Spook Lights: Southern Gothic Horror (9 page)

“No, Brother, it is only that…” She trailed off, considering her words. “I did not see it in my mind before it happened.”

He laughed, a cackling sound. “You are lost.”

“The paths twist and tie together and I cannot understand them. The other path—”

“Has already brought death,” he finished. “A bad omen.” The man cocked his head, observing her. In the shade of the boar hog tree, his eyes were a solid black.

Doubt and confusion warred within her and for the first time, she was unsure of what to do. “I am lost,” she admitted.

A sly smile crossed his face. “Not the words of a chief. A true leader would walk the drunken path in silence.”

“Then that is where I must go. Where is the drunken path?”

“Why should I tell you?”

She had no answer.

“How do you even know of it?” He asked without inflection.

“Nahmana told me it is so.”

The cackle grew into hooting laughter. “That old one still lives? I would have thought her food for the earth long ago.” His laughter slowly died and he turned solemn and thoughtful. “I think…she took something from me once. But I cannot remember.”

Aponi took her turn to watch the strange man. “How do I know it is not you that is lost?”

“Perhaps.” He stepped out from the tree toward her. “But I am not so lost that I do not know that one foot on that path,” he pointed West. “Brings an end to you quickly.”

“Who are you?” Aponi asked, not giving ground.

The man’s eyes widened with surprise, until white surrounded the dark. The dark spots trembled and shook. Then he frowned. “I am the Guardian of the Path.”

Aponi looked West. The rocks, piles of them, rolled along the dirt and faded dry grass. As she watched, she saw faces appear in the stones. Images of those who had passed from this life into the next. They groaned as they made their progress back and forth on the road, tumbling over each other. Grinding each other to powder as more rocks emerged from the burial mound and tumbled down to join the melee.

When she returned her gaze to the stranger, he was watching her. “If you are nimble, you may make it down to the end. But you must not touch the stones or let the stones touch you. Do not speak to them or they will follow you.” He smiled with darkness. “Go quick. Quick.”

Aponi knew the time of her blooming was past. Cold lingered long in her bones now and fleet of foot was not her way any longer. “I do not care if the stones follow me.”

“No? Do you not see them? The faces that you know? Perhaps you want to give your life for one of theirs.” He shrugged. “Pluck up a stone and it will take over your body and your face will replace its image in the rock.”

She gasped, more with shock than fright. “I have never heard anything like this.”

The stranger scoffed, his wide nostrils flaring. “Do you think you know all there is under the sky? Then you have already proven yourself a fool.”

Her own anger rose. “A fool is one thing I am not. I did not come here for this insult.”

“Then why did you come here? To this place outside of your own?” The wind stopped as he spoke, quieting at his now soft voice. Heat from the full sun blazed down on both of them, scorching Aponi’s bare arms and making her shield her eyes. He did not react. 

The question removed her guard. She’d acted on instinct, guided by Nahmana’s cryptic challenge. Her mouth opened, then closed again without a sound.

“Silence?” He mocked. “No need for words, Sister. I know why you are here.”

“Why?” Her voice was dry, thick in her mouth and she had to force the question out.

“Because,” he said, walking in a slow, wide circle around her. “You want to wear the feathers of the hawk. You want to lead the People.”

“How do you know that?”

“It is the only way anyone can arrive here, where the Earth’s roads cross.” He stood in front of her now, searching her eyes. “And there is only one way to become Chief.”

Aponi crossed her arms in front of her body. “One way?” She prompted.

“Yes,” he said. “To wrestle.” At her look of horror, he continued. “If you are able to pin me to the ground, you succeed and I will guide you on the drunken path.”

“And if I do not succeed?” 

“Then you will join the stones.”

“But I am a woman. And past my youth. How can I triumph over one as large and strong as you?” Aponi bit her lip after her outburst, ashamed she had voiced fear that she, as she was now, might not be enough.

“As Chief, you will not always have the advantage. But yet you must face the enemy.” The unsettling smile returned. “I wait for your choice.”

After a few deep breaths, he received it. “I accept.”

He removed his shirt. “Good. Good.”

Aponi ducked from the man, pushing away his brawny arms as he tried to take hold of her and toss her to the ground. If she could avoid his grasp, she might be able to think of… something. But he was like a bear and a coyote as one animal, strength dancing with speed. With ease, he took her knife from her belt and tossed it away before she could think to use it.

Her mind raced and another thread of fear ensnared her. Already, she was tired from her sudden movements and he laughed, performing fancy tumbles between swipes at her thighs and feet. What was her advantage? Neither the grinding of the stones on the packed earth nor the beat of the waves against the land brought answers. Desperate for those answers and without her sight, she listened to their songs a heartbeat too long and the man caught her.

