The Frank Peretti Collection: The Oath, the Visitation, and Monster

by Frank E. Peretti

  Some seated at the bar may have agreed with him privately, but right now they were all gawking at him and growing more uncomfortable by the moment.

  Carl Ingfeldt had been sitting at a table eating dinner with his wife. Now he ventured closer to hear and see what all the commotion was. The moment he got a clear look at Charlie, his eyes locked on the growing, black stain over Charlie’s heart.

  “Too bad we aren’t down in the Old South,” Charlie complained. “Back then, people down there knew how to handle things like this, and they knew how to get away with it.” He laughed. “Well, that’s okay, I guess. We got old Ebo to move out, and we got away with it!”

  Now Andy stopped shooting pool and stared at Charlie. Some of the other patrons were beginning to notice the bartender getting noisy, too, as if he’d had too much to drink himself.

  “We did a nice job of it. Yes sir. Now we’ve got ourselves a white-owned business the way it ought to be, and I wanna tell you something, we’re going up from here!”

  By now the stain on the front of Charlie’s shirt was no secret to anyone but Charlie. As for his loud boasting, Elmer and Joe had heard enough. They made a quick path to the cash register at the end of the bar to pay up and get out of there. Melinda took their money.

  “So, Paul,” Charlie said, “what’re you so worried about? Kill the guy! That’ll show him! Do what you feel like doing.”

  Paul slid off his barstool and headed for the cash register. Charlie watched him go by. “Do what you want, Paul!” He looked at Doug. “And you too, Doug! Some scum comes along and starts messing with your wife, you oughta just go out there and shoot him!”

  Doug and Kyle didn’t want any more ribs. They headed for the cash register. Now a line was forming.

  Charlie was pouring himself a beer. “Quit worrying; that’s what I say. I got it all figured out. Do what you want and get what you got coming.” He turned to the people standing in line to pay up and leave. Andy was there now, along with Carl and his wife. “You know, you people really make me sick! Look at you, all tied up and scared and worried. You got nothing to worry about!”

  They didn’t respond. They just stared at him. “Come on, hurry it up!” one said to Melinda, who was trying to hurry just so she could get out of there.

  “Well, look at me!” Charlie yelled, some foam from his beer on his lip. “I did what I had to do, and now I’m on top! God ain’t stopping me, and there sure ain’t no dragon either! The sooner you figure that out, the better for all of you!”

  “I’ll pay you later,” Andy said, ducking out the door.

  Carl and his wife did the same.

  The place was emptying out.

  THE OAK SPRINGS police had been advised that an officer with the county sheriff would be arriving, so when Steve pulled up in his camper, followed by Tracy in her patrol car, they were expected. Tracy immediately conferred with the police, but Steve hurried past the broken screen door, the trail of blood, and the broken lamp and went straight into the kitchen where Evelyn was preparing some dinner for her boys.

  “A paramedic checked her over,” the officer told Tracy. “She came through it with some bruises, but that is one feisty gal. She beat the tar out of him, and he couldn’t wait to get out of here.” He told her the details, including a description of the suspect, then added, “We’ll have her come downtown tomorrow to look through some mug shots, but I don’t think he’ll be hard to find, considering—”

  “I know who it is,” Tracy responded, her voice betraying a seething anger. “He’s from Hyde River.”

  Evelyn, Samuel, and Travis were at the kitchen table, eating some warmed-over pizza. It was not a full-scale meal by any means, but no one was complaining. Right now they were glad just to be alive and together. Steve needed to be told several times that everyone was all right before he could settle down, accept a cup of coffee, and hear the story.

  Samuel was sorry he’d missed it. He’d been playing at a friend’s house.

  “Just be glad you weren’t here,” his mother chided him.

  “Did you get a good look at him?” Steve asked, looking from Evelyn to Travis. “Was there anything special about him?”

  “His ear,” Evelyn said, touching her own. “It was all scarred like he’d been in an accident or something.”

