Sonant

by A. Sparrow

  Tonight, I went right up to the wall of the laundry room, under the dryer vent. I could hear Nina in the family room, playing with her dolls, watch Dora the Explorer. I could hear Marta’s little coos too, and it melted my heart.

  Later, Sheila read them bedtime stories. It’s almost like I’m right there with them in the house. It’s like I’m a ghost.

  Afterwards, I heard Sheila on the phone with her mom, ridiculing the way I acted in court the other day. I could barely contain myself. I wanted to burst in through the door, give her a piece of my mind, but I stayed hunkered down in the weeds.

  When the lights go out in the girls’ room, I headed back across the yard, and into the woods. I flicked on my LED deep in the trees, almost to the river so I won’t be seen. Went back to the pump house and changed out of my wet clothes. Played my fiddle for a good hour in the dark.

  Aerie almost didn’t want to read on, but she kept at it.

  17 July 1995

  There’s some kind of animal prowling near the pump house. Thought at first it might be a raccoon I displaced from its den. It scratched at the clapboards a bit and left. It’s no raccoon, that’s all I can say. Way bigger, taller. Freaked me out enough to send me back to the motel. I picked up an old Sig .22 on Craigslist. Makes me feel a bit bolder. I’ll try back tomorrow. I hate being away from the little ones.

  21 July 1995

  It’s back. That thing. I was playing my fiddle in the pump house again and it came, almost as if it’s attracted. Or annoyed. I was playing that dissonant stuff I was writing when Sheila and I were starting to go off-kilter. Reflected the state of my brain at the time, and even now.

  The thing came. I heard it groan like an old man with rheumatism. It spattered the side of the wall with dirt, like a dog digging with its hind legs. When it left, I waited a good hour, before I went out with the light. There were no holes, no signs of digging. Weird.

  I get the feeling that the little ones are more playful than dangerous. That large, shy one that lurks around gives me pause, however. There is a malevolence to its stalking that unnerves me.

  3 August 1995

  The strangest thing happened at the pump house today. I was playing my fiddle again, really getting lost in that trance-like thing that happens when it’s going well, when a little puff of dust seeped out of crack from the rafters. It whirled around and kept whirling, almost like it was dancing, refusing to die.

  It looked so delicate and soft—little spinning puffs of mist and dust. I shined my light on it and it diffracted, as if there was a prism inside it somewhere. It went away when I stopped playing. But I could coax it back pretty easy, so long as I played the atonal stuff that drove Sheila nuts.

  I reached up to touch it and I swear, the thing shrieked and stung me. The patch of skin that touched it came back all hard and brittle like balsa wood. Little drops of blood beaded through regularly spaced pores.

  Outside, something grumbled in the woods like a muffled foghorn. Trees rustled. The drone rumbled closer. That big thing came and peppered the side of the pump house, like a blast of desert wind. The inside filled with dust. The little sprite skedaddled back into a crack. That gun I bought felt pretty useless at that point. I might have been better off with a squirt gun. I kept perfectly still for an hour. I didn’t dare leave till the morning came.

  23 August 1995

  Are these things sentient? I can’t actually say. They seem social, gathering in little groups, but so do ants and bees but they’re not particularly intelligent. They respond to sound the way snakes and lizard orient to sunlight, almost basking in it. But not just any sound. They seem to prefer dissonance. Not just sheer noise, either, but particular shades and tunings.

  1 September 1995

  I’ve found a way of playing my fiddle never fails to lure the sprites out of their crevices and get them dancing. The places where they spin are worn smooth and shiny as an old axe handle.

  Sharp, little grains drop from their vortices as they dance. I find a layer of them embedded in the grease of the pump housing. Thought at first they might be salt crystals, but they don’t dissolve in water. They’re very hard. I suspect they might be quartz. Maybe even diamonds!

