Restless Dead

by Cave, Hugh

  Suddenly his attention was diverted by a sound from the adjoining room.

  He staggered to his feet again. Beside him, Verna also rose but clutched his arm and voiced a gasp of horror. He and she were the ones directly opposite the dining room door, best able to see what was happening in that room where Lelio had tossed the discarded cocomacaque.

  In that room where Lelio had thrown the once sacred stick, now defiled by the blood of a murderer, a section of the floor had suddenly heaved upward. There was a hump in the old carpet where the big dining table had stood. The floor heaved again as Jeff took a step forward. This time the ends of splintered boards ripped the carpet and shot up into the room.

  At Jeff's side, Verna still clutched his arm, silent now but trembling from head to foot with her mouth open in a silent scream. Blanche and Amanda had seen and were screaming aloud. Ethel, with the kitten on her shoulder, had not moved, in fact seemed incapable of moving now that she had elected to become the link between two worlds. Old Everett was saying over and over in a scratchy whisper, "Oh, God; oh, my God!" Lelio and Lucille, hand in hand, were statues facing the upheaval.

  Up through the broken floor and torn carpet in the other room rose a monster from another world, another time. A huge, scaly head burst into view, its mouth a tunnel bristling with teeth. As the rest of the creature rose up from beneath the house, the whole dining room floor exploded into fragments, the walls of the room wobbled and burst apart, the ceiling broke into a score of cracks and began to rain chunks of plaster.

  An earthquake, Verna Clark thought. It was like an earthquake. But the thing causing it was alive, monstrous, deadly. Her schooling told her what it was. Of all the creatures from that bygone time, all the giant cats, wolves, birds, and reptiles, nothing had been more feared than the tyrant lizard, the huge carnivorous dinosaur that walked erect on its hind legs. Already this one had wrecked the dining room and was causing the rest of the house to shake like a child's toy made of cardboard. Its head alone had done that. If the rest of it rose from that ancient world beneath the house, the whole place would quickly become a heap of rubble and splinters from which the thing would pluck the living morsels of its next meal one by one and gulp them down.

  This thing ate other dinosaurs, for God's sake. A human being wouldn't even be a mouthful.

  The awful head filled half the dining room now. Those eyes from eighty to a hundred million years ago had seen them and focused on them. The living room floor on which she stood at Jeff's side, still clutching his arm in her terror, had become a heaving sea.

  The monster was not even going to wait until it stood erect, she saw then. With a body that would weigh five or six tons, why should it? The great head, jaws agape, simply bulldozed its way toward them like that of a giant white shark seeking a meal in a school of small fish.

  Why, if Susan had become Erzulie, didn't she do something to stop it? Dear God, why? Erzulie was supposed to be a protector of homes, wasn't she? She had answered Lelio's call and was here. Why didn't she do something?

  Because the whole voodoo thing was nonsense, of course. What other answer could there be? Yet if Lelio hadn't called upon evil voodoo gods for vengeance in the beginning, none of this would be happening at all, would it?

  Jeff. The man at her side. The man she knew she loved. He had suddenly shaken off the paralysis that gripped him. Was suddenly in motion. What was he doing?

  He had freed his arm from her grip and was no longer paying any attention to her. He seemed not to know she even existed. Slowly, as if unaware that anyone in the room existed, he was striding toward the monster and speaking in a voice that was not his own.

  She knew his voice. Loved it. But this was not the voice she knew and loved. It was much more—what was the word?—more commanding than his. Or was he just speaking loudly to be heard above the thunderous sounds now roaring out of the cavernous mouth that was about to swallow them all?

  Creole. He was speaking in Creole. Or was he? How could she know, when she knew nothing more of that Haitian peasant tongue than she had heard here in this house? She caught some familiar words, though, even through the bellowing that seemed designed to drown them out. The word bayé—that meant gate or door, didn't it? And femé. Creole was a kind of French, wasn't it? She knew a little French. Would femé mean shut?

  "M'ap femé bayé la!" he was shouting in the voice that was not his. Standing there closer to the advancing horror than any of them, yet seemingly unafraid, he had both hands extended, palms outward, as if commanding the huge, meat-eating monster to halt.

