Black Stump Ridge (32 page)

“True,” she agreed as she turned into the parking lot of a fairly busy truck stop. “I get that way when I’m tired and hungry. You gonna drive after we eat?”

At one end of the low brick building was the gas station. Beyond that stood islands of diesel pumps where several tractor-trailer rigs idled as they took on fuel. Across the highway a large billboard proclaimed the availability of all sorts of fireworks in the modest-sized building facing the lot beneath the sign.

“I suppose.” He glanced in the back at Diane. She sat and chanted. “Think she’ll be okay?”

“I have all of the windows open a little.” Amanda turned off the engine and flipped the keys to Fred. “I’ve offered to leave the engine and the ac on, but she says she prefers the heat. Something about helping to sweat out the impurities faster.”

“As long as we don’t come back to a corpse.” Fred climbed out of the van and closed the door. When Amanda had done the same, he pressed a button on the key fob. The clunk of the locks brought back memories of too many horror movies. “We might have a bit of trouble explaining why we locked a woman in a hot truck.”

“Please,” she replied as she walked toward the glass door. “It’s not like she’s an infant or an invalid. She can leave the van any time she wants to.”

“True enough,” he said as he followed Amanda into the diner. He stopped and scratched his head. Diane hadn’t used the rest room during any stops – other than at the motel last night – during this trip. No, she must have. No one could hold it for that long, could they? He looked back through the restaurant window at the car and its shadowy occupant.

“Hey,” Amanda’s voice cut through the low level noise of conversation, clattering plates, and tableware. “I’ve got us a booth. Let’s eat.”

Fred looked at the van a moment longer. He shook his head, again. “Sounds good. I’m starved.”

•

Fred’s teeth jammed together hard as the minivan’s right front tire dropped into another half-moon shaped cutaway at the edge of the narrow, two-lane asphalt road. His knuckles whitened as he squeezed the steering wheel. The van crowded the non-existent shoulder as yet another tractor-trailer rig headed in the opposite direction blew past. The wind of its passage pushed against the van inching it even farther to the right.

Fred wrenched the wheel to the left, wrestling the vehicle back onto the asphalt. The van rocked ominously, protesting the sudden direction changes. Once more Fred found himself wishing for the Jeep he’d driven on this treacherous road twelve years earlier.

“I’m glad you’re driving this road and not me,” Amanda commented from the passenger seat. “It’s bad enough looking out and down from this side at all the trees. I should say tree tops since that’s all I really see.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of down on that side. There’s a river on that side.”

“What’s the name?”

“Name?”

“Of the river. Down there.”

“I’m not sure. The Ocoee is farther south, closer to Georgia and my mom’s place. Of course, it’s my brother Robert’s house, now. When she passed, he got her place and I got the cabin. I’m not sure what river that is down there.”

“What about your other brother?”

“William?”

Amanda nodded.

“He got half the land so he can build his own place when he retires from the Navy.”

“How much longer does he have?”

Fred pursed his lips as he struggled to remember. “I’m not sure. He might already be retired. I haven’t been in touch with anyone since Mom died. All that crap that happened that weekend didn’t help our relationships much, either. The last time we talked, things didn’t go well.”

“I’ll bet. It’s a shame, though.”

“I can’t blame them. I doubt if any of the stories made much sense to anyone. It was all pretty crazy. I think they felt it might have had a hand in Mom’s passing.”

“That’s pretty understanding of you.”

“Maybe.” Fred’s grip tightened as another semi blasted past them. “At first I was pretty upset. You know, how dare they treat me like that after all I’d been through. After I’d had time to cool off and think about it, though, I sort of understood. I doubt that I’d have handled it any better, y’know, with cops asking questions and reporters snooping around and all that. It was a real mess and none of them had any idea what was really going on. I went through it and I still have no clue. How could they begin to understand?”

“Maybe,” Amanda leaned over and lightly patted his right thigh. “Personally, I just think you are the better man for rising above it all like that.”

Fred slowed the minivan as a green reflectorized sign appeared up ahead on the right. He had a sudden sensation of time collapsing as he read the single, white-lettered word: FLOWERSVILLE.

Below the word an arrow pointed to the left at a gravel road that climbed up the mountainside. The track quickly disappeared in the thick foliage that ran alongside it and curved over it and creating a lush tunnel.

Fred waited as a Ford Explorer with a kayak fastened to its roof roared by before he turned left onto the gravel parking lot. A flat, empty concrete island marked where two ancient gasoline pumps once stood. He eased the truck past the slab and drove up to the general store. He parked and shut off the engine.

For a long time he stared through the windshield at a scene unchanged despite time’s passage. He blinked. His vision shimmered and the differences became apparent. The corrugated steel roof that slanted over the store’s porch showed more rust than gray, weathered metal. Sunlight peeked through ragged holes and dappled the shadowed wood. Although still intact, the grime of years made the windows more impenetrable than ever.

He heard the minivan’s side door slide open behind him as Diane exited the vehicle. He shook his head, opened his door, and stepped outside, too.

“This must be the general store,” Amanda said as she climbed out of the passenger seat and leaned on top of the open door, her arms crossed over the upper edge. “Not much to look at, is it?”

He sighed. “Still, it’s not all that different from what it was back then.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” Fred closed the door and started up the steps. He hesitated. The boards looked more deeply bowed than the last time. He debated trusting his weight to them and then decided to go ahead. The boards creaked ominously and sagged slightly. He looked to his left. The wooden rocking chair – minus its woven seat – stood in the far corner, just as it had when he first saw it with its lanky owner, Perdis Flowers, seated with his legs stretched before him like an ancient scarecrow.

“He’s grown strong,” Diane murmured.

