Nathaniel (30 page)

“Grandpa,” Michael sobbed. “I had a dream about Grandpa, and I saw what happened. Just like before, when I saw Grandpa beating Daddy.”

Janet had a sinking feeling. She’d hoped the dreams in which Michael saw his father and his grandfather were over and that Michael had forgotten them. “You had another dream?” she asked.

“Only it wasn’t really a dream,” Michael insisted. “It was like I was there, and I saw it. And this time, I saw what happened when I hurt my foot. I saw Grandpa try to kill me.”

“Oh, Michael,” Janet breathed. “Grandpa wouldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt you for the world. He loves you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Michael replied, snuggling closer to his mother and twining his arms around her. “I saw what happened! I didn’t stab my own foot—it was Grandpa! He was going to stab me. He was trying to kill me!”

Janet gasped. “Stab you? What are you talking about, Michael?”

“W-with the pitchfork. He was going to stab me with the pitchfork, just like he did to Daddy.”

A chill ran through Janet, and her arms tightened around the terrified boy. “No, honey. That’s wrong. Daddy fell. He fell from the loft, and landed on the fork. It was an accident. Grandpa wasn’t even there.”

“He was!” Michael wriggled free from her arms and sat up. Even in the dim light, his eyes were flashing angrily. “He was there! I saw him!”

Suddenly Shadow leaped up onto the bed, and Michael slipped his arms around the big dog’s neck. “We saw it, didn’t we, Shadow? We saw it!”

With a sinking feeling, Janet realized there was going to be no arguing with Michael. “All right,” she said softly. “I won’t try to tell you what you saw and what you didn’t see.” Michael seemed to relax a little, and Janet reached out to take his hand. Shadow growled softly, then subsided. “Why don’t we put Shadow outside tonight,” she suggested. “Then you can sleep with me.”

“But Shadow likes to sleep with me—”

“I’ll bet he’d like to spend a night outside,” Janet countered. “Wouldn’t you, Shadow?” The dog’s tail moved slightly. “See? He’s wagging his tail.”

Michael looked at the dog, then reached out to scratch his ears. “Is that okay?” he asked, and as if he understood his master, this time the dog truly wagged his tail. Janet stood up.

“Okay, I’ll put him out, and you go crawl into my bed. I’ll be there in a minute. Come on, Shadow.”

The dog sat up, but didn’t move from the bed. Instead, his head swung around, and his eyes fixed expectantly on Michael.

“Go on, boy,” Michael said softly. “Go with Mom.”

Shadow jumped off the bed and followed Janet out of the little bedroom and down the stairs. Then, when she held the kitchen door open for him, he dashed out into the night. She watched him lope off in the direction of Ben Findley’s place, but after a few seconds the blackness of his coat blended into the darkness, and he was gone. Silently, Janet hoped the dog would be as invisible to the cranky old man as he was to her.

She toured the downstairs, turning off lights and checking doors and windows. Just before she put out the last light, she picked up Mark’s letter and reread it, then reread Laura’s note as well. At last she put both of them back into the envelope she’d found them in, and put the envelope into the bottom drawer of the desk, far in the back. Thoughtfully, she turned out the lights, went upstairs, undressed, and slipped into bed next to her son.

“Are you still awake?” she whispered.

Michael stirred, but made no reply.

“Sleep then,” she said, her voice barely audible. “In the morning you’ll have forgotten all about it.”

“No, I won’t,” Michael replied, his voice echoing hollowly in the darkness. “I won’t forget about it at all. Not ever.” He fell silent for a moment, then stirred and turned over.

“Honey? Is something wrong?”

“Unh-unh,” Michael replied. “I just have a headache, that’s all.”

“Do you want me to get you some aspirin?”

“Unh-unh. It’s almost gone.”

“You mean you’ve had it all evening?”

In the darkness. Michael shook his head. “I woke up with it,” he said. “I had it in the dream, and then I still had it when I woke up. But it’s almost gone now.”

Janet lay awake for a long time, thinking about Michael. He’d grown quiet over the last few weeks, and even though he’d made up with Ryan, he still wasn’t as close to his cousin—or any of the other children of the town—as she wished he were. And his feelings about his grandfather seemed to be getting almost obsessive.

And then, just before she drifted into sleep, she remembered Michael’s words the day Ione had bought the Raggedy Ann.

