Where Ed was.
He would come up out of the lake when he saw the light. It would shine on the black water and he would see it from where he lived down there in the deep end and he would come slithering up.
Ed wasn’t much to look at. Kind of weird. Spooky looking. (Remember, I said no ghosts!) His father was one of those really big rats that live in the burrows under the cemetery—and his mother was something from deep, deep in the lake. Something big and ugly and leathery.
They’d made love—the rat and the lake thing—and Ed was the result. Their son. He doesn’t really have a name, but I call him Ed the way Gramps called me Tad. It fits him somehow, makes him more appealing. More … human.
Ed and me, we get along fine as partners. I bring him things to eat, and he saves the “goodies” for me. Like wallets, and cash and rings (that big one Sally was joshing me about came from one of Ed’s meals) and whatever else the strangers have that I can use.
Ed is smart.
He seems to know that I need these things to keep going now that the factory’s shut down and I’ve lost my job here and all. That’s why the partnership works so well. We each get our share. After I take what I want (one time I got a fine pair of leather boots) he drags the body back into the lake.
Then he eats.
Lucky for me, one meal lasts Ed for almost a month. So I don’t have to worry if no stranger shows up at Sally’s for two, three, even four weeks. One always ambles along sooner or later. Like Mama always said, Everything comes to those that wait. Mama was a very patient woman. But she could be mean. I can testify to that.
It gets bad in winter—for strangers, I mean—when the roads are closed, but that’s when Ed sleeps anyhow, so things even out.
By the time I got back to the stranger’s tunnel that afternoon it was really coming down. Rain, I mean. Dripping and sliding down the cold wood, and getting under my collar.
Most uncomfortable. Somehow, rain always depresses me. Guess I’m too moody.
The stranger was down there with Ed where I expected him to be. Sometimes there’s a little yelling and screaming, but nobody ever hears it, so that’s no problem either. One fellow tried to use a knife on Ed, but Ed’s skin is very tough and rubbery and doesn’t cut easy. The stranger was just wasting his time, trying to use a knife on Ed.
I took a ladder down to the sand where the body was.
Ed was off by the water’s edge, kind of breathing hard, when I got there. His jaw was dripping and his slanted black eyes glittered. Ed never blinked. He was watching me the way he always does, with his tail kind of moving, snakelike. He looked kind of twitchy, so I hurried. I don’t think Ed likes the rain. Ed makes me nervous when it rains. He’s not like himself. I never hang around the Funhouse when he’s like that.
The bearded stranger was already dead, of course. Most of his head was gone, but Ed had been careful not to muss up his clothes—so it was no problem getting his wallet, rings, cash, coins …
When I climbed the ladder again Ed was already sliding toward the body.
Guess he was hungry.
Three and a half weeks later the stranger at the counter in Sally’s was looking at my watch.
“I’ve never seen one like that,” he said.
“Tells you the time in ten parts of the world,” I said. “Tells you the month of the year and the day of the week. And it rings every hour on the hour.”
The stranger was impressed.
After a while, I grinned, leaned toward him across the counter and said, “You ever go to amusement parks as a kid?”
Introduction
Pat Murphy is certifiably crazy. She lives and works in southern California, at Sea World, where she spends most of her time writing about tuna fish, going on shark hunts, and cooing over whales and the like. At home, she writes fantasy and science fiction, takes karate classes, and is never home when you try to call her.
Another small town, in another country. And a good deal more grim than anyone realizes.
WISH HOUND
by Pat Murphy
Alice hugged Tommy at the bottom of the plane’s ramp, but the boy did not set down the case he carried to return his mother’s embrace. When she released him, the case shifted in his grasp as if something moved within, and Alice heard a muffled whimper through the cardboard.
Tommy, solid and self-assured even at age seven, watched her with steady blue eyes. “Dad gave me a dog,” he said. “It’s not a very big one.”
