The Secret of the Dark

by Barbara Steiner

  With a dreamy moonlight mood, I turned back the covers and flopped on my bed, hugging my knees up to me. Suddenly both the moon and the silence were shattered. The room filled with the noise of wings flapping. Something brushed my face and I screamed.

  CHAPTER

  11

  WAS it birds? They swooped and flew overhead. They knocked knickknacks from the dresser. One thumped against the screen while another swept a picture off the wall, sending it crashing to the floor.

  I screamed again and pulled the covers up over me. They weren’t birds. They were bats! Five, six, how many bats?

  I lay there, shaking until things quieted. Just the thought of my room full of the ugly creatures, their rubbery wings and pointed faces, made me want to grab my quilt and run downstairs, but I knew I had to get them out of my room. I waited till I had calmed somewhat and then tried to think of a plan.

  Apparently the bats had been under my bed. When I sat on it, they were startled and flew out. If I moved they’d fly again.

  Slowly, very slowly, I moved until my knees were doubled up and turned toward the edge of the bed. Enough light came through the window so that I could see my closet gaping open. No bats there.

  Carefully, in ultra-slow motion, I sat up. Then I stayed put till I was sure no bats were disturbed. With my feet firmly on the floor, I eased myself up carefully so that I was standing.

  I had started for the window when the bats flew again. I kept going, ducking and dodging. One brushed my hair, and I shivered to think of feet tangled, wings flopping against my head.

  Fumbling with the hook, I finally got it pushed out of the little round hole into which it slipped. Thud. A flying body crashed into my back. Weren’t they supposed to fly by radar? Maybe it didn’t work when they were frightened.

  I pushed on the old wooden screen till it scooted open with a scraping sound. Leaning out as far as I could, I held it open. One by one the bats found the escape route and whirred past me.

  I was crying by then. I hated the bats hitting me, brushing by, but it was the only way to get them out

  I slammed the screen shut, jerking at it when it stuck. Then I dived back into bed and buried my face in the pillow. Finally I got calm and warm, wishing desperately I could wake up and find I’d had a nightmare. But it was all much too real. My one consolation was that I hadn’t disturbed Granny.

  How had bats gotten into my room? Not by accident The answer was obvious. Someone had put them there while we were gone. The door was open. Anyone could have come in. But who? Who would do such a thing?

  Bats. How could anyone even catch them? They lived in caves. Did they live anywhere else? Barns? No one could reach them on the ceiling of a cave.

  Because of caving, Rick’s name popped into my head. But Rick wouldn’t do such a thing. To begin with he’d have no reason. Even if he’d found out we’d gone to Neal’s for dinner, this kind of trick was not in line with his being jealous.

  Whoever had done it aside, it became obvious that someone was after me — trying to frighten me. The letter was addressed to me. The bats were in my room. So the phone calls hadn’t been a random prank by kids. The caller had wanted me to answer.

  But why? I couldn’t even think of a motive. My being here didn’t suit someone. I tossed and turned. I could find no reason.

  Sometime in the night it started to rain. Mrs. Butterworth was a pretty good forecaster. I guess the rain gently pelting the tin roof lulled me to sleep for a short time.

  Suddenly I jerked awake. At first I thought a memory of the night’s episode with the bats had wakened me. The slight brushing of my cheek was like the flutter of a wing. Then I realized it was Mrs. B.’s tail. She sat washing and occasionally her tail flicked across my pillow. Granny must have let her in and fed her. This was not her “feed me” greeting, but her content-after-breakfast beauty routine. Wash paws, wash face, comb hair with tongue. Curl up. Nap awhile.

  I left her curled in the bed covers, which looked as though a strong wind had tossed and tumbled them for hours. I felt as though something had tumbled me. My eyes were gritty, my head ached.

  I pulled on some jeans since the air seemed cool. Fog covered the mountain again. Not wispy and floating, but total, like the cabin was wrapped in a ball of cotton candy.

  I pulled the window screen tight and hooked it, reliving the bats bumping past me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took several deep breaths. The nightmare wouldn’t go away.

