Ghost Walk (10 page)

Maria reached out and turned off the recorder.

“You really miss your wife, don’t you?”

Ken nodded, glancing down at the table. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.

“Yeah, I do. I thought it would get easier with time, but it doesn’t. It just gets worse. I feel haunted.”

Maria arched an eyebrow. “Her…ghost?”

“No, nothing like that. I told you, I don’t believe in ghosts. I just mean her memory, you know? I’m haunted by her memory.”

“Perhaps that’s what ghosts are,” Maria said. “Maybe they’re just memories.”

“Could be,” Ken agreed.

“I’m sorry. Hope I didn’t offend you?”

“No, not at all. It’s something to think about, I guess. I’ll tell you, though. Sometimes, I wish there were ghosts. I wish I could believe in them.”

“Why?”

“Because then maybe I could see Deena again.”

Ken reached out and picked up the check. Then, before they could continue the conversation, he excused himself and slid out of the booth. Maria watched him walk to the register. She collected her recorder and purse and smiled politely at the waitress. On her way to the ladies’ room, Maria mulled over the last part of the conversation, wondering what ghosts haunted her.

The girl didn’t stop until well after midnight. Levi followed her, his dread increasing with every mile. Even before she’d reached her final destination, Levi had guessed where she was heading.

LeHorn’s Hollow.

He knew it well. Nelson LeHorn and Amos Stoltzfus had been peers and associates, if not friends. Occasionally, their individual endeavors had given them cause to consult with each other. LeHorn had called upon the Stoltzfus farm several times when Levi was growing up, and his father had traveled to York County once or twice to visit LeHorn. His father had passed away five years before the events at LeHorn’s farm.

Levi knew what most of society thought—that Nelson LeHorn had gone insane, believed his wife was consorting with the devil, and then pushed her out of the attic window, killing her. Then the old man had disappeared, and no one had heard from him since. Twenty years passed. And then, in a bizarre twist of fate, a local author named Adam Senft became obsessed with the story and committed a copycat murder, slaying his own wife. Now he was a guest at the White Rose Mental Health Facility—a fancy, politically correct title for what amounted to an insane asylum.

Those were the facts, as far as the public was concerned. But the public was wrong. Levi knew the truth. It had taken him several years of painstaking investigation, and had taxed him both physically and psychically. He’d used everything at his disposal—divination, fortune-telling, his grandfather’s seer stone, the bending of wills, and exploring the woods themselves, walking around, poking his nose into things and finding out what was what—and eventually discovered several doorways and standing stones. He was certain that not all of them had been crafted by LeHorn, but he wasn’t sure who had built them. Some looked Native American in origin. Others were even older. But all of them were closed and barred, guarded by circles of protection and other means. There was nothing of concern. Nothing that posed a danger. The hollow was a dead zone, and in the end, his diligence had paid off. He’d finally learned what really transpired.

In a misguided attempt to bring good fortune to his failing farmstead during a statewide drought, Nelson LeHorn had attempted to summon a minion of Nodens. Nodens belonged to a pantheon called the Thirteen, a race of entities that had existed before this universe came into existence. LeHorn was misled by a black magician from Hanover named Saul O’Connor—a foul, degenerate little man who’d foolishly worshipped the Thirteen and eventually paid the price. O’Connor told LeHorn that Nodens’ minions could bless his crops and ensure a bountiful harvest. But he was wrong.

LeHorn conducted a summoning ritual, opening a door between this world and another. He called forth a satyr named Hylinus, who was indeed a minion of Nodens. However, instead of blessing the farmer’s crop, Hylinus managed to break through LeHorn’s carefully crafted circle of protection and impregnate Patricia LeHorn. A distraught LeHorn bound the creature and imprisoned it, transmuting the satyr into stone. He’d murdered his pregnant wife, so that she wouldn’t give birth to the satyr’s spawn. Then, in his final act on this world, he’d opened a doorway into the Labyrinth and disappeared to somewhere else. Levi wasn’t sure where. Another plane or another world. Nelson LeHorn was never seen again. He closed the door behind him. Somewhere, in the State Police barracks in Harrisburg, or maybe hanging in the corner of a rural post office somewhere, was a wanted poster with Nelson LeHorn’s picture on it, a picture from twenty years ago. But he would never be captured. Never be found.

