Restless Dead

by Cave, Hugh

  Verna stared at him in silence.

  "All right," Jeff continued. "The ceremony was long and more than usually ritualistic, with drumming and chanting I'd never heard before, and vèvé I'd never seen. And for a long time nothing happened. I mean, there was no indication that the ancient mystère who was being sent for would answer the summons. Then, just before daybreak, after a whole night of it, something finally happened. The black dog, who'd been asleep on the swept-earth floor near the bench I was sitting on, suddenly sprang to life. He leaped up and raced to the central post, which in voodoo is the link between the spirit world and that of humans, and began sniffing and growling around it. It was as if the post had called to him. Then—"

  He paused to glance out the window. A police car had turned into the motel drive and stopped in front of the office.

  "And?" Verna said, leaning toward him.

  Jeff turned back to her. "A servitor lunged at the dog to chase it away, and it turned on him. It bit him on the hand badly before the houngan could intervene. Then, while the houngan was helping the fellow, shouting at him that this was the loa they'd been waiting all night for, the animal took off and disappeared into the darkness."

  Again Jeff paused. "On the way back to Port-au-Prince my voodoo friend, the one I'd taken to the service, explained to me that the very old gods don't have to appear as themselves when they're summoned. They can take any form they wish, and this one had chosen to become the dog. Or to possess the dog, if that's a better way to put it."

  A knock on the door interrupted him. Jeff went to it and found a policeman standing there with a suitcase. It was his own suitcase, the one that had been stolen from his car after he was run off the road.

  "Mr. Gordon? Jeffrey Gordon?"

  "Yes, I'm Jeff Gordon."

  The policeman stepped inside and put down the bag. He was Officer Clay, he said. At some length he explained how the bag happened to be in his possession. "I hope everything's here that was taken from you, Mr. Gordon. Check it, please, if you will. If anything's still missing, I'll go and see if it's at Crawley's house."

  Jeff opened the suitcase and looked, taking out a notebook as he did so. "Everything seems to be here except the money that was in my billfold, Officer."

  "Which there's not much chance of us getting back, I'm afraid. You want to file charges against this young man, Mr. Gordon?"

  "Should I?"

  Clay shrugged. "You'd have to appear as a witness, of course. And even if he's found guilty, chances are he'll be out again before you can figure what the loss of your time cost you. Up to you, though. He's guilty, all right, and a conviction might scare him some."

  "Let me think about it," Jeff said.

  "Right." With a nod to Verna, Clay departed.

  Jeff turned to Verna, holding the notebook he had taken from the suitcase. “It's all in here, what I've been telling you," he said. "All the notes I took that night in Petit-Goave, the names of the old loa the houngan called on, everything. You know what I'm thinking?"

  With her gaze still on his face, she moved her head slowly up and down. 'That someone here has been calling on some of those ancient voodoo gods, and they've taken the forms of creatures that lived here when the gods did. Right?"

  "Especially if the ceremony or ceremonies were held in the cave, where the remains of those ancient creatures are still present," Jeff said. “What we ought to do, I say again, is have a talk with Lelio Savain."

  "Tell me something, Jeff."

  He looked at her, waiting.

  "What happened after the possessed black dog disappeared?"

  "There was a story two days later in the Port-au-Prince newspapers. I have it at home. Soon after the ceremony, the man targeted for vengeance was found in his yard. The papers said most of the body had been eaten, and the remains were barely recognizable."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It had been a long, tiring journey. Oh, people had given her rides now and then—very short rides, mostly—but she had paid for those dearly with moments of stress.

  Like the time the young man who looked so presentable, so absolutely safe, had stopped his brand new Cadillac and picked her up. "Even Blackie?" she had said. "I can't leave Blackie."

  "The cat, you mean? Of course. I have two of my own."

  "Oh, do you?" She had climbed in with alacrity, thinking how nice it would be to ride in a big car and rest her feet. "What are their names?"

