Moondeath
Page 3
“Tonight may I have my desires,” the woman said softly, as she closed the old library book and laid it gently on the ground beside her. Again, she looked up at the night sky, at the disk of the moon, and spread her arms wide. Soft moonlight gleamed over her naked body as she stood silently, praying to the powers she hoped to command.
“May I have what I want, and, in return, I pledge myself to you.” She had been reading at the edge of a clearing in the woods. Now she strode to the center of the clearing where, before dark, she had prepared the thing she needed for the ceremony.
Dug into the ground, at a depth of about an inch, were a series of intersecting lines forming a rough pentagram. At the tip of each of the five points, a willow branch had been driven into the ground. In the center of the pentagram, there was a cup containing a sticky black mixture, a stump of a candle, and a knife with a six-inch, gleaming silver blade.
The woman walked up to the implements and knelt down. Her mind drifted, taking scattered lines from the ceremony and recombining them in a new order as she let her fingers dance lightly over the ground. She considered picking up the book and reading through the ceremony once more before beginning. Her excitement and anticipation made her confuse lines she had to say aloud to the Power.
Was it better to have it exactly right? she wondered, or better to go ahead with it, maybe missing some of the words? She didn’t know, but in answer, her hand seemed to move of its own accord toward the hilt of the knife. She grasped it and held it up so the clear, blue light of the moon made the blade glimmer.
“What do I have to do to prove my sincerity?” she asked, looking from the moon to the blade and then back to the moon again. The words and actions of the ceremony were completely forgotten as she begged for the Power to touch her, make itself known.
“I give you my life blood, to seal our pact,” she said, holding the hilt of the knife with one hand and the gleaming blade with the other. Slowly, deliberately, she clenched her hand holding the blade and then slowly withdrew it. The knife cut cleanly into the heal of her hand.
“I offer myself, my life, in service if I may have your assistance.” She squeezed her cut hand. Rivulets of blood ran the length of her arm and streaked her left breast and side. The blood looked dark, like ink, absorbing the light of the moon but not reflecting any of it back.
The pain was a dull, distant ache that pulsed with her heartbeat. She looked up at the moon and saw the orb begin to pulsate with her heartbeat, with her pain. The throbbing grew steadily, until the woman could no longer separate her pain from the throbbing brightness of the moon. They were one; her life’s blood, her pain, and the moon.
She felt a distant joy as the Power rose within her, yet a respectful humility kept her from feeling too much excitement. The Power, after all, was entering her, and she knew that in no way did she control it, yet.
She looked at the pale skin of her left arm, still held above her head. The latticework of blood lines was beginning to dry, and the pain was receding. The moonlight became once again steady. But she knew. She had felt the Power!
Bowing down until her forehead was pressing against the warm soil, she breathed a deep sigh. Sitting up again, she whispered softly, “Let the ceremony begin.”
.IV.
Bob stood at the register in Miller’s Pharmacy and waited patiently as Vera Miller totaled up his purchase of pens, paper, and a new typewriter-ribbon. He was feeling uncomfortable but was trying hard not to show it. He had told Amy to call him after five o’clock, and it was now past seven-thirty. Rather than going straight home after Amy had left him off, Bob had spent the rest of the afternoon walking around town, taking the opportunity to feel the place out. Once he realized what time it was, and that he still had some errands to do, he had tried to hurry along. Vera Miller was taking too long to ring up so small a sale.
“You’re driving to your cabin, aren’t you?” Vera asked suddenly.
“Huh? What?” Bob said. He had been idly flipping the pages of the local newspaper, the Cooper Falls Eagle, and her question had startled him.
“I asked if you were driving home tonight,” Vera repeated. “Because if I was you, I surely wouldn’t be walking home. Not after dark.”
Bob shook his head quizzically. “I’m sorry?”
“Well,” Vera said, drawing out the word for emphasis, “you must have heard what happened out at the Cunningham’s farm last week, didn’t you?”
Bob nodded. Of course he had heard what had happened. A wild animal—people weren’t sure if it was a wild dog or a coyote, but something had slaughtered three of the Cunningham’s baby lambs. Whatever it was that had killed them hadn’t done it for food, either. None of the animals had been eaten. Their throats had been torn open and they had bled to death. Apparently the animal had killed them for the pleasure of killing. The whole town had made this the number one topic of conversation since it had happened. Even a newcomer to town like Bob had been drawn into a discussion or two about what had happened and what could have done it.
“When did that happen?” he asked, aware that Vera had been taking her time because she had wanted to strike up a conversation.
“That was, ohh, I think it was on the twenty-first of August, if my mind doesn’t fail me.” She looked at Bob and pulled at a stray strand of gray hair.
“Well, I’m not particularly worried,” Bob said confidently. “I mean, I don’t think there’s any particular danger in my walking home.”
“You never know,” Vera said spookily, obviously playing it up just a bit. “There’s some kind of wild animal out there in the forest and it sure seems like it could be dangerous.”
Bob smiled and shrugged it off.
“You moved up here from Boston, didn’t you?” Vera asked.
Bob tensed, and his eyes alighted on the small stack of Boston Globes that were in the rack behind the counter.
