CARVED IN STONE part 6

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 6

By R. Peterson

 

Joanie stared at the thunder and lightning that battled just outside the cast-iron fence. A furious storm was brewing everywhere … except inside Black Rose Cemetery.

Witches from six covens surrounded an open grave. Brent Hawke leaned on a shovel exhausted. Baby Bat grinned when she looked at him. “You shouldn’t have made a fear wish,” she said.

“What’s a fear wish?” a wide-eyed young member of Dirt Blanket a new coven from Casper, Wyoming asked.

“That’s when you start any sentence with I hope it doesn’t … I pray it’s not … Don’t let it be … that sort of thing, Abner,” Marsha frowned. “It’s an invitation to any dumb-man listening to make what you’re afraid of … happen.”

“A demon?” Abner gasped.

“Dumb-man!” Marsha slapped him. “Speak night-lingo or we’ll cut out your tongue!”

Two members of Abra Cadaver were perched on the exposed coffin, prying open the lid. A puff of greenish mist rose from the grave when the casket opened with a loud crack. Hamilton Fisk leaped into the grave and yanked the body out. She held the thin, almost rotted corpse of a middle-aged man in the air for all to see and then shrieked loud enough to make roosting starlings vacate the trees.

White bones glistened under the moonlight as bits of dried skin flaked onto the grass. “Erect a cross and gather wood for a fire,” Hamilton said. “Even a Momett witch can’t resist the slow cooked flavor of a …” she looked at the name and the death-date on the grave marker and licked her lips. “… A forty three year old, Richard Miles, ground-cured barbeque.”

 

-------2-------

 

                “The people we thought were gone are still among us … look for them!” Allison brought the cast iron pot and re-filled the bone-china cups. Some of the tea spilled. “Thank you dear,” Melania told her.

            “I’m sorry,” Allison said. “The hairs on the back of my neck feel like tiny nails.”

            “I’ve heard stories,” Sheriff John Walker said. “Told by my father by way of his father. He said some of these nightmares still roam Motha Forest.”

            “There are many dangerous things in those woods,” Melania said. “Thus the enchantment to keep people’s dreams happy.”

Another clap of thunder shook the house and John dropped his cup. “If this storm doesn’t let up, it’s going to destroy the entire town,” the sheriff gasped as he looked for a towel.

            “All things in this world have a purpose,” Melania said. “Get the sheriff more tea please,” she told Allison. “There is still much more for us all to see.”

            “From what I understand you’ve barely left your bed for years,” John said when he found a towel. “How can you know so much about the outside world?”

            “There are many ways of seeing. Many objects have eyes. You only have to know how to use them.”

Allison refilled the sheriff’s cup and Melania told her to extinguish all the lamps in the room. The sheriff expected total darkness but a globe was glowing on a cluttered bookcase. “You may pick it up and take a closer look, but make it quick … we must be going.”

Sheriff John Walker stared at the glowing glass ball in his hand. It was like a snow-globe except a tiny storm swirled in the top. The three dimensional scene below showed Black Rose Cemetery. Young people dressed in black were gathered around an open grave … and they were moving. “Where are we going?” he mumbled.

            “Back,” Melania told him, “… back to a time of love … and of course nightmares.”

 

Scarecrows part 3 (courting day)

By R. Peterson

 

 

            Margie moved behind Brian as the thing came out of the field, but she didn’t run. The Hodmedod towered over the cornstalks and it swung the scythe in a wide arc above its head. The rotted grain sack, that covered its face, was torn in several places showing skin like blackened leather through the holes.

            “We need fire!” Brian yelled as he picked up a wooden porch support which had fallen to the ground.

Margie was petrified as she watched the monster lurch toward Brian. The creature viciously swung the blade with tremendous force, but Brian blocked it with the post. The razor sharp scythe cut the thick timber in two and left Brian holding a chunk of wood.

Margie scrambled through the front door as Brian flung himself away from the slashing blade.

The Hodmedod watched the young girl with murder in his eyes as she ran into the house. Brian threw the post striking the thing in the head, and then stumbled backwards as he lured the monster away. With a roar that sounded like rusty nails on metal, the Hodmedod charged.  Brian fell to the ground and rolled just as the creature drove the blade into the frozen earth.

