POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 1 David A. Ward 8474 Wyndale Drive Mechanicsville, VA 23118 Phone: 804-723-5059 Email: d.alexander.ward@gmail.

com Genre: Horror Word count: 91,000

POUND OF FLESH by D. Alexander Ward

Prologue: The Huntsman

His was a world of endless night. It had been for a long time, though time itself was strange and hard to reckon. It was a bleary, mostly colorless place where shadows were not as dark as he remembered them to be and the nights were as long as weeks or as short as a few moments. Oftentimes it was hard to tell the difference but for the sun which no longer shone but hung aloft in the eternally gray sky like a dark hole that had been punched in it to look beyond into the blackest black hed ever known. It was a lonely, fruitless place, this world of his and he remembered once thinking it was a dream but had quickly come to the conclusion that it was not. Dreams belonged to those who slumbered and he had not slept for decades, maybe longer. The memory of a deep sleep teased him like the taste of wild game that he would never again know. There was much that was wrong about this place. Many times he had abandoned the lake and traversed the deep forests and the dark, country lanes seeking a change of scenery. He had walked for miles and miles and seen strange things; places that were not as he remembered them and yet others which were unchanged except for trees that had grown taller and more numerous. He stalked the animals of the wood just as he once had but could never close on them, never fell them with trap or

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 3 blade and always when he reached for the rifle slung across his back, it was not there. And though he roamed, he always arrived here; this familiar place that was as a prison to him now. To boot, he had seen nary a living soul of late besides the old man who glared at him when their eyes met. There was a time when he would have killed a man for much less than such a look and certainly he had tried. But his blade never found purchase in the wrinkled flesh of the stranger who simply turned his back to the huntsman and left him feeling alone and impotent. He kept to the woods mostly, but wandered the buildings on occasion and hed been passing by one of the structures when he heard a most exhilarating sound. Grunting anger and rage, the dull thud of flesh being beaten and the gentle, staccato strain of bone beneath. Now stiff with excitement, he wandered into the house to have a look and found himself in a hallway that, like so much else, was unfamiliar but whose walls pulsated with memory. He felt that he should know this place but it remained at the edge of his minds eye, a thing that he couldnt quite put his finger on. In the room beyond, he watched as some whore of a pretty thing got her comeuppance from a tall, beastly man about his own size. The man thrashed the woman with a club repeatedly as she scurried away from him, seeking reprieve, seeking an exit. But

there was nowhere to go. Not in this place. And no one knew that better than the huntsman himself. He smoked and smiled and watched. In the midst of it, as the violence reached a crescendo that sang in his ears like an old mountain reel, he heard another sound and smelled a familiar bouquet which he fondly recalled. It was the smell of fear. Looking aside, he saw a door in the wall. He pressed against it and peered in as it creaked open. Inside, a young boy sat in the darkness, terrified. So consumed by fear was the boy that the huntsman could hear the childs bones rattle against the tender, supple meat of his limbs. He took a long pull from his cigarillo and breathed its foul into the air. As the woman continued to moan in pain with every strike of the club, the huntsman grinned wide, for something tantalizing had finally risen to the surface of his bleak and idle existence and, like a slithering moccasin of the lake, he would return to feed on it.

Part I: Manifestation

In any case life is but a procession of shadows, and God knows why it is that we embrace them so eagerly, and see them depart with such anguish, being shadows.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 5 Virginia Woolf, Jacobs Room

1 October, 1993 The past few days had seen the late October chill settle over the mountain in earnest. The leaves were at the apex of their turning and the hills and gaps of the Shenandoah Valley were warm with the shades of autumn; deep browns and fiery reds, bright yellows and burnt ambers. The air had grown crisp and each night brought with it the promise of the first frost. Noah stepped off the school bus, last to do so among the gaggle of other children who had pushed past him without a word or thought just as they always did. All of them except for Tommy Wren, the gangly sixth-grader who stood much taller than the others but whose awkward way and glasses thick as Coke bottles rendered him just as invisible as Noah. Together, they ambled down the narrow lanes of Cadys Run, the trailer park that they called home. As far as trailer parks went, it was one of the better ones that Noah had ever seen and he had seen quite a few. Over the past seven years or so, his parents had moved three times. Each move to a new rented mobile home had been a step up from their last rented mobile home and they had never moved out of Bedford County, which meant he hadnt had to change schools. That was something that his mother

had told him they should be thankful for and Noah was thankful indeed. It meant never having to say goodbye to Tommy, who had been Noahs one and only friend since the second grade. Today, Noah was also thankful that it was Friday. Wanna play forts tomorrow? Tommy asked. Yeah, sure. I was thinking of asking Carl if he might want to play, too. Carl Wright? Tommy nodded. Carl hates us, Tommy. Or didnt you notice the last time he punched you in the nose? Tommy cracked a wry grin. Yeah but I heard hes got paintball guns. Not like hed let us play with them, Noah snorted. Tommy wore his nightblack hair in a flop, long in the front but short everywhere else. He flipped it out of his eyes and hung his head. Well see. They were nearing at the point where they had to go in different directions. 0-8-hundred tomorrow then, Commander Black? Noah said, invoking the codename based on hair color that they used when playing forts.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 7 Tommy grinned. Affirmative, Captain Red. They paused a moment and slapped hands in a sideways highfive. Later days, Tommy said. Better lays, replied Noah, though he was vague about the meaning of the phrase. He thought it might have something to do with sex but theyd heard the older boys at Chesterton Junior High say it and that was all that really mattered. They parted ways and Noah spied his trailer in the distance. It was older than many of the others in the park. When they had moved in, he had heard his father say that it looked like something from the seventies. Inside, the walls were made of thin board that looked like wood but was not and the carpet was a rusty orange. It might have once been a brilliant shade of it but the long shag had been trampled down over the years to a greasy flatness and no matter how much his mother vacuumed, it always looked dirty. As dated as the inside was, the outside was even worse. The aluminum outside of the double-wide was sky blue and a pale yellow ribbon of metal ran along the middle, ringing the entire structure. His father said it was the homes racing stripe but even at the age of twelve and a half, Noah could recognize a poor attempt at humor. The way he figured it, that trailer was in no shape to race anything and the fastest it had ever gone was when it had been hauled down the highway on a low-

boy and deposited here however many years ago. Still, his mother made the most of it that she could. In the three years they had lived there, she had planted bushes and flowers around it. In the summer months, azaleas and hollies hugged the foundation, adorned here and there by hyacinths and geraniums and other colorful plants. She had painted the drab wood of the porch and deck that led to the outside door white. Twice a year, she sanded and re-painted it to keep it looking fresh and bright and cheerful. He helped her keep the trailers exterior clean throughout the year, scrubbing it of the green muck that built up on it over the summer and hosing down the pollen that gathered in the spring. It was important to his father that such things be done, though that was a job he relegated to them and something he did not participate in. As for the landscaping and flowers, Noah knew that his father could give a tinkers damn. That was wholly the effort of his mother who seemed to need that extra bit of beauty in life. Noah stepped through the front door and announced his presence. There was a shuttered pass-through between the kitchen and the living room but the shutters were open and he glanced over to see his mother sitting there at the dining table with a stack of bills before her and her head in her hands. He heard her sniffle as she looked up at him, her deep green eyes wet and tinged with red. She wiped at the edges of

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 9 them. Hey, baby, how was your day? Noah dropped his backpack at the door and rounded the corner into the kitchen. Whats wrong, Mumma? She wiped at her nose and sniffled again. Nothing, honey. Everythings fine. Noah was not yet a teenager but he was no fool. He wrinkled his brow at her. Whats going on? Did he- Your Daddy, she interrupted, lost his job today. Noah nodded calmly, though his mind was suddenly flooded with uncertainty. What did this mean for them? For him? Would they be able to stay at Cadys Run? What about Tommy? In the silence that followed, with Noahs eyes locked on the green orbs of his mothers, he heard the noise from out back. The thud and crack of his father splitting wood. He was just about to ask something else when he heard his voice. Ada! his father boomed from outside. She got up and went to the kitchen window that had a view of the tiny back yard. She grabbed the handle and cranked the window open. Hugh? What is it? You bring me a Coke from the ice box?

Sure, honey, she nodded and then went to the refrigerator to fetch the soda. Noah went to unzip his hooded sweat jacket, struggled with the zipper that seemed to stick more often than not. Noah! he heard his mother shout. Take those shoes off and put em right. The boy glanced down at the yellowish brown leather shoes on his feet that the boys at school called booger bottoms. There was hardly a speck of dust on them and he rolled his eyes. His mother set the bottle of Coke down on the counter and scrambled to his feet. Unlacing them, she looked up at him, knowing his thoughts. That aint the point, Noah, she said as she slipped off the right one. You know your father doesnt like shoes in the house. He stood there like a mannequin being fussed over. While she struggled with the double-knot of the left shoe, he peered through one of the windows in the den. He could see his father out back, raising the axe and bringing it down on a log. Again and again his axe strokes fell with all the precision of a machine, his teeth bared in what looked to Noah like a smile. He seems in an awful good mood, he said as his mother pulled the left shoe from his foot, for just losing his job. She placed his shoes alongside the others on the slab of

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 11 stone by the door that his father had put there for that singular purpose. She then grabbed the handle of the Dust Buster that hung on the wall and began vacuuming up all traces of the dirt that he might or might not have left on the carpet. Dont you believe it, baby boy, she remarked as she stood and went to fetch the bottle of soda to take to her husband out back. Dont you believe it.

***

Later that night, after supper was finished and the dishes were washed and in the drying rack, Noah was allowed to go to his room for meditation and prayer. Hugh Belton was a deeply religious man in many ways, though Noah had begun to think that his father wielded his faith like a lash rather than a sword of righteousness. Noah was becoming increasingly convinced that his father who ruled the house with an iron fist enforced the laws and behaviors which made sense to him and then framed them with scripture as a way of edifying them. There were a great many things that he was not allowed to do or see or watch or read that other children were allowed to indulge in. One such thing was comic books and Noah considered it a perfect example of his father muddling his own preferences with those ascribed

to the Almighty. After all, how could God hate comic books? Where did it say that in the Bible? How could he hate such things when they hadnt even existed back then in the days of Jesus and His disciples? Noah had made the mistake of making this point to his father last Christmas morning as he disappointedly unwrapped his third and final gift from his parents; a pair of duck boots

from the second-hand store in town. He had spent the rest of Christmas day lying in bed while his mother iced down the whelps left on his back from the thrashing that had resulted from that short, violent conversation with his father. He learned that day to keep his thoughts to himself and, if need be, to keep secrets. Secrets like the new issue of Uncanny X-Men he was reading in bed, the comic book sandwiched between the pages of his large Social Studies activity book so that, at a glance, it would appear he was working on school work. He would be expected to be studying the Bible right now but if his father should spot him with an open school book, that was deemed an acceptable alternative on occasion. The comic books belonged to Tommy, whose father took him once a month to pick out a few new ones, their thin newsprint pages filled with action and heroism, power and villainy, and all of it rendered in fantastically drawn characters and a spectrum of vibrant colors. Tommy would read them and then lend them to Noah to read on the sly, during lunch

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 13 at school or waiting for the bus or in the solitude of his room at night. The boy buried his nose in the comic, though the voices in the next room that seeped in through the thin walls frequently attracted his attention. He was concerned about what was going to happen to them with his father having been let go from his job. The subject had been mentioned briefly at supper, his father curiously calm about it and not offering much insight as to why except to say that he had been one of several who had been given their walking papers by the new branch manager of the saw mill. The voices of his parents grew quiet and Noah heard the back door close, meaning theyd gone outside to finish their discussion well out of Noahs earshot. Probably at his mothers insistence. That wasnt necessarily a bad thing, he told himself. His mother just didnt want to worry him with grown-up matters. That was all. She was just protecting him. Still, Noah had a sinking feeling growing in his gut. A cold, black stone of certainty that change was coming and it wouldnt be for the better. Not this time.

2 Commander Black and Captain Red were crouched behind a barricade. Black wielded his proton crossbow, a weapon whose

missiles would explode on impact and dissipate any and all matter, sending the molecules of the target hurtling toward the far reaches of the known universe. The weapon could literally make enemy soldiers disappear and he was a crack shot. Red was cradling his X-25 solar laser rifle with the infinity clip and what he lacked in accuracy, he made up for in sheer battle rage. Just over the rise, in the deep cover of the woods, the Morgosians came looking to spill human blood. The dark horde approaches! Commander Black exclaimed. How many? Red asked. Black drew forth his battlefield scanner and held it above the barricade, punched in a few numbers and looked warily at the readout. Upwards of seven hundred. Damn, Red replied. Well be lucky to make it out with our skin. Weve faced worse odds. Remember the herd of giant ants on Globo 1? Red nodded, remembering that battle as a particularly arduous one. Fort Kalas must not fall, Red said, his eyes stern. Black smiled. Never. Brotherhood! To the last man! Brotherhood, Red replied, echoing the Kalasian motto. To the last man.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 15 With that, the two soldiers stood and charged around the barricade, letting fly an arsenal of pain and death upon their Morgosian enemy, a race of cyborgs comprised of giant attack beetles and complex, bionic machinery. They hailed from Morgos, a distant and barren planet, and came to harvest the trees of Kalas as a farmer might reap fields of grain. Never mind that Blacks proton crossbow was an old, plastic bow from his toddler years now mounted to a length of two by four and Reds rifle was a dead tree limb of particular size and shape. The battlefield scanner was an old phone that Tommy had fished out of his someones trash and the enemy was, in reality, an enemy of one. Carl Wright, decked out in his camouflage hunting coveralls with his paintball pistol and a bully streak as wide as a country mile was long. Carl Wright who had declined Tommys invitation to play forts until it was explained that he would be allowed to shoot the two boys hosting the event. Carl Wright who, for today, was the Morgosian King. As Black and Red rounded either side of the barricade of dead trees theyd built up over time, they had aimed to flank their enemy but as they charged forward into the woods, neither of them could see him. This disconcerting fact did nothing to impair their imagination, though, and each of them let off round after round of their ammunition, laying low Morgosians by the score.

They charged forward clumsily until out of nowhere there was a sharp crack and Commander Blacks shoulder was painted in a giant splatter of orange. Red went immediately to the cover of a wide oak and looked to his left at his wounded comrade who had dropped to ground, clutching his arm with a look of disbelief on his face and searching the woods for the source of the shot. As Red leaned his head out to see this, a bead of orange exploded on the ground nearby. Jesus! Hes good! Noah whispered. Shoulder! he heard Tommy shout as the boy went flat on his belly, taking cover behind a downed and rotting pine tree. Not a mortal wound! From his vantage point, Noah could see Tommy and the worry that had spread over his face along with a few spatters of orange paint. In the distance, the waters of Ashwood Lake glittered in the autumn sunlight and an idea took shape in Noahs mind. There had never been any talk between Black and Red about the Morgosians having an aversion to water but then what was a game of forts without some rule-bending? It was a bit of a cheat though Noah preferred to think of it as improvisation but it wasnt like Carl knew any better and after all he had only shown up so he could splatter the two friends with paint and humiliation.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 17 Morgosians hate water! he shouted. The lakes a safe zone! With that, he took off running at speed toward the lake. Commander Black joined him as he breezed by and together the boys ran toward the newfound safety of the lake. Looking back, Noah saw Carl emerge from hiding in a thicket of holly trees and give chase. It would be futile, though, because no one knew all the obstacles better than Tommy and Noah. Every slick patch, every jutting rock, every downed tree was their tactical advantage. They each heard several cracks from Carls pistol and the sounds of impact were close, though they always missed the mark. Their little piece of the southeastern bank of the enormous Ashwood Lake was in sight now and as they ran, Tommy and Noah exchanged confident looks. In seconds, they would be safe from the Morgosian Kings relentless attack. Commander Black was the better runner, however, and overtook his comrade. Noah cursed his slowness and made to look back at their pursuer. As he turned his head, though, he saw two other boys running with them. He didnt recognize the children, though they looked to

be much younger than he or Tommy and of fair complexion. Their wild, golden hair was unkempt and blew with the wind as they ran, giggling and pacing Noah with every stride. As the dark of the woods gave way to the lakeshore, Commander Black skidded to

a stop near the waters edge. When Captain Red caught up, he also turned his heels in the soft earth and both boys looked long at the woods that theyd left behind. Noah hadnt yet seen Carl but he did see the two blond boys emerge from the wood and stand together at the edge of the forest. They stood by a tall gum tree not more than twenty feet from Noah and Tommy. Hey, Carl! Noah shouted into the woods, Theres two kids down here. Lost, I think. Dont shoot them. Noah glanced over at his friend but found Tommys face screwed up in confusion. What kids? The blond kids, Noah replied and pointed. They both looked in the direction but saw nothing. Noah was about to offer a further description of them when from behind the boys there came an abrupt splashing noise from the lake. They turned to look but whatever it was had gone back below the surface. Only ripples on the water remained. So where are the kids? Tommy asked. Noah scanned the edge of the woods for them but saw nothing. He was about to head that way for a closer look when Carl came plodding out of the forest toward them, winded from the dash down to the lake. Noah didnt move but his eyes searched the trees for any sign of the little boys. He thought

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 19 perhaps he would catch a quick blur of yellow hair through the trees. Lakes a safe zone, Tommy declared to Carl. Not from me it aint, Carl growled and brought up the pistol. He pulled the trigger twice and splattered Tommy right in the chest. Then, to add insult to injury, he squeezed off another round that smacked and burst dead-center on his forehead. Noah had to admire the precision. What the hell, Carl? Tommy said, wiping orange paint away from his eyes and glasses. Noah looked up at the bully, just knew the next shot would be for him. Where you want it, queer? Carl smirked. Noah scowled and shook his head, closed his eyes and winced in anticipation. Carl squeezed the trigger but the resulting pop didnt sound quite right. When Noah looked back at him, he saw the gun had misfired and orange paint was oozing out of the barrel. Shit! Carl held the gun with the barrel down, letting it all spill onto the dead, dry leaves. Without another word, he turned and lumbered toward the woods just the way he had come. Hey, Carl, did you see those two little kids? Noah asked. No answer came.

Well, did you? Carl didnt even turn to offer his final taunt. Nope. Just you two faggots running through the woods like a couple of tree huggers. Later, queers! When he was good and out of earshot, Tommy knelt down by the waters edge and scooped some up in his hands, splashed it on his face. The orange thinned and began to run. Such a dick. Noah shook his head. I told you not to invite him. Yeah, Tommy replied, dipping his black-framed glasses in the water and wiping off the paint. Dont worry about Carl. Someday hes gonna make a really excellent serial killer. Tommy snorted and the two boys walked back toward the woods. I still dont understand where those kids could have gone, though. Again with the kids? Yeah. Well, whatd they look like? Twins, I think. Blond hair. What, like the Von Trapp family? Noah laughed loudly. As was the case with most boys, he hated The Sound of Music, though his mother watched every year around when it came on the television. Still, Noah had to admit,

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 21 it wasnt a bad comparison. Yeah, a little like that. Plus he lingered a moment, turning over a thought. Plus what? They just they didnt look like they belonged here. Whats that mean? Well, for one thing, I think they were wearing summer clothes. Summer clothes? Noah nodded. Hey, maybe you can mention it to your Dad? Nicholas Wren worked for the Bedford County Sheriffs Department. To those who knew him well, he was Nick but to everyone else he was Deputy Wren. Sure. Ill tell him to put out an APB on the Von Trapp twins, Tommy sniggered. Noah cracked a smile. Im serious, though, Tommy. Those kids might be lost. His friend nodded his concession. Alright. Ill tell him. Right after he grounds me for getting paint on my glasses. As they entered the wood and began to climb the hill back in the direction of their forts and Cadys Run, Noah turned and looked back at the lake and the shore, both devoid of anything else to see. He sure hoped the little boys would be okay. These woods were no place for lost children. There were black bears

that roamed at dusk and when the night came it would be dark as pitch. And cold.

3 Sunday was church day. This was a fact for most of the country but especially for the south where churches of every denomination would fill with sermons of warning and hymns of praise and afterward, fathers and sons would loosen their ties and cast off their sport coats to toss around a football or baseball in the back yard. Sunday fried chicken, collard greens, biscuits and the enticing aromas of other Sunday staples would waft from the kitchens of most homes and after lunch, such a lazy day might even include a nap on the couch as the television or radio droned on in the background. Yes, indeed, Sunday was a day that many looked forward to even those whose church attendance was in question. It was a day of meditation and rest for most but for Noah Belton, it was the opposite. Without fail, every Sunday the Belton family piled into Hughs old Ford truck and rambled along the mountain roads until they parked alongside other vehicles in the crowded, gravel clearing outside of the Pentecostal Church of the Evenstar. It had been called Ashwood Pentecostal Church when Noah was younger and, from what he could recall, not an altogether unpleasant experience. At such a young age, he had sat in his mothers lap

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 23 where she gently bounced him on her knee to keep him calm during the service and afterward, he would be ushered off into Sunday School groups with other children where they both learned about scripture and played. During this time, the grown-ups would gather to pray and it was then that the pastor would allow the congregation to surrender to the Holy Spirit and speak in tongues if it came upon them or lay hands on one another. Once, when Noah had been sent inside to use the bathroom, he had spied on the grown-ups. Though he didnt fully understand it, he was not troubled by what he had seen and went about his business. But that was years ago and the pastor one day went to his eternal reward without prayers or vigils beforehand. He was simply there one Sunday and gone the next. After a few Sundays of confusing services, a new pastor was brought in who was familiar to a precious few of the flock and from that day forward, the church began to change. Unconcerned with matters of the flesh, Pastor Gorman allowed the small church building to fall into disrepair and uncleanliness and quickly put an end to the Sunday School groups for the children and insisted that they join with their families for the entire experience. Noahs father had explained that Pastor Gorman was a charismatic and wanted to immerse the flock in the embrace of the Holy Spirit, to make Christian soldiers of every man, woman and child. Under his leadership, the church had

grown strange and bent and it was no longer a place of solace and learning for Noah. Sunday service had become something to be survived rather than celebrated. Noah had invited Tommy along to church a couple of years ago, thinking perhaps it would be more bearable with his best friend present. It proved to be the one and only time Tommy attended, however, on account of what he saw there later gave him nightmares. Pastor Gorman was all smiles and handshakes and slaps on the back as the flock entered through the front door. It seemed that the notion of brotherhood ended there, however, and Noah puzzled at the fact that for someone who seemed so happy to see them all, the pastor certainly always seemed to seethe with rage and accusations at his flock when delivering his sermon. Shifting his aching bottom in the seat of the metal folding chair, he endeavored to loosen the dress shirt collar so tight around his neck as the pastor leapt to the left and right of the church dais, waving his hands for emphasis. I ask you, brothers, are you a Christian soldier? Various responses from the congregation; spoken affirmatives and nodding heads. Are you? Are you really? Silence from the congregation. Because if you are, then our Christian nation, our

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 25 Christian world is in awful sad shape. Im not looking to create a lot such as you! Soldiers, you say? Ha! Look more like Girl Scouts to me. You think Im looking to create a Girl Scout troop full of believers? That what yall think? Shaking heads. Emphatic nos mumbled by the people. I aint interested in my soldiers going out there into this world riddled with evil and selling their little cookies of truth and righteousness to everyone no matter who they are. Damnation no! Im trying to muster up a Force Recon a a Navy Seals of Christendom. I want you all out there with swords of faith, ready and willing to skewer the non-believer, the sinner, the homosexual, the communist, the feminist. Love thy neighbor and thy brother so long as they follow the way of the Lord! An eruption of support. Hallelujah. Preach on! Amen. But though you are to be soldiers, you are not yourselves, pure. It is our worldly burden, aint it? A sickness visited upon all humanity that springs from that one day in the garden when Eve took a bite from that apple. When she surrendered to temptation. And all the world has been a flood of misery ever since. It was weakness. As black and terminal as a cancer that is what weakness is. And it lies inside of every one of you. Acknowledgement. Nodding heads. Pray for us sinners. The pastor quietly surveyed the flock, his eyes wide and dark, set deeply into his sweating brow.

But do not give into the weakness. Do not give in because if you do if you do, brothers, I will take you up to the mountain and let you stare into a deep chasm in the rock where you might glimpse your future! A future at the hands of demons and the minions of Hell who will delight in an eternity of stripping the flesh from your bones, my brothers. Those are the wages of weakness. Of frailty. Of sin. So when temptation comes calling are you gonna answer? Hands raised, people standing up, shouts. No! When that devil, Old Scratch, comes aknockin on your door, are you gonna say Well, sure thing Brother Scratch! Come on in and make yourself at home? No! God save us! Thats right you aint! Youre gonna pick up the sword that the Lord has given you, the one that I sharpen like a razor every Sunday and youre gonna gut old Lucifer like a fish! Lo! You will see spilled from his entrails all the blood and the darkness of humanity from the beginning of the beginning! This was the part in the service where Pastor Gorman had them whipped into a frenzy, the part just before the speaking in tongues, the laying of hands on the sick and the cursed. When Lucifer comes calling, what you gonna do? Let me hear you say it! GUT HIM LIKE A FISH! resounded the entire congregation,

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 27 every man, woman and child. What are you gonna do? GUT HIM LIKE A FISH! Noah was mouthing the words. He knew his father might be watching and he didnt want to seem uncommitted. GUT HIM LIKE A FISH! Somewhere, the music began playing on a stereo and the people, now worked into a lather, began to mill about, grabbing hold of one another. The eyes rolled back in the heads of some and their mouths opened, spilling the unintelligible language of tongues and shrieking as if in pain. One young woman collapsed onto the floor and others gathered around her, laid their hands upon her and prayed for the relief of her sickness and the salvation of her soul. The ocean of people in the grip of the Holy Spirit surrounded Noah. They babbled, some with lidless eyes of white and others with scowls of determination and they touched his brow, bending his head back and exposing his neck. For Noah, the scene bore a disturbing resemblance to every single zombie movie he had ever snuck a peek at. To him, the moans and screams and shouts filling his ears were not the music of the Holy Spirit but what he imagined an orgy of murder might sound like. As always, the boy succumbed to them, let them prod him and pray for him. Through the throngs of the faithful, Noah glimpsed his

father staring over at him, smiling.

***

After church let out, it was their custom to hop in the truck and head straight home to Cadys Run. Occasionally, Noah would be allowed to go outside and play but more often than not, his father would instruct him to go to his room and read over the Bible passages that may have been touched upon in Pastor Gormans sermon. Noah would comply without protest or comment and spend the rest of the afternoon daydreaming or reading some comic book contraband if he had any to read. Later, he would be permitted to watch one hour of television before supper, though the show and its content was always subject to his fathers approval. Today was different, though. Sitting in the cramped back seat of the pick-up, staring out the window, Noah noticed that his father had neglected to make the left turn that would carry them northward up County Road 710 toward home. He had done so without saying a word and Noah wondered if he hadnt realized his mistake but waited, thinking his mother would surely mention something any minute now. The radio was tuned to a talk radio program where a man with a pinched voice pontificated about the state the country would be in under the leadership of the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 29 liberal new President. Noah didnt understand much of it and didnt care to. Politics was a thing rife with argument and conflict and Noah had learned long ago to shy away from those things whenever possible. No good had ever come of it. After a few more minutes as they continued on the unfamiliar drive, Noah decided to speak up. Where are we going, Dad? You didnt take the turn to go home. Noah saw his fathers eyes glance at him in the rear view mirror and Noah could almost feel the words in his mind. Dont tell me my business, boy. I know where Im headed. But his father said nothing and looked over to his mother instead. Ada Belton turned around, her shoulders raising and dropping as if she was about to perform an act of great effort. Well, Noah, you know how on Friday your Dad lost his job at the saw mill? Noah nodded. The good news is that hes found another job. Where? Whitetail, she replied, watching her sons reaction to see if he knew where that was. Noah had heard of Whitetail High School. They were fierce rivals of the Bedford High Cougars football team. Now in junior high school, he had begun to pay attention to such things even

if football itself was of no interest to him. The only thing he knew for certain was that Whitetail was somewhere in Westlake. The areas on the east and west of Ashwood Lake were referred to commonly, if not officially, as Eastlake and Westlake. Westlake was a good ways away from Cadys Run and Chesterton Junior High. That cold rock feeling was again beginning to grow in his belly. We have to move, dont we? Its just across the lake. But not in Bedford. No, she relented, allowing only the slightest frown to form on her face, Not in Bedford. Not even in Whitetail, his father added. Not exactly. Its outside of it. Ada glanced quickly at her husband and then back to her son, her eyes full of compassion when they turned to him. Right. Well, the new job is in Whitetail but the place were looking at living its on the lake. But its a little bit out of the way. Out of the way? Noah asked, a little incredulity creeping into his voice. Not too far from the dam. The dam? Noah replied, sounding alarmed. But theres nothing out by the dam. Everyone knows that! The boy could see the pleading in his mothers eyes to

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 31 remain calm as this news settled on him. She didnt want him to upset Hugh. But it was too late for that. Damnit, boy, dont you make me pull over and tan your hide! The jobs in Whitetail and thats where were going! Understand? Noah was afraid to meet his fathers eyes in the rear view mirror but he knew that it would only make things worse if he didnt. He looked up and found that stern brow staring at him. Eyes that seemed to tremble with brewing anger. Yes, sir, he replied, meek and diminished. After a moment, he turned back to his mother. Where am I gonna go to school? She didnt even turn to look at him, kept her gaze straight ahead as the road unfolded. Not exactly sure about that just yet. Well figure it out. But it wont be Chesterton, will it? He knew the answer perfectly well but he was a little bent out of shape and still wanted to make his disapproval known. No, son, she said, her voice going sweet, trying to calm him as best as she could manage without seeming too much like she was coddling him. Hugh was always after her about coddling the boy. But its in a brand new housing development. And its a house all our own. Not a rented trailer for once. Were going to go see it. Thats where were headed.

Uh-huh, he nodded. The dam at Cross Mountain. There was nothing out there but thick woods, campgrounds and logging roads. A housing development? He had never heard of any neighborhoods out there. It all sounded more than a little dubious to him. Does it have plumbing? he asked, risking it with such a wisecrack. His mother turned and fixed him with a glare that told him shut his mouth. Yes, son. It has plumbing.

***

When they turned off of the main road, they traveled for some time before Noahs father announced that they were getting close. Ada tried her best to keep a smile on her face and an air of excitement about her, though in truth she was concerned about Noahs reaction to this new development in their lives. Noah had sat in the back quietly, looking out of the window with a furrowed brow as the old Ford wound through lonely roads dark under the cover of trees. Since turning onto the back roads, Noah hadnt seen a single car pass them by. As they wound around a sharp curve in the road, blue sky broke the shroud of trees ahead and after a mile or so, they saw the entrance to the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 33 neighborhood ahead, flanked on either side by tall, black colored metal fencing that was made to look like wrought iron but seemed too new to be exactly that. A carved wooden sign sat to the right of the entrance in a bed of mulch and bright, freshly planted mums. Cedar Banks, it read and depicted the outline of a tree next to the developments name. Below were a score of wavy lines meant to suggest water. It looked nice so far, Noah had to admit, and his spirits perked up a little. As they passed through the entrance and the development came into full view, Noahs skepticism returned. Seven houses of moderate size were arranged in a semi-circle. The street itself was a circle that ended at the entrance where it began. In the middle, the large, circular area of grass also had two more homes on it. Those homes each had back yards enclosed by chainlink fencing that still had a shine to it and where the two yards backed up to each other a row of evergreen trees planted had been

to provide a visual barrier. Further out toward the

center of the circle, a tall, silver flagpole rose into the air, adorned with both the American and Virginia flags flapping in the breeze coming off the lake. A few trees dotted the yards inside the development. As for the houses, Noah was not sure

what he was expecting but this was not it. The homes were single-story, rectangular structures with cinderblock

foundations painted gray and siding that looked new and came in a variety of muted colors from beige to baby blue. From the outside, they all appeared similar to one another, Noah thought, and not all that different from the trailers at Cadys Run. Each home had a thin border of mulch with foundation shrubs, though, and seemed uniformly presentable. While these elements of them seemed new or at least recent, the buildings themselves and the land on which they sat had been there for a very long time. He would bet money on it. Noah had once taken a class trip over to the U.S. Army base at Fort Lee to visit the Quartermasters Museum there. While on the base, he and had seen the barracks and the housing where soldiers lived and thought that the homes of Cedar Banks looked very much like that. Hugh wound around the circular road and Ada sat forward in her seat with anticipation. Oh, tell me its one of the baby blue ones, Hugh, she squealed. Fraid not, Ada. Its this one coming up right here. Noah peered over the front seat and saw a green sedan parked in the gravel drive of a home with light brown siding. A man in a suit stepped out of it and waved at them as his father turned and pulled the truck to a stop behind the car. After cutting the engine, his father stepped out of the truck and his mother followed, leaning back the front seat for

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 35 Noah to climb out. Mr. Belton? the tall man with the balding head asked, extending his hand. You the real estate agent? Hugh asked even as the man aggressively clasped his hand. Tom Marley, he said, making eye contact with him. That was good. Hugh distrusted men who didnt meet your eyes over a handshake. Hugh Belton. Good to meet you, Mr. Marley. Please. Call me Tom, the man said and then motioned to Ada and Noah. This your family? Noahs father looked back and nodded. Thats them. My wife, Ada and my boy, Noah. Mrs. Belton, Tom said and stretched his hand out to her in greeting. It was a gesture that she declined but bowed just a little and raised her hand in a quick wave. Hugh was not fond of her touching other men, no matter the circumstances. The real estate agent smiled and dropped his hand, nodding likewise. Maam, he acknowledged and then turned toward Noah, who stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Noah, go on and greet the man proper, his father barked and the boy raised his hand. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Marley, he said as the agent took his hand in his own.

What a fine, young man, Tom exclaimed, a grin sweeping over his face. And so polite! Would that we could bottle that these days, huh, Mr. Belton? Hugh glanced at his son and Noah could tell that his father was obviously not pleased with the way he had handled the greeting. Indeed, Tom, he said with special emphasis on the mans given name. Especially with that new faggot-lover in the White House. God help the children of this country. The agent stood for a moment, silent and with his practiced salesmans grin frozen on his face, not moving a muscle and not sure where to take it from there. Well, Tom, how about we see the house? Of course! the agent exclaimed, jerking as if suddenly woken from a dream and stretched out his arm toward the stone walkway that led up to covered front porch of the house. After yall. Hugh stepped forward and Ada gestured for Tom Marley to go ahead of her while she reached back for Noahs hand. Do I have to go? he asked, shifting uneasily, his hands now jammed back into the pockets of his jacket. She got a familiar look on her face and started to insist but then Hugh interjected. Let the boy run, Ada. Been cooped up like a hen for the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 37 past two hours. Noah looked up at his father who stood with Mr. Marley before the front door. It seemed an unusual allowance from him but then over the years, Noah had noticed that his father tended to be more permissive when other grown-ups were around. Thanks, Dad, he nodded and then turned back down the walkway. Dont wander far, Noah, she shouted after him. Stay in the neighborhood. Noah scoffed at the idea of the few houses being called a neighborhood and walked on. Dont you worry, Mrs. Belton, the agent said. Hes safe as can be around here. Lots of space for a young man to roam and play. Noah heard the front door open and close behind him as he rounded the house and headed down toward the banks of the lake. Here and there around the waters edge, patches of reeds grew with a thick layer of other plants like an wild hedge behind them. In the back yard, a short, wooden pier extended from the grass out above the surface of the water and Noah sought it out immediately. It seemed new. The planks were tight and stable and the wood fresh and bright in color, untouched by algae and the weathering of age. Attached to the outer pylons were metal cleats where a small boat could be tied up.

Standing on the pier, the lake seemed greater in size than it appeared from the narrow cove where Cadys Run was situated. From Cedar Banks, the lake looked almost like a sea; vast and twinkling in the afternoon light with nary another bit of shore to be seen. He could not help but smile as he beheld its majesty. Looking to the west, the view was dominated by the long, hulking shape of Cross Mountain, which he had been unable to see from the old neighborhood. From here, though, the mountain was a dark and gigantic thing that dominated the horizon with its wide, flat ridge that spanned the length of the lake and beyond. Though the sight of it made him feel small and cold, he could not deny its beauty. It was just the sort of place that the Morgosians might choose to mount an offensive against the Kalasian people. Perhaps they already had. Trapped deep in the forest as he was and without his brother-in-arms, the fate of his people rested solely on his narrow but capable shoulders. Captain Red sprinted for the shore and broke left, skirting the Kalasian settlement and taking cover where he could find it. As he approached the edge of the woods, he saw two X-5 repeater rifles in the dirt, covered by leaves. The 5s were inferior in every way to the X25 he normally carried but the magazines looked intact and he reasoned that an lesser weapon was better than no weapon at all.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 39 He grabbed the couple odd-shaped branches of a fallen tree and rolled on his belly to the left. When he came up, it was with guns blazing and Morgosians fell. Brotherhood! To the last man! he shouted and let loose a barrage of fire that mowed down the front line of his enemies a hundred yards distant. Within seconds, he would be attacked, so he raced along the edge of the lake in search of proper cover. Captain Red found it deep in the woods in the hollow of an old tree. He ducked in, pinned himself against the natural alcove and waited. As the enemy approached, all he heard was the sound of his own breath. Shallow and quiet. Then there came the sound of a cracking twig somewhere in the distance. It was a sound that he had neither imagined nor planned for. It took him by surprise, certainly, but not as much as the playful laughter that followed. A giggling that he recognized. Noah stepped out of the hollow and scanned the woods. He saw nothing and all was silent for a moment but then he heard the childrens laughter again. At the periphery of his vision, he saw fast-moving shapes of ivory skin and yellow hair dash between the trees. He wanted to give chase but something in him, some instinct, grounded his feet to the earth where he stood. Then came another crack and Noah turned to look up the

banks. What he saw he could scarcely believe and he blinked his eyes a few times to banish the strange sight from his mind. But still it remained. A figure slipped through the trees along the crest of the banks above. A long, graying beard hung from a weathered face, its head crowned by a small, gray cap that had seen better days. Before Noah even noticed the manner of the figures dress, he recognized the cap as that of a Confederate soldier from the Civil War. The soldier glided along through the fallen leaves, bending and stooping, holding something close to its chest that was clothed in the drab, gray wool coat of an infantryman. Noah took a step backwards and the branch clutched in his left hand dropped to the earth with a rustle. The solider seemed to hear it and looked up from his wandering, searched the woods until his gaze settled on Noah, standing stone-still by the hollowed tree. It was then that Noah realized he could not see the houses, for he had wandered too far down and along the banks of the lake. Probably, he was not even in the neighborhood anymore. A remorseful came over him. Without intending it, he had done exactly the opposite of the last thing he mother asked of him. He had wandered too far. Noah watched as the phantom soldier cocked its head, seeming to study the boy for a moment. Then it began to move through the trees toward him.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 41

4 The inside of the home at Cedar Banks was clean and the beige toned walls smelled of fresh paint. The hardwood floors were old but appeared to have been restored and had a uniform shine to them and smelled of Murphys Oil Soap. After closing the door behind them, the agent, Tom Marley, waited a moment as the Beltons got an eyeful of the place. In the selling of a property, few moments were as crucial as the first impression. He noticed that the husband and wife did not seem particularly close and while the initial look in the womans eyes was promising, the man walked about the living room, stone-faced and checking the corners and crevices for details like cracked seams between sheetrock and poorly laid trim along the baseboards. All very typical, the agent thought. Its a three bedroom just like the others. Obviously, you have the main living room here. No fireplace, huh? Hugh interrupted. Tom glanced over to see the man kneeling down in front column of painted-over brick that had once been the fireplace. Along with all the others, it had been bricked up during the renovations of the buildings. No, sir, each home used to have two of them, actually but the developer decided to seal them up. Said it would be more

economical to heat and cool the home efficiently. That might be true but it takes away a bit of the charm, dont it? It does, Hugh nodded and stood. Ada had been checking out the kitchen but now stood in the doorway into the living room. Mr. Marley, you said something about workers? Yes, maam. Your husband didnt tell you? She looked over at Hugh but he didnt even acknowledge her. He was running his hands over one of the living room walls searching for unevenness which would indicate repairs. His buddy from work who had recommended Marley had told Hugh the places were all new on the inside but he wanted to make damn sure. Never got round to it, he said. Ah, well then, Mrs. Belton all these homes used to be sleeping quarters for workmen. See, this was a workers camp under the Work Projects Administration during the 1930s and 40s. One of the nicer ones from what I hear. They housed them here, fed and clothed them. What were they working on? Ada asked, sensing that since she had lived nearby all her life, she ought to know but then history was not something that had ever interested her very much. Besides, she was from Eastlake and unless one got around a lot, that might as well have been a whole different state. Cross Mountain Dam, Tom replied and pointed in the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 43 general direction of the mountain. They dammed up the Roanoke River, called the Ash River around these parts. Created all of Ashwood Lake that way. I think they also worked to build trails on the mountain and in some of the nearby National Parks and Forests. She nodded. Interesting. Tom followed them as the couple walked through the house. Yep, these homes here have been rebuilt from the inside out. They kept intact the good parts; the foundations, the stone chimneys, the framework and such. But they re-framed inside and changed the two-room sleeping quarters into the cozy, three bedroom cottages you see here today. Whats the address here? Ada asked, for she hadnt noticed on their ride in. Number 5 Cedar Bay Drive, he rattled off, On account of the open area of the lake out there that folks call Cedar Bay. They were in the largest bedroom, presumably the master, and the room included a large window from which Ashwood Lake could be seen glittering in the near distance. Ada stood before the window. She raised her hand and her fingers touched the cold glass. Well, Ive always said that five is my lucky number, Hugh. He came to her and stood next to her, gazing out of the window.

Your people still prepared to let this go as a lease-toown? Same price we discussed over the phone? Hugh asked the agent, though he did not turn to meet the mans eyes. Yes, sir. Just like all the properties at Cedar Banks. Theyre not exactly selling like hotcakes being so out of the way and all. Theyd make fine vacation homes for some of the well-off but with times being as lean as they are right now he let his commentary die, internally reprimanding himself for mentioning it. Never highlight the negative, he could hear his boss voice in his head. Bury the negative. Well take it, Hugh said, both he and Ada turning to face the agent. Well, congratulations, then! Tom Marley smiled and reached out his hand. Hugh Belton took it and gave it a quick but firm shake. Yall are going to be very happy here, I think, the agent said as they walked through the house back toward the front door. Are there many other families that live here? I didnt notice much traffic on the way in. No, maam, the agent replied, You all are the first family in. He opened the door for them as they stepped onto the porch. In fact, youre the only owners living here at all besides- Noah? What in the world? Ada interrupted, her voice a

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 45 little breathless with surprise. Following her eyes, Hugh and Tom looked to the left to see the boy emerging from the woods at the crest of the banks that sloped down to the lake. What was surprising to see was his companion, an unusually tall man, gangly in appearance and dressed from head to toe in the gray uniform of a Confederate soldier. Ah! Tom exclaimed. I see your boys met Mr. Lee. Hes the other resident I was about to mention. Hes also the property manager here. You got a busted pipe during the winter or your kitchen stove is on the fritz, Mr. Lee here will get you all fixed up. Whats with the uniform? Hugh asked, almost chuckling. The agent nodded and smiled his understanding. Its true Mr. Lee is a bit eccentric. Dresses like that quite often. Hes a Civil War re-enactor but hes one heck of a good man to have around. Been around here a good while. And he knows this place better than anybody. And hes our only neighbor? Ada asked, still looking askance at the old man in rebel gray who walked beside her son. The agent nodded. Mmm-hmm. Real quiet, too. Except for maybe a musket firing every now and then. Tom Marley had a good laugh at his own joke and even Hugh

joined in the chortling. Yes, maam, yall are gonna find it real nice up here, he said, waving the property manager toward them to meet the new residents. Nice and quiet.

