by R. L. King
“True. So what did you mean about thinking it might work better on Thanksgiving? What have you got planned?”
“As I said, I want to try talking to the students. But they’re currently in a mental-health facility in a town twenty miles from here, under secure conditions. The authorities are still trying to determine if they’re competent to stand trial.”
“You want to break in to a mental hospital?”
“I do. Well—I’d rather not, honestly, but I think it’s our only hope of finding out what happened. And I think a holiday when they’re likely to be running an abbreviated staff might be just the time to do it. What about it, apprentice? Are you up for a spot of B and E with a side of magic? I could use your light touch with the mental stuff, since I think something’s blocking them from remembering what happened to them.”
“Uh—sure. You always know the best places for a date. Just give me the details.”
“Let me check on the lodging situation, since I think it would be a bit nervy of me to ask Ms. Griffith to take on another wayward houseguest. I’ll text you tomorrow morning.”
“You got it, Doc. I’ll be waiting.”
“Oh—and before you go, could you stop by my place, check on Raider, and pick up a few spare clothes for me? I was standing in front of the portal with my overnight bag, ready to head home to England, when Blodgett called.”
“No problem. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Enjoy your concert.”
Stone hung up, settling back into the pillows with a satisfied sigh. Things still weren’t looking great, but at least now, after a hot shower, a meal, and a chat with Verity, they were looking better.
Now all he had to do was convince Dez he knew what he was doing. But that could wait until tomorrow.
He awoke early the following morning, jolted from sleep by a disturbing dream he couldn’t quite remember. He was sure he’d had some version of the same dream multiple times during the night, each time jerking awake with nothing but the students’ droning chant running through his mind:
Falaa arglish panandar thron harithra broov zinboth ahn…
Except in the dream, it wasn’t a bunch of high-school kids doing the chanting. These voices were deeper, more guttural, more…primal. And there were more of them—many more. Each time he awoke, he found it harder to get back to sleep, that chant lodged in his head on endless repeat, like the worst kind of earworm. Finally, he dragged himself from bed at seven a.m., took a shower, and headed down the hall to see if Dez was awake yet.
He found her in the kitchen, on the phone. She glanced up as he entered, and he was surprised to see her looking pale and near tears.
Dear gods, did something happen to her family? He shot her a concerned, questioning look, but she merely held up a hand to forestall his inquiry and continued focusing on the caller.
“Yes…thank you so much for letting me know, Boyd. I appreciate it.” She hung up the receiver slowly and with too much care, as if afraid she might injure it with rough handling.
“Are you all right?” Stone asked. “Your family—”
“They’re fine.” Her voice shook, and he didn’t need to see her aura to know she’d just taken a shock. “It’s…not them.”
He didn’t press, realizing it might have nothing to do with him and therefore be none of his business, but he did wait there silently until she chose to either speak or leave the room to be alone.
Her gaze came up, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “That…was Boyd Lenihan—he’s on the force with me. He just called to let me know that Neil Warby…committed suicide last night. Hanged himself in his garage.”
12
“Bloody hell.” Stone bowed his head. Another victim of whatever was out in that forest, regardless of whether it had gotten to Warby directly.
“Yeah.” She puttered around the kitchen, making two cups of coffee and setting one in front of Stone. “Apparently Lisa found him this morning. She woke up and he wasn’t in bed with her, so she went looking. Found him hanging from one of the rafter beams in the garage. Boyd says they estimate he probably did it around two a.m. That poor woman. She’s been through so much already, and now this.”
Stone let out a long sigh. He wanted to ask more questions, but these people were Dez’s friends and he didn’t want to intrude on her grief.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to. “He left a note,” she said. “That hasn’t been released yet, so don’t say anything to anyone, but he did.”
“Did your friend…tell you what the note said?”
“Yeah. It was short and sweet. All it said was, ‘I’m sorry. This was my fault. I should have seen something.’ Same kind of stuff he was saying yesterday when we visited him.”
Stone tensed, wondering if Dez had picked up on the implications of what she’d just told him. Had their visit pushed an already-unstable man, wracked with guilt about both his affair with Muriel Burford and the fact that he hadn’t noticed any signs of incipient violence in the students under his charge, to take a final, desperate action? He didn’t mention it—it wouldn’t help, and he didn’t want to make things worse for this woman who’d already been so kind to him.
She sighed too, taking a long sip of her coffee, and then briskly put her hands on the counter. “So—what’s the plan for today? Do you still want to try to get to the kids?”
“Not yet. I called my apprentice last night. She’s willing to help me, but she can’t get here until late tonight.”
“Tonight? So she’s going to be here on Thanksgiving?”
“Yes. I’ve got a plan—but first I need to see to a few things.”
“What things?”
“Lodging, for one. You’ve been more than gracious to let me stay here, but I can tell you’re not altogether comfortable having a stranger in your home, especially when your family is returning. Today, right?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t even try to deny any of his words. “They’ll be back later this afternoon. But I can’t kick you out if you don’t have anywhere else to go. This is too important.”
