Dark Hollow (24 page)

The phone rang—and kept ringing. Three times. Four. My heartbeat increased. I smiled at Dale, trying to reassure him. On the sixth ring the answering machine picked up. I heard my own voice, telling me that Adam and Tara weren’t home right now, and that if you wanted to, you could leave a message. The beep that followed had never seemed longer.

“Tara, it’s me. Pick up.”

She didn’t. Instead I heard the subtle hiss of white noise that always lingers at the other end of an empty phone line.

“Tara? Baby, if you’re there, I need you to pick up now. It’s important.”

Dale drew closer, practically standing on my feet. I was aware that Cliff and Merle were both watching as well.

“Tara?”

Silence.

“Claudine? Cory?”

Nothing.

“Goddamn it, somebody pick up the—”

The machine beeped again, cutting me off in midsentence, followed by a dial tone. I put the phone back on its cradle.

Dale and I looked at each other. We didn’t have to say anything. Our eyes said it all. Something had gone wrong. We felt it in our guts.

Nearby the fire siren began to wail.

“Neighbor’s a volunteer fireman,” Carl told Cliff. “Said earlier there’s a big forest fire out toward the old LeHorn place.”

Cliff kept his expression neutral. “Really?”

Carl belched, then nodded. He crumpled the beer can and looked at us.

“Any of you guys want a beer? Help yourself.”

“No, thanks,” Dale said. “To be honest, we need to get going.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourselves. Any luck getting hold of your old ladies?”

“No,” I replied. “They’re not home.”

Cliff stood up. “Carl, any way you could give us a ride home?”

“Shit,” he slurred. “I been drinking since nine o’clock this morning. I ain’t in no shape to drive.”

My spirits sank even lower. I was nearly frantic now, and it took everything I had not to start screaming. Something was terribly wrong. I felt it with every inch of my being. We had to get home—
now
.

“Why don’t you let us borrow your van?” Cliff suggested.

Carl eyed us suspiciously. “I dunno. Imean, you’re okay, Fuckstick, but I don’t knowthese other guys. What if something happens to it? The Trans Am ain’t inspected.”

Cliff pointed at me. “Adam is a famous writer. Real responsible kind of guy. He wouldn’t let anything happen to your ride, brother.”

“That true?” Carl asked, sitting up straight. “You a writer?”

I nodded.

“What kind of books you write?”

“Mysteries.” I glanced at the door, anxious to leave. Despite my fatigue I felt like running home.

“I don’t read,” Carl said. “But that’s pretty cool. Beats the hell out of going to work every day.”

“Look,” Cliff said, steering the conversation back to more pressing matters. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll promise not to let anybody drive it but me. And I’ll bring it back as soon as we’re done. Cool?”

“Pick me up another case of beer?”

“Sure.”

Carl tossed the keys to Cliff. “Old Milwaukee pounders. Cold ones, too, not any of that warm shit.”

“You got it,” Cliff said, already heading for the door. “Thanks, Carl! I owe you one.”

“You owe me a case,” Carl shouted after us. “Nice meeting you guys.”

We piled into the van, Cliff and Merle up front, Dale and I in the back. The vehicle’s interior matched that of the trailer, and we tried not to sit in anything too offensive.

Cliff flicked on the headlights and turned the key.

Nothing happened.

He turned it again.

The headlights dimmed and the van refused to start.

“Fuck!” Cliff opened the door. “Merle, pop the hood.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Merle asked. “Why won’t it start?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have you popping the hood.”

I leaned forward and rested my forehead against the back of the driver’s seat. It felt oily, and I pulled away. Merle popped the hood, and Cliff vanished beneath it.

“He’ll fix it,” Dale said. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince me or just reassuring himself.

“How?” I openedmy door. “He doesn’t have any tools.”

I walked around to the front of the van. Cliff was under the hood, scowling at the engine.

“Any luck?” I asked.

“Could be the starter,” he said. “Or the battery, or the alternator. Or it could be that it’s just a piece of fucking shit. I don’t know, man.”

“Can you fix it?”

He slammed the hood. “No.”

I clenched my fists. “This just keeps getting worse. It’s like we’re cursed now.”

“No offense, Adam, but I think you’re letting what happened back at LeHorn’s get to you.”

“Of course I am. I want to get home to Tara, man! The sun’s gone down. You know what that means? Ever since we escaped the hollow, it’s been one roadblock after another. I can’t fucking take it!”

“Calm down…”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. Just fix the fucking van!”