5 On the ride back to Cadys Run to his real home, Noah silently asserted Hugh and Ada had broken the news to their son that they had decided to take Mr. Marleys offer on the house and they would be moving into it as soon as they could get all their things packed at the trailer. This came as no surprise to Noah. The new place was much nicer than their trailer home and he knew from his fathers rants that it was better to own a home of your own than rent one belonging to someone else. It was something that his father called equity, though the boy didnt quite understand what that meant. Everything about the house had seemed fresh and bright and clean, which Noah had to admit that he liked. The view of the lake was gorgeous and the woods were vast and thick and full of wonder. The house had its very own pier on the lake, where Noah imagined he could sit and fish or maybe even someday get a little john boat that he could take out and explore the many coves and creeks of Ashwood Lake.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 47 The only problem was that Noah had to imagine doing all of this alone. As he had discovered, there were no other children, not even any other families that lived in Cedar Banks. No one except for the strange old man, the property manager who the real estate agent called Mr. Lee but who introduced himself as Shakey when he ran up on Noah playing war-games in the woods. Noah had thought for sure that he had stumbled on a Civil War ghost. His history teacher, Mr. Hope, had once said that the state was filled with such tales and legends because in Virginia, it seemed you could hardly walk a country mile without coming across some old house with important history or a cemetery or a pasture that was once a battlefield filled with gunfire and smoke. Every place has its very own history, Mr. Hope had said. Upon seeing the old man, Noah had been terrified, unable to move as the thing came his way. But then the soldier called out to him and asked him if he was lost and from where he had come. Once his breath had returned to him and his thrumming heart calmed in his chest, Noah had explained that his parents were looking at a house close by. It was then that the soldier introduced himself and offered to lead the way back. Noah had wanted to ask the old man about the uniform he wore but he was shy and also unsure if doing so would be considered rude. His parents later explained that Mr. Lee was a

Civil War re-enactor as they slipped along the darkened mountain roads toward home. When he got home that night, Noah laid his head on the pillow and went to sleep with a heavy heart. He knew the next day would begin a change that involved him packing all his things into boxes to be transported to the new house. It meant no more Chesterton Junior High and it also meant saying goodbye to his only friend in the whole, wide world. That was what wounded him most of all. Halloween came and went, though the holiday rooted as it was in the pagan customs of the ancient Celts was not observed in the Belton household. No Jack-O-Lanterns adorned the steps in front of the trailer door, no cut-outs of black cats or whimsical witches were hung on the front door and absolutely no candy was dispensed to the children of the neighborhood who knew better than to go knocking on Mr. Beltons door on All Hallows Eve. It took the Beltons the better part of a week and a half to round up all of their things. When moving day came, Hugh borrowed a trailer and hooked it to his truck. A buddy of his from the saw mill also showed up with a box truck. All the vehicles were loaded with cardboard containers of every size and shape, furniture, their refrigerator and their washing machine. While his father was packing the last of it into the truck,

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 49 Noah and his mother said cordial goodbyes to their neighbors and when it came time to say farewell to Tommy, Noah fought hard against the tears and the lump in his throat. He couldnt cry. Not where his father could see it. He would taunt him endlessly for it. Maybe even worse. So he shook hands with his friend, his comrade, his brother-in-arms and Tommy slipped his friend a folded scrap of notebook paper on which he had written his phone number and address. They drove away from Cadys Run and the eastern shore of Ashwood Lake bound for the lonely woods of the west and they said not a word, none of them. The space between them was filled with the reflective silence that often accompanies lifes tumultuous moments of change. Like leaving the freshly covered grave of a loved one behind, faced with the immutable fact that life will go on and do so, unimaginably, without the deceased as part of it. It was a dour, mournful certainty. It was barely November but there with his parents, in the cab of his fathers truck - there in those moments of silence Noah felt as if the warm familiarity of autumn had suddenly slipped away and the icy claws of winter had come scratching at the window.

Nearly a week had passed and still they were unpacking. Noah didnt remember it taking as long any of the other times they had moved but this time the process of settling in had become a long and grueling exercise. It wasnt that they were being lackadaisical about the task at hand but there was so much to go through. His mother unpacked things and stowed them away in the new spaces available to her, trying hard to organize the hurricane of clutter that their trailer at Cadys Run had been. It also meant some organization effort for Noah. When packing to move, he discovered a half dozen sealed boxes of miscellany hiding in his closet and theyd been heaved onto the truck along with all the others. Now, having unpacked all of his other clothes and books and toys, he was left with this row of boxes filled during a room cleanup more than two years ago. They were

filled, surely, with who-knows-what, though obviously not anything hed had need of since packing them. He asked his mother if he could just throw them out. Cedar Banks had a community dumpster on the far end of the semi-circle that was emptied by a truck once a week and he thought these would be an excellent first contribution on his part. But she had declined that, saying he might find something in there worth keeping. Noah reached into his pocket and unfolded the small, Buck pocket knife. He slit open the first box and peered into it. Books. Thumbing through them, he recognized them all as

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 51 childrens books that hed had from years back. The contents of the second box was much the same. He pulled a few of them to which he had a sentimental attachment a few volumes of the Hardy Boys mysteries, Choose-Your-Own-Adventure and Dr. Seuss and then slid the two boxes into the hallway next to the other boxes that were to be carried off to the Goodwill. Opening the third box, he slumped down and began picking through the intermingled mess of old, half-broken toys and rocks, sticks and various objects picked up during his playing in the woods and saved for some strange but unrealized purpose. Then something bright and shiny caught his eye. Digging down at the bottom and pulling it forth, he saw it was an old model rocket in the relative shape of the space shuttle Columbia that he had helped Tommy build. There had been another that they had once launched down by the lake quite successfully, though it was inevitably lost to a watery fate. The rocket was small but in reasonably good shape for having been at the bottom of the box for so long and he flipped it over to see that the propellant cartridge was still lodged in the tail of the rocket. A long fuse protruded from it and as he twirled it around his finger an idea came to him. What better way to break from the boredom and tedium of unpacking than to launch that sucker into the sky by the lakeshore? He would dedicate the launch to Tommy. What better

way to honor their friendship in the absence of his friend? Of course, there were a few elements missing, most notably the stand that provided a level surface and a guide wire to get the rocket off the ground on a straight path but he felt that he could rig up something similar. He snatched a shirt from his closet and tore it from the hangar. Unwinding the hangar from itself and bending it until it was mostly straight, he whipped it through the air and smiled. Now were in business, he said to himself. He ran down the hallway into the kitchen, rummaged through one of the drawers and found a pack of matches. His mother was on a step-stool in the living room, struggling with hanging a picture. Noah kept the rocket hidden behind his back. It wasnt that he cared if she knew what he intended to do but he didnt feel like suffering through her hundred questions about it and likely insistence on watching over him as he did it. I unpacked three boxes, Mumma. You did, huh? she said, a nail stuck between her teeth as she attempted to level the painting of a pastoral countryside in winter. Can I go play for a little while? Okay, Noah. Dont go too far. I wont. With that he was out the door and down the banks to the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 53 lake he went. He surveyed the area for as flat a spot as he could find and settled on a barren patch of ground about ten feet from the waters edge. There hadnt been much rain so jamming the straightened clothes hangar into the hard ground was more of a chore than he had reckoned but after some twisting and pressure he had it down and aimed out toward the lake. He slid the rocket down the wire through the plastic sleeve glued to the fuselage and stretched out the fuse string as far as it could go. While it was not shaped precisely like the space shuttle, it was certainly reminiscent of it and Noah was

excited to see the thing blast off into the air above the lake. Kneeling down at the end of the fuse, he struck a match that flamed to life with a sulfur stench and cupped his hand around it as he lowered it to the fuse. After a second of contact with the fuse, the string began burning and sparkling as it quietly hissed and disappeared inches at a time. Noah stepped back several feet and watched. After a moment, the fuse was at its end and the propellant cartridge began to smoke at the base of the rocket. For a brief second, Noah thought that it had been sitting too long and had lost its potency but just as he bent down to get a better look, white fire spat out of the tail and lifted the shuttle off the ground and along the makeshift guide wire. Black smoke came in a rush along the ground as the rocket was propelled high into the

air. Noah looked up and grinned wide as the craft went higher, growing smaller against the sky. Higher and higher it would climb until the fuel was spent and then its nose cone would pop open and the plastic parachute would guide it down gently to the lake. But something was wrong. Maybe it was the wind or maybe it

was the rockets design but it had flipped backwards and was now careening back toward the shore, wobbling but still spitting fire, still coming at the pace. The toy had become a missile. Noah ran up the banks toward the house, watching the craft as it spun out of control in his direction. It passed him so close that he could feel the heat from the propellant but when it was gone he breathed a quick sigh of relief. Until he saw where it was headed.

***

Moving sure is a bitch, Ada sighed, exasperated. She looked around the living room and adjoining kitchen at boxes which still needed unpacking. She grinned a little at her own words, feeling the cheap thrill of the utterance of foul language. She would never say such a thing in the company of others, though. Let alone Hugh. Her husband did not approve of

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 55 women using such language. She had finally gotten the picture hanging straight. It was a Thomas Kincaid original that she had picked up at a mall in Roanoke years ago. Her eyes had been drawn to its peacefulness and the soft white snow that covered everything and seemed so real, so very alive on the canvas. In the kitchen, she poured a fresh cup of black coffee from the pot and sipped it as she walked back into the living room. She stood and stared out of the large bay window that looked out over the back yard and onto the lake. The afternoon sun broke upon the rippling surface of the lake and entranced her as she drew the mug of hot brew to her lips and found herself lost in thought. Their first week there had been a period of adjustment. Hugh was settling into his new job at Kemp Family Metalworks, a metal fabrication shop near the municipal airport and just outside of Whitetail proper. By his accounts, the work was very different from what he had been doing at the saw mill. There he had been responsible for maintenance on the enormous, bladed machines that rendered the usable lumber from the naked logs of felled trees. At KFM as Hugh had told her it was commonly referred to he was learning to use and repair the many pieces of equipment to sheer and size and trim and finish metal plates and lengths of steel and aluminum of every shape and size.

Though, as the saying went, it was hard to teach an old dog new tricks and the learning process was frustrating to Hugh. She had seen it in his darkened mood of late. He was not a talkative man under the best of circumstances but this week, after arriving home from work, he had very little to say to her and so far had not participated in the unpacking once all of the furniture had been set in place and all the boxes moved into the house. He had, however, found the time to offer passing criticism of her slowness in getting it all done. There always seemed to be time and words enough for that. Still, she was glad that Hugh had decided on this house. It was such a step up from their rented double-wide that it almost felt criminal or undeserved in some way. But that was just nonsense. If anybody deserved it, she did. She and Noah did, though the boy was still in the throes of adjustment. It was difficult leaving behind Noahs only friend and all that was familiar to him but Cedar Banks provided an opportunity for them to better their lives. She had hated having to tell folks that they lived in Cadys Run, a well-known trailer park in Bedford. She hated the look that always followed; a mixture of pity and distaste. Now they had a house on the lake. It sounded positively posh, she thought, and she wanted to go and holler it to all the world from the top of Cross Mountain. She glanced around the living room and sighed. She really

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 57 needed to get this finished. Not only to put an end to Hughs sniping comments regarding all the boxes and their current state of refugee living as he had put it but also because she needed to get started with Noah on his schooling. With no second vehicle to take the boy to and from the nearest school, it had been decided that Ada would home-school her son. This had checked out as alright with the county and they had provided a list of materials he would need. Some of his existing school books would suffice but there were new ones to be bought and there were forms and workbooks and reports that would need to be filled out and sent in. Having been so consumed with unpacking the new house, she had simply not gotten to it. Besides, she reasoned, it was probably good for Noah to have a short respite to settle into his new environment before wading into the murky waters of home-schooling that were so unfamiliar to both of them. Ada had just set her coffee down and bent to open another box when she heard a noise from outside. A strange but incredibly loud hissing noise that grew closer by the second. Before she could even turn to peer out of the back bay window to see what it was, the hissing ended in a crack and a thud that she felt in the walls of the house. Something had smashed into the house from the outside. Now thrown into a tizzy of worry and anxiety, she sprinted for the kitchen door. As she descended the back steps and

rounded the corner, she caught sight of Noah coming toward the house at a reluctant jog, his eyes glued to the building and his mouth hanging open. She looked over her shoulder as she set foot into the yard and saw a great black and gray spot on the side of the house. There was a small, shallow toolshed that stood upright against the back of the house between the bay window and Noahs bedroom window. The ashen wound was to the right of it. Dark at the center where some of the vinyl siding had also been shattered and was now missing, the rest of the spot was thinned to gray and black in dramatic waves that emanated outward. It looked like someone had exploded a balloon full of ash against the house. Then her eyes were drawn to something colorful lying on the ground next to the foundation. She looked down at what was left of the white plastic model made to look like the space shuttle, complete with the word Columbia inscribed on the fuselage. A model rocket. Noah came to a stop alongside her and was inspecting the damage. Her eyes widened and she looked over at him, her baby boy not yet as tall as her but well on his way. His eyes betrayed the sudden shock and guilt of a child whod done something wrong and stupid and knew it. There was the natural fear of the consequences of his actions but there was also something more. A deeper dread that dragged his eyes downward and bent his mouth into a grimace of near agony. Ada recognized

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 59 it, knew it well. She had worn it more than once herself and not only when she was a child. Oh, Noah, she muttered, beginning to tremble, your father Her voice trailed off as a sickening sensation grew in her stomach. The boys eyes were welling with tears, his pouting lips beginning to quiver as they shared a look and a familiar, dark and unspoken despair set down on them both.

7 Noah went into hiding. After the incident, his mother had questioned him about what the rocket was and where he had gotten it. The boy suddenly found himself faced with a grim possibility. Even though it had been Noah who launched the thing without supervision or permission, the blame for the rocket and the damage done to the new house would spread to Tommy Wren since it was Tommy who had given the rocket to him. When they left Cadys Run, there had been talk between his mother and Tommys father of bringing him to Cedar Banks for the occasional visit so that the boys could see each other and play together. However, Noahs father was not keen on Tommy and if he was seen in any way as culpable in this act of destruction, it would most definitely ruin any chances Noah had of seeing his friend anytime soon. With this alarming

possibility playing out in his mind, Noah handled his mothers question just as most young boys would. He looked her straight in the face and lied. I got it at school. Ms. Swallows science class last year. We were learning about the space shuttle and we all had these rockets to build. Noah rarely lied directly to either of his parents and he was a little surprised at himself; how easily the twisting of true events came to him and rolled, silvery, off of his tongue. We launched them all over a couple of days but on the day the last group of us was to shoot ours off, it rained. So Ms. Swallow said for us to keep them and take them home. It wasnt a perfect lie and it wouldnt stand up very well to intense scrutiny but Noahs mother was too worried about what would happen when her husband got home to pester her son with the details of his explanation. Since confining himself to his room, Noah had managed to unpack and put away the remainder of his old things from the closet and had ended up with one more box to go to the Goodwill. He slid it out into the hall with the others and it was then that he noticed that that the clock in the kitchen was pushing 5:30 in the afternoon. His father would be home soon. Noah hurried back into his room and sat on his bed, awaiting the inevitable. He picked up his Bible an thumbed through it, absently reading here and there from the Book of

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 61 Ruth. He hoped it would help some when his father came calling to see that his troublesome son, in the hour of his guilt, had turned to the Good Book for wisdom and direction. He hoped it would look like penance. Minutes later, he heard the thud of the side door into the kitchen shutting as his father entered the home. Noah could just imagine his confusion as he walked in and hung his coat on the hooks by the door and then noticed the halfway demolished, blackened rocket ship sitting on the kitchen table. Noahs mother would be milling about nervously until the question was asked and then she would be smiling glibly in an attempt to downplay the situation even as she explained it to her husband. Then there was another creak as the door opened again and was left that way. Noah closed his eyes, knowing his father had stepped out back to see the damage. Then the door shut as his father came back inside. The walls in the new house were not thin like those of the trailer and Noah could hear only the loudest of noises so for the moment or two after the back door closed, there was only silence. Noah could not hear the tears welling in his mothers eyes as she begged her husband to go easy on their son. He was just a boy, after all, and boys made mistakes. The move had him unsettled, she said, unfocused. He was just looking for something to do, she explained to her husband who said not a

word in reply but regarded her with a look of disgust. Then Noah heard the side door open again and shut a moment later and the boy knew exactly what that meant. His father had gone out to the truck to retrieve Black Billy. All hope for lenience or understanding on the part of his father flew from Noah with that realization and the boy could feel his body shaking as the footsteps came heavily down the hallway to his room. Black Billy was the name of the leather club that his father used for the purpose of punishment. It was also the name that Noah used to refer to his father when he would go on one of his disciplinary rampages. In those times, the gruff but softspoken person of Hugh Belton disappeared and became as one with the weapon that he wielded. Slightly shorter than a ruler, it was a length of heavy rubber that had been wrapped thick in densely woven leather strands to form a handle with a wrist strap at one end and a hard leather knob at the other that was thicker but harder than the hilt. Branded into the handle but barely visible were letters and numbers that read Prov. 13:24, a reference to a passage in the Book of Proverbs; a declaration that whoever spares the rod, hates his son. When the door to his room swung open, Noahs eyes were trained on the small print of his Bible, the pages of the Book

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 63 of Ruth trembling in his timorous grasp. The boy glanced up at his father who stood in the doorway, a scowl on his face, his eyes narrow and drilling a hole right through the skull of his son. Whatre you reading? Book of Ruth. 1:17, Noah replied but could hardly keep the unwanted, fearful vibrato out of his voice. Oh? Whats it say? Noah stared down at the book and read aloud from the passage. Where thou diest, will I die and there will I be buried. Thus may the Lord do to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me. His father nodded. You understand what that means? Noah nodded and searched for the words. Honor thy Mother and thy Father. His father snorted. Thats actually the Book of Matthew, he said. But it seems you get the gist. Noah tried to hold his fathers eyes but felt his gaze pulled toward Hugh Beltons thick fingers and the shaft of Black Billy held tightly in his right hand. Both hard and flexible, the clubs appearance was far less wicked than its bite. Noah didnt know how old it was but its

ebony leather was worn smooth with age and it was strong and well-made by hand in a time when machines were not employed to create all of mankinds wares by the thousands. He suspected that it had been used on his father by his own parents because he had once asked where the name came from. Wasnt me who named it, his father had replied. Its always been called that so far as I know. It was a vicious tool that was as useful against an adult as it was a child and his father always kept it under the front seat of his truck in case it was needed. When it had been used on Noah and it had been more times than he cared to recall his father sometimes made him care for the damnable thing afterwards. It was in his best interest, his father had explained, since it kept the rubber core soft and flexible. His body aching as welts continued to rise under his skin, the boy would sit on the edge of his bed and massage Black Billy with a soft cloth and a dab or two of neatsfoot oil, silently cursing the thing all the while. He feared the sight of it just as he feared his father, for Black Billy was simply an extension of his wrath. So, you a rocket scientist now? No, sir. They teaching rocket science at school nowadays? Noah reached down inside himself, fumbling for the lie. He

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 65 almost had it, but then No, sir. Hugh nodded. But thats what you told your mother, aint it? Noah nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor with shame. So where did you get it? Really, he said, stepping in and kneeling down close to the bed. Noahs compulsion to tell the truth was almost irresistible in the presence of his father but there came once more the thought of never seeing his best friend again and a more believable fiction came to him; two untruths, one nestled within the other. Its what he should have told his mother to begin with. I got it from Carl Wright. The big boy who used to whoop up on you and Tommy? Noah nodded. Now why would he give something like that to you? his father asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion that was on the cusp of boiling into rage. He didnt. I stole it from him. Hugh drew back from his son as if the boy were the carrier of some hideous disease. So youre a liar and a thief, he growled, his jaws clenched.

He wasnt but Noah knew that protest would get him nowhere. There was only one answer. Yes, sir. His father laid the leather club on the bedspread near where Noah sat and breathed a frustrated sigh. He stood for a moment in thought and then sat down on the edge of the bed. Son, he began, because you been so honest with me, Im gonna let this one slide for you. Noah couldnt believe what he was hearing and his spirits perked up, though he dared not show anything outwardly aside from shame and remorse. But therell be no supper for you tonight. You can go to bed hungry. I suggest you keep your nose in the Good Book and fill up on what you find in there. Yes, sir. Maybe your Mommas right. You were just looking for something to do. Idle hands are the devils workshop after all. But that aint your fault, I guess. A cruel smile spread across his fathers face and he snatched up Black Billy and stood. Your Momma, on the other hand, Hugh seethed, catching his sons eyes, shes got something to answer for. His father stepped out of the room and slammed Noahs bedroom door shut behind him so hard that the boy thought for

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 67 sure it must have cracked the door frame. Then, through the thick walls of their new home, he heard the shouting begin and something maybe a lamp or a stack of boxes was knocked over as his father went after her. Noah couldnt see, of course, but from the wailing cries and pleas for mercy coming from his mother in the next room and the guttural curses of his father, the boy could tell that Black Billy was feasting on pain with a special ferocity. How many times had Noah been here before? Sequestered in his room, lying on the bed with his knees held against his chest while he listened to Black Billy rend flesh and bone. His heart yearned to help her but his courage waned at the thought of going up against his father, a man more than twice his size. Noah wasnt certain how long he had been listening to the beating when the door to his room clicked and slowly creaked open but, thinking it was his father coming for him, he quickly switched off the bedside lamp and plunged the room into darkness. He stared at the crack in the door. It creaked again, opening wider, though his father did not step through. Noah was then sure that his father had broken the door when he slammed it for he could hear them very clearly in the next room. His

father was lecturing his mother for not having their sons homeschooling materials in order, for not keeping the boy focused on learning instead of blowing up fucking rockets. Each statement

punctuated by another thrashing with the club. Noah stared through his half-opened door into the dark space of the hallway. There was a feeling coming over him that he could not name. His skin crawled and his brow was suddenly moist with a cold perspiration. His heart began to pulsate loudly in his chest, so loud that it nearly drowned out the din of the violence close by. That crack in the door and the dark hallway. A sensation he could not shake, like being watched. He was sure of it except that he knew there was no one there. Just then, there was a flurry of activity in the next room. His mother trying to escape the constant blows, maybe going for the door. Come back here, woman! Youll not deny me the last word! Then a scuffle and something began falling to the floor. It was definitely a lamp this time because as it fell, it tipped and sent an arc of light down the hallway that started at the ceiling and cascaded downward. As this happened, the flat beam of light passed over a figure standing in the hallway just outside of Noahs bedroom. The flash was brief but for Noah, it seemed the light moved slow and lingered along the walls. It was a man, tall and broad shouldered with a long, heavy coat and a wide-brimmed hat that crowned a head of stringy, coarse looking hair. The figure was turning his head from the boys bedroom to

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 69 peer into the living room where Noah heard his mother scream as Black Billy assailed her once more. The man in the hallway smiled, beaming with delight at the agony and the fury. Thats when the boy noticed the long, crumpled cigarillo clenched between rows of jagged, awful teeth. A cloud of tobacco smoke wreathed him and its odor nearly masked the foul reek that suddenly came wafting to Noahs nostrils along with a distinct sound of buzzing as if from a swarm of flies. As the light fell across the figures chin and made its way downward, the man turned to leer into the bedroom once again. Where there should have been eyes, the figure had only deep, black pits that seemed to pulsate with absolute despair. Then something happened that Noah could not understand. He saw the familiar shape of his fathers balding head and heard the footfalls as he went striding down the hallway toward the master bedroom. As he did this, he did not pass by the stinking man but passed through him entirely as if there was nothing at all corporeal about his form. It froze Noahs blood and he turned away from the sight just as the lamp in the living room met with the floor and shattered and the hallway was pitched into blackness again. The boy lay on his side, facing away from the door, his hands balled into fists and held tightly against his head. A coldness, dry and brittle, crept into the room and Noahs heart drummed in his

ears along with a piercing whine that was almost imperceptible but dug into his brain like the fangs of a serpent. His skin crawled and that putrid scent mixed with tobacco grew ever closer, invading his space and his senses. He shut his eyes tight and willed it to go away, this thing that had come to him unbidden. Through the open door behind him, he heard his father go stomping down the hallway again, keys jingling in his grasp and he knew at once that he meant to leave the house as he often did after meting out such bestial punishments. Though he could not bring himself to cry out or move, Noah actually yearned for his father to stay. He would have welcomed a beating of his own in that moment if it meant that the dark presence would be ejected from the room. The front door slammed and the truck roared to life, then groaned away from the house and into the night beyond. The presence lingered a moment longer and then as suddenly as it had come the stench that had filled the room and the ringing that had filled Noahs ears was gone. The boy felt every tensed muscle in his body relax and he let go an audible sigh. He lay there for a while, his body and mind spent, and listened to the unintelligible sobs and whimpers of pain that persisted in the next room. He wanted to go to her, to help her, to comfort her, but he could not. His heart and soul were

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 71 fatigued and a precious sleep was washing over him. As he faded, Noah wondered if his mother would be able to walk when the morning came.

8 The first time that Hugh had hit her was also the first time theyd made love. They were much younger then, both of them in their late twenties and theyd been dating for some time. It was the week before Christmas and they were alone in his parents old house and things were getting pretty hot between them so she undid his jeans and was lowering her head down toward his lap to take him into her mouth when he yanked her up by her hair and smacked her with an open palm. She had been so shocked that she had simply sat there on the couch, rubbing her face while he explained that such an act was not becoming of a Christian woman and certainly not one that he wished to make his wife. In her experience though she had later lied and assured Hugh that she had none that was an act of love that most men coveted greatly. But apparently not him. She had let it go and confirmed her understanding of his wishes and a few minutes later she had made love to the man that would become her husband. That night, she had realized that Hugh knew even less about sex than she had suspected. He had made an assumption that she was a virgin and she had done nothing to contradict him,

hoping that when the time came for them to be together, Hugh would cast aside that expectation in the heat of making love. After they had laid together that night, he had said nothing about the lack of blood on the sleeping bag he had spread out on the floor for them but later boisterously commented that it had been a satisfying first time for the both of them. The following evening he had taken her out for a night of roller-skating and ice cream. It had been his way of making amends for slapping her, she had supposed. Perhaps she should have left him then and there but it wasnt the first time she had been struck by a man. Her father, God rest his soul, had been hardened by too many years cutting timber in the unforgiving environs of thick southern forests surrounded by the toughest and most dangerous of characters. He had simply known no other way to discipline his only child after her mother had passed on from cancer when she was barely out of diapers. George Donovan had worked hard and drank even harder and he had regarded her no differently than a boy child when he paid her any attention at all. Hugh, at least, was not a drinker and there was often a sweet side to him that he shared with her and her alone. During the remainder of their courtship and the early years of their marriage, the times he had raised his hand to her had been few and usually because of some trespass against his wishes of which

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 73 she had been unaware. Either that or her own selfishness. Eventually, she learned that it was best to know what her husband expected of her and to comply without comment or complaint. After all, Hugh was a good man mostly. A God-fearing man of principles and flaws like anyone else. The sun was bleeding into the bedroom of the new house and she could hear Noah rummaging about in the kitchen getting his breakfast ready. Ada rolled onto her back and felt the burning soreness there. She had made it to bed last night and eventually her husband had returned, though she had only the faintest memory of it. His side of the bed was disturbed, though, which meant he had returned home and had slept beside her in the night and not alone out on the couch. At least there was that. And, she reminder herself, at least he had spared Noah a thrashing after the rocket incident and the lie he had been caught in. Ada would gladly take the vicious blows of exuberant discipline rather than have them fall on her son. She had always been able to forgive Hugh for his brutality against her and the only times she found herself hating him truly hating him were the times he turned his rage onto their son. She lay there for a time and prayed that today would be a better day and then she rose and draped herself in her robe and ambled down the hallway.

Noah was seated at the kitchen table, his back to her, munching away at a bowl of corn flakes. To her surprise, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air. She had shown him how to make it last year and ever since, he surprised her every so often in the mornings with a full pot of the hot, dark brew. She placed her hand on his shoulder as she entered the kitchen. Thanks for the coffee, son. Youre welcome, Mumma. She poured a cup and sipped from it as she stared out the tiny window over the sink that looked out at the driveway. Hughs truck was still parked there. Seen your Daddy this morning? No, he replied darkly. She silently wondered where her husband was and what he was getting up to and was about to convey this to her son when the front door opened and Hugh stepped in. He was dressed for work in his insulated coveralls and the brisk smell of the cold air was upon him. He stepped in only a foot or so, just enough that he could see them framed in the pass-through to the kitchen. Ada? he called, his voice gruff and unrepentant. Yes? I spoke with the property manager, Mr. Lee. Uh-huh, she replied sweetly, though the tone came with

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 75 some effort. Hes agreed to carry you into town tomorrow to fetch whatever school supplies you need for Noah. Her instinct was to protest. She didnt know the odd, grizzled man and she didnt relish the thought of taking the long ride into Whitetail with him but she knew better than to say anything. As if sensing her silent reluctance, he said, Its done. Its been arranged. Then he opened the door to leave but stopped and looked back over his shoulder. And take the boy with you. Otherwise there might not be a house to come back to, Hugh barked a final command and then shut the door behind him. Ada said nothing else, just sipped her coffee and watched as her husband climbed into his truck and backed out of the driveway onto the road. It wasnt until the old Ford had gone growling into the distance that the tension melted from her shoulders ever so slightly. Noah watched his mother and poked absently at his cereal which had gone soggy. He knew that she didnt care for the strange old man and it wasnt as if he knew him well but he liked him nonetheless. Liked him despite his unconventional manner of dress or perhaps because of it. He had also sensed an

unlikely nurturing quality in him that had come through on the day he had found Noah playing in the woods and thought him to be lost. More than that, though, the boy welcomed the chance to get out of the house. He felt his eyes drawn to the direction of the hallway, though he could not see it from the kitchen and his mind touched not for the first time that morning on the strange figure he had seen there the night before. Well, he offered in an effort to breach the silence, thats good, right? I suppose it is, she replied, her voice heavy with distaste. She turned to look her son in the eye. Whyd you lie to me, Noah? About the rocket? The boys eyes dropped down to his bowl of cereal. I dont know, he said. It was a lame excuse and he knew it but he didnt have the heart to speak the truth that morning. Ada regarded her son with suspicion. In her experience, young boys rarely lied for no reason at all but she decided that now was not the time to press him on the issue. Run along, then. Comb your hair and get dressed, she said. Ill go and try to make myself presentable. We dont want to keep Mr. Lee waiting. Noah stood, picked up his spoon and bowl and dropped them into the sink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 77 rubbing her back with her free hand and only then did he notice the bruises and welts beginning to rise on the back of her legs. His heart broke for her and he wished more dearly than anything that he had the courage to say something to her about it. Instead, he turned and left the kitchen and headed through the living room, down the hallway to the door to his bedroom and he stopped in front of it. It was closed. Had he closed it? He didnt think so, but then he couldnt be certain. As his hand closed around the doorknob, he heard a loud and low-toned drone from within the room. More than that, he felt it because the knob in his hand vibrated with the sound. It wasnt the sound of one thing but of many. Before this had registered with him, however, he opened the door to see inside. The beige walls of his bedroom had turned gray and their surface and the air between was alive with the tiny black forms of not hundreds but thousands of flies. As if alerted to his presence, their collective pitch ascended to a higher note and he slammed the door shut before any of them could escape. Mumma! he hollered. He heard his mother set her coffee mug down on the countertop with some force and then her shuffling footsteps came in his direction. He watched as she moved down the hallway

toward him, every quick step taken with a wince of pain on her face. Tarnation, Noah! What is it? He stepped away from the door, his eyes wide with horror and searched for a more mundane complaint. Must have left the window open. My rooms full of flies. Flies? she asked, disbelief wrinkled into her brow. This time of year? He nodded and his mother grasped the knob, opened the door wide and stepped into his room. Instinctively, Noah drew back and found his back pressed against the hallway wall, bracing himself for the flood of tiny, dark-bodied insects that was sure to come but did not. Stepping in behind her and peering around his mothers shoulder, he saw nothing that resembled what he had seen only a moment ago. All was as it should have been. But I- he began but his mother turned her head and curtly shushed him. She stood there in the middle of his room and cocked her head to the side, listening. The low hum of insectile wings was gone and with it the innumerable horde of flies. He wondered, What is she was listening for? Then, with slow and deliberate movements, she raised one foot off the floor and her right hand snatched her slipper from it. With a deft killing stroke she slapped the rubber sole

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 79 against his bedroom window and then stepped back. A single fly that had been buzzing around his window was now flattened against the glass in a dark swath of blood and tiny legs no thicker than a human hair. Well, thats the end of that, she said with a sense of finality, sliding her slipper back onto her foot and smiling at her son as she breezed past him and padded down the hallway to her bedroom. He stood alone in his room, struggling to reconcile what he had seen with the truth of what was plain before him. He sniffed the air for the unforgettable stench of the stinking man but detected none of it. Noahs gaze then fell again on his bedroom window. Thin, honeycombed wings and smashed fly guts adorned the surface for a moment before becoming unstuck and falling, disappearing from view into the grooves of the window sill below. The glass pane, however, was still smeared with blood. I dont think thats the end of it, Mumma, he whispered aloud to no one but himself. I dont think thats the end of it at all.

9 It was around 8:30 in the morning when Ada and her son strolled down the street to meet the property manager who would give them a ride into town. Mr. Lees house was one of the two

in the center of development and had a fenced in back yards. The siding on his home was light gray but the old Chevrolet truck in his driveway was midnight blue and looked as if it had just rolled off the line. Ada supposed that made sense considering Mr. Lee was likely the type of man who was comfortable turning a wrench on machines of all kinds. The truck reminded her of the one her father had driven for a time, though his had never looked so pristine. Wow, Noah said, nodding appreciatively at the vehicle gleaming in the cold, autumn sun. The boy was outpacing her as they walked toward the house. He might do so on any day but today, even the short walk down the street was invoking repetitive stabs of pain that shot from her hip into her lower back. She had taken three aspirin before leaving the house and she was hoping theyd work their magic soon. Ada grimaced and tried her best to keep up with her son but she would need to move more carefully around Mr. Lee. It wouldnt do for him to notice her limping or favoring odd positions. People seeing a woman looking lame tended to suspect things about how she had gotten that way and some might even feel compelled to meddle, which would only make things worse on her and Noah in the end. They were headed up the driveway toward the front walk when Mr. Lee appeared from around the back of the house.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 81 Morning, he said and nodded toward them. Ada was glad to see that he was not dressed in Confederate gray but still his clothes, plain though the dark colored pants and shirt were beneath the buttoned up pea coat, seemed oddly antique and out of place. Good morning to you, Ada said in return, nervously sliding her hands into the pockets of her jacket. So its into town we go, eh? the old man said in a jolly tone, making conversation. Mr. Lee, I hope its not- Please, maam, call me Shakey, he interrupted. Alright, then, she nodded, Shakey it is. Anyhow, I hope this aint too much trouble. Wed hate to put you out. Naw, no trouble at all, he waved it off. I got a hankering to take a drive anyway and this way I wont have to ride alone. Okay then. Shakey opened the passenger door of his truck and motioned for them to climb in. As they all got situated and buckled in, Shakey started up the vehicle and the old truck roared to life and idled loudly with a low rumble that vibrated the entire cab. Noah, seated between his mother and Shakey Lee, smiled wide. What kind of truck is this? he asked. 1967 Chevy short bed, Shakey replied, not missing the

smile on the boys face. There was just something about loud, bellowing machinery that appealed to men no matter their age. Noah nodded as Shakey backed down the driveway. Its badass, he commented. Noah! Ada squealed and slapped her sons arm. Shakey laughed heartily and Ada joined in. Maybe the old man wasnt such an odd bird after all. He had a nice laugh. That it is, Shakey replied and pulled into the street, dropped the gearshift into drive. Hope you dont mind but I need to swing by Phase Two and lock the gate. Noah and his mother shared a bewildered look but it was the boy who spoke up. Whats phase two? I see you havent been for a stroll around the rest of the development yet. No, Ada explained, weve been pretty jammed up with unpacking. The old man nodded and scratched his chin beneath the long flow of his white beard. Well, there are more buildings that were to be renovated as homes. And the old manor house was supposed to be made into a common building with an office. The construction company finished phase one and barely got started on phase two before the investment money dried up. They did manage to put up fencing

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 83 around it, though and I forgot to lock the gate. As they rounded the far end of the development, they saw another seven or eight buildings on a low patch of land that was close to the water. On a nearby rise, sat an old, Victorian style home that looked to be in fairly good shape. The other buildings by the water were low, brown structures with marred wooden siding and missing shingles and peeling paint that were hideous to behold compared to the renovated buildings that had become the homes of phase one. The land enclosed behind the tall, weathered chain-link fencing still bore the grassless ruts from backhoes and other vehicles that had once moved around on it. There was a patch of gravel that led off the street up to a wide gate in the fencing that was ajar. Shakey braked to a stop in front of the gate and jumped out. He seems nice, Noah said to his mother as they watched the old man click the padlock closed on the chains around the gate poles. She nodded but before she could reply, Shakey Lee was back behind the wheel and a moment later, the old 67 was motoring down the winding state route toward the town of Whitetail. They rode for a while in silence, the asphalt ribbon of road uncurling itself before them. So, have you lived in at Cedar Banks long? Ada asked,

deciding to try and make conversation. It was a long ride into Whitetail. Longer than you might imagine. I was there in the 1960s. Why? Noah piped in. Well, you know it used to be a WPA workers camp, right? They nodded. After the WPA was shut down in 43, the whole place was abandoned for a good long while. Then in the early 1960s, the Park Service decided it would make sense to use it as housing for park rangers as well as a place to provide training. Thats where I came in. You were a park ranger? Noah asked. Shakey nodded. From 1965 until 1974. Worked all the National Forests here in the Commonwealth. Also worked for a bit in Shenandoah and then got involved in working the National Battlefield Parks. Is that how you became a re-enactor? Ada inquired. Nope. I was raised up in the foothills around Crozet. Near Charlottesville. Lots of history, you know. Thomas Jefferson and all that. So I always had a passion for old things and old ways. Wow, Noah said. So youve been around for a long time. Ada sighed and began to apologize for Noahs unintentional remark about his age but Shakey just grinned. Well, he calls a spade a spade, dont he? Thats right,

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 85 boy. I been around a good, long while, he said, then sighed, Longer than I care to think about some days. A few moments passed filled with a pronounced but not uncomfortable silence before Shakey leaned down and turned on the radio. Yall dont mind a little music, do you? Both Ada and her son shook their heads and after dialing through the band so filled with static, Shakey found and settled on a rock station. Sunshine of Your Love by Cream poured through the trucks speakers, filling the vehicle with smooth, acid-rock guitar fuzz. That song gave way to another classic rock hit and another and another. They were only seconds into Springsteens Highway Patrolman when the dark canopy of trees overhead disappeared and the sun shone bright upon the polished blue of the trucks hood. They were in the middle of a flatland area, the road flanked on both sides by farms whose fields were bordered by acres of three-rail fencing blazing white in the sun. In the distance, they could see buildings of red brick and dark-tiled roofs. Is that town? Noah asked. Shakey snorted a laugh. Yep. Thats Whitetail in all of its glory. Ada began rummaging through her pocketbook in search of

something, mumbling about the address where she could find the school supplies. Dont trouble yourself, Mrs. Belton. Youll be wanting the School Administration Building and I know just where that is. Oh? Hows that? Well, you see Whitetail itself dont have any primary schools. Just the high school. Kids that live in town have the choice of commuting to the schools in Altavista or being homeschooled. And Altavista is quite a hike so most of the children in town and in the areas around it are home-schooled. He looked over at Noah and gave him a reassuring nod and wink. So youre in good company. Really? Ada asked with surprise. They dont send buses into town? Nope. Youll find that folks in Whitetail like to keep to their own, he said with a slight grin. Like to keep it simple.

Noah and Shakey sat in the truck parked in front of the School Administration Building listening to music play on the radio. His mother had asked him if he would like to come in with her but Noah had declined. He much preferred the company of the odd old man than being stuck waiting in some office building filled with cubicles and smelling of stale coffee. It hadnt

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 87 been Adas preference, for she still regarded the old man as a stranger but she also didnt want to seem rude. He was, after all, the property manager and maintenance man and there might come the day when she had to rely on his good nature. Noah had cranked the passenger window down and was taking in the lay of the land as Led Zeppelin droned on about a stairway to heaven. Downtown Whitetail was situated around a town square. The buildings were old and modest in height and there seemed nothing new or modern about their design. Noah wondered at how long they had been there. The square itself was filled with grass that was no doubt green as life during the summer but was now fading with the heavy onset of autumn and the trees that surrounded it were enormous with limbs and branches that reached toward one another longingly. They were picturesque, alight with all the colors of fall from rusted red to a bright and supple gold. At each of the four corners of the town square was a statue of a man, tall and proud, though he could make out no details. In the middle was another sculpture that was greater in height, broader and more complex than all the others and centered around what looked to be an enormous cross but the turning leaves of the trees obscured it from his view. Lots of statues, Noah remarked. Indeed.

Noah had been to Richmond once and driven down the avenue where all the monuments of the Confederate generals were. From what he could tell, the ones in the town square were in no way as grand in scale as those but certainly every bit as ornate. Who are they of? Which ones? Shakey asked. Well, Noah said, considering the question, how about the four on the corners? Those are all statues of the same man. The same man? Noah asked, turning to him, then absently quipped, Must have been important. Shakey smiled and nodded. Colonel William Fallkirk of the Confederate States Army, Shakey explained. One of Whitetails own. Each statue is a monument to a different side of his personality. Hes depicted as an educator, a father, and a poet. All of which he was before he became a colonel. Which ones the Colonel? Shakey leaned over and pointed. The farthest one there. Its hard to see. Noah grunted a recognition as he leaned toward the windshield and squinted. The Colonels statue faces north, you see. Always keeping a lookout for the northern aggressor.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 89 Noah turned his gaze to the old man again, his mouth screwed into a mixture of doubt and confusion. Northern aggressor? But I thought the North came down here to free the slaves. At least thats what we learned in history class. Shakey nodded. They did indeed. And rightfully so. But there were other reasons, too. Other reasons? Shakey nodded. Historys a bit more complex, Im afraid. Noah considered this and was curious but nodded, satisfied for the moment, as his gaze searched over the square. What about the one in the middle? Ah, Shakey sighed and grinned, sat back against the seat. Thats Lizzie Amburg. But being from Eastlake, I dont suppose you know about her. Noah was about to confess that he knew nothing about this woman or had even heard her name in history class when his mother came barreling out of the doors of the School Administration Building, her arms full of books and a gray backpack slung over her shoulder next to her pocketbook. With the grin on her face, she looked as if she had just robbed the place. She bumped against the passenger door and Noah threw it open wide, scooting over to give her and her treasure trove of

textbooks a place to rest. Oh, Noah, we got the kings ransom here, she squealed as she climbed into the truck. And I cant wait until you see these activity books! They are so cool. Beats your old school books by a mile. She used the word cool in a way that was utterly unfamiliar and gratuitous and so uncool that it made Noah wince. Ada piled herself and the imposing stack of textbooks into the truck, giving a few to Noah to hold, Shakey Lee pulled away from the street. The old Chevy roared to life and very soon they were all watching as Whitetail disappeared behind them in the mirror.

