Four Corners Dark: Horror Stories (4 page)

“Three months ago. September 1st,” she answered.

That was the date of his last jump. He had been a gambler and worse over the years but had never killed anyone. Glass shattered and tear gas canisters rolled onto the floor. He left Miss Talbot coughing in the office and ran to the back of the building.

Years before, Charles Victor had shown him a secret apartment built for the founder of the bank. He searched for the entrance and located a small spiral staircase hidden behind marble columns. He climbed the stairs to the apartment then slipped in the door and locked it behind him.

The furniture in the rooms was covered in white sheets and the air was stale. He found a window and squeezed through it onto a ledge. Police sirens wailed in front of the bank. He was able to jump onto the roof of a hotel next door and ran down a set of stairs into the building. He found an elevator and pushed the call button. The lift arrived and he was greeted by a smiling operator in a black suit.

“What floor sir?” the operator asked.

“Lobby.” Frank answered. “What’s all the commotion outside?”

“The bank’s been robbed again,” the man answered. “Second time this year. Last time a fella got both his legs shot off. They sent him to Alcatraz for life.”

The elevator bell rang when they reached the lobby. Frank walked through the hotel lobby and exited, glancing at the roadblock in front of the bank. Police were swarming everywhere and a crowd had gathered to watch. He walked around the corner and found the Ford parked along the curb. He pulled a parking ticket from under the windshield and climbed behind the wheel of the Ford, lit a cigarette and flinched as a police car raced past him. Once again things had become unmanageable. He turned onto Lombard Street and headed back to the bridge.

Frank stared over the edge of the bridge, the wind whipped past the cables buffeting him as he held on. He finished his cigarette, climbed up on the wall and jumped head first. The wind blew him into a cement pier and he tumbled into the bay.

Moments later he regained consciousness. The air was cold and damp and all around him were gray shadows. Seagulls cried and the air smelled of the sea. He sat up and tumbled onto a stone floor. Pain shot through his body. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he realized he was in a prison cell. He reached for his legs but found only bandaged stumps. Suddenly Frank remembered everything, killing Charles Victor, the machine gun bullets and the life sentence. Beyond the cell window the bridge floated in an endless fog.

THE RAVEN
MOCKER

CHAPTER ONE

T
erry James navigated the steep incline of the gravel driveway. The lodge loomed through ancient oaks with only moonlight illuminating the hulking shape of the building. He parked his truck in the circular drive and glanced over at his sleeping wife. The stress of the last two months had taken a toll on her. The loss of her sister in a car accident followed by a move from Denver to the Blue Ridge Mountains. He climbed out and tried not to wake her.

His uncle Ted had left him the lodge and two hundred acres. The original structure had been a log building, but a collection of rooms had been added over the years. Ted had been an antiques dealer and travelled the world buying unusual pieces for private collectors. He kept many items for himself stored in this rustic palace.

Terry grabbed an armload of clothes and walked to the front door of the lodge then searched his pocket for the key his uncle’s attorney had given him. He opened the door and stepped into the cool dark of the lodge. He pulled back curtains allowing the moonlight to spill through towering windows and then lit a fire to warm the room.

He walked back to the truck and found Abby in a daze having just woken up.

“Hey welcome home,” he said. “Ready to see the place?”

“Sure,” she answered with a yawn.

“What do you say we just bring in what we need for tonight?” Terry asked. “I can grab the rest in the morning.”

She nodded and slowly stepped out of the truck then grabbed a suitcase from the back seat.

“This is all I need.”

Terry took Abby’s hand and led her down the path to the front door then stepped aside to let her enter.

“After you,” he said with a sweeping gesture. “Keep in mind it is a little rough. Power should be on first thing in the morning.”

She walked across the stone entryway to the fireplace. The glow of the fire illuminated the room and created shadows up to the high peaks of the ceiling.

“Wow,” she said. “This place is huge.”

“Well then you will love the rest of this place. There is a lot more to show you tomorrow,” Terry said.

He lit a candle from the flames of the fire and led her upstairs to a bedroom.

“I’ll bring up the sleeping bags from the truck,” Terry said.

“Don’t forget the pillows,” she said sitting on the edge of an unmade bed.

The flickering light of the candle danced across the wooden planks of the ceiling.

“Back in a flash,” Terry said.

Abby didn’t answer. She had fallen asleep on the bed.

CHAPTER TWO

T
erry woke to a sound he had not heard for many months, Abby’s laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Terry asked.

She was looking out the wide expanse of windows on the back wall of the bedroom.

“These two little … ah I am not even sure what they were. They looked liked skinny little dogs. Were chasing each other all around the back garden,” she replied. “Just when one would catch up to the other they would change direction and run the other way. They finally ran towards a river near the woods. Did you know there was a river?”

“No,” Terry answered glancing out the window. “I’ve never been back there,” he added.

“Well, I am ready for the tour now,” Abby said with a smile.

They walked out of the room and onto a second floor landing.

