Lord of the Mountain

by William Ollie

  “Let me go. I won’t tell anybody!”

  “Oh, I’m going to let you go,” the man said, and placed a hand on Bobby’s chest.

  “Wh… What are you going to… do to me?”

  “Tonight… you are the most important person in my life.”

  “Please.”

  “You… mean more to me than anything.”

  “Please.”

  Smiling, the stranger pointed a finger into the air. “You,” he said. “Mean more to us, than anything in this entire world.”

  Bobby looked past his finger to the thick muscular legs of a monstrous granite statue, at a demon’s scowling face that glared down at him, fists clenched in anger, his powerful arms menacing all who stood before him. And those cold stone eyes looking right at Bobby, glowing like… his.

  A hand touched the child’s sternum, pressing into his flesh, as the stranger moaned and Bobby’s heart lurched, thumping against his chest as the blood rushing to his head pounded against his temples. He tugged his arms, frantically whipping them back and forth. The bindings cut, but Bobby, so numb with fear, barely felt them. Warm, nauseating liquid saturated his underwear as he looked up, pleading.

  “Please,” he said, as those glowing eyes bore into him.

  He tried looking away but he couldn’t.

  His arms dropped to his sides, and he quit struggling. Resting his head against the stone, he stared up at not at a man, but at the Devil himself. Words floated in the air but he had no idea what of they meant, as he closed his eyes and drifted down, down and around, down, until he found himself standing on the sidewalk in front of the Dime Store, laughing and finishing off an ice cream cone, the mid-afternoon sun warm against his face, a gentle breeze ruffling his blonde hair as his mother walked out of the Dime Store dressed in her Sunday evening finery, her fine golden necklace gleaming in the sunlight, and Bobby took her hand and followed her to their brand new Ford Roadster, where he joined her in the back seat, laughing and smiling while the chauffer ran a hand through his jet-black hair, started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

  Chapter Forty

  Earl was stunned. All the stress and strain and loss of sleep seemed to have twisted his face into a pained and grimacing mask. “What’re you saying?” he asked Alvie Ross, who had put a hand on Elmer Hicks’ body to silence the creaking tree limb.

  “I don’t know. All this weird shit happening, maybe my imagination is running away with me. When I looked up and saw that moon, I just remembered how full the damned thing was the night me and John Chambers and the rest of them boys scoured the countryside looking for those children.”

  “But you don’t really think the Hodges boy and Bobby Jackson have anything to do with what happened back then, do you?”

  “At this point, Earl, I honestly don’t know what to believe.”

  “But what would that mean?”

  Alvie Ross rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin. “That we’re in deep fucking shit.”

  “Nobody around here ever piqued your interest? I don’t know… somebody just a little too… friendly with little boys, maybe?”

  “Earl, I’ve studied folks around here for thirteen years. Watching, waiting. Eavesdropping on conversations; casually starting conversations about those boys, hoping some drunk or some careless son of a bitch would let the cat out of the bag. And I’ve never even come close to suspecting anyone.”

  “Those two boys will turn up,” Earl said. “They have to.”

  “They’d damned well better.” Alvie Ross squatted down behind Elmer and plucked a white envelope off the ground. Lifting a sheet of paper from the envelope, he unfolded it and began to read. “Son of a bitch,” he said, and then handed it to Earl.

  “To my dearest Elmer.” Earl scanned a couple more lines, and looked up at Elmer’s bulging cheeks. “My God,” he said.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Should we cut him down?”

  “We’ll get blood all over us. Let’s just leave him where he is. Charlie and Ezra Jr.’ll take care of him.”

  Earl nodded his agreement. He didn’t want to leave Elmer like that, but Alvie Ross was right. Elmer was a bloody mess, and what would they do once he was down? Leave him in the dirt? Carry him inside with his guts hanging out? Better to let Ezra’s boys load him straight into the hearse. “Jesus, Alvie Ross. Ezra’s liable to run outa coffins over there.”

  It wasn’t meant as a joke, but the weary policemen couldn’t help it. Alvie Ross snickered, Earl chuckled, and both men began to laugh.

  “That’s not funny,” Earl said.

  “I know,” Alvie Ross said, then, still laughing, “C’mon, let’s get outa here.”