10 Saturday morning found Noah parked in front of the television watching cartoons. For whatever reason, the reception was poor and Noah had to get up several times to adjust the rabbit ears attached to the television. It had been a constant battle ever since they moved out here. Sometimes he even had to go to the kitchen and fetch some aluminum foil to wrap around the elongated antennae to improve the reception but even that seemed like a futile prospect today. He had just gotten the rabbit ears adjusted to a good position and was no more than ten minutes or so into the new X-

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 91 Men cartoon when the picture on the screen started rolling and fuzzing up, accompanied by bursts of static that punched through the speaker. Noah jumped up and began molesting the antennae once again, though there was little improvement this time. Frustrated, he gave the faux wooden side of the television a good slap just as the front door opened and his father appeared in the doorway. That your TV? Noahs eyes dropped to the floor. No, sir. So you didnt pay for it or anything? Noah shook his head. His father bent down and began removing his boots, the door still open behind him and the frigid air seeping into the house. Well, then you ought not go clobbering it whenever you cant get the picture right. Noah nodded and his father seemed satisfied with this. As Hugh stood, he turned to close the door and glanced outside into the wide, gray sky. Its too cloudy today. Thats why the signal aint coming through good. Noahs shoulders slumped as he released the rabbit ears. Why dont you come and help me this morning? We got us a little project.

Noah switched off the television. What kind of project? the boy asked. Come on in here with me and Ill tell you. Hugh opened the broom closet in the living room and pulled out the broom and dustpan and handed them to Noah, who took them and dutifully followed his father down the hallway. Of the three bedrooms in the house, they had made use of only two. The third had been cluttered with boxes of files and stacks of old mail and bills that had migrated from the old place. But his mother had sorted through the mess, bagging up most of it for trash and stowing the remainder on the floor of the linen closet in the hallway. The third room was next to the master bedroom and down the hall, cater-corner to Noahs room. It was windowless and dingy seeming, lit by a solitary, naked bulb at the center of the ceiling that Noahs father flicked on with the wall switch. The empty room is the project? Hugh nodded, surveying the tiny room and thoughtfully stroking the stubble on his chin. What are we going to do with it? Noah asked. Were going to turn this into a little sanctuary. Noah cocked his head, wrinkled his brow in confusion. Aint that what we go to church for, Dad? It is, Hugh said, but grimaced. Except our Sundays at

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 93 the Evenstar church are over for now, Im afraid. How come? Too far to drive every week. Too much money in gas. Noah found it difficult to contain his excitement at this new development and did his best to feign disappointment. His father seemed to notice and smiled approvingly. Dont mean we cant keep to worship in our own way, though, does it? The boy nodded his understanding. In truth, while Noah welcomed the news that they would not be returning to the Church of the Evenstar with its strange flock all too eager to lay hands on one another and its sermons of hellfire and damnation, he also found the idea of his father leading Sunday worship more than a little disturbing. Not because there was anything wrong with honoring the Lord in the privacy of their own home but because he was not entirely comfortable with the way in which his father would demand they worship; this man who often shouted Bible verse at his mother as justification for beating the tar out of her. Faith in God the Father, Noah had. In his father, not so much. Now go on and sweep up in there, Hugh instructed his son. Sweep the corners and the edges of any cobwebs. I want this worship room immaculate. Understand? Yes, sir.

With that, his father walked away and into the kitchen to speak with his mother who was busy washing dishes, leaving Noah to go about his work. He started in the nearest corner of the room, using the broom to brush down the edges and along the wainscoting all the way down to the floor, sweeping that up into the dustpan as he went. There was only a little dirt and a few cobwebs to be found. After all, it had been recently thoroughly cleaned to sell. As he came to the far corner of the wall that was adjacent to the bathroom on the other side, he stopped and stared curiously at a crack in the wainscoting. Kneeling down, he found the crack extended beyond the ornamental trim and down the wall and through the baseboard about three feet from the corner. He found it especially odd because the crack seemed to be more or less straight up and down. Dad? he called out. After a moment, he heard his fathers footfalls come down the hallway to the door and he turned. You seen this crack in the wall? Hugh stepped into the room and knelt beside his son to have a closer look. He hadnt seen it before. How could he have missed it in the walkthrough? Lights must have been off in here when we looked over the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 95 house, he said, remembering the way that the realtor, Tom Marley, had rushed them through. This aint gonna be cheap to fix, Hugh muttered and clucked his tongue in his mouth. Hugh was running his hand along the crack when he felt the wall give just a little. What in tarnation? He pushed harder against the wall below the wainscoting and both he and Noah watched as the entire section swung inward on old hinges, revealing a dark space beyond. Wow, Noah breathed in amazement. A secret passage. Hugh fixed his son with a look of disdain. Boy, you been watching too many of those Scrooby-Doobey cartoons. Its Scooby-Doo, Dad, Noah offered absently, then lowered his eyes at his correction of his father. Hugh ducked his head and peered inside but could see nothing at all. Noah, go and fetch the flashlight from the kitchen and lets have a look. His curiosity piqued, Noah was up and back from the kitchen in a flash, the silver casing of the flashlight clutched in his hand. He knelt and handed it to his father. Hugh took the flashlight and clicked it on. Both he and Noah leaned lower and

peered inside as he shined the light into the darkened space. The flashlight illuminated a narrow space not much longer than a man and about three feet high. Its confines were lined with thin and roughly hewn metal that seemed stained dark with age and whatever had been kept there. Being outside of the heated area of the house, the chamber was cold with the chill of the outside and as they breathed in, both father and son smelled the strange blend of old, charred wood and something sickly sweet that neither could name. What is it, Dad? Noah piped up, hearing his voice echo, tinny against the metal walls. His father flicked the light around a little more and then drew back into the room, the overhead light invading his widened pupils and sighed. My guess is that its an old coal storage bin. Coal? Noah asked, looking back through the walls in the direction of the living room and the brick fireplace there. Seems pretty far away, though. Wouldnt have been coal for the fireplace, son, Hugh explained. It would have been for a stove of some kind. Back in the old days of the depression, they used coal. Sometimes to heat the house but also to cook. Noah watched his father turn thoughts over in his mind. Could be there used to be stove in here.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 97 Noah nodded, taking in the insight of his father who every now and then shared knowledge that a normal father should. How are you gonna fix it? he asked. Well, Hugh began, pushing on the hidden doorway and examining the friction catch that held it in place, I dont reckon I will. No? Might put some weather stripping around the door here to help keep the draft out and a lock to keep it closed, he said, stroking his chin in thought. But its a handy spot to keep things. A handy spot, indeed. Noah watched his father as he considered it, his fingers scraping audibly against the rough stubble of his jaw now more than three days old and there was a twinkle in his eye that the boy did not care for at all. There was a moment of pronounced and dire silence that Noah sought to break. Hey, Dad, if this is the sanctuary, where will we sit for church? Hugh smiled wide. Lucky for us sinners, your old Dad thought of everything, he said and stood, taking in the surroundings of the barren room as if it were a place of indescribable beauty. I prayed about

the same thing, Noah. And the Lord has provided.

It was just after two oclock in the afternoon when they finished filling the worship room with the contents of Hughs pick-up truck. Once the room was meticulously arranged according to his father, Noah counted four weathered, wooden benches made of salt-treated wood that looked as if they had once been someones backyard furniture. A long wooden work bench, splattered with paint and stains and chewed with dents and gouges, became the altar and was vastly improved upon by an old dark red table cloth that Ada produced at the last minute. As weird and nauseating as Noah had found all of this, the coup de grace was the enormous cross that all three of them had been barely able to drag into the house. Utterly unstable, tenuously balanced upright by wooden shims placed beneath its base, the cross was a thing that both Noah and Ada regarded as grotesque, though they spoke not a word. It had been pieced together like a quilt, formed from pieces of discarded scrap metal large and small. Hugh explained that he had called upon the Christian charity of a co-worker at Kemp to weld the scraps into a solid form. It was huge and heavy and the dark metal bits were crimson with rust here and there but especially around the edges that were rough and serrated from the cutting torch.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 99 Upon seeing this great work of his making, Hugh Belton grinned wide and placed an arm around his wife and son. At Hughs direction, they bowed their heads in silent prayer that God would see fit to anoint this place with His blessing and when the last Amen had been uttered, Noah was given permission to go racing outside to play for the remainder of the afternoon.

***

The day was gray and cold, the sun hidden behind thick clouds as it was wont to do in the days of mid-November when autumn began its downward spiral into winter. The few remaining leaves, brittle and brown and robbed of their color, rained down constantly with the chill wind from the towering trees. They came to rest most often on the dry floor of the forest and other times they landed silently on the surface of the lake water where Noahs gaze drifted as absent as the leaves in their falling. Still shaking off the peculiarity of the new worship room, Noah found his thoughts turning to his friend, Tommy. It had been only a couple of weeks since he had left Cadys Run but without Tommy at his side for a bit of play and banter, Noahs very existence seemed lacking. He sat on the pier that stretched out onto the lake and

tried to imagine the surrounding woods being full of Morgosians. And not the normal, bloodthirsty sort but Morgosian berserkers. Vile, animalistic creatures against whom there was almost no defense. Together, he and Commander Black might be able to give the horde one hell of a fight but Captain Red stood not a chance alone. Unless, he thought, gripping the stick-as-weapon in his hand, a man of quality could stand alone and turn the tide. But, no without Tommy, Noahs imaginings fell flat and it was not long before he gave up on them entirely, cast his weapon into the water and meandered into the woods surrounding Cedar Banks. Careful not to let his tendency for exploration get the better of him, he stuck close to the shore, always keeping the lake in sight. In a shaded cove, he found a magnificent old tree that had fallen. Half of its height was hidden below the water where it lay but the other half including the base still clumped with dirt and roots like tentacles spanned a good twenty feet from the shore into the water. Noah hopped onto it, testing his balance as he did so. Satisfied with his dexterity, he walked the length of the tree over the water to its lowest point and then sat down, his legs straddling the girth and the toes of his shoes barely teasing the water below as he swung them idly. He looked down into the dark water and caught flashes of fish

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 101 beneath the surface. Noah fished around in his jacket pocket for a stone to toss across the water. He was always spotting small rocks which interested him and whenever he did, he would pick them up and drop them into his jacket or pants pocket where they would inevitably come out in the wash. After thoroughly inspecting his jacket pockets and finding nothing, he leaned over and shoved his hand down into the pocket of his jeans. There he found a handful of small pebbles. He moved them into his jacket pocket for easier access but palmed one of the smaller rocks and, with one eye closed and his tongue held between his teeth and poking just out of his mouth, Noah drew back for a throw. As the whooshing sound of his nylon jacket heralded his throw and the tiny pebble went arcing out over the water, he heard a sound which surprised and unbalanced him. Though it was unclear, it was a high-toned sound that lilted with the familiar ring of one person calling another. Like when his mother would stand at the back door and holler for him to come home for supper. Noah pitched forward and the muddy water of the cove rushed up to meet him but before the tipping point, he locked his left arm around the fallen tree and flattened out, swinging his right leg over and to the back to counterbalance him. Now suspended over the chill water in this awkward position, he felt his heart

racing in his chest. After a few seconds, he calmed himself and pivoted on the tree to face the shore. He saw nothing but the unmistakable sound of a human voice was what he had heard. Scooting along the tree toward the shore, he considered that the reason it reminded him of his mother calling for him to come home was that it probably was his mother calling for him to come home. As he got closer to the shore, he stood and carefully walked the rest of the tree, then jumped off and onto the solid earth of the forest. Weeeee, the sound came again. Noah pricked up his ears and scanned the woods. The sound was not the wind. He was certain of that but there wasnt another soul around. Weeeee He could hear it again, but just barely. The more he considered what it could be, turning it over in his mind, the farther and fainter it sounded. So he decided to try something different. He closed his eyes and focused only on listening. At first there was only the gentle rush of the breeze, the groan of the trees swaying, the rattle and skip of leaves. Weeee Will? Where are- The moment Noah opened his eyes and began searching for the source of the words, they faded and were gone. It was strange

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 103 and unnerved him a bit but his curiosity drove him further. He walked deeper into the wood, not fully expecting to see anyone but thinking that perhaps his imagination was getting the better of him. He pressed his back against a tree and found that he felt less vulnerable. He closed his eyes again and listened. Come on, Will. Where are you? the words came again, clear as a bell this time. The voice was definitely that of a child. Noah continued to listen, though there was only silence for a moment. He was about to open his eyes when he heard the voice again. Its inflection was taunting as it recited a rhyme that Noah had never heard before, making a tune of it that was cold and haunting, like a mountain air played by a single fiddle. The low, mournful sound of a funeral dirge. Wee Will Winkie runs through the town, upstairs and down in his burial gown, Scratching at the window, moaning at the lock, Where are the children? Its nigh on twelve oclock! The song was familiar but not, like a dissonant, twisted version of The Itsy Bitsy Spider. Noah found it unusually grim for a nursery rhyme and hearing it in the childs sing-song voice sent a chill through him. Another long moment of silence followed before the voice sounded again.

There you are! Startled, Noahs eyes opened wide reflexively and as the landscape came into focus, he saw the two mops of golden hair go rushing through the forest, though he heard no sound of footfalls. He considered chasing them but then he had been down that road before. Who knows where he might end up and with no sign of his quarry to show for it. No, he need not give chase, for he was sure that the one who called for the other had just given him a clue. Something that Noah could use to find out more about the boys and who they were or as the case seemed to be who they had been in life. Will, the one had called the other and then teased him with the rhyme. Short for William, Willie, Wilbur, maybe even Wilhelm. It wasnt a lot to go on but it was a place to start.

11 Sunday morning, the Belton family gathered in the worship room and Hugh led them in prayer and a reading from the Book of Numbers. Afterwards, they sat down to a lunch of bologna and cheese sandwiches, potato chips and soda. Ada mentioned that the cupboard was getting a little bare since they had gone through most of the food theyd brought with them a few weeks back. She also used this opportunity to broach the subject of Thanksgiving which was just around the corner. Hugh decided there was

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 105 probably enough money in the budget to allow for a modest turkey and some of the usual fixings. He also told them that his boss, Henry Kemp, had asked him to start going on some of the weekly deliveries and pick-ups of materials. It would mean overnight stays once a week, maybe more, and the first one would be tomorrow. They decided that would work out just fine since Ada could take the truck and drop Hugh off at work, then use it to go into Whitetail for groceries. It seemed an arrangement that would work out well for all of them. Noah was initially pleased as punch at the idea of his father being gone a night or two every week but his enthusiasm was darkened somewhat by his memory from a few nights ago of the stinking man in the hallway. Since that night, Noah had considered what he saw and while his rational mind attempted to explain it away as a hallucination brought on by the fear and dread that surrounded the beating of his mother, he was also sure it had been absolutely real. Every bit as real as those boys in the woods. Beyond what he had learned in church, Noah had never thought much about ghosts or spirits or what happens after the body gives up the soul to death. But he could not deny the truth of what he had seen and heard in the forest and so if one strange thing could be, then why not another? As he cleaned up the dishes from lunch, he asked his mother if he could go with

her into town and visit the Whitetail Public Library while she was shopping. There, he thought to himself, he might be able to find out something about any young boys who might have gone missing in the woods around the lake. He also did not welcome the idea of being left alone in the house. No matter if it was day or night. Ada was happy to oblige and told him that she would drop him there on the way to the Harris Teeter. For the rest of that Sunday afternoon, Ada busied herself with dusting and straightening the house, doing wash for the coming week and cleaning the bathrooms while Noah played action figures in his room. He considered going out to play in the woods but the memory of the boys and their disembodied voices and laughter were still fresh in his mind and he was not yet ready to be out again in the lonely woods of Cedar Banks.

12 Monday morning, after they returned from dropping off his father at Kemp Family Metalworks, Noah and his mother covered geometry and history, completing no less than fourteen pages of his respective workbooks. The geometry, with all of its formulae and math, he could take or leave. He wasnt particular good at it and never had been. But his studies of the first settlers in the New World, of things like the Magna Carta and East Indian Trading Company fascinated him. In earlier grades, he had always

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 107 learned that these folk, led by the Italian explorer, Christopher Columbus were brave and enterprising men but the new textbook explained that many were anything but. So many had been criminals, released from prison and the punishment of their crimes to go on an errand for the Spanish queen; a thing which was almost certainly a death sentence in itself. Certainly there had been bravery among some of the men but Noah now saw the noble motivations of exploration as muddied by cowardice and self-interest. It was so very long ago, though, and the boy wondered how anyone could claim to understand their motives for undertaking an arduous journey with such grim prospects. He found himself identifying with them in some ways, these men who had left behind all that was familiar not because it had been their preference but because they had no choice. Like his coming to this place, to this house, it had been a voyage into fear, the only true and always undiscovered country. After gulping down the last of the bologna and bread, Ada and Noah climbed into the truck to head into town. As they left Cedar Banks, they saw Shakey raking dead leaves into piles too numerous to count all throughout the neighborhood and they waved as they passed by. Then there was only the throaty growl of the old Ford as it cruised the winding roads into town. The twang of country music sang through the decrepit speakers and his mother hummed along where she knew the tune. The man on the radio who

gave the weather report said something about snow coming for Thanksgiving and Noah believed it. The sky was vastly gray with a thick blanket of clouds and the air smelled wet but was dry as an old bone. Snow would be nice, the boy thought as he watched the land rush by his window. Thatd be something.

***

After his mother dropped him off in front of the James P. Blacker Public Library and watched him enter the glass doors, Noah went straight in and took his place in the short line for the counter to speak with a librarian. Three women in ages ranging from old to positively ancient stood behind the counter to tend to the needs of the patrons. When his time came, he found himself standing before the youngest of the three, a kindly looking woman whose nametag read Wynona. How can I help you, young man? she asked, brandishing a disarming smile that Noah imagined would seem just as warm and welcoming in a diner over a pie case as it did over the library counter. Yes, maam, I want to find something that maybe was in old local newspapers, but, he glanced around the unfamiliar space of the library, I dont exactly know where to start.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 109 First time here? she inquired, her eyes widening and wrinkled brow raising in sympathy. Yes, maam, he offered sheepishly. She smiled and gave him a wink, then came around the counter. Come with me, she said waving him on to follow her. They wound through a wide aisle with shelves and shelves of books from floor to ceiling as far as the walls would allow. What are you looking for exactly? she asked, glancing back at him. Im interested in old articles about missing children. Local kids, he replied. She looked back again and slowed to let him catch up to her, furrowing her brow. Sounds right morbid for such a young fella like yourself. Um, he began, searching for the words and then finding the fib easily, its for a school project. Local history and all. Well, history can be morbid at times, she nodded. They turned a corner and down another wide aisle toward a table with large, white-shelled computer monitors and keyboards at the end. This is our fancy new index system, she proclaimed, pulling out a chair for him at one of the terminals and

motioning with her hand like a game show host revealing something fantastic. The Bedford Public Library had something similar and had gotten it a couple years ago but Noah declined to mention it. He sat down at the terminal and viewed the blue-framed screen with white text. Here you can search using words that pertain to whatever youre looking for, she explained. So for example, if you want to know about apples in Rockbridge County then you just type in those words. But if you want to know about apples in Fiji, then you type in those words. She leaned over him and demonstrated using the mouse and the keyboard to bring up resulting topics like the Rockbridge Apple Festival. Noah sat and watched patiently even though he was well acquainted with the technology thanks to the library in Bedford. He was also pretty sure that a Fuji apple was the term she meant but he declined to mention it. Itll show everything in the system about what you type in. But since youre looking for old newspaper articles, itll most likely be on microfiche. You know how to use the microfiche? she asked and fixed him with an inquisitive stare. I sure do. Good, she said, her shoulders dropping with relief, Cause Im all thumbs when it comes to those machines. You need

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 111 anything else? Noah shook his head and said his thanks and she waddled off toward the help desk. The truth was that while he was skilled with the computerized indexing system, he was less so with the microfiche. But hed had a lesson or two on it in Bedford so he hoped he would be able to figure it out. After his first few searches of missing kids turned up nothing that seemed relative, he reminded himself that kids was a slang term and not likely to appear in a newspaper. He changed the search to focus on missing children with the added term of Rockbridge and, though the results were slightly better, he found nothing that related to a newspaper article. Then he added Ashwood Lake to the search. Three results popped up, all of them newspaper articles. Noah proceeded to deal with the most unhelpful Brenda, who was in charge of the disbursement of the microfiche records, all the while glancing warily at the clock on the wall. His mother would be back for him soon and he would hate to have come this close only to leave without any results for his research. At long last, Brenda was able to offer two reels of microfiche that applied to the results of his search, though the third resided with the state library in Richmond. Clumsily but effectively, he loaded the first reel into the

viewer and searched until he found it. It was an article from a now defunct regional paper, The Ashwood Observer, that was dated July 7th, 1942. The piece was about a family of five who had gone boating out on the lake just before a massive thunderstorm set down upon the region. The reporter indicated that while it was an ill-advised time to be playing on the lake, the family had been vacationers from Ohio and not at all familiar with the lake or the impact of local weather patterns. However, Noah realized, the entire family had been lost and none of their names were at all similar to the name Will or William. With time being his enemy, Noah removed the reel and cast it aside. He hurriedly loaded the other one only to realize once it was in the viewer that he had loaded it upside down. He reloaded it, taking care this time to do it right, and once the film was in the viewer he scrolled through the pages of The Whitetail Sentinel until he came upon an article though it was barely a mention from August of 1973.

A Local Mothers Plea for Information Rosemary Carney, who grew up chopping tobacco on her family farm in the once-fertile fields of Kellehers Flats, calls upon our community for information about her missing sons. The oldest, named Albemarle is a fairly skilled woodsman for his young age, though his brother, Willie, is

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 113 as Ms. Carney herself put it - just a babe in the woods. The children were last seen Friday in the area of Westlake, near Cedar Banks. They disappeared while in the care of Ms. Carneys former husband. While we all certainly hope for the best, it is the consensus of law enforcement and forestry officials that with every passing day, the likelihood of the boys survival lessens. It is easy enough to imagine a scenario that might have already claimed the lives of the children. For instance, the younger of the pair might have fallen into desperate circumstances on the lake, been in danger of drowning and his older brother may have endeavored to save him but was overcome by the sudden, torrential storm that descended on the area late that afternoon. Such scenarios are too numerous to name. All parents would do well to keep a close eye on their children as they enjoy our woodlands. Despite their quiet beauty, the woods are often fraught with danger. If you have seen or heard from either of these young lads, please contact the Sentinel at my attention or the Whitetail Sheriffs Department immediately. Arthur Boone

Noah stared at the illuminated screen before him and wondered how it was that two boys, one of whom was quite at home in the forest simply vanished. Wouldnt the older boy have insisted they hunker down and wait out the weather? Storms dont last forever, after all. Unless theyd become lost, of course. Or there was an accident. Or something else happened, something that occurred at the hands of the ex-husband, their father. He imagined their bodies lying in some remote ravine where their father had deposited them after murdering them. There they would have lain, dead things picked at by passing animals, baking in the heat, soaking in the rains and finally covered by the coming snows of winter. It chilled him that a father could do such a thing to his own flesh and blood but then just look at Noahs own father. How many times might his father have killed him during one of his fits of rage if his mother had not been there to intervene? Horrible and unthinkable, yes, but certainly possible. Find anything interesting? Surprised to hear the sound of his mothers voice, Noah turns to see her standing there, arms folded, next to the librarian, Wynona. Sorry, Mumma, Noah said, his shoulders dropping as he fixed her with a long-practiced look of apology meant to solicit her immediate forgiveness.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 115 You were supposed to wait for me out front, Noah, she reminded him. I know, I know, he said, switching the viewer off and hopping out of the chair. As he did so, he glanced at the roll of film still loaded into the machine and the first roll laying discarded next to it. Dont you worry, hon, I will take care of that, Wynona offered with a smile. Thanks, he nodded to her as he pushed in the chair and walked through the library beside his mother. They stepped out of the bright, artificial lights of the Whitetail library into the overpowering gray of the sky above. Well, I see you didnt check out any books. Probably need to become a member, he replied. Right, she said, Well, maybe next time. Okay. So, did you read anything interesting while you were there? Maybe. Adas mouth twisted into a sour expression. She had entreated him to elaborate but was declined by his silence. As Noah climbed into the truck, he saw that a dozen or so tall paper bags filled with groceries were standing upright in the bed. They motored through the quiet streets of Whitetail and

then onto the roads beyond, the thin, brown bags flapping against each other in the breeze to form an audible and rhythmic tattoo. Ada talked of the Harris Teeter and how nice it was, of the things she bought and the good deal she had gotten on the Thanksgiving turkey. Noah nodded and smiled, only halflistening, for his thoughts dwelled on two fair-haired boys long since consigned to the depths of Ashwood Lake but who, after all these years, still roamed its shores ever at play.

***

When they returned home, they brought the groceries into the house and Ada cooked them the first hot, fresh meal theyd eaten since they had come to Cedar Banks. Chicken and dumplings as only she could make them. It had been her mothers recipe, passed down to her after years of helping in the kitchen, though Ada had always known that her mother bless her heart couldnt make a dumpling right to save her life. The few times it had come together right, it had been a mistake. A little too much of this or that, a little too long or too short in the pot. But Ada had perfected it and making it always filled her with not only a sense of comfort and satisfaction. After finishing the dishes, she changed into her nightgown and waddled over to the couch and put her feet up, fat and happy. Hugh wouldnt be

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 117 home tonight and she couldnt imagine a better way to treat herself than lazily holding down the couch and watching trashy prime time melodramas. After he had helped with the clean-up and been excused, Noah had gone to his room and set about writing a letter to Tommy. The other day, Noah had heard his mother ask his father when they were going to get a phone hooked up and Hugh had replied flatly that it wouldnt be any time soon. And what was the need for one anyhow? His father had no friends to speak of and no one to contact outside of work, so for Hugh no telephone meant one less bill. In the letter, Noah briefly detailed for Tommy the lonely and boring nature of the new place but also made a point to tell him that he had again seen the Von Trapp twins, as Tommy had named them. He begged Tommy to ask his father to look into it. What Noah did not do was directly address that there was almost no possibility that these boys who he had first seen weeks ago could now be thought to be alive and so the implications of having seen them again were there for Tommy to consider on his own. But Noah would be damned if he would mention it. Nor did he include any account of the stinking man that Noah had seen outside of his room. Talk of phantom children and filthy ghosts would only make Tommy wonder if he had flipped his lid. Sure, he would likely have to address these things at some point with his

friend, but that time was not now. After he closed the letter and addressed it, sealed it in an envelope and laid it on his dresser, he slid under the bed covers and lay there listening to the fuzzy, muted sounds of the TV in the living room and the warm sound of his mothers laughter. It was a sound that he wished to hear more often, but not one that was often coaxed into being with his father around. He wondered if his father had always been that way. He wondered if he had been different when he and Ada had first met. He must have been, Noah reasoned. Otherwise, why would she ever have chosen to marry such a miserable ogre as he? After a few moments of such contemplation, Noah settled into a gentle slumber and dreamed of battle and valor and endless streams of Morgosians pouring down the side of Cross Mountain toward him.

13 Reclined in awkward repose on the couch, Adas snoring roared to a crescendo and she woke suddenly with a loud and final snort. She sat upright and massaged her eyes, heavy and crusted with sleep. The television was still on, filling the room with its pale, blue light while a man on the screen wearing a headset and a polo shirt blathered on about the must-have nature of a futuristic new cleaning product. Her mouth was dry and her belly tight and rumbly, a touch upset from the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 119 gluttonous supper theyd had. She rose and walked into the kitchen, fetched a glass from the cabinet and opened the refrigerator. She poured a glass of cold milk to help settle her stomach and stood there before the open fridge as she took the first sip. It seemed suddenly chilled in the kitchen and she wondered for a moment if the heat had gone out. Unsure of what to do if it had, the thought went quickly by the wayside for she hadnt the presence of mind to even consider it. Her thoughts were slow and murky from the deep and unexpected sleep she had settled into on the couch. Had she been dreaming? Yes. Something about the old place at Cadys Run, though she could not remember more than that. She took another sip of milk, the cold thickness of it running down her throat and into her insides, already beginning to soothe the dull ache there. She heard a footfall or maybe two and pulled the glass from her lips to turn and look but she felt Hughs tall, solid frame come up against her, resting his hands on her hips. Hey, honey, she whispered into the darkness, got home early from your run up north, I see. The only response was his deep, lingering breath that tossed about the finest of her hairs and tickled the back of her neck. She placed her right hand on his and as she did, it

meandered down her leg to the lace hem of her nightgown and pulled it upward toward her waist. The unusually tender touch of his fingers on her skin and the cotton cloth as it rose above her thigh raised gooseflesh on her skin. She began to grow warm between her thighs and she smiled, resting her head against his chest. He pressed tighter against her and through the thin fabric of her nightgown, she felt him growing stiff and ready against her backside. His hand slipped down between her legs and hers followed, lying atop his strong, bony and calloused fingers as they nestled into the thick patch of hair and began to rouse waves of pleasure that cascaded up her body. Mmmm, she groaned and inquired playfully, whats gotten into you tonight, husband? Let me tell you, you need this now, said the pitch man on the television in the next room. Oh, I do. I do, she thought. When was the last time he had touched her in this way, if ever? In the beginning, there had been some meager amount of passion but as the years of their marriage had worn on, their couplings had become uninspired and cold, mechanical and predictable. Nothing like this. He came at her tonight with a longing and a need that was palpable. Her loins began to tremble with a mounting sensation that had been long absent.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 121 Behind her, the pace of his breaths quickened in her ear and she pressed back against him even as a waft of something unpleasant drifted into her nose. Whatve they had you doing up there, Hugh? she teased. You smell like the grave. A mischievous and guttural chuckle was his only reply as their conjoined fingers played inside of her. It was all so unlike him; the urgency of his touch, the willingness to let her fingers accompany and guide his own. Strange, yes, but an opportunity she would not waste. She tipped her drinking glass back to finish it, meaning to turn and kiss him and then draw him down the hallway and into the bedroom to see what other surprises he might have in store. But as she gulped the last of it, there was the faint buzzing sound of a single housefly that landed on her finger and as the cool liquid met with her tongue, it was suddenly bitter and sour and unwelcome. Instinctively, her head lurched forward and she spat the rancid milk out onto the floor. She heard another low snigger from behind her as she summoned the balance of saliva in her mouth and spat onto the floor again. The stench of it, coupled with Hughs body odor was bad enough but just then she detected another aroma she hadnt noticed before; the sweet but acrid smell of tobacco. She

wondered again what had gotten into her husband during his trip that he had even taken up smoking. Damn, Hugh, aint nothing funny about that. I just bought this milk! she exclaimed and slammed the glass down onto the nearby countertop. Now fully awake and lucid, she became aware of two things. The first was that she had just cursed in his presence - a thing that was not looked kindly upon - and the second was the puddle of regurgitated milk on the floor, spatters of it gleaming on the surface of the lower cabinets in the cold light of the open refrigerator. A mess the likes of which would surely bring swift and brutal retribution down upon her. Ada winced in anticipation of the coming blow and grabbed a dish towel from the countertop and began swiping at the milk on the floor. Squatting there on the floor, she sopped and wiped and heard not a word from her tyrant husband. His silence was a thing that should have reassured her but it did not. She turned her head to see what sort of condemning expression he wore on his face but instead found nothing. No one at all. Had she been dreaming? Was she still? Ada looked back down to the floor at the mess she had been cleaning and found the remaining puddle and the entire kitchen floor speckled with black things that buzzed and moved

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 123 twitchingly. Flies. So many of them. Glancing up, she saw they covered the cabinets as well. Indeed, there didnt seem to be a flat space which was not crawling with the pests and she yelped, fighting back an urge to vomit again. She stood quickly and drew back and turned to look behind her again, searching for someone there, something to make sense of this strangeness but there was no one, there was nothing. When she glanced down again at the floor and the cabinets, the flies were gone and their buzzing had been replaced by the gentle hum of the refrigerators compressor cycling on. Ada stood absolutely still and her eyes scanned the kitchen, illuminated by bright flashes from the television but apart from the mess on the floor, nothing seemed amiss or out of place and it was apparent that she was alone. Except that she didnt feel alone. There was a lurking sensation that pricked up the hairs on the back of her neck and made her feel ill at ease. Like being watched. Peering out of the kitchen window at the driveway, the floodlights illuminated only the stippled and shadowed surface of the gravel and Hughs truck that she had driven into town earlier. She tiptoed throughout the house checking the doors and found them locked just as she had left them. Further exploration revealed her son sleeping peacefully and alone and the queen mattress in the master bedroom empty and undisturbed by anyone.

Her husbands boots were not standing by the front entrance and the coat rack was empty. Perhaps it had been a waking dream. Perhaps she had imagined it all. Dutifully, she returned to the kitchen to deal in earnest with the spilled milk and flicked on the overhead light. As she squatted to finish cleaning up, she felt a twinge of pain as a few of the hairs between her legs were pulled from her thighs where they had become stuck against the dried layer of wetness that had been there. That had certainly been real, she realized, though it was not a comfort to her. She wondered if she hadnt simply just been sleepwalking. A deep, abiding sleep filled with a sexual dream which she had unknowingly acted out. Merely an unusual but not unheard of somnambulistic anomaly. The other possibility was, of course, that she was becoming utterly unhinged. On her hands and knees in the solitude of the kitchen, Ada finished cleaning up. All the while she desperately reasoned with herself that it was best to dismiss the experience as a trick of a groggy and fatigued mind. That might have been enough if not for the lingering stench of an odorous man unseen and a thinning cloud of blue tobacco smoke that still hung languidly in the air and tickled her nose.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 125 Flicking off the kitchen light and then the television, she checked on Noah once more and then padded down the hallway to her bedroom. The alarm clock by the bed indicated it was just after three in the morning when she crawled beneath the covers, though she kept bedside table lamp on. For the rest of that night, Ada lay in bed but she did not sleep.

***

Hugh returned from his run up north in a particularly foul disposition. As the truck that had brought him backed out of the driveway, Hugh came in the front door, shaking off the late November chill as he stepped out of his work boots. He muttered a greeting under his breath and took immediately to the couch, turned on the evening news and grumbled about every story that came across the screen. Ada had actually been looking forward to his return, hoping his presence would tether her mind to normal, everyday things and the strange events of the previous night would recede into the background. When suppertime came, he complained that the London broil she had made was tough and barely edible, even though he stuffed heaping forkfuls of the meat into his mouth. She said nothing in

retort and shared a few cautionary looks with her son over their plates as they ate in silence. As they dressed for bed, she asked him if something was the matter and he offered that his foul mood was a result of the stupidity of certain people at work as well as their supplier in Pennsylvania. Because they didnt have all the materials, he would need to make another trip later in the week. Not on Thanksgiving, I hope? she inquired gingerly. I suppose not but probably right after. As she slipped beneath the covers, exhausted, Hugh sat on his side of the bed and stared wordlessly down at the floor for a few moments before declaring that it was wrong for him to be so glum and that he would make an effort to be more cheerful in the coming days before the holiday. Ada wondered at how most of the time he could be caustic and cruel and at other times so sweet and broken. He was a complicated man, her Hugh. Taking heart in this rare display of frailty from him, she welcomed him into bed with open arms and snuggled against him until she fell into a deep sleep.

14 Unfortunately, Hughs promise went unfulfilled, for when he came home the following Wednesday evening, his demeanor was even worse and the black mood stretched all the way to the morning of

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 127 Thanksgiving Day, when he rose early from bed and announced over breakfast that he had to go into the shop for half of the day. One of the big shearing machines gone and thrown a belt or a gear and Mr. Kemps got it in his head that Im his boy, I reckon, he spat between swallows of scrambled eggs. Guess that layabout welfare baby, Wally Jackson cant be bothered to come in and fix it his self. He snorted as he hastily gulped his coffee. I reckon hes at home right now, feasting on turkey and all the fixings, the sonofabitch. That sort of language was not a good start to the day but Ada endeavored to put a positive spin on it. Could be that Mr. Kemp trusts you more than him, then, she said, not even looking up from her plate. All these extra things hes getting you to do; maybe hes got a promotion and a pay raise in mind for you. She glanced up to find him glaring at her over the brim of his coffee cup and she froze, unsure of what was coming next. Yeah, he said and tipped his mug up high to drain the rest of the coffee, then slammed it down on the table. Brilliant, Ada. Ill hold my breath for that. Hugh pushed back from the table and went into the living room where he laced on his boots and buttoned his denim coat. Im off, he barked and then stepped into the cold, clear day, slamming the door behind him.

In his absence, Ada and Noah worked tirelessly to create the ideal Thanksgiving supper. She prepared and roasted the turkey in the oven and drained the pan of the drippings to make thick and hearty gravy. During this time, Noah was charged with peeling the spuds for the mashed potatoes. He did so with no small amount of protest, for he was eager to go tramping about the woods around the lake. At first, he carved the brown skin from the vegetables quickly and carelessly but he was not deft with the peeler and when his mother saw him nearly take off the tip of his thumb, she scolded him, telling him that if he lopped off a finger today, it would be lost forever because there was no doctor available to take him to. Your father needs a good Thanksgiving supper to come home to, she further explained as she mixed together creamed corn pudding. One thatll please him and lift his spirits. Noah nodded and grudgingly continued peeling the spuds. When he heard the rhythmic thwack of the wooden spoon against the plastic mixing bowl go silent, he stopped and looked up to find her fixing him with a look that belied her earnestness. And we need his spirits lifted. Understand? In his juvenile and selfish desire to return to the woods, he had forgotten that especially considering his fathers mood of late the mans slightest displeasure with the meal would

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 129 spoil the holiday for them both but would likely fall on his mother most of all. In which case, she may well end the day with welts and bruises. Yes, maam, he nodded and returned more carefully to the task at hand.

The entirety of the meal had been finished an hour or more before Hugh came rumbling into the driveway at half past four that afternoon. Ada and her son scrambled to remove the dishes keeping warm in the oven and place them onto the kitchen table. Lacking a proper table cloth, in a stroke of homemaker ingenuity that would have made Martha Stewart proud, Ada had dressed the table in a fitted bed sheet of colors evocative of the autumn season burgundy and yellow and dull green that theyd received as a Christmas gift a few years back. Where the fabric sagged, she had crawled beneath the table and pinned it together. In her estimation, it was as fine looking a decoration as anything she could have gotten from the Wal-Mart and it had cost them nothing. At the last minute, as her husband trudged up the steps toward the front door, Noah produced the pack of strike-anywhere matches from the kitchen and lit the two tall, white candles in their pewter holders. With everything set, Ada summoned Noah to stand by her side. Together, they stood by the table, their

heads held high. Hugh sauntered through the door and began the removal of his boots. He didnt even turn to look into the room but slammed something metallic down on the table by the door. Peeking over the pass-through, Ada could see it was a six-pack of beer, now reduced to three cans still strung together with plastic loops. This worried her instantly and Noah saw the sudden concern on her face. Mmm, Hugh remarked as he sunk to his bottom on the floor, kicking off a boot and tossing it haphazardly to the side. Whats for supper? Turkey and all the fixings, she replied, forcing an air of pride through her leeriness. He stood and, stepping clumsily out of his left boot, he turned and staggered toward them before catching himself on the finished edge of the pass-through. Lands sakes, Ada thought, he drove home like this? Happy Thanksgiving, honey! Ada exclaimed and then stepped aside, arms outstretched to reveal the Rockwellian feast on the table. A heaping bowl of mashed potatoes was flanked by a casserole dish full of corn pudding. In another lay a supple pile of cornbread stuffing and lingering at the edge was a bowl of cranberry sauce. It wasnt homemade as Ada would have done it

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 131 but from the can and dressed up just as Hugh preferred, the way his mother had done it. In the center of the table was a perfect, golden-brown turkey from which steam still rose and a boat of brown gravy sat beside it, the ladle steeped in its savory depths. Well! Hugh bellowed, sudden and loud. Happy Thanksgiving, indeed! He tore a can of beer from the six-pack and shuffled over to the table. Though, he began as pulled his chair, someone oughtta remind old Mr. Kemp of that fact. Ada and her son pulled their chairs and sat down with him, exchanging concerned looks that luckily escaped Hughs notice. Her husband was reaching across the table to the bowl of dressing when they instinctively clasped their hands and bowed their heads for prayer. Hugh ran his tongue over his lips to wet them and did likewise. Son, you say the blessing. Noah looked up in surprise. He had never been asked to say the blessing. Never. Me? For a moment, his father seemed not to notice the question. Hugh fingered the can of beer until it opened with a pop and

hiss and then lifted it to his lips, taking a long pull. Well, Noah, he replied, cocking his head at the boy, It is said that a little child shall lead them. Noah sat still, hands clasped, waiting for the punch line. So lead us in prayer, little child. Ada cut her eyes at her husband. He was badgering the boy to say grace because otherwise Hugh would just slur his way through it and do so to his own embarrassment. Noah spoke an awkward grace, aped as best he could manage from the nightly utterings of his father and then they began passing bowls and plates to pile them high with the side dishes. Meanwhile, taking up the task of carving the turkey as was tradition, Hugh leaned over the table and hacked and sawed at the bird as if it had personally offended him and owed him a blood debt. The portions came to their plates ragged and poorly butchered but neither Ada nor Noah uttered a word of criticism or complaint. They simply ate and made small, insignificant conversation. Maybe next year we could fry a turkey, Dad, Noah offered. His father nodded but said nothing. Tommy and his Dad fried one. Year before last. For Christmas, I think it was. They said it was awesome. The turkey leg that Hugh had been gnawing on hit the plate with an audible clank and both Noah and his mother looked up.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 133 There it is. Nate Wren and his perfect life, Hugh spat the words, his eyes downcast and staring absently at the mutilated bird at the center of the table. Despite the fact that his father had never been one to run afoul of the law, Noah knew that his father held no great affection for Mr. Wren, though he could never understand why. His being a Deputy Sheriff was the only thing that had kept Noahs father from openly displaying his contempt to the man. Perfect Nates got himself a perfect turkey. You hear that, Ada? Hugh said, his glassy eyes cutting to his right, where she sat. At this, Noah saw his mothers gaze turn from his father down to the food. She began scraping bits of stuffing onto her plate. Her face reddened and out of the side of her eye, she shot her son an odd look that was meant to keep him in check. No, I didnt mean-, the boy began but was cut off. There something wrong with the turkey your mothers done spent all day cooking? Noah trembled and wanted to answer, but found himself unable to do so. He looked across the table into the narrowed eyes of his father and managed a slow shake of his head. Hugh, hes just saying- Ada began. Shut your face, woman! Hugh screamed, leaning into the table toward her so much that it seemed he might come across it.

