House of Fallen Trees (5 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

They rolled into the town of Fallen Trees a little after noon, all three of them anxious to get out of the Jeep, stretch, and find a bathroom, which was their main reason for stopping in the town proper at all.
   Rory parked the Jeep in front of The Lantern and they walked inside single file, like weary time-travelers eager to find their way back home.
   The men were greeted with many hellos from bar patrons and a young pretty waitress Saul introduced as Nikki.
   Karen smiled politely, said “Hi, nice to meet you,” and then made a beeline for the restroom.
   When she came back out, the guys were seated at the bar and she was mildly annoyed to see that Saul now had a mug of beer in front of him. As she approached, he grinned at her and said, “All that driving makes a man thirsty.”
   “I can see that.”
   She slipped onto the stool beside him, putting herself between him and Rory, who, she was happy to note, was
not
drinking a beer, but talking in low tones to the bartender, an older guy with gray hair, dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt.
   “Well, Rory,” the bartender was saying, “You know that shipment of salmon was supposed to be here this morning. Come dinner time, you’re gonna have a lot of hungry folks wanting their fish and getting all the more cranky the longer they have to wait for it.”
   “I’ll call the distributor right away, Mike,” Rory assured the guy. “I don’t know why you didn’t leave a message on my cell about this.”
   “I tried,” the man insisted. “But it just kept saying you weren’t available. You know how I feel about those dang unreliable things.”
   “Mike hates technology,” Saul whispered into Karen’s ear and gave her a mischievous smile before taking a gulp of his beer.
   “You’re damn right Mike does,” Mike said loudly, turning to them. “I’m only sixty-six, Saul. I ain’t deaf yet.”
   Karen cracked up as Saul made a show of trying to hide behind her.
   “You can’t trust those gadgets,” Mike said to Karen, as if they’d been lifelong pals. “Mark my words, those things’ll let you down when you need ‘em most. A good old-fashioned solid telephone line you can actually touch. That’s what I like. None of this satellite bullshit.”
   “Okay, Mike,” Saul said. “We get the picture. No cell phones for you.”
   Mike scowled at him before returning his attention to Rory.
   “He thinks he’s Paul Bunyan,” Saul said, raising his voice so the whole bar could hear.
   Karen gazed around the place. There were two booths by the front plate-glass window and another two against the back wall. About three tables with chairs were set up in the middle of the room on the far side of a lone pool table and exactly six stools in front of the bar. “This is a pretty small place,” she said.
   “Yeah, but you should see it come six o’clock,” Saul said. “The whole frigging town shows up. Standing room only.”
   “And I take it they serve food?” She referred to the conversation Mike was having with Rory.
   “Mostly just burgers and potato salad. Occasionally something special will come in, like salmon or lamb or some shit. Place goes crazy on those nights. They’re like a bunch of rabid hungry dogs. Not that I’m one to insult dogs. You want a beer?”
   “Um…no.” She’d seriously had to think about it. A beer was sounding pretty good, but she didn’t want to stay here any longer than they had to. “I’d really just like to get to the house as soon as possible.”
   This statement caused a cloud to pass over Saul’s face and he made no reply, choosing instead to concentrate on the contents of his frosty mug.
   Karen took the time to study the people. There were about ten of them in all, a few seated at the bar, drinking, a few more shooting pool and two couples in the booths. They all looked vaguely the same as Mike the bartender. Flannel shirts, jeans, work boots. They looked like a hearty bunch, the kind of people used to hard work and hard winters, all pale-skinned as if they never saw the sun, and living up here, Karen supposed that was the truth. A good portion of the men sported heavy beards while the women wore haggard looks. Most of them were staring back at Karen with curiosity. Some stared with unmistakable suspicion, though she didn’t think it was her per se. She thought it was because she was with Rory and Saul. She got the distinct feeling they were outsiders here—tolerated, but probably not much more than that.
   The guys themselves seemed oblivious to the scrutinizing eyes. Most likely they were so used to it, it no longer fazed them.
   “Well,” Rory said, slipping off the stool. “I’d love to stay here and haggle with you all day, Mike, but we have places to be.”
   Mike’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going up
there
, aren’t you?”
   “We are,” Rory confirmed. “Drink down that brew, Saul. I want to get up there before four.”
   “What happens at four?” Karen asked. She was surprised when it was Mike who answered her.
   “Gets dark,” he said. “Dark as a damn womb up there.”
   Karen raised her eyebrows. “Well, that sounds pretty dark.”
   Mike remained grim as Saul drained the mug and slapped a five on the counter. “For you, my good man,” he said to Mike with an exaggerated British accent. “And all your kind hospitality.”
