The Devil's Laughter

by William W. Johnstone

  “Yeah,” Link said. “And watch out for humankind.”

  “It’s beautiful in the woods this time of year,” Anne commented.

  “And dangerous.” This was deer season in Louisiana, and Link knew only too well that they were taking a chance by walking in the woods, even on his own posted property. That’s why he carried the civilian version of the M-16 when he walked in the woods. Anyone who took a shot at him, unless it was a killing shot, was going to get a lot of returning fire, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be friendly fire.

  “You ever been shot at on your own property, Link?”

  “Three times. The last time I got lead in the bastard. I tracked the blood to my fence line. He was bleeding pretty badly.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What did Ray do about it?”

  “I didn’t report it, and if the guy lived, neither did he. Anne, be sure Billy and Betsy know not to leave the fenced-in compound. I don’t want them to catch some hunter’s bullet. Some of these bastards – a small percentage of them – will shoot at anything that moves in the woods. We’ll drive into town tomorrow and buy them orange gloves and coats and hats. Whenever they go outside, they should wear the colors.”

  “On your own property? That’s absurd!”

  “It’s hunting season, Anne. The blood lust is running high. I’d rather Billy and Betsy feel a little silly than be dead. Besides, kids will be kids, and they might decide to wander out of the compound. They’ll be much safer wearing orange and much easier for us to spot should they get lost in those woods.... Oh, by the way, how do you like Paul?”

  “I like him, and the kids took to him immediately.”

  He glanced at her. The walk in the woods had done some good. Her color had returned and she no longer jumped at every sound. He had talked with Ray by phone, and the sheriffs blood pressure was back to normal. Link hadn’t yet told Anne, but tonight he, Ray, Gerard, and Cliff were going back to the Garrison house. They were going down into that cellar and . . .

  Movement caught his eyes. Someone in camouflage hunting clothing. He grabbed Anne’s arm and threw her to the ground, landing on his belly beside her just as the man fired. The bullet whined over their heads. Link came up on one knee and let the lead fly from his AR-15.

  A man screamed hoarsely, over and over, bellowing in pain from the impact of the .223 slugs.

  “You motherfucker!” another voice shouted. “We’ll get you, Donovan. That’s a promise.”

  Link triggered off five fast rounds in the direction of the cursing voice.

  There were no wild screams of pain, so he figured he had hit nothing but leaves and trees.

  “My leg’s busted, boy!” the voice came to him. “You got to help me, son.”

  “Yeah,” Link muttered. “Crawl over there and hep him, you ignorant bastard. Give me a clear shot and there’ll be one less asshole in the world.”

  “Who are they, Link?” Anne whispered. “Hunters?”

  “No. They’re after me, and damned if I know why, unless they’re related to Hubert Dale. And they probably are. Scoot over there behind that log. Stay on your belly and stay out of sight.”

  “What are you going to be doing?”

  “Doing the world a favor by killing trash, if I’m lucky.”

  But the attackers were gone. Link made his way to the ambush point and found a pool of blood on the ground. He carefully and cautiously followed the trail to the fence on the north side of his property. He went no farther, for a seldom-used dirt road ran on the other side of the fence. That road connected with a gravel road about a mile or so down the line and then branched off, one road leading to the hardtop, the other forking back into the parish. Whoever had attacked him was gone.

  Link backtracked, joining Anne, and they walked to the house. “My life is certainly getting interesting,” she said.

  “I have a feeling that you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  Paul met them at timber’s edge. “I heard shooting and thought I’d better stay with the kids and the critters.”

  “You did right. Somebody ambushed us. Let’s go report this to Ray.”

  Ray, Gerard, and Cliff were out in fifteen minutes. Link led them to the ambush site and again followed the trail to the fence line.

  “Did you get a look at any of them?” Cliff asked.

  “Just a very quick one. Not enough of one to recognize him. There were two of them, I believe. I got lead in one. Broke his leg, I believe. That’s what he was hollering, anyway.”

