Bad Land
Page 6
Marshall pulled up to the ancient house and parked on the side of the road. He slammed the door behind him, not caring if the old man heard him or not. The small fence was without a lock. Marshall opened and closed it behind him. He scanned the front porch, this time making sure the old man didn’t get a jump on him.
His sneakers made short work of the few yards between him and the house and he was soon raising a balled fist to knock on the screen door. It was a cool morning and Marshall was grateful he had decided on jeans and long sleeved dark hoodie.
As Marshall expected, no one came to the door. Marshall knocked again and again. “Hello? It’s me, Marshall. I know you’re in there. Might as well open the door. I’m not going anywhere.”
A few seconds of silence, then the doorknob slowly turned and the door creaked open, revealing the old man’s familiar scowling face. “What do you want? I told you I don’t know anything.”
“And you’re lying.”
His bushy eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised with Marshall’s boldness. “Lying or not, I have nothing to say to you. Now get off my property.”
Marshall was quickly losing his window of opportunity. He needed to get the old man on his side. Forcing him was going to get him nowhere. His age made him much too stubborn and hard headed for that. Marshall needed to think quickly.
“How old is your granddaughter?”
His expression went from one of contempt and frustration to anger. “You leave her out of this. If I—”
“How old is she? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? Not that much older than Barbara Summers, the girl that was found dead in the street just a few days ago.”
The old man bit his tongue as he realized where Marshall was directing the conversation. Marshall took the old man’s silence as an opportunity to push the subject, hoping he was making headway. “Think about that girl’s family. What if they could provide you with answers and they refused because they were too scared.”
“I’m not scared, boy. Don’t mistake caution and patience for fear.”
“Well, whatever it is, now is the time to act. You have the power to help her family bring closure to her death.” Marshall clenched his jaw. He was still unwilling to talk about his sister.
Samantha’s grandfather seemed to weigh Marshall’s determination. “You’re not going to go away unless I tell you, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Then come inside. No point in causing a scene.”
To Marshall’s surprise he motioned for him to enter. The old man must have caught his hesitation because he gave a smirk. “Well, come in. This is what you wanted, right? Trust me, I don’t bite. I’m not the one you have to worry about.”
Marshall opened the aging screen door and stepped into the front room. The floor was made of old creaky wood and ancient furniture added to the decor. The room was large, decorated with pictures along the walls and a vase of flowers on the chipped coffee table.
The old man noticed Marshall’s gaze settle on the flower arrangement and scoffed. “It’s Samantha’s work. She insists that the place needs more color and life.”
Marshall nodded. “What’s your name, anyway?”
The old man looked him up and down, hesitating.
“Come on. You know mine. You even know my dog’s name.”
“I’m—Jonah.”
Jonah walked to a dark green reclining chair that had seen better days and slowly sat down. Marshall didn’t think he was going to get an invitation to sit, so he took the initiative and settled on a matching green couch. The fabric was thick and he sunk in further than he anticipated.
“Well, here we are. You managed to weasel your way in, and now you even know my name. What do you want to know?”
Marshall thought he had made it clear to Jonah what he was here for, but he cleared his throat and started again anyway. “I want to know what you know about Barbara Summers’ death. You must have seen or heard something. Maybe the squeal of brakes. Maybe you saw the headlights of a car late at night. Anything.”
“You’re asking all the wrong questions, boy. Barbara Summers’ death is a very small part of what has been playing out for well over a century.”
Marshall leaned forward as much as the saggy couch would let him. “What are you talking about?”
“Are you still sure you want to know? After knowledge has made itself known, there is no unknowing the truth. You’ll be forced to choose a side or fall victim—collateral damage, like Barbara Summers.”
Marshall felt goosebumps prickle his arms. The doors and windows were closed, but he could swear a cold breeze caressed his skin in a sinister way. “I want to know what you know. I want to know what happened to Barbara Summers.”
Jonah leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He looked at Marshall, still weighing whether or not he should divulge the information. “Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you.” Jonah’s face took on a pained expression as he looked over Marshall’s shoulder and into the past.
Chapter 11
I was just a small boy when my parents died from a strain of God knows what. I was taken to an orphanage in this same county. It was a dirty place with leaking roofs and soup for almost every meal, but it was better than the street, or so I thought at the time. I couldn’t have been more then seven years old when I arrived at the orphanage.
I can still remember it like it happened last week. The other children and I hoped every day we would get adopted. Every once in awhile, prospective fathers and mothers would visit the orphanage to see that special child that had been matched to them. I was a skinny boy growing up with wild blond hair and a freckled face. Let’s just say I wasn’t most parents’ first choice as a new son.
