Cades Cove 01 - Cades Cove: A Novel of Terror (35 page)

“
For these two? Granny, they’re friggin’ strangers for Christ’s sake!”

“
Don’t give me no lip, boy!”

“
But, Granny, they ain’t worthy! They’re—.”

“
Damn it, Vernon, stop!” she warned him, rising up from her rocker to lean over the table. “It’s what yer great grandma prefers, and I’m tellin’ ya one last time to fetch yer banjo!”

This time he deferred to her authority, eyeing David and John coldly as he moved past them. He again disappeared inside the cabin, the screened door cracking loudly against the doorframe. She watched him until out of earshot, and then returned her gaze to them.

“
Ya’ll think we’re a coven of witches, don’t ya?”

“
We have some questions concerning certain events David and his family have experienced recently. It doesn’t mean we think you, Vernon, or most of your family have ever practiced witchcraft,” John told her, after exchanging surprised glances with David.

David started to pull out the pictures to show her, but John waved him off.

“
But ya think my aunt was a witch,” she said, leaning back in her rocker again. “It’s the reason folks in Cades Cove quit lookin’ for her soon after she disappeared long ago. My pa told me a devil’s circle was found deep in the woods behind my grandpa’s house, and my momma and aunt were accused of conspirin’ with Satan. It didn’t matter none that grandpa and grandma were upstandin’ members of the Methodist Church back then. My grandpa’s ma, great grandma Ginny, had a reputation as a dabbler in the Indian’s religion and it weighed heavier in folks’ minds. Most church folk felt she and her two granddaughters gave therselves to the devil. It was all plum shameful!”

She began to rock again.

“
What kind of circle was it, if you don’t mind me asking?” asked John, gently. He motioned for David to now hand the packet of photographs to him.

She stopped rocking and studied them both for a moment, a slight smile on her lined and weathered face.

“
I believe ya both already know,” she said. “We’re not all witches, though Aunt Allie might’ve been. Momma definitely wasn’t, but the fey runs strong in our blood, at least with the women in the McCormick line. That was Momma’s maiden name before she married my pa…. Before she died, she gave me the bag that’s sittin’ here on the table. She told me to hang onto it, and I could reach her through it.”

“
So, your mother has contacted you before from the other side?” David almost wished he hadn’t asked this question, since she eyed him suspiciously.

“
Yes, she has,” she said. “But until last night and earlier this mornin’, I hadn’t asked her much since the passin’ of my boy Ezra and my husband Milton. Momma’s bag will go to the next girl born in our family, probably through Vernon.”

She craned her neck to the porch door. John and David followed her gaze. Vernon stood inside the doorway, frowning with his banjo strapped around his neck. He obviously heard the last part of their conversation, and now John pulled the packet closer to him, as if fearful he’d destroy the photographs before Allie Esther ever saw them.

“
Come on out here, son. We’re ready for ya now.”

Vernon stepped through the doorway, careful to keep the screened door from slamming against the doorframe this time. Sullen, he moved back to his seat, adjusting the rocker to allow enough room to comfortably strum his instrument. Allie Esther sat up, coughing lightly as she prepared to perform the song she told them about.

“
Son, would you mind gettin’ me a glass of tea before we start?” She smiled sweetly at her grandson, and despite his irritation of having to set aside the banjo in order to respond to her latest request, he returned her smile. “I believe it only right if you’d also pour a glass for them too.”

He frowned, shaking his head as he went back inside the cabin.

“
He’s really a good boy,” she commented after he left their presence. “He’s more ‘n able to take care of himself, but he prefers to keep an eye on his granny. I’m grateful for it.”

They both smiled politely, though David couldn’t picture where such a surly young man would find a place in today’s society. Vernon returned with four iced teas, deciding to make one for him as well. After handing a glass to John and David, he placed his grandmother’s glass next to her on the table and returned to his rocker. David hesitated before taking a sip, wondering if Vernon slipped something into his and John’s drinks, or added some disgusting bodily fluid. After John took a hearty drink from his glass and commented how good it tasted, he took a small sip as well.

“
This song’s been played by our family for almost ninety years,” said Allie Esther, after she sipped her tea and Vernon took a moment to tune his banjo. “We call it the ‘Ode to Allie Mae’.”

Vernon began to strum the banjo and Allie Esther tapped her right foot on the porch. After getting in rhythm with the intro she began to sing. She surprised David by the clarity, strength, and passion in her voice, revealing a strong will to live that so belied her frailty.

A breeze moved through the treetops near the cabin as Allie Esther moved through the second chorus of the song, drawing John and David’s attention. They glanced at the front yard until she began the third verse.

“
Rumors and hushed secrets said Allie’d been killed.

By her lover, Zachariah, or his brother named Will.

Though no one ever found her, no bones were unearthed.

We’re sure she never left, ‘cause the valley’s been cursed.”

They looked at each other as soon as they heard the line about Zachariah and his brother. Meanwhile, the wind picked up, sending gusts across the front yard. Yellow, orange, and pink leaves from a large maple fell to the ground in rapid swirls. Allie Esther and her grandson also noticed, but continued through the third chorus and soon began the ode’s final verse.

