Yes, by God! He was too passive. He was permitting something other than Harrison Allen to control his actions, his life, his destiny.
Sure, he had made a token stab at research, but the islanders he’d approached were uniformly reticent about discussing the monster. It was a subject they conspicuously, sometimes rudely, avoided. Even Professor Hathaway had seemed curiously evasive the last time they’d talked.
Christ, what the hell is going on?
Tomorrow, he vowed, he would lay the whole thing out for Nancy: the noises in the house, the figure on the road, the strange offerings. Then they’d discuss the face at the window and the tracks in the snow. He’d hold back nothing. She could tell him if he had lost his sense of perspective. Maybe together they could make sense of things.
In the unyielding darkness Harrison’s mind reeled and drifted. He knew for certain things were not right.
For the first time in his life, Harrison Allen feared the approach of madness.
2
In the morning when Harrison awoke, he had no recollection of how long he had lain there, staring wide-eyed and unseeing at all the disturbing images cascading above him in the lightless bedroom. But when his eyes met the new and welcome dawn, he had maintained his renewed sense of resolve.
Today he would straighten things out. He would take things by the horns. Seize control. By God, he’d be in charge!
He planned to begin by disclosing everything to Nancy. Together they’d sort through all the mysterious happenings, search for a pattern. If they got hung up, they could seek guidance from Professor Hathaway.
Mysterious happenings. How melodramatic that sounded as he performed the everyday tasks of slipping out of bed and deep breathing the chill morning air.
Nancy was still asleep, lying on her side, curled into a tight ball. Only her long black hair was visible outside the covers.
Harrison smiled down at her, then crossed the room to where he stood naked in front of the mirror over the antique dresser. He felt pleased with the sight of his body. For a long time he had not been so aware of his maleness. He was desirable, attractive. He had felt his power combust and he’d loved with an excitement he’d long feared he was doomed only to remember. His sexuality was like a recovered youth, vigorous and strong in the arms of this handsome young woman.
Maybe it really is possible to start over.
His reflected image looked fine to him. Not too flabby around the waist, arms and legs firm and powerful, shoulders broad and poised. At thirty-five his hair was thinning only slightly. As he looked deeply into the eyes of his reflection, he saw a sensual, sensitive man, a man full of mystery and fascination, love and commitment.
Yes — he nodded at his reflection — he was pleased with himself.
The threat of madness had vanished with the night; in his newfound confidence he felt fresh and young.
Today was the day his new life would begin.
He smiled once again at the mirror, then — with great satisfaction — at Nancy, still sleeping in his bed. He pulled on his robe and went downstairs to make their breakfast.
Chapter 14 - Odd Jobs
“Jesus Christ, Cliff, will ya jes’ try a little?” Stubby Baron held the smoking marijuana cigarette across the littered tabletop, waving it in front of Cliff’s face.
Stubby was a stocky little man with a round, florid face and a military crew cut. What appeared to be excess flesh was in reality rock-solid muscle. The only rippling flab on his rotund body was the collection of chins above his collar button. He laughed quickly — and always a little too loudly — while flapping his arms at his sides, giving the impression of a penguin. In the past, some guys at the quarry had taken to calling him “Penguin,” but it never caught on; he wouldn’t stand for it. So what if he was only five-four? He was barrel-solid, brawny as a bull, and could kick the B’jesus out of anyone on the island. In this particular case, he kicked the shit out of the guys who called him Penguin.
The name “Stubby” was okay, though. It was the name his father had given him when he was a child, and anything his father did was A-okay. Besides, it was a better name than Enoch; that was the name his mother had given him. Now, anyone calling him Enoch was likely to be treated exactly as if they had called him Penguin.
After a silent supper with his wife, Stubby had gone out for a drive, testing his four-wheel-drive Scout on the island’s snow-slick roads. He’d decided to drop in on his friend Cliff to see if he was agreeable to taking a ride over to the interstate. The idea was to find flatlanders who had skidded off the road and to pull them back on, an activity which was always great fun and usually profitable. Between Swanton and Burlington they could probably find five or six stranded cars at twenty-five dollars apiece. Hell, they could have a few laughs, and make some money to boot.
Instead, Stubby had found his friend off the road not far from Eastern Way. The fender of Cliff’s pickup was crinkled like a chewing-gum wrapper.
When Stubby arrived, Cliff was in the pickup, rocking it back and forth, angrily racing the engine. The back wheels were spewing snow, dead grass, and dirt.
“Whatsa matter, stuck?” asked Stubby, walking up to the door of the vehicle and scratching his head.
Cliff glared at him, teeth clenched, face red and pinched in anger. “Naw, doin’ an early plowin’. What the hell’s it look like, ya fuckhead!”
“Need a tow?”
“I’ll give you a toe, right up your ass. You got a fuckin’ chain with ya?”
Stubby patted his jacket pockets as if he were looking for something. “A chain, you say? Think I got one in the Scout. Usually do in this weather, case I run into some damn fool don’t know how to drive in the snow.”
Stubby’s Scout easily pulled the pickup back onto the road. The two men convoyed the short distance to Cliff’s house, where they had a cold beer to warm up.