I don’t hold it against them, though. I know what I looked like then. As the days, weeks, and months passed, we all hoped. We prayed every night that we would be brought a mother and father that would take us away from the orphanage to a warm, cozy house with a dog, a cat, and a white picket fence. We would make up stories and imagine what our new parents would look like and the new lives we would lead when we were finally chosen.
During these months there was one person who would come to meet children and adopt them on a regular basis. He was a rough looking man, and although he said all the right things, there was something about him that always put me and the other children on edge. There was just something about him that didn’t fit. When he came around our hopes and prayers turned into fear and we tried to avoid him if we could. He came and adopted a different child every few months, proving to the staff at the orphanage that he had the monetary background to care for them. He even donated to the orphanage on a regular basis. As you can imagine, the orphanage staff was always eager when he came.
I once overheard the head master asking the man why he needed so many children, to which the man responded with his love for children and his own wife being unable to bear offspring of their own. He mentioned that he felt it was God’s own calling that he care for as many children as he could and raise them in the way of the Lord.
Well, it so happened that one day this same man came and adopted me. The day that I had waited so long for was anything but what I had expected. The joy of being taken away from the orphanage turned to ash in my mouth as I stood by the man filling out paperwork to claim me as his own.
I thought the day would come and I would be jumping with joy, but in that moment I felt more like a slave than a child. The man didn’t say much to me as he thanked the staff at the orphanage and I followed him out of the building.
I had nothing in the way of belongings but the clothes on my back. I can still remember waving goodbye to the children who stared wide-eyed at me from the dirty windows of the orphanage.
The man still said nothing as we made the journey to his estate. I had a better look at him now, though. He was a large man with rounded shoulders and a pale complexion. His face was firm and not unkind, but different somehow, like he was privy to information that would crush a normal man.
I stepped out and shivered, even though there was no wind. Everything was in perfect condition, from the large lawn to the gargoyles that stood guard at the gates and roofs of the property.
Over the next few months, things went from strange to stranger. I was given my own room and introduced to the staff and other children that ranged from my own age all the way up to sixteen or seventeen. There were servants, guards, maids, cooks, and about ten to twelve other children. None of the staff seemed like they wanted us harmed, but the other children and I agreed there was something very off about the place.
I found that every single child had been taken from various orphanages, some even coming from as far as a state or two away. None of us were told what to do while we were there and the staff seemed content to let us amuse ourselves so far as we did not cause trouble. During this time I didn’t see the man that had adopted me again.
My days were spent playing outside with the other children, reading, or exploring every room in the huge mansion. Just when I started to shake off the chill of my new surroundings, it started happening. Children started going missing. They were just gone, as if in the middle of the night they had woken up and walked right out the front doors. When we asked about what had happened to them, we were told that the master of the house had sent them away overseas to receive an education.
We received the news, skeptical to say the least, but what else could we believe? This disappearing act happened more and more often. Whispers were starting to pile up and theories roamed the empty halls. The servants even seemed to be on edge. As the children left, more came in. They were always orphans, with no one who would miss them.
Every day I became increasingly nervous. Would I be next? How would I be taken? Did they come in the middle of the night? Where was I going? One night, a few months after my arrival, as I lay in bed wondering about these questions, I heard a noise.
It sounded like a muffled scream, but I had barely caught the noise. I tried to pass it off as my imagination but I knew better. I had heard something and it sounded like it came from the room next to mine. I lay in my large bed debating what to do. Everything inside me screamed to stay there and go to sleep, but I just couldn’t.
I slowly rose from my bed and padded across the wooden floor. With each step I said a silent prayer that the floorboards would not squeak. My luck held and I reached the door in a few seconds. I turned the knob as slowly as I could, then craned my neck to the side and peeked out of my room into the darkness.
There was nothing there. No demons or monsters. There was nothing but a dim light being carried by someone further down the hall. I squinted, trying to make out who would be carrying the candle, but whoever it was turned a corner and the light was gone.
An immediate urge to close the door and go hide in my sheets grabbed at my heart. I think I would have had I not seen the room next to mine’s door ajar. I knew who stayed in that room. It was Melissa Nixon. She was the nicest girl I had met since I had arrived at the estate. She always had a smile and she was the closest thing I had to a friend. My hand shook as I forced the door open wider and took my first step into the dark hall. I gently opened her door further, only to confirm what I already knew to be the truth.
The room was empty. The sheets and blankets were strewn across the floor as if someone had been clawing at them for safety. The fact that Melissa had been ripped from her bed became very apparent. I knew what I had to do. I had to follow that light if I could and find out if she was safe.
Before I could think of the hundred reasons why I should just go back to bed, my skinny legs were carrying me down the dark hall at a run. The only light to make my way by was the light from the half moon and stars that shown through the large windows on the left wall.
I shivered as I ran, but not from the cold. My heart beat faster and faster as I turned the corner. There was nothing. I fought to keep my breathing under control as I peered down the stairs and into the large room that served as a library.