“You said yourself that the inns and such are mostly full of tourists and tabloid reporters. I have a hunch that most of the tourists, at least, won’t stick around for Thanksgiving. I think their desire to get home and spend the holiday with family will trump their ghoulish need to ferret out Treadley’s darkest secrets. And besides, I can’t ask you to house my apprentice as well. So my first order of business today is to find a place to stay.”
She looked down. “I want you to know you’re still welcome here if you can’t find anything. We’ll figure something out. There’s a fold-out couch in the family room—we can put your apprentice there if we need to.”
“You’re so kind,” he said with a faint smile. “But we’ll be fine, I promise.”
“It’s not kindness—not completely, anyway.” She still didn’t look at him. “This has gotten personal, now. I wasn’t close to Neil and Lisa, but I have known them casually for years. Like I said, Neil taught my oldest son’s English class last year. Whatever that…thing is out there in the woods, I want a piece of it.” Now, her gaze came up to meet his, and glittering resolve had replaced the unshed tears. “Please, Dr. Stone—don’t shut me out of this. If there’s anything I can do to help you—any way I can help cut through red tape, help you figure out who to talk to, or even shoot that thing right in its ugly face, you promise you’ll let me know.”
“I will. I’m not even sure it has a face, to be honest. But I promise, I won’t shut you out. You do realize this could be quite dangerous, right? I have to make sure you understand that.”
“I get it. Maybe I don’t get all the implications of that like you do. But Treadley’s my home, and I’m a cop. I’m sworn to protect it. That means from everything, not just burglars and drunk drivers.”
“All right, then.”
“So you’re going to look for a place to stay? Want me to call around for you?”
“No, I need to get out any
way. I’ve got some other errands to run. What would help is if you suggest the best places to check first.”
“That’s easy,” she said immediately. “There are two inns in town. They’re both small and cozy, but the Schooner is nicer. I know the owners—nice older couple. Try that one first, and if they don’t have anything, go to the Lighthouse.”
“Thank you.” Stone recalled seeing both inns when he was driving around the town waiting to meet Dez at the Busy Bee.
“If both of them are still full, call me. I can recommend some nice B&Bs, but they’re further out of town. They cater to the leaf peepers, mostly. Normally they’re pretty empty this time of year, but…”
Stone nodded. “Right, then. I’ll clear out. Thank you again, and please give my best to your family.”
“I will.” She looked down into her coffee cup again. “I’m not looking forward to today. Need to go in to the station for a bit. A lot of people are going to be shocked when the news gets around about Neil.”
Stone gathered his things into his overnight bag and tossed it in the trunk of his rented Ford. He hoped he could find a place to stay for several reasons, but one of them was because he was looking forward to Verity bringing him some changes of clothes. If she didn’t, he’d need to buy some things today, since none of the shops around here would be open on Thanksgiving Day.
It was still a bit early to go to the inn, so he pulled the car into a deserted parking lot along Main Street and pulled out his phone. Blodgett probably hadn’t had a chance to look at his overnight package yet, but Eddie and Ward might have. He punched Eddie’s number and watched the cars drive by in the light, drizzly rain while it rang.
“Well,” his friend answered after the first ring, an amused chuckle in his tone. “As if you’ve not got enough mysteries to deal with in your own backyard—now you’ve got to go off searchin’ for ’em on the other side of the country?”
“Pretty much,” Stone replied with a chuckle of his own. “I take it you got my little packet.”
“I did. Ward and I are already ’ard at work tryin’ to sort it out. That video is bloody weird, mate. Children of the Corn-level weird kids, right there. You said they murdered a bunch of people?”
“They did, and recently. You can probably dig up the stories if you check the American news archives. I doubt it made it all the way over there.”
“And you think they picked up something nasty on this campin’ trip they went on.”
“Yes, that’s my working theory.” He told Eddie about his and Dez’s excursion to the campground yesterday. “I’m certain now that there’s something up there and that it’s powerful. I just don’t have any idea what it wants. Why compel a load of high-school students to commit grisly murders? What does it gain by that? It can’t be feeding off the energy from the murders—it’s sixty miles away. Even something insanely powerful wouldn’t have that kind of reach.”
“You sure they’re not possessed? Maybe this is like that thing you were dealin’ with a few years back.”
“I already thought of that, and I don’t think this is the Evil. In the first place, it’s highly unlikely any of them are left that are still capable of possessing bodies. They die when they’re without a host for more than a few seconds, remember?”
“They couldn’t’ve figured out a way back through from wherever they came from?”
That was a chilling thought. “Possible, but not likely. This doesn’t look like their M.O., anyway. I think we’re dealing with something a lot older and more primal. I don’t think it’s a possession situation, but this honestly reminds me more of another case I dealt with, down in southern California. If I were a betting man, I’d say this was something that’s lain undisturbed for a very long time.”
“I won’t take that bet, because I think you’re right. We ’aven’t got far in sorting out the language of that chant yet, but I’ve got some educated guesses about the nature of it.”
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
“From the sound of it, Ward and I both think it’s sort of a…prayer. Maybe praising something. Kind of like a bunch o’ regular churchgoers would stand around praising God.”
