“The rain is getting too loud to film,” said Sally, shutting off the power. Indeed, it sounded as if an angry herd of hooved animals was racing to and fro on the hood of their van. It was several more minutes before the rain calmed just enough for Stefan to drive again.
*****
Sally had traveled through a great deal of Missouri and the surrounding states with the group and had therefore seen plenty of little towns, some of them destitute in the economic upheaval of the past decade. But nothing like this. Slope was such an astonishing display of poverty, it resembled a museum exhibit someone had taken too far. “How Hillbilly Folk Live,” it would be titled, with this particular tableau titled, “The Hillbilly Town,” but the museum curator would tell the exhibitors, “Look, you need to tone it down. You’re upsetting people.”
The paved road had given out, and Stefan led their small caravan cautiously across muddy, loose gravel since then. The van fishtailed more than once, Sally certain they were going into a ditch on particularly muddy inclines as the massive hills continued to rise around them. Luckily Stefan was a calm and patient driver, and they made it into Slope. They knew they had arrived by the sign (which looked anachronistic because it was clean and less than twenty years old) that read like a joke: “Slope. Missouri. Population 14.”
The gravel road bisected an area roughly the size of a soccer field, a scrubby clearing in the lush wet forest. Divided evenly on both sides of the road were six structures. The lone brick structure, the post office, was comically small. There was probably more square footage inside the Othernaturals van. The other five buildings were wood houses slumped on their supports, as if kicked by a giant and left toppling. Almost tiny enough to be mistaken for playhouses for children, these were. Except, no responsible parent would ever let a child play in such a place. The houses shed paint chips in great ribbons down their sides. Slouching porches splintered and collapsed. Many windows were broken and patched with trash bags and duct tape, if they were patched at all.
Other attempted, impromptu home repairs included poorly constructed struts and scraps of metal, probably pulled from car bodies, fastened to walls and in one case, someone had attempted to add a room (Sally’s best guess) on by taping a refrigerator box to the side of their outer wall. The sodden box was collapsing of course, as everything else seemed to be. In another instance, the outside of one house had been covered with dozens of hubcaps (Sally lost count at forty) which were possibly all that held the place upright. Some roofs had open holes, others had cardboard stapled down over missing shingles.
The yards were in terrible shape as well, but of course who would expect a beautifully manicured lawn in this place? The patches before the shacks were overgrown with weeds and saplings, and there was a flea market’s worth of junk piled in every possible place: broken furniture, toys, tools, sinks, kitchen appliances old enough to call antique, bathtubs and even porcelain toilets, and of course one rusting car body after another, these abandoned husks looking a little more structurally sound than the houses themselves. In most of the yards it was difficult to tell if there was a working automobile among the junked ones.
There was a final, single house sitting at the end of the row that looked habitable, thank goodness, as it appeared to be the one where they were meant to be “put up” by Mrs. Baker’s good Christian sister Ardelia. It was once red, now faded to a dusky pink from years of weather. It was about twice as large as its neighbors and slumped less noticeably, its roof and walls apparently still intact, its yard the one place where they could feasibly park their vehicles. Stefan stopped the van and Greg pulled in behind him. Nobody moved from their seats.
Judge asked, “How many tourists do you think they killed, to get all those hubcaps?”
“There are no tourists here,” said Sally.
Judge had an answer ready. “Obviously the hillbillies go down to the State Parks and kill hikers.”
Ordinarily Rosemary would be inclined to chastise Judge for generalizing the population like that. Today, she only admitted, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Kaye said, “I have, but it was in movie biopics of country western singers. Is this for real?”
Stefan had turned in the driver’s seat to face everyone. “It kind of looks like a theme park ride, doesn’t it? Hillbillies of the Ozarks. Experience what it’s like to live under a rotting porch.”
Kaye laughed but said, “Good Lord, this is beyond poverty. I think they’re flaunting it.”
Rosemary suddenly looked skeptical. “Gods, I had no idea we’d be staying in a place like this. Maybe we can get—”
She was interrupted by violent barking.