“I bet they killed her.… I bet they buried her in Potter’s Field.”

No, Janet told herself. It’s not possible. He’s only imagining things. None of it is possible.…

It was just after dawn when Amos Hall glanced out the kitchen window, frowning. “There’s that damned dog again,” he said softly. Anna’s eyes followed his gaze, and in the distance she could see Shadow, his tail tucked between his legs, skulking outside the barn.

“If he’s after those hens, I’ll have his hide,” she said, rolling herself toward the door. “You, Shadow, get out of here! Go home!”

The dog tensed, and his large head swung around so that he faced the house.

“That’s right,” Anna called. “I’m talking to you. Get on out of here!” Then, as Shadow disappeared around the corner of the barn, she turned back to Amos. “What’s he doing over here this early? He never leaves Michael. Did you hear Janet’s truck come in?”

“I didn’t hear it, ‘cause it didn’t come in,” Amos replied. He got up and went into the dining room, then the living room. A minute later he was back. “And Michael’s bike’s not around either. So he’s not here, unless he hiked along the river. I’ll go out and have a look behind the barn.”

He left the house and strode across the yard toward the barn, then around the corner. There was nothing behind the barn, neither Shadow nor Michael. Puzzled, Amos came to a halt and surveyed the fields. The ripening grain, nearly three feet high, waved in the breeze, and Amos studied it for a few minutes, trying to find a spot where the boy and the dog could be hiding. And then, as the seconds went by, he began to have an odd sense of eyes watching him.

He turned around, half expecting to see Michael grinning at him, but there was nothing.

Nothing, except—still—the uneasy feeling of being watched. Finally, he looked up.

In the loft door, only his head visible, was Shadow. He was panting, and his mouth was half open, and he seemed to be staring down at Amos.

“What the—You, Shadow! Get down from there!”

Shadow’s hackles rose, and a low growl rumbled from his throat. He stayed where he was.

For a long moment the man and the dog stared at each other, and then Amos noticed that the door to the tack room was ajar. And yet he was sure he’d closed it last night, and he hadn’t used it today.

Michael
had
to be around, and he must be inside the barn. Amos went inside the tack room, pulling the door closed behind him. “Michael? You in here, son?”

There was no answer, only a soft scratching sound overhead as Shadow moved across the loft floor.

“Come on, Michael,” Amos called out a little louder. “I know you’re in here. If you make me come and find you, you’re going to regret it. And I want that dog of yours out of the barn right now!”

Still there was no answer, and Amos went on through the tack room and into the barn itself. Something scurried in the silence, and once again he heard Shadow prowling around the loft. Slowly, Amos walked down the center of the barn, inspecting the stalls one by one.

All of them were empty.

At last, when he was at the front of the barn, he turned to gaze upward to the loft.

Shadow gazed back at him.

“I know you’re up there, Michael,” Amos said. “Someone had to let that dog in here, and dogs don’t climb ladders.”

Still the silence in the barn was undisturbed.

Amos moved toward the foot of the ladder that led to the loft, and started up it. A second later, Shadow appeared at the open trapdoor at the top of the ladder, a soft snarl escaping his lips as he bared his fangs.

Amos stopped and stared upward, his heart beating a little faster. “Get that dog away, Michael,” he commanded. After a few seconds, Shadow backed away from the trapdoor.

Quickly, Amos clambered to the top of the ladder and glanced around the loft.

Shadow had disappeared.

“All right, Michael,” Amos said, the softness of his voice concealing his anger. “The joke’s over. Wherever you’re hiding, show yourself.”

Nothing happened.

Amos moved toward the small pile of hay bales. They stood beneath the slanting roof, and Amos had to bend down to peer into the narrow space behind him.

Glaring back at him, his eyes glowing, was Shadow.

Startled, Amos stood up, and his head struck one of the beams that supported the barn roof. He staggered back, and Shadow, as if sensing his advantage, growled and moved forward.

“Get back, damn you,” Amos muttered. He glanced around the loft, searching for a weapon, and spotted a pitchfork lying near the edge of the loft.

Moving slowly, his eyes never leaving the dog, he began edging toward the fork.

Shadow advanced, his hackles raised now, and his growl grew into an angry snarl.

Suddenly Amos made his move and had the pitchfork in his right hand. The dog tensed and came to a halt, as if sensing that the situation had changed.

