An hour later, or maybe more, Silas headed back home with quite a haul of assorted candies, some of which he’d never sampled before. Like Lucky Ducks, a lemon candy that his mother didn’t approve of at all. “They’ll make your teeth yellow, Silas.” He eagerly ripped open the tiny box and sprinkled a few on his tongue. After a few seconds, he spewed them out. He much preferred Daddy-O’s, and he had a half a bowl full at his house.
When Silas made it to his street, he couldn’t believe what he saw. An ambulance and three police cars were in front of his house. The front door was open; had he left it open? Two men were carrying out something—no, someone—covered by a white sheet. Who was that?
Before his mind could process what he saw, another sheet-covered body came out, a smaller one. As he watched in horror, Silas saw an arm dangling off the side, a kid-sized arm. And the dead kid was wearing a clown costume. Silas kept walking toward his house, but nobody seemed to notice him. No one at all.
“Excuse me,” he said as he tugged on a policeman’s coat. The cop brushed his hand away but never looked at him or acknowledged him. “Sir? What happened here? I am Silas Jones. This is my house.”
Still, the policeman didn’t answer. He walked inside, and nobody stopped him. There were Daddy-O’s everywhere, some wrapped, some unwrapped.
And there was blood. Oh, so much blood.
Silas tried again to speak to someone, but no one responded. Nobody heard him. Nobody saw him.
But he heard the train whistle.
He went upstairs to the attic, past the detectives and the many other uniformed officers who were investigating whatever had occurred here. Silas heard the whistle again. The Canton Red!
And he heard a voice, a familiar voice. He turned the rusty knob and opened it. He couldn’t believe it, but he was there—his father. Same shiny blond hair, gold-rimmed glasses, excited expression. He wore his train conductor’s hat and jacket.
“Silas! How did you like your prize?”
Silas closed the door behind him.
Eyes in the Fire
Tully, Arkansas 1870
From the first night that Alston Barnett arrived at the Topps Creek Mine, he felt he was being watched. During his many daily treks to and from the mine opening, in the mornings and the evenings, he routinely cast an eye on the ridge above the mine. If there was a place to be spied on from, he told himself, that would be the location. Once he even took the day off from his hard labor to explore the area and look for any clues or hints that someone had been lurking on that ridge. He found nothing.
The feeling that he was being watched never left him, but his recent joy of discovering a rich vein took his mind off his fear. Alston had struck lucky. The vein was rich, and day after day he dug out chunks of rock and precious nuggets of gold. He couldn’t believe his luck. He used to say he was the unluckiest man in the world, but he had scored this mine in a poker game. Won it with a pair of kings. The old coot he won it from never batted an eyelash when Alston claimed the deed. It was almost as if the old man was relieved. What a fool to wager a gold mine when fortune was just around the corner. Alston shook his head and rubbed his grimy beard as he turned his latest find over in his hand.
Chuckling to himself, he tossed it up in the air and caught it before hiding it safely in his leather pouch. He had another hour of light left, but the temperatures were dropping quickly and he was anxious to settle into the cabin and think about his plans for the future. He had mined more gold than he expected, and even though there promised to be even more if he dug a little deeper, time was not on his side. Fall was giving way to winter, and soon the snows would come, making it impossible to return to Copper Town. Nobody could survive up here in the winter, not without proper supplies—supplies Alston desperately needed. Yes, he would have to think about this.
Alston gathered his pick and his lamp and headed toward the cabin. He whistled as he traveled. He was more like the luckiest man alive now. But then that familiar feeling came over him again.
Eyes watching him. Staring at him. Watching his every move.
Alston pulled his pipe from his mouth and chewed on the tip as he surveyed the ridge above the mine. Once again, he couldn’t see who it was that watched over him. But he knew someone was there.
Mustering up his courage and a bit of anger, Alston called up to the ridge. “You up there! I can see you! Get out of here, or I’m gonna come back with my gun! This here is private property.”
Alston heard nothing except the rattling of a few low bushes. He shrugged. Must’ve been squirrels—or a rabbit.
