Peculiar Country

by Stuart R. West

  As the image had been permanently branded within my brain, I drew the six-pointed star with ease. “There. A hexagram.” I passed it to Yvette, who moved it toward Miriam. Miriam frowned, squeezed and tugged at her sister’s long black sleeve.

  “Miriam says what you’ve drawn isn’t a hexagram,” said Yvette.

  “Sure it is! It’s got six points and everything!”

  “Child, are you going to argue with actual witches?” Yvette’s eyebrows lifted above her glasses, a spooky reminder of what lurked below.

  “No ma’am.”

  Clearly fed up, Miriam grabbed the pencil and paper and embellished my drawing. She held it up, rattled the paper. Yvette deciphered the hieroglyphics. “This is a hexagram.” Miriam had added a circle around the star. “A six-pointed star is just a six-pointed star without the circle enclosing it. At least as it pertains to witchcraft. Did Hettie draw the circle?”

  “No…”

  The sisters sat back, their broad smiles pregnant with self-satisfaction. “Well, then, all this skullduggery has nothing to do with witchcraft after all. We’ve been exonerated.”

  Not really. But I wasn’t about to argue. “But what else could it possibly mean?”

  Yvette shook her head. “Dear child…one thing we know about our in-transit sister is she was a prankster of the first order. If she saw a way to pull the wool over someone’s eyes, she’d jump at the opportunity. If you ask us…she was having fun at your expense.”

  I didn’t think so, not by a country mile. Hettie seemed to have gone through a lot of trouble—even pain—to come back just to play a joke on me. “I don’t know…”

  “Sometimes a six-pointed star is just a six-pointed star,” said Yvette. “Now…the library’s preparing to open.” She said it like the library would open on its own, a living entity. Didn’t sound wrong to me, not this morning. “And we know you have school to attend. So…is there anything else we can help you with?”

  “No, ma’ams.”

  “Then there’s something you can help us with, Dibby.” Again they leaned forward, hunkering over the table in grand inquisition style. “Never, ever, ever destroy library property again, young lady.”

  I gulped, taken aback. I thought they’d long forgotten the article James swiped. “Yes, ma’ams.” I cowered back a bit.

  “Are we sure we have an understanding?” Yvette’s shadow stretched out onto the table-top, across the room, and kept creeping. “Do we?”

  “Yes!”

  “Are you…ssssssurrre?” Half-cat, half-snake, Yvette dragged the word out with relish. And her shadow just kept on coming.

  I didn’t know what else to say. A fly caught in their web, I literally stood there shaking in my boots.

  With great deliberation, Yvette slowly drew her hand up toward her face. Her fingers settled on her eyeglasses temple, prepared to whip them off, and stun me with her horrific, eggy eyes.

  I screamed, “Yes, ma’ams! Never again! I’m so sorry, so very, really sorry! Anything I can do to help pay—”

  “That’s fine.” Yvette withdrew her hand. Then she chuckled, actually chuckled! “That won’t be necessary, Dibby. We’ll take you at your word. Overall, you’re a good girl.”

  “Yes, ma’ams!” I made to leave.

  “Dibby?”

  I turned. “Ma’am?”

  “As your father told you last night…human monsters are the real threat.” Stalled in time, the sisters didn’t move. “Even though Hangwell may have its share of the more fanciful kind of monsters lurking just out of eye-shot…they’re not the ones who’ll hurt you.”

  Via Stoney or other means, the sisters had overheard my conversation with Dad last night. Shivers rippled down my back, rode up my arms, and camped out on my neck. I wondered if Stoney—and the sisters—had witnessed my haunted bath.

  Miriam clapped her hands. Yvette stood, said, “Very well, Dibby. Tah-tah. Don’t be late. We certainly hope to see you visiting the library once again now that we’ve cleared the air.”

  “I surely will.” I hurried toward the office door.

  “And let us know if you have any more visits from dear Hettie. If you do, there’re some words we’d like passed onto her.”

  Not fancying to be their conduit to the dead, I nodded, but didn’t actually commit. But they reminded me of something that’d been bugging me.

