Black Stump Ridge (26 page)

Fred looked around. “Hmm. I don’t see anything that looks like it might be Indian designed.”

“That’s what I mean.”

The two men looked at each other. Fred finally shrugged. “Maybe there’s something in here that will explain why. In the meantime, I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t you start some supper?”

“What?”

“Supper. You know, the meal that usually follows lunch – but before the midnight snack.”

“Asshole.” Johnny looked around for something to throw. “I know what supper is. How can you think about food?”

“I can come up with a few good reasons to fix a meal.” Fred began to count off with his fingers. “One, it will give you something to do while we wait for Dave and Peete to get back. And, they will get back. I’m sure of it. Two, by the time it’s ready, they will be back. But, if they’re not, we’ll still need to eat so that we’ll be in some kind of shape to go looking for them tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And, I’m already hungry. I suspect you will be, too, once you get started cooking.”

•

Johnny set a plate on the coffee table next to the sofa where Fred lay stretched out reading the journal. “Soup’s on,” he said as he returned to the kitchen for his own supper.

Fred looked it over. “Mmm. Smells good. What is it?”

“Thanksgiving leftovers, of course,” he laughed as he uncovered the plate. “What could be more traditional? Warmed up turkey. Warmed up mashed potatoes. Reheated dressing with warmed up gravy. Green bean casserole. Candied yams. Devilled eggs.”

“Damn, Sam! A veritable feast.”

“Well, quit talkin’ about it an’ start eatin’ it.” Johnny speared a slice of white meat from the plate and popped it into his mouth. “Yoofindinennyhingudinnere?”

“What?” Fred stopped, a forkful of dressing half way to his waiting mouth. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to eat an’ talk at the same time?”

Johnny chewed rapidly and then swallowed. He took a big gulp of beer. He swallowed. “Okay. You find anything good in there? Is that better?”

“Much. And, I’m not sure.” He forked the dressing into his mouth.

“What do you mean? Is it just more about the Cherokees?”

“Yes and no.” Fred took a drink of his beer and sat back. “What there is seems to be a mix – kind of historical and kind of sociological. There’s stuff about medicine men and some creature from a long time ago.”

“Like what?”

Fred set aside his plate and picked up the book. He leafed through until he found the place. “Like this:

Legend tells of a young medicine man a long time ago calling upon the grandfathers to help him defeat some sort of shape shifting being that had been preying upon them. Evidently the creature was sealed up in the cave up on the ridge they call Black Stump.

“Sounds like a bad Sci-Fi movie to me.” Johnny gulped down a devilled egg in one bite. After washing it down, he belched loudly and continued. “
The Creature from the Mine at Black Stump Ridge
, starring Victor Cortolini and Cesare Saladino and introducing Brigitte Boobierre.”

“Why the Italian names?”

Johnny shrugged. “Because all of the really terrible horror movies are either Italian, French, Spanish, or Mexican.”

“That’s just wrong.”

“So, what do you think it all means? Do you think it has anything to do with our situation?”

“Well, I’d think it was just a bit of interesting lore, except for some of the later passages.” Fred turned a few pages before stopping to read:

I’ve noticed activity on the nights of the new moon. Jake and his boys stay away from the ridge and everyone locks up early on those three nights. I’ve gone out and sat on the rear deck during that time. When the wind is right, I can hear music. It sounds like someone playing a fiddle up on the ridge. It’s faint but very exciting. It pulls at you. I’m reminded of Charlie Daniels or maybe even a breakdown. Kind of like
Foggy Mountain Breakdown.
That kind of fiddle music.

Charlie White Feather, who says his grandfather was a real medicine man, told me that the creature in the mountain uses music as a lure. Of course, when you’re talking to someone of Cherokee heritage, someone who still follows the old ways, the term grandfather takes on multiple meanings and I’m never sure which one Charlie means.

Johnny scratched his head. “What’s that all about?”

“I read a few other passages in here about that. It seems that the Cherokee religion doesn’t have gods like most others do. They believe that everything has a spirit – a grandfather.”

“So, if a medicine man wants something from the spirit world…”

“…he asks a grandfather for help.”

“Does your uncle tell you how to do this?”

“No, I didn’t see anything.” Fred laid the journal on the table and turned his attention to his supper. Both men ate in silence for several minutes.

“There are some things in there, though, that make me wonder.” Fred finally broke the silence.

“Like what?”

“Well,” Fred hesitated as if searching for the right words. “My uncle – the man I remember, anyway – was always a serious, no nonsense kind of guy. I glanced at some of the titles in his book collection upstairs. I saw very little fiction, and those he did have were mainly political or military fiction.”

“Okay.”

Fred leaned back, staring at the wall behind Johnny as he gathered his thoughts. “He has enough fertilizer and diesel fuel in the barn to make the Oklahoma City bomb look like a fire cracker.”

Johnny’s eyes widened as he sat straight up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. And, from what I’ve read, it wasn’t there for any political statement. He was considering using it to seal up that cistern.”

Johnny whistled.

“Yeah. And, it’s not a cistern. It’s not a well, either.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a vertical cave opening leading down into an underground river and a passage that connects to a cave up on the ridge.” Fred took another sip of his beer. “And, there was something else.”

“What about the steel cover? Did your uncle put that on there? I know the Indians didn’t have the technology to do that.”