  * * *

  Downshifting as the car crossed the railroad tracks in front of Jimmy T’s, Earl slowed long enough to look through the tavern windows. There weren’t many people inside: three or four stragglers, not unusual for ten-thirty on a Wednesday night. He pulled off wondering if any of those men had anything to do with Jerry Hodges or Bobby Jackson.

  Stop it, he told himself. Get a grip!

  “Wanta swing by Jared’s place?” Alvie Ross said.

  “What for?

  “Five’ll get you ten the lights are on and there’s at least three cars in the driveway. Probably got Croft handing out poker chips at the front door.”

  “Haw!” Earl said, then, “I’ll keep my five right where it is… Look over there.”

  Lights were on in Henry Walker’s Esso station.

  “Kinda late for Henry, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Earl said. “It is.”

  Unless, of course, Earl thought, as he pulled up to the gas pump and killed the engine. Somebody’s broke in to help himself to a little White Lightning.

  “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Alvie Ross said, thumbing back his holster as he opened his door.

  “Yep.”

  They moved quietly to the front of the place. “I’ll count to twenty,” Earl said, motioning Alvie Ross around back. At the count of twenty, Earl headed for the front door. Halfway there, Henry Walker called out, “You goddamn son of a bitch!”

  Earl could just see the gas station jockey leveling his double-barreled shotgun at some poor bastard, his itchy finger wrapping the trigger.

  Earl drew his sidearm and rushed through the front door, and found Henry Walker and Ezra Butcher, John Fraley and big, barrel-chested Harvey Lain sitting around a pile of coins and cash on Henry’s desk, all of them holding cards in their hands. There was a full ashtray on the desk, ribbons of tobacco smoke drifting out of it mixing with the hazy-grey cloud floating near the ceiling.

  Walker, raising his hands, said, “Goddamn, son. Takin’ yer job a little too seriously, ain’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Harvey said. “Who’re you, the poker police? “Cause I promise you, I did not poke that woman.”

  The back door rattled as Walker and Fraley started laughing.

  Earl, smiling, called out, “False alarm, Alvie Ross! Come on around front!”

  Moments later, the front door opened, and then slammed shut.

  “Well,” Henry said, as Earl holstered his weapon. “The hell are you doin’?”

  “Protecting your property, Henry.”

  “Your tax dollars at work,” Alvie Ross said, stepping into the room, smiling. “Speaking of property, Henry. How about a taste?”

  Laughing, Henry grabbed a Mason jar from under the desk, twisted the lid off it and handed the jar to Alvie Ross, who said, “Don’t mind if I do.” He lifted the jar to his lips, took a healthy gulp and offered some to Earl.

  “What the hell,” Earl said, as Alvie Ross, nodding at the mechanic, complimented him on his fine workmanship.

  Earl took a drink, and Alvie Ross said, “We just found Elmer Hicks dead over on Weaver’s Creek. Somebody butchered him and strung him up in his back yard.”

  “Goddamnit!” Ezra Butcher shouted, tossing his cards to the table as Henry gave his head a disgusted s
hake.

  “You know who did it?” Fraley asked.

  Earl, setting the Mason jar on the counter beside the cash register, looked Fraley dead in the eye. “Nobody saw anything, Mister Fraley.”

  Fraley looked quickly away as Alvie Ross said, “Elmer killed Jason Thomas, didn’t he?”

  Henry, shrugging his shoulders, bobbed his head to the side and cut his eyes toward the ceiling. “Yep.”

  “And you saw him, didn’t you?”… Nobody said anything… “Mister Fraley?”

  Fraley stared at his poker hand.

  Again, Henry said, “Yep.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Earl asked him.

  Henry looked up at the big policeman. “‘Cause that fat bastard deserved to die and Elmer didn’t.”

  “So you think lying to us helped your friend.”

  “Aw, hell,” Henry said. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Just don’t make a habit of it,” Alvie Ross said. “Lyin’ to the police.”

  “I won’t. It’s just… I hated that fat prick so much—hell, damn near everybody did. You know that. I was just hoping Elmer’d ride his ass the hell outa town and not come back.”

  “Damn shame he didn’t,” Alvie Ross said, and to his obvious surprise, Earl nodded his agreement.

  Alvie Ross stepped over to the counter, picked up the moonshine and took a drink. Then he turned and looked around the table. “Y’all hear about Luke Hodges’ little boy gone missing?”

