Hauntings

by Lewis Stanek

  He stepped outside onto the porch, grabbed the quilt and took a sniff. The patchwork quilt seemed to be aired out enough. It smelled better than it did yesterday anyway. It was clean enough to go back on the bed. Oswald brought all bedding inside and quickly threw the bed together.

  Something was nagging at him, something he had forgotten was rambling around the back of his mind trying to get his attention, There was something he needed to do, yet it wouldn't come to mind. Then in a flash he remembered. The book! Of course the book.

  Oswald ran outside to the car and pulled the grayish Tupperware container from under the driver's seat. He carefully carried it into the cabin placed the Tupperware on the kitchen table and popped open the lid exposing the oilcloth wrapped book inside. He took the book and carried the book to the old desk in the living room and gently placed it on the desktop. Oswald lovingly unwrapped the oilcloth exposing the ancient tome. He thought of moving the electric lamp closer to the desk, but didn't want to wait any longer than he had to. He trimmed the wick to the kerosene lamp, struck a match, and lit it. Somehow it seemed right to him to try to decipher this book by the light of a flame rather than that of an incandescent bulb. The light flickered. He adjusted the wick and placed the light just so to maximize the illumination cast on the ancient book.

  Oswald reverently opened the book and gazed upon it's pages. The runes appeared to dance in the flickering lantern light. Oswald was soon entranced by the ancient hieroglyphs. The tome spoke of life, death, worlds known and unknown, times known and unknown. Rituals from the ancient past came blindingly to life.

  The sun slowly fell below the horizon, shadows appeared to gather, disperse and then merge once again as the darkness spread through the cabin. Oswald paid it little attention as the lantern provided enough light for his purposes. Shadows dancing in the darkness held little interest for him this night. Suddenly his head throbbed with a banging he could barely stand. He clapped his hands to his ears, yet the banging continued, the throbbing pain continued, his eyes burned, his vision blurred.

  “NO!” he shouted and awoke from his dream.

  There in front of him lay the ancient book open to the first page. The room was dark, the lantern long ago burned out. It was cold to the touch. Oswald was exhausted, although it was early morning, and he just awoke, he needed rest. He dragged himself to the bedroom and lay across the bed, and slept a dreamless sleep resembling nothing more than death.

  Oswald awoke sometime in the early afternoon. Feeling better than he had, but his bones ached from the cold. He wandered into the kitchen, looked in the wood bin hoping the Dyers had left him well stocked in firewood for the stove. There were a few sticks at the bottom of the bin. He took them and loaded them into the firebox. He hurried outside to gather some more dry wood. After finding enough to warm the house and make some coffee.

  Oswald came back carrying an armload of wood all dry enough to burn with little difficulty. He loaded the firebox and left some in the wood bin for tomorrow morning. With the fire lit, Oswald moved his attention to the coffee pot he had bought yesterday. Back in Leicester making coffee would be nothing more than putting ground coffee beans in a filter, and pouring a carafe of water into the drip coffee maker, then waiting for the pot to fill. His new gun metal colored peculator was like something from his long forgotten past. He remembered seeing them, even remembered watching the coffee bubble up through the little glass doodad at the top of the pot, but was he sure how to use it, not so much.

  He pulled the top from the pot and gazed inside. The was a metal filter perched atop a metal straw with a shiny base fitting the bottom of the pot. He pulled it all out. And after looking it over once or twice decided the best option was to fill the pot halfway with water, fill the filter with coffee, put it all back together then put it on the stove and wait. Not that different from a drip style coffee maker. The more things change the more they stay the same he thought. He filled the pot with water from the pump, added what he thought would be enough coffee for a full pot to the metal filter, and then opened the fire box and poked the burning wood into a high flame. Finally he placed the coffee pot on top of the stove to heat up. He sat at the kitchen table to wait for his coffee to brew.

  His thoughts ran to the book. Somehow it seemed to Oswald that last night he understood the runes in more than an academic sense. It was as if the runes were alive and speaking directly to him, but of course that is impossible. The water was beginning to boil. Oswald thought he ought to eat something for breakfast. He looked in the ice box saw nothing to spur his appetite. He sat back down and waited while the coffee perked away. The circle in the root cellar came to mind and he recalled the many circles that mark landscapes in ancient England, Celtic lands before the Romans “Civilized” them by conquest. The Druids were not a tribe as some may think, they were priests, teachers, and judges. They were the learned ones who ruled their people. The druids were the ones who performed the sacrifices that ensured the seasons and the harvests. That in part is why Rome would not, could not let them live. The tribes could be civilized, could be assimilated into Roman life more or less, but the Druids, never. Oswald decided he would have some breakfast after all, there were eggs in the ice box. A couple fried eggs with his coffee would do nicely. He scavenged around, found an old cast iron skillet, put it next to the coffee pot on the stove, let a spoon of butter melt in the pan before cracking the first egg. With the pan hot and ready he cracked two eggs and watched them sizzle and solidify in the skillet. He thought o the Druid sacrifices while his eggs sizzled. He wondered what it must have been like for the poor souls captured for the soul purpose of being butchered upon the Druid's altar. He flipped the eggs once to let both sides cook without overcooking the yolk. After a moment he slid the eggs from the pan unto a plate and having waited long enough for his coffee. He grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it to the brim.