  Aerie closed the journal and set it down in her lap. As fascinating as she found it all, it was too much, too weird for her to absorb in one sitting. The entries confirmed too many fears and raised too many questions. No way could she just drop the thing Aaron’s his mailbox and drive away. She knew too much now.

  Sometimes, ignorance was a blessing. She closed her eyes and thought of waterfalls.

  Chapter 32: Return

  Donnie always savored his first day home from a road trip, even though he usually went in to the office. Lounging in his comfy, mesh-back chair, with a personal climate console, double monitors, and a drawer full of take-out menus from his favorite Chinese and Indian and Thai restaurants, he was back in a zone of comfort and control.

  His office-bound staff doted on like him was a conquering hero, plying him for stories of his latest tussle with the netherworld. Not that he had much to boast about after this latest excursion. He told them about the demonic music and the candle rite that silenced it. He didn’t mention the part about the intestinal upset that knocked him out of action.

  When they plied him for more, he told them how they had driven out the Beast and its disciples from the hell house, displacing them to the hippie haven of Ithaca, a vacuum of faith where not much could be done. Though the truth might have been stretched, and some awkward elements omitted, little of what he told them could be disputed.

  He spent the morning going through the online registry of cases opened, cases ongoing and cases closed since his travels. He had honed his Ministry’s work flow till it ran like a factory production line. He had farmed out all of the routine stuff to the junior members of his team—the violent toddlers, the fourteen-year-old girls locked in bathrooms.

  Lots of cases could be handled right over the phone. The power of a personal prayer and a positive message on Jesus’ behalf never ceased to amaze if not surprise. Only for the less tractable and more lucrative cases would they dispatch a tag team of deliverance specialists, personally trained by him and Jerry.

  For the most part, there was not much need for executive input, just a few requests for discounts and need-based grants that needed to reviews, and a case or two that required a little extra intervention.

  He pressed the intercom button. “Beryl, what’s this about a horse in California?”

  “The Sonoma case? No biggie. I think the team is just asking for a little advice.”

  “Bring me the folder. Everything you got on it.”

  Donnie liked keeping a clear desk. His twenty square feet of polished mahogany bore only a blotter, a pen and a phone. He worked one case at a time, no more. The practice kept his mind focused, and kept the clutter relegated to the desks of others.

  Beryl trotted in and laid a thin manila folder down on his blotter. She smiled and tipped her head, before hustling back out to the reception area.

  The case involved a horse in Sonoma, in the heart of the Northern California wine country. The problem seemed simple enough. This horse despised gospel singing, particularly when sung by female-dominated choirs and accompanied by organ.

  According to the vet, it had passed every blood test indicating for encephalitis and any other disease that might addle its brain. Rock-and-roll apparently didn’t faze the beast. It had grazed placidly through an outdoor wedding reception out back behind the rectory, as evidenced by photos in the portfolio.

  Crank up a service with a full choir and the beast went berserk, terrorizing the other horses in the paddock, crashing through the rail fence, up the church steps and down the aisle, smashing its hooves against the pews before it could be calmed down and led back out.

  Normally, he avoided taking on animal cases, but these folks seemed wealthy. They could charge a full contract plus expenses.

  As miserable as the l
ast excursion had been, Donald could see himself heading out to California for a couple of days. October was the nicest time of the year in those parts. Plenty of sun. Before the rains started. It might make a nice tonic for the New York fiasco.

  One of his outside lines lighted up, the Caller ID showing: 706-666-6567. Jerry’s cell number.

  He called out to Beryl. “I’m taking this one direct.” He snatched up the receiver. “Jerry! Good to hear from you. How goes it up there?”

  “Hi Donnie. Boy, are you sounding a heck of a lot more chipper. How are you feeling?”

  “Great. Back to hundred percent. So what’s the story? You ready to come home? We got a case here or two I could really use a hand with. One’s in California.”

