“No. Did Heath’s mom mention his name?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, still reading the passage. “Hey, Gil, listen to this.
“On the night of the naming ceremony for the son of White Wolf a great darkness enveloped the land of the Zantos. The moon hid from the tribe and the stars hid too. A mist of smoke spread over the land so thick, no one could see, and a terrible rumble sent fear into even the bravest hearts.
“All but White Wolf, who was not afraid. He knew what the mist hid and he summoned all the warriors of the tribe together. ‘The Black Hawk has come,’ he told them. ‘It has come to claim my son, Whitefeather of the White Hawk Spirit. We must not let the Black Hawk kill my child. He was born in the spirit of the White Hawk, and if he dies, the White Hawk who favors us with his clouds and his tears will disappear from the sky. We must destroy the Black Hawk, and protect my son.’
“All the warriors agreed and armed themselves for battle. They kept watch in large groups over little Whitefeather, but the demon spirit was crafty and one by one the warriors were abducted in the night and torn to pieces by the demon Black Hawk.
“For thirty days the Black Hawk preyed upon the tribe, and each night one of them was taken by the Black Hawk and killed. When the full moon arrived again, only fifty Zantos were left. ‘We must hand over the Whitefeather!’ one elder declared. ‘Only when it has killed the boy will it be satisfied and leave our tribe alone!’
“Cries from the tribe rose up, supporting the elder’s idea and White Wolf and Hummingbird were afraid for their child.”
“Who’s Hummingbird?” Gil interrupted.
“She must be White Wolf’s wife.”
Gil nodded and I got back to the story.
“White Wolf wanted to fight the elder who had suggested the tribe hand over his son, but Hummingbird stood and addressed the tribe. ‘The Black Hawk is too clever to battle us all together,’ she said. ‘It relies on the darkness to catch us alone and unaware, and I do not think the spirit of the Black Hawk can be killed, even if it were set upon by all of our brave warriors.’
“A murmur rose up from the Zantos, angry that Hummingbird would say such things, but she merely raised her hand and begged the tribe’s permission to speak again. ‘I don’t think that the spirit of the Black Hawk can be slain, but I do believe it can be captured,’ she said. ‘We must lay a trap for it and lure it without placing any of us in danger.’
“ ‘And how do you propose we do that?’ asked Running Water, the tribe’s most revered elder.
“ ‘With this,’ said Hummingbird, holding up the belly root from her son, Whitefeather—”
“Belly root?” Gilley asked.
I thought for a moment. “It must be the stub of his umbilical cord.”
“Ahh,” said Gil. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
I went back and reread part of that sentence again.
“. . . holding up the belly root from her son, Whitefeather. ‘It still has the scent of my child on it, and it will easily lure the Black Hawk.’
“ ‘And what kind of trap would you lay?’ asked Half-Moon. ‘If we dig a pit, it will claw its way out. If we lure it to a cave, it will kill us before we have a chance to lock it inside.’
“At this time the medicine man stood and said that the previous night he’d dreamt about the spirit of the White Hawk, who had come to him in his slumber and given him powerful words which would create a trap for its enemy. He said all he needed was a vessel to inscribe the words on, and it would work.
“Hummingbird rose before the tribe and announced that she would make the vessel. The next day Hummingbird gathered clay from the river, and grass from the meadow, and wood from the forest, and set to work. By nightfall she appeared once again before the elders and proudly presented the medicine man with a beautiful pot painted all in black with a white wolf’s paw crushing a black feather etched on the side. The medicine man declared it perfect, and with a brush he dipped it into the black paint and began to write the powerful words the White Hawk had given him on the side of the pot. The words were invisible against the black paint on the pot, making it the perfect trap to catch the Black Hawk Spirit.