   The bartender grunted at him, scooped up the bill and then turned his back on them, pretending to take a sudden interest on the bottles lined up behind him.
   Back outside, Karen did her best to make her voice low and spooky. “Dark as a
woooomb
!” Saul laughed, but Rory remained serious, climbing into the driver’s seat without even cracking a smile. Karen assumed it was because he was irritated about the salmon delivery, or lack thereof.
   Inside the Jeep once more, she said, “Interesting crowd in there. I got the feeling they don’t care much for outsiders.”
   “They’re automatically leery of strangers,” Saul said as Rory started the engine and pulled out onto the road.
   “Why is that?” she asked.
   Saul shrugged. “Small town. They’re used to knowing everybody. It’s nothing personal.” Rory snapped the radio on and a strong male voice boomed out of the speakers. “…carcass.”
   Karen felt her blood turn to ice-water, her eyes widening, staring at the radio.
   The voice continued: “So, if anyone wants a nice fat venison steak, give old Mac Gershon a buzz and tell him to put you down for some. That buck was a big one.” The voice stopped talking and a second later Miles Davis oozed out into the air like a long swallow of fine, smoky whiskey.
   Rory opened his mouth to say something, glancing at Karen. Whatever he was about to say, he abruptly changed his mind when he saw her paper-white face. “Are you okay?”
   She continued to watch the radio as if waiting for it to sprout a hand and grab her knee.
   “Karen?” Rory said. He snapped his fingers in front of her face.
   She flinched, her eyes darting from the radio to Rory’s face. “That man on the radio…”
   Perplexed, he said, “Yeah, that’s Terry King. He’s the town DJ. What’s the matter?”
   She thought about it, thought about telling him about the dream, if that’s what it had been. The words on her computer screen. But in the end, she just shook her head and said, “Nothing. He just sounded familiar for a second.”
   Rory nodded, though his eyes remained concerned and he shot Saul a look via the rearview.
   It took them less than ten minutes to get to what appeared to Karen to be an old utility road that hadn’t been used in at least a decade. Rory turned onto the road, bumping over clumps of earth and stone before setting the tires into the twin ruts that made the actual road.
   Karen rubbed her face with both hands, suddenly drained and wondering just what the hell she was doing out here in Washington. She should be back home, working on the new book, drinking coffee during the day, wine at night. Relishing her solitude and privacy, not having to be social with anyone. Living her perfect little hermit life instead of tooling around in the woods hoping to find a hint of who her lost brother might have been. What really happened to him…
   Then it occurred to her: This whole trip, this town and its people. There might actually be a story in here somewhere. Maybe not a novel; maybe just a short story, six or seven thousand words. But still…inspiration was everywhere. And she hadn’t even seen the house yet.
   Maybe, just maybe, this entire trip wouldn’t be a waste, even if she didn’t find a single thread of information about Sean. The whole haunted house angle could turn into something, she was sure. And ever since childhood, she’d loved a good haunted house tale and had wanted to try her hand at one. Why not now? It could be fun and she might even be able to get her publisher to foot the bill. She could say she was on a research trip.
   Forgetting all about the guy on the radio, she sat up straighter in her seat, began looking at the passing forest with new, writer’s eyes. Taking in as much as she could, trying to commit certain things to memory. A big boulder on the side of the road, a white spray-painted skull and cross-bones decorating its face. The impossible greenness of this new world, so unlike New England in autumn. The thick gabardine-gray of the sky, mostly blotted out by the overhanging pine branches, some of which had been sheared off in one storm or another and lay in the road, causing the Jeep to bump and lurch and jostle the passengers within. Lost in thought, she didn’t even notice as they approached a huge downed tree blocking the road.
    “Well, this is where the hike begins,” Rory said, jolting Karen out of her thoughts. Her mouth fell open when she saw the size of the fallen tree.
   “Holy shit,” she said. “It’s as wide as a school bus.”
   “Yeah,” Rory agreed. “And probably in the vicinity of five centuries old.”
   She gaped at him. “You’re kidding me.”
   “Nope,” Saul put in, climbing out of the Jeep. “She was probably the grand old madam of this forest until something fierce ate away her roots until she couldn’t hold on to the earth anymore.” His tone was one of sadness, as if he were talking about a much loved aunt who had succumbed to a devastating disease.
   Rory and Karen emerged from the vehicle and went around to the back of the Jeep to pull out their various bags. Saul stood beside the downed tree, his face thoughtful.
   A moment later the other two joined him and the three stood silent, gazing down at the old tree as if looking at a fresh grave. All around them, the forest was silent. Perhaps it too, was in mourning. She and Rory waited while Saul went and retrieved his own bags from the Jeep before coming back and leaping onto the dead tree in a single bound. He grinned down at them, his time of bereavement over, as though he’d paid his respects and was now moving on with his life.
