A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 26

Waiting out the creature on a moonlit night. ... (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Darrell escorted Sara to the guestroom, then headed for his own bed. Before parting for the night, though, and after thanking Darrell, Sara said, “Darrell, Hank’s a Christian, too, isn’t he?”

“Umm … yeah.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“It’s been a while since he … daily lived his life for the Lord, if you know what I mean. His level of commitment is not where it should be, I guess you’d say.”

She nodded. “Do you … think that makes a difference for what he’s doing right now, out there?” She was afraid he hadn’t understood. “What I mean is, him not being as committed as you say he should be – is that going to hurt him out there, hurt his chances?”

Darrell’s eyes went to the floor.

“That’s my fear.”

* * *

Skish-kish.

Hank heard the rustling sound again. Problem was, it was coming from an area blocked from his view by the rock.

Come on, stick your mangy head around this rock so I can blast it off.

Hank’s attention was then pulled elsewhere. Upstream, not far away, he saw a light bouncing along near the water’s edge.

What the heck is that?

* * *

Heavy breathing. More branches slapping.

Go. Go. Keep goin’.

James was sucking wind hard. His face and hands stung from branches that didn’t pull their punches. A dozen times or more he’d almost taken a digger, saved every time by some miracle of grace that kept his jelly legs underneath him.

His last glance across the stream had come just a moment ago. In a sea of organic objects that all seemed to blend together in a silver-white wash, he’d caught a glimpse of something that reminded him of that Sesame Street segment “One of These Things Just Doesn’t Belong Here”: long, narrow – blue, maybe?

A sleeping bag!

The children’s tune faded from his mind. How absurd, he thought, that it even entered his mind at a time like this.

“Hank!”

James scrambled to find a way across.

* * *

Hank’s head flinched towards the stream; he swore he just heard his name.

Oh no. Hank gritted his teeth. I told him not to follow me.

Scraping sounds. Hank turned his gaze in front of him. Something was shuffling its way across the hillside – in his direction.

* * *

James found a couple exposed rocks leading towards the other side; he preferred to find a whole line of them so he didn’t have to get wet, but such a thing – and the time to look for it – were luxuries he didn’t have right then. He stepped into the cold water, which came up to his knees, and began sloshing his way across.

* * *

Hank had already been holding his shotgun in front of him, but now he raised it and drew a bead where he figured the creature would pop into view. The foul smell had grown stronger.

Come on. Come on.

It appeared.

KA-BOOM!

* * *

James stopped mid-stream, looked up in horror. The echo of the gunshot reverberated all around him.

Hank!

He pushed harder the rest of the way, then lumbered onto the bank and slogged up it, his own guns at the ready.

“Hank!”

Hank looked to his left and saw someone running towards him.

“Darrell?”

“No. It’s James. James Morgan.”

“James? What the heck are you doin’ here?”

“Long story,” said James as he slowed to a walk a few yards from Hank and lowered his flashlight. “Did you get–?”

“Have a look.”

James scanned in front of him with his flashlight.

“Aw, man. I thought somethin’ reeked,” said James.

A skunk – what was left of it, anyway – lay in the dirt, blown apart by the blast from Hank’s shotgun.

“I was expectin’ somethin’ else,” said Hank.

“The creature.”

“I guess Darrell’s told you everything that’s been goin’ on.”

“Yeah, and we’ve learned more since you left. … I also knew a few things myself already.”

Hank looked at him with mild surprise.

“But now’s no time to talk,” said James. “I know it’s around here; I heard it, several times.”

“Yeah, me too. An’ I smelled him.”

“You mean you smelled this,” said James, pointing to the skunk.

“No. The creature has a bad smell of its own, an’ I smelled it before I ever caught wind of this thing. But let’s get out of here.” He tried to stand. “Aaah!”

“Hank, you’re hurt – how bad?”

Hank inhaled with pain. “I’ve seen better days, but I’m better than before.”

“You break anything?”

“I don’t think so, but my left ankle is sprained pretty bad, an’ my right arm hurts, an’ several other places on my body won’t shut up an’ leave me alone.”

“Well you don’t sound up for pullin’ outta here tonight.”

“No?”

“No way. I don’t think I could make it outta here tonight – not unless my life depended on it.”

“It may.”

“You’re right, there.”

“Which is why I wanna move to someplace safer – I’d like to get farther away from the stream, somewhere quieter, an’ get some fires built.”

“Alright. Let me take a quick look around.”

“Yeah, go for it.”

James left and was back in two minutes.

“I found a good spot on the other side of the slope. It’s flat, open, plenty of room for fires, an’ best of all … upwind from the skunk.”

“Yeah? I think the skunk came from that direction, so you better hope there ain’t a whole family of ’em over there.”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

James first moved all their gear to the new site before taking on the more difficult task of moving Hank. As they hobbled along, James had agonizing visions of how slow their trip home would be the next day.

“You, uh, you gonna be up to movin’ a lot tomorrow?”

“Oh yeah; I think so. If you’d seen me earlier, you’d be amazed at how well I’m doin’ right now.”

James laughed.

After a few minutes of choppy, wincing progress, they made it to the site. They got Hank situated in his sleeping bag, guns beside him, then James worked on building the fires.

“You know,” said Hank, “I hadn’t planned on leaving these woods until I killed that thing, an’ I still don’t want to leave til I kill it, but even someone as stubborn as me can see that that ain’t gonna happen.”

“Hey, we ain’t outta the woods yet; who knows what’ll happen between now an’ then.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Didn’t know if I’d ever see you again after you left town – certainly didn’t think it’d be out here in the middle of the woods.”

“I didn’t know if I’d ever be back. One phone call changed all that.”

“An’ what one was that?”

“Your brother.”

“That’s what I figured. I told him to investigate while I was gone.” He chuckled. “Sometimes I forget how thorough he can be.”

“You’re tellin’ me. I’ve been watchin’ His Thoroughness in action the last couple days – I told him he should’ve been on the police force.”

“They could use an honest cop right now, couldn’t they?”

“Sure could. An’ they could’ve used a better one than me when I was there.”

“What are you talkin’ about? I always thought you did a good job.”

And for the next hour they talked, each sharing everything he knew about the situation at hand, neither of them ever noticing the orange eyes that peered at them out of the gloom of a nearby thicket. The creature stared at them, never shifting its gaze until …

Go.

… it was told.

* * *

When everyone awoke the next morning – Hank and James in their place, and Darrell, Wade and Sara in theirs – everything, for a moment, seemed alright. Then they remembered, and it became a day to dread.

…………

Hank and James ate an early breakfast, then packed up and doused the fires.

“You ready?” said James.

“Gonna be slow, but I can make it.”

And off they started on their long crawl back.

…………

Wade, Darrell and Sara each lay in bed for a few minutes after waking up, the anticipated events of the day running through their minds.

“Lord – ”

“– give me –”

“– strength.”

Then they crawled out of bed to go finish what they had started.

A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 25

The moon that helped light James's way through the forest. ... (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

James made his way along the stream as fast as he could. A minute ago he heard more growling and snarling, closer than before.

The stream made a small bend to his right, so that James was now hurrying straight towards the moon. He switched his gaze back and forth between the ground at his feet and what lay just yards in front of him, to keep from tripping, once in a while stealing a longer glance farther ahead. It was during one of these longer looks that James saw his dream. It stopped him cold.

Straight ahead, but still a good distance off, a plateau ran out from his right, silhouetted by the moonlight, then plummeted to the very stream he stood by. A few trees on the edge of the plateau, a few more by the stream below, the hillside almost bare of growth. The moon above, shadows and silvery dimness all around.

Go.

He shook himself loose and bounded downstream.

* * *

“You want some coffee, Sara?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

She stood by the picture window in Darrell’s livingroom, peering into the night. The eyes behind her eyes, however, saw something else: A new realm, different from this one, tantalizing her with images of white hills and golden shores, a new heart and a new day. Life was now life; it had taken her 29 years to be born.

“Here you go,” said Darrell.

She turned and took the warm cup, then Darrell sat on the couch.

“So, what do we do now?” she said.

“I’m not sure how we’re gonna get Vernon. Wade’s got a good point: If he can just control other animals, creatures, whatever, after this one’s gone, then it’s an endless cycle in his favor. The only way we’re gonna stop him is to find physical evidence of his involvement – catch him in the act, so to speak – and there may not be any.”

“But what about my uncle’s note to Mr. Schaeffer, and the bidding records on that piece of land?”

“I think that’s enough to establish a motive, but motives alone don’t get people arrested and locked away. We need something concrete, that proves his involvement beyond a shadow of a doubt – and that, I think, might be hard to find.”

“Maybe we could do what you just said, Dad – catch him in the act. He’s comin’ tomorrow– ” Sara frowned at this reminder. “–so maybe one of us could follow him around.”

“Not a bad idea, but even if we saw him perform some ritual or something, there wouldn’t be any physical evidence to link that to the killings. Not unless he was fool enough to write it down.”