Years after LeHorn’s departure, Adam Senft somehow came into possession of the farmer’s books. Nelson LeHorn had an impressive collection of esoteric tomes—things like
The Sixth and Seventh Books of Moses
, Jean Bodin’s
De la
Demonomanie des Sorciers
, Johann Weyer’s
De Praestigiis
, and a partial transcript of the dangerous and deadly
Daemonolateria
. Most of these had been destroyed in the forest fire, but from what Levi had determined, Senft had made off with LeHorn’s journal, pages from the
Daemonolateria
, and a complete English translation of
The Long Lost Friend
. Around this same time, Hylinus had been freed from bondage. Levi was never able to determine how, exactly, but his educated guess was that Senft was somehow responsible. Whatever the cause, Adam Senft became involved in a struggle against the satyr—a confrontation that ultimately resulted in the deaths of several of Senft’s friends and finally, months later, Senft’s wife, Tara, who ultimately suffered the exact same fate as Patricia LeHorn. The courts deemed Senft insane and he was now in a mental health facility.

But neither Nelson LeHorn nor Adam Senft had been insane.

They were just fools.

They’d believed written history. Trusted the words of men. Assumed that Nodens was some Roman or Celtic god of harvest and fertility. And they’d paid the price.

Unlike the others, Levi was no fool. Since the forest fire and the last round of deaths, he’d kept a cautious eye on the region. But the hollow and the surrounding forest had remained quiet. Levi became convinced that whatever evil had lurked there was now purged.

Maybe I was a fool after all
…

Levi floated far above the treetops, hovering as the girl disappeared into the forest. He resisted the urge to flee, even though he wanted to. Dread overwhelmed him. A darkness was brewing down there beneath the trees—a pulsing black cloud, more obsidian than the gloom that surrounded it. A twisting, coiling mass that permeated the foliage, the ground, the very air itself.

Levi knew what it was, but he dared not speak the name out loud.

The thing in the forest—and in the girl—was Nodens, greatest among the Thirteen, brother of Ob and Ab. Of Leviathan and Behemoth. Of all the others. He watched the writhing shadows. This was its true form. It was a living darkness, a force that traveled from world to world, consuming everything it touched, sucking the life and energy out of every single thing until there was nothing left. Then it moved on, leaving a barren, lifeless wasteland in its wake.

And now it was here.

Apparently, LeHorn’s summoning spell had worked after all. The effect had just been delayed.

Levi wished his astral form had tears so that he could cry.

Not me, Lord. Please, find somebody else. I can’t fight this.
I’m not strong enough. Nobody is
.

If God was listening, He did not answer. Levi hadn’t expected Him to, even though, just this once, it would have been nice. Especially now.

Steeling his resolve, Levi drifted closer. The darkness remained finite. Although it moved, it did not grow. Did not expand. That meant it wasn’t completely in this world yet. Most of it was still in another dimension, slowly bleeding through into this world. Obviously, someone—or something—had disturbed one of the portals, accidentally broken one of the circles. Levi cursed his own arrogance. He should have checked back here more often. He’d known those places of power still existed in the forest’s perimeter, but he’d thought them closed and useless.

This is my fault. I should have guarded them better. But
still, what idiot left the door open? If you leave the barn
door open, you know the cow is going to get out. More importantly,
what am I going to do about it?

Nodens wasn’t completely through the doorway yet. Its corporeal form in this world was weakened and bound by limitations. It wouldn’t be at full strength until it had completely breached the barriers. That bought Levi some time. Levi considered all that he knew regarding the situation—the events transpiring below, the hollow’s past history, the time of year and position of the stars.

Even though his astral self didn’t need to breathe, Levi felt his breath catch in his throat.