  Oswald took his food and drink to the kitchen table, took a sip of his coffee then added a spoon of sugar to sweeten it to his taste. Not the best coffee in the world, but it was certainly much better than that hot black seepage he bought from the rest stop vending machine on the road. Oswald leaned back in his chair took another sip of his coffee and then a bite of his eggs. He enjoyed the start of his day, late in the afternoon as it was. He decided, instead of going straight to work on deciphering the Druid book, he would take a little time to relax, and enjoy a walk in the woods to familiarize himself to the area. He took a final gulp of coffee, a last bite of egg. Got up from the table and put his mug and plate in the sink, thinking he could wash it when he came back.

  He walked out into the bright autumn sunlight, the golden and red leaves scattered across the ground brightened his mood, the autumn breeze smelled of the dying leaves it blew across the ground. The leaves danced and played in their death throes, through the clearing, as if they were possessed by young wood nymphs celebrating the equinox.

  Oswald selected a likely path it may have been an animal trail, he didn't know. He didn't care. Today he would enjoy himself, and not bother with the book, no worries about the townsfolk, just man and nature the way God intended. Oswald walked what had to have been miles. Then as he entered another clearing something caught his attention. Ahead, a flock of sparrows swooped across his path. As if driven by a single mind they first swooped to the left, then to the right, then the left again. Oswald paused to watch their activity and noticed that at first solid when they swooped to the left, but when they swooped to the right they appeared translucent, then at last when they turned again to swoop low to the left they were gone. Vanished. When they appeared translucent he recalled thinking this is what birds do, it is normal. And then the thought came that it must be a trick of the light, nothing more than a natural illusion, but they were gone! An unnatural chill came over him and with a shudder he decided to go no further. Oswald would not walk over the ground where the birds had last flown before vanishing. Not today, maybe never. He turned around and began his walk back to th
e cabin. It began to drizzle. The once sunny sky quickly turned gray and the icy rain did nothing to comfort the chill sinking into the tight muscles of Oswald's shoulders and neck. What of the sparrows? Am I going mad? He asked himself, not wanting to know the answer.

  The drizzling rain quickly turned to a downpour, the downpour, to a storm, the wind blowing the leaves wildly and bending the trees to it's will. Oswald pulled his collar up against the wind and the rain and hurried back along the path he had followed to this forsaken spot. Once home he could set a fire in the fireplace against the cold rain raging outside hoping to drive away the unnatural chill that had taken root in his spine, but he had top make it back to the cabin first. It seemed like hours passed before he reached the cabin. At the door he could hear the whining of a dog waiting to go out. There was no dog, there is no dog Oswald told himself as he fumbled for the keys to the door. His fingers felt stiff from the cold, “I'm still too young for arthritis.” he reminded himself out loud, knowing it was a vain lie he tells himself, at times like this, when the pain in his joints decides to raise it's ugly head and scream. A lie designed to keep him going when he'd rather give up. Oswald unlocked the door. The whining sound was gone, perhaps a stray dog had sought shelter from the rain somewhere nearby, but whatever it was it was gone now.

  He trudged through the door and making his way to the fireplace intending to start a fire to warm the chill out of his tortured joints. He found some old newspaper, a few dry sticks, and a split piece of log and placed the wood on the cast iron grate sitting within the firebox. He crumpled the newspaper and placed it beneath the grate. With the quick strike of a match and a few moments time the paper lit and the fire came to life warming the cabin.

  As the gentle glow of the fire warmed the room, he huddled near the fire for a few moments soaking in the heat. Holding his hands open out in front closer to the fire, feeling the aches slowly fade from his joints as the fire warmed his body. Oswald thought of the small gathering of birds vanishing before his eyes for a moment, just a moment. Then his rational mind came forward and denied any such thing ever happened. It was a mirage, and illusion of light, nothing more. Perhaps a hallucination, but if a hallucination what did that signify? A tumor working its way through his brain? Oswald forced the thought out of his mind. He got up from the floor and walked to the ice box. Inside an ice cold beer awaited him.

  Time was right for this hiatus. A break from teaching practical metaphysics to third year students at Leicester University is just what the doctor ordered, Oswald thought. The beer was cold and frothy and washed the taste of despair from his mouth. He opened another can and this time took a sip deciding to savor the drink, as he sat back and enjoyed what was left of the day. The sound of the rain hitting the cabin's roof was relaxing, now hat he was inside and warm. Oswald's thoughts wandered to his moronic students and their fascination with the occult, their incessant questions about the Necronomicon, and the old gods.

  “Where do these fools come from?” He asked aloud. But then again their tuition dollars plus a few federal research grants pay your way don't they, Oswald? He thought. Yep leaving Leicester behind for awhile to find himself, to find his center once again, before returning to the fray is just what he needs.

