Deputy Hank Haskins frowned when the
phone rang. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear while juggling
a full cup of hot coffee in one hand and a notepad in the other. Hank set
the coffee cup down on his well-worn oak desk, managing to spill just enough of
the hot brew to make him draw back his hand and grit his teeth.
"He's gone, Hank! I don't know what to do! I'm worried sick."
He pulled a pen from his pocket and
tried to stem the flow of verbal panic assaulting his ear from the phone.
"Gone? You mean Martin's left
you?"
"No, that's not what I said.
Martin's gone. Aren't you listening? We been married nigh on forty years, he
wouldn't have just up and left me.
"Okay, okay." Hank tried to
calm her. "You just stay right there, Hilda. I got to come and make the
report. I'm coming now. Bye."
Hank looked at the clock as he hung up.
Five-thirty in the morning. His stomach growled and he hoped Hilda had made
coffee. The rest of him hoped Martin had just been out all night with the boys
and a moonshine jug down by the river, and he'd find Martin asleep in the barn.
If that wasn't the case, how was he going to handle a woman as hysterical as
Hilda Watson? He didn't have any answers to give her about Martin or any of the
others that were missing.
He knew it would have flipped Hilda
over the edge if she realized he was coming out to look for blood spots, forced
entry, and that kind of thing. As if anybody around there ever locked their
doors...
Hank scribbled a note telling where
he'd gone and stuck it under the phone for Sadie Hacker to find when she came in
at six o'clock to open the office.
Hank managed two more sips of his
scalding coffee before he left, wondering if he'd have to wake up Tom Lawton and
get him and his dogs to track a scent. There sure hadn't been a scent to track
on the other disappearances.
If Martin was really gone that made six
missing persons. Six of them in a place as small as this.
Hilda was standing at the screen door
wringing her hands when Hank pulled up in the driveway. He smelled coffee as
Hilda opened the door. She looked like forty miles of bad road.
Hilda wasn't any prettier than Martin,
Hank decided as he surreptitiously glanced at the screen door, wooden door, and
the windows he could see on his way to the kitchen. Hilda's reddened nose from
crying didn't help her looks any as she held up an empty cup. She raised her
eyebrows.
Hank nodded. Hilda filled the cup with
the fragrant coffee and set a plate of hot biscuits and homemade jelly beside
it. Hank's stomach growled again and he forgave her for calling him at the crack
of dawn, ashamed of the way he'd felt. Hilda just sat and waited like the ball
was in his court, which it was.
A couple of sips of the good coffee
sent a comforting smile up to Hank's lips and he patted Hilda's hand. He asked
all his routine questions then had her accompany him around inside the house and
out. There was no breaking and entering damage. The door hadn't been locked she
said, and there weren't any footprints around the house.
"Hilda, is there anything missing?
Like maybe Martin might have caught someone in here and maybe took off after
him?"
Hilda thought about it, looking around.
"Don't look like anybody was looking for anything." She smiled and
pointed, "And my new microwave is still here." Hank had turned
politely to admire it when Hilda got a sudden idea. "Hey, wait a
minute!" She hurried to the bedroom.
Hank followed and waited a few feet
away as he she opened the double doors of a big closet and rummaged around.
"His brand new fishing pole, it's
one of them casting rods that do everything but wade out and bring the dang fish
back to you. It's not here."
"You reckon he's just snuck off
and gone fishing?"
Hilda answered, her head still in the
closet. "No. No, that ain't it. His new creel and extra line and stuff,
that's all here. " Then her
eyes widened, "And look!"
She went to the night stand by the bed,
tears again rolling down her cheeks a she picked up something.
Hank's heart sank. She was holding
Martin's glasses. Martin couldn't tell whether he had a bass, frog legs, or the
big old Papa Catfish all of them had been trying to catch, without those
glasses. Yes, Martin was gone, all right.
Hank just opened his arms and Hilda
came into them. He held her as she cried big salty tears that finished wilting
his uniform shirt. Shucks, it went with the job. He took his notes and left.
Sheriff Woody Winslow looked up as Hank
entered the office. "I was just looking over these files while I got them
in order, hoping I'd find something helpful we'd overlooked and could check
out."
He touched the note still lying by the
phone. "You find Martin?"