Cliff wiped his hands on his jeans. “Look, I’ll go convince Carl to let us use the Trans Am. Hopefully we won’t get pulled over because of the tags and inspection sticker. It’s dark. If we pass a cop, maybe he won’t notice.”

He rounded the corner and went back into the trailer. Inside the van, Merle and Dale looked at me warily. They’d seen the exchange.

I opened the door and grabbed
The Long Lost Friend
out of the bag.

“What are you doing?” Dale asked. “You okay?”

“Never better. You said we had to make our own magic, right? Well, I’m going to heal the van.”

“What?” His tone was incredulous.

“Look,” I snapped. “I don’t know a lot about this stuff, but I know it’s real. We were attacked by carnivorous fucking trees, man. It doesn’t get more real than that. But maybe it’s like voodoo. Maybe it doesn’t work if you don’t believe in it. So get out here and help me. I need your belief. Our wives need it, too. Something’s wrong at home. I feel it, and I know you do too. Help me.”

Solemnly, without another word, they slid out of the van.

“What the hell?” Merle said, shrugging his shoulders. “Beats sitting here.”

I flipped through the book, looking for something that might suit our needs, but since it had been written in a time before automobiles, our pickings were slim. Then two caught my eye: “To Prevent Witches and Evil Spirits from Bewitching Cattle and Horses,” and “To Unfasten Cattle and Horses Which Have Been Bound.”

“Let’s try this one,” I said, picking the second. “It’s to unbind horses, and horses were their cars.”

“You’re reaching,” Merle muttered.

Dale shook his head. “It’s worth a shot. What dowe do?”

“The book doesn’t say. It just gives me a spell I’m supposed to recite.”

“Let’s put our hands on the hood and bow our heads,” Dale suggested. “Like a benediction.”

Merle looked skeptical. “You serious?”

Dale nodded. “Adam’s right. Do it, at least for Claudine and Tara. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Both men bowed their heads and rested their palms flat on the van’s hood, like faith healers preparing to cast out automatic transmission demons.

Clearing my throat, I recited the passage. “ ‘Trotter Head, I forbid thee my horse and cow stable. I—’ ”

“Trotter Head?” Merle whispered. “Who the hell’s Trotter Head?”

“Shush,” Dale hissed. “He’s reading it the way it’s written. Doesn’t matter who Trotter Head is.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a weird name.”

“ ‘Thou mayest not breathe upon me or upon my horse,’ ” I continued. “ ‘Breathe upon some other house, some other horse, some other stable, until thou has ascended every hill, until thou has counted every fence post, and until thou has crossed every water.
Ut nemo in sense tenat, descendere nemo. At precedenti spectator mantica tergo.
In the name of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.’ ”

Merle and Dale said, “Amen.”

We stared at one another. I suddenly felt very foolish. Nearby a dog barked.

“What now?” Merle asked.

“Try it,” Dale said.

Merle slid behind the steering wheel and turned the key. Nothing happened.

“Well,” Dale said, “it was worth a try.”

“We did it wrong,” I said. “We’re supposed to make our own magic, right? So we need to add our own ingredients to it.”

“Adam.” He reached for me, squeezing my shoulder. “Enough. We tried and we failed. I’m just as worried about Claudine as you are about Tara, but this isn’t helping. Let’s wait for Cliff and then we’ll take the Trans Am.”

“Again,” I insisted. “Please? Just one more try?”

Sighing, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and put his hands back on the hood.

I paused, summoning up the writer within me.

“Please,” I whispered. “I command thee to start. Our loved ones are alone and in terrible danger. They need help, and we cry out now to be with them. Stand not in our way, nor prevent us. Start, fired by our determination and our love. Start, so that we may keep them safe. Start, and carry us safely and quickly. I ask this in the name of Tara and Claudine and all those who have been harmed by Hylinus’s evil.”

I returned to the book and repeated the last portion of the spell. “ ‘
Ut nemo in sense tenat, descendere nemo. At pre-cedenti spectator mantica tergo.
In the name of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.’ And in the name of love. Amen.”

“Amen,” Dale repeated, opening his eyes. He nodded to Merle. “Try it again.”

Merle turned the key. The engine choked, sputtered, and then roared to life. Blue smoke belched from the tailpipe. The headlights came back on. Behind the wheel Merle jumped. Dale’s jaw went slack.

I grinned. “Our own magic.”

Cliff came back out of the trailer. “Carl says we can—”

He paused, staring at the van.

“How the hell did you get it started?”

Dale clapped him on the back. “Powwow.”

“What?”

“Let’s get going.”

