Читать книгу The Altar - James Arthur Anderson - Страница 13

CHAPTER SEVEN

-1-

The next morning, Faith had still not returned, though they had left the patio door open all night, which had let in a swarm of mosquitoes. The bowl of chicken they’d left outside had attracted a horde of ants, but the cat had completely disappeared.

Erik and Vickie stood on the patio looking into the woods.

“You remember what Dovecrest said,” she reminded him. “Those woods go on forever.”

Yeah, he thought. And for some reason he thought there were stranger things going on than either of them could imagine.

“What do you think happened?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied. But deep down inside, he had a very bad feeling that the cat would never come back. He was probably jumping to conclusions, but he couldn’t help thinking that Faith was dead.

“She’s never stayed out all night before,” Vickie said. “Not in all the years we’ve had her.”

Erik nodded. “How’s Todd taking it?”

“Not too well. He keeps saying that the stone got her.”

“I guess I’ll have to have a talk with him,” Erik said, hoping he could finally get to the bottom of this whole thing, once and for all.

They stood silent, looking off into the woods.

“Faith will be all right, won’t she? I mean, after all, she’s a cat and cats can pretty much take care of themselves.”

“From most things.”

But the nervous edge to his voice betrayed his concern.

“What do you mean by that?”

He shrugged and debated about telling her about the devil worshiper that Steve Harvey had told him about. He was jumping to conclusions, though. What would devil worshippers be doing in Chepachet, anyway? It didn’t make any sense.

“I mean, she can’t protect herself from everything. She’s a house cat, not a tiger. I just hope she hasn’t been hit by a car. But, knowing Faith, she probably stopped at a neighbor’s house for a hand out and decided to stick around.”

Erik looked back towards the house to where Todd was watching from his bedroom window. The boy waved, almost sadly, and both Erik and his wife waved back.

“Poor kid,” Vickie said. “He loves that cat. Do you really think someone might have found her and taken her in?”

“It’s possible,” Erik said, trying to remain positive, despite his bad feeling.

“Maybe we could make a ‘lost cat’ sign,” she suggested. “We can hang it up in the neighborhood, and I can knock on a few doors with it. Todd’s heartbroken about this. We’ve got to do something.”

“Yeah, that’s an idea,” he said. “We can try the sign. I can scan a picture of Faith into the computer. And I can hang copies at the plaza down the road, too.”

Vickie nodded.

“I really should search the woods,” he said gravely.

“Maybe you could go see Dovecrest and he’ll go with you. I really don’t want you out there alone. You might get lost. I’m sure he’d go with you if you explained the situation.”

Erik still wasn’t sure how he felt about involving the Indian, but he nodded anyway.

“I suppose,” he said. “But let me make one of those posters, first. Then we can copy it.”

“Why don’t you ask Todd to help you,” his wife suggested. “I think his cold is better and it would do him good to feel useful.”

“Sure.”

Then he took one last look into the woods before returning to the house.

-2-

Just as Erik went inside, Johnny Dovecrest was going out. He’d been plagued by bad dreams all night, and even after waking up this morning he couldn’t rid his mind of the terrible feeling of dread that permeated his very soul.

It was definitely beginning all over again. As if there had ever been a doubt. Only this time, he didn’t know if he had the strength to win.

He stepped carefully into the woods, expertly making his own trail through the dense undergrowth. The woods hadn’t changed much over the centuries, he thought, as a squirrel scurried up a huge oak tree and peered down at him. The birds chattered to themselves as the early morning sun filtered through the canopy of leaves. It was a peaceful scene of quiet beauty that might have graced a National Geographic cover. But he knew that this forest also held evil and death within its depths.

The woods grew thicker and darker as he picked his way forward, and before long he felt the unseen presence enter his mind and tentatively look around, like a child exploring an unfamiliar attic. Dovecrest felt the ominous, chill touch of the thing tickling his brain. Then he felt its sudden silent laughter reverberating through his mind, echoing throughout his skull like an ancient bell. It was not sound he experienced, but pure thought.

“Ah, my old friend,” it said, its caustic thoughts eating into his mind like a powerful acid. “So, you, too have survived. We are two of a kind, you and I. Not really so much different at all.”

The laughter echoed again.

“Only this time, you will not survive. You grow weaker, even as I grow stronger.”

Dovecrest grimaced as he continued to walk forward, and the presence immediately sensed his thoughts and knew that the Indian was aware of his own weakness. It seized upon his fear and gripped him tightly until his breath came in spastic gasps. Then, just as suddenly, it let go again, and laughed.

“Come,” the presence commanded, softly, but with much power. “I have something quite interesting to show you.”

Dovecrest cleared his mind, breathed deeply and followed the silent command as it took him further into the woods. He tried not to think as he pressed forward, mechanically placing one foot after the other.