Halloween was only a few days away. It was one of the rare times of the year when the walls between worlds grew thin. If he didn’t figure out a way to stop Nodens before then…

Terrified, Levi recited a benediction against evil. Even though he knew the words were useless against such a foe, doing so still brought him some brief comfort.

Ut nemo in sense tentat, descendere nemo. At precedenti
spectaur mantica tergo. Hecate. Hecate. Hecate
.

If the thing below heard his prayer, it gave no sign. Levi listened. He heard no birds, no insects, and no wildlife of any kind. The forest was silent. Even the wind had stopped. But despite the stillness, he was sure that the entity was laughing.

Horrified, Levi willed himself back to his body. He rushed backward, away from the hollow, soaring like a rocket past the river and the towns. He zoomed down to his body and felt it jump.

Levi opened his eyes. Blinked once. Twice. Smacked his lips together. His throat was dry and his mouth tasted like Dee had used it for a toilet. Slowly, painfully, his fingers uncurled from around the stick. His knuckles popped. Levi’s upper lip was warm and wet. He touched it gently and looked at his fingers. The tips were red. His nose was bleeding.

Stumbling to his feet, Levi leaned against one of the Dumpsters until he had regained enough strength to walk. After a few minutes, he felt better, but still dizzy and weak. He weaved across the deserted parking lot, using the flying staff for a cane. Dee whinnied in excitement when she saw him. Despite his fears, Levi smiled at her greeting. He pressed his face into her mane and sobbed. Tears flowed, mingling with the blood. He trembled against her until the storm had passed. When he pulled away, Dee nuzzled him. This made Levi cry again.

“Why me, Lord? What did I do to deserve this? Why not one of Your other warriors? Why is it that You always demand the most from those who love You the most? Should we not be rewarded, given an occasional rest, instead of just running from crisis to crisis, cleaning up Your messes?”

His stomach cramped. Levi bent over and threw up all over the pavement. The bile burned his throat. He brushed the tears from his eyes and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His nose was still bleeding. Straightening up again, he scratched Dee between the eyes. The horse’s tail swished back and forth.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go home.”

Levi climbed up into the buggy and stowed the flying staff. Then he grabbed the reins. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He found a crumpled handkerchief lying beneath the seat and stuffed the ends of it into his bleeding nostrils.

He couldn’t fight Nodens alone. There were things he needed. Items he had no access to. He needed help. Help from one of the people indirectly responsible for this mess.

It was time to prepare.

Tonight, he would begin fasting, so that he might be cleansed for the task ahead.

Tomorrow, he would pay a visit to Adam Senft.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The wind promised blood.

The coyote’s stomach growled in anticipation when she smelled it.

The coyote wanted nothing more than to return to her den before the sun came up, but she had a long way to travel before she could sleep.

The blood called to her. She intended to answer.

It had been a long, weary, and demoralizing night. At dusk, she’d risen from her den to hunt and forage. First she encountered a small dog that had strayed far from home. The coyote gave chase, but the dog was faster. It escaped. She decided not to pursue it. Panting, she drank cold water from a creek and looked for the darting, silver forms of fish. The stream was empty. She flipped a rock over with her paw and found a tiny crayfish. She snapped at it, dancing around to avoid the angrily waving pincers. The coyote devoured the crayfish in one bite, but the small morsel simply fueled her hunger.

Her wanderings had then brought her to the edge of the forest. The coyote sneaked through the backyard of a nearby farm house. She was careful. Cautious. The sounds of humans came from inside the home. The coyote stayed alert, listening for any sign that they were aware of her presence. After deciding it was safe, she crept undetected to the front porch. A fat, yellow cat lay on a lawn chair, licking its paws. The coyote’s muscles coiled. She tensed, preparing to charge, but the feline spotted her and leapt from the porch. The coyote dashed after her fleeing prey, across the yard and down a one-lane dirt road. Trees lined both sides of the driveway, but the terrified cat ran straight. The chase ended when the cat ran out into the main road and was crushed beneath the wheels of a tractor-trailer. The truck didn’t stop. The coyote watched from the bushes along the side. Twitching, the cat let out a pitiful, gurgling mewl. Then it stiffened and lay still. Steam rose from the body. The coyote stepped forward, drooling at the sight and scent of the fresh innards splattered all over the pavement— the rich liver, the tender intestines, an eyeball, warm blood. Before she could feast, another car came along. Then another. Their wheels thumped over the carcass, further spreading the gore. The coyote darted out into the road and snagged a shred of intestine, but oncoming headlights chased her back into the bushes again. Not wishing to suffer the same fate as her prey, the coyote left the area.

