by Weston Ochse
Story continued on page 9
* * *
The Scarecrow Gods
Given all the choices and considering how the police were unable to find Billy Bones regardless of the All Points Bulletin, there was only one other place to look. Simon had managed to hitch a ride and it was to an elderly couple from Sun Valley that he said good-bye. They waved, but were concerned about letting him out in the middle of nowhere. He fibbed, explaining that his friend lived in a house just up the dirt road. When they’d offered to drive him all the way to the front door, he’d explained that he wanted to surprise his friend.
They drove away shaking their heads as Simon trudged up the road. Five minutes later he stepped into the desert, following the well-worn path towards the Scarecrow Gods. He passed the small hut, half-buried and covered with plastic sheeting. Bingo, Billy’s mutt, poked its head out and stared at Simon with rheumy eyes, not even enough energy to bark. Simon had forgotten the animal last time he was here. He mentally kicked himself and promised that he’d check and ensure the animal had food and water before he left.
Within seconds he was at the Scarecrow Gods. Towering monoliths, they were as before. Clothed as modern day humans, they moaned riddles into the wind that only crazy men were able to decipher.
Just as he’d suspected, Billy Bones was kneeling in the middle of the circle. The Dirty Bird’s back was straight. His head was down, the wind whipping his blonde bangs. His hands were grasped in prayer and held loosely waist high. His eyes were closed.
Simon remembered the last thing the man had said to him. Means Movies. Save me Simon. That had been on the wild ride to the hospital as Billy struggled in and out of consciousness. Evidently, Simon had succeeded in saving the man’s body, but what of his soul? He didn’t understand what kept driving the man to return to the Scarecrow Gods. What was it about this place?
“Billy? Billy Bones?”
There was no response.
Simon stepped closer. “Billy? Mr. Geddes? Are you okay?”
The Dirty Bird sighed heavily. He crossed himself and got to his feet. As Simon looked into the man’s eyes, he noticed the difference immediately. The man’s gaze was piercing and intelligent.
“Hello, Brother Simon.”
Simon was stunned. He took a step back. Even the man’s voice was clear and level. “Hello, Billy Bones.”
The Dirty Bird raised an eyebrow.
“Mr. Geddes, I mean.”
“Billy’s fine, Simon,” he said, walking over offering his hand. “I’m feeling better now. Let me thank you for all of your help. I remember some of what happened. I remember you being there for me. Helping me. Feeding me.”
Simon shook the man’s hand and smiled. “It’s what I do. No need to thank me.”
“Not everyone seemed willing to help,” Billy said, pulling at his clothes.
“What happened to you? They say you’re a rocket scientist.”
Billy chuckled. “That was a long long time ago. No more. That part of my life is gone.”
“Then what—”
“I can’t explain it. One minute I was working, the next I was here. I remember voices in my head, voices that wanted me to do terrible things, things that shocked me.” The words came slowly. “I remember trying to hide from them, but I couldn’t seem to get away. I remember trying very hard to confuse the voices. I figured if they didn’t know what I was doing, then they couldn’t make me do things.”
“That explains the word games.”
“Yes. Although I can’t take credit for them. I guess Billy Bones saved me that way.”
“Voices rant on.”
“Yes. Conversation. And the rest of them,” he chuckled. “I used to do puzzle books to keep myself busy during the slow days at the plant. Who’d ever think they’d come in handy?”
“I’m glad you’re back. I mean—Hell, I don’t know what I mean.” He stared, grinning for a second, then remembered. “Oh! How’s Bingo?”
“Who’s Bingo?” asked Billy.
“The dog. I forgot it when I took you to the hospital and then I…” He decided not to mention the jail.
“That’s what it’s called. Bingo. I fed it some cheese puffs I had, but it could use some real food.”
They headed towards the small camp.
Billy smiled, the sane version of the broken-toothed grin as infectious as the other version. “I didn’t make a fool out of myself too badly did I? I have these memories of things.”
