Point Pleasant (30 page)

Nicholas stood taller behind the podium with a mien of composure and control. Ben spared a glance around the crowd to see members of the audience were staring up at their sheriff in quiet reverence.

“The safety of the citizens of Point Pleasant is, and will always be, the Sheriff’s Department’s top priority,” Nicholas started. “We’ve all heard the tales. We’ve all heard the rumors. Some of us have even seen it for ourselves,” he said, and he glanced over at Mayor Stewart, who was looking down at his shiny black dress shoes. “I’m gonna be honest with you. We don’t know what it is, but tomorrow morning, I’ll be leading a squad into the forest to track it down.”

The meeting space erupted into a flurry of whispers and shouts of approval.

Ben sat up straighter and looked over at Tucker, who muttered, “
Idiots
.”

“We will keep Point Pleasant safe,” Nicholas continued. “Whatever the cost. That’s all for now. Please be sure to adhere to your curfews and be indoors by six P.M. Armed patrol units will be on shift all night. Businesses can open as usual tomorrow, though we request that you close down by four P.M. to ensure that you leave yourself and your neighbors enough time to make it home for curfew. Be safe, and good night.”

Mayor Stewart stood. He and Nicholas—along with a few other men and women in suits and uniforms—left through a side exit. Lizzie leapt from her chair and raced after the group of town officials.

Ben faced Tucker. “I’m gonna go try and talk to them.”

“Yeah, good luck with
that
,” Tucker snorted. “I’m gonna go home and try and figure out what those voices were saying.”

“Be safe. Salt your house,” Ben said and shook hands with the other man. “Call me if you find anything. Whatever time. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. Ever again.”

“‘Night,” Tucker said with a nod before he disappeared into the crowd.

Ben grabbed his bag and headed to the exit on the other side of the room that Nicholas and the others had used. Nicholas and Lizzie were alone in the hallway and squabbling over something about an official statement. Ben cleared his throat.

Lizzie offered a weak smile when she noticed him. She looked as regretful as she had that morning, but Ben ignored her.

“Are you too busy to talk?” Ben asked Nicholas. “This is important.”

Lizzie’s expression faltered, and she crossed her arms. “I’m working here, Ben,” she said. “I need to get a quote for the front page. We go to press in an hour.”

“You have all the quotes you’ll be getting from the Sheriff’s Department and the Town Council today, Lizzie,” Nicholas said, and he shot her a stern frown.

“What about you, Ben?” Lizzie asked. “Have you had an experience? Is that why you need to speak with the sheriff?”

Ben gave her a cold look and said nothing.

“Fine.” Lizzie sighed and held up her hands in defeat. “I see you’re still mad. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you another time.”

“Good night, Lizzie,” Nicholas said as he stepped forward and pointed her toward a side exit.

Lizzie left, but she cast a look over her shoulder before she disappeared outside.

“Well?” Ben said when Nicholas turned back.

“I have a meeting with the mayor and the council,” Nicholas replied. “What do you need?”

“You
cannot
go into the forest after this thing.”

“Ben, it’s very nice of you to be concerned, but—”

“No, listen, this is so much more than we thought.” Ben slid his laptop from his bag. “I have to show you something, but we should probably go somewhere private.”

“The mayor’s waiting.”

“This is important. There’s something
else
out there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just tell the mayor you’ll be back in fifteen. It won’t take long. Please, Nic. You have to hear this.”

Nicholas regarded Ben for a few seconds before he relented. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

He breezed through the doorway that led to the private council chambers, and Ben stood alone in the dim hallway that reeked of floor polish. Nicholas returned minutes later and tilted his head to the left.

“C’mon, there’s an office over here. Everyone’s gone home for the day.”

Ben followed and waited until the door was closed before he spoke. “I talked to Warren this morning about the Native American lore surrounding the Mothman,” he started and put his laptop on one of the desks. “The Shawnee had an account of it that was different from the Mingo’s. The Shawnee said a firebird fell out of the sky and landed where the TNT Factory is now, and they thought it cursed the land. But the Mingo said that the thing in the woods crawled up
out
if the ground.”

“Okay, so?”

“They had two different stories for what they assumed was one creature, but they were both talking about
two
entirely different entities.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I went out to the forest earlier.”