  Yes, that was what he was saying: "M'ap femé bayé la!" With the words gate or door and close or shut in it, it must mean he was doing what only Legba could do. He was Legba! And he was responding to Lelio's plea to close the gate.

  No one else had moved, not even Lelio. Ethel still stood over the govi in the center of the room, though with the floor heaving she was having trouble holding her balance. The cat still clung to her shoulder. Little Susan had returned to her chair and was simply sitting there, staring wide-eyed into space as though in a trance. Blanche and Amanda had stopped screaming. Everett was silent. The two Haitians watched Jeff intently.

  The monster seemed to be watching him, too. No longer moving forward, it was suddenly more like a man-made replica of itself than a real, live tyrant lizard. The kind of replica you saw in museums, marked TYRANNOSAURUS REX, THE GREAT, with a crowd of wide-eyed schoolchildren looking up at it in disbelief.

  It had even begun to fade.

  Jeff was still speaking Creole, if it was Creole. The words bayé and femé still crept into what he was saying. As he stood there with his back to her, facing the now cowed creature from that other world, he seemed taller than he really was. Older, too. How tall was Legba? How old? She wished she knew more about such things, so she could be sure of what was going on here. What had he said to her a while ago? "Someone will be possessed. Perhaps more than one. But they won't remember it."

  She found herself turning to look at the windows. There were no eyes outside them now. And the monster who had wrecked the dining room and might in another few moments have destroyed the whole house. . . that ghastly creature had become only a blurred ghost of itself, a misty, smoky shape that was fast losing even an outline.

  Even as she stared at it, it faded away completely and was no longer there at all. And all the sounds outside the house had ceased. Silence flowed in like a blessing.

  No one moved.

  No one spoke.

  She saw Jeff shake himself, like a dog coming out of water. He turned and looked around the room at the Haitians, at Ethel, at the other Everols, finally at her. As though tired, very tired, he walked slowly back to her.

  He took her by the arm. He led her to the empty chairs from which they had risen an eternity ago. When she sank onto hers, he lowered himself onto the one beside it, saying nothing.

  Lelio came over to peer into his face and nodded.

  "He is all right," the houngan said.

  "Was he—possessed?"

  "Yes. By Papa Legba. But he will remember nothing."

  "Is it over, then? All over?"

  "He closed the gate. Yes, it is finished."

  Verna looked toward little Susan. "And she was possessed, too?"

  "By Erzulie. With Miss Ethel acting as a poteau-mitan for us, which is a thing I have never seen done before. But I have never known a woman like Miss Ethel before, either. With her as the poteau-mitan, both Erzulie and Legba answered our prayers. Thank Le Bon Dieu." His voice faltered. He seemed very tired. "But Miss Susan will not remember being mounted, either."

  He was right

  When the fear had passed—when those in the room felt they could safely move about again—neither Susan nor Jeff could answer the questions put to them. "They will never remember," Lelio said with a shrug. "Never. After all, they were not themselves for those few moments. They were gods."

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  When they realized
at last that it was all over, they talked. The Everols, the Haitians, Jeff, Verna, all of them talked about what had happened. It was nearly midnight when, with his woman at his side, Lelio said quietly, "Most of this was my fault and I am sorry. I am not sorry that I sought revenge for the cruel thing done to my countrymen by those two men on the boat, you understand. Those two were more evil than anything we have seen here. But I regret the troubles I have caused."

  After a silence Everett said with a shake of his head, "I made mistakes too, Lelio."

  "We may go now, then? Back to our cottage?"

  “But be ready in the morning to talk to the police. I have to call them, of course, and tell them—show them—what happened here. They will want to know who did all this. And about other things, like that woman and child who disappeared near the cemetery. You'll have to help me tell them."

  "Yes, of course, m'sieu." The old Haitian solemnly nodded. "We will say good night, then." He and Lucille departed.

  Jeff Gordon said, "And we—Verna and I—will be going into the cave tomorrow to find her sister. So we'd better say good night, too, and go back to the motel."