Sounds to me like our boy here is ashamed of where he comes from. Where I come from, Noah muttered, tilting his head back and running his eyes across the ceiling as if searching for an answer from above. He trembled still, though it was no longer with fear. Noahs paralyzing dread of his father was now outmatched by the frustration and anger he had kept inside for so long. Hot tears of rage began to well in his eyes and temperance was drowned in them. Jesus Christ, Dad! Noah found himself shouting, rising to his feet at the supper table, Tommy and his Dad are from the same shitty trailer park we lived in! They aint no more perfect than we are! There was a brief and baleful moment where all of them suddenly understood the gravity of the words exchanged between Noah and his father and in that heavy and breathless silence, their eyes met. And then there was only the violence.

In a lightning second, the supper table was overturned and Noah stumbled backward but was soon on the floor, the weight of the wooden supper table pressing against him. Warm gravy dripped down his face and he spat away a smattering of mashed potatoes that had landed in clumps on his lips. Hugh was standing when

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 135 Noah tried to push against the table to get from underneath of it but his hand slipped on a thick smear of cranberry jelly. The hysterical cries of his mother filled the room, pleading with his father not to do this thing and she threw herself between her husband and the boy beneath the table. Noah lay there flat on his back and staring up at the warring gods that were his parents, grappling with one another in a storm of growls and curses. Hugh got an arm underneath of his wife and with both hands tossed her over and beyond the upturned table where she landed hard on the kitchen floor and smacked her head against the cabinets. He grabbed hold on a leg of the table and tossed it aside, then stepped forward. The floor was a minefield of broken dishes and spilled, smeared food. The Thanksgiving turkey was the only thing still somewhat intact and had come to rest at the base of the fridge. A hope that his father would slip on something and fall entered Noahs mind but that was instantly extinguished as Hugh stepped across the room to the coatrack. He drew Black Billy from his jacket and glared at his son. Blaspheme and raise your voice to me? In my fucking house you little ungrateful, heathen cur! His eyes now red with unchained fury, his father came striding back into the kitchen and the blows began to fall

immediately. Again and again, Noahs flesh and bones seared with pain under Black Billys sting and wrath. He crossed his hands against his face, curled into a ball and hoped for an end that would not come. Somewhere behind him, his mother screamed and pleaded for mercy but his father was disinclined to show any. Thou shalt chasten thy son with the rod, Noah heard his father roaring as he raised the club high in the air and brought it down, and deliver his soul from Hell! Ceaselessly, his father throttled him, repeating the phrase over and over again as he did do. His mothers cries went unheeded and when his father did begin to slow his attack and eventually stopped altogether, it seemed more owing to fatigue than any sense of prudence or humanity. Noahs arms went limp on the floor and he stared out to see his father walking away. He heard the jingle of keys as he plucked them from the table by the door and he thought then that perhaps the punishment was at an end and that his father would climb into the truck and go tearing down the road, leaving them alone at last. He struggled to raise his head to see better but his muscles were too sore and bright, sharp pains racked his body whenever he moved a single muscle. Then his vision went quickly gray, then black and then the world disappeared entirely.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 137 When his eyes began to flutter open, the first thing he heard was his mothers voice, though it was shrill and still full of anguish. As his sight cleared, he saw his father who had Noahs right leg in one hand and was dragging him down the hallway toward the worship room. What are you doing? Ada sobbed, following them but keeping some distance between herself and her volatile husband. Please, Hugh, please stop this right now. Dont question me, Ada. This is for his own good. Then they were in the worship room. Noah could see the twisted, pock-marked metal of the cross lingering at the edge of his vision. His father let go of his leg and it dropped to the floor with a thud, sending a thousand needle pricks up Noahs leg and into his sides and abdomen. Hugh knelt by the wall, fumbling with something but Noah couldnt see what. He was too overcome with pain and the world was going gray again. He fought it, fought to hold on, then he was being dragged again. Dragged and then shoved. Not into another room but into a cold, dark space that instantly began to close in around him. Please, no, his mother whimpered in the background. He felt his fathers foot giving him one last nudge and then the square of light spilling in from the worship room was gone and he was plunged into blackness.

His father had locked him in that odd little space in the worship room. This awareness came rushing to him on waves of primal, choking fear. The secret place.

15 Ada stood by and wept into her hands as Hugh clicked the padlock closed on the crawlspace door and then stood. He brushed bits of food from his clothes and looked long at the metal cross against the far wall of the room. The mania in his eyes had begun to subside and was slowly replaced by a haunted look as he reflected on all that had just occurred. Then he strode out of the room and down the hallway. Ada turned and watched him. Whats he supposed to do in there, Hugh? Her husband paused a moment, his tall, substantial form framed by the hallway that was darkening in the gray afternoon light. He turned his head but did not look her in the eyes. Pray, Hugh croaked. Then he was off, tramping about the house. His keys rattled in his hand and she heard him pulling on his boots. From inside the crawlspace, she heard Noahs voice call out, tiny and unsteady. Dont dont leave me in here, Dad. Im sorry sorry She buried her face in her hands again and tears streamed down her cheeks.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 139 Sorry Im sorry I she heard and then nothing, only a shuffling of movement beyond. Then her son began to scream. Her eyes widened and the tears halted their falling as she stared at the crawlspace door. Noah? she called to him. Noah, are you alright? But there came no coherent reply, no words formed on trembling lips. Only screams of absolute and all-consuming terror. Without regard to her husband or what he might do, she tore out of the room and searched for something to open the lock. Hugh had the key and she had no idea how to pick a lock so she needed something to break it. Her gaze scanned the room and landed on the stone slab by the door that they placed their shoes on. She bent down and grasped it. With some effort, she lifted it and held it against her chest as she shuffled down the hallway to the worship room, the horror of her childs screams urging her on. Standing in front of the small door, she tightened her grip on the slab and then pushed outward and down. It completely missed the lock but opened a gash in the wood as it fell against it. Kneeling down, she took it up and tried again, more careful and deliberate in her movements this time. It struck the padlock and came to rest on the floor. She looked and found the lock

still intact. The slab had connected with it but had done nothing other than pull the latch away from the wood of the door. She could see the threads of screws and splinters of mangled plywood poking out. To hell with the slab, she thought. What she needed was something to pry the entire latch from the door. Snapping upright, she raced into the kitchen to search for something that would be up to the task. She pulled open drawer after drawer and considered the contents. Flimsy kitchen knives that would break at their handles, plastic spoons that would bend and snap. Nothing. Nothing at all. Then her eyes fell on the long-handled, cast iron ladle that had been her grandmothers. The one she had held on to for sentimental reasons but never used because it was so heavy and unwieldy. Snatching it from the drawer, she ran back into the worship room where the symphony of her sons screams still rang out from inside of the wall. She jammed the handle of the ladle between the arm of the latch and the wooden door and pulled down. It pulled forward and more threads of the screws edged out of the wood. She repeated this action again and again, each time meeting with modest but encouraging results. On the fifth pull, the wood cracked and the screws ripped free and the latch and padlock swung limply against the door. She pushed the door open and saw Noahs body.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 141 He writhed and hollered, hands and legs flailing against the darkness. She reached in and dragged him out into the light. Mixed with the strong smell of urine for he had been so frightened that he had soiled himself - there was a lingering odor of sulfur and she noticed a blackened twig clutched in the red and swollen fingers of his right hand, the remains of a match that had burned to the quick and seared his skin. Gazing down upon him, Ada had never seen such a look in the eyes of her son. But as soon as he saw the face of his mother, his body settled, his hands and feet relaxed and his head lolled back and to the side as consciousness gave way. Scooping him up into her arms, she fled the room and the dark, yawning chamber in the wall and skittered into her bedroom. There she shut the door behind her and sat on the bed, holding her son in her arms and looking down at him. What a mess Hugh had made of her child. As beaten and bruised as he was, though, his chest still rose and fell with breath and his eyes rolled back and forth beneath their lids. She sat there on the edge of the bed, cradling her twelve year old son just as she had when he was a babe. Maternal instinct had her rocking back and forth to soothe him just as she had when he was small and frail and no bigger than a loaf of bread. The tears came again but she did not sob. Anger was growing inside of her and she whispered to the empty room.

Oh, Noah. Noah, Im so sorry. I should have stopped this a long time ago, I know I should have. Ada wiped the sweat and grime from her boys face and ran her fingers over his scalp and the fiery red hair that crowned it. In the quiet of the house, she heard the creak of old floorboards in the hallway outside of the room and the fall of a heavy, booted foot. She looked up at the door and burned a hole through it with her eyes. You stay the hell away from us, Hugh, she seethed. You hear me, you sonofabitch? You stay the hell away from me and my son! But there came no retort or apology from the other side of the door and she was beginning to wonder what he was playing at when a familiar and revolting stench began to drift into the room. The odor of the thing from the kitchen a few nights ago. Her eyes widened as a new and separate terror closed its black fingers around her heart. She held Noah tighter to her and buried her face in his chest. There was no lock on the bedroom door. Would it come for them, that thing out in the hallway? Would it open the door and finish what Hugh had begun? Considering how she might escape, Ada thought of the window and looked back toward it. Outside, the sun had disappeared and night was on the world. An escape into darkness was no escape at

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 143 all. They had nowhere to go, nowhere to run and no one to whom they could turn. She had never felt so woefully alone as she did in that moment, she and her only child beset on all sides by monsters. There was another movement in the hall and the sickly sweet tobacco smoke aroma seeped in past the threshold. She looked up just in time to see the doorknob rattle back and forth as something on the other side tried to turn it. Shaking uncontrollably, she screamed, Leave us alone! The walls of the house seemed to swell inward, encroaching upon them as if to remind her that within its confines there was no safe harbor. From the other side of the door, there came a low and malevolent sniggering.

Part II: Torment

We think cag'd birds sing, when indeed they cry. John Webster, The White Devil

1 They stayed the night barricaded in Adas bedroom. Just when she had been terrifyingly certain that the thing in the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 145 hallway would breach the door and come for them, when her heart had been thrumming in her chest so that it seemed it would burst, the shaking of the door handle stopped and the house went quiet. The air of dread receded and along with it the putrid stench. The presence had gone from them just as suddenly as it had come. After she calmed, she began to tend to her son. He was soaked in his own urine, the acrid and septic aroma stinging the edges of her eyes. In her bathtub, she drew a hot bath and removed his clothes, lowered him into the tub, and washed him gently. She spoke to him, attempting to elicit a response but Noahs eyes when they were not closed as he periodically dozed stared blankly forward. She knew that her son was not fond of tight, cramped spaces, but she had to wonder what might have gone on inside of his mind that affected him so. Then again, Hughs tirade would have been more than enough for most any child. But something had snapped in him and he had apparently withdrawn deep into the recesses of his unconscious mind. Her thoughts turned to fears of a grim future for her child as an unresponsive, barely functional patient in a mental ward where he would live out the rest of his life trapped inside of himself. But she told herself she was just being silly, that he would snap out of it, that he was just retreating to a safe place after all that had happened. She had to focus on things

she could control and things she could understand and right now that meant getting her boy out of the tub and into some dry clothes. Leaving Noah sitting upright in the tub for a moment, she eased open the bedroom door and carefully stepped into the hallway. She was confident that the entity was gone but what did she know of such things? It could be lying in wait, invisible and intangible, part of a shadow on the wall for all she knew. She stepped quickly into Noahs room and retrieved some sweat pants and a t-shirt from his closet and then hastened to return to her own room where he sat catatonic in the bathtub. On her way out of his room, though, her eye caught a glint of moonlight on an aluminum baseball bat that leaned against one of his bookshelves. She grabbed it and scurried off to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her and taking a moment to slide her mothers old wing-back chair in front of the door. After drying and dressing her son, she laid him into bed and pulled the covers around him. Leaning down, she brushed the damp hair from his forehead and kissed it, whispering good night to him. To God above she offered an unspoken prayer that Noah would be more himself come the morning and also asked the Lord to see them through these evil times. With the lamp on, she sat up in bed and listened to the gentle rhythm of her sons slumberous breath. The baseball bat

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 147 was lying across her lap and her hands were clenched tight on it, her eyes always going to the door into the hallway. She managed a wry scoff at herself. Sitting there in bed, holding onto a twelve-year-olds toy for a weapon against something against which she had no idea how to defend herself. Surely the presence, the phantom, the odorous thing whatever it was would not be the least intimidated by the Louisville Slugger. But then she had another threat to consider, one more corporeal and predictable. One that had done far more harm to she and her child than some haint in the night. There was the possibility that Hugh might return home, stumbling his way toward the room after a long night at the bar and ready for round two. If that were the case, she would give him the fight he was looking for and with that baseball bat she would split his head wide open. The specter of Hugh Belton, more than anything, is what kept her awake and vigilant all through the night.

As soon as the sun rose enough to fill the house with its dim, amber light, Ada dragged the chair from in front of the bedroom door and padded down the hallway to survey the wreckage from the melee the night before. Still a little rattled, she half-expected to find Hugh on the couch, sleeping it off. What would she do then? Retrieve the

aluminum bat and end it right then and there without a fight and without having to watch the light go out of his eyes? Something primal in her demanded it but reason and circumstances won out. What good would she be to her son locked up in the state penitentiary for murder? And besides, the couch was empty and Hugh was nowhere in sight. The kitchen was a disaster. The overturned table, the broken plates and the food cast about on the floor and splattered on cabinets. The air still smelled of the classic Thanksgiving feast it began as and this made her stomach growl, though to eat anything at that point just then seemed too selfserving. She had to get the mess cleaned up and the house back in order. She had to focus on things she could control. Ada spent most of the morning on her hands and knees, sopping up spilled gravy and scooping the remains of supper onto broken plates bound for the trash. She mopped the floor and wiped down the counters, the walls and even some of the ceiling where food had been launched when Hugh flipped the table over on them. She opened the washing machine set into the alcove in the hallway and tossed in a handful of wet and soiled kitchen towels. Out of the corner of her eye, the worship room lingered, silent. A gust of cold wind rushed out of the room and across her legs. Closing the washer, she went to the threshold and saw the crawlspace door still ajar, an open mouth into the bowels of

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 149 the house from which the chill air came. She would need to close it back up somehow to keep the cold from seeping in but Ada could not bring herself to approach it. She looked long at the squat, black space and felt an apprehension which she could not name. After a moment, she mustered some courage, grabbed hold of one of the benches and slid it over next to the door. She knelt down and stared into it. There was nothing inside but freezing, winter air and the remaining smell of the matches that Noah had lit, a few of which lay scattered and burnt on the metal floor of the space. She considered grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning them out of there but was more keen to get on with the day. Slamming the small door shut, she dragged the bench over and pushed it tight against the door. She stood and wiped her hands down her jeans. That would do for now, she nodded. Ada closed the worship room door and headed back toward the kitchen. Mumma? she heard her son call out from in her bedroom and she stopped, closed her eyes and felt warm tears of relief come to their edges.

After she had gotten him up and to the kitchen table, Ada proceeded to fix her son a breakfast that contained all of his favorite items. Chocolate chip and banana pancakes, bacon, oatmeal and sauted tomatoes. She piled it onto his plate and

set it before him, taking a moment to fix herself a little as well. She turned on the television to reruns of The Cosby Show, which Noah said was fine, and then sat next to him to eat. With the food now in front of her, she felt her stomach growl and gurgle hungrily and before she knew it, she was gobbling down the breakfast. Noah, still seeming distant and withdrawn, thanked her for the meal but only picked at his plate. Arent you hungry, sweetheart? she asked. A little, he nodded. Well, apparently Im starving, she offered with a grin as she devoured another strip of bacon. Noah looked around at the kitchen. You cleaned up already. Yep. Looks nice. All back to normal. Ada nodded. Like nothing ever happened, huh? There was something accusatory in his tone and Ada bristled at it. Well, son, not much use in crying over spilt milk, she said, stabbing at the stack of pancakes. Or spilt turkey supper, for that matter. It was a poor attempt at a joke to lighten the mood and Ada was not surprised that it fell flat.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 151 Noah silently marveled at his mothers ability to instinctively whitewash these terrible moments that all too frequently punctuated their family life. But what shocked him the most was his willingness to follow suit. His fathers behavior last night had been awful, surely, but it could have been worse. At least his mother had escaped the altercation unbeaten. No darkening bruises, no crippling welts from Black Billy adorned her. That was something. He was happy to take the brunt of punishment from Black Billy in her stead but that was the exception, not the rule. How long could they stand it? How long before the day that father crossed that hairline boundary and killed one or both of them in one of sanctimonious rages? Other mothers would leave, he thought. Other mothers would take their child and what few, precious things they could carry and light out, never to see the scowling face of such a monster again. But not his mother. No, she would make excuses. Despite all that his father had done, she would never leave him. And in this regard, Noah felt betrayed. Where is he? the boy asked. I expect hes at work, she said, adding, He took off after she trailed off, finding herself unable to speak yet of what had happened. Ada took a sip of her coffee.

Anyway, hes supposed to go on a supply run again tonight. So we wont see him for a day or so at least. Noah nodded and forced an appreciative smile, which Ada took some heart in. It was a small thing but the only bit of reassurance she could offer her son. They ate the rest of the meal in silence but for the noise of the television. Noah continued to pick at his food absently, as might a sickly little bird. When Ada had cleaned her plate, she sipped the last of her coffee from the mug. She wanted to cheerfully ask of her son what he would do with the remainder of the day but she knew better than to push the issue. May I be excused? he asked. Sure, honey, she replied with a smile. What you want to do? Noahs eyes were downcast as he spoke. I think maybe I just want to sleep a little more. His mother watched as he stood and ambled down the hallway, stopped outside of his room. He cast a long glance toward the worship room. You want to sleep in my room, baby boy? she asked. No, he replied, My own room is fine. With that, he slipped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. After a moment of sitting there by herself, considering all

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 153 that had happened, Ada began to worry further about her son. Should she let him sleep? What if he had sustained a concussion from the fracas the night before? She remembered from the parenting classes she had attended when he was just a newborn that you were not supposed to let a child sleep if you thought they might have a concussion. But then he hadnt complained of a headache and apart from his detached demeanor, he mostly seemed himself. In the end, after she had washed and put away the dishes from their afternoon breakfast, she checked on him as concerned mothers are wont to do. She opened the door to his bedroom as silently as she could manage and looked in to find him asleep with the covers of the bed half thrown off. She tiptoed in and knelt by his bedside, watched his chest rise and fall with peaceful breaths and judging that all was well slowly pulled the covers up to his chin. Outside, the winter wind was kicking up and it moaned a ghostly song as it rounded the corners of the house. The lake beyond was a sea of gray water, stippled with rough waves that crested white and then vanished, one after another.

2 The next morning was Saturday and Ada had been up for a while, engaged in the usual chores, the television on in the

background and noisy with the inane babble of morning shows and special guests. After eight oclock, she realized that she had not heard a peep from Noah so decided that she would look in on him. The door to his bedroom was ajar and when she poked her head in, she did not find him asleep in the bed or sitting up and reading one of the dog-eared, contraband comic books that he thought she knew nothing about. When had he woken up and where had he gone? She was on the verge of panic and made for her bedroom to check there when she saw the door to the worship room was open and light spilled from the room into the hallway. She quietly approached the door and leaned in. Noah sat on one of the wooden benches closest to the door. He was not crouched with hands clasped in prayer but rather sat stock-still, staring at the crawlspace door and the bench holding it closed, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Noah? she called out to him but this was met with only silence. She stepped into the room, around the back wall to get a good look at him. The boy glowered at the tiny door in the opposite wall. Frowning and the look in his eyes dark, hovering somewhere between disgust and seething anger. Though she had certainly come into his line of sight, there was no indication that he had

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 155 seen her. She called to him again but again received no answer. Son? she practically shouted at him. Finally, his eyes broke from their staring and he looked over to her. The scowl on his face relaxed a little. Are you okay, son? He nodded. What are you doing in here, honey? I was just he began but diminished, turned his gaze away from her to the metal cross that stood at the front of the room. Ada sat down on the bench next to her son. He was angry with her, she knew that. She couldnt blame him, for when his fathers wrath had descended upon him the other night, she had done nothing. Nothing really. Besides watch and weep. She should have done much more, she knew, but did not believe it was within her power. Not then and not now. Did you come in here to pray? Noahs eyes dropped to the floor. What is it you think I should pray for, Mumma? A few suggestions came to her mind but she knew that they would seem trite and pointless in light of what had happened. Instead, she stood and sighed, placed a gentle hand on her sons shoulder. Why dont you get dressed and Ill make you something to

eat. Then you can go outside to play for a bit. He glanced at her, his face long and unmotivated by this idea. Im not hungry, he said. Well, then go outside at least. Itll be good for you to get some fresh air. He nodded and retreated down the hallway to his bedroom. Ada sat quietly for a moment in the sanctuary. Before leaving, she closed her eyes and said a motherly prayer.

***

Noah dressed in a pair of jeans and the top from his longjohns, over which he pulled a tattered black t-shirt. Slipping on his hoodie, he declared to his mother that he was going out. She asked if he wanted some company but he declined. Well, check in with me before too long, okay? Yes, maam. With that, he stepped out of the house and into the cold, misty day. The sky above was a blanket of endless gray and the moisture in the air so thick that his every breath came roaring out of his face in a plume of dragon-like smoke. He ambled down the driveway into the street, gazing out at the empty expanse of the neighborhood as if looking for something, though he knew not

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 157 what. From across the street, he heard the clanking of metal and a spate of muffled cursing. He looked over to see Shakey Lees blue pick-up parked in his driveway with two booted feet sticking out from underneath of it. He headed in that direction, walking briskly. When he was close enough that he thought the man would hear, he called out to him. Mr. Lee, you alright? The commotion from underneath the Chevy ceased. That you, Noah? Who else would it be? Noah thought to himself. No one else lives here. Yes, sir, its me. Out for a walk? Noah looked around absently. I dont really know. Just out, I guess. Uh-huh. You need some help? Noah asked, now standing next to the truck and speaking to the scuffed leather boots protruding from beneath the chrome front bumper. Well, the old man said, I suppose. If you have a minute. I do. Tool sheds out back with the door open. Look on the back wall and grab me that pair of channel locks, will you?

Noah nodded and told the man he would be right back. As he rounded the house and made a beeline for the shed with two windows and black shutters, he realized that he had no idea what a pair of channel locks was or how he might even identify such an animal. Mr. Lees tool shed was a squat but sprawling structure, immaculately maintained and organized. A few fluorescent shop lamps hung overhead to provide extra light and the tool benches that skirted the two far walls were free of random debris. On the peg board that lined all the walls were hung tools of every shape. Noah figured that he could go back and ask but then that would make him look and feel like something of an idiot. Channel locks. Surely he could figure it out. It had to be some kind of tool that would lock onto something or grab something, right? But was it one tool or a pair of tools? He scanned the walls and though he was still uncertain, his gaze kept coming back to rest on a large, metal tool that looked old and well-worn. It had a long handle and two clamping thingies at the top with a metal ring that looked as if it would allow the tool to be adjusted to the proper width for the job. Painted onto the peg board was an outline of red paint that matched the shape of the tool and it was the only one on the wall to have such a distinguishing feature. Deciding that he had as good a shot at this being correct as any of the others, he

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 159 reached over and pulled it off the hooks on which it was perched. The tool came off heavier than he thought it would be and hit the wooden floor of the shed with a dull, substantial thud. He tightened his grip on it and raised it, then turned and carried it out in both hands. Noah rounded the corner of the house and found Mr. Lee leaning against the truck, wiping his hands down with a greasy rag. Find em? Noah cocked his head. I think so, he said, raising the tool up to offer it to the man. When the old mans eyes fell on the tool the boy carried, an expression that Noah could not have named came over his face and he quickly reached out and snatched the tool away from him as if it were a dangerous weapon of some kind that the boy had no business handling. Hell naw, that aint it! the man said, looking down at the tool strangely as he cradled it in his hands. Noah was taken aback by this reaction and stood there with wide and uncertain eyes. I Im sorry. I didnt know for sure. The old man looked over at him. This heres a pipe wrench, he said, turning it over in

his grasp. One I never use. I didnt know, Noah offered and then turned to leave, figuring the old man now realized his uselessness. Dont your Daddy ever get you to help him when he fixes things at home? Noah turned back, slowly shook his head. Never took shop class in school? No shop class until I get to high school, Mr. Lee, Noah replied. The old man nodded. Sorry. I forget how young you are, boy. Noah shrugged his forgiveness. Well, dont go rushing off unless you have to, the man said. Might as well learn a thing or two about tools while youre here. He motioned for the boy to follow him as he walked around the back toward the shed. Yes, sir. And I thought I told you to stop with the mister stuff. Just call me Shakey. Unless your Daddys around. Im sure he prefers the formal sort of thing. Yes, sir. Noah followed Shakey into the shed where the old man put the pipe wrench back in its place and then reached over and

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 161 pulled a pair of blue handled things that looked like long, wide pliers. Then he made his way back to the driveway with Noah in tow. Once they were back by the truck, the old man explained further. These are channel locks. Like big pliers. Exactly, he nodded. Im gonna use them to pull the oil filter off my truck. Comes on and off easily enough usually but it feels like the threads are off just by a red cunt hair and the cold has got it bound up something fierce. A red cunt hair? Noah asked. Yeah, the old man explained, with a gleam in his eye. See, a red ones just a wee bit smaller than any other kind. At this, the old man erupted in laughter. Noah cracked a smile, though he did not understand the joke. My Mummas got red hair, he noted, thinking it might be of some relevance. The old man stifled his chortling and straightened. He had to do better at remembering the boys age. You know what? Never mind that word. Its a grownup word and your folks wouldnt take too kindly to you using it. Okay, Noah shrugged. Shakey looked around and up at the sky.

They say were supposed to get snow tonight. About damn time. Usually get our first snow up here after Halloween and before Thanksgiving. Noah nodded. But youre from Eastlake, so you know that, I guess. Yes, sir. Shakey climbed underneath the truck and went to work. For the next hour or so, the boy assisted him. When he needed the boy to fetch him a tool, he described it in detail and gave an approximate location for it inside the shed. A changed oil filter, new belts, a lube job and a leaky head gasket later, Noah knew how to spot a drip pan, a grease gun, gasket sealant and he could even tell a 3/16 crescent wrench from a one. As the work wore on past lunchtime into the early afternoon, Noah ran across the street to let his mother know he was helping Mr. Lee with his truck. Cautiously pleased and surprised, she gave him her blessing and instructed him to remember to be home before dark, also reminding him gently that his father was due to be home that night provided he kept his schedule. Her tone betrayed her uncertainty, though. When the servicing of the truck was done, Shakey twisted the handle of the floor jack and let the vehicle down from its incline. He plopped a wad of goop he called GoJo into the boys palms and explained it would cut the grease to clean his hands.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 163 Noah wiped them clean with a rag, feeling oddly satisfied with himself and just a little closer to manhood. Job well done, Shakey declared as he took the dirty rag from the boy. Its Miller time. Whats your poison, boy? My poison? Shakey slammed the hood of the truck closed. What do you like to drink, son? Noah smiled. He liked that expression. Your poison, he mused, rubbing his cold, bone-white hands together. Well, I like hot chocolate. The old mans brow wrinkled in thought. Not sure if I got that but lets go on in the house and see what I can offer you. Shakey entered the house through the side door and Noah followed suit. As he stepped into the kitchen, he asked, Take my shoes off? Not necessary, he shook his head as he removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of one of the chairs set around his kitchen table. The layout of Shakeys house seemed to be identical to Noahs, though it was a damn sight more cluttered than his own home. For one man living alone, the old man sure had a lot of stuff. The walls of the living room were lined with mismatching bookshelves tall and short. Upon their sagging shelves sat what

must have been thousands of books. There was an old couch against the far wall and an easy chair with a reading lamp situated next to it. From there, one could look out of the front window and take in a narrow, broken view of the lake on the other side of the neighborhood. Despite the clutter, the place actually seemed pretty clean. There was no layer of dust, no cobwebs loitering in the corners. Noah had heard the term organized chaos before and now he thought he finally understood what that meant. As the old man went about pouring an iced tea for the boy and opening a beer for himself, Noah strolled and studied the contents of the shelves. There were books about nature and animals whose number were rivaled only by the books that appeared to be about history, particularly the Civil War. Shelf after shelf was filled with standing tomes about the past; histories of the revolutionary war on up through Korea and Vietnam. The walls were adorned with maps and prints of paintings depicting an assortment of battlefields, some with redcoats and some with bluecoats and with all manner of artillery. In each one, the dead lay strewn about the open spaces against brown and green earth stained crimson. Apart from this, the strangest thing that the boy noticed was the lack of a television. There was a small, cheaply made entertainment center meant to house one but it, too, was filled

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 165 with books and atop it sat an old, garish silver boom box whose speakers quietly transmitted old time fiddling music. Mountain music. So, young man, Shakey said as he handed Noah a glass of iced tea and sat on his couch, sipped his beer, how are you liking your new place? Noah turned and nodded. Its nice, I guess. He nodded, sipped again. Your Daddy like it well enough? Noah considered the question, his eyes still taking in the room. In the corner of the living room, against a tall floor lamp there leaned a rifle that looked older than anything that the boy had ever seen. On the wall behind it, dangling from a hook, was a wide-brimmed hat that bore a silver shield of some kind on its front, a thick layer of dust on it. The old mans park ranger hat from years before, maybe. I reckon he does. We arent real close. There was a moment of awkward silence as Shakey sat, sipped his beer and watched the boy. Your folks fight a lot, do they? Noah turned to the old man, an expression of surprise and uncertainty on his face that he could not conceal. With a wry smile, Shakey said, Your Daddy hollers pretty

loud. What was the old coot getting at, Noah wondered? But this didnt seem the time or the place for airing his familys dirty laundry so he shrugged it off. He can holler, thats for sure. Well, new place, new job, new life really. It takes a toll on a man. Noah sat down on a small, leather ottoman near the radio and gulped his tea. You might be lucky just to have your father around, though, Shakey said. My old man was gone by the time I was thirteen years old. Noah turned his head and regarded the old man with genuine pity. Whered he go? Who knows, Shakey remarked. Just gone. Another uncomfortable silence took hold just then and to dispel it, Noah rose and walked over to one of the bookshelves. So the real estate man said youre a re-enactor. Shakey nodded. Why? he asked as he perused the books on a shelf, his fingers plucking over the spines. Time travel. Noah turned toward his host with a dubious look.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 167 Youre shitting me. Time travel? In a manner of speaking. Noah considered whether or not the old man meant the term literally or if it was merely an allusion to something else. The old man stole across the room to a broom closet between the living room and the kitchen. He reached in and removed from it a uniform of Confederate gray that was ruffled with wear and bore the stains of earth and grass. This here is my time machine. Noah looked askance at the old man, not understanding him and, for the first time, doubting him. Sensing the boys skepticism, Shakey waved it off. Well, not literally, the old man said sheepishly, placing it back onto the rack in the closet. But when Im out on the field and the canons are sounding and the rifles are cracking and its hotter than hades in the summertime and this uniforms scratching the bejesus outta me I forget that it aint real. He sat down across from Noah, leaned in, his eyes intense, his voice low. Im lying in the trench, wondering if my gunll fire because quite often they dont - and I can hear the enemy boots moving across the field in my direction, the hooves of mounted cavalry. The airs filled with the smell of black powder and sweat, filled with men screaming in agony, hollerin with rage.

I bring my Enfield rifle up and before I can help myself before I remember that its all for show, I start to panic and shake. Thats time travel, boy. And for a few seconds here and there, its as real as anything youve ever known your whole life. Noah gulped and nodded, wanting to break the old mans stare but unable to do so. He cleared his throat and decided to try and steer the conversation toward something else. Youve read all these books? he asked. Shakey nodded. Some of them Ive read two or three times. Wow, Noah remarked. Shakey then rose, leaned past the boy to the shelf beneath the radio and plucked a book from it. Noah hadnt noticed before but this shelf was populated not by books on history or nature but by works of literature, some of which he had heard but never read. Frankenstein, The Leather Stocking Tales, Dracula, Wiseblood, The Turn of the Screw and the like. The old man placed the volume into the boys hand. It was a hardbound book with gilded writing on the spine that read Collected Stories by Edgar Allan Poe. You ever read that one in school? Shakey asked. Noah looked up at the old man towering above him and shook his head. Its got all kinds of tall tales in it. Some of them

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 169 frightful, some mysterious, and some that are just plain odd. Sounds cool, Noah nodded. The old man snorted. I reckon it is cool, he said with a glint in his eye. Well, Noah said, looking around at all the books and the prints and the maps, you sure do like history. Who was he kidding? Liked history? The old man was a walking, talking anachronism. Apart from the electric lights and the boom box radio, refrigerator and a stove, there wasnt a single item of modern convenience in his house. No phone, no TV, no VCR, no computer. The countertops in the kitchen were barren

of so much as a toaster or a coffee maker or microwave. A cast iron tea kettle sat lonely on one burner of the range and that was it. Time was always moving forward but Shakeys life seemed to be more about going backward. Aw, yeah. Always had a love for history. Especially local. Yeah? Absolutely, the old man replied, then dashed to one of the bookshelves and began to search for some tome or another. I know youre from Eastlake, he said, but do you know how Cross Mountain got its name? As he asked this, he turned and gazed through the wall as if he could see the mountain looming as it was in the distance. Noah turned his head, following the old mans stare into

nothing. Until we moved here, I didnt even know there was a Cross Mountain. So, I guess I dont. Come on, then, boy, he said, motioning Noah to follow him out the side door of the house, and the tale will be told in full view of the mountain itself. The old man pulled his coat on but eschewed his boots for a pair plush, leather slippers, and walked out of the kitchen door. Noah followed and found himself standing alongside the old man on the warm asphalt driveway. From here, the lake sprawled at the edge of their vision, cold and gray in the failing afternoon light and to the left, the mountain rose dark and imposing above the horizon so choked with hills of lesser stature. See, back in those days, Shakey began, this whole area between the mountain and the lake was called Green Valley. He flashed the boy a disapproving expression. Even though this aint really a valley. But the old timers didnt know what we know today. With the warmth of the old mans house left behind and the bitter cold starting to seep in through his jacket, the boy thrust his hands into his pockets as he nodded. Shakey cracked a smile as he looked at the boy. You get cold, stomp your feet to help keep warm, he

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 171 advised. Okay. Anyway, back then the mountain was much the same as it is now. A barren thing, with nary a soul living on it. How come? Noah inquired. Well, people always settle near water if possible. And back then there werent so many people as there is today. With a freshwater lake right here, I reckon they didnt see much point in putting down roots way up the mountain and making it harder on themselves to get hold of the water they needed to survive. Noah nodded, looking up at the great swath of earth that dominated the view to the west. Besides, the Scots, Irish and Germans that mostly settled this land had a lot of superstitions about the mountain itself. They regarded it with the same amount of fear and respect that you and me might feel about a nuclear power plant. Noah chuckled and looked over at Shakey to find him gazing at him, as if taking measure of him. During the time of the Civil War, two ragged, wayward armies on opposite sides of the conflict ran into each other on the mountainside. The lake and its water being the thing that they were after at the time. Noah , who had been listening with rapt attention to the old mans tale, looked back toward the lake and toward his home.

Oh, shit. Shakey, who was about to launch further into the story, stopped. What is it? Noah looked long at the Ford pickup that sat in the driveway at his house. He was home. It filled the boy with an apprehension and quiet terror the likes of which he had never known. He had always hated to see his father return home but he could not recall dreading the event so much as he did in that moment. Noah cleared his throat and did his best to conceal his uneasiness. Looks like my Dads home. Shakey seemed to sense the trouble this observation brought to the boys mind and offered, Want me to go over with you and explain where you been all day? Noah looked back over his shoulder at the old man and felt a tearful gratitude rise in him that he choked back. Thanks. No. Its okay. Shakey studied him for a moment as the boy lingered there. Guess you better get on then. Well finish the story another time. Noah nodded.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 173 Thanks, he remarked as he stepped across the street. Shakey Lee watched as the boy took slow, reluctant strides across the street. He noted the lengthy pause that Noah took at the threshold of the door and as the boy opened it and stepped inside, the old man raised his nose to the air, sniffing the telltale signs of the coming snow.

***

Noah stepped in, closed the front door behind him and knelt to remove his boots. Realizing that he still held the book from the old man, he reached behind him and shoved it into the gap between his pants and his back. The unyielding hardback of the book was cold against his flesh. As he unlaced his boots, he stared down at them intently, silently, as if the process could last forever and might keep at bay whatever was to come. Done, he set them aside of the door and stood with all the last-ditch confidence of a convict at the gallows. His mother and father were seated at the kitchen table, elbows on its surface, leaned into each other and suddenly silent. Hello, son. His fathers voice was so tranquil, almost sweet-sounding. To anyone else, there would be no reason to fear a man who could

sound that way. The quivering of his own knees took Noah by surprise but he endeavored to maintain a faade of calm. Hey, Dad, he muttered, his voice trembling and weak. Where you been? Before Noah could answer, his mother chimed in. I told you, Hugh. Hes been across the street helping Mr. Lee work on his truck, she said, fixing her son with a look that urged him to be calm, though it wasnt necessary. Despite the outrage that Noah had exhibited the other night, with his father now returned, so had his fear. Aint that right, baby? Yes, maam, Noah nodded. Good, his father remarked, I reckon thats a better use of time than playing make-believe out in the woods. Come here, son, and let me see your hands. Noah skulked across the room and into the kitchen, his hands held out palms-up the way they did in church when they asked for the Lords blessing. When his father took the boys hands, Noah fought a sense of revulsion. It might as well have been a snake running its cold, pitiless flesh over his own. Thats real good, his father nodded approvingly as he glimpsed the black dirt and grease still lingering in the fine threads of the boys fingerprints and at the edge of his nails.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 175 Thosere working mans hands. Releasing his fingers, his fathers arm rose and the man gave him a good-natured slap on the shoulder that was accompanied by a smile that was as close to an expression of pride that Noah had seen from the man in all his life. Instinctively, Noah grinned wide, for no matter how much he loathed this man who was his father, his approval still meant a great deal. Hot tears borne of complex emotions that he could not name rose to the edges of his eyes and he blinked them back. Were gonna have supper here soon, his mother interjected. Fried bologna sandwiches. Noah glanced away from the eyes of his father. I aint feeling so good, Mumma, he said, placing a hand over his stomach. I think Ill just go to bed Ada looked to Hugh, who said nothing, only stared out of the kitchen window. Noah stopped off to relieve himself in the hallway toilet and then hurried into his bedroom. After removing the Poe book and changing into sweatpants, he pulled back the bedcovers and slid beneath them. He left the table lamp on the other side of the room burning and settled into bed, the old mans book turned upside down as he lay on his back and read, beginning in the middle of the book with a story called Morella and struggling for a position that would allow him the comfort to fall headlong

and carefree into the book and the dark fantasy of its narrative.

3 Noah awoke with the sensation of a thousand pounds of doom sitting atop him, the pressure bearing down on him from all sides as if the breathable air of the room had been stolen and in its place was a vacuum of dire and utter hopelessness. And he wasnt alone. That much he knew in an instant. He opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. As he peered into the gloom, he sat still and waited for his eyes to adjust. Bluish starlight seeped in from the window behind him and cast a cold sheen over the room. But it wasnt just that. Everything seemed different somehow. Not completely, but He smelled him before he saw him. Noah squinted his eyes. His room was no wider than twelve feet across and the wall opposite his bed was populated with a couple of low bookshelves and a wooden rack with plastic bins overflowing with old toys, new ones and all manner of stray objects he had collected during his time in the woods. Leaned against it; an aluminum baseball bat, a discarded leather glove and a Spider-Man night light that his mother had plugged into the wall even though it hadnt worked for years. All these things were still there but they were sharing the same space as something else. A long wooden table of rough edges and marred

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 177 with dark splotches stood against the wall, though the wall seemed much farther away and colored differently. Was that a curl of wallpaper peeling away from the far edge? He didnt have wallpaper in his room, did he? It was hard to tell, for the coloring of the world had gone strange; gray seemed washed over everything but especially at the edges of his vision and while some objects he recognized appeared of normal hues, others did not. The world was rendered in some manner that was not entirely colorful, nor entirely black and white like the old Three Stooges reruns he had seen on TV. At the table stood the stinking man with his back to Noah, his arms moving in front of him as if crisscrossing over and over again. Accompanying the motion, there was a sound of metal scraping and every so often there was a dim but perceptible flash that popped from the space in front of the man. Noah sat stock still. The man hadnt noticed he was there and the boy told himself that if didnt move, didnt make a sound, didnt even dare to Before he could stop himself, he breathed. It was a shortdrawn inhalation of air that barely whispered as it filled his lungs but it was audible and that seemed to be enough because the scraping noise ceased and the stinking man cocked his head to the right, his left ear listening. Then he tossed whatever he had been handling onto the table before him and turned. As he

dropped his arms to his sides, Noah could see what was grasped in the right one. A large, rectangular blade. The kind used to butcher meat. At first, the stinking mans black gaze searched all over the room but did not fall on the boy. Noah thought it seemed as if the man could not see him and the look of confusion on the long, angular face of the specter seemed to confirm it. Then, as if a curtain had been pulled back, the narrow eyes of the man widened with surprise and his mouth, surrounded by many days of rough, dark stubble, pinched into a sneer. His coal-pit eyes studied Noah and the boy felt himself shrink beneath the menacing look. Who in the hell? he began as a glint of recognition swept across his face. You! Whatn the hell are you doin here? The stinking man was on the move, his arm outstretched. Despite how far away he seemed, the tall and hulking form of the man crossed the distance quicker than he should have been able to and his fingers grasped at Noahs neck and squeezed. It was suddenly hard to take a deep breath and there was a sensation about his neck but not quite what he had expected. It was not as if the palms of the mans hands were pressed against his skin, for there was no warmth, no sensation of physical touch. It was more like his throat was closing up from the inside. The only sensation Noah felt outside on his body was

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 179 bitter cold as the reek of the man filled his nose. The massive right hand of the stinking man rose high and back, angled the cleaver a little. To connect with Noahs head, the boy assumed. Probably somewhere around his eyes and he imagined an enormous gash opening up that spanned the distance from his temple down to the opposite cheekbone. Would the blade get his brain and black him out or would he yet live through it, a half-blind moment of utter absolute horror to be his last? Noah whimpered. Hold still, little lambn quit yer bleatin, the man growled as he seemed to struggle against the boy, though Noah was as still as the moment he sat up in bed. Just as the stinking man meant to bring the blade down, Noah saw his gaze drift to the side, as if something behind Noah had caught his attention. As he stopped, the tight feeling in Noahs throat subsided and sweet air came rushing into his lungs. The mans cleaver arm relaxed and lowered slowly to his side. Noah watched as the stinking man took a step back, his eyes locked on something that Noah could not see. There was something in those cold, black eyes that Noah could not quite account for. Was it recognition? Fear? It was as if the ghost had seen a ghost himself. Feeling his limbs come back to life, Noah turned to look behind him and then he saw it, too.

