The Stone Flowers

by Nora O'Keeffe

  He didn’t know why he lied. Maybe because his bones were aching and his skin burned like he’d been scaled. Or maybe he was afraid that when the creature breathed on him, its evil had contaminated him. Either way, Harness kept his gaze on the road, not wanting to look up and see the little girl’s knowing eyes in the rear-view mirror.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee cradled in her hand, Maggie watched the window, waiting for the first rays of light. She checked her phone, listening to the dial tone echo in the empty house. He’d be at the Chapels’ now. A small part of her still clung to the fading hope that Harness would find a little girl – lost, maybe carrying a deadly virus. A long shot, but no stranger than the alternative.

  She’d spent most of her married life drowning in a sense of helplessness, and could feel the all too familiar waters of anxiety lapping at her thoughts. Her mind kept coming back to Prapti and the encounter in the café. The woman’s threats weren’t random, but specifically aimed at Harness. Was it possible he was walking into a trap? The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.

  The Acheri shows up at the Chapels’, hanging around long enough for Rodney to call Harness. The whole thing engineered to manoeuvre him into the creature’s arms. And why the Chapels? The questions just kept piling up until she couldn’t think straight.

  She pushed the coffee away and slid her laptop across the table. If the phone was working, she’d be able to access the Internet. She turned on the computer, taking a few seconds to grab a notepad and pen from the draw next to the sink while the screen came to life.

  Hands poised over the keyboard, Maggie hesitated, not really sure what she hoped to find. “Simple is best.” She spoke to the screen and typed the word Acheri into the search bar.

  Almost forty-seven thousand hits. Maggie puffed out a breath and scrolled through the first page, finding a number of images, mostly drawings. She clicked on one, watching the stark etching fill the screen. In shades of grey and black, what looked like a half-naked skeletal creature with empty eyes and sharp teeth stood on a crudely drawn hill. Maggie clicked on the next image. This one was similar to the first, using the same colours and style of the previous drawing. Maggie guessed that both images were created by the same artist. Both renderings showed the same hideous face, only in the second image, the Acheri was depicted as a disembodied head floating over an isolated house.

  Maggie stared at the image and couldn’t help thinking of the Chapels’ house. She’d been there once with Tess and Oli for a barbeque. The home she’d visited was different to the one in the drawing, bigger and more modern, but just as lonely and isolated. Although only a drawing, the skull-like face managed to look knowing and cruel at the same time. She quickly clicked off the pictures and onto a site related to a book where the author claimed to have had a real-life encounter with an Acheri.

  The site offered a few paragraphs of information and cited Zachary Chandler as the author. Maggie scanned through the information. According to Chandler, an Acheri was a demonic spirit that originated in both the eastern and western hemispheres.

  Native American legend also included mention of the Acheri. Both Native American and Indian cultures believed that an Acheri was the result of a girl that died a horrible, untimely death. Once dead, the girl returned from the spirit world to torment others, mainly children. The Acheri sought to make her victims suffer as she did, resulting in their deaths. Japan also had a similar legend about a demon called Ju-On.

  Maggie stopped reading, recalling something Manjula had said: your people know of this demon. Did Manjula mean Native Americans? Maggie scrawled the question on her notepad, intending to ask Manjula about it.

  The next paragraph sent a shiver up Maggie’s spine. The creature will single out children as victims and poison them by casting its shadow over them. The very contact of the Acheri’s shadow is like the breath of a person carrying a highly communicable disease; infection occurs instantly. The disease can take many forms and generally manifests as a mysterious wasting sickness that is ultimately fatal. The similarities between the article and what was happening in Thorn Tree were startling.

  As Maggie read the next part, panic gnawed at her gut.

  She is known to sing and dance in human settlements, sometimes drumming. It is said that hearing her song is a sign of impending illness or death.