Brian leaped to his feet and raced into the barn with the savage scarecrow behind him. He grabbed a pitch-fork from a hay pile and used it to keep the monster away. The tines of the fork drove deep into the Hodmedod’s chest but it did not stop. The massive weight of the monster broke the fork-handle and pinned Brian against the side of the barn.

The scarecrow raised the scythe high above its head and swung the blade down. Brian twisted his body at the last moment and the knife-edge sliced through his shoulder severing his left arm. The sickle-blade sunk into the old wood becoming lodged in a giant knot.

The creature tried to free the scythe but the handle refused to budge. It lunged for Brian as he slid to the ground. The pitchfork handle caught in the frozen snow just as the Hodmedod’s blackened claws reached for Brian’s throat. With a roar, like train brakes being applied at high speed, the monster stood upright and pulled the broken fork from its body.

Bits of straw clotted with blood sprayed across the side of the barn. The thing bent one last time as it swiped toward Brian’s neck then lunged upright with a roar.

Margie had thrust a burning stick from the woodstove inside her aunt’s kitchen into the Hodmedod’s back. The creature danced across the barnyard as his straw insides began to catch fire. With huge clawed hands he pulled the burning wood from his back then rolled in in agony inside a pile of drifted snow. Steam rose into the night sky and the hissing sound of snow extinguishing glowing embers filled the air.

Margie lifted Brian to his feet and they hobbled across the yard. A broken leg on the scarecrow slowed them down. They were almost to the porch when the Hodmedod leaped in front of them. Black smoke still smoldered from burnt straw on his back and sides. He glared at them with eyes driven insane with hatred. Part of the rotted bag around his mouth had fallen revealing yellow teeth broken into jagged points. A black tongue flapped from the scowling mouth and dripped gray slobber into the fresh snow.

“Your life is mine to take,” the monster said. Its voice was like the wind blowing rusty cans along a barbed-wire fence. Brian pushed Margie behind as he faced the creature.

“Where does your hatred come from Chinaman?” he asked.

“Hatred is hunger,” the thing said. “And I will eat my fill.”

The monster grabbed Brian by the neck and lifted him in the air. Margie screamed. Lemont’s Chinaman’s head suddenly burst into flames. He dropped Brian and turned.

Margie’s aunt stood holding a burning broom she had just pushed into the creature. With a vicious slap of his huge arm he swept the broom from her. Aunt Mommet turned and ran back into the house.

The Chinaman scooped snow from a pile by the steps and slapped it on his burning body as Margie dragged Brian away. The monster stood and slowly stalked toward them. Holes in the grain sack covering its head showed bloody burnt flesh hanging in strips from under murderous eyes. Brian was hard to drag through the snow; Margie fell and the Chinaman loomed over them. He reached for the straw dandy.

There was a scream and the sound of feet running through the snow. Margie could smell gasoline. A dripping wet Mommet was running toward them. Margie’s aunt lit a match and burst into flames just as she wrapped her arms around the Hodmedod’s legs. The Chinaman bellowed as he tried to free the burning woman draped around him. He beat his arms viciously, but she clung fast and his hands burst into flames.

The monster fell to the ground and began to thrash and roll, trying to free himself from the burning woman who clung like a curse.

The burned clump who had been Mommet finally fell away, and the Chinaman half smoke and ash staggered into a cornfield. Margie held Brian and cried.

 

 

 

            Sheriff Tom Walker woke slowly from a deep slumber. He was aware of moving people dressed in white, but it seemed like a fever dream. He was fully awake when two small faces stared down at him. Although they wore grain bags over their heads like the larger ones, he was able to tell they were children.

One poked him with a stick and giggled. “I’ve never seen a naked face before.” The voice sounded metallic but the sheriff could tell it belonged to a little girl.

“I have lots of times.” This was clearly the voice of a boy child.

“Where am I?” The sheriff asked.

“Why you’re in my mummy’s hut of course.” The little girl tried to poke him again but the boy grabbed the stick.

“I’m telling on you.” The little girl turned and ran through the doorway.

