Cold on the Mountain

by Daniel Powell

  Bo shrugged. “It works. I don’t know how, but it’s true, Sheriff. It works.”

  “And what happened with Maddy, Bo?” Miriam said. Her gaze was fixed, unblinking.

  Bo sighed. “We were just kids. You know how quickly your interests can change at that age. One day you want to be a doctor, the next you want to play quarterback for the Denver Broncos. That’s what happened with me and Phil. We just got tired of it. We put the board away—not out of fear or spite or anything. And Maddy had never been aggressive with us. We mostly just talked with her about school and sports and cartoons we liked—trivial stuff like that.

  “But when we put that board in the closet, everything changed. It started out with small stuff. A toy moved here—a strange pencil drawing there. Stuff would happen that neither of us could connect straight to Maddy, but we both knew something wasn’t quite right.

  “And then one Friday night, we were watching a movie in the living room with my folks. It was The Karate Kid. I’ll never forget it and, to this day, if I stumble across that movie on cable, I turn the channel without a second thought.

  “So anyway, we’re about halfway through the movie when we hear this terrible crash in the kitchen. It sounds like the whole house is about to come down around us. I mean, I was lying there on the living room floor, and I could feel the tremors from the next room over.

  “So my old man tears up off the couch and into the kitchen, and it’s a complete disaster zone. Every cupboard in the place is wide open—completely empty. All the drawers are open. Every dish in the house, right down to the Thanksgiving gravy boat, is busted right there on the kitchen tile. Dishes and pots and pans and silverware. It was a freaking mess.

  “So Phil looks right at me. ‘Maddy,’ he says. ‘It was Maddy, Bonus.’ That was his nickname for me back when we were kids. Bonus.

  “But Dad doesn’t hear us, at least not right off the bat, and he’s royally pissed. He thinks it’s an earthquake or something. The rest of us are just speechless. Dad finally asks Phil what he’d said, and then it all rushes out of us. We tell them about the Ouija board, and Mom goes stark white in the face. She’s got some pretty traditional religious beliefs, and I think in that moment she must have thought Phil and I had been possessed by the devil or something. But she didn’t make us get rid of it. I guess Dad’s skepticism won the day when they finally discussed our theory later, because they didn’t make us toss it out—at least not at first.

  “Dad dismissed the idea of Maddy wrecking our kitchen. Like I said, he didn’t go in for stuff like what we’re doing here tonight. We swept everything up and bought new dishes at J.C. Penney’s and just tried to move forward like it never happened.

  “But things got worse. The drawings became…graphic. Not a day went by when Phil and I wouldn’t find a new picture when we got home from school. We pulled out the Ouija board and tried to contact Maddy, but nothing happened. She was giving us the silent treatment.

  “And then one night, maybe a month or so after the kitchen fiasco, I was playing video games with Phil while our parents were getting ready to go out for a movie. My mom was running a bath. She’d plugged her curling iron into the wall socket there on the counter. Dad was in the bedroom, getting dressed, when the power cuts out. Total blackout. Something tripped the circuit. Mom busts out with this terrible scream, and Phil and I are feeling around in the dark. I’m just waiting to feel Maddy’s fingers pressed against my cheek, and it was hard to hold onto my water right then, let me tell you.”

  Bo shook his head. He took a deep breath.

  “It was Maddy. I’m absolutely convinced of it. She’d pushed the curling iron into the bath. Another minute or so and Mom would have been dead. Dad unplugged it and got the power back on.

  “His face was an ashen white. The first thing he did was make Phil go get the Ouija board. He soaked it with lighter fluid and burned it right there in the fireplace. When my mom let the babysitter in about thirty minutes later, the three of us were still watching the damned thing smoke.

  “When it was finally gone and we’d swept up the ashes, there was this palpable sense of relief in the house. It was like…like the atmosphere had lightened somehow.”

  Kelli reached over and touched his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  Bo shrugged. “It’s not exactly first-date fodder, Kelli. I…I didn’t want you to think I was crazy. But you can ask Phil when we see him again. He’ll back me up on all of it.”

  “Who was she?” Miriam asked.

