Bob freshened his coffee with another dollop of whiskey. Alan frowned into his own mug. He’d only drank about an inch before the mixture went cold and bitter.
“The point is, we became isolated experts,” Buster said. “After we graduated past what Dad could teach us, we learned the rest on our own. It was a point of pride. Even though Paul was more than ten years old than me, he wouldn’t have dared to tell me anything about hunting, and I wouldn’t have listened if he tried. Just the same as none of us would ever question what crops Hooker put in the ground each spring. That’s why it was so surprising when Paul pulled us all together one September.
“He said, ‘This year’s going to be different.’ You see, we all stopped everything outdoors in October. We’d spend nearly the whole month locked up inside, just eating our mother’s cooking and getting fat. It was no use trying to get anything done at all.”
“Why?” Bob asked.
Buster frowned.
“It was just the way it was. My father was raised to eat his peas with his knife. He made us do the same. I never thought to take a spoon or a fork to a helping of peas until I’d been living on my own for more than ten years. Same with October, I guess. Anyway, I never thought anything of it until that year that Paul called bullshit. He was trying to save up enough money to get a place of his own so he could propose to Debbie Pomroy. She had a taste for the finer things, and Paul knew he’d have to work straight through October to get his finances to an acceptable level.
“Turns out that my other brothers were feeling the same way. Everyone except Hubie had something they wanted to do outside in October and they wanted the moratorium on October work to end. Gordie was the only one of us who had any idea why we didn’t work in October, and he wasn’t talking. Paul got us together. We used to meet out in the horse stall when we’d have a conference. Dad bought that old horse to plow with, but he immediately started fighting with the horse and the fight turned into a blood feud. Paul took over the horse and used him to haul wood. Dad wouldn’t go near that horse stall so that’s where us boys would conference in private.
“So Paul and Skip got us together so we could all lean on Gordie. They said they wouldn’t give Hubie any money for gas if he kept fixing Gordie’s traps and reels. They blackmailed him indirectly, see. Gordie wouldn’t be able to work if Hubie didn’t support him. Gordie got pissed and finally spilled the beans. He told us about the migrators.”
Alan jerked upright and spilled some of his coffee on his shirt.
“Sorry,” Alan said as he wiped at the spill. “Go on.”
Buster studied Alan a second and then smiled. Buster continued.
“Gordie told us that there was these things that came out of the water. They move from west to east every October, coming up out of the ground and working their way towards the Kennebec river. Nobody was allowed to talk about them, because if you talked about them, they’d come to your house. According to Gordie, after he and Dad tangled with one, those migrators took the only girl baby that Mom ever had. It ate her skin and muscles right off of her crying body. It left just a rubbery skeleton full of organ meat by the side of the lake.”
“What?” Alan asked. “Come on.”
“I can’t say for sure because I didn’t bury her, but I do know that there was a headstone out back with the name Sophia Helen on it. I left flowers next to that headstone every October after I heard that story. Gordie said he had never gotten a really good look at one of the migrators, but he said that he would find fish remains, up and down the shore after Halloween. Gordie said that you couldn’t even see the migrators when they were awake. You could only spot them when they were asleep, and they only slept for about an hour a day. The rest of the time they would just blend into their surroundings and if they got ahold of you, there was no hope. That’s why we weren’t allowed to work outside in October.”
“What about other kids who went to school? How did they survive? Did the whole town shut down for an entire month? Is that even possible?” Alan asked.
“Nope, not the whole town. There was only a stretch where the migrators moved, and we just happened to be on that stretch. The migrators ran right through Dad’s land.”
“Where was this property?” Bob asked.
“I think you know,” Buster said. “You were hiking on part of it the other day.”
“You didn’t grow up in the house where I live, did you? The Colonel’s house?” Alan asked.
“No,” Buster said with a low chuckle. “That fancy place? Have you been listening to my story at all? We lived in a cobbled-together shit-hole. My childhood home burned down years ago. That cabin is the only thing left that my father ever had a hand in building. As far as I know, the migrators don’t get quite as far north as your place, but I’m pretty sure their route changes each year, so who knows.”
“So Gordie told you about the migrators,” Bob said.
“Yup, and it was the first time anyone had spoken of them at the house since my sister was taken. Gordie told us all he knew and then he told us we would all pay for making him tell. Of course, we didn’t believe it. Who would think that the simple act of telling a story could bring death to your door? But we were on their path and October was coming. I’ve thought about it a lot since then. Seems like maybe Gordie’s words hung in the air and left a scent. Maybe those slick bastards can track a scent like that back to its source. That’s the best explanation I can think of. There aren’t a lot of people left who I can compare notes with.”
“So what happened?” Alan asked.
Buster laughed.
“May I use your bathroom?” Bob asked.
“Down that way,” Buster said.
Bob left the room and Alan heard the door creak shut behind him.
“Do your brothers still live in the area?” Alan asked.
“Nope,” Buster said. “I was last in and I’ll be last out. They’ve all passed, but some of their kids still live pretty close. Skip’s son runs the lumber company that Skip built. He’s made a good run of it—built himself a little empire. Skip started that company with fifty bucks he borrowed from his wife, if you can believe that. He bought a little sawmill and went to town.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your brothers.”
“Don’t be,” Buster said. “Some of them lived a long time. After everything, we didn’t talk that much. I was closest to Paul in a lot of ways, and he’s been dead almost seven years now.”
Alan nodded. They heard the tail of the toilet’s flush when Bob opened the door down the hall.
“My brother Paul’s death, that was an interesting story too,” Buster said. “When Paul found out he had stomach cancer, he took one long look at what the future held and he decided he was done with it. His wife was living with their daughter to help out with the grandson. He’s special, the grandson is. So, with his wife out of the house and not much on speaking terms, and cancer ripping through his guts like wildfire—they say it runs in the family—Paul decided to pull his own lever. Quid pro quo.”
Alan looked at Bob. Bob was nodding.
“Paul had a screened in porch,” Buster said. “He went out there and put a shotgun in his mouth. I think he didn’t want to leave a mess inside, but he didn’t want to leave his body out where the animals would get at it. They said it looked like he’d been there a month before I found him.”
Alan winced and looked away. Bob was looking straight down into his cold cup of coffee.