  “It was stitched on,” said Travis. “I may have knocked it loose again. There was a lot of blood!”

  Just then Tracy walked into the kitchen. She’d heard the description from the police officer and now caught the tail end of the conversation in the kitchen.

  “Phil Garrett,” she said.

  “Absolutely,” Steve said.

  “Was he about—” Tracy held her hand out to a height just above her own. “—this tall?”

  “Yes,” Evelyn said.

  “Black hair and big ears—one with stitches—and kind of a round head?”

  “Yes.”

  Tracy was satisfied. “Phil Garrett.”

  “Who is he?” Evelyn asked, perplexed. “Why would he—”

  “He’s a roughneck who lives out in Hyde River. He gets into a lot of fights, and the last time he got into one the other guy nearly bit his ear off.”

  Samuel thought that was funny but put his hands over his mouth to try and hide his laughter. Travis and Evelyn could see both the humor and the horror of it. But Samuel’s boyish laughter relieved the tension.

  “But what does he want with me?” Evelyn asked.

  Tracy sighed and looked at Steve. They both hesitated, but finally Steve said aloud what they were thinking. “I guess things are heating up.”

  “You bet they are,” Tracy said, taking the chair Evelyn offered her. “But it’s more than that.” She said to Steve, “It’s a conspiracy. Phil Garrett works for Harold Bly as kind of a miner and an odd-job man. And now those questions Bly was asking you about Evelyn make sense. I talked to Collins today, and he was asking me the same thing, whether Evelyn remembered anything or not.”

  Steve found that disturbing, though not shocking. “Collins? You think he’s in on this?”

  Evelyn finally cut in. “Sounds like an exciting story. I’d love to hear it,” she said dryly. “Especially since it concerns me.”

  Steve apologized for talking in front of her. “Sorry. We’re kind of beside ourselves.”

  She smiled. “I can identify with that!”

  Steve started to explain. “Evie, it’s a long story, but—brother, where do I start?”

  Tracy took over. “There are people in Hyde River who have some strong beliefs about—well, about some things that go on in that town, and they’re afraid—they think that you might know something about all that.”

  Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Can you be more specific?”

  But Tracy was being pulled in several directions. “Listen. I know Steve can explain it all to you. I’ve got to get coordinated with the Oak Springs police and get on the trail of this guy.”

  “What if he comes back?” asked Travis.

  “The police are going to be watching the house to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” She rose. “They gave me your statement and your description, and now I can’t sit around anymore. I have to get going while the trail’s hot.”

  Evelyn smiled. “Please be careful.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been wanting a suspect to question for a long time, and now I’ve got one!” She looked at Steve. “And believe me, he’s going to talk!”

  CHARLIE’S TAVERN was empty now except for Bernie, Melinda, and Charlie. They would be closing early. Bernie totally absorbed himself in cleaning up in the kitchen, and Melinda was standing by the cash register, hurriedly counting up the evening’s receipts. Neither of them said a word to Charlie or went near him.

  Charlie remained behind the bar, leaning on it with his elbows and finishing up one last beer, still chuckling and laughing at whatever amusing thoughts came to him, as if he were listening to a comedy tape through headphones.

  Finally, he to
ssed back the beer, finishing it in several swallows. Then he wiped his mouth with his arm, slammed down the beer glass, and started toward the cash register.

  Melinda shied away, grabbed a cloth, and hurried across the room to wipe the tables. Most of the tables had not even been cleared.

  Charlie looked at the cash register and the money still lying on the bar where Melinda had stacked it in piles by denomination. “So how’d we do?”

  Melinda answered from a safe distance, halfway across the tavern, “We did good, Charlie. It was a good Sunday night.”

  “Fine, fine.” He grabbed his coat. “Well, lock up, will you? I’m going for a drive.”

  Melinda looked directly at him, concerned. “Where are you going?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He looked at her, and she looked back at him, and then it hit him. “I’m not going to Old Town, don’t worry.”

