by Robert Brown
“Keep this until you get your own,” Wayne said.
Nick opened the bag. Inside was an automatic pistol and a box of ammunition.
“It’s a Glock 17, an older model than yours,” Wayne said in a voice so low, Nick could barely hear him, “It’s close enough to the model you ordered that you should have no trouble with it.”
“Isn’t it illegal to lend this to me?”
“It sure is illegal, so keep your mouth shut about it. You should go to the range every day and practice. Don’t bring this because I don’t want to put Gus in an awkward position. Just practice with the Glocks he has at the shooting range.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate this,” Nick said, checking that the safety was on and noting that the gun didn’t have any of the nighttime features he needed. Then he tucked the bag next to him on the seat. He rested one of his hands on it. “Here’s hoping I won’t need it.”
Tobiah looked grim. “You will. Those Devil worshippers won’t rest. The Dark One has his talons in their souls and they’ll keep after us until we’re dead or we’ve sold our souls.”
Nick’s grip on the bag tightened.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The members of the “Witch Hunters Club,” as Clayton had decided to call their group, divvied up their responsibilities. That night, Brandon, Clayton, and Tobiah would visit the old building where Brandon had seen the hooded figure and found the remains of a cat. Wayne and Matt would hide out in the woods near the country store to see if the cultists returned for a second ritual. Carl was working at the grist mill from five in the evening until one in the morning, so he couldn’t come. As for Nick, the group unanimously decided that he should stay home and watch his family.
“You got your own priorities,” Wayne said when Nick objected. “You can be on scouting duty another night. Most of us work night shifts sometimes so we’ll have to rotate duties anyway.”
“All right,” Nick said with some reluctance. “But keep in touch, all right? I want to know what’s going on.”
Nick went home, hiding the leather bag containing Wayne’s gun in a larger bag that he used for carrying books. Cheryl was in her home office as usual, and Elaine was sprawled out on the couch, texting her friends.
His tension eased the moment he saw them. Neither paid much attention to him beyond a “hello” as he went to the bedroom, checked that the gun was loaded and the safety was on, and stuck the gun in the drawer of the bedside table on his side of the bed. Cheryl had her own bedside table and never went in his. At least he hoped not. She was as anti-gun as he had been, and he didn’t want to deal with the scene if she found out he had a gun in the house that wasn’t even registered in his name.
After he had hidden the empty bag deep in his closet, he went to Cheryl’s office and gave her a big hug, breathing in the smell of her hair. She smiled and kept typing. His hands ran up her sides to cup her breasts. That got her to stop typing.
“Hey,” Cheryl said with a smile. “If you’re going to do that, do it when Elaine’s somewhere else.”
“Mmmm, good point.” He gave her a kiss.
Cheryl started tapping away on her computer again.
“Sorry,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Deadline.”
Always a deadline, he thought.
“Can you take Elaine to drama practice?” Cheryl asked.
“Sure,” he said. “Oh yeah, that’s tonight!”
He got Elaine in gear, taking away her cell phone so she could concentrate on her homework, then fixed spaghetti for a quick meal. Within two hours, they were at her school.
“I’ll be done by nine,” Elaine said as they drove into the parking lot.
Instead of pulling up to the front and dropping her off, he parked. She got out and he hurried to follow.
“There’s nothing to see, Dad. This is a dress rehearsal. You’ll see the play when it’s ready.”
“I’m going to walk you in. There have been some … crimes in town recently. They’ve been targeting university people and their families.”
“Oh.” Elaine took his hand. Nick smiled. Unlike so many kids her age, she appreciated the concern her parents took in her. He felt like kissing her on the forehead like he loved to do, but with other kids coming into the school, that might be taking it a bit too far. Even Elaine got easily embarrassed. She was a great kid, but she was still thirteen.
He saw her through the front door, where she let go of his hand. Reluctantly, he stopped and let her go.
“Stay inside until you see me here, all right?” he said.
Elaine gave a little frown.
“Is it that bad?”
He looked her in the eye. “Yes. I’m afraid it is.”
“Don’t freak me out, Dad!”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Just be careful, all right? I’ll see you at nine.”
With two hours to kill, Nick went back home. He passed the house, driving slowly, checking out the neighborhood in the last of the dying light. He didn’t see anything suspicious. He went around the block a couple of times before pulling into the driveway. Cheryl was still ensconced in her office, so Nick went to his own home office and watched gun safety and marksmanship videos on YouTube. He was surprised at how interesting he found them. It was a whole field of knowledge he had never paid attention to before. Sadly, now he had to know all about it.
He returned to the school early, waiting in the car with the lights off and studying the parking lot. No one else was there yet. Other than a few cars belonging to the faculty and staff, the parking lot was abandoned.
After a few minutes of waiting, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He hunched low in his seat and stared as he saw a dark figure round the corner of the building and move toward him.
Why didn’t I bring that gun? he thought. It’s not doing me any good in my bedroom!