He headed back to the cabin, surprised to see smoke coming from the chimney. Alston flew to the side of the cabin, praying that whoever was inside did not hear him whistling or calling out. The element of surprise was crucial in warfare, and he knew plenty about war. He listened at the window but heard not a sound from inside. How was it possible that the fire from this morning would still be going? He had been very careful to douse it before he left. He couldn’t afford to have the place burn down while he was at work. But sure enough, a fire was burning.
The cabin had only one door, one way in and one way out. He had no choice but to go through it. But unfortunately, he’d left his gun inside. That had been a fool thing to do. He always brought his gun to the mine with him, but for some reason he’d hightailed it out of there this morning without even thinking about it. He’d been so hungry for gold that he had left his weapon behind. He looked around to see if he could find a makeshift weapon. He’d brought his ax inside yesterday to sharpen it. That means whoever was inside had an ax!
He picked up a nice hunk of wood that he could use as a club if necessary. Tiptoeing to the front door, Alston put his hand on the latch. He took a deep breath, flung open the door and raised the piece of wood, prepared to rain down hell on whoever had invaded his cabin. But there was no one there.
As this was a one-room shack with not much furniture beside the table and a makeshift bed and a black belly stove, there was nowhere to hide.
Still clutching the rough wood, Alston searched the cabin and found no evidence that anyone had been there—except for the fire burning in the stove. Quick as lightning, he went to the front door latch, secured it and slid a chair beneath it. No one was getting in here without Alston seeing it, and surely anyone who took the time to light a fire planned on returning.
He dropped his goods on the table, went to the cabinet and retrieved his last bottle of whiskey. Yeah, that was untouched too. He pulled the cork, took a long drink and collapsed in the chair that faced the mysterious fire.
Alston, you’re getting old. You just left the fire hotter than you thought. Nobody was here.
That had to be it. Further proof that this needed to be his last night here. He would get up in the morning, board up the mine and head down. That was exactly what he would do. With a smile, he took another pull from the bottle. The gnawing in his stomach reminded him that he needed to eat, but he was too anxious to examine his latest treasures. Alston dumped the contents of the leather bag on the wooden table. Oh yes, those are some nice chunks of gold. Nice chunks indeed. Picking them up one at a time, he held each in his hand and tried to guess the weight. Alston had no idea how much they weighed; he would have to take them to the bank. He hated banks and the men who worked in them, but at least this time he’d be leaving with cash in hand instead of signing over his family home.
Maybe he had enough here that he could buy it back? He grunted at that idea. Maybe he could, but that wouldn’t bring back Marilyn and the boys. That wouldn’t make it all right. Marilyn, I wish you could see this. He rubbed a rare tear from his eye and took another drink.
And then he took a few more. A few hours later, Alston woke up with a horrible headache and a sore back. At some point, he’d made the table his bed, and he felt every inch of it. He had to eat something if he was going to make the trip at sunup. He hated the idea of working to get the stove going. The fire still
burned in the hearth, so he decided to heat up his supper on it instead.
He forced his tired legs to move. Plundering through the cupboard, he found a few onions and a lone potato. That was good enough. He put them in a pot with some water and held the pot over the fire. Those would boil up soon. Then he saw them.
Eyes in the fire. Staring, watching, looking at him. The heavy cast iron pot fell from his grip and sent water and vegetables all over the floor. He couldn’t care less about that. He reached for the water pitcher and tossed the contents on the flames. The red eyes narrowed, and with a scream, Alston began stomping on the fire.
The eyes disappeared with the flames. With frightened gasps, Alston stepped back and stared at the smoking hearth. What in God’s name was that? Immediately, the cabin felt cold, but he didn’t care. He never wanted to see those eyes again. Never! He picked up the vegetables, put them back in the cast iron pot and set it on the table.
What happened? Where did those eyes come from?
Then he spied the empty whiskey bottle on the table. Get a hold of yourself, Lieutenant. You’re obviously seeing things.
