Hauntings (10 page)

              “This is nothing but silliness,” He said aloud to himself. Oswald went to his room cleared his things off of his bed, undressed and climbed in his bed. Sleep wasn't easily coming to him tonight, not after his long nap, and not now with his mind racing with thoughts of a cabin in the woods, wild west gunfights on the crowded streets of Chicago, a road trip west  covering hundreds of miles. He felt young again with excitement. He closed his eyes to the darkness and ancient druidic runes appeared before his mind's eye. The book. He had almost forgotten the book. He will need to take references and legal pads, pencils, pens if he is to decipher this text. Of course he could start tonight. There is nothing to stop him, but he doesn't want to begin only to be interrupted by mindless business preparing for and taking the trip. He will wait until he is at the cabin and settled in. Then he would begin, there would be time enough then. Oswald then let himself relax, the cares of the world faded into oblivion and he slept.

              Awaking slowly, gradually coming to terms with the world before opening his eyes, Oswald was at peace for the first time in what seemed like ages. He opened his eyes and looked to the window. A bird, a sparrow was sitting on the window sill, pecking at some bit of food that had dropped there somehow, or perhaps it was pulling at a stray piece of thread or yarn that had blown in the wind before being caught by a rough spot of wood on the sill. Perhaps the bird was working on a nest and would use the stray piece of yarn to soften the bed of its young once they hatch. Oswald smiled at the fancifulness of his imagination, and for the briefest of moments it appeared the sparrow made eye contact, looking Oswald directly in the eye as if he had some information to share. No not to share. It was as if he had a secret he was not willing to share, but he knew Oswald desired. The bird was taunting him! It spread its wings and within a heartbeat flew away out of sight.

              “Sparrows, there is something about sparrows,” he muttered to himself trying to remember what and where this thought may have come from.

              “No matter, time enough for that later,” He said aloud as he got from his bed and headed for the bathroom.

              Once inside he gazed into the reflection in the mirror and considered letting his beard grow.
A woodsman, that's what I'll be an old hermit in the woods,
he smiled at the thought and grabbed the can of shaving cream from the medicine chest. He squirted a goodly sized dollop of the white foam into the palm of his hand. The thought of using a strop and a straight razor crossed his mind as he gently applied the cream to his face. (Back in the day, when men were men and women were more manly than most men today.) 

              He put the thought of a straight razor out of his mind and grabbed his trusty safety razor from the counter top. He let the hot water run into the sink. He held the blade of the safety razor under the running water for a moment then began at his throat. Pulling the razor up towards his chin slicing whiskers away with the cream. He held the razor under the water again flushing it clean of whiskers and foam. He repeated the process again and again until his was satisfied that his throat was clean, then began at his sideburns gently pulling the razor down his cheek, applying just enough pressure to cut the hair while leaving his skin free of any nicks. Soon he was clean shaven, had brushed his teeth and was running steaming hot water for his shower. 

              In the shower, with his eyes closed, he took in a slow deep breath letting the moist hot air clear his lungs. He felt a
rattle
here and there as he exhaled, he took in another deep breath then relaxed letting the cleansing air out. In his mind's eye he saw the book he stole from the Orne library. The thought of the binding made his skin crawl. Oddly enough it hadn't bothered him in the least yesterday. A novelty that's all it was to him an ancient oddity performed by long lost pagans. But this morning he was well aware that the binding of that book was the tanned skin of someone sacrificed to the gods to increase the efficacy of the incantations and rituals contained therein. Perhaps a prisoner taken in a raid on a neighboring village or tribe, or perhaps a poor child born and raised just for this heinous ritual. The steaming water offered little relief for the chill that ran the length of Oswald's spine. He got out and quickly dried off and dressed. He chose to be casual today. No bow tie, no blazer with leather patches on the elbows, no uniform today for today he is not a teacher.  He is a free man about to embark on the journey of a lifetime.

Chapter Two

              Oswald felt revitalized as he followed along the ancient cobblestone walkway lined by colorful maple trees. The leaves turning gorgeous shades of yellow and red. The brisk air, not too cool, nor too warm, just right to brighten his day and raise his hopes. He felt like a young man again with a broad horizon of opportunities before him, not an old man trapped by the choices made so long ago. There was almost a skip to his step as he headed to the old stone buildings comprising the main campus of Leicester University. This is the campus Oswald has truly grown to love over the years. Of course there are newer satellite campuses across the town and even the state, but those never really belonged to Leicester's true heritage. These old buildings those from the beginning have a history of their own. Although ancient these building once temples of higher learning each having a life of its own. The new air conditioned, fluorescent lighted, asphalt paved parking lot, satellite campuses are nothing more than strip malls in comparison.  Oswald skipped up the stone steps to the huge oak doors of the main entrance, He leaned into the door pushing it open allowing the bright autumn sunlight to cast his shadow across the green and white tile floor. His steps echoed as he passed classroom after classroom on his way to the dean's office.

