What Befalls the Children: Book 4 in the Troop of Shadows Series

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  “Thanks. First things first. You need to meet someone.”

  She led him to one of the smaller dwellings. The structural integrity looked sound, and the porch steps were spotless. The front door opened while they were still a dozen yards away.

  “Who the hell is this?” an old man said. Keen blue eyes squinted while studying Ray. A blond-haired boy stood beside him.

  “Do your thing, Pops,” Serena Jo said, then moved aside.

  Ray stopped at the bottom step of the porch, curious about this old man’s “thing.” Serena Jo’s father — for that’s surely who he was — approached slowly, then reached out a surprisingly youthful hand, compelling Ray to extend his own. When their hands touched, Ray felt an electric sensation in his palm. He had no idea what it meant, but he watched the expression on the old man’s face transition from suspicious to amenable.

  “He’s fine,” the old man said to Serena Jo. Then to Ray, “I’m Euel Whitaker, this young lady’s daddy, but everyone calls me Skeeter. Or Pops, if they’re related to me. Welcome to Whitaker Holler.”

  As he’d suspected, this was Serena Jo’s father. The shy boy standing behind him would likely be his grandson.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Ray.”

  “I know.”

  “I guess Fergus must have told you.”

  Skeeter didn’t reply.

  The boy moved onto the porch and tugged at his mother’s sleeve. The fingers began to dance. Ray didn’t know sign language, but he recognized what it was. Serena Jo nodded occasionally throughout the visual discourse. A second boy, this one with dark hair, emerged from the cabin. He clutched a sheet of grimy paper.

  “This is Harlan, my grandson, and this other’n is Cricket,” Skeeter said.

  “You’re the one who was sending us candy?” the boy asked in a squeaky voice. Puberty hadn’t yet arrived at Cricket’s world.

  Ray smiled. “Yes, sir. Did you like it?”

  “Ain’t no such thing as bad candy,” Cricket replied, then shifted his gaze to Serena Jo. A dreamy smile emerged within the freckles.

  “Harlan,” she said gently, “you know that doesn’t make any sense.”

  The boy frowned, then his fingers danced more vigorously.

  His mother sighed.

  Cricket took the opportunity to show Serena Jo the sheet of paper. From his position, Ray could see a detailed sketch of a cabin surrounded by trees, a road leading to it, and a star-filled sky above it. He recognized the Little Dipper.

  “This makes sense,” Cricket said, pointing to the stars. “Before he went missing, Mister Fergus showed me how to use my grandpappy’s old compass. I can figure out where this is. At least, I think I can. You got some maps somewhere, right Miss Serena Jo? I bet we can...” the falsetto petered out.

  “Triangulate,” Skeeter offered.

  “Right! Tri-ang-U-late the location.”

  A slender eyebrow arched while Serena Jo pondered what her son had told her.

  Ray stepped closer, studying the details of the sketch. “I think I know this place,” he said suddenly. “I’ve seen it in my drone footage. It was a while ago, though.”

  “There you go!” said Cricket. “Between me and Harlan and Candy Man, I bet we can find Willa and Mister Fergus in the cabin where Harlan dreamed ‘em.”

  Serena Jo gazed with skepticism at the earnest face. “Even if I believed in this astral projection business, you’ve never embraced learning since I’ve known you, Cricket. You’re telling me now you know how to use a compass to navigate with the stars?”

  “I figured out Harlan’s signin’, didn’t I? And just ‘cuz I ain’t smart like him and Willa don’t mean I’m a goober. I’m smart about things they ain’t. Mister Fergus taught me how to use the compass when nobody else was around. I took to it natural, just like Harlan with his drawing and Willa with her words and book-writin’.”

  Ray smiled at the eagerness. “What do we have to lose?” he said quietly.

  “Time,” Serena Jo snapped. Then she sighed. “All right, Cricket. I’ll get out the maps.” Turning to her son, she said, “Later, you and I are going to have a long talk about these dreams.”