  Oswald felt the book calling to him. Somehow he felt it may contain the answer to what he had seen in the woods today. In one way or another it may explain how a flock of sparrows could vanish from sight without rhyme nor reason. He sensed something alive about the book, some entity within the binding of the book was demanding his attention.

  The rain was striking the roof with increasing force. The wind outside blew violently scattering the wet leaves and bending the trees. Oswald could see now how the large tree laying across the cabin's yard could have fallen. He worried about another tree falling and this time striking the cabin.

  He remembered the generator running in the root cellar. How much gas could it have left? He wondered. Oswald hurried to the kitchen, lifted the trap door and peered into the root cellar. The generator was putting away, the incandescent bulb hanging from the ceiling cast its light. He wondered if he wouldn't be safer staying in the cellar until the storm passed. He propped the trap door up and climbed down the ladder. He unscrewed the gas cap from the generator's tank and poured the remaining gas into the tank filling it. He recapped the tank and decided to let the generator run. Oswald felt drawn to the center of the concrete circle. He walked into the ring of concrete without thinking. He squatted down on his haunches. He felt a dynamism emanating from beneath the concrete. He lay supine, centered on the circle, his head pointing north, his arms out, one pointing to the east the other to the west. His body tingled with electric current. He heard the concrete hum. He wanted to submerge into the concrete sinking deep into whatever lay below, but some part of him rose up in rebellion.

  “No!” He shrieked at the top of his lungs, breaking the circle's spell long enough for him to scramble up from the concrete slab and climb up the ladder. He felt some force pulling at him from behind, slowing him, trying to keep him in the cellar. He made it to the top of the ladder and let the trap door drop shut with the crack of dry wood against dry wood. A small cloud of dust rose from the crevices between the planks of the floor. Oswald's hurried to the living room and sat at the desk wondering what the hell just happened to him. He gazed absently at the Druid tome. Then the sparrows came to mind. First swooping down low in one direction then up and then down again in another, last the birds faded and were gone. There was something about this sequence that seemed familiar, something about sparrows. He was glad to have something to think about other than what he experienced in the root cellar. He used the sparrows to block out whatever it is residing beneath the concrete circle.

  He wished he had access to the Orney library on campus. He needed to do some research on the subject. It was obvious that Dixon didn't have a library, as far as Oswald knew the townsfolk couldn't find a book if they performed a house to house search Glad to have a reason to leave the cabin, Oswald hurried to the car and got his road atlas, brought it back inside before opening it up on top of the kitchen table. He searched for the closest town that might have the population to justify a public library. Sterling, the county seat of Whiteside county with a population of fifteen thousand souls might just be the place. Not too far away, looked to be a straight shot west, no more than fifty miles away. “that's it then,” He said to himself and collected his car keys and wallet and left for Sterling.

  It was an overcast day, but not as cold as Oswald expected following yesterday's storm. He didn't bother to lock the cabin. He couldn't imagine anyone coming to the place uninvited, maybe an interested raccoon, or squirrel searching for some nuts. They might do better searching in town he mused. Oswald followed the tire tracks and then the dirt road out of the woods to Bloody Gulch, and Bloody Gulch to Galena. He took Galena past downtown Dixon to the highway where he headed west to Sterling.

  It began at first as a sprinkle, a light shower at first then the rain came down in force. “Must be the monsoon season,” he said to himself as he switched on the headlights and windshield wipers. He wished he had a cup of coffee for the road. He knew he could have stopped at Sam & Ella's before taking the highway, but he didn't feel up to being social just now. Almost an our passed before Oswald saw the sign advising the Sterling exit was only a mile and a half away. He eased into the right lane slowing for the exit. Once off the highway he followed the sign advising Sterling was only another five miles to the south.

  He was glad to see a McDonald's near the exit. He entered the drive through lane and ordered a large coffee with sugar., he then stopped at the first gas station to fill up his tank and to ask for directions to the library. The man behind the counter took his money and shared with pride that Sterling not only had a library, but that thanks to a wealthy benefactor the town library also housed the public gymnasium.

  “A healthy body and a healthy mind is what we say around here.”

  �
��I see, “ Oswald replied, then thanked the man for his help and was on his way to the memorial library and gymnasium in the center of town. He couldn't have missed the place. It was the largest building in town, larger than the courthouse, larger than the combined fire and police station. He hoped the library held some useful information.

  The library was an old stone structure from a bygone era. He parked across the street and entered through the main doors Where he was presented with the choice of going upstairs or down. He guessed that downstairs was the gymnasium, and upstairs held the library. At the top of the stairs a pair of carved wooden doors blocked his way. On Each door was carved one half of an ancient tree so that only when the doors were closed could one see the entire tree. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil he supposed. Oswald pushed the door open and was pleased to find that the doors opened at the librarians desk.

  “It's good to see a new face in town. How may I help you?” The librarian, a young brunette woman with large dark brown eyes, sitting behind the desk asked. She stood up as Oswald approached.

  “I'm not a member of your library, but I was hoping to do a little research today if I could.”