  “After the thing with the curling iron, my Dad changed his tune on the idea of a…a troubled spirit lingering here in our world. He went to the library and did some research, but it didn’t take much effort. Madeline Cramer was a young girl who had been murdered by her neighbor about three years before she started coming around our house. It happened just a few blocks away. She would have been a couple of grades above us in school. I think…I think she was just lonely. She just wanted somebody to talk to, and then we left her all alone.”

  The room fell silent. Tasket looked around the table, that bemused half-smile on his face. “Whew! Hot damn that’s a great story, Bo! Gave me the heebie jeebies just a bit. Well done. You can act, son. You can act.”

  “I am so sorry that happened to you,” Miriam said, ignoring the sheriff. “It’s been so long. I wonder if she’s still there.”

  Bo flinched. “I…well, shoot. I hadn’t really ever thought about that. In fact, I’d forgotten about all of that until I saw the board there.

  “I certainly hope she’s gone on to a better place. We never had anything really strange happen after we burned the board.”

  Miriam nodded. “I’ll say a special prayer for her tonight. Thank you for sharing that story, Bo. And I know that it’s hard for you to put stock in any of this, Sheriff Tasket, but this simply won’t work if you don’t at least try. We need you to put aside your biases. Keep an open mind.”

  “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Tasket said, the frustration clear in his voice. “This is a pretty big step for me, Miriam. I’ll…I’ll give it my best, okay?”

  “That’s all I can ask for,” she replied. There was warmth in her smile. She paged through the book before settling on a passage.

  “Let’s join hands,” she said.

  The circuit became whole when Bo took Miriam’s hand; the dim lights of the chandelier flickered, quit altogether, and then blazed back into full illumination.

  “Here we go…”

  TWENTY

  Phil hustled over to the school. The afternoon was on its last legs, the sun a memory of light on the horizon. Wendy and the girls waited for him in the foyer, the school’s sudden warmth coaxing instant crimson blossoms from his cheeks.

  “Hey,” he said, checking his watch, “made it just in time. How was your day, girls?”

  They were in good spirits, launching easily into a rambling discussion of the lessons and activities they’d completed.

  “Cammie met a boy,” Carrie finally said, a gleam in her eyes as she watched her sister flush. “His name is Henry.”

  “Hey!” Cammie protested. “He’s just this…this kid in my class, Dad. No big deal. Jeez, Carrie! You don’t always have to make everything into such a big deal.”

  A gangly boy in a wool coat and stocking cap made his way past them and out into the night. He waved jovially, his eyes lingering on Cammie for an instant before heading out for the walk home.

  Wendy and Phil studied his departure. The boy turned to take a final glance inside the school, then cut his eyes when he saw the Bensons watching him. Cammie’s cheeks flushed.

  “He’s just…just this kid in my—anyway, we did fractions today, and Carrie totally messed up on—”

  Phil kissed his wife while the girls shrugged into their winter clothes, yammering back and forth about fractions and grade-school crushes and nothing remotely attached to their predicament.

  “How was your day?” Phil said, rubbing his wife’s
shoulder.

  “Meh,” Wendy replied. “Baking may very well be a science, but it’s still boring as hell. You?”

  Phil showed her the needle pricks on his hands—the tiny constellations of bruising. “Long day. Made an honest wage, though, right? That’s all that counts right about now.”

  Wendy nodded, a faraway look in her eye. “Yeah, right. An honest wage. Let’s just go eat, Phil. I’m starved.”

  They stepped out into the night, the streetlights now bathing the sidewalks in pools of orange. Big Wren had brought over a bag of groceries, and they had enough to get them through their first couple of days in the new place.

  “Hey, Wendy, about dinner,” Phil said, and Wendy instantly narrowed her eyes. All those years together had honed their communication skills, and she knew he was about to try to skip out on them.

  “Yeah?”

  “This guy—my boss, actually…well, his name is Jasper. He invited me out for a beer. I thought it might be a way to get in good at work, you know? And maybe learn some more about the lottery. I mean, we need to learn how it works, right? Aren’t you curious about that? That’s stuff we really need to figure out, especially if it’s just around the corner.”

