Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) (20 page)

I heard a horrific gurgling sound coming from Slatters.  The unpleasant noise ended quickly and the woods were quiet again.  From where lay I could see the gunshot wound in his neck.  As my eyes stared ahead, I watched the blood slowly drain from his head.  His face took on the repulsive white of a fish belly.

My eyes would not close and I could not turn away.  I didn’t dislike the man and I regretted that I had been forced to shoot him.  It was a sensation that I was unfamiliar with.  I felt no guilt or remorse when I shot the cop or Cordelia.  There was something different about the death of the Game Warden.

The sun dropped below the trees and the sky darkened.  I heard something rustling in the tall grass.  Something was sniffing the air near me.  Predators had come to find Slatters, drawn by the scent of death.  I was terrified that they would end my life when they finished with him. 

In the dark, I heard the sickening sounds as they fed.  It was a gruesome thing.  If I could reach my pistol I could scare them away, but it had fallen in the pine needles behind me.  I was helpless, lying there in the dirt. 

Through the long night I remained awake.  I was bewildered.  Slatters had fired his rifle and I felt the shot strike me.  The wound was enough to take me to the ground yet I remained conscious.  It made no sense. 

Suddenly, the foragers scattered, running back through the trees.  I watched amazed by a powerful light that shone down on Slatters.  It was a painfully bright.  Surely our rescuers had arrived.  Too late for Slatters but they would help me.

The white light poured over his body, pulsing as if it was breathing.  A strange sound rose up from the trees.  They weren’t the good Samaritans sent out in search of Slatters.  It was music.  The air was vibrating with the sound of a thousand angels singing in unison.  I had never heard anything so magnificent.  Desperately, I wanted to get up from the ground and go to them. 

Slatters’ body glowed like the sun.  I expected him to burst into flames and be gone.  The sound of the voices was deafening and astonishingly beautiful.  Three women, dressed in white robes, surrounded him and lifted him gently.  In a flash, they were gone and I lay alone in a dark pool of silence. 

I had seen them take him away, yet his body lay only feet away from me.  I believed the women were angels and they were sent for Slatters.  Lying there in the dark, I wondered if they would come for me.  If I died there, alone in the woods, who would come for me?

A small pack of coyotes approached along the game trail.  Through the long night others came.  Slatters’ body was dragged out into the clearing and away from my sight.  I was grateful that I could no longer see any of it and heard little of the fracas.  There was nothing to do, but to pray that the animals would continue to ignore me until help arrived.

Rain drops splattered against my face.  The wind grabbed the trees and shook them fiercely.  The clouds opened and cold rain poured down.  Lightning shot across the sky and thunder shook the earth.  Fear gripped my heart.  Slatters was gone and I lay defenseless in the dirt.  More predators would be out hunting and they would find me soon.

Time ticked by slowly.  Hours slipped by and the sun climbed above the trees.  Another day passed without rescue.  Strangely the animals kept their distance from me.  Not even the largest of the carnivores sniffed at me.  It was a peculiar thing.

Slowly, I gathered my strength.  Another night had taken hold and the moon glowed above me.  At last, I sat up and looked around.  Something moved in and around the trees, and I saw the yellow eyes.  It was watching me curiously, but it was not afraid.  More eyes could be seen behind the trees.  Cagily, they moved toward me.

I needed to retreat into my cabin, yet I could not move quickly enough.  So slowly, I inched backward, bumping against the wall of the shack.  They didn’t seem to notice me as the first coyote nosed at the body lying in the dirt.  My eyes moved away from the carnage.  Something was wrong.  I had seen them drag Slatters remains away.  Horrified, I recognized the man.  It was my corpse.

Days passed into months as I remained alone in the clearing.  More Game Wardens came in search of Slatters.  They found nothing but a few bones.  My friends from Canada didn’t find me either.  They guessed that I had been arrested or had fled the area.  The search for Harvey Cloutier moved south to Portland and Massachusetts again.