“Tell her the bone man is awake,” the little boy called after her.

A few moments later, a bigger scarecrow came in carrying a basin of hot water. Steam rose from the container in the frigid air.

The sheriff knew it was a female when she spoke.

            “My name is Eve,” she said. “Welcome to the refuge of the Mommet.”

She sat the bowl of hot water beside him then wetted a cloth and used it to wipe his face.

            “Why did you attack me?” The sheriff asked. He was wondering about the sudden kindness.

            “My brother Jack struck you on the head, but it was for your own safety,” she rinsed the cloth out then continued to carefully wash away grime from his neck. “The Hodmedod were attacking our camp, you were unfortunately caught in the middle. If Jack hadn’t struck you down you would have been killed. The only thing Moggies fear is fire, and you carried no torch.”

            “Moggies?” the sheriff asked. He was hearing about all kinds of new things.

            “They’re bad scarecrows” Eve said as she looked at his bewildered face. “We’re the good ones.”

            “I thought all scarecrows were the same and I didn’t know that any could talk.” Sheriff Walker sat up on the cot he’d been lying on. There was a large swollen lump on the back of his head and several scrapes on his face; the room was starting to spin.

            “We’re just like regular people for the most part,” Eve said as she carried the basin of water outside. John Walker stumbled after her. “Most of us are good, but there are bad ones too, just like you humans. Only with scarecrows it’s a matter of who made us for the most part.” 

She turned and laughed when she saw he had walked outside the hut. She guided him around and led him back inside where she covered his head with a white sack with holes cut for the eyes and mouth. “You can’t just walk around like that.” She giggled. “To us it’s like being naked to show your uncovered face.” She led him back outside where several Mommet stood laughing and pointing.

Eve dumped the dirty water behind the hut. The sheriff watched her ring the wash-cloth and hang it from a clothes line. She turned to face him. “You can’t get good fruit from a bad tree; I believe that is a wisdom your kind believes in. We have our own sayings … Bad can follow good, but it can never create it. The people who made the Hodmedods were selfish, uncaring, dreadful people without love for anyone, including themselves. It makes them who they are, and it shows in what they create.”

            “I have a pretty good idea of who made these … Hodmedods.” The sheriff watched two head-covered children chasing a rooster across the clearing. He was thinking about his brother and the bad people he associated with. “You’re not poultry thieves then, are you?” He stumbled and started to pass out.

Eve laughed as she reached out. “No, we raise our own food; it gives the children something to do.”

Sheriff Walker felt Eve catch him and a strange warm sensation rushed over him as everything began to go black. He wondered what this strange woman looked like with the sack off her head. It was not a bad feeling he thought, not bad at all.

 

 

            Moonlight illuminated the scene of the fight. Margie was on the ground holding Brian when Emma drove up in her Ford. Her aunt’s friend picked up the scarecrow’s sliced off arm as she walked toward the lovers. She was just about to say something when her eyes strayed to the blackened lump the Chinaman had left in his flight.

            “Oh my dear Mommet no.” she whispered as she slowly walked toward the charred body.

            “She saved our lives.” Margie cried. “Auntie started herself on fire then clung to the monster. I guess it was the only way she could think of to keep the creature from killing us.”

Emma knelt beside the body and picked up a piece of the charred remains. Even in the moonlight Margie could see bits of burnt straw clumped together in the ashes and the tears which ran down Emma’s face.

            “Mommet never told you where she came from … did she?” Emma looked at Margie.

            “I always thought she was born in Cloverdale, or somewhere near by.”

            “She was although I wouldn’t say born, perhaps made would be a better word.”

            “You mean Mommet and the monster who attacked us are the same?” Margie was astonished.

            “Not the same at all.” Emma sighed. “The Hodmedod who attacked you was made by someone full of hatred and anger. It always shows in the things they create. Mommet was my dearest friend someone I could always count on when there was no-one else. I put my heart and soul into her and she never disappointed me.”  Emma wiped her eyes.

            “But Mommet was married, she has children!” Margie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

            “There are many things you must know,” Emma said. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “I will tell you some of them on the way to my house.”

“To your house?”

