Night Things: A Novel of Supernatural Terror

by Talbot, Michael

  He nodded and scampered on down the hall. When he reached the generator building, Mr. Foley was already sitting in a chair out in front. In his hands he held a jackknife, and he was in the process of whittling a most remarkable object, an interlocking chain connected to a box with a little ball rolling around inside it, all carved out of a single piece of wood.

  “Hi,” Garrett greeted. “What’s that?”

  “Hello, young fella,” he said, glancing at the object in his hands. “Just one of my time-passers.” He looked back at Garrett. “What brings you out here so early?”

  Realizing that stating his purpose too openly might arouse unnecessary suspicions, he made up an excuse. “I thought I’d go for a walk in the woods,” he muttered, entranced by how dexterously Mr. Foley was shaving off each small slice of wood.

  “Does your mother know you’re going for a walk?” the older man asked suspiciously.

  “Yes,” Garrett lied. “Why?”

  “Because the woods are pretty big around here. Lots of dangerous things to watch out for. A boy your age shouldn’t really go walking in them alone.”

  The older man’s concern annoyed Garrett, not only because it was advice offered to keep him from doing something he had no intention of doing anyway, but also because it implied he wasn’t old enough to do it if he wanted to. Still, his curiosity was aroused.

  “What kind of dangerous things?” he asked.

  “Well, there’s a blackwater swamp only about twenty minutes in that direction.” He pointed with the knife toward the forest. “It’s probably where all those mosquitoes have been comin’ from that are eatin’ your mother.”

  “What’s a blackwater swamp?” he inquired uneasily. “Just a swamp where the water’s all murky and black. But there could be hemlock bogs around it. You might get stuck in one. There could also be snappin’ turtles. You get too close to a big snapper he could take one of your fingers right off.” He glanced at Garrett casually as he shaved a large curl of wood off one of the links in the chain.

  The blackwater swamp did sound threatening to Garrett, but it also intrigued him. “Are there any Swamp Things in the swamp?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve got a book upstairs called Strange Creatures from the Beyond, and it says there are different parts of the country where you’re more apt to see a monster than in other parts. It says upstate New York is one of those parts and that around here things are seen in swamps, Loch Ness monsters and giant snakes and things. It calls them Swamp Things.”

  Mr. Foley glanced at the woods. His eyes sparkled. “Probably plenty of ’em.”

  “Any other dangers?” Garrett asked.

  Mr. Foley scanned the woods for a moment longer and then looked back at Garrett. “Rattlesnakes,” he said.

  Garrett frowned. “I thought rattlesnakes only lived out West.”

  Mr. Foley smiled triumphantly. “Nah, lotsa rattlers in the woods. Saw one a couple of years ago.”

  “Is anyone ever bitten?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Is there much Rocky Mountain spotted fever up here?” Garrett asked.

  Mr. Foley’s smile faded completely. “Haven’t heard of any. Why?”

  “Because there were a couple of cases of it in New York when we left. You get it from tick bites, you know. The day before we came up here I saw a news report that said one little boy was in a coma because of it. You can also get Lyme’s disease from ticks, which is almost as bad. You can die from either of them. I bet there’s plenty of ticks around here, too.”

  Mr. Foley examined the grass around his feet with apprehension.

  “Can I ask you something else?” Garrett asked.

  Mr. Foley eyed him warily. “What?”

  “Do you remember the other guys who applied for this job?”

  “Yeah,” Mr. Foley said, his voice still cautious.

  “Did you know all of them?”

  “What d’ya mean?”

  “I mean do you know their names? Are they from around here?”

  “Yeah, they were all from around here. Why?”

  “Because one of them looked like someone we used to know. I just wondered if you knew his name?”

  A look of relief spread across Mr. Foley’s face as his former good nature returned. “Where did you know him from?”

  “Back in New York.”

  “Which one?”

  Garrett described the man.

  “Why, that’s Elton Fugate. You couldn’t have known him back in New York. He’s lived here all his life. Besides, if you’d ever met him before you’d remember it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because he’s a bit odd. Lives all alone in a little cabin back in the woods. Usually makes his living as a trapper. That way he doesn’t have to deal with people much. I was surprised he even considered taking regular work.” Garrett thought about this for a moment. “Do you know where he lives?”

  “When you were on your way to Clearwater Lodge, do you remember passing a little dirt road with a big ‘Keep Out’ sign on it?”

  Garrett nodded.

  “Well, if you were to follow that road up the mountain you’d come to Fugate’s place. In fact, I think you might even be able to see his place from here.” Mr. Foley put down his whittling and lifted Garrett up onto the chair. “Do you see that mountain over there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look up toward the top of it. Do you see that little patch of red in between the trees?”

  Garrett scanned the mountain until he spotted a fleck of red amid the green. “Yes.”

  “That’s it.”

  Mr. Foley went to lift him back down, but he jumped down quickly. It had embarrassed him that Mr. Foley had thought it necessary to lift him up in the first place. “Thank you, Mr. Foley.”

  The older man smiled. “You’re welcome, son.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll go back inside now.”

