Terror in the Shadows Read online

  Mostyn started to speak, but she raised her hand to silence him. “I had feelings for you for a long time, Pierce. Because of our work, I hid them. But after Agate Bay and the shoggoth, I, well, I decided life’s too short.”

  “Yes,” Mostyn agreed.

  “Intellectually, I know you had sex with the K’nyanian to secure her help. You used her to get us free. And it worked. But my heart knows she loves you. Even after she knew you were using her, she came back just so she could come to our world and, I think she did so, just to be with you. Why? Because she loves you. And, well, I think you care about her. I’m not a nice person, Pierce.”

  “Dotty, that’s—”

  She laid a finger on his lips. “No, it’s true. I’m mean, cranky, and irascible.”

  “Dotty, I love you. I want—”

  She shook her head. “Not now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. I don’t know.” She looked into his eyes and then leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I still care. So maybe. Come on, the others are going to think we’re lost.”

  They walked on out to the SUV and got in.

  “Where to, Boss?” Jones asked.

  Mostyn looked at his watch. “I think we’re done for today. Tomorrow, we’ll start talking to people.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jones said, and turned the big SUV around and drove back to New Martinsville.

  Once out of town, Mostyn looked out on the lush green vegetation. Dense, almost impenetrable. He thought of the subterranean world of K’n-yan, starless, sunless, forever bathed in blue light. Two worlds so very, very different from each other.

  He’d last seen H’tha-dub a month ago. Her name now Helene Dubreuil. A consultant and agent in the Office of Unidentified Phenomena. And, yes, she was still in love with him and continued called him her husband.

  Out there, hidden in the beautiful green world, bathed by sun and moon and stars, was another terror, another horror. His life was filled with horror. But for a short time there’d been love and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

  3

  In the morning, Mostyn called Sheriff Elswick and was told Doctor Kemper could examine the bodies. Mostyn thanked him and informed Kemper. He chuckled when he saw her eyes light up.

  The drive from New Martinsville, after breakfast at Bob Evans, didn’t take long. The air was already sticky at 9 o’clock and with the sun brightly shining, the day was gearing up to be a real cooker.

  Dotting the route, starting about a mile outside Heirloom, were houses, mobile homes, churches, a few businesses, and abandoned buildings. Everything had the subtle feel of neglect and decay about it.

  “This has to be the most goddamned depressing sight,” Kemper said.

  “Welcome to Appalachia,” Cashel replied.

  “Been here before?” Jones asked.

  “If you’d read through your assignment, Jones, you’d know the answer,” Mostyn chided.

  “C’mon, Mostyn. Do you have to be such a spoil sport?” Baker scolded. “He’s trying to find a pickup line.”

  Mansfield chuckled. “I’ll help you out, Jones.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  Mansfield continued, “What were you researching here, Arliss? I don’t recall the dossier telling us that.”

  “I was researching ethnic distribution and its effect on local dialects,” Cashel replied. “I was in West Virginia, but on the other side of the state.”

  “What did you conclude?” Jones asked.

  “There was an impact. Local dialects reflect the ethnic origin of the immigrant population to the area.”

  “Pretty heady stuff,” Jones said.

  “I am a pretty heady girl,” Cashel replied.

  “I agree on the pretty part,” Jones said, his eyes on the rearview mirror.

  “Keep your eyes on the road, Jones,” Mostyn said.

  “Man, Mostyn, you’re worse than my father,” Jones complained.

  Laughter rippled through the vehicle.

  West Virginia Two formed Heirloom’s Main Street. Not quite in the middle of the hamlet, the Heirloom Road led off into the hill country. The village itself was sandwiched between the Ohio River and the forested hills that piled up to the southeast.

  Once inside the unincorporated town’s border, Jones slowed down to fifteen miles per hour.

  “Where do we start, Boss?” Jones asked.

  “Not sure. Drive through town, turn around, and drive back.”

  Once Heirloom was behind them, Jones sped up, made a U turn a couple miles down the road, and drove back.