  Her voice trembled. “Then—then where are you going?”

  He laughed. “Oh, come on, what are you so worried about? I’m fine, gonna be just fine. I think I’ll head on down the valley, park someplace, and enjoy the moonlight.”

  “Well, you be careful.”

  He put on his jacket. “You don’t have to worry about me.” As he zipped it up, black ooze from his shirt soiled his fingers. He didn’t seem to notice. Then he went out the door, the bell above it clanging.

  At that sound, Bernie poked his head in from the kitchen, his eyes darting about the room. He looked at Melinda. “Is he gone?”

  She was heading for the front door to lock it. “Yeah.”

  “Then I’m out of here.” Bernie spun and made a mad dash for his coat hanging in the back of the kitchen, passing by the dirty pots and pans that he had decided would just have to stay that way.

  Melinda’s hands were shaking so much she had trouble throwing the lock on the door. Finally the bolt slid into place, and she, too, made a desperate beeline for her coat and the back door.

  They parted outside without another word, each headed for home. He drove off in his truck, the tires squealing. She ran for all she was worth.

  All either of them wanted to do was get home and hide.

  TRAVIS AND SAMUEL had finished their dinner.

  “Boys,” said Evelyn, “why don’t you go upstairs and watch TV or something? I’d like to talk to your uncle in private.”

  They left the kitchen, which was okay with them; they wouldn’t have to do the dishes.

  Steve was glad she’d made that move. After what had happened tonight, he knew he had to tell Evelyn the truth about Cliff’s death. And he couldn’t tell her in front of the boys.

  But Evelyn started the conversation herself with a blunt question. “Steve, do you really believe a grizzly killed Cliff?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Evelyn, I’m going to answer your question, and I’m not stalling. But I need to ask you a few questions first.”

  She considered that. “As long as we get back to my question.”

  “We will, I promise.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. “Evelyn, how familiar are you with the town of Hyde River?”

  “Not very familiar. Cliff and I drove through it a couple times, but we never stopped there.”

  “Do you know anyone who lives there?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever heard any of the stories, legends, folk tales that have come out of there?”

  “No.”

  He looked at her carefully. “One last question. How are you? Are you—?”

  “I’m all here, Steve. I’m back together again.” She paused to study him for a moment. “And I’m ready to hear the truth. Do you believe a grizzly killed my husband?”

  He thought a moment and decided it was time to be honest. “No. I don’t think it was a grizzly.”

  Her eyes were steady and resolute. “Steve, I remember what happened. I remember what I saw.”

  THE HYDE RIVER ROAD was a long, winding ribbon of unlit asphalt, visible only in Charlie’s headlights. He had no idea where he was going and didn’t care. He just wanted to drive, to control a vehicle, to choose his own direction. The car radio was tuned to a country station, the volume turned up. He was feeling good.

  The road curved to the right, and he followed the white line. He’d been up and down this road a thousand times; he knew what was coming. The curve straightened, and now the road stretched out ahead of him as straight as a rail, cutting through flat pastureland for the next mile. He pressed the accelerator, and the car surged forward, the speedometer topping sixty.

  One of his favorite songs was playing on the radio, and he started singing along, finding notes the song’s creator never thought of. It was over now—all the worry, all the pain, all the fear. He was free. Like the road, the future was laid out straight and true ahead of him, with no surprises—

  He yanked his foot from the accelerator. In the far, fading reach of his headlights, he could see something crossing the road. He couldn’t make out what it was, perhaps a deer or an elk. He’d collided with a deer once, and he didn’t want that kind of damage done to his car again, so he applied the brake and slowed to forty. As he drew closer and his headlights illuminated more of the area, something didn’t look right. He couldn’t see an animal—it was more like a huge shadow falling across the road. The center line seemed to waver. He slowed some more.

  Suddenly the road was clear again, just like that, stretching out straight in front of him as if a cloud of fog had just rolled past.