  During the dream, only a few nights ago, but already almost forgotten, Maggie was sure she heard drumming. The images came to her in misty snapshots. Someone chasing her while a drum beat out a rhythm. Did that mean she was going to get sick too? No, she felt fine, and until that changed, she refused to believe her fate was sealed. What she needed was answers. But so far, there was nothing about how to stop the demon.

  She read the rest of the article, finding only one line that suggested wearing red or crimson could offer defence against the creature. It wasn’t much, but better than nothing. Maggie wrote the word red on the notepad and underlined it. After a few wasted minutes looking for a way to contact the author, she gave up.

  Maggie looked over her notes, writing drumming in the centre of the page. Staring at the word, she tapped a finger against her lips. When nothing clicked, she decided it was time for a break. More for something to do than out of hunger, she made herself a cup of coffee and a piece of toast. It was still dark, only the faint hint of light penetrating the blackness. The display on the microwave shifted to quarter after five.

  Not daring to sit outside before the sun came up, she took her coffee and toast into the lounge room. Nibbling the bread while the coffee sat untouched, she let herself think of Harness. Being with him was intense. The smart thing would be to take it slow, but with so much death and confusion, there seemed to be no time to waste. She wanted to be with him and had to believe he felt the same. Harness didn’t strike her as the sort of man who played games. She knew in her gut that what had happened between them was real. But would it last? When things settled down, would their need for each other be as urgent? Will we both survive this nightmare?

  Her eyes stung from lack of sleep, so she closed them and leaned back, trying to clear her mind of thoughts and questions. Gautam. The name clicked into her head like a neon sign over a bar. Maggie could almost hear Agnes’s voice, loud and excited, loving the role of hostess. Prapti Gautam, she’s a writer.

  Maggie sat forward with a jolt as if caffeine had replaced the blood in her veins. She got up and went back to the laptop. The name gave her a place to start. She typed it into the search engine and waited. In less than a second she had a thousand hits for Prapti Gautam. It was clear that Prapti – or whoever she was – was using a name that, in India, was as common as Smith.

  Maggie let her head fall into her hands. Damn. It was frustrating, but made sense. Prapti was dangerous, crazy even, but not stupid. The woman had all but admitted that she was connected to the deaths of eight people, so she’d have to be covering her tracks.

  There had to be something else – something she was missing. Maggie grimaced and ran her finger in a line between her eyebrows. A will-o-the-wisp memory danced maddeningly just beyond her reach.

  Her grandfather told her so many stories, things his father, Blue Hawk, had passed on to his children. One of his tales frightened her, so much so, she’d pushed it to the back of her mind. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her grandfather’s story had some significance. Frustrated, she stood up and went to the window. Blackness had turned to murky grey. Day and night were separated by a thin veil. Veil.

  The word tripped along a series of images in her mind until another word – handmaiden–materialised. Maggie gazed out the window, not seeing the watery light hitting the trees, revealing rows of birds perched in silent lines. Her grandfather once told her a chilling tale about a woman who looked normal but was secretly working for an evil spirit. She had special powers given to her by the unholy creature. He explained that the spirit’s handmaiden was like a witch’s famil
iar and could act as a go-between for the human and the spirit world. As an eight-year-old, Maggie had been terrified by the idea that someone could look normal but be working for a witch. Witches and spirits all jumbled in her head, she’d had nightmares for months.

  Back at the laptop, she tried searching Demon’s Familiar. Bombarded with thousands of hits, Maggie spent the next hour jumping from site to site reading everything she could about legends that included familiars. Most sites were about witches and animal familiars, but there were a few that linked a human with a demon. Of those sites, she found some few similar beliefs.

  Maggie made a list of the most common reoccurring elements attributed to a demon’s familiar. After another half hour she’d compiled a list of four main characteristics: One, a familiar was a sort of demi-supernatural creature with some mystical powers. Two, they were thought to use their powers to spy on humans and wreak havoc for their demon. Three, they survived by drinking the blood of the demon they served, and four, probably the most disturbing yet, was the belief that the familiar was considered to be almost as dangerous as the demon it served.

