The Awakening (6 page)

“Who the hell could that be?” Parker grumbled. “It’s
after ten.”

Ann grinned. “I’ve got an idea. Answer it and find
out.”

“Answer it and find out,” Parker mocked in a shaky
falsetto. “Smart kid. Derek, give her a beating while I go see who it is.” A
moment later, he returned, followed by Mike. “Wasn’t anybody, just this wet
bloodhound here. Want some coffee, Mike?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Mike answered, peeling out of
his raincoat. He nodded to Ann and Derek and cradled the steaming cup Parker
offered. “Thanks. I’ve got coffee-belly already, so this poison of yours can’t
do any harm.”

“What brings you around this time of night, Mike? You
going hunting?” Parker waved his hand at the sheriff’s holstered gun.

“I guess you could say that. Used your phone lately?”

“No, why?”

“I had a couple of people in, saying that their
telephones weren’t working. Mine isn’t either. Give yours a try.” Parker lifted
the receiver to his ear and dialed a number, then taped on the button. He shook
his head.

“Nothing but static. Lines messed up somewhere?”

Mike shrugged. “Not that I know about. I’m going to
check out what I can tomorrow, see if any are down, but I doubt if the phone
company will send anyone out until this weather clears up.”

“Find out anything more about the doctor?” Derek
asked.

“Not a thing. And would you believe, the department
acted like I called them out here on a parking ticket. At least, the
investigator did. He was a real bastard.”

“We wouldn’t trade one of you for ten of them, Mike,”
Parker said.

“Thanks.” Mike’s expression turned grim. “I wish to
hell I knew what was going on. There’s something wrong, I can feel it. It’s
like there’s something out there just waiting for… I don’t know what. Shit. And
this damn rain…”

“Yeah. The way it started at the same time as all
this trouble is creepy,” Ann said, a shiver passing through her body. “It’s as
if there was some kind of connection between the two. You don’t think there is,
do you?”

Mike smiled with a grim amusement. “Not unless you’re
talking spooky book stuff, and I’m not buying that.”

*          *          *

An hour later Derek walked Ann back to the hotel, and
with her goodnight kiss still warm on his lips, he climbed the stairs to his
room. He stood for a while in front of his window, watching faint flickers of
lightning search through the thick clouds. He thought of Ann, the murder of the
doctor, and the drowned boy he had found.

Mike had been right. Something was wrong, very wrong,
and Derek had the black feeling that it was far from over. There was too much
happening, too fast, too evil.

He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.

*          *          *

Derek moaned in his sleep, for it was a sleep without
rest. It was filled with strange, grotesque shadows that belonged somewhere,
anywhere, but not in the world of man. Shadows that clawed and ripped and
laughed and leered with hatred and contempt, flaunting their damned powers in
the face of an unbelieving, helpless world. Shadows that grew larger and larger
and came closer and closer, reaching…

*          *          *

His heart pounded madly, and his body was slick with
sweat despite the coolness of the room. He cursed at his trembling hands as he
lit the first of many cigarettes.

The morning brought no improvement in the weather; the rain poured over
the already saturated soil with a dreary persistence. Many worried faces were
turned toward the sky, aware of the damage that such heavy, unseasonal rain
could do. More than one farmer looked forward to considerable losses, and
everyone would suffer from the damage done to the roads.

Cider Springs lay under the grey blanket, showing
just enough signs of movement to indicate life. An occasional car or truck from
one of the nearby farms would slog its miserable way through the muddy streets,
or some poor, unfortunate person would dash futilely from one building to
another. Nothing moved that didn’t have to.

*          *          *

Ann gave a plastic smile to the frowzy, grey haired
woman complaining about over-priced, low quality materials as she held a
shredded dress in her hands. She insisted that the store replace it, although
it was obvious that the damage had been done by some animal; probably torn from
a clothes line by a dog. Ann pressed on bravely, despite the threat of spinal
decalcification from the woman’s shrill voice.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sims, but the dress is not
returnable.”
But I’ll gladly show you where you can put it.
“We can’t
make refunds on damaged goods.”
You could buy a broom and fly home; I’ll
give you one if you’ll leave now.

“All I did was put the damn thing on,” Mrs. Sims
whined. “It just fell apart!”

“I don’t understand how. I’m sorry, but there’s
nothing we can do.”

The woman muttered away and left Ann feeling relief.
Mrs. Sims was one of those people that made arguing particularly distasteful.
Ann slumped into one of the overstuffed waiting chairs by the counter, glad to
sit down, and was startled by the thin frame of Miss Cooper as it landed in the
chair beside hers.

Miss Cooper was the owner of the small clothes store
and, when her back was safely turned, was referred to as “The Old Maid.” She
made no bones about the fact that, in her estimation, men were slightly less
than useless, comparable to mosquitoes. Needless to say, it had been years
since she had been bothered, much less bitten, by one. Several of Ann’s worst
nightmares had to do with the idea of becoming another Miss Cooper.

