by Ronald Kelly
Boyd showed her how the revolver functioned, as well as the best way to aim it. Then he schooled her on the use of the crossbow. He demonstrated how to cock and secure the bowstring, and how to load the bolt into its proper place. He demonstrated how to fire it, sending one of the wooden bolts into a pile of newspapers. When it was Tammy’s turn to cock and load the weapon, the bolt flew as smooth as silk and hit where she wanted it to.
“Looks like you’re a natural, little lady,” Caleb told her. “And believe me, I’ve seen a hell of lot of fellas who were good with a compound bow who couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a crossbow.”
“It’s not as difficult as I thought it would be,” replied Tammy, pleased with her marksmanship.
“Now, remember, it’s a little windier up there on the mountain than it is here in this garage,” Boyd pointed out. “If you have to fire it outdoors, remember what I taught you about compensation for windage. If you don’t, the currents will lift that bolt completely over their heads.”
“Aw, don’t fret about her,” said Caleb. “She’ll do just fine!”
Tammy looked around and saw that they had everything ready to go. “Okay, who wants to play the part of Van Helsing?”
Boyd and Caleb looked at one another, confused. “That was a joke,” said Tammy.
“Oh,” said Caleb, still perplexed. “So, where are we headed first?”
“The old church house on the south side of the mountain,” Tammy told him. “Wendell will be there, as well any followers he might have rounded up.”
“You mean the Hughses?” asked Boyd. An uncomfortable thought came to him. “You said the little girl was missing, too?”
“Penny?” Tammy felt her stomach sink. “Yes, she was taken along with her parents.”
“What if Wendell has—?”
“We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” she told him, although she wasn’t at all sure if she would have the nerve to do so.
“Then, after the church, we’ll go on to the old Craven house?” asked Caleb.
“Yes,” said Boyd. “Grandpappy and Joan—as well as any others—will more than likely be holed up in the cellar. Paul and Bessie will be in an upstairs bedroom. Probably not the same one as before, since the window was completely busted out of that one. The person we really have to be careful of is Dudley. He’s armed. I know he has a twelve-gauge shotgun and my .45 automatic.”
“Don’t worry,” said the mountain man. He reached down and ran a hand along the staghorn handle of his Bowie knife. “I’ll take care of him.”
“Caleb, we’ll take your Blazer, if that’s okay with you,” suggested Boyd. “It’ll pull that steep mountain road a lot easier than Tammy’s Nissan.”
“That’s fine and dandy with me,” he told them. Caleb began to gather up the guns. “Well, I reckon that’s it.”
“Not quite,” said Tammy. She regarded the two men. “I think we should say a prayer before we go. It might be in our favor if we ask God to help us with what we’re about to do.”
Boyd and Caleb nodded solemnly. Neither were particularly God-fearing men, but they knew the preacher’s wife was right. The enemy they were going up against were creatures of Satan; parasites who fed off human blood and changed form at will. They needed all the help they could get, and if the Lord was willing to lend them a hand, all the better.
Tammy extended her hands toward the two men and they took them. Then, awkwardly, Boyd and Caleb joined hands. They stood there in a silent circle for a long moment. Then Tammy began to speak softly.
“Dear Lord in Heaven, we’re here before You this afternoon, asking for Your mercy and Your guidance. The task we have taken upon ourselves to perform is a dangerous one, but one of necessity. The devil has unleashed his spawn upon the town of Green Hollow—the spawn of Nosferatu—and it is up to us to put an end to it. Bless us, Lord, and protect us. See us safely through this battle and shield us from the evil we shall encounter. In Jesus’ holy name, Amen.”
Boyd and Caleb echoed the ending word. Their grasp tightened for a moment, then they let go.
As Caleb picked up the carton of Molotov cocktails and headed for the Blazer, Tammy pulled the redheaded carpenter aside. “Remember what I told you before, Boyd,” she said. “When the time comes, you will have to put your feelings for Joan aside and do what is right. I’ll be doing the same for Wendell.”
Boyd nodded. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’ll deal with it.”
