Evil Whispers

by Goingback, Owl

  “Do you believe him?” asked Robert.

  “Truthfully, we’re not sure. Mr. Cypress is obviously a reader, but your daughter’s book seems strangely out of place to the other books he has in his house. We’ve done a background check and he doesn’t have any living relatives, nor, from what we know, does he have any friends. He’s kind of a hermit, so we doubt if he was saving the book to give to anyone.”

  Robert didn’t believe the story that Jimmy had given the sheriff’s department. “You said that you’ve done a background check? Does he have a criminal record?”

  “No. Not really. At least not on the local level.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s never been arrested for any kind of crime, but the FBI was keeping a file on him back in the seventies.”

  “FBI?”

  Captain Williams nodded. “It seems Jimmy Cypress used to belong to a militant group known as the American Indian Movement. You may remember hearing about them. They took over the town of Wounded Knee, South Dakota, back in 1973. They also took over a federal building in Washington, D.C. Jimmy joined AIM shortly after returning from Vietnam, so the FBI was keeping a file on him.”

  “Do you think he might have kidnapped our daughter for political reasons?” Janet asked.

  “Again, we’re not sure. It’s possible, but not likely. As far as we know, AIM has never been involved in crimes against civilians. They consider themselves to be warriors, attempting to bring back the ‘good old days.’ And like I said, Mr. Cypress has no criminal record that we know of.”

  “What about illegally living on state property?” Robert asked.

  “There is that,” agreed the captain. “Jimmy’s a squatter, but he’s been around here for so long the authorities have looked the other way. I’m not sure if they’ll continue doing that now, especially after all of this.”

  “What about the threat he made to me?” Robert asked. “Surely, you guys don’t think he’s harmless?”

  “We asked him about that, but Mr. Cypress claims he never threatened you.”

  “Bullshit,” Robert said.

  Captain Williams shrugged. “I didn’t believe him, but that’s the story he gave. We tried to question him further about the threat, but he clamed up and wouldn’t say anymore.”

  “What about a polygraph?” Janet asked.

  “We asked him to take one, but he refused on religious beliefs.”

  “Religious beliefs?” Robert asked. “What religious beliefs? If he refuses to take a polygraph then he’s obviously lying, or he has something to hide.”

  “That’s what we’re thinking,” agreed Captain Williams. “But we can’t force Mr. Cypress to take a polygraph if he doesn’t want to, especially not now. He hasn’t been charged with anything yet. And if we force him to take a polygraph now, it might jeopardize the case if we do find him guilty of something.”

  “Hasn’t been charged?” Robert was shocked. “But what about Krissy’s book? What about the dog? Isn’t that enough to charge him with something?”

  “We can’t prove he killed the dog. Even if we did, that would have nothing to do with your daughter. And we can’t prove he kidnapped your daughter just because he had one of her books inside his house.”

  “So, that means you’re going to let him out?”

  The captain nodded. “I’m afraid so. We can only hold him so long without charges.”

  “Then he’s going to get off scot-free?” Robert asked.

  “Not necessarily,” said the captain. “We may have to release him for now, but I guarantee we will be watching his every move very closely. If he did have anything to do with your daughter’s disappearance, then it will only be a matter of time before he makes a mistake and we find out where she is.”

  “A matter of time?” Janet asked, tears forming in her eyes. “How much time?”

  The captain looked at her, and was obviously moved by her tears. “Soon, ma’am. We’re going to get your daughter back very soon.”

  Captain Williams turned to face Robert. “I know this is hard for both of you, but I promise we’re doing everything we can. We have every available man out here searching these woods. We’ve also gone over the river, from here all the way to the St. John’s. Your daughter’s body was not found, so it’s a safe bet that she did not drown.”

  Janet let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

  “My feelings exactly.” The captain smiled. “I’m sorry I don’t have more to tell you. I wish I did. If we find out anything, I’ll make sure that you are notified immediately.”

  Robert shook the officer’s hand. “Thank you.”

  Captain Williams nodded and started for the door, stopping halfway across the room. “Oh, I almost forgot. Sergeant Andrews told me about your daughter’s invisible playmate, so I’ve been asking the locals if anyone knows a man by that name--just in case he isn’t quite so invisible after all.”

  “And?” Robert asked.

  “None of the people I spoke with know anyone named Mansa, so it probably is just an imaginary friend. Still, it’s better to be safe than sorry, so I’ll keep asking. But I really don’t think it’s a clue.”

  The captain opened the door and stepped out into the bright light of the day. Robert watched him go and then turned back to his wife. All they could do was wait and hope for the best. At least no body was found when the deputies dragged the river. But where was Krissy?

  Chapter Eighteen

  The sun had set, and night had come once again to the forest surrounding the Blackwater Fish Camp. The police had called off the search for the day, going home to their wives and families. Even the news crews had packed up and left, hurrying off to cover the story of a much more exciting bank robbery in Apopka.

  The darkness that covered the forest made searching for the girl nearly impossible. Yet, had the deputies and firemen known where to look, they might have discovered Krissy, for she was not far from the fish camp. Not far at all. She was hiding beneath dense foliage, waiting for the others to leave the area so she could continue looking for things hidden beneath the black waters of the lagoon.