"Nope. No sign of breaking and
entering or any other evidence and judging by what Hilda did find, we're not
going to find him."
Winslow pricked up his ears.
"Blood? Torn clothes or something? Footprints? Anything?" Visions of
the CSI TV team danced through his head.
"No. His glasses. Hilda found
Martin's glasses right where he left them by the bed."
"Aw, shit. He's blind as a bat
without them."
"Or dead."
"Dammit, Hank. Death stinks in
more ways than one. Why haven't we got any bodies? This is six now! No animal
has done this or we'd have found more traces than we want." He clenched his
fists but lowered his voice. "And there's nobody here but us, our own
people in this neck of the woods.
"I know.".
"Oh, well." Winslow shrugged.
"Write up enough to call it a report and go home and rest, since you're on
nights."
The next week when Hank got on days he
swore all the aggravation just moved from dark to daylight hours when he would
be available.
The dog team they requested from West
Memphis to search the water for human remains showed up to search for the
missing bodies. The largest tributaries were searched where they entered the
stretch of the Arkansas River near the town
and right on up to the dam.
Along with the dog team there was a
skinny little volunteer diver who went down to search at the foot of the dam. He
was a complaining little sumbitch and Hank took an immediate dislike to him. His
name was Puckett and he stomped around on his flippers when he came out of the
water complaining.
Hank had to keep reminding himself to
be nice since the dogs would only alert them to human remains, and they needed
the diver to tell them if he saw anything else interesting. He listened to the
complaints in stony silence.
"Water was murky, cold as kraut,
and them fish down there! Most of them were bigger'n me," Puckett whined.
Hank just nodded and Winslow simply
looked out over the water at the dogs that were still out.
"Well, " Hank tried to be
nice. "At least we know now: they aren't there. We appreciate you coming.
Thank you." He turned and left as Winslow came to add his thanks to the
diver and the dog team's manager.
Back at the office, tired, discouraged,
and wishing they'd thought to turn on the window air conditioning unit, Hank
asked, "Yeah. But I think she'd forgive us if we cool off a little
first."
He picked up the phone to call, but it
rang in his hand and he answered. "Yes, ma'am." Winslow gave Hank a
funny look. "I see. Yes, ma'am. I'll sure make a note of it. Maybe' they're
just," he listened some more. "I see. I don' t know either, but I'll
sure make a note of it. You keep your doors locked, you hear. And thank you for
calling."
"What?"
"That was Hilda Watson. Martin's
glasses are gone."
"Martin's glasses?"
"She says she put them back on the
night stand. Sort of a sentimental thing, I guess, like pretending he's still
there or coming back, you know. And now they're gone."
"I'm not even going to try and
figure that one out. "
Hank got up and stood in the door, his
back to Winslow as he listened, wondering what kind of mental case was behind
all this. One that would come back and get a pair of glasses. None of it made
sense.
Hank continued on the day shift. In
spite of the heat, the air conditioner continued to work good and there were no
more disappearances till Hank got back on the night shift. The third night his
luck ran out. The phone rang at ten till midnight with more trouble to report.
"Hey! Calm down, woman! Who is
this and what's got you cornered?"
"This is Mabel Gentry. I just got
back from Memphis visiting my sister and found this note from Matt. You got to
find him!'
As familiar with the local people and
their habits as he was his job, Hank figured Matt must be missing. "Let's
back up a little. What did the note day?"
"It says he's gone camping, says
he's dern sure going to catch that monster catfish this time, and he'll be back
Monday night."
"Said he'll be back? So?"
"It's Wednesday, Hank, Wednesday.
And he's not here!" Her panic rose again.
"Does it say anything else, like
maybe where he's going to camp?"
"No. But he usually goes down to
that hollow where that bridge is over the backwaters, where he and you other
fishing freaks go to give that big old catfish a good laugh at you.'
"Hollow. I think I know where you
mean." He hoped to God the camp site wasn't under water but he sure
wouldn't take any bets on it. He looked out the window. The night was pitch
black and the rain was coming down in buckets.
"You've got to go out there and
get him, unless this thing that's carrying people off has already got him,
too." Her voice was back in its high register. "He may have broken a
leg or been hurt by a bear or, or...!"
"Mrs. Gentry, I'm manning the
office by myself right now."