“When the medicine man was through, he placed inside the pot Whitefeather’s belly root and held the vessel aloft, declaring, ‘This will capture and keep the spirit of the Black Hawk, and the Zantos will forever be one with the spirit of the White Hawk.’ The medicine man then asked for an escort to the highest cave overlooking the Zantos’ land. Ten warriors volunteered and walked him to the cave. They were willing to stay with him and wait for the Black Hawk Spirit, but the medicine man insisted he be left alone to face the demon.
“The warriors returned to the tribe and everyone gathered around the fires to wait for the spirit of the Black Hawk to come or go up to the cave where the medicine man was.
“Late that night when the fires were low, the tribe heard a terrible scream, and they knew that the powerful words had not worked. The ten warriors raced to the cave and found the medicine man grievously injured, still clutching Hummingbird’s vessel. ‘Kill me,’ the medicine man begged them. Thinking he’d gone mad, the warriors lifted the elder and returned him to the tribe.
“Once there the medicine man pleaded with the tribal elders to kill him, but of course they refused, asking him instead what happened in the encounter with the Black Hawk.
“The medicine man confessed that his plan had been flawed; the Black Hawk had suspected a trick, but could not refuse the magic of the words on the clay vessel. In an effort to escape entrapment, it had entered the medicine man’s body, and was doing terrible harm to him inside.
“Again the elder begged to be given the mercy of death. He knew it was only a matter of time before the power of the Black Hawk’s spirit inside him would devour his own spirit and once again roam free. ‘You must kill me quickly,’ he said, ‘before I begin killing you. You must then immediately burn my body and place my ashes inside this vessel. It is the only way to trap the spirit of the Black Hawk.’
“But the tribe hesitated and none of the elders would vote to kill their medicine man. As dawn emerged on the horizon, the medicine man suddenly jumped to his feet, reached for his knife, and ran straight at Hummingbird, who was holding White feather.
“At the last moment, White Wolf stepped in front of the medicine man and took the knife in the chest, saving his wife and child. It took five warriors to restrain the medicine man, and when they had, the elders knew his soul was lost to the spirit of the Black Hawk.
“Hummingbird drew the knife that had killed her husband and plunged it into the medicine man, killing him in turn. The tribe did not banish her, however; instead, they knew that her justice was well served and they threw the body of the medicine man onto the flames of the largest fire.
“All the next day and night the fire burned, because the medicine man’s body fought the flames. It is thought that the spirit of the Black Hawk used all of its power to thwart being turned into dust, but finally, with careful attention to the fire, the medicine man’s body was reduced to ash and all of it was placed inside the vessel, which was then sealed and buried in a secret place with the body of White Wolf, so that his spirit could watch over the vessel for as long as the Zantos and the sons of Whitefeather walk the land.”
I finished the tale and closed the book and for a time, Gilley and I sat in silence, absorbing all that I’d read aloud. “Huh,” said Gil after a bit. “So this thing was stored in some sort of clay pot?”
I remembered what Sam had shown me that day at Ari’s home, the urn with the beautiful design on it, which held some of the ashes of every Whitefeather since the son of White Wolf. I told Gil about it and he asked, “So where is that clay pot?”
“No one knows,” I said. “It disappeared the night Heath’s mom left the Pueblo, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” Gil said. “But she swears she didn’t take it, right?”
“Right, but that doesn’t mean peo
ple believe her. Even her own brothers think she took it.”
“Man,” Gil said, “am I glad that my family is only made up of you, me, and my ma.”
I was so touched by Gilley’s statement that it took me a minute to say something. “Yeah,” I agreed at last. “Me too.”
Gilley yawned and looked at his watch. “It’s after eleven. You feel like turning in?”
“Might as well get some sleep,” I said. “Cruz said he’d be back at six.”
Gil got up and crossed the cell to his bunk, while I rolled onto mine. The mattress was nothing but a thin layer of foam encased in plastic, and the pillow and blanket left a lot to be desired, but it was better than nothing.
I turned my back to Gil to help block off the light from the lamp on Cruz’s desk and closed my eyes, trying not to think about the next day or how fast it might take Heath to break up with me.
“Night,” Gil said with a yawn.