“Not my Uncle Vernon,” said Sara with a sigh. “I wish, but one of the things I’ve learned about my uncle – from overhearing conversations between my mother and Aunt Hilda – is that his habit – business and otherwise – is to be very tidy: A place for everything and everything in its place, no loose ends … and nothing known that he doesn’t want known.”

Darrell nodded. “I’m not surprised; successful businessmen – successful anything – aren’t lazy; they do their homework.” He tapped his fingers on his knee. “Well, I did have one idea before … and now I’m convinced: We need to have a talk with Mr. Schaeffer.”

“Tonight?” said Wade.

Darrell looked at his watch. “Mm. I’d like to – I’d really like to – but I think it’d be best if we wait til tomorrow. I don’t know Mr. Schaeffer that well, and it might seem a bit odd to him if I showed up at his house tonight asking to talk about real estate.”

“Real estate?”

“Of course. What else would I talk to a real estate man about?”

* * *

Hank lie still in his spot behind the big rock, listening to the stream away on his left and staring at the endless field above him.

REMEMBER ME?

Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t pin down what it was.

I REMEMBER YOU.

Was it an idea? Something he forgot to do? What?

REMEMBER ME?

The dark sky overhead – How deep is it? thought Hank. How far does it go?

ALL THE WAY TO ME.

Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t pin down what it was.

* * *

“So … Darrell,” said Sara a while after Wade went to bed. “Do you mind if I stay here tonight?”

“No, not at all. I was just wondering, though: What are you gonna do about your uncle tomorrow?”

“Well – and please tell me if I’m wrong – but I figured it would be best to just play along as the niece he knows.”

“I think that’s the right idea.”

“Though I can only imagine how scared I might be.”

“You won’t be alone.”

“I know.”

“I’d offer to have one of us there, but the sheriff knows that we Daleys have been poking around, which means your uncle probably knows about us, so as long as he’s here we should probably pretend like we don’t know each other.”

Sara nodded. “It really shouldn’t be that bad; he never visits me long when he’s here – he usually is quite occupied with business, gets done what he came to do and then leaves. I don’t think he’s ever spent more than thirty minutes at a time at my house–”

“Sara.”

She looked up at him.

“Are you gonna be able to handle it?”

She looked down, then spoke in a subdued voice: “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“It’s okay to be scared. … Sara, look at me.”

She lifted her head. Her eyes were filled with tears, her face lined with grief and worry.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Darrell drew near and embraced her, and whispered a prayer into her ear.

* * *

“Reawwl!”

Branches flying past, slapping his head, face, shoulders. Stumbling in the dimness of night. Moonlight casting deceptive shadows mistaken for anything but what they really were.

“Rowll!”

Flashlight bobbing about. Breathing getting faster, harder. Frequent glances with silver-dollar eyes at the high plateau. Getting closer, closer. Closer.

Gotta beat him there.

* * *

“Rowll!”

That’s twice in less than a minute, thought Hank. He fingered the triggers on his guns, eying the open boxes of extra shells beside him to make sure they were still there, ready to go. He’d pushed himself back, past the rock a couple feet, and propped himself up against his backpack – now he could see upstream and up the hill.

If it pokes out its head up there I’ll–

A funny scent caught his nose. He checked again. Gone. … No, there it was again. It lingered a moment this time.

Foul.

He checked the air direction.

Comin’ from somewhere upstream.

Just then he heard the faint rustling of leaves from somewhere in front of him. He cocked his shotgun.

It’s here.

A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 24

The stream James began following. ... (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“So … Sara … are you saying that witchcraft is involved in what’s been going on here in town?”

“Well I can’t say for sure, Darrell, but that’s my suspicion.”

“Like he’s using witchcraft to control this creature?”

She nodded. “Maybe.”

“Sara, I– I’m sorry for all this. I’m sorry that all this has come down on you.”

“Yes, well … at least we now know what’s going on, so we can try to do something about it.”

“But Dad, what can we do? I just realized that even if Uncle Hank or Mr. Morgan kills that creature, what if her uncle has another one? It seems like it could be a neverending cycle, ’specially since we ain’t even got the law on our side.”

“You might be right, but we do have some options.”

“Such as?”

“Well, the law in this town isn’t on our side, but we have James – he used to be in law enforcement, so maybe he has contacts who could help us out – police in other towns, for example. We also have this curious connection with Mr. John Schaeffer that I’d like to follow up on.”

“The real estate man?” said Sara.

“Yeah. Maybe he’s got something we could use against– ” He looked at Sara. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”

“No, no, that’s alright. I mean, it’s not as if it’s my Mum or Dad; and he needs to be stopped.”

Darrell was glad she felt that way, but still he hesitated before continuing, not wanting to say anything that would upset her more.

“Like I was saying, I’d like to talk with Mr. Schaeffer; he might have some useful information. And then there’s the matter of educating ourselves.”

“What do you mean?” said Sara.

“Well, I presume that none of us has any experience with the occult.” He looked at Wade and Sara, who shook their heads. “Then we need to learn as much as we can about it.”

“You want to study witchcraft, Dad?”

“Know your enemy, son. The devil’s on the prowl; we need to arm ourselves.”

* * *

James tramped through the woods. Yes, he knew that it was evening, dark, and that being out in the woods at night with that creature roaming free didn’t seem like the best idea – but it wasn’t his idea. He had stoked the fires and gone to bed in his tent – quite early because he planned on getting up with the sun – but before long woke up with the image of a dream still fresh in his mind.

He had been told to go. He hadn’t been told where, just to go – though he was sure this at least meant “get up, pack, and head farther into the woods.” So that’s what he did: he packed, doused the fires, and  headed deeper into the woods with the help of the moon, and his flashlight when necessary.

It wasn’t long before he came upon a rocky stream that shone liquidy silver in the stark moonlight. The water glided, flowed – a living, breathing piece of art – over smooth rocks it had been polishing for centuries. He stared at the spectacle for several moments, caught up in the sight, then felt a tap on the shoulder of his mind.

He saw that the stream was flowing to his left.

As good a direction to start as any.

And so he went, following along on this side of the stream, managing to stay close to the water – not only for direction but for the light of the open sky above it in many places.

He went on in this way for what seemed to him quite a long while, and he estimated that he had covered a good distance, stopping just a few short times. The gurgling of the stream he considered his lone disadvantage, so he made a habit of taking extra peeks in every direction, in case anything had a mind to sneak up on him.

He came to a thick spot and flicked on his flashlight to help find his way around it.

“Grealf! Rawrrrralf!”

He shut off the light, stuck in his tracks.

Same as before. And it’s getting closer.

* * *

“Grealf! Rawrrrralf!”

Hank lay on his back, staring at the sky. He’d already been awake, contemplating his misery: How could this have happened? But he never flinched at the threatening sound. Oh, he heard it, alright. Heard it clear as day, and he knew what it was that made the sound.

But he’d gone beyond the realm of scared.

That thing owns me – could’ve had me once, could’ve had me twice; why not now? Third time’s a charm. An’ I ain’t in no condition to fight. I could shoot, but I gotta see it to shoot at it, an’ it’s never seen unless it wants to be. … It’s sneaky; snuck up on me before, it could sneak up on me now, have my head in a vice ’fore I even lay eyes on my gun. … But why worry? I’m here, it’s there; soon it’ll be here an’ I’ll get what I deserve.

That’s right, you will, ’cause you were a coward.

I was a coward then.

And you’re a coward now.

An’ I’m a coward now.

You should’ve known that it would go after a person sooner or later.

I should’ve known it’d go after someone sooner or later; why stick to sheep and horses?

But it’s too late now.

It’s too late now, though.

You missed your chance – chances.

I missed my chance – chances.

I think you’ll die now.

I think I’ll–

You’ll die now.

I’ll–

You’ll die now!

A tiny particle floated, flickering, through his mind, his heart – through him. And he couldn’t bring himself to think that last horrible thought that he’d thought of thinking.

Then he remembered the growl he’d heard just a minute ago. He remembered where he was, what position he was in, just what was out there – and that it was after him. Fear returned. Adrenaline flowed through him once again, and his senses seemed to be back on. He checked his guns: loaded, ready to go. He cradled them against his body, then laid his head back and sighed.

* * *

“Maybe now’s the right time to ask those questions I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Sara.

“Okay,” said Darrell. “As long as you’re comfortable.”

She looked down at her feet. “I am. I’m just not sure where to begin. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Start anywhere. Whatever’s the first thing that comes into your mind.”

“Alright, well … the first thing in my mind just now … is love.” She looked at Darrell, expecting him to say something, some word of guidance or affirmation, but his response was a simple nod, though his eyes never left her.

“What I mean is, you all have shown such courtesy – and I don’t mean a simple case of holding the door for me; you’ve shown me great hospitality, opening your home to me, keeping me company, making the effort to know me in the first place. You’ve been real friends – something I’ve never had before – and I want to know why.”

“I’m glad you asked me something I’m able to answer.” A small chuckle rippled across the room. “The easiest way to explain it is this: Treat people the way you want to be treated.”

“Isn’t that … the Golden Rule?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s something I’ve always tried to follow.”

“Good. But did you know it comes from the Bible?”