  “Um. Not quite yet, Donnie. I’m afraid things are getting a little too interesting for us to haul out just yet. Those things in the woods? They been—”

  “Jerry. I keep telling you, forget the wild stuff. What happens in the wilderness is not our concern. It’s too vast a—”

  “Hold on, Donnie, it’s more than that. You know those musicians from the hell house? Well, they’re back. Miss Cindy here is freaking out all over again. So far, Mac’s been able to keep her calm, but she’s on pins and needles. It helps a bit that this time around, the music’s not quite as … disturbing.”

  “Dang, I thought we had this all handled.” He sighed. “All the more reason for you to pull out of there while you can. How soon can you get packed up?”

  “Oh no, Donnie. I’m sticking around, even if has to be my own dime. I’ll go on leave if I have to. You can have Rand back, if you want. Other than babysitting, that kid’s just about useless to me. I wish you had left me Tammie.”

  “I don’t like this, Jer. If Mac gets the idea there’s unfinished business, he’s gonna stir things up again. You’d best be getting out while the getting’s good.”

  “No can do, Donnie. I’m finally getting a handle on these fra diavol. I’m close to figuring out what makes them tick.”

  “Jerry, no. I don’t—”

  “Carbon, Donnie. They eat and shit carbon. Hydrocarbons, especially. Maybe even carbon dioxide. And they flock to bad music like flies to shit. Me and Rand are gettin’ together the makings of a trap.”

  “Never should have let you stay behind. Jerry, I’m begging you. Stand down!”

  “This ain’t something I can just turn my back on. This is the mother lode. I’ve been looking for a nexus like this my whole career.”

  “We can’t afford to get Mac all riled up again. He’s bad news, Jerry. He could really muck up our operation if he got the opportunity.”

  “Screw Mac. This is bigger than Mac.”

  “Is he pressuring you … to stay?”

  “Not at all. He seems satisfied, grateful even, with what we done. Listen, Donnie, I’m getting close to figuring out how these things work. We even got samples. If we keep at it just a little while longer, we’ll have it. Think about all those other difficult cases we can solve if we get this one licked. This is gonna be good for business.”

  But a door in Don’s head had already slammed shut and was locked and bolted even before Jerry had placed his call. There were times to make stands and times to triage, cut and run. Donnie saw only one clear path ahead.

  “I want you packed up and on the road Jerry. Soon as you can. Before Mac changes his mind. Got it?”

  Chapter 33: Continuity

  The phone rang as Aerie stood at her kitchen counter, wrist-deep in kneading dough for the cinnamon buns she was attempting from scratch. She took her time answering, rinsing and toweling, reaching for the receiver fully expecting it would be her mother checking in on her from Sadie’s.

  “Hi Mom,” she said.

  “Aerie?” It was a man, speaking in almost a whisper. “This is John. How are you doing?”

  She was tempted to hang up. “What the fuck? What’s the deal with asking my mother for my number?”

  “I didn’t know how else to reach you.”

  “How did you even find her?”

  “Internet. She did an interview for her local paper. It mentioned you.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s just creepy. Married man like you. Not only that, but I hear you’ve been stalking me at Moosewood. What’s up with that?”

  “I was worried. I noticed you hadn’t been showing up at Aaron’s lately. After that … thing we saw … I didn’t know what to think.”

  Aerie picked at the traces of dough stuck to her fingernails. “Well, I’m fine. Just unemployed. Is that all you wanted to know?”

  “Why’d you quit playing with those guys? Was it because of that thing … those things?”

  “I didn’t quit. Though, maybe I should have.”

  “He fired you? Why you, and not the others?”

  “What are you talking about? He got rid of everybody. He dismantled the whole shebang.”

  “No he didn’t. I can hear them even as we speak. It’s been two days in a row now since they started up.”

  “The Kolektiv? Really? They’re all there right now? Playing without me?” Aerie felt a jab deep beneath her sternum.

  “Yeah. But it doesn’t sound the same … with that other bass player.”

  “Other bass player? What the heck? I wasn’t the one who … It wasn’t my idea, taking that jar. It was Ron’s.”