His stomach growled loudly. He had to eat. When had he last fed his old body? Yesterday? He tossed the empty bottle in the rubbish pail and, still staring at the smoldering fireplace, moved the pot of vegetables to the stove. Sonofabitch! he said a few times while he loaded the stove with small logs of wood. After lighting a bit of kindling with a long match, he squatted down to assess his newly lit blaze. It took a few minutes to coax the green pine to light, but it finally caught. He refilled the cast iron pot with water and put his supper on the stove. With his poker in hand, he opened the door wide and began moving the wood to get a better flame.
And he saw the eyes again! Red, angry and staring back at him. He slammed the door of the stove shut and nearly fell backward. Everything in him said, Run! Get out of here now, but the air was freezing. Snow fell outside, and even if he took off now, he wouldn’t survive a trek down the mountain to Copper Town. Too far, too cold, too hazardous.
With shaking fingers, he opened the stove door again. Nothing had changed—the fire burned, the eyes stared. And they were full of hate. He could see something else too now: eyes and a nose! Reaching for the pot, he sloshed the water and his vegetables into the open stove, dousing the flames with a loud hiss.
Alston was screaming. Fear had a grip on him now, and he didn’t know what to do. He needed to eat, and heat wasn’t a luxury—it was a requirement. Alston raced to the door and removed the chair. He stepped outside and began to call out into the snowy darkness, “Hey! You out there!” Grabbing his gun, he circled the cabin. This had to be some kind of trick! Some kind of damn trick! “Hey, you sonsofbitches! I’m coming for you!”
Alston found no one, not even a footprint. But smoke poured from his chimney again. In fact, by the time he’d made it back inside, both the hearth and the stove held healthy flames. And to his horror, he could see even more detail. Red eyes—red eyes rimmed in yellow, the black line of a nose…and was that a top lip?
He tossed the rest of the water on the hearth and ran outside to the pump for more. His old heart raced as he shuffled through the dark yard and back into the cabin. Alston threw a scoop of water into the open stove, and this time he dug the smoking wood out with his poker. Carrying the remnants of the fire outside in his metal rubbish pail, he didn’t even feel the hot sparks burn his skin. He dumped the coals in a sandy patch and used his boots to kick dirt over them. Nothing happened.
Only one fire to contend with now.
Alston stomped up the steps, but he didn’t feel the least bit confident. He sloshed water on the fire. The hate-filled face was gone again. He’d drenched half the cabin, but at least those eyes and that face weren’t leering at him.
After he stopped shaking, Alston ate the last of his crackers. He couldn’t take his eyes off the hearth and the stove. What if it came back? Gathering up his gold pieces, he refilled his leather pouch. He laid it on the table and decided he had to make a break for it. He stuffed a few things in his bag and reached for his buckskin coat.
And the flame appeared again, and the eyes. And now a nose, a wide black mouth and two ears. A few more inches, and the fire thing would also have a clearly defined chin and neck. To his horror, the fire creature growled at him. He threw a tin plate at it, but it only grinned. He tossed the full contents of the pail on the flame. That meant he had to go back outside for more water. And he did, again and again, until he had no breath left and collapsed at the table.
All you have to do is wait for the sun to come up, Alston. Wait for the sun to come up, and you can take that mule down the mountain. Just wait!
Alston’s fingers and arms were freezing. He’d soaked his shirt through. With an eye on the fireplace, he changed clothes, put on his jacket and wrapped it around himself tightly, hoping it would be enough to protect him from the chill. It could get cold enough to freeze a man tonight.
He heard the growl again but didn’t see anything manifesting in the fireplace. Was he in the clear? He could see his breath. God, he needed a fire, but he couldn’t risk it. He just couldn’t. A few hours later, when his legs were stiff and his face burned with cold, he climbed into his bed and hoped the heavy quilts would keep him warm.
I just have to make it to sunup, he encouraged himself. He didn’t have to try to stay awake. He was sure he wouldn’t sleep at all. He just needed to stay warm.
Alston remained still, very still, and tried to forget that he needed to make a trip to the outhouse. He didn’t move except once when he thought he heard a snarl. And later, despite his fear and his intentions, he fell asleep. His tired body urged his eyes to close, and they did.