A face at the window. He skittered out of bed and stood, bare feet on the cold floor and his breath smoky in the impossible chill of the room. The face hovered there and Noah watched as it did so. It was the face of a woman. Soft, porcelain skin stretched over the gentle roll of cheekbones, lead down to lips heart-shaped and plush. Her eyes were empty and dead but somehow seemed kindly. Beholding her face and the long, auburn hair that flowed from its edges did not fill him with the terror that the sight of the stinking man brought. It was then that he remembered and realized he had turned his back on the loathsome thing that meant to rend his flesh. He quickly turned but found no one there. The room appeared normal again, the grayness beginning to recede. The table and strange, far away wall were gone. There was no lingering odor, no malicious, loitering presence, not a single trace of the stinking man. Turning again to the window, Noah watched as the woman turned and walked away. It was snowing, he now noticed, and had been for some time. The ground and the thrusts of tree branches were covered in a layer of white that mingled with what paltry starlight seeped through the clouds and gave to the world a lunar glow. As she strolled easily away from the house, Noah noticed she left no tracks behind. Her long, elaborate and

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 181 formal gown shone a brilliant azure blue. She moved quickly across the snow, across the road and the open ground at the center of the neighborhood, passing between and through trees where they stood in her path. When he could no longer see from his window, Noah dashed into the hallway and went to the picture window in the living room. He could just barely make her out but she was there. It was hard to be certain but if Noah had to guess, it looked like she was headed for the old manor house. A voice from behind him startled the boy and he turned on his heel, ready to move quickly if he had to. His mother stood at the threshold of the hallway and living room, bleary-eyed. Jesus! Noah gasped, half whispered. What? I asked you What is it? Ada whispered back. In the background, from her bedroom, Noah could hear the sawing drone of his fathers snoring. The boy shook his head. I thought someone was outside of the house. His mothers hand clasped together and went to her chest and a worried expression washed over her face. Wasnt nothing, Noah lied, turning to glance out of the window as he did it. Must have been a deer. She relaxed, her shoulders dropping and her hands going back down to her sides. Go on back to bed. Its okay, Noah said as he walked with

her down the hallway. He broke off into his room, said goodnight and closed the door. It would be some time yet before he found sleep that night. He lay there in the dark, reflecting on the strangeness of his experience with the stinking man, trying to shrug off the terror that seeing that blade held high inspired in him. He thought of the two blond boys in the woods and now this other phantom; this blue lady. He wondered at the connection between them all and wished he was back in the trailer at Cadys Run. In simpler times, when haints were the stuff of unfounded tall-tales and not curious bits of the landscape or tormentors against which there seemed no defense.

4 The next few days were passed by Noah and Ada in a white haze that was both magical and confining. The first day, he and his mother had gone outside and lain down, made snow angels as the puffy flakes lit upon their faces and melted. Using vanilla flavoring and sugar from the pantry, theyd made snow cones and ate them outside as more and more fell all around them. Snowball fights were had and a snowman fashioned to stand watch in the front yard. The ceaseless fall of the stuff had not stopped Hugh from

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 183 going to work, though, the old Ford slipping all over the unplowed neighborhood streets. A gray and wintry sky reigned over Whitetail and nearby towns for days and, though these were a people quite accustomed to winter weather, every diner and garage was filled with talk of the storm. How wrong the weathermen had been, how much longer it would last, speculation on the possibility of a white Christmas. In the end, folk just poured more coffee than usual, strapped chains onto their tires and went on with life. Twice a day, before and after his schooling, Noah went outside to shovel the fresh layer of snow from the sidewalk and steps. Scraping and heaving in the icy air, by Wednesday he had managed to build up quite a mountain of snow that cut alongside the front walkway like a bladed ridge, rough and uneven in its peaks and valleys. Noah had not seen any trace of the old man across the street and, after the first couple of days, had gone to check on him only to find that Shakey was down with a mild cold, coughing up phlegm as he explained it to the boy. But he was sure he would be right in a day or two and then he would see about clearing the neighborhood road as well as the Beltons driveway. Noah had spent some time in the woods, too, playing at winter warfare. When he was idle or resting, he dusted off a fallen tree or log and sat listening to the gentle whisper of

the forest but never once heard the young voices of the blond children. Perhaps, he mused, it was simply that summer phantoms forsook winter storms. He decided it was more likely that his mind was not fully invested in perceiving them, for his thoughts turned constantly to the chilling visit from the stinking man nights before. Noah had thought much about it, though, and had come to the tenuous conclusion that it had not been so much a visit from the reeking ghost as something else. After all, the man had seemed as surprised to see Noah as Noah was to have found the man in his room. Then, of course, there was the blue lady who had peered into the boys bedroom window and had so captured the attention of the burly, violent ghost even as he endeavored to choke the life from the boy. Noah was beginning to suspect that Cedar Banks was a place that harbored many spirits and countless secrets along with them. Done with his wandering, as he came back up the hill to the entrance of Cedar Banks and as he trudged through the deep valleys made by the tires of his fathers truck, he spied Shakey out in front of his house, a snow shovel clutched in his hand. The old man was bent over, grasping the handle and heaving forth great lumps of wet snow, stopping every so often to hack a dry cough and spit. Noah could see the old mans chest heaving even from as far away as he was. The boy shook his head. He had grown fond of the old man and, while the last thing he felt like doing

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 185 was shoveling more snow, he decided he also didnt want to see the old coot keel over from a heart attack. Shakey! he hollered, waving his hands as he crossed the street toward the mans house. The caretaker looked up and waved back to the boy. Lo there, young man. Still enjoying the snow, huh? Noah shrugged and smiled as he closed the distance. Give you a hand? Well, the old man paused, breathing out long, labored breaths that turned to smoke in the misty winter air, Dont reckon Id turn it down if you were offering. He stabbed the shovel into the drift of snow beside the walkway. Noah grabbed the handle and went to work. You need any help? Shakey asked Naw, I been doing this to our walkway twice a day at home. The old man nodded. Well, Im gonna see to something around back for a few minutes. Holler if you need help. Noah grunted as he tossed a shovelful into the yard. Will do. Noah cleared a swath along the path of the front walkway and another that led from the Chevy to the side door of the house, leaving a thin layer of hard-packed snow for traction until the weather warmed enough to melt it. He had begun

sweating under his stocking cap and stuffed it into his coat pocket as he surveyed the fruits of his labor. A smell of burning wood drifted across to the front yard from the back and Noah trudged around the side of the house to see what the old man was up to. Stepping through the gate into the back yard, Noah saw Shakey dusting off a couple of large stumps that sat around a pit in the ground which he had cleaned out and in which he had a fresh and roaring fire going. The flames leapt toward the gray sky and danced in the chill air, the wood hissing and spitting as the heat split its fibers and consumed it. The old man had a black, iron pot suspended from a metal rack that straddled the fire pit and steam rose from its spout. Nice fire, Noah remarked. The old man stood and turned. Helps to warm weary bones, you know. Noah smiled and nodded. Or you could just go inside where theres heat. Shakey snorted. Thought we might finish our conversation from the other day. If you still want to know the story of Cross Mountain and if you got time, that is. Sure. I got time, the boy nodded as he took a seat on one of the stumps, the wood hard and cold beneath his rump.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 187 The old man sat on the stump to the right with a leather haversack that clanked as he set it down on the ground he had cleared around the fire pit. From it, he pulled two worn, metal mugs. Out of a small cloth bag, he poured black coffee grounds into one. Care for a cup of chicory? Itll put hair on your chest. I uh Noah began, for he had never had coffee before but when it was brewing it smelled dark and bitter. Shakey waved it away and smiled. Just pulling your leg, he said as he reached into the bag and pulled forth two sealed packets of Swiss Miss hot chocolate mix. Looky here what I found. Now, this aint Confederate issue rations! the old man declared, feigning surprise and disapproval. Noah chuckled and smiled wide. He could go for a nice, steaming cup of hot chocolate, that was for sure. The old man reached forward and pulled the kettle from the rack, filled their cups and plunged a spoon into Noahs to stir it around. Tiny, freeze-dried marshmallows floated on the top, rapidly melting into a white, sugary foam that swirled in the cup. Shakey sipped his coffee and stared at the orange glow of the fire.

So, whats the story of Cross Mountain? Noah asked after a swallow of the sweet, hot drink snaked its way down into his belly and began to warm him from the inside. The old man looked over at the boy, leaned forward and clasped his hands around the warmth of the his coffee cup. Well, its a story that begins way back. Further back than anybody even knows, I reckon. Long before the first white man ever set eyes on it and even longer if you ask the elders of the Monacan and Mannahoac people. The old man cleared his throat, spat it into the fire and looked over his shoulder at the expanse of the mountain that rose above the horizon, blanketed in white and yet dark with the barren trees of winter. Their stories are so old that they are remembered now only by a few of the most venerable tribesmen. The Monacan had an ancient name for the mountain that was passed down through the generations in their native tongue but that name was lost long ago. The Scots and Irish who settled here had their own name for it, though. They called it the Old Green Man.

5 In Green Valley, in the early summer of 1864, the weather was as hot as any of the few local boys counted among Fallkirks men could remember. The sun beat down and where the shade of the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 189 forest provided mercy from its punishing rays, the thick and humid air gave no quarter. A flying column group of fighters that separated from the 64th Virginia Infantry when they became the 64th Cavalry only two years before, his unit was known for being small, quick and deadly. Their regimental insignia depicted two crossed lightning bolts in place of the crossed bars of the Confederacys battle flag and, while under the command of Colonel Lucius Booker, they had been known as Bookers Lightning Men. While they had suffered many losses, they had enjoyed more victories than most as they supported larger regiments and divisions by staying out of sight, often flanking the enemy at a tipping point in the battle or when the Yankee forces were at their weakest. Then Bookers men would come swooping in to exact the killing blow. Just as they had been doing only a few weeks before in support of Brigadier General Kershaw outside of Spotsylvania. As they moved around to the rear of the enemys forces, they had happened upon a couple of newly arrived Union regiments stocked with the fresh faces of Northern immigrants and replete with the most current provisions, rifles and artillery. As

Bookers men raged against numbers more than thrice their own, they were torn apart and forced to flee into the wilds of the Virginia mountains. William Fallkirk, who had only a short time ago held the

rank of Lieutenant Colonel, had been advanced to the commanding position after Booker shot himself in the head following their crippling loss in Spotsylvania. Now separated from the Army of Northern Virginia, they were without a mission or any clear orders except, of course, for their standing order to engage Union troops wherever they met them. Fallkirk was himself a son of Virginia and native of the Green Valley region who had enlisted from the outset of the war and had spilled the blood and guts of many a Yankee foe in the name of the South. But after their last encounter with Union troops and the loss of so many of the men he had come to know so well, he had quickly begun to tire of the conflict to which it seemed there would be no end. Many of his men clamored for a long march east to Petersburg where it was rumored the Confederacy would make its last, desperate stand. Such men were the rarest form of soldier and sought the glory of a pitched battle whether it brought freedom from the North or nothing more than certain death. In any case, his flying column half the number that they were only weeks before were in no shape for such a march. They had precious few horses left and even fewer resources. Having been reduced to surviving on hardtack and coffee or tea made from pine bark or other wild plants, those brave soldiers who rattled their sabers might as well just march right into an open grave

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 191 as toward Richmond or Petersburg. Nothing but death and defeat lay east of the Green Valley. No, Fallkirk had a different idea altogether. He led his battered men to the edge of the hills surrounding Ashwood Lake. There they would camp and hunt game in the forest and drink of the fresh lake water while their health and spirits were restored. After they made temporary camp, he sent out two groups of scouts. One pair was sent to the east that they might bring back word of the goings-on in Petersburg. If, as they awaited the scouts return, Fallkirk and his men just so happened to miss the final engagement of the war - which he was now certain would see the North as the victor - then that was just fine by him. In fact, he hoped for it. However, as a matter of prudence and so as not to seem a deserter, Fallkirk also sent a pair of scouts southwest to Tennessee, where he had heard the fighting was less fierce. If they returned with orders to join in battle, then Fallkirks men would make a slow march in that direction but in truth, the Colonel hoped never to hear from those scouts again. He was more than content with the notion of idly waiting out the wars end on the shores of the lake, in the cool shadow of the long, high ridge of Old Green Man Mountain. Colonel Fallkirk was sipping a cup of proper coffee that he

had made using the last bit of grounds he had kept secreted away for himself when the scouts he had sent south came calling at his tent much too soon to have gotten very far. He bid them enter and found that Private Jennings and the Monacan boy they called Squirt were all aflutter with the news they brought to him. Seems we aint the only ones with designs on the lake, Captain, the young private uttered and then went on to explain that as they rode out, they caught sight of a few blue-coated soldiers on horseback that looked to be surveying the area for a campsite. Jennings and Squirt left their mounts and snuck in for a closer look as a group of the men gathered near the lake. They look to be some regular army and some irregulars. All from West Virginia. Our former countrymen, Fallkirk snorted. While you were eavesdropping, did you happen upon any other details? Their numbers, their artillery, the name of the commander? Well, Colonel, the men spoke of the others as being few and all of them in awful bad shape. Bout as bad a shape as wes in. At this, Fallkirk raised an eyebrow and the Private shrank from him, for it was frowned upon to acknowledge weakness among the ranks. They referred more than once to a Major Dawson, Private

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 193 Jennings offered in closing. After taking notes on their position, Colonel Fallkirk sent the men from his tent and sat, drinking his coffee and considering his options. His men were starving. Their rations had been low when they lost Booker and, ever since the situation had become increasingly desperate. Ever on the move as they had been, there had been no time for the men to make use of game trails or to trap even the smallest of creatures for food and the last of the reserves of salt pork and hardtack were dangerously low. A comfortable position and encampment along Ashwood was their only hope. The Yankees had been cautious and sought the high ground, camped as they were along a low ridge a couple of hundred feet up from the lake. There was a good chance that if the West Virginia men were as banged up as it sounded, they may not be looking for a fight. But if they werent there to fight, then that meant they had the same idea for themselves as Fallkirk had for his men and living side by side with those bastards was a hard thing to imagine, a hard thing to swallow. The day was wearing into late afternoon and the light would soon be gone and there wasnt enough time to send a second group of scouts to take a better look at the camp along the ridge. In the end, after deciding that the element of surprise was

their greatest advantage, Colonel Fallkirk commanded his flying column to prepare for battle. They would come at them from the west face of the mountain, up through the Windy Pass and bring swift death to the wayward Federals. Then the valley and the lake would be theirs.

***

What Colonel Fallkirk did not know and could not have known was that Union scouts led by a turncoat Cherokee guide had spotted his own encampment and had delivered such news to Major Benjamin Dawson, who had also unwittingly found himself in command of a regiment that was but a shadow of its former self and was heavy with civilian irregulars. Dawson was unsure if the Confederate unit would attack him by day or night but he was certain that they would attack him. After all, that is what he would have done. Old Green Man Mountain, the lake and the surrounding valley was the only hope for survival. Fallkirks men crept along the Windy Pass as stealthily as they could manage and they rounded the bend as the Union camp came within sight. At the heart of the small encampment, a large fire burned. A few horseless wagons stood abandoned here and there and the long, dark shapes of sleeping men could be seen on the ground around the firelight.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 195 Could they all be sleeping? Colonel Fallkirk wondered. Were they that foolish? A few of Fallkirks men edged in closer to strike the first blow. When their bayonets thrust downward into the blankets of the sleeping soldiers, however, they sliced through nothing more than leaves and sticks. By then, a compliment of twenty to thirty of Fallkirks men were standing over the empty blankets and haversacks, confused and well lit by the flames from the campfire. It was an ambush. Somehow the Union troops had known. The dark and peaceful night was torn open by the sound and flash of gunfire and those Confederates who stood in the Union camp never even had a chance to raise their weapons against the assault. What would later become known as the Cross Mountain Brawl raged on through the night and all through the following day. The men of both sides, the walking dead that they were; starved and war-weary and unhinged, had at each other all over the face of the mountain in chaotic, man-to-man combat. Federals and Rebels whose weapons and ammunition had long since given out took up whatever they could find to subdue their enemy. Bayonet blades rent flesh and men choked the life from other men. Fallen branches from the trees were sharpened and makeshift spears made to run through the guts of many while still others met their end with their heads bashed in by hefty

rocks. Both Colonel Fallkirk and Major Dawson had fallen early in the fight and it seemed as though the skirmish would last for days until the last poor souls dying breath was drawn. However, word of the battle had spread to Whitetail. There were few men that remained in the town and those few were either too young or old and not inclined to involve themselves in the fight. One nurse, though - a woman named Elizabeth Amburg had heard from observers of the ongoing slaughter and decided that enough was enough. She rounded up a dozen or so other women who were also nurses or in study to become such and led them up the mountain, bearing a white flag with a red cross on it. It was this woman of medicine, this woman of healing and care, who did what no soldier could have. She ended the savage conflict between the two weary factions of soldiers and saved a handful of lives without regard to their partisanship.

6 So the battle was won by a woman, Noah remarked. Shakey smiled over at the young man and nodded. I guess you could say that, yeah. You remember when we went into town to pick up your schoolbooks and you were asking me about the statues in the park? Lizzies the big one in the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 197 center of the park. Noah nodded, remembering. Maybe next time his mother went into town, he would go with her and visit the park for a closer look. The old man took a swig from his mug, the coffee now gone cold. It was said that there was every bit as much carnage from that little tussle on the mountain as had ever been seen on any battlefield before. There are other tall tales, too. Folks said that so bloody was that part of the mountain below the Black Ridge that it turned the lake water here on Cedar Bay to pure, deep red. Noah sat, mouth agape, saying nothing. But people do like to exaggerate, Shakey added, then looked up at the mountain. History sure is depressing, Noah quipped. The old man had a chuckle at this. It can be. Sure. But it can also teach us things. Lots of life lessons in it if you pay attention. Like what? Like it aint always wise to just go fighting whenever you get the chance. Those men, the Federals and the Rebels they could have worked it out. Plenty of room for all of them here, plenty of lake. They could have lived off the land for a while

and then all gone home. Hell, it was less than a year later that Lee surrendered at Appomattox and ended the War. The boy sat quietly, considering this. It may not be all that unlike you and your old man, Shakey offered cautiously. I get the sense that hes pretty hard on you, harder than he should be maybe. And you could fight it now and for a long time but once you start, it never seems to stop. A few years from now, youll be your own man and then you can make the choice to walk away from him and get on with your life. Noah looked up at the old man, choking back a flood of emotion and tears. When that day comes, Shakey explained, holding the boys eyes, you will have won the war and he will have lost. Pick your battles, Noah. Thats the lesson I see in it. They both sat for a moment, neither saying a word and both staring into the flames as if mesmerized. Finally, Noah cleared his throat and spoke up. So what happened to the nurse? And the men she tried to save? Well, Lizzie Amburg and her nurses did the best they could, saved a few. Most of them boys were buried, though. Right up there on the mountain. Together. No one was sure for a long time if the War Department ever knew. The people in Whitetail

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 199 placed headstones for the soldiers, most of them without names. And it stayed that way for many years. Later, when Miss Lizzie herself died, she had left instructions to be buried up there along with those men. And so she was. The Amburg family, who was new to these parts back then, had a stone cross erected where the cemetery was. A tall, fine thing it was said to have been. But eventually, the mountain took that, too. It wasnt made a park? Noah asked. Dont they make parks out of battlefields and such? Shakey shook his head. In the scope of the War, it was a small thing. Carries most of its weight just in this little area here. The Parks Department never saw fit to honor it as a memorial site. So the cemetery and the cross all of it has succumbed to time and the elements. Only thing that was done was to rename it Cross Mountain after Miss Lizzie passed on. In honor of her as much as the fallen she was laid to rest near. Noah sipped of his hot cocoa and also found it cold. Could you take me up there someday? To see it, I mean? Shakey paused as he considered it. I suppose maybe. Someday. Nobody goes up there anymore. That mountain aint much of a tourist destination and folk around here tend to avoid it altogether.

Whys that? Shakey stood poured his chilled coffee onto the leaping flames of the fire. Restless spirits, he said, then gazed again toward the mountain in the distance with a respectful silence. The frozen whisper of the winter breeze and skitter of snow across snow were the only sounds to be heard.

***

That evening, Noah and his mother had eaten the last of the lunchmeats on sandwiches for supper, accompanied by potato chips and raw carrots. The cupboard was once again becoming bare. Noah was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his math book open before him as he worked his way laboriously through some long division problems when he heard his father come in late from work. After a moment, he closed his book and went to his bedroom door, cracked it opened and listened. His parents were engaged in quiet conversation, probably in the kitchen. While Noah could hear the sound of their voices, he could not discern the words. The tone was reserved, though, even somber. This went on for a few minutes and then he heard the groan of one of the kitchen chairs scraping across the floor and he eased his door shut and retreated to his bed, opened his book

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 201 again and pretended to resume his homework. Noah listened as his fathers heavy feet came down the hallway and past his room. Then there were the sounds of rummaging from his parents bedroom, the sound of drawers opening and closing, the squeal of the guides on the sliding closet doors. Noah wondered at what his father could be doing and then realized he must be packing his things. At this, a light of hope sprung up in the boy. Was he at last leaving them, going away forever? Would they now be able to leave this strange place behind, maybe go back to Cadys Run? His mother could get a job and maybe he could, too. They could rent one of the small trailers there and without Black Billy in their lives, they could be happy for once, be at peace for once. The footfalls came back down the hallway and paused briefly at his door. Though he was unaware of it, Noah held his breath as he listened, expecting the door to creak open any minute and the cold blue of his fathers eyes to take his measure. But that did not come and after a moment, his father went sauntering back down the hallway. Noah rose and went again to his bedroom door, cracked it open wider this time and peeked out from around the doorjamb. His mother and father stood in the kitchen facing each other. On the floor at his fathers feet was a suitcase. A vehicle, loud and ticking, pulled into the driveway just then,

its headlights blazing through the kitchen window and silhouetting them. Gone for good, Noah prayed anxiously. Oh please oh please oh please. His father handed his mother something that she then stuffed into her pocket. He wrapped his thick arms around her shoulders and she reached hers up around the back of her husbands neck and leaned in, returning the embrace. Noahs hope went cold and a pang of bitterness was felt in his heart along with his disappointment. Then his father was out the door and his mother stood alone in the kitchen. As the vehicle backed out of the driveway and turned, the bright headlights swung across the house and penetrated the windows. In the light that swept over her face, Noah detected the tiniest glint of a tear as it rolled down her cheek. How could she be so sad at his leaving? After all that he had put them through, how could she? The boy stepped out into the hallway. Hes not leaving. Is he? Ada looked up at her son, surprised to see him there. She nodded. He just left. But not for good. She reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks, the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 203 back of her hand coming away wet. No. Not for good. Even in the dim light of the house and the darkness of the hallway, she could tell that her son was crestfallen. She swallowed back a lump in her throat and spoke. Noah, do you hate your Daddy? Ada knew that it wasnt a fair question for her to ask him but she couldnt stop herself. Though he was still her son, her bouncing baby boy and nothing would ever change that she could not help but notice that in recent days, he carried inside him a darkness that made itself known in his solitude and his silence. A darkness that Hugh had given to him and that she had done nothing to prevent. The boy shrugged his shoulders. I dont know, he said coldly. Maybe. He turned away from her. Son, she said, what happened in the worship room that night? When he locked you in that hole? Noah turned his head a little, cocked to the side just the way she had seen Hugh do a thousand times, always when walking away from her. I dont remember, he said. With that, he slipped into his room and loudly shut the door behind him.

Noah felt betrayed. She knew that. He looked to her to change their life, to deliver them from Hughs iron-fisted rule, his anger and his violence. But it wasnt as simple as that. It just wasnt. When she had placed her hands around Hughs neck just a moment ago to hug him goodbye, what she had really wanted was to choke the life out of him. God help her but thats what she had wanted to do. Ada took a deep breath and tried to gather herself. She had to focus on what she could control. There were things to be done in the house; dishes to put away, counters to be cleaned, clothes to wash. But before she got to any of those things, she stood there in the kitchen and wiped away more tears as they came. Each one seemed a reminder of her many and grievous failures.

7 During the night, a front of uncommon warmth swept in from the southwest and clashed with the cold air that lingered over the Blue Ridge Mountains and steady rain began to fall. With it came rumbling thunder and the occasional flash of lightning that lit up the countryside, casting long, black shadows of the skeletal trees across the snowy ground. It was strange enough that Noah woke a few times and turned, though he managed to get back to sleep. By morning, the rainfall and the warmer

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 205 temperature had begun to melt the snow in earnest. Noah and his mother went through the motions of his schooling as the rain continued to fall throughout the morning and the lunch hour. When it stopped in the early afternoon, the gray ceiling of clouds did not part to reveal a crisp, blue sky but persisted, having only grown darker if there was any change at all. Ada announced that she had gotten some grocery money from Hugh and that she was going to head into town for shopping. She asked Noah if he would like to come with her but he declined, not feeling much like a trip into town. In truth, the thought of staying in the house alone unnerved him more than a little but he decided to stick around nonetheless. Anyway, he reasoned, he could always go outside if the confines of the house became too oppressive or eerie. Before she left, his mother asked him if he would go and collect the last few days worth of mail from the box at the neighborhood entrance, for she had neglected to do so with all the snow and ice that had been around. He told her that he would and then walked her to the door, said goodbye and told her to be careful on the roads. After she had gone, he flipped around through the channels on the TV, finding nothing of more than passing interest. He sat and re-read some old comic books in the luxury of the living room, which was nice since he always had to enjoy them on them

on the sly, holed up in his bedroom. After reading the last of his X-Men comics for the hundredth time, he decided to get out and head to the mailbox as his mother had asked him to do. She would be home soon and would be disappointed if she discovered that he had passed all of his time lying idly about the house. He stepped out onto the front porch and felt of the air, then decided he would do just fine with a light jacket, slipped it on and went outside. The neighborhood road had been all but cleared by the rains, much of the black asphalt visible once again and soaking up the warmth. As he walked down the road, he looked around and found the snowy landscape diminished. Great, dark pockmarks of sunken, melting snow dotted the ground every few inches, whiskers of grass and wild onion poked through the white and the frozen glaze had disappeared from the limbs of the trees. As he walked by Shakeys house, he glanced around to see if the old man was about but saw nothing. The lake was slate gray and choppy except for the still, dark water of the shallows near the shoreline that had been covered in thin, serpentine sheets of ice the day before. He passed through the neighborhood entrance and approached the mailboxes. In this covered area beneath the trees, the full depth of the snow still lingered and he stepped carefully toward their mailbox so as not to immerse the legs of his pants into the cold, wet slush. Despite the recent weather, it seemed that the mail had continued to run for

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 207 when the metal door of the box groaned open, he found a handful or two of envelopes and junk catalogs inside. He shut the box and started back toward the entrance, absently thumbing through the stack of bills and other nondescript items until he came across a small, brown envelope that bore the name of Wren in the return address spot. He forced the thick pile of other mail into the inside pocket of his jacket and then ripped into the envelope. Inside was a neatly folded piece of notebook paper and on it the familiar, blocky scrawl of his best friend. The margins of the letter were adorned with Tommys freehand illustrations. Caricatures of simple yet evocative cave-painting quality that depicted Captain Red and Commander Black battling their enemies. Sharp blades and scribbles of Morgosian blood. The insignias of favorite bands like Metallica, Queensryche and Guns N Roses. Commander Black bending over and farting death to his enemies via lightning bolts and clouds of noxious gas. An abstract figure that sported enormous breasts and bore an uncanny resemblance to Laurie Wilson, a school girl of generous proportions that was one mere year their senior and had long been an object of the boys collective lust.

Noah, I got your letter. First off, I hope you know I think you are completely mental about the Von Trapp twins but

your secret is safe with me, nutjob. Since youve been gone, the Morgosian horde has taken control of Cadys Run and the valley. Thanks for leaving me in a lurch, comrade. I have no doubt they are headed in your direction haha! But seriously, folks The old neighborhood misses you. I miss you. I think maybe even Carl Wright misses kicking you in the nuts. Dont worry, though. I am taking the abuse for you. My Dad says that I should ask if we can come for a visit. He says to ask your Mom and he made me write it in this letter and to be sure to do just that because he is gonna read it when Im done. Happy now, Dad? Id love to come out to your new place and see what its like. I bet its a hell of a lot more interesting than here. Give me a call to tell me when would be good. Were still at the same old bat-number, same bat-channel. Dont be a stranger, Captain Red.

P.S. Brotherhood. To the last man.

T. Wren

Excited beyond belief at this news, Noahs stride took on a

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 209 pep that was unusual for him and he found himself nearly skipping along the wet blacktop through the neighborhood entrance. As he did so, he heard a sound from behind him. Just a rhythmic rustle of dry, fallen leaves at first. Then, as he stopped and listened he heard the faint and labored cry of a mans voice. Help somebody. As he turned to look behind him for the source, he was suddenly disoriented. Something was different and for a moment he could not quite place what it was. Then he noticed the pure blue of the sky overhead. Had the clouds that had lingered all day, imposing and gray, suddenly dispersed? There was sunlight falling on the branches of the trees alongside of the road, illuminating the colors of the turning leaves even though those leaves had fallen away weeks ago. Hadnt they? As he looked across the road, he saw the form of a man rise from the hill on the other side. His frame was thin and narrow and the clothes that he wore hung awkwardly from him in drab tones of gray and brown. His gaunt face was roughly bearded and his hair askew in all directions with leaves stuck in it here and there as if he had bellycrawled through the forest to where he now stood by the side of the road. He stumbled toward Noah, arms outstretched and a vacant, terrified look in his eyes.

About his stomach his clothes were stained with something that looked dark and wet and Noah was about to ask the man if he was okay when he heard the roaring sound of an engine as it came down the road. The man was nearly halfway across the pavement when a truck of faded green came sputtering into Noahs line of sight. It did not stop and its rusted bumper grazed the mans backside with enough force to unsteady him and send him whirling forward all the way across the road and onto the gravel entrance of the neighborhood where he crashed to the earth with a meaty scrape. Noahs gaze followed the truck. It was an old one, older than his fathers and older even than Shakeys with deep wheel wells that curved and bulged over the tires and a hood that was similarly bloated but narrowed toward the front. The back of it was an open bed but looked more like a trailer, the sides made of wooden slats that rose up from the frame a couple of feet. And there was no license plate. Noah watched as it motored on down the road, apparently careless of the man it had just struck. Something else was different and strange. The walls of stone at the neighborhoods entrance were not there and the mailboxes as well as the hard, black surface had vanished. In its place was a narrow pathway of gravel upon which the man now lay, moaning and struggling to move. Even still, Noah tucked Tommys letter into his pants pocket and moved to help him. Jesus! Sir, are you okay?

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 211 A stiff wind rose up from the south, from the opposite side of the road, the trees popping as they bent with its force and upon the rush of warm autumn air was carried a stench that Noah recognized. He stopped in his tracks and it was then that Noah noticed the strange fog of gray that lingered at the edges of his vision. Suddenly aghast and panicked, his heart hammering inside of his chest, Noah turned and scampered into the nearby woods to hide. He found and took cover behind a tight growth of trees that should not have been there, put his belly to the dry leaves and lay absolutely still as he watched the injured man and the road from a narrow break between the trunks of two trees. From the incline below the horizon of the road there emerged the top half of a weathered, wide-brimmed hat and when he saw the eyes of the stinking man follow as he trudged up over the crest of the hill, Noah shut his own and silently, if informally, prayed. No. No, no, no, no. Wake up. Wake up. But this was not a dream. When he opened his eyes again he beheld the sight of the stinking man, full in the light of day. The man was every bit as tall as he had seemed before, thick and powerful in his appearance as well as the manner in which he carried himself. The brim of the hat he wore was folded

up along one edge and Noah thought that, had it sported a feather, it would have closely resembled every illustration of J.E.B. Stuart he had ever seen. His hair was long and greasy, darkened black with grime from whatever its normal color was and his square, stubbled jaw framed a face of chiseled cheekbones, an unfortunate beak of a nose and other angular features. He wore a thin, filthy coat that came down to his knees and lingered at the top edge of the dull, brown leather boots he wore. Beneath his open coat was a button-down shirt dark with age and filth. A wide leather strap, the kind that would hold a rifle or a shotgun, crossed his chest but Noah saw no barrel of a firearm peeking from his back. Everything about the man seemed to convey that he had not bathed in weeks, if indeed he had ever bathed at all. His deep-set, black eyes fell upon the form of the injured man writhing on the gravel. Didnt quite make it, did you, boy? he spoke, his tone low and his voice full of jagged malice. The man on the ground whimpered, mumbling words that were indiscernible to Noah but sounded like pleas for mercy. Fraid not, Abner, he said as he strode across and knelt beside the tortured soul. A mans gotta eat, dont he? With his left hand, the stinking man grabbed a handful of Abners hair and pulled his head up and back as with his right, he reached down to his beltline and drew forth a long, wide-

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 213 bladed hunting knife whose point curved wickedly back toward its wielder. From its tip and halfway down, the blade was already stained dark with what must have been Abners blood. The knife itself seemed unusual but Noah recognized it as a deerslayer knife. Back in Cadys Run, there had been plenty of raw-boned men who brought the carcasses of dead bucks back to their trailers and proceeded to hang and dress them in their tiny backyards. Some of them used blades that looked very similar. Abner let out a last, guttural cry as the stinking man slid the blade across his neck and pulled backward. A thin, red gash opened wide and exposed the bright crimson of his inner flesh as the man pulled on his head, sinews of muscle stretching to their limit and snapping and the blue-black walls of his throat and surrounding veins splitting open with an unimaginable flow of blood. Noah, unable to help himself, gasped and felt his lunch rise to the back of his throat. He swallowed it back down along with the acid that accompanied it but by then he had made too much noise, the leaf bed on which he lay cracking dryly beneath his squirming. The stinking man looked up from his kill and directly at the boy hidden in the trees. It took him a moment but then an expression of anger and recognition washed over his countenance.

You again? he hissed, standing and striding toward the boy. Come, youngling, and lets see what tenderness you got to offer. Noah did not wait nor did he think. He simply sprang to his feet and darted between the trees. When his feet found the gravel road, he gave over to a flat-out run toward the houses of the neighborhood, though they also appeared different than they should have. The buildings seemed squat and cold, colorless and even lonelier than he remembered. The dogwoods and pears and other trees that adorned the grounds, each easily eight feet tall or more, were simply not there. No snow, no wet ground, and the expanse of grass kept neat and trim by the old caretaker was hacked up from too much foot traffic and the scars of tire tracks. Fingers of gray smoke rose from the chimneys of every house and the culmination of these vapors was a dense fog that lingered about the rooftops and choked his breath. Around the manor house on the rise there was no fencing and its painted siding of white and blue was the only bright hue to be seen. The lake beyond glittered with afternoon sunlight and Cross Mountain sprawled to the west, callous and unchanged. Alien as the landscape was, Noah sprinted toward it. Then he slipped and his feet tangled together. As he fell, he winced and brought his hands up, ready for the sting of gravel and the crunch of it beneath his flesh. All with the stinking man hot on

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 215 his heels. Noah tumbled forward and plunged headlong into a mound of cold, wet snow. He righted himself, on his feet again at once, running down the pathway and more than halfway to Shakeys house before he noticed that the world as he knew it was restored. Noah looked behind and, seeing nothing, slowed his pace to a jog as he veered right. Damn, boy, wheres the fire? Noah planted his feet, skidded to a stop and saw Shakey Lee standing close by, shovel in hand, at the edge of the old mans driveway where he had been clearing the last bits of melting snow. I the boy began but drifted off, the world as it should be settling in around him even though his heart still pounded in his chest. No, I. sorry. The old man placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. You alright, son? Noah breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah, Im fine. I just I dont know, he offered, searching for an explanation that did not involve ghostly visions and murder. His mind suddenly seized on the letter in his pocket. I got a letter from my friend back home and he wants to come for a visit. Guess I got excited. Shakey looked the boy over curiously and then offered a

smile. Sounds like a good thing, right? Noah nodded, catching his breath. It is. But Im supposed to call him to let him know when. And we still aint got a phone. The old man snorted and waved it away. Use the office phone at the manor house. And give him the number in case he needs to call you back. I check the messages religiously. If theres anything for you, Ill let you know. Noah wiped snot from his nose and nodded his thanks to Shakey. Really? Thatd be great. Thank you. No problem. Tell your folks they can do the same. I will, the boy replied.

8 As Noah crossed the street to his house, he saw his fathers truck in the driveway and that hollow, heavy feeling of dread invaded his stomach. Then he remembered that his father was out of town for work and that his mother had used the truck to go into town for groceries. But when had she returned? He had been at the neighborhood entrance where he had seen whatever it was that he had seen. But he damn sure hadnt seen her drive through the gates.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 217 He stepped in through the front door and kicked off his shoes. Mumma? he called out without even bothering to look. Oh, well, he heard the lilt of her voice from the kitchen, looked in the pass-through and saw her unpacking the groceries from tall, rigid paper bags. Looky here. The noble knight returns. Great timing, kiddo, since Ive already brought in all the groceries. Noah tore off his coat and draped it across the back of his fathers easy chair, went straight to his mother and wrapped her in a bear hug. He pressed his face into her and shut his eyes tight, longing to dispel the image of that poor mans throat opening up and the bright, otherworldly red of the blood. She grinned wide at his embrace, pleasantly surprised. If you think this makes up for you not being here to tote these bags into the house, well, mister it does. He nodded against her and then broke free and began helping pull the groceries from the bags. Ada could not contain her joy at this unexpected display of affection from her son, though she tried. Did you at least get the mail while you were out there? I saw you, you know. Hiding in the brush behind the mailboxes. You might need better camouflage, son. She had seen him? How could she have seen him when he had

not seen her come through the entrance in the truck? Unless when these visions was that they were? Unless when these visions came over him, his mind was plunged into another time or place while his body stayed in the here and now. It was food for thought, surely, but Noah had not the energy to give it much just then. So? Did you get the mail or not? I did. Anything good? she asked as she placed a couple gallons of milk into the fridge. Actually, yeah, he replied, beaming. Her son said it with such unabashed excitement that she had to stop and look over at him. Publishers Clearing House check for a million dollars? Noah cocked his head and regarded her with a sour sarcasm. I got a letter back from Tommy. Oh? Whatd he have to say? He says they want to come for a visit, him and his Dad. Ada closed the door of the refrigerator and stood there a moment. Really? And his father was alright with that idea? Noah nodded. Tommy said it was his Dad that suggested it. Is that so? she asked, though Noah sensed it was more a

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 219 remark than an actual question. The boy watched his mother as she stood, considering it, her teeth biting into her lower lip and something like a smile at the edges of her mouth. So, what do you think? he asked. She tapped her foot on the floor for a moment and then went back to unpacking the groceries. I think you should write Tommy back and tell them thatd be just fine. Dont need to write, Noah quipped. Shakey er Mr. Lee says I can use the office phone at the manor house to call them. Ada nodded approvingly. So? Noah pushed. So call Tommy tomorrow and tell them to come later this week. Noah felt exuberance well up within him at the idea that it could all come to pass so soon but even as a possums grin began to cross his face, he stifled it. Dont we need to ask Dad about it? Ada plopped a bag of sugar down on the kitchen table with a forceful thud. Well, hes gone for the rest of the week anyway. And what he dont know wont hurt him, right? Noah nodded and grinned a little. Maybe his mother was more

in his corner than he had thought. That night, after supper, they loaded the Elvis and Motown CDs he had given his mother as a Christmas gift last year into the stereo and they danced and laughed until their feet fell from beneath them and then they danced some more. At least his mother did, though Noah was content to hang back and play air guitar, saxophone or trumpet and watch her. He had not seen her so happy in a long time, if he had ever seen it. He liked what he saw and imagined it to be what life would be like without the ogre around. When Heartbreak Hotel came on, Noah grabbed a yardstick from the broom closet and proceeded to strum away. For the remainder of that one night, they frolicked and played, inexplicably carefree. And for once, Noahs thoughts did not dwell on his father or Black Billy and certainly not on the phantoms of Cedar Banks, be they blond haired, stinking or dressed in a fine, blue gown.

9 Noah spent the following morning at the kitchen table with his mother, grinding through his school work, though his mind was elsewhere. He got up constantly, inventing excuses to do so; another glass of water, to go to the bathroom, to open the fridge and peer inside. All just to get a glimpse out the front of the house to see if Shakey Lee was out and about so that Noah

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 221 could rush out to him and beg the old man to let him into the manor house so he could make that phone call to Tommy Wren. There had been no sign of him, though, and his truck was not in the driveway. It hadnt been since Noah first peered out at six oclock that morning. Wherever he was, he had gotten up awfully early to go there. So the boy had completed a spelling quiz, finished a math test and taken notes on the next three chapters in his social studies book as he read them, though he had done it all rather distractedly. It was going to be an early day, his mother had announced at the start of it, and when lunchtime rolled around at noon, Noahs school day was ended. He sat with his mother a few moments longer and gobbled down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some potato chips before going to the door to slip his shoes and coat on. If you find Mr. Lee to use the phone, Noah, see if they can come for a visit tomorrow. Im sure Tommys still on Thanksgiving break so maybe thatll work. If not, well have to call them back when we know what another good time might be. Noah nodded and smiled. What she meant was a time when his father would be gone for work. He didnt fully understand his mother, hugging on his father one minute and then disobeying his wishes the next, but he had to give her credit for keeping things interesting.