His long fingers twined in her hair, making the clack of dried bone loud to her ears. He brought her in close to his chest, his heartbeat becoming hers. His smell was different—higher and colder than the soft, marshy damp of her People.

“Who are you?” Aponi asked again, breathless from exertion. “Who are your People?”

“You have lost.” He kicked at her knees and they buckled, bringing her swiftly to the hard ground.

Now he had her legs pinned beneath her and she was unable to free herself. Her fists only made him laugh at her struggle.

“Do you give in? You have no weapon against me. I have won.”

Her mind whirled like the winds and for a moment, she heard Nahmana’s voice. “I cannot hear you,” she said to the stranger.

“I have won.” His voice caused the rocks to cry out and the sea howled.

Against the pain, she shook her head. With one hand, she touched her ear. “What did you say?” With the other hand, she reached into the small pouch sewn into her hide jacket. As he drew in breath, her hand closed around the egg jar and she pressed her thumb against the gum rubber tree bark, uncapping it.

He leaned into her face and yelled loud enough to shake the shells from her hair. “Do you give in?”

“No!” She threw the thunder in his face, the liquid catching him full in the eyes.  His screech brought the winds rushing from all directions, tearing trees from the ground and grinding the rocks to meal. Dirt and dust fell around them. He rolled on the ground, curling into himself like a baby and rubbed at his eyes, calling out with frantic words she did not know.

Aponi climbed atop his prone body, planting her full weight on his chest so he could not pull in another deep breath. She covered her head to protect it from the falling stones and branches and soon, all was quiet. She lifted her face and the man was lying underneath her, his eyes clear and calm. Shaken and a bit embarrassed, she stood from her crouch with care.

“You have returned me to myself, child.” He too, stood. “Now I will take you down the path you desired to go.” Aponi stared as his body moved like oil during the change. His arms grew long and wide, crossing far down the path roads. Light and dark feathers covered him.

She climbed on his back and he flew above the drunken path. Far North, she spied a hunched figure in the marsh grass. Her guide circled, then dipped low to the ground for her to wrap Tyee’s body in her blanket and pull it from the marsh’s sucking grasp before they took to the sky again toward the kin-tribe.

The People were gathering for war, the world full of cries and arrows. All this stopped as the Thunderbird landed in their midst with Aponi on his back. She slid off and the great bird bent for her to remove her husband’s torn body.

“You have my thanks, Aponi.” As the tribes looked on, his body changed back to that of the man at the crossroads of the drunken path, but the great wings remained. He removed one of his feathers and wound it into her hair. “May your people serve you and heed your wisdom for many seasons.” He leapt into the air, winds carrying him until he was no larger than a hawk in the sky. A clap of thunder sounded and he was gone.

Aponi crossed to the circle of elders and kneeled, palms turned up. Her wait was not long as the old chief shuffled to his feet and came to stand before her. As he placed a trembling hand on her head to give his blessing, rain began to fall.

Sandra found it curious that there was a hatchet under the bed in the guest room of her mother’s new condo. She’d found it after she’d placed her luggage in the corner and lifted the floral print dust ruffle covering the ironwork bed frame.

“Uh, Mom?” she asked. “Did you know there’s an axe under the bed?” She heard her mother bustling about in the next room as well as a seventy-year-old can. A seventy-year-old who bowled a 163 game.

“Oh… yes, just leave it. It’s fine where it is.”

“Yeah, but why is it here?”

“You never know what you’ll find when you move, sweet pea. There’s all kinds of things in this place.” Her mother had moved into the condo overlooking the Ashley River less than a year ago, not long after her father had died. The family house had become too much for her to manage and the two-bedroom condo fit her need for reduced square footage and fewer memories. 

To Sandra’s surprise, her mother had bought it without asking for her input on the purchase. She’d been her mother’s consultant on these things since Dad took ill almost five years ago. But when her mother told her everything was completed and she could visit whenever she wanted, Sandra had been stunned.

“Miss Maggie told me about this place and when I saw it, it just felt right,” she’d told Sandra on the phone one evening. When Dad had first died, her mother had called her nightly, nervous about being alone in that big house with all of its creaks and groans. Robert, on night duty, hadn’t been around to eavesdrop on her calls, so she’d been able to speak freely.

“You mean that crazy lady from the shelter?” Her mother was afraid to talk to no one in the city, and she’d frequently found that by talking with a person long enough, they had some sort of connection—be it blood or otherwise.

“Hush all that. She’s no more crazy than you or me. Just had a hard time for a while, that’s all. And that can happen to anybody. You wouldn’t know her now. She looks good.”

“That’s good, Ma.” She settled into her favorite armchair with a package of frozen peas to ease the ache on her right side—Robert was right handed. “So, tell me about this new place.”

“It’s safe, that’s the biggest thing. You know, protected.”