  “You don’t think it was a couple of hunters, trespassing on your property?” Ray asked.

  “No. I don’t think that at all.”

  “Why?” Gerard asked.

  “Because he was aiming dead at me and we were in a small clearing. The other one shouted, ’We’ll get you, Donovan. That’s a promise.’ ”

  “You receive death threats regularly, don’t you?” the Bureau man asked.

  “Yes. Quite often.”

  “But you don’t think this has anything to do with any past threats?”

  Link shook his head. “No. I think this has something to do with what’s going on in this town.”

  “Whatever is going on around here,” Ray said. The man looked tired and worried.

  “Having second thoughts about tonight, Ray?” Link asked with a smile.

  “You’re damn right, I am!”

  Cliff studied Link closely for a few seconds. “You’re taking all this rather calmly, Link. You just shot a man not long ago. How do you feel about that?”

  Link met the Bureau man’s eyes and his smile widened. “Pretty damn good, actually.”

  Chapter 12

  “Have fun, guys,” Anne said.

  “Yeah,” Paul said with a grin. “We’ll just kick back and watch a little TV while you’re gone.”

  “Comedians,” Link said, and closed the door.

  The others were waiting for him at the gate to the Garrison house.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Link said, and drove on past them, parking by the side of the dark house.

  The others drove up and quickly joined him by the side door. Link was amused at how closely they all stood to one another. Even Cliff Sweeney looked a little spooked. Link looked up. No moon. The sky was overcast with heavy rain clouds. Perfect night for some ghost-hunting, he thought.

  He opened the screen door, unlocked the side door, and pushed it open.

  All the lights came on in the house.

  “Jesus!” Gerard said, jumping from the small porch back to the ground.

  Ray’s face was pale and Cliffs face was tight with tension.

  “Just bear in mind,” Link said, “that a ghost can’t hurt you.” He’d heard that somewhere. “The only way a ghost can hurt you is when he or she takes possession of another living being.”

  “Aw, come on, Link!” Ray shouted. “Now, goddamnit, man . . .”

  “Just thought I’d pass that bit of information along, Ray.”

  “Well, thanks a lot, ol’ buddy. I really appreciate it.”

  Link stepped into the kitchen, the others slowly following him. Gerard shut the door.

  The lights went out, plunging the house into almost total darkness.

  “Open the door, Gerard,” Link said.

  He opened the door. The lights came back on.

  Cliff inspected the door and the frame for some sort of switch. He found nothing.

  “Maybe ...” Ray said. “Maybe they want us to leave the door open in case we have to leave in a hurry.”

  “Which I’m about to do,” Gerard said.

  “Settle down,” Cliff said. “Who is they, Ray?”

  “Well, hell! The . . . things haunting this place, who else?”

  Cliff looked disgusted.

  “You weren’t here, Cliff,” Link said. “You didn’t see what we saw this morning.”

  “I’m wondering if any of you saw it,” the FBI man sa
id softly. “And don’t take that the wrong way. You people were already tense about the doors and windows being unlocked. Everything has to be taken into consideration.”

  “Yeah,” Link said. “Right.” He walked to the steel door leading to the cellar and unlocked the dead bolts. He swung the door open.

  Roaring fingers of fire came waving up the stairs. All could feel the intense heat. Link slammed the door closed and leaned against it.

  “I’ll call the fire department!” Gerard said.

  “Wait a minute,” Link stopped. “Just hold on.”

  “Man, the damn house is on fire!”

  “No, it isn’t,” Link told him, both palms pressed against the steel door. “Something is playing games with us. Feel this door. It’s cold to the touch.”

  They all touched the door. It was cold.

  “But I felt the heat,” Ray said.

  “So did I,” Cliff said.

  “We all did,” Link said. “Or thought we did.” He jerked open the door.

  Mustiness wafted up from the cellar. No flames, no smoke, no heat.

  “That is impossible,” Cliff said. “I know what I saw and felt. And it was fire.”