  Maggie stared at the list. She wasn’t sure what to make of the blood drinking or supernatural powers, but the rest made sense. Prapti seemed to know about Maggie’s movements, so it was easy to believe that she had been watching her. She thought about the scene she’d witnessed at the petrol station and decided that whether it was caused by Prapti or the Acheri, the fear spreading through town definitely qualified as havoc. Finally, there was her encounter with the woman. Remembering the way Prapti’s eyes seemed to glow in the shadows, Maggie suppressed a shiver. Alone with the woman, Maggie felt a real and imminent threat, leaving her with no doubt Prapti was dangerous.

  She read over her notes. After wading through pages of nonsense, she’d gleaned a few startling bits of information. Stories that mirrored what was happening in Thorn Tree too closely to be ignored. Satisfied with what she’d found, Maggie leaned back and stretched. Tiny particles drifted in the sunlight spilling through the kitchen window. She’d been so engrossed with the research that she hadn’t noticed the sun had come up.

  The microwave flashed quarter to eight.

  “Shit!” Maggie reached for the phone. Time had gotten away from her. She needed to speak to Jackson, but her first priority was Harness. He’d said he’d come back when he was done. Whatever was going on at the Chapels’ couldn’t have taken this long. Something was wrong, she could feel it in the marrow of her bones.

  About to call him, she hesitated. Maybe last night didn’t mean as much as I thought? Maybe it was just a way for him to take his mind off all the horror he’s been through over the last few days? Part of her almost welcomed the moment of self-doubt. Better to believe he was a selfish prick than accept the alternative – something had happened to him. Something bad enough to prevent him contacting her.

  Maggie sent the call, her fingers shaking as she touched the screen. It felt like a lifetime before he answered.

  “Hello?” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “Ness, you okay?” Her voice was shaking as badly as her hands. For a second there was silence.

  “I saw it.” His usually deep voice sounded strange, almost breathless.

  “The… Acheri?” She knew what he was talking about, but still had to ask. Had to know for certain.

  “Yeah. It’s real. Like something out of a fucking nightmare.” The last part came out as a humourless laugh that turned into a cough.

  “Ness?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Did it touch you?” She closed her eyes, not really wanting to hear his reply.

  “It breathed on me… In my face. Jesus, Maggie, I think I’m sick.”

  Maggie could hear the desperate edge he was trying to keep out of his voice. Her thoughts turned to Prapti – her warning. Stay out of this. Go back to your house with the pretty red flowers and mind your own business. If you do as you are told, your boyfriend might live through the week.

  Even as she wondered if telling Harness about the Acheri had brought about what was happening to him, another thought occurred, but it was something she would need to ask Manjula about.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “At home, but it might be safer if you stayed away.”

  “I’m coming.” She disconnected the call before he could argue.

  Maggie tore the pages containing her notes off the pad and shoved them in her handbag along with her phone, then ran upstairs. Flinging open her wardrobe, she rummaged around on the top shelf until she found what she wanted. With a tug, the red silk scarf tumbled off the shelf, bringing a pile of jumpers along with it. Ignoring the mound of clothes, Maggie wrapped the scarf around her neck and tied it at her throat.

  Next, she moved onto the landing, tearing open the linen cupboard door and pulling out sheets and towels until the walkway looked like a crime scene.

  “Come on.” She tossed a rolled-up rug over her shoulder, letting it flutter over the banister.

  It took a few more seconds before she spotted the threadbare red towel. For once, ignoring household jobs like cleaning out the cupboards paid off. Slinging the towel over her shoulder, she headed downstairs. Maggie guessed Harness had a few more hours. He was stronger than the children and Maureen, so that gave him the advantage. Even so, there was no time to waste.

