by Emby Press
*
John set the book down carefully and stood up. He walked away from his desk and went to refresh his cup of coffee while he tried to wrap his mind around what it was he had just read and what the implications might have been of such a ritual, provided it hadn’t been a hallucination or a bizarre waking dream. Weird religions doing strange things was nothing out of the ordinary. Having them functionally summon some non-human thing however, was more than a bit alarming. If it wasn’t real, then Pete Granger, P.I. was insane, as was Miss Collins. But Granger didn’t write like a nut job, as a matter of fact his writing style, tempo, and attention to detail hadn’t varied any from his prior cases to this one. He seemed credible on paper.
Detective Munro decided, after thinking on it for over forty minutes, that he needed to take the rest of the night to absorb that last entry. Just as he was headed back to his desk, the kid from records showed up with the four file folders he’d asked for. They were all painfully thin. He thanked her as she disappeared through the doors that led back into the stacks. The files he would read at home. It was time to pack it in. He marked the book where he was, closed it and returned it to its evidence bag before tucking it, along with the folders under his arm and departing the precinct.
Once home he reviewed the files. The thickest was Pete Granger’s so he saved it for last. The Red Brotherhood was indeed a secret society. There was little to nothing about them other than it was extremely ancient in its traditions, all of which were secret, and that it had been believed to be extinct until the late 1800s when word of it surfaced in America. This thing predated Christianity by a long stretch, but no one knew quite how far back. It disappeared back into complete obscurity following the investigation of the missing P.I.
The farm, it seemed still stood, relatively undisturbed, to this day, some kind of minor trust had been established to pay off the property taxes by its last legal owner who’d willed its use, but not the title, to his deadbeat grandchildren who, not holding the deed, couldn’t sell it so they abandoned it. Also in the farm’s folder were geographical maps, as much pre-settlement history about the area as could be located at the time, and a map of some sort with New York’s outline but a number of blue lines criss-crossing it. The title of this last page said simply ‘New York’s Ley Lines’. He didn’t know what a ley line was but he’d have to find out. There were a couple of short statements from tribal elders of both the Algonquin and Huron Native American people, but those interviews were mostly evasion and bias on both sides. Little to no information had come from that quarter.
Miss Theresa Collins had been a historical and anthropological theology scholar in the early 20’s, paid her bills and tuition by working as a reporter for the local newspaper, and had been considered a serious person of interest following Mr. Granger’s disappearance. But her alibi had checked out and the journal contents actually cleared her of anything illegal. Her special field of study had been obscure religions in history and their impact and practices. In this instance her job and her studies complimented one another and her story was about The Red Brotherhood. That explained how she had gotten on the Brotherhood’s radar in a bad way. When the investigation went cold she returned to school and eventually turned to teaching after traveling abroad for several years on research grants.
Pete Granger wasn’t a much better source for clues, by all accounts he was a minor trouble maker with a golden heart. A bit of a white knight crusader, he had lots of small stuff in his record but what it all boiled down to was him defending a client or their rights. He was a stand-up guy and that had probably been what got him killed. Most of his clients had chosen him specifically for these traits and word of mouth got around fast in those days. All of the personal statements about him said pretty much the same thing: honest, moral, dependable, good man, his word was his bond. Even those who didn’t like him respected him.
Detective Munro paced his living room trying to think of a good starting place and for some obscure source that had not yet been covered that he could pull some new information from. He needed to figure out what a ley line was and how to read that map and maybe the two tribes would be more cooperative a few decades later. It wasn’ not a lot, but it wasn’ not nothing either. He would have to finish the journal first and then begin the investigation. For now, though, he was going to sleep on it.
*
A shadow moved in the darkness. Moving toward It, he stopped suddenly as it turned to him. It was the silhouette of a man but deep orange flames flickered in the eye sockets and licked half way up his brow, and when he opened his mouth more flames belched out and up his blackened, but not burned face. What stood out more than anything were the teeth, huge fangs backlit by the fire only emphasized when the creature that walked like a man hissed at him and lunged in his direction with frightening speed. A thin, forked tongue slipped out between the teeth.
*
John Munro sat bolt upright in bed, covered in sweat, his throat was sore so he might have been screaming but he wasn’t sure. No matter what he did though, he couldn’t scrub the image from his mind. He could still feel the heat of the flames, it had felt that real.
Breathe, just breathe, h. He told himself. It was just a dream, just a nightmare. Nothing more. It had to be that damn cold case, working on his nerves like this. Even so, as his heart beat slowed, he thought about the fact that he seldom ever reacted to a case this way. Six years in law enforcement and he’d seen some pretty messed up and gruesome things but just reading this bloody journal had caused nightmares? It didn’t make sense. He got up, fixed himself a snack and poured a glass of milk. As he ate, his mind turned towards the case and soon the dream was a dimming memory as he grappled with the mystery. When he returned to bed he did not dream.
The next morning he continued with the journal entries and made notes about his thoughts and ideas. The next entry skipped several days, Munro looked to see if any pages had been ripped out but none had.
