Migrators (38 page)

In the book, the women described butchering a live animal and dragging it from the water to the fire. Alan hoped that the blood would serve the same purpose. They needed to draw the migrators down the path to where they would use them.

Bob returned from the front porch.

“Shit!” Alan said. “I forgot—we need more borax to close the circle, once they’re in. We should have saved some aside.”

“Can we sweep some up from the ground and reuse it?”

“We barely have enough for the perimeter as it is,” Alan said. “Can you look in the shop? There might be a box on those pantry shelves in there.”

“No problem,” Bob said.

Alan returned his attention to the blood. He used the second bag to draw another line of blood from the cellar to the fire. The clots stayed in the bag and Alan squeezed them, trying to get more liquid to spread.

“You’re in luck,” Bob said. He came out of the shed with a box in each hand.

“Do you think they’re still good?”

The boxes looked old enough to predate the house.
 

“They’re still powder,” Bob said. He walked them over to near the fire and set them down on the brown grass.

“Do me a favor,” Alan said. “Use half of one of them to put a circle around that little well. I don’t want to get surprised.”

Bob nodded. Alan finished with the blood and then walked over to Bob.

“Okay, we got the blood, the borax, and the fire. What am I forgetting.”

“You decided not to do the dried flower petals, right?”

“Right. Seems like window-dressing and I don’t know where we’d even get them,” Alan said.

“You have a pitchfork, a shovel, walnut leaves, and a small box?”

“Everything but the leaves. I almost forgot those. There’s a walnut tree out back. I’ll go rake some up.”

“That’s all I can think of,” Bob said.

“Can you dig the hole while I’m getting the leaves?”

“Sure. Where do you want it?” Bob asked.

“Right here,” Alan said. He pointed to a spot a few feet past the wood they’d laid for the fire.

X • X • X • X • X

As instructed, Liz parked at the side of the road. If something went wrong, they would use Bob’s SUV to make the run to the hospital. Liz and Joe walked hand in hand up the dark drive towards the barn light and stopped at the edge of the white powder that made a line across the driveway.

“What’s happening, Mom?” Joe asked. His voice sounded tired and slurred.

“We’re going to do a Halloween play, Joe,” Liz said. “Your dad set it up. It’s going to be very spooky, but it’s all for fun, okay?”

“Is that real blood?” Joe asked. He was looking down at the burgundy streak across the driveway. It looked shiny in the glow from the light mounted to the front of the huge barn.

“You have to ask your father,” Liz said.

They heard footsteps coming down the shed hall. Alan appeared, looking very serious.

“You guys ready?” Alan asked.

“I was just telling Joe about the play,” Liz said.

“Do we get candy at the end?” Joe asked.

Alan pasted a big smile on his face before he answered. “Yes, lots of candy when we’re done.” Alan realized that they’d discussed everything except what to tell Joe about the evening’s events. “Joe, you come with me to the Cook House. Your mom is going to start everything and we’ll join in later.”

Alan put out his hand. Joe was reluctant to let go of his mom’s grip, but she nudged him towards Alan.

“Are we going to have a bonfire?” Joe asked as they walked towards the Cook House. The roof of the Cook House blocked the barn light—the interior was a deep shadow. Alan flipped on the light. The bulb hanging in the fixture seemed weak and yellow. The lower half of each wall was wood, but the tops were panels of screen. It was pleasant in the summer, but this time of year it almost felt colder in the little building than out in the driveway.
 

“Yup,” Alan said. He glanced back at his wife. She stepped gingerly over the line of borax and walked along the trail of blood towards the house. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “It’s nice out tonight. Mom said we have to go to Portland tomorrow. Is it because I’m sick?”

“Yup,” Alan said. “They want to run some tests on you and the best machine is down in Portland. It’s one of those big MRI machines.” Alan held open the door and Joe walked in. They’d already put away the folding chairs, but the picnic benches were still inside. Joe sat down on one end and Alan took the other. “For the MRI, you have to lie down on this long table and then they slide you in to this big ring. It makes a lot of noise, but you don’t feel anything. The machine just sends out tiny magnetic waves that jiggle the water molecules in your body and then use the response to produce an image.”