Then, together, they gathered the rest of the weapons they would need and closed the garage door behind them.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Paul put his ear flat against the panel of the bedroom door and stood there for a long moment.
“What are you doing, Paul?” Bessie asked from where she huddled on the bed.
“Hush,” he said softly. “Just listen. Can you hear it?”
Bessie hopped down off the bed and walked to the door. She mimicked her brother, placing her ear against the wood. Bessie listened and heard a monotonous knocking somewhere downstairs. “What is it?” she asked.
“Sounds like hammering,” Paul told her. “It’s been going on for an hour now.”
“But who’d be hammering?” she wanted to know.
“I don’t know,” Paul said with a shrug. “Dud, I guess. You know there’s no one else up and around at this time of day.”
Bessie thought of her mother down in the dark, earthy cellar of the house—down there with Grandpappy Craven—and she shuddered. “Yeah, I know.”
Paul turned and looked at his little sister. Even in the gloom, he could see the wet glimmer of her tears starting up again. “Come on, Bessie,” he said softly, hugging her close to him. “Don’t do that. You know I can’t stand it.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it,” she said, sounding tiny and completely without hope. “It’s Mama… what she’s become…”
Paul embraced her tightly. “I know. Just try not to think about it, okay?”
Bessie pulled away and stared up at him. Her eyes were full of torment. “But you weren’t there at the Milfords’, Paul,” she whispered, her tears flowing freely now. “You didn’t see what Grandpappy did to them. He killed Mr. Milford tight there in front of me. And then he made Mrs. Milford like Mama.”
“But it wasn’t your fault, Bessie,” Paul tried to assure her.
The girl looked at him like he was a liar. “But it was!” she wailed guiltily. “If I hadn’t gotten them to let me inside, Grandpappy wouldn’t have been able to do what he did. I helped kill them, Paul. I did!”
Paul ushered his sister to the bed and sat her down on the lumpy mattress. He sat there with her for a long time, holding her, listening to her cry, unable to comfort her.
Paul could only guess at what Bessie had witnessed at the Milfords’, but whatever it was, it had been traumatizing for the seven-year-old. He cursed Grandpappy for using Bessie in such a horrible way, and his mother for allowing him to.
After a while, Bessie’s sobs settled down and she grew quiet. Paul looked around the bedroom they were now confined to. After the window of the other one had been shattered and the shutters broken, Paul and Bessie had been moved to a room at the far end of the hall. This one was much smaller and its single window wasn’t just shuttered, but boarded up from the inside as well. Paul had tried to pry the boards loose with his fingers, but had found it impossible. There was no getting out, no chance of escape at all. Paul had finally had to come to the realization that he and Bessie were there for as long as Grandpappy wanted them to be there.
Which was another thing that bothered Paul. What would happen when Grandpappy no longer had a need for them? Would he kill them? Or would he turn them into the kind of creature that their mother had become?
Like most children, Paul didn’t fully understand death and feared it worse than anything else in the world. But strangely enough, he found that he feared Grandpappy and the form of existence that he offered even more. If he had
to choose between the two, Paul wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t choose death, for both himself and his little sister.
“Paul?” asked Bessie, looking up at him.
“What, squirt?” He gave her a lame smile and ran his hand through her bright red hair.
“Paul… what do you think happened to Daddy?” she asked. “Did he make it down off the mountain? Or was he…?”
The boy knew what she was driving at. Had their father outwitted the creature that Grandpappy Craven had become, or had he been killed by it before he had reached the foot of the mountain? The question had haunted him for the past couple of days. Their father had not returned as he’d promised and no one had mentioned him at all, not Grandpappy or their mother, not even Dud. Just the possibility of his father being dead, brutally murdered by the hellish black boar, horrified the ten-year-old. He had to drive the awful thought of it from his mind just to keep from crying.
“I don’t know, Bessie,” he finally told her. “You know Daddy. He’s too ornery to let Grandpappy get the best of him. Who knows? He might be on his way to get us right now.”