  Little Susan, who for a few moments had been the voodoo goddess of love—chosen for the role with good reason, perhaps—gazed at him in sadness but said nothing.

  Jeff looked at Ethel, at the small black kitten now on her lap. "Before I return to Connecticut, Ethel, I'd like very much to talk to you about what you call your 'learning place.' May I do that?"

  She glanced down at the cat and smiled. "We'll be happy to talk to you. Won't we, Blackie?"

  Hand in hand, Jeff and Verna departed.

  In the morning they found the body of her sister Kimberly where Earl Watson had hidden it in the cave, and brought it out. And in response to a telephone call from Everett Everol, most of Clandon's small police force came to the house to gape in awe at the damage done and hear what had happened. But Lelio Savain and his wife played no part in telling them. When Everett went to their cottage to get them, it was empty. A note signed by Lelio said simply, "We thank you all but must say good-bye. It was a mistake for us to come to your country. We have decided to go home."

  After hours of talk in the Everols' living room—that room where Lelio had conducted the last of his services the night before—the police at last decided they had learned all they were likely to, at least for the present. The man called Clay said with a shake of his head, "Well, this clears up some of the questions, I suppose—like what happened to that Deering woman and her daughter near the cemetery. And I guess it proves Dan Crawley was tellin' the truth about what happened to the other kid who robbed you, Mr. Gordon. God only knows what's become of Earl Watson, though. His pickup's here in the driveway and he didn't come home last night, his wife says. We don't have a clue where he could have got to." He shrugged. "Anyway, we'll put out the the word on the Haitians. Most likely they'll be walkin' or tryin' to hitchhike to the coast. They won't dare take a bus, kriowin' we want to question them."

  Jeff Gordon talked to Ethel Everol. So did people from the institution. The latter were not summoned by anyone; they came in the knowledge that patients escaping from such a place usually headed for home. Amazed at her recovery, even more at what one of them called her "totally new personality," they offered no argument when the Everols insisted she was herself again and need not go back with them.

  Jeff Gordon and Verna Clark followed a funeral-home vehicle transporting the body of Verna's sister to Fort Lauderdale, where Jeff met Verna's mother and liked her. There, for a week, Verna and he discussed a future that would include all three of them.

  And a few days later, in another part of the state...

  “Joe, listen. Will you please listen to me, Joe? There is no such lake on this road, I'm tellin' you."

  Looking up from the map spread open on his knees, the pimply faced man gazed entreatingly at his companion hunched over the wheel of the almost-new Cadillac. "There just ain't any Lake Revanche on here, Joe," he persisted. "We are not only on the wrong road; we ain't even close."

  "Must be an old map," the tall man said with a shrug.

  "Joe, this is the latest gover'ment map of this here district. Look at it. Over here"—Pimples jabbed a finger at the left side of the paper—"are lakes we know about: Placid, Huntley, Grassy, Clay, June-in-Winter, all o' those. Even the littlest ones like Lost Lake and LaChard. But there ain't no lake along this road. Look for yourself, for God's sake."

  Joe turned his head for a second to glance down. "It's here," he insisted. "I never make mistakes about fishin' spots."

  "Well, if it's such a hot place to fish, why didn't you never mention it before, huh? Tell me that. How come the first time you ever thought about it was the day before yesterday?"

  "It just slipped my mind."

  Pimples heaved a sigh of surrender and slumped down on the seat, ignoring the map now and staring straight ahead through the windshield. At five in the afternoon the road was deserted. It was only a narrow ribbon of blacktop anyway, scarcely wide enough for two cars to pass without one of them running off onto a shoulder of soft sand. Most of the time it was probably deserted. The scenery on both sides was a monotonous blend of scrub and palmetto, with only an occasional oasis-like cluster of oaks or pines standing stark against the cloudless sky.

  "We shouldn't be out and around so soon anyhow," Pimples suddenly whined. "We ought to've laid low a lot longer after what happened this last time. Suppose one o' them people made it to shore and told what we done to them?"

  "Nobody did."

  "How do you know nobody did?"