“Thought we might take the four-wheeler over to 89 and do a little fishin’. The flatlanders oughtta be runnin’ pretty good this season.”
Cliff thought about that. “Might not be a bad idea,” he said, then spat into the wood stove. “Good way to earn a little Christmas money.”
“No shit,” said Stubby, wide-eyed in mock amazement. “Who you gonna be buyin’ a Christmas present for?”
“Same as always. Myself.”
The two men laughed, Stubby a little louder than necessary, and chugged their beers.
Then Stubby pulled out the joint, lit it, and offered some to Cliff.
Cliff just shook his head.
“Jes’ try a little, it won’t hurt ya.” Stubby waved the joint insistently.
“Naw, fucks up yer head.”
Stubby knew when to back off and change the subject. “Thought I might raise my price a bit this year,” he said. “Cost a livin’ an’ all. Thirty-five bucks a tow for out-a-staters. Whatta ya think?”
“Why not? Best service in town, oughtta be worth somethin’, right?”
“Damn straight. Course, I don’t take none a them, whatcha call, credit cards. ‘You don’t pay, here you stay,’ that’s my motto. Course, for the ladies maybe we can extend a little credit…. “
“Extend a little somethin’.”
“Fuck you. Naw, we’ll let the ladies pay on time.”
“‘Bout ten seconds, the way I hears it.” Cliff roared with laughter at his own joke and slid another beer across the table to Stubby. The little man scooped it up and popped the top absently. Then he looked around, a critical expression darkening his face. “Jesus Christ, Cliff, when you gonna clean up this pigsty?”
“What’s the matter with it?”
“Looks like the inside of a trash can.”
“Well, when I get around to doin’ my spring cleanin’, I gotta have somethin’ to clean, right?”
“Looks just the same’s it did when ya finished your spring cleanin’ last year.” He tossed his empty beer can into the corner, where it joined its twins beside an overflowing shopping bag. “Come on, let
’s take a drive.”
“Shit, I don’t think we’ll get much business. Nobody’s gonna be on the roads at this hour.”
“That’s what I’m countin’ on,” said Stubby as he stood up.
Cliff got up, too. Each man grabbed his coat and a six-pack. Then they set out to seek their fortunes on the dark, snowy roads.
Chapter 15 - The Monastery
1
The sun was up, bright and sharp, the air was comfortably cold. Snow melted fast; it would probably be gone by the end of the day, leaving the ground damp and the boggy perimeter of the marsh greatly enlarged.
Because the monastery was on the far end of the island, Harrison and Nancy decided to take the car. It was too cold to enjoy the long walk, and the hike back would be torture.
“I have some things I’d like to tell you,” began Harrison, hesitantly. “I don’t want to put it off any longer. It’s… well, there are things I’m trying to put out of my mind. I’ve been trying not to think about them, you know?”
Nancy looked at him, then away. Her body seemed to visibly stiffen, as if bracing herself for something uncomfortable. Her eyes remained riveted to the road straight ahead as they passed the marsh and headed north toward the school.
Harrison struggled to continue, his hands too forcefully grasping the wheel. “There’s a series of things I want to tell you, really. Some about myself, and some are things that have happened to me since I’ve come to the island.”
Nancy laughed nervously. “You’re not going to tell me you’re wanted by the police or something like that, are you?”
Harrison smiled, somewhat relieved. “No. Nothing like that.”
“You’re married, then?”
“No. In fact, I’ve never been married.” He took a breath. “But I haven’t been completely honest with you just the same, and I want to be, even about little things. As I was saying last night, I really did come here to look for the monster; that much is true. However, I may have intentionally implied more than that. You see, I am not actually employed by the American Cryptozoological Society. As a matter of fact, I’m not employed anywhere. The only grant that is funding my research is Unemployment Insurance.”
She didn’t look at him.
“And… well, I’ve… I’ve been kind of worried about some things lately.” Harrison felt his temperature rising in the car’s cool interior. He feared he might be blushing. Still, he was determined to go on. He forced himself.
“Look, Nancy, I’m thirty-five years old, and already my life has reached sort of a cul-de-sac. I’ve been in marketing for years, a fittingly unexciting and nondemanding occupation for a person with no real goals. But now I’ve started to look back on my life somewhat critically for the first time, and all I see is years of waiting, putting things off, avoiding challenges and commitments.” He chuckled dryly, without humor. “It’s like I’ve lived my life in the waiting room of a dentist’s office, and now I’ve got nothing at all to show for it; no job, no skill, no home, no future. God, most of the people I knew ten or fifteen years ago have careers by now and are working on their second set of kids. But me… well, after thirty-five years of waiting, I realize what a… a misfit I’ve let myself become. Christ, I’ve never even had a steady girlfriend or a long-term relationship, or whatever you call it nowadays.”
He had only begun to say what he wanted to say. But at least he had started. He knew he was repeating things he had already told her, but they were necessary groundwork for today’s disclosures. But now he wasn’t sure quite how to continue.
When Nancy didn’t reply at all, Harrison felt himself grow tense and uncomfortable. She just kept looking at the road as they passed Professor Hathaway’s house.
