Steve Tem - Excavation

He’d seen the little girl three or four times the past couple of days. Once out in the field behind the boarding house, staring at him and grinning with those teeth that had a hint of green in them, even at that distance. And floating at least three feet off the ground, her damp hair drifting out from her head. He’d seen her again out by the willows bordering the creek, staring at him out of the boughs of one of the larger trees. And again standing on the roof, her feet not quite touching the shingles.

And once in his bathwater, and twice in the water in his sink—just the head, floating with bloated cheeks and the long brown hair wrapped around the neck. Now he couldn’t take a bath, or wash; he couldn’t even stand the thought of drinking water, imagining bits and pieces of her drifting out of the tap.

So he had to drink whiskey, lots of it, if he was going to stay alive. Maybe he’d have to start taking baths in it, too, and washing his clothes in it. Everybody would. He didn’t know if they could afford that much whiskey, or if Charlie Simpson had that much in stock, even if he’d sell them that much. Or maybe he’d just give some to everybody in town as a kind of public service. He grinned drunkenly; the idea seemed to make some sense.

Somehow, he knew it was that kid he’d left back in Cincinnati. He never should have done it. He’d really loved that child. And she was never going to let him go.

He put the bottle on the windowsill and, not bothering to dress, started down to Hector Pierce’s room. He’d sit up with him, listening as careful as he could. The old man was babbling all the time, and something important was being said. That old man was more scared than any of them… he must know what was really going on in Simpson Creeks.

Hector had been dreaming. It had been a nice dream. About his mother, or some other woman. Not enough softness in his life, in the Creeks, or anywhere else for that matter. Not enough softness at all. But the woman had been whispering to him, making him her baby, her boy-child, and that had been quite all right.

He’d gone into the mines at seventeen. Twice he’d almost married, but both times some other man took her.

Not enough softness. Not enough joy. Pretty soon it looked like all his chances were past.

Until now.

He groaned and reached up. But she was just out of his reach. It hurt him… hurt him bad. There shouldn’t be so much pain in the world. Shouldn’t be that way. She knew about pain. And vengeance, too.

Pretty soon everything’d be all right, and everybody’d be all together, in the same place.

Hector’s face felt drenched, and for a moment he thought the time had already come.

“The sheriff was pretty mad when he left.” Ben stroked his empty cup and stared at the back of his store fifty yards in front of the house. There might be a few customers waiting, but he wouldn’t be opening today; he might not be opening for some time. “See, he’s never had no trouble like this, Reed. Oh, occasionally some youngsters’ll get rowdy, or some man’ll start shootin’ at his wife, but nothing like what happened to Jake. These people are his responsibility, and he don’t like awful things happening to ‘em that he can’t explain to people.” Ben looked at Reed, who mirrored his pose on the front porch. “I told Martha and the kids to stay a few extra days at her sister’s in Four Corners. I don’t want ‘em here.” Reed looked at him and nodded. His eyes seemed swollen, his lips cracked. Ben thought of ordering Reed to the doctor’s, even dragging him if he had to, but suddenly thought maybe he was going to need Reed with him, to handle whatever it was they were going to have to handle over the next day or so.

“No sense not talking about it, is there, son?” Ben gazed at his nephew, trying to read his reaction. “We both know something awful’s going on here. Audra Larson was scared half to death the other night, and she told me she could swear it was you.”

“It wasn’t.”

Ben grinned weakly. “I believe you, but damn, what is it? Something bad’s out there. That bear… and we’re both thinking it ain’t just no ordinary bear… but even more than that. I do believe I’m considering witches and goblins, Reed… I do believe so.”

Reed just stared at him for a while. Ben watched his face. He was waiting for his nephew to cry any minute. The way the lines formed around the young man’s eyes and mouth… good God, Ben thought, maybe he’s going crazy!

“It’s an angry thing out there,” Reed said softly, but it made Ben feel better, just to hear the clarity in his nephew’s voice and choice of words.

“Now that it is.”

“They say anger stays behind in a place; I’ve read that.”

“I’ve read that, too.” Ben looked at him anxiously, lips parted to interrupt his nephew if the boy started to say too much, if he went too far.

“How angry could my father be, Ben? You knew him as well as…”

“Reed.”

“How angry?”

Ben wet his lips and looked back at his store, and in one sweeping gaze took in the rest of the town. “I shoulda done something… shoulda made those Nole bigwigs pay… something,”

“There’s a lot more I didn’t do, either. A lot more.”

“I don’t want you back there, Reed! Now listen to me… you and I, we can go join Martha and the kids, wait just a little while, and then I’ll go back up there with you.”

“There were a lot of things that didn’t get done. And those things aren’t going to wait.”

Ben looked at the boy, suddenly overwhelmed with love. And pride. And fear. He might lose him; after all this time… he might lose him again. He turned his head, looking up at Big Andy so Reed couldn’t see his tears. He was dizzy for a moment; it looked as if the mountain were leaning forward.

But it was just the shadows spreading out from the trees, the sun dropping unusually fast today, it seemed.

“It’s getting dark, son.”

Hector Pierce gasped once on his bed, shuddering like a beached fish on the pale, shiny sheets. Joe Manors listened from a chair at the foot of the bed. For hours he had been waiting rather self-righteously for some explanation from the old man, and he had received none.

Hector coughed and sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes bulging, his head turned slightly toward the window as if he was listening for something in the distance.

“You’re not going nowhere,” Joe said, walking over to the side of the bed and tucking in the sheets.

The old man looked at him then, clutching the front of the miner’s shirt, still smudged with coal, pulling Joe down to ear level. The pressure on his collar began to choke Joe. In a panic he struggled with the old man’s clenched hands, but for some reason he was unable to break the hold.

“That boy… he might drown… maybe get eat by them terrible, terrible… teeth…” the old man gasped into his ear.

Joe broke the grip and backed away sputtering.

“What boy, you old fool? Ain’t no boy ‘round here!”

“Why that… Reed boy… the one what stayed in the woods…”

“Old fool…” Joe sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for his bottle.

“We all owe the dead something, Reed. Not just you.”

“The fact is,” Reed said quietly, “I’m not sure I owe them much of anything. I have things to find out for myself, that’s all.”

“Is it worth your life?”

Reed looked at him in surprise. “Life? I’m taking a rifle, uncle. I’ll watch out for the bear.”

“Look in the mirror.”

Reed laughed it off, but when he went up to his room to collect his gear, he glanced at himself in the mirror over the washbasin. At first he thought something had gone wrong with the mirror, something staining the glass.