Parked behind them, Greg Hatchett had dared to open the truck’s driver side door and step onto the ground, and out of the wild shrubbery burst two huge, wild-looking hound dogs, who somehow appeared both muscular and half-starved, their braying howls deafening. Greg moved fast, scrambling back into the truck and slamming the door.
“Holy shit, look at those dogs!” cried Judge.
“I’m not sure those are actual dogs,” murmured Stefan.
The hound dogs bayed and snuffled around the truck, losing their shit every time they made eye contact with one of the people inside. One of them hurled itself at the truck, paws thudding on the door as it tried to get through the glass at Andrew. Rosemary watched this all in her side-view mirror, gasping, a hand to her mouth. Sally stared in disbelief. That dog couldn’t open the window, could it? No. Maybe break it? Yes. Two more brown dogs tumbled out from under one badly lopsided porch to see what was giving their mates such ravenous joy. Soon they too were circling the vehicles looking for weak spots. The din was incredible.
“Okay, let me out,” said Judge. “I’ll fix this.”
Rosemary shook her head vehemently. “Judge, I’m not sure if you should.”
Sally thought Rosemary had good reason for worry. Judge was a wonder with animals, it was true, but they had never seen him deal with anything but small wildlife, domesticated pets or zoo animals that were fairly docile and accustomed to people. These dogs seemed feral, and mad.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t go out there,” Sally agreed, her face hidden behind the digital camera, filming the circling pack of howling hounds with morbid fascination.
A fifth voice came into the fray, a human voice, as a dour-faced woman slammed open the screen door of the formerly red house to shuffle through her yard into the road. She wore a threadbare housedress and an apron, her bare legs a map of varicose veins, her thin arms swinging as she brandished a flyswatter. She seemed to sag as badly as the surrounding buildings, flesh hanging from her face and her arms, wobbling as she moved. The rain dashed down upon her, turning her thin white hair invisible, making her appear bald and horrid. The woman yelled until she reached the van and then began to swat at the dogs, whacking them on their bony rumps with the flyswatter. The dogs took little notice of the flyswatter, but Judge was on high alert, flinging himself at the window of the van to hammer at it.
“Stop that!” he shouted. “Stop hitting them!” There was no response, nor any pause in the swatting, so he dragged the van door open despite protests. Nobody thought Judge should be exerting himself, except perhaps Judge, who had tumbled into the rain as if life itself were at risk. Rosemary was right behind him, protective as always, and then, predictably, Stefan and Andrew were outside to protect her, and finally they all were out in the rain, in the chaos of yowling dogs and swinging flyswatter and angry old woman. Only Sally remained inside the van, and from here she pressed against the window to film, uncertain whether to laugh out loud, or scream in terror.
The four filthy dogs singled out Judge Duncan.
Judge had put himself between the old woman and the animals, his arms outstretched. “Don’t you dare hit them again!” The elderly woman goggled at him as if he’d gone mad, and then the dogs were on him, almost yodeling. Muddy paws and snouts knocked Judge to the ground, and Rosemary, shrieking, was ready to dive i
n after him.
“I’m okay!” Judge shouted from beneath the hound dog pile. “They’re just smelling me!”
“They’re eating him!” Rosemary fought her way into the fray, shoving at the heavy dogs. “Bad dogs! Get off! Go away!” Her exertions caused a few half-hearted snaps in her direction that had Andrew yanking her out of the way and Stefan jumping in help – meanwhile Kaye and Greg stood by with astonished expressions while great splashes of mud spattered everywhere. Mostly the dogs were fascinated with Judge, and as they were all at least as big as he was, he couldn’t escape their boisterous explorations and after a few moments he began to shriek, though whether in delight or terror it was hard to say.
That’s about the time Kaye burst into laughter, doubling over, clutching her stomach. Greg joined her; they held onto each other and laughed uproariously. Sally began to giggle as well, the camera shaking in her grasp. Stefan dragged Judge to his feet, hound dogs molesting them every which way, the mud covering them faster than the rain could wash it away. A few feet away Andrew held a struggling Rosemary off the ground as she yelled for the elderly woman to “freaking do something,” but finally, on his feet again, Judge took some kind of control over the pack of dogs. They calmed and settled and then, under Judge’s command or the threatening eye of their elderly mistress they dolefully lined up like naughty children.
