Portal to the Forgotten

by John Gschwend

  Contents

  Title Page

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters,

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Note

  Sample

  Portal to the Forgotten

  John Gschwend

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogs are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Copyright @ 2016 by John Gschwend

  http://johngschwend.com

  Chapter 1

  Tyler stumbled over a box turtle. He rolled the turtle onto its belly with his hiking boot. “Sorry, little dude.” Tyler rested and rubbed at his burning thighs. They had not ached this much since his football days in high school. He shook his head as he thought of it; that was only two years ago. He had better start exercising more often or forget ever keeping up with Grace.

  “Come on Slowpoke,” Grace said, as she stopped and turned back. “We can rest at the top of the hill. From there we can look down on all the beautiful, fall colors.” She snapped around and started back up the trail.

  He smiled and sucked in another deep breath. Looking up at her, he was looking at beauty right now—no need to climb and look back down for it. No pair of cargo pants ever looked better. Her blond hair, tied in a long ponytail, swung back and forth to match the dance of her hips. He would follow her anywhere. He laughed to himself. He had been following her everywhere since he had first met her in his history class at the University of Arkansas. He had followed her to her track meets, her karate tournaments, swimming competitions. Now here he was climbing some steep mountain just to be with her. She was nineteen and had more energy than a sugar-high hummingbird. Yeah, he believed he would continue to follow her.

  “Hey, Sweetie, wait just a minute,” Tyler said, as he stopped and sat on a big rock. “Come and sit by me for a minute. I’ve gotta catch my breath.”

  Grace turned and giggled. “What’s the matter, tough guy? You can’t hang?” She skipped back to him and kissed him on the forehead. “We can rest a few minutes, but you have to keep the energy up, gotta keep the rush going.” She snuggled next to him on the rock. “If you sit still too long, the laziness takes you.”

  Tyler put his sweaty arm around her. “I thought I was going to have to run you down and kick your butt.”

  She made a motion toward her waist as she always did to remind him of her black belt. She winked one of those big, blue eyes, and he melted inside all over again. She could have any guy she wanted. She wanted him. He was so extremely lucky to have a beauty that was not hung up on her beauty. She was hung up on living large…and him. He had been sure of it since the day she had carved—Grace Easton loves Tyler Morgan on a big oak at the university and faced the consequences straight on as she always faced everything.

  “Look!” Grace pointed to an eagle floating overhead. “What a beautiful and graceful bird.” She jerked her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture. “Ah, he’s too high for a good picture.”

  Tyler watched it. She was right. A year ago, he may have noticed the eagle, but he would not have appreciated its beauty as he does now. In fact, with it being the middle of October, he would have bow in hand, hunting deer, not hiking and nature watching in the Ozark Mountains. Grace had done that to him. She had drawn him in like a moth to a light. He still loved to hunt, but not as much as he loved being with the ball of energy, Grace.

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to fly?” Grace said as she marveled at the eagle making tight circles overhead. “You could just soar and be free.”

  Tyler dropped his gaze from the eagle to her. “You probably can. You can do everything else.”

  She spread her arms and pretended to soar. “It would be heavenly.”

  He noticed a scratch on her arm. “Hey, Babe, you okay?” He held her arm and inspected it.

  “Oh, just a scratch where I scraped a rock down the trail. Don’t worry so much.”

  He dabbed at it with his shirttail. “Maybe we should put something on that when we get back.” As he fussed over her, he saw her turn and cock her head; then he heard it—drumming. It was a monotone sound: bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum. It grew progressively louder.

  “What is that, Tyler?”

  He looked in the direction from which it was coming. There was nothing there, just the trail going up the mountain. Suddenly, leaves and debris began moving toward the direction of the sound, as a magnet pulls metal nails. They swirled and seemed to disappear into nothingness on the trail. But there was no wind anywhere else, just there on the trail. The drumming grew louder. Then there were horns—trumpets, maybe.

  Grace stood, turned to Tyler. “Did you see that?”

  The debris moved as if toward a giant vacuum. The very air seemed to ripple like waves from a stone dropped in a pool. Tyler literally felt his skin crawl as he looked around for the quickest way down the mountain. He pulled at Grace. She pulled back, but he did not let go of her wrist.

  “Let’s go check it out,” she said. Her eyes were wide with excitement as she tucked her phone back into her cargo pants.

  “No. I…I don’t know.”

  “There must be a camp or something up the hill. Someone up there has a little band.”

  Tyler felt his hairs stand on end. He saw Grace’s do the same. It was as if a static charge was in the air.

  “Come on, let’s check it out!” She pulled away from his tight grip and ran toward the sound.

  “Grace, wait!” He started after her. “There’s something strange going on. I don’t like the looks of it.”

  She ran about twenty yards. Instantly, she was gone! He blinked, could not believe it. She was nowhere in sight. She had disappeared into thin air! Tyler froze. He could not get his legs to work. He could not get his voice to sound. He may just as well have turned to stone.