  Standing safely outside the office door, I leaned in, tentatively muttered, “Miss Sooter? And Miss Sooter? You mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Go ahead,” said Yvette. Miriam circled a permissive finger.

  “What…um, what do you intend on doing with your sister’s remains?”

  “That’s a question you may not ask,” snapped Yvette.

  The door slammed shut, missing my nose by but a hair.

  Sure as shooting, the library began to wake up. Curtains pulled back in front of windows. Rings clawed over rods. Somewhere in back, a succession of doors shut, one after the other: bam, bam, bam! The candle on the counter extinguished. A ghostly thread of smoke curled up into an improbable question mark. Lights clicked on, buzzed, spread wake-up calls to their kin. Clouds of dust swept through the air, swirled, as if a mouth in the floor had opened up to blow them away.

  I galloped toward the front doors. As a courtesy, the library opened them for me.

  My gaze set on my bike, I scrambled down the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stoney sitting there.

  I didn’t want to look, absolutely couldn’t look, so help me it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do was look…

  I looked.

  Stoney’s head was turned toward me, not locked down in its usual straight-on position.

  One heavy stone eyelid—an eyelid I never even noticed he had ‘till now—dropped, then lifted quickly. A wink.

  And I left faster than a wink.

  * * *

  Even though I’d tarried longer than I’d meant to at the library, I still got to school in plenty of time. I had a mission to formulate and finalize. Now I just had to recruit my team.

  I waited by the bike rack until James finally pulled up.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself,” I said. “We got lots to catch up on.” Hordes of students surrounded us, laughing, shoving, jostling for attention. For privacy, I grabbed James’ arm and dragged him over by the side of the school.

  We flopped down onto the grass. First thing, James dug deep into his pocket and plucked out a pathetic cigarette, bent around like a boomerang.

  I grasped it, broke it, handed it back.

  He stared at the destroyed pieces with the sad eyes of a mother bird hovering over a sick baby. “Dammit, Dibs, that was my last one!”

  “You’ve been on your last one for some time now. Where in the world do you keep coming up with those nasty things? Nobody round here’s gonna sell ‘em to you. You a magician of sorts?”

  “Mackleby the Magnificent!” He spread his hands above him. “Making cigarettes appear out of—”

  “Hush. Won’t do either one of us a lick of good if a teacher hears you carrying on about smoking. Now, listen…” He did, enraptured, a good audience no matter how crazy my story grew. Then I told him my plan. Of which he’d play an instrumental part.

  “So…you’re finally ready to let me back into your good graces, huh?” More than my tales of spooks and haunting and witches, all that seemed to matter to him was my forgiveness. Hardly a rational person’s reaction, it warmed me nonetheless.

  He grinned. I couldn’t help it and served a smile back to him. “I don’t have much choice. With your dubious skills, you’re the best person for the job. Think you can handle it?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” asked James.

  “First, that’s just really disgusting. Second, I don’t really have a need to know a mammal’s bathroom habits. Again…can you handle the job?”

  “Yep. Sure can.”

  “Fine and dandy. Come ‘round tonight. Soon as dus
k starts settling in, say about 8 to 8:30.”

  “I’ll be there. You can count on me, baby.”

  Our eyes locked. Just as they had the other night, during our first kiss. I felt, more than knew, what would come next. I wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  He leaned in. I counter-balanced, putting my spine to the test by bending inhumanly backward. I pressed my fingertips onto his chest, put him back in his place.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Right now, James, I’m welcoming you back as a friend. We’re gonna take things nice and easy, one step at a time, before we leap further ahead. So don’t mess this up.”

  “Me? Mess things up?” He held splayed fingertips to his chest, an innocent look.

  “Don’t play dumb. If things are meant to work out between us, we’ll let time chisel away at the rocky parts.” Quickly I stood.

  All eyes were on us. At my feet, James rolled about in exaggerated grief, making quite the spectacle of himself, a spectacle of us. Usually I’d have blushed red and withdrawn into myself. But maybe it was my time to shine. Maybe I needed to embrace some light. It felt so good, very right, and I wanted everyone to know it.