“Yeah,” said the girl, although she looked doubtful. “Maybe.”
They sat there in silence for a long while, separate in their misery, yet together. They could hear the distant pounding of a hammer downstairs, could feel the faint jarring of each blow as it thrummed through the iron frame of the bed. Then the sound ended and there was nothing for a while. Paul looked at the glow-in-the-dark hands on his wristwatch and saw that it was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. His stomach growled. It was already a couple of hours past lunchtime. Dud Craven usually brought them something to eat around noon. Whatever he was doing down there, it must be something mighty important.
A few minutes later, Paul heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside, followed by the rattle of a skeleton key in the lock. Then the door swung open and Dud stood there. He set a couple of cans of Coke, two cheese and bologna sandwiches, and a bag of Ruffles potato chips on the dusty floor.
“Sorry I forgot about you young’uns today,” he said. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy with what?” Paul asked him. “I heard hammering.”
Dud looked at the boy. Paul was surprised. Dud usually stared at him and Bessie as if he were staring at a brick wall. But that afternoon he seemed to actually see them. “I’m making things right.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bessie.
Dud hesitated for a moment. In a way he seemed nervous, but in another way he didn’t. It took Paul a while before he recognized the emotion in the farmer’s eyes. It was grim purpose. Whatever Dud was up to downstairs, Paul had a peculiar feeling that it would not be to Grandpappy’s liking.
“You got a watch on you, boy?” asked Dud.
Paul held up his wrist and showed the man.
“When six o’clock rolls around, y’all be ready.”
The boy was confused. “Ready for what?”
“Ready to run,” Dud told him.
Bessie’s eyes widened. “You mean, you’re gonna let us go?”
Dud smiled wearily. “Yeah, honey, I am.”
“But why?” asked Paul. He eyed the farmer with suspicion. “Why now? You’ve had plenty of chances before.”
“Let’s just say I came to my senses,” said Dud. He looked at the two youngsters. “I’m sorry about what’s happened to you. What’s happened to your ma, too. But it wasn’t all my fault. It’s Grandpappy who’s to blame.”
“He’s a real bad man, ain’t he?” asked Bessie.
“Yeah, honey. He is that.”
Paul looked at his watch. “Six o’clock?”
“That’s right. Then I’ll be back up for you. But you’ve gotta promise to run the moment I let you out that front door. Run as fast as you can down the mountainside and don’t turn back, no matter what you see or hear. Do you promise me that?”
The children nodded in agreement. “Yes, sir,” said Paul. “We promise.”
“Good,” said Dud. “Now, ya’ll eat up and see if you can’t take yourself a nap. I’ll let you know when it’s time.” He closed the door behind him and locked it.
Paul and Bessie jumped off the bed and attacked the food hungrily. When they were halfway through, Bessie looked over at her brother. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“Who?” asked Paul. He washed down a bite of sandwich with a swallow of soda.
“Dud. Do you really think he meant what he said? Or was he just joking?”
Paul thought about it. “I think he was telling the truth.”
“What do you think he’s gonna do after we’re gone?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Paul told her. “But whatever it is, I think it’s gonna be something big.”
“What about Mama? Is he gonna let her go, too?”
Paul didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to tell his sister that their mother would not be leaving Craven’s Mountain. Grandpappy had made Joan into what she was now. He owned her, body and soul. And he would never give her up.
Whatever Dud had up his sleeve, Paul hoped it would mean the end of Grandpappy. And if his mother also perished, then Paul knew that he would have to accept that. He loved her and would rather see her dead than remain the creature she had been turned into against her will.
They were a fourth of the way up Craven’s Mountain when Caleb slammed on the brakes. “Damn it to hell!” he cussed, as the Blazer came to a grinding halt.
Neither Boyd nor Tammy had to ask the reason for his reaction. They had turned a sharp bend in the mountain road and almost crashed into a tree that blocked the way.
They sat there in the idling vehicle for a moment, staring at the big oak that lay across the narrow road.
Stunned silence filled the four-wheel drive. “What do you think, Caleb? Do you think we could move it out of the way?”
