Read Garden of Darkness Online

Authors: Anne Frasier

Tags: #Thrillers, #Suspense, #Fiction

Garden of Darkness (2 page)

BOOK: Garden of Darkness
3.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“The Tuonela River,” the other child replied.

“What’s going on up there?” a mother called from below.

The children looked at one another in fear. “Nothing.” But they felt strange. Had a soft hand caressed them? Just a brush down the cheek, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind?

Sweet, sweet babies.

He drew nearer and inhaled their soap scent, and his breath stirred the fine hair on their heads.

Time was different here.

He could smell the river: wet driftwood, shells and bones gleaming on the shore. In the black mud of the river bottom, giant catfish slept the deep sleep in filtered light that was bent and reshaped. Never surfacing, the catfish waited patiently for prey to come close enough to catch and swallow whole.

Sweet, sweet life.

The damp night wind was tinged with sorrow and loss and longing.

Oh, to be complete, to be whole.

Some people said he was bad. But that was like saying a bear was bad when it caught a fish. It was like saying a cat was bad when it ate a bird. The bear wasn’t bad. The cat wasn’t bad.

He wasn’t bad.

Two places called to him, the old and the new.

For a moment he was confused. In his mind the two places meshed and he couldn’t separate them. Time moved forward and backward, and the passage of a hundred years seemed like hours. Time unfolded and turned in on itself and his loss became something that hadn’t yet happened, and the strength and power he’d once known could possibly be found again.

He left the children and soared from the house, up through the roof but not as far as the stars. He joined a flock of night birds as they moved out of town, shifting and changing, blocking the moonlight.

On the ground far below, a man walking his dog felt the curious movement of air. He looked up, his face a white oval. He seemed to shrug and dismiss the sudden heaviness. But when the dog whimpered, he turned and hurried home.

Something was coming. Something had been coming for a long time. Something big. Powerful. Something that would shake the residents of Tuonela.

He soared.

To the old place.

His home.

Over the house built from native stone. Over the bare, rolling hillside that met dark woodland. Through the trees, silent and secret.

A light in the night.

A lantern and the sound of a shovel striking rocky ground.

This must be what it was like to astral project. To find yourself watching yourself. Because the man below was him, but not him.

The dead—they were everywhere. He could see their faces in the bark of the trees and the patterns made by the twisting leaves. Like him, they were looking for bodies to inhabit. Unlike him, they would take any vessel. He wanted one and only one.

The man on the ground seemed unaware of the dead surrounding him. He remained focused on his digging, never looking up. His heart pounded from exertion; steam rose from his shoulders.

Go inside.

The coaxing command seemed to come from the faces in the bark and the faces in the leaves. Who were they?

Don’t you remember us?

Don’t you remember your followers?

One face in particular became more distinct, the voice seeming to separate from the singsong chant of the others.

The scent of sage and lavender invaded his head. And somehow he could feel the softness of her skin under his fingertips.

Come inside, Richard.

Richard. That’s who he was. Richard Manchester, the Pale Immortal. And this was his land—the land of the dead.

Come inside.

The man below stabbed the shovel into the ground, then released it and straightened, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

The night birds were gone. They had done their duty by bringing him here, and now they were asleep in the trees, heads tucked beneath black wings.

Richard hovered above the man with the shovel.
Foolish person. Digging for secrets on the ground when the secret is above you. When the secret is in you.

 

Chapter One

 

 

“We should have stopped at the gas station,” Brenda said.

With both hands on the wheel, Joe peered through the windshield. “I thought this was the road, okay? And all roads lead somewhere. We’re going in the right direction.”

She’d known it would be like this. She wanted to be home in her own bed. Joe kept forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do. Everybody kept forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do. And now they were lost. It was the middle of the night, and they were driving down a narrow two-lane, going who knew where.

A movement. On the road in front of them.

“Did you see that?” Unconsciously she put a hand to Joe’s shoulder.

He leaned forward in his seat. “The sign?” He pointed. “You talking about that sign?”