"Don't hand me that! Call the
Sheriff. Tell him Matt's in trouble and you've got to go get him!"
"I'll see what I can do. If you
don¡¦t hear from me in the next fifteen minutes I'll be on my way out
there." Hank gave up, his toes cringing in his boots at the flood being
flung against the windows. He dialed Sheriff Winslow's number.
All of three seconds he hesitated, his curses turning the air blue. Then
he got up, rummaged around for the spotlight, and went out to put it on his car.
He wondered why Winslow hadn't answered, but Woody Winslow was noted for
sleeping like he'd been hit on the head. He left a note on the desk and went to
do his duty.
Hank could have walked just as fast as
he could drive in the storm except he'd probably be drowned sooner.
Being an avid camper, hunter, and
fisherman, Hank knew exactly where he was going. He left the car up on the road
and proceeded on foot with a large flashlight in his hand and an extra one
inside his slicker. He found the camp, or at least a camp. He was sure it
must be Matt's.
The frequent flashes of lightning were
actually more help than the flash. During one of them that looked like it
stretched to Venus and danced around, he saw a figure up on the bridge over the
backwater. It must be Matt, it had to be.
It was tough climbing up to the bridge
with water sluicing down on him. Matt was still standing up there, the
idiot, with his pole in his hand. He hadn't seen Hank's flash because he'd put
it inside his slicker. Hank hung onto the underbrush and relied on that, rocks,
and the lightning to light his way.
He was almost to Matt when Matt seemed
to lose his footing and start to fall. Hank grabbed at his arm as another hand
from Matt's other side reached out to him. He and whoever it was on the other
side held Matt till he got his feet under him again and Hank saw it was Calvin
Gross on the other side of Matt.
"Thanks, Calvin. I think I've got
him now. I didn't see you."
"Didn't see you, neither."
Calvin held onto Matt, looking uncertain.
"Matt, you damned fool, what are
you doing out here in this storm with that dumb-ass fishing pole in your
hand?"
"I've been here for four days and
I'm not leaving here till I've got that big old smart aleck fish! I'm gonna get
him or her or whatever. I am!"
Both of them hung onto Matt's arms like
he was their last chance at salvation. "That catfish is smarter than you
are. It not going to come up in this mess to see what you've got on that hook,
you idiot!"
"That's where you're wrong. I used
up my chicken livers but I'm bringin' out the heavy artillery. I got a whole
carton of that blood bait them catfish like so well. Hell! It's caviar to
them!"
"So that's what smells so
bad." Hank wrinkled his nose. " Agnes won't let me bring it in the
house, much less put it in the ice box. You better dump it."
Calvin reached down and got the carton
out of Matt's gear. He had a funny look on his face like he might faint.
"Dump it," Hank commanded.
Calvin opened it and threw it into the water below.
"Damn!" Matt paused in his
struggle to peer down. "Well, I'll get him when he comes up. I'll get
him!"
"Not tonight, you're not. Tonight
you're going home." Hank's hand tightened like a vise on Matt's arm.
"Am not!"
"The holy hell you're not. Your
wife called me and thinks you've been got by the Backwater Booger or something.
You are going home! Now!"
"Aw," Matt winced. Calvin let
go of this other arm and stepped back a little.
"Well, come help me get my camping
stuff." Matt's beady eyes looked for a chance to escape. Hank knew the
expression well.
"Crap on that. You can come get it
tomorrow when the sun's out. If it ever comes out again. We're leaving right now
before it starts hailing on top of everything else!"
"Hailing?"
"Yeah, hailing," Calvin
agreed. "Had you plumb forgot you're in Arkansas?"
"Calvin," Hank peered around
Matt. "You need a ride home?"
"No, got my truck up the road," Calvin replied.
* * *
The next couple of nights on duty were
uneventful. Hank bit into a fried pie Agnes sent in his lunch sack. The night
pressed against the windows like black velvet, but it was dry and quiet.
There hadn't been any progress or clues
at all about the missing people, but Hank's lips curved up in a smile thinking
of Agnes. They had celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary with a dinner date
Thursday night and Agnes had given him a brand new, guaranteed, top-of
the-sports-equipment-line tent. He was going to try it out this weekend.