  “Aren’t you going to go on that walk?”

  “No, I decided not to.”

  Mr. Foley’s smile became even more expansive. “Oh, well, I think that’s a fine idea. Come back and visit me again sometime. If you like, next time I’ll show you how to whittle.”

  As Garrett walked back toward the house he felt a little disappointed that nothing Mr. Foley had said about Elton Fugate shed any light on why the being wanted to find out more about him. But at least he had accomplished his mission. It also occurred to him that perhaps part of the reason the house was designed to prevent anyone from venturing too deeply into its interior was to protect the being, or at least make it more difficult for anyone to blunder accidentally into its hiding place.

  Realizing this, he decided that for the time being it might be wise to put his explorations of the house on hold and spend the day outside.

  Still weighing heavily on Lauren’s mind was the problem of what to do about Stephen’s behavior the night before. From what he had said it was clear to her now he was not comfortable with Garrett. She had to turn the situation around.

  When she reached the door she paused. She did not look forward to the task at hand and considered postponing it. But after realizing that the longer she waited the more difficult it would become, she opened the door. When she went inside she found Stephen not only had gotten out of bed and showered in her absence, but was nearly finished dressing.

  “Good morning,” he chirped.

  “Good morning,” she returned, a little stiffly.

  “So what’s for breakfast?”

  She continued to look at him. “Let’s talk first.”

  He looked at her confusedly. “About what?”

  “I mean we have a problem on our hands and I think it’s more important to try to solve it than to think about breakfast.”

  “What problem?”

  She became even more annoyed. “It seems to me we’re having some problems coming together as a family. I just wondered if you had given any thought to what we should do a
bout that.”

  “I thought we settled all that last night.”

  “No, we got sidetracked last night.”

  He gave her a lascivious grin. “Well, not bad for sidetracking, eh?”

  She folded her arms and frowned.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, threading a belt through his pants. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to be honest with me about how you feel about Garrett. Then I want us to put our heads together and figure out what we’re going to do about it.”

  He stared down at the floor nervously. “Okay, I’m willing to do that, but you’ve got to promise me something in return.”

  “What?”

  “If we’re really going to put our cards on the table here, you’ve got to promise me you won’t jump all over me if I say something you don’t like. I mean, I just want you to know I haven’t completely thought this thing out myself, so I think we should deal with this like a concept session.”

  “A concept session?”

  “When we’re trying to figure out how to market an album, Marty and I and a bunch of people from the record company all sit around a table and just say whatever comes into our minds. When we do, it’s understood that if someone says something stupid no one else gets upset or holds it against him. The point is to try to solve the problem by letting everyone give his imagination free reign. Okay?” The notion that family problems were somehow similar to the problems one encountered when trying to market a record album did not sit well with her, but she was willing to give just about anything a try. “Okay.”

  “Okay. Well, first, Garrett’s a kid that takes some getting used to. I mean, when I was a kid I was into things like baseball and collecting record albums, but he’s more like a little scientist. Even when I tried to talk to him about space like you suggested it was clear our points of view were polar opposites.”

  “You don’t have to talk only about the things you’re both into,” she said.

  “So what do we talk about?”

  “Everybody has some sort of common ground. Talk to him about the weather. Ask him how he’s feeling. If you look up and see an interesting cloud in the sky, point it out to him. I think part of the problem is that you’re trying to make too big a deal out of relating to him. Kids aren’t that difficult to win over.”

  He sighed. “Okay, maybe you’re right, but let me ask you this. Would it really be that big a deal if we didn’t get along?”

  Lauren went completely white. “What do you mean?” she asked tonelessly.

  “Well, for example, Marty and I are friends. In fact, he’s been like a father to me. But I can’t stand his wife. I think she’s one of the most boring, imbecilic, and shrewish women I’ve ever met. But I don’t let that interfere with my friendship with Marty. So, would it be that terrible if Garrett and I never became good buddies? I mean, I love you. Don’t you think the three of us could... well, could peaceably coexist?”

  Lauren was so shocked and hurt that before she could say anything he gestured for her to let him continue.

  “Now listen, Lauren, you’ve got to understand, I’m just playing the game of ‘what if’ here. I mean, I told you I was worried about how good a father I was going to make. So I was thinking, what if after a couple of months it became clear Garrett and I just weren’t destined to get along? What if you and I kept getting along fabulously, but Garrett and I just never clicked?” He turned toward the window and nervously busied himself with the last few buttons on his shirt.

  “Yes?” she practically whispered.

  “Well, I was just wondering, would you ever consider sending Garrett to some sort of boarding school?”

  The question stunned her. “You’ve got to be kidding!” He turned around quickly. “Now listen, I told you this was just a concept session. I’m just batting around some ideas.”

  She decided the best course was to be calm but firm. “Frankly I would never consider for one minute sending Garrett to boarding school. If it comes down to a choice between you and him, you’d better believe I’d choose my son.” She paused a long moment for effect. “Now, I suggest we start spending some time together and actually start doing some things as a family. There are some cold cuts in the fridge downstairs. Why don’t I make us some sandwiches and pull a bottle of Beaujolais out of the wine cellar and let’s go on that picnic this afternoon.”

