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Visions of Fear - Foundations of Fear III (1992)

Page 31

by David G. Hartwell (Ed. )


  don’t make sense? God? That’s a laugh.” He swung away.

  Two or three great strides and the storm took him.

  That was about two o’clock. For four hours I was alone

  in the house. Warmth returned, with the bedroom door

  closed and fires working hard. I carried the kitchen lamp

  into the parlor, and then huddled in the nearly total dark

  of the kitchen with my back to the wall, watching all the

  windows, the ten gauge near my hand, but I did not

  expect a return of the beast, and there was none.

  The night grew quieter, perhaps because the house was

  so drifted in that snow muted the sounds. I was cut off

  from the battle, buried alive.

  Harp would get back. The seasons would follow their

  natural way, and somehow we would learn what had

  happened to Leda. I supposed the beast would have to be

  something in the human pattern— mad, deformed, gone

  wild, but still human.

  After a time I wondered why we had heard no excitement in the stable. I forced myself to take up gun and

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  flashlight and go look. I groped through the woodshed,

  big with the jumping shadows of Harp’s cordwood, and

  into the bam. The cows were peacefully drowsing. In the

  center alley I dared to send my weak beam swooping and

  glimmering through the ghastly distances of the hayloft.

  Quiet, just quiet; natural rustling of mice. Then to the

  stable, where Ned whickered and let me rub his brown

  cheek, and Jerry rolled a humorous eye. I suppose no

  smell had reached them to touch off panic, and perhaps

  they had heard the barking often enough so that it no

  longer disturbed them. I went back to my post, and the

  hours crawled along a ridge between the pits of terror

  and exhaustion. Maybe I slept.

  No color of sunrise that day, but I felt paleness and

  change; even a blizzard will not hide the fact of dayshine

  somewhere. I breakfasted on bacon and eggs, fed the

  hens, forked down hay, and carried water for the cows

  and horses. The one cow in milk, a jumpy Ayrshire,

  refused to concede that I meant to be useful. I’d done no

  milking since I was a boy, the knack was gone from my

  hands, and relief seemed less important to her than

  kicking over the pail; she was getting more amusement

  than discomfort out of it, so for the moment I let it go. I

  made myself busy work shoveling a clear space by the

  kitchen door. The wind was down, the snowfall persistent but almost peaceful. I pushed out beyond the house and learned that the stuff was up over my hips.

  Out of that, as I turned back, came Harp in his long,

  snowshoe stride, and down the road three others. I

  recognized Sheriff Robart, overfed but powerful; and Bill

  Hastings, wry and ageless, a cousin of Harp’s and one of

  his few friends; and last, Curt Davidson, perhaps a

  friend to Sheriff Robart but certainly not to Harp.

  I’d known Curt as a thickwitted loudmouth when he

  was a kid; growing to man’s years hadn’t done much for

  him. And when I saw him I thought, irrationally perhaps:

  Not good for our side. A kind of absurdity, and yet Harp

  and I were joined against the world simply because we

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  had experienced together what others were going to call

  impossible, were going to interpret in harsh, even damnable ways; and no help for it.

  I saw the white thin blur of the sun, the strength of it

  growing. Nowhere in all the white expanse had the wind

  and the new snow allowed us any mark of the visitation

  of the night.

  The men reached my cleared space and shook off

  snow. I opened the woodshed. Harp gave me one hopeless glance of inquiry and I shook my head.

  “Having a little trouble?” That was Robart, taking off

  his snowshoes.

  Harp ignored him. “I got to look after my chores.”

  I told him I’d done it except for that damn cow. “Oh,

  Bess, ayah, she’s nervy. I’ll see to her.” He gave me my

  snowshoes that he had strapped to his back. “Adelaide,

  she wanted to know about your groceries. Said I figured

  they was in the ca’.”

  “Good as an icebox,” says Robart, real friendly.

  Curt had to have his pleasures too. “Ben, you sure you

  got hold of old Bess by the right end, where the tits was?”

  Curt giggles at his own jokes, so nobody else is obliged

  to. Bill Hastings spat in the snow.

  “Okay if I go in?” Robart asked. It wasn’t a simple

  inquiry: He was present officially and meant to have it

  known. Harp looked him up and down.

  “Nobody stopping you. Didn’t bring you here to stand

  around, I suppose.”

  “Harp,” said Robart pleasantly enough, “don’t give

  me a hard time. You come tell me certain things has

  happened, I got to look into it is all.” But Harp was

  already striding down the woodshed to the bam entrance. The others came into the house with me, and I put on water for fresh coffee. “Must be your ca’ down the

  rud a piece, Ben? Heard you kind of went into a ditch.

  All’s you can see now is a hump in the snow. Deep freeze

  might be good for her, likely you’ve tried everything

  else.” But I wasn’t feeling comic, and never had been on

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  those terms with Robart. I grunted, and his face shed

  mirth as one slips off a sweater. “Okay, what’s the score?