  Soon after, the small group clustered around a primitive wooden table inside the cabin, studying a set of well-worn maps. Ray assumed the penciled lines drawn on the topmost map indicated the village’s extended perimeter. Another included the entire state of Tennessee. Others were printouts of Google satellite images depicting swaths of the Smoky Mountain National Park. Ray recognized some of the locations from his drone footage, but he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint them without accessing his computer. One pictured an aerial view of the self-storage facility and his warehouse home. A part of him longed to be there now, but another part — a larger part — relished the recent social interactions.

  The two boys, both small but otherwise polar opposites, studied the maps together. Harlan’s eyes matched the gold of his mother’s. Cricket’s hazel version darted about like a hummingbird. Harlan signed, Cricket nodded, then moved the ancient compass back and forth between the drawing, the map, and the aerial images.

  Ray held no hope for the process, even if Harlan’s star-scape was accurate. It simply didn’t make sense that coordinates could be gleaned from whatever the boys were doing.

  Finally, Harlan smiled. Cricket’s grin was even wider, and his hazel eyes sparkled.

  “Willa is gonna be really mad at us, but we can’t hold onto our big secret no longer.”

  Harlan nodded solemnly.

  “What?” Serena Jo demanded. “What secret?”

  “We been going farther into the forest than we been honest about. For a long time.”

  “Yes, I know. What did you find?”

  Cricket gulped, then continued. “We think we got a pretty good idea of where this cabin is. One time when we was playing Peter Pan, Wendy, and the Lost Boy...Harlan was Peter Pan, Willa was Wendy, and I was the Lost Boy. There’s supposed to be more than one, so Willa said I could play like I was three or four different Lost Boys.”

  “Cricket, get to the point.”

  “Anyways, we caught sight of a cabin that looked like this one in Harlan’s drawing. We think we can find it again.”

  A commotion at the door interrupted whatever Whitaker Holler’s leader was going to say. All heads turned as one. A bleeding, barely upright Otis filled the doorway.

  “Pops, get the med kit. Everyone out. Now,” she said.

  Skeeter ushered Ray outside into the overcast day and then took off at a brisk pace in a direction Ray hadn’t yet been. Cricket patted the top wooden plank of the porch where the boys sat.

  “Take a load off, Mister Ray. Let’s talk about that candy you got back at your place.”

  Ray sat, grinning at the boys. “I promised Serena Jo I wouldn’t. She’s concerned about toothy decay.”

  “Dang it. I knew it was too good to keep going.”

  Harlan nodded.

  Ray found himself intrigued by the blond boy. “If you don’t mind my asking...”

  “You wanna know why he don’t talk?” Cricket offered.

  “Yes. I was curious. Was it a disease?”

  Harlan seemed content to let Cricket be his spokesperson. His gaze glided to some point on the tree line surrounding the village, but Ray got the sense the boy’s attention remained focused on the conversation.

  “No disease. It’s an interestin’ story,” Cricket said. “He was like this when he got here three years ago. Took me a bit of gettin’ used to. Ain’t easy being best friends with a kid who don’t talk. The interestin’ part is he can talk, he just don’t. I ain’t never heard him speak, not once. Willa explained all that to me ‘fore I learned how to read his fingers.”

  Skeeter brushed past them carrying a bulky suitcase.

  Ray watched him enter the cabin and close the door behind him. “I’ve never known of anything like that,” he said to Cricket. He directed his next question to Harlan. “I’m sure you
’ve been asked this a lot. Why do you choose not to speak? Vocalizing is one of the most natural of human instincts.”

  The fingers began to dance. Cricket nodded, then said, “He likes the quiet. He likes to be quiet. He also says there ain’t real words for a lot of the stuff that’s goin’ on in his brain.”

  “I see.” Ray thought about the detailed sketch of the cabin, a rendering that could easily decorate the wall of an elegant home. “How long have you been drawing?”

  Fingers danced. Cricket said, “Since he was a baby. Says he started drawing on the kitchen floor with crayons when he was nine months old.”

  “Your mother told you this?”

  A shake of the blond hair. No.

  Cricket translated the sudden finger movements. “He just remembers it. He remembers the colors he used, too. Says they was robin-egg blue, pine green, and a lotta plain old white. He was tryin’ to draw the cliffs of Dover. Seen it in a book, he says. I don’t know what Dover is but that’s what he said. He likes drawing landscapes the best. Good thing his mama brought all that paper from Knoxville.”