  After she delivered the lines he just stared at her, his eyes glittering with such hostility she thought he was going to explode. But then, miraculously, he seemed to have a change of heart.

  “Okay, listen, I want you to know Marty and I still haven’t finished figuring out what we’re going to do about that singer I told you about and there are a dozen phone calls I should be making right now. But if you agree to do something for me, I’ll put my business aside for the time being and we’ll go on that picnic.”

  “What?” she asked warily.

  “You’ve got to recognize that I meant what I said last night. Sometimes the reason I exclude Garrett is that I really do just want to be alone with you. So you’ve got to promise me that if I agree to start doing more things together as a family, you won’t object on those occasions when I just want the two of us to be alone.”

  “I promise,” she said weakly, as the accumulated tension drained from her body.

  “Okay, then go and pack the lunch,” he mumbled, his injured pride still keeping him from displaying a truly amicable expression.

  She went into the hall and wondered if this confrontation, the first real one of their marriage, would solve the problem between Garrett and Stephen. But when she reached the stairs she felt a strange heaviness in the pit of her stomach. When she was working on a writing assignment she knew that the feeling was a kind of alarm, a warning signal that there was some important aspect of a story she was overlooking.

  As she walked down the hall, her thoughts turned to the house. It had started to grate on her. Although she accepted that it was irrational to think that two murders committed in the distant past might bode any ill toward their own tenure there, she was still troubled by the curious anonymity of the place.

  She disliked admitting it, but she was also beginning to wonder whether there was anything to Garrett’s theory that the house was some sort of gigantic puzzle. She did not know why. Perhaps it was because she had been presented with so many surprises since arriving at the house that in some strange way she was beginning to expect them. Or perhaps it was simply Garrett’s uncanny knack for being right when it came to odd and disconcerting facts. Whatever the case, she knew only that her curiosity was reasserting itself with a vengeance.

  She decided there was at least one thing she could find out before they left for the picnic. When she reached the entrance hall, she went outside and copied down the inscription from over the door. Then she went into the coachmen’s waiting room and dialed the number of People Beat. When the switchboard operator answered, she asked for Annie. Finally, after waiting about a minute, the familiar husky contralto answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Annie, it’s me.”

  “Lauren, is that you? How’s life among the leisure class?”

  “Fine, Annie, how are you?”

  “We’re doing terrible without you, Lauren. If you ever want your job back.”

  “Thanks, Annie, you never know.”

  “So to what do I owe the honor of this call.”

  “I’ve got a small favor I want to ask you.”

  “Anything.” She paused. “Well, almost anything. Shoot.”

  “You took Latin in college, right?”

  The question clearly took her off guard. “Latin? Why on earth do you want to know that?” She coughed, the familiar smoker’s cough.

  “Come on, Annie, this is kind of important.”

  “Yes. Yes. Four years of it. For chrissakes, if I had been a man I probably would’ve joined the seminary.”

  Lauren smiled. It was just like Annie, Catholic to her core, t
o still be irreverent enough to use the term ‘chrissakes.’ “Well, this house where we’re staying in the Adirondacks, it’s got a Latin inscription over the door. I wonder if you could translate it for me.”

  “Sure. What’s the line?”

  She told her, and Annie was silent for a moment. “Hmmm, that’s strange.”

  “What?”

  “Well, this word girum. It’s not Latin. So I... wait a minute. Oh, I know what it is. It’s the Latinized version of the Greek word gyron. It means ‘around,’ or to go in a circle. You know, as in the word ‘gyroscope.’ Only if I were translating it I think I would have kept the ‘y’ in it. Probably the work of some unlettered medieval scribe, if you’ll pardon the pun.” She coughed again.

  “What about the rest?” But as she started to answer there was a crackle of static, and for a moment Lauren couldn’t hear anything. “Wait, what did you say?”

  “I said the rest is pretty simple. Consumimur, that’s the first person plural of the present indicative passive of consumere. It means ‘we are consumed.’ And igni, that means ‘fire.’ It’s an ablative—”

  “Annieee.”

  “Well, it’s all pretty straightforward. Just figure it out. Node means ‘by night.’ Et means ‘and.’ Imus means ‘we go-’”

  “So what does it all mean put together?” she said eagerly.

  “Well, I’d say it translates roughly as ‘We circle in the night and are consumed by the fire.’”

  After she recited the sentence they both went silent.

  “Gee, that’s an odd thing to have written over a door,” Annie said mildly after a few seconds had elapsed.

  For Lauren the ominousness of the remark made her wish for a moment she hadn’t bothered to get the line translated. “Well, I guess at least some of the wording of the sentence was determined by the fact that it’s a palindrome.”

  “It’s a palindrome?” There was a pause as Annie studied the sentence again. “Hey, it is! Well, that’s why whoever put this thing together changed the ‘y’ to an ‘i.’ It wouldn’t be a palindrome if they hadn’t.”