*
May 7, 1923 – The nightmares are growing worse and I see enemies everywhere. Even to me this sounds like paranoia, buteven though it isn’t. Theresa, Miss Collins, has been seeing them too, there are too many eyes, no place seems to be safe even when I randomly choose our destinations they seem to know in advance and my dreams are filled with fiery eyes, flaming snake tongues and burning two inch fangs.
*
Munro reread that entry five times. The night terror stalking Pete Granger sounded exactly like the one he’d seen in his own dreams. It was too strange to be a coincidence and too weird to just set aside. He continued reading.
*
May 10, 1923 – We seem to be constantly hounded, I am tempted to leave the state until after the solstice to gain some distance from this area that they seem to know so well. I will attempt to sit in on their next ritual in four days. Until then I will do my best to remain one step ahead.
May 14, 1923 – I snuck into the barn again but my hiding place was gone, the entire stack of hay bales was missing. I decided to find another location from which to watch, a lower one where I might catch a glimpse under one or more of those hoods. Unfortunately, though I found one I did not have enough time to properly prepare it and had to leave. I slipped out unnoticed just as they were beginning to file in. I will return in the middle of the week to prepare my hiding spot and possibly locate another for a back-up plan. Though I saw and heard nothing on my silent trek away from the farm I could not escape the feeling that my every movement was being watched.
May 18, 1923 – The farm was deserted and in a matter of a few daylight hours I had my two hiding spots. My first is an empty stall, well now its empty, and I widened the knot hole that was already there and stained the worked part dark again with mud and water. In truth my second one is the one I like best, there is a small space behind the stairs, I had to loosen a board to gain access and clear it of cobwebs and filth before I could crouch under it with a reasonable amount of comfort. It offers a better and wider view of the a
rea.
May 21, 1923 – Though I arrived early and waited until nearly dawn, no one showed up. They must have held it elsewhere tonight. The hiding places may still be of use at a later time.
May 25, 1923 – We have fled to Pennsylvania and the moment we crossed the state line it felt as though a weight was lifted from us both. I am hoping that calm also translates to our sleep. My dreams have been nothing less than horrific lately and I would welcome a restful night’s sleep.
June 5, 1923 – Things are going well, no more watchers from the shadows and our dreams have been blissfully normal if they are even recalled. This is a good place to wait out the end of the solstice. We are both feeling healthy and sane again.
June 19, 1923 – I awoke this morning and found a note on the kitchen table. Theresa’s parents were being threatened and she had to return or they would be killed. So she left when she knew I couldn’t object. I gathered my things, paid the bill and followed after her.
June 20, 1923 – I glimpsed Theresa for a moment today, she was pressed between two large men in long coats and hats that were turned down. We made eye contact for an instant and I spent an hour following them before finally losing them in a heavy crowd. Tomorrow is not a Monday but it is solstice; I know they will take her to the barn and I will be waiting for them there. I have notified Marty where I’m going in case everything goes south.
*
It was the last entry, he had never written another. Marty Weaver had been the one to call in the missing person and given the location of the farm. What had happened to Pete Granger in that last day of his life? That was the real question. Clearly things did not go as planned and yet Theresa Collins survived the night. Detective Munro re-read the last two entries and scowled. Pieces of what he’d been reading started falling into place. The Red Brotherhood had always known where they were, except when they left state, and yet they somehow managed to get to her to tell her about her parents? This stank. Then the thought struck him. Betrayal. He had been the target all along, she had set him up and kept him confused and distracted enough not to realize it, then she lured him into the very place they wanted him and then they take him. Munro figured that anyone reading this objectively had come to the same conclusion. Besides Miss Collins’ alibi for the entire day had been verified. She had been at a solstice day celebration all day and there were thirty people who had seen her there the entire time. Research was over, it was time to actively investigate this thing.
A quick computer search told him a fair bit about ley lines. The lines were believed to be the Earth’s spiritual energy net, and were viewed as direct sources of mystic power. Munro checked the address of the farm and overlaid it with the ley line map. Three ley lines crossed approximately where the barn stood. A little footwork into a few new age book stores and a visit to three ‘occult specialists’ gave him some more information. The belief was that where one or more of these ley lines crossed a kind of gate was opened and allowed spiritual entities access and egress from our realm. The more lines that crossed, the more power was available. One occultist suggested he locate the tribe of Native Americans who historically occupied the area he was looking into. If indeed the area had a ley line crossing it, that would probably be noted somewhere in their ancestral history, as either a place to be avoided or a holy ground, depending on the area history.
Two tribes had previously occupied the New York state area; tThe Huron and tThe Algonquin tribes. Wanting to save himself a bit of time he called the closest tribal authorities for both peoples. The Huron tribe turned out to be a dead end, they had no tribal knowledge of the area the farm was located on. They did tell him that the Algonquin tribes might know what he was asking about and his best bet would be one or two of the tribes in Ontario. A call over to a few of the Ontario Algonquin tribes confirmed this.
