Sourmouth (14 page)

             
With a proper mode of transportation they rode the tight paths around the lake,
looking for a sign of life aside from the random assortment of animals that
continually tried to get run over by their car. After ten minutes of
exploration, the
Tylers
went around the bend of an
almost hidden back road where they spotted another couple lounging on the deck
of their cabin. Given that these were the first people that they had seen up at
Killarney Lake, it didn’t take much thought as to whether or not they should
stop to ask a few questions. With a quick diversion onto the side of the road
they turned around and headed to the house, pulling into the strangers’
driveway with a slow sense of purpose.

             
From within the car they could see that the couple were both white and must
have been in their sixties. The man was spindly, wearing beige slacks far too
high on his body and had far too little hair to pull off the haircut he was
sporting. The woman was at least three times the size of her husband and looked
like she should have been the cover model for the magazine “Southern Cooking
With Nothing But
Butter”. And in spite of the
Tylers
’ surprise visit, the couple’s lazy-day
demeanour
didn’t seem to vanish from their faces.

             
Riley put the car into park and stepped out to meet his wife at the front of
the vehicle.
             
             
             
             
On the porch the old man tipped his Stetson and nodded his head upwards in
recognition of their presence.

             
“’Ello there, children. How can we ‘
elp
you?” the
woman called out in a thick accent reminiscent of the Midwestern States’
inflection.

             
“Hi there. We’re here visiting from Seattle. We’re staying in one of the houses
down by the docks and we were wondering if perhaps you knew anything about the
owners?” Riley called out as the couple stood their distance from the porch as
not to seem like they might be a threat.

             
“And what would you be wanting to know about these owners that you can’t ask
them yourself?” the man said in a quick rat-a-tat style in the same drawl as
his wife.

             
“Nothing in particular but everything we could get from you would do,” chuckled
Violet nervously.

             
“And whose house did you say
youse
were staying in?”
the man asked.

             
“
Poyam’s
. Not sure if that’s the last name or the
first. But we rented it yesterday and haven’t been able to get in touch with
her again to ask
ourselves”.             

             
The wife made a grandiose motion with her arm like she was waving in an
airplane, “Well come on in out of the cold then. We never have guests here, so
it’ll be a nice change of pace to have a little bit of youth in the house”.

             
The woman’s husband grunted as he stood up without bothering to try and
question his wife’s decision. His grim expression of acceptance was that of a
man who had long ago learned not to put up much of a fight over the little
things.

             
The
Tylers
happily bounded up the steps of the house
and into the front door where they were greeted by the warmth of the fireplace
burning in the background. The old couple’s house was in much better shape than
the one that they were renting. It was clear that not all of the houses in the
vicinity had been built at the same time, nor been kept in the same condition.
The couple’s house, while slightly tacky was well preserved. There were brass
statues strategically located on almost every available surface; a greyhound
statue on top of the 30 inch CRT television, a stallion statue in the middle of
the rectangular tarnished oak dinner table, a statue of Elvis on top of the end
table with a Christmas Story memorabilia leg lamp strategically placed beside
it. The walls were a faint yellow from years of a bad smoking habit with small
white dots from a wallpaper underneath that formed intersecting patterns that
tried to confuse the eyes. In the living room was a ratty black leather
reclining chair and a large three seated couch with a plastic covering that
Violet thought you only saw in movies that were making fun of old people.

             
“Please, have a seat,” said the woman doing her best Vanna White impression
with her arms towards the sofa.

             
The
Tylers
took their place side by side on the couch,
followed by the woman on the end with the man taking his place in his leather
chair. Almost as fast as she sat down the woman jumped back up like she had
been bitten and ran off towards the kitchen.

             
“My name is Samuel and the chicken with her head chopped off is my wife Diana.
And who might I ask would you two be?” the husband said paying no mind to where
his other had run off to.

             
“I’m Violet and this is Riley, the child that I often take care of”.

             
The jest got the slightest smirk from the man.

             
“I know a thing or two about babysitting,” said Diana as she returned with a
small platter of desserts stacked on top of each other three rows high.

“Those look delicious. Are they some sort of
brownies?” Violet asked as she picked the biggest one off the plate.

             
The woman laughed in a way that made her chest heave, “No, no, no my dear.
These are Nanaimo bars. They’re layers of chocolate on top of wafer crumbs with
custard butter icing as the filling. It’s a British Columbia thing, rather
popular here in Canada. Though I had never even heard of them until I moved
here”.

             
“Where did you live before? I’ve been trying to place your accents,” said
Violet.

             
“Calgary,” the husband stated, “We had a farm. Sold it and moved out here where
we could retire with winters that weren’t as harsh on our bones”.

Riley finished selecting his piece just as his wife
started making pleasured grunting sounds over her mouthful of food.

“How did you make the move from Calgary to Vancouver?”
Violet asked almost inaudibly.

“I had family here. All throughout my life I’d come
and visit at least once a year, staying in this very house. Eventually I
inherited it. When it was time to make a change it was a no brainer”.

“Enough about us though. Let’s get down to the gossip,
shall we?” Diana said gleefully as she sat on the couch.

Her husband made another grunt that sounded somewhere
between agreement and aversion.