The open field appeared suddenly, virtually out of nowhere and Dovecrest blinked rapidly as he stepped into the brilliant morning sunshine. He stopped and saw the black stone altar waiting for him in the center of the open circle. It was just as he remembered it, formidable and indestructible.

“Come,” the presence taunted. “See what I have for you.”

Dovecrest sighed and walked towards the ominous black stone. Yes, something was splattered on the slab, a small figure that had once been alive. He silently prayed that it wasn’t human.

With relief mixed with revulsion, he realized that the mutilated body belonged to an animal. The black fur was peeled back to expose the organs, which had been strewn out like spaghetti on the altar in a dried pool of blood. Dovecrest studied the body closely and saw that the animal’s heart was missing entirely.

The Indian swallowed hard as he noticed a flea collar around the animal’s neck. It was a cat. Somebody’s pet. But now all that remained was a pile of moldering meat.

“A small token of things to come,” the presence said. “You could join with me and save yourself. You would be richly rewarded. You would receive everything, to your heart’s content.”

Dovecrest refused to answer or show any emotion as he picked up the remains of the animal and cradled them in his arms. He suspected the cat had belonged to the new people, the ones whose boy had also wandered into the woods. He shuddered to think of the fate that had almost met the little boy.

“So be it,” the presence said in his mind, almost regretfully. “Then we will meet in hell.”

He did not realize how prophetic that statement would be at the time.

Dovecrest couldn’t bring the cat back to life, but he couldn’t leave it on the altar either. He’d best return the body to the owners and fabricate some explanation. He certainly didn’t want them out there searching for their pet, and he knew that was exactly what would happen if the cat didn’t return home soon.

Slowly, he trudged back to his house. The body of the cat stained his shirt and the laughter of the unseen presence slowly faded away in his brain.

-3-

The Patriot Plaza was just up the road a half mile or so from Erik’s house where Farmington Road joined Route 102. He stopped several times along the way to post his “Lost Cat” posters to utility poles, and to stuff them into rural mailboxes. Then he pulled into the plaza, parking in front of Dockside Cleaners, his first stop.

The brand new plaza was cut from the forest like a frontier fort, and contained four small stores, each with large front windows. Just behind the plaza on the Farmington Road, he noticed a small cemetery, also cut out of the forest, with what appeared to be a brand new sign: Rhode Island Historical Cemetery #6613, Cheponaug.

He looked at the cemetery for a moment, then went into the dry cleaners where he hung up a poster. His next stop was the pizza shop. He decided to save the convenience store for last, since he needed a gallon of milk, so he went into Annie’s Antiques store next.

The antique store looked out of place in the new plaza. A bell rigged to the door signaled his entrance. An old woman nodded to him from a rocking chair behind the counter as he quickly surveyed the assortment of collectibles that included everything from Victorian furniture to what claimed to be authentic Indian arrowheads.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked?

He looked around quickly and decided that he might like to browse around in the shop some day when he had more time. A large bookcase filled with old volumes caught his eye, and he wondered what treasures might be hidden there.

“Ah...yes,” he said, still looking around the shop. “Could I please hang this poster in your window? I’m new in the area and our cat is missing.”

The old woman got out of the rocking chair and hobbled over, leaning on a cane that looked even older than she was.

“You’re welcome to hang it,” she said. “But I suspect more people would see it in the Dairy Mart next door.”

“Thank you,” he said and taped it to the window. “I’d planned on hanging one there, too.”

“Of course, I don’t expect it’ll do much good.”

He looked at her curiously.

“Why not?”

She sighed. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s pet has disappeared into these woods. Strange things a-goin’ on. Ever since that guy got run over by his bulldozer about a year or so ago.”

“What?” Erik was beginning to think this old woman was senile.

She laughed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you none. I’m just an old lady with too many memories and too many stories to tell. Name’s Annie Jacques.”

“Erik Hunter,” he said, and shook her hand. It was cold, frail, and bony, but it radiated friendliness.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hunter.”

“You live in the area?”

“Bout a mile up the road on route 102.”

He nodded. “So, tell me this bulldozer story.”

“Happened a little over a year ago,” she said. “Last summer. When they was putting this road through. Farmington Road didn’t exist last summer, you know.”

“That’s what the real estate guy said.”

“Anyway, they was clearing the wood and the dozer ran into something. The driver got out to see what it was. Then, somehow, the dozer ran right over him. Squashed him like a pizza.”

“He must have left it in gear.”

Annie shrugged. “I don’t know. But the darndest thing—the dozer’d hit a headstone—one of the ones just beyond the plaza,” she said, pointing in the direction of the historical cemetery. “There was a whole graveyard buried there in the woods and nobody even knew about it.”

“Hmm,” Erik said. “That’s interesting. How old is it?”