Amos felt his heartbeat begin settling back to normal, and tightened his grip on the pitchfork. He began jabbing it at the dog, and slowly Shadow began to retreat, his growl subsiding into a sullen whimper.

And then Shadow’s sinewy rump hit the stacked bales of hay, and he could move no further. His hackles rose once more, and his tail, still tucked between his legs, began to twitch. His yellow eyes, glinting in the shadows of the loft, seemed to narrow into evil slits, and fastened on the fork as if it were a snake.

“Not so brave now, are you?” Amos whispered. “Goddamn cur—lots of courage a minute ago, but look at you now.”

Suddenly, Shadow leaped, twisting in midair to clamp his jaws onto the handle of the pitchfork, the force of his weight wrenching the tool out of Amos’s grip. Before Amos could react, the dog darted toward the open door to the loft, and a moment later the fork dropped harmlessly to the ground below.

And then, as Amos watched, Shadow turned back, and began advancing on him once more, stalking him as if he were a rabbit, watching him, closing the gap between them, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Once again, Amos began backing away, and once more his eyes searched for a weapon.

There was none.

And suddenly Amos felt the edge of the loft. He came to a halt, glaring at the dog with a mixture of fear and anger.

“Down, damn you,” he whispered. “Down!”

Shadow ignored him and came even closer, crouching on his haunches, his eyes glowing malevolently, the snarl in his throat settling into a steady evil hum.

And finally, once more, he leaped. His mouth wide open, he hurled his body forward.

Instinctively, Amos’s hands and arms came up to ward off the attack, but he knew it was useless. The animal’s jaws were about to close on his throat, its teeth about to sink into his flesh, tearing him apart.

Shadow’s weight crashed against him, and Amos lost his balance, tumbling backward off the edge of the loft.

He could almost feel the tines of the waiting pitchfork, feel them plunging into his back, impaling him as they’d impaled Mark.

The split second it took before he struck the bin seemed like an eternity, and he half wished that Shadow’s jaws would close on his throat, ripping his life out before the tines of the fork slashed through his body. At least with the dog, death would be quick, and the pain short lived.

And then, just before the fall ended, he blacked out.

The telephone was ringing as Janet returned from feeding her small flock of chickens. She hurried to answer it, but Michael got to it first. A moment later, he called out from the living room.

“Mom? It’s Grandma, and she wants to talk to you.” Then, as Janet took the receiver, he added, “She sounds real funny.”

“Anna? I was going to call you in a few—”

And then she fell silent, lowering herself onto the chair next to the desk. “I see,” she said at last. “But he’s going to be all right? You’re sure?” She listened once again, then hung up the phone and turned to face Michael. “Grandpa’s had an accident,” she said, reaching for her purse. “We have to go over there right away.” Suddenly her eyes darted around the small living room, and she frowned. “Where’s Shadow?”

As if in answer to her question, there was a soft woofing at the front door, and Michael went to let the big dog in. He nuzzled eagerly at Michael for a minute, but then, as if he felt Janet’s eyes studying him, went to her and laid his head against her side. She hesitated, but finally gave him a tentative scratch behind the ears. As he watched, Michael felt suddenly worried.

“What happened to Grandpa?” he asked, and finally his mother looked at him, removing her hand from Shadow at the same time.

“I’m not sure,” she said softly. “Apparently he fell from the hayloft. He’s all right, but he says Shadow attacked him.”

Instantly Michael was kneeling next to the dog, his arms around the beast’s neck. “He did not! Shadow wouldn’t hurt anyone. Besides, he was here when I got up, weren’t you, Shadow?”

The dog whined happily and licked Michael’s face.

“But we’ve only been up an hour,” Janet pointed out. “Your grandfather’s been up since dawn. Shadow could have been over there.”

“But why would he go to Grandpa’s? He doesn’t even like Grandpa!”

Janet sighed, and got to her feet. “Well, we don’t really know what happened, do we? So why don’t we go over there and find out?”

Suddenly Michael stiffened. “No!”

“Michael!”

“I don’t want to go over there. Grandpa’s going to try to blame everything on Shadow, and it’s not fair.”

Suddenly Janet’s own thoughts from the night before came back to her.
Don’t argue with him
. “All right,” she agreed. “You can stay here. But I want you to stay in the house, and rest. You still limp, even if it’s just a little.”