  She knew now he didn't really have cats. A man like that would never be a cat person. But he had rattled off two names, Princess and Pudge, as glibly as you please. And in less than two minutes, while he was still asking questions about where she had come from and where she was going—neither of which she was about to tell him, of course—she felt his hand on her knee.

  Would you believe that? A man not even thirty, trying to seduce a woman of sixty-nine? And trying to keep it up even after she cried, "Stop this car, young man, and let me out this minute!" Even forcing her to use her newfound power on him—to turn on the seat and stare at him the way she knew how to now—before he would bring the car to a stop. Oh, he'd been glad enough then to stop the car and had been shaking all over, blubbering apologies, when she opened the door and got out, but would you believe such a thing? What was the country coming to, with people like that in it?

  There'd been others. The old man with such a beard you couldn't really see his face, only his beady little eyes, driving a car almost as old as he was. He'd kept looking at her in such a queer way that in the end she'd said, "This is where I'm going, thank you; I'll get off here," and then she'd had to stare at him, too. And when she did he froze at the wheel and almost put them in a roadside ditch before regaining control of the car at the very last second.

  And what about the red-haired young man, on foot, who had insisted on walking with her for more than a mile, all the time eyeing Blackie as if cats were something to eat and he was half starved? And the blond girl in the expensive red car who'd started right in talking about drugs and how she, Ethel, ought to learn to use them so she could forget all her troubles... and all the while the blonde was talking she was taking her gaze off the road and missing oncoming cars by only a hair. On her the look hadn't worked. She was off in another world somewhere, a sick one.

  Of course, after learning how to use her power on people, she hadn't been too frightened except when it seemed she might be involved in an accident. But she was certainly glad to be trudging up the Everol driveway now after having walked most of the night. What time was it, anyway? She lifted her wrist. Her watch said 11:10 A.M.

  "This is where you're going to live, Blackie," she said, turning her head to smile at the kitten now crouching on her right shoulder. "Will you like it, do you think?"

  Almost from the beginning of their friendship, Blackie had seemed to know what she was saying. He answered her now by sort of nodding his head and voicing his usual "Mrreow."

  "Of course, I may have to use my power on Everett," she said. "He doesn't like cats. At least he's always said he doesn't, but so far as I know he's never had one, so how can he be so sure?"

  "Mrreow," Blackie said, probably meaning, "Yes, how can he?"

  "Anyway, nobody's going to take you away from me, so don't you give it a thought. Not Everett, not Blanche, not Amanda, not Susan. Susan wouldn't want to, of course. She loves animals."

  "Mrreow," Blackie replied, and together they climbed the steps to the front door, where Ethel rang the bell.

  It was Blanche, Everett's wife, who opened the door.

  "Hello," Ethel said. "I'm home."

  "My God." The words came out of a mouth that sagged open and stayed that way. Blanche's eyes, too, went wide. Her gaze traveled slowly from Ethel's face to the kitten on her shoulder, then down over the now shabby sweater and outdoor dress to the almost ruined black shoes. And, "My God," she said again. "Ethel!"

  "Yes, I'm Ethel."

  "Where have you—how did you—"

  "I escaped. It took me
this long because I had to lose weight. Don't you see how thin I am now?"

  Blanche's gaze went to the kitten again. "What's this?"

  "His name is Blackie. He's my friend."

  "You mean you've brought him from the home?"

  "Oh, no. We met on the road. May I come in, please? You are going to ask me in, aren't you? This was my home long before Everett married you and brought you and your sister here, you know."

  Coming out of her trance, Blanche stepped aside but continued to stare as Ethel stepped past her. She closed the door as if unaware that she was doing so.

  "Where are the others?" Ethel asked.

  "Susan is in the kitchen. Amanda and Everett are upstairs."

  "Upstairs? It's almost noon."

  "Well, Amanda isn't herself. She saw one of—something like what you saw—and hasn't been right since. Everett—well, I don't know what's the matter with Everett. He came down for breakfast looking just awful, as if he was all worn out, then said he couldn't eat anything and went back upstairs. To tell the truth, he hasn't been himself at all lately. Something's troubling him." Blanche eyed the kitten again. "Are you going to keep that creature?"