She sighed, removed her hand from his arm, and settled back. “I thought I saw a—” She stopped herself. She’d almost said
little girl.
“. . . Person. Thought I saw a person.”

She was always seeing kids. Little girls. Ever since her miscarriage. That’s what this trip was about. To get her out of the house. To get her out of bed. A change of scenery. But the two of them? Alone together? Well, it wasn’t working out. They hadn’t been married all that long. Three years. But it was plenty of time for regret. Sometimes she hated him, and she didn’t even know why.

The miscarriage certainly hadn’t been his fault.

A girl.

Why’d she ask? Why’d she want to know?

Joe didn’t abuse her. He’d never cheated on her, as far as she knew. He was boring. Did you leave somebody for being boring? For being too nice? All the time?

He slowed for the sign. “Tuonela. Sounds familiar.”

“Isn’t that the town where all that weird stuff happened?”

“Didn’t they move the town?”

“One is Old Tuonela, and one is just Tuonela, or something like that.”

There it was again.

A flash of white.

“Look out!”

Joe slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt, skidding sideways on loose gravel, throwing them both forward, seat belts locking.

“I saw something!” Brenda cried. “I saw a little girl! Back up. Back up!”

“There’s no little girl,” Joe told her sadly. “What would a kid be doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“She must be lost. Like us.” Maybe they were supposed to come this way. So that they could find this child. Save this child.

She unbuckled her seat belt and twisted to look over her shoulder. “Back up!” She motioned frantically with one hand. “Back up!”

He sighed and reversed. The front tires spun and they shot backward.

Something thudded against the trunk.

Brenda screamed.

Joe slammed on the brakes, the car rocking.

“You hit her! Oh, my God! You hit her!” Brenda threw open the door and jumped out. She ran to the rear of the car.

The only light sources were the interior dome and the brake lights. What if the child was caught under the car? “I can’t see!” Brenda shouted. “It’s too dark! Get a flashlight! Bring a flashlight!”

She saw Joe reach across the front seat for the glove box.

Brenda leaned toward the darkness under the car. She strained her eyes.

Was that a shape? A darker shape? “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she crooned, her voice cracking. “You’ll be okay. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to help you. We’re going to take care of you.”

She felt a blast of frigid air against her face. Her hair blew back. That was followed by scraping, mixed with frightened, heavy breathing.

The shape moved.

It brushed past her, footsteps sounding soft and flat and bare against the blacktop. The car’s headlights fanned into the heavy woodland, glancing off the child’s white gown and long blond hair.

“Stop!” Brenda called.

In a blur of white, the child reached the edge of the headlights’ range and plunged into the blackness beyond.

Brenda ran after her.

Across the road, legs flying, heart hammering.

Past the headlights and into the thick grove of trees that moved into an infinity of straight rows.

Back at the car, Joe stood with a dead flashlight in his hand, trying to comprehend what was happening. He wasn’t good at making decisions without Brenda’s help.

Should he move the car? Someone might come around the corner and hit it. Should he forget the car and go after his wife?

He stepped to the side of the road. He paused and listened.

Nothing.

He walked across the shoulder, down the ditch, and back up, stopping where the thick trees began. They were all the same. Some kind of aspen, their trunks as big around as a person.

“Brenda!”

His voice bounced back as if hitting a solid wall.

His heart was beating hard now. Cold sweat crept down his spine. “Brenda! Don’t go in there! We’ll get somebody to help. We’ll call the cops!”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. No signal.

“Brenda!”

He moved forward, forcing one foot in front of the other. He stopped at the trees; he wasn’t sure why. “Brenda!”

Then he heard a scream. From deep within the trees. A bloodcurdling cry of terror followed by silence.

 

Chapter Two

 

 

In Tuonela, night came early and dawn came late. While the rest of the county was awash in morning sunlight, the steep valleys and ravines of Tuonela remained cloaked in thirty more minutes of darkness.

