Cumberland Furnace & Other Fear Forged Fables

by Ronald Kelly

  So the old stories were true. It was him at last… the Ghostly Peddler!

  Chester watched, transfixed in horror, as the spirit crossed the room. He crouched a bit, as though searching the floor for something. That peculiar sound echoed again… the rat or whatever it was.

  “I hear ye now,” rasped the ghost in a coarse whisper. “Ye’d best not try to hide from me, little one. Your shoeprints have led me to this very door.”

  Chester wasn’t at all sure who the Ghostly Peddler was talking to, until the old man reached between the woodbox and his mother’s sewing basket and brought something out into the firelight. He watched in utter amazement as the spirit held the tiny creature aloft. It was a small, wooden stallion, bucking and whinnying, as it struggled to escape the icy grasp of the Peddler’s gloved hand.

  “Gotcha!” laughed the old man in triumph. “After all these years, I’m at journey’s end.”

  Chester watched as the ghost walked to the stone hearth. It was there that an incredible transformation took place. The old peddler stood before the glow of the crackling flames, seeming to drink in its golden warmth. The icy exterior of the apparition slowly melted away, revealing a robust Irishman wearing a worn tweed suitcoat, britches, walking boots, and a brown derby hat. His face grew rosy, his beard its true color of rusty redness, and his eyes sparkled a brilliant hazel green. A grin crossed his ruddy face and he sighed contentedly.

  “Tis grand to be amongst the living again,” he said aloud. “If only for a wee time.”

  Chester watched as the Peddler set the wooden stallion on the stone mantle. The tiny horse reared defiantly, flashing its small hooves and snorting in frustration. Then it trotted to and fro, down one end of the stone ledge to the other. The old man opened his leather pack and took several wooden toys from inside; a top, building blocks, a couple of soldiers brandishing muskets and calvary swords. He deposited them in the boys’ stockings, nodding to himself in satisfaction.

  When he spoke again, he spoke not to himself, but to Chester.

  “I know you’re there, lad,” he said. “Peering at me from behind the chair. Come here, will ye? I wish to entrust a very special gift unto your care.”

  Curiously, Chester stood up and walked toward the hearth. Strangely enough he was not frightened by the ghostly Irishman who stood before the fire. When he came within six feet of the old man, the Peddler took the horse from the mantle and extended it to him. “See to it that young Johnny receives this present, will ye not? I meant for him to have it very long time ago… but, alas, the journey here was much further than I could have ever imagined.”

  “Yes, sir,” muttered Chester. He reached out for the stallion, but it whinnied and snapped at him with its tiny oaken teeth.

  “Go on. Take it now. It’ll not harm ye, boy.”

  Chester took hold of the squirming animal and, the moment his fingertips touched it, the stallion became no more than a wooden toy again.

  “I’m much obliged to ye,” said the Peddler with a courteous tip of his bowler.

  Chester stepped back a few feet and watched as the ghost closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and beamed a great smile. “My work here is done,” he said softly. “Dear Father, take me hither to me heavenly home.” Then his burly form grew as bright and brilliant as a white-hot horseshoe in a blacksmith’s forge. The Peddler seemed to dissolve into a thousand fiery cinders, which swirled about the cabin for a frantic moment, then flew up the dark channel of the stone chimney and skyward into the snowy night.

  Chester stood there for a moment, dazed. He looked down at his flannel nightshirt and his bare feet and wondered it had only been a dream… that perhaps he had merely been sleep-walking. But then he looked at the stockings filled with toys and the wooden stallion in his hand and he knew for a fact that it had all taken place.

  He heard movement behind him and turned to find Grandpa standing there in the doorway of his bedroom. “What’s going on?” asked the elderly man drowsily. “I thought I heard voices.”

  Chester smiled, his eyes livid with excitement. “You did,” he replied. He held the wooden horse out to his grandfather. “I was told to give this to you… or, rather, to young Johnny.”

  With a trembling hand, Grandpa took the toy, his eyes brimming with youthful wonder. “So he finally made it,” he said. “After all these years.”