  "Yes."

  "Here? In the house?"

  "Yes."

  "You know Everett doesn't like cats."

  "I don't care what Everett likes. After putting me in that awful home he owes me a few favors."

  In the living room Ethel went to a chair and eased herself into it with a heavy sigh of relief. Turning her head to smile at the kitten on her shoulder, she said, "There. We're home. Are you hungry?"

  Blackie meowed.

  "Well, in a minute I'll get you something to eat, but first just let me sit awhile. Don't you want to go exploring?"

  Blackie jumped from her shoulder to her lap and stayed there, looking around the room. From the kitchen came Susan, as wide-eyed as Blanche had been.

  "My goodness, it is you, Ethel! I thought I recognized your voice in here!" With her hands fluttering in front of her face, she stopped in her tracks. "Are you—what happened? How did you get here?"

  "Wait, wait," Ethel said. "I'll tell you all about it, the whole long story, after I've fixed Blackie and myself something to eat. We're hungry, both of us. The last time we ate anything was yesterday afternoon."

  Susan stopped staring. "You just sit there. I'll fix you something." Turning, she trotted back into the kitchen while Blanche walked silently to a chair and sat down.

  "So, tell me what's been going on here," Ethel said to Blanche. "My story can keep until you're all together, so I won't have to tell it over and over."

  "Well—"

  "Go on, tell me. You said Amanda saw something."

  "A wolf. At least that's what—oh, I don't know." Everett's wife flung her hands apart in a gesture of despair or impatience. "Mr. Gordon saw it first at his window and then—"

  "Who?"

  "Mr. Gordon. He's a college professor from Connecticut who came down here to see if he could help us find out what killed Jacob and drove you—well, anyway, he wrote and asked if he could come and Everett finally let him, and right away things began to happen again. I mean, the very first night he was here he saw a huge snake at his window, and then this wolf that attacked Amanda, and he put those things on all the windows to protect us." She pointed to one of the living room windows, and Ethel saw what looked like a star inside a circle painted on each of its two panes. "But that's all he did, and when he got friendly with a girl who'd been prowling around the property, Everett lost patience and ordered him out."

  "Which, if you ask me, was a terrible mistake," said her sister Susan, coming in from the kitchen in time to hear that part of the story. "And frankly, I don't see why Everett gets so touchy whenever anyone dares to set foot on the property. Privacy is one thing—we've always cherished that—but my goodness gracious, next thing you know he'll be putting a fence around the whole place and buying pit bulls for watchdogs."

  "I know what to do with pit bulls," Ethel said.

  "You what?"

  "Three of them tried to kill Blackie and I showed them."

  "Showed them how?"

  "Never mind. What's wrong with Everett?"

  "Well, if you ask me, he just can't cope anymore," Blanche said. "First this Gordon fellow and the snoopy girl, then Amanda being scared out of her wits, and the awful thing that happened at at the cemetery where Jacob is buried—"

  "What happened at the cemetery?" Ethel demanded.

  Blanche told her about it. "It was on the TV; that's how we know about it. And, as I said, it's my opinion that poor Everett just couldn't keep fighting back any longer."

  Ethel looked at the two of them in silence for a moment; then Susan suddenly said, "Oh, dear, your soft-boiled eggs will be hard!" and leaped up and ran back to the kitchen.

  Ethel said with a frown, "What happened to this Mr. Gordon you've been talking about?"

  "I suppose he went back to Connecticut."

  "Oh." It might have been exciting to have some man other than Everett in this house. Since Jacob's death Everett had ruled the place as if the rest of them did not even belong here. Stroking the kitten in her lap, Ethel said, "Did the vulture come back while I was away?"

  "Not the vulture. At least, we're not sure. Other things just as terrible, though."

  "What other things?"

  "A huge snake, a wolf, some shadowy things we couldn't put a name to."

  Ethel realized she was very tired. "I'd better see what Susan is doing," she said. Lifting Blackie to her shoulder, she started for the kitchen.