Under the glow of a street lamp, Rachel Burton carried a cardboard box containing her African violet and Christmas cactus to the U-Haul, and slid it across the front seat. Her body hummed with sudden urgency, telling her to jump in the truck and get the hell on the road even though she wanted to give her apartment one final perusal.

Should have left earlier.

She’d planned to leave last night, but she’d told herself that was foolish.

Wait until morning. Wait until light.

The sense of urgency increased.

Rather than going back inside, she hurried up the steep steps that led to the three-story Victorian and what was now the city morgue. She locked the wooden door and slipped the key through the mail slot. Without giving the building and her upstairs apartment another glance, she turned and walked away.

Free.

Almost.

She pulled herself into the cab of the short truck. Her belongings didn’t fill it, but a van hadn’t been big enough. She let the engine idle a minute, then put it in gear and turned up the hill to climb from the deep valley that stopped at the Wisconsin River.

Heading west. To California.

The vehicle groaned and creaked, laboring its way out of the dark hole, finally reaching level ground, sunlight glinting off the rearview mirror. Her heart began to hammer more seriously now.

She was leaving. For good. She was going to make it this time.

Evan didn’t even call to tell you good-bye.

To hell with him. To hell with Tuonela.

Very soon she would be a thousand miles from this place. Very soon it would no longer seem quite real, no longer seem so important. It didn’t deserve to take up so much space in her head. Soon she would remember it for what it was: a dying town. A bleak, sad, dying town where bad things had happened.

The vehicle took her through the slumbering flat-lands, where houses had been built on a grid and streets didn’t turn in on themselves. Out past the Quik Stop and Burger King, Applebee’s and Perkins.

The flatlands looked like a million other Midwestern towns, built overnight strictly for convenience.

This part of Tuonela hurt your eyes and pained your heart in a way only a true lack of beauty and individuality could. But it was better than the other part. The part that mesmerized you and tricked you and lulled you into thinking it was normal and okay.

She passed an invisible line that marked the edge of town.

She adjusted herself, settling in for the long drive. She let out a deep breath. She reached for the radio.

And heard a siren.

She checked the side mirror.

A patrol car was coming up fast behind her, lights flashing. She glanced down at the speedometer. Fifty. The road was a two-lane with no shoulder. She slowed her pace, expecting the officer to drive around. He didn’t. She slowed even more, finally reaching an intersection with room to pull aside. The car screeched to a halt behind her. Someone got out and approached her truck.

Alastair Stroud. He’d recently returned from early retirement in Florida to take the job of interim chief of police.

Rachel rolled down her window. “Come to see me off?” Her heart slammed in her chest again.

He had that look on his face. A look she’d seen on her father’s face too many times. A look that said bad shit was afoot.

“I was hoping to catch you before you left Tuonela.”

I was hoping to get out of here before you caught me. I should have left last night.

“There’s been a murder,” Alastair said. “I need your help.”

“Get somebody else.”

“There isn’t anybody else.”

Not true. The medical examiner from the adjoining county was filling in until they found a new ME and coroner. Everything was temporary. People filling in until the real person came along. That wasn’t going to happen. There were no real people here.

“Becker Thomas.”

Alastair shook his head. “Becker’s busy. A nasty accident on Highway Ten. Besides, I’m afraid Becker might not be able to handle this. I’m afraid it might be too much for him. He’s used to more normal deaths.”

Normal deaths.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you want to get out of here. I understand that. Especially after your father’s murder and everything that happened in Old Tuonela, but—”

The word
but
hung in the air between them.

But we could really use your help. One more time. One more for the road.

BOOK: Garden of Darkness
3.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Forever Rowan by Summers, Violet
The Judas Glass by Michael Cadnum
Plots and Pans by Kelly Eileen Hake
Close to Shore by Michael Capuzzo, Mike Capuzzo
Waking Up in Dixie by Haywood Smith
On the Beach by Nevil Shute
Cluttered Attic Secrets by Jan Christensen
Best Food Writing 2015 by Holly Hughes
King Henry's Champion by Griff Hosker