“Yes you can’t stay here Lemont’s Hodmedod the one he calls the China-Man isn’t dead. He could come back at any time and probably will, if Mommet wasn’t his only post.”

“Post?” Margie said as she carried Brian to Emma’s car.

“A Hodmedod or a Moggie will always plant the post he’s hung from in front of his intended victim’s residence, before he does his murder.” Emma glanced back at the farmhouse as they drove away. “I’m so sorry,” she wept. “I should have at least told you something, now I will have to tell you everything.”

 

 

            Melania watched shadows trying to appear on the ceiling in the tiny dark cell where she lay on a cot. The only light entering the closet-like room came from a small barred window in the steel door. It had taken a few moments for her eyes to become adjusted to the dimness. She could hear sounds coming from the cell next to hers. It was a raking scratching sound. A piece of cement fell from a hole in the wall to her left.

            “Hey old witch woman, are you awake?” A raspy voice asked.

An eye gazed at her through the tiny hole, she couldn’t tell who it belonged to.

            “Yes I’m awake, just a bit confused.” She leaned closer to the hole wanting to see the color of the eye … color always made a difference. “Who are you?”

            “They call me Crab; I’ve been here so long I don’t remember my real name. I’m just another crazy lunatic, one of the many in this place.”

            “Oh.” Melania sounded disappointed. She was hoping for some help.

            “I may be insane but that don’t mean I can’t be useful,” the voice said. “I can get you out of here, if that’s what you want. If that’s not what you want, then I’m real good company.”

            “What color are your eyes?” Melania asked. She was suddenly intrigued.

He answered her in a happy sing song voice … too happy.         

“One is green and one is brown, one is up the other down. I see things that can’t be seen, with my third eye in between.”

Melania laughed. “I think we are going to be very good friends Mister Crab,” she said.

 

 

            Ed Fowler and Dr. O’Conner the psychiatrist from Mississippi left Lemont Hick’s farm driving away in Ed’s Hudson. Dr. O’Conner held the recipe card in his hand.

            “Don’t look all that hard to do,” he said. “Most important part is the heart pieces.”

            “We need predator hearts,” Ed said “We don’t want to spend a bunch of our time just making Straw Dandies.”

The doctor was tapping his fingers on the dash as he studied the ingredients.

            “What heart did Lemont use for his Hodmedod that one he called the China-man?”

            “It was the heart of a crippled old bear,” Ed said. “Everybody hunted the thing for years. It had been wounded a bunch of times. That grizzly was as mean as they come.”

            “Probably no bears out tonight are there?” the doctor looked at him.

            “No but I know where there’s a pack of wolves, about nine of them, they’ll do just fine.”

            “Whatever happened to the China-man?”

            “Don’t know. It’s probably hiding in Motha Woods, everything that goes into that place gets lost.”

            “I’ll make some calls; bring in some Klan boys to help with the Hodmedod. We wear white hoods on our heads down there too, when we need to. In a couple of days this county is going to be at our mercy, and that’s just a start.”

 

 

            Lavar walked from the house and across the barnyard holding a flashlight, his pa was supposed to be home, but wasn’t. Everything was too quiet. He opened the big sliding cowshed door just wide enough to squeeze through. Once inside he turned on the light. Everything looked fine. Two cows chomped on hay in the corner. He noticed a shadow swaying across the straw-covered floor. He looked up. His father swung in slow circles from the rafters, a rope was tied around his neck. Coldness ran down the boy’s spine that would stay with him the rest of his life.

            “I’m sorry pa; I won’t do it no more.” Lavar staggered and dropped the light. He fell to his knees and sobbed.

 

 

            It had been two days and Margie was still depressed about the loss of her aunt Mommet; she was sewing the severed arm back onto her scarecrow. Emma tried her best to take her mind off her hurt. “Have you decided what Brian is going to wear to the dance?” she asked. 

            “I thought about a uniform, like the men home on leave wear.” Margie said. “But I don’t know of anyone who would borrow me one.”

            “Let’s go into Cloverdale and eat lunch at Spare-a-dime.” Emma said. “I hear the O’Brian boy is home, he’s been wounded I think, he’ll probably be hanging around in there. The old men who spend all their time in the place love to hear war stories. He might just be Brian’s size.”