  Mansa Du Paul, who’s spirit now resided in the girl named Krissy, waited for the moon to rise high in the night sky before crawling out from under a clustering of palmetto bushes. For hours he had lain beneath the bushes, watching as dozens of men searched for the missing child. Twice someone had passed within inches of his hiding place, but they had not seen him. Mansa had become like a chameleon, blending in with the shadows and colors of the foliage. When one of the officers had paused to look his way, he had called upon the Loas to distract the man, causing him to look elsewhere. The officer thought it was a brightly colored bird that had taken flight, causing him to look away, but it was much more than that. A spirit had come to do the bidding of the voodoo sorcerer, appearing in the form of a bird.

  Now that night had fallen, Mansa felt reasonably safe that he would not be seen by anyone. Even if he was seen, he could quickly vanish into the darkness. Still, he moved cautiously, quietly, always on the lookout for intruders.

  He had not known the little girl would be missed by so many people. In his previous lifetime there never would have been such a fuss made about a missing child. Life was hard back then, and bad things happened to those who were careless. Only a few people would have searched, and not for very long. Even the Seminoles, who valued their children above all else, would not have made such a fuss over the loss of one child.

  Perhaps Krissy was special. Maybe she was the daughter of a rich man. Why else would so many people spend so much time looking for her? But they would never find her. Mansa was quite sure of that. While he used her body to do his bidding, he would make certain that he was not seen by anyone. Once he was finished with the girl, he would eat her flesh, leaving only the bones to be found.

  Mansa Du Paul licked his lips, tasting the sweet saltiness of the child’s flesh. It had been a long time since he last ate a little girl. Much too lo
ng. He was looking forward to the feast.

  In the meantime, he had much work to do. He had to retrieve the rest of the bones that made up the physical body of his former self. Those bones lay scattered at the bottom of the lagoon, buried beneath nearly two centuries of mud and rotten vegetation. They would be difficult to find, but not impossible, because all the bones were buried in the same area.

  Mansa knew that the missing bones were still in the lagoon because he could feel each and every one of them. His bones seemed to possess a magical life of their own, calling to him from the darkness and causing his spirit to itch. The remaining bones were all there, waiting to be found and reassembled. After all the bones were gathered, he would add a few necessary items, then he would bring to life his previous physical form.

  The girl that was now Mansa smiled, a twisted smile that was all but grotesque on her tiny face. Once he was back in his own body he would rebuild the empire that had been stolen from him. He would make others his slaves, forcing them to do his bidding. Those he could not make his slave he would destroy, slowly, painfully, one small inch at a time. He would destroy their physical bodies and feed on their souls, adding to the powers he already possessed.

  But he had to hurry, for he was running out of time. He could only remain in the girl’s body so long before the fiery strength of his spirit consumed her. Mansa’s spirit was like a tiny sun, burning up Krissy’s body from the inside. He only had a few days before her body would fail him and die.

  Hurrying through the forest, he reached the lagoon. Here his spirit was still in touch with the earth, maintaining some control over the plants and vines. Standing at the water’s edge, he allowed his spirit to reach out and feel the darkness around him. He instantly became aware of the tiny forest creatures which hid in the night, watching him in fear. They knew his evil was no longer trapped at the bottom of the lagoon. They recognized the darkness of his spirit and feared him more than they feared the predators that stalked the forest.

  But Mansa was no threat to the timid animals of the night, for he had other things to occupy his mind. Facing the lagoon, he focused his attention beneath the black water and searched for a part of him that was still missing. He could feel the various bones of his being beneath the water, but he could not see them.

  Had anyone been watching, they would have seen a little blonde-haired girl standing at the water’s edge, her arms reaching out toward the lagoon, palms up. They would have seen the strange light in her eyes and the even stranger green glow that suddenly encased her fingertips. The glow floated in luminous tendrils from her fingertips to the surface of the lagoon and then dipped beneath the water in search of objects unseen.

  “Come to me, my little brothers,” Mansa said, focusing all of his energy on the task at hand. “Come back to where you belong.”

  The tendrils of green glow grew brighter as they spread out over the lagoon, like heat lightning on an August night. It was a glow like nothing ever seen before; ancient magic brought to life in a new world. The girl swayed with exertion, nearly stumbled and fell. In the treetops surrounding the lagoon, birds left their roosts and took to flight, their terrified cries shattering the quiet of the night.

  “Come to me, little ones. Come.” Mansa called upon powers he had never used, called upon spirits he had faithfully served in his former life. Black spirits. Evil spirits. Demons of the night. Baccas. He called upon them to do his bidding, to lend him their powers so he might accomplish the impossible.

  A cold wind sprang up from the west, from the direction of darkness and death. The wind caused the bushes to rustle and the trees to dance, sending ripples across the water. A strange cloud blew in front of the moon, and an owl cried out. On the opposite side of the lagoon, the trunk of a cypress tree began to glow from within, as dark powers came to the voodoo sorcerer’s aid.

