David Barbour - Shadows Bend

Howard could see from Glory’s glazed expression that she wasn’t fully lucid-at least not enough to understand his friend’s ponderousdiction. “You got possessed again and just about damn near killed us. That’s why we’re staring at ya.”

“Oh,” Glory said, rather matter-of-factly. “Is that all?”

A few minutes later, when Glory had regained her composure and Howard had finished inspecting the car’s undercarriage for damage, Lovecraft handed the rope to Howard.

“HP…”

“It is the logical thing.”

Howard looked at Glory, then at the rope, his expression partially hidden in the darkness. His thoughts were so clear he might as well have pantomimed the dilemma.

“Here,” Glory said, offering her wrists. “I want you to tie me up in the backseat until we get to where we’re going.”

“See here, Glo…”

“I don’t want any debate on this. It’s obvious that whatever it is that’s out there has got some kind of hold on me. I don’t want to cause any more problems.”

“Perhaps an understatement, but she is correct, Bob. It is in our general best interest.”

Howard said nothing but ushered Glory into the car and began halfheartedly to bind her hands and feet. Glory glared up at him. “It’s not tight enough,” she said in a playful tone. “I could slide right out of this without even wrinkling my pretty little forehead.”

Howard cinched the knot around her wrist a little tighter. “How’s that?”

Now Glory was even more sarcastic. “I thought you Texas boys were all experts with your ropes and guns. Haven’t you ever tied anything down, Bobby?”

He was trying to be nice to her, but Howard could feel his face grow hot with anger. He gave a flick of the wrist that yanked the knot tight around Glory’s wrists. “I ain’t ever roped a steer, if that’s what ya mean,” he said. “But I can tie a knot as good as anyone else. And you ain’t hardly no wild animal.”

“Oh, I’ve had more than a few gents tell me different,” said Glory. She gave a coy wink that made Howard wonder if she was still possessed.

“BOB?”

An hour had passed since they’d resumed their drive. The desert was dark in an oddly crisp sort of way, the stars particularly bright and hardly twinkling. Howard had eased into a semiconscious state of mind, steering the Chevy as if he were a rigged tiller on a sailboat.

“Bob?” It was Lovecraft again. “Yeah?”

Lovecraft unfolded the road map, making a horrible crackling and rustling sound that caused Howard to wince. When he turned on his flashlight, Howard squinted at him and waved a hand in annoyance.

“Bob, I’ve reason to believe we are presently headed in a northerly direction instead of the preferred easterly course upon which we had embarked. ”

“Huh? How would ya know? I can’t see no landmarks out there.”

Lovecraft pointed out the windshield at the night sky.

“Shit-if you’re right.” Howard pulled over onto the shoulder and stopped the car. He stretched and yawned as the sudden stillness made him feel his tiredness all the more. “I mighta taken the wrong turn It back at the junction. Can ya figure what road we’re on?”

The silence and lack of motion roused Glory, and she sat up, letting her loose sweater fall off her shoulders. She rested her bound wrists on the back of the front seat between Howard and Lovecraft. “What’s the matter, boys? Are we lost or something?”

The three of them regarded the illuminated map together. Lovecraft indicated the compass points, then traced his finger along the road they should have been on. He followed the line back to the last junction and traced their current route. It made no sense. They looked at each other in the dim reflection of the flashlight beam.

“Times like this, ya rely on Texas instinct,” Howard declared with false confidence, and he abruptly hit the gas, spitting dirt and gravel from the tires as he pulled a V-turn.

The rhythm of the driving lulled them once again, and soon Glory had fallen back asleep. Howard rubbed his eyes and squinted. “They’re even out here,” he said incredulously.

“Eh?” Lovecraft shifted in his seat.

“Those damn Burma Shave ads. Even out here in the middle a nowhere.”

Lovecraft sat up and watched through the dust of the windshield as they approached the first sign, barely legible in the dim headlights. Involuntarily, they read it together, then the next, and the next, as the rhyme played out with its excruciating slowness.

Every mile It draws More near.

Lovecraft was about to close his eyes and get some rest when the next sign caught his attention.

The eldritch face.

He could feel the car accelerate as Howard’s foot grew heavier on the gas pedal. They sped by the next sign and the next without speaking.

The one you fear IA CTHULHU!

Lovecraft was almost relieved by the last sign. He could have drifted off to sleep then and dismissed it all the next morning as his personal hallucination, but Howard was not cooperative.

“You seen what I seen, HP?” he said flatly.

“If you’re referring to the fact that we have just passed an advertisement for the Old Ones, then I believe I have.”

“Then it ain’t just me.”

“Clearly not.”

“What’s goin’ on, do ya think?”

“I am too tired to conjecture,” said Lovecraft, closing his eyes. “But you may be assured that whether this is real or imagined, it is proof that we are on the right road.”

“MAKE SURE SHE’S COVERED,” said Howard, easing off on the gas and slowing down to pull into the all-night gas station. “Last thing we want now is someone reportin’ us for kidnappin’.”

Lovecraft leaned over into the backseat and drew Glory’s sweater up to cover her bound wrists. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and that provoked in him a quick pang of envy.

Howard pulled up at the pump and got out, stretching his arms above his head and arching backward until he heard the satisfying crunch in his lower back. He shook out his shoulders and drew in a deep breath. From the inside of the gas station, lit by a couple of dangling lightbulbs, the attendant roused himself and emerged rather timidly.

“Fill ’er up,” said Howard. “Don’t need nothin’ else.”

“Yessir. ”

Lovecraft got out, just as stiffly as Howard had, and he rubbed at his sore arm as he limped over to the ice box. “Could you divulge to us our present location?” he asked the attendant, but that only drew a blank look.

“Whereabouts are we?” said Howard.

“Oh, not too far from Deming. Coupl’a miles.”

“Thanks,” said Howard. “My friend here’s from England.”

“More the proximity of New England,” said Lovecraft, fishing for change in his trouser pocket.

The attendant rubbed his hands across the front of his coveralls and walked over to the pump.

Howard leaned over the horizontal ice box and said, in a loud whisper, “Dammit, HP, I was tryin’ not to be suspicious.”

“Well, now, in addition to my superior diction, our fellow here is wondering if he’s seen a foreigner. I’m afraid you’ve made even a larger impression than would have obtained without your clumsy attempt at anonymity.”

“Can’t you just talk like an American?”

“I am an American. I hardly need to talk like one.”

Howard shrugged in defeat and looked over his shoulder. The attendant was washing the windows, pulling his squeegee and leaving a line of grimy water that he mopped up with a rag. He seemed to be concentrating especially hard on the rear window.

“Hey!” called Howard.

That startled the man, and he stopped abruptly. “Yessir?”

“I told ya we didn’t need nothin’ else.”