  He wondered what it was he had seen. Maybe—

  THUD! The front of the car crumpled, and the car swayed and fishtailed. Charlie felt his shoulder belt cutting across his chest like a knife edge, and his head lurched forward.

  I’ve hit a moose, he thought.

  The car slowed to a stop within seconds, pushing something ahead of it. When Charlie’s body slammed back against the seat he saw flashes of silver, gold, emerald, and ruby, a shimmering display just outside the windshield, a moving, shifting wall of neon metallic scales, flickering and flashing like sunlight off lake water.

  I’ve hit a trout!

  He blinked, rubbed his head and eyes, looked again.

  The shimmering wall lifted like a curtain. He could see the road again in the headlights.

  What a relief, he thought. He must have had more to drink than he thought. He put his foot on the accelerator—

  CRASH! The roof of the car caved in as if a tree had landed on it. The windows shattered. Charlie watched in horror as huge steel hooks—no, metal claws!—curled in through the passenger window.

  “AAWWW!” Charlie screamed as the claws barely missed his head then clamped around the car’s roof. The car teetered, rocked, and slid sideways.

  Then something hit the hood of the car, mangling the metal. Glass from the windshield showered into Charlie’s lap. He recoiled in horror at what he saw through the glittering, broken opening.

  An immense, leathery, clawed hand rested on the hood, the gnarled, sinewy fingers stretching from one side of the hood to the other.

  Then the claws that were inside the car pulled upward. The metal groaned, rivets popped, glass went flying. The roof was peeled back like the lid of a sardine can.

  Dazed and panicked, Charlie groped for the door handle, and the door flew open. But he couldn’t move—and he realized his seat belt still held him in. He groped for the buckle.

  Above him, where the roof had been, he caught sight of something metallic, something glittering.

  A huge hand was reaching for him. The fingers curled around him, and his ribs snapped and cracked with a sound like burning cedar; his lungs filled with blood, and he choked it up.

  The seat belt broke away from his body, and the car dropped away below him.

  He could see eyes—huge, golden eyes—the instant before he died.

  SO TELL ME, Steve, do you think I’m crazy?” “

  He looked back at Evelyn and could hardly speak. Her recounting of what had happened that
night on the mountain had become the core around which all the other data he’d gathered, all the hunches, all the eyewitness testimony, and all his own experiences, were finally bonding into one cohesive whole. He was overwhelmed.

  Evelyn misread his silence. “Well I’m sorry, but I gave you everything, just the way I saw it.”

  He was quick to reassure her. “I believe you, Evelyn.”

  She found it hard to believe that. “It’s hard to swallow, I know.”

  He touched her hand. “Listen to me. Tracy and I—well, we set out some bait and encountered the same thing a few nights ago. We didn’t see it clearly, but we tracked it all through the night and into the next morning. We know it’s out there. We just don’t know what it is.”

  She thought it over, then said, “I think ‘dragon’ will do.”

  He nodded. “Okay. But there’s something I need to tell you. The people in the valley know about the dragon. But it’s some kind of religious thing with them, and they don’t want anyone else to know about it. And now we know they’ll even kill to keep the secret from getting out. That’s what I was trying to tell you on the phone—to keep quiet about it, to not tell anybody.”

  Steve could see the fear in Evelyn’s eyes.

  “But why?” she asked him. “Why are they trying to hide it?”

  “I wish I knew. I’m as perplexed as you are.”

  “It kills people, Steve! This doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “I know.”

  She was visibly flustered, even angry. “So what about the police? What about the Forest Service? The army! I mean—” She came to a halt, realizing the answer even as he said it.

  “That creature knows how to hide,” he said. “And no one outside the valley would ever believe there was a dragon hiding in the mountains.”

  Evelyn took a deep breath to calm down then rested her chin on her hand. “Okay. So what can we do?”

  Steve grappled with that; there was no easy answer. “Well, the problem isn’t going to just go away . . .”