There were other spirits that wandered along the game trail now and then.  I saw the ghost of a man who appeared to be a trapper from centuries passed.  A portion of his head was gone.  The claw marks and shredded beaver skin coat led me to believe he had been mauled by a bear.

The second spirit was a young woman from the Maliseet Tribe. She carried an infant, strapped to a board.  She wept softly as she walked.  There was no sound from the child and I was grateful for that.

Two soldiers appeared between the trees.  The first ghost shouted orders and moved quickly ahead, followed by his subordinate.  They were in a hurry, anxious to stay ahead of Indians who had followed them.

I spoke to them as they passed by, but they never responded.  There was no sign that they heard me as they continued on their journeys.  I envied their ability to travel along the trail.  They weren’t bound to the clearing as I was.

Day after day I waited there near the shack I built.  My head was filled with questions and I needed answers.  I couldn’t understand why I stayed in the clearing when Slatters had gone.  Why hadn’t the light touched me?  Where were the angels who would sing for me?  His body was gone, and his bones had been scattered, yet I lingered.  Something kept me imprisoned there in the woods.

One season faded into another.  Hunters, poachers, and Game Wardens ambled through infrequently.  The birds and animals avoided me.  Alone and lonely, I could only watch and listen. 

The shack that had been my home was battered by harsh winter storms.  The shingles broke loose and dropped to the ground.  At the front of it, the solitary window cracked.  Eventually, the roof fell in and the walls collapsed.  All that I’d worked to build was reduced to rubble.  

Decades passed before the old man strolled into the clearing.  He had purchased a large parcel of land for logging.  When he found the clearing he was determined to make it a haven for his children and grandchildren.  The idea made me cringe.

The old man came back each fall.  Younger men accompanied him.  They shot deer, moose and wild game.  These men were not like the poachers I had known.  They were law abiding and I suspected they were all from the same family.  Not a family like mine had been, this was a close-knit family.

In time, the old man stopped coming.  The younger men hunted less.  One summer they returned with tools, lumber and more men.  The cabin was leveled and a new one built with a root cellar.  A porch extended out from the dwelling and covered the place where I had lingered for decades.  They hadn’t encroached on my space before, and I hadn’t bothered them.  I had allowed them to share my clearing, but they were pushing me.

I told them to go, but they didn’t hear me.  Frustrated and angry, I summoned the strength to show them I was there.  I moved their tools and ruined their supplies.  They took it for the work of raccoons.  They put out traps, and I tripped every one of them.   

In time, the work on the new cabin was finished.  They returned with women and children.  They stayed through the summer months and went away in early fall.  It maddened me that I was excluded from their world.  Still, at least I had some company while they remained.  Most of the year I lingered isolated from the living.

I increased my efforts to communicate with them.  It was likely a pointless venture, but I had time to be squandered.  I discovered that the children could see me.  The littlest among them talked with me.  I craved time with them when I would be acknowledged again. 

Finally, I came to understand why Slatters left me behind.  He was a good man and deserving of good things.  I was a murderer and I had evaded punishment for all but a few of my petty crimes.  Surely, Abel and the cop had gone on as well.  Abel was a simple boy and he meant no harm to anyone.  The cop was mean on occasion yet he didn’t intend to kill Abel.  I was damned, and God only knew how long I might be earth bound and confined to the clearing.

As the children aged they dismissed me.  They no longer wanted to hear my words.  They forgot the summer days when I sat with them, telling the stories of my old life in Portland.  It was cruel the way they turned away from me.   

Furiously, I worked to make my presence known to everyone in the cabin.  I thumped across the floors at night and that woke them all.  Draining the last of my energy, I banged on walls and pushed things about.  They thought up excuses to explain it all away and refused to believe. 

I grew angrier and discovered that my fury produced energy.  It allowed me to do more than I had before.  Late in the season I found that the summer storms made me more powerful.  During an intense storm, I could call the animals to me.  It was an incredible revelation. 