  “No,” Harvey said, and then turned in his seat and looked up at Alvie Ross.

  “What happened?” Fraley asked.

  “He went up the holler to play yesterday afternoon and never made it back home.”

  “Oh yeah?” Henry picked up his cigarette, which had been smoldering in the ashtray. He took a drag and placed it back in the ashtray, and blew a stream of smoke into the air.

  “Jesus,” Ezra said, then, “You ain’t found him yet?”

  “Well,” Earl said. “We’ve been a little preoccupied, what with Missy and Jason, Elmer and the bank. You know what I mean.”

  “Boy, do I,” Ezra said.

  Earl remembered the conversation earlier and wondered if the undertaker even had a place for Elmer, or a coffin to put him in.

  “Jesus, Ezra,” Harvey said. “How many is that?”

  “Eight.”

  “Damn, son,” Henry said. “You got room for ‘em all?”

  Everybody in town knew that none of these people had been buried yet. Most had joked about where Ezra and his boys might be storing the bodies.

  “I didn’t, ‘til this afternoon. ‘Til Croft told me to get rid of them bank robbers.”

  “What do you mean: get rid of ‘em?” Earl asked him.

  “Just what I said. Told Croft I didn’t have room for his godson. He told me to get rid of them bank robbers. ‘What’dya mean?’ I asked him. ‘What am I supposed to do with ‘em?’ Told me he didn’t give a shit. ‘Chop ‘em up into itty bitty pieces and flush ‘em down the toilet, for all I care’, he said.”

  “He said that?” Earl could hardly believe what he was hearing.

  “He did. Told me the city’d still pay me for the plot and coffin, just like I’d buried ‘em like I was supposed to.”

  “No,” Harvey said.

  “Yes.”

  “The hell’d you do with them?” Harvey again.

  “Had Junior and Charlie dig a hole and bury ‘em out in the woods.”

  “That,” Earl said. “Is so wrong.”

  “Fuck ‘em,” Fraley said. “That’s what they get, for what they did. We should’ve taken a picture and strung a sign up at the city limits: Rob a bank and we’ll drop you in a goddamn hole.”

  “Down boy!” Harvey called out.

  Henry grabbed his jar of moonshine and swigged down a healthy dose, laughed and pushed the jar across to Fraley, who said, “Much obliged”, and took a sip of his own.

  “Well.” Ezra stood up, smiling. “On that note, I’m gonna get on home and have the boys fetch Elmer back to the mortuary. And I’ll tell you one more thing. I’ve got Jason in the cheapest, flimsiest piece of wood in three goddamn counties, and if his daddy wants him in something better, that son of a bitch is gonna pay ten times what it’s worth.”

  Harvey threw back his head and laughed.

  “Supply and demand, my man,” Ezra said, winking at the lawyer. “All of a sudden caskets are a hot commodity around these here parts.”

  “Hey, Ezra. Elmer’s a bloody mess,” Earl said. “You might want to warn your boys.”

  “They’ve seen worse.”

  “Pretty bad, is he?” Henry asked.

  “What,” Alvie Ross said. “You want all the gory details?”

  “Ye—”

  “No!” Fraley said. “Hell no!”

  “Believe me, Henry. You don’t want to know. I wish to God I’d never seen it.”

  “I was just fuckin’ with my pal here, Alvie Ross. I didn’t really wanta know.”

  Sure you didn’t, Earl thought.

  “Well, boys.” Ezra took a step toward the door.

  “One more thing,” Alvie Ross said, and Ezra turned to face him.

  “Millie Jackson came to see me this evening. Her boy never made it home from school today.”

  “What?” Harvey said.

  All the color seemed to drain from John Fraley’s round face, as Henry Walker, who had just tipped the Mason jar to his lips, slowly lowered the jar to his desk.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Alvie Ross said. “Jerry Hodges might already have turned up. Bobby Jackson, too, for all we know.”

  “What if they ain’t?” Henry asked him.

  “Well.” Alvie Ross sighed. “We’re open for suggestions.”

  Earl said, “Until we know different, we’re going on the assumption that Jerry Hodges finally made it home, the Jackson boy, too. But we need to figure out what to do if one or both of them are still missing.”