   “Imagine climbing this old lady when she was still standing. Probably could have seen all the way into Idaho.”
   Then he hopped down the other side, a little boy excited to get on with the adventure. As she followed, Karen wondered why he seemed so enthusiastic all of a sudden, when he was clearly ambivalent about their final destination. When she questioned him, however, his response made as much sense as it could have.
   “I’m not thinking about the house,” he said. “I need to take a piss.”
   And with that he darted off into the woods.
   “You should have gone before we left The Lantern,” Rory called after him.
   Saul ignored him, disappearing behind a fat blue spruce.
   Shaking his head, Rory looked at Karen and said, “Kids, huh?”
   She smiled, glad to see the ride had improved his mood somewhat.
   A minute later, Saul emerged, yanking up his zipper. “Whew,” he said. “Damn beer.”

CHAPTER NINE

The hike took over two hours, what with all the stumbling and climbing over more downed trees and wading through foliage allowed to grow wild for decades. Huge ferns and bramble bushes did their best to keep the trio from moving forward but move forward they did, Karen taking mental notes all the while.
   It was because she was paying such close attention to her surroundings that she noticed the crows at all. There seemed to be an abundance of them—roosting in the pines all around them, walking around on the ground just past the tree line. A few flapping by above them, taking off from one branch to land on another further up the road.
   She made a face, trying to recall what crows were symbolic of in literature. She couldn’t think of it off the top of her head, but had a feeling she might be able to use it if anything ever came of this tiny nugget of an idea for a new book. She’d have to remember to look up crows and their meaning on the Internet when they arrived at the house.
   Saul followed her gaze with his own. “Tricksters,” he said. “In Native-American folklore.”
   Surprised, Karen said, “Were you just reading my mind?”

“I know that look you had on your face. I get the same look when I study blueprints.”
   “Ah. Well, there are a lot of them, huh? The crows, I mean.”
   “There’s a lot of everything the further away you get from people. Don’t be surprised if you see an elk or two. I once saw a whole herd of them grazing in a clearing a half mile or so behind the house. Lots of deer out here too. Once in a great while, you’ll get to see moose. Bobcats. Grizzlies.”
   Rory smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t listen to him, Karen. This guy is so full of shit, his eyes are brown. You
might
see a deer. But probably, not including those crows, the most wildlife you’ll see are some squirrels, maybe a raccoon, or an opossum.”
   “Hawks and falcons, too,” Saul said. “And I
did
see the elk.”
   Rolling his eyes, Rory said, “Okay, okay.
Maybe
you’ll see an elk.”
   But Karen was hardly listening to the two of them bicker. Movement just beyond the tree line had caught her eye and it was definitely no crow. It was low to the ground, with red fur, a long bushy tail and a black snout.
   “What about dogs?” she asked.
   “Dogs?” the men said in unison. Then understanding cleared Saul’s face. He looked at Rory and said, “Dusty.”
   “Oh, yeah,” Rory nodded. “Dusty.”
   Karen watched the dog, barely visible in the shadows of the woods, trotting along, pacing them. “Dusty,” she repeated. “Male or female?”
   “Female,” Saul said. “She used to belong to an asshole in town named Richard Mallack. He had her for a good year and that dog never once saw the inside of his house. Kept her chained to a doghouse 24/7, every season, every kind of weather. His kids used to shoot BB guns at her. I was bitching about his treatment of that dog one night in The Lantern and Mike—the guy you met—got pissed off enough to go and snatch the dog from Mallack’s backyard. But, of course, she was skittish as all hell and not housebroken, which Mike was annoyed about. Anyway, he let her roam free and she just took off, came to live out here on her own where there are no people to torment her.”
   “Jesus,” Karen said. “The poor thing.”
   “Yeah, I tried to catch her a couple times myself, but no go. I don’t think she likes men much and I can’t say I blame her.”
   “And Dusty just lives out here? How does she eat?”
   “I guess she must hunt. Not sure,” Saul answered. “I suppose she might trek into town at night, get into trash cans and whatnot, but nobody ever sees her down there anymore.”
   Karen watched the dog as it kept pace with them, keeping a safe distance. She thought Dusty definitely had an air about her—she seemed ready to bolt at the slightest hint of danger.
   “One time,” Saul went on, “I was out in the woods and she damn near attacked me.”
   “Really?” Karen asked. “She seems so timid.”
   “She is. Problem was, some ruffian from in town must have had his way with her and then left her high and dry.” She looked at him, confused. Saul laughed. “She had a litter of pups. I was just wandering around like I do, minding my own business, and I got too close to where she’d hid ‘em. Get this—they were inside a hollowed out log.”
