Dead Reflections (27 page)

She shook her head, got in, but didn’t lock the door. “What’s gotten into you? I know whatever it was frightened you, but since when can cougars open truck doors?”

“Lock the door, Janet,” he insisted. When he used her formal name, he meant business and she knew it. She locked the door without taking her eyes off him. He did the same, then started the truck, the rifle behind their seats.

“You’re not telling me something,” she said, pressing him. “I know you well enough after twelve years of marriage to know when you’re keeping something back. What is it? Hon, I know we’re both under pressure, but we’ll make do until I can find work again. Honest. I think you’re being a little jumpy.”

“Trust me, I’m not.” He flipped on the high beams and drove slowly as he observed the dark landscape, the headlamps cutting a yellow path ahead of the truck. Other than a jackrabbit sprinting across the track, they saw nothing else. Yet he felt it close by, watching them. He lit another cigarette, his hands shaking. “You wouldn’t believe me,” he said. He saw from her face that she felt both guilty and incredulous. He shook his head. “Never mind,” he said. “We’ll work it all out.”

* * *

He contacted Jake Dean the next morning by phone, and caught the real estate agent in his office just before he stepped out the door to meet a client.

“What do you know about the well on the property?” Terry asked him.

Dean paused for a moment. “Only what I told you about already; that it hasn’t been used in years. It’s original to the house, almost ninety years old. It was upgraded a couple of times, and then the water began to turn rank after a while. Too much copper apparently, a problem in these parts. At least, that’s what the owner told me when she put the place up for sale. Something in the pump had finally broken, but the water that was coming up wasn’t useable. She had someone board the thing up after an inspector deemed it too toxic to drink. She didn’t want to spend the money to drill a new well. Then when the town brought the water line out this way two years ago, she opted to go onto municipal water. She’d been purchasing bottled water prior to that. I’m not sure how she managed or did laundry or bathed. Why do you ask?”

Terry weighed his next words with care. “Did she ever mention anything odd happening with the well? Any strange smells or anything unusual?”

He could almost see Jake Dean shaking his head. “Nooo,” Dean enunciated. “Have you had something occur with it?”

“I thought I saw something large hanging around it yesterday; something that took down a small groundhog. I didn’t catch full sight of whatever it was because it was getting dark,” he lied, “but I was wondering if she’d ever seen a large…animal…lurking around.”

“Well, we do get the occasional black bear out here,” Dean told him, chuckling a little. “And the county just reintroduced some cougars a few years back to keep the fisher and even the deer population at bay. Too many farmers complaining about fishers attacking and killing chickens and young livestock like lambs and such. As for the deer, the highway accidents are the reason to introduce a natural predator.”

“Hmm,” Terry said. “Nothing else?”

“Nope. I know the cover of the thing was going rotten. Getting someone to seal it permanently with a concrete slab would be a good idea, but I’m not following why you’re concerned about the well in conjunction with local animals of prey. I don’t believe the well water would attract them for any reason.”

Terry felt desperation.

He’d told Jan the only logical thing he could think of saying: that he’d thought he’d seen a deranged person with an animal…maybe a hare or a groundhog.

“Could be a street person that trapped something,” she’d said. He’d let it go at that, but even she hadn’t liked the idea of a stranger loitering nearby and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her what he’d really seen and that it hadn’t been completely human. He could imagine her reaction: you’re as stressed as I am, Terry. Money’s tight, but we’ll work it out. There are no monsters out there. It was just a deranged person wandering through the neighborhood.

* * *

The night passed, uneventful. Cory was strictly instructed not to wander out into the fields. Terry felt afraid to let the boy out of the house, but knew that, should he try to restrict him too much, Cory would revolt. Terror ripped at his imagination…his son being late from school…his son not coming home for lunch when called…

He considered placing the house back up for sale again and bringing his family back into the safer confines of the big city where crowds kept you safe, but he knew that Jan would protest, as afraid as she was of the bills coming in. She hadn’t given any more thought to Terry’s sighting of ‘an odd person’ on their property, leaving him alone with his concerns to the point where it interfered with his ability to concentrate on much else.