His panic vanished a moment later when the figure moved into the light of the parking lot. Nick recognized the school’s security guard, a stocky black man named Ron or Rob. Something like that. Nick had never taken much notice of him.
The security guard came up to Nick’s car and rapped on the window. Nick lowered it.
“Oh, Mr. Upton. Here to pick up your daughter?”
“Yeah, I’m a bit early.”
“They’re still in there rehearsing. The play is coming along fine. Sorry to bother you, but I saw your car idling here with the lights off and I felt I should investigate.”
“No need to apologize,” Nick said, feeling bad that he wasn’t a hundred percent on the guard’s name. “You’re just doing your job.”
“Have a good evening,” said the security guard, turning away.
“Wait a minute.”
Ron or Rob or whoever he was turned back to face him.
“There have been some attacks and harassment of university employees and their families. It’s good to keep an eye out.”
The security guard looked surprised. “Really? The police haven’t told us anything.”
“Yes, well, a lot of it has gone unreported. Just so you know.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Upton. I’ll keep an eye out. And I’ll tell the other staff.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Elaine appeared in the doorway of the school. Nick got out, said goodbye to the security guard, and went over to her. She came out lugging a large gym bag.
“Your hair is gray!” Nick laughed.
“What? Oh my God. This stuff is SO hard to get out. I don’t have any wrinkles, do I?”
“You’re a little young for wrinkles.”
Elaine rolled her eyes. “It’s stage glue, Dad. To make me look like an old woman.”
“Why not just wait fifty years?” Nick said with a smile.
“Ha-ha. Ugh, can you take this?” Elaine said, lifting the gym bag. Nick took it, noticing it was covered in dried mud.
“What happened?”
“Oh, this is my lacrosse stuff. I left it next to the field and it started to rain.”
“It hasn’t rained since last week. It’s been shedding mud in your locker the entire time?”
“Don’t worry, I swept all the mud out onto the floor.”
“Very courteous. I’m sure the janitor will really appreciate it.”
They walked to the car.
“This is filthy,” Nick said. “Let’s put it in the trunk.”
He opened the trunk, then jerked back.
He had forgotten that the stick sculptures were filling the trunk.
“What the hell are those?” Elaine asked, peering inside the trunk. “Oh, weird.”
Nick watched helplessly as she picked up the top sculpture, one of the human figures.
“I’m … uh … studying—”
“You reenacting The Blair Witch Project or something?” his daughter asked.
“Huh?”
Elaine rolled her eyes. She’d gotten into a lot of teenaged eye rolling lately.
“The movie. Didn’t you ever see it? Totally freaky.”
“Wait, that’s a horror movie, right?”
“You need to get out more, Dad.”
Actually, I’m thinking I should get out less.
“Why are you watching horror movies at your age?”
“I saw it at Tammy’s. Don’t worry, there’s no adult stuff. Not even any real gore or anything. Totally scary, though.”
Nick blinked and looked at the stick man she was holding up. “And they had figures like this in it?”
“Yeah. Where did you get these? God, you have a ton of them.”
Nick paused. How much should he tell her?
“I found them in the woods during one of my jogs.”
Elaine’s eyes widened. “No. Way. Someone here is doing a whole Blair Witch thing? You should jog in town, Dad.”
“Don’t I know it. So, what did these things do in the movie?”
“Oh, they were like these spooky things the Blair Witch set up to scare off the people investigating the legend. Of course, they didn’t pay attention. People are always stupid in horror movies. So, who’s putting these up?”
“I’m not sure, honey.”
“Is it the same people who are bothering university people?”
“It could be,” Nick said. He wasn’t sure how much to reveal. He didn’t want to scare her, but at the same time he needed to keep her on her guard.
They got in the car and drove off.
“Does Mom know about all this?”
Nick tensed. “What do you mean?”
“The attacks on university people?”
“Um, no. The sheriff told me. I went to him about these stick figures because they were near the university. You know that old trail I jog on? They were at the end of that. He told me about the attacks. He said they didn’t put it in the press because they didn’t want copycat attacks. You know how some people here don’t like the university.”
“Chad Sanders said the university stole his grandparents’ house.”
Nick nodded, remembering the woman at the historical society. “The university hasn’t always treated the local people fairly.”
“You told Mom about the attacks, right?”
“I … was going to tell her tonight.”
Later that night, he did. It was time for her to know part of the truth.
Actually, she beat him to it.
“What’s the matter, Nick? You’ve seemed distracted lately.”
He was surprised she noticed. “I … was talking to the sheriff again. Turns out a lot of animals have gone missing. And it’s not just squirrels. Someone is cutting up dogs and cats.”
“Oh my God.”
“He told me there have also been some threats against the university. Some professors have reported harassment. So be careful, all right?”
They talked for a while longer, but soon Cheryl shifted the conversation to work again. Nick could tell she was only half-worried, the sort of concern people have about distant threats that haven’t affected them yet, like cancer or terrorism. Nick felt tempted to tell her more, but he didn’t know where to begin. It would involve admitting he had lied. In the end, he didn’t tell her anything.