“It’s gated? Or there’s security?”

“That too. There’s a twenty-four hour caretaker on site as well.”

“That’s nice, Ma. Let me know if you need any help moving.”

Her mother paused, then took a breath to say something. Sandra froze, not sure what she’d say if her mother came right out and asked if Robert was abusing her. It wasn’t like her; her mother was more the type to draw conclusions from her own personal observations. During her marriage to Robert, Sandra had gotten to the point of imagining the worst-case scenarios in all of her dealings with people. But her mother only said, “You too, darling girl. I’ll call you tomorrow night, okay?”

Sandra looked forward to their talks, more than she’d thought she would. A deep part of her wanted to spill everything: the fights, the beatings, the threats, but Sandra couldn’t burden her mother with the horrors of her own making—not at her mother’s age.

Each night they talked, reminiscing and sharing gentle gossip, until her mother had moved into the new condo. After that the calls had slowly dropped off to a comfortable weekly call. Then Robert had hit her in the face.

She couldn’t recall the trumped up reason why—maybe she hadn’t been responsive in bed or she’d forgotten to give him his wallet when she’d removed it from his jeans on laundry day—but it had knocked something loose inside of her. Knocked it into place, was more likely. When he’d left for work, Sandra had packed her things and jumped in the car.

She walked around the condo, admiring the efficient floor plan. The two bedrooms were on opposite sides of the home, giving each inhabitant needed privacy. The guest bedroom shared a door with the main bathroom, which was off the hallway leading from the front door.             

“I love your new place, Mom.”

Mrs. Case smiled her thanks. “If you’re scared you can sleep with me tonight.”

Tempting as the offer of mother comfort was, Sandra was looking forward to sleeping alone. It seemed a privilege to sleep sprawled in the middle of the bed. Not worrying about disturbing anyone or having to duck punches. “Not tonight, I don’t think. After that drive, I’m going to crash.”

Sandra found it more curious that the hatchet was no longer under the bed in the guest room of her mother’s new condo when she went to sleep.

***

“Mom, this place is so perfect.” Sandra sipped her coffee, rich with real cream and a spoonful of raw sugar.  “The right size, the right location. No offense, but I’m surprised you could afford it on what you got for the house.” The economy was in the gutter and even property wasn’t the best investment.

“I got really lucky. This unit had been sitting vacant for ages. It was a bargain.” Her mother came out of her bedroom in a purple nylon tracksuit and navy bowling shoes.

Sandra pursed her lips, but held her tongue. “There’s a noise like pipes creaking in the wall.  Doesn’t that drive you crazy?”

“It did at first, but now I’m used to it. I can almost predict it.”

Strange. Her mother was usually a nitpicker over things like that. “What exactly is it?”

“Some type of machinery the caretaker uses, a chipper or something. The sound of it is quite…comforting.” Mrs. Case poured her coffee—black with one artificial sweetener—into an insulated travel mug. “I’m going bowling. You want to come along or are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be okay here.” Her mother kissed her cheek and she winced as her lips brushed over the yellowing bruise on her cheek, covered with thick pancake makeup.

“I should stay home with you.”

“No, it’s fine. Have fun, Mom.” Sandra hugged her and felt the thinness of her frame under the voluminous tracksuit. “We’ll go out for dinner later.” After her mother left, Sandra realized she hadn’t felt this relaxed in years. The time with Robert had changed her, made her edgy and jumpy. She sipped the sugary brew and flicked through the satellite channels. Her cell phone rang and her body jerked, sending coffee sloshing over her hand and down her arm. So much for losing her nervousness. She looked at the screen before she answered.

“Hello?”

“Are you okay?” Her friend Jennifer’s voice trembled within its whisper.

“Yeah, I think so.” Sandra went to the buffet cabinet and opened the bottom right drawer.  Not everything about her mother had changed. She poured a healthy slug of dark rum into her cup. “I should have told you before I got in the car, but I—”

“No. Don’t tell me anything. Then I won’t have to lie.” Jenn drew in a shaky breath and rattled off the next words without pausing. “I called to tell you that I overheard Mike on the phone. Robert just took a week’s vacation time from work.” Sandra heard ice clink in her friend’s glass and the glug of thick liquid. “Gotta go. Be careful, girl. Love you.” Jennifer hung up.

Sandra’s hand shook as she refilled the coffee mug then went back to the dining room table. A ray of sunlight came through the ancient oak trees and she reveled in its heat, soaking it up in an attempt to break the chill encasing her. She was still in the same seat when her mother returned from the bowling alley. “What’d you do today? You’re still in your pjs.”

“A friend called me today.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Who?”

“She said Robert took a week off from work, starting today.”

“Mercy, Lord.” Her mother sat her pocketbook down on the table and rummaged in it. She found her keys and twirled them in her fingers.

