Haunted

by Randy Wayne White

I walked faster, regretting the flashlight I’d left blazing on the gravestone. When I reached the riverbank, I would be silhouetted, easily seen by Carmelo or the animal that had been stalking me. I considered the merits of running to retrieve it, and might have, but I had lost track of the chimp. If he had circled downwind, his odor would not warn me before an attack.

  The pistol barrel became my eyes. It steered my vision from left to right, to the trees that lined the river. The bright corridor created by my own flashlight lay just ahead. Rather than show myself, I turned early and started down the embankment in an eerie half-light of gray and green. Took my time, ears alert. Carmelo had been barking threats and orders all along, but there was something new in his tone when he said, “Hey . . you smell something weird?”

  Belton, through foliage and shadows, replied, “When I knocked you on your ass, I didn’t think you’d get up. Ten years ago you wouldn’t’ve. This is pointless. Let the girl go and I’ll tell you everything. Plus, you’ve got her journal. Don’t believe me? Look in that bag.”

  When Carmelo snapped, “Shut up . . . Perfume . . . You don’t smell that?” I stopped to listen. But also prepared to run by bracing a foot against an oak that was wider than my body, used it like a starting block. “Perfume,” he repeated. “That sonuvabitch Theo. You got no idea what I mean, do you?” There was a silence. I pictured him looking at Belton. “A snake bit him when we went back for the Gheenoe. Got him bad. I saw it. But it had a weird name, this snake. He went to get antivenom, must’a freaked out and turned his goddamn monkey loose. You don’t smell that French whore perfume?”

  Belton said, “What’s perfume have to do with—”

  “Quiet—I’m trying to think. That strung-out fool doesn’t give a damn about anyone. I told him I was done if he pulled this crap. Yeah . . . up in those trees, maybe. You don’t smell that? Or the other side of the river. Those monkeys are meat-eaters, man. Screw it . . . Yeah, screw it. I’m out of here.”

  “But . . . then cut me loose first. And if Hannah’s ankle is broken—”

  “Tell the monkeys when they show up, Mr. Matás. Shit . . now what’s wrong with this damn thing? Probably the battery.”

  I heard him bang at something. The spotlight came on again, a flooding beam. It moved among the treetops and swung toward me. I crouched low, didn’t look up until Carmelo yelled, “Look . . . look’a there. That’s her, the bitch!” A shotgun fired and the sky absorbed a furious inhuman shriek.

  The shriek took form when I lifted my head. High above me was the chimp, mouth open wide, close enough it might have crushed me had it fallen, but the animal leaped toward the river instead. No . . . leaped toward Carmelo, who fired again—BOOM—then the howls of man and chimpanzee were indistinguishable from the searing thump of flesh on flesh.

  Belton raised his voice above it all: “Damn animal . . . Stay away!”

  I went down the embankment faster than was prudent. Made too much noise. Didn’t slow until the spotlight showed familiar landmarks: the sandbar angling into the river, our aluminum boat and the Gheenoe with a trolling motor beached alongside. Carmelo’s wailing and desperate profanities caused me to hesitate before exiting the bushes, but I finally did. The scene that awaited was nightmarish.

  Belton was on his side, trying to worm his way up the embankment, his nose bloody. Closer to me, the chimpanzee’s shoulders appeared to be melded into Carmelo’s chest, Carmelo, on the ground, his clothes ripped, mouth open wide in a airless scream, while his body spasmed in surrender. The chimp had used its feet to pin the man’s arms. Its hands cupped Carmelo’s head like a chalice, tilting his neck to expose the throat, the chimp’s face nestled close as if suckling but in fact had buried its teeth near the jugular. The animal was so focused on killing—or feeding—it did not react when Belton saw me and hollered, “Hannah . . . for god’s sake, run.” His voice broke like an adolescent.

  My eyes followed the pistol into the clearing, at first seeing only the chimp’s broad back but then realized that Belton was just beyond directly in the line of fire. The angle was all wrong, too risky to pull the trigger at a distance of thirty yards. I scuttled sideways without looking, unaware of the river until I was knee-deep in water and a slow current tugged at my jeans.

  The sound of my clumsy splashing was too loud to ignore. The chimp sat straight, pivoted its head from side to side. Around its neck was a heavy pink collar with an electronic device. A remnant of pink ribbon, too, behind one ear, which meshed with the perfume.