   “Wow.” Karen was impressed. “Is that where she lived?”
   He shrugged. “I guess it’s where she slept at the time. Eventually, when they were old enough, I gathered ‘em up and brought them into Indigo Bend with me. Found ‘em good homes.” Apparently Saul was able to read Karen’s face quite well by now because he quickly followed up with, “It was for the best. Can’t have a whole litter running around these woods. Something would have eaten them sooner or later. Not to mention they would have bred like rabbits, making the situation even worse.”
   She thought about that, then asked, “But what about Dusty? Didn’t she wonder where her babies went?”
   Saul smiled sadly. “I’m sure she did for a while. Not a lot you can do about that though.”
   Karen sighed. “She must have been worried sick. Thinking that a cougar or something got them.”
   “Okay,” Rory cut in. “Enough, you two. Animals don’t have the same emotions as people. You don’t have to get all teary eyed about her
feelings
.”
   Neither Saul nor Karen responded to this remark but they exchanged a knowing glance that said,
shows what
he
knows.
After a few minutes, the dog fell back, but continued to trail behind them for the rest of their journey. It wasn’t until they came into the clearing where the house was that she disappeared for destinations unknown. The house itself was a sight to behold.

Karen’s breath caught in her chest when they stepped out of the brush and there it was, looming before them like the fossil of some prehistoric colossal beast. It seemed hugely out of place here in a vast green forest, the way London Bridge must have looked in the middle of the desert.
   “Home sweet home,” Rory smiled. “Not what you were expecting?”
   “It’s…” Karen started. “It’s a ship.”
   “Amazing, huh? The guy who built it was a captain and known to be quite eccentric.”
   The three of them moved forward across a long grown-over and mostly dissolved circular driveway, Karen with her head back, gawking up at the stern.
    “Amazing is one way to put it,” she agreed. “It looks like a real ship.”
   “From the outside, it
is
a real ship,” Rory agreed. “But there are only a few rooms inside where the shape of the house is obvious.”
   Karen nodded, mute.
   “The guy’s name was Captain Frank Storm. Legend has it he was a pirate.”
   At this, she had to laugh. “In 1899 America? And people actually believe that?”
   “I don’t know if people believe it,” Rory said. “But I’m pretty sure they don’t disbelieve it either.”
   “Interesting,” Karen said. “And Frank Storm is a great character name. Surely it’s made up.”
   Neither man responded, already climbing up the rickety steps to the wide wraparound porch, which was built to look like a ship’s deck, the railings finely scrolled and weathered as if they’d spent many years at sea; water, wind, and sun sanding them down to a velvety softness.
   Saul saw her admiring the railings. “We’re gonna keep all that. Beautiful, huh?”
   “Very.”
   Unlocking the front door, Rory stepped aside, making a grand gesture with his hand. “All aboard.”
   Karen stepped over the threshold first, into darkness that was almost, though not quite, complete.
   “Light switch on the right,” Rory said, coming up behind her.
   She reached out, touching the wall with her fingers until they found the old-fashioned switch with two copper buttons. She had to push the top button hard to get it to depress and then the front room filled with an orangey glow, as if it had been lit suddenly by candles rather than electric lights.
   Moving into the room, Karen shivered. “A little drafty,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else. The temperature change was odd though, as it felt colder inside than it had outside.
   Rory and Saul followed her in and Saul closed the door behind them. All three of them immediately set the bags they’d been lugging over their shoulders on the hardwood floor with sounds of relief.
   “You should’ve seen it when I had to bring tools up here,” Saul told her cheerfully. “Just about broke my damn back.”
   The foyer they were in was a relatively small room, coat racks hanging from one wall, a basket in the corner containing a single twisted mahogany cane and a black umbrella, a rubber mat on the floor beside it, most likely the place where Frank Storm had placed his boots after coming in from particularly wet or muddy adventures.
   “Is all this original?” Karen asked. It certainly looked original.
   “This stuff is, yeah,” Rory said. “The place came furnished, if you can believe that. Some of the stuff was crap though and we carted a lot of it out into the little barn at the back of the property.”
   “Stable,” Saul corrected him.
   “Whatever. But Sean and I really wanted to salvage as much of the Captain’s stuff as we could, thinking it would lend an air of authenticity to the B&B.”
   “Do you actually get tourists up here?” Karen asked.
   His face fell, as if this was a sore subject with him. “Not many at this point, but that’s because Fallen Trees doesn’t have much to offer yet. I’m working on that.”
   “Rory really will own Fallen Trees when all is said and done,” Saul said, giving Rory a pat on the back. “He’s a regular entrepreneur.”
   Karen smiled. “Very impressive.”
   “Yeah, well, we’ll see,” Rory said. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”