The only thing was, who could he take
with him? Agnes wasn't big on the great outdoors. Hank figured he was lucky she
just let him go. Some of the other wives in town weren't as generous with their
husband's time, much less money, come to think of it.
His older but capable boss and best
buddy, Woody Winslow, in spite of his age and an occasional arthritic twinge,
was famous for his hunting and fishing. That's what his friends said. His wife
called it his excuse for staying away from home and the chores he needed to do.
But when Hank had invited him to go try out the new tent with him, he got turned
down so fast you'd thing the old fart was jealous. Hank still smarted about
that. Just said he had other things to do.
Hank's thoughts were interrupted by
someone coming into the front office. He unwound his legs from the chair rungs
and tossed the rest of his coffee in the sink to go meet whoever it was.
"Hello there, Calvin. Haven't seen
you around much the last few days. Hot enough to suit you?"
"Yeah, just about. I came in here
to sit down and rest a few minutes. It is hot, though I seem to feel cold
sometimes and the light hurts my eyes."
"Lucky you do feel chilly
sometimes as hot as it's been most afternoons. It's a good thing, too,
you're on unemployment and can snooze in the afternoon if you want to.
Thought you might be among the missing."
Calvin sat down. He leaned back without answering.
"Where you been keeping yourself,
Calvin? You planning some kind of new career or just sitting out your
unemployment?"
"Wasn't looking for a new job but
I got one anyhow. Taking care of my aunt. She's my mother's youngest sister.
She's in poor health and hasn't got any other kin. She's come down here, got a
little frame house on some land out by the river and she's paying me to stay
with her."
"Well, that's good for both of you
then. If it's not too confining, I guess you'd call it."
"Oh, no. I could just have kept an
eye on her, checking now and then. But she wanted me to go on and move in."
Hank nodded. "Probably just as
well. Beats the combination job and hobby I've got of investigating all these
false alarms we've had lately."
Calvin didn't answer and Hank went on.
"Haven't made much headway trying to figure out which ones of our hooky-playing
citizens are goners or are just gone. But if any of them are goners, you'd think
we'd find them in a little place like this, now wouldn't you?"
"Maybe they'll wash up on the
river bank."
Hank shook his head. "First two's
been gone too long. Some fisherman would have spotted them by now if they were
in the river. And I guess you didn't hear, we requested a search dog team from
West Memphis. They're not in the river."
Hank brightened up. "Speaking of
the river, my wife gave me a new tent for our anniversary. Since you've got time
now, would you like to go with me this weekend and try it out?"
Calvin sat with his eyes closed and
Hank added hopefully, "I want to find out if this tent's as good as
promised so I can take it back if it's not.
So go with me to check it out, what
do you say?" Calvin wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs but he beat
nobody. He'd just tell Agnes he was going by himself to check out the tent.
Calvin hesitated, opening his eyes and
looking more interested.
"I've got everything we need. You
don't have to do or bring anything, and I can stop by for some bait when I start
out there. You can bring something if there's something you 'specially like to
eat, but I've got plenty," Hank wheedled.
Calvin sighed. "I don't eat much
anymore. It's like I just sort of lost interest in it."
"Well, that's all right then, and
we're bound to catch some fish. Or, I always take my gun with me; we might get a
rabbit."
"Rabbit?" Calvin's eyes lit
up. "Yeah! Yeah, I think I will go. I'll go with you."
Hank's feet wanted to dance, he got up
and shook Calvin's hand instead. "Where's your aunt's place? I'll pick you
up Friday after I get off."
"That's all right. I'll meet you
on the bait shop's parking lot at ten o'clock."
"Ten o'clock?" Hank's face
fell. "Why so late?"
"I want to see my aunt gets fed
and safely tucked in bed before I go She'll be all right after that."
"Oh. Okay. Ten it is." Hank
opened the door for him. "You want me to leave a note here and take you
home? It's mighty dark out there."
"No, but thanks. I'll make it all
right."
Friday, Hank packed all his gear in his
truck when he went home for lunch so he could leave from the office and check
out anything new the bait and tackle shop might have got in since last time he
was there.
Agnes laughed at him. "You act
like you're about eight years old. You sure you got everything you need? Sure
doesn't look like much food to me the way you like to snack."
"It's plenty. Is that why you fed
me this good lunch today? You think I'm going to starve?"