Okay, he acknowledged, finished lacing up his shoes. Now, Im gonna go on into town today, she continued from the kitchen, scrubbing the dishes from lunch. Think Ill go get my hair done in case Tommy and his Daddy do come to visit. Might get to meet some of the local women while Im there. Her son was surprised to hear this. Normally, they were not in the financial state to provide for such vain luxuries that is what his father called them as haircuts or brand new clothes or his mother getting her nails done. Usually, she cut her own hair as well as Noahs and his fathers, which was easy enough with a comb and the electric clippers. She must have squirrelled away some of her own pennies for such a thing, Noah imagined, though he did think it odd that she should feel compelled to do so because of Tommy being brought for a visit. After all, he had seen her in her nightgown and robe with rollers in her hair. You want to come with me? Naw, he declined, as he slipped into the arms of his jacket. I wouldnt want to miss Mr. Lee if he comes around. Suit yourself, she said as she shut off the water and came out of the kitchen. She stood there a moment, hands on her hips and stretching her back, giving Noah a once-over. You know, you could use a haircut yourself, she said,

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 223 reaching her fingers into his fiery red mop. Getting a little scraggly up top. Noah pulled away playfully and smoothed his hair back to where it had been. I dont want to keep it short anymore, he said, then caught her eyes to make sure she understood. Not like that buzz cut of his. Not anymore. Ada nodded her understanding. Noah was approaching that age where he was bound to start asserting his independence and individuality. But it wasnt only that. After what had happened, she could see that Noah was pulling away emotionally from his father, leaving behind a chasm that was perhaps always there, just beneath the surface. Such independence was going to be

hard for Hugh to swallow, for he liked things only one way. His way. Without much room for deviation or interpretation. She watched her son zip up his jacket and go darting out the front door, then went and started the shower. As the bathroom filled with steam, she stripped and stood before the mirror and wondered where it was along the path of adulthood and parenthood that she had let herself get so frumpy. Her hair, once a brilliant, dark red was graying faster than it should have and hung flat and uninspired, just touching her shoulders. Even her natural curls, it seemed, had given up. She had put on some weight, yes, but not overly much. As a young woman, she had

been thin and athletic, so the few extra pounds she had gathered over the years had filled her out and given her curves where there had been none before. Her breasts, once smallish and bouncy were larger and had been since motherhood but laid with a certain malaise against her flesh, deflated, the hallmark of having breastfed her son. Freckles dotted her body as they always had, as numerous as stars in the sky, though they had darkened with age. Altogether, she was not a bad looking woman in her estimation but when was the last time she had put on make-up? It was not something that Hugh approved of. He preferred her plain and so that was how she had become. But not today. And certainly not when Nicholas Wren and his son came for a visit. As she stepped into the shower and bent to lather her legs with shaving cream, she had to laugh. What was she? A twenty-two year old bachelorette getting gussied up for her big date? She seldom shaved her legs any more. What was the point when it mattered nothing to her husband? Not that she expected that she had be showing her legs off to Tommys father and not that he hadnt often seen her the way she was when they had lived at Cadys Run. After all, she hadnt become frumpy overnight. Musing on this, she almost said to herself that she couldnt remember the last time she was alone with the Deputy where such concerns about her appearance might have mattered to her, but that wasnt

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 225 true. She did remember, for Nicky - as she had called him once upon a time was the one that got away. They had been high school sweethearts for a time and she still recalled the outfit he had worn on the night when she found him necking with Mary Stuart in the school parking lot after a football game. She had read him the riot act that night and ended it between them. Since then, many were the days she had regretted doing so. All of her boyfriends afterward had been a string of poor choices, one after another. Not that she and Nicky would have ended up together and not that they would have married, though in hindsight and with a little imagination anything seemed possible. But she had ended up with Hugh. The only reason that she had ever been allowed to speak to the Deputy at all and indeed for her son to be friends with his son was that Hugh had no clue about that part of her past. He had been home-schooled by his mother, just as she was doing with Noah now, and had not been permitted a social life that might have involved teenagers from her school. In any case, if she was to have the occasion to spend some time alone with her old beau, drinking coffee while the boys played outside, she would be damned sure to look her best even if he was long since past the point of noticing or caring. As she shaved the hairs from her legs, feeling of their smoothness,

she again had a chuckle at her own ridiculous girlishness. But then even thirteen long years of marriage to Hugh Belton had not been enough to completely extinguish the torch she still carried for Nicky Wren.

10 With nothing to do but wait for Shakey to come around, Noah, thinking of the little blond boys, wandered into the woods and down to the spot where he had encountered them last. The downed tree was still there, stretched over the shore and into the lake. He considered edging out over the tree just for the heck of it but with the recent weather and the runoff from the snow, the lake would be cold beyond measure and he had no interest in losing his balance and falling into it. He kicked around aimlessly for a bit, wondered if the little boys were about. He neither heard the tell-tale laughter nor saw blurs of yellow hair go whisking by through the trees, just out of full view as they always were. Noah leaned against the stump of the downed tree and recalled that the last time he had heard them, he had deliberately tried to. It worked once, he reasoned, so why not try again? He found the tree that he had sat against last time and lowered himself onto the still damp ground, resting his back against the cold bark. A cool wind blew through the forest and the trees swayed and whispered amongst

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 227 themselves. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind just as he had done before. It was difficult, though, for there were many things that preyed on his thoughts; the vision of the stinking man and the murder from the day before not the least of them. Perhaps he needed to get their attention. How best to do that? As he wondered at it, the memory of the rhyme he had heard the older boy reciting came to him. Why not try that? He tried to enter a calm state of mind, eyes closed, and after a few minutes, he began to sing the rhyme in the same way he remembered the boy had done it. Wee Will Winkie he began. But his doubts came gnawing at him. This was ridiculous. What was he doing? Sitting alone in the forest and singing a nursery rhyme in the hope of encountering two young boys who had long ago moved on to whatever the next world had to offer. Why should they care about his desire to find them? After scolding his doubtful self, he calmed again and then resumed. He didnt know if he had the tune exactly right but he thought it was close. Wee Will Winkie runs through the town, he sang, Upstairs and down in his burial gown. Scratching at the window, moaning at the lock. Where are the children? Its nigh on twelve

oclock. He stopped and listened but there was no sound but the wind. Wee Will Winkie runs through the town. Upstairs and down in his burial gown. Scratching at the window, moaning at the lock. Where are the children? Its nigh on twelve oclock. This time he did not pause but continued with another round of it. And after that, another and another. He continued until he lost count of how many times he had done it and then continued on. Wee Will Winkie runs through the town. Upstairs and down in his burial gown. The sound of a gasp, a breath drawn in not his own. Still, he persisted. Scratching at the window, moaning at the lock. Whispering. Words he could not make out but whispering all the same. Where are the children? Its nigh on twelve oclock. He paused and at first there was only silence. Then a voice, young and shrill. You ask him! After a moment, Where did you learn that rhyme? Noahs heart beat fast, excitement surging through his veins. If he answered, would it break the spell? Still, this is what he had set out to do, wasnt it?

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 229 I heard you singing it. Thats where. Where did yall learn it? Daddy used to tell it to us around the campfire, one of them said. Now, Albie just teases me with it. The boys were whispering to each other again. So your names are Will and Albie. Im Noah. Thats my name. Noah? came the voice of Will, the youngest. Are you from the Bible? Course hes not from the Bible, you dumb-dumb, the voice of the older boy chastised his brother. That Noah is probably a million years old. Im from here, Noah injected. Well, not from here but this is where I live now. Where do yall live? We come here sometimes, the older boy replied, but we have the run of the lake so we visit all over. Noah nodded. Why do you stay here? Around the lake, I mean. Noah asked. There was a moment of silence as the older boy considered the question. We dont know, he replied. We just cant seem to go anywhere else. Albie! Were not alone anymore! the little one shrieked excitedly. Were finally not alone!

Albie shushed his brother. Were still alone, Will. But the boy can hear us! It doesnt matter, the eldest brother said, a tone of despair in his voice. Hes not like us. He feels different. Cant you tell that? Noah could not see but he could almost sense the young ones shoulders slump in resignation. If I open my eyes, Noah asked cautiously, could I see you? Or will you just disappear? The older boy shrugged. Beats me. Youre the only one weve ever been able to talk to. Noah thought for a moment. It was working so well, he was reluctant to push it. He was afraid that he might lose whatever state he had settled into that allowed him to converse with them. But shouldnt he at least try? Okay, the boy said finally. Im going to open my eyes. Please dont go running away. The blond boys nodded. Noah opened his eyes and saw before him feet with beaten, muddy canvas shoes that had gone out of style long ago. The boys bare legs were pale and filthy, bruised and marred by scratches clotted with old blood. As he raised his head, taking

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 231 in the full sight of them, he found them to be terrible looking. As if they had been lost in the woods for a hundred years and every twig and bramble, every jagged rock and muddy patch had touched their cold, gray flesh. The upper leg of the youngest had been mauled, it seemed, the bone protruding white and chalky from the wound now black with age. Their faces were filthy, their hair mussed and tangled and of a dingy tone that was nothing like the bright yellow he had seen before as they had slipped through the forest. Their eyes were pale and vacant, bereft of any life. As he looked at them, he saw again the gray at the edge of his vision. First it deepened and then began to recede, though as it did, the sight of them faded. You alright? the oldest and tallest boy, Albie, asked. Noah calmed his mind and concentrated and after a moment, the gray returned and their appearance began to shift between that of the tattered things he had seen at first and young boys of unblemished flesh and golden hair. Their eyes shone a brilliant green and reflected amber sunlight that was not present at the moment. It was as if he was both seeing them alive and healthy as they had been on the start of that fateful day and also in the state in which they had been when they had crossed deaths black threshold. Will, whose hair was longer and curlier than his brothers, gave Albie a playful jab in his side.

Say something! he whispered. Albies mouth opened to form words but hung there silently. Pleased to finally meet you, Noah offered instead. They regarded each other unsurely, warily, taking in every detail. The wind in the trees picked up and a sweeping gust rushed in off the lake, broke on the shore and somewhere in the forest, a heavy limb snapped and fell with a crash. Noahs head jerked away instinctively toward the sound and when his gaze returned to the boys, he found that they had vanished.

***

Shakey had his truck backed up close to the house and was unloading its contents when he saw young Noah coming up from the woods, headed in his direction. He muttered a quiet thanks to God, for his back was aching and the last thing he needed was to throw the old spine out of whack and be laid up for a week or two. Morning! he hollered to the boy. Afternoon, you mean, Noah said as he came down the driveway, his stride quick and purposeful. Right, Shakey chuckled. Time gets away from me on occasion.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 233 Ill bet. Where you been? Shopping in town, he replied and extended his arm, making a show of his haul. Noah looked in the bed of the truck and saw what must have been a dozen bags unimaginatively labeled Rock Salt along with a few paper bags that looked to be from both the grocery store and the town hardware. He fixed the old man with a quizzical look. You know the snows melted, right? Yeah, but itll be back before too long. Old Man Winters a vindictive bastard, Shakey groaned as he reached into the bed and hefted another bag, set it down on top of the stack he had begun against the brick wall of the steps that led into his kitchen. Besides, Herman down at the hardware overbought. Got these for half price. Noah nodded. Shakey stood and placed his hands on his hips, stretched back a moment, feeling the links of muscle and spine in his back relax, if only just a little. Care to give an old man a hand? Tell you what, Noah grinned, Ill make you a deal. Shakey clapped his hands together and leaned on the trucks fender. Alright. Whatd you have in mind?

Remember I was telling you about my friend back home? Sure. Mumma wants me to call and see about them coming for a visit. Hey, thats great, the old man smiled. So I was hoping youd be able to take me up to the manor house. Let me use the phone? Sure thing. Just help me get this unloaded and well head on over together. Deal? Deal, Noah said and moved to grab one of the bags out of the back of the truck. Shakey extended his hand to the boy. A gentleman always shakes on a deal, boy. Oh! Noah said, a little embarrassed. Sorry. The two clasped hands and then went about stacking the rest of the rock salt in Shakeys driveway. They set the paper bags on the steps and shut the tailgate and then together they meandered across the grounds toward the manor house that stood on its rise, lonesome and caged in chain-link.

As they approached the house, Shakey fumbled with the keys and then unlocked the gate that bore the faded sign of the construction company. Parker Developments, Huttonsville, West Virginia, it read. Noah took a much closer look at the old

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 235 building than he had before. Though it was clearly of a style from another time, it seemed in good shape, which struck him as odd since it had presumably been paid hardly any attention since the renovation and construction on the development had stopped. Then he noticed that the white clapboard planks and blue trim of the house had been replaced by vinyl siding. Except for a thin layer of grime here and there, it was spotless. Though Noah could not have said so, the manor house, was a hybrid of Victorian and Colonial architecture, sporting a wide, covered porch that stretched around the perimeter of the house and hugged the rounded outcroppings that stood at its corners like the turrets of a castle. The original metal roofing, which had been a brilliant, amber copper when it had been laid so long ago, was now covered in blue-green patina. Weathervanes still adorned the pointed peaks of the turrets and creaked this way and that in the wind. The numerous windows had not been replaced, however, and the periwinkle shade of blue paint that had been applied to their wooden frames was cracked and chipped away in many places. The wrap around porch was in much the same shape and as they climbed the steps to the front door, Noah watched as their footfalls scraped away tiny layers of the paint that went flitting away in the breeze. The front door was a large, dark wood portal at the center of which was an oblong, oval-shaped piece of stained glass. The old man plunged a key

into the deadbolt and turned. The hinges groaned as the door swung inward and a rush of cold, stale air greeted them. They stepped into the foyer and Shakey leaned across the boy, flicked on a few light switches and several naked bulbs that hung uncelebrated from the ceiling blazed on. The renovation of the house had ceased with the work on its exterior, it seemed, for the inside was barren, evidenced by the naked subfloors and the faded walls of old plaster ridded with hairline cracks. The only remaining thing that retained its ancient charm was the staircase before them that led to the upper levels of the house. Though covered in the dust of years, its dark wood was fine and polished, the bannisters and handrails incredibly smooth for works that had been hewn by human hands. The inside of the house seemed to convey a spaciousness that was not evident from the outside, especially not when observed from afar as Noah had seen it up until now. Whose house was this? Noah asked, his voice echoing off the empty floors and walls. You remember I told you about Lizzie Amburg? From Cross Mountain? Yeah. Well, her local fame and reputation back in those days did well for her kin around these parts. Her father, who owned what passed for the town hospital and asylum back then, ended up buying a few of the farms around here after the war ended.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 237 Bought em cheap, made lots of money. Then he bought this place for a song. His oldest son ended up buying the town newspaper and made it bigger and better. Then built a sawmill and had his hands in a dozen other businesses. He also did well for himself. Anyway, this place was old when Miss Lizzies daddy bought it after the war. So its been around awhile. Noah stared up at the grand expanse of the spiral staircase that ascended into the dark above, imagining what the place must have been like in those days. Anyway, Shakey interrupted the boys musing, thats just more history. Go and call your buddy. The old man reached into his coat pocket and produced a flashlight that he clicked on and then off to test it. Since Im here, I reckon I better crawl under the house and check the pipes for cracks and leaks what with the recent cold and all. That is what they pay me for. Before he went out, Shakey directed Noah into the room off the right of the foyer and told him to follow around until he got to another room with windows and a wooden table with a phone and answering machine on it. Noah had been in such houses before on school field trips. They had visited old plantation homes along the James River on the outskirts of Richmond. Those homes had been restored to historical accuracy over time, some ornate and some plain. The layout of the Amburg house bore many similarities. The first

room he came to, he guessed, had been the parlor and the next, a drawing room. When he came to the room with the phone, he didnt know quite what to call it. Windows that stood nearly floor to ceiling made up the entirety of the long outside wall and beheld stunning views of Ashwood Lake. In the yard between the house and the lake, there was little to be seen except for scraggly, untrimmed lawn space and a tall but skimpy weeping willow whose long, empty branches hung corpselike from the limbs. The willow stood between two much larger and shapelier oaks and the copse of trees stood over a family cemetery with half a dozen headstones that jutted up from the ground, only a little higher than the grass. Against the far wall of the room was a nondescript, wooden table. Upon it sat an answering machine of sleek, white casing which would display the number of messages waiting if the machine had any. Attached to it by a separate cord was a large, black phone with a circular array of numbers beneath a silvery metal ring. Noah recognized it as a rotary phone, though he had not seen one in some time and never in a household environment. The payphones at his old school had been similar but he had never had the occasion to use them. Apprehensively, he plucked the receiver from the hook and pressed it to his ear. The monotonous drone of the dial tone sounded forth and he plugged his index finger into the hole that

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 239 corresponded to the first digit of Tommy Wrens phone number and wound the ring clockwise to the stop, listening as it ticked its way back with muted clicks in his ear. He followed likewise with the other numbers until he heard the shrill, electronic gurgle of the line ringing. Noah glanced up and looked through the windows at the lake. Without warning, his sight grayed and shifted. He blinked twice to dispel it but still, the vision came. The interior of the room was no longer cold and sparse, for the windows were opened and a warm breeze came drifting in off the lake. The plaster walls were whole and brightly white and the sills and panes of glass no longer replete with dust. In the yard beyond, the oak trees were thick with green foliage and the willow in between was smaller, yet green and supple with life. As the tentacles of its long branches swung in the summer wind, he spied a woman in its shade. The brilliant blue of her dress was visible for only fractions of a second but her ivory skin was set against the backdrop of brilliant, scintillating waters and there was no mistaking that her dark eyes were fixed on him as he stood there in the room, the receiver to his ear and his mouth and tongue gone suddenly dry. Hello? the voice sounded over the receiver, so true and familiar that Noah doubted his hearing and turned to stare down at the phone itself.

Hello? It was only then that Noah realized he hadnt said anything. Tommy! he blurted. Well, the voice on the other end of the line replied, taking on a demonstrably cool air, if it isnt Captain Red. To what do I owe the pleasure? Quit screwing around. I got your letter so now Im calling you back. Oh, you got the letter? Good! I was afraid the mail out there was by pony express and it might take many moons. Noah smiled. God, he missed Tommys cutting sense of humor. Listen, Noah said, turning around to look at the room and realizing the vision had subsided. Im calling you from the neighborhood phone. Neighborhood phone? How quaint. When were done, can I talk to John-Boy? Seriously, Tommy. Okay, okay. So whats new, man? For a moment, Noah felt a swell of emotion rise in him, for there was so very much to tell. But now was neither the time nor the place. Not much. Hey, I talked to my Mom. Are you still on break? Yeah. Awesome! Noah exclaimed. Mumma says it would be great if

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 241 you could come this week. Like tomorrow or even Friday? He uttered the last bit with a wince, readying himself for a damning disappointment. That soon? Hold on. Noah listened as Tommy dropped the phone to his side and spoke to his father. Though he could not understand the words, the tone of their voices seemed generally positive. Then there was a crackling as his friend on the other end put the phone against his ear. I dont know, Noah, Tommy said with a reticence in his voice. At this, the boys shoulders slumped. Noah sighed into the phone. Of course well be there, Tommy bellowed from the other end of the line. Dad gave me the nod of approval. So, yeah, we will be there tomorrow. Probably sometime after lunch. Yes! Noah shouted into the phone. So is that place cool as all get out or what? Its- Noah began but cut short his thoughts when he heard the front door of the manor house slam shut. Shakey was done with his inspection. Its pretty cool, I guess. Whatever! Tommy scoffed into the phone. All those woods I bet its awesome.

You gotta see it to believe it, Noah replied. That was all he could come up with on short notice and he certainly wasnt about to launch into a detailed recounting of his time thus far at Cedar Banks with the old man within earshot. Listen, Noah said finally as Shakey entered the room, I gotta go. See you tomorrow, though? Affirmative, Captain Red. Then Noah dropped the receiver back onto its cradle. Everything all right? Noah nodded. Sure is. My friends coming tomorrow. Good, the old man replied. Lets celebrate, then he offered, smiling at Noah. I got a mug of hot chocolate at my place with your name on it. Sounds good. With that, the two of them set out from the Amburg house, pausing a moment to lock the gate behind them. Once he was on the other side of the fence, Noah dared a look back not at the house but the narrow willow tree on the banks of the lake. The branches swayed silently and between their hanging boughs no phantom appeared.

***

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 243 Noah stood in the kitchen and watched as Shakey put a pot of water on to boil for hot chocolate. His mother always made the mix from scratch and put it in hot milk but mentioning that seemed rude and ungrateful so he kept it to himself. Hows that book I loaned you? the old man asked. Great. I really like it. Never made you read that one in school, huh? Naw, Noah snorted. Not yet anyway. Yeah, I rather enjoyed those stories myself when I was your age. Still dust off those books every now and then and read a little. Noah nodded and smiled and Shakey took a beer out of the fridge, popped it open and took a long drink from the bottle. Oh! he said with sudden excitement. Hey, come see what else I picked up at the hardware today. The old man stole into his living room to the far wall next to the entertainment center piled with books. One of the chairs had been moved aside and something else had disappeared from the space. In its place, against the wall was the chestnut wooden frame and shelf of a fireplace mantle. You put in a fireplace? Noah asked, astounded and more than a little confused. Shakey knelt beside it and reached down, flicked a switch. In a manner of speaking.

The dark middle of the thing roared to life with flames and somewhere inside a fan whirred, blowing hot air out into the room. Shakey stood beside it, grinning from ear to ear. Its an electric fireplace, he proclaimed. Noah had never seen such a thing. Wow, the boy said, kneeling down and peering into the glass front at the dancing flames inside. Herman at the hardware had it as the display model. Got it half price, too, since he aint sold any of the others he got in. Aint that something, Noah admired, holding his hands out to feel the heat rushing out of it. The teapot began to squeal and Shakey went back into the kitchen to see to it. Noah leaned over to inspect the books on the entertainment center. He pulled out another dog-eared, paperback volume and began flipping through it. The Dreams in the Witch-House and Other Stories the cover read, by H.P. Lovecraft. What a strange name. He turned and regarded the electric fireplace again. This thing Confederate-issue? Noah teased. Shakey chuckled from the kitchen. Not my usual sort of appliance, I know, but lets just say its an indulgence. Go on and plop down in the chair if you

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 245 want. Noah did so, turning the dry, amber pages of the book as he read over them. Shakey emerged from the kitchen, his beer in one hand and Noahs hot chocolate in the other and set the mug on the table. On one side of the mug was a faded American flag and on the other, in equally faded letters of white it read VFW: Veterans Fucked by Washington. The boy had a good chuckle at this and sipped of the cocoa as he thumbed through the Lovecraft book. The old man sat down on the couch and sipped of his beer. The radio was not on but Shakey seemed content with the silence. However, it unnerved Noah, so as he read over the first paragraph of a story called The Rats in the Walls he began humming and what he hummed was the tune of the blond boys strange nursery rhyme. Whered you hear that? Noah looked up and over at his host who sat on the couch, the beer dangling loosely from his fingers with a look of bewilderment on his face. Oh, he said, searching, for he couldnt exactly tell the old man the absurd truth of where he had heard it, I dont know. I guess I just remember it from somewhere. Do you? There was no mistaking the accusatory tone in Shakeys

voice for he had heard it a million times from his father as he had tried to explain away some transgression, be it real or imagined. Confronted with this, Noah shrank into himself. Well yeah, I uh he stammered, searching for a place to land. Why? Youve heard it before? Shakey took a long pull from his bottle of beer, so long that Noah thought he must have drained it. He set the beer down on the table and studied the boy. Yeah, Ive heard it, he nearly shouted and then seemed to reign in his emotions for he looked away from the boy and stared absently into some space of the house. It was something a song that I used to recite to my boys. Part of a ghost story I used to tell em. Around the campfire. The words of Albie, still so fresh in his mind, echoed in Noahs head. Daddy used to tell it to us around the campfire. I never heard the same tune anywhere else before, the old man croaked. Jesus! Noah thought, looking wide-eyed at the old man. With this revelation came a sense of panic that engulfed him. He did not know for certain if the father of those boys this very man not five feet away - had murdered them but, since reading the article at the library, he had come to believe it more and more. And here he was sitting in his house, drinking his hot chocolate, warming his feet by the fire like a damned

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 247 fool. Noah heard the book in his hands slam shut before he realized he had done so and when Shakeys gaze rose to meet his, he turned his eyes away as casually as he could manage. That is weird, he quipped in reply, affecting an air of calm, though his limbs had begun to shake. I suppose its a simple enough tune that it might be something else, the old man offered, staring at Noah in a way that made him squirm in his seat. I reckon I always thought of The Itsy Bitsy- Oh, shit! Noah exclaimed, looking quickly to his arm, to a watch that was not there. Hopefully the old man hadnt noticed. Mummas expecting me back so I better go. With that, he rose and dropped the book to the floor. Not bothering with it, he strode out of the living room and into the kitchen, headed straight for the door at as calm of a pace as he could manage. You can take the mug with you if you like, he heard Shakey say behind him. It was a gesture that was polite enough at its uttering but Noah suspected it a ploy to get him back into living room within the old mans reach. Clearly, Shakey was aware that the boy knew something he should not have known and if he went back in there for the sake of keeping up appearances, it might be as to the fly entering the spiders web on purpose.

No, thats alright, he offered as his hand closed around the knob of the side door. Thank you, though. When Noah was on the landing, the door shut behind him, he broke into a run down the steps and down the old mans driveway. Across the street was his house and he couldnt reach it quickly enough, though the truck was not in the driveway so his mother had not returned from her errands in town. The old man need only look out of his window to plainly see that. Once inside of his own home, he went to his room and took the Louisville Slugger in hand as he positioned himself in the living room where he could see the old mans house. There he watched and waited. What reason did he have to suspect this man of such an ill deed? This man who had been nothing but kind and understanding of him? None, he reminded himself, apart from his own misgivings about the disappearance and deaths of the blond boys. After all, the Rockbridge County police had found nothing to suspect Shakey all those years ago. So why should he? But then he recalled his mothers protective instinct and her initial wariness of the old man. A mothers intuition was powerful thing. All along, she may have been right. Still, Noah could not shake from his mind the look on the old mans face when he had asked him about the tune. There had been a lost and accusatory way about him, surely, but there had also been a reflective, hollow sadness and regret.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 249 It left Noah confused and a feeling of shame niggled at him for his sudden distrust of the old man. Still, better safe than sorry. Isnt that what his mother had always told him? When the truck, with his mother behind the wheel, came rumbling into the driveway, he ran outside to meet her. As she made her way into the house, Noah gushed about the happy news. Tommy would come for a visit tomorrow. He followed her into the house, unable to stifle a parting glance over his shoulder at Shakeys house, where he was afraid he would see the man staring at them from his kitchen window. But there was no such thing to be seen.

11 Full of anticipation for the coming days events, Noah had woken up early that morning. Obscenely early. Christmas Morning kind of early. Except that the boy couldnt recall the last time he had been this excited about Christmas, for in the Belton household, it was a holiday observed with not only the quiet reverence that was appropriate but also an iron curtain of stifling silence that undermined any merriment that might have been part of the celebration. Christmas carols and songs having to do with St. Nick and sleigh-bells were banned due, of course, to his fathers disdain for non-religious elements of the celebration of the Holy Day. But this wasnt Christmas morning,

it was just the last day of Tommy Wrens Thanksgiving break and he would be spending it with Noah. He had busied himself in his room until his mother had woken and then he had taken a quick breakfast of cereal and a banana before rushing off to shower and dress even though it would be hours yet before his friend arrived. Ada had cautiously tried to temper his excitement with the possibility that the whole thing might fall through. Deputy Wren was a policeman, after all, and if he was needed and called on, he would have to go. But Noah wouldnt hear of it. He just knew it was going to work out. It had to. When he emerged ready from his room, he found his mother in a tizzy. She flew about the house, dusting and vacuuming, fluffing pillows and straightening pictures. The place was fragrant with a sweet spice that was somewhere between vanilla and pumpkin pie and berries. She called it potpourri and the mlange of dried ingredients simmered low on the stovetop in a small pot of water. She sure seemed to be going out of her way to make things nice for the Wrens visit, he thought, even though he and Tommy were likely to spend the bulk of it outside in the woods at play. He read some more of Shakeys Poe book and glanced every so often out the front window toward the old mans house while his mother was bathing and getting dressed. The substantial amount of fuss she had displayed over the house that morning paled in

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 251 comparison to the way she looked when she came striding down the hallway, still fastening an earring into one of her lobes. Mumma! he exclaimed as he beheld her. She was dressed in clothes that were casual enough but somehow seemed cleaner and more pressed than he had ever seen them before. Her hair was styled and shaped, her graying red curls falling around her face with ease and life and she smelled of a sweet perfume he couldnt recall her ever having used outside of going to church back home. The face that he knew as hers was adorned with make-up that he was not sure he had ever seen her wear before, her eyes delicately lined in black, the freckles and splotchy tones of her skin evened out with foundation and elegantly applied blush. Her lips, while not painted heavily in lipstick, wore a shade of it that announced their delicate shape and glistened softly in the mid-morning light. Noah thought that his mother had the look of one of those models from the pages of her catalogs or womens home magazines. She was breathtaking. How do I look? she stopped and asked, smiling at her son. You know, he began, regarding her a little strangely but with a sense of awe, were not getting a visit from the President or the Pope. She pursed her lips and waved away his sarcasm. I know but it aint every day that we have company, Noah.

I just want to look nice. He watched as she scurried into the kitchen and began wiping down the countertops for the umpteenth time that morning. Mission accomplished, he commented. Wow. Ada smiled at her sons rare compliment, though he did not see it. She then insisted that he get his room picked up, even though he had done so in the early hours of his wakefulness, and told him that she would be in momentarily to check it over. As he meandered down the hallway to his room, he noticed the door to the worship room was closed and he nodded his silent approval. No sense in announcing the depth of weirdness in which they lived to their visitors, he supposed. She entered his room a few moments later with the Electrolux vacuum in tow and nodded approvingly. He eyed the appliance with a sour face but she shooed him out and said she would take care of it and so he took his book into the living room and read the last bit of Morella as the machine droned and slurped dirt from his carpet in the next room. When she was done and the vacuum cleaner rolled into the hall linen closet, she asked Noah if she could make him some lunch. A grilled cheese maybe? Just a cup of soup? He declined and rebutted by asking her what she was going to eat. Ada smoothed her jeans and her blouse, looking all the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 253 while out of the front window at the street. I guess Im not too hungry, either, son. With that, they agreed to skip lunch and instead they sat and waited.

12 When the familiar Bedford County police cruiser pulled up in front of their house, Noah jumped up from his anxious perch on the couch and announced, Theyre here! to his mother who had been idly watching the Family Feud game show on TV. He raced to the front door but was stopped by his mothers shouting of his name as she rose and clicked off the television. Noah, that aint no way to greet company. The boy, his hand tight and white on the doorknob, looked back at her with incredulity and incomprehension as if she had been speaking Russian. A gentleman, she explained, waits to receive his company and then asks them in. She had barely gotten the first of the words out before her son smiled mischievously back at her and flung open the door, rushing out onto the front porch. She was hardly in a position to fault him for it, though, and he knew that. Tommy came out of the passenger side of the cruiser with what looked like four or five backpacks worth of something slung

over his shoulders. As the boys eyes met, they rushed toward each other and as Noah hurriedly negotiated the front steps, he tripped and almost bit the dust. Quickly correcting himself, though, he soon found himself standing before his best friend and they threw their arms around each other in an embrace that, if left to the boys, seemed likely to turn into a wrestling match that would end with one or both of them on the ground that was still soft from the melted snow. Hey, hey now, Nick Wren shouted as he rounded the back of the cruiser and made toward the driveway and the front walk. Thomas, those might not be your best clothes but at least try to keep them from getting filthy inside of the first five minutes. Dont make me shoot you boys. Noah threw his head back and laughed. The threat was one he had heard often whenever theyd gotten to rough-housing while playing at Tommys trailer back home and he could not have imagined how good it would be to hear it once again. Yes, sir! Noah exclaimed and stood upright but grabbed the loose, green sleeve of Tommys secondhand Army jacket as he pulled him through the yard toward and up the front steps of the porch. They were just barely through the front door before Noahs mother was sounding the familiar reminder of Shoes! Shoes! It proved to be unnecessary, however, as both boys immediately

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 255 knelt and kicked off their sneakers before they went running off into Noahs room, her son leading the way. Ada watched them go, delightfully amused. She turned to watch Nicholas Wren come up the walkway to the steps. As he approached, he reflexively went to tip his hat to her but his police-issued Stetson was not there since he was not in uniform. Ada, he nodded instead. Deputy, she returned with a nod that was exaggeratingly evocative of an old spaghetti Western. He snorted a laugh as he passed through and she closed the door behind him. They stood there for a moment, an awkward silence passing between them as they both listened to their sons in the nearby room, gabbing on like a couple of old hens at a social. Nick, his hands lingering awkwardly on his hips, glanced over to Ada. Well, dont you look nice, he remarked. Ada turned toward him. You look good, too, Nick, she replied coolly and then walked toward the kitchen. Coffee? she offered, tossing her glance and not unintentionally - her red locks over her shoulder as she did so. He nodded, followed and Ada took in a deep breath, a little

surprised at how naturally her detached coquettishness with him had returned to her. As if she had seen him necking with Mary Stuart in the school parking lot just last week and she was still making him pay for it. Again, it was not as if they hadnt seen each other innumerable times back at Cadys Run but they had never really been alone with one another as they were now. Nick looked amazing. How was is that someone in law enforcement, comparatively light duty though it might be in Bedford County, looked as if he hadnt aged a day since high school? He was still of the same slim, taut build. Instead of the drab tan and brown of his uniform she had grown so accustomed to seeing him in, he wore faded denim jeans and a button-down flannel shirt blue-black in its pattern and beneath its open collar peeked the faded white cotton of his undershirt. The only sign of his older years was a light salt-and-peppering of his thick, dark hair. Ada had directed Nick to have a seat at the kitchen table and she was in the process of scooping coffee grounds into the basket when the boys came rushing out of Noahs room with a clamor, dropping to slip their shoes back on. Were going out to play forts, Mumma, her son answered before she could even ask the question. The boys were strapped with backpacks and gear for their war games.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 257 Yall be careful with those things, now, Nick spoke up from his seat, though he never took his eyes off of Ada. We will, they assured him in unison as they went bolting out the front door, slamming it shut behind them. She finished preparing the coffee pot and clicked it on. There was the familiar gurgle and drip as she sat down at the table, just to the right of Deputy Wren. Be careful with what things? she asked. Pellet guns, he replied and grinned, Dont worry, theres no ammo. Ada raised her eyebrows in feigned surprise. Boys would always be boys and they loved their guns and swords and sticks and knives. So, Ada, Nick said as he leaned in, his fingers interlocking on the table. How are things? Hows your new life out here? Hows Hugh doing? It was only then that she noticed that Nick happened to be sitting in the very seat that Hugh normally did. The very one that he had been sitting in only days before when he had turned the table on them all and begun another bad patch in the slow, grinding storm of hostility that was the ruin of their lives. Oh, she said, determined not to betray the despair that the last few weeks had instilled in her and Noah both, Its a special place we got here. And things have been good as ever.

Nick Wren listened to her words and nodded politely enough, though her description of as good as ever gave him no comfort. He knew the rash and volatile man that Adas husband was and he had feared that their coming out to this place, so remote from all they had known, would worsen it. He found the first hint that his suspicions were vindicated not in the words of her reply but in the way she looked aside of him and clasped her hands as she uttered them. They trembled.

***

Where did you get these? Noah asked, admiring the smooth, black plastic so evocative of the gunmetal of actual firearms. This one, Tommy said, bringing the bulk of his own weapon to bear and sighting it as he pointed the barrel into the trees, I got for my birthday. Noah winced, suddenly feeling like an ass. Tommys birthday was in early November and with the moving and settling in and everything else, he had completely forgotten about it. Im sorry, man. I totally forgot about your birthday. Tommy glanced over at him from the sight of his rifle. Dont worry about it, he offered with a nod. Noah smiled a moment at his friends understanding, then raised his own gun up and sighted it.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 259 And this one? That I bought from Carl. Carl Wright? Noah asked, shocked and recalling the bully from back home. Yep. He sold it to you? Well I had my allowance to spend and it turns out Carl likes money even more than he likes kicking my ass, so Both guns that the boys held were styled more after weapons from Star Wars than the Gulf War and parts of their barrels were blaze orange. But they were still cool as all get out in Noahs estimation. Pellet guns, Tommy explained, No cocking like the old BB guns. Theres a cylinder of gas in the stock that shoots the pellets out. Sweet, Noah remarked, admiring the weapon. Wheres the ammo? Tommy leaned up a bit from his sitting position on the fallen tree by the lake and let one go. Noah waved his hand in front of his face and scrunched up his nose. Well, I see you brought plenty of natural gas ammunition. They giggled for a while at this as boys do. Naw, Tommy offered, Seriously, my Dad made me promise I wouldnt bring any of the pellets. Didnt want us to shoot each

others eyes out, I guess. So Noah stared impotently at the weapon cradled in his arms, what then? Just sounds cool, Tommy replied as he turned his weapon on his friend and let go a volley of fire that escaped the barrel of his gun in loud, harmless pulses of air. Noah swung his rifle around at the ready but not at Tommy. He aimed it at the dark thicket of woods that hugged the base of Cross Mountain and became Captain Red. They have the high ground so theyll come from that direction. Tommy turned and dropped down behind the cover of the fallen tree. Tell me more, Captain Red. Noah smirked as he steadied his rifle. Up maybe two hundred feet, theres a low spot called Black Ridge. Yeah? Theyll be camped there. I see. So we should take the mountain? No way. Around these parts, no one takes the mountain. No one has the mountain. Not even the Morgosians. If anything, the mountain has them. Tommy nodded, deep now in the character of Commander Black,

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 261 though there was something genuine and unnerving about Noahs comment, as if he bespoke a guarded secret of the mountain that was known to few. Oh, Captain Red offered, theres one other thing. Whats that? If they come off that mountain, theyll be an army of the dead. A force of alien, living dead. The thought sent a shudder through Captain Black and, for the first time in a long, red history of battle, gave him pause. Then how do you kill whats already dead? I wish I knew, Captain Red replied, though again there was something more of Noah bleeding through in his best friends voice than Tommy could imagine. Then there was only the short, rapid report of Reds rifle as he squeezed off round after round, decimating the imaginary Morgosian horde that teemed from the dark mountainside. If only it were this easy, Noah thought, the memory of the vile, stinking ghost suddenly and blackly invading his pleasant fiction. How do you kill whats already dead?

13 And I remember that once, one of the girls that used to

hang out with us, Brenda oh, what was her last name? Platt? Yes! Ada grinned, jabbing her finger into Nicks forearm where it rested on the kitchen table. Platt. Though all us girls called her Brenda Flat. She illustrated the meaning by motioning straight up and down over her chest. Anyway, we were having a slumber party over at Layla St. Pauls house and she had snuck into her old mans stash of bourbon and brought a bottle for the party. See, Nick said with a wide smile, all youre doing is confirming what all boys think goes on at those things, Ada. Well, wait til you hear this, then, she squealed and took another sip of coffee. So we were all passing the bottle around and giggling, talking about boys and such. Boys? Was this while we were dating? Shut up, Nicky. Im talking. He snorted and nodded. So wed killed I dont know, maybe half a fifth of Old Grand-dad and out of the blue, Layla just pulls off her top and starts shaking her boobs. She watched as Nicks eyes widened. The rest of us are just watching with our jaws on the floor, not laughing, not saying anything because Layla clearly had too much to drink and I think she was hoping wed all join in for

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 263 some reason. Well, we didnt. Except for one us. Who? Brenda Flat stands up and just rips off her entire nightgown, almost goes over backward before she can pull it over her head, shes so dagone drunk, and then she starts gyrating her chest like some stripper with a hula hoop, only unlike Layla she aint got nothing to actually shake. Still, aint no one saying anything, so when shes done shaking her thing, she stops and looks at all us girls and says. Well, what do yall think about that? Layla doesnt say a word, just runs into her bathroom and starts rummaging around, then comes back out with a pink bottle in her hand and says Brenda, I think youd better put some calamine lotion on those two mosquito bites you got there. At this, Nick lurched forward, stifled a laugh and almost felt hot coffee come shooting out of his nose. For her own part, Ada was doubled over and cackling. Lord, she hadnt thought about that slumber party in years. Having Nick around seemed to loosen the surface on a lot of old memories that she thought had long ago been buried by the collected soil of her adult life. After the boys had gone out to play, Ada and Nick had exchanged pleasantries about the state of life and work and there had been a brief, awkward lull in the conversation before he brought up their high school days, asking if she was still

sore at him for catching him making out with Mary Stuart in his GTO after the football game. That had started off a trip down memory lane that had lasted through a whole pot of coffee and a couple of ham biscuits. Nick gulped the last from his coffee cup and stood. He wasnt sure how many cups hed had but he was certainly feeling a demanding pressure from his bladder. Suppose I could use your bathroom? Sure. Just through the living room and down the hall. He walked out of the kitchen and her eyes followed him, for she was unable to look away. As he disappeared around the corner and into the dimness of the hallway, she hollered after him. Third door on the left! She sat there a moment, smoothing her jeans with her hands and wondering what she should do next. More coffee? Should she offer to fix them some lunch? Her head was buzzing with caffeine and her flesh gone flush from all the carrying on. It was good seeing him, sitting and chatting. To be laughing again, it felt what was it? Nourishing? Yes. Nourishing and normal. Ada? she heard him call from the other end of the house. Yes? she said, rising and making her way toward him. The hallway was dark as always except for the end, where light spilled in from the windowed bathroom. She had closed off her own bedroom, of course, and the worship room but as she

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 265 passed by Noahs room, she saw warm, electric light glowing from the open doorway of the worship room. She approached reluctantly, her steps tender. The Deputy had used the bathroom but finding no towel by the sink to dry his washed hands, he went looking for a linen closet. The door in the corner at the end of the hallway seemed as likely a candidate as any, so he had nudged it open and, finding it was a room, had begun to close the door when through the crack into the room, he noticed a shape on the far wall that was hulking and blacker than even the darkness of the windowless room. He had opened a door at the end of the hall and only when he flicked the light had he realized he had opened the wrong door. Now, as Ada came down the hallway, Nick stood just inside of the door, looking at the altar and the grisly metal cross that could have only been fashioned and judged beautiful by an unhinged mind. She approached the threshold with a reluctance that did not escape his notice and there was a graven look on her face. What the devil is this, Ada? She looked away from him and over at the cross but said nothing. Nick considered himself a man who was at least spiritual if not religious. He couldnt quote many Bible verses at will but

he tried his best to attend the Presbyterian church he had been raised in and hung his head in humble thanks and awe of the sacrifice and he knew enough of God to know that he should both love and fear Him. Hugh Belton, though, was a church-going man of an entirely different breed. He had a reputation for strict, antiquated and volatile faith in the Word. Hughs God was not so much the one of love and the New Covenant but of the Old Testament. The one that did not seem so intent on engendering love and faith in the hearts of men to turn them from evil so much as wielding floods and plagues and pillars of fire as a means to punish the wicked. I thought this door was closed, she finally whispered, an emotional unsteadiness in her voice. It was but- This door was supposed to stay closed! she shouted, though she did not meet his gaze. Nick saw her hands at her sides, balled into fists and trembling. He cocked his head to get her attention. Ada? he said gently, You want to tell me whats been going on here? She looked over to him, her lip beginning to quiver as she considered how to answer the question. Where would she begin? Could she tell him the whole of it? How could he accept that as much as the source of her torment was her husband, it wasnt

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 267 only Hugh but something else? Something that was of this house, this place. The presence that was putrid with malice and possessed of a dark hunger. Surely he would think her deranged. Ada? Tears flowed freely from her eyes then and she whimpered as she leaned toward him and he took her in a comforting embrace. When his arms brushed down her back, she winced and jerked reflexively from his touch. Nick felt his jaws clench, the ridges of his teeth cutting against each other. Adas back was tender and he would be willing to bet black and blue with bruises and welts that were still fresh enough to sting. He was also pretty damned sure who had put them there. Nick moved them both to one of the benches in the room and sat down. He could feel the wet of her tears soaking through his shirt to his skin and he gently stroked her hair as she sobbed against him. Tell me, Ada. Tell me whats happened to you.