  “I want two people up here on the landing,” Link said. “I’m going down there. Who’s going with me?”

  “Me,” the Bureau man said. “Let’s do it.”

  “Jesus, you guys be careful,” Gerard said as the men started down.

  After they reached the floor of the cellar, Cliff asked, “Exactly what are we looking for?”

  “Hell, Cliff, I don’t know. Where does a ghost hide?”

  “Your humor is macabre, Link.” Then he realized he had made a small joke and smiled.

  “There’s hope for you yet,” Link told him.

  Suddenly, the phone started ringing, the lights flashed all over the house, the oven door banged open and closed, the water came on, and the toilets flushed.

  Cliff made the landing in three bounds.

  Link stood on the cellar floor and grinned up at the man. “You’re human after all, Cliff,” he called over the noise. “All right!” he shouted. “That’s enough!”

  Everything suddenly returned to normal.

  The three men at the top of the stairs looked down at Link, amazement on their faces.

  “Well,” Link said, “I had to try something. It worked. Listen,” he raised his voice. “Whoever you are, You’re trying to tell us something, right?”

  The light bulb over Link’s head flickered off and on.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. You want us to leave this house?”

  The light flashed, but in addition, the oven door banged open and closed several times.

  “Okay,” Link said. “You want us out of the house and – ”

  One portion of the basement wall suddenly began to crumble, the bricks and earth rolling and tumbling to the floor. Link stared at the mess, waiting for the cloud of dirt and dust to settle. “Message received,” he whispered.

  “What’s down there?” Ray shouted.

  “A lot of bones and human skulls,” Link replied.

  * * *

  Cliff took one look and then got on the horn and called his office, requesting a team to come in and take over sorting out the bones and getting them to the proper lab.

  Link tried again and again to communicate with whatever it was behind the supernatural veil. But he received no response. He finally gave up and joined the others at the kitchen table, none of whom had spent more than a couple of minutes in the basement.

  “This is going to be a very interesting report,” Cliff Sweeney said. “If I decide to tell the truth about what I saw and heard this night.”

  “Are you?” Gerard asked.

  “Am I what?”

  “Going to tell the truth?”

  The FBI man sighed. “I don’t know. Think about it. A fire that really wasn’t. Strange occurrences in the house. Signals from beyond the grave. The basement wall bursting open. I’d be the laughing stock of the Bureau.”

  “We’d better get our stories straight,” Ray said. “That FBI forensic team is on the way as we speak.”

  “You believe in God, don’t you, Cliff?” Link asked.

  “Certainly.”

  “The devil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you believe in life after death.”

  “Of course.”

  “Who knows how and when spirits go to their appointed place,” Link said.

  When the knock suddenly sounded at the front door, they all jumped about a foot out of their chairs.

  “Good God!” Ray said, standing up and dropping a hand to the butt of his pistol.

  “I’ll get it,” Link said. He walked through the house and opened the front door, not knowing what to expect.

  Five men stood on the porch, three of them wearing the collars of their faith. Link knew them all, none of them well. Father Lattier and Father Palombo from the Roman Catholic Church. The Episcopal priest, Father Robert Evans. The Methodist minister, Knox, and the Baptist preacher, Belenger.

  The lawmen had gathered in the hall under the archway, standing in silence.

  “You called, Link,” Bob Evans said. “We came as quickly as possible.”

  Gerard crossed himself and murmured a quiet prayer. Ray’s face was pale. Cliff Sweeney lifted his hands. They were trembling. He clenched his hands into fists.

  “No, I didn’t call, Bob,” Link told the gathering of religious leaders. “But it doesn’t surprise me to see you all here.”

  “Mr. Donovan,” Father Lattier said. “I spoke with you on the phone not twenty minutes ago.”

  “No, Father. You didn’t speak to me. You spoke to someone, but not to me. Please, come in. However you got the message, I’m glad you’re all here.”

  The old priest stiffened the instant he stepped into the house, his eyes narrowing. Link was watching him closely. “What’s wrong, Father?”