"Um-hum, don't want you to dry up
and blow away."
Hank put his arms around her before he
left. "I'm not going to blow away and don't worry about me joining those 'gone
or goner' folks, either. I like it here." He kissed her lips, the tip of
her nose, and her forehead. "I'll be back."
Time to go finally rolled around and
Hank piddled around wasting time at the bait and tackle store as he waited. He
was examining a couple of new flies when he saw someone moving out in the
parking lot. Calvin was there.
Hank jabbed a big treble hook into one
of his fingers in his haste to get out. Before he could call a greeting Calvin
turned and Hank stopped abruptly. Calvin's eyes glowed red in the dark like an
animal's.
Hank let out the frightened breath he'd
been holding when Calvin moved toward him and the red from the neon sign over
the bait shop turned Calvin's shirt a weird red shade, too. He fussed at himself
for being as jumpy as the people who'd been turning in all those false alarms.
Calvin got in beside him as Hank
fastened his set belt and Hank noticed Calvin hadn't brought anything with him,
not even a change of clothes. Well, he'd told him not to bring anything. Sudden
pain broke into his thoughts when he gripped the steering wheel. Felt like a
king sized cactus needle in his finger. He put his foot on the brake and turned
on the overhead light.
It was the wound from the hook, a
little deeper than Hank thought it
was. A big drop of glistening blood showed and threatened to spread. Wide eyed,
Calvin jumped like he was having a seizure, his hand on the door handle.
"Take it easy," Hank calmed
him down. "It's only a little prick from a fly I was looking at." He
held a piece of ice from the cooler against it a few seconds and they left.
It didn't take long to get to Hank's
favorite spot on the river bank and Calvin helped him unload his gear.
"Your aunt get settled all
right?" Hank made conversation as they worked.
"Oh, yeah. I stayed till she went
to sleep. She probably won't even know I'm gone."
"That's good." But it wasn't
good. Hank couldn't quite put a finger on why. "How about something
to eat, Calvin?"
"No. I fixed for my aunt and I'm
not hungry. You go ahead," he added when Hank hesitated, a can of Vienna
Sausage in his hand.
"How about some coffee, got this
big thermos full."
"No, I'm fine. These are
comfortable air mattresses." Calvin looked down at the one he was sitting
on. "They come with the tent?"
"Sure did. They made a big deal
out of the sale, is why Agnes got all this. You know women and sales."
They both laughed and talked till their
small campfire burned low.
"Got to go take care of some
business." Hank got up and ambled off toward the river in the dark.
Zipping up his pants he decided to
surprise Calvin, make him show some feeling besides being afraid of blood.
Circling around through the trees in the dark Hank stepped in a hole and yelped
in pain.
Calvin was there in seconds and helped
him up.
Hank's ankle hurt but he didn't think
it was broken. He fumbled for the flash he kept on his belt and Calvin jumped
back.
"Don't be so damn skittish,
Calvin." Hank stopped, staring down at what the light showed.
Calvin stood still as if he'd taken
root, as Hank knelt beside the human head and arm in the hole. "Shallow
grave," Hank said. "Animals must have dug it up."
The face of the dead man Hank
recognized as the first of those 'gone or goner' citizens reported missing. The
face and hand were white as a ghostly apparition, or maybe just drained of
blood.
Hank suddenly remembered all the things
he'd heard about vampires. But a vampire? Here? He sensed Calvin near him.
Calvin was almost as pale as the
corpse. As Hank slowly got up he recalled Calvin had only been seen at night
since the disappearances began. Hank drew in a long, slow, shuddering breath,
his mind reeling from all the unwanted knowledge swirling in it. Calvin doesn't
eat. Calvin doesn't drink coffee. Calvin's not afraid of blood, he wants it!
Calvin's aunt is asleep and thinks he's home. He's got an airtight alibi! And
that night I thought he helped me rescue Matt? He was homed in on that blood
bait! He was about to add Matt to the missing list when I came along!
Hank dropped the flashlight as Calvin's
fingers wrapped around his throat like steel bands and his other hand lifted
Hank's body as easily as if he'd been a helpless child.
Hank couldn't land a blow as Calvin held him aloft. Hank's head was up
among the branches of a big oak tree, his arms flailing helplessly. Clutching at
anything he touched, Hank grabbed a small limb and it broke off in his hands.
