CARVED IN STONE part 5

Copyright (c) 2020 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This is a work of fiction. All persons, locations and actions are from the author's imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner.

CARVED IN STONE

Part 5

By R. Peterson

 

John Walker took a last swallow then stared at the tea leaves swirling in the bottom. They looked like the dark clouds rolling outside the window. Thunder shook the witch’s dwelling on the corner of Main Street and Galbraith. Everyone jumped except Melania. “Good lord,” Alison Weatherbee gasped. “I thought the house was going to come tumbling down!”

            “It will,” Melania said. “All things must pass … but not tonight.”

            “Where do you buy this?” The sheriff tapped his cup. “I’ve not had such a scary trip since I rode shotgun in Leroy Hicks’ car the night of our High School Homecoming bonfires.”

            “Are you looking to buy?” Allison smirked.

            “It’s tempting,” John said. “But any drug this powerful has to be illegal … or it should be.”

            “It’s not the herb that make you travel,” Melania said. “Like lots of things … the power is in the container.”

John looked closely at his cup. It was cracked and looked … old.

“This is a Purple Sand tea set made from the ashes of a Chinese witch during the Han Dynasty about two-hundred B.C.,” Melania explained. “The augury baked into the Bone China allowed the emperor and others to travel without being noticed.”

 

            “But I heard you ask Allison to bring a special blend from the basement.”

            “Tornare indietro l'orologio was cultivated in the imperial gardens especially to fill these cups,” Melania told him. “And I enjoy the taste.”

            “I’m just a simple farm boy with a badge,” John said. “I don’t know a lot about enchanting but it looks like this blend would be hard to find.”

            “Not at all.” Allison laughed. “The jars are all on the third shelf near the end … I’ve never seen them empty.”

            “I get the feeling this entire house from top to bottom is filled with magic and mystery.”

            “So what did you think of our little adventure?” Melania gestured. Allison stood up and walked toward the tea kettle.

John took off his hat and scratched his head. “What I don’t understand is we’re seeing you with a family and the last name Kernes. You say you were never married … how can this be?”

            ‘I adopted several unwanted children in my younger days,” Melania explained. “I gave them an imaginary father … as well as a real home.”

            “It was interesting seeing Margie O’Brian before she married Sean,” the sheriff said. “My grandmother used to tell stories about the Chinaman to keep us in line when we were kids.        “Did it work?” Allison carried the heavy pot to the table.

            “We were terrified,” John confessed. “But the fear of some imaginary monster soon fades when you’re thirteen.”

            “The Chinaman is real,” Melania said. “And so are the Hodmedod. There is balance in all things. The Momett are a very gentle and loving people … it is only natural that they should have dark and dangerous relatives.”

            “Is?” the sheriff stammered.

            “Would you like more?” Allison lifted the pot.

John Walker hesitated. The storm would not be ending anytime soon. He had never known his grandfather Joseph. And a member of the Walker family had always been sheriff of Comanche County since the death of the legendary Thomas Lang. Going with the witch on one of her tea rides was like living for a time in the past. “I would love one,” he said.

 

            “All magic comes from wisdom.” Melania smiled. “And its offspring, knowledge, is born of love.”

And they all drank … and time moved.

 

Scarecrows

Part 2

 

Margie hadn’t felt this mischievous in a long time; she literally danced around the house as she did her chores. Emma Hicks would come by at six to take her to the dance rehearsal at the Melania Descombey Kernes house in Cloverdale. Margie treasured going into town; it was a welcome relief from the drudgery of living in the country. She had carefully sewn the head on her scarecrow and no matter how many times she walked through the porch she still admired how handsome he looked. She had dyed an old mop head black for hair and it was trimmed neatly and parted in the middle, like a movie star would wear it.

She found herself fussing with her own hair as she invented excuses to promenade past where Brian leaned against the wall. This was day two of the Comanche County Scarecrow Festival and she couldn’t sit still. Margie was beginning to see why it had become a tradition.

“I know I shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered as she walked from the radio to the porch. She lifted her creation and slipped her feet into the straps on its feet. She took a deep breath. “Emma told me not to dance with you until tonight.” The scarecrow felt like a warm blanket against her in the frigid air as she embraced it under the covered porch. The Tommy Dorsey song There are such things began to play on the radio. Margie’s eyes were closed and her mouth was open slightly as she and the scarecrow began to drift across the wooden floor. “But a little bit of practice doesn’t hurt does it?  Oh my sweet Brian!” She exhaled.

 

 

Sherriff Walker kicked at the feathers and bloody snow with the toe of his cowboy boot. Mr. Fenster was frantic. “We got us a killer in this county and I want something done about it.” The old farmer lifted the wooden door to his chicken coop from the snow where it lay. “Look at this! It’s ripped right off the hinges, had to be a man that done this, a weasel or a skunk will just tunnel under. I don’t know of a one that could rip off a door.”