“Ben! You said you’d be careful!”

“I had a ring of salt!”

Nicholas stared at Ben with a look of incredulous frustration.

“Abernathy told me it wanted to talk to me, but she said I needed to listen without my ears.”

“Ben, look,” Nicholas sighed. “I know you mean well, but I
really
don’t have time for this kinda stuff.”

Ben shot Nicholas a curt scowl and pressed play on the recording on his laptop.

“You are asking the wrong questions.”

Nicholas froze. “
Who
was that?”

“That was the Mothman, but it hardly seems fitting to call him that anymore,” Ben replied.

“I don’t understand,” Nicholas said.

“It’s an EVP. We can’t hear him talking with our ears. We’re human! This thing is on a different frequency or something.”

Nicholas sat down in a desk chair and listened with rapt attention as Ben had the conversation with the creature that had chased them through the woods when they were twelve years old. Ben watched Nicholas closely when the voice said, “
Not me.
”

The sheriff’s eyes grew wide as the swirling hiss of static, laughter, and screams rose from the recording.

“
It is manifesting.
”

Nicholas rose to his feet and recoiled from the laptop while the two voices chanted in their ancient languages and seemed to curse one another. The sound of the Camaro’s screeching tires and Ben’s expletives heralded the end of the recording.

“Christ!” Nicholas exclaimed.

Ben snapped the laptop shut. “I’ll say.”

“When were you out there?”

“Before the forest caught fire, apparently.”

“Ben, that patch of River Bend Road looks like a fucking hurricane went through it. Trees are all leveled, the concrete is all smashed open like a bomb went off in the middle of the road.”

“Are you serious?”

“What the
fuck
was that?” Nicholas demanded.

“I really don’t know.”

Nicholas pulled Ben into an unexpected hug. Ben relished the contact.

“Are you okay?” Nicholas asked. “Christ, Ben.”

“I’m fine,” Ben said and pulled away. “But you can’t go out there tomorrow, no one can. This is so much more than we thought it was, Nic. When I was with Abernathy, she said ‘it’ needs to be broken. And the first voice, you heard him. He said he needs help. I think whatever that second voice is, it’s keeping the first one here. Like it’s trapped him somehow.”

Nicholas put his hands on his waist and eyed the laptop.

“And look,” Ben said as he drew the leather cord out from underneath his shirt.

Nicholas’ gaze softened. “You kept that?”

“No,” Ben said. “I threw it into the forest the day before I left town thirteen years ago.”

A wounded look guttered through Nicholas’ eyes, and he furrowed his brow. For a moment, Ben saw every day of those thirteen years etched into the sheriff’s face.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Ben said, though the excuse sounded lame even to his own ears. “I was mad at myself. But I threw it into the forest and didn’t even see where it landed. Abernathy said a familiar face would return and that it would be a sign of trust. This was at my front door after that happened.” Ben gestured to the laptop to indicate the recording. “The fucking Mothman, or whatever we should really call him, he’s not the bad guy. He’s been trying to warn people every time the other thing shows up! He’s been trying to save us!”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do, then? How are we supposed to help him?”

“No clue.” Ben shrugged. “I think he’ll call again. But until then, you can’t go tomorrow, no one can go into those woods. Everyone in town needs to put a ring of salt around their houses and stay inside. I don’t know. This thing, it’s in the woods. And when it comes out, people die.”

A heavy sigh escaped Nicholas’ lips. Ben imagined that he could almost read the other man’s thoughts. How was he supposed to tell the citizens of Point Pleasant to cover themselves in salt and barricade themselves in their homes?

“Why salt?” Nicholas asked at last.

“Because it’s pure, according to Lewis. She had another journal from Emily. Salt was the only thing that kept it out of her cabin. She went outside to replace her salt line after a rainstorm, and the other one took her. When the soldiers found her body later, she was missing her heart. Burning sage can work too, and iron will hurt it, apparently. But salt is like some miracle deterrent against dark spirits.”

Nicholas’ nose wrinkled when Ben spoke of Emily Lewis’ missing heart. “Dark spirits,” he repeated, his whispered tone full of disbelief.