“Nasty weather; I hate this kind of weather!” The
tone of Miss Cooper’s voice made it clear that the rain was a personal affront
to her, and that it was most rude for not drying up and blowing away when she
thought it should. She cast an inquiring eye on Ann as if Ann might be
conspiring with the weather against her.

“So do I, and it’s bad for business,” Ann said.

Miss Cooper’s lower lip twisted gloomily, and she
sighed. “Yes, it is. I’ll probably be closing the place in a while, anyway. So
if you’ve got anything you want to do, you might was well go do it. Nobody with
any sense is going to be out in this stuff.”

“True.” Ann drug her raincoat out from behind the
counter and began slipping it on. “But I’m sure I can find something to do. For
one thing, there’s a new fella in town, Derek, and–”

“Oh yes, I heard about him. Found the Tomalo boy.”
Miss Cooper’s nose visibly lifted in the air. Gossip had been flying thick and
fast and her ability to collect it was rivaled only by her ability to spread
it. “The sheriff thinks he might be involved in a lot of things going on around
here.”

“He thinks that or you think that?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not thinking about going
around with him, are you?”

“Yes, but I don’t see–”

“I’ve known a lot of his type, and they’re no good.
Take my word for it. If I were you–”

“But you’re not me.” Ann shook her head and smiled,
not wanting to hurt the old girl’s feelings. “I’m sorry. I appreciate your
concern, I really do, but there isn’t anything to worry about. I like Derek,
and I won’t listen to anyone talking bad about him.”

Ann escaped out into the rain before Miss Cooper
could continue with her well-meaning, but misguided intentions, or before she
herself said something she would regret later. For one thing, this was the only
job she had and she would hate to lose it over some silly argument. Still, she
doubted if Miss Cooper could find anyone dumb enough to replace her with.

She glanced at her watch; it was almost noon. With luck she could drive out to the farm, take care of the livestock and what few
chores that would have to be done, and get back to the hotel before it got too
dark. Ann felt a chill that the cold, wet weather was not responsible for. No,
this night would not find her anywhere but in a nice, warm hotel, with nice,
safe people.

*          *          *

Derek woke late. He shaved, dressed, and descended
the stairs two at a time. Mrs. Jameson was, as usual, cleaning.

“Good morning, Derek.”

“Morning, Ma’am.”

“Old Parker was by looking for you a little while
ago. Said to tell you to drop by his store when you were up.”

“Thank you. I will.”

*          *          *

The sky was sullen lead-grey, oppressive, coating
everything with a uniform drabness. Where the dirt of the road was packed hard
from the passing of countless vehicles, it was extremely slick; the softer
parts of the ground had turned into puddles of clinging jelly.

Parker was alone in the store, propped up in a chair
by the stove, reading a tattered paper-back mystery. When Derek came in, he
tossed the book on the floor and waved him over to the stove, pulling another
chair closer with an outstretched foot.

“Whatch’a up to this morning, son?”

“Not much. Figured on checking with Ernie to see how
my car’s coming along, but that’s about it.”

“Don’t need to. Saw him this morning.”

“That’s what I get for getting up so late. Find out
everything second hand. What did he say?”

“He said them numb-nuts at the parts place sent the
wrong dohicky, wouldn’t fit the whatsit, and he had to send it back. Said he
was awful sorry, and if you want he’s got a car he can loan you ‘till yours is
fixed.” Parker struck a match on the stove and lit a cigarette. “He’ll be
looking to tell you himself, in case I didn’t see you.”

Derek sighed. “Thanks for the message. Any new
developments on the Doc getting killed?”

“Not that Mike mentioned. Saw him this morning, too,
but if he’s got any ideas, he’s sitting on them like an old hen waiting for
them to hatch. He’s out checking on some of the people that live out of town.
Static on the phone is so bad you can’t even use ‘um, and with all this dying
stuff going on he’s really worried. I can’t blame him for that. He’s gonna be
meaner than a sack full of shook-up snakes by the time he finds out what’s
going on.”

“Did he say when he was going to be back?”

“No, but it shouldn’t be too long, unless he runs
into trouble. Not too many people live that far out.”

*          *          *

Mike was about as tired and uncomfortable as he could
be. He was soaked to the skin after running from his car to peoples’ houses all
day. Twice he had got stuck where parts of the road were all but washed away,
and while managing to get the car out, had covered himself boot to hip with
mud. The car’s heater ran on full, but it wasn’t much help.

Four of the twelve farms he had gone to were
deserted; two of those families were off vacationing or visiting, so he wasn’t
worried about them. Most of the people locally would let him know if they would
be gone for a while, just so he could keep an eye on their places for them. But
that still left two families missing and unaccountable, and with the way things
had been falling lately, that was two too many.