Alice opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself—the words she wanted to say were meant for Paul, her former husband, not for Tommy. Paul had taken the boy to his ranch for three weeks immediately following Alice’s remarriage. He had promised to keep Tommy while Alice and her new husband, Joseph, traveled in England, a trip that they had been planning for almost a year. But when Paul was called away from the ranch on a business trip that would last several weeks, he had shipped the boy back to Alice.
Goddamn Paid, Alice thought with cold anger. He knows that I live in a city apartment, he knows that we are leaving for England soon—and not content with burdening me with a seven-year-old on my honeymoon, he tries to buy the kid’s affections with a puppy. Goddamn him.
Alice waited until they got to the apartment, where Joseph was, before tackling the question of what would be done with the puppy. “We can’t keep the puppy here, you understand that, don’t you?” Alice held Tommy by the arm and tried to speak gently The apartment seemed too full. With her and Joseph, it had been a comfortable size.
She had missed the boy when he left for his father’s ranch, but at last she had had time for Joseph, a patient lover and now a husband. At last she had been able to sleep late with him on weekend mornings without being awakened by the sound of a knock at the door, to stay out late without worrying about the sitter, to putter about the kitchen, cooking dolmas, wonton soup, baklava, and other foods she had never tried to make before, wearing Joseph’s robe because she liked its faint aroma of tobacco and aftershave until Joseph complained that it was starting to smell of her perfume.
Tommy looked at the small black dog that wiggled in his arms, trying to lick his face, and did not reply. The puppy whined, then twisted in his grasp, growled a tiny growl, and strove to attack Alice’s hand with sharp new teeth.
“Your father should have known better than to give him to you,” she said. “Joseph is allergic to animal hair.” The boy shot Joseph a look of intense dislike, and Alice continued hurriedly. “Even if it weren’t for that, we couldn’t take him to England with us.”
“I don’t want to go to England,” Tommy said. “I want to go back to the ranch. I hate England.”
“That’s silly. You haven’t seen England yet. You might like it.” Alice strove to be positive.
“I’ll hate it.” Tommy stood steadfast in the center of the room, puppy in his arms, his face set in a stubborn expression.
For the next week, Alice tried to give the puppy away—to friends, to relatives, to co-workers at the advertising agency where she was receptionist. No one wanted a puppy of uncertain breeding. And no one wanted to babysit a seven-year-old for a month. Tommy’s aunt was planning on having house guests. His grandmother would be vacationing in Bermuda. The old lady who sat for Alice on weekends was leaving town.
“It’s all right,” Joseph said when she told him that Tommy would have to accompany them. “Tommy and I have to learn to get along sooner or later.” Joseph was an accepting man; a history professor, he seemed to have adapted his spirit to the lessons of history. He was willing to compromise, to allow events to take their natural time.
Tommy was less accepting when she explained again why the dog had to go, why he could not keep it. He watched her with sullen eyes. Finally, on the last day before they were scheduled to leave, she asked Joseph to take the puppy to the pound while she fixed a bon-voyage dinner for the three of them.
The boy did not cry when Alice put the puppy in the carrying case and handed the case to Jos
eph to take to the pound. He set his jaw in a way that reminded her of Paul.
After Joseph left with the puppy, Alice stood in the doorway of the living room, where Tommy lay on his stomach, his head propped up on his hands, watching TV. The TV movie was an old Sherlock Holmes story—the Hound of the Baskervilles. On the screen, Basil Rathbone paced and smoked his pipe with enormous intensity, discussing the spectral hound with Watson.
“You want to go out to the park, Tommy?” Alice asked. “We could go to the playground.”
Without looking around, Tommy shook his head in firm denial.
“We could go out and get some ice cream for dessert tonight. You can pick the flavor.”
Again, a silent headshake. Alice retreated to the kitchen, unwilling to force Tommy to share his pain with her. While she chopped vegetables for dinner, she tried to ignore the baying of a hound on the TV.
That night, as she lay awake in bed, she told Joseph, “I’d feel so much better about all this if I thought Tommy understood that there’s nothing we can do. He seems to blame you for dragging him away from his father’s ranch and for this business about the dog. I just wish I could make him understand.”