“No.”

“Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice for us; it’s only fitting that we should show others the same love He showed us.”

“But … He didn’t have to do that. I mean, it was a choice.”

“I know,” said Darrell.

A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 23

“Sara? … Sara, are you alright?”

Sara sat stiff, her frightened eyes staring into a realm only she knew existed; the folder remained in her lap, the small note clutched in her hands.

Darrel tried again. “Sara?”

Wade was scared. This was just like when she’d told them about seeing the creature – her fear, and the sense he got from being around her in that condition; everything felt the same. He looked around at all the windows to see if any orange eyes were peeking in, but the blinds were drawn. What could it be?

“Sara? Please talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Darrell’s pleas were answered at last when Sara rose, dropping the folder on the floor, and walked towards the door. As concerned as Darrell was for her, he was then struck with another worry: She can’t go barging outside! There might be someone watching!

“Sara, hold on!” he whispered as he sprung after her. He caught her arm just as she was opening the door. “Sara, wait, please. I wanna talk with you.”

She resigned herself to him and stood like a limp doll as Darrell shut the door.

“Hey, Wade. Photocopy everything in that folder, then photocopy everything that’s in that private binder.”

Darrell looked at the sad creature in front of him. Her posture hadn’t changed, but her shoulders now heaved with sobbing, and her hands kept going to her eyes to wipe them clear. She was a little girl whose dog had died, or who had lost her favorite toy, only Darrell knew that this was about something far more serious.

“Sara … what’s wrong?”

She fingered the note for a moment, then held it out to Darrell; he took it and read it. A part of him collapsed.

“This is your uncle … isn’t it?”

She nodded, still looking at the ground.

“And … he’s involved in this, isn’t he?”

For a moment she hesitated, then nodded vigorously as the sobs came harder and louder.

“He tried to kill me, he tried to … kill me.”

“Sara, Sara, you don’t know that. That creature might’ve just been passing through. Wrong place, wrong time, you know?”

She shook her head. “He tried to … .”

“No, Sara, come on.”

As with the first time he saw her break down, he wanted to go to her and console her, but even though he knew her better now, something still held him back.

“Sara– ”

“I … I know this doesn’t look good … my own uncle.” She spoke through sniffles and sobs.

“No, Sara. I don’t think you’re involved in this in any way.”

“No, I’m not, but … I … . When you first mentioned land, that land was involved, I … had a thought about … my Uncle Vernon – not that he was the one, but that … .” But she failed to finish before a fresh wave of grief washed over her.

“Sara, it’s okay. We’ll go back to your house and talk about it more, alright? I think we’re done here anyway.”

She nodded.

“No, wait,” she said. “Can we … go to your house instead? I just … don’t want to go back to my place right now.”

“Okay. … I’ll grab Wade and we’ll go.”

* * *

“Hank. Haa-aaank.”

“What?”

“Hank, it’s me.”

Hank didn’t know who “me” was, but it was the most pleasant voice he’d ever heard.

“What do you want?”

“You owe me fifty cents.”

He was confused, but he thought he could sit there all day and listen to that sweet voice. “For what?”

“For the paper.”

“The paper?”

“Yeah. Why haven’t you paid me?”

Hank flinched; the voice seemed to have changed a bit – a touch of coldness, perhaps?

“Why haven’t you helped me?” Yes, there was disappointment, even anger now.

“Why didn’t you help me?!” Malice. “Where were you when I needed you?!” The voice had become icicles – pointed, steely teeth clamping down on him.

“Where were you?!”

“Aaah!” Hank bolted up from sleep, then – “Urr! – tipped back over from the pain of sudden movement. His face contorted, and he whimpered and groaned, drawing in sharp breaths around daggerlike spasms – but it was hard to tell precisely where each hurt was coming from, as the physical pain now mingled with grief.

“Molly,” he whimpered.

He lied back down, crying, the darkness now complete.

* * *

The drive back to Darrell’s was the worst trip any of them had ever taken. Sara was riding shotgun (though she wished right then that this adventure was one she could have avoided), trying to maintain some semblance of togetherness about herself; Darrell just drove, except for looking over at Sara once in a while; and Wade sat between them, petrified – as much by his father’s silence as by the debilitated state of Miss Kremshaw. When they at last pulled into Darrell’s driveway, their arrival was like that of a funeral procession at a cemetery.

As they climbed out of the truck, they each felt that they would’ve given a lot right then to have the silence broken, but once they were inside and it came time to talk, they each felt that they would’ve given a lot to not know what they were now learning.

“Wade, why don’t you go into your room for a while, okay?” said Darrell.

Wade began to leave in silent obedience; his comfort level was miles below that of typical teenage awkwardness, and he relished the chance to get away and be by himself.

“No, wait,” said Sara. “He’s been with us throughout this, doing more than I would expect a student to do, and he knows that there’s something the matter with me … please let him stay.”

Darrell paused a moment, and Wade stopped in dreadful disbelief, hoping his dad wouldn’t change his mind.

“Alright,” said Darrell, and with a nod he motioned Wade to come join him.

Wade felt his cheerlessness sink to a new low as he took a seat beside his dad on the couch, while Sara sat down like a board on the edge of one of the chairs, still sniffing. Neither Wade nor Darrell had seen her look up since they left Schaeffer’s.

“I, um … I guess there are some things I need to tell you,” said Sara.

“Okay,” said Darrell. “We’re listening.”

“First of all, I really don’t know anything that’s going on … with the creature … only what you know. But … .” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “My uncle– well, to start off, let me say that my own family was never very religious. We sometimes went to church on important occasions, but my family’s idea of religion was to be good people and not swear often.” She gave a small chuckle, and Darrell’s mouth turned upward just a bit, but Wade sat like a block of big-eyed wood. “Anyway, we were all impressed with my Uncle Vernon when we met him, and we thought he made a fine addition to the family, especially my parents – my Mum was so happy for her sister.

“But one night, when I was still a young girl, I was down in our basement after my bedtime; I left the lights off and snuck down there with a flashlight to search for my Christmas presents – I knew that Mum and Dad kept them hidden down there. So I was searching for them in the back corner behind the stairs when all of a sudden a light came on – the light to the stairwell. I panicked like the girl I was, but I knew enough to keep my head about me, so I tucked myself behind some boxes. I expected the main light in the basement to come on any second – I was sure my parents had discovered my room empty and had come looking for me – but it never came. I heard a few muffled sounds but couldn’t figure out what was going on, so after a minute or two the curiosity became too much, and I poked my head above the boxes to see what was happening.

“The light from the stairwell shone into the basement enough for me to see that it was my Uncle Vernon – he and my aunt were staying with us on holiday – but he was … dressed in a … black cloak, and he was setting up something on a little table not far from the stairs.” She looked up – and at them – for the first time. “He lit some candles … and there might’ve been some other objects that he was doing something with; I couldn’t tell for sure. … Then he pulled up his hood … and he raised his hands and started chanting quietly … and after a few minutes he– he levitated.” She looked down again.

“After that, he looked like he was meditating, and then … then it sounded like– no, I know he was talking to somebody … but there was no one around. And then he left after a while. … But he and my aunt were staying with us two more nights after that, so I snuck down there both those nights … and he showed up each time, doing the same thing.

“A part of me was fascinated – curious, you know? – but mostly I was scared; I had this feeling that something terrible – even … evil – was going on. But I didn’t know what to do. Funny thing – at twelve years, I was old enough to recognize a problem, but too young to know how to solve it. Anyway, after my aunt and uncle left, I did a bit of personal investigating, such as I could at that age … and … I found out from a library book at school that my uncle was practicing Wicca – witchcraft, paganism, whatever you want to call it – but I was too scared to ever tell my parents about it. Maybe they already knew; I don’t know.” She was now looking off to one side with a wistful expression.

“But one thing I do know is that I never again felt comfortable around my Uncle Vernon, and no matter how fuzzy those memories got, they always came back clear at times. … No, never got comfortable – not with the passing of time, not when he gave me the house and land … and not when I heard his voice on my answering machine today.”

A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 22

The big rock behind which Hank crawled to safety. ... (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

James made it about half a mile into the woods before deciding he’d better stop and set up camp while he still had enough light. Along the way, he’d come across a few places where tall grass or weeds had been trampled, but that could just as easily have been the work of a deer or bear as that of Hank. So he ended up roaming – following his nose, as they say – but found nothing that pointed to Hank.

Didn’t really expect to find anything in such a short time anyway.

James, who had spent many a day and night in the woods around Foster’s Glen when he lived there, set up his campsite in much the same way as Hank had. Once the tent was up and the fires going, he sat in front of the big fire, not yet tired, flicking twigs into it. After a while the flames began to work their mesmerizing spell on him, and he decided to roll into his tent and go night-night.

“Raaawrrrawwrrawr!”

James froze for a moment, then snapped to his feet with rifle in hand.

That was no coyote, or bear, or anything I’ve ever heard. But it wasn’t close by, either. He lowered his gun. Oh, God, I hope Hank’s alright, wherever he is.