“Uhh, yeah, I am,” Bob replied. “Well, Dorchester, really. Why do you ask?”
“Well.” Again, Vera trailed out the word for emphasis. “You just don’t know what’s dangerous out here in the sticks. You city people, you got your muggers and robbers. Here in Cooper Falls, we got our wild animals that kill farm animals.”
“Well,” Bob said with a wide smile, “at least you don’t have grizzly bears that break into your house and steal your color TVs.”
Vera smiled and pressed the total button on her register. With a clang and a rattle of change, the drawer opened. “That’ll be five dollars and fifty-seven cents,” she said, still smiling.
Bob dug into his pants pocket and produced the bills and the exact amount of change. He counted it out into Vera’s outstretched hand.
“I don’t need a bag for this stuff,” he said. He stuck the pens and typewriter ribbon into his jacket pocket, and put the pad of paper under his arm.
“Oh, you’re one of those environmentalists that wants to save paper, huh?” she asked.
“No, not really. I’d just end up throwing it away.” He started for the door. Outside, pressing against the plate glass window, a large white cat regarded him for a moment, then dashed off into the night.
Vera’s voice halted him at the door. “But seriously, Mr. Wentworth, I would be more careful. You never know what’s going to be out there in the woods, especially after dark.”
“Yeah,” Bob said, swinging the door open. The brass bell on the door jangled wildly. “Good night.”
“G’night,” Vera said, and then she watched as Bob stepped outside and the door swung shut with a whoosh and a jangle.
.V.
“You can leave early tonight, Sue. It hasn’t been all that busy tonight,” Lisa Carter said. The master of understatement, she thought, as she glanced at her watch and realized that about four people had been in since suppertime. She sighed and dropped another past due notice into the outgoing mail. She looked around on her desk and saw the cards from the books taken out that day and decided she would file them in her desk catalog.
“I’m sure,” Lisa answered. “I can close up.” Her well-trimmed fingernails snapped through the cards, dropping the few she had into the correct places. She took the loose strand of hair that was hanging in her face and tucked it behind her ear.
That’s the last time I’m going to get a short haircut for summer, she thought bitterly, as she held the renegade strand behind her ear and leaned on her elbow to continue the task. She vowed silently to wear a scarf for work tomorrow. She put the last card in place and then slid the drawer shut.
Sue Langford, the high school senior who was helping her in the library that summer, came running into the main office. She dropped an armload of books onto the desk with a bang. “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Carter. I didn’t want to say anything, but there’s sort of a back to school party tonight.”
“That’s right,” Lisa said, smiling, “Wednesday’s the big day.”
Sue chuckled. “Yeah.”
“Senior year’s the best one of all, too,” Lisa added. “Lots of fun. Where’s the party tonight, anyway?”
“Out at Kevin Fowler’s folks’ camp,” Sue said.
“Ohh.” Lisa’s smile widened when she saw the glow that lit up Sue’s face when she mentioned the name of Kevin Fowler. She felt as though she knew just what Sue was feeling. “Well, you can get along now. Go have some fun.”
Sue disappeared into the coat closet for a second, then dashed out and scooped up the books she had left on the table.
“Well, good night,” Sue said. She was about to disappear out the front door when she stopped short. She stood there beside the desk silently until Lisa looked up.
“Yes Sue? Have you forgotten something?”
She bit her lower lip and looked at Lisa thoughtfully. “Mrs. Carter, is there something bothering you?” she asked earnestly.
Lisa shook her head and softened her eyes. “No,” she answered, but it sounded distant.
“If it’s my work,” Sue said seriously, “well, I know I should have gotten all the books on the cart put away, but I just, I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t have my mind on my work today, that’s all.”
“It’s not your work, Sue,” she said. She smiled reassuringly. “You’ve done a great job this summer. In fact, I’m sort of disappointed that you have to go back to school. I’ve gotten to depend on you a lot.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Carter.”
“Now you get going before you miss your party. It’s the last party of the summer, after all, and you’re only young once.”
With that, Sue made a dash for the door. Over her shoulder, she yelled, “I’ll be in tomorrow at four, and I promise I’ll get that cart cleared off. Honest.” And then the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind her.
“Only young once,” Lisa repeated to herself as she rose slowly from her chair. She remembered, as she had a lot lately, that it had been nine years now since she had gone to her senior class back to school party. Nine years. Remembering Sue’s energy made Lisa feel suddenly very old. She felt a growing frustration within herself for all of the chances she had missed and now, unlike Sue Langford, would not be able to take.
Lisa went to the closet and got her coat. Then she went over to the bank of light switches and slowly, one by one, snapped off the lights in the library. After checking the front door to make sure it was locked, Lisa left by the back door.
Once she was out in the park, she paused and looked back at the massive granite-and-brick library, crouching in its surrounding grove of maples and pine. She felt her frustration turning slowly into anger, and she knew, she was honest enough with herself to admit, that the source of her frustration was her husband, Jeff.