***

It was that moment found in all battles of epic proportion; that moment when all seemed lost. When soldiers of lesser mettle turned tail and ran or found a hole to lie in and play possum. But not Red and Black no, not them. They had done well, for

there was hardly a scrap of naked earth left to walk upon, littered as the forest was with the bodies of Morgosians, dead and dying. But the boys were winded, damn near spent, and when they looked up to see the last, desperate wave of undead alien troops descend from the mountain, they could not help but despair. If only for a moment. They glanced behind them, considering retreat. But where was there to go? The lake behind them was black with blood and they had no craft in which to escape. I dont know if I have it in me, Red grunted from between clenched teeth. He was doubled over, packing soft black dirt into the wounds he had sustained. As haunted as this mountain was, there was also something healing about it. Something magical. It was both their bane and their only hope, this cursed hillside. Look alive, Captain Red! Tommy shouted and charged his weapon once more. Therell be time enough for resting when this scum is wiped off the face of the planet. Red nodded and stood. He took a moment to charge and check his weapons and then stood beside his comrade as they stared down the horde that grew closer by the second. When the first of the line emerged from the trees, the boys laid down continuous, suppressive fire that cut each of the creatures down in mere moments. So numerous were the fallen that

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 269 the other Morgosians had to negotiate the obstacle of their dead. It made them slow to rally and that was ultimately the boys salvation. They edged closer and picked them off with great swaths of brilliant fire loosed from the barrels of their weapons. They darted this way and that to keep their positions at a tactical advantage and to aid in their defense. It was harder to hit a moving target. It seemed a half hour or more had gone by and the forest rang with the sounds of gunfire and the wails of the injured. The blast of their rifles became a monotonous ringing in their ears as they cut them down wherever they saw movement. Red still had his finger on the trigger, knuckles gone white, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and raised the butt of his rifle to smash his opponent in the face when he realized it was Commander Black. Jesus! he shouted. I almost clocked you. Look, Black pointed toward the mountain. We got em. We got em all. Red stared out and saw his friend was right. The mountain was empty of the foul things. They prevailed against impossible odds once again. He leaned over and clasped hands with his comrade. Well done! they congratulated each other in unison. They leaned their rifles against a nearby tree and tore

into the rations of Snickers bars that Black had in one of his packs. Red was halfway through his ration when he noticed something moving at the edge of the field of battle and he brought his rifle up to bear. Didnt get all of them, he commented. Looks like theres one straggler left. Black waved it away. Let him go, he said. Let him return to his overmasters and tell them of their defeat, tell them what waits for them if they return. Red nodded and dropped his weapon. He ate the rest of his ration voraciously with a wide, chocolaty grin on his face. So, he said, dropping his stern, soldier personality, did you ask your Dad to check for anything about those blond kids? Tommy finished his candy bar and crumpled the wrapper, shoved it in his pocket and looked at Noah with a degree of resignation. What am I supposed to say to him, Noah? he asked, holding out his hands helplessly. Hes gonna want to know why Im asking such a thing. Am I supposed to tell him what you think you saw? Noah dropped his eyes and looked down at his feet. Okay, Im sorry. What you saw.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 271 Thank you, Noah nodded, looking back up at his friend. And If I tell him that, Tommy continued, hell think youre off your nut. Then he might talk to your Mom about it. And then what? It was logical, Noah knew, and he didnt blame Tommy, wasnt angry at him for it. Especially considering that since he had written the letter and since their phone call, certain revelations about the boys had come to light. Not only about the boys but about their father, the property manager there at Cedar Banks. He badly wanted to share all of this with his friend but he knew how crazy and unlikely it all sounded. It was too weird and Noah had more than enough weird in his life these days, it seemed. He would rather enjoy the rest of the time with his friend just being normal for change. Youre right. Its probably nothing, he replied. Tommy seemed poised for an argument about it and, though he thought Noahs sudden capitulation a little strange, he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. They picked up their rifles and packs and ambled along the shore toward the house, toward the dock that reached out over the lake. Neither of them said much on the way there, especially not Noah who was lost in thought. In the time since his last encounter with Shakey, he had become more and more ashamed of himself and less certain of the

old mans role in the demise of his sons. The more he thought about it, the more he could not ignore the feeling that it just didnt seem within Shakey to have done such a thing. Despite all of his eccentricities and his fascination with war and death and bygone days, he seemed like a pretty average man and not at all like some psychopath hermit hiding in from the world in the backwoods of the Virginia mountains. They walked to the end of the dock and sat down. A breeze stirred and rose off the water. This dock is pretty sweet, man, Tommy offered to break the contemplative silence. Noah looked around at it and nodded. Yeah, its nice. One of the perks that came with the house. Tommy snorted a laugh. Perks, he said, shaking his head. Hey, speaking of perks, Noah injected, slipping his hands under his shirt and pushing out from beneath to mimic two large and pointy breasts, hows Laurie Wilson these days? Tommy laughed loudly and nodded. Man, shes looking better than ever. I think her boobs are getting bigger by the day. Yeah? Noah smiled and nodded. By the time we get to high school, she aint even gonna be able to stand up.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 273 At this the boys roared together. Tommy breathed out a long sigh. Dang, Im thirsty. What? No water rations in one of those packs of yours? Tommy smiled but shook his head. Why dont I go in and fetch us a couple Cokes from the fridge? Yes, Tommy said, sitting upright and putting on airs, summoning a voice that sounded a lot like Thurston Howell from Gilligans Island, why dont you? Well take our coke-tails this afternoon on the dock by the lake. Noah stood, smiling and shaking his head. Coke-tails. I bet you think youre funny. I am funny! Yeah, Noah said with a sardonic grin as he turned and headed up toward the house, funny-looking. Nice place you got here, Noah! Tommy shouted after him. It was a nice place, Noah thought to himself, and the bit of envy in Tommys joking had not escaped his notice. A new house and a dock by the lake right next to the mountain. It sounded picturesque. Like something out of a story or a painting. But what was the cost? As Noah had begun to learn, every good thing in the world came with a price. Something was always paid, something always sacrificed. Cedar Banks was a nice

place, true, but he would give it all up in a heartbeat to be back in the double-wide at Cadys Run. To be living an average life full of average people, not one where every passing day seemed populated only by specters of days long past.

***

Ada had cried in Nicks arms for what felt like the entire afternoon. At one point, when he was trying to get her to calm down, his face close to hers, she had thought their lips might touch. She had wanted them to. Wanted it so very much. But as she leaned into him, he had pulled back ever so slightly, his eyes full of concern for her. It had taken Ada a few moments to gather and get hold of herself and had entailed a quick trip to the bathroom where she wiped away black trickles of mascara from her eyes. She had pulled her hair, damp with tears, away from her face and tucked it behind her ears. When she had returned to Nick in the worship room, she brought a handful of toilet paper with her to wipe her eyes and nose should she become overwhelmed again. She sat down, not next to him, but straddled one of the benches a row distant. There she had poured out the whole of her troubles to him. Deputy Wren had long suspected that Hugh was physically abusing his wife and possibly his son and he was always careful

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 275 to look for any signs. But the sonofabitch had been clever about it, never leaving marks where they could be casually observed. More than that, his abuse of them was also mental and he had them scared to death of going to anyone, much less the authorities, to complain. This had all been happening, it turns out, right under his nose at Cadys Run. And though he had suspected, he had done nothing about it. Not that there was anything much he could have done. Even now. The law was pretty specific on the criteria required to separate a child from a parent or get a restraining order on a husband, none of which they would ever meet because Hugh Belton had them so spooked, theyd just given up. Ada had explained to him that after moving to Westlake, here on the outskirts of Whitetail, things had worsened. Hughs wrath had become unbearable and his punishments were increasingly harsh and violent. She even showed him the narrow, dark space behind a crawlspace door where he had imprisoned Noah to teach him a lesson. My God, he thought, shaking his head. How had she not gone crazy from all the years and years of unpredictability and pain? But love was funny that way. In that way, love was dangerous. As a Deputy, he had seen it first-hand. Domestic disturbance calls where the wife came to the defense of the husband who had been smacking her around just moments

earlier. Until the one time the domestic disturbance became a homicide. Sooner or later, they always did. But it wasnt just Hugh, she had told him. He had asked her what she meant, very confused. Now that she had explained, he found himself even more so. Nick knew she wasnt crazy. Knew? Well, he thought she wasnt, anyway. In his professional opinion as a police officer who had seen his share of crazy, he didnt see any of it in her. Other than the strange occurrences she had detailed for him, of course. A what? Ghost? Spirit? Poltergeist? Some kind of thing that wasnt made of flesh and blood, something that could drift in and out of the house on a whim but always seemed to have the ability to terrify her. He sought corroboration and had asked if Noah had seen it. Had he shared any of these experiences? Ada had answered that he had not. She would have known. It seemed the thing was interested only in her. It sure sounded like crazy talk. The wild imaginings of a woman so terrified by her husband, that even when he wasnt there to threaten her, her mind created threats from raw, unformed shadow and the darkest recesses of her fears. It had to be that and he would have dismissed it all out of hand and pleaded with her to see a therapist, to go to the Rockbridge

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 277 Sheriffs Department and get herself and Noah the hell out of that house. Except that he knew something that he didnt believe Ada knew. Something about the place that they had moved to. And if Ada didnt know about it, the only thing to do was take her at her word, no matter how incredible her account might seem. Nick stood and stretched his legs, he sauntered across the room to look closely at the cruciform madness that stood there. Ada, what do you know about this place? Not the house specifically. But Cedar Banks. What do you know about it? Tom Marley, the real estate agent who showed the house, said it was an old Work Projects Administration work camp from the depression days. Nick nodded. Well, I didnt mean to be nosy but I was curious about where I heard yall were moving to so I did some checking and asking about Cedar Banks after you all left. You did? He nodded, turned to look at her. Yep. And your agent was right. It was a WPA work camp. I dont suppose he told you it was a prisoners work camp? The vacant look on her face was all the answer that he needed. I didnt think so, he said as he went and sat down across

from her, leaned forward and clasped his hands together. Not too many folks know about it or remember it, I gather. This narrow strip of land the lake that they now call Cedar Banks? Back then it was called Crow Neck. Owned by a man by the last name of Amburg, who lived in the manor house across the way with his wife and children. The government leased the land from him. It wasnt exclusive to prisoners, you see, but the convicts outnumbered the regular old volunteers something like nine-toone. Why would they let prisoners work out here? It was part of a government program. A convict with only a few years left on his sentence could have it commuted if they worked in the WPA. Not the most elegant way to sort out a bunch of convicts, though, because it put petty larceners and confidence men working right next to stone-cold killers and sociopaths. Ada swallowed hard. Here at Camp Number 11425 thats what it was called, also just known as the Crow Neck Camp they had some trouble in the late forties right around the time the WPA was winding down. The depression was easing up and regular, private businesses were getting going again. But there was still work to be done on the dam so Crow Neck Camp stayed active longer than most. What was the trouble? Ada asked.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 279 Remote camps like this one, some ways off the beaten path, had to have a support staff, of course. And one of the most important was the Head Cook. Here, the man in that position was an ex-con himself. Theyd caught him some years back after leaving a trail of missing men and women from Beaumont, Texas through Alabama and Tennessee. Even as far north as Canton, Ohio. They could never pin much on him, police work back then not being quite what it is today, but when he got round to killing a man in a Clifton Forge tavern, they had him cold and locked him up. Anyway, he was a real raw-boned fella. Some said he could live in the woods all alone for months or even years. Probably how he managed to avoid getting caught for so long. By trade, he had been a huntsman and he had quite a knack for hunting and trapping wild game, dressing and cooking it. So when he came to Crow Neck, thats the job he got. He was good at it. Damned good by all accounts. And the other men, the prisoners and volunteers, loved him for it. They never went hungry around here. He fixed her with a grave look. But some men did go missing. Ada felt her breath draw in shallow. Of course back then, men going missing from work camps wasnt so unusual. It was hard, grueling work and a lot of the men just up and decided theyd had enough. Which is what folks

assumed was happening at Crow Neck. Until someone found a human finger bone in their bowl of Brunswick stew. Some became suspicious of the huntsman but again they couldnt prove anything. Eventually, though, he was caught literally red-handed over what was left of Amburgs seventeen year old daughter, Clara. When they came upon him, the huntsman had already raped and killed the poor girl and he had nearly finished- Nick took a moment and cleared his throat, finished butchering her for the next days meals. They knew it was her by the dress they found with the remains. Adas mouth was agape, her hand held up to her face. Sweet Lord, she muttered in astonishment. After a few days, they strung him up and hanged him. Not the police. Just the men running and working in the camp. Youve heard how it was around here back in those days, Im sure. Tossed his body in with a pack of vicious hounds he kept as hunting dogs and then let them loose out into the woods. They tore his corpse limb from limb and went trotting off into the night. What was his name, the huntsman? Dekker. His name was Clyde Dekker. Ada sat in stunned silence for a moment and then excused herself to the bathroom. There, she sat on the edge of the tub and hovered over the toilet, thinking she would be sick. Across

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 281 the hall, Nick listened to her retch and dry heave for a few moments. When she returned, she was as pale as a ghost herself. And you think this man, this Dekker. You think hes the one Ive Honestly, Ada, he sighed, I would think youre imagining things and Id tell you to go get some help, he said, tapping on his temple to indicate just the type of help he meant. I would, he continued, Except that the details you just relayed to me sound exactly like a description of Dekker that I found in some old police reports. Right down to his unwashed stench and the hand-rolled cigarillos he was known to smoke. They stared at each other for a long moment. What should I do? she asked, a fretfulness creeping upon her. Nick took her hands and tried to calm her. I can tell you all day long what to do about Hugh, Ada, but this he drifted off a moment. I specialize in things I can put in handcuffs. Things I can read Miranda rights to. This is something else altogether. I havent a clue what to tell you to do other than to get the hell away from this place. She nodded absently. And how you do that is by first doing something about Hugh. You get away from Hugh, youll get away from this thing, whatever it is. Go to the Rockbridge Sheriffs Department. File

a complaint against that sonofabitch. Get a restraining order. She was already shaking her head before he even finished and he understood why. Those things didnt happen overnight and even though the judge might rule in her favor, there would be nights where she was home with her husband and not necessarily without him knowing what accusations were being leveled at him. It was a grossly imperfect system of justice, he knew, but it was all they had. Hell, wait until he goes out on one of his runs for a few days, Nick suggested. Do it then so you have some time. Aint you got nobody you can stay with if you need to? She shook her head. There was no one, no one in the world except for maybe Nick and under a judges consideration, that might not reflect so well on either of them. It certainly wouldnt help. What do you think he wants? Dekker, I mean. Nick Wren exhaled a long sigh and considered it. I dont know, he said, shrugging his shoulders. Maybe he wants in death the same thing that he loved and wanted in life. Like maybe we all would if we were damned to be just wandering ghosts. Ada nodded, turning this idea over in her mind, recalling the unmistakable desire she had felt from the entity that night in the kitchen, the way it had caressed her flesh.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 283 What do you think that was? For Dekker? Nick said, his eyebrows raising as his brown eyes darkened and looked away from her. Killing. I think he must have loved killing more than anything else in this world.

***

Noah had walked into the house to retrieve the Cokes for Tommy and himself but was surprised not to find his mother and Deputy Wren at the kitchen table, socializing, chatting over coffee the way that adults seemed to do. He opened the refrigerator and pulled two bottles, was turning to leave when he heard voices reverberating from down the hall. Moving through the living room, he stepped toward the hallway and saw the light on down at the end. He stepped carefully, quietly. Was that the light from the worship room? Why in the world would she have taken him in there? Just the idea of it washed a hot wave of anger and embarrassment over him. The voices began again and the closer he got, the better he could make them out. What were they talking about? Was Deputy Wren going to help them get away from his father? Tom Marley, the real estate agent who showed the house, said it was an old Work Projects Administration work camp from the depression days, he heard his mother say.

There was a brief pause and then the Deputy replied, Well, I didnt mean to be nosy but I was curious about where I heard yall were moving to so I did some checking and asking about Cedar Banks after you all left. It was something about the neighborhood, then. His curiosity not about to be denied, Noah stood there, silent and unmoving and listened as Deputy Wren launched into a disturbing history lesson about Cedar Banks or Crow Neck as it was apparently once known. Noah thought that was an appropriate name for such an weird and deathly place. What was his name, the huntsman? he heard his mother ask. Dekker. His name was Clyde Dekker. Noah nodded, felt his knees weaken and had to grip tighter on the Cokes in his hand. So it had a name. He had a name, the stinking man had a name. Clyde Dekker. Huntsman. Cook. Killer. Dead man. Then he heard his mother excuse herself to the bathroom and, to avoid being seen, he ducked across the hallway to the other side of the living room as she closed the bathroom door behind her. He quietly slipped into the kitchen, down the stairs and into the yard. His feet on the soft earth, he headed for the dock. A fire raged in his head, as if the knowledge he just learned was burning him from the inside. All at once, he was terrified,

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 285 vindicated and sickened. But there was something else, too. Empowerment. Just knowing the name of the stinking mans ghost seemed to confer it upon him. He has a name. He has a name. Over and over he repeated this under his breath as he approached Tommy, still sitting on the dock. The sun was low and a fading orange sky began to burn the clouds on the edge of the horizon. Jeez, what took you so long? Noah said nothing in reply, just handed the ice-cold bottle to Tommy and stared intently out at the lake, turning things over in his mind. You alright, Noah? the boy asked. Huh? I asked if youre okay. You look as white as a sheet. Do I? Noah replied, running his fingers over his face. I dont know. I guess I just got too warm going into the house and then coming back out here. Tommy nodded and twisted the top off his bottle. He took a long swig of the sweet, cold liquid. You fished off this dock yet? I mean I know its winter and all, but Noah sat down on the dock beside his friend, their feet

dangling over the edge, just inches above the gently moving water. Naw, I havent yet. Dont even know where my fishing pole is. Shit, Id be fishing every day if it was me. Noah smiled and nodded. In addition to playing war games back at Cadys Run, the boys had often cast a line into the lake. They almost never caught anything. Just runt catfish on occasion or maybe some crappie too small in size to be any good for cleaning and eating. Still, there was something about it that they enjoyed. The quiet, maybe. Just the sitting and talking and hoping. He opened his bottle of Coke and the two sat at the end of the dock, reflectively studying the water and the failing light on the ripples of its surface. He very badly wanted to tell Tommy of what he had learned while eavesdropping in the house. After all, it was possible that Tommy might even already know. His Dad might have told him. But if not, the whole thing would just come off as odd and right about now, Noah was feeling that he and the world around him were about as odd as he could stand. So they just sat and drank their sodas and said not a word. After a few more minutes, they heard the kitchen door open and Deputy Wren hollered out for Tommy. Yeah?

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 287 Yall come on in and say your goodbyes. We gotta get going, okay? Okay! Tommy yelled out. They both sat there a moment longer with nothing but the silence of their imminent parting between them. Maybe you can come back next weekend, Noah offered, though he knew that wouldnt happen. His father was home most every weekend. Yeah, maybe, Tommy nodded. But if not, maybe on Christmas break. They stood and began their walk back to the house, feeling in some way like two comrades walking toward a firing squad. Hey, Tommy said quietly, leaning in and elbowing Noah, Lets go back to your room before I go. I got a few more things for you. Oh? Yeah, his friend replied, a certain gleam of mischief in his eye. Call it an early Christmas present. Noah forced a smile and tried to muster some amount of excitement at the idea. Tommy having come for a visit was all that he could have asked for, though it was the worst kind of gift; the kind that didnt last on account of having to give it back.

14 From a dense stand of trees by the entrance to Cedar Banks, Hugh Belton stood in the shadows and watched as the tail-lights of Deputy Wrens Bedford County cruiser lit up and it drove around the far side of the neighborhood. As it turned toward the entrance, he stepped back into the deep, black cover of the night and waited for it to pass. Just that morning, he and Bobby Ratsinger, the other driver, had offloaded the materials from Poughkeepsie a full day ahead of schedule at the last stop in York, Pennsylvania and had hit the road. They had made good time getting back. When Bobby pulled the flatbed diesel up to the neighborhood and began to carefully slip the wide vehicle through the narrow entrance, Hugh had noticed the car parked in front of his house. Though it was nearly dark, he could tell a police cruiser when he saw one, with its array of sirens mounted on top, and so he told Bobby to let him off there and back out of the development. He would walk the rest of the way, he had told him. As Hugh stood there by the entrance, his first thought had been that it was the Rockbridge County police come to pay him a visit. Possibly about that nocount coon, Wally Jackson, and the beating he had given him when hed had to cover his repair of the shearing machine on Thanksgiving Day. After he had finished fixing the damned thing, in a fog of bitter rage, Hugh had driven out to Wallys house

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 289 and knocked on the door. When he answered, Hugh had proceeded to beat the devil out of the man right there on his own front porch, his wife and young children hollering in the doorway and the smell of turkey and stuffing wafting on the air from inside. When he was done, he had told him that there was to be no mention of it to Mr. Kemp or anyone else at work and judging from the fear in the mans eyes, he believed that he would abide by it. Maybe Wally had reported it to the cops but Hugh didnt think it likely. It was more likely, he had decided, that Ada had called them. She was awful sore at him from the licking he had given Noah when he had gotten home Thanksgiving night and the boy had mouthed off about the Wrens perfect fried turkey. He had seen something in her that night that he had never seen before. He had seen hatred in her eyes and resolve. He knew then that she was getting it into her head to leave him. It was only when he saw the familiar form of Deputy Wren and his good-for-nothing son come out of the front door of his house that he had understood the whole of what had been going on in his absence. While the cats away, the mice do love to play, dont they? From his spot in the trees, he could see the faces of the Deputy and his son illuminated by the headlights that bounced off the road and the trees and he could see them smiling and laughing. It boiled his blood. When the cruiser turned right and

went disappearing down the dark, country road, Hugh stepped out and onto the street at a brisk walk toward his house. His house, by God. He wondered how many times Ada had had her old boyfriend over to visit while he was away and working to put food on the table? Oh, she didnt think he knew about her and Nick Wren being high school sweethearts but he wasnt nearly half the fool that Ada took him for. How many times has that man been in my house? He imagined the marriage bed that belonged to him being soiled by the long, lustful writhing of that man and his wife. He imagined the sound of their ill-gotten pleasures echoing of the walls of his bedroom. She had sworn before God to cleave only to him and tonight he would remind her of that sacred vow. Black Billy, which he now kept strapped to his ankle beneath his denim jeans itched to be loosed from its sheath as he stood at the edge of his driveway and watched the house. It was warm with light and he could hear the TV blasting inside as has wife and son went about their evening happily ensconced in the comfort that he alone afforded them. All without a thought spared for the husband and father to whom they truly belonged. Climbing the steps of the porch, he placed his hand on the doorknob, twisted, and opened the front door. Hugh stepped across the threshold into his house and Hell

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 291 followed with him.

15 Ada came to just as she had been, her face pressed down into the pile of pillows, the bedspread and sheets tossed haphazardly about from the struggle. The fabric and her face were still wet with tears and blood from the wound on her scalp that stung like a gang of hornets had lighted on it. She lifted her head a little, feeling the pain resound through her body as she did so, and caught a glimpse of her clothes scattered about the room. On the bedside table, her brassiere hung over the picture of her and Noah taken when he was a tender and fragile three months old. A pants leg of her jeans stretched over the table, the waist with the button and zipper now torn, dangling somewhere below. Her body ached and her muscles felt useless. For a passing moment, Ada wondered what had happened. How had she ended up here in this state? No sooner had the thought come to her than it was answered. With a rush, her memory returned and with it a headache that, snakelike, slowly slithered into and then around her brain. It squeezed from her mind the visions of the nights events and along with them a sharp and throbbing agony. She descended into a dreamlike fugue and remembered. They had been in the kitchen, she and Noah. Nick and Tommy

Wren had just left minutes before and she was microwaving something for their supper when the front door swung open suddenly and in walked Hugh Belton with a fire in his eyes the likes of which she had never seen before. Well, now! he shouted as he slammed the door behind him. She heard the click of the deadbolt falling into place, for it sounded to her as lone and loud as a single, fatal gunshot. Whats for supper? he continued as he stepped into the kitchen with them. She and Noah stood aghast with blank, stupefied looks on their faces. What? he feigned surprise, though it was tinged with real bitterness, Nick Wren didnt leave any of his world famous fried fucking turkey? Noah made to move past his father toward the living room or the house beyond it, maybe for the front door, but Hugh stayed him with a look. Still your bones, boy, or Ill rap them so bad that come the morning, youll wish Id just gone and killed you. Then he turned his gaze to her and leveled her with his look of accusation. She steeled herself against the pangs of guilt that besieged her, tried her best to look him right back in the eye. Well, Mrs. Belton, dont you look pretty! he spat at her.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 293 How did he like it, your old boyfriend? How did he like what, Hugh? He brought Tommy for a visit, thats- Your whore-paint, woman! he shouted atop of her. Made up like the common harlot I should have known you are. She hung her head, shamed, wondering how he knew about her past with Nicky Wren, though it hardly seemed to matter at that point. Lord, I was blind but now I see, he whispered, raising his hands and open palms as if in offering, his gaze aloft for a moment before settling back down on her. Forgive my woman for her trespasses, Lord. Forgive her because I sure as Hell wont. With this last statement there was a rising tension in the air and Noah felt it first. Like the turning point in his fantastical battle with the Morgosians, he knew that now was the moment in which all could be lost or for those with the strength and the heart in which the oppressor might at last be felled. Noah, heedless of the imposing form of his father that stood before him, ducked low and made to go quickly beneath Hughs reach. It was unclear to Ada what his objective was but she figured that he was bound for the front door. Once there, he would cross the street and go to the old man for help. Whatever his goal, it would not be realized, for as he

tried to slip by Hugh, the man reached down and grabbed her son by the shoulder. They struggled for a moment and then her husband lifted their son up with both arms and he was suspended for a moment before Hugh sent him hurling across the living room. The boy flailed in mid-air and then was delivered facefirst into the upholstered arm of the easy chair. From there, he bounced onto the hardwood floor where his skull met it with an audible crack that sent a wave of motherly terror through Ada. Damnit, Hugh! she screamed. Thats our son! He turned slowly and regarded her without remorse. You, he whispered venomously. I give you everything and this iniquity is what you bring into my house? Before she could even form a response, she saw him reach down his leg to his ankle. From a sheath strapped there, he drew forth Black Billy. Upon seeing it, she had tensed in preparation for the blow but when he brought it down even she was surprised. It cut a black ribbon across her vision and met first with her cheek and then scraped across the rest of her face. Her nose bent far to the side and blood vessels within strained to the breaking point, then broke, sending a shower of crimson from her face. She teetered, trying to keep her balance and her vision but felt both slipping away from her. When she went limp and fell, Hugh caught her in his arm, though it was not to lend support.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 295 He crooked his elbow around her neck and squeezed, stepping forward and dragging her along with him by the throat. She reached out for anything she could but succeeded only in knocking over lamps and pictures and the like. Her airway was constricting more with every step he took through the living room and down the dark hallway. With a toss, he released her onto the bed where she landed belly-up. She lay there for a moment, so dazed that she did not perceive him removing her pants until they were at her knees. She struggled against him, clawing at the bedspread and the sheets to get away even though there was nowhere to go. Frustrated with her resistance, he took hold of Black Billy and rapped her across the forehead. At first there was the pain from the blow and then the steady ache dulled only by her shaken consciousness. As she lay there, confused and limp, he pulled the remainder of her clothes from her body. What he could not remove, his huge, thick hands tore away with abandon. Naked and vulnerable, she flipped over and clawed at the headboard to gain a grip. You are mine, she heard him seethe from behind her. I might could forgive all youve done but you have to- She kicked out a leg that met with his stomach. For a moment he lost his breath but it only seemed to double his strength and resolve as he took hold of her hips. He laid

himself against her, his pants down to his knees, the rough, greasy denim chafing the skin of her legs. Pressing his mouth to her ear, he whispered, You have to be taught a lesson, whore. She shook her head and growled and felt him ease off of her for a moment, though that brief respite was followed by a hail of blows from Black Billy that landed upon her back and arms with a thundering force that seemed likely to pummel her bones to dust. You are mine, he bellowed, sounding to her as if through tears of anguish. You- Thwack! Are- Thwack! Mine! Thwack! When she no longer had the strength to resist or to crawl away from him, she felt him behind her once again, though this time he was stiff with excitement. Though she was dry and unyielding, he forced himself into her and thrust recklessly. It seemed the very skin of her delicate nether regions would split with the violence of his piercing strides and it was then that she felt her mind collapse in upon itself.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 297 She was shutting down. Fully awake and aware of what was happening, some part of her that was resigned to the horror of this reality began to bury every second of it right then and there. Her perception became hazy and impossibly gray and then there was nothing but the pounding of her body, the quaking that seemed to reverberate into her skull and jolt her brain into nothingness into Ada broke from the memory, from her stupor and full consciousness returned as if it had been a pail of water poured over her. She focused her thoughts, tried to clear her head. It was difficult to think through the throbbing and the steady whine of the ringing in her ears. After Hugh was done with her, she remembered hearing him go striding down the hallway, his heavy work boots like thunderclaps on the hardwood floor. She remembered the thud of the slamming front door that echoed throughout the house and rattled the windows but after that there was nothing. Only the cloudy gray of a world only halfseen. What else was there to remember? Noah. Her son had fallen early and hard in the fracas. Was he alright? Ada felt the surge of a mothers adrenaline through her veins that demanded she see to the welfare of her young and, though she tried to rise from her prone position on the bed, her

body was spent and would not allow it. With a shudder, she came to rest again, flat on the bed with nothing but the lonely silence of the house for company. That was when she smelled him. How long the thing had been there, she did not know. Had he only just materialized from the blackest corners of the Pit or had he been there all along, watching, slathering like a hound? After her conversation with Nick, she had gotten the notion that it was Hughs violence that attracted him. Maybe it was that alone that gave him the power to be perceived at all. She didnt know. But she could feel his presence now, growing like a cancer within the walls of her bedroom and intensifying. Ada turned her head and thought she saw a hulking shadow but before she could fix her watery eyes on it, the lights of the room flickered and then gave out, plunging her into a waking night. Then there came that guttural chortle of amusement. Last night, in the moments between Nicks departure and Hugh barreling through the door, as the microwave hummed, she had been considering just how bad a spot that she and her son were in. There was nowhere for them to turn, nowhere to go. They were beset on all sides by fear and violence. Even her best ally a policeman himself knew that this was something that she alone had to deal with. But the system wouldnt help them. They wouldnt even survive the attempt to get away from Hugh, she had

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 299 no doubt about that. Ada was ruminating on the vile spirit of Dekker when an idea came to her as she remembered something that Nick had said. You get away from Hugh, youll get away from this thing, whatever it is. A purpose and a plan had begun to germinate in her mind then. Before Hugh tore into the room and up-ended their lives once more. Now was as good a time as any, she reckoned, to explore that idea to its fruition. If she could summon the courage and the resolve. I can smell you, you know, she spoke dryly, suddenly aware of the croaking of her voice and how very thirsty she was. Despite the fact that she could not see him, Ada could feel his desire in the air as surely as she could feel his evil. He wanted her but he was no longer of the flesh and even the worst of their pain and fear wasnt enough to give him the strength to take it from her. There was something she could offer, though, that was more powerful than anything else. She could offer her consent. I know who you are, Clyde Dekker. At this, she sensed genuine surprise, though it did not in any way daunt him. Rather, it seemed to feed his ego and only served to deepen his desire. Oh, yeah. Couldnt get yourself a woman like a real man, I

hear. Had to take what you could get. Just like that young girl they found you with at the end. Wouldnt have nothing to do with your stinkin ass so you had to take it by force. She managed a dismissive scoff. I bet you couldnt even get it up then, could you? The walls and the table and the bed seemed to tremble or was it just her imagination? It hardly mattered. Well, come on, little man, she taunted. She would offer herself up to him but it would not be without a price and she saw no reason to make it easy for him. Take it. Go on and take it! In the darkness there was a seething but impotent silence. But you cant, can you? she spat. She could not see him but she likened the sense of his frustration to the vision of a caged animal, pacing back and forth, unable to get at its quarry that lay just beyond its reach. She knew well one of the things desires. But what of the other? Nicks words from earlier that evening echoed in her mind. Killing. I think he must have loved killing more than anything else in this world. I know the hungers that you have, she said, trying hard to control her voice and the sobbing that threatened at the edge of every word. And I can give you what you want. Everything you

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 301 want. At this, the presence swelled with such animal enthusiasm that the very walls groaned and a pressure filled her head that increased the throbbing pain tenfold. What you want from me, I can give you. You can take as much of me as you like. But thats the price for what I mean to purchase from you, understand? The thing you want most of all. There was no need to speak it, for she felt the presence of Dekker, awful and invasive in her mind. She thought of Hugh and all the memories she had of him, both good and bad. Then she thought of his tyranny falsely clothed in faith and the unending anguish and alienation it had brought to the lives of she and her son. They should never have come to this place. In this dark corner of the wilderness, in the shadow of the mountain, there was no deliverance to hope for. No one to rescue them. Even God had forsaken them. There was a disquieted stillness as the offer was considered and Ada waited, breathless, her heart beating wildly in her chest and her head half-buried in the pillows still moist with her own blood. When, in the darkness, the bedroom door swung to a deafening close by a power not of this world, she understood that the deal was made. The darkness breathed. The entity was stronger now, empowered by her consent. She could feel its cold touch on her

flesh. Ada lay still and resolute as she allowed the vile thing to climb atop of her and invade her most private spaces. She didnt know if Noah had yet awoken but prayed that he hadnt so that he would not hear her muffled, wailing sobs as the thing took unholy, carnal liberties with her.

Part III: Reckoning

Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall. William

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 303 Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

1 Noah awoke with a shock and a start, as if his mind had simply picked up from where it had been when his head had bounced off the floor and jarred his brain, sending it rattling against the inner walls of his skull. He rose quickly on one knee, holding onto the chair. He looked around, fully expecting to see his father still there, no doubt whipping his mother with the business end of the club they had both come to know so well. The house was dead quiet, though, and his father was nowhere to be seen in the living room or the kitchen. With this, the boy relaxed a little and as he did, the thunderous pain began to throb in his head. He doubled over, placing his head on the cushion of the chair, cradling it with both of his hands and groaning. He remained there until the spikes of searing pain leveled off and became only a dull but undeniable ache that seeped down his body into every limb and digit. When he was able, he rose unsteadily to his feet and took a good look around. The living room was a mess. Lamps were still burning but were overturned and the skewed positions of their shades cast weird, angular shadows about the walls. Looking to the picture window, he saw that it was absolutely dark outside and he wondered what time it was. He shuffled into the kitchen with all

the deft movement of a horror-show zombie to get a good look at the clock that hung over the stove. 4:13 in the morning. On the kitchen table were two place settings, empty and unused. They had been getting ready to eat when his father came in, he remembered. But there was another plate where his father usually sat, dark with gravy and bits of dried noodle and slivers of beef from the stroganoff they were going to have for supper. Unlike the other chairs, it was pushed away from the table. The microwave door was ajar with its light burning inside and as he surveyed this, he came to only one conclusion. He ate, he thought. The son of a bitch beat the shit out of Mumma and then sat down and ate supper. Noah felt a rage well up inside of him and he began to fume but it was then that his thoughts turned to his mother. It was so very quiet in the house. Had his father not only beaten her but, with one carelessly placed blow from Black Billy, finally crossed the line and killed her? The thought sent Noah into a panic and he went tearing through the living room, down the hallway toward his mothers bedroom. He feared that he would find her there, still and cold and empty. In that long moment as he raced toward her bedroom, the young boy endured the greatest fear of his life. Worse than

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 305 anything he had ever known facing his brute of a father, worse than the consuming panic of the stinking mans presence, worse even than the terror he had experienced when he was locked in that crawlspace in the worship room. Is she... could she be? he wondered but had not the nerve to complete the thought. Finding the door to his mothers bedroom closed, he burst in. He had no idea what he would find there but half-expected to see his father in the bed, sleeping peacefully and snoring loudly while his mothers lifeless corpse lay crumpled and broken nearby. What he actually saw disturbed him even more. The room was a mess, clothing tossed about carelessly, things out of place, knocked over, lying on the floor. Noahs father was nowhere to be seen but his mother lay naked and facedown in the pillows of their bed, whose covers were strewn about the mattress. There was blood smeared on the sheets from an enormous wound on the back of her head. Mumma? he called, his voice weak as he approached the bed. No answer, no movement. Mumma? he said again as he placed a hand on her shoulder and gently shook. Just when the realization of a cold and terrible fear had begun to grow in his heart, she stirred. Emboldened by this, he

shook her with insistence, calling to her over and over again. Noah? she replied, groggy, her words slurred and her command of speech not yet restored. She turned her head to look at him and Noah clearly saw that she was a mess. Her face was swollen and bruised with crusted blood on her lip where his father had taken the club to her. All the times he had beaten her, beaten him, he had always been careful not to leave visible marks but that standard was now apparently a thing of the past. Mumma! Noah shouted with grave concern. Mumma, you alright? Im fine, baby boy, she replied in a croaking voice. Just fine. Her naked back and bottom were covered with fresh red welts that would soon become bruises all over her body. The marks of Black Billy. These were the fingerprints of his father. Seeing his mother there in that moment, a broken angel, the boy swore that he would never again see her in this way. He would never again allow his father to exact his sanctimonious punishments on her. A brief but vivid scenario flashed in his mind and he imagined his father sleeping in bed beside his mother. Casually sleeping, after all that he had done, after all the misery he had visited upon them. Noah thought of the baseball bat in his room. The Louisville Slugger. When his father came home, and Noah was sure that he eventually would, he could take the bat

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 307 and creep into their bedroom. And then he could simply beat him to death in his sleep. How many whacks to the skull would it really take, after all? Youre hurt real bad, he said, staring at the back of her head, that palm-sized spot on her scalp caked in dried blood. I know. Ill be okay. Just got to clean myself up is all. Noah couldnt believe what he was hearing. No, it aint okay, Mumma. I got to go get some help. Ill go across the street and get Shakey. Hell know what to do. At this, his mothers eyes widened and her voice went stern. You cant do that, Noah. You cant. He sees me like this and hell phone the police. He wont be able to help himself. And once they get involved, son There were tears at the edges of her eyes, cresting over and down her battered face, her voice shaking. Theyll split us up, Noah. Theyll have to. While they sort out whats been going on here. Theyll send me to a shelter and youll be put in a foster home with strangers. Is that what you want? A foster home? Noah hadnt considered that. He shook his head. Listen, baby boy, we cant afford to be split up. Not right now. Okay, he replied, a little crestfallen. She managed a smile.

Youre a good son, she said. Now, help me up and into the bathroom so I can get cleaned up. Theres a first-aid kit in the cabinet underneath the sink. Ill need you to fetch that for me when we get in there, okay? Alright, Mumma, Noah gently agreed and took his mothers hand to help her out of bed, though he glanced out of the window across the street at the old mans house.

2 Shakey was not much of a drinker, not any more. As a young man, he had certainly had his share of long, boozy nights and bleary eyes but it was just something that he cast aside as the years wore on. Now, waking to the morning light that, while dull, still managed to drive through his eyes and into his pounding head like railroad spikes, he remembered why. The words of the author, Kingsley Amis, writing about a character whod imbibed too much, came to mind, though not whole or exact. Something about the light doing harm and something else about his mouth being used as a latrine during the night for some small creature that then proceeded to curl up and die inside of it. That seemed about right. Shakeys tongue felt like a slice of jerky that was stitched to the inside of his mouth but he dragged it across his lips, sucked on his teeth, desperately

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 309 trying to summon some moisture. His old body was twisted and stiff on the couch and out of the corner of his eye, he spied the coffee table littered with empty bottles. Some tall, others squat, labeled and unlabeled. Bourbon, Irish whiskey and, most dreadfully of all, a spent bottle of local corn liquor he had gotten off some old boy years back. As he rose, he wondered for a moment what the occasion had been. It was either his birthday, he decided, or he had died and this right here was Hell. Then he remembered. The boy, Noah, the little tune he had hummed that Shakey knew so well. The tune he could now have known, not unless The old man shook the thought from his head. He was too hung over to indulge such fantasy. What could not be denied, however, was that after the boys visit, Shakey had found his thoughts drifting to his sons, to the memories he had of them. Just like that, the old pang rose to the surface, that feeling like a knife in his side, twisting, gouging. So he had twisted off a bottle cap and commenced drinking those memories away and when one bottle and one day hadnt been enough to do the trick, he opened another. And another. His stomach growled and gurgled. When was the last time he had eaten? He tried to remember but it was all a blur. Hell, he mused, he wasnt even sure what day it was and the great irony of this was that apart from a wall calendar, he had no way to tell how much time had passed since

he crawled into that first bottle. He eased across the room, his old bones and joints slow to loosen, and flipped on the radio. After jockeying the dial, he landed on a news break in which the announcer mentioned it was Friday afternoon. That was funny. Last thing he remembered was Wednesday afternoon. He stared out of the front window at the cold, gray daylight. The sun was hidden somewhere behind a thick blanket of slow-moving stratus cloud cover. Across the street, the Belton house looked quiet and peaceful. Theres only one way he could have known that tune, that cadence, he thought. Shakey breathed a sigh of resignation and nodded. There were some who believed that in the wild, different animals suffering from the same affliction could sense it on one another. Maybe it was a smell or an observation of subtle body language. Or perhaps it was something else. A sense not accounted for but always present. Like the one that he suspected that he and the boy shared; a sense that was also an affliction of a kind. The same unquantifiable sense that lured him to the old battlefields and provided him with a decidedly more realistic experience than most. It was easy to lose yourself in the history when the wailing cries of the wounded and dying still resounded in your ears even after the last cannon had gone silent and there wasnt another living soul playing at war to be

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 311 found.

3 Noah had never sliced an apple before. He had never even paid a great deal of attention to what his mother did when she sliced one up for him. The lack of such kitchen skills was a consequence of childhood, where wants and needs are simply provided for, often without even the need to ask. His mother had always doted on him, indulged him even. And now, here he was trying to slice an apple for her to eat and the task before him might as well be open heart surgery. It frustrated him to be so helpless. His mother had gotten cleaned up and bandaged herself and then laid back down in bed, though she had first pulled off the sheets and helped Noah put on clean ones. They had not had the opportunity to eat the night before and Noahs stomach was growling stubbornly, so he imagined his mother must likewise be famished. He offered her some cereal but she had shaken her head, saying she was not hungry. At his insistence that she eat something, she had finally agreed to apple slices and a pack of peanut butter nabs. Redoubling his efforts to crack the riddle of the Granny Smith apple, Noah surveyed the knives around the kitchen. There were many. Big ones, small ones, blades curved or straight, and

some with serrated edges. Which one was the right one to use? The boy in him urged him to pick one of the enormous knives with a black handle but going into this endeavor cold, he knew that he needed to be safe. In the end, he chose a saw-toothed steak knife from the drawer because it was something he was accustomed to handling, whether or not it was the right blade for the job. His first long stroke in, he realized he was cutting into something unfamiliar and remembered that the apple had a core. With a sigh, he realigned his knife and cut in jagged, slices around where he estimated the core to be. It seemed to be working and after the first chunk fell away, he was reassured and went about carving the rest of the fruit in the same manner. This simple act meant a great deal to him. It made him feel more capable, more grown-up. A bit of scripture from First Corinthians ran through his head then and he softly spoke it aloud. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man I put away childish things. Satisfied, the boy assessed his carving and tossed the core into the trash bin. He would no longer need his mother to slice apples for him.