“It wasn’t no skunk or weasel.” Joe Walker squatted down and looked at the footprints. “These are man tracks made by work boots and they lead into the woods.” He motioned for his deputy to come over. “Get on the radio. Contact the mayor and tell him I have a situation. I’ll need to deputize six men right away. Tell him I’ll explain everything later.” He turned toward Fenster. “Did you dig these?” The Sheriff gestured toward several round holes in the ground.

“Hell no, I didn’t. Why would I did post holes here?” Fred Fenster was furious. “Why aren’t you going after him? You got a deputy. Them is plenty good odds.”

“Him is at least four men, probably five; each set of these boot prints is different. I don’t know why five men would want to tear up a coop and kill chickens. You’d have to be crazy to do what they’ve done, and that’s what bothers me. I think we are dealing with a bunch of vagrant maniacs. I haven’t seen worn-out boots like the ones that made these tracks, for thirty years.”

“Are you just going to stand there and let them get away?” Fred shouted.

“It’s getting dark and the Motha Woods are full of bears, wolves and who knows what. Lead on Fred and I’ll follow you.” The Sheriff pointed toward the edge of the forest.

Fred Fenster hitched up his drooping bib overalls and capered back toward his ramshackle house.

            “You ain’t getting my vote next election! By thee god,” he yelled.

 

 

            “We’ve got problems,” Judge Walker said as he walked into the Get your Gun  next door to Rip Cycle Motors on the south side of Sarah Dees Avenue. Ed Fowler looked up from behind a grimy counter and rested the shotgun he was cleaning.

            “Let me decide if it’s we or not,” he said.

            “We got reports coming in about farm animals being killed … especially chickens.”

            “Sounds like weasels or skunks … maybe a fox.”

            “Yes it does, except weasels and skunks don’t dig holes and the only fox holes I know of are on the border with Germany. We got a gang of Moggies posting without my say-so.” Tom Walker picked up a box of shotgun ammunition from the counter and rolled the shells in his hands.

            “That brother of yours; is he on to it yet?” Ed finished cleaning the gun, snapped the breach shut then sighted down the barrel.

            “He’s been to two farms this morning trying to get extra deputies to go after what he thinks is a bunch of psychotic tramps.”

            “How many volunteers does he have?”

            “None, as of yet. I’ve been pressuring the mayor to put him off.”

            “Why not give him some? Let’s get a few of our boys to go with him as volunteers.”

            “I’ll check around to see if anyone has any escaped Tattie-Bogals; I’ve heard about a group of runaways living in the Motha Woods, but as far as I know it’s just a story.”

            “We might have to deal with your brother sooner than we planned.” Ed swung the gun around till it was pointed at the judge’s head. He pulled the trigger it clicked on an empty chamber.

            “What?” he reacted to the judge’s wide-open eyes. “It wasn’t loaded!”

 

 

            Emma stopped her thirty-four Ford in front of her grandmother’s house on the east end of Galbraith Avenue. Margie sat beside her and kept glancing to the back-seat where her stuffed dance partner lay. Emma knew the young girl had already developed a fascination for the creature. “Did you bring the picture of your favorite movie star?” Emma asked.

            “Yes,” Margie said. “I cut it out of Look Magazine.” She held the picture up. “It’s Clark Gable. I tried to copy his hair style on … Brian.”

            “Oh Brian is it now?” Emma smiled, but deep down she was apprehensive about what her and her grandmother were about to do. She was concerned it might be too much, that it might make Margie’s Tattie-Bogal … go to a forbidden place.

            The other dancers began to arrive. Each carried a scarecrow body that had been carefully sewn. Everyone laughed when Erma Bates showed up. The padding on her Straw-Dandy had slid down on the torso making it look like he had a pot gut.

            “Better tell him to lay off the beer.” Norma Jennings cackled.

Erma laughed herself as she held the scarecrow in her pudgy arms “Looks just like my papa,” she said.

They girls marveled at the intricate detail on Margie’s dance partner. Some of the girls wanted to kiss his tantalizing mouth.

Margie laughed but refused to share her new love. “We’re engaged,” she said.

Emma led six teen girls carrying scarecrows up the ornately manicured grounds and into the two story home.

 

 

            Sheriff Joe Walker watched as the truck pulled up, six armed men were riding in the back. “Who’s that driving?” He asked his deputy.

            “I think it’s Clyde Oram.”

            “The x-con who works for my brother?”

            “I think so.”

            “Damn,” said the Sheriff.

Clyde came walking over as the half dozen men climbed from the back of the truck. They came forward with two hound tracking dogs on leaches. He smirked as he looked at the Sheriff and his deputy. “The honorable Judge Walker tells me you need lots of help sheriff.”

            “We’re not after coons,” the Sheriff pointed to the dogs. “Get them out of here.”