* * *

“Raaawrrrawwrrawr!”

Hank’s eyelids snapped open. A sound – distant, yet still too close – seemed to call his name. He knew what it was, and he knew what its owner could do.

Hank pulled his sleeping bag closer around him. Hurt as he was, it was a miracle that he’d been able to sit up at last, after many tries, get his backpack off, pull his sleeping bag out of it and shuffle-crawl the short distance to this flat spot where he now lie, tucked behind a large rock. But that was the only miracle he had in him at the time; it sapped him of what strength he had, so setting up his tent was out of the question, and as much as he desired warmth and safety – more so than at any other time in his life – he couldn’t find it in him to gather rocks and wood to build fires, or even a fire. No, as suicidal as it seemed to him, he felt like he had no choice but to take his chances with what he had, figuring that the lack of fire would at least help keep his location secret, and hoping that his position behind the rock would do the same. And he had, in fact, felt warm and safe in his sleeping bag – until the harsh, heart-cutting cry that jolted him awake. Now he felt the fear afresh, even though the noise sounded far away, and a chill ran across his body. To top it all off, his many hurts – which had been forgotten in sleep – now barked at him once again, and from so many places at the same time that he thought he was going to have a system overload and pass out.

Then again, that might be a good thing.

Hank pulled his sleeping bag closer around him, and tried to go back to sleep.

 * * *

“Well, it looks clear from here,” said Darrell as dusk washed over the town. “I don’t see any lights on.”

“And there’s nobody outside on this side of the building,” said Wade. “As long as the other side’s clear, we should be all set.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go have a look. If everything’s all clear, I’ll walk back around to this side of the building and wave to you – when that happens, come as quick as you can and meet me in the alley behind the building, but make sure nobody’s watching.”

“Okay,” said Wade and Sara, then Darrell left. From where they were parked  – in an alley between an old garage and a vacant brick building – Wade and Sara watched Darrell breeze across the hushed little side street they were adjacent to, then disappear up the narrow way between the Schaeffer Real Estate building and the doctor’s office this side of it. The doc also closed early on Saturdays.

It wasn’t even a minute before Darrell reappeared, waving to them as he headed to the back of the Schaeffer building. They slipped out of the truck and paused at the end of the alley; the coast was clear, so they scooted across the road and ducked in behind Schaeffer’s.

“Everything alright?” said Sara.

“Yeah. The street’s virtually empty. And I checked the front door, just in case, but it’s locked.”

“At least we have the lockpicks, right?”

“Umm, no. Remember? James left in a hurry? I didn’t have a chance to get them from him.”

“So how are we gonna get in?” said Wade.

“Well, I had hoped that a window or the back door would be unlocked, but no such luck, so we go to plan D.”

“Which is?” said Wade.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yup. I’m gonna help you up onto this low roof over the back door, then you’re gonna go from there up past the second story and onto the main roof, down through the escape hatch, then come down and open the back door for us.”

“Escape hatch?” said Sara.

“Yeah. All the old buildings in town have a wooden-panel escape hatch on the roof; they were all built that way as an extra means of escape in case of fire or whatnot, and they usually had a rope ladder with them that reached all the way to the ground.”

“Alright. Let’s get me up there,” said Wade.

“Be careful,” said Sara.

“And don’t forget to close the hatch once you’re through,” said Darrell.

Wade got up onto the first-floor window sill, hanging onto the façade above the window, then used Darrell’s outstretched hands as another step and sprung up onto the low roof. In a minute’s time he was up onto the main roof and down the hatch, and it wasn’t but a minute more until the back door popped open.

“You rang?” said Wade.

“Showoff,” said Darrell.

They hustled inside and closed the door.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” said Sara.

“Information on anything that’s currently for sale,” said Darrell, “or any inquiries that’ve been made about land in this area, stuff like that. I’m just not sure where we’ll find it.”

“Should I start with the file cabinets?”

“Sure. Wade, help her out with that. Use your pen lights if you need to, but keep them hid as much as possible – the blinds are down, but you never know.”

Darrell went to the desk and pawed through the drawers. He found a binder labeled “Current Listings, Public” on the spine; he set it on the desk and started flipping through it. Each page was a laminated mini-presentation of some house or piece of land, but nothing larger than about a hundred acres, many smaller than that. Then a thought came to him.

He looked again in the drawer where he’d found the binder.

Aha.

He found another binder, way in the back, whose appearance was identical in every way except for the label: “Current Listings, Private/Corporate.” Inside were more laminated items, but these were of a different variety: houses – rich people’s wilderness getaways – that were no less than $200,000 (and that was just for the “camps”), and land … big land.

Meanwhile, Sara had come upon some files with the same labels – “Current Listings, Public” from A to Z, and then, at the back of the bottom cabinet drawer, “Current Listings, Private/Corporate.” She pulled them.

“Hey, Darrell, look at these. Private and corporate parcels for sale.”

“Oh yeah? I found the same thing in this binder; I guess I got the version with pictures.”

“What does it mean, ‘private and corporate’?”

“Stuff being sold by rich people, or companies, and they only sell it to other rich people or companies.”

“These were tucked way in the back.”

“This too. I think they keep it hush-hush so they don’t get hassled by small-timers.”

“In other words, this is serious business.”

“Yeah, maybe even millions or billions serious, depending on how big the real estate is and what they want to use it for.”

“So we’ve found our loot, then; something big enough to kill for.”

Darrell nodded. “Yeah. I think so. … But go ahead and have a seat and we’ll compare what we’ve got, see if we can narrow it down to some specific names.”

Wade and Sara joined Darrell at the desk and they started going through everything in front of them, one listing at a time. The first piece of land they looked at – 50,000 acres in Weston, south of Foster’s Glen – got them stirred up right away: There were several bidders – some companies and a few individuals – and they all seemed willing to put up ever-healthier sums of money in a fierce bidding war. As they checked other listings, however, they discovered that all of them had multiple bidders engaged in stiff competition.

“How do we tell which one’s the one?” said Wade.

“I’m hoping there’s something about it that distinguishes it from the others; I don’t want to have to investigate all of these. Besides, we ain’t got time for that; we’ve got to narrow it down.”

While Darrell sat in thought and Wade looked at the pictures in the binder, Sara went ahead to some of the files she hadn’t yet looked at. More of the same, as far as she could–

What’s this?

A listing for a 150,000-acre chunk of land north of Foster’s Glen contained the name Vernon Pillsbury in the bidding manifest. There were several other names near the top of the chronological list, but as she read down it – and thus moved forward in time – the list boiled down to two names – Pillsbury and Victor Hallum. What’s more, their back-and-forth battle had escalated with breakneck speed using dollar amounts that took Sara’s breath away – she knew that her uncle had money, but not that much money. Other than that, though, the listing looked pretty much like the rest of them, so–

She started to close the folder when a small piece of paper slipped out of the file and into her lap. She picked it up and read it:

“Dear Mr. Schaeffer –

             In the midst of this intense battle between me and my opponent, I find it necessary to remind you how much I want this piece of land, and that I expect to claim it – regardless of whether I’m the highest bidder. Need I remind you of what happened last time?

                                                                                                VP”

A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 21

The stream by which Hank came to rest after his fall. A nice view—except when you can't move and it's getting dark. ... (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I can’t do this.

Hank pushed himself up from the ground and looked around through teary eyes.

That thing coulda killed me just now, like before; I ain’t got any chance of killin’ it.

Of course you don’t. It can have you anytime it wants. Why did you ever think you could kill it?

Why’d I ever think I could kill it? It ain’t no regular animal; that thing can have me anytime it wants.

Why don’t you just go home?

I’ve had enough of this place; I’m goin’ home.

Instead of returning the way he came, Hank decided to keep going in his current direction and work his way around in a giant loop. On top of the rise the ground was flat, and turned from pine grove to mixed forest; blowdown lay everywhere; chipmunks chattered and heat bugs hummed. Walking was much harder now, and as he stepped over and around a multitude of fallen branches and dead trees, he wiped his eyes and tried to ignore the fact that he still had to spend one more night in the woods, so deep was he into the forest.

Just keep goin’, as far as you can, then build another fire ring, sleep with your guns, an’ by tomorrow afternoon you’ll be back at your truck.

He noticed that the sun had already lowered an unhealthy distance from its midday high, prompting him to keep up a fast pace. Soon he came to a wide opening that was strewn with blowdown, with clear views of the cloudless, crystal-blue sky above, and just ahead, through gaps in a line of bedraggled firs, the nearby hills and valleys.

He made his way across the clearing towards the firs, then hopped the last fallen tree that stood between him and a good viewing spot at the edge of the plateau. He looked up … but he was going down. Rock and loose earth had slipped out from under one of his feet, and he didn’t even have a chance to recover his balance before he found himself first skidding, then tumbling, down a steep slope littered with scrub trees and loose, gravel-like soil. The shotgun came out of his hand at some point, he didn’t know when; he was too occupied with stopping himself and keeping his head from smashing into something. His momentum, however, seemed to be unstoppable unless a huge rock or tree intervened, and he knew that that would be even worse for him. He tried to grab something, or dig his heels in, but grabbing and hanging on was harder at that speed than he’d ever imagined, and his heels were useless at the moment, flailing, as they were, somewhere off to one side. It also didn’t help that at least once every rotation he was getting whacked in the shoulder or the knee or the arm or the ribs, lacing his movements with pain and slowing his efforts to stop. At last, however, his feet fell in line behind him and he dug in his heels as best he could; searing pain shot through the left one, but at least he was beginning to slow–

Lights out.