  “Bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum.” The sound grew softer and softer until it was gone. It was like the music from a convertible’s radio as it traveled down the highway. The farther away the car went, the quieter the music became until it was gone altogether.

  The leaves stopped swirling. The static charge was gone too.

  Tyler closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fists. When he opened them, Grace was still gone. He finally got his legs to work, and he staggered to where he last saw her. He searched in all directions, but found nothing. He sank to his knees. “Grace! Oh, God. Grace!”

  The eagle’s shadow passed over him as it soared away.

  Chapter 2

  As the day grew, the autumn chill fled from the sun. A man shielded his eyes from it as he noted it beginning to peek over the trees. He huffed a breath and now it was invisible—not a good sign. He had better get on with it before it grew too warm. He shucked his buckskin jacket and draped it over a log. He then knelt onto one knee and placed his deerskin moccasin onto his fireboard. He spit into his hands, and retrieved a wood drill he had leaned against the log, inspected it, still in good shape. The slender cottonwood stick had served him well many times. He placed the round end of the stick into a small depression on the fireboard and began rotating it between his hands. After a short time, smoke began to rise from where the stick rotated in the depression. As the smoke in
creased, he rubbed his hands back and forth faster, making the stick spin faster, until smoke rolled from the fireboard. He lifted the stick and a small, orange ember rolled out of a notch he had carved into the depression and onto a leaf that he had placed there to catch it. He carefully lifted the leaf with the ember cradled in it and placed it into a wad of grass and wood shavings, which resembled a bird nest. The bird nest had been situated at the base of a pile of sticks he had arranged for a campfire. He blew at the ember and it flashed bright. He kept blowing and it kept flashing until the bird nest erupted into a ball of fire. He fanned it with his leather hat until the sticks caught as well. He drew in a satisfying breath and smiled as he did every time he started a fire in this manner. He felt a kinship to his ancient ancestors.

  Now that the fire was going, he bent over a freshly skinned deer and carved a thin slice of meat from a ham. The sharp, stone flake he used zipped through the meat with great efficiency as such stone tools had done for millennia. After cutting several more slices, he hung them from a rack he had fashioned from green saplings. He watched smoke drift over the meat, keeping flies away and curing it at the same time.

  He felt that old pride again knowing he would waste none of the deer he had killed. The meat would be smoked. The tendons would be removed and later dried to be made into bowstrings and to lash stone points and feathers to his arrows. The hide would be brain tanned to make buckskin. The bones would be used to make tools. He knew nature provided all that a man could need.

  Soon he had the rack full of meat and the deer processed to the best of his ability with his primitive tools. He sat by the fire and nursed it. He needed the smoke to stay over the meat and do its job. He was grateful for the deer and his own ability to hunt and kill it. He bowed his head, prayed, and gave thanks to the Creator for giving him the ability to hunt and to kill his food. However, more than that, he honored the deer for its sacrifice so the hunter could live.

  Slowly, he raised his head to listen, frowned. He heard a sound he dreaded, the sound of wheels on the dirt road behind him. As the sound drew close, he turned to see his ex-wife driving up in her big Expedition, smothering his smoking meat in dust. The moment was spoiled for all time now.

  She slid out of the vehicle, her jeans so tight it must have taken her an hour just to get them on. “Hey, Tonto, how’s it goin’?” That was probably the only Indian name she knew. She was not known for her brain—he had not married her for it anyway. That is why the marriage had not lasted—nothing at all in common. “I almost forgot how far back in the boonies you live.”

  He took in a deep breath, had to summon up patience, and placed another stick on the fire.

  “I see you done killed another Bambi,” she said, as she flung her long brunette hair out of her eyes. She picked his homemade, hickory bow off the picnic table. “You know they make these things now with wheels on them, supposed to make them easier to shoot. It’s what they shoot on TV on them hunting shows.”

  Yes, Chris, compound bows. He thought it, but didn’t say it—no need prolonging the unwelcome visit.

  “That wouldn’t do for you would it, Luke?” She dropped the bow down on the table. “Oh, no. You gotta live like you was in the Stone Age.” She rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you get a life?”

  He let it pass. His days of fighting with her were long over. The heartache was finally gone too.

  “I’ve been trying to call you all week,” she said, as she planted her butt on the picnic table. “I’m sure lots a people been trying to call you, but I reckon you left your phone at home again like you always do when you go play Fred Flintstone. You could at least tell folks where you’re camping.”

  “Cut the crap, Chris. What’s up?” He got to his feet and dusted off his seat.

  “Boy, Luke, you’ve lost your pot belly.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe we could go out sometime.”

  He had lost weight because of the hard divorce, but he was not going to let her know that. “Come on, Chris; what is it?”

  She sighed. “Well, while you was out hunting like a wild Indian, they locked up your cousin, Tyler.”

  “Tyler! For what?”

  She flicked a tiny, rock elm leaf from her sleeve. “They have him for murder or kidnapping or something.”

  “Murder!” He marched to her and grabbed her arm. “Damn it, Chris, stop goofing around.”