  Harlan nodded, grinning.

  Ray was skeptical. Surely no nine-month-old baby was capable of what had just been described, especially remembering specific names of the crayons. The boys were having fun with him.

  “So what’s the deal with the dream?” he said to Harlan. “Your mama mentioned astral projection. Can you tell me about that?”

  Discomfort washed across the small face. Ray looked at Cricket for guidance. The dark-haired boy shrugged.

  “This dream stuff is new to me. I just heard about it today for the first time. Harlan ain’t never lied ‘bout nothin’ before, so...”

  “I don’t mean to imply that I don’t believe it. I’m just intrigued by the concept. I’ve read about it, but I’ve never personally experienced anything like the astral projection or lucid dreaming described by people on the internet. I’d like to hear about it.” He waited, watching Harlan’s pixie-like face. He could well imagine him playing the role of a mischievous, pointed-eared flying boy.

  Finally, the fingers twitched, then transitioned to the graceful movements from before.

  Cricket translated.

  It started when I was seven back home in Knoxville. I’d fallen asleep. Willa was sleeping in the next room. We had our own bedrooms by then because Mama said we were getting too big to share. I woke up but I wasn’t in bed any longer. I was flying above the houses in our neighborhood. At first, I was scared. I knew it couldn’t be real, but it felt real. I felt the warm summer breeze on my skin and smelled the steaks somebody was cooking on their grill. I heard the night sounds: cicadas, frogs, and every now and then a screech owl. I could see colors, but only their night versions, like when I look outside my window because I can’t sleep...gray-red, gray-blue, gray-yellow. So I decided it must be real. In a way, that was worse, because I was really high above the ground. ‘What if it suddenly stopped working?’ I wondered. Well, that hasn’t happened yet, so I’m no longer scared about it.

  The next part was learning how to get around. I wasn’t sure if I could get lost, like people get lost in the real world. I came up with a system, kind of like leaving breadcrumbs in a forest. But my breadcrumbs were sights and sounds and smells. I’d notice a funny-shaped chimney, a sweet-smelling rosebush, or a dog who barked when I flew over. The system worked great, so I’ve been using it this whole time...just in case.

  Harlan’s fingers paused. Cricket took the opportunity to slide a piece of cornbread out of his grubby pocket and pop it in his mouth. Ray smiled. Boys that age were always hungry.

  The fingers started up again.

  I told Mister Fergus about it. I hadn’t told anyone before then, but I saw something in a dream that scared me. The Witchy Lady. For some reason, I thought Mister Fergus would be the one to tell about it. After I did, he took off after her.

  Ray nodded. “I ran into him in the woods. The Witch found us both,” he added in a grim tone. “Please continue.”

  After he was gone, I tried to find him and Willa...in one of my dreams. That was something I’d never tried before. I’d always just kind of gone wherever the dream wanted to take me. That night I told myself to find Willa’s beacon. It’s a twin thing. Sure enough, I found it, but it was Mister Fergus who talked to me when I hovered over the cabin. That’s pretty much it.

  “The twin beacon...can you feel it while you’re awake or do you have to be in one of these dreams?”

  I can feel it most of the time, but it was stronger during the dream.

  Ray nodded. The concept was fascinating, and he didn’t doubt the story’s veracity. For a numbers guy like him, that was surprising. “You boys think you can find the cabin?”

  Both heads nodded.

  “I don’t see Serena Jo letting you venture into the forest. You’ll probably have to draw a map.”

  “The problem with that,” Cricket began, then Harlan tapped his friend’s shoulder and began to sign.

  The way we’ve figured out the location is through Cricket’s compass work, my dream memory, and because we’ve been there before. Mama has to let us come.

  “I’m not the one who needs convincing.”

  The door opened then.

  A slightly less disheveled Otis walked past them, down the steps, and up the dirt road that led through the village. Ray remained silent until he was gone, then turned to face Serena Jo.

  “Will he be okay?”

  She nodded. “Your friend grazed him. He just needs some rest. He’s operating on very little sleep ever since...his brother.”