He grabbed the rifle and drove back to the well that afternoon, determined to take some kind of action. He spent two hours hammering new boards over the old and securing them with dozens of nails. He also set out a chunk of fresh beef on the ramp and moved the truck back, to watch. He kept his doors locked and his window rolled down a few inches to allow a breeze to circulate. Half an hour passed and nothing occurred. He remained patient, his gaze focused on the cistern, convinced the beast would try to return to its den. The well had been its safe spot.

Something banged on the driver’s window, making him scream. He lashed at the rifle, twisting about in his seat to peer through the glass. An old woman with long, thin hair that pooled over her shoulders regarded him. She must have been in her eighties, her face thin and lined, her pale eyes and skin giving her a drained appearance. She wore a baggy, ill-fitting blue sweater over a faded house dress.

“You Mr. Terrence Cobb?” she asked.

He had to swallow hard before he could catch his breath. He almost wept, convinced he’d see the face of the beast, its lips glossy with blood, its eyes lit like twin lanterns, waiting for him on the other side of the window before its fist would smash through the glass.

“Yes, I am? Who are you?”

“My name is Emily Gerhard. I sold this house to the person before you. They didn’t stay long. I didn’t think they would. I had a call from your agent, Mr. Jake Dean earlier today, asking me if I’d ever had anything unusual happen around the old well. Apparently, he didn’t get anything out of the previous owner, who just hung up on him. I’m not surprised. I hear you have a young boy lives here with you. Your son?”

“That’s correct,” Terry said, terse. “I just sealed that well today. I didn’t want him playing over it with its rotten wood.” He decided he’d let her lead the conversation. “What’s wrong with that well?”

“Covering it won’t do you much good. Tried that already m’self. What have you seen?” she asked, and her eyes held a kind of acknowledgement, as if she could read his face.

“What do you know about it?” he countered.

“You willing to roll down your window and talk directly to me? I’m a harmless old woman. It isn’t me you have to be afraid of, Mr. Cobb. It’s my husband and who he cavorts with. I’m only here to talk to you because I’m old, I’m dying with the cancer, and I’ve lived with this secret for the last number of years. I even called the police about it at first, but they didn’t believe me. Told me I should think about seeing a doctor.” She tapped one temple with an index finger. “They think it’s all in my head. Animals going missing all the time, including people’s pets. Street people disappearing. Soon enough, it’ll be someone’s family taken.”

Terry debated. “Okay, you can get in the truck.” He unlocked the passenger door and let Emily Gerhard step inside. “Now, you tell me what’s going on. What about your husband?”

Emily sighed and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m only here because I heard you have trouble, and I know what that trouble is. Twenty years ago Duane…that’s my husband, and I got the well serviced. We’d been having problems with the water. A lot of iron in the rock around here; it tainted everything. Called in a local well driller to fix the problem. They came out and drilled and for a while everything seemed fine. Then, the water started tasting bad again. Real bad. I stopped drinking it when I started to get an itch on my skin, but Duane brushed me off and said I was being too fussy. He kept on drinking it, but I only used it for watering the plants around the garden and such.

One day, three years ago, I went to get garden water and when I pumped, it was blood that came out of that spout, Mr. Cobb. Not water, and not mud. Blood. I know blood when I see it. I grew up on a farm, and my daddy used to slaughter our cows, pigs, and chickens. What came out of that spout was pure, fresh blood. I dropped my watering can and went screaming all the way back to the house for Duane to come see. He did. He told me to go back to the house to get cleaned up. He got some tools and took the cover off the well so that he could shine a light down there to see what might be up. Told me some animal must have gotten into the well and was breaking apart. He said he’d get it taken care of.

“Well, he didn’t come back to the house for two hours. Finally, when the supper hour came around, I walked back down there to see what he was up to. The sun was setting. It was late summer, August, and everything had this sheen of gold about it. I came around the corner of the field and saw Duane standing in front of the well. Its cover was clean off and his tools were scattered around him. He was standing with his back to me, and his hands were in a praying position, held up in front of his chest. He was mumbling something. I got closer and I heard a few of his words here and there. He was speaking in some language I’d never heard before. Something old. Then I saw him walk around the other side of the well and pick something up from the ground. I saw he had a dead rabbit in his hands. He drops the rabbit into the well. I said ‘Duane, what are you up to?’ Well, he looks up at the sound of my voice, but his eyes were different. His eyes caught the glare of the sun and for that moment, it looked like his insides were on fire, the way a candle reflects at night. He didn’t seem to know me. We stood there, man and woman who’d been married for over forty years, and he’s staring at me the way a mean dog will look at a squirrel or cat it wants to take down.”