  Still on the ground, James hollered, “You’re putting me through the ringer, baby!”

  I giggled, started walking away. “That’s where you belong after everything you’ve done.”

  “Wait, Dibs!”

  I turned around. Of course my cheeks set to burning. But today, instead of hiding, I chose to wear them proudly.

  Up on his knees, hands folded, James pleaded. “Come on, Dibs! I’m gone over you!” His voice rose.

  My hidden little schoolgirl ventured out for recess. I held fingertips to my lips, giggled. Like my classmates, I watched the show.

  “What’s it gonna take for me to prove my undying love?” he shouted, face screwed up in mock agony. “Dibby Caldwell, you’re one primo girl! Be my main squeeze! I want the whole world to know how I feel about you!” His voice rose, hammy as Easter and louder than the Fourth of July. His hands thumped over his heart. Shot by Cupid. “You’re the ginchiest, Dibby Caldwell, and I’m way, way gone!”

  The first school bell rang, killed James’ performance.

  I could’ve watched more.

  Completely unlike me, today I shared my smile with everyone who’d look. My head held high, I strolled past my classmates; classmates who’d previously thought I was a placeholder at best, classmates who looked at me in a different light now that the fab new boy had fallen for me. Just as James had, they viewed me with different, fresh eyes.

  Nothing else mattered. For a brief moment, all things threatening and spooky and unearthly buried themselves back where they belonged.

  Then I bumped into Suzette.

  “Watch where you’re going, Dibby!” Her sneer spread. She patted her hair, although it didn’t really make a lick of difference seeing as how she sprayed cement on it every morn.

  “Frankly, Suzette, I dunno how you can see where you’re walking,” I said. “Not with that poodle attacking your scalp.”

  Instead of our battle escalating as our typical ritual, we surrendered a laugh. She chortled, a sound she quickly tried to stifle. A wary truce had been met. Although I reckoned we both held onto a little ammo behind our backs, just in case.

  “Hey, I’m sorry again for the way Angela treated you at the theatre the other night.” Suzette didn’t look me in the eye, just sorta side-stepped and curtsied into guiltlessness. “I told her to never do it again.”

  “I appreciate it, but it doesn’t really matter—”

  “You should’ve seen what someone did to her dress, though! She was covered in mustard and ketchup and—”

  “I’m sure it suited her winning personality just fine. Listen, the other day you said you wanted to come over. See a ghost.”

  Her eyes grew round. “You mean it? Can I really—”

  “I can’t promise you a ghost. But how would you like to help catch a real-life murderer?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The stage had been set. The players stood behind the curtains, an unlikely team. I’d never even wanted Suzette and James within the same vicinity again, but now I’d intentionally partnered them together.

  Things change, I reckoned. Life moves ahead. Folks modify, or at least, try their best.

  And plans develop.

  “I still don’t know why you asked that sosh, Suzette, to come with us,” groused James.

  “And here I thought you’d want her along. Maybe still sweet on her.”

  In our front lawn, he rolled over on his back. A real affinity to dogs, James had been spending an inordinate amount of time in the grass lately, it seemed. “Come on, Dibs, don’t start again. You’re the only one who floats my boat.”

  “Sing another tune.” Although, honestly, I never tired of hearing this one.

  “Only songs I know are the ones in my heart. Ones that rhyme with Dibby… Lessee. Dibby, you make me…squibby…”

  “Stop already. Before I lob tomatoes and keelhaul you.” I plucked the long strand of grass from between my teeth and flicked it away. I dropped beside him. “Now leave ol’ Suzette alone. I need her special skills.”

  “She’s got skills?”

  “Sorta. She’s the only one I know who can whine and cry and pitch a fit on demand and adults still find her adorable. I know I can’t do that. Can you?”

  “Wouldn’t want to.”

  “Then hush and stick to what you know. As long as you can get me through the Saunders’ back door, then I’ll be done with you.”

  He grabbed my arm, tried to tug me toward him. “Aw, you need me for more than that, Dibs.”

  “Cut it out.” I shirked away. “We need to focus on the job ahead.”

  James puffed out his cheeks. The air escaped in an annoying wheezy squeak. “So…what are you trying to do anyway?”