Caleb laughed. “Are you kidding? That’s a fifty-footer if it’s an inch,” he said. “The thing probably weighs a solid ton, maybe more. No, there’s no way we’re gonna haul that off by hand.”
They left the Blazer and walked from one side of the dirt road to the other. The right side was a steep embankment, while the other descended into a deep hollow. The tree stretched in between, its branches rising a good twelve feet above their heads. “Looks like we won’t be going around it or over it, either,” said Boyd.
Caleb walked to the far end and examined the base of the trunk. “Take a look,” he called to Boyd. “Wasn’t no act of nature that put it here, that’s for sure.”
Boyd walked to where Caleb stood. The trunk had been cut cleanly in half. “Looks like someone used a chainsaw,” he said, running a finger along the ringed width of the severed trunk.
“Somebody didn’t want us coming up here,” said Caleb. “Dud Craven?”
“That’s who I’d place my bet on,” agreed Boyd.
Tammy walked over and joined them. “So, is there any other way to the top of the mountain?”
“There’s an old logging road, but it’s all the way on the other side,” Caleb told her. “And it ain’t no easy feat getting to it, either. We’d have to go all the way back to the main highway and then drive a good twelve miles further on. After that, we’d have to take a couple of backroads that haven’t been used in several years. By the time we reached the logging road, we’d have lost a couple of hours.”
Tammy looked at her watch and shook her head. “We’ve lost enough time already,” she said, upset. “It’s already past two-thirty.” She stepped back, and shading her eyes, peered up the wooded face of Craven’s Mountain. “How long will it take us to get there by foot?”
“To the church?” asked Caleb. “About an hour’s walk. About twice that to the old Craven place. And it’ll be rough traveling, too. We’ll have to leave the road to get to the church, and it’s nothing but heavy thicket and steep bluffs all the way there. That’ll slow us down even more.”
“We should have known they wouldn’t make it
easy on us,” said Boyd. “I reckon it was pretty foolish to think we could just drive up to Grandpappy’s front door, like I did the first time.”
Tammy thought to herself for a moment. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to tough it and walk the rest of the way. We’re not on some Sunday picnic here. We can’t just pack up everything and wait for a better opportunity. We have to do it, and we have to do it today.”
“I agree,” said Caleb. “But we ain’t going to be able to carry as many of those cocktails as we’d like.”
“Then we’ll take as many we can,” said Tammy. She walked around to the back of the Blazer and began to gather what they would need.
“She’s one hellcat of a lady, ain’t she?” asked Caleb with a smile.
Boyd nodded. “Yeah, she’s mighty determined. But underneath it all, I think she’s scared.”
“Well, sure she is,” said the mountain man. “She’s admitted that already.”
“No, I mean really scared,” Boyd told him. “I think she’s afraid that Wendell will come back for her sooner or later, and next time he’ll end up turning her into one of them. I think she’s bound and determined to beat him to the punch.”
“Well, she’s got me on her side, that’s for sure.”
“Me, too,” said Boyd. “I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for her, and that’s a fact.”
“Then what’re we waiting for?” asked Caleb, starting toward the Blazer. “Let’s grab our gear and head out.”
Boyd joined Caleb and Tammy at the back of the four-wheel drive, then helped them ration out the things they would take along. They took only six of the twelve Molotov cocktails, knowing it would be too difficult to carry any more. They wrapped them in an old horse blanket and placed them in the canvas bag. Then Caleb gently slung the bag over one shoulder, while toting the Hawken across the other.
“You sure you can handle all that, old-timer?” Boyd asked, winking at Tammy.
“Old-timer!” bellowed Vanleer indignantly. “Why, you just watch me make tracks up this here mountain! I was climbing stone walls with my fingernails when you were pissing in your diapers, Boyd, and I ain’t slowed down a lick. You’d best hitch up your britches and keep up, ’cause I don’t slow down for no one, male or female.” Then he tightened his hold on the drawstrings of the bag, and stepping over the trunk of the tree, headed up the mountain road in long strides.