“Night,” I said with a sigh. No sooner had I closed my eyes than the sound of glass breaking somewhere at the front of the station caused me to turn and face Gilley. Given his wide-eyed expression, I knew he’d heard it too.
“What was that?” he whispered.
I focused on the hallway leading into the large office space. “Hello?” I called.
No one answered.
I sat up and stared at the front of the room as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up on end. “Hello?!” I called more loudly.
A loud crashing sound echoed down the hallway. Gilley was at my side in a hot second. “What was that?” he squeaked.
I looked around the cell for some kind of a weapon. Something had entered the station, and I didn’t think it was anything good.
Another loud crashing sounded from the front of the building, and then, that awful and now familiar grating sound along one of the walls. “Oh, shit, shit, shit!” Gilley cried.
We both looked desperately around the cell for somewhere to hide. There was nothing other than our bunks, and those were clearly bolted to the floor. We were in a large cage at the back of the room—completely exposed.
“Where’s your sweatshirt?” I asked Gil, who was hanging on my arm and shivering head to toe.
“On my bunk!”
I got up and pulled Gilley with me. Crossing the ten-foot space, I recovered his sweatshirt and passed it to him. “Put it on,” I told him, dragging him over to the very back of the cell next to the toilet before shoving him down next to it.
Gilley fumbled with the sweatshirt while I grabbed my messenger bag and his backpack and was once again by his side. Another crash—this one closer and more violent—vibrated the floor. Gilley gave a small shriek and looked at me with huge frightened eyes. “It’s gonna kill us!”
I wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t, but I didn’t know that for certain. The bars might be strong enough to thwart the demon, but what if it could slip through the bars like smoke?
I sat down in front of Gilley, using my body to block him, and got out every spike I’d brought along, placing them in a semicircle around us. I also kept two clutched in my hands. I then braced myself and fought down the mounting panic filling my chest.
No sooner had I gotten a tentative grip on my nerves than something invisible but incredibly powerful burst into the room, toppling chairs, filing cabinets, and shelving in one terrible swoop.
Behind me Gilley screamed when a pair of chairs came flying through the air to crash against the front of the jail cell, and any grip I’d had on my own fear went right out the window.
Chapter 9
As the assault on the room continued, I shook so hard that I could barely hold on to the spikes. I knew I had to get up, but all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and pray.
At that moment, the sheriff’s desk scraped along the floor for several feet before it lifted into the air and slammed against the side of the cell. The noise was deafening and Gilley and I both launched ourselves sideways, flattening our bodies against the floor. Gilley wouldn’t stop screaming, and one of the spikes fell away from my hand when I covered my head with my arms.
I could feel myself joining Gilley in a chorus of screams. I couldn’t help it; I tend to panic when furniture starts flying around a room by an unseen poltergeist. And it didn’t stop with the sheriff’s desk—no, a second after Gil and I had flattened ourselves, one of the computers crashed into the jail cell door, smashing with terrible force as plastic, wires, and small bits of metal rained down all over us.
Gilley’s screaming reached new heights and I was afraid that the terrifying scene would send him insane. Of course, I was more worried that the demon might kill him before he went cuckoo.
I tried to locate the demon, but I couldn’t see it anywhere. And then, as if it’d sensed me trying to find it, two glowing red eyes appeared on the far left-hand side of the jail.
I reacted without thinking: I thrust my hand up and threw my lone spike like a dart right at those glowing red orbs.
My aim was true for once. The spike hit the demon between the eyes, clinking against one of the bars before it buried itself right into the evil spirit.
The black hawk demon screeched; then it hissed at me, and I felt the wind of its breath on my arms. It made me shudder that this thing could have such power in the land of the living. The victory of the spike hitting its mark bolstered me a little and I got to my knees and grabbed another spike, ready to throw it too. “Get back!” I roared, throwing the second spike.
That one, however, hit the metal bars and bounced off back into the cell.