“Not really,” replied Simon.
“If I did anything, I blame it on the voices.” As they stepped out of the circle, Billy stopped and turned. His face became serious as he stared at the saguaro. “It was these things that saved me, you know? I felt their power.”
“There is something about them.”
“I was just thinking about it when you came up here.”
“Thinking what?”
“About the irony.”
“What do you mean?”
“That you like little boys.”
Simon chuckled warily. “Are you sure all the voices are gone?”
“I think so, but—”
“But what?”
Simon saw it the moment it happened. The eyes clouded over and his lips shifted into a leer.
Simon went to grab Billy’s shoulder, but the man fell to the ground. “Billy. Are you okay?” Simon knelt, lifted up Billy’s head and watched as the eyes rolled far back until only the whites showed.
“Simon. Means movies. I must listen, Simon. I must listen or real fun.”
The change from sane to insane had been so sudden. Simon had seen the look before. He’d seen it in movies, he’d seen it in Nuevo Laredo—the complete hijacking of a human being by an unknown force.
This couldn’t simply be insanity. This had to be something larger. Simon remembered Brother Dominic’s tale and the man’s belief. He picked up Billy and carried him back into the center of the circle. Then, gently, he lay Billy down on the sand. Kneeling beside him, Simon stroked the man’s brow. The man began to moan, matching tone and pitch with the Scarecrow Gods until they were one with their desert speech.
Simon stared at all thirteen of the giant saguaro. They stared back, button eyes wide in wonder, their puckered lips open in awe. Their number wasn’t lost on him. Billy Bones said he’d felt their power. Simon didn’t feel any power, but he felt an aura. Like in a church, there was a certain quiet magnificence.
He began to hum, matching the moans of Billy and the constant whispers of the Scarecrow Gods. Billy had said they’d saved him. Like scarecrows of the spirit, they’d chased the voices away, most of them anyway. There seemed to be one or two left.
Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, Simon understood. With the understanding came a rush of emotion more raw and powerful than anything he’d ever felt before. For the first time in his life he believed in something he couldn’t see or prove. He knew by pure faith that Billy was possessed, just as the boy in Nuevo Laredo was possessed, or Carmelitta or the others. A spirit had come and hijacked Billy Bones, taking over his body as if it were its own.
Far from being the expert, Simon still knew more than most. He’d been present at exorcisms before and heard the tale of the most famed exorcism in modern history. He was a layman and had no power to consecrate, but he did have two very important things. He had his faith, and he had the Scarecrow Gods.
Simon began the Rites of Exorcism by reciting the Lord’s Prayer and the moans grew louder.
* * *
Ooltewah, Tennessee
Fueled by the image of Danny’s sister Elaina, Maxom sped through The Land of Inside-Out seeking the Phoenix Nexus. He’d never heard of Sierra Vista, but after studying a map of the Southwest, he’d found it was south and east of Tucson.
The life pads were few and far between in the lower Midwest, probably because it was mostly farm country and wide open spaces. His speed was languid compared to his earlier lessons with the boy, or his own with Lo Lo, for
that matter. The old Mung had believed in Instantaneous Translation, the theory being that if The Land could be molded to one’s perspective, then distance could be removed. The theory was a good one, but Maxom had never been able to prove it. The closest he’d come was by doing what the boy had done with his Supersonic transit. Not only did that take energy, but it took precious time figuring out where in the hell you were. The problem was that he still imagined The Land as a reflection of the Earth, and it was that concept that bound him to the idea of distance.
Maxom’s intent was to find the boy’s sister so Danny wouldn’t have to go. Granted, it wasn’t like being a young black man in 1960s South, but there were dangers, nonetheless, even for a white boy. He was both old enough and too young. If he was unable to find the boy’s sister, his B Plan was to conduct reconnaissance, so Danny would know what he was getting into.