“But…”

Dale nodded toward the van. “Please, Cliff? With every second that we waste Tara and Claudine are in more danger. Not to mention Adam’s dog and Cory.”

Merle slid over into the passenger seat, and Cliff took the wheel. Dale and I jumped into the back.

“Take us home, Fuckstick.” Merle grinned.

Cliff punched him in the arm.

Hope stirred inside of me for the first time since leaving the hollow. It wasn’t just dumb-luck or some coincidence that the van had started. It was magic—the power of our beliefs. It actually worked. Before this I’d always looked at powwow as nothing more than superstition. But now I understood the appeal it must have had for people like Nelson LeHorn. It was an incredibly powerful and liberating feeling.

“Our own magic,” I repeated. “It really did work.”

“Indeed it did,” Dale agreed. “Now, let’s just hope it works on Hylinus.”

My buoyed spirits sank again as we rushed home.

SIXTEEN

As we sped down the narrow alley behind our homes, fire trucks rocketed toward us, pouring out of the Fire Hall. Cliff slammed on the brakes, and we skidded to a halt, waiting for the engines to pass.

“Bet they’re responding to the fire,” Merle said. “Jesus, I hope that house burned down. I don’t want to spend my golden years in jail for arson.”

“Why not?” Cliff teased. “You’d be popular with all the big cons.”

“Not as popular as your mom, Fuckstick.”

“Stop calling me that. I put up with that stupid nickname at work. I don’t need to hear it from you guys.”

More emergency vehicles squeezed by, their sirens blaring. Their formidable size took up most of the alley, and there was no way for the van to get past them. We were literally yards away from our homes, and still bad luck seemed to intervene.

“Come on,” Cliff shouted at the passing firemen. “Get out of the way!”

I flung my door open and hit the pavement running. Dale was right behind me, trying hard to keep up. The firemen gave us odd looks as we zipped by. Dale tripped in front of the ambulance, and the driver hit the brakes, blowing the horn.

Barely pausing, I gasped, “You okay?”

He nodded, clambering back to his feet.

Merle and Cliff hollered at us to wait, but we kept going, dashing past Merle’s house, then Cliff’s and Cory’s apartments, and finally into my yard. The lights were out in the house, but Tara’s car was still in the driveway. A quick glance at Dale’s house confirmed that Claudine’s car was there, too. Cory’s apartment was dark as well, and the shades were drawn.

My back door was open. The screen door swayed in the breeze. We’d shut it that morning, heard Cory lock it behind us. Dale and I glanced at each other. I put my finger to my lips. We burst through the open door into my office.

“Tara!”

“Claudine,” Dale shouted. “Where are you?”

I whistled for Big Steve, clapping my hands together, listening for the thump as he jumped off the bed and the telltale click of his nails on the stairs.

The televisionwas on in the living room, tuned to CNN, and Larry King’s grating, lizardlike voice was the only thing to welcome us. The clock ticked in the kitchen. It seemed louder than normal. Something stank.

“Look,” Dale whispered, pointing at the floor.

The carpet was filthy, covered with muddy cloven hoofprints—and a fresh pile of feces, still steaming. It didn’t look human, too large for that.

Satyr shit
, I thought.
The son of a bitch marked his territory.

“Oh, God…”

Panic took over. I ran through the house, screaming for Tara and Big Steve, for Claudine and Cory, for anybody who would answer. I didn’t notice the blood pooling on the living room carpet until I slipped in it.

The blood belonged to Cory. He lay faceup, sprawledon the floor between the television and the sofa. His sightless eyes were glassy and dry. I remember wondering why he didn’t blink—his eyes were drying out. Despite his wounds, his face seemed alive.

He’d been gored to death. Long, ugly slashes crisscrossed his chest and abdomen, revealing his insides. A ropy length of intestine looped from one extremely deep gash in his belly. His forehead and the left side of his face were crushed. Cloven hoofprints were stamped into his flesh. One of his feet was wedged beneath the coffee table. The other leg was bent at the knee and curled up under his body. His limp arms extended straight out from his sides. One hand clutched my baseball bat, the tip matted with blood and fur. Apparently Cory had gotten in at least one good swing before dying. A vase had been knocked over, and the pieces were scattered across the floor. Movies and video games had been knocked off the shelves.

Cory. The kid. Our neighbor and our friend. We all picked on him, but we loved him just the same. He’d been young. Had his whole life ahead of him. Worked at Wal-Mart, liked James Bond movies, and couldn’t hold his alcohol or play Hacky Sack worth a damn. Wanted a girlfriend but seemed to have bad luck with women. He’d liked to draw cartoons and play video games. And now he was dead, ripped open and spilling out all over my floor.

