10 miles from Arkadelphia, Arkansas
Monday, July 17, 2007
The house was really a double-wide mobile home, sitting alone about a half-mile from the dirt road. The only sign of life was the beat-up car parked on the lawn in front of the trailer, on a rare patch of grassless ground. Most of the yard had been grown over with tall grass and weeds, as if it hadn’t seen a lawn mower since the year before.
“148 Frontier Street,” said Sam. “This is it.”
“I hope they’re home,” Dean complained. “I really have to take a leak.”
“If they’re gone, I don’t think the lawn will be any worse for it if you borrowed it,” Sam pointed out.
They had been able to narrow down their search for Eugene Townsend to six people. The first three had proved to be the wrong ones, and they were starting to get impatient. Sure, there were only three people left to go, but even if they did find the man they were looking for, there was no guarantee that he would have the information they needed. And this was assuming that he was one of the six living men that they’d researched.
Sam knocked on the door and waited for a long minute. He heard some rustling from the other side, and then a female voice called out: “Who’s there?”
“I’m Sam, and, uh, I’m from Arkansas State University,” he said.
The door opened, and an older woman, about John’s age, stood there, holding a dishrag. She wore a knee-length cotton dress with a small but busy floral pattern, and her gray and brown hair was tied back into a bun. “What can I do for you today, boys?” She looked quizzically at Dean and frowned, but made no further comment.
“You must be Susan Moser,” Dean said, and she nodded. “We were hoping your father Eugene was home.”
“Well, yeah, he’s home. Don’t get out much these days. But he’s resting in the living room and don’t need to be bothered right now. He’s been sick.”
“For chrissakes, Sue,” a croaking voice called out, “let them in. I’m not a damned invalid.”
“All right, Dad!” she shouted to him. “Boys, you heard him. Right this way. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, thank you,” said Dean, “but if you could point me in the direction of the bathroom, I’d really appreciate that. We’ve been driving for awhile.” He winced as he was kicked from the inside. His son was usually still when they were driving, but wouldn’t stop moving if they weren’t in the car. Dean’s sleeping patterns had gotten almost as bad as Sam’s, and at times he had to turn over the wheel to Sam and take a nap in the passenger seat.
Sam went on into the living room alone. It smelled of cigarette smoke, bacon, and dust, and the room was dark, lit only by the sunlight streaming through the orange-curtained window, and a single lamp with one lightbulb. An elderly man sat on a rocking chair in front of a 13-inch television set; he was thin and drawn, and wrapped in an afghan. He looked up at Sam with crinkled eyes, without lifting his head. “Um, hi,” said Sam. “I don’t know if you heard me talking to your daughter. I’m from Arkansas State University, and I’m taking a history class this term. Summer classes. I’m supposed to interview four people about World War Two, and thought I’d come to visit and ask you a few questions. If that’s okay.”
Eugene made a creaky sound in his throat, and Sam thought he was coughing, but then Eugene tipped his head back and his laugh was clearer. “Boy, I’ve seen your kind before. You’re not here to talk about the war.”
“You know “ you’re right. The focus is really more on returning to life in America after the end of the war. Now, as far as I could tell, you served in the Army from 1941 to-“
“Quit pulling my leg.” Eugene looked him in the eye and scowled. “You’re here for a school report and I’m Elizabeth Taylor.”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“Because you’ve been messing with the dark arts and you want my help. And I’ll tell you what I told everybody else. I don’t touch it. I can’t help you.”
Dean came in and sat down next to Sam on the old couch. “Sorry. Call of nature. I had a Sprite on the way over, and, well, it went through me fast.”
“And just who the hell are you?” Eugene asked.
“Dean Summers?”
“You sure about that or are you just spinning me a yarn?”
“Look, if this is a bad time, we could come back tomorrow.”
“I don’t think it matters if it’s a bad time or not. Because you’re going to have a bad time and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.”
Dean and Sam looked at each other and then back to Eugene. “So, wait a second,” said Sam. “You know what we’re talking about, then? About the well?”
“Son, if you’ve been near that thing, then you’re in a world of trouble.”
“Why? We’ve stopped it.”
“Stopped it? How?”
“Pretty simple, really. He wished for it to stop granting wishes. And then I did the same, so I got what he asked for, and as far as I know, nobody is going to be in any danger in the future.”
Eugene shook his head and started to rock the chair. “Now you’ve really done it. You’ve done gone and pissed her off.”
“Who?” asked Dean. “Laura?”
“Now that’s enough,” said Susan, from the kitchen doorway. “We let you in here to talk, so now don’t go bringing up nothin’ about that old witch.”