  The priest cut his dark eyes to Link. “I think you’re going to tell me that, aren’t you, Mr. Donovan?”

  “I think we’re going to share information, Father. And the name is Link.”

  The old priest smiled. “Call me John.”

  The young priest stuck out his hand. “Mark.”

  Introductions were made and Ray fixed a fresh pot of coffee, while Link brought the men up to date on the events of that evening.

  “Bull dooky!” the Baptist preacher said. “Rubbish!”

  Father Lattier looked at the man and said, “Shut up.”

  “You can’t talk to me like that!” Belenger said.

  Although Cliff Sweeney was of the Baptist faith, he reached across the table, grabbed Belenger by the tie, and damn near laid him chest-down on the table. “Now you listen to me, gasbag. I’m just as good a Christian as you are. Maybe better. But I know what I saw and heard this night. And if you call me a liar, I’m going to jack your jaw. Is that clear?”

  Cliff Sweeney came up about a hundred points in the estimation of all the men at the table. Including the preachers and priests.

  “Unhand me!” Belenger hollered.

  Cliff stood up, still with a tight grip on the man’s tie. He lead him to the basement door and down the steps. “Oh, my God!” Belenger said, glimpsing the bones. Link looked at Father Lattier and smiled.

  Crossing his fingers, Link shouted, “Okay, gang. Do your stuff.”

  “Yee-how!” Belenger bellowed, as fire filled the basement for an instant and singed his britches. Toilets flushed and commode lids banged up and down. The water came on, the oven door slammed up and down, and the lights flashed off and on.

  “You get the message now, Belenger?” Cliff asked, as the noise quieted and the lights stopped their flashing.

  “We must pray!” Belenger hollered.

  “He does make sense every now and then,” Bob Evans said dryly.

  * * *

  A still badly shaken Toby Belenger sat in the den of the old house, drinking ice water
and doing his best to compose himself. The man had been so frightened he had gone into a toilet and vomited.

  Link said, “Ray, tell me again what your grandfather said about the fire out here. That remark about how it was put out.”

  “Oh, that was the Baptist preacher back then. He said it was like the hand of God swooped down and smothered the flames. What made you ask that?”

  “The . . . souls of the beings who inhabit this place – I don’t know what else to call them – they made it very plain they want us out of here. Right?”

  “Right,” Cliff said. “So?”

  “Are they trying to tell us it’s the house that is evil... dangerous?”

  “That’s the impression I get.” Toby Belenger spoke for the first time since heaving his guts out in a toilet bowl.

  “So we’re agreed on that point?” Link asked.

  “Far as I’m concerned, yeah,” Gerard said.

  Father Lattier leaned forward and placed his cup on the coffee table. He stared at Link for a moment, a very intense look in his eyes. “What is this leading up to, Link?”

  “Maybe God didn’t have anything to do with putting out that fire.” Link spoke the words softly.

  “Then . . . who did?” Ray asked.

  “The devil,” Father Lattier said.

  The sudden jangling of the phone jarred at their nerves. Link picked up the receiver and stilled the ringing. “Link,” Anne said. “You’d better come home. Paul says somebody is prowling around in the woods. All the animals are tense.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Link stood up.

  “Trouble?” Ray asked.

  “Just some minor trouble with the critters,” he said, not exactly telling a lie. What he didn’t want at this point was a lot of bullshit about legality, constitutional rights, and due process. There was a time and place for all that, thought Link, but when somebody invaded his property with obvious hostile intent, the only process due him was a bullet. “Lock this place up when you leave, Ray. You have the key I made for you?”

  “Right. If you need help, use the phone.”

  “Will do.” Link was out the door and gone, backing around the other vehicles.

  “You believe that minor trouble bit?” Cliff asked the sheriff.

  Ray shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked. We have quite a file on Lincoln Donovan. He was in some rather rough operations down in Central and South America when he worked for the Company. He has a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later.”