His head caught the side of a rock and his body went limp. He had slowed enough so that his body had lost momentum, but the damage was done, and he skidded to an unconscious halt in shaley soil near the bottom of a secluded ravine, some 75 yards below the clearing on the plateau.

* * *

“They’re still coming, sheriff.”

“They are?”

“Yes. They may even be there now.”

“Even after what happened with … with Molly?”

“Yes. Apparently they consider innocent civilians expendable … but perhaps they’ll think differently when their woodsmen start dropping like flies.”

“You mean– ”

“Yes, sheriff. It would be best for you if you stayed in town for the next day or two, away from the woods.”

* * *

James, Sara, Darrell and Wade headed out the back door of Sara’s house, bound for town once again.

“Okay if I go with you again, Mr. Morgan?” said Wade as they walked across the driveway, lengthening shadows falling on their path.

“Actually, you’d better go with your dad this time, Wade. I won’t be goin’ with you guys.”

Wade looked at his dad.

“Why not, James?” said Darrell.

“I, uh … I’ve stuck with you guys all day because I thought that’s what I came here to do – help you out. But there’s somethin’ I’ve been puttin’ off too, somethin’ I didn’t know I’d be doin’ at first.”

“What’s that?”

“Goin’ after Hank.”

“We appreciate your concern for Hank, but don’t you think it’s a little crazy to go off into the woods right now? I mean, I think it was crazy for Hank to do it, an’ he knows these woods better than anybody. No offense.”

“None taken. But this is somethin’ I feel I have to do. I mean, I really feel like this is somethin’ I need to do. I’ve got this feelin’ that Hank’s in trouble, that he can’t do this by himself. Besides, you three together make enough brainpower to figure out things on this end.”

“Hank said to not let anyone else go up there – he knew it would be too dangerous for them.”

“It’s too dangerous for him. Besides, when he told you that, he didn’t know I was comin’, an’ he doesn’t know about my experience with that thing he’s huntin’.”

“It sounds like you think it’s your right to kill that thing, not anyone else’s.”

“That’s ’cause it is.”

James walked around to the driver’s door of his car and opened it.

“James. Wait. You’re gonna need a gun … or two.”

“I got some in my trunk.”

Darrell paused. “Why’d you bring guns if you didn’t think you’d be needin’ them? If you thought you were just gonna be helping us here?”

“ ’Cause I was a Boy Scout.”

He got in the car and drove off.

“And then there were three,” said Darrell. “Let’s go do what we gotta do.”

* * *

A big black car pulled off to the side of the dirt road running along Locke Ridge on the northern boundary of Foster’s Glen. The chauffeur got out, walked to the back door and opened it, and out stepped a tall, burly fellow in a black suit and dark glasses who bore no expression.

“There it is, Mr. Hallum,” said the chauffeur. “A hundred and fifty thousand acres of prime virgin timber, soon to be yours.”

* * *

James figured that he wouldn’t catch up with Hank that night, there being only a couple hours of daylight left, but he wanted to get as far as he could, so he broke every speed limit and almost broke the suspension on his car in an effort to get to the Upper Basin posthaste. He couldn’t remember a good place to park, it’d been so long since his last time there, but when he saw Hank’s truck, he pulled over beside it. He went to his trunk, opened it, and spent several minutes gathering up what he needed, then set off on a slow march along the road, looking for any sign as to which direction Hank had taken. The crunchy dirt didn’t take impressions too well, but after some close inspection, James found what he thought were faint outlines, fragments, of bootprints. Judging by the look of things, James figured that the Upper Basin was as little-used now as when he lived in Foster’s Glen, so the prints had to belong to Hank. He followed them until they led off the road, then he slipped quietly into the bushes.

* * *

Darrell, Sara and Wade were cruising the back road through town, winding their way towards the real estate office at the east end of Main Street.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we came after dark?” said Wade.

“Then we’d have to worry about headlights and flashlights drawing attention,” said Darrell. “For now we can still see on our own, but we’re a lot less conspicuous than during the full light of day.”

“And it appears that our fellow citizens have done us a favor by vacating town already,” said Sara.

“Yeah,” said Darrell. “Saturdays tend to be busy in the morning for shopping, and later in the evening when the movie house opens. Right now’s the lull; perfect time for us.”

“And no one will be around the real estate office?”

“Shouldn’t be. They close at noon on Saturdays, but we’ll scope out the situation before we do anything.”

* * *

“Uughh.”

Coming to, Hank grimaced in pain – and when he tried to move, he grimaced even more.

He drew in a sharp breath as spikes of pain shot up his left leg, from the heel to the knee, and moaned at the throbbing in his head. Lying on his right side, he tried to lift his head, but raising it even a mere half-inch off the ground made him swoon, like a washing machine turning in his skull, and nausea sprang up in his chest. He set his head back down, content for the moment to not move, and for the first time took a good look around. In front of him he saw fir trees and a stream, the sound of which soothed him for a few moments.

I wonder if that’s the same stream I crossed before.

Tilting as far as he could to his left, against the bulk of his backpack, he saw a dimming sky overhead, with a few large clouds here and there, and with a wince he caught a glimpse of the slope, and the trees at the edge of the plateau far away at the top.

Ohh yeah. That’s how I got here.

He looked at the sky again.

Gray. He winced; his aching head hated for him to even think. Gray sky. That means … He tried lifting his left arm and was glad to find that it was largely free of pain, glad also to see that his watch was still working.

But he didn’t like what it showed.

Six o’clock?! Oh, man. I’ve gotta move; gotta build a fire, set up my tent, get some w– “Aahhh!”

He lie still again.

But I’ve gotta move, I’ve got to. Can’t stay here.

He tried rolling over onto his belly; the pain – pain everywhere – was almost unbearable from the first flinch.

“Urr. Ur.” Come on. “Ah– ah, ahh.” Come on! “Urrrahh!”

He flopped onto his belly, his right arm – the bad one – underneath him. Using his left arm, he tried to push himself up onto his knees. “Aaahh!” Then flopped back to the ground. He tried again. “Urr – ah – ahh!” He fell again. A third time he tried, but he no longer had the strength to even get started.

I gotta move.

But you can’t.

But I’ve gotta.

But you can’t.

And so he lay there, the darkness gathering around him.

A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 20

Snooping in the town office yields mixed results. ... (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Darrell, Sara, Wade and James hung out at the diner until 3:30, by which time the town had become nearly deserted, then they slipped out in pairs – Darrell and Wade first,  James and Sara a minute later – and made their way by different routes to the back of the town office building. There was little risk of being discovered out there – all the buildings on that side of Main Street sat next to the woods, so the four co-conspirators were able to go to work without hindrance. James used his lockpicks to get them in through the back door, and in no time they were in the office.

“I can’t believe there are no alarms,” said Sara.

“Well, there’s not much crime in Foster’s Glen – the last robbery was five years ago,” said Darrell. “And that was committed by a foreigner.” He smiled at Sara.

“An’ it’s a good thing there’s so little crime in this town,” said Wade. “Makes it easy for criminals like us.”

“Alright, here we go,” said Darrell. “Stay away from the windows.”

“An’ let’s not be too long about it,” said James. “This wouldn’t look good on my record if I ever wanted to work in law enforcement again.”

Darrell found the book of property maps and they went to work, leafing through page after page.

“Wow. There are so many huge pieces of land,” said Sara. “And some of them are owned by outside companies.”

“Yeah, paper companies,” said Darrell. “Nothing unusual there, at least not on the surface.”

“But there are individuals who own big plots too, right?” said Sara.

“Yeah. Some who have farms, others – like Hank and I – who just like a lot of land. But we don’t know who the sheriff’s boss is, so we don’t even know if he owns land, or if so, how much.”

“So these maps aren’t really tellin’ us what we need to know, are they?” said Wade.

“Well, they’re not shouting out the answers.” Darrell frowned. “But they might be whispering. Sara, grab a pen, will you, and copy down the names of all large landowners – companies and individuals – and how much land they own. Wade, you read the names off to her. James, come with me – there’s something else we need to look at.”

They walked across the office to a door that read “Archives” on its window. It was locked.

“Can you open it?” said Darrell.

“Of course.”

Half a minute later they were inside.

“What are we lookin’ for?” said James.

“A log book where they write down all land transactions – sales, rentals, leases, everything. I think it’s red.”

“So you’re gonna check all the recent entries?”

“Yeah.”

“And compare it to the ones from nineteen years ago.”

“You got it.”

“Good idea. Maybe you should’ve joined the police.”

“Nah. Couldn’t hack the hours.”

After a few minutes …

“Here it is,” James said.