I peered into the darkness, struggling to see or hear anything. Just when I was going to give up, pat myself on the back for trying, and return to my room, I heard a muffled cry. It was Melissa’s muffled cry.
With only my pajamas for warmth, I crept barefooted down the steps to the ground floor. Following where I thought the noise had come from, I reached a brick fireplace. My small mind was torn in two. On one hand, I knew this was where I had heard the noise come from. On the other hand, I knew that it was impossible to hear cries coming from fireplaces.
My small hands ran over the rough stones. Up and down I searched for a lever or loose brick, anything that would signal a secret passage behind the fireplace. There was nothing. I had come too far to turn away this easily. I got down on my hands and knees and looked into the huge entrance that was large enough for a man to stoop and walk through. And that’s when I realized that it had been built large enough for a man to stoop and walk into.
I gently removed the steel curtain that kept sparks and embers from escaping and pushed the fear that had made its way into my throat deep in my belly. Inside the furnace was pitch black. My hands and knees were soon covered in soot. I reached the back and pushed on the stone wall.
I pushed harder and harder, knowing Melissa was in need of my help and I had to get to her before it was too late. I pushed and pulled, but still there was no give to the rough stones that made up the wall.
I shifted my weight and tried to slide the stone surface. There was a give. Not much, just a few inches. I ground my teeth and put my small back to the wall. With all of my might I tried to slide the brick wall. It gave a few more inches and then a few hard fought more. Eventually there was room enough for me to squeeze through.
I entered a cave hall that was illuminated by candles placed on the walls. The fear that I had managed to push away came back now as I heard chanting coming from somewhere deep in the belly of the cave.
Quietly I made my way down the slanting hall that led deeper into the earth toward the rhythmic chanting. The shadows cast by the candles leapt out at me, contorting into sinister faces and ghoulish grins. But this was the least of my worries. My entire focus was where the chanting was coming from and what I would see when I reached the noise.
I didn’t have to wait much longer as the hall curved and opened wide into a large room. I figured we must be right under the great house. There was a circular area with a large flat rock placed in the center. On one side of the rock, a stone bowl sprouted, carved from the same piece of rock. The other side came down into a kind of waterfall that pointed to the ground.
There was a group of darkly hooded figures that stood around the stone, all chanting in a language that I couldn’t understand. It was a language that I would later find out was an ancient Native American tongue.
That’s when I noticed Melissa being brought forward. She was gagged and tied by both her feet and ankles. Her eyes were wild with fear and tears streaked her otherwise kind and gentle face. The man who had adopted me from the orphanage, the man I would grow to hate, dragged her to the stone altar and tied her down. The chanting picked up now as I crouched in the shadows, powerless and incapacitated by fear. All I could do was watch.
A dozen scenarios ran through my head but not a single one ended well. I was a small boy and there were a dozen or more darkly hooded figures. What could I do? I should have done something. I should have done anything besides crouch there in the shadows, but I didn’t.
I hunkered down like a coward and watched as the man who had adopted me and so many other children reached into his cloak, drew out a knife, and slit Melissa’s wrists and ankles. There was so much blood. Her little heart beat
in vain trying to send red liquid to nourish her body, but the blood was pouring out of her hands and feet too quickly. The stone basin on one side of the stone table near her head collected the blood from her wrists. The blood from her ankles collected like a tiny waterfall and fell down the opposite side of the stone onto the cave floor.
The ground seeped up the blood like a man dying of thirst. It didn’t simply soak into the hard dirt floor—I swear it drank the blood in deep, thirsty gulps. The chanting soon stopped as Melissa’s chest stopped moving. Each of the cloaked members dipped a cupped hand into the blood-filled basin, took off their hoods, and poured the blood on their heads.
I had seen enough. I don’t know what it was that gripped me, but I knew I had to go. I knew that if I stayed any longer, I was going to get caught and suffer the same fate as Melissa Nixon.
I took one last look at her lifeless form and I ran. I ran back up the cave hall, through the fireplace, and I ran right out the front door. I stuck to the shadows, and by luck or fate, no one saw me as I crossed the lawn and jumped the fence.
I escaped with my life, but I will never forget that night in Wakan Canyon.
Chapter 12
Jonah’s eyes blinked as though he had just woken up from a dream and readjusted on Marshall. “And that is what I know. And now you’re dragged into this whether you like it or not. You can’t unknow what you have learned.”
Marshall didn’t know what to think. The whole time Jonah related the story he had sat silent, intent on listening and remembering everything the old man said. There just seemed like there were so many holes in the story. “That’s a horrible story and I’m sincerely sad that you had to experience that at such an early age, but what does that have to do with you seeing anything happen to Barbara Summers?”