The demon eyes disappeared and only the whirl of papers along the side of the cell revealed that it was still in the room.
Gilley finally stopped screaming and huddled into a ball on the floor with his sweatshirt pulled up over his head. His form was so pathetic that it brought out the warrior in me. I grabbed two more spikes and approached the front of the cell. “Get out!” I screamed.
The demon answered by launching the other computer right at me.
I dived to the floor just before plastic and metal exploded against the metal bars. But I wasn’t going to back down so easily. I got up again and threw one of the spikes at a trail of paper. I heard this odd noise, like a thwack, and for an instant my spike hovered in the air like it was stuck in something.
That something revealed itself in the next second as a monster right out of a nightmare. It looked like a cross between a giant crocodile and a cobra. Its body was long and bulky with a wicked-looking tail. Four-footed and talon-toed, it stood at least eight feet tall, with black scales that appeared liquid when it moved.
The demon turned around slowly and considered me with its glowing red eyes, and I will admit that if I hadn’t previously emptied my bladder, I would’ve right there and then. I’d never been that scared in my whole life, and I’ve dealt with some truly terrifying stuff.
In the next second the demon came at the front of the cell so fast I barely caught the movement in time to throw myself backward.
It hit the bars with tremendous force and raked its talons across my arm in the process. I swiped at the burning sensation along my forearm and managed to stick a stake into the demon’s shoulder. It shrieked and tried to reach its big claws through the bars to tear me to shreds.
And then, something extraordinary happened. Gilley, my sweet, often irritating, scared-of-his-own-shadow, but always loyal best friend, was next to me, a fistful of spikes in each hand. He began pounding them into the demon, striking it as fast as he could raise and lower his arm through the bars.
He also started shrieking in a key no human should be capable of reaching—somewhere between howler monkey and Harpy.
Whether it was the spikes or Gilley’s high note, the demon shrank back and with a final loud bang of its tail on the jail cell, it vanished from the room, leaving nothing but a swirl of fluttering paper and a roomful of destruction.
Gil and I dropped down to our knees, both of us panting heavily and eyeing the
area in disbelief.
“You . . . okay?” I asked him between gulps of air.
“Gilley Gilleshpie!” he gasped. “Gilley Gilleshpie, Gilley Gilleshpie!”
I lifted my arm limply and managed to pat him on the shoulder. “You’re not having a stroke at least.”
“Are you sure?” he demanded, staring at me with an expression full of what-the-freak? “I feel a little tingly.”
I sat back on my heels. “You’re fine,” I assured him. “And thanks to you, so am I.”
“I don’t know what came over me!” he exclaimed. “Normally I leave the hero stuff up to you fools.”
I wrapped an arm around him. “That thing was going to fillet me like a tomato against a set of Ginsu knives, so whatever moved you, buddy, I for one am really grateful.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Gilley warned. “That thing could scare the gay right out of me.”
I giggled, then I started to laugh, and then I couldn’t stop. I was just so relieved to have survived the demon attack that Gil’s humorous remark was like someone turning a relief valve in me. He chuckled along too, and before long we were lying on the ground, giggling and slapping each other on the shoulders.
After a bit we settled down, but neither one of us moved off the floor back to our bunks. “What do we do now?” Gil asked.
I shrugged. “Wait for the sheriff or Deputy Cruz to come back, I guess.”
Gil propped himself up on his elbows and stared at the room. “How’re we going to explain that?”
I propped myself up too and took in the mess. The lamp was still giving off some light from where it’d landed on the floor, and as I took in all the damage done, I could hardly believe it myself, and I’d witnessed the rampage.
“We’ll tell Pena and Cruz the truth,” I said.
“They’ll never believe it.”
“Well, we couldn’t have done all this, now, could we, Gil?”
Gilley sat all the way up. “You have a point.” He then seemed to notice something on my arm and lifted it up to inspect. “You’re bleeding, sugar.”
Ghoul Interrupted: A Ghost Hunter Mystery Page 18
