Graham Masterton - The Manitou

Mind you, it sometimes looks as though there still is."

I sat up and stretched my aching back. "That whole business about 'de boot' would fit in then. If this guy was a medicine man at the time the Dutch settled on Manhattan, then the only words of European he'd be likely to know would be Dutch. 'De boot, mijnheer,' would be his way of saying something about the ship. And judging from Karen's dream, he was afraid of the ship. She told me it seemed to her like an alien ship — almost like something from Mars. And I guess that's just how it would appear to an Indian."

Amelia found a cigarette in a crumpled pack and lit it. "But why is he so malignant ?" she asked. "And how does that tie in with Karen's tumor? I mean, what's the tumor all about?"

Unexpectedly, MacArthur said: "I've found it." He'd been looking through a large dusty encyclopedia, and he marked the page and passed it over to me.

"Medicine Men," I read aloud, "were often powerful magicians who were said to be capable of extraordinary supernatural acts. They were believed to be immortal, and if threatened, could destroy themselves by drinking blazing oil, and be reborn at any time or place in the future or past by impregnating themselves into the body of a man, woman or animal."

Amelia's eyes were wide. "Is that all it says?" she asked me.

"That's all," I told her. "After that, it goes on to rain dances again."

"Then that means that Karen is —"

"Pregnant," I said, shutting the book. "In a manner of speaking, she's about to give birth to a primitive savage."

"But Harry," said Amelia, "what the hell can we do?"

MacArthur stood up and went in search of some beer in the icebox. "All you can do," he said, "is wait until the medicine man hatches, then give him a dose of blazing oil. That should get rid of him for you."

"That's impossible," I told him. "By the time that medicine man is ready to be born, Karen Tandy will be dead."

"I know," said MacArthur glumly, sipping beer. "But I don't see what the hell else you could do."

I went across to the phone. "Well, the first thing I'm going to do is call the hospital. Maybe Dr. Hughes will have some ideas. At least we have a theory about it now, which is a damn sight more than we had a couple hours ago."

I dialed the Sisters of Jerusalem Hospital, and asked for Dr. Hughes. When he answered, he sounded even more tired than ever. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, and he must have been on duty all day.

"Dr. Hughes? This is Harry Erskine."

"What do you want, Mr. Erskine? Have you got some news of your ghost?"

"I found a medium, Dr. Hughes, and we held a seance tonight in Karen's apartment. There was some kind of manifestation — a face. All of us saw it. We've been checking through books on Indian history and stuff like that, and we think it might be an Indian medicine man of the seventeenth century. According to one of these books — hold on — Indian medicine men 'if threatened, could destroy themselves by drinking blazing oil, and be reborn at any time or place in the future or past by impregnating themselves into the body of a man, woman or animal.' Do you think that fits, Dr. Hughes?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the telephone.

Then Dr. Hughes said: "Mr. Erskine, I don't know what to say. That almost fits too well. But if it is true, what can anyone do to destroy such a creature? Dr. Snaith made more tests this afternoon, and it's absolutely clear that if we do anything to remove or kill that fetus, then Karen Tandy will die. The thing has become an integral part of her own nervous system."

"How is she, doctor? Is she conscious?"

"Just about, but she's not responding too well. If this fetus goes on growing at the same rate, I can only say that she'll be dead within two or three days. Dr. Snaith thinks Tuesday."

"How about the gynecological expert?"

"He's as baffled as the rest of us," said Dr. Hughes. "He confirmed that the fetus wasn't a normal child, but he agreed with me that it has all the characteristics of a fast-growing parasitic organism. If you believe it a medicine man, Mr. Erskine, then your opinion is just as valid as any of the opinions we've come up with here."

Amelia came and stood beside me and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"How is she?" she asked.

I put my hand over the phone. "Bad. The doctors don't think she'll last until Tuesday."

"But what about the thing — the medicine man?" asked Amelia. "Does he think that will grow and survive? I mean, Jesus —"

I spoke to Dr. Hughes again. "Dr. Hughes, my friend here asks what's going to happen to the fetus. Supposing it's still alive when Karen Tandy dies? What are you going to do about it?"

Dr. Hughes didn't hesitate. "Mr. Erskine, in that event we will do what we always do. If it is a child, and it's normal and healthy, we'll do everything we can to save it. If it turns out to be a monster — well, we have injections that can dispose of it quietly and quickly."

"And if it's a medicine man?" I asked warily.

He paused. "Well, if it's a medicine man — I don't know. But I can't see how it could be, Mr. Erskine. I'm willing to go some way toward the occult but how on earth could she give birth to a three-hundred-year-old Indian? I mean, come on, let's be serious."

"Dr. Hughes, it was you who suggested we try and find out if there was anything occult going on here. And you did say that my opinion was as valid as anyone else's."

Dr. Hughes sighed. "I know that, Mr. Erskine. I'm sorry. But you have to admit it sounds pretty crazy."

"Crazy or not, I think we ought to try and do something about it."

"What do you suggest?" said Dr. Hughes dully.

"Something you recommended has worked once, Dr. Hughes. You said I ought to bring an expert in, and I did. I think it's time we went looking for another expert — somebody who knows more than we do about Indian lore and mysticism. Give me some time and I'll try to dig somebody up. There's bound to be someone at Harvard or Yale who knows."

"Could be," said Dr. Hughes. "Okay, Mr. Erskine. Thanks for your interest and your help. Don't hesitate to call me if there's anything else you want to know."

I put the phone down slowly. Amelia and MacArthur stood beside me, just as weary as I was, but eager to help now, and really interested. They'd seen the face on the cherrywood table, and they believed. Whatever the spirit was, whether it was an Indian medicine man or a malignant ghost of the present, they wanted to help me fight it.

"If you ask me," said MacArthur, "the Dutch should have kept their twenty-four dollars and left Manhattan to the Indians. It looks as though the original owners are getting their revenge."

I sat down and rubbed my eyes. "It looks that way, MacArthur. Now let's get some sleep. We've got a lot to do tomorrow."

It took us four hours to track down Dr. Ernest Snow. A friend of Amelia's knew someone at Harvard who knew someone else who was a student of anthropology, and in turn the student of anthropology put us on to Dr. Snow.

His credentials were impressive. He had written five monographs on Indian religious and magical rites, and a book called Rituals and Lore of the Hidatsa. What's more, he lived within reach, in Albany, New York.

"Well," said MacArthur, yawning through the gloom of a dark and wintry Sunday morning, "are you going to phone him?"

"I guess so," I told him. "I was just wondering whether we haven't gone off on the wrong track."

"What do you mean?" asked Amelia.

"Well, I mean this whole Indian business. We don't really have any evidence to support it. Just because the face on the table looked something like a Red Indian, there's no real reason to think that he really was."