“I’m surprised there are any trees left in that forest,” she said gesturing at the timbers that made up the lodge’s rafters.

“Yes,” said Terry. “My uncle poured his heart and soul into this place. It started with an old Indian lodge which makes up the north side of the structure.”

“Well let’s check it out,” Abby said.

“Where would you like to start?” Terry asked.

“Outside, maybe we will see those two animals again.”

Terry led Abby through the house and down a set of steps to a garden behind the lodge.

“Let’s start there,” Abby said pointing towards a stone bridge crossing a river.

A path beyond the bridge led into the woods. The path was bordered with downed trees and small saplings.

“Okay,” said Terry.

They crossed the bridge and walked the path for hours caught in the hypnotic power of the forest.

“Whoa, hold up a second,” said Terry.

“How long have we been in here?”

“I … don’t know,” said Abby. “I lost track myself.”

Terry looked for the sun through the dense trees. The light was faint.

“We better get out of here, we don’t want to be in here after dark,” he said.

“How far do you think it is back to the lodge?” Abby asked.

“Not sure,” said Terry. “But we better hurry.”

They moved quickly along the darkening path as the woods around them began to change. Suddenly, Abby recoiled.

“It’s the animals I saw playing by the river,” she gasped.

Terry stepped in front of her and saw two dead coyotes hung from a tree branch.

“Who would do such a thing?” Abby shouted.

“Not sure. Poachers maybe,” Terry replied. “But these couldn’t be the same animals you saw this morning. They look like they’ve been dead for some time.”

“But they are. I’m sure of it,” Abby insisted.

“I’ll take it up with the police in the morning,” Terry said. “We better get out of these woods.”

They emerged behind the lodge as the last rays of the sun shone through the leaves of the trees. Exhausted, they crossed the stone bridge that separated the forest from their new home.

CHAPTER THREE

T
he next morning Terry hopped into his truck to drive into town and noticed a man in his rear view mirror. He backed the truck up and spotted the man in the woods along the drive.

“Hey you there,” Terry shouted climbing out of the Jeep.

An older man with waist-length white hair stepped out of the woods. He was Native American and carried wild flowers.

“You must be Terrence,” said the man.

“I am,” replied Terry. “And you are?”

“My name is Joseph Wood. I was a friend of your late uncle. The man paused for a moment looking at the flowers. I am sorry for your loss, he passed over too soon.”

“Thank you Mr. Wood.”

“Please call me Joseph,” replied the man.

“Only my uncle called me Terrance,” Terry said. “Call me Terry.”

“Of course,” said Joseph. “I was just stopping by to say hello. I live a few miles down Turner Road,” Joseph said gesturing towards the road. “Out here that means we’re next-door neighbors.”

“I was heading into Silverton to run a few errands but they can wait,” Terry said. “Come on up to the house for some coffee. My wife Abby would love to meet you,” he added.

Joseph visited with Terry and Abby, drinking coffee and discussing local lore. He talked about Terry’s Uncle with great respect and affection. After two cups of coffee he stood to leave.

“Well, thank you for the hospitality. I must be getting back,” Joseph said.

“Joseph, thank you again for the flowers. They are beautiful,” Abby said as she and Terry walked Joseph to the front door.

“I want you both to be happy here. There are wonderful things here, but also many things you need to understand,” Joseph said.

“Like poachers?” Terry asked.

“I am not sure I follow you.”

“We found two coyotes strung up in a tree,” Terry said. “Out in the woods.”

“How unfortunate,” Joseph said. “But I doubt any poachers or anyone else would be in those woods. I better let you folks get back to what you were doing. I’m sure you have a lot of work to do.”

Joseph walked down the drive and disappeared into the eastern woods.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
erry pulled the truck into a parking space in front of Dobbins hardware store.

“Can you believe this place?” Abby said.

“Pretty quaint,” Terry said. “I hope they take kindly to strangers.”

Terry and Abby walked into the ancient hardware store. The store was filled with a bizarre array of items for sale, Coke bottles and old signs lined the walls. He picked up a triple-bladed cabbage cutter.

“This looks like a must have for the Silverton lady.”

“I don’t think so,” Abby said.

A man wearing overalls walked around the aisle.

“Actually that’s a top seller of ours. Ladies and men. You folks new around here?”

“Yes, we just moved here from Denver,” Abby answered. “Sorry, my husband has a bad sense of humor.”

“No problem. Name’s Frank Reynolds. I run the place. Let me know if you need help finding something. I have plenty more of the cabbage cutters in the back,” he said with a wink.

After leaving the hardware store, Terry and Abby strolled around the town square enjoying the warm day. They walked passed an old jailhouse, near which a pile of stones was visible in a small field.

“Interesting,” Terry said. “Let’s go have a look.”

The pile contained thousands of small stones, many with names and symbols written on them.

A tarnished plaque was mounted over the pile.

Terry read the plaque aloud. “1823. This spot marks the grave of a Raven Mocker. The brave people of Silverton forced this witch’s black soul into the place between life and death.”

“Creepy,” Abby said.