“Interesting. So…you think they were sort of—what—celebrating, after they killed all those people? Like maybe that’s what this thing intended them to do?”
“I’m not sure. I wouldn’t bet anything important on that, but that’s the initial feeling. I’ll tell you more if we can figure out anything else about the language.”
“I’ve sent a copy of the video to Edwin Blodgett in Lowell, too. His hobby is languages, and he’s local so he might have better resources. I’ll talk to him later today, and let you know if he comes up with anything.”
“Thanks, mate. This is an interestin’ little puzzle you’ve dropped on us. I’ll ring you back if we get anything else.”
“Thanks, Eddie.”
“Oi, Stone?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful, yeah? If you’re right about this bein’ old—and I think you are—you know how dangerous stuff like that can be. Keep yer ’ead on straight.”
“When have I ever done that?”
Eddie chuckled. “Fair point. Just make sure you don’t come back ’ere and murder us in our sleep, okay?”
“Bloody hell, Eddie, you never let me have any fun.”
13
The Schooner Inn was just off Main Street. It was a medium-sized, weathered gray building that was either fashioned to look like a place where crusty old New England sea dogs might stay, or else it actually was one. Stone doubted the latter, given Treadley’s lack of proximity to any large bodies of water. More likely, it was designed to appeal to tourists who wouldn’t care whether it was authentic or not, as long as they could get good food, a soft bed, and advice on where the best colored leaves could be found.
Stone pulled into the parking lot, noting with satisfaction that it didn’t look as full as it had two days ago. He hoped that was a good sign. He retrieved his bag from the trunk and headed in, walking through a lobby decorated in a tasteful nautical motif.
“May I help you?” The desk clerk, a young woman in a blue sweater, offered him a faint but welcoming smile.
“I’m hoping you might have a room available for the next couple of nights. I know you’ve been rather full up, but I notice your lot’s a bit emptier today.”
“Oh! You may be in luck, actually. We’ve had a couple of folks check out this morning. Let me see…” She punched something into her computer and studied the screen. “Ah, yes. Someone already beat you to one of them, but we’ve got a small room with a queen bed on the second floor if you want it. I’m afraid the view isn’t very good, but—”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll take anything. Thank you. Nothing else, though? I’ve got a friend who’s interested too.”
“I’m afraid not, sir. This isn’t normally a busy time for us, but…I’m not sure if you heard, but we’ve had some…unexpected events within the past week or so.”
“I’ve heard, yes. I’m so sorry.”
She nodded, not looking at him, and he wondered how many of the victims’ families, or even the murderers, she might know, have gone to school with, or otherwise connected with.
“Anyway,” she said, “the curious people—” she didn’t say ghouls, but it was implied in her tone, “—are leaving now to go home for the holidays, and we’ve got some others coming in to visit family. You’re lucky you came in when you did, or this last room would be gone. Do you want it?”
“Oh, absolutely.” He handed over his credit card, half-fearing that someone else would snatch the room out from under him if he didn’t pay fast enough. He’d have to let Verity know about the accommodations and let her decide if she wanted to share a room with him, but he doubted she’d mind. “Thank you.”
“Do you need help with your luggage?”
Stone held up his overnight bag with a chuckle. “I think I can manage, thank you.”
“All right, then. The elevator’s past the desk, off to your left, and the stairs are next to it.”
Stone was about to turn toward them when he caught sight of something moving. He didn’t pay it any attention until he spotted a flash of green. He tensed, quickly pulling up a disregarding spell.
The two men passing through the lobby and out toward the front door looked familiar, and it only took Stone an instant to realize why: they were the two tabloid reporters who’d been sitting near him and Dez at the Busy Bee—the ones who had likely overheard their conversation, and the ones he suspected had broken into Dez’s house and stolen her laptop.
His spell must have worked, because they passed him and continued out the door without a second look. He waited a moment to make sure they wouldn’t return, then turned back to the desk clerk and dropped the spell. “May I ask you a question?”
“Uh, sure.” She looked startled, as if she thought he’d already left. “What is it?”
“Those two men who just left—the one in the green sweater and his friend—do you know their names?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give out information about our other guests, sir.”
“I understand,” he murmured. “It’s got to have been dreadful for you here, having to deal with all these unscrupulous journalists trying to dig up the horrible details about your town’s tragedy.”
She flashed him a suspicious look. “What makes you think they’re unscrupulous journalists?”
“I know their type. Listen,” he added, leaning in and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll be honest with you—I work for a rival publication. I’m not looking for grisly details, though. More of a human-interest angle. My editor wants to present a more sympathetic view of this tragedy and its effect on the local population. Those two are—” He shook his head in mock frustration. “I’m familiar with the outfit they work for, and it’s…rather unsavory. I’d certainly like to find out more about what kind of people I’m competing with for information.” He palmed a small sheaf of folded twenty-dollar bills—a hundred dollars in all—and casually dropped it next to her keyboard. “I’m very interested in learning more about them, actually.”