Ben shot Nicholas a helpless expression. “I don’t know what else to call it. Tucker thinks it’s a demon! He’s gone home to try and figure out what they were saying. He thinks the
other
one is talking in Latin.”

“Okay, okay.” Nicholas took in a deep breath. “I have to get back in there,” he said. “You go home. I’m off in a couple hours. I’ll come over then.”

“What are you going to say to Stewart?”

“I have no idea,” Nicholas said.

Ben slid his laptop into his messenger bag. “Good luck with that,” he said, following Nicholas out.

Nicholas uttered a humorless laugh. “Bye, Ben.”

“Bye, Nic.”

When Ben exited Town Hall, he realized that Tucker had driven him over.
Looks like I’m hoofing it. Fantastic.

He trudged across the square and pulled his coat closer around himself. The quiet was disconcerting.

As he passed Chapman’s, Ben noticed a figure standing in the darkened storefront window. Grant Harper’s gaze was trained on the sky.

Ben walked over and knocked on the glass. Harper looked down, and Ben saw terror in the young man’s wide eyes.

“Hey, you okay?” Ben asked.

Harper edged closer to the entrance, which bore a ‘Sorry, We’re Closed!’ sign, and unlocked the door. He opened it outward a few inches, and Ben raised an eyebrow at Harper through the small space.

“Hey, man, are you all right?”

Harper shifted uneasily. “My car’s in the shop. I don’t—” he started, and he peered at the sky again. “I don’t wanna walk home.”

Ben realized that Harper was scared of what might swoop down and carry him away. Ben could not blame him.

“Well, I’m walking home now. I’ll go with you if you want. Safety in numbers, right?”

“I don’t know,” Harper said and toyed with the lock on the door.

“I don’t mind, really. It’s better than you spending the night sleeping at your register, isn’t it?”

Harper conceded after a moment. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks,” he said. “Let me lock up.”

Ben stood back as Harper slipped outside and secured the main door. The young man clutched his keys in his right hand as if ready to use them as a weapon if necessary.

“Where do you live?” Ben asked as they started down Main Street. “Still on Phelps Avenue?”

Harper bristled. “How do you know that?”

“I used to live here, remember,” Ben said with a dry tone.

Harper nodded, but his stare was vacant as he glanced up at a nearby tree line. “Right.”

They walked in silence for a while. Ben felt especially alert as Harper twitched and jittered at every sound. The crunch of the dead leaves on the sidewalk under their feet seemed to disorient him.

“I know about the other one,” Ben said finally. “I know what you were talking about now.”

“Stop talking.”

“I just want you to know you’re not crazy or paranoid. You’re not the only one.”

“
Stop
talking about it,” Harper said, his voice taking on the pleading tones of a child whose father insisted on removing the training wheels from his son’s bike before he was ready for the terrifying reality of peddling on his own. “It will come.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“I’d rather not find out,” Harper snapped.

“Fair enough,” Ben said. They continued the rest of the way without speaking.

“Do you know about salt?” Ben asked when they turned onto Phelps and stopped in front of a red brick house with white shutters over the windows.

“What?”

“Salt’s a deterrent. Put a ring of it, like the kind you would use to grit your drive in the winter, around your house. You’ll be safe.”

“How do you know that?” Harper asked.

“It worked for me earlier,” Ben replied.

Harper’s eyes widened once more. “You felt it?”

“Understatement,” Ben said, puzzling over the peculiar phrasing. “Why would you put it that way?”

“Because you can’t see it unless it wants you to.”

Harper seemed to stray off into a distant memory. His gray irises darkened under the murky overcast, and Ben recognized their haunted sheen immediately. It had occupied his reflection in every mirrored surface for months after he had scooped up his mother’s limp body, carried her through the smoke, and stumbled into the front yard. She had been so heavy. As he gave her CPR on the grass, watched over by the sun in its high place in the blue sky that reflected the shades of her favorite paintings, Caroline had stared up at Ben with glazed eyes that did not see.

The hair on the nape of Ben’s neck went rigid as he regarded the young man. He wondered what had really gone on behind the closed doors of the Harper home after little Grant’s disappearance and if anyone had ever tried to get the boy some semblance of help with reconciling himself with the traumatic experience from his childhood.