  “Stop at the Methodist Church there,” Mostyn said. “I think we’ll start with…” He took a slip of paper out of his pocket. “We’ll start with Obed Gillies. He saw something six days ago. Two days before the last attack. He’s become something of a local celebrity since the attack in Shiloh.”

  Jones pulled into the small parking lot. One car, a Toyota, was there, parked up by the church, and Jones pulled in next to it.

  Mostyn opened his door. “Cashel, you’re with me.” And he exited the vehicle.

  Arliss Cashel got out, ran her hands down her blouse and the top of her slacks, and followed Mostyn into the church.

  The building appeared empty and Mostyn called out, “Hello! Anybody here?”

  After a few moments an older woman appeared. “May I help you?”

  “Yes,” Mostyn replied. “I’m Pierce Mostyn and this is Arliss Cashel. We are looking for a man by the name of Obed Gillies. Do you know where he lives?”

  “I’m Reverend May Altmeyer. He’s not a member here, but Heirloom isn’t a big place either. He lives over on Maple with his girlfriend. Can’t miss his place. It’s the worst looking trailer on the street.”

  “Thanks,” Mostyn said.

  “Mind my asking why you want him?” Reverend Altmeyer said.

  “He supposedly saw a yeti or some similar creature,” Mostyn replied. “Apparently he’s become something of a local celebrity.”

  “Oh, that.” The reverend chuckled.

  “You don’t believe him?” Cashel asked.

  “He’s a drunk, you know. Hardly a reliable source.” Altmeyer’s tone was disapproving. “I think he’s using the tragedy over at Shiloh to line his pockets.”

  Mostyn’s face indicated he was considering her comment. Then he said, “Thank you for your time, Reverend,” and turned to leave.

  “Are you with a newspaper?” Altmeyer asked.

  Mostyn turned back to look at her. “Government. Health and Human Services,” he said, and left. Cashel followed him out the door into the parking lot.

  “Rather sad; don’t you think, Mostyn?”

  “How’s that?”

  “She’s probably in her fifties. Single. And gets put out here to serve a dying parish in a dying town.”

  “That sums up rural America, Cashel.”

  “But she’s a woman. It’s gotta be a sure career killer.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Probably is. The old boys club, you know. But then we’re all equal in Jesus, right?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  They got into the SUV and Mostyn passed the information on to Jones.

  “His address is in the file, sir.”

  “So it is, Jones. So it is.”

  Jones shook his head, started the vehicle, plugged the address into the GPS, and followed the directions. In a couple minutes, they were parked on the street in front of a gaudy pink derelict. Playing in the front yard were four small children.

  Mostyn opened his door. “Cashel, you’re with me. The rest of you wait here.”

  They got out of the vehicle and walked up the drive to the mobile home. A dirty little girl, who may or may not have been kindergarten age intercepted Mostyn and Cashel.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Cashel dropped down to her level. “My name is Arliss, and this man is Pierce. Do you live here?”

  The girl nodded.

  Arliss continued, “We want to talk to your father. Is he home?”

&n
bsp; The girl screwed up her face and looked at Cashel, then Mostyn, and then back to Cashel.

  “Is this about the monster?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Cashel said.

  “He’s home. It’ll cost you to talk to him. He’s a cebebity and cebebities get money.”

  “I see.” Cashel said, and stood up. “Will you take us to him?”

  “He’s inside. Just knock on the door.” And she ran off to join the other kids in whatever game they were playing.

  “A celebrity.” Cashel chuckled. “Maybe the reverend is right.”

  “Make hay while the sun is shining,” Mostyn replied.

  As they approached the trailer, Cashel wrinkled her nose. “God. The stench.” And when they reached the door she looked at Mostyn.

  A smile touched his lips. “Don’t want to knock?”

  “God.” She took a tissue out of her pocket to protect her fingers from the booger encrusted screen door, and knocked.

  From somewhere inside, a voice called out, “Who’s there?”

  Mostyn replied, “We’d like to talk to you about the creature you saw.”