  Pink . . . Carmelo and Lucia had used the word like a profanity when describing the female chimp. So this was Savvy, not Oliver, the big male. She turned, searching, until her caramel eyes found me. She sniffed, tasted the air through lips glossy with blood—or lipstick—and chirped a soprano note of interest that transitioned into a growl. Eyes of caramel studied me . . . and blazed with recognition. Her fists became hammers. She pounded her chest—a hollow-coconut sound—then demonstrated her strength by grabbing Carmelo’s arm and slinging his body several feet toward me. He landed as limp and boneless as a sack.

  I fought the urge to flee, took a step back, and found firmer footing, then leveled the pistol and spoke. “Get the hell out of here or I’ll shoot you.” I was so scared, the words came automatically—a last warning to myself more than to an animal who could not understand.

  Carmelo’s spotlight lay in the sand, projecting monstrous shadows. Savvy made a chattering sound of indignation . . . flapped her outstretched arms like a child learning to walk, then started toward me.

  I said it again: “I will shoot you.”

  The chimp kept coming, loping faster, then hunkered low and sprinted, fingers and feet kicking sand as she closed the distance.

  Belton yelled something, yelled something else—a warning, no doubt—yet his words vaporized before they reached my ears. I heard only the metallic click of the pistol’s hammer when I thumbed it back. I squared my shoulders and waited. Through a tunnel of light and consciousness, I saw only the chimpanzee’s face. . . a glossy square of leather and teeth that radiated hatred and rage and mindless intent. The coldness that enveloped me was equally dispassionate, equally focused.

  When the animal was fifteen yards away, still a long shot for a pistol, I pulled the trigger. Rather than an explosion, I heard a click. Stunned, I yanked the trigger again. Click.

  A misfire, a bad cartridge. In my head, a teenage girl listened patiently while my Uncle Jake explained that misfires are not rare and easily cleared if you know what to do and stay calm.

  Impossible to remain calm, but I managed not to freeze. I looked up while I shucked the cartridge free and slammed a fresh round in the chamber. Savvy was almost to the water, close enough that the stink of her body pushed wet air into my face.

  Belton’s voice broke through: “Shoot the damn thing!”

  I raised the pistol and did exactly that a microsecond before the chimp vaulted toward the river. The gun bucked twice in my hands while Savvy was airborne, then her weight slammed into me. I fell backward and went under . . . and I stayed under, unsure if my shots had hit flesh. Using one hand, I crabbed along the bottom toward shore. Then got my feet under me and stood with my arms already outstretched, the pistol ready to aim and fire if needed while water poured down my face.

  Belton’s voice again: “Behind you. Shoot him!”

  I spun, expecting to see the chimp. Instead, a boat was coasting silently toward me, a man on the bow who made a moaning noise and cried, “Oh my god . . . oh my god, where is she? I heard shots.”

  It was Theo. His lanky shape was unmistakable—steering a trolling motor with his feet, a flashlight in his hand. He switched on the light, blinded me for a second, then began to search the water’s surface. “You tramp, you redneck tramp. You shot her, didn’t you?”

  I was furious. “You raise a hand to us, I’ll shoot you, too. Don’t think I won’t.”

/>   “I knew it!” Theo, several boat lengths away, stomped his foot on the deck. “Oliver will eat you alive for this—I mean, eat you alive. Where is she?” Theo ranted on as the trolling motor spun him closer, then tilted his face toward the treetops and screamed, “OLI-VEEEEER! HERE SHE IS! COME TO DADDY!”

  My finger was still on the trigger. If Theo had had a gun, I would have done it, would have shot him. I came close to squeezing the trigger anyway. Tell the police, My life was in danger. Tell police, A teenage girl was butchered and this man laughed. No . . . tell them, I know what happened to those three missing people, then read about Theo’s arrest on the Internet.

  A coldness still possessed me, but the steel cable within held fast. I didn’t shoot. I lowered the pistol, turned and sloshed to our boat and grabbed my bag. Theo, vicious by nature, had slipped over the edge of his own canted world. He sounded feverish. Perhaps it was true he’d been bitten by a snake and given himself a shot of antivenom. I’d thought it was another of Carmelo’s lies. No telling what the man would do if he had a gun aboard. And if we tried to escape in the rental Gheenoe, he would try to crush us with the Bass Cat. No doubt in my mind.