Judge spoke to the dogs as if that was precisely the truth. “Now listen you guys,” he said to them, “Get a good smell of everybody here, because we are all friends. No more of this aggressive bullshit, you hear me?”
Sally knew that the vocalization was for the benefit of the humans, and not the dogs, because when Judge spoke with animals, he seemed always to do it telepathically, reaching understanding on a level of consciousness that no one else - not even the scary-talented telepath Rosemary - could seem to reach or understand. In saying his intentions aloud, Judge was merely letting the team know that, hopefully, the dogs now considered them all members of the family.
Heads lowered, the dogs snuffled at the air as if they were doing exactly as Judge commanded, and then slumped off without having been allowed to eat a single human.
The elderly woman harrumphed disgustedly. Andrew set Rosemary back on the ground, Stefan helped Judge gain firmer footing, Kaye and Greg managed to regain some control over themselves. Sally cracked the window and asked, “Everybody okay?”
A spritely figure in jeans, boots, a huge Scarlet & Black t-shirt and a jolly red baseball cap, Rosemary stepped forward. She was covered in mud up to her waist and she was quickly becoming wet head to toe. As if nothing had happened, she introduced herself. “Hello. I’m Rosemary Sharpe. We’re with the—”
“I know who you are. I can read.” The woman gestured at the show logo on the side of the van. “You’uns better come up on the porch.”
“Are you Miss Ardelia?” Rosemary asked.
The woman made a grunt that sounded like agreement and then turned from them to trudge back to her house. “Don’t nobody set one foot inside my house until you’re cleant up. Filthy mess.”
Andrew went to Rosemary’s side as she watched the old woman. She tilted her head toward him but didn’t look up. “So this is it,” she mused. “I was expecting something more like Clancy. Farm houses. Gardens. I mean, it didn’t have to be a Bed & Breakfast, but this . . . no, no, it’s fine. It’ll look great on the show, won’t it? This is an adventure.”
“There’s the Rosemary-optimism,” said Andrew.
“Those dogs are terrifying,” said Kaye, though her merry tone still sounded uneven with laughter. “God knows how many diseases they have. Judge are you all right honey?”
“Why did you hit them?” Judge demanded of Miss Ardelia.
Without turning back, Miss Ardelia said, “Only way to get’em to mind.”
“You shouldn’t hit animals,” Judge insisted. “No wonder they’re out of control.”
“Judge,” Rosemary said, trying to quiet him. “We just got here.” Meaning: can we not make an issue out of this right now?
“I’m getting my cat,” said Judge crossly, stomping back toward the van, sending up splashes of muddy water. The well-medicated Vladimir slept on in his crate; the commotion had not woken him.
Sally tucked the camera into its bag, adjusted her hat and scarf, and then followed Judge outside into the rainstorm. As a group they picked their way through the cluttered yard, passing an ancient washing machine with a real hand crank on it, onto the porch of the faded red house, where Ardelia lurked just inside her front door, scowling at them. Her gaze focused on Sally intensely, noticing that Sally was oddly costumed and in all-white clothing, which was probably the most impractical color to be wearing in the situation.
“What are you supposed to be?” Miss Ardelia demanded.
Sally answered, “I have a skin condition. I can’t be exposed to sunlight.”
“Can’t be exposed to sunlight?” Miss Ardelia repeated in disbelief. “This some kind of new thing kids do?”
“No, ma’am,” Sally said. Fully under the porch’s protection, she pulled away her sunglasses, hat and scarf so the woman could see her face. “I have a condition that makes me allergic to sunlight. It’s kind of serious.”
“Sun ain’t even out today. Raining cats and dogs.”
“I know. But even on cloudy days, there’s still sunlight. That’s why we asked for my room to be protected with heavy curtains or cardboard in the windows. Um, in the letters. Remember?”
“What you want me to do, block out the sun for you?”