Detective Munro located his passport, hopped a plane and soon after landing was driving out to meet with Eagle Clan, the first best choice for information. He was hoping he’d have better luck than they did in the past. Munro did some research into the traditions and customs of paying proper respect to the elders so, when he landed, and after renting a car, he stopped by an herbal shop toand picked out a gift of sacred plants. Sage, cedar, tobacco leaves, and sweet grass were considered traditional gifts. Munro had no clue what they were used for but all of his sources indicated it was the best choice. The shop keeper had said something about ‘smudging’ but the reference was lost on the detective. As he drove up to the reservation he looked for his guide. He had been told that one would be waiting for him. He parked his car and moved toward the entrance. A man stood at the gate and nodded to him.
“Detective Munro?” asked the man, he was dressed as anyone else might be, a t-shirt and blue jeans, cowboy boots and a baseball cap.
“That’s me,” he replied, with a smile.
“I am Mingun,” said the man. “I will take you to the elders, they are holding a circle soon.”
“Elders?” asked Munro asked, emphasizing the plural. “Which one do I give the offering to?” Hhe held up the bundle to show Mingun. Mingun looked a little surprised and smiled.
“Respect for the traditions?” he said. “You’re a lot more thoughtful than most whites who come with questions. You may actually get some answers.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” replied the detective.
“You place it near the center of the circle,” said Mingun “and then open it up so it may be seen by all.” As they crossed the compound Munro noticed an odd mixture of traditional and more modern buildings. Finally they approached a large, tent-like structure. Mingun held open a wide flap and they entered in. They stood for a moment, until one of the elders, seated in a circle, nodded at them. Mingun nudged the detective lightly. Munro stepped carefully to the center of the circle and did as he had been instructed, backing away respectfully after opening up the bundle. After a moment he and Mingun were gestured to sit. One of the elders on his right spoke first.
“You have respected the traditions. Why are you here?”
“I am looking for any information you might have about a portion of what is now New York State that your ancestors once occupied,” explained Munro. There was some leaning and muttering between them. Eventually they were silent again.
“What area?” asked another elder. “Do you have a map?”
“Yes,” replied Munro “I have three. Two are of the entire state with the area marked and the third is a close up of the area in question.” He handed them to the nearest elder, an ancient looking man on his left. Each elder took a long look at the papers but only three seemed to recognize the area. The maps were handed back to Munro and then the middle elder announced that a smudging must take place before discussion could begin. The elders produced a large oyster shell and an eagle feather. They used some of Munro’s offering, crushing measured amounts into the shell and then setting them alight but extinguishing the flame, leaving it smoldering and smoking while an elder moved around the place sweeping smoke everywhere. Then he brushed the smoke over himself and handed the shell and feather to the next elder who brushed the smoke over himself, then handed it off. The last elder brushed the smoke over Mingun and then tried to brush it over the detective. The scent was pleasant and aromatic but it actually moved away from Munro. This drew startled responses from the elders as it was done several times, all to the same effect.
“What the hell?” said Mingun as he watched the smoke actively avoid the detective “That’s just plain weird. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“Something dark has touched you. You must not continue this investigation Detective,” said one of the elders.
“Let another do it,” advised a second.
“For your own safety,” stated the third.
Munro was more than a little confused, he hadn’t even asked any questions yet. He admitted that the smoke trick was bizarre but in the back of his mind he wondered if it was just an avoidance technique.
�
�Thank you,” responded Munro calmly “But I can take care of myself. May I ask you some questions about the area on the maps?” They looked at one another and nodded among themselves.
“A man’s fate and journey must be his own,” admitted one.
“You may ask,” said another with a nod “Perhaps what you learn will help.”
“Thank you,” said Munro “Please, would you tell me what you know of the area indicated on the maps?”
“Our ancestors have warned of this place,” started the eldest. “Strange things have been seen and bad spirits are known to wander there, causing fear, great pain and dismay to any they encounter. Tales are told of lone scouts or young couples who were merely traveling over that area, bedded down for the night and were never seen again. Some have seen pale spirits moaning and warning, others a demon of darkness and flame coming to consume them body and spirit. In ages past warning stones were placed to give travelers a safe route to follow around the bad place. This place where the three lines cross is the center, where the worst happens.”
“That’s itis is all?” asked Munro.
“It is what we know of that place.” said the eldest to Detective Munro “We still would urge you to let another investigate this area.”
“Why?” asked Munro.
“The smudge would not touch you,” said an elder to his right.
“It’s a very bad omen,” said another.
“Take care to guard your dreams,” said the eldest at last and then they all fell silent. Mingun nudged Munro and they both quietly exited the way they came in. On the way back Mingun felt compelled to ask a couple questions of his own.
“What exactly are you investigating in this area?”
“A disappearance that may be linked to cult activity. The elders have explained why the cult was there,” said the detective “Now I just need to piece together what happened.”