“Have you had it done?”

“Yes. You remember when I had my appendix out?”

“Kinda.”

“They did an MRI on me to make sure that it needed to come out. You really don’t feel anything.”

“I think I’ve seen it on TV,” Joe said. “What’s mom doing?”

“She’s starting the play,” Alan said. “It’s a big Halloween tradition around here, so we thought we’d give it a try. I’m not sure how scary it will be, but I guess we’ll all find out together. Just remember—I’m right here, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t get scared very easily, Dad,” Joe said. “You and Mom jump more than I do when we watch movies.”

“This isn’t happening on TV, bud,” Alan said. He tried to smile.
 

Across the driveway, over near the bulkhead, Bob was standing just outside the line of borax, watching Liz work. She was crouched near the doors. Folded back like that, the doors looked like arms that wanted to gather Liz down the granite steps into the cellar to hold her in the dark. Liz chanted the strange syllables from the book. The sound swept over to Alan and Joe on the wind.
 

“Mom read that old book all day,” Joe said.

“Yeah?” Alan asked. His eyes were locked on the black hole that led down to the house’s cellar. The book said that the migrators would be visible during the process. Alan didn’t see anything.

“I slept a lot,” Joe said. “I’ve been so tired ever since those pancakes. Do you think there was something in them?”

“No,” Alan said. “I had the pancakes too.”

“What’s she doing?”

“The play—I told you,” Alan said.

“Yeah, but what is she doing?”

Liz backed away from the bulkhead. She held her hands in front of her and they were white—dusted with the borax. Her feet slid carelessly through the path of blood as she backed up. Her attention was focused on dead grass in front of her. The pace of her chants increased. The wind blew hard and shifted direction. It rattled the windows in the barn.
 

 
When Liz was about fifteen feet from the bulkhead, still backing up, she waved to Bob. He scattered some borax across the path leading from the bulkhead and
 
then swung the doors shut. They banged closed with a metal finality. Liz stepped up to the asphalt.
 

Alan and Joe could hear the chanting clearly now. It sounded guttural and strange.

“Zy-enn al chook schoon deez oom khaloon,” Liz said.
 

I wonder if it matters what she’s saying
, Alan wondered.
Could those things really understand any language, or are they just animals?

Alan stood and leaned close to the screen wall. The things Liz was backing away from were invisible to him, but she certainly seemed to be focused on something.

“I’ll be right back, Joe,” Alan said. “You stay in here until I come get you, okay?”

“Sure,” Joe said.

The door squeaked as Alan pushed his way out. Liz continued her slow march backwards along the line of blood and between the boundaries of borax powder.

Bob approached. He had a box of Borax in his hand. It was one of the old boxes from the shop.

“Is it working?” Alan whispered to Bob.

Bob nodded.
 

“Come here,” Bob said. He pulled Alan right next to the borax path, so his toes were almost touching the line of powder across the asphalt. A gust of wind blew so strong that it almost shoved him over the line. Alan caught his balance. The borax didn’t seem perturbed by the wind at all.

“Now lean over and look down towards your wife,” Bob said.

Liz was still backing slowly towards the bonfire, chanting the phrases over and over. She was a few paces away from Alan and Bob.

Alan leaned over the borax, as Bob instructed. When his head crossed the plane of the powder line, he saw. He couldn’t imagine how Liz kept her sanity in the face of what she was staring at. Just inches from her outstretched hands, three of the migrators crept forward as she inched backwards. Their purple and yellow bruised bodies seemed to glow in the light from the barn. If they were to stand, they’d probably be as tall as a man, but they didn’t stand. They crawled across the ground on their hands and feet. Their elbows and shoulder blades made sharp points and the naked muscles of their buttocks were clenched. As they crept, they would raise a foot and silently swing it forward, even with their hands before putting it back down.
 

Liz kept chanting but glanced up at Alan. Her eyes were filled with terror.