  Chester watched as John McCorkendale gently cradled the wooden stallion with the reverence of some great and long sought after treasure. Then, limping, the old man returned to the comfort of his bed… and boyish dreams of decades long past.

  TANGLEWOOD

  Tanglewood / n. (from the Irish Gaelic aimhreidh adhmad)

  An impenetrable stand of vegetation

  A secretive lair

  A place of entrapment

  I took the shortcut occasionally, when I was hard-pressed for time.

  It was a lonely thoroughfare off the left-hand side of the highway; a rambling dirt stretch called Tanglewood Road. It cut through a particularly desolate stand of woods, but conveniently so, bypassing the bothersome curves of State Route 443 and reconnecting on its eastern side, slicing a good fifteen minutes off your traveling time.

  I was running late that afternoon. I’d taken my black lab, Midnight, to the vet for his annual shots, but it had taken longer than I had expected. The clock on the dash of my jeep read 3:47 where it would have read 3:00 if things had gone according to plan. I saw the dirt turnoff up ahead and steered off the highway into the shady stretch of Tanglewood Road, hoping that it would buy me some much needed time.

  I could imagine Karla at home; waiting, fuming. We were supposed to be at her boss’s house at Center Hill Lake at four o’clock, for some sort of company outing. Burgers and hot dogs, lewd jokes and too much drinking, at least for my taste. Maybe a late night excursion on Phil Jenson’s pontoon boat; more laughter, more alcohol, and, before it was over with, a few uninhibited souls skinny-dipping in the dark waters of the lake. And, more than likely, Karla would have a little too much to drink and be right in the middle of it all. At least until I hauled her drunken ass out of the water and took her home in the early hours of the morning.

  I was in a hurry to get there, but that didn’t mean that I was looking forward to it. I would have just as soon sat this party out, but that would have been unacceptable in Karla’s eyes. Our absence would have made her look bad in front of her co-workers… and her precious boss.

  Onward I drove. The stretch of dense forest along Tanglewood Road was about as abandoned and forlorn as you could possibly get. Tall stands of pine and cedar stretched on either side, their upper branches interlacing, forming an almost impenetrable canopy over the straight avenue of rutted dirt road. Shadow hung heavily across the bordering thickets of honeysuckle and kudzu that lined the roadway and, every now and then, a little sunshine would peek through overhead, dappling the wooded darkness with speckles of pale light.

  I looked over to where Midnight occupied the jeep’s passenger seat. He seemed to have gotten over the trauma of his visit to the veterinarian. The lab’s head hung out the open window, luxuriously enjoying the rush of the wind, his ears arched back and his tongue lolling from his mouth. The picture of canine contentment.

  When I turned my eyes back to the road, I cussed and slammed on my brakes. But it was too late. My front left tire hit a jagged tree limb lying in the middle of the road. I heard a loud thwump and knew at once that my intended shortcut had just gone straight to hell in a handbasket, as my grandmother used to say. I cut the wheel sharply to the right, avoiding running over the limb with my rear tires. But the damage had already been done. I drove a few more yards and felt that tell-tale limp of a fatally flat tire.

  “Damn!” I said and braked to a halt. I sat there for a long moment, hands clenching the steering wheel tightly, my eyes closed in disgust. Just what I needed… something else for my wife to bitch about when I finally made it home. Whenever that would be.

  I opened my eyes and loo
ked over at Midnight. He looked back at me with that asinine doggy grin of his. What happened? he seemed to ask. Why did you stop? You know how much I enjoy that whole head-hanging-out-the-car-window thing. And you pull a stupid stunt like this.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said aloud. “Stand in line, buddy. Karla’s got first dibs at making me feel like dirt, okay.”

  Midnight simply wagged his tail as if in total agreement.

  I sighed and climbed out of the jeep. It was hot that July afternoon; muggy and swelteringly uncomfortable. It hadn’t seemed so bad, driving fifty miles per hour with the wind rushing through the windows. But now the oppressive humidity could be felt, full force. My t-shirt began to cling damply to my chest and back. It would only get worse when I set to the task of changing the tire.