  Bag over my shoulder, I jogged to Belton, whose nose was bloody and crooked. “Can you walk?”

  He got up, eyes on Theo. “What happened to that damn monkey? You hit him. Stood your ground, by god, you did. How’s your ankle? Or were you—”

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” I said, “but on foot. Where’s that water jug? We need water.” I started toward the boat, then saw the plastic container near Carmelo’s spotlight, which burned brightly in the sand. The bottle of iodine tablets was open, pills scattered.

  Belton touched his fingers to his nose, tested his right wrist, and grunted. “Now what’s he doing?”

  “You broke your hand, too?”

  “Carmelo, I hit him a good one. Put him right on his ass.” Belton couldn’t hide his delight. “Damn . . . yeah, broken maybe.”

  “Theo might have a gun. Don’t take your eyes off him. We’ll need those pills.”

  Theo maintained a running commentary, his babbling mixed with lewd talk and threats. I stayed busy, ignoring him until he called, “There you are!” then spoke soothingly as if to a child. “Savvy . . . over here, girl, it’s me. Oh shit . . . I was right, you are hurt.”

  The chimp was upriver, dog-paddling on the surface but struggling, using only one arm. I dropped iodine tablets in the jug and hurried to fill it with water while I watched. Theo kept the flashlight on the animal, Savvy blinking her caramel eyes until the trolling motor pulled the boat close enough. He placed the light on the deck, removed his shoes after calling me the foulest of names. A moment later, he slipped over the side. Repulsive, the cooing sounds he made while the chimp screeched and tried to swim away, slapping wildly at the water. Theo cursed me again and yelled to the trees, “OLI-VERRR! I NEED YOU!”

  I spoke quietly to Belton. “If he lets the boat drift away, maybe I can swim out and start the engine before he notices. Can you shoot left-handed?” But I retracted the offer when a gust of wind—or a two-hundred-pound chimp—furrowed the oak canopy to our right. “We can’t wait,” I said. “There’s one more thing I want to check.”

  I ran to pat Carmelo’s pockets for a cell phone. Belton stooped, lifted the spotlight from the sand, and spoke. “I’ll shoot Theo and you know it. Him and his damn chimp. That’s why you don’t trust me with the gun. Why not let me, Hannah? I’d confess to the police and we’d both be safe. Damn it . . . why not?”

  He shined the light on Theo, then downriver, waiting for an answer while I knelt over Carmelo. Nothing but keys and a knife in his front pockets. I felt beneath him, turned my head away rather than focus on what was missing from Carmelo’s face. That’s why I happened to see what Belton did not see—what someone from Virginia wouldn’t have recognized anyway: a pair of ruby red eyes gliding upriver toward the sound of splashing, those eyes set a foot apart, which told me the alligator we’d hit was at least twelve feet long and still healthy enough to feed.

  Automatically, I started to call out a warning but caught myself. After a moment of self-inspection, I turned away and pretended ignorance . . . and an innocence that revealed the ugliest of truths: the beast within me was ready and waiting, but only when it suited my needs.

  I took Belton’s arm and pulled him toward the embankment. “How Theo dies,” I said, “isn’t for me to decide.”

  Belton carried the spotlight, but it had a short or a bad battery and he soon tossed it aside. Moon shadow resumed dominance. I was so focused on sounds I expected to hear but had yet to hear—slashing water, Theo’s wail of surprise—I was slow to notice something else: the flashlight I’d left on the gravestone was gone.

  Belton asked, “Why are you stopping?”

  I adjusted the bag on my shoulder. “Stay close and watch behind us. Are you sure that spotlight’s no good?”

  “You saw something. Do you think it’s the other chimp? By god, I wish he’d show himself.” The man put his hand on my back and gave a little push. “We’ve got to get away from these trees. We’ll be fine once we’re on open ground. You said there was pasture on the other side of the clearing. After that, all we have to worry about is cows.” He laughed, but it was nervous laughter.

  I was going through a checklist in my head. An almost new flashlight with fresh batteries. The wind might have knocked it to the ground, but the gravestone wasn’t tall. The lens wouldn’t have broken. The light should still be on.