  "I'll go upstairs and tell Everett and Amanda you're here," Blanche called after her. "Come up when you're finished, won't you?"

  "Yes. Of course."

  Susan had set a place at the kitchen table and put out orange juice, eggs, toast, and coffee. While Ethel ate, she sat at the table too, every now and then shaking her head as if unable to believe Ethel could be home again. Suddenly she said, "I don't care what the others say, I think Mr. Gordon is a nice man."

  "Oh? How old is he?"

  "Too young for me, if that's what you're thinking. But that's not what I mean. I think he really tried to help us."

  "Why did Everett send him away, then?" Ethel had put half of an egg in her saucer and now smiled at the kitten on her shoulder. "That's for you, Blackie. Go on, eat it."

  Blackie jumped to the table and went straight to it.

  "Yes, why?" Susan said. "First Jeffrey wrote to ask if he could come here and try to help us, and Everett was—well—reluctant. Then Jeffrey telephoned a few times and Everett finally said all right, come on down, and we were all excited about having someone who really might know what to do come to Clandon. And then for no reason at all Everett suddenly changed his mind. I mean, he did a complete turnabout. Jeffrey had an accident on his way here and didn't know who he was when he arrived. And would you believe it, Everett didn't even want us to tell him who he was." Silent for a moment, she watched while Ethel ate. “You're really better, aren't you? I mean, no one would ever know you—"

  "Had been crazy? I wasn't crazy. I just went away for a while."

  "You what?"

  "Never mind. We'll talk about it later. But I'm glad you noticed." Susan had always been the sensitive one in this house, hadn't she? Always the first to see a raccoon or rabbit in the yard, or to worry about the birds getting enough to eat when the weather turned cold.

  Her breakfast finished, Ethel rose to her feet and spoke to Blackie. The cat jumped to her shoulder again. "I'll go upstairs now and say hello to Amanda and Everett," Ethel said.

  Susan nodded. "And I'll go for Lelio and Lucille. Your room ought to be—"

  "Go for who?"

  "Lelio and Lucille. You remember our Haitians, don't you?"

  "You mean they're still here?"

  "Well, why not? It was March, wasn't it, when we found them living in the old cottage and Everett said they could stay if they'd do some work around the place." Susan
counted on her fingers. "That's only three months ago. Anyway, I'll go and get them while you run along upstairs. That is, if you've had enough breakfast, the two of you."

  "We've had enough. Haven't we, Blackie?"

  The kitten leaned forward on Ethel's shoulder to rub his face against her cheek.

  "Just don't be shocked when you see Amanda," Susan warned on her way out of the kitchen. "That wolf or whatever it was actually broke through the wall of her room and was about to attack her when Jeffrey saved her. She's improved a little, but she's still a long way from being right again."

  Admitting to herself that she was now almost too tired to stay awake, Ethel climbed the stairs. Blackie must be tired, too, the poor little thing. Just as soon as she'd said hello to Everett and Amanda, both of them ought to lie down somewhere for a good, long nap. Her own bed would be nice, but if the Haitians were coming to look after her room, she and Blackie would just have to use some other bed. Or even the sofa in the living room.

  She walked into Everett's room first and found Blanche seated there beside the bed.

  "He's asleep," Blanche warned.

  "No, I'm not," Everett said in a husky voice, as if he had a bad case of laryngitis. "Welcome home, Sister. Let me look at you." He tried to sit up but couldn't maintain the effort and, with a heavy sigh of surrender, fell back again.

  "What's the matter with you?" Ethel said.

  "Weary, that's all. Been trying to fight it off, but it got the best of me."

  "He tried to drive to town yesterday," Blanche said. "Got so weak and shaky, he had to turn the car around and come on back. I begged him not to go in the first place. Told him I could run any errand that had to be run. He wouldn't listen."

  "Everett, you always were mule stubborn," Ethel said.

  "How'd you get out of the home?" he managed after another struggle with his inflamed larynx.