“Sue, shut your yap and go bake a pie,” Eugene snapped. He took a deep breath and folded his seamed hands in his lap. “Yeah, Laura Keirney. Married her when I got home from Japan. Worst goddamned mistake of my life.”
“Eugene, we’ve been... studying evil spirits and things in the night for most of our lives,” said Sam. “We might be able to help if we know what we’re dealing with.”
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with and you ain’t gonna know even after I tell you. She was a witch, that’s what she was. Not just candles and crystals and healing superstition shit, either. That’s what I thought it was at first and I looked the other way. During the war I saw so much evil “ so many buildings getting destroyed, dead bodies on the streets, hell, we dropped at atomic bomb. I couldn’t get all in a huff about a bag of herbs hanging in the kitchen.” He rocked harder. “Maybe I done wrong, too. I went and had my fun with Shirley, and that, that I shouldn’t have done. Paid for it, though. Found her dead on the back porch not long after, and I never seen nothing like that. Blood all drained, body already starting to rot out and it wasn’t even hot out. A few hours and the flies were all over.”
“Laura killed Shirley?”
“I didn’t know it at the time. I knew it later. It was a sacrifice. Now they came to me, the preacher and the deacons, and told me I had to do something, make her stop calling on Satan. I threw ‘em off my property and told ‘em to get, and stay out. They already ran old Doris out of town, because she said she could heal with magic, and she wasn’t doing any harm. Maybe made a couple of people feel better that weren’t sick in the first place. I don’t know. I thought this was the same thing and I didn’t care. Didn’t want to live alone. Had no idea that Laura was the real thing, and a worker of dark magic, not just parlor tricks and newfangled energy stuff.”
“What finally tipped you off?” asked Sam.
Eugene frowned and rocked silently for a long time before he spoke. “Had a lady come to us once. Real nice lady. Ruth, I think her name was. Well, now, she had something growing in her leg, and the doctor couldn’t do a damned thing, so she went to Laura. And you know, she healed her all up “ had to kill a cow to do it, and I was none too pleased about that. Cattle ain’t cheap. But Ruth paid her and went on her way. And Laura says to me that she wasn’t worthy to live and that she would die. I ignored it, ravings, nothing more. Then I picked up the newspaper and what did I see, but Ruthie was gone. Went out on a walk and got hit by a train. So I go into the basement and Laura’s there with a picture of Ruth and a model train, arms bleeding, this wild look in her eyes. And I saw a man with yellow eyes, glowing. He said ‘you grow stronger, child.’ And I ran like hell, boys.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to stick around that,” said Dean. “Who was it with her? Do you know? A demon?”
“Maybe. Might’ve been Satan himself. I don’t know and I didn’t stay long enough to find out. I didn’t come back till that Tuesday. This was a Saturday. And I went to grab her stuff and toss it out on the lawn, and tell her to get, and then you know what I saw on her altar? My picture. She was going to sacrifice me. But she didn’t get me, no. I ain’t that stupid. I waited until she went out to the well, the day I was supposed to die. Halloween. Sixty years ago.”
“Nineteen forty-seven?”
“Yeah. I said it was sixty years ago, didn’t I? Don’t they teach you kids math anymore?”
“Sorry. I was just making sure. What happened on that day?”
“I threw her in and closed up the lid,” said Eugene. “I don’t care if you go to the cops with this. What are they going to do, sentence me to life in jail? I’m eighty-nine years old and I’m sick. I might not even live long enough to have the trial the way they drag things out for years nowadays. Yeah, I killed her. Thought that was the end. Sold the farm, moved out of state, found myself a nice little woman. Barbara. God rest her soul. Died of a heart attack in ninety-five.”
“When did you know that it wasn’t really over?”
“When you kids started pestering me. Started in the sixties. Thought it was a bunch of hippie nonsense and sent them about their business, but then people started dying. Mostly on Halloween. Somebody thought it would be fun to go to this creaky old well they found and throw pennies in it. And Laura got mad. She never liked being bothered when she was sleeping, I guess. And she did whatever she was asked, to the wrong people, and then took ‘em all out on the anniversary of her death. I don’t know how to stop her. And it’s getting worse. Lately she’s been in my dreams. Can’t sleep, and that’s not good for an old man. Doctor told me to take naps. Damned doctor. Can’t take no naps when she’s there every time I shut my eyes.”
“She was blonde, right?” asked Sam. “I think I’ve seen her before.”
“Little blonde wench,” Eugene affirmed. “No offense, son, but if you’re seeing her, then make up your will. You’ve got about three months to live. Me, too. I’m glad to be done with this. I just hope I don’t go to the bad place with her.”
