Dead Man's Song

“Sure. It wasn’t long after that that the town started building up, going upscale. The Massacre was pushed back out of sight and no one really ever talks about it. We have too many fun ghost stories to keep us in business, no real-life tragedies need apply.” He gave an ironic laugh. “In all the official reports Griswold was counted as murder victim number seventeen. Problem was that Griswold was local money who left no heirs, no will, no papers of any kind, so it was a bitch of a legal tangle to decide what to do with his property. It’s still there. Fields and gardens all gone back to forestland now, I expect, but the big old stone farmhouse would still there, back past Dark Hollow. I think the property reverted back to the state, or something like that. I don’t know how the law works on something like that. I would imagine the place is overgrown, and the local folklore insists the place is haunted.”

“Sounds appropriately spooky. Ever go there?”

“No!” Crow said abruptly, startling Newton, but the look of alarm that had appeared on Crow’s face passed quickly. He tried a dismissive laugh, but it sounded flat. “Uh…no, man, I don’t think I would ever go there.”

“Why not? Surely you aren’t scared of ghosts! Not you, of all people.”

“Ghosts? No…no, I don’t think I’m afraid of any ghosts.”

“Then what?”

“It’s just…ah, man, it’s really hard to say without sounding like I’m off my nut.”

“Too late for that, sweetie,” Val said softly. Crow gave her leg a little pinch and she slapped his hand.

“Why…what is it you’re afraid of?”

Crow looked at him strangely. “Why, him, of course.”

“Who?”

“Griswold.”

“I thought you said the man was dead.”

Crow shook his head vigorously. “You see, that’s just it. He wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t—what? Wasn’t killed.”

“No, wasn’t a man,” Crow said. “I don’t think Ubel Griswold was a man.” Before Newton could reply, Crow explained. “You see, when I looked into his face back then, even though it was just a brief look, and even though I could still recognize him somehow as Griswold, the face I saw wasn’t a human face. So, I don’t think he was a man.” His eyes were intense, haunted. “I think Ubel Griswold was a monster.”

(4)

In the silent wormy darkness, he waits; beneath tons of muddy dirt, he waits. He is not lost in the utter blackness of his forgotten grave in Dark Hollow; he is not dwarfed by the immensity of it, but the lightless vastness of it. When he trembles and the ripples of each shudder rolls out through the roots of the mountain, he is not trembling with fear, or loneliness, or despair. He is shuddering with a darkly sensual delight that undulates outward and upward toward the town, throughout the farms, into wells and beneath cultivated fields until it laps against the rushing waters of the canals and rivers that ring all of Pine Deep. Beneath those millions of pounds of bubbling muck he is the poison in the earth, the author of blight and sickness, the soulless heart of corruption. As each new tourist car rumbles over the bridges and rolls along the black arm of A-32, as hotels fill and fill, as everyone in town turns blindly away from manhunt toward holiday, as hearts quicken with excitement at the coming of Halloween, he— down deep in his grave—laughs with a ravenous and expectant delight.

Interlude

(1)

Dad opened the door to the den and leaned his head into the room, saw Adrian and Darien in front of the big plasma TV, controllers in their hands, a continuous electronic gun battle rattling onscreen. “Look, boys, keep it down to a low scream and it’ll be fine.”

The twins turned and gave him identical stares with their big green eyes. They showed him identical smiles. Adrian said, “Sure, Dad. Sorry if it got too loud.”

“We’ll turn it down,” agreed Darien.

“Thanks, guys.” Dad gave them a warm chuckle and a wink and closed the door.

Adrian and Darien looked at the door their dad had closed behind him. Both of them wore their thin cat- smiles. Darien turned to his twin, his smile not reaching his eyes, and gave a slow shake of his head. “What an asshole.”

Adrian nodded, turning the volume down only one notch. “No shit.”

They turned back to the PS2, pressed the restart button. They had reached the thirty-second level, where Lord Vega and his Scarlet Assassins were laying in wait for Simon Dart and his companions when there was a sound at the window. The twins ignored it, focusing on the game. Then it came again. A tapping. Louder, more insistent, breaking through the game’s hip-hop soundtrack. Adrian looked up. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“That.” The tapping repeated itself and Adrian jerked his head toward the window.

“Just a bird,” Darien said, turning back to study the screen, which the pause button had frozen on an image of Simon Dart drawing his stun gun as two Scarlet Assassins were leaping down from a shadowy walkway. “Come on…”

“No, listen…” The sound came again. “There’s someone at the window.”

“Well, go look, for Christ’s sake,” said Darien. “Maybe it’s Dylan with the stuff.”

Darien smiled. “Cool!”

The “stuff” in question was stack of porn videos that Dylan’s older brother had downloaded and burned to disk; Dylan had promised to swipe them and bring the stash by to share with the twins. Dylan was a bit of an asshole, but he was good for stuff like that, and the twins had no other source for that kind of thing. Dad, asshole that he was, had put parental controls on the home computer. Already Dylan had brought over some copies of Hustler and well-thumbed paperbacks about girls who liked to tie each other up and use whips and stuff. Adrian and Darien loved all of it, craved it, demanded as much of it as Dylan could appropriate. This latest batch was to be the real bonanza because one of the disks had a bunch of sex scenes from movies and there was one that showed Kate Beckinsale and you could see her tits. Adrian hadn’t believed him at first, but Dylan had sworn on it, and the twins had half-bribed, half-intimidated Dylan into bringing over the disks. Dylan always hesitated, because if his older brother ever found out he would skin Dylan alive and hang his carcass out for the crows, but Dylan needed the approval of Adrian and Darien far more than he needed a whole skin. He had promised.

Adrian went quickly to the window, parted the drapes, and cupped his hands around his eyes so he could peer out into the shadows. Darien restarted the game and made Simon Dart draw his gun and blow bloody holes in both assassins. He smiled wolfishly as their blood splattered on the walls. Adrian pressed his face to the glass. It was pitch dark outside and he couldn’t see a thing, and then something loomed up right in his face and he let out a small startled cry. Dylan’s pale face suddenly filled the lower pane of glass.

“Shit!” gasped Adrian.

“What?” called Darien distractedly.

“Little dickhead nearly scared the shit out of me.”

“Is he out there?”