  Harp’s gone and told me a story I couldn’t feed to the

  dogs, so what about it? Where’s Mrs. Ryder?”

  Davidson giggled again. It’s a nasty little sound to

  come out of all that beef. I don’t think Robart had much

  enthusiasm for him either, but it seems he had sworn in

  the fellow as a deputy before they set out. “Yes, sir,” said

  Curt, “that was really a story, that was.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Ryder?”

  “Not here,” I told him. “We think she’s dead.”

  He glowered, rubbing cold out of his hands. “Seen that

  window. Looks like the frame is smashed.”

  “Yes, from the outside. When Harp gets back you’d

  better look. I closed the door on that room and haven’t

  opened it. There’ll be more snow, but you’ll see about

  what we saw when we got up there.”

  “Let’s look right now,” said Curt.

  Bill Hastings said, “Curt, ain’t you a mite busy for a

  dep’ty? Mr. Dane said when Harp gets back.” Bill and I

  are friends; normally he wouldn’t mister me. I think he

  was trying to give me some flavor of authority.

  I acknowledged the alliance by asking: “You a deputy

  too, Bill?” Giving him an opportunity to spit in the

  stove, replace the lid gently, and reply: “Shit no.”

  Harp returned and carried the milk pail to the pantry.

  Then he was looking us over. “Bill, I got to try the woods

  again. You want to come along?”

  “ Sure, Harp. I didn’t bring no gun.”

  “Take my ten gauge.”

  “Curt here’ll go along,” said Robart. “Real good man

 
on snowshoes. Interested in wild life.”

  Harp said, “That’s funny, Robart. I guess that’s the

  funniest thing I heard since Cutler’s little girl fell under

  the tractor. You joining us too?”

  “ Fact is, Harp, I kind of pulled a muscle in my back

  coming up here. Not getting no younger neither. I believe

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  I’ll just look around here a little. Trust you got no

  objection? To me looking around a little?”

  “Coffee’s dripped,” I said.

  “Thing of it is, if I’d’ve thought you had any objection,

  I’d’ve been obliged to get me a warrant.”

  “Thanks, Ben.” Harp gulped the coffee scalding.

  “Why, if looking around the house is the best you can do,

  Sher’f, I got no objection. Ben, I shouldn’t be keeping

  you away from your affairs, but would you stay? Kind of

  keep him company? Not that I got much in the house,

  but still— you know— ”

  “I’ll stay.” I wished I could tell him to drop that

  manner, it only got him deeper in the mud.

  Robart handed Davidson his gun belt and holster.

  “Better have it, Curt, so to be in style.”

  Harp and Bill were outside getting on their snowshoes;

  I half heard some remark of Harp’s about the sheriffs

  aching back. They took off. The snow had almost ceased.

  They passed out of sight down the slope to the north, and

  Curt went plowing after them. Behind me Robart said,

  “You’d think Harp believed it himself.”

  “That’s how it’s to be? You make us both liars before

  you’ve even done any looking?”

  “ I got to try to make sense of it is all.” I followed him

  up to the bedroom. It was cruelly cold. He touched

  Droopy’s stiff corpse with his foot. “Hard to figure a man

  killing his own dog.”

  “We get nowhere with that kind of idea.”

  “Ben, you got to see this thing like it looks to other

  people. And keep out of my hair.”

  “That’s what scares me, Jack. Something unreasonable did happen, and Harp and I were the only ones to experience it— except Mrs. Ryder.”

  “You claim you saw this— animal?”

  “ I didn’t say that. I heard her scream. When we got

  upstairs this room was the way you see it.” I looked

  around, and again couldn’t find that scrap of fur, but I

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  spoke of it, and I give Robart credit for searching. He

  shook out the bedspread and blankets, examined the

  floor and the closet. He studied the window space,

  leaned out for a look at the house wall and the shed roof.

  His big feet avoided the broken glass, and he squatted for

  a long gaze at the pieces of window sash. Then he bore

  down on me, all policeman personified, a massive, rather

  intelligent, conventionally honest man with no patience

  for imagination, no time for any fact not already in the

  books. “Piece of fur, huh?” He made it sound as if I’d

  described a Jabberwock with eyes of flame. “Okay, we’re

  done up here.” He motioned me downstairs— all policemen who’d ever faced a crowd’s dangerous stupidity with their own.

  As I retreated I said, “Hope you won’t be too busy to

  have a chemist test the blood on that sash.”

  “We’ll do that.” He made move-along motions with

  his slab hands. “Going to be a pleasure to do that little

  thing for you and your friend.”

  Then he searched the entire house, shed, bam, and

  stable. I had never before watched anyone on police

  business; I had to admire his zeal. I got involved in the

  farce of holding the flashlight for him while he rooted in

  the cellar. In the shed I suggested that if he wanted to

  restack twenty-odd cords of wood he’d better wait till

  Harp could help him; he wasn’t amused. He wasn’t

  happy in the bam loft either. Shifting tons of hay to find

  a hypothetical corpse was not a one-man job. I knew he

  was capable of returning with a crew and machinery to

  do exactly that. And by his lights it was what he ought to

  do. Then we were back in the kitchen, Robart giving

  himself a manicure with his jackknife, and I down to my

  last cigarette, almost the last of my endurance.