Joseph put his arm around her. “You’re trying to treat him like a small adult and he’s not. Kids aren’t human. The way a kid feels about things doesn’t necessarily make sense—it just is.”
“I’m trying to be a good mother.” She snuggled closer to him in bed. “You just don’t understand him like I do, Joseph. He and I are alike in a lot of ways. But I just wish he could see that having to get rid of the puppy wasn’t your fault. The whole thing was his father’s fault.”
“Well, it isn’t really his fault either, is it?” Joseph asked. “He couldn’t help having a business deal come up.”
Alice kissed Joseph’s cheek. “Don’t waste your time trying to be fair to him, Joseph. You don’t know him like I do. He always put his business before his family. Always.”
A shadow of a frown, visible in the faint moonlight that shone through the window, crossed Joseph’s face. “You really dislike him, don’t you?”
“Hate is the word.” Her voice was low but steady. “I save dislike for strangers. I only really hate people I used to love.”
“Makes sense, I suppose.” Joseph stroked her hair away from her eyes, then hesitated. “The kid’s a lot like Paul, isn’t he?”
“He’s a lot like me, too.” She used his shoulder as a pillow and settled down to sleep. “I’ll try not to worry about Tommy. There’s nothing to be done about it all anyway. And maybe he’ll like England.”
Tommy hated England. He hated London—complaining loudly in museums so that guards stared indignantly at the family, chasing pigeons in Trafalgar Square so that the old people who fed them scowled in annoyance. He got lost for three hours in Hyde Park and they finally found him talking to an organ grinder with a dancing poodle. He talked to people with dogs and to dogs themselves, but he did his best to ignore both Joseph and Alice except when he was complaining. He moped when they went to the theater without him, but complained that it was boring when they took him with them.
A guidebook to eastern England that Joseph purchased in a bookstore on Charing Cross (while Alice held the hand of an angry child to keep him from ransacking the shelves) suggested a small coastal resort community as an ideal vacation spot for families on tour. As a desperate move, they took the train from London to the coast, and found a bed-and-breakfast place in the little seaside town.
On the first day in the village, Joseph wanted to visit a small church on the edge of town that the guidebook had described. Under protest, Tommy accompanied them. He sulked on the walk through the village, kicking rocks into the gutter, stepping on and off the curb, dawdling at corners.
“Come on, Tommy, let’s move it,” Alice said, looking back at him.
“I don’t want to see a stupid church,” he complained. “I don’t want to go at all.”
“Come on, Tommy, don’t make me angry.” Alice turned back to Joseph frowning.
“Just keep walking,” Joseph advised softly. “Hell realize that we’re leaving him behind and he’ll hurry to catch up.” Joseph gently placed an arm around her shoulders. “And try to relax.”
Alice smiled up at him. Having his arm around her reminded her of the idyllic time they had spent together. “You’re so understanding,” she murmured. “I’ll try to relax. I just … I wish Tommy liked you better.”
He shrugged. “We get along all right Sure, it’s a little tense, but that’s only natural. He’s a little jealous, that’s all.”
Alice looked back when they reached the end of the second block, and Tommy was nowhere in sight. She shook her head in disgust. “Where could he have gone?”
They found him a block and a half back, a long enough distance for Alice to forget her resolve to be calm. Tommy was patting a Yorkshire terrier that he had found sleeping in the shade of a fish and chips stand. “He likes me,” Tommy said, looking up at Alice. “But he’s not as smart as my dog.”
“You don’t have a dog, Tommy,” Alice snapped. “The puppy’s at the pound. Now come on.” She took the boy’s hand and marched him along the village street toward the church. Joseph followed a step behind on the other side of the angry mother.
At the church, Tommy stopped at the door. “I want to go play over there,” he said. “I don’t want to go inside.”
Alice fought the urge to hustle the boy inside as a punishment, guessing that it would be as much a punishment for her as for him. “Where do you want to play?” she asked sternly.