She came across a deserted campground and knocked over the garbage cans, snorting through their spilled contents with her snout. She found a few scraps—French fries, a pizza crust, and half of a hot dog—but not nearly food enough to sate her hunger.

The coyote felt sad—a lingering shame that couldn’t be cured with sleep or food or water. She was a hunter. Her kind were predators, unmatched by any other animal in these woods except for the black bear. And yet here she was now, nothing more than a scavenger. No better than a raccoon or a possum, stealing from trash cans, eating humanity’s refuse just to survive. Every year, the humans came farther into the woods, chasing away the other wildlife, and reducing her kind to this.

She missed her mate. She’d met him during her second winter, when the moon was full and yellow and new-fallen snow covered the ground. The scent of her heat had called him to her. He was strong and lean and large, standing over the other males that answered her call. She remembered his pelage colors: gray washed with streaks of black, with beautiful tan and reddish markings running down his legs. His ears had been erect and his tail full.

They’d rutted on the frozen ground, their body heat melting the snow around them. The coyote howled her passion to the full moon when her mate’s teeth nipped the back of her neck, holding her in place. Four months later, safe in their den beneath an overturned tree, she gave birth to a litter of seven pups. Her mate had gone hunting while she nursed and cleaned their young. He’d paused along the stream bank, looking back at them once over his shoulder. He had seemed so proud.

Then, while she waited for him, the human thunder that was different from sky thunder echoed across the forest. She knew what that thunder brought with it.

Her mate never returned. She waited four days, but he never came back.

She’d raised the pups on her own, as best she could, teaching them how to hunt and track, where to shelter and when to sleep, what was good to eat and what would make them sick. Most important, she taught them about man.

So, when men arrived a few months later, and shot her with something that made her sleepy, the mother coyote’s last thought before losing consciousness was that her cubs would escape. They’d know to run. To flee from man, just as she’d taught them.

When she awoke, there was a small metal clamp in her ear, and her young were gone. She sniffed around the forest floor. Their scent was mixed with the stench of humans. She cried out for them but there was no answer. The coyote waited but her cubs didn’t return. They had vanished. Just like her mate.

She missed their yips, barks, and howls. Missed their warmth. The way they crawled all over her when they were playing. How they tugged at her ears with their sharp little teeth or snuggled against her when it rained. Their individual scents.

Scent
…

The coyote’s memories faded as she caught the scent of blood again. It was stronger this time. Perhaps an injured deer or a wounded dog. It was too heavy, too thick, to be from anything smaller. Whatever the source, it was near.

But so was something else. Something without a scent. Something…dangerous.

She just didn’t know what.

Parting the field grass, she peered into the woods. The coyote’s nocturnal prowling had brought her here, to the edge of a bad place. She had never been here before, had never strayed so far from her usual area. But after the failed cat hunt, she’d smelled the blood and followed it. Now she felt alarmed. This place was wrong. Menacing. She knew it instinctively, as did the rest of the animals in the area. The trees were different. The air was different. It was dangerous to proceed.

And yet, the blood-smell called to her, promising a feast if only she would enter.

Whimpering, the coyote stepped out of the field and into the shadow of the trees. She sniffed the air, cautious. Now she caught a new scent in addition to the blood: burning leaves. She paused, but sensed no signs of fire. Her ears twitched, alert for the slightest sign of activity. The forest was quiet. No birdsongs or insect conversations. The ground vibrated slightly beneath her paws, as if something deep inside the earth was turning. It felt unnatural. Not of man, but not of nature either. This was something else, something that was neither. The coyote wanted to run. Instinct and common sense told her to flee, but her stomach rumbled. She took another tentative step forward, and raised her snout. The woods smelled like humans. There had been many of them here recently. Signs of their presence were everywhere: downed trees, gasoline and sweat, urine, footprints, threads from clothing snagged on branches. She considered this new information. The humans had been here, and nothing bad had befallen them. Perhaps the danger was overstated.