At both of those two places it was as if they had
gone to answer the door, and just didn’t come back. At the Dobson’s place he
found the front door open and the lights still on, while at the Stake’s place
he found food on the table untouched. He had blown his horn repeatedly at both
places, and ran a quick search around the houses, but there was nothing to be
seen or heard.

Mike drove back into town on the back road, curving
at the base of the mountains. There were a few houses scattered here and there,
as well as the old Jarman place. He slammed on the brakes as it came into
sight. As far back as Mike could remember, the old mansion had looked worn and
run-down, but never this bad. Half of the windows were shattered and several
large pieces of roofing were strewn across the yard.

He edged the car through the entrance-way, up the
gravel drive, and parked next to the Jarman’s old black Mercedes. From here he
could see that the damage was even more extensive than it had appeared from the
road. He leaned on the horn for a moment and waited, drawing a muddy pack of
cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit one. He tapped on the horn a few
times more. The sharp blasts echoed flatly against the house.

Still no response.

He sighed, took a drag from his cigarette, and
climbed out of the car.

Mike frowned. He didn’t like the Jarmans much,
particularly Richard Jarman. A complaint from a neighbor had brought him out
there one evening and Richard had informed him in hostile terms that he was not
welcome, nor was anyone else. From that point on it had been a pleasure to see
as little of Richard Jarman as possible. As for the rest of the family, they
were almost never seen by anyone, anyway.

The stench hit him before he even reached the front
door. Cursing between gasps and gags he retreated to the front walkway, looking
back at the house with a new- if nose wrinkling- respect.

Damn, this stinks. Worse than something dead.
Even while the thought ran through his mind, another part of his brain became
aware that there was something familiar about the stench, something…

Mike pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed
it in a puddle of water beside the walk before advancing on the house again.
With this protection on his nose he felt relatively safe; a few careful sniffs
were enough to tell him that though the smell was still strong, at least he
could stand it. With any luck, he could even keep his lunch down.

The heavy wooden door hung crooked and half open.
Mike stopped at its edge.

“Hello, anybody, here?” Mike called loud, the wet
handkerchief on his nose making his voice hollow. It echoed in the gloomy
interior of the house. He leaned inside the doorway and called one more time.
“Hey! Is anybody here?”

No answer.

Mike edged through the doorway into the huge hallway,
pausing to let his eyes adjust from the gray outside to the almost black
interior. It took a moment, and he flicked the glowing butt of his cigarette
outside before looking around.

A stillness covered the inside of the mansion; even
the sound of the rain seemed afraid to venture very far inside. Mike felt the
wall until he found a light switch not far from the door and tried it without
luck. He advanced carefully in the darkness, finding another switch by the
staircase. Nothing.

He went from room to room quietly, not really
expecting to find anything, but searching for the sake of thoroughness. Most of
the rooms were empty, somewhat littered, but the worst by far was the small
room under the staircase.

It was literally destroyed. Piles of debris were
strewn on all sides, and a stone block lay at one end, shattered into
fist-sized pieces. He nudged some of the litter with his foot. In the glow from
his lighter, he saw that it was nothing but torn, scorched cloth and a few
pieces of pottery. He sighed and turned to leave.

His foot bumped something.

It was a book, or half of one. He peered at the pages
in the poor light. It was hand written in a thin, spidery script, and as far as
he could tell, gibberish. Without any clear idea why, he stuck it into his
pocket with his cigarettes and walked out into the rain.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the drive that he
braved a glance back at the old, empty house. It was like something dead. He
was glad to be leaving.

*          *          *

Mike was back in his office only a few minutes when
Parker burst in, stomping his feet and muttering foul invectives about the
weather. The old man tossed his raincoat on a chair by the door. “You were gone
quite a while. Find anything?”

“Nothing good.” Mike gave him a sour look. “Just a
few more missing people.”

“Just what we need. Who’s missin’?”

“The Dobsons, the Stakes, and the Jarmans. Have you
seen any of them?”

“No, I haven’t. Damn! The Dobsons were some of the
best people around here. I could care less about the Jarmans.” Parker shook his
head. “No ideas about what’s going on yet?”

“None. The Jarman place was torn up, but I don’t know
if that has anything to do with anything. The place stunk, too.” Mike dug into
his pocket, fished out the piece of book, and dropped it on the desk.

“What’s that?” Parker picked it up.

“Found it out at the Jarman place, too. Don’t know
what it is, but I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

Parker thumbed through the pages, then sat it back on
the desk. “I dunno, but it looks like some loony wrote it. It sure ain’t
English. You ought to show this to Derek.”

“Why Derek?”

“He did some fightin’ overseas, and he’s a smart kid.
He might have seen something like this over there.”

Mike shrugged. “Why not? It’s worth a try. Where is
he?”

“Over at the hotel, I think.”

“Let’s go.”

*          *          *

Derek was in the hotel lobby talking to Ann when Mike
and Parker came in. Mike drew a chair up close to Derek’s and handed him the
book.

“Ever see anything like this before, Derek?”