More words were welling up inside him; he wanted to pour them out, tell her everything he was thinking and feeling. He wanted to tell her what he feared. And by God he would, too, even at the risk of saying the wrong thing.
But he would say nothing more until she made some response, acknowledged him in some way.
They drove a short distance in silence. When Nancy finally began to speak, it was almost a whisper. “I’m happy you want to tell me things, Harry. But you don’t need to. You don’t owe me any explanations. We get along fine with things just as they are. Please don’t feel that you have to explain yourself. You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready. You don’t have to say anything at all.”
Tension passed from Harrison like smoke through a screen door. He smiled and reached for her hand. He found it halfway, reaching for his.
“That’s just it,” he said, “I’m ready. Finally, at thirty-five years old, I’m ready. I want to talk to you. I’ve avoided it like I’ve avoided a lot of things. I… what I’m trying to say is, well… I’ve worked real hard never to feel about anyone as I’m beginning to feel about you. Now that it’s started, I don’t want to say or do anything to ruin it.”
He felt her hand tighten around his. “But there is something more I want to say. Something I want to discuss with you.”
Nancy turned to look at him. He could see the fear in her eyes, fear of what might be coming. “What is it?” she said. “Please feel you can tell me.”
“It’s difficult to explain. Some… very odd things have been happening to me lately—”
As they were about to turn right onto the road that led to the monastery, a fast-moving Scout with two men in it cut them off, nearly smashing into their car.
“Jesus!” cried Harrison, swerving to the fight to avoid a collision. In his rearview mirror he watched the Scout accelerating, its tires spitting snow and gravel as it pulled away.
Harrison and Nancy waited for their pulses to slow down. As they drove toward the monastery, they shared their personal fears, and chronicled all the odd and frightening things that had happened to each of them.
Now, more than ever, Harrison felt he had found an ally in what had always been an alien world.
2
The dangerously pitted dirt road ended far short of the monastery. A narrow footpath, overgrown and muddy, cut through the pines, curving upward toward the ancient stone structure. Where the pinewood divided, the building came clearly into view. It was simple in design, nowhere near as large as Harrison had expected. Yet it had a certain grandeur about it. It stood stately and proud, overlooking the lake and the island from atop its steep granite cliff. Though very old, it was not a ruin; it seemed solid and dignified, rising like a sculpted extension of the rock itself. At first glance, it seemed like a fortress, maybe even a castle.
Castle is a better word, thought Harrison. For a moment he envisioned the two of them as children in a fairy tale. Holding hands, unable to feel each other’s warmth through their gloves, they looked up at the building in a kind of awe. They moved closer, tentatively approaching, as if it were the domain of some mysterious and unknown lord.
It was a two-story structure, long and narrow, a perfect rectangle. There were no anachronistic additions or abutments. The roof, made of slates — many of which were broken or missing — sloped downward from the building’s peak toward its long, flat sides.
The granite blocks in the walls were dark-stained and weathered, but perfectly fitted, solid as the ages. All the windows were boarded up, apparently having been so for many years. Their rough plank coverings had turned gray from the elements.
The security measures suggested by the boarded-up windows turned the image of a castle into one of a prison. Harrison shuddered at the maverick suspicion that the planks had been put up, not to keep prowlers out, but to keep something in. He quickly decided not to share his unsettling fantasy with Nancy.
The door on the near end of the building was made of two massive planks that still looked sturdy enough to repel any intruder, ancient or modern. If the door proved to be locked, it occurred to Harrison, it might be impossible to get in.
“This place was really made to last,” Harrison mumbled.
After staring in silence for a few minutes, t
hey began to walk around the building, looking up at it, surveying the grounds that had once been cleared. Nancy remarked how, over the years, the brush, the grass, and the forest had crept slowly back, reclaiming all but the building itself.
When they had walked all around the monastery, they realized that the only entrance was the one they had seen at the beginning. “Must not have had very strict fire codes in those days,” Nancy joked.
On the grounds, amid brambles and small trees, were the tumbling ruins of various outbuildings. They must have been barns or sheds that had surrendered long ago to the ravages of time.
There was no structure in the area more worthy of exploration than the monastery itself. The outbuildings could wait.
Harrison tried the door. Just as he’d expected, it would not open.
He tugged on the rusty iron crossbar, hinged on one side of the frame and padlocked on the other. It didn’t budge. The ancient lock was irreparably corroded. The whereabouts of the key was a mystery, but even if they’d had it, the lock was surely rusted closed forever.
Nancy said, “It’s hard to believe this place has been locked up since the twenties. I got the impression Professor Hathaway had been in here, didn’t you?”
“I thought that’s what he said.”
“I wonder how he got in?”
“Beats me.” Harrison shrugged. “Let’s try the windows.” Together they pulled at the heavy boards covering one of the windows. “Forget it,” said Harrison, quickly frustrated by the tenacity of the big spikes that fixed the boards to the thick wooden window frames. “We’ll need tools to get these off.”
“Did you bring any?”
“No. We could go back home and get some. Or… wait a minute! Maybe we could use the jack handle as a crowbar.”
A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult Page 336