She sighed deeply and started walking down Main Street toward her apartment building on Railroad Avenue. She knew that when she got home Jeff wouldn’t be there, that she would cook a supper for herself and then climb into bed alone. It was just after nine o’clock now, and she knew that Jeff wouldn’t be home until at least midnight, probably later, and reeking of beer and smoke. She knew all this, and she was right.
.VI.
The walk back to his cabin on Pemaquid Pond should have been soothing, but all the way along Old Jepson’s Road, Bob felt an eerie, almost panicky sensation trying to fight its way out of his stomach. He was surrounded by everything he had used as an argument with Amy to convince her to come with him to Cooper Falls. There was the distant whistle of the whippoorwill, the constant chirring of the crickets, a cool breeze rustling through the pines—everything to put a person’s mind at ease. But Bob felt edgy and afraid.
Of course, he realized that much of it was his nervousness about starting his new job as an English teacher at the high school in two days. He always got tense before a new school year, but things were especially nerve-wracking, considering how he had left Dorchester High School. That alone was enough to keep him awake long past midnight, but there was more; there was something he couldn’t quite pin down.
Perhaps it was what Vera Miller had said about the wild dog that was running in the woods nearby. It would be pretty scary meeting a beast like that on a dark road, out of earshot of the nearest house. Bob considered this and almost thought he’d rather face someone who wanted his wallet. At least in that situation, he might live if he gave the mugger what he wanted. If you met a wild dog, what could you do?
The gravel on the roadside crunched under foot. The wind stirred his hair. The stars sprinkled the sky, looking peaceful. And still he felt this vague gnawing.
He came to the end of his driveway and started up the dirt track to his cabin. The windows were dark and he hadn’t left the outside light on, so he had to fumble to get the key into the door lock. Finally, after a bit of effort, he got the door open, and he was just stepping into the kitchen when the telephone rang. He snapped on the kitchen light and ran to pick up the phone.
Well, he thought, at least Amy got home OK. I hope she hasn’t been trying to call all night. He picked up the phone, but before he could say hello, he heard Amy’s voice say, “Where the hell have you been?”
Chapter Three
.I.
Wednesday, September 3
Beige locker doors were opening and slamming shut as noisy waves of students swept through the central corridor of Cooper Falls High School. Bob stood in front of his classroom door painfully aware of being checked out as the new one in Room 17. There were sly glances, quick once-overs, and challenging stares as he leaned his back against the wire-mesh window. He reached down and nervously flicked the tab of his fly. The overpowering aroma of fresh paint and floor wax made his nose sting, and he wished he had time to go to the teacher’s room for one last cigarette before the first bell.
A well-dressed girl with curly black hair walked past him and entered the classroom. She held a bright red, three-ring binder close to her chest, almost like armor, as she pushed her way through the crowd. Once she was in the relative quiet of the room, she looked up at Bob and said, “Good morning, Mr. Wentworth.”
Bob smiled and nodded a greeting. “Good morning.”
Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, then, smirking slightly, she said, “Boy, if you think it’s crazy now, just wait.” She took a seat in the front row.
The noise in the corridor seemed to grow louder as the time for the first class got closer. Slowly, Bob became aware of one voice that rose above the din of the corridor. The voice sounded high pitched and angry.
“Get lost, will yah, Tate!” the voice screamed, cracking.
Bob scanned the crowded hallway, trying to pinpoint the voice. After a moment, he saw a concentration of students. They were gathering around two boys. Bob started over toward them.
“I’m tellin’ yah to get lost!”
“Make me,” another voice taunted.
The second voice was from a tall red-headed boy, thin, but not scrawny, who was leaning toward his opponent like a tree threatening to come cra
shing down.
The other boy, the boy with the angry, frightened voice, was shorter, stockier. He stood with his back pressed against the row of lockers, his shoulders slightly stooped. As Bob made his way toward them, he could see the cornered boy’s lower lip trembling. From beneath a tossled mass of black hair, his eyes burned with rage.
“What’s the matter, little Neddie-pooh,” the redhead taunted, “did your mama forget to wipe the cow shit off your shoes, or is that your lunch?”
The crowd of students snickered. The redhead pursed his lips and made gross kissing sounds. Ned cringed back further.
“That’s it!” the redhead shouted, with a glee of discovery. “Neddie-boy here eats cow shit for lunch.”
Everyone surrounding the boys started to laugh and hoot. A few took up the chant, “Simmons eats pasture patties! Simmons eats pasture patties!”
As the shouting grew louder, Ned’s eyes darted from face to face. He scowled deeply, and his mouth pulled back in a sneer, exposing his teeth.
“Simmons eats pasture patties! Simmons eats pature patties!”
“Maybe we ought to take you down to the shower room and clean you up, get the cow shit off you before school starts?” the redhead suggested. “How in the world could your mother send you off to school looking like that?”
The redhead made a grab for Ned’s arm just as Bob broke through the line and shouted, “All right! Fun’s over.” He grabbed the redhead by the shoulder and turned him around. Someone in the crowd started to boo.
“What’s your name?” Bob asked the redhead, who was trying to twist out of his grip.
“Alan Tate,” the boy replied. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “What’s yours?”
There were scattered chuckles, but Bob ignored the affront. “OK, everyone, you can get along to your homerooms now.”