  “Come.” Mansa gave his powers a final push, snatching the objects he sought from the mud and muck that had covered them for over a hundred years. The psychic push was too much for the tiny body his spirit now rode, causing blood to flow from the little girl’s nose.

  Mansa ignored the bleeding. Instead he watched as a dozen bones rose to the surface of the lagoon. He dared not lose his concentration now, for if he did the bones would sink again and be lost to him. Straining at the body that now encased it, Mansa’s spirit reached out to the bones and guided them safely to the shore. More blood flowed from the girl’s nose, heavy and dark in the moonlight.

  Several more bones appeared, and then the prize he had been waiting for surfaced. Mansa almost lost his concentration when he saw it, almost failed in his attempt. But he held on, just barely, staring at the skull that had once been his. Encased in an eerie greenish glow, the skull danced on the water’s surface. From where he stood, it looked like a skeleton was slowly rising out of the lagoon, for the skull faced him, its empty eye sockets watching the sorcerer work his strange magic.

  Mansa reached out for the skull, drawing it toward him. Other bones followed. Tiny bones and big bones, floating on the water, drawn to him by his powers. Drawn back to the man they had once belonged to in the flesh long, long ago.

  The last bone came to shore. The sorcerer sent his thoughts out to search for others, but there were no more to be found. His skeleton was now complete, now all that remained was its construction.

  As the last bone, a tiny vertebra, washed up on shore, Mansa allowed his powers to wane. There was a moment of intense tingling, then a heaviness came over him, sending him to his knees. The little girl whose body he now used was too weak for such acts of magic. He had drained her of vital energy, and her physical body was now unable to stand.

  Panic flared through Mansa Du Paul. Had he overdone it? Had he damaged the girl beyond all repair? Was she now nothing more than a helpless cripple, unable to even walk? He wiped his hand across his face, suddenly alarmed at the blood that continued to flow from the tiny nose.

  “Stop it!” he commanded, angry at the physical limitations of his new body. He had never been so weak before; even as a boy he had always been strong. And when he started down the voodoo path, he had acquired strength few could even imagine.

  But now he was weak. Though he was not as weak as a girl of Krissy’s age would normally be, he was weaker than what he would have liked. He would have to be careful if he performed any more feats of magic. He didn’t want to kill the child before he could gather the things he needed to reassemble his former body. The bones were just the beginning; he would also need a heart and a pair of eyes. Since his heart and eyes had been eaten by fish years ago, he would have to look for new ones.

  Acquiring a pair of eyes and a heart might be difficult, for few people were willing to part with such organs willingly. Therefore, the things he needed would be taken by force, but Mansa knew the physical limitations of his new, borrowed body. If he wanted to get the things he needed, he had to rely on the element of surprise. He also needed a weapon. A knife.

  Strength finally returned to the child’s body, and Mansa was able to get back on his feet. Removing his sweatshirt, he laid the shirt on the ground and then placed the bones in the center of it. Tying the edges of the shirt together, he used it as a sack to carry the bones away from the lagoon.

  He had to make two trips, hiding the bones in the same hollow log that already held those gathered by Krissy. His skeleton now complete, he covered the bones with twigs and dried leaves. Mansa then slipped the sweatshirt back on and made his way quietly through the forest.

  He arrived at the Wekiva River a few minutes later, pausing to look over his surroundings before venturing out into the open. On the other side of the river was the fish camp, a place that had been a beehive of activity for the past few days. The fish camp was now quiet, because the hour was late and the searchers had gone home for the night. Still, Mansa remained in hiding for a few more minutes, watching to make sure no one was around before moving out into the open.

  Stepping out from behind a tree, he hurried
along the edge of the Wekiva River until he reached the wooden footbridge spanning the waterway. Crossing the bridge, he made his way past the cabins to one of the larger buildings in the camp.

  The body Mansa now possessed may not have been the strongest in the world, but it was extremely fast. It was also tiny enough to hide in even the smallest shadow, blending in with the night. Reaching the first of the two larger buildings, he pressed against the side, using the shadows for concealment. He paused there for a moment, motionless, making sure that he had not been seen. A minute or two passed, the silence reassuring him that all was well.

  Mansa did not know what the building was used for, but his senses told him that he would find what he needed inside. Slipping from the shadows on the side, he hurried to the front of the building and tried the door. Unfortunately, the door was locked, and he wasn’t strong enough, nor did he have the tools necessary, to open it.

  It would be foolish to try to force the door open because the noise he would make would alert others of his presence. Nor could he use his magic to help him, for magic did not always work on things such as locks. And he dared not use his magic now, so soon after using it before, fearful of draining the body he wore. Drain the little girl’s body any further and he may not be able to get away.

  Frustrated at his inability to open the door, he moved from the first building to the second. The second building must have been a place for cooking, because he could smell the lingering odors of food. A pang of hunger shot through his stomach, caused by the smells that clung to the building. Mansa frowned. He had forgotten what it was to eat, and suddenly realized that the body he now used would need food in order to operate properly. He did not know the last time Krissy Patterson had eaten, but knew that he would have to eat soon or the body he rode would grow weak. Maybe he would find some food inside, something already cooked that would be easy to carry.