  “Beer? Jesus, Phil, there’s no money for beer right now! I just spent the whole day watching the slowest clock in the whole freaking world inch toward quitting time while an obese psychopath shouted insults at me so you can go have some beers with your new pals? I don’t think so, honey!”

  “I won’t buy anything, Wendy. I swear. Look, he’s the kind of guy that will pick up the tab; if he doesn’t, then I’ll just leave without having a drink. But for one of them, he’s a pretty decent guy, I think. He’s a regul—”

  “What?”

  Phil stopped, confused. “What do you mean, ‘what’?”

  The girls went quiet, intently studying their parents.

  “One of them? You mean, one of them, them?”

  Phil nodded. “But he’s different, Wendy. He works with us. And he knows things. I think this is important. I think this is an opportunity we have to take.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Really? Criminy, Phil, you really want to go have a beer with one of them?”

  Phil shrugged. “I’ll walk all of you home and just be gone an hour. I think he’s already over there and he probably doesn’t care if I show up or not. But…”

  “But what, Phil?” Wendy said, acquiescence already leaking into her tone.

  “But we need information, honey. And Jasper can give it to us. I’ll tell you what…I’ll drop by the market on the way home. I still have a couple of dollars in my wallet and I’ll buy the cheapest bottle of wine they have. We’ll pull the cork after the girls turn in and talk about it then. Just fix me a plate and I’ll try to go figure a few things out, then we’ll have a talk about it.”

  Wendy looked away. Steam curled from her flared nostrils. “One hour, Phil, and you get the cheapest bottle in the place. And don’t you dare forget that wine. Information, yeah?”

  “Yeah, honey. One hour. C’mon, let’s shake a leg.”

  “No, it’s okay. You just go ahead—we can manage. It’s not even a mile. Sooner begun, sooner done. But you don’t dare lift that wallet, okay? Not unless it’s for a bottle of two-buck Chuck.”

  It suddenly occurred to Phil that he didn’t even know how to lift his wallet in Adrienne. Did they…did they just keep a tab? How did they get paid? Sure, they’d taken his cash at the saloon on that first night in town, but he hadn’t had another transaction since that awkward credit card swipe with Gacy.

  Yet another question for Jasper.

  “Two-buck Chuck. Got it.” He knelt and hugged both girls. “Big Wren put some brownie mix in the groceries. Maybe you can talk your mom into whipping us up some dessert, okay? I’ll be home soon.”

  He went to kiss Wendy and she returned it a little more passionately than he’d expected. “Be careful, honey,” she whispered. “Hurry back. We’ll lock everything up tight.”

  “You do that,” he said. “I love you, Wendy.”

  He hustled toward town, turning once to offer a wave, but they were already off in the opposite direction. Good—sooner begun, sooner done.

  Downtown Adrienne was lively—its festive atmosphere muting the cold just a little. He paused briefly outside of Herman’s Department Store; an attractive woman in painting scrubs was creating an elaborate display in the front window; she rolled rich green paint across a large swatch of plywood. It was an impressive piece—a scene out of some bizarre foreign landscape: lush green fields, a few replicas of primitive wooden buildings, and a great stone staircase with what looked like an altar at the top of a platform.

  He thought of Stonehenge and a chill shot down his spine.

  As if cued, the woman glanced up at him. Wearing a wide grin, she tipped him a wink and returned to her work.

  Phil swallowed hard and made for the Dark Earth Saloon. He pushed the door open to a subdued murmur; the place was just filling up. A band ran a sound check on a little stage in the far corner. His eyes adjusted in the dim light and he found Jasper at the far end of the bar. His boss was chatting amiably with Will, the bartender standing there with a rag slung over his shoulder.

  Will nodded at him and Jasper turned, a wide grin parting his dark beard.

  “Well, there he is!” Jasper said, smacking Phil between the shoulder blades as he leaned into the bar. “Got yourself a hall pass, did you? Good for you, Phil! Throw another pitcher on my tab, Will, and set my newest charge here up with a frosty glass.”

  “Sure enough. Good to see you, Phil.”

