Gesturing at Erleen and the girls, Nate said, “Now would be a bad time to leave them alone.”
“What do we do, then? Stay in here and wait for my sister-in-law and my nephews to come to us?”
“Stop thinking of Philberta and her boys as people. They aren’t quite human anymore.”
“God help us,” Aunt Aggie breathed. “Isn’t there something we can do to bring them to their senses?”
“Not that I know of,” Nate said.
“I refuse to give up hope.” Agatha said. “Some shred of humanity must remain.”
As if to prove her wrong, from the woods outside rose savage howls and snarls.
Ghouls in the Night
Nate ran to the window and looked out, but the things in the trees were too crafty to show themselves. He stayed there while Peter and Aunt Aggie cut a towel into strips and tended to Erleen. She had not let out a peep. She just lay there staring blankly at the ceiling.
Aggie made the girls sit at the table and sip tea. “It will help calm your nerves,” she told them when Anora said she didn’t want any. “Drink it whether you want to or not.” She walked to the window. “Anything?”
Nate shook his head.
“There are some things I’m not clear on. How long have you known about Philberta and the others?”
“It took me a while to put the pieces together,” Nate said. “I suspected the boys when I found their lair. I wasn’t sure about Philberta until she tried to stab me.”
Aggie peered skyward. “It will be dark in a couple hours. Will they come after us?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Sagging against the wall, Agatha tiredly rubbed her brow. “About Sully. Why did they kill him when he was one of them? Or was he sane?”
“He ate what they ate. Whatever the mushrooms and the thorn apples did to their minds, it did to him, too. But you saw Philberta. They have spells where they seem almost normal. Maybe his head cleared and he tried to stop them. Or maybe they just turned on him.”
“Poor Sully. He never should have left Pennsylvania. All he wanted was a better life for him and his loved ones.”
“The Oregon Trail is littered with the bones of those who wanted a better life,” Nate said. “Some died of hunger and thirst. Some were like Sully and ate things they shouldn’t, or drank tainted water.” He sighed. “It’s the difference between a backwoodsman and a frontiersman.”
“I am not sure I understand.”
“The East has plenty of backwoodsmen. They live off the land, and they live well. And they think that since they can do it there, they can do it out here. But the West isn’t the East. Different animals. Different plants. Different weather. A man has to learn to survive all over again. Once he does, he becomes a frontiersman.”
More howls rent the air. Aunt Aggie stiffened and gripped a red curtain until her knuckles were white. “Listen to them,” she whispered. “I can scarcely believe that came from human throats.”
“A clear shot is all I ask.”
Aggie closed her eyes and bowed her chin. “Poor Fitch. Poor Harper. I loved those boys as if they were my own.”
“You have the girls to think of now. Don’t leave their side. I’ll be too busy to watch over them.”
Straightening, Aggie nodded. “Don’t fear on that score. I won’t lose anyone else if I can help it.”
The next couple hours were nerve-racking. Nate stayed at the window. Peter never left Erleen’s side. He held her hand and stroked her cheeks and tried to get her to say something, but all she did was stare at the ceiling. Aunt Aggie brought out the dominoes, but she had to keep reminding the girls when it was their turn and often they placed a two on a six or a four on a one.
No more howls or others sounds broke the stillness of the forest, not until the sun set and a sliver of crescent moon rose above the high cliffs to cast its silvery glow over the dark valley floor.
Aunt Aggie was lighting a candle when the first cry greeted the moon, an inhuman screech torn from human vocal cords. Soon the night pealed with a hellish chorus that echoed and reechoed off the cliffs until it seemed the valley crawled with the things.
Tyne scampered to Aunt Aggie and burst into tears in her arms. Anora placed her hands over her ears.
Peter glared at the window, and scowled. “I’ll be damned if I will listen to that all night.”
“There isn’t much we can do until the sun comes up,” Nate said. So long as they stayed indoors, the lunatics couldn’t get at them.
“Look at my wife. I think her mind has snapped. She won’t answer me. She doesn’t move.”
“Shock, probably. It might wear off in a while.” Nate was no doctor, but it seemed logical.
Another screech set Tyne to bawling louder.
“Listen to that!” Peter spat. “My own nephews and my sister-in-law! But I swear by the Almighty that won’t stop me from squeezing the trigger. I will put an end to them if it’s the last thing I do.”
Nate didn’t like how Peter was working himself up. “Your wife comes first. She needs you by her side.”
“She doesn’t even know I am here.” Peter slumped in despair. “Sullivan, Sullivan, how could you bring us to this?”
The abominations in the woods soon fell quiet. Nate was glad, but wary. Philberta and her brood might try to get at them. With the door barred, the only way in was the window. But they could only come through that one at a time, and he would shoot the first head that poked inside.
“It’s time for you two young ladies to think about bed,” Aunt Aggie announced. Taking Tyne and Anora by the hand, she escorted them to a far corner. They didn’t protest.
Fatigue gnawed at Nate, but he shook it off. He must stay alert no matter what.
Peter dozed sitting up. Aggie turned in, but the way she tossed proved sleep was elusive. The girls managed to fall asleep, but they would whimper and groan.
Above them, the moon crept across the patch of sky.
Nate found it harder to keep his eyes open. He took to pacing, with frequent glances out the window. He had been at it for more than an hour when he stepped to the window for yet another look.
Lit by moon glow, the clearing was empty. The woods were a black tangle that hid their secrets. Nate yawned. He glanced back at the others. They were all asleep, even Agatha. The fire had burned low. He turned back to the window, and his blood turned to ice in his veins.
A face was staring back at him. A pale, hideous, sinister face, framed by a filthy shock of black hair and gristle on the chin. The skin was drawn tight over the bones, the lips were thin and bloodless. But it was the eyes that were truly terrible, eyes lit by inner fires that bordered on the demonic. They glared at him with such raw ferocity, it was like gazing into the eyes of a rabid wolf. Only these eyes evinced far more cunning, and wicked intent.
Whether it was Norton, Liford or Blayne, Nate couldn’t say. He suspected it was the oldest. With a start, he galvanized to life and grabbed for one of the pistols at his waist. Suddenly a hand shot through the window and gripped him by the throat. The arm was scrawny, the fingers no thicker than pencils, yet they clamped like an iron vise. Nate could feel his neck constrict as the pressure threatened to pulp his flesh. He grabbed the wrist and pried at the fingers, but it was like prying at metal bands.
The face in the window laughed.
Nate punched the arm. He twisted. He tried to fling himself back. But the madman held on, his fingers closing tighter. Nate’s throat was pulsing pain and his chest hurt. He needed air. He must break free, or die. He struck the lunatic’s elbow, but the hideous face didn’t react.
Nate’s lungs were fit to burst. In desperation he tried to rake the lunatic’s right eye with his finger-nails, but Norton—if that is who it was—pulled back. Nate did scratch the eyebrow, though, deep enough that blood flowed.
Norton snarled, and blinked, and his hold on Nate’s throat slackened slightly.
It was the moment Nate needed. With a powerful surge, he broke the stranglehold. In doing so he lost some