  Granny sat in front of a cold fireplace, her old sweater with the elbows out clutched around her. I’d build a fire before I got some breakfast. It would chase away the chill and cheer me up, I hoped.

  A woodpile leaned against the east wall of Granny’s cabin. Someone had replenished it after the winter. I had no sooner started stacking wood in my arms when a rustling sound made me look down. Over my foot crawled a long, spotted snake!

  I screamed, tossing wood every which way, and flew back inside. My nerves were raw from the night’s scare and no sleep. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  Granny came over to me. “Child, child, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “A snake!” I blurted out. “A huge rattlesnake. In the woodpile.”

  “Why child. That ain’t no rattler. Hit’s just my old kingsnake. He’s lived here for years. He won’t harm nothing but rats and mice.”

  “Your snake? You have a snake? Why didn’t you tell me?” I screamed at Granny.

  “Calm down, child I never thought to tell you. He’s harmless.”

  I felt foolish then, but I couldn’t calm down. I lit a burner and put on the tea kettle. As soon as a tea bag had steeped a minute, I sipped the scalding liquid. My hands were still shaking, so that I spilled it on the table top.

  Granny wasn’t her best this morning, either. She spilled milk trying to pour me some. Then she dropped an egg. Mrs. Butterworth had come down after hearing the refrigerator open. She did her best to clean up the mess.

  The hot tea helped. I took a few deep breaths and got control at last. “Here, Granny,” I said, “let me do that.” I took the skillet and spoon from her. She had tried to scramble me some eggs. I piled jam on buttered toast and forced down the food. Finally my head ceased its pounding but I felt totally exhausted.

  The sound of paper crackling sent me to the living room. Granny’s hand shook as she tried to coax a fire to flame. I took over again and soon had a merry blaze. Back outside I looked at my every step. Kingsnake or not, harmless or not, I didn’t want another run-in with any snake. I snatched a few logs from the nearest end of the woodpile and ran back inside. You couldn’t see more than six feet ahead in the yard. I don’t know why people say fog is as thick as pea soup. It was clearly mushroom soup out there.

  I pulled the couch around so it was closer to the fire and wrapped up in a crocheted afghan. I guess I fell right to sleep as it was noon when I became aware of Granny’s hand on my shoulder.

  “The phone is for you, child. How come you’re sleeping all day?”

  Had I been so far gone I hadn’t even heard the phone ring? I rubbed my eyes and tried to wake up.

  “Val? Granny said you were sleeping. Are you all right?”

  “Certainly.” Mentally I shook myself the rest of the way awake. It was Rick. “Nothing to do but sleep.”

  “You could come see me.”

  “I’d get lost outside in about a minute. You know that. You come and see me. Have you had lunch? I’ll even fix you something to eat.” I felt clearheaded.

  “You don’t care if I get lost in the woods?”

  “I’m sure you know the mountain well enough to find your way,” I joked.

  “You’re right, I do. I could walk all these hills blindfolded. Okay. I’ll see what kind of a cook you are.”

  Rick laughed and hung up. I went in the bathroom to freshen up. My eyes were red and I still looked tired. I put a cold cloth over my face and did my best. Then I ran upstairs to find my red sweatshirt instead of the flannel shirt I had on. Red served
to make my hair look even blacker and flattered me. I touched my cheeks with blusher and my lips with gloss. My lashes and brows were so dark they needed no makeup.

  Add a smile, I ordered. It helped. Some.

  The hamburger meat was supposed to be for supper, but Granny wouldn’t care if I switched meals. By the time Rick got there I had almost finished cheeseburgers, had filled a basket with taco chips, and a blue-flowered plate with homemade chocolate-chip cookies.

  When he knocked I opened the door, smiled, and sent him back around the house for another load of wood. Let him deal with the kingsnake. He’d know it was harmless.

  Rick seemed to enjoy the hamburgers. I wondered what kind of meals he and his father ate. I knew men sometimes cooked, but more often they just would open cans or make stew or soup. My father was good at helping but his cooking was a disaster.

  “I’ve never met your father,” I said to Rick. He kept looking at me but he didn’t talk much. He was hungry.

