  “When do we start looking for Zack? I want to find him before something bad happens.”

  A deep breath vibrated through the old man. “Oh, but something bad has already happened if he’s over there alone.”

  “I don’t even know where he is. Where is he?”

  “First,” Silver Eye said. “You need to know, it’s not a picnic. He went someplace many musicians and artists and writers went before, but not all have returned.”

  “So?”

  “So,” he said, staring at him with that one dark eye and one unblinking silver eye, “are you willing to take that risk?”

  No doubt about it. He’s my brother, Muddy thought, but the man’s comment did scare him a little.

  “I’m in.”

  “So am I,” Poe added.

  “Him too,” Corey replied, pointing his big finger at the drummer.

  “I don’t have a date until this weekend, so why not?” Otis, always hiding behind his jokes. Thankfully, they had the old man with them.

  Silver Eye shook his head. “Good, ‘cept I’ve never crossed over with kids before.”

  “I’ll try to leave my pacifier here if that makes you feel better, gramps,” Corey said.

  “Watch your mouth, boy.” He slammed his fist into the arm of the chair. Muddy watched the thick veins on the dark hands grow and shake. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with over there.” Fire burned in his one eye. “Take it seriously or go home and cry when your brother never comes back.” Why did the man seem so angry? What did he know about where they would go?

  None of them still had any idea what “over there” meant, but they figured he would show them the light—or lose them in darkness soon enough.

  “What’s the second thing?” Muddy asked.

  He kept his gaze on him. “We leave tonight.”

  “But how? We have school tomorrow.”

  “You chicken,” Corey said. “It’s your brother!”

  “Yeah,” Otis chimed in, “you’re not scared, are you?”

  The old man stomped his foot again to get their attention. “You’re all scared. Or should be. It’s a messed up world over there. I still get the trembles every time I go.”

  “Besides,” Silver Eye continued. “Time doesn’t listen to any of our rules over there. So, you might not even miss one of your arithmetic classes if you’re lucky. If you’re not, I hope whoever comes back can spell the words right on your tombstone.”

  “What is over there?” Muddy asked, ignoring the taunt.

  Now Poe jumped into the fray. “Is it beyond that la
ndfill? Some isolated part where people don’t go to anymore?”

  The old man looked directly at Muddy. “You can’t walk there. You know that, so why are you asking? It’s not on a map. It’s not past the landfill, but it is somewhere that people hardly visit anymore, at least from this area.”

  Otis smirked and had to add his two cents. “So…you’re saying it’s somewhere only you can take us, but it’s not past the landfill and it’s not across the river.”

  The old man went silent.

  “So…are we gonna click our heels together like in the Wizard of Oz and float there?”

  The old man suddenly stood. “Listen, you little… I don’t need this crap. You don’t believe me, fine. Let that boy die over there. It ain’t my issue. You wanna cross over with him, fine, but don’t go making me out to be no crazy idiot.”

  Damage control time. It always happened when Otis got riled up.

  “Wait, Mr. Watkins,” Muddy pleaded. “I need to get over there, wherever there is. I know it’s something weird—I saw it with my own eyes. I believe you, but they don’t. Can you tell them what this place is?”

  “Nope,” he said, shaking his head again. “You either believe and go with me, or run home to mama and let them have at it with your kin.” He stood, walked over to a closed door and leaned against it. “I shouldn’t even be taking you there.”

  “Yes, you should,” Poe insisted. “Whatever, wherever this place is, we’ve gotta go there, for Zack’s sake. Please.”

  A minute of silence ensued. Then his eye moved as his gaze slowly rolled over them. “You really think you’re up for this? You’re not afraid?”

  “Of course we’re scared,” Corey said. “We’re not stupid. The three of us haven’t even seen the place yet.”

  “When’s the last time you went there?” Poe asked Silver Eye.

  “Never mind that. I know what I’m doing.”

  “But,” he warned, “You can’t go there unarmed. You go in there with empty arms, and you might as well be dead now. You need instruments. Otherwise, you won’t last a minute.”