              Aleister Dyer PhD. Dean to the School of Liberal Studies was painted clearly across the smoked glass window of his office door, announcing both his name and his prestige. Oswald knocked once lightly on the glass then pushed the door open. The first sight to Doctor Dyer's office was a big wooden desk blocking the entrance to his inner sanctum. There were a couple of chairs along the wall where one could wait patiently to see the dean if one was so inclined.  Rank has its privileges and a personal assistant is top on the list.

              “Can I help you?” 

              “Aleister said he'd leave a package for me at your desk. A set of keys perhaps a map and some other material.” Oswald called the dean by his first name, not because he felt comfortable being that familiar with him, but because he wanted to impress the secretary with this familiarity. Hoping it would carry enough weight that she wouldn't run him through the secretarial gauntlet before letting him have the keys. It's a little ritual the personal assistants have. A way of letting those of less stature know exactly where they stand in the university's pecking order.

              “Oh, are you Doctor Hubbard? Aleister, I mean doctor Dyer did leave something for you.” She opened a drawer and brought out a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string, paper you'd expect to see in an old butcher's shop. She reached across the desk handing the package to him. Oswald took it glad that he didn't need to see the dean to pick it up, glad to be leaving. He thanked her, turned, and left the office. Oswald hurried out of the building, eager to open the package and see what was there besides the keys. He waited until he was home before opening his prize. He cut the string with a letter opener from his desk. And quickly unfolded the paper from the box. Then placed the box on his desk. Gently lifting the lid he found a set of house keys, a card with an address scrawled on it and a note which read.

             
Oswald,

Sorry I couldn't be there to give you the keys in person, but something always comes up. You know how it is in academia. No rest for the wicked and all that. In any case here are the keys. I must warn you the cabin isn't much and I haven't been there in years. It may need quite a bit of work before you can settle in and relax. I trust you can find your way there without my help, but just in case I've enclosed a map from the Dixon exit to the cabin. It can be a little tricky. Out there they print the street names in little bitty letters and great big random numbers above the street name on the street signs.

Regards

Aleister Dyer

              Oswald tossed the old keys in the air and caught them in his palm.
Today is the first day of the rest of my life
he thought with a smile. He slid the keys in his pocket  before going to his study to find the atlas. He found the atlas under a stack of old newspapers and miscellaneous office debris. He opened to the page showing the entire United States. He flipped a few pages more and found a page covering eastern seaboard to the Great Lakes. He located Leicester then drew his finger west on the map until he located a tiny dot marked Dixon. It looked to be a long drive at least eleven hundred miles from Leicester, Massachusetts to Dixon, Illinois.

              Gazing intently on the map before him, Oswald muttered aloud.“If I can find my way to Boston, it will just be a matter of getting onto I90 and heading west. At least for a few hundred miles.”

              A road trip, just the medicine to renew the life in an old man like me, Oswald thought and smiled. In very little time Oswald had his trusty Volvo wagon loaded, but before beginning a trip this long he would check the oil, fluids, and air pressure in the tires. This car has been reliable transportation for him for the past ten years, but where has he gone in that time? Grocery shopping, to work, and home that's all he's done, all he has gone to in the past ten years. Not too taxing on the car, but it has worn heavily on himself.

              All looked good to Oswald's amateur eye as he checked the car's fluid levels and tire pressure. Satisfied with his transportation, he gave a quick look to his house and did  one last walk through to make sure he didn't leave anything running that shouldn't be or left anything out that would greet him with a foul stench on his return if he should stay away for some time. He took out the remaining trash and dragged the trash cans to the curb.

              The book! How could he forget the book? Oswald ran inside for the last time up to his study where he had kept the book wrapped in oil cloth and hidden in his bottom desk drawer for safe keeping.

              “This simply will not do,” He said holding the book tightly in his hands. He looked around for a container, something more than mere oil cloth to keep it safe.

              “Tupperware!” he cried and ran into the kitchen, he quickly opened then closed the cabinets searching for the rectangular Tupperware container and it's lid. He believed it was designed to hold sheet cake or corn bread or something of the sort, keeping it fresh in the airtight container until needed. He bought it at a co-workers Tupperware party years ago, and put away and never used it, never needed it until today. Finally there it was shoved far in the back of highest shelf collecting dust. He pulled out the grayish plastic tray and then after a little more searching found and brought out it's blue lid. It looked to him to be the perfect size to hold the book. He put it on the kitchen table took the book in it's oil cloth wrap and laid it inside. It was a perfect fit. He carefully placed the blue plastic lid on top of the gray plastic rectangle pressing down first on a corner then slowly working his way around to the opposite corner, then finally sealing it by burping the plastic at the corner then snapping it closed.