Rosemary, ever good-natured, said in response, “Gosh, no. We only need to make sure the curtains are drawn good and tight. We’ll take care of it.” She looked over the team, shaking her head in wonder. She was stumped by this fairly simple problem: they were all filthy and couldn’t go inside until they were clean. What should they do, go stand in the rain until the mud washed away? “Kaye, does motherhood prepare you for a mess like this?”
Kaye shook her head. Her face was merry. “Nothing prepares you for a mess like this. But I recommend we get paper towels and water from the van and a change of clothes for starters. We’ll certainly need to leave our shoes out here.”
Greg said, “Judge and Stefan got the worst of it – I think we might have to strip them down. Sally, get the camera ready. Things are about to get sexy.”
Miss Ardelia slammed her door open again. “Oh no, you don’t. This is a Christian home and there’s nobody getting undressed in front of God and everybody on my front porch.”
“I’m not sure what you expect us to do, then,” said a patient Rosemary. “We can’t come inside, and if we change in the van we’ll just get muddy again on the way through the yard.”
“You’d better figure it out, little missy. This is the most out-doin’est thing I never seen. The whole lot of you.”
“You are Mrs. Cloda Baker’s sister, right?” asked Rosemary. “Mrs. Baker said we could stay with her sister in Slope, but if we’re in the wrong place . . .?”
“This is it. I said you could stay. Heavens forbid I say no to Cloda. Fine, if it has to be, it has to be. Change your clothes here. Ain’t nobody to home right now, anyway. But if I catch any of you up to any hanky panky, it’s out on your ear. You hear me?”
Like the similarly chastised hound dogs, they all bowed their heads, nodded and murmured, “Yes ma’am.”
“After you’re cleant up, you can bring your stuff inside. Mind my walls.”
Before even starting to clean himself, Greg made two trips to the truck, hauling up water-proof travel-bags full of their equipment, his muscular arms bulging impressively. From a distance he got a better look at the dreadful state of their clothes and faces and he cackled at what he saw, though added good-naturedly, “Lucky for us, rain is bitchin’ atmospheric for the show.”
Chapter Three
Othernaturals Season 6, Episode 5
Slope, Missouri; June 2015
The sky opened up ag
ain, dumping rain down on the mountainside just when Kaye doubted it could rain any harder. Inside Ardelia’s house, the somewhat-cleaner Othernaturals arranged themselves into the tiny space that served as the front room, so crowded together that their elbows bumped. Clearly the place was old, and some of the wallpaper, rugs and furniture didn’t look as if they had been replaced since the days of oil lamps. The place smelled strongly of mold and unwashed clothing. It wasn’t particularly clean, either. Miss Ardelia perhaps swept the floors and wiped the dust away but she missed the corners, which were littered with tiny debris, she ignored cobwebs, and her windows were so grimy that sun-allergic Sally would probably be fine without any curtains being drawn.
“Ow,” said Drew suddenly, a note of surprise in his voice. Kaye glanced at him just as he said, more emphatically, “Ouch. What the hell.” He put a hand to his forehead and sucked in a deep breath.
“What’s the matter?” asked Kaye at once.
He spoke in hitches, now both hands on his forehead, palms pressing into his eyes. “There’s some kind of barrier up. I’m getting knifed right in the sneak. Son of a—Romy, what is this? Can you shut it off?”
Concerned for her psychic, Rosemary frowned in concentration and then – well, Kaye didn’t know exactly the process – seemed to reach out with her telepathic web to feel around. Suddenly she winced in pain and she swore softly.
Kaye pressed her to explain the pain.
Rosemary said, “It’s like putting my thoughts on a hot stove. It’s very painful, if I force it. It has a shape to it, like . . . needles? Let me try something else.” The young woman looked downward and mentally seemed to leave them for a moment, chewing at her lower lip thoughtfully. Finally she said, “Pull your sneak back, Andy. Stefan, Brentley will probably want to stay put right inside your head. There’s a strong protection over this house.”
“You can thank Cloda and her witchery for that,” said a snide Ardelia. Watching the suffering of Andrew, she appeared happier. “Cloda likes to put protection spells on my home to keep devil-powers out. She dug a hole and put some of her charms in it, and told me my house was protected from the likes of you and I’m glad to see it’s still a’working.”
Witches Page 5