She smelled the blood again. It was fresh. The coyote drooled. Hunger overrode her caution. She darted forward, following the scent toward the center of the forest.

While Rhonda got rid of the car, Richard went hunting. He traveled far to find a deer, since they were afraid to enter the proximity of the hollow. He’d left the forest, crossed through the harvested remnants of soybean and corn fields, and found another patch of woods where the game was plentiful. He climbed a tree and perched among the branches, patiently waiting. When a doe finally appeared, he shot her through the neck. The crack of the rifle echoed over the hills. The doe thrashed and snorted as her lifeblood jetted from her body. Then he hauled the dead animal back to the hollow. He gutted the carcass and spread the entrails and internal organs all over one of the sigils, careful not to touch the stone directly. Using the barrel of his rifle, he wedged the animal’s heart between the ground and the stone. He grunted in frustration. How much easier would this be if Nodens had the strength to move the stones itself? If Nodens could just use the rifle to pry them free? But the sigils sapped Nodens of its strength, and thus, it had to rely on these methods.

Rhonda arrived shortly after, dripping with the stink of the river. Finished with his task, Richard disposed of the deer’s body. He dragged it far away and buried it, digging the grave with his hands. After he’d returned, his fingers torn and bleeding, Richard withdrew into hiding, along with Rhonda and Sam.

They watched from the darkness, waiting for something to take the bait.

The coyote’s uneasiness grew with every step, but so did the gnawing in her stomach. Her nose twitched again. Her tail hung limp and low, tucked firmly between her legs. Her senses warned her to flee, but she couldn’t. She was compelled now. Driven. No matter how strong her fear, she couldn’t ignore the promise of the meal, borne on the night breeze. It was waiting for her just ahead.

She padded across a vast wasteland of ash and charred wood. The ground sloped steadily downward into the burned-out remnants of a hollow. She stepped over a dry creek bed filled with ashes. It was dark here—darker than the rest of the woods. In this place, the night seemed to gather, as if drawing together. It reminded the coyote of her den beneath the overturned tree. The place she’d shared with her litter and her mate. The hollow was like that—a den for darkness.

The coyote felt far from home.

She turned to flee, to find safer ground, but then she saw it. A pile of fresh deer innards lay splattered on and around a nearby rock. Liver, kidneys, intestines—all covered in a thick, rich coating of blood. The guts were no longer steaming, but the flies had yet to discover the remains and the blood was still fluid, rather than congealed.

Dispensing with caution, the coyote approached the rock in four quick strides. It didn’t occur to her to wonder where the rest of the corpse was. Her pink-white tongue shot out, lapping experimentally at some drops of blood on the nearby ground. She licked her lips, and then dug in, chewing and swallowing as fast as she could. Famished, she ravaged the organs without thought or care to anything other than filling her belly. When she’d consumed the solids, she licked the rock clean. It wiggled back and forth at her ministrations, and made her tongue tingle. She barely noticed. Her attention was focused on another morsel sticking out partially from beneath the stone.

The deer’s heart.

She pawed at the ashen ground, digging a hole around the heart. Then she pushed at the rock, straining hard until it toppled out of the way, revealing a small depression. She gobbled down the heart in four quick bites and was swallowing the last shred when the darkness rose out of the hole and she heard her mate and cubs.

They called for her inside the swirling blackness. Mesmerized by this unexpected reunion, she stepped closer, yipping with excitement. Too late, the coyote realized that although they looked like her brood, their smell was different. She froze.

This was the something else—the bad thing she’d sensed before.

The darkness surged toward her and the coyote howled.

And then the sun greeted a new day, filling the land with light.

But the light did not penetrate the hollow.

There were only three stones left and less than forty-eight hours until the walls between worlds collapsed.