  “I thought for sure you had quit,” said John. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did. But you sound disappointed.”

  “It’s just not fair. He gets rid of me, when it’s not even my fault that—”

  “Those things … doesn’t it bother you? Knowing?”

  “I’m not as scared as I was. Should I be?”

  “You saw what it did to that girl in your band. And there’s more of them out here in these woods. The Ministry guys snapped a picture of one. It’s blurry, but you can see, it’s huge.”

  “Maybe they’re natural. Part of nature that no one ever notices.” Aerie felt the tips of her fingers, and the calluses starting to peel. “Maybe Aaron didn’t like my playing.”

  “That can’t be. You’re amazing. They don’t sound nearly as together without you.”

  “If I send you my autograph will you leave me alone?”

  “Aerie. I was just concerned … something might have happened to you.”

  “Don’t you have a wife and kids to worry about?”

  “Cindy … she’s having an affair … with our pastor.”

  “Sorry to hear, but—”

  “It’s been going on a while. I’ve been looking the other way, hoping it was just one of these passing flings. These days, though, she spends more time with him than us.”

  “Why put up with it? Just leave her. They’re not even your kids.”

  Silence. And then a sigh. “They’re … good boys. They call me dad.”

  “So? Their mother is cheating on you.”

  “I don’t know. The boys, they need me. Cindy isn’t home much. And … I don’t even have a job. I’ve got … nothing better.”

  “So you call up the mother of some girl you meet, trying to get a fling of your own going on the side? Where’s the logic in that?”

  “Aerie. That’s not why I called your mom. I was … worried about you. I … care.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I thought … we clicked. No? Am I imagining things?”

  “Oh my God. I don’t need this right now. My life is weird enough, John, without throwing more weirdness into the equation.”

  “Weirdness?”

  “Stop stalking me!”

  “I … I’m not … hitting on you. Honest. I just want to be … friends. I like being around you. I was actually calling to see if you wanted to jam.”

  “Say what?”

  “I’ve been practicing with my clarinets. I even got my alto sax out of the garage. The valves need work but it’s in decent enough shape. I know a guy who plays jazz guitar. I can invite him, so we have … so we have something
chordal. We can play at my church … some week night. None of that weird stuff. Just straight ahead jazz.”

  “You’ve gotta be joking.”

  “No. I mean it. I’ve been practicing up. Even pulled out my Real Book. I … we’d be honored to have you play bass with us. I mean … you have time, don’t you? Since you’re not working, and you’re not playing with these guys.”

  Aerie doubted that the proposed jam, chaperone or not, had anything to do with John wanting to make music. At least she had a convenient excuse to turn him down.

  “I don’t have a bass anymore. That night I drove that van to Aaron’s – it got stolen.”

  “Really? That’s horrible.”

  “So that’s that.”

  “We have an electric at the church. Some kind of Fender copy.”

  “Um. I don’t think so. Listen, thanks for the information and the concern and all. But I’ve got to get back to my baking. The dough’s really starting to puff.”

  “Want to just give it a shot? You on electric. Me on clarinet. And my friend Bill on guitar? No?”

  “I don’t think so. Thanks for the offer. Good luck with the deliverance and all.”

  “Aerie. Think about it. Give me a call if—”

  “Take it easy, John.” She hung up and went to the mass of dough bulging out of its bowl and punched it down.

  Chapter 34: Visitation

  It was apple-picking weather, bright and crisp and pungent with the aroma of senescing leaves, cool enough for fleece, warm enough for lemonade and juice boxes. Jason bashed the keys of his toy xylophone in mad little flurries, stopping to grin after each barrage. Nigel played with the plunger of his Hohner chromatic harmonica. He turned it around and tried blowing into the wrong side, producing only slobber and wind.

  “Almost got it, guys,” said John as he assembled his old Bb clarinet, finding the joints swollen and tight. “Be right with ya.”