“I’m just trying to…I don’t know what I’m trying to do, Ma. This place is gated and I thought—”

“Do you think he’s coming here? How would he know where I live?”

Sandra stood from the chair and paced. “I mean, he can’t be, right? But he’s with the police. He could look up property records. You had to file the house sale, didn’t you?”

Her mother wrapped her arms around her. They felt strong, but softer than she remembered, her skin looser and more delicate. “Don’t worry, baby. This condo complex is secure. You have to have a key fob to get in the building.” She showed Sandra the grey plastic tab, elliptical shaped and no longer than her thumb, as she turned it in her fingers, pressing and smoothing it like a worry stone.  “We’re safe.”

Mrs. Case ran a hot bath and Sandra gratefully stepped into peach blossom scented bubbles. As she soaked, she heard her mother singing in the next room, her falsetto soprano familiar enough to lull her into a semblance of a doze. When the water had cooled and the bubbles had died, Sandra roused herself to climb from the deep tub. There was no more singing, but her mother was talking in her bedroom. It was whispered sound, but as she crept closer on her bare feet, she was able to pick out select words—enough to determine it was a conversation, not her own mutterings.

“Four years.”

“Too much.”

“For good?”

The floorboard in front of her mother’s room creaked and the whispers stopped. When Sandra, wrapped in an old fleece robe, came padding into the room her mother was alone and sitting on her bed, remote control in hand. The curtain at the window fluttered.

“Mom, the air conditioner’s on, why is the window open?”

“Sometimes I like fresh air. It can get stuffy in this place.”

She sat next to her mother on the bed. “Who were you talking to?”

“Talking to? Nobody.”

“I heard voices in here. A moment before I walked in.”

Her mother smiled the same way she had when Sandra was in grade school. The smile that was supposed to reassure her that the other kids teased because they liked her but didn’t know how to express it. “Just the TV.”

Sandra looked at the TV, its screen flickering with images, but no sound. The white curtain lifted, floating on the cooling night air.  She crossed to the window and looked out, her fingers running over the sheer fabric. Nothing below moved.

“How come someone in this family is always in some mess?”

Her mother gave the same answer she always had. “We’re the Cases.”

“This was the right decision,” Sandra said, pulling back from the window and closing it.  “Coming here.”

“I’m glad, baby.”

***

Sandra was finishing her jog as the sun crawled into the sky and the streetlights flickered off.  She’d run an additional half hour, her heels pounding on the pavement, trying to get the past twenty-four hours out of her mind. As she rounded the path to her mother’s building a man stepped out from one of the patios.

“Robert,” she struggled for breath. “How did you find me? What are you doing here?” She wanted to run, but her legs were gelatin, wobbly and soft. Her energy was near gone—she didn’t eat before a run—and she’d saved enough to get back to the condo and fall into bed. Fatigue settled in her chest like bags of sand buffering against a hurricane.

Robert ran a hand over his bald head. “I’m just here to talk, Sandie.”

She hated that name now. It was the one he used when he brought home an extra steak for her black eye.

“I don’t want to talk,” she said. Instead of assertive, her voice came out breathy, winded. 

“You sound so sexy, panting like that.” He stepped toward her, arms outstretched. “You can get me all sweaty if you want.” His grin was part mischievous boy, part feral wolf.

“No, I don’t think so.” The street was quiet, but the day was already warm. Barely dawn, the sun hadn’t completely chased the night away. No one was around as the community was mainly older retired residents, no one had to get kids on buses or beat the eight o’ clock traffic.

“This is stupid, Sandra. You’re the one who left me, but I’m apologizing.”

“You’ve never apologized to me. Not once. It was always my fault for getting you angry or moving your keys.” Her outburst took more of the wind out of her and she sagged against the column in front of the building entrance. “I don’t want to live like that anymore. Always wondering what’s going to set you off, because it changes every time. I can’t keep up.”

“It’ll be different, I promise. You know my job is stressful. When I come home and the house isn’t straight and food isn’t cooked, it makes me a little crazy.” He jiggled his keys in the pocket of his jeans. A quick glance around told Sandra his car wasn’t nearby. Or he had a rental.

“I could’ve handled things better.” This was Robert’s standard line, an acknowledgement, never an expression of remorse. “Come home.”

Sandra wiped sweat from her eyes, they were stinging and the dogwood tree-lined parking lot was starting to blur. “No, not this time. I want out.”

A visible darkness passed over his face. “You ungrateful bitch.” He grabbed her arm, lightning quick, and yanked her to him, ignoring her squeak of protest. “I came home to you every night. Do you know how many women throw themselves at me on a daily basis? To get out of tickets or not go to jail?” He tightened his hand around her wrist and Sandra could feel the bones grind together. “And what do I come home to? To a cold oven and a colder bed.”