  “She’s no friend of mine,” Ray said with a frown.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’m tired too.”

  Skeeter stuck his head out from behind his daughter. “What you boys been talkin’ ‘bout?” The blue eyes squinted with suspicion.

  The boys exchanged guilty glances. Ray stifled a grin.

  “You been talkin’ ‘bout goin’ into the woods, haven’t you? It’s comin’ off you both like skunk stink.”

  Cricket giggled. “You always seem to know everything, Mister Skeeter. Guess we can’t deny it. Just want to help, is all.”

  “Well, you can’t. Ain’t the job of you boys to find Willa.”

  As the old man brushed past them again, his back now toward his daughter, Ray caught an exaggerated wink directed at himself and the boys. The wink’s message was clear: We’re going to do exactly what I just said you can’t. The man continued in the direction he’d gone a few minutes earlier. Ray kept his face from reacting as he turned to face Serena Jo.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “I’m going to talk to my son. In private,” Serena Jo replied.

  Harlan stood, let his gaze rest on Ray for a moment, and then followed his mother inside.

  Cricket whispered, “You got that, right?”

  “I think so. We’re going to go with Skeeter to look for Willa? The four of us?”

  “Yep. You’re smarter than you look. Usually, good-lookin’ fellers like you ain’t none too smart.”

  Ray smiled. “What’s next?”

  “I’ll take you to Mister Skeeter’s house. We’ll wait for Harlan there.”

  “Shouldn’t I say something to Serena Jo first?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Just holler through the door. She’ll hear ya. And by the way, don’t be gettin’ any ideas about her. She don’t need no boyfriend.”

  He would not insult this boy who was so clearly smitten with his best friend’s mother. Ray could relate. It seemed he was also developing a crush, but he wouldn’t act on it. Not yet. The first order of business was to find her child and the enigmatic Fergus.

  Images of himself as the rescuer flitted through his mind, evoking thoughts of a passionately grateful Serena Jo.

  ***

  “You sure she’s in the privies?” Skeeter asked Harlan, who had shown up a few minutes ago. They’d been waiting for him in the old man’s cabin. Now Ray knew why S
erena Jo smelled of rosemary — the herb’s fragrance permeated her father’s home. Ray found himself hungry for some focaccia bread dipped in olive oil. Instead, he’d happily eaten the dry cornbread drizzled with honey that Skeeter offered.

  Harlan nodded.

  “Hmmph,” the grandfather replied, but he seemed content with the answer.

  “She’s gonna be awful mad at us, Mister Skeeter.”

  “You don’t think I know that?” The old man was clearly agitated.

  “Should we rethink this venture?” Ray asked. The notion of an angry Serena Jo was distressing, especially if the anger were directed at himself.

  “We got no choice,” Skeeter replied. “I know my daughter, and she will never allow the boys to go into the woods right now. She’s scared to death for her kids. Plus, she ain’t buying the dream business. I can tell.”

  “But you do?”

  “’Course. I had ‘em myself when I was younger. But my daughter ain’t cut from the same cloth as me and the boy.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Ray asked, warming to the task. He’d recently navigated the woods alone and then been chained up in a decrepit cabin awaiting torture. At least on this excursion, he wouldn’t be alone.

  Skeeter narrowed his eyes and placed a hand on the shoulder of each boy. “You’re absolutely sure about this? This is no time for half-truths and half-measures.”

  The sudden departure from Skeeter’s normal Appalachian dialect puzzled Ray. He had a sense there was a lot more to this man than just an old coot in faded overalls.

  A light head and a dark one nodded in unison.

  “You know how to handle a firearm?” Skeeter demanded of him.

  “I’m no sharpshooter, but yes. Problem is, I no longer have the ones I brought with me.”

  “Hmmph,” the old man said again, then opened the door of a beautifully carved cabinet. He withdrew a hammer and began coaxing nails from a floorboard with the clawed end. Seconds later, Skeeter held two long slender objects wrapped in oil cloth.

  “My daughter don’t know about these. She’s aces when it comes to leadership, but she don’t need to know everything ‘bout everything.”