  “We’ll need to drag the river,” Harvey said. “Get as many men together as we can and search the mountain behind Butcher’s Holler.”

  “Look,” Alvie Ross said. “I know it’s late, but why don’t you three stay here. Earl and I’ll go over to see June Hodges. After we find out what’s what, we’ll stop by Slag Town.”

  “Fuck that,” Henry said, as if it was the dumbest thing he had ever heard. “John, you and Harvey here go with Alvie Ross. Earl and I’ll head over to Millie Jackson’s place. We’ll meet back here and decide what the hell to do next.”

  “That’ll work,” Earl said.

  “Gimme a call and let me know what you find out,” Ezra said, turning and making his way across the room, calling out, “Good luck!” as the door slammed shut behind him.

  * * *

  Bobby Jackson opened his eyes to find the Devil dancing in front of him, arms waving, frantically gesticulating to a crowd of people gathered in front of the raised platform on which stood the stone table Bobby resided on. The crowd was clothed in dark, hooded robes, but Bobby could see their faces. There was the mayor and Judge Croft, Doc Fletcher and the scary old lady his mom had told him owned the Dime Store. To his left, Bobby saw a woman in the middle of the group, tears streaming down her face as she stood next to the bowlegged twins he and his friends liked to make fun of. A smiling old hag grabbed at the front of some kid’s pants, the kid hopping up and down, eyes rolling back in their sockets as he laughed and yelled, and lolled his head sideways back and forth. The man Bobby’s dad sometimes worked for; he was there, too. Eyes glazed over, he stared up at the altar like one of Bobby’s kid brothers gazing at a brightly-wrapped Christmas morning package.

  Like he couldn’t wait to get his hands on it.

  Four lit torches in metal stands behind the dark robed figures crackled and popped, sending black smoke billowing into the dark cloud of night, which seemed to Bobby to be full of shapes of throbbing and billowing demons straight out of his deepest nightmares. When the Devil… that cre
ature, waved his arms about, eerie shadows danced and writhed on the belly of the huge, granite demon.

  Bobby, thrashing back and forth, tugged fiercely against the leather strips cutting deep into his wrists, tears streaming down his terror-stricken face as he called out to the mayor and Judge Croft to help him. “Make him stop!” he cried out to the good and kind doctor, who did not look very kind at this moment. But no one seemed to hear as they gazed up at Bobby, their eyes wide and wild.

  The prancing monster closed his eyes, and tilted back his head. Arms spread out and raised up, he pointed both index fingers into the black heavens, casting twin shadows that squirmed like two giant, writhing snakes against the statue, flailing and leaping, their gaping mouths of razor-sharp fangs snapping at each other. Lips moving as if in silent prayer to the monstrous demonic icon towering above him like an unholy pagan god, the kneeling madman finally cried out, “DARK MASTERRRRR!”

  Bobby looked up to see stern lips of polished granite leering at the chanting crowd, which had fallen to their knees, arms lifted to the idol like Bobby’s friends and neighbors praying to God at Reverend Stone’s Sunday morning services; the sunken eyes of stone that earlier had looked down upon him, now staring out at the faithless worshippers.

  “Please!” Bobby cried out.

  “Why won’t you help me!” he screamed.

  Like a Sunday morning preacher railing at the heavens, the Devil-in-black danced across the stage, blue eyes glowering as he mumbled twisted words Bobby could not understand.

  Bobby turned his face to the dark-robed townspeople, and through a voice raw and ragged from screaming and crying, he whimpered, “Please.”

  Behind him, somebody cried out, and Bobby looked up to see the bejeweled dagger in his tormentor’s raised hand sweep quickly down, burying itself in the screaming child’s breastplate, as the snapping snakes and the throbbing and billowing creatures of his nightmares slithered down after it, clawing and grasping and folding the darkness in around him.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Earl stood in the kitchen in his underwear and robe, sipping coffee from a porcelain cup. He opened the back door and stepped onto the porch, and took in an invigorating lungful of cool, crisp mountain air. Gurgling water rushed through the creek bed behind his house, helped along by a stiff wind that rustled elm leaves in the tree by his back porch. Inside the house, feet padded across the polished hardwood floor. Earl turned to see his petite wife standing in the middle of the kitchen in the same nightgown and blue silk robe she had worn last night. Yawning, she said, “What time did you finally drag yourself home?”