“Alright. I’m just gonna go photocopy all the sections we want.”

“An’ you know what else? Do they still keep the county records here?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll look for the county logbook too. There might be somethin’ outside Foster’s Glen that we’d be interested in.”

“Yeah, good thinking.”

James soon found the county’s land-records book, and by the time he and Darrell were finished photocopying, Wade and Sara were done with their list.

“Alright,” said James. “Let’s get outta here.”

They left as they came – out the back and then off in pairs – soon met back at their vehicles, then drove away towards Sara’s without a hitch – though they failed to notice the dark car that had just entered town at the west end of the street.

* * *

Hank hit the bottom of the rise and stopped.

What’s that foul smell? Is that me? He checked his armpits. No. … What the heck is that? Just then a vague sense of familiarity hit him; he looked around for hints, but nothing rang a bell.

He continued on. Partway up the rise he felt himself heating up again despite the shade, and as he wiped his brow he thought he heard a noise overhead.

Looking up, he spotted a high branch shaking.

Stupid squirrels.

Up, up the rise he went, paying more attention to the ground at his feet than to what lay ahead, because of the slipperiness of the pine needles. He hadn’t yet taken particular notice of the massive pine tree at the top of the rise.

A small, pleasant breeze stirred from behind just then. At least, he thought it was a breeze, but he noticed that nothing else looked like it had been ruffled by the wind – neither the few stray weeds near his feet, nor the branches above.

In his searching around for evidence of the breeze, he spotted the big pine, which stood just beyond a sharp little upturn at the top.

Wow. Look at that thing. Must be a hundred years old, at least. He noticed the stump of a dead branch down low on it. That’ll make a good handhold.

As he neared the top, something flickered in his mind – a thought, an idea, a disturbance, he didn’t know what – like a blip on a radar screen. He kept moving while it happened, but in slow motion, then shook it off after a moment without another thought.

He reached out and grabbed the branch-stump and pulled himself up to the top. The instant he planted both feet next to the great pine, an image of the creature flashed through his mind, along with a “Grreowwl!” that sent him to his knees, hands over his ears, panting and grimacing in dreadful anticipation.

But nothing happened. Still, he feared to look. Finally he peeked out, a bit at a time, until he realized that nothing was there … anymore. Sudden realization struck him; he lowered his arms and sank against the tree.

The smell … the sound … the breeze … it was here, and it had me.

And he cried.

* * *

“So what do you make of all this?” said Sara.

“Not sure yet,” said Darrell, papers strewn in front of them across Sara’s coffee table. “I mean, I think we can eliminate all the small land deals– ”

“Right.”

“But as for the big stuff, there’s a lot of outside companies and individuals listed here, but it all looks pretty routine – wouldn’t you say, James?”

“Yeah. Just a lot of permit renewals, things like that. There actually haven’t been any big purchases or lease agreements for quite some time.”

“What about the older stuff, from nineteen years ago?” said Wade.

“Looked fine to me,” said Darrell. “Man, this is getting a little frustrating. I thought this stuff would show us something, but it doesn’t seem like my idea’s panning out very well.”

“Or maybe it is,” said James.

“How so?”

“Maybe we’re workin’ our way towards the right answer by eliminating all the wrong ones.” Everyone stared at him, waiting for him to say more. “The property maps tell us who owns what, but that’s all – they don’t say anything about deals. So we look at the logbook of deals, but everything there looks fine – routine stuff, no big shakeups; even the county logbook looks fine. So where does that leave us?”

Silence.

“Potential deals,” said James, a slight gleam in his eyes. “The stuff we’ve been lookin’ at only shows us what is, not what might be. Like you said earlier, Darrell: Maybe someone’s been inquirin’ about buyin’ land. But if that’s the case, an’ they spoke with someone at the town office, the town office wouldn’t keep a record of that.”

“They’d send them to the real estate place up the street.”

James nodded. “Exactly.”

A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 19

The mountain road leading up to Sara Kremshaw's house. ... Image via Wikipedia

Hank opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was the sun. He squinted against the bright light, his brain as contorted as his face.

What? Where am I?

He sat up on one elbow, shielding his face with his other hand, and surveyed his surroundings.

Oh yeah. … Oh no!

He jumped to his feet and scanned around. Then, glancing down, he saw his shotgun lying on the mossy ground; he picked it up with nervous hands and held it at his hip, ready to blast the first thing that moved.

Whoa … wait a second. He looked at his watch. Two-thirty. Okay. … Two-thirty! I slept for almost two hours. You fool! You’re lucky you woke up at all. He looked all around him, inspecting the ground. No tracks, and no other sign of the creature. Alright, it’s okay. Using his shirt, he wiped sweat from his forehead. Hank, that was foolish. Don’t ever do that again.

He adjusted his backpack and got his bearings before moving on, deeper into the woods. Only a minute went by, however, before his groggy mind returned to the nap; through the fog – and so well-hidden that it slipped into Hank’s mind undetected – came this thought: You got away with that one, didn’t you?

Hank replied without realizing it.

Yeah.

* * *

Darrell and company pulled into Sara’s driveway. Darrell slid out of his truck, shut the door and leaned back against it.

“Man, what a nice day,” he said.

“Yeah. I bet it would’ve been great at the Silver Bells,” said Wade.

“What are the Silver Bells?” said Sara.

“Nice set of waterfalls over on the backside of the mountain,” said James.

“You remember them,” said Darrell.

“Oh yeah. Can’t forget that place. Karen an’ I used to go over there once in a while – nice quiet spot for a picnic.”

“It is a nice spot,” said Darrell, “and not many people go there,” he said to Sara.

“How come?” she said.

“Well, it’s not a secret place – pretty much everyone around here knows about it  – but it’s hard to get to; you can only drive to within about three-quarters of a mile of it, then you gotta hoof it the rest of the way.”

“Hoof it?”

“Yeah; walk.”

“Oh. Sorry. Still learning the American lingo.”

“An’ it’s not the easiest walk, either,” said James. “Pretty rocky; narrow trail that runs partly along a steep dropoff. But the falls are the big payoff – great swimming, relaxin’ to listen to.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Hank and Wade like to go there,” said Darrell, then, noticing Wade’s sober expression, added, “I’m sure they’ll get there again soon. Maybe they’ll take you sometime.”

“That would be nice. In the meantime, how about a little R and R? Some iced tea, maybe even a soft spot on the couch?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Darrell.

They went around to the back of the house, and Sara unlocked the door.

“Have a seat on the porch if you like,” she said.

They remained outside while Sara walked into the kitchen, set her purse on the table and poured iced tea for everyone.

“I’ll be jiggered,” she said. “I’ve got a message on my answering machine.”

“Is that odd?” asked Darrell from outside the door.

“For me, extremely.”

She pushed play.

“Hi, Sara. This is your Uncle Vernon calling. It’s Saturday, about noon. I’ll be flying out to Maine tomorrow for business; don’t know how long I’ll be staying – a few days probably – but I’d like to see you if you have time. But I’ll stop in sometime after I get there, and we can talk more then. Have a good day. Bye.” Beep.

“If I have time,” said Sara with a smirk. “He obviously doesn’t know me very well, does he?”

“Do you know him very well?” said Darrell.

“Not real well. When I was living in England I would see him and my aunt once, maybe twice, a year – on holidays – since they had to travel all the way from America, and we never came over here. But he and my aunt have always been very kind to us, very generous with their wealth. Even still, I was quite surprised when he offered me this house and this land – that’s a big gift to give someone you don’t know very well, even if they are family.”

Darrell looked away, his eyes seeming to be inspecting his thoughts, as James stepped inside the door.

“What is it?” said James.

Darrell looked at Sara. “Maybe that’s it.”

“What’s it?” she said.

“Land. … Foster’s Glen isn’t rich in many things, but one thing it’s got a lot of is land. This whole area is nothing but vast tracts of forest, except for a few farms. Man, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”

“You mean– ”

“The sheriff, and his boss. It’s all about land.”

“You mean they’re tryin’ to get land?” said James.

“Maybe. Or maybe trying to keep what they’ve already got, I don’t know. … But I’m sure it’s about land. … Come on; we’ve gotta get back to town.”

He charged out the door, startling Wade, who was lying on Sara’s porch swing.

“Wade, let’s go.”

“What? Where are we goin’?”

“Back to town.”

“Siesta’s over, Wade,” said James. “Your father’s had a brainstorm.”

“Rrrr. Fine time for that; I was just gettin’ comfortable.”

They hurried to catch up with Darrell, who was moving with a snap in his step.

“Darrell, you want to tell us a little more?” said James.

“When we get to town. Meet me at the town office.”

Darrell hopped in and started his truck, and Sara just made it in before he stomped on the gas, spinning up dirt.

“Sorry about your driveway,” he said.

“It’s alright,” she said, looking more concerned about the prospect of flying down the mountain road.

James and Wade followed in James’s car, and Wade couldn’t believe that they made it to town faster than his Uncle Hank ever had. They found open spaces in front of the town office, and Wade, Sara and even James looked flabbergasted as they struggled to keep up with Darrell, who was out of the truck and up the huge granite steps in no time. Before they reached the top of the stairs, though, Darrell was already on his way back down, frustration on his face.