“I don’t think that’ll happen,” said Dean, although he really wasn’t sure. “We might still be able to stop her. Did you ever take her body out of the well?”
“No. I didn’t. Do I look like I can climb down that hole? I had Henry do it. Henry is Sue’s husband, my son-in-law. Told him to hide the bones so I couldn’t tell nobody where they are ‘cause I don’t know. If you think you can work some kind of magic that isn’t like hers, then you’ll have to talk to him.”
“We’ll do that.” Sam stood up, then held out his hand to help Dean. Dean shot him a dirty look and struggled as he climbed out of the low, sinking cushion. “Thank you very much for your time, sir. We’ll work on this right away. Do you know where Henry is?”
“Tennessee, last I talked to him. Near Nashville. Go ask Sue where he’s working this week.” Eugene paused thoughtfully and stopped the chair in its backwards position. “And Dean. You take care of yourself, you hear?”
Sam and Dean went into the kitchen where Susan was hunched over a cookbook. It was opened to a page about chicken, though, not pies. “You’ll have to forgive my dad,” she said. “He’s old and cranky, and his memory has been failing lately. Oh, he could tell you all about a trip he went on when he was forty, but you ask him what he had for breakfast and he’ll tell you it was oatmeal even if he had eggs. Don’t remember nothin’ but his dreams and sometimes numbers.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sam. “Actually, he told us a lot that we think we can use. We might be able to help your family. But I need to know how to get in touch with Henry.”
“Boys…” Susan looked sadly at each of them in turn. “Henry has been dead for three months. He was killed in an explosion at the grain silo.” She shook her head. “My dad don’t remember. He thinks Henry and I still live in Nashville and I’m just here to visit.”
Sam squeezed her shoulder. “Is there anybody else who might know where he… um… look, your father said that he sent Henry to hide something for him. Do you know where it might have been hidden?”
“No, and if you’re wanting to find my mother’s jewelry, you can put that idea right out of your head. Ain’t nobody stealing my momma’s earrings.”
“We don’t want her earrings,” Sam assured her.
“Ain’t nothing else of any value around here.”
“Okay. We really don’t mean to bother you, but we have some trouble and your father pointed us in the right direction. Thank you, and we’re sorry for interrupting your afternoon.”
“Oh, you didn’t interrupt nothing. Same old, same old. Here, Sam, you take a sandwich with you for the road.”
Dean stared at her expectantly, but she only said, “What? You sure as hell don’t need one. You’ve got a beer gut bigger than my Henry’s and he was probably twice your age.”
Sam grabbed Dean’s jacket and pulled him towards the front door. “We’ll be on our way now. Thanks for the sandwich.” He lowered his voice. “Dean, don’t say anything.”
He caught Dean making a rude gesture behind his back anyway. They were out on the porch before they could hear any more of Susan’s resultant tirade than, “Well, I never! Christ almighty, if I did that to my elders…!”
“Beer gut?” Dean growled.
“Let it go, Dean. We need to get to Nashville and start looking for people who might have known Henry Moser. We’re on Laura’s trail now, and if we can find her bones, we can destroy her completely. And then everybody’s safe.”
“I don’t think she wants to be found.”
“I don’t, either, but that’s not the point.”
“Sam, she’s still out there and if she doesn’t want us to get to her, she can go on a killing spree. Do you really think Henry died in an accident? He’s probably the only one who knows where she’s buried. If we can’t find her bones, we can’t dispel her.”
“I’d bet Henry also doesn’t know anything about hunting spirits. What do you want to do? Just roll over and die?
“I want to hunt her down in October.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea. You’ll be all stitched up and we’ll have a two-week-old baby in the car, and that’ll all really help us out. Besides, she knows what we know.”
“How do you know that? She’s a spirit, not some god.”
“I don’t know how I know, but I do. She can find me in my dreams no matter where I am. I think we need to get this done as fast as we can.”
“And what if everything she gave goes away? That’s all fine and good for Joshua, but not for the girls in New York.”
“Oh.” Sam idly traced a few circles on the window with his fingers. “And Ryan.”
“It’s Anthony, Sam.”
“Ryan Anthony,” Sam said firmly. Then he sighed and leaned back in the seat. “I don’t know. Maybe change his delivery date?”
“He’s not ready yet. Now, I’ll drive us up to Nashville, but if there are any changes to your dreams you’d better tell me. Because this time we’re not just risking our own lives.”
“I promise I’ll tell you everything,” said Sam. He watched the trailer shrink in the rear-view mirror, and couldn’t shake the feeling that the world was closing in on them, that time itself was shrinking around them and pushing them towards a tiny point on which everything else would balance.
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