  She pulled free. “He said they had been hiking up at Gentry Knob, him and that girl, Grace Easton, and she just disappeared.” She made quotation marks with her fingers as she said, “Disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?”

  She made the quotation marks again. “Disappeared.”

  He sat on the table beside her. “You for real?”

  “Yeah.” She softened. “And, Luke, they say he had her blood on his shirt. They got him at the county.”

  Luke closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Tyler was as good a boy as they come. Luke knew he had not harmed anyone, especially his girlfriend—he adored her.

  “What do you think?” she said.

  He had no watch on, so he looked up at the sun again. It was getting around noon, too late to do anything today after the meat was smoked—it would be a sin against nature to waste it. “Gentry Knob is in my township. I’m going to the county and talk to him tomorrow.”

  “Are you kiddin’? Sheriff Scott will laugh you out of the jailhouse.” She hopped off the table and dusted her butt. “Luke, the people voted you constable as a joke to get rid of that old fart, Mr. Rincon, who had been constable for a hundred years. And who better to put in that position than shy, ole Luke? You were just a stooge. The guys are still laughing down at Jack’s Bar.”

  He knew she was right. He had been the constable for over a year and never really exercised his authority. He was too embarrassed to do anything, but now he had to do something for his cousin.

  “If you go over there, the high sheriff might throw you in the pokey.” She put her arms around him. “Seriously Luke, they’ve got him a lawyer from Fayetteville; he’s in good hands. There’s nothing you can do for him.” She saw his mind was made up and dropped her arms from around him. “Look, Luke, it looks bad for him. You remember my friend, Sarah? Well, now she works over there at the jail. She said they all believe he killed the girl.”

  Luke kicked an acorn with his moccasin. “Thanks for telling me. Now I have to figure what to do. Tyler didn’t kill anyone. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I’ll take the district attorney with me if I have to, but the sheriff will have to let me talk to him.”

  She nodded, shrugged her shoulders, and went to her vehicle. “Luke.” She hesitated, and then said, “I’m sorry. I hope it works out. I know how freaky you are around people; glad to see a little spunk out of you for a change. Might would still have this if you had been spunky when we was married.” She put her hands on her hips and winked. He gave her a half smile. With that, she climbed aboard, wrestled the long SUV around, and drove away.

  He added sticks and built the fire back up, crossed his legs and sat beside it. He watched the smoke do its magic on the meat, but his mind was on Tyler. Tomorrow Luke would not be living the old way like his ancient ancestors. He would be back in the modern age. And he would have to be a real constable, not just a title. He was good in the wild, better than anyone he knew, scared of nothing in it. He wished he had that same courage around people; but no matter how hard he tried, he didn't. His skin crawled just thinking about dealing with a lot of people. Tomorrow he would have to face his fears. Tomorrow he had to help Tyler.

  Luke parked his pickup in front of the jail. He sat in the truck and stared at the modern detention facility. It seemed out of place in the historic town. It was nothing like the old jail, which was a relic from the Old West. The old jail fit the town better, but it burned to the ground a couple of years ago. Luke sighed thinking about it. He hated seeing historical things disappear. Oh, well, time waits on no one. He looked at the front door and summoned t
he courage to get out of his pickup and go in. It would not be easy—hell, his heart raced thinking about it. He felt like Gary Cooper in High Noon as he reached up and touched the badge pinned to his shirt pocket, never had worn it in public before. He had only put his name on the ballot because his buddies dared him, and he thought it would look good to Chris. He had been a fool for her—she had made a fool of him. “What the hell.” He stepped out of the truck.

  When he opened the front door, Sarah, sitting at her desk, smiled, said, “Hi, Luke. Chris said you would be comin’ today.”

  Luke noticed a woman with short, red hair sitting in a chair by the wall. Luke nodded at her, turned back to Sarah and smiled. “How are you, Sarah?”

  She stood. She had gained a lot of weight since he had last seen her. “Luke, Hon, don’t wear that badge in here. You know how the sheriff feels about constables. He threw Ricky Fannon out the other day, said if he came back he’d chunk his fat butt in the jail. I’m sure one of the deputies will let you talk to Tyler, but not with that badge on.” She looked past him. “Oh, crap!”

  The door swung open and Sheriff Scott stepped in. He was big as a damn Sasquatch. He was so intimidating, no one had run for sheriff against him in years. His eyes fell on Luke’s badge right off, then drifted up to Luke’s eyes and settled there.

  To Luke’s surprise, he was not afraid of the big man at all. He was determined. “Sheriff, I need to see Tyler.”

  “Not with that badge on you’re not. No one sees my prisoners unless I say so. This is my jail—the county jail. Go find you a township jail to preside over.” He stepped past Luke and dropped a folder on Sarah’s desk.

  The red-haired woman stood up from the chair. “Sheriff, I’ve been sitting here all morning, and I was here yesterday. Please just give me a little of your time. Tell me about the girl disappearing.”

  “I have nothing to say to you, Miss.” He turned back to Luke. “I have nothing to say to you either.”