They sat watching Netflix, as they always did. After ten, Nick got antsy. The guys would be out now, searching for the cult at two different locations. He checked his phone, hoping for a text. Nothing. Ten minutes later, he checked it again. And five minutes after that.
He tried to reassure himself that everything was OK, that they were out of signal range and were simply standing guard, but he couldn’t help feeling left out and helpless. What if they were in trouble and he was sitting there watching some dumb television show? He felt like he was betraying them.
“Expecting a call?” Cheryl asked when he checked his phone again.
“Oh, these folklore people were supposed to call me.”
“It’s a bit late for them to call now.”
“Some of them work the night shift down at the grist mill.”
Cheryl laughed. “What’s a grist mill worker going to teach you about folklore?”
“They’re not like that,” Nick said, annoyance creeping into his voice. “Sure, the people around here are uneducated, but some of them have been living in this area all their lives. They know things. Some of them have really studied the past.”
Cheryl shrugged and looked back at the television with a smug smile, obviously unconvinced.
She finally went to bed at eleven. Elaine had gone to bed an hour earlier. Now that he was alone, Nick got online and rented The Blair Witch Project. He had never been into horror movies, but he remembered that the film had made a big splash when it came out around the turn of the millennium.
He watched the movie, finding it more effective than he had expected, but got no new insights about the stick men. Nick felt disappointed. Here he thought he was finding some sort of folk religion, perhaps the revival of something dating back to colonial times, and instead he had some hicks imitating a movie. How could he make an academic paper out of that?
Nick laughed at himself. He had a gun in his house, he was alert to any sound outside, and he was still thinking about publication? It looked like his scholarly mind hadn’t died after all.
And his initial reaction to the movie connection wasn’t entirely justified. Only the stick men had been taken from the movie; the rest had come from ancient petroglyphs. Nothing else the cult did fit with the movie, either. The Blair Witch had erected cairns to count her victims, and Nick and the other guys had found no cairns. The witch or ghost or whatever it was—you never got to see the monster in the movie—also murdered large numbers of people, especially children. Thankfully, the cult hadn’t done that.
Yet.
Halfway through the film, Nick received texts from both teams. Neither had seen a thing. He shook his head in frustration and watched the rest of the movie.
The ending scared the hell out of him, both for its relentless evil and its death toll. Was this what the cult was aspiring to?
When the movie was over, Nick got up and looked out his front window, scanning the empty street for hooded figures. What if they took more inspiration from the movie and started making people disappear instead of just dogs and cats?
He rubbed his eyes. Sleep beckoned to him. As he went upstairs to bed, his phone buzzed.
It was Clayton, his voice high with panic.
“Professor, I’m calling everyone. Get down to the trailer, man.”
“It’s a quarter to one. What’s up?”
“They found out where I live too.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The dog lay spread-eagled in front of Clayton and Trisha’s trailer. It had been gutted and all four paws were missing. In the dim light filtering out from the trailer’s windows, Nick could see the blood hadn’t yet fully dried.
“Did either of you hear anything?” he asked. He stood with Cla
yton and Trisha outside the trailer. Clayton had his shotgun, and Trisha had a small .22 rifle that she gripped so hard, Nick thought she might break it. Nick had his hand on the pistol in his overcoat pocket. He had snuck into the bedroom to retrieve it before he drove over. Cheryl had turned in bed and murmured something as he tiptoed out of the room. He hoped she was too asleep to remember, when she woke up the next morning, that he had left.
“We were both gone,” Clayton said. “Trisha didn’t want to be alone while I was on patrol, so she hung out with a friend. This poor thing was here when we got back.”
“Do you guys have anywhere to stay tonight?”
Trisha shook her head and said in a quavering voice, “My friend has a newborn. It wouldn’t be fair on her. And it’s too late to call anyone else.”
Nick thought for a minute. His home office could be used as a guest room. It had a couch that converted into a bed.
“Can you stay at a hotel?” he asked.
Clayton gave a helpless shrug. “Don’t have the cash. I don’t get paid until Friday and I had to pay child support this week.”
“To who? Oh, never mind. I’ll pay for the hotel.”
Clayton frowned. “I don’t take charity.”
“This isn’t charity; this may save your life.”
Clayton paused and looked at Trisha, who gave him a pleading look in return. He said, “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“Sure. First, let’s report this to the cops.”
Clayton and Trisha didn’t say anything.
“What?” Nick demanded.
“We can’t really do that,” Clayton said.
“Why not? Don’t tell me you’re in trouble with the law like Matt.”
“Uh, not exactly. It’s just that Trisha is a runaway.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Why did these people all have so much drama? Nick turned to Trisha. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“And what’s the age of—oh, never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“I’ll fetch a shovel and give this poor animal a decent burial,” Clayton said.
He went to a small tool shed around the back of the trailer, leaving Nick and Trisha in an awkward silence.