Читать книгу Hanky and the Thousandsleeper - Marvin Roth - Страница 13

Deep in the night, Hanky was rousted from his sleep. However, he did not simply wake up - he awoke in two different ways. Something had ripped apart a curtain that had shrouded his mind. The old Hanky was gone. Nothing was like it had been before. His silly, childish thoughts had disappeared and along with them the panic that had stricken him.

His parents had not made it to Doctor Ness’ practice until the early hours of the evening. During the day, they had been running errands and it was not until their neighbors told them that they learned about their son’s whereabouts. Hanky was still in too much of a fog when they picked him up. The injection the nurse had given him as he stood stiff on the sidewalk watching the evil creature leave the scene was still working.

Now he was wide awake and in deep thought. It was the first time in his life that he was able to truly think. He did not even have time to contemplate the change that had occurred, he was much too busy thinking about the most effective way to get out of the doctor’s treatment room quickly. Initially, he thought it might be a good idea to simply talk to the doctor man to man. But he quickly dismissed this approach, because he knew that if the doctor detected the change in him, he would want to know why Hanky had suddenly changed. So that was not a solution. He had to continue to act out his role as Hanky, the idiot - at least for the time being. He would simply lie here for a while longer and then call for Doctor Ness. He would pretend that he had to go to the bathroom and behave really mild mannered. Next, he would start to whine and ask to be sent home to his mom. Yes, that would definitely work. Nonetheless, he would have to convince them that he was back to normal. Once he had escaped from here, he could begin his pursuit of the monster. Yes, he was the one who could defeat the creature. He knew that beyond the shadow of a doubt. He was no longer Hanky, the village idiot. No, he would be Hanky - the hunter - from now on.

The thing had fled the scene aimlessly as if driven by an increasing sense of panic. At times he was not even aware of his surroundings. At some point, as dusk fell upon the land and night drew closer, the thing stopped near a small forest.

“What happened?”

This question tortured the creature’s brain incessantly. He thought about it and thought about it but he was not sure what it was that was so different now. It could not fathom that an opponent had suddenly appeared on the horizon after centuries of complete power. An opponent who could not be conquered.

It had made an attempt at it when the two men hung on the younger man with the strong presence. No, actually, the creature had only stretched its tentacles to check how hard it would be to conquer this man. Yet it had been cast off with such a violent force that it had instantly been taken over by a panic. In an exaggerated haste it had fled. Now it sat in Walt Kessler’s body and was clueless as to what it should do next.

A gas station and adjacent diner were located at the other end of the forest on a hill just off the Interstate. At this hour - it was almost midnight - only a few patrons still lingered in the diner. Lora Malone, who was working the late shift today, cleared the final few tables. Three truckers were still sitting at the counter drinking coffee. They were waiting for their boss, Mike Clark, the owner of a freight forwarding company.

Tonight he planned to ride along on the haul. Every now and then, he joined his truckers to make sure they could actually deliver their loads on time. It gave him the opportunity to talk to his customers and find out what they needed. Sometimes he’d also have to listen to their complaints. The operators were not too happy about it, but Mike had the skill to turn the long rides into something akin to motivational seminars for them. It never took very long and they’d confide in him, tell him about their families, worries and concerns. This evening, the men were restlessly sliding around on their bar stools. They simply could not get the conversation going for some reason. The boss was really tardy tonight, and that wasn’t something they were accustomed. Mike Clark was always on time.

“Maybe the boss man decided not to go after all,” Pete, who sat in the middle and usually controlled their conversations, suggested. The other two simply grunted and stared into their coffee cups. Lora was just carrying a bunch of dirty dishes into the kitchen when she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.

“That’s probably your big chief,,” she called out to the group as she disappeared through the swinging kitchen door.

The car came to a sudden stop in the parking lot, the gravel crunching under the weight of tires. The driver’s door was flung shut and steps approached the entrance. The men turned around. However, it was not Mike Clark at all. Instead Jack Weiser, the local sheriff’s deputy, entered the diner. He surveyed the room quickly and walked straight over to the truckers. He took off his hat and brushed the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.

“Hey guys,” he greeted them, “I have to talk to you. You’re probably waiting for your boss. He won’t be coming. It... uh..., he started at the ceiling and squinted as if blinded by a bright light; his voice raspy as he cleared his throat before he continued, “Something has happened. I’m not sure if you guys still want to leave tonight or..."

“Well, what in the world happened, sheriff? Talk to us, give us the full story. What happened to Mike?,” Pete interrupted him.

The sheriff put his hat back on, making sure it was perfectly in place, took a deep breath and said matter-of-factly:

“Someone murdered your boss man. We found his body about five miles down the road about an hour ago. After we phoned the office we found out that he was en route to you meet you guys here. By the way, how long have you been here?"

“They’ve been here for more than two hours,” Lora’s voice rang out from the kitchen and she came back into the dining room.

“By God, sheriff, that’s awful,” she cried.

“What happened to him?”

Beams of light danced in the night time air. A generator was started up and buzzed. An instant later, giant floodlights lit up the scene of the crime. The police officers turned off their flashlights. Red-white striped barricades blocked the road in both directions. More police officers were posted in front of them to turn away any arriving vehicles.

A few minutes earlier, crime scene investigation specialists had arrived from New Bismarck. In white overalls they were now turning the scene surrounding the victim’s vehicle, which had halfway gotten stuck in a ravine, into a beehive of activity. Ben and Julie Johansson sat on the steps of the ambulance. The flickering blue light cast across the area by the police cars could not conceal their pale faces. A paramedic was trying to calm them down as he talked to them, but they appeared to be unable to take their eyes off the edge of the forest, upon which they were fixated.