***
The next morning, the door of the cabin opened. With frost in his beard and his breath creating a fog around his head, Jeffrey Rutherford walked to the table, retrieved the bag of gold and rifled through Barnett’s belongings until he found the mine deed. He thought about taking a listen to Barnett’s heart, to see if it was beating still, but he knew it wasn’t. He was dead like all the rest.
Rutherford tucked the deed and the leather pouch inside his jacket and pulled Barnett’s stiff body off the bed, quilt and all. He tried not to look at his terrified face, his wide-open eyes, his open mouth. The fireplace crackled once, but Rutherford didn’t plan on sticking around. He dragged Barnett into the backyard, dug a shallow grave and deposited the body in it.
He smelled the fire burning inside, but he had no intentions of going back in. He knew what was in there.
Rutherford untied Barnett’s donkey and headed down to Copper Town.
He was late for a poker game.
Crazy Man’s Discounts
“Welcome to Crazy Man’s Discounts! The only place where you’ll find crazy deals every day of the week!”
“Geesh!” Mark complained when he heard Crazy Man Jack’s voice booming over the loudspeaker. The guy died two days ago, but apparently his announcements lived on. “Becky Sue, I thought you were going to turn that off. Haven’t we had enough of that bull crap over the years?”
“Hush your mouth, Mark. It is bad luck, real bad luck, to talk ill of the dead.”
Her superior attitude was getting on his nerves. Who did she think she was, the Queen of Sheba? She was just as sticky-fingered as Mark was, and before she got promoted a few weeks ago, before “Crazy Man” Jack Swift had his sudden heart attack, Becky Sue had plenty of nasty things to say about their boss.
“I had no idea you were so superstitious, Becky Sue. I guess you’ll be going to the wake?”
“Aren’t you?” Becky Sue tossed her gum in the garbage can and reached for her purse.
“Shoot, no. Crazy Man never cared for me, and the feeling was mutual.”
The skinny blonde shook her head. “You have such a chip on your shoulder, Mark. At least he gave you a job. You could be grateful for that.”
“Crazy Man never did an
ything for free. He took his pound of flesh. I’ve wasted so many hours of my life in this dingy supermarket. More like good riddance. Mean old bas—”
“Shut up, Mark! God! You really are an idiot. And by the way, you get to close the store tonight. You just said yourself you’re not going to the wake, but everyone else is, including Jake and Maggie. That leaves you to stock shelves. Have fun, and don’t forget to lock up.”
“That’s BS, Becky Sue. Besides, it’s Halloween. Who has a wake on Halloween? And I have plans.” It was a lie that he hoped would make her ask a few questions about his social life, maybe stir up a little jealousy, but she didn’t bat an eyelash. Whatever we had before, she’s clearly moved on. Hey, it was worth a shot. Becky Sue was the store manager now.
“You’ll have to change them. I’m sure your ghoul-friend won’t mind waiting. Get the stuff stocked, or you might find yourself looking for another job. Crazy Man’s son JJ will be here in the morning to check the books out. Who knows what is going to happen? He might be tempted to shut this place down. It’s not exactly raking in the dough.”
“Whatever,” he said with a sigh as he clocked back in. He watched her pull out of the parking lot and shook his head. Yeah, I could have her back if I wanted her. But I don’t. I am ready to ditch this one-horse town. At least he wouldn’t have to go home and listen to his stepmother gripe that he hadn’t cleaned the carpet yet or empty the garbage can or fulfill her endless list of chores. Mark never made his stepmother happy; he’d given up trying a long time ago. He turned the key in the lock and flipped off the store lights. He punched the alarm system and walked back to the office.
“Welcome to Crazy Man’s Discounts! The only place where you’ll find crazy deals every day of the week!”
“Come on, dude. You’re dead already. Shut up!” He turned off the store’s speaker system. “Finally, some silence.” He examined the night’s duty sheet. Not too bad. He could have this done in two hours if he got his ass in gear. Then he’d have time to go to the movies or the arcade. Anywhere but home.
Halloween Screams Page 5