            “But you need help tracking; these are the best in the county.”

One of the hounds sniffed the prints in the snow, then began to howl.

            “The men we’re after leave tracks a blind man could follow, I don’t know who they are, but we don’t need to let them know we’re coming.” Sheriff Walker put his hands on Clyde’s shoulders and turned him around. “Shut that dog up,” he ordered as he shoved him toward the baying hound. “And all of you fellows leave, except for the two Sullivan brothers. I’ll give you boys a ride back to town when we’re done.”

            “His honor told us all to come out here!” Clyde’s face was red.

            “He’s a judge not a Sheriff. This is my party I say who gets invited.” Sheriff Walker pointed toward the truck. “Now!” he ordered.

Joe Walker’s deputy leaned in toward his boss.

            “The Sullivan boys work for your brother too,” he said.

            “I know that,” said the Sheriff. He watched the two men climb from the back of the truck. One caught his boot on the trucks bumper, stumbled and fell into the snow; the other watched him stupidly. “But I can handle them.”

            “You ever been through the Motha Woods before?” his deputy asked. He was peering into the gloomy forest.

            “Through it!” the Sheriff said. “Hell I’ve never even walked into it.”

The four trudged into the snow covered trees … and disappeared.

 

 

            The Judge and Ed Fowler were driving Motha road when they met the men returning in the truck.

Clyde unrolled his window. “You’re brother ran us all off except for the Sullivan’s,” he said.

Ed looked at the judge. “There’s no way those boys can take them alone,” he said.

            “The sheriff’s car parked up ahead?” the judge asked Clyde.

            “I believe it is.” Clyde said. “What you got in mind?”

            “If we can’t kill them right now we can delay them for a while.” Tom Walker said.

He slid a knife from his pocket and showed the blade to Ed. “Real sharp,” he said. “Sharp enough to cut tires, hoses and a throat if need be.”

The truck full of men turned and followed Ed Fowler and the Judge … back up the road.

 

 

            Margie put her arms around Brian; her feet were strapped to his. The five other girls stood in the middle of Emma’s grandmother’s living room holding their Straw Dandies. All the furniture had been moved to the side to allow room for the dancers. Emma’s elderly grandmother Melania sat at one end of the room cutting paper into tiny pieces.

Margie couldn’t make her feet stand still; she giggled.

            “I’ve got flutterbys in by belly”, she said.

Emma cranked up her grandmothers Victrola phonograph and placed the needle on the spinning 78 rpm recording. The sounds of the Jimmy Dorsey orchestra playing Besame Mucho drifted through the air as the girls and the Straw Dandies began to float around the room.

Margie closed her eyes. She could feel Brian begin to lift, to pull her into each step. She was no longer guiding his legs through the dance steps. He was leading her. She started to relax and began to be swept away by the music and the strange ambiances pulsating the length of her body.

She felt breath like a frosty breeze on her cheek that made tiny goose-bumps cascade down her arms. She opened her eyes and the blue buttons were gone. Brian’s eyes were now a pale icy blue and he blinked. Margie closed her eyes again. She didn’t want the dream to end.

            The music stopped and Emma motioned the girls to gather around her. “Form a single line with your dance partner,” she said. “When the music starts dance through the arches, me and grandmother have a surprise for you.” Margie looked. Emma sat on a high stool next to an ornate arbor which had been erected at one end of the room. The archway led through a hallway into the kitchen.

“Remember the photographs I had you bring?” Emma asked the girls. “You are about to find out what they were for.”

The music started and the girls danced through the archway. As they went through Emma scattered finely cut bits of the photograph each girl had brought over the dancers like confetti. Delighted shouts and giggles rang out as the couples disappeared into the next room. Margie was last in line. When she went to dance under the archway with her scarecrow, Emma hesitated then brought her hand down.

            “I don’t think I should do this,” Emma said and pointed toward Margie’s scarecrow, “he’s almost a Mommet now.”

            “Fate is a lover that will not, and should not be denied.” Melania smiled. She closed her eyes then motioned for Emma to release her confetti.

Margie felt like an electrical current was raining down on her and Brian. Millions of diminutive bubbles swept over her body, and then burst causing exquisite pleasure. She felt weak in her legs and started to fall, and then strong arms were lifting her holding her up. Margie sensed herself being pulled through the doorway into the kitchen. Her heart was beating wildly she was afraid to unlock her eyes.

She heard the knob on the back door turning, then a screech as the screen door behind it opened. Frigid air blew over her face and caused her auburn hair to stream out behind her.

 

Brian gazed back at her with his soft blue eyes. “I have waited forever for you,” he said.