“Right over there.” Tommy pointed over the low stone wall that separated the churchyard from the road. They had left the village behind, and the land sloped away from the road in pastureland, covered with clumps of scrubby grass and wildflowers. Beside the church, a wrought-iron fence overgrown with rose bushes divided an area of land from the rest of the pasture.
Alice nodded. “All right Don’t go any farther than that fence.”
She released his hand with a feeling of relief and linked arms with Joseph once again. Inside the church, the air was cold and smelled faintly of damp stone and incense. Alice shivered and Joseph draped his jacket over her shoulders. Gratefully, she pulled it on, and smiled at him. “I’ve been wearing this as much as you have.”
He grinned back. “It’s the only thing that makes me indispensable. You’d freeze to death without me.”
She took his hand. “Not the only thing.”
As the guidebook had promised, the church was tiny, but the stained-glass windows were magnificent far more elaborate than any they had seen in London’s cathedrals. And for achange, no complaining child dragged on Alice’s hand.
Joseph peered out through a low window that looked out onto the pastureland and reassured Alice that they could relax. “The lad looks happy enough. He’s found himself a dog to play with.”
Alice looked out. Tommy stood by the wrought-iron fence and as she watched, he hurled a stick high in the air. A black shadow, almost the size of the boy, bounded from the shade of the rose bushes and leaped after the stick. “Yeah, he looks happy.”
So they took their time admiring the windows. Joseph read from the guidebook in the hushed tones that seemed appropriate for the quiet church, and they admired the carved pews, the altar stone, the crucifix from which Christ stared down with a sad expression. Even then, Alice lingered, reluctant to return to the outside world.
When at last they stepped back into the sunshine, Alice saw Tommy standing alone by the wrought-iron fence. “I guess the dog’s master came and got it,” Joseph remarked as they walked along the flagstones to the fenced-off area.
“Look, don’t mention dogs around Tommy, will you?” she asked.
“Hey, take it easy.” He put his arm around her, stopping her just before they reached the fence. “I won’t mention the dog. You’ve been having a hard time of it, I know.” He kissed her, in the sunshine by the fence where the smell
of roses filled the air.
When Alice turned her head to lay it against his chest, she saw Tommy watching them, through the mesh of rose branches. Beneath his shock of hair, his blue eyes burned; his small face was distorted by a look of hatred.
“Tommy!” she said, startled by his expression. And the boy’s face changed, assuming the sullen look that had become habitual to him. She hesitated, uncertain of what to say. Joseph had said that jealousy was natural, but she had not thought that the boy could hate the man so much, “How did you get in there?”
Tommy pointed to a gate in the fence a short distance from them.
“Hey, Tom, I bet you’ve found all kinds of things to show us,” Joseph called. His attempt at joviality was met by a frown, but he led Alice to the gate and they entered the smaller yard. Tombstones—weathered so that names and dates were no longer legible—stood at drunken angles within the bounds of the fence. “It’s the old graveyard that the guidebook mentioned,” Joseph said to Alice. “I’d guess there’s a lot to see here.”
Alice tried to join in Joseph’s attempt to generate enthusiasm without much success. She peered at the headstones and wandered along the edge of the fence, kicking at rocks. In one comer of the fenced yard, she found a small grave, a quarter the size of the others, set apart from the rest by several feet. She pointed it out to Joseph. “Look. I guess it was a child—it’s so small.”
Joseph glanced inside the book and shook his head. “Nope, it’s not a person at all. It’s the first grave in the yard, though. Apparently, it’s the guardian of the churchyard.” He ran his finger down the page. “Says here that they figured that the first one to be buried in a new cemetery had to stand guard over it, so rather than burying a person, they buried ah … a dog.” He looked at Alice half-apologetically.
“Yeah?” Tommy’s face showed signs of interest. “What was the dog supposed to do?”
Joseph looked at Alice and she nodded. “Well, the spirit is called a church grim, and it’s supposed to guard the cemetery against wickedness. It says here that the legend of the church grim may be related to the legends of the Wild Hunt—magical hounds that were supposed to roam the moors and chase people who were foolish enough to venture out after dark.”
Shadows 3 Page 12