  I peered ahead, seeing only the circle of oaks and darkness. “Change of plans. We have to follow the river north a bit, then we’ll turn inland. There’s something wrong up ahead.” When I started to explain, the river issued a single tumbling splash, then silence. Maybe the gator had taken Theo. I couldn’t be sure unless I went back to check. Tempting, the prospect of jumping in a fast boat and leaving all this behind. I could not pass it up.

  “Wait here,” I said. “I won’t be long.”

  “Where’re you going? Not without me, you’re not.”

  I retraced our path and Belton followed. Near the top of the embankment, I stopped and listened before exiting the bushes. A heavy thumping sound came from the river below . . . then a loud creak of rending metal. I peeked through: squatting on Theo’s boat, which had drifted to the bank, was Oliver. Had to be Oliver—an ape-sized chimp with arms twice as long as a human’s. Massive shoulders, a distended jaw that resembled a football, but a face that, by moonlight, might have been the face of a man wearing a costume. A rope or his broken collar dangled from his neck. Wearing shorts, too, or baggy cut-off pants belted at the waist, a comedic touch that was in fact grotesque.

  Belton whispered, “Where’s Theo?”

  I shook my head and watched.

  Oliver had ripped the steering wheel from the boat. A ring of stainless steel. He stared as if deep in thought . . . bent one of the spokes until it snapped and tossed it aside. Then grunted a bass drum UHH-UHH and duck-walked to the stern, where the engine had snagged bottom. He placed the wheel on the deck. The chimp appeared to be hurt, favored his left side like a person with arthritis. Squatted there while an arm unfurled and he dangled a hand in the water. A child playing: slap the surface, watch diamond droplets rain down. Oliver slapped and played, but now his baritone grunts resembled a man who contained his rage by growling.

  I leaned close to Belton’s ear. “I’m going to shoot him. Even with a broken steering wheel, I can steer that boat. He’ll kill us. We both know that. But I have to get closer.” Shooting downhill through bushes at a target fifty yards away was too dangerous.

  Belton started to say, “Let me—” but then jerked his head downriver and whispered, “What the hell is that?”

  The alligator had returned, attracted by Oliver’s splashing, its tail carving a serpentine wake on the surface. The wake rocked our aluminum boat a
nd whitecapped on sand. Only vague shapes were discernible. The gator carried a big chunk of something, an object that sank when its jaws slashed and released it.

  Oliver saw the alligator, too, but continued to play his childish game. Splashed and waited until the gator was so close, it vanished from our view. There was a blur of movement, an explosion of water. The next thing I saw, Oliver was hunched low, lifting mightily . . . the alligator’s head was trapped inside the steering wheel. A snare . . . he had created a snare. Too much weight to lift clear of the water, so Oliver hammered at the gator’s head with a fist until the animal slashed and rolled and finally broke free.

  The chimp watched the thing submerge and went into a rage. Shattered the windshield, ripped a seat off its stanchion and hurled it at the gator’s bubbles. Tilted his head back and yowled at the moon, a chalkboard screech that ended when Oliver suddenly stopped and sniffed the air. Settling back, he sniffed more thoughtfully and slowly, slowly turned to look in our direction.

  Belton’s shoulder touched mine. “He smells us.”

  “Maybe not. But get ready to run.” Fifty yards, even over open ground, was a long shot, but I had the pistol up, ready to try. Only four bullets left.

  Oliver squatted near the steering wheel, his big head and clamshell ears in silhouette. He massaged an elbow, peered at his left hand, which was swollen twice normal size. An injured athlete taking inventory, his behavior reminded me of that. The gun sights of my pistol were three glowing dots that framed Oliver’s chest. I was thinking, Get closer, he’s hurt, just sitting there. You have time.

  I was wrong. Oliver exploded again, a blur of movement, and I stood hypnotized by a silver object that spun toward my face. The object sliced the air like a metal Frisbee, whapped through branches on a curving path, and hammered Belton to the ground.

  The steering wheel, I realized.

  From the river, a bass drum taunted. UCKER . . . UUHM UCK.

  I knelt over Belton for just a moment, then stood. Oliver was on his feet, beating coconut sounds on his chest, his lips peeled back to show teeth. By the time I got the pistol up, he was still there but leaping toward shore. I fired twice . . . fired again after he stumbled and sprawled sideways into the river . . . the pistol spouting flames each time. Startling—I’d never shot a gun at night.