Terry shifted in his seat. He tapped a cigarette out of its package. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead,” Emily said, her voice soft. “I used to do it too. That’s what got me. Better than him getting me.”

“Go on,” Terry urged her on. “I’m listening.”

Emily picked up. “I shouted ‘Duane! What’s wrong with you? That’s when I saw something come out of the well behind him, this shadow that rose like thick smoke. The dead rabbit came up with the smoke and it was shredded like something had torn it apart with its teeth. Duane dropped his head back and opened his mouth. That smoke started going into him, Mr. Cobb. It entered him, like some kind of reverse tornado that pushed instead of sucked. Next thing I know, Duane goes for the remains of the rabbit. He starts chewing on it, tearing at the bones and hair with his teeth, blood running down his chin and neck. He’s looking at me the entire time he’s doing this until there was nothing left of that rabbit. Then, he came for me, feral as a rabid dog.”

“My God…” Terry began, horrified. “What did you do?”

“I ran, Mr. Cobb. I ran back to the house as fast as these old legs could carry me. I got there just seconds ahead of him and slammed the door in his face, locking it. I went through the place, slamming windows shut and locking them too, him following me from one to the other, hurling himself at the glass to get in. His eyes were still electric, with blood smearing glass wherever he hit with his fists. I called the police and told them to get out here—that my husband had lost his mind and was after me. By the time they arrived, some twenty minutes later, he was gone. I told them what happened; Duane in front of the well and about this cloud that came out of the thing. They didn’t believe that part at all. In fact, I think they figured I must have been mad and that my husband had finally snapped on me for it. They looked around for him and couldn’t find him. They left without doing anything.”

Her hands shook. “Maybe I’ll take your offer of a smoke, Mr. Cobb.”

“S-sure,” Terry handed her the pack and his lighter.

“What you saw, Mr. Cobb, was either my husband…what’s left of him…or the power that got into him in the first place and changed him. It’s old, it’s bad.”

“What is this power?” Terry asked.

Emily lit her cigarette and took a long drag like a woman familiar with the pleasure of a smoke. She explained what she’d learned about the history of the land around their home. “Seems that the original owners of the house, a Zachary and Bernadette Waters, had been involved in some unsavory practices back at the turn of the century. He’d been a prosecutor for local trials. Back then, petty criminals were often condemned to death, sometimes for crimes they didn’t do. I dug deep for this information, Mr. Cobb. I started talking to townsfolk who, at first, wouldn’t divulge a thing. Finally, I found one woman in town who put me on to a great-nephew of the Waters. He wasn’t going to talk until I came out and told him what was going on with my husband and that, if he didn’t help me, I’d send my husband after him. I said to this younger Waters ‘You can call me crazy all you want, but you can come out here and I’ll show you what happens at that well. You’ll see the blood for yourself.’”

“So what did he do?” Terry prodded her. “I’m afraid for my family. I’ve seen it…this thing. Is it your husband?”

“It could be him. It could be Waters or his wife. Waters and his wife had taken on the practice of drinking blood. They were part of a club, a secret club in town who’d gather to do this sort of thing. They’d capture wild animals or steal local pets. But, as Waters’ nephew finally admitted to me, they loved nothing better than human blood. It supposedly brought a special kind of power to them—that whatever they took from, they possessed its best attributes, be it good or evil. Seems they found a particular succulence drinking the blood of other men and women. That’s where some of the local prisoners came in, those sentenced to death. All of them terrified; all of them pleading for their lives…all of them vowing revenge as they died. They weren’t executed in traditional style, Mr. Cobb. They were taken out into the woods and slaughtered, used, and their bodies hurled into that same well that sat fresh and new on the Waters’ land. Convenient it was; a hundred feet down it drops if it drops a foot and no one questioning a figure of authority back then. People were told these prisoners were buried in an unmarked grave deserving of murderers. Think of it. Killers calling the kettle black. It went on for years.”