From behind me Dale asked, “Is he?”

Without turning to face him, I nodded.

“Any sign of the others? The dog?”

“No.”

My shoes stuck to the carpet as I backed away from the body, leaving bloody footprints. In the kitchen Dale vomited into the garbage can. I felt my own gorge rise, and bit my lip to fight it off.

“Dale?”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “W-what?”

“Check your house. Cory hit the satyr at least once. It’s obvious he went down fighting. Maybe the girls escaped while he was defending them. Maybe they’re hiding over there.”

He nodded, then leaned forward and retched again.

I ran up the stairs. A quick glance in the bathroom, bedroom, and spare room showed them all deserted. I paused in the spare room. We’d intended it to be our baby’s room one day. The walls still had the Eeyore border that I’d put up before the second miscarriage.

“Tara…” Choking back tears, I could barely speak her name.

Something thumped in the bedroom.

“Hello?”

Thump.

“Tara? Honey, is that you?”

Thump. Thump.

“Big Steve?”

Thumpthumpthumpthump.

I raced into the room. Big Steve crawled out from underneath the bed where he’d been hiding. His tail wagged furiously. Sobbing, I collapsed to my knees and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tight.

“Oh, buddy, I thought you were…”

He cowered against me, body trembling beneath his thick fur. I petted him, and he licked my face with his rough tongue, and despite my fears and sorrow I laughed.

“Where’s Mommy? Where is she, boy?”

He whined at the mention of Tara. His soft brown eyes had never looked more terrified than they did at that moment.

The door banged downstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Cliff shouted, “Adam? Dale? Where you guys at?”

“Come on, buddy.” I snapped my fingers, and Big Steve trotted along behind me, his courage returning now that Daddy was home.

Merle and Cliff stood staring down at Cory’s body. Cliff’s eyes were full of tears.

“He…” Cliff worked his mouth, but the words would not come.

“The girls?” Merle asked hopefully.

I shook my head. “They’re not here. Dale went next door to check.”

Enraged, Cliff kicked the recliner. Frightened by his sudden outburst, Big Steve scrambled back up the stairs.

“Cory didn’t deserve this shit,” Cliff yelled. “He was a good kid!”

“No,” I agreed sadly, “he didn’t.”

“I’ll go get my shotgun,” Merle said. “You calling Detective Ramirez?”

“Fuck Ramirez,” I spit. “We’ve wasted enough time today. Let’s kill this son of a bitch.”

Merle cast one last glance at Cory, then left. Cliff sank into the recliner, resting his head in his hands. Big Steve crept back down the stairs and sniffed his boots. Cliff reached out to pet him, and Big Steve licked his hand.

“You okay?” I asked.

“No.” He looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “You?”

“No.” I pried the bat from Cory’s fingers. “I’m most definitely not okay.”

I studied the fur and blood on the bat’s tip.

“Cory nailed him, huh?”

I nodded.

“Good. Hope he split the fucker’s head open.”

I pulled the tuft of fur off the bat. It was sticky, but soft.

“What are you doing?” Cliff asked.

I stuffed the fur in my pocket. “Making up my own powwow.”

Dale returned with his shotgun and reported what we already suspected: There was no sign of Tara or Claudine at his house, and no indication that they’d been there at all during the day.

He looked around the living room. “Where’s Merle?”

“Went to get his shotgun, too,” Cliff said.

“Good,” Dale replied. “I brought Claudine’s silver jewelry along.”

Remembering our plan for the silver, I excused myself and went back upstairs to the bedroom. Big Steve trailed along behind me, hopping up onto the bed. Tara’s musical jewelry box (it had belonged to her grandmother) sat on her dressing table. I opened it and was greeted by the faint strains of “When You Wish upon a Star,” Tara’s favorite childhood song. Our wedding picture was taped to the inside of the lid. We looked young and happy, free from the sorrows and perils that I now knew had been lying in wait for us, ready to eradicate those smiles forever. The music box lied. We’d wished upon a star the evening we were married, standing on a hotel balcony and looking up at the night sky. We’d wished to be happy forever, to have a family and a wonderful marriage free of sorrow and tears, but despite what the song promised, our dreams hadn’t come true.

I rifled through the jewelry box and grabbed every silver ring, necklace, brooch, pin, and earring I could find. I also came across a silver dollar that her father had given her. I grabbed that, too. When Big Steve and I got back downstairs Merle had returned, carrying a shotgun and a chain saw.