“What do you know about,
Poyam
?
Did she ever live in that house? All that we know is that she inherited it,”
Violet asked as she nibbled on her bar.

Diana shook her head, “I don’t know much about her
honestly. We’ve only been living here full time for a few years. But she’d come
around every few months to check up on the place. I can’t say for sure what
she’d be doing. But she’d come, stay for a few hours and depart. From what a
few of the other
neighbours
have told me, she doesn’t
like to interact with anyone. According to what the
neighbours
say, her family was always like that even back in the day. But my husband knows
her a lot better than I do”.

“When I was a child I was about the same age as
Poyam
. We didn’t really have much interaction with each
other aside from passing glances or group games. A few of the kids around the
lake would get together and play. Swim. Catch. Act as children do. From my
memories, which sometimes can be a bit foggy, she was a normal enough girl. At
least when we were really young she was a normal girl. But soon the other kids
and I started noticing strange things going on with her. Bruises. Cuts. She’d
say that she fell or walked into things. You know the excuses. It wasn’t until
we were all older did we realize that her father, a real terror of a man, was
beating her”.

Samuel pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the inside
corner of his chair and lit one up before continuing.

“It would go on like that for years. Decades from what
I could tell. I went from being a wee lad running around in my underwear, to
being a teenager checking out the skirts, to being a young man too cool to be
jumping into the lake. But no matter how much time went by,
Poyam
always seemed to have a busted lip or a broken wrist or welts running across
her arms. I believe she later went blind from complications she suffered from
some of the nerve damage he had inflicted on her. Her nightmare never stopped
no matter how old she got. I remember feeling guilty that I never did anything
to help her. But what can you do for someone who doesn’t want help? When you
can’t know for sure what was going on because they refuse to tell anyone?”

Violet had completely stopped eating her dessert and
just held it somberly in her hand half chewed, “How come nobody else tried to help
her? If everyone knew or at least had their suspicions then why not get the
police involved? Throw her father in jail or something?”

Samuel took a long drag before answering, “This
island
is a small community. That in itself is a problem
when it comes to issues like this. To make matters worse, she’s native. The
white police can’t be bothered, as the natives often prefer to police
themselves in their reservations and bands. It was always a very well-known
secret that no one talked about or did anything about. I wouldn’t be surprised
if he was also raping her. Not to be too macabre, but the logic is sound on the
topic. That someone capable of inflicting that much physical pain to a loved
one, someone that he’s supposed to take care of, wouldn’t be above sexually
abusing her. There was no mother in the picture for as long as I was aware. No
other family to step in and save her. It was just
Poyam
and her father in that house for decades. It’s a wonder that she didn’t go
crazy”.

“There’s no evidence that she didn’t lose her mind,”
his wife interjected.

             
“So did this just go on until
Poyam
was an adult and
her father just...died of old age?” asked Riley.

             
“As far as I’m aware, the abuse continued well into her late thirties. I didn’t
visit here much around then so I can’t say for sure. But I do know that her
father didn’t die of old age. In fact he died pretty much how you’d wish
someone like that would die. He was mauled to death by some sort of animal. He
was torn to shreds. From the way the coroner described it, there was barely
enough left of him on the floor in pieces big enough to be identified. As far
as the police could tell, an animal broke into the house late at night, crept
up stairs and slaughtered him in his bedroom. All the while
Poyam
was asleep down the hall”.

             
Violet’s mouth was agape. Her mind was reeling from everything that they had
just been told. To the old couple it was all just old tall tales and island
gossip. But to the
Tylers
every word made things
worse. Suddenly everything seemed to click together. The little closet-sized
room underneath the attic must have been
Poyam’s
room
once upon a time. A poor innocent child locked away with barely anything but
her tormented thoughts. Even worse was the thought that the house belonged to a
torturing rapist who found it suitable to keep his own dungeon in the basement.
And even once she was able to get the horrid images from her mind of the little
girl in immeasurable pain, Violet couldn’t stop thinking that not too long ago
there had been body parts splayed about where she and her husband were
currently sleeping. And that the deep slashes that decorated the room were that
of a bloodthirsty animal, an animal more than likely named
Sourmouth
.

             
“Did
theycatch
the animal that did it?” Riley
questioned a bit too nervously for the tone of the conversation.

             
Samuel took another long drag that seemed to almost burn his cig down to the
halfway point, “They searched and searched around the lake and then the island.
A hunting party was put together to go out and look, for all the good it did.
It was one of the rare times back in those days that the police and the natives
ever worked together. Everyone on the island who had a gun had the same mission,
and that was to find whatever killed
Poyam’s
father.
Not to avenge him, mind you. No. I’m sure more than a few people had thought
about putting a bullet through his head over the years. No, they went out
trying to ensure that the beast didn’t kill again. Because if it was one room
away from stumbling into
Poyam
, whose child would it
get to next?”

             
“And were they successful? Did they find out what it was?” asked Violet.

             
“Funny thing, that. As far as the experts around here could tell, the claw
marks that were left behind in
Poyam’s
father’s room
were that of some sort of wolf, most likely an oversized grey. Mind you the
experts in these parts like to spend their time in the local taverns, so take
their expertise with a shot of whiskey. The problem with their theory was that
wolves had been eradicated from Bowen Island hundreds of years ago”.