Fred turned. Amanda closed her door and looked behind her. Diane squatted in the parking lot with her hands splayed in the dirt and gravel. Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed, as her fingers moved slowly over the ground. Amanda looked at Fred.

“We must act soon,” Diane’s eyes snapped open. She looked up at them. “No later than the next full moon.”

“You know what this thing is?” Fred asked.

“Not what,” she replied. “Who. The
Tsalagi
had a name for him. They called him
Asvyai gago wadiyi nana nudale ukadv –
He who puts on another face. He was here when our people hunted at the edge of the glaciers. He can take any form he chooses – wolf, bear, cougar, departed loved one, distant lover. His lures are many. Those foolish enough to hunt him must face their deepest fears. He pulls them from their memories to make them weak with terror. Then he devours them. Anyone careless enough to be near his lair after sundown is doomed.

“Those nights when the moon is dark are when he is most powerful. That is when he uses his most cunning and irresistible lure to attract and bring to him an unwary nubile female.”

Fred started. “What lure?”

“Usually music of some sort. The
Tsalagi
spoke of hearing the beat of the
aholi
– drum – in their heads.”

“What about fiddle music? Could he use that?”

Diane thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t see why not. In this region, in these times, it would probably be effective. Why do you ask?”

“On that weekend there was a new moon. The guys heard fiddle music at night coming from up on the ridge.”

“I can’t say for sure. The time was certainly right.” Diane stood and brushed her hands together.

“Why music?”

“The
Tsalagi
say it is his mating song. He uses music to lure an unwary female to his lair so that he may mate with her.”

“Is it possible for such a union to produce children?”

“Definitely.”

Fred thought of the goblin boy from that night and shuddered.

“Remind me to stay indoors on the nights of the new moon,” Amanda said with a shiver.

“If you hear his song, it will not matter,” Diane commented dryly. She looked up at the building. “What place is this?”

“This is – was – Purdie’s store.”

“Looks abandoned.”

Fred stepped towards the door. “That’s what I thought the first time I saw it.” He pulled the screen door. The long spring that held it closed screeched in rusty protest before breaking in the middle. A fairly new hasp and padlock held the main door closed. He wiped the grime from one of the glass panes with the edge of his hand and peered inside. All the shelves were empty. The lights on the cooler were dark. Even the ancient crank cash register on the counter stood in dejected silence, it’s wooden drawer open to show it no longer carried money.

“Looks like you might be right,” he said as he turned away. “Guess the old bastard finally died.”

Ka-click! Ka-click!
The sound of hammers cocking on a double-barreled shotgun echoed from the far end of the porch.

“The old bastard’s still kickin’, Sonny. My eyes might not be what they used t’be, but two loads o’ buckshot don’t need great aim. All I gotta do is point an’ pull an’ let someone else clean up th’ mess in the mornin’. Now, state yore names an’ what bidness y’all got t’ be standin’ in front o’ my store. She’s been closed fer nigh on four years an’ they ain’t nothin’ in ‘er worth takin’.”

“It’s me, Purdie.” Fred turned slowly, his hands raised to shoulder height. “Fred Kyle. You know me. You used to know my momma, Edith Kyle, from down by Turtletown. This is Amanda Carlyle. Her daddy was with me that weekend. He died up there. And, this last woman is our friend, Diane.”

The old man’s thick white eyebrows knitted together as he squinted in thought. He leaned forward for a better look. His blue eyes rested on each face, widening slightly when he came to Diane. He nodded and turned back to Fred. Purdie relaxed his grip on the weapon as he gently thumbed the hammers forward. “I remember, now, though m’ mem’ry ain’t ’xactly what it used t’ be. That was a bad bidness back then. I heard you was th’ only survivor.”

“Yeah.”

“I was sorry t’ hear ’bout yore momma. She was a good woman.”

“Thank you, Purdie,” Fred swiped at his eyes to remove an errant tear. “She was that and more.”

“You goin’ back up t’ the cabin?”

“Yessir.”

“I seem to recollect yore momma gave me th’ keys,” Purdie said as he started checking his pockets.

“That’s alright, Purdie,” Fred said holding up his key ring. “I already got’em.”

“Oh, that’s right. I done give ’em to you already, didn’t I”

“Yes, sir, you did. A while back as I recall.”

Perdis sighed. “Y’know what, son?”

“What’s that?”

“Getting old’s a pure D bitch.”

“Sure beats the alternative,” Fred laughed.

“I don’t know,” Purdie replied. “I’ve come far nuff down thet road that I just ain’t so sure no more. So, what can I do you for? Cain’t sell you no supplies; ain’t got nothin’ to sell.”

“We’re good, Purdie. We don’t need anything. We’re just headin’ up to th’ cabin. I saw th’ store an’ just had to stop by an’ see what was what.”

“Well, ain’t no one been up there since thet Thanksgivin’ weekend. ’Ceptin’ th’ cops, o’ course. Lotta people died up there. Some good. Some maybe not so much. All yore friends, of course, plus Jake an’ Truly.”

“Didn’t know the last two, although I think I saw them up there that night.”

“Jake an’ his boys was moonshiners. They had a still up there somewhere.”

“I remember seeing a man I didn’t know.”

“Thet was prob’ly him. His oldest boy, Billy Ray, got killed up on th’ ridge ’bout a year or so later. The youngun, Bubba, got sent up to th’ penitenchry shortly after that mess at th’ cabin. Seems they found a body up in thet cave up on the ridge. Turns out it was that nigra friend o’ yours. They tied it to Bubba, so he’s up on death row waitin’ fer his turn at the needle.”

“Bubba killed Peete?”

Purdie looked sideways at Fred and his companions for a moment before replying. “Didn’t say that. Bubba claims it was some kind o’ creature or monster or somethin’ what did it. Looks t’ me like you might be thinkin’ somethin’ o’ th’ same.”