Ahead, Maxom saw the beginnings of life. In ones and twos, life pads began to appear. As he sped further, the brightness grew until he was over a broad Nexus. He searched carefully, looking for an appropriate life pad. He needed to ensure this was indeed Phoenix before changing course. He hadn’t the boy’s ability to see in real time.
It wasn’t long before he found the right type of life pad and merged. A crow, large, black and strong, staggered in mid-air before collecting itself again as it accepted Maxom’s presence. Flying on, it searched for easy food. Roadkill, trash, anything that didn’t run away when chased. In the searching, Maxom viewed the terrain. Concrete lay in every direction, topped by apartments, condominiums and mini-malls of white, pink and yellow stuccos. Desert palms and cactus grew from hard ground. The screech and whine of traffic was everywhere. The air was toxic. The heat radiated from the concrete, hotter as it ascended, creating brilliant updrafts that allowed the scavenger bird to move great distances without the slightest beat of its wings.
By the license plates on cars and signs on buildings, he saw that he’d arrived at his destination. Just like in the Army when they did land navigation exercises through heavy jungle or forest, he knew how to get from point A to point B.
Maxom released the bird and flowed back into The Land.
Soon he passed Tucson, heading towards Sierra Vista. He cheated and followed the interstate, soaring over a man-made river of high-speed life pads. Everything was fine until he approached Sierra Vista and four nexi were revealed.
One he recognized as the town itself, small and proportional to the population. Rivers of light shot in only three cardinal directions, the Western avenues blocked by the imposition of a mountain.
The next closest nexus was like a well. The brightest of all, this one had no Rivers radiating from it. This in itself was mysterious. What then was its source of energy? How could a nexus maintain its brightness without the infusion of the light? The existence of this bizarre nexus cast doubt on everything he’d learned and postulated on the nature of things. Intrigued, he soared to the location and sought out a creature with which to merge. He needed to observe this phenomenon first hand to understand.
There were very few life pads nearby. Whether this was because of the location or because of the nexus itself, he didn’t know. None of these life pads were the familiar shade and hue of the crow. He widened his search, but still came up empty. There was one life pad, however, that was similar. He didn’t look forward to the violence of the rejection of an incomplete merging, but the boy’s life depended upon this.
Maxom shot towards the life pad and settled in. The merging was electric. He wasn’t rejected, but he found himself immediately fighting for control. Where the crow’s mind had been a happy-go-lucky tracking device to easy food, this creature was a calculator of consumption, even now deciding the best course of action to allow the greatest reward. Before Maxom could do anything, the creature launched, soaring high into the air. He felt the muscles in the huge chest propelling great wings along undulating currents. His neck was stiff and to turn his head was awkward. He felt as if he was trapped within a ballistic killing machine, the eyes magnifying the prey a hundred feet below. They dove, swooping at the last minute, talons raking the ground, rising with a rattlesnake flailing within a double grip, head snapping, tail rattling.
Maxom was thrilled with the ride. This was the type of creature he preferred. The crow had been wondrous and had allowed him to blend into a landscape. This creature, however, was stunning in its abilities. Brilliant in its deadliness.
He allowed the creature to feed. White tufts of hair poked out from finger-long black talons that ripped the meat away from the writhing rattler. His wings were a mottling of white, gray and brown. By the motions of the creature’s head and the size of the chest, Maxom felt certain this was an owl. If so, then it could only be a Great Horned Owl.
Once the bird finished its meal, Maxom took over. Flying was just like riding a bike. This new bird was a little different, but before long he was able to take to the air. He spun upon the rising currents, admiring the landscape and the mountains. He’d never known there were mountains in the desert. He’d always thought of deserts as places with camels and nomads and seas of never-ending sand.
Maxom got his bearings and took off to the location of the nexus that concerned him so much. If he was correct, it was just over the arm of the next hill. When he was finally confronted with the physical nexus, he was momentarily stunned. In all of his imaginings, this was not what he could have ever conceived. The owl faltered in the air as Maxom shuddered. The need to retreat was overwhelming. He and the owl shot back the way they’d come, finally landing upon the stout branch of a scrub pine.