After Emma left to change her clothes, Margie looked at Brian.

“How would you like to join the Army,” she said.

Brian joked with her. “The way I got mauled in that last fight I could use some training.”

“I was afraid that I would lose you too.” Margie held him close. “With Mommet gone you’re all I have.”

“Emma told you everything … didn’t she?” Brian hung his head.

“She told me you would become like Mommet, that you could marry and have children.”

“And she told you the rest?” Brian looked at her with fear in his eyes.

“I don’t need grandchildren if they wouldn’t be normal, all I know is that I love you.”

“I love you more, but I’m not what you need.” Brian whispered.

Margie finished sewing on Brian’s arm. He stood up and she put her arms around him.

“I will always love you,” Margie whispered. She could feel the tingling sensation sweeping down her body.

“Forever?” Brian asked. His eyes were closed as they started to dance.

“Forever plus a week.” Margie smiled. She’d never been happier.

 

 

Judge Walker looked around; the Spare-a-dime diner was full of farmers upset about what had been going on in the county. Jap Mary was re-filling his coffee cup, when Ed Fowler slid into the booth next to him. Ed flipped his empty cup over then examined it carefully holding his hand up to halt Mary who was about to fill it.

            “You sure these cups are clean?” He stared at the Japanese American with a sadistic grin on his face.

            “Very clean, I wash them whole bunch a times,” Mrs. Yokohama shook her head up and down.

            “Better be clean!” Ed mimicked the old ladies accent. “Or I no pay you a whole bunch of times.” The other men in the booth laughed as Ed gestured with his hand for his cup to be filled.

            “I better go easy on her.” He looked at the Judge. “Tom’s brother is a jap lover and an enemy collaborator.”

Judge Walker looked at the men and smirked. “I think my brother is going to be out of town for a while.” He looked at Ed and grinned. “Maybe permanently.”

A loud voice boomed from the crowd standing around the radio. “Every bird in the coop torn to bits,” an old farmer wearing railroad bibs yelled. “Twern’t no Hobos that done it, we all know what we’re dealing with here. Someone has a string of Hodmedods running loose.” The men standing around him grew suddenly silent. The farmer had just broken the unwritten rule about discussing scarecrows publically in the county.

            “Don’t be looking at me that way!” he glared at the others. “Just because I’m not afraid to tell the truth.”

The judge looked around to make sure no-body else was listening, and then he leaned in close to his friends.

            “Everyone is getting all worked up over these Hodmedods raiding farms; we are going to use it to our advantage. There are a bunch of Tattie Bogals hid out, most of them are probably in the Motha Woods. They have an alliance with the old woman we just put away. Melania may still be able to control them even being locked up. We will find a way to get rid of her permanently, but until then let’s make sure the farmers kill the right Moggies. With them out of the way there will be no one to stop us.”

Ed was excited. “This will be a great opportunity to see how the ones we just made fight. They’re coming now, we’ll have them kill a few of our enemies and we’ll blame it on the Straw Dandies.

 

 

 

I’ll Walk Alone was playing on the radio when Margie and Emma entered the diner. Two men exited their booth with their coffee cups and stood along the wall drinking, while the women sat down. Emma thanked them.

“That’s him.” Emma pointed to a young soldier talking with a group of old men by the radio. “That’s Sean O’Brian.” Margie looked toward where she indicated. Sean stood casually, his arm wrapped in a sling, talking to the farmers. He turned as she stared at him as if he could feel her eyes moving over him. Soft brown eyes, beneath coal black hair, scrutinized her from across the crowded room. He was tall, over six feet and even wounded he held himself with an easy grace. He smiled at her and she blushed, turning away quickly.

Emma leaned across the table and started to whisper in her ear when suddenly the front door to the café burst open and a company of men charged in.

            “We are under siege,” a man carrying a baseball bat yelled. “They are attacking Cloverdale!”

The crowded room was instantly on its feet.  “Japs?” A farmer standing by the radio asked.

“Hodmedods! About twenty of them,” the man with the bat shouted. “They’re out for murder and they are coming this way.”

 

To be continued ….