  “You too.”

  Phil shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a rack near the bathrooms. The beer was ready by the time he’d reclaimed his seat.

  “How’s work over at the plant?” Will asked. “Jasper said you were kicking some ass.”

  “Oh, he’s a prodigy, all right,” Jasper cut in. He was slurring just a little, and Phil wondered just how many he’d had since quitting time. “Haven’t seen a guy put up numbers like ol’ Phil here since…oh, since Davey Billups, at least.”

  Will winced.

  “Say…whatever happened to Davey? He come around much anymore, Will?”

  “C’mon, Jasper. This isn’t necessary.”

  Jasper cocked his head, locking his eyes on Phil’s. “You want to hear something strange, Phil? Davey died. The poor man was murdered—right here in Adrienne. Damned shame, too. He was a hell of an employee.”

  “What happened?” Phil asked.

  Will hustled off to fill another order and it was just the two of them. Jasper’s demeanor shifted. Despite the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, he adopted a more serious tone.

  “They found him eviscerated out on Mill Pond Road. Davey lived out toward that way, but there was never any logical explanation for what happened to him. He didn’t get hit by a car or taken down by a timber wolf…at least, I don’t think that’s what happened.”

  “So who did it? Was it…one of the dark ones?” Phil said. It was the first time he’d used the term in casual conversation and, like much of what was becoming his new normal in Adrienne, it made him uncomfortable.

  “Nobody knows,” Jasper said. He took a long pull on his beer, smacked his lips, burped, and refilled his glass from the pitcher. “That, my friend, is actually a fairly recent mystery in this strange little outpost we call home. If it was one of the resident clientele, then we haven’t figured out just who might be responsible. Everyone who has wanted to pull a lot since his death has been able to. Maybe it was somebody like Dotty Puente or Penny Lancaster, or any of the other dozen or so wackos that actually enjoy living here, but nobody in that camp has copped to it yet, and it doesn’t really fit any of the usual suspects’ style anyway. It was way too messy.

  “But here’s a thought,” Jasper continued. “What if it was one of the normals? Somebody like you? That’d be a hell of a twist, right? Some poor soul gets stuc
k up here in Adrienne and the atmosphere turns him—or her, I suppose it’s possible, right?—into a killer. Hell, maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe a timber wolf did get sidetracked on one of those nights when the fabric between worlds is just so exceedingly thin. The fact is, we don’t know. And the ones who do know…well, they haven’t filled the rest of us in, that’s for sure.”

  Phil let it all sink in. The fabric between worlds.

  Sheesh.

  Jasper hunched over his beer, his voice adopting a conspiratorial quality. “Maybe there’s a whole new set of rules emerging around here. It’s kind of hard for me to predict what that might actually mean, but Davey’s death has been difficult for all of us to calculate. He was a nice guy—again, kind of like you, Phil. Fundamentally good, you know? He drove the long haul before getting waylaid; he had a family he was trying to get back to, and he was pretty intent on getting the hell out of here.

  “In fact, he’d actually tried to skedaddle with me on one occasion. Fellow had some stones, that’s for sure. Maybe it was that courage—the courage to thumb his nose at the place holding him captive—that got him killed.”

  Phil sighed. There was just so much he didn’t understand...

  “Look, Jasper…I appreciate the beer, but I came here tonight because I need some answers. We’ve only been here a short while, of course, but time—it just doesn’t seem right. Wendy feels it too. What’s happening? Is it…is it an even trade? I mean, time here and time back there?”

  “I don’t think so, Phil. I don’t know the exact exchange rate, but I think a day here is probably a bit longer than one back there. You…you ever feel that tuckered out after an eight-hour shift back in the real world?”

  Phil tuned him out; he swallowed thickly, tasting bitter acid in the back of his throat. There went the job he’d been so desperately clinging to for all those months. Christ…

  “But how do you know that’s true if you’ve never won the lottery, Jasper?”

  “Well, we’re not completely cut off up here. Some of the ones who have left…they didn’t entirely shut down the lines of communication. There are ways of knowing—trust me. We even send things back from time to time.”