  On her way to the car, she called Dr Cole. After a few rings, it went through to a recorded message instructing callers to go to the emergency department of Mandurah District Hospital if in need of urgent help. Realising it was still too early for the surgery to be open, Maggie hung up and called the police station. Mark Leary answered on the second ring. Maggie wasn’t sure how to explain so she just launched into it.

  “This is Maggie Hawkbetter. I’ve just spoken to Senior Sergeant Gibson and he’s sick. I’ve tried the doctor but the surgery isn’t open. Can you get Dr Cole to Harness’s house as soon as possible?”

  “What? You want me to take the doctor to the sarge’s house? I can’t do that without—”

  Maggie didn’t have time to argue with the young constable. “Listen. Harness has what killed the kids.” She put as much force as possible into her voice. “Don’t argue with me, just do it!”

  “Are you sure? How do you know? Maybe I should call Attwell?” He was still uncertain.

  “I’m sure. I just spoke to the sergeant. You can call whoever you want after you get the doctor.” Maggie tried not to drive the car off the road as she negotiated a bend.

  “Okay.” He hesitated. “I’ll go now, but if the sarge—”

  “Good. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Maggie ended the call before Leary could ask any more questions.

  Maggie tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and put her foot down. Eight minutes later, she pulled up in front of Harness’s house, noticing a car parked behind his Jeep. Scrawny-looking crows dotted the front lawn, their feathers almost green in the sunlight. Maggie leaped out of the car and jogged to the front door. It was open, Constable Leary standing just inside, shoulders and head down. A breath, sharp and cold, caught in Maggie’s’ throat. She was too late. Prapti warned her to keep Harness out this. Why hadn’t she listened?

  Leary must have heard her enter. “You were right.” He turned to face her. “He is sick. The doctor’s with him now.”

  She tried to respond, but couldn’t drag her eyes away from the man’s mouth, watching his lips move up and down trying to sort out what he was telling her.

  Harness is still alive.

  Maggie’s eyes blurred and her heartbeat slowed as her body caught up with her mind. Still not quite able to speak, she pushed past Leary and headed towards the rear of the house. She’d never been inside Harness’s home and realised she had no idea where his bedroom was.

  Leary stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Better let the doctor finish seeing him first.” His voice was gentle, but Maggie had the urge to slap the young constable. Instead, she let her eyes
travel from his hand, still clamped on her arm, to his face.

  The young man blushed and quickly removed his grip. She wanted to see Harness for herself, let him know she was here, but stopped herself.

  “When did you get here?” she asked.

  Leary looked relieved that Maggie wasn’t going to charge towards the bedroom again. “Only a few minutes ago. I called the doc and he came straight over.”

  “How did Harness look?”

  “I only saw him for a second, but sort of like he has a bad case of the flu.” He paused, looking down at his shoes. “The doctor told me to stay out of the room so I backed up pretty fast.”

  Maggie felt a wave of pity for the young officer. He couldn’t be more than twenty-two and had probably seen a lot of dead children over the past few days. Now his boss was sick and on top of everything, he had her charging in like a madwoman.

  She searched for something comforting to say, but came up blank. They both knew it was more serious than the flu. After a few moments of awkward silence, Dr Cole appeared in the hallway dressed in a shirt and tie. He must have been getting ready to open the surgery when the call came through. He walked towards Maggie and Leary, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

  “It looks the same as the other cases.” His voice was flat – tired. “Are you his um...” He looked at Maggie and let his voice trail off.

  “I’m his friend.” Maggie held the doctor’s gaze.

  He nodded and continued. “I’m going to call Mary and get her to bring a few things over so I can get him on a drip. I’ve given him an antiviral injection that may help—”

  “Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes, he should, but he’s refused to go.” Cole’s tone went from tired to irritable before turning away and using his phone. Maggie waited long enough to hear him talking to his wife before she headed towards the bedroom. Cole must have noticed what she was doing. He reacted fast, grabbing her shoulder just before she reached the door.