  I could picture Karla in the living room, dressed and ready. Pacing the floor, calling me every nasty name in the book.

  Midnight hopped out of the open door and joined me on the deserted road. “Well, let’s get to it, boy,” I said. Together, we walked around to the back of the jeep.

  I was lucky that I had taken the jeep to the vet that day, instead of the Lexus. It sported a full-sized spare tire on a swing bracket on the back hatch, instead of one of those silly little donut tires that didn’t look like it would hold up a Radio Flyer wagon. I unfastened the tire, then opened the hatch and rummaged around for the jack and lug wrench.

  I found myself thinking about Karla and the love-making session we had shared early that morning. Sleepy two-spoons coupling had turned into amorous caresses and, eventually, intercourse. Even in the gloom of the bedroom, I could tell that Karla wasn’t completely with the program. Her body responded, but her mind was somewhere else. Or with someone else.

  Pushing the uneasiness from my mind, I tossed the tools that I needed in the dirt next to the flattened tire and went to work loosening the lug nuts. Midnight sat on his haunches and watched me curiously as I got four of the bolts loose and, of course, struggled frustratingly with the fifth and last.

  Then, suddenly, the lab’s ears perked and his head turned. He stood up on all fours and stared off into the forest.

  “What is it, boy?” I asked absently.

  Midnight took several steps toward the edge of the road, his gaze intense as he continued to survey the dark shadows of the deep woods to the left of the vehicle. Then he began to bark.

  I finally got the last lug nut off and pulled the wheel off. I stood and looked off in the direction that seemed to hold his attention. Frankly, I could see nothing that would get him so riled up. Maybe he had caught a glimpse of a jackrabbit or a tree squirrel. Living in the up-scale subdivision that Karla and I occupied, Midnight didn’t come across such woodland creatures very often. We’d had a raccoon that had gotten into the trash cans late last summer, but he had taken his leave when our garbage hadn’t suited his dietary needs.

  “Don’t let those critters spook you, Midnight,” I told him.

  But the lab continued to bark. I reached out to run a comforting hand across the back of his head, but abruptly he was out of reach. He took off like a black torpedo, leaping into the thicket and heading into the patches of shadowy darkness amid the pines.

  “Come back here, Midnight!” I called to him. But he would hear none of it. He bounded through the deep kudzu and, soon, was completely out of sight.

  I stood there for a moment and listened. I recognized the type of bark he was unleashing now; the high-pitched, frantic barking he emitted when he came across a bitch in heat. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Go on and get you some, you horny bastard,” I said beneath my breath, then turned back to the job at hand.

  I rolled the spare into line and struggled to position the wheel on the front rotor. When I finally got the right bolts in the right holes, I reached for the lug nuts. My hand stopped short of the first nut when Midnight let out a shrill yelp.

  I stood up and turned around. “Midnight?” I called out.

  Another yelp… this time full of confusion and pain.

  “Boy? Are you okay?”

  I was answered only by silence. I peered into the forest, but could see no sign of the black lab that had been my bosom buddy since college.

  What have you gotten into? I thought to myself. Disgusted, I left the jeep and, stepping into the thicket, began to carefully make my way toward the woods.

  It took me several minutes, but I finally found where Midnight had gone to. I picked my way through a dense clump of blackberry bramble and found him in a small, grassy clearing. The lab was lying on his side. His breathing was shallow and his paws twitched spasmodically.

  “What’s wrong, old fella?” I said softly as I knelt next to him. There was a strange cast to his normally bright eyes. They seemed glazed and out of focus.

  What happened? I wondered fearfully. Did a snake bite him? I looked around, but saw no sign of a copperhead or rattlesnake. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been bitten by one though.

  I tugged gently at his collar. “Come on, boy. Let’s get you back to the jeep.”

  Midnight simply lay there, though, whimpering like a whipped puppy.

  I was wondering exactly how I was going to get him back to the road, when I heard a faint sound behind me. The tiny noise of a footstep snapping a twig in half.

  Startled, I jumped up and turned around.

  For one long moment, I couldn’t comprehend what I was looking at.