“
It was nineteen and sixteen when we lost Allie Mae.

‘
Til the day they died, ma and pa would wait

Down through the years we’ve heard whispers at night.

Is it the wind, or Allie’s ghost stoppin’ by?”

Allie Esther’s foot stopped tapping as she finished the last line, closing her eyes while her grandson continued to play the rest of the song. When finished, he joined David and John in waiting for her to awaken. Nearly five minutes passed, and the wind blew dried leaves and other debris onto the porch steps. Vernon reached over and patted her arm. Immediately she stirred, frantic as she looked around her. She began to cry.

“
Granny, what’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed.

Her only response was to shake her head while she hurried to return the items still spread out on her lap to the stained little bag that once belonged to her aunt. All five items back inside, she pulled the leather strap to close it. With shaking hands, she motioned for David to take it back, reluctant to do so until John prodded him with a sharp elbow to his side.

“
I can’t accept it from ya!” she shouted. Tears streamed down her face, and her gray eyes seemed surreally red within the magnification of her thick lenses. She motioned for Vernon to help her stand up in her walker. “Allie Mae’s here—she just spoke to me!”

“
Her spirit?” asked John, rising to assist her grandson, who meanly waved him off.

“
Yes, she’s come to prevent me from takin’ ownership of yer bag,” she said, weeping. “I’ve got no quarrel with either of ya’ll. But she does. She warned me not to get involved unless I want her anger rainin’ down like a spring hail storm on me and my grandsons!”

“
I don’t understand,” said David. “Why wouldn’t she want her prized possessions in the hands of those who loved her enough to create a song dedicated to her memory?”

“
Well, she doesn’t, mister!”

After glancing at his grandmother, to which she nodded, Vernon pushed both David and John toward the porch steps.

“
I’m so sorry,” she said, and moved to the screened door after returning her mother’s bag of treasures to the mahogany box still sitting on the table.

“
Please—!”
cried David, hoping to still convince her to take the cursed object from him, but he couldn’t even begin before being shoved down the steps by her menacing grandson, who grabbed his shotgun from the corner of the porch next to the door. John didn’t let him say anything else, pulling him over to the cruiser and forcing him inside the vehicle while he ran over to the driver’s side and got in.

The dogs suddenly appeared as a furious pack that raced toward the cruiser from behind the cabin. It seemed unlikely the elderly woman released them from their pen. Since Vernon hadn’t left their presence and now trotted down the porch steps armed with his shotgun, it meant someone else set the dogs free to make sure the two visitors didn’t entertain any thoughts of lingering.

Facing a shotgun-wielding lunatic flanked on either side by rabid canines, John handed the pictures to David and backed the cruiser down Bear Ridge Lane. Soon only dim outlines were visible at the end of the road, and dusk absorbed the fading daylight. Safe enough to turn the cruiser around, John sped toward the main highway that would take them back to Gatlinburg.

“
Did your friend in Knoxville ever find out anything about the Hobson brothers?” David asked, leafing through the pages inside the manila folder once they passed the Cheshire Landings development again.

“
There wasn’t much,” said John. “Diane confirmed two clans of Hobson’s resided in Cades Cove from May 1898 until January 1919, and both were originally from Kentucky. The name of Zachariah Hobson was confirmed, but he disappeared from the area along with several other Hobson’s by 1917. No other records from the state’s archives show his name after that. She didn’t find a record of a Will, William, or Billy Ray Hobson. I’m sure you’re wondering if maybe their descendants would be interested in taking ownership of the bag.”

“
Yeah. Pretty desperate, I guess,” said David, his mood glum. “I better call Miriam. I honestly don’t know what to do next, other than take the damned thing back to the ravine first thing tomorrow and get the hell out of here. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she won’t follow me home this time.”

“
Maybe,” echoed John, glancing briefly at David and then returning his attention to the road. 5:03 p.m. according to the dashboard’s clock, the surrounding hillsides and woods grew darker. “I have one last idea that might help, if you’re interested in hearing what it is.”

“
I’m game for anything at this point.” He sighed.

“
Maybe we should fight Allie Mae’s magic with Cherokee medicine,” John suggested. “It’s too far to travel to meet the last surviving Shamans of my people, but I have someone in mind who knows enough of the ancient ways and can use them effectively. I believe this person can heal the spirit’s anger.”

David nodded in the dimness to show his interest.

“
It’s Evelyn, my granddaughter,” said John. “Ever since she was young, she’s been uniquely gifted. She learned from my father and also studied under a Sioux Shaman in North Dakota one summer a few years back, willing to teach a woman since most Indian males have turned their backs on the old ways.” He sounded sorrowful as he mentioned this last part.

“‘
You think she’d be willing to help? I can make it worth her while financially if she were to try.”

“
I’m sure you would,” said John. “But, a home cooked meal from her dad should suffice!” He chuckled, and the sadness from a moment ago lifted.

“
Well, when were you thinking of doing this? I mean, does she live around here?”

“
Tomorrow afternoon,” said John. “I don’t normally work on Fridays, even during the busy season. She’s been after me to spend time with her and my other granddaughter, Hanna, for the past month.” He looked over and smiled, letting him know he truly wanted to do this.