“Dates back to the 1700’s. Roger Williams’ time. The road was supposed to go right through here. But they had to change it because that was a historical site.”

“I didn’t know this area was settled that long ago.”

She nodded. “No one did, I think. Or at least no one wanted to remember.”

He frowned. This woman was definitely strange.

“But the darndest thing about the graves isn’t how old they are,” she continued.

“What is it, then?”

“It’s the headstones themselves. One’s made out of real weird stone. One of them professors from the University was here studying it and he said it’s made out of a meteorite. A stone from outer space.”

“That is interesting. A headstone made from a meteorite. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It’s weird. But it ain’t the only weird thing.”

“What else is there?”

“The headstones. They all have strange markings. And some have weird sayings on them, too.”

“Epitaphs,” Erik said. “Some of those old headstones have strange ones.”

“And there were shells and Indian things all around the cemetery, too. The professors think the people in the graves might have been killed by the Indians.”

“That’s quite a story.”

She nodded again. “And the Indians surrounded the place with charms and things, quahog shells and other unusual things. The bulldozer disturbed a lot of it when it ran into the stone. See, I have a few here.”

She went behind the counter and brought out a necklace of polished shells, streaked with blue-violet and white. It had a striking resemblance to the charm Dovecrest had given them, the one Vickie had hung on their back door.

“Course the string was all rotted away,” she explained. “But the shells were like new.”

“Interesting,” Erik said. “How did you wind up with it?”

“I own the land,” she said. “Course I can’t use half of it because it’s a historical landmark. But I did pick up a few things that the professors and the historical guys missed.”

“You’ve lived in the area for a long time?”

“Lived in this town all my life and I’ll be 86 next month. When the road went in I built the plaza and opened my store. The store don’t make no money, mind you, but the other tenants pay the bills and it gives me something to do. The Dairy Mart does quite a business. And the pizza place, too. That’s where I’d hang my posters if I were you. ‘Course, like I said, I don’t suspect they’ll do much good.”

“So you say strange things have been happening ever since they found the graves?”

“That’s right. Pets disappearing. People hearing voices. Weird noises in the middle of the night.”

“What do you think it is?”

“There’s a curse upon this place,” she said in a firm voice. “And the dozer done disturbed those graves and woke up the curse.”

Erik laughed nervously but she cut him off immediately.

“Don’t you laugh until you know what you’re laughing at, young man,” she said. “You just go look at the graves for yourself before you make fun of an old woman, and then you tell me if you don’t feel the hairs rise up on the back of your neck. You just go look, and then you tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” Erik said. “I didn’t know if you were being serious or just joking with me.”

“I’m not joking.”

Erik nodded. “Thanks for letting me hang the poster, ma’am. And when I get a chance I will look at those graves.”

“If I see your pet, I’ll be sure and let you know, Mr. Hunter. Maybe she just wandered off.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

The bell rang quietly as he closed the door behind him.

-4-

Melissa Jones frowned as the man hung the poster of the cat on the window of the Dairy Mart. He’d told her mother that the cat was lost, and that made her feel bad. She’d had a puppy once and it had run out into the road and had been hit by a dump truck. That was when she was just a little girl, but she still grieved.

But that seemed like such a long time ago. Since then her parents had divorced and she’d been living with her Dad in Miami for the last two years. But she’d fallen for a boy in her class and her Dad had sent her back to New England as punishment. Now she’d be staying with Mom in the store. She was afraid it was going to be a long summer. There weren’t any kids her age in this hick town, let alone cute boys.

It wasn’t even lunch time yet and she was already bored. She watched the man with the lost cat take a jug of milk out of the cooler. She felt bad about his cat. It looked really cute in the picture, like it was the kind that purred when you pet it. Maybe she could help and find the cat. That would be good. Anything would be better than staying here and waiting on customers.

“Mom, can I go outside? Maybe I can look for the man’s cat.”

“I don’t think so,” her mother said from her seat behind the cash register.

“But I’m bored. And it’s a nice, sunny day outside.”

“I’d rather you stayed here with me.”

“Can’t I just go for a walk?”

“Maybe later,” he mother said.

Melissa knew what that meant. It meant it was going to be a long, boring summer spent inside the boring store and watching people buy bread and milk and ice. All of her friends in Miami would be outside now at the beach, or swimming in the pool.

“It’s not fair,” she mumbled as she watched the man with the lost cat pay for his bread and milk.

His eyes locked with hers for a moment, and, although he tried to smile, she saw that he looked scared, almost like the way her Mom had looked when her Dad had first left. She didn’t like it when adults looked scared.

“That man must really miss his cat,” she said quietly after he had left.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she replied.

But she really would like to help the man find his lost cat. Maybe she’d get a reward. Or at least she’d get to pet the cat. She looked over at her mother and yawned. All the while, the gearbox of her mind was hard at work.