“I forgot they close early on Saturdays,” he said as he steamed on by. They rushed back down after him. “And they’re not open on Sundays either.”

Darrell reached the sidewalk and stopped, as if he just realized he could go no farther because he didn’t know where to go.

“What’s going on?” said James.

“Like I said … it’s all about land. … Keepin’ it, gettin’ it; either way, it doesn’t really matter. The point is, there’s some land they’re trying to protect, or get; land that somebody else must want, or have; so I was gonna look through all the property maps in the town office, see who owns what exactly … and maybe find out if anyone’s been inquirin’ about buying big chunks of land around here – because it’s gotta be something big, whatever it is.”

“So what do we do now?” said Sara.

“We can’t wait until Monday,” said Wade. “Not with Uncle Hank out there.”

“No, we can’t,” said Darrell. He looked up at the town office building; James watched his eyes.

“I have an idea,” said James, and he walked to the back of his car and popped the trunk. He leaned in and fished around for a minute, then pulled out a wallet-size leather pouch.

“What’s that?” said Wade.

“This … is a set of lockpicks,” said James.

Sara looked at Darrell.

“That’s what you were thinkin’, wasn’t it, Darrell?” said James.

Darrell’s face said a quiet “How did you know?”

James shrugged. “Fifteen years in law enforcement; I learned how to read people.”

“Where’d you get those?” said Darrell.

“These belong to the Foster’s Glen Police Department. Forgot to turn ’em in when I left.”

“Forgot?”

James shrugged. “Ah … well, you know … I always meant to mail ’em back. Just never got around to it.” He smiled. “So. You up for it?”

Darrell paused, then remembered Hank and Molly. He looked at James.

“Yeah.”

* * *

Three o’clock, the sun still burning high in the sky, and Hank’s mind was now clear, focused once again on the hunt. He entered a grove of dark pines, relieved to get out of the sun for a while, and also glad that he’d now have an easier time staying quiet thanks to the soft bed of pine needles under his feet. As soon as he entered the grove, a hush filled his ears; nothing stirred save the slow growth of life itself, and all the forest sounds outside were dimmed by the cushion of branches stretching overhead. He stopped and listened. Peace enveloped him.

* * *

Behind Hank, atop a low rise over which the grove ran, two eyes peered around a tree at him. They were low, close to the ground, their accompanying body hidden behind a thick pine trunk. The creature sniffed the air, searching for the strange scents that went with the strange visitor and finding them. It lowered its body to the ground, tucked into a pouncing position, and waited, never taking its eyes off the intruder.

* * *

Hank had been in this grove twice before, but it had been a while. He took his time studying the sights in all directions. He noticed the rise. It seemed as good a direction as any, and it was one of the few nearby spots he’d never ventured into. So off he went, straight towards the spy.

A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 17

The Foster's Glen Library: a weighty institution. ... Image via Wikipedia

Darrell had room for only three in his truck, so James followed in his car, and they parked next to each other near the midpoint of Main Street.

“I guess, to start off, Sara and I’ll go check out the public records at the town office, and you and Wade can go to the library and see what you can find there – take a look at news clippings; there might be something we can use.”

“Alright,” said James.

Darrell and Sara turned into the town office, which was right next to where they parked, and Wade and James walked the short distance west to the library. As they went up the front steps, James glanced sidelong at the police station three blocks away. A police car was parked in front.

They went through the venerable oak doors and spotted Mr. Wayne’s head sticking up behind a stack of books on his desk; a rhythmic “thump … thump” sound coming from behind there was so consistent that it seemed like it had to be the work of a machine.

“Hey, Mr. Wayne.”

The sound stopped. “Oh, hi, Wade. And who– ”

“Hi, Mr. Wayne.”

Mr. Wayne set his stamp down and stood. “James Morgan. Well I’ll be.” They shook hands. “Good to see you, James. What brings you back to town?”

“Oh, just a little visit. I’m stayin’ with Wade an’ his dad.”

“Oh, good, that’s good. Well, I’m sure you didn’t stop in to chit-chat with me. What can I do for you?”

“Just browsin’ today,” said Wade.

“Okay. Well, if you have any questions, you fellas know where to find me.”

Mr. Wayne sat down behind his piles of books and papers, and the “thump … thump” of his stamping resumed.

“So where do we start?” said James. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here; I think I’ll need a refresher course.”

“Well, microfilm machines are way in the back – Mr. Wayne can help us get set up on those if we want; town reports an’ maps an’ that kinda stuff would be in the reference section right there in front of us; an’ over here to our left are magazines an’ newspapers. And of course, there’s all the books.”

“Alright. I think I’ll take a look at some reports.”

“The microfilm worked for me once; I’ll try it again.”

Wade got Mr. Wayne to help him with that while James began browsing the reference section. After glancing at a few area maps, he came across a copy of the most recent town report and leafed through it, but nothing caught his interest. He placed it back on the shelf, stood there a minute tapping his fingers on the bookcase, then walked over to the microfilm section and found Wade peering into one of the machines.

“Hey, Wade. How’s everything goin’?”

“Nothin’ yet. ’Course, I don’t really know what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Yeah. Well, I just looked at a few maps, but I’m feelin’ a little thirsty, so I was gonna run across the road to the store and get somethin’. You want anything?”

“No thanks. I’ll just stay here an’ keep lookin’.”

“Alright. Be back in a bit.”

James walked out into the bright sunlight bursting down; he stood there squinting, feeling the heat radiate off the stone steps, and looked around. It was about eleven o’clock, and a fair number of people were walking the street. Memories ran through his mind: names, faces – people; and dreams new and old, good and terrible, screamed at him from distant places that were nonetheless all too close to his heart. He picked his target and moved.

* * *

Over at the town office – the second-oldest building in town after the library, and just as dignified – Sara filed through tax maps at the counter while Darrell stood by a window at the front, flipping through a book containing minutes of public meetings. Neither of them had found anything interesting, and Darrell’s mind began to wander from boredom.

He gazed out the window, first taking note of who was out on the street, but the warmth of the sunlight pouring through the window soon began to work its magic on him. His eyes started glazing over and his lids drooped, then he did one of those head bobs that are so embarrassing – his eyes closed and his head tilted forward, then it jerked back up and his eyes snapped open. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

Bringing his gaze back around, his eyes fell on the window again, then on one particular figure: a man, standing still at the top of the library steps. He recognized him as James, and at once an unexplainable, vague-yet-definite sense of trouble crept into him. James started down the steps, and Darrell shifted closer to the window; Darrell looked up and down the street, but nothing appeared strange or out of place … yet the unsettled feeling was still there.

Police station.

It occurred to him just then that James had not been at all pleased with the sheriff, and the image of Hank holding a shotgun to Harvey’s chin flashed back.

Darrell sprang away from the table he’d been standing at and bounded out the door. Sara turned around in surprise. “Darrell?”

She followed him out the door and onto the broad granite steps of the building.

“Darrell, what’s wrong?”

But Darrell said nothing, staring across the way. He saw James reach the sidewalk at the bottom of the library steps, expected him to turn towards the police station … but he stepped into the road instead. Darrell continued to watch as James crossed the street, hopped up onto the other sidewalk and ducked into Marvin’s Variety. Darrell exhaled a breath of relief and grinned.

Jumpy, Darrell?

“Darrell, what’s going on?” said Sara.

“Nothing. Just my imagination running wild. Let’s go look some more.” And they headed back inside.

* * *

Two minutes later, James emerged from Marvin’s with a bottle of VeryFine fruit punch in one hand. He stopped on the sidewalk in the shade of the store’s awning and guzzled until the punch was almost gone. He looked towards the library, then towards the town office; everyone who might care to know his whereabouts was nowhere in sight. He took one more swig of his drink, finishing it, then headed west.

* * *

Sheriff Danscom sat at his desk, trying to reason with the most unreasonable woman in town.

“Mrs. Fields, I’m very sorry, but there’s nothin’ I can do if I don’t know who knocked over your mailbox, an’ it’s certainly not this department’s or the town’s responsibility to pay for it.”

“ ‘Sorry’ don’t cut it, sheriff. I’m 78 years old, an’ in all my born days I ain’t ever had so much trouble over so small and obvious a matter as this.”

“Obvious? Mrs. Fields– . I don’t know what to tell you. You didn’t see who did it– ”

“But I know who did it.”

“You think you know who did it.”

Just then the bell clanged, but the sheriff was so occupied with Mrs. Fields that he noted only that someone had come in, nevermind who it was. The new arrival sat in a chair next to the door and waited in silence.

“Well be that way if you want, sheriff, but we’ll see what the town council has to say about this.”

“Mrs. Fields, I don’t think– ” But she had turned and stormed towards the door, and the sheriff gave up even before she slammed it behind her, knocking the bell to the floor.

The sheriff lowered his head, shaking it and sighing. “Crazy ol’ bat.” Then he remembered that someone else had come in and was waiting. Mustering the energy, Sheriff Danscom said, “Can I help you?”