He’d seen at least a dozen imposing cacti forming a circle. Each one was clothed. Each one seemed alive. The owl’s ears had detected a strange whistling. Each of the cacti had arms raised to the sky in a perfect cruciform as if begging a dead God to release them from their strange, earthbound pain. They reminded him of himself and of Bernie. Maxom couldn’t help it as he released the creature and slid into The Land.
He’d thought he’d beaten the fear. After all, couldn’t he now drive? Couldn’t he look through windows and see past the representation of the pain? He hated himself for his weakness. He drifted up and observed the nexus. In The Land view it seemed so benign.
Maxom shrugged free of the residual fear and sought out the other nexi. The farthest one was his goal, and within seconds he’d reached it. This nexus was like the other—no Rivers radiated from it. It was very small, almost the size of a life pad. He searched, but there were no other signs of life with which to merge. If he wanted to find out what this thing really was, he’d need to backtrack a little and get here the physical way. That would have to wait.
The fourth nexus was the strangest of them all. Even now, hovering, he watched it move. Except nexi didn’t move. They couldn’t move. They were locations of convergences only. Even stranger were the ghostly trails slipping from the nexus like cilia. Solid at first, they became more and more invisible until they completely disappeared. It was as though the nexus had been cast adrift.
He needed to see this in real time.
Although there were several life pads in the vicinity, none were the kind he needed. Human mostly and to merge with them was forbidden. The scarcity of desert life was working against him. He’d need to find the owl again and use it as a Taxi. As Maxom turned to go, he spied something dark moving across the landscape.
He whipped around, inadvertently drifting away at the sight of the Chill Blaine. Luckily, it didn’t notice him. It was heading away from the mobile nexus and moved towards the circle of cacti. Several times the Chill Blaine came into contact with human life pads but ignored them. Which was unusual for the nasty creatures.
Maxom followed it all the way to the nexus that represented the circle of cacti. The Chill Blaine seemed intent on entering. Darkness and light merged. Instead of piercing the nexus, the Chill Blain rebounded. Maxom heard its cries of agony and rage.
What was it? Were they afraid of the crosses as well?
Several ideas scraped through his mind, but before he could dwell on them, he found he needed to move away. Another Chill Blaine was heading towards the cruciform nexus. Maxom had already tangled with these creatures earlier in the day, and he had no intention of doing it again.
He’d enough information for the boy anyway. It was time to head back.
CHAPTER 20
Monday—July 2nd
37,000 feet above Sea Level:
“Can I get you anything, little fella?”
Danny glanced up from his map at the flight attendant—a young man with shoulder length blonde hair, feathered back like a girl. Danny stared blankly at him until he registered the question. After a quick look at the cart, “Uh, I’ll have a coke.”
“Caffeine free, diet, caffeine-free with diet or regular?”
“I’ll take regular, I think.”
The flight attendant poured Danny’s drink into a small plastic glass, placed the drink on the tray in front of Danny and, added a package of pretzel pin-wheels before moving on. Danny opened the package and put one in his mouth. He forced himself to swallow, chasing the salty piece of cardboard with half a glass of Coke.
“I don’t like those either,” said the man sitting next to him. “But on a flight like this, there’s not much of a selection. See, if I don’t eat at least every half hour, people will start to go missing. I just can’t control myself.”
Danny peered at the man and smiled, but kept his mouth shut. It was the second time the man had tried to start a conversation. The first had been when Danny had sat down. He’d become immediately aware of how large the other man was, his stomach layering onto the armrests so that Danny had kept his hands in his lap. The man had raised a meaty finger, pointing to the plastic-covered documents attached to the string around Danny’s neck and asked where he was headed. The documents were a dead give-away that Danny was an unaccompanied minor. The instructions said he was going to be picked up by his Aunt Barbara, who’d be very surprised she’d been designated to pick him up in Tucson; especially since she was in Maine right now.