Ada lay in the bed on her side, facing the wall, where

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 313 there was nothing at all to see. It was curious. Before, she had always preferred to lie facing the doorway so that she could see if Hugh came in. Now, it hardly seemed to matter. Sooner or later, one of her tormentors either the living one or the phantom - would darken that doorway and there was nothing in the world that she could do about it. At least for now. The taste of apples and peanut butter still lingered in her mouth and she took a sip of water from the glass on her bedside table and swirled it around, swallowed it down. He had put the apple slices and crackers on a plate and brought them into her and offered them with an air of uncertainty but she had eaten it all happily and asked for a glass of water to wash it down. Bless his heart, she thought. He had done a fine job on the apple and had been so sweet, looking after her all morning. As sweet as it was, though, it left her feeling despondent and useless. After all, she was the mother here and her son should be out enjoying the day, not wringing his hands in worry over her. But then she knew that if she had acted like a mother a long time ago and pulled up stakes, left Hugh behind, they might not be in this predicament. It seemed so clear now, though she knew that it had been less so even just a week before. But she hadnt the mental strength to dwell on it. Ada was spent, utterly and absolutely. Her eyes began to close and her mind to drift. Strange noises came to her then; muffled whispers of

movement. Not from inside the room but close. Very close. She was falling hard into an engulfing rest, though, and could not spare the energy to wonder at it further. Still, it was there; that sound. Something moving in the walls.

The most he had ever done as far as housework was to wipe down the kitchen counters and assist with the drying of the dishes as well as generally picking things up. There was certainly plenty of that to be done, what with the living room and much of his mothers bedroom in a shambles from the night before. So Noah did what he could to straighten things. When he was done in the main part of the house, he stole into his mothers bedroom and while she slept, he gingerly went about the room, putting everything back into the state of organized chaos that was the norm. He pulled together the dirty laundry and piled it in the hallway at the foot of the washer and dryer and then set about turning knobs until the water began to fill the drum and the detergent began to bubble and froth. The boy piled the laundry into the machine but he could not bear the sight of the sheets, marked with his mothers blood and the wash cloths she had used to clean her wounds. Those items, he balled into a plastic trash bag and set it atop the washing machine. Taking a seat on the couch, Noah clicked on the television

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 315 and scrolled through the few channels until he landed on some reruns of an old Western show, The Rifleman. Settling on this, he leaned into the pillow and watched for a while. In the background, the washer rumbled on with the mechanistic rhythm of a train rolling over tracks. He hoped it was not too much noise, that it would not wake his mother. She needed her sleep after what she had been through. He needed it, too, but was afraid to sleep, afraid to let his guard down for even a minute. Noah did not want to be caught unawares if his father decided to return home at some odd hour during the day to visit further suffering upon them. The swipe and thud of the washing machine drum, for some reason, reminded the boy of something he cared not to think of. His father, reigning over him as he had on Thanksgiving, raising his arm high in the air and bringing it down. The club in his grasp cutting the air and then crashing into the boys flesh and bones. Over and over. Swipe, thud, swipe, thud, swipe thud. Powerless against the fatigue, Noah began to drift off to sleep, even though his thoughts were entangled in that image of his father raining down bone-cracking blows. His eyes closed and he fell into an uneasy slumber, his dreams returning to the deep horror of that memory of that night.

Noah stirs out of a blackness that feels like a heavy, wet towel wrapped tightly around his head. What he sees is his father dragging him down the hallway by his feet. To that room, that room with the hideous cross and the strange, black chamber in the wall. The secret place, the crawlspace. His head lolls to the side and consciousness threatens to disappear once again. He holds onto it, but just barely. He feels detached from the world. It plays before him as if he were seated in a theater, watching. Then he is being shoved into a cold place and the sudden change in temperature goes a long way to clear the fog from his head. He is in there now, he realizes. In the crawlspace with its metal floor and walls like ice against his skin, with its lingering stink somewhere between woody and sweetly rotten. One last shove, the hard sole of his fathers work boot shoving against his hip and the light that cuts through the opening diminishes and then is gone. Before the door closes and the lock clicks into place, Noah can hear his mother in the worship room, sobbing into her hands with hitched breaths. And then all his world is darkness and he is alone within it. He flails about inside of the space, his knees, hands and feet bumping against the walls that are so close. Even though he is small and the space is larger than his body, it is becoming difficult to breathe.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 317 When Noah was very young - only a toddler - he had been dropped off at a daycare by his mother. One of those places with the red, vaulted roof that smacked of a church steeple but had a fake bell mounted in it instead. He didnt remember the actual name of the place, wasnt sure if he ever knew it, but he called it the Charlie Brown daycare because he had a vague memory of a mural featuring the beloved characters painted on the walls of the main entrance. After being left that morning, it wasnt long before he began feeling sick. Coughing at first and then he vomited, which sent the daycare providers into a full-blown panic as if a deadly virus had just infiltrated the facility. They quarantined him, but not in a nurses office or even a classroom. They locked him in a storage closet. In it there was a single bulb with a pull chain but it was on the fritz and very dim, flickering on and off constantly, randomly plunging the little boy into an impenetrable blackness. The four walls lined with shelves of balls and toys closed in on him, even as be beat against the door and cried out for release. And there he had stayed all day long until his mother came for him that afternoon, furious after discovering what they had done with her son to isolate him from the other children. Now, in the crawlspace, he is isolated once more. The air is thinning, the walls encroaching. In the room that is only inches away, Noah can hear his mother and father talking. The

sound of their voices comes through the wall as a deadened hum. Then comes a sound that Noah cannot account for. A shuffle of movement that doesnt belong to him. A prolonged drag and shudder, as if something massive is slithering within the walls. He remembers the matches in his pocket from lighting the candles for dinner. Strike anywhere matches. His spirits lift as he digs a hand into his pants pocket and fishes one of them out. He flicks it against the metal above him and it flames to life, filling the dark space with a dancing, amber light. His shadow convulses on the walls. He tries to calm his breathing, to control it. Then, all too soon, the match burns down to his fingers and he instinctively lets it drop. The light flickers and gives out. He digs for another one but then there is a different sound. The whispers of many voices. Though he cannot exactly make it out, he would swear that he can understand it. Hear us. Then there is a tug at his shirt sleeve, an unknown touch brushing against his skin. Colder than the icy metal walls around him. He feels the breath go out of him and with a trembling hand in his pocket, he searches for another match. He draws one out but it slips from his unsteady fingers. Outside of the crawlspace door, in the worship room, the muffled conversation has stopped. Why wont they just let him out? Hes learned the lesson.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 319 Why doesnt his mother do something? Dont dont leave me in here, Dad. Im sorry sorry he says in a loud but trembling voice that gasps for breath. Finally, his fingers close around a match that does not slip his grasp. He reaches up, flicks it against the metal and it roars to life in a plume of smoke and sulfur stink that is absolutely lost in the phantom stench of the crawlspace that has somehow increased to a suffocating degree. But that is not what troubles him the most. Its what he sees in the meager light. Bodies surround him. Pale, dead skin marred by crimson wounds, faces with missing eyes, ears, jaws locked open in rigor. And they are moving. Clawing and pawing at him. So cold hear us. Their chilled, rotting fingers grasp at him like fat worms. How many of them there are, he has no idea but there is no space in this dark hole that they do not occupy and for a moment he is reminded of the faithful crowding around him as they did back at the Pentecostal church, laying on hands, suffocating, terrifying him into a numbing paralysis. With a final, sputtering gasp of flame and smoke, the match gives out and he is alone with the darkness once more. Except he is not alone, not at all. Noah begins to scream. It is a high, pained sound that feels like a roll of barbed wire being ripped out of his mouth

through his throat, his lungs emptying like a bellows. A deep breath and then more. More screaming as he feels the dead upon him, a putrid blanket of festering tissue and cold, necrotic flesh.

***

He did not wake from the dream so much as he leapt from it. Noah bolted up from his reclining position on the couch in such a panic that he was thrown headlong to the floor. There, his chest heaved in great, labored breaths as he realized that he was not in the crawlspace, but in the living room with the television playing. The afternoon light spilled in through the windows and provided him comfort and reassurance. After a moment, he pulled himself back up to the couch, clicked off the television and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It was only the second time that the memory had visited him as a nightmare. There had been one other instance shortly after Thanksgiving but he had been able to shrug it off. Most of the time, dreams were merciful in that way; the waking mind disconnects from the sleeping one and goes rocketing away toward consciousness. Within seconds of waking, the potency of the nightmare was all but gone, though the terror of the memory remained. It was yet another scar that he would carry to remind

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 321 him of dear old Dad. Noah went to check on his mother and found her snoring peacefully in bed. It was getting late in the afternoon. Too late for sleeping by any normal standards but she had been through a great deal and he knew that she must need the rest. But for the TV, the house was eerily quiet and the boy felt himself growing restless. As he closed the door to his mothers room, he could not resist taking a peek into the sanctuary. A part of him would not have been at all surprised to find the crawlspace door hanging open, as if something had dragged itself out of it during his nap earlier to bring him the nightmare. But there it was, held fast against the wall by the bench that his mother had moved in front of it. He meandered into the living room and searched around for something to do. He could dust, he supposed but he bitterly hated dusting. It was nearly three in the afternoon. He was reluctant to leave his mother in the house alone but he also felt a compulsion to pay a visit to Shakey. He had left so abruptly the other night when his imagination and fears had gotten the better of him and he supposed that he owed it to the old man to apologize. That would be the easy part. The rest of what he had to tell Shakey would be both strange and difficult. He needed to tell him about his sons and what he knew of them, to explain where he had heard the tune that he had carelessly

hummed in the old mans presence the other night. At best, he figured that Shakey would think him a thoughtless child with an unhealthy penchant for outright fantasy and at worst he would think him touched in the head. Either way, Noah felt it was something that he must do and waiting was not going to make the task any more palatable. In the event that his mother woke while he was gone, Noah scribbled a note as to his whereabouts on a scrap of paper and left it on the table, mentioning that he would be back before long to check on her. The last thing she needed right now was to be worried for him. Then the boy slipped on his jacket and stepped outside. He made a slow and dreadful march across the street.

5 As he stood on the porch and knocked on the front door, it occurred to Noah that he had never once called on the old man in such a way. Always he had found him in the yard or the driveway and entered through the kitchen door on the side. He reckoned it was a testament to the friendship that had grown between the two, for he had always heard that friends come and go by the back door. It made the boy feel even more ashamed. After a moment, he heard the locks slip their hold and the door opened to reveal the old man who suddenly looked even older

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 323 than he had only days before, haggard and hollow. Hey, there, Shakey offered, though it was with some effort, which did not escape the notice of the boy. Hey, Shakey, he replied, then stood for an awkward moment, searching for what else to say. He hadnt thought this through, really, but then he also hadnt expected to see the old man in such a state. You okay? Are you sick? The old man waved it off. Naw, just tired is all. What can I do for you? Can I come in? Uh, the old man hesitated but then opened the door wide, sure but the place is an awful mess. Noah stepped inside. What the old man had said was not an overstatement of any kind. The usual clutter, organized though it was, was littered with the refuse of everyday life. Clothes were haphazardly tossed about, books and photo albums lay stacked here and there open to the pages that had last been viewed. And there were bottles. Lots of empty bottles of many shapes, sizes and colors. Not to mention that the old man himself smelled of a chemical that was similar to paint thinner but that Noah could only assume was liquor. Like I said, excuse the mess. Noah nodded graciously, though the concern in his eyes was not hidden.

Ive been, uh the old man began to reply, struggling for an explanation. Noah needed none, though, and now he felt doubly foolish for thinking what he had about Shakey. He had brought this pain upon the old man, dug it up and bared it raw and in the days since, Shakey had been clearly drinking it away. Youve been thinking of your boys, havent you? The look he would have expected on the old mans face was not the look that he saw. Rather than surprise, Shakey nodded and studied the boy as if he had just recognized yet another piece in a puzzle that he was trying to assemble. I got something to tell you about that, Noah offered, holding his gaze. Like what? Noah glanced down at his feet and breathed a labored sigh. Now might be a good time to cook up some of that coffee youre always drinking. Shakey nodded and shuffled into the kitchen to fill the pot and set it on the stove. Can I make you a hot chocolate? he asked. No, sir. Ive taken more than enough from you, I think. Its time I gave something back.

When Shakey had gotten his coffee poured and sat down on

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 325 the couch, he leaned in expectantly to hear what the boy had to say. Noah just began blurting it all out. He started with his sighting the blond boys all the way on the other side of the lake, back at Cadys Run. Told him about seeing them ever since he had been there at Cedar Banks, about not understanding, not even believing at first. He told him about his trip to the library and the terrible thing he had surmised about their father, all the way through his short but important conversations with the boys and what had caused him to go running from the old mans house the other night. Noah did not tell him about his troubles at home or about the other phantoms he had come to know. Maybe he never would. It wasnt the old mans cross to bear. He had no doubt burdened the old man enough with the revelations that he had just imparted to him. When he was done, Noah took a deep breath and sat back, ready for the retort. He expected either indignant anger or patronizing disbelief. What he got from the old man was neither. Shakey only hung his head and nodded. Noah, he began, setting his now cold cup of coffee on the table, the fact of the matter is that Im just like you. Well, maybe not exactly. I dont experience it the way that you do, I guess. But I sense them the dead and I see them not so much with my eyes but with my minds eye. Like somethings being

conjured up into my imagination so that I can understand it. Maybe thats why Ive always been so obsessed with history. All these wars, all these damned battlefields. I dont ask for it. I never did. It was always just there; something I could never get free of and believe me I tried. Now it was Noah who sat with his mouth agape, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. You know, it was around here that Albie and Will were lost. Hell, Noah, after I retired from the park service, I took to camping out here regular. All by myself. They constantly ran me off. Earned quite the odd reputation. I came here as often as I could and stayed as long as I could because I was hoping I would find them in some way. In whatever way. I just wanted to experience them again. Yeah, I thought maybe I would find out what really happened to them but that wasnt what drove me out here week after week in the rain and the snow and the summer sun shitting heat down on me. I just wanted a glimpse of them. Thats all. When I heard that a construction company was repurposing the old work camp, I was in line for whatever position I could get. They said I was too old but I just kept coming back. After a while, they decided they couldnt get rid of me so they might as well pay me. I worked land clearing and grading, I worked construction here. Then I became the caretaker. The property

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 327 manager. Before there was any property to manage but my own little slice were sitting in right now. Four years I been here, hoping for a glimpse of my boys. The old man hung his head and his voice trembled. Noah could not see tears in Shakeys eyes but he sensed them rising. In that time, I seen strange shit enough to stretch to the goddamned moon and back but I aint never once seen my boys. Never once caught even that glimpse. And you? You just come here and Shakey broke off, looked down at the floor and shook his head. Noah didnt know quite what to say but he knew that he needed to offer something. Im sorry. I didnt ask for it. It just came to me. The old man shook his head. No, son, I dont blame you. Not at all. You cant help it any more than I can. We get what we get. Why we get it who knows. Noah nodded, silently reverent. What does it mean? Noah asked. Are they at peace, do you think? How come I see them but you cant? The old man took a sip of cold coffee. When I see things, its mostly like Im watching, Shakey replied. Just watching. Sometimes they know Im there or they seem to but not always. And usually they just go about their

business. Im not sure if its them anymore or if Im just seeing something that was left behind. Like fingerprints on a window pane, you know? Noah nodded and struggled to understand. This was all new and incomprehensible to him. But you saw them and spoke with them. Thats something different than what I know, Shakey said. What do you suppose that means? Noah asked gingerly. The old man considered it and slowly shook his head. I dont know. I dont know at all. But I know someone who might. Whos that? Shakey snorted and stood. Dont you fret about that, he replied. But I got to sleep off this drunk if Im gonna go see her tomorrow. Before he could ask any more questions, Noah found himself being ushered toward the kitchen door by the old man. Her? Who is she? Noah insisted. Witch Wilkins. Who? the boy asked in bewilderment. Shes a what? Shes something of a mountain mystic, you might say, he offered, opening the kitchen door to the dimming afternoon light and the cold. But shes good people. Most of the time, I think. The old man could see the protest on Noahs face but he

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 329 clapped a reassuring hand on the boys shoulder. Anything else I can do for you, son? It was a rhetorical question, Noah knew, but as he stood there on the landing in the cold wind that was whipping off the mountain, chilling his exposed flesh, he recalled the crawlspace door with only a bench pushed against it to keep it closed. There was something, he thought. You aint got a padlock handy, do you?

6 Shakey started out first thing the next morning and as he began the long climb, he had to shift the old Chevy into low gear to keep her from spinning up too much earth and rock on the unpaved path that wound up into the dense woodland. He thanked his lucky stars that the snow had melted, elsewise the truck would not have been an option and he would have had to make the trip on foot all the way from the bottom where he turned off of the asphalt road that ran along Waller Run. Duncraven Knob was a smallish mountain that nestled up to Cross Mountain at a higher elevation near the northeastern slope. It was sparsely inhabited, possibly owing to its proximity to its larger neighbor or perhaps because the shores of the reservoir, unlike the shores of Ashwood Lake, were protected land and could not be sold or developed. These days, for every functional and

inhabited abode on Duncraven, there were a handful of dilapidated, timber ruins that littered the mountain here and there like forgotten carcasses. The Chevys axle groaned as Shakey negotiated a switchback turn that led up to a flat meadow where he brought it to a stop. It was a small area open to the sun above and also the site of a sizable vegetable garden that no doubt flourished in the summer months but was right now little more than rows of dirt and wild grass. From here on, he would need to make his way by hoofing it up to the house. It had been many years but he didnt remember it as being a particularly arduous walk. That being said, he was much younger then than he was now. He stepped out of the cab and looked around but didnt see much that had changed since. The path that led out of the meadow and up into the thick of the woods was flanked on either side by two massive chokeberry bushes, each still filled with their red fruits that persisted well into even the harshest of winters. He paused a moment before going any farther. At the other end of that path lay the homeplace of Miss Lucretia Wilkins and he hoped some answers. Better get to it, he told himself, and stepped between the chokeberries, the ground beginning to slope upward again almost immediately. Miss Wilkins was something of a local legend. A mountain hermit if ever there was one, she had been called old even when

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 331 Shakey was a boy. No one knew exactly how old she was, though. Not even any county records clerk could claim to know that because as long as anyone could remember, she had lived in the old way; utterly outside of the system. No birth certificate, no social security card, no drivers license or car. She was mostly self-sufficient. Grew a handful of crops and slaughtered the chickens and hogs she raised. What she couldnt get by way of that, she traded for her own brand of particularly hostile and widely coveted moonshine known locally as Hellwater. Given all this, it was easy enough to understand why she had garnered the unfavorable moniker of Witch Wilkins. Appalachia was thick with recluses whose estrangement from society inspired whispers among neighbors and children and gave rise to outlandish claims about their supernatural nature even though such rumors were likely the furthest thing from the truth. It was hard, it seemed, for people to believe that a person might simply want nothing to do with them or the world. In the case of Lucretia Wilkins, however, Shakey knew that the rumors were justified. She was the genuine article; a witch. An authentic mountain mystic from a time now long past. He knew it not because of the rumors of folk who sought her counsel from time to time but because he had sought it once before himself. When his boys had disappeared and no one, not the park rangers or the police or the volunteers had turned up a single

indication of their fate, Shakey had made a trip to see the old woman to beg for whatever insight she could offer that would lead him to his children. He had thought back then that there was still time to find them and Witch Wilkins had been Shakeys last resort. It proved to be for naught, though, because even though she had agreed to receive him and attempted to divine Albie and Wills whereabouts, she had come up empty. Furious and fueled by desperation, he had rebuked her, even cursed her. She would have had every right to raise that shotgun she kept leaning against her porch railing and warn him the hell off her property but she did not. The things I see, Mr. Lee, she had explained, well its a little like trying to fetch a bit of water. Some days, its raining and you neednt do any more than step outside and cup your hand under the sky. Other days dry days you want water, you got to go hunting for it, digging for it even. When he had asked her if that particular day was a dry day, she had given him some strange reasoning that made no sense. I believe somethings keeping them from my sight, she had said further, Something thats been around a whole lot longer than this old woman. What if she could accompany him to the search area? he had asked her. Would that make a difference? He remembered her sitting there in her rocking chair, a wad

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 333 of tobacco between her lip and gums as she considered it. I reckon it might. Would she come with him then? That I cant do, Mr. Lee. That I wont do, Im sorry to say. What had he come to her for then? If there was even a shred of hope that she could lend something to the search effort, she ought to get her ancient ass off the mountain and try. He had told her just that and then stormed off of her porch and away from her house. She had called after him, wished him luck, but he hadnt cared to hear it or anything else she had to say.

But here he was, many years later, looking for answers and once again about to go knocking on the old womans door.

7 When she emerged from her isolation late that morning, Ada did the best she could to put on a smiling face for her son. His worry over her was plain to see, for his face wore a graven look that had no business being found on anyone so young. She assured him that she was feeling better, going about the house and pulling back the curtains to let the light in, seeming to delight in it. She urged him to go out and play and said that if she had need of him, she would holler. With some reluctance, he

gave in, though he promised to stay close and Ada watched her son go padding down the driveway into the backyard. The calendar tacked to the kitchen wall was still turned to November, she noticed. Above the grid of days was a lovely picture of a grist mill by a river shrouded in a canopy of autumn foliage. She sighed. It wasnt November anymore, was it? They had been through so much in the short time they had lived at Cedar Banks that it seemed as if she had been there for years. But here it was the early part of December and Christmas was coming up fast. It felt strange to have almost forgotten it. She flipped the calendar to December and placed it back on the wall. All her life, she had loved the Christmas season but Hughs disdain for the usual holiday trappings had always been something of a wet blanket on her Christmas spirit. Even though she feared him still, his wishes had come to mean much less to her after what he had put them through. After what he had put their son through. Why not breathe a little life back into the holiday this year? She recalled an old box at the bottom of her closet whose contents she had not yet culled. In it were a string or two of Christmas lights from the last tree shed had as a girl and a collection of Christmas decorations that had been her mothers favorites. Why not? she thought. Trimming the house with a little

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 335 holiday cheer might even go so far as to brighten her mood. She spent the next hour or so pulling the contents from the old box and distributing them about the house. Candlesticks wreathed with fake holly, a cloth advent calendar that was wrinkled from years of storage; these were among the things that she found and set about the house. To her surprise, even the old strings of lights with fat bulbs still worked and she hung them up high around the living room with tacks she pushed into the walls. Ada brewed a pot of coffee and when the task was done, she sat and admired it, trying for all the world to ignore the dark shape that skulked in the background. Dekker was there with her, lurking at the edge of her vision. It had been this way ever since the night she consented and made the pact. He lingered with her whether she was asleep or awake and his presence drove her into such dark places of the mind that she had slept more often than not. Always he was there. At times, he spoke to her of foul things that she could scarcely bear to hear and when he did, she tried to counter his taunting by covering her head in pillows or humming familiar tunes loudly, that she might drown out the sound of his gravelly voice in her mind. Dekker had also been at her often since the night of the pact, twice at least and as much as four times a day, climbing atop her and taking her with all the charm of a rutting hog. He reminded her of Hugh in that

way. She had suffered his assaults in silence, digging a hole deeper and deeper into some part of herself where she could find sanctuary. But the most abysmal horror came afterward, when she awoke in her bed and found him there still, his black eyes upon her, leering. How much more of her he would take was a thing unknown, for she had no measure of how much more she had to give. And in those dark moments of wakefulness, she wondered when the stinking phantom would honor his part of the bargain. When would she be rid of Hugh so that she and her son could make another life for themselves far away from all that was cursed and damned? She sat at the kitchen table, alone but not alone, and held the steaming cup of brew under her nose. As strong as it was, it could not mask the stench that crept in, the tendrils of rancid scent. She spared him a look as he stood in the corner of the kitchen, stropping a wicked blade on a length of leather over his knee and smiling horridly. Ada hung her head in her hands and wept.

8 The old house was not exactly ramshackle but it looked worse than Shakey remembered it. As if it were held together now by sheer will and stubbornness mixed with the mountain pollen and grit that had collected in the seams over the years and had

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 337 hardened like a mortar. Miss Wilkins was either in better shape than he could have imagined or she had a houseboy that tended to the upkeep because, although the place seemed to be hanging on by a thread, it was doing so admirably. The weeds and vines had not taken the foundation for their own and the porch and steps looked to have a reasonably fresh coat of paint on them. A few of the windows that were broken had been covered over in places with plastic but where there was still glass, it was clean and clear. He heard no barking, no rustle or movement of dogs and recalled that shed had none back then either. The story behind that was that she had once had a single dog that served as her familiar but after he had died, she had never summoned the strength of heart to replace him with another. The front door, its paint cracked and peeling, loomed large before him. He sighed and took the first step up onto the porch. Shakey Lee, came a voice from nowhere and it startled him enough to throw him off balance. He reached out and caught the hand rail, though, and turned toward the sound of the old womans voice that sounded like something between smooth whiskey and sandpaper. There at the left corner of the house stood Lucretia Wilkins, not looking as old as she should have and wearing a wide grin on her wrinkled guise. Her face was framed by long,

gray hair that flowed down to her waist and drifted out, caught in a cool wind that had risen up. Miss Wilkins, he said, tipping his rebel cap to her. Whered you come from? She snorted. Might ask the same of you but I reckon I know the answer to that. I was round back in the shed, tending to the still. He smiled. Got no dogs or nothing and you still heard me coming up the way, huh? She waved it off. Didnt hear a thing but do I strike you as the kind of old witch who dont know whats coming? No, maam, I reckon not. She beckoned, saying, Come around back and lend a hand. Im fixing to cork the last of the bottles from this batch. Alright, he replied and followed dutifully. They wound around the house to an outbuilding in the back, a long barn that was most definitely ramshackle and out of which poured smoke from a rusted chimney pipe that peeked out of the roof. The old woman didnt seem to take much care in hiding her liquor operation but then he supposed there werent too many men, law or otherwise, who would come charging up the mountain to bother her. They knew better than to trouble an old fang-

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 339 toothed thing where it nested. In the fore of the building, she took a seat on a milking stool and resumed corking what looked to be two dozen bottles of her clear and potent Hellwater. On the other side of her was a false wall and behind it he heard the bubbling of the still. So, Shakey, what can I do for you? He chuckled nervously. You mean you dont already know? She drove the cork down into a bottle and spat a brown fountain of tobacco out the side of her mouth and looked up at him with a sour smile. Well, I know a lot of things, boy. But what fun would it be if I didnt ask? He shrugged. I reckon you come to see me about the same thing you did some years back. Youd be mostly right, he said nodding. Mostly? Well, I dont expect to find my boys alive anymore. Werent alive when you come by last time, either, but still you come by, didnt you? What? Shakey said, now plainly flummoxed, You knew back then? Why didnt you tell me? She grimaced and shook her head, pulled a lock of gray hair

behind her ear. Cant tell much to those who aint ready to hear. This new revelation dug up an old hurt and it left Shakey twisting in the wind so badly that Miss Wilkins didnt need the second sight to see it. She took the cork in her fingers and flicked it at him, hitting him square in the forehead, then grabbed the neck of the bottle she had in her other hand and stood. Easy now, soldier, she said and walked past him. Come on up the porch and lets have us a drink. Talk like this always goes better with a little fire in the belly. Shakey didnt come all this way to get drunk and he protested, stood his ground, told her he wasnt in the drinking mood. Nonsense, she fired back at him, never even turning to look, I can still smell that rotgut bourbon from the state store on you. When was it? Night before last? Now come on. Confounded, the old man smelled of himself and shrugged, then followed. Who was he to argue?

Once they were on the front porch, seated in a couple rocking chairs of questionable stability, she handed Shakey the bottle and bid him take a sip. The Hellwater flowed down his throat and into his belly like broken glass afire, seeming to

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 341 shred and burn every bit of tissue on its way but quickly settled and began to fill him with an inner warmth and thickness of the mind that was welcome against the cool of the day. He handed the bottle back to the old woman. Why cant I see em, my boys? He had never spoken to Witch Wilkins about his strange ability but he was not fool enough to think that she didnt already know and maybe always had known. I expect its the same reason you couldnt see them back then. Sometimes, soldier boy, despite our gifts, we are protected even from ourselves. What the hell does that mean? She snorted. If youd been able to see them back then, you never would have let them go. And youd have been coming to see me next about bringing them back. Bringing them back? he asked. Is that even possible. She nodded and spat out the last of her chew into a brown clump that looked like dog shit when it hit the porch. Its possible sometimes but they never really come back. Not in the way you might imagine. And its a dark road to tread, young man. He considered this for a long, black moment. Anyway, she continued, you needed to let them go. Needed

to get on with your life. Could be that even they knew that and so they chose not to reveal themselves to you. So great was their love. But I havent let them go, he practically whimpered, All these years and I have never let go of them. She took a swig from the bottle and set it down, leaned back and eyed him amusedly. And you wonder why it is they still linger? It wasnt so much a question as it was a statement it was something that Shakey had never considered. Are you saying that they aint moved on because of me? That they stay here because I wont let them go? The old woman pulled out a pack of Camel cigarettes and a book of matches that had been stealthily tucked somewhere between her blouse and bosom and drew one out, lit it, and exhaled a plume of smoke into the air. Been known to happen, yeah, she said. Might have something to do with it but I dont think thats the whole of it. Well, what else could keep the dead from moving on, keep them lingering? She snorted and took a deep pull from the bottle of Hellwater like it was nothing. Lots of things. This aint science, boy. Hell, even

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 343 science aint science. What even the best of us know about the world beyond this tiny rock is like knowing a little about a single rock on a mountainside filled with other rocks. Its a drop of water in the river, what we think we know. Shakey breathed a sigh of frustration and leaned back. So what can you tell me? She flicked another cigarette from the pack and offered it to him. Smoke? He shook his head. I quit some years back. She smiled. Well, first thing is that its up to the dead to move on. Sometimes they dont even know theyre dead, see? Shakey nodded, though such an idea didnt seem to apply to Albie and Will. According to Noah, the boys were well aware that they had passed on. What else? Witch Wilkins leaned forward then and fixed him with a serious look. If a soul is taken from the body in a strange or unexpected way - a violent way even - on unhallowed ground, and their remains arent given a proper send-off that allows for the living to let them go and the dead to move on, they might

linger. I never buried my boys, he remarked. They were never found. We buried some of their things in caskets. Just to have some closure. And is it closed? The old man shook his head. Then Id wager its not closed for them, either. You need to find them and put them bones to rest. The full gravity of this settled upon Shakey like an elephant sitting on his chest. Miss Wilkins, can you please, please, please tell me where I can find my boys? The old woman took another swig from the bottle and a deep, slow drag off her cigarette. I cant. Cant or wont? In his voice was an accusatory tone that he could not stifle. He had been misled once before. No matter the purity and wisdom of her intentions back then, he was in the mood for none of it now. God help him but if he had to, he thought he might choke the truth from the old hag. I see a lot, Shakey, she offered humbly, but I cant see that. What hides them from me now is what hid them from me all those years back. Something older and more powerful than I could

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 345 ever hope to be. Bullshit, he countered, perplexed. What could be so powerful? She fixed him with a long, unblinking stare. I think you know. He thought for a moment, nodded, then stood and excused himself. As he did, the old woman tossed him the bottle of Hellwater and her pack of cigarettes. I told you I dont- Take em anyway. Consumed with a renewed boldness of purpose, he was no more than ten feet from the foot of her steps when he heard her call out to him again. Shakey! Yeah? he turned. Where youre living now by the mountain theres a boy, aint that right? It should not have surprised him that she knew about Noah but somehow it did. Yeah there is. What of him? The old witch nodded with a vague sense of approval. That mountain is a place of old powers and a seat of darkness. Casts a long shadow on the lake, boy. He nodded his understanding.

Theres a precious few lights that I can see in that shadow. Youre one of em and so is that boy. He wondered at her point. Careful that those lights dont get swallowed up. He nodded and walked on. I can already see them dimming, she hollered after him. Shakey heard the old woman but was beyond listening at that point. He had to get home to his maps where he could plot out a grid to begin his search. They were long dead, his boys, but to find their remains would bring a peace to him, bittersweet though it may be. And hopefully it would let them move on to their eternal reward. At least now he knew where to look. Contrary to prevailing thought, his boys hadnt drowned and their bones werent lying at the bottom of Ashwood Lake. They were shrouded from discovery by the only thing that was more ancient than the old woman and that, for hundreds of years, had been the source of a nameless fear. The mountain. Cross Mountain. It had been the goddamned mountain all along.

9 His conversation with Tommy had gotten Noah to thinking that maybe he ought to cast a line in the lake after all. Besides, it was something that would keep him close to the house

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 347 in case his mother needed him. He found his fishing rod stowed in the tiny closet of a shed where his father kept some tools. Noah straightened out the line, tied on a new hook and sat down on the dock. He had brought some chunks of stale bread and cornbread muffin out with him to use as bait. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not, but the boy was not so concerned with actually catching anything as he was with simply having something to do that could offer a reprieve from the oppressive weight and worry that had borne down on him lately. After all that had happened, he had not yet resumed his school work and wasnt sure if he even would. Neither he nor his mother seemed capable of entering back into such an ordinary and routine thing. He had been fishing for a while when, out of the corner of his eye, he spied Shakey tromping into the woods, clad in his drab period clothing and cap, a worn leather satchel strapped to his back. It seemed the old man had returned from his visit with the woman he had gone to see; the mountain mystic called Witch Wilkins. Noah pulled the line from the water and went chasing after the old man, hollering as he got close. As Shakey stopped and turned toward the boy, Noah sensed an impatience and intensity about him. He was clearly a man on a mission. Whatd she say, the woman you saw?

Shakey sighed. He was anxious to get started with his search but he knew that the boy was eager for information and he had a right to be. Especially since Wilkins has mentioned him specifically. He bid the boy sit down on the broad trunk of a fallen gum tree and set about explaining all that he had learned. Even as he told it, he was deciding whether or not there was anything to be gained by telling the boy of Wilkins cryptic comment about him. In the end, he decided there was not. After absorbing the deluge of information, the young boy nodded and looked up at the mountain. But they could be anywhere up there, anywhere at all. How do you even know where to look? Shakey stood and shouldered his satchel again. Well, we were camped on the lake about two or three miles south of here. I figured I would start there. Noah eyed the old man dubiously. Sounds like you could use some help. He shook his head. Nope. We had dozens of folks looking for the boys back then and didnt find a thing. Now its time to see what one man can do. Ill help if you want, Noah offered. No, Shakey replied, thinking of Wilkins words, Ill have enough on my mind. Dont need to be lookin after you up

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 349 there. He knew the words were harsh and that they might hurt and discourage the boy. He hoped that it would. The mountain, with its fell reputation, its isolation and its haints, was no place for a young boy. Even one with Noahs maturity and rare gift. Okay, Noah said, his eyes going to the ground. With that, Shakey was off into the woods. Noah stood and watched him disappear into thickening forest, headed south at an angle that would carry him gently up the western slope. Hes in over his head, Im afraid. Noah turned to see that Albie and Will were there, watching as their father vanished from sight. Is he? Noah asked. Albie nodded. Hes going the wrong way. Hes going too far. How would you know? Noah asked. I mean, yall were lost, so how would you know. Albie glanced at Noah with something of an incredulous look. We didnt know where we were then, no. But sure as shootin, we know where we died. Noah looked back in Shakeys direction as if to call out to the man, but he was gone from view now and probably out of earshot, too. Noah wasnt keen on going after him, either, preferring to stick closer to the house where he could hear his

mother holler for him. Well, I guess- he began, turning to speak to the boys but they, too, had vanished. A cold wind whipped in off the lake and, standing there at the edge of the forest, Noah suddenly felt very alone.

***

He had been gone from the house for a good bit of the day, between gathering his fishing tackle and then speaking with Shakey in the woods. Altogether, he reckoned his mother had gotten almost two hours all to herself and he was ready to be back in her company. As he crested the hill leading up to the house, he saw his fathers pickup parked in the driveway and his heart sank into his stomach like a cold stone. He cursed under his breath. This was precisely what he did not want to happen; for his father to return to the house while his mother was there, alone. Noah broke into a run and came up quickly on the kitchen door. He threw it open and stepped inside, not bothering to close it behind him. The house was quiet. Not even the television was on. As he passed through the kitchen, he noticed that the living room had been decorated, however sparsely, for Christmas. He had not seen many of these adornments in a long time and some he had never seen at all. His

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 351 mother must have gotten a wild hair and decided to try and bring a little holiday cheer to the darkness that was the Belton home these days. Most incredible of all was the long string of Christmas lights along the wall where it met the ceiling. Red, green, blue, yellow, orange; all glowing brightly, their luminescence blending together to form an ethereal rainbow border around the ceiling. There was no time to stop and admire it further, though. Noah still hadnt found his father yet. He stepped into his room and grabbed his Louisville Slugger before going up the hallway and easing open the door to his mothers room. A table lamp was on and she was in the bed on her side, her back turned toward the door. He could hear her snoring, though, and in that he found some comfort that she had been undisturbed. Gently latching the door behind him, Noah went to the only other place that there was to look. The door to the worship room was cracked open, the light on inside. His father was on bended knee before the cross, his hands joined together and his head bowed in silent prayer. The sight of him filled the boy with bitter resentment and stirring anger. Part of him wanted nothing more than to charge in and have a swing at the back of his head with the business end of the Slugger but he supposed that beating someone even a very deserving someone in front of a cross was probably some form of sacrilege. He let the tip of the bat thump on the floor as he

leaned against the door frame. I hope youre praying for forgiveness, he said to his father, words so bold that he barely managed to speak them without the tremolo that vibrated his limbs seeping into his voice. What do I have to be forgiven for? his father asked, eyes still closed, head still bowed. If you have to ask that, then its not time for forgiveness yet. Hugh lifted his head and glanced over at his son, standing in the doorway. Four-foot-nothing with one white-knuckled hand around the handle of his baseball bat. He stood and as he did so, his son lifted the tip of the bat off the floor and stepped back. His boy was nervous around him. He ought to be. He had been heavy-handed with Ada the other night, he knew, but a mans home was his castle and his little shit of a son wasnt king. Not yet. I see you patched up the latch on that door and put a new lock on it, he said, nodding over to the crawlspace door. Noah nodded. Whered you get the hardware? Found it. Where? Around.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 353 Hugh was playing it cool so that Ada might agree to his returning home, which was fortunate for his son because otherwise he would have whooped the tar out of that boy. I see. Noah backed out into the hallway a little more, though his eyes never left his father. He watched him, as wary of the man as he would be a copperhead in the house. You aint welcome back here, Noah said. No, I expect not. Not yet anyhow. Your Mommas still pretty sore at me, I bet. Sore? Noah thought. Oh, shes sore all right. Whatd you come for then? Hugh plucked his duffel bag from the seat of the bench where he had set it. Change of clothes. Noah considered it for a moment but that would mean his father would need to go into the bedroom. He didnt like the thought of that, not one bit. No, he said, shaking his head and bringing the bat up higher, closer to being ready if he had to swing it. Go find a laundromat. Hugh Belton began to fume and Noah could see the anger building in his fathers reddening face and that vein that began to bulge on the side of his neck.

The little bastard, Hugh thought. It was all he could do to maintain control. Alright then he growled and walked past Noah, down the hallway toward the living room. He stopped as he entered the room and looked around at the Christmas lights, shaking his head. You know, son, he said in a calm, icy tone of voice, when Im back home, were gonna put a stop to all this foolishness. All of it. Noah got his unspoken meaning. Lord, yes, he continued as he walked to the front door, when I come back home, theres gonna be a reckoning around here, boy. As God as my witness, theres gonna be a reckoning. Surprisingly, the thinly veiled threat did not chill Noahs blood as was intended. Instead, he regarded his father with a steely gaze and nodded, his hand tightening on the Sluggers handle. I think you might be right. Noah closed the door and locked it, then went around to the kitchen and did the same. He waited until the truck had roared to life and gone chugging out of the neighborhood before he would allow himself to stand down, though, and by then the blood and adrenaline was coursing hot through his veins.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 355 ***

His mother did not wake to eat that night or if she did, she did not come out of her room. After the sun set, Noah searched the cupboard for something to eat. It was now all but barren once more, for his mother had not been to the store since just before Tommy and Deputy Wrens visit. He found slices of country ham and placed them on wheat bread for his supper, along with some potato chips. The boy fixed a plate for his mother as well and stole into her room quietly, placed it on her bedside table along with a glass of water in case she awoke hungry in the night. He considered reading from the Poe book but decided that it might take his imagination to places he did not wish it to go, so he flicked on the television and camped in front of it on the couch so that he would be the first to know if his father came shuffling through the door in the dead of night. He was so afraid of this possibility that he sat with the Slugger propped up against the couch and had even fetched a long, sharp cooking knife from the kitchen drawer and stashed it in between the cushions next to him. He watched re-runs on TV, though his mind was never fully focused on them. Instead, his thoughts fell to the restless ghosts of Cedar Banks and how absent they had been lately. He had not seen or even gotten the sensation of the stinking mans

presence in a while and, apart from Ablie and Will, things had been as quiet as could be. He supposed that he should be grateful for it, whatever the reason, but the truth was that it made him a little uneasy. What was the phrase? The calm before the storm? He dearly hoped that wasnt the case but something told him that he had not yet seen the last of the dead who called this place their home. Noah thought also of the old man and wondered how he had fared in his search on the mountain. He would be very worried except that he had peeked out of the front window just after dark and seen Shakeys house lights on, which meant that he had made it back home safely. It was foolish, what the old man was doing. Like probing for a needle in a haystack that was miles wide and long. He couldnt understand why the old man was so set against Noah helping him, especially when he was the only one of them who could communicate with the spirits of the boys. In that regard, he was actually uniquely equipped to help. It was then that an idea began to form in his mind. As he considered it, his eyelids grew increasingly heavy and his mind clouded with the fog of sleep rolling in. On the television, the volume turned low, he absently watched as the Road Runner outfoxed Wile E. Coyote again and again. When he fell into slumber, he was greeted with dreams of cartoon violence; anvils and hammers and explosions that, despite their humorous origins, peppered his

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 357 nights sleep with an anxiety that he would not recall when he woke the next morning.

***

Shakey sat