  “He’s around. You’ll run into him.”

  “Is he still drinking?” Granny came alive.

  “Granny!” I guess one privilege of old age is being outspoken, but sometimes Granny went too far.

  Rick laughed. “Some, Granny. Some.”

  Maybe Rick was ashamed of his father, wouldn’t even want me to meet him. “I’m sorry, Rick. Granny—”

  “It’s all right. I guess the whole mountain knows that Cy Biddleman has a problem with his liquor. Not many secrets here.”

  Granny returned to her own fog. She didn’t say any more, and she didn’t eat well. She went to take her nap.

  I cleaned up while Rick sat drinking ice tea.

  “Don’t you have a radio?” He looked around.

  “No, nor a TV. It seemed strange at first I’ve only seen a newspaper once since I got here. I do have a tape player. I’ll get it.”

  My room reminded me of the bats. I hadn’t even picked up all the little bottles they’d knocked over. My china cat was broken. I picked up the pieces and hoped I could fix it. My dad had brought it to me from Belgium. Fortunately the bats hadn’t knocked over the tape player. I needed my music.

  I doubted Rick was the Mozart type so I pulled out the two Michael Jackson tapes I’d bought plus one new rock group I’d heard only a couple of times.

  The music filled the little cabin and I hoped Granny could sleep.

  “That’s better. We could dance.”

  Rick was a good dancer. His tall, lean body was athletic and graceful. I’d bet he hadn’t been so antisocial that he’d missed the school parties.

  We’d played through both sides of one tape, and I was putting on another when the phone rang. I picked it up automatically. No one spoke.

  “Stop this, you hear me. Stop it!” My angry, jumpy mood flooded back.

  Then a low voice whispered. “The fog holds secrets.”

  “Who is this?” I kept listening till the phone went dead.

  Rick pulled me close to him and laughed. “Maybe he likes to hear you get mad. You shouldn’t say anything.”

  “This isn’t funny, Rick Biddleman. And it’s not kids. Last night someone put bats in my room.”

  Rick frowned. “They didn’t bite you, did they? Bats carry rabies.”

  I shuddered. That was a happy thought. “Where would anyone get bats?”

  “It wouldn’t be easy. But they fly all over the mountain at night. They could fly in the house if you left it open.”

  Had Granny left the door open as well as unlocked? Now I couldn’t remember our leaving at all.

  “That’s a pretty face, even with a frown.”

  “Oh, Rick. This is serious.”

  “So is this.” He stopped my questions with his mouth on mine. I struggled at first, but he was incredibly strong. And I wouldn’t deny I responded to him. It almost frightened me. I managed to pull back. “Rick.” I was breathless. “You’d better go home.”

  His laugh was low and teased me. “You like that too much, huh, city girl?”

  He didn’t argue about leaving. But his laughter haunted me after he’d gone. And I wasn’t sure I was glad or sorry he’d left without a protest.

  I put the other tape on but turned it low. I wanted to sit and think — or maybe not think — for a few minutes before Granny got up.

  A knock sounded at the door. Rick had come back. Did I want to open it? I would, but I wouldn’t let him kiss me again. It was too unsettling.

  I pulled the door toward me. But no one stood outside.

  CHAPTER

  12

  MY first impulse was to slam the door, but anger took charge again. I stepped outside. There was a smell of cigarette smoke.

  “Rick?” The fog wasn’t quite as thick as it had been.

  Then a shadow loomed and a man materialized. But it wasn’t Rick. It was Cedrick Thurmond. In his arms he carried a basket of clothes covered with brown paper cut from grocery bags. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

  “Fleecy sent yore laundry. She cain’t come but figured you might need it.” His eyes stayed on me and made me feel funny. I knew he couldn’t help being slow, but he could help being rude. His staring made me nervous.

  “Thanks, Cedrick.” I took the basket

  “She told me to check the woodpile too. See if you was needy of firewood.”

  “No, it’s fine. We’ve got plenty.” Maybe he wanted me to invite him inside, and I knew I should offer him a cup of coffee, or something for his trouble. It was a bad day to come driving up here. But I hesitated and he didn’t turn to leave.