At her glance, one of the creatures turned its faceless head back. Its body pivoted in an instant and it sprang towards Alan.

He jerked himself back. As soon as his face crossed the plane of borax, the creature was invisible again. He imagined its bruised body just on the other side of the line and he took a step backwards.

“Did you see them?” Bob asked.

Alan nodded.

“Why three?” Alan asked.

“They all came at once. We couldn’t separate off just one,” Bob said.

Down the path of blood, Liz backed through the circle of borax that surrounded the bonfire.

“We have to get ready to close the circle,” Bob said. He handed the box to Alan.

Alan wondered about the creature that had lunged at him—whether it had returned to its brothers. He wanted to ask Liz, but suspected that interrupting her concentration could lead to disaster.

“You ready with the fire?” Alan asked.

“Yes,” Bob said.

Bob moved quickly to the outside of the circle’s perimeter. When Liz reached the far side of the pile of wood—that’s when they were supposed to act. Alan got as close as he dared to the line of borax where the straight path ended and the circle around the bonfire began. He tore the top from the box. There was no need to conserve the powder once he drew this final line. The wind was blowing steadily from east to west. He would have to keep the top of the box very close to the ground to make an unbroken line.

Liz was almost in place.

Bob lit his torch. It was a long stick with an old shirt tied to the end. They’d soaked the shirt in kerosene. It lit fast. The flame sputtered in the wind.

Liz found the other side of the pile of wood and backed up to it. The wind was in their favor. When the fire caught, the flames would blow away from her position. Still, with all the kerosene, she’d have to be careful.

“Go,” Bob said to Alan.
 

Alan clenched his teeth as he reached the box over the line of borax. It was his job to cut off access to the borax path and complete the circle of powder. This was the only way to contain the migrators. Without this line, they would just flee back down the path when Bob lit the fire. He began to shake the box. The powder blew in the wind. The gusts didn’t seem to disturb the lines on the ground, but between the box and the ground, the wind dispersed Alan’s effort. He reached his whole arm over the line to move the box even closer to the ground.
 

It was finally working. The powder was completing the circle. When the borax touched the line and extended it, it seemed to lock in. The borax locked in.

“Alan!” Liz yelled.

He looked up to see his wife looking over her shoulder. He didn’t see anything. He kept pouring.

The pain hit his pinky and his elbow at the same time. Every instinct told him to jerk his hand back. He didn’t. He kept pouring the powder out of the box, clenching his hand harder as the pain intensified. The circle was almost closed. Six inches, five inches, four inches.
 

Alan saw the bones of his own right hand. He saw the skin disappear from the back of his hand where it covered a bulging vein. Blood squirted out into the wind and blew back a fine mist before the vein was sealed by the searing venom of the creature. At his elbow, a tendon sprang from the joint. Alan’s bladder released.

The box fell from his ruined arm.
 

The circle was closed.

Alan fell backwards, clutching his arm to his chest. The thing tugged at his finger bones as they crossed the line of borax, but it released and Alan fell onto his back.
 

Bob reached his torch over the circle. Alan watched through the tears flooding down his face. The fire at the end of the stick went out. Bob kept threading the torch towards the fire, careful to keep his hands on the right side of the borax circle. As soon as the rag was sheltered from the wind behind the pile of wood, the flame sprang back to life. It had barely touched the pile when the bonfire lit.
 

Flames shot up from the pile.

Liz shouted her chants over the popping of the fire.

She moved away from the heat. She kept her pace even and controlled, but her head swiveled back and forth as she looked at the creatures that Alan and Bob couldn’t see. She turned to face the fire and stepped backwards over the line, out of the circle.

“Yes,” Alan whispered. His tears gushed with his relief.

Liz was at his side in an instant.

“Alan. Oh my god, what have we done?” Liz asked.

Bob came to his other side.

Alan squeezed the tears from his eyes and he turned to look back at Joe. His son’s jaw hung down in horror and his hands were pressed against the screen. The boy looked past the adults to the bonfire. Alan turned to follow Joe’s gaze. The flames reached high into the night.