“Let’s not waste any more time,” I said. “Cory’s blood hasn’t congealed yet. I’m not a medical examiner, but I’m guessing this happened within the last hour. We may still have a chance.”

Dale’s face was drawn and pale. “Don’t worry. The girls are still alive. Hylinus wouldn’t hurt them. He wants them for…you know.”

“Okay,” Merle gasped, out of breath from running. “Dale’s got a gun, and I’ve got a gun. Those should handle the satyr. But in case we didn’t get all the trees, which one of you wants to carry the chain saw?”

“Give it to Cliff,” I answered, picking up the baseball bat. “I’ll use this.”

“Ain’t gonna do you much good against that thing,” Cliff said. “At least, it didn’t for Cory.”

“He drew blood,” I pointed out. “That’s enough.”

A plan was beginning to formulate in my head, but I wasn’t sure of the specifics yet, and didn’t want to voice it until I was. When the others weren’t looking I dipped the baseball bat in Cory’s blood, letting his fluids mingle with the satyr’s. Big Steve watched me, his head tilted in curiosity.

“Come on,” I said, snapping my fingers so he would follow.

“You’re bringing the dog along?” Cliff asked.

“Sure,” I said. “I’m drawing power from him, remember? He’s part of my personal powwow.”

I clipped Big Steve to his leash, and the five of us went outside. Immediately his nose went to the ground, investigating. He growled, and then pointed at the woods with his paw and snout.

“Can he track Tara?” Dale asked.

“I think so.” I tugged the leash. “Come on, bud.”

Reluctantly he followed. The five of us went to Merle’s woodshop. While we watched, Merle cut open the tops of the shotgun shells and dumped the pellets onto the floor. Then he replaced them with the silver, putting the jewelry on top of the wadding.

“Here,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the clump of fur. “Put this in, too.”

Merle eyed it dubiously. “What is it?”

“Some of Hylinus’s hair.”

“How is that going to help?”

“It’s part of him. I don’t know how else to explain it, but adding it to the mix feels right.”

Grimacing, he took it from me and divided the strands between the shells, dropping it on top of the jewelry.

Dale twirled his gold wedding band, his own magic item. “Hylinus took a dump on Adam’s floor. We should add some of that, too.”

“No,” Merle said emphatically. “Hair is one thing. I’m not touching satyr shit.”

Big Steve lay down in the corner and whimpered.

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “We’re going soon. We’ll find Mommy.”

Finished dividing the fur among the shells, Merle looked up from the workbench. “Now for the magic duct tape. Want to say some words over it?”

On the corner of the workbench was an empty coffee can stuffed full of grease pens, hobby knives, and Magic Markers. I plucked a black permanent marker from the assortment.

“I’ve got a better idea. Cliff, run out to the van and bring me LeHorn’s books.”

Surprisingly he didn’t argue or ask questions. He returned a minute later and handed me the bag. While I flipped through
The Long Lost Friend
, Merle carefully sealed the shotgun shells back up with duct tape. Then, using the marker and the spell book, I drew a sigil on each strip of tape: three stars in an upside-down triangular pattern, with three crosses directly beneath them, also in the shape of a triangle. Then I held my right hand out over the shells and read from the book.

“
Ut nemo in sense tentat, descendere nemo. At precedenti spectaur mantica tergo.
Hecate. Hecate. Hecate. Papa, R. tarn, Tetregammaten Angen. JesusNazarenus, Rex Judeorum.”

“What spell was that?” Cliff asked.

“Two of them,” I said. “A benediction against evil and a charm for guns and other arms. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to double up.”

Dale fidgeted impatiently. “Are we ready?”

“One more thing,” I said.

“Adam—”

“Dale, my wife is out there, too. Just one more second, please?”

Pulling a pair of safety goggles over my eyes, I switched on Merle’s grinding wheel and sharpened the edges of Tara’s silver dollar. Then I hammered one end into the tip of the baseball bat, letting the other end stick out like a razor.

I took off the goggles and appraised my weapon.

“Now I’m ready.”

Cliff grinned. “Fucking barbarian, man.”

I left the books on Merle’s workbench, grabbed Big Steve’s leash and the baseball bat, and followed them outside. Merle and Dale loaded their shotguns. Cliff made sure the chain saw started, and then left it running. He set it down, lit a cigarette, and then picked it up again, revving the engine.

The full moon hung in the sky like an engorged, unblinking eye. It reminded me of Cory’s unseeing stare. I closed my own eyes, and when I opened them again the moon was still watching. It looked heavy, as if it could fall to the ground any moment.

It was directly over the forest.

And it was bloodred.