The man in the chair had been keeping his head down, but at the sheriff’s words he stood, and he lifted his gaze as he drew up to his full, impressive height.

“Hello, sheriff.”

Harvey did a double-take. “James?”

“Yeah. I see things haven’t changed around here.”

The sheriff snorted. “You mean Mrs. Fields? Yeah, she– ”

“I mean you.”

“What … what are you talkin’ about?”

“I hear you been havin’ trouble with a bear; can’t get a handle on it.”

“Well, no, that situation’s just about under control now. We spotted the bear an’–”

“Control? That why Molly Laske’s dead?”

“That … was unfortunate,” said Harvey, looking at the floor. “But when you got a rogue animal on your hands, what are you gonna do?”

“Now that’s just what I’ve been thinkin’, sheriff: What are you gonna do?”

“Well– ”

James held up a hand. “Or, better yet, what am I gonna do?” He made a move towards his back pocket; Harvey spotted this and went for his gun.

“Whoa,” said James. He brought his hand slowly back around until Harvey could see what he was holding: a bottle. “Nervous, Harv?”

“I– ”

“Well I can understand why, if you got the Daley brothers breathin’ down your neck – your boss prob’ly ain’t too pleased about that.”

“What– ” Harvey closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. “Whaddaya want, James? Those Daley boys drag you into this?”

“They called me an’ told me what was goin’ on, but I came out of my own free will.”

“So what’s that?” said Harvey, nodding at the bottle.

“This?” James held up the bottle. “VeryFine. Good stuff.”

“Yeaah. So?”

“So … I just finished it; wanted to bring it by and leave it with you.”

Harvey leaned on his desk. “Well what for, James?”

James set it on the desk. “So you can cash it in for the nickel.”

Harvey screwed up his face.

“Then call your boss …” James leaned on the desk, his face inches from Harvey’s. “… an’ tell him I’m gonna kill his secret weapon.”

James leaned back, glaring, then turned and walked out.

A Thing Greatly Feared, Chapter 16

A campfire to keep Hank warm, but will it keep the creature away? ... Image via Wikipedia

Hank jerked up into a sitting position, cocked his 12-guage and peered into the night. He’d been laying down between his tent and the main fire, cradling one gun while the other sat an arm’s length away, but a noise had roused him from sleep. It could’ve been anything – many creatures roamed the woods at night.

Or it could’ve been just what he was looking for.

It was still early – or late, depending on how you judge such things; it was still dark, no sign of the sun, and a few of the smaller fires had died out. Hank searched the scene in front of him: Everything was in its place, as far as he could see, but he couldn’t see far. He stood up, careful to keep quiet, and walked at a snail’s pace around the whole campsite, first behind his tent and then along the ring of smaller fires. Nothing was stirring – at least, that’s what his eyes and ears told him. His heart, though, said otherwise.

Taking some matches out of his pocket and some sticks from his reserve pile, Hank relit the dead fires and stoked the others, including the big one at the center of the site. In the midst of doing this, a thought struck him: What if this creature wasn’t like others – not scared by fire? Fear shivered through him top to bottom.

He finished with the fires and went back to his sleeping bag in front of the tent, setting the safety on the shotgun and laying it next to him. The dose of adrenaline from being jolted awake kept him up a few minutes longer, but then the soothing effect of staring into the fire took its toll, and he lied down and went to sleep.

* * *

“James. Jaa-aaames.”

“Hnn.”

“James, wake up.”

“Nnn. No, Karen. I’m tryin’ to sleep.”

“Come on, James, wake up.”

“Errrr. Alright.”

James rolled over to see what Karen wanted, but it wasn’t Karen.

“Who– ”

“Don’t recognize me, James?”

“No. Where’s Karen – my wife?”

“Not even gonna guess who I am, James? Not even curious?”

“Wh– ” James’s head twitched, his face one big question mark.

“I’m Molly. Molly Laske.”

“Molly?”

“Yeah. Still don’t look familiar? Maybe this’ll help.”

Molly was now 14 instead of 26. James’s face relaxed into a tired but happy expression.

“Ohh, yeah. Molly – the papergirl.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “But how do you like this?”

In the next instant she was 26 again, but writhing on the bed, her bare hands clawing at the pillow, which was now turning into a set of steps. Her face stretched and contorted in horrible lines of pain – though she didn’t scream – as sounds of ripping and tearing laced James’s ears. He flinched, and his heart screamed, but he couldn’t get off the bed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t leave, and his gaze always went back to her, in spite of the agony drawn on her face and the butchered sounds caused by an invisible enemy. No – wait. Not all invisible. He could see … eyes. Yes, orange eyes, staring right at him, and they seemed to grab him and hold him, locking his gaze and keeping it fixed despite continuous shredding sounds that seemed to be calling his name, and the sight of much red out of the corner of his eye.

“M-Molly?”

At last he heard her scream – a cry that sounded like “Why?” and stabbed through his heart – but he couldn’t help her, couldn’t even look at her; the orange eyes were swallowing him.

“Mollyyyyy!”

He shot up in bed. He looked around.

Molly? Where–

The livingroom at Darrell’s, on the couch. That’s where he was. Darrell came hurrying into the room, flicking on the hall light.

“James. You alright?”

Darrell could see that he was covered with sweat, and panting.

“James?”

James caught his breath. He looked at Darrell; Sara and Wade were now standing behind him.

“Everything okay?” said Darrell. “Been havin’ a bad dream?”

James looked down. “Yeah. Yeah. A bad dream.”

“Can I get you something?”

James shook his head. “No. No thanks. Sorry to wake you guys.”

“It’s okay. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Darrell and the others left, shutting off the light as they went, and James lied back down, but the couch and blanket were damp with sweat, so he sat up and wiped himself off with one of his T-shirts, then stood and paced for a few minutes while his bed dried. He looked at the clock on the kitchen microwave.

4:45. I wonder how Hank’s doin’.

Then he wondered how he was doing. James usually didn’t remember his dreams, but this one was all too vivid as he stood there in the black night. He wiped his hand across his face.

Molly. (How could I let her down?) I’m sorry.

And he cried in the dark.

* * *

Hank woke up – natural-like this time – and rubbed his eyes. He looked at his watch: 5:30. A fresh, clear light washed the lower part of the sky a yellowish-white, and the waning moon hung onto its last bit of life in a crystal-blue field overhead. All the fires were out except for some hot coals, and thin curls of smoke drifted up from the ashes.

I live to fight another day.

After several hitches he pushed himself up into a sitting position, noting more than a few cricks in his back.

Prob’ly slept on my dang gun.

He grimaced as he rocked forward, but managed to stand. After stretching, he got the main fire going again to take off the chill, then ate some plain bread and half a dozen granola bars in between guzzles of water that was cool from being left out all night. He then took down his tent and packed his bag, leaving one gun in it and one gun out, and by six o’clock was ready to go.

Better make sure these fires are out.

He used his remaining water to douse the main fire, then took all four of his water bottles and traipsed back to the stream he’d crossed yesterday. He filled the bottles in the cold, clear stream – “Clean as the day God made it,” his dad used to say – then walked back to camp. He soaked the coals in the big fire, then went to work on the smaller ones, starting with those behind where his tent had been. He had to return to the stream one more time, then worked on dousing the last few pits. When he came to the last two – at the opposite end from where his tent had been – he saw tracks in the dirt. He bent closer.

Six claw marks. He looked up, fear mushrooming inside him. These prints weren’t here when I got here yesterday. He spun around on his haunches. But then a white flag of relief sprang up. He didn’t come past the fires; he stayed outside the ring. Hank got up and looked all around the campsite just to be sure, but his hope held true – just the one set of prints, and they never entered the circle.

But … He stopped where he stood. Were those tracks there when I got up … or did they show up just now when I went to the stream?

* * *

James hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, so he just sat in silence on the couch until the others stirred.

“Good morning, James,” said Darrell, who headed straight for the kitchen and started cooking up bacon and eggs.

“Mornin’.”

A minute later he heard Sara coming out of the guest bedroom and down the hall.

“Good morning, James,” she said.

“Mornin’.”

Wade emerged a couple minutes later, and Darrell announced that breakfast would soon be ready.

“You won’t even have to serve yourselves if you don’t want to,” he said.

“That’s what kids are for,” said Wade.

“Oh, don’t I know it,” said James. “That’s why me an’ my wife had three.”

Sara chuckled.

“Well,” said Darrell, “they owe something for all the trouble they put us through, don’t they, James?”

“You’re darn right.” Everybody laughed. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“I want to do some diggin’ around,” said Darrell. “Library, town office – see if we can find out who the sheriff and his cohort might be trying to scare, and why, or what else they might be trying to do. You up for that, James?”

“Umm, yeah.”

“You sound unsure.”

“No, that’s fine. I’m–. Whatever.” He grinned.

“What about me, Dad?”

“I’m sure I’ll find something for you to do when we get to town.”

When we get to town, thought James. When we get to town, I might have to pay the sheriff a little visit.