  It was a boy, perhaps nine years of age. He was lanky, with spiky red hair, blue eyes, and freckles on his face and arms. He wore an orange Tennessee Vols t-shirt and denim shorts, and a pair of ragged sneakers on his feet.

  I couldn’t help but take a step backward, nearly tripping over Midnight in the process.

  It was a boy I had known a very long time ago. A boy from my childhood.

  A boy who had been dead twenty-two years come this August.

  His name was Joey Messner and he had been my best friend. I painfully recalled the accident that had taken his life. We had been climbing a big oak tree that was in his father’s cow pasture. Joey and I were racing to the top, recklessly, laughing all the way, when Joey’s footing gave way and he fell. I still remember that sickening crack as the back of his head struck a lower limb, snapping his neck. I’d hurried down as fast as I could and found him, crumpled and dying, on the ground below, his eyes wide with confusion and his mouth working silently, like a fish gasping for sustenance. I ran to fetch his father, but, by the time we got back, Joey was dead.

  And now here he was, after all these years, standing in front of me.

  “Hiya, Robbie,” he said. He lifted his hand from his side and gave me that secret salute we came up with that summer; a thumbs-up, followed by an immediate thumbs-down.

  I felt disoriented. What’s happening? I thought to myself. This isn’t real.

  Hurriedly, I tugged at Midnight’s collar, bringing him shakily to his feet with some effort. Slowly, I retreated and steered the black lab back through the blackberry bramble, toward the road. Joey simply stood there and grinned that lopsided, mischievous grin that was his trademark. The grin that no amount of mortician’s cosmetology could duplicate during his visitation at the funeral home.

  We were back through the tangle of underbrush and nearly to the road, when Midnight shuddered and collapsed. The dog was big – well over a hundred pounds – but I managed to carry him the rest of the way. I dumped him into the passenger seat of the jeep, then turned around. Joey stood next to a mossy deadfall, giving me the live-or-die salute again.

  “Hey, Robbie,” he called to me.

  I knelt beside the front wheel and quickly began to fumble for the lug nuts. Despite the heat of the summer afternoon, I felt chilled to the bone. I shuddered as I worked, wanting to tighten those lug nuts back into place and then get the hell out of that place.

  I was down to the last two, when Joey’s voice came again, this time only inches from my right ear. “Remember me?”

  It startled me so, that t
he lug wrench slipped, skinning my knuckles and bringing blood. I cussed and glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see him there, only a few feet away. But he was still where he had been before, standing beside the deadfall. This time, however, his head was lolled unnaturally backward, so far that I could only see the tip of his chin above his shoulders. He waved at me.

  “Come on, come on!” I hissed beneath my breath. Finally, I got the last nut on. I released the jack, tossed the tools and flat in the back of the jeep, and hopped inside.

  “Robbie,” called Joey from the edge of the woods. “Where ya going, buddy?”

  I started up the jeep and took off. I didn’t want to, but I glanced in the sideview mirror when I’d gotten a few yards down the lonesome stretch of Tanglewood Road. Joey Messner still stood there, his head back in its proper place now. A peculiar expression had replaced that silly grin of his. An expression that I could only describe as disappointment.

  The party at the lake had been the social disaster that I had expected it to

  be.

  We had arrived an hour and fifteen minutes late, a fact that Karla reminded me of constantly during our drive to the lakehouse. Once there, my time had been divided between putting up with Karla’s annoying co-workers and trying to keep my wife in line. Karla was bound and determined to be the life of the party, however. Too little food and too much to drink had turned her into a loud, obnoxious tease, and she made the rounds with the men in the crowd; joking and flirting.

  I would have been terribly embarrassed by her behavior, if my thoughts hadn’t been preoccupied with what had happened earlier on the old backroad. I mostly stuck to a neutral corner that night, nursing a club soda with lime and trying to rationalize it all.

  The thing with Midnight was pretty much clear cut; either he had reacted negatively to his shots or he had been bitten by a poisonous snake. I had insisted that we rush him back to the veterinarian, but Karla had shot that idea down quickly. “I swear, Rob, sometimes I think you love that damn dog more than you love me,” she had snapped.