“Yes, he did. Back before I was born. And, it was meant to keep people out.” He leafed through the book again. “Listen to this.”

I never paid much attention to the well before. When we were growing up, Granddad always told us to stay away from it. Back then, if the grown-ups said don’t, they meant don’t and if you disobeyed you got a switch across the back of your legs – usually hickory or walnut. It wasn’t till I inherited this place that I paid it any mind. I was out on the porch having a smoke when I saw the glow on the rocks. I’d never seen anything like it so I went down to check it out. That’s when I saw the marks glowing all along the outside of the stones. And, that’s when I heard the music, too. It sounded like someone was down inside the well playing a fiddle. Whoever it was, he was playing fast. It sounded kind of like
Foggy Mountain Breakdown
or
Orange Blossom Special
or even that song by Charlie Daniels,
The Devil Went Down to Georgia
I think it’s called. It was kind of hypnotic, too. It pulled at me. It made me want to get closer so I could hear it better. In fact, I found myself at the edge looking for a way to climb down inside when I managed to catch myself and step back.

That was the first time I figured something was wrong.

The next day I went up the mountain to talk to Granny Truly and see if she could shed any light on this. She told me about the creature that lived in the cave up on Black Stump Ridge. She also told me how the cave connected to the one on my property. I didn’t believe her, of course, even though I’d seen the glowing marks and heard the music.

After hearing the music three months in a row – always on the new moon part of the cycle – I was ready to believe. I could feel the pull each time, and each time it got stronger. So I went out and got a sheet of boiler plate and cut it to fit the stones without disturbing the marks. I cut a hole in the middle and put in a door because I wasn’t ready to give up the cold, sweet water. But I put a padlock on the door for those dark nights so I wouldn’t be pulled in.

“Who’s Granny Truly?” Johnny asked around a mouthful of turkey. “Is that your mom’s mother?”

“I have no idea,” Fred replied. “My mom’s mom – my Grandma, Ina – has been dead a long time. A copperhead bit her when I was, um, six years old, I think it was. We couldn’t get her to a doctor quick enough. I never really got to know her.”

“That’s the second time he mentions fiddle music.”

Fred nodded. “He mentions it all through the journal. He seems to think it’s important.”

“Maybe it is,” Johnny said, “but I can’t see how. I mean, music’s music, right?”

Fred turned to the journal once more.

“That lid. It looked like it might’ve been meant to keep something in, too.”

Fred shook his head. “No, that’s what the marks were for.”

“The ones your uncle was writing about?” Johnny shook his head. “I didn’t see any marks. Course, I wasn’t really looking for any either.”

“Dave saw them the night we got here.” Fred stood and walked over to the glass doors. “I saw them when I visited with my mom last summer. They’re little silver marks, kind of like hieroglyphics or Chinese pictographs.”

“How would little marks keep something in?”

“I’m not sure. It’s probably some kind of Cherokee hoodoo or something. I think we might have a bigger problem, though.”

“How so?”

“Dave said he saw the marks glowing so he went over for a closer look. He scraped one with his pocket knife and the glow disappeared.” Fred turned and looked outside once more. He sighed. “I think he might have let something out that should have been left alone.”

Johnny opened his mouth to reply when a commotion from the front of the house distracted him. Both men looked toward the front door and back at each other.

“What the hell?” Fred asked as both men headed for the door.

Johnny led the way down the stairs and into the darkened yard. He took five more steps and then stopped. A familiar form stood before him. He knew the black hair, the almost albino complexion, the black eyes.

“Michael.”

“Hello, Johnny.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? Is that any way to greet me?”

Johnny took a faltering step forward. “How did you find this place?”

“It wasn’t easy. Come a little closer. Give me a hug and a kiss. We can talk about that later.”

“I thought…I mean, you were going to…”

Michael opened his arms and shrugged. “
I was upset. I wanted to spend the holiday with you. Can’t we put that behind us?”
Michael pouted. Johnny could never resist his pout. “
Forgive me?”

Johnny relaxed, opened his arms wide, and walked closer. The tentacles ripped him in half before he could scream.

•

Fred followed Johnny down the stairs and through the door into the yard. He stopped as if he’d run into a wall ashe tried to take in the gruesome tableau. He watched as a naked old woman was hurled through the air to slam into the barn. An older man he’d never seen before was beheaded in front of him. Within seconds Dave suffered the same fate. Ahead of him Johnny stopped. He took a few short steps only to be ripped in half.

Standing in front of the cave opening was a glowing, writhing thing that looked like nothing so much as the creature of the id from the movie,
Forbidden Planet.
The satellite dish at the edge of his vision only added to the illusion.

“What the hell?” he cried as he stepped forward.

“Noooooo!”

He turned to his right. A short goblinoid creature charged him running low to the ground. Before he could react, it struck him just above the belt and pushed him backwards. Off balance, Fred hit the garage’s concrete floor hard. His head cracked against the smooth surface. Blackness claimed him.

 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

B
am! Bam! Bam!

The door rattled in the frame as Amanda gave it her full attention. Fred burrowed deeper under the covers and pulled the pillow over his head.

“Come on, Uncle Fred! I know you’re in there.” Her strident voice cut through the folded cushion like a razor through tissue paper. Fred looked at the clock on the nightstand. Eight o’clock – in the
morning
for Christ’s sake.