  “I … I …”

  “Yore supposed to give me back the basket. Fleecy needs it. You can put dirty clothes in it.”

  “We don’t have many today, Cedrick. Just a minute.” Quickly I dumped the clothes on the couch and hurried to shove the basket into Cedrick’s hands. There was a silence like the one at the end of the phone.

  “Thanks, Cedrick. I’m sure you want to hurry back home. I think it’s going to rain again.”

  He just stood and grinned at me. I shut the door, leaving him standing there. I couldn’t let him in, I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to be alone with him, and Granny was still asleep.

  I had the clothes put away and was on the verge of pacing the floor when she got up. Then I tried playing the piano, but my fingers refused the light, cheerful melodies and found a sad, haunting song.

  Granny picked up her guitar, and she sang “The Wayfaring Stranger” again and then a song about a turtle dove looking for her lost love.

  It was the weather. It was oppressive. Rick had brought in two loads of wood and it lasted the evening, but even the cheery, crackling fire did little to dispel the gloom.

  Goodness, this was awful. I knew I was still tired. Maybe a good night’s sleep would help.

  But when I went to bed I lay awake for a long time, thinking. What should I do about the calls? The tricks someone was playing? They were to some extent harmless, even though frightening. Should I tell the police? What kind of police force would Catalpa Ridge have? And what could they do?

  I needed someone to talk to. I went to sleep wondering who.

  The next day, we went shopping in town to pass the time. When I ran into Neal at the drugstore, on impulse I asked him to come out to Granny’s that night.

  He came just as I was finishing the dishes. Granny was worn out by the day in town. She ate poorly and went right to bed. It was too warm for a fire, so Neal and I went out on the porch. Crickets fiddled and occasionally the mockingbird sang its evening song. Mountains across the western horizon were violet gray against the darkening sky. It seemed too beautiful an evening to discuss problems. But that’s why I’d invited Neal over. I needed someone to talk to.

  “How’s work?” I started out to get a conversation going. Both of us had fallen under the spell of the evening.

  “We got busy this week. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to call. I’ve hardly had any sleep, either. Rare, but it happens.” Neal sat on
one end of the old glider. I sat on the other. This was a business evening.

  “It’s okay. I enjoyed meeting your mom again the other night. She’s a great cook.”

  “She likes you. Said Granny was lucky to have you here.”

  “Neal, someone doesn’t want me here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I told him about coming home to find the bats in my bedroom. Then about the phone calls and the letter and finally the voices and the stranger on the mountain, on Granny’s property. Part of me felt I was telling the plot of a movie I’d seen or a book I’d read. The other part remembered the brush of the bats’ wings. The cut-out words in the letter. The fear I’d felt.

  “Meeting someone in the woods isn’t unusual. Even on Granny’s property. No one pays much attention unless it’s posted. If he had a gun he was hunting. Old-timers here pay no attention to hunting season, either. Legal for them is when they’re hungry.”

  “Okay, let’s say the stranger was my own fear making something of nothing. But the letter. It was addressed to me and said, Go away. We don’t want you here. And the phone calls. There have been too many to be random.”

  “Both could be kids. They got a good reaction out of you the first time and remembered the number. They’d have known who you were, so they could send the letter using your name. It’s fun to scare someone who pays attention. You are a newcomer, so you’re fair game.”

  “Neal, you can’t think this is all in my head — that I’m making it up. And that kids would keep this up because I’m a stranger.”

  “I think someone’s having fun at your expense. Who could possibly be serious about not wanting you here? Everyone likes Granny and you’ve come to help her.”

  Suddenly I got angry at Neal. I’d thought he was the one person who would be sympathetic, and he was making this into a joke and giving some good reasons why it could be. “I had hoped you’d want to help me, Neal. I don’t know who else to go to.”

  “I guess you could call the sheriff. But I doubt Lonnie Stewart would pay much attention to your story. And frankly he’s not an asset to the county. But there’s never been any crime here. So it doesn’t really matter. He’s the only one who wanted the job.”