  Robart was not unsubtle. I answered his questions as

  temperately as I could— even, for instance: “Wasn’t you

  a mite sweet on Leda yourself?” I didn’t answer any of

  them with flat silence; to do that right you need an

  accompanying act like spitting in the stove, and I’m not a

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  chewer. From the north window he said: “Cornin’ back.

  It figures.” They had been out a little over an hour.

  Harp stood by the stove with me to warm his hands.

  He spoke as if alone with me: “No trail, Ben.” What

  followed came in an undertone: “Ben, you told me about

  a friend of yours, scientist or something, professor— ”

  “Professor Malcolm?” I remembered mentioning him

  to Harp a long while before; I was astonished at his

  recalling it. Johnny Malcolm is a professor of biology

  who has avoided too much specialization. Not a really

  close friend. Harp was watching me out of a granite

  despair as if he had asked me to appeal to some higher

  court. I thought of another acquaintance in Boston, too,

  whom I might consult— Dr. Kahn, a psychiatrist who

  had once seen my wife, Helen, through a difficult

  tim e .. . .

  “Harp,” said Robart, “I got to ask you a couple, three

  things. I sent word to Dick Hammond to get that

  goddamned plow of his into this road as quick as he can.

  Believe he’ll try. Whiles we wait on him, we might’s well

  talk. You know I don’t like to get tough.”

  “Talk away,” said Harp, “only Ben here he’s got to get

  home without waiting on no Dick Hammond.”

  “That a fact, Ben?”

  “Yes. I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Do that,” said Robart, dismissing me. As I left he was

  beginning a fresh manicure, and Harp waited rigidly for

  the ordeal to continue. I felt morbidly that I was abandoning him.

  Still—corpus delicti— nothing much more would

  happen until Leda Ryder was found. Then if her body

  were found dead by violence, with no acceptable evidence of Longtooth’s existence— well, what then?

  I don’t think Robart would have let me go if he’d

  known my first act would be to call Short’s brother Mike

  and ask him to drive me into Lohman, where I could get

  a bus for Boston.

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  Johnny Malcolm said, “I can see this is distressing you,

  and you wouldn’t lie to me. But, Ben, as biology it won’t

  do. Ain’t no such animile. You know that.”

  He wasn’t being stuffy. We were having dinner at a

  quiet restaurant, and I had, of course, enjoyed the roast

  duckling too much. Johnny is a rock-ribbed beanpole

  who can eat like a walking famine with no regrets.

  “Suppose,” I said, “just for argument and bec
ause it’s

  not biologically inconceivable, that there’s a basis for the

  yeti legend.”

  “Not inconceivable. I’ll give you that. So long as any

  poorly known comers of the world are left—the Himalayan uplands, jungles, tropic swamps, the tundra—

  legends will persist and some of them will have little

  gleams of truth. You know what I think about moon

  flights and all that?” He smiled; privately I was hearing

  Leda scream. “One of our strongest reasons for them,

  and for the biggest flights we’ll make if we don’t kill

  civilization first, is a hunt for new legends. We’ve used up

  our best ones, and that’s dangerous.”

  “Why don’t we look at the countries inside us?” But

  Johnny wasn’t listening much.

  “Men can’t stand it not to have closed doors and a

  chance to push at them. Oh, about your yeti— he might

  exist. Shaggy anthropoid able to endure severe cold, so

  rare and clever the explorers haven’t tripped over him

  yet. Wouldn’t have to be a carnivore to have big ugly

  canines— look at the baboons. But if he was active in a

  Himalayan winter, he’d have to be able to use meat, I

  think. Mind you, I don’t believe any of this, but you can

  have it as a biological not-impossible. How’d he get to

  Maine?”

  “Strayed? Tibet— Mongolia— Arctic ice.”

  “Maybe.” Johnny had begun to enjoy the hypothesis

  as something to play with during dinner. Soon he was

  helping along the brute’s passage across the continents,

  and having fun till I grumbled something about altema-

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  tives, extraterrestrials. He wouldn’t buy that, and got

  cross. Still hearing Leda scream, I assured him I wasn’t

  watching for little green men.

  “ Ben, how much do you know about this— Harp?”

  “We grew up along different lines, but he’s a friend.

  Dinosaur, if you like, but a friend.”

  “Hardshell Maine bachelor picks up dizzy young

  wife— ”

  “She’s not dizzy. Wasn’t. Sexy, but not dizzy.”

  “All right. Bachelor stewing in his own juices for years.

  Sure he didn’t get up on that roof himself?”

  “Nuts. Unless all my senses were more paralyzed than

  I think, there wasn’t time.”

  “ Unless they were more paralyzed than you think.”

 

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