With a death grip on the limb, he felt himself being lowered. Calvin would sink
his fangs into his throat and he'd never see Agnes again. Clutching the limb with both hands, when Calvin lowered him
enough, Hank gathered every bit of strength he had and rammed the sharp, broken
point of the limb into Calvin's chest.
There was one horrifying second that
seemed like eternity before Calvin dropped him then slowly folded on the ground
beside the corpse in the shallow grave.
Heaving, shaken, gulping air into his
lungs, Hank retrieved the flashlight and made sure Calvin was dead and the stake
firmly in his chest.
Hank wasted no time gathering up
anything. He made it to his truck and called Woody Winslow. There was no answer
and Hank's teeth started chattering as he went back to look again at Calvin's
body.
As he stood there he heard something
coming through the woods. Something big. He pictured a hungry bear and wondered
if there were still a few mountain lions prowling the area.
Hank raised his gun and opened his
mouth to scream in terror. Then he
recognized the looming big shape of Sheriff Woody Winslow.
"Oh, God," was all Hank could
manage.
He went temporarily blind as Winslow's
flashlight examined his face and fllickered around the scene.
Winslow went over and helped Hank to
the truck and up into the truck seat.
Hank started talking, telling
everything that had happened as Winslows's flashlight lit up different areas.
Feeling stronger, Hank got stopped to
get his breath. They went together to look again at the disintegrating body in
the shallow grave and at Calvin with the branch sticking out of his chest.
"How did you happen to come out
here?" Hank suddenly thought to ask.
"I've been keeping an eye on
Calvin ever since he got back from that trip to New Orleans. Looks like the poor
devil got more than that writer's autograph."
"Writer? What writer? You lost me.
You mean he's a fan of some kind?"
"Not him. His aunt. She and my
wife have read about every horror and vampire book anybody ever wrote. They talk
about them all the time and he was going to get some autograph or other for his
aunt when he went. Let's get him into the truck bed, we can talk in the truck
and we'll come back for the other one."
Settled comfortably beside Winslow Hank
asked, "How long you been tailin' Calvin and why? You said ever since he
got back from New Orleans?"
"Just sort of came to me gradual
how he was just staying at home and drawing his unemployment and we never seen
him out and around, much less looking for work. By the way, the night you had to
go rescue Matt Gentry I made sure he was gone and went in and searched his
house. I found Martin Watson's glasses and a fancy, brand new fishing pole. The
door was unlocked and I didn't touch them. He must have been hoping we and Hilda
didn't notice them glasses being missing. We'll go back with a warrant and get
them for evidence."
They called the emergency number and
dropped the body at the mortician's before returning to the office. Hank went to
clean himself up and Winslow wrote down notes on what actually happened leaving
blanks and skips and question marks, not knowing how in heck the final draft was
gong to read. He'd done about all
he could do with it at the moment when Hank set a
steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
"Warmed this up in the microwave,
strong coffee ain't going to hurt us at this point." Hank sat down with his
own cup. "I can't get over Calvin getting some writer's autograph."
"Yeah, he had news for the ladies
too. He got two or three autographs for them at some writer conference or
something. They all write about witches and vampires, one of their books I heard
them talking about, the characters were burying their bodies in the... side...
yard..." Winslows's head jerked up and his eyes met Hanks's.
"Hank! Calvin's aunt's place!
That's where our missing citizens are!"
Hank's teeth caught his lower lip in
consternation. "Hell's Bells! He told me once she bought more than
seventy-five acres out there!"
"Yeah, we got us some digging to
do. I'm going to call the crime scene people and leave a message on their voice
mail right now. We'll start digging first thing in the morning."
"We?" Hank tried to keep from
looking smug. "I go on nights tomorrow."
"No problem. We can leave
emergency numbers on the door for a couple of nights. Be here bright-eyed and no
later than dawn and bring all the digging tools you've got."
Hank had one foot out the door, knowing
he was beaten. He felt the door slam behind him. "Aw, shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"
Winslow was already punching numbers on
the phone and grinning like the devil's apostle. "And when word gets around
and folks show up with nosy questions, all we got to do is hand 'em shovels,"
he said to himself.
Copyright ©2006 Jackie Griffey All Rights Reserved