Graham Masterton - Revenge of the Manitou

Novato’s body with a red blanket

“They gave her to Sak,” he said. “The ancient keeper of the gateway. That smoky demon you saw in Mr. Sap-erstein’s photographs. I suppose a human woman was one of the rewards he wanted. He raped her, as you probably saw. The only difference between that and any other rape was that she would have suffered incredible mental horrors while it was happening, and the gaseous form of Sak is probably three thousand degrees below freezing.”

Gradually, the police officers and medics returned to their posts, and the sergeant, although he was looking colorless and shaken, turned around to usher Harry and Singing Rook and Neil back to their pickup.

“What did you think of that, sergeant?” asked Harry. “Did you ever see anything like that before?”

The sergeant opened the door of the pickup for him and indicated that he should climb up.

“I’ve seen hundreds of stiffs in this job,” he said harshly. “One more doesn’t make no odds.”

Singing Rock looked at him carefully. Then he said: “I know how easy it is to become blase’, sergeant, but let me give you one good word of caution. Tonight, just for once, don’t be blas6. Look out for unexpected attacks. Take a lot of care.”

The sergeant wiped sweat from his forehead with his furry arm. “You talk like you know what’s going on here,” he said.

“I do,” said Singing Rock.

“Well, that proves you’re nuts,” replied the sergeant. “Anybody who thinks they know how a bus gets to shine like a dead mackerel, and how a woman gets herself frozen solid in the middle of September, they have to be going bananas.”

Neil said angrily, “Why the hell don’t you-”

“Neill” interrupted Harry. Then, more quietly, “It won’t do any good.”

Neil took a look back at the bus, still standing on the bridge with its windows frosted up. He could hardly believe that Toby was inside there, taking part in some unspeakable and unimaginable ritual. He could hardly believe that Toby had summoned down the squid-like Sak, and had actually sacrificed Mrs. Novato to him.

But he was here, on this gloomy and fearful night, sitting in his pickup at Lake Berryessa with an Indian and a sarcastic mystic from New York, and he knew that it had to be true.

He started the motor, and they drove off back down the highway.

Singing Rock fingered the amulets around his neck. *I think we’re going to have to bide our time until it gets dark,” he said. “Then we’ll come back and see what we can do to lay down a medicine circle.”

“How are you going to lay down a circle when the bus is on the bridge like that?”

“It’s going to be very difficult. That’s the reason Misquamacus chose to stop there.

Nobody can come near without his knowing, and nobody can surround the bus with all the magical paraphernalia that you’d need to keep him permanently imprisoned there.”

“So what’s going to happen now?” asked Neil.

Singing Rock rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure. I think we’re going to have to play this the way it comes.”

They drove in silence for a while along the darkening road. But after a few minutes, Harry said, “There’s one small thing that’s been bothering me. Something we never checked out. I thought about it last night, but then it slipped my mind again. I think if we’ve got ourselves a couple of hours to kill, we ought to go look for it.”

“What’s that?” asked Singing Rock.

“It’s something that Toby mentioned to Neil real early on, when Misquamacus was first making himself known. He said something about the prophecy that is still buried on the stone redwood. Now, we never took the trouble to check out what that prophecy was, or where it was, or anything.”

Neil reached the steep junction with Route 128, and turned right toward Chiles Valley. “It was my guess Misquamacus was talking about one of the trees up at the Petrified Forest in Calistoga,” he remarked. “I never went there, but I heard there’s a huge stone redwood that’s still half-buried in the hillside.”

Harry turned to Singing Rock. “You want to go take a look? I think we ought to. If there’s something on that tree that we don’t know about, and Misquamacus springs a nasty surprise on us, then we’re going to regret it for the rest of our lives, which might be for five or ten minutes or so, if we’re lucky.”

“How are you doing for gas?” Singing Rock asked Neil.

“I’m fine. Let’s head on up there. Even if we don’t find anything, it’s something to keep my mind off Toby.”

The Petrified Forest was closed when they arrived. Although it was only a little after five, the sky was thunderously dark, and the rumblings and shakings of an approaching storm were growing steadily louder. They parked the pickup outside the gates, and then Harry walked around to the office and gift shop, where a single light was still burning. He rapped on the window, and mouthed, “Let — me-in.”

A pretty brunette in a brown overall came to the door and unlocked it. She said, “I’m sorry, mister, we’re all closed up. But we’re open again tomorrow if you want to drop by. The place is really worth a visit.”

“Look,” said Harry, “is the manager in?”

The girl shook her head. “Not this evening, he isn’t.”

“Is there anybody here who knows something about this place, apart from you?”

She shook her head. “There’s only Professor Thoren. But he’s not really a tree professor. I should drop by in the morning if I were you.”

“Who’s Professor Thoren? What does he do?”

She frowned. “I’m not too sure. I’m only looking after the place while the manager’s out. He’s up at the Tunnel Tree right now.”

“The Tunnel Tree? What’s that?”

She smiled. “I don’t know why you don’t come see for yourself when we’re open. It’s real impressive. There’s this stone redwood and it’s more than three hundred feet long, lying on its side, if you understand me. It was buried deep in the rocks, and ever since about the turn of the century they’ve been tunneling alongside of it so that people can walk down the tunnel and take a look. It’s real neat.”

“And that’s where Professor Thoren is right now?”

The girl nodded. “He’s been here a year or so, trying to work out the Indian writing.”

Harry stared at her. “I don’t believe it. There’s Indian writing on that tree? You mean that?”

“Sure there is. It was in all the local papers. They found it round about two years ago, when they were digging the tunnel along further. It’s only scratches. What they call picture writing.”

Harry said, “Of course. In Misquamacus’s time, it must have been still hidden under the rocks.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked the girl.

“It’s granted,” said Harry. He felt ridiculously excited. For the first time since he’d flown over to help Neil, he felt he was making some headway. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was an advance against Misquamacus, instead of another terrified retreat.

“I want to ask you a favor,” he said. “I know you’re closed, and everything, but I really need to speak to Professor Thoren.”

The girl looked suspicious. “Do you know him personally? I mean, are you a friend of his, or something?”

“No, I’m not. But that picture writing he’s looking at is something my friends and I have to see.”

“Well, I’m sorry. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”

Harry gave the girl his deepest, most sincere expression, the expression he reserved for elderly lady clients who threatened to cross his palm with insufficient silver.

“You have to believe me,” he said, “this is the most important thing in my whole life.