              He carried his treasure out of the house, stopping only to lock the door before leaving. He slid into the driver's seat of his Volvo and before starting the car slipped the Tupperware container under the driver's seat. He started the car, checked the review mirror and backed out onto Walnut Street. He purposefully turned away from Leicester University and took Peabody Avenue crossing the Leicester River by way of the Peabody Bridge.  Soon he would be passing by Innsmouth on his way to Boston. Once in Boston, he would enter I-90 heading west. Horace Greeley it is claimed once said “Go west young man, go west.” Oswald Hubble found himself late in life following that sage advice. He headed south planning on cutting through Salem on his way to Boston. Both time and the miles passed by pleasantly. Oswald found Boston and caught I-90 west. Once out of the city and on the highway Oswald felt free to pick up some speed He slipped Dark Side of The Moon into the CD player and settled in to cruise. Pink Floyd at their best, Oswald smiled as the music began to play. Hours passed and the sun set early in the Autumn sky.  He searched the horizon for road signs to confirm he was still on the right path. There was a sign warning that the Portions toll was ahead. Oswald pulled onto the shoulder parked and turned on the overhead light. Flipping through the atlas he finds that I-87 North,  New York State Thruway North  becomes I-90 West Portions toll  that passes through Pennsylvania and then crosses  into Ohio.

              It was late, Oswald was tired and needed to get some sleep. A motel would be nice, but he decided against it. For one night he could sleep in his car, but not here on the shoulder. A few miles ahead would be a rest stop. He could pull in there, grab a snack from one of the vending machines, kick back and sleep a few hours before getting back on the road. He eased back onto the road and worked his way back up to speed merging into the traffic. Fortunately at this hour traffic was light. After a few minutes, there appeared a sign warning the next exit would be a rest stop and the next rest stop after that would be another thirty five miles away. Oswald slowed and followed the ramp off the highway and pulled in smoothly into the parking lot for the rest stop. He parked in front of a couple of cement trash cans, beyond which he could see picnic tables and beyond that a welcoming building complete with restrooms, vending machines and wall maps showing precisely where one was with a “you are here “ arrow pointing to a red star on the map.

              Oswald shut off the engine of the car, opened the door and climbed out. His lower back screamed in protest with a sharp stabbing pain shooting through his lumbar spine. He reached to support his lower back with his left hand and used his right to find support and leverage from the roof of the car. Slowly Oswald forced himself into a posture more closely resembling the standing position of a homo sapien sapien and less the hunched posture of a Neanderthal. The pain, at first agonizing, faded, and he gingerly took one step toward the restrooms, then another.              

              “walk it off,” he said aloud.
That's what they used to say when I was young,
he thought. It didn't seem as preposterous back then as it does now.

              “Try walking off a heart attack!” he said to no one in particular.

              By the time Oswald made it to the thick glass front door to the rest stop, the pain was mostly gone. He relieved himself in the mens room before stopping at the vending machines where he bought a selection of peanut butter crackers, candy bars, potato chips, and to wash, it all down, a cup of black decaffeinated coffee. Oswald stepped over the the wall with the giant map to take a closer look. He took a sip of his coffee. At least it was hot, too bitter for his taste normally, but so it goes on the road. You take what you can get. He found the “you are here” arrow and saw that he was almost precisely halfway there.

              A little jog through Pennsylvania into Ohio and he would be at what looked to be exactly the halfway point. He took another sip of the foul hot coffee and considered driving through the night. Oswald sat on the bench facing the giant map, opened a package of cheese and peanut  butter crackers, popped one in his mouth and considered his options. Even in the brightly lit room sitting on the hard bench he felt sleep approaching. Driving through the night was not an option, at least not if he wanted to arrive breathing.  Oswald took another swig of his coffee draining the cup of it's last drop. Crumpled the cup and tossed it to the trash can, he missed. He stood walked over to the crumpled cup picked it up and dropped it into the open mouth of the trash can, then walked out the door into the black of night.

              Following the paved path he found his Volvo where he left it parked in front of the concrete trash receptacle. He popped the last cracker into his mouth and then tossed the wrapper into the open can. This time he had better luck and the crumpled wrapper found the can. Oswald opened the driver's door, climbed inside his car, reclined the seat as far back as it would go, and settled in for the night. Lights would cross through the little car as other cars and trucks drove quietly by either entering or exiting the rest area reminding Oswald that he was not completely alone.               It was cold, he wished he had thought of bringing a blanket along for the trip, but he hadn't so he started the car, and let the heater run until the car was a little too warm for comfort. He shut it off not wanting to wake up with an empty gas tank, shut his eyes and fell asleep.