  “Thought that was clear. Find out the truth about Thomas.”

  “Well…we already know Evelyn Saunders killed her husband. But doesn’t that mean she wasn’t the one who cut your back with the scythe? I mean, since she’s not a ghost and everything?”

  “I’ve been giving that some consideration. I reckon the scythe-wielder was just a manifestation from Thomas. As were the rest of the ‘ghosts’ in the cornfield. And that’s why it sounded like a giant crashing through the cornfield. I suspect Thomas is a mighty powerful ghost, able to stir ectoplasm and…” Based on James’ lost look, that cute indentation folded between his eyes where brains shoulda’ been, I quit explaining.

  “Wait. You think a ghost like Thomas can create other ghosts?” he asked.

  I sighed. “James, I thought you considered yourself a horror fan. Have you ever read any of the classics?”

  “Sure.” He looked up, one eye shut. “Uncanny Tales. Boris Karloff’s Tales of Mystery. Tales From the Crypt. You know, all the greats.”

  “I ain’t talking about comic books!” I gripped a handful of grass, tossed it in his face. “But, yes, to simplify matters, I ‘spose you can say Thomas made up all the other cornfield ghosts.”

  “Huh. Got it.” Clearly he didn’t get it. “So…if Evelyn Saunders killer her husband, doesn’t it make sense she did away with her son, too? Maybe even Boot’s grandson for some wild reason?”

  “You just don’t listen to a thing I say.” I thumped his head with a finger. “Evelyn didn’t do away with the boys. A man did.”

  “Oh…right. The hairy knuckles. Who do you think they belong to?”

  “I’ve been giving a lotta thought to that. I’m kinda leaning toward Evelyn’s brother, Devin.”

  “What? That’s bananas! Doesn’t even make sense.” James sat up.

  “Purt near nothing makes sense anymore. But he’s my best bet right now.”

  “I’m still not sure what you think is gonna happen with your nutty plan.”

  I shrugged. Frankly, I had no idea either. But on a wing and a prayer I hoped we’d do right by th
e missing boys. “I ‘spose I’m hoping for things to go the way of TV shows. A confession would fit the bill nicely.”

  James nodded. “Things usually don’t happen like those cop shows, though.”

  “Don’t you curse us!”

  “Geez Louise, sorry! Peace already!” Behind protective hands, he chuckled. “Dibs?”

  “Hm?”

  “When this is all over…you know, all the ghosts and murders and investigations and stuff… Would you go on a date with me? A real date, I mean.”

  I smiled, but not too sunny. “I’m still in consideration.”

  He groaned, fell on his back. Raised his arms to the unfair Heavens. “What’ve I gotta do? I’ve done everything, I’ve—”

  “It’s not what you’ve gotta do, it’s what you already gone and done.”

  “Even your old man’s keen on me! Why—”

  “Is not! Dad’s highly suspect of you.”

  “Well…he seemed glad to see me when I came over tonight.”

  “He let you in. That hardly rates as pig in a pen happy.”

  “He let you know I was at the door.”

  “He wanted to get rid of you,” I said. “He’s got a lot on his mind what with Hettie in the basement.”

  James shuddered. “Has she…ah, visited you again?”

  “No. But I’m gonna sic her on you if you don’t behave.”

  A fancy-schmancy Chevy took its sweet time crunching down the road. In front of our house, it crawled to a stop, then turned into the drive. I didn’t recognize the driver, a colored woman. But I surely recognized the mess of twisted, bouncy curls riding next to her.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” said James. “Suzette couldn’t have taken her bike?”

  “I betcha she doesn’t even own a bike. Probably born in a Rolls Royce. They had to pry the silver spoon outta her mouth with a crowbar.”

  Suzette, dressed in a pink and white collision of frills and lace, stood by her open car door, chatting with the driver. The woman shook her head, appeared hesitant about letting Suzette out of her sight. Finally, the she-beast won out and the Chevy backed down the driveway.

  Suzette spotted us, rolled her eyes, and approached. “Either of you boys seen Dibby? I was supposed to meet her here.”