 

 

            Sheriff Walker studied the tracks in the snow; they had followed them for almost three miles through thick pine and quaking aspen. The group of men they were pursuing had held to a steady North West direction until suddenly they had veered off moving due north. The Sheriff was concerned, tiny tuffs of snow were falling from the sides of the tracks. A taletell sign that the prints were very fresh. He and his deputies should be getting close. One of the Sullivan brothers stuck his head high in the air, he looked like a gopher. His nostrils twitched. “I smell smoke,” he said.

Sheriff Walker moved some branches with his hand. In a glade straight ahead a group of human like figures plodded through the snow around a rocked-in campfire. Crudely built domed shelters made of pine boughs tied together encircled the clearing. The figures all seemed to be wearing white grain bags over their heads. There were smaller ones among them – children! It wasn’t until he saw the straw sticking out of one old shirt sleeve that he knew for sure what they were.

“Scarecrows!” he gasp.

An instant later a shriek came from behind. The Sheriff turned. Almost in slow motion, a giant of a man swept a scythe in a semi-circle through the air and through the neck of one of his men.  Not a giant, or a man, his mind calmly informed him, it’s a Scarecrow. And it’s just cut off the head of one of the Sullivan brothers. For a split second, Sullivan’s horrified eyes stared at the Sherriff accusingly. Then they blinked once and Sullivan’s head toppled into the snow. All hell broke loose.

 His deputy’s gun fired a split second before his own. His bullet hit the charging thing direct in the chest. A spray of straw blew out from the back of the Scarecrow but the creatures, dozens of them, were still coming. They were almost upon him when a sharp blow struck him on the back of his head and everything began to go black. The last thing the Sheriff remembered before he passed out was the two groups of Scarecrows converging. One group was carrying burning branches.  They seemed to be fighting … each other.

 

 

The music stopped suddenly Margie and Brian stood holding each other on the dance floor. All the girls were out of breath amazed at the new exuberance of their dance partners. A loud pounding came from the front door. Emma stood up and started toward it when Melania motioned for her to stop.

The old lady stood slowly then raised one hand high above her head and closed her eyes. There was a high pitched tone almost beyond the range of hearing that seemed to come from everywhere. It slowly faded. The Straw Dandies that a moment before had been so vigorously alive went limp in the girls arms. Margie held Brian tight, he was unchanged.

Melania nodded to Emma and she answered the door.

Cloverdale’s chief of police stood holding a paper in his hand two other police officers stood behind him. “I have an order signed by Magistrate Judge Tom Walker and a medical specialist. It’s an order for a mandatory mental evaluation for Melania Descombey Kernes,” The Chief of police said. “I’m sorry but your grandmother will have to come with us.”

“Where are you taking her?” Emma gasped.

“To State Hospital North.” The Chief moved aside and two police officers walked toward the old woman. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This wasn’t my doing.”

Melania turned to her granddaughter as they led her away.

“The recipe box the Ombre.  Ecco dove troverete le risposte” (that’s where you will find the answers), she whispered.

 

 

 

 

 

Lemont slid the anvil away from the trap door in his barn. An owl hooted from the rafters as he lugged away the grain sacks.

“I know you’re up and about down there,” Lemont muttered as he removed the last bag. “It’s dark out and that’s when you do your murder. I’ve lost so many before. I was hoping to hang on to you. There’s too many of you things in the woods now. There not all mine. There was plenty of others let their ones get away too. They’ll be coming after you and the rest, burning you to nothing.” He opened the trap door then scrambled up a ladder into the loft and pulled the ladder after him.

“I’ve seen you posted at her house, you want her dead as much as I do. No need to wait for the ninth there is a blood moon in the sky tonight.” Lemont yelled from above.

With a slow lurching moan the hideous black thing crawled out of the pit dragging a rotted post. The Hodmedod paused in the barns doorway and an icy chill ran through Lemont’s veins as the monstrosity slowly turned. Lemont shrunk back into the shadows away from the creature’s eyes.

The Chinaman picked up a hand held grain-cutter and swept it through the air. The barn lights reflected off its razor-sharp edge. The monster stalked through the barnyard and into the corn field … dragging the post behind him.

 

 

Margie said goodnight to Emma and then carried Brian to her aunt’s porch as the car drove away.

“Wow you’re so much heavier than I remember.” She was out of breath.

“I could have walked, she knows about me,” Brian said as he watched the car’s taillights.

“I think she suspects, but she doesn’t know how real you are.” Margie said. She was staring into the living scarecrow’s eyes and it was like looking into a dream about heaven.

“There are things that Melania should have told her,” Brian said. “Things she should have told you, about me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Margie said. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care what people think.”

“I can never be what you need, but I will always need you.” Brian hung his head.

A tremendous thump shook the ground and caused a support post on the porch to fall to the ground.

Margie and Brian stared as a huge dark figure came crashing through the corn swinging a gleaming blade in the moonlight.

 

“Run Margie! For God’s sake run!” Brian screamed.

 

To be continued …