Charlie burped and the amber liquid burned his throat. Damn, if he didn’t have the most cool-headed, practical sensibility! Here everybody was seeing things, unexplainable things… but not him. Doris Parkey and Hector Pierce had both seen a woman with flaming hair. Now they were both crazy, God knows, but it was kind of odd that two people would be sharin’ the same kind of craziness. And Joe Manors, about as sensible a man as he’d ever met, had seen a dead girl floating a good three feet and more off the ground. And here Ben Taylor, his best friend in this world, had sworn he’d seen Reed up on the Big Andy a good four hours before Reed could’ve gotten in on the train. And now Ben was acting so skittish about things, jumpin’ at shadows, lookin’ over his shoulder. And the way Inez had been looking the past few days, that quick, nervous movement in her gaze… everybody was changing.
Except good old level-headed Charlie.
He looked down at the bottle, then around at the darkened store where… he was hiding. He was scared to death.
He owed those people something… his daddy, his granddaddy, they all did… for what happened. He looked again at the bottle.
A face there. Reflected in the glass. Looking over his shoulder.
Pale cheeks and ragged hair and blue lips and dark shadows moving under the skin and white white teeth oh God God…
He jumped up and sprawled over the chair trying to get around to the other side of the counter. Knocking displays everywhere, breaking up displays that had been the same way, nary a bottle sold, since his daddy’s time. Dust and glass and his own spittle flying. He would have screamed, but the drink in him kept the screams traveling around inside, not sure which way was out.
He hit the far wall of the store and jerked around, his shoulder blades rubbing the old Doctor Scholl’s poster behind him. He blinked the tears away, trying to get a good look at the shadow floating across the room toward him.
Nothing. He saw nothing. He choked on a sob.
And that was when Charlie Simpson decided to start doing something about whatever was happening to his town. He watched as the rest of the whiskey joined the spilled tonics and elixirs pooling in front of the counter, the dark and amber liquids widening into a miniature flood.
He would start with the sinkhole at the Nole Company mine.
Joe Manors stood at his window in bright green underwear, holding the whiskey bottle nonchalantly on his cocked hip. He thought about what might happen if Inez were to pass by his window at the moment and glance up. Wouldn’t that be something? She’d toss him out on his ear… or maybe she’d comment on his pretty legs. He did have pretty legs.
He watched the line of woods bordering the old townsite. Most of the fog was gone, but mist still clung to trees here and there. He felt cold, but he was too drunk to put his pants back on.
He’d seen the little girl three or four times the past couple of days. Once out in the field behind the boarding house, staring at him and grinning with those teeth that had a hint of green in them, even at that distance. And floating at least three feet off the ground, her damp hair drifting out from her head. He’d seen her again out by the willows bordering the creek, staring at him out of the boughs of one of the larger trees. And again standing on the roof, her feet not quite touching the shingles.
And once in his bathwater, and twice in the water in his sink—just the head, floating with bloated cheeks and the long brown hair wrapped around the neck. Now he couldn’t take a bath, or wash; he couldn’t even stand the thought of drinking water, imagining bits and pieces of her drifting out of the tap.
So he had to drink whiskey, lots of it, if he was going to stay alive. Maybe he’d have to start taking baths in it, too, and washing his clothes in it. Everybody would. He didn’t know if they could afford that much whiskey, or if Charlie Simpson had that much in stock, even if he’d sell them that much. Or maybe he’d just give some to everybody in town as a kind of public service. He grinned drunkenly; the idea seemed to make some sense.
Somehow, he knew it was that kid he’d left back in Cincinnati. He never should have done it. He’d really loved that child. And she was never going to let him go.
He put the bottle on the windowsill and, not bothering to dress, started down to Hector Pierce’s room. He’d sit up with him, listening as careful as he could. The old man was babbling all the time, and something important was being said. That old man was more scared than any of them… he must know what was really going on in Simpson Creeks.
Hector had been dreaming. It had been a nice dream. About his mother, or some other woman. Not enough softness in his life, in the Creeks, or anywhere else for that matter. Not enough softness at all. But the woman had been whispering to him, making him her baby, her boy-child, and that had been quite all right.
He’d gone into the mines at seventeen. Twice he’d almost married, but both times some other man took her.
Not enough softness. Not enough joy. Pretty soon it looked like all his chances were past.
Until now.
He groaned and reached up. But she was just out of his reach. It hurt him… hurt him bad. There shouldn’t be so much pain in the world. Shouldn’t be that way. She knew about pain. And vengeance, too.
Pretty soon everything’d be all right, and everybody’d be all together, in the same place.
Hector’s face felt drenched, and for a moment he thought the time had already come.
“The sheriff was pretty mad when he left.” Ben stroked his empty cup and stared at the back of his store fifty yards in front of the house. There might be a few customers waiting, but he wouldn’t be opening today; he might not be opening for some time. “See, he’s never had no trouble like this, Reed. Oh, occasionally some youngsters’ll get rowdy, or some man’ll start shootin’ at his wife, but nothing like what happened to Jake. These people are his responsibility, and he don’t like awful things happening to ‘em that he can’t explain to people.” Ben looked at Reed, who mirrored his pose on the front porch. “I told Martha and the kids to stay a few extra days at her sister’s in Four Corners. I don’t want ‘em here.” Reed looked at him and nodded. His eyes seemed swollen, his lips cracked. Ben thought of ordering Reed to the doctor’s, even dragging him if he had to, but suddenly thought maybe he was going to need Reed with him, to handle whatever it was they were going to have to handle over the next day or so.
“No sense not talking about it, is there, son?” Ben gazed at his nephew, trying to read his reaction. “We both know something awful’s going on here. Audra Larson was scared half to death the other night, and she told me she could swear it was you.”
“It wasn’t.”
Ben grinned weakly. “I believe you, but damn, what is it? Something bad’s out there. That bear… and we’re both thinking it ain’t just no ordinary bear… but even more than that. I do believe I’m considering witches and goblins, Reed… I do believe so.”
Reed just stared at him for a while. Ben watched his face. He was waiting for his nephew to cry any minute. The way the lines formed around the young man’s eyes and mouth… good God, Ben thought, maybe he’s going crazy!
“It’s an angry thing out there,” Reed said softly, but it made Ben feel better, just to hear the clarity in his nephew’s voice and choice of words.
“Now that it is.”
“They say anger stays behind in a place; I’ve read that.”
“I’ve read that, too.” Ben looked at him anxiously, lips parted to interrupt his nephew if the boy started to say too much, if he went too far.
“How angry could my father be, Ben? You knew him as well as…”