  In a moment, a man appeared on the other side of the screen door. He was wearing a dirty white T-shirt and a dirty pair of blue jeans. His face had several days worth of stubble on it and his hair was unwashed. A beer bottle was in one hand and the beer belly was evidence he probably wasn’t a light drinker. He looked them up and down.

  “You want to know about the monster?”

  “That’s right,” Mostyn said.

  “It’ll cost you.”

  Mostyn took out his wallet and extracted a fifty dollar bill. He looked over at Cashel. “Can you match this?”

  She looked in her purse. “Yes, I can.” Out came a twenty, a ten, and four fives, which she turned over to Mostyn.

  He said, “A hundred bucks. What’s your story?”

  The man pushed open the door and held out his hand for the money.

  “After we hear your story,” Mostyn explained.

  Gillies looked momentarily perturbed, but the look quickly passed and a big smile appeared. “Come on in.”

  Cashel replied, “How about you come out here and show us where it all happened.”

  “Sure. Sure. I can do that.” He opened the screen door and stepped outside. He was barefoot. He took them around to the back of the mobile home. “Say, I didn’t get your names.”

  “Mostyn. Pierce Mostyn. This is Arliss Cashel.”

  Gillies wiped off his hand on his grubby jeans. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Mostyn and Cashel each shook hands with him.

  “I suppose you have my name. Obed Gillies. Wife’s working. I’m watching the kids.” He finished his beer and tossed the bottle towards the back of the yard.

  Mostyn nodded his head in confirmation. “You’re married?”

  “Well, not official like. But we’re together and got the kids. You people with the Times? Or the News and Sentinel?”

  “Those local?” Mostyn asked.

  “Uh, yeah. Marietta Times and Parkersburg News and Sentinel. Where you from?”

  “Washington, D.C.”

  He let out a whistle. “I guess I’m hittin’ the big time.”

  Mostyn smiled. “You might say that. Where did you see this creature?”

  Obed pointed up into the hills. “Up there. Back in the hills. I was out lookin’ for rabbits or squirrels. Lulinda makes the best stew. Anyway, I lost track of time and it was gettin’ dark. So I started headin’ back. And that’s when I sawed the thing. Caught it in my flashlight beam. Musta been ten feet tall and all hairy and big yeller fangs. I shot at it and it ran away. Although all I had was my twenty-two. Bullet probably jess bounced off that thick black fur.”

  “You sure it wasn’t a bear?” Cashel asked.

  “A bear?” Obed let out a laugh. “Oh, that’s a good un. I know what a bear looks like and that thing weren’t no bear.”

  “Would you be able to take us up into the hills to where you saw it?” Mostyn asked.

  “Uh, I suppose. I mean I’d probably have to find a babysitter and all and they ain’t cheap.”

  “We’ll pay you for your trouble.” Mostyn told him.

  “Oh. Shoot, well in that case, sure. When do you want to go?”

  “Tomorrow?” Mostyn said. “Eleven in the morning okay?”

  “Sure. That’ll be jess fine.”

  “Then we’ll see you tomorrow.” Mostyn handed him the hundred dollars and he and Cashel walked back to the SUV.

  “You think he’ll be sober when we see him tomorrow?” Cashel asked.

  “Probably not.”

  “You believe his story?”

  “I believe he saw something. But then Dotty says I believe everything.”

  Cashel laughed. “She would.”

  When they got back to the vehicle, the others asked what they’d found out. Mostyn told them what Gillies had said and Cashel provided a description of the door, odor, and Gillies himself.

  “I’d say he probably saw something,” Mansfield said.

  “He’s a drunk, Jeffrey.” Kemper’s voice was filled with disdain. “He may be out stone cold when we show up tomorrow. Then what?”

  “Well, if he is, I have a little something that may solve the problem. The wonders of our modern science that you are so fond of Dr Kemper.”

  “I still say we’re wasting our time.”

  “Be that as it may, Dotty,” Mostyn said, “I agree with Mansfield. Jones, take Doctor Kemper to Middlebourne so she can commune with the dead, then meet us back here. Call us when you’re done, Dotty.”

