Jodi Thomas - Rustler's Moon

“I got a history question for you.”

Wilkes thought maybe he should warn his friend that just because a man had a history degree didn’t make him an expert on any time period. He’d majored in history because it had sounded easier than English. “I’ll do what I can.”

Yancy straightened, took a gulp of hot coffee the waitress slid in front of him and started. “You think a house can...you know...draw you to it? Kind of like it’s calling you?”

Nope was the first answer that came to mind, but Wilkes leaned back deciding this conversation might just be interesting. “Tell me about it, Yancy.” His friend seemed suddenly far younger than twenty-seven.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.” Yancy leaned back as if pulling away. He’d spent his late teens and early twenties in prison. Sometimes that lack of trust showed through.

Wilkes didn’t judge him for his lack of skills or scars. He had his own scars.

“I can’t help if I don’t know the facts, Yancy. Just start from the beginning without leaving out anything. I’ll wait until I know the details before I call you crazy.”

The handyman nodded, took another gulp of coffee and said, “Last night, like I do a lot of nights, I took a walk down the north road. The moon seemed to be whispering secrets in the midnight air, like it does on cloudy nights, you know?”

“I know.” Wilkes’s brain cells woke up. He didn’t know any such thing, but he’d follow along where this went. He doubted he would be any help to Yancy Grey, but he wanted to hear more.

“I went down the road toward the old Gypsy House. You know the place covered by weeds and long dead trees.”

Wilkes nodded.

Yancy continued, “I’ve heard there are folks who swear they saw strangers as foggy as ghosts going into the house after dark and never coming out. According to the retired folks across the street the place is haunted by dead Gypsies or hippies. No one knows which. Some say the crumbling old place almost took four teenagers’ lives a few years ago, but I was too much into my own problems back then and don’t remember the details. When I ask about the house, folks claim evil lived there. One even said he thought he heard a scream once when he passed the place.”

“I’ve heard the stories, too. Did you feel the evil?” Wilkes interrupted.

Yancy shook his head. “The house had been drawing me since I arrived in Crossroads, even before I’d heard it was haunted. I guess you probably heard I came to town broke, alone and fresh out of prison.”

“I heard. Also know you helped the sheriff catch a gang of rustlers who almost killed Staten Kirkland.”

Yancy smiled. “Yeah, after that folks accepted me. I’m doing all right now. Got a good job. Hell, I even saved enough to buy a car outright, no payments, but still I walk at night out to that old place. I feel like it’s mocking me. Daring me to step inside. Sounds crazy, don’t it?”

Wilkes shrugged. “I’m tracking you. Keep talking.” He didn’t want to admit that stressing over a woman who left him years ago might fall into the crazy folder, as well.

Yancy continued, “As I got close to the house last night, it seemed to grow. Maybe it was in my head, but with every step closer the place looked bigger. I’ve seen some bad things in my life, but last night I swear I felt a shiver run down my back like someone walked over my grave.”

Wilkes smiled realizing, truth or not, the guy could tell a story better than Uncle Vern.

“When I felt it calling last night, I gripped the flashlight in my pocket like a weapon and stepped off the road, determined to get to the bottom of this nightmare. I headed through the high weeds that circle the place like a moat around a monster’s castle. I had to do something.” Yancy’s hands balled into fists.

“I yelled that I was going in, but I sounded like a frightened boy. I’m tired of having bad dreams, Wilkes, and last night I figured to put an end to it.

“The warped frame of what had once been a screen door tapped against the side of the house as if knocking on a crypt’s door in a forgotten cemetery. I planted my boot on the porch and stepped up, relieved that the wood took my weight.” Yancy took a few seconds to breathe.

Wilkes waited.

“I yelled like I wasn’t afraid. ‘You don’t frighten me.’ I took one step toward the door. The boards creaked as if crying out for me to stay back, but I didn’t stop. I widened my stance and pulled the hammer I’d brought from the loop on my pants. With as much force as I could manage, I pulled the nails from the two-by-fours blocking the door.

“As the boards rattled across the porch, I took a long breath. What I was doing was probably a crime. The place has do-not-enter signs posted at every corner of the house. But I didn’t care. I’d made up my mind.”

Wilkes shoved his coffee cup aside. He felt as if he was at the old house with Yancy. His senses hadn’t felt so alive since the army.

“Once the boards were off, I shoved the door open and flashed my light inside. Three rotted steps led down onto what looked like a dirt floor. If there was wood beneath the dirt, I couldn’t tell. When part of the roof must have tumbled in on the high school kids, no one thought to clean anything up.

“I avoided the steps and jumped down into the lower level of the house. The remains of a staircase leading up to the second floor lined one wall. They reminded me of rotting, broken teeth hanging lopsided in an open mouth. When I passed my light over the floor, I noticed a few old broken chairs and a bed frame.

“All the noise of loose boards rattling and wind whistling through cracks seemed muted inside. I just stood there, too afraid to go farther. If something fell on me, I’d be nothing but bones before anyone thought to look for me in that old place. Then, in the stillness, I swear I felt a hand on my shoulder, a slight tug pulling me deeper into the blackness.”

Wilkes could barely breathe waiting for what came next.

“Whatever drew me to the house seemed to want to keep me there.

“Fear stampeded through my blood, I raced out and hammered the boards back across the door knowing even as I did it that I’d have to come back.”

Yancy took a drink. “The house calls me, Wilkes, I swear, and it won’t stop until I figure out why.”

Wilkes exhaled deeply. “That’s some story. What’s your question?”

Yancy grinned. “Can you help me figure out what it wants with me? I need to know the history of the place and who I have to get permission from to go in without worrying about being caught. I’ve thought about it all night. You’re the only person I know who might go back with me. I remember that night on the Kirkland Ranch when we were waiting for the rustlers in the dark. You said, after the army, you gave up being afraid of anything. Well, now is your chance to prove it. Go back to the house with me.”

Their waitress must have been tired of waiting for them to motion her over. She appeared, notepad in hand, ready to take their order. “If you two don’t order breakfast soon, you’ll have to switch to the lunch menu.”

Both men apologized to her and ordered the special. She refilled their coffee and mentioned something about how Dorothy should charge for squatters.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Wilkes smiled. “I’m in. I’ll see what history I can find on the house and we’ll recon the site one night soon.”

CHAPTER THREE

Lauren

Texas Tech University

THE STRONG WEST TEXAS wind blasted dirt against her bare legs as Lauren Brigman ran across campus. No girl at Texas Tech wore a dress on days like this, but she’d thought maybe she would see Lucas, her almost boyfriend, today. He had gone home to work every weekend since she’d arrived on campus. Then last week he said he might not be driving home to Crossroads until early Saturday morning, which meant they might see each other tonight.