Through fall, winter, and spring, I contemplated what I had learned and contemplated how I could apply my newfound abilities.  I had been wronged by the people in the cabin and they would pay for being cruel to me.

Summer returned and I was prepared.  I would no longer be excluded from their world.  They would hear me speak and see me appear in front of their eyes.  They would acknowledge me! 

They tromped across my clearing to the cabin.  For days I contented myself with my ability to make their infant laugh and cry.  It amused me and mystified the parents.  They couldn’t understand her strange responses.  The fools never suspected that I was there with them.

Later in the week, I felt an increase in energy in the air.  A strong thunderstorm was in the wind.  The family was sleeping as the first lightning bolts crossed the sky.  Smiling, I moved up onto the porch and their old dog cowered under a chair.  He saw me! 

Inside, sleeping bags were scattered throughout the main floor.  In the loft above the parents slept with their baby.  I stood in the center of the room and waited as the lightening flashed and the thunder rumbled through the heavens.  The force of it charged the air and excited me. 

When I was ready, I stood in the corner with my arms stretched wide.  I released an ear-splitting shriek that woke them all.  As the next lightning strike lit the room, I slid up the wall and across the ceiling.  I laughed as they screamed in terror.  The man in the loft lit a lamp and the hysteria intensified.  At last they had seen me!

I was not as solid as the living, but I could easily be seen.  I shouted at them, and they heard me!  The women and children were panic-stricken, and the men were battling with their own fears.  I was among them and they could no longer deny me. 

“This is my house!” I roared and a clap of thunder shook the night.  “I will be denied no more!” I bellowed. 

The women and children ran out onto the porch.  I followed, chasing them triumphantly as they crossed the clearing.  The men followed at a slower pace, trying to salvage some of their pride.  When they were gone, I stood laughing at their response.  It had happened so quickly.  Suddenly, I realized what a fool I had been.  They had seen me and heard me, and I was alone again.

The cabin remained empty through the following summer.  Sadly, all I could do was to wait and hope that they might return eventually.  The next year a man came with three boys.  The property had been sold again.  I was determined to be more patient with the living, before I forced them to see me again.  I had learned.

Erik, you know the story from that time.  I spoke with you and the other boys through the talking board.  I knew you saw me, you all did.  You heard me whisper in the wind.  I allowed you to comfort yourself with your lies.  I trusted that the tales of a haunted cabin would draw others in time.

I was rewarded for my patience when Mr. Flaherty passed on.  When your brother agreed to buy it, I knew you would be coming.  You would remember me and you would come back to the cabin.  I missed you, Erik and I knew when you returned I could not let you leave again.”

*

For hours, horrendous thunderstorms had rolled through the region.  The rain continued, but the strong winds, thunder and lightning had all blown away to the north.  Harvey was fading rapidly.  Horrified by his tale I was grateful to see him go.  I wanted nothing more than to leave.  I could run through the clearing and into the woods.  Then I remembered my damaged leg.  Running from Harvey would not be an option.

Dumbfounded, I sat staring at the empty chair.  Harvey was gone.  I could feel the change in the air and smell a whiff of an odd, bitter scent I can’t quite describe.  He left me with a million questions swirling around in my head.  If he could kill so easily during his life, surely he would be capable of taking my life, as well. 

Nestled in the corner, at the end of the couch, I pulled the quilt up to my chin and tried to sleep.  The lights were on, but they provided little comfort.  I felt as uneasy through the day as I did in the dark of night.  Harvey couldn’t go far from the cabin and that meant he was always close by.  His visits that brought me comfort through the winter months were distressing.  I watching him anxiously, wondering when he might lash out at me from his chair.

“Harvey, it’s disconcerting when you materialize that way,” I spoke gently in hopes that he would be receptive.  “Could you cough or something to warn me before you come?”