  “Will do.”

  Jones and Kemper left.

  “Alright, the rest of us will begin canvassing the area,” Mostyn said. “We’re getting leads on any sightings. Primarily since the Shiloh attack four, no, five days ago now. Let’s get to it.”

  The team members spread out and a long day of door knocking began.

  4

  Baker walked back across West Virginia 2 and down the Heirloom Road. His camera dangled from his neck and sweat rolled down his back. He’d rather be taking a dip in the river than walking along an asphalt road, knocking on doors and talking to people.

  The first house he came to only a barking dog replied to his knocking. At the second house, an old woman answered the door. He told her his name, that he was with the Department of Health and Human Services, and with that she closed the door in his face.

  Baker walked on to the next place, about five hundred feet down the road, muttering that West Virginia had seceded from Virginia in the Civil War and what was up with all the anti-government sentiment.

  At the next place, a woman answered the door. She was probably in her upper twenties and was holding a baby on her hip. A toddler was holding onto her leg.

  “Hi, ma’am. My name is Willie Lee Baker.” He showed her his fake ID. “I’m with the Department of Health and Human Services. I’m talking to people about the recent animal attack. Have you ever seen any strange or unusual creatures around?”

  “Nope. Never have. But my father-in-law he saw the creature.”

  “What did it look like?” He got out a notebook and pen.

  “He didn’t get a real good look, cuz the sun had set and it was jess turnin’ dark. But he said a big ol’ rock come flying at him, he was driving in an area with lots of trees close to the road, hit the side of his pickup. He stopped, thinkin’ it were kids messin’ around, and got out. He grabbed his rifle jess to scare ‘em, ya know?”

  Baker nodded.

  “And then another rock come flyin’ and smashed in his windshield. He started yellin’, my father-in-law that is, and says he marched over towards the trees, when this big hairy thing showed itself. He fired his rifle at it, he says, and the thing disappeared into the trees.”

  “Did he follow it? Your father-in-law?”

  “Heck no. He hightailed it outta there.”

  “When was this?”

 
“Oh, lemme see. Maybe a couple months ago.”

  Baker closed his notebook, thanked her, and moved on to the next house. Which was a bust, as were the next four. House number six, though, gave him some interesting information.

  After introductions, Mr and Mrs Southwood invited Baker in for iced tea. For which he was grateful, as the heat and humidity were stifling.

  “I never saw the thing that some people say they’ve seen,” Mr Southwood said. “But I think if you want to get to the source of all these rumors, you need to visit the Vander Vrooman place.”

  “Where’s that?” Baker asked, getting out his notebook.

  “Easier if I draw you a map,” Mr Southwood said.

  “Easy for an outsider to get lost around here,” Mrs Southwood added.

  Baker handed Mr Southwood his notebook, and the old man drew a map and in a few minutes handed the notebook back to Baker.

  “Can you follow that, young feller?” Mr Southwood asked.

  “Yes. Looks pretty simple to get to. Why do you think this place is important?”

  Mr Southwood cleared his throat and took a look around, before speaking. “Because those Vander Vroomans just up and disappeared. And it was after that, we started gettin’ these murders every now and again.”

  Mrs Southwood nodded her confirmation.

  “And when was this? That they disappeared?”

  “Difficult to say, for sure, as they kept to themselves. But since the War Between the States ended there hasn’t been a sighting of them.”

  “People around here seem to have long memories.”

  “That they do, young feller. That they do.”

  “Thank you very much for the information, Mr and Mrs Southwood.”

  Baker finished his iced tea and excused himself. Walking down the drive he couldn’t help but think he’d hit the jackpot.

  ***

  Across town, Pierce Mostyn was knocking on doors. Three so far mentioned they had seen something, but the descriptions were vague. However, most of the people he’d been able to speak to, hadn’t seen anything.

  He was hot and drained. The heat and humidity were stifling. He came up to a rather nice looking little bungalow. Somewhat better kept than those of it’s neighbors. And when he knocked on the door, a girl answered. Mostyn figured she had to be around fifteen.