  "It would've been in the papers the day after," the driver said calmly. "As quick as any survivor talked, it would've been in headlines a foot high, and that would've been three weeks ago, so forget it."

  Pimples was silent again for a few minutes. Then he said "I still say we shouldn't be on any fishin' trip."

  "Why not? Give me one good reason."

  "It just don't seem right. All them people losin' their lives and us drivin' all this way to some crazy lake you just remembered, one that don't even exist, I bet. And Jesus, Joe, this is the second time we done that. Made 'em swim for it, I mean." He wagged his head. "You remember that first bunch? The old guy that grabbed the watch off your wrist?"

  "It wasn't our fault, either one," Joe said with a touch of annoyance. “We didn't ask the damned engine to quit that first time. We didn't ask the Coast Guard 'copter to show up the second. You realize where we'd be this minute if those Haitians had been on deck when that the 'copter guys took a notion to make a pass over us? Huh? Do you?"

  Through an extended silence the Cadillac approached a gentle curve in the road.

  "You hear me?" Joe said. "It was not our fault, Goddamn it!"

  "Sure, sure."

  "It could've happened to anyone!"

  "Sure."

  "So forget it, will you? We're on a fishin' trip."

  "If we can find the stupid lake," Pimples growled. Then, as the car came out of the curve, he jerked his frail body to a more upright position and said, "Hey! There's a sign!"

  Joe eased his foot off the gas pedal.

  The sign was a yard-long board, crudely cut in the shape of an arrow and nailed to a cypress post. It said DARBY'S FISHING cup, and in smaller letters under that, LAKE REVANCHE.

  Joe stopped the car to make sure his companion would have time to read it. "Now do you know what you can do with that map?"

  Pimples wagged his head from side to side in disbelief. "Jeez, I never thought a gover'ment map could be wrong. That's a real old sign, too. You'd think somebody would've told 'em by now, huh?"

  "Put the damned map away," Joe said, letting the car move on again, but more slowly now. This road was unpaved and only one car wide.

  "Joe, what's revanche mean?"

  "Hell, I don't know. Some French Canadian's name, most likely, like Lake LaChard. There's lots o' Canadians in this part of Florida."

  "It's a big lake, Joe?" />
  "Not so big. Maybe a mile and a half long and half a mile wide, the way I remember it. But a beauty, and full of bass. The biggest lunkers you ever fished for."

  Pimples looked out at more sandy flatland bristling with palmetto and stunted scrub. "It's real queer you never brought me here before," he said then. "Or even mentioned any such lake. We sure been to a lot of places where the fishin' wasn't so great."

  "I told you—I just remembered."

  "That's what I'm sayin'. It's queer you only just remembered, when we been workin' together for more'n five years now." Pimples slowly inhaled, let his breath out in a kind of snort, and added, "Oh well, hell. We're here, so let's have us a time. We going to this Darby's camp?"

  "It's the one I recall."

  "How far in is it?"

  "About a mile."

  Joe's memory was unflawed. A mile farther on they came upon a second sign, larger but just as weathered as the first and with the same words on it. It led them along a pair of grassy ruts into a clearing. In the clearing, spaced about thirty feet apart, stood three old cottages of silver-gray cypress.

  From the nearest of these, as Joe stopped the car in front of it, came a man in his seventies, if his almost white hair and bent shoulders were any indication of his age. His wrinkled white face had been so long burned by the Florida sun that Pimples, on watching him approach, said, "Jeez, Joe. If he was only a little darker, he'd look like one of our customers."

  "Shut up, will you?" Joe said under his breath. Sliding out of the car, he thrust out his hand. "Mr. Darby?"

  "I am Orville Darby." The fellow looked Joe over, from costly desert shoes to handsome yellow sport shirt. "I don't think I know you, though," he said, not quite frowning.

  "Joe Janarek. Been here before. This is a buddy of mine. We'd like to rent a cabin for a couple days and do some fishin'."

  "Janarek?" Again the scrutiny, which ended this time in a relaxing of the not quite frown. "I remember now. It was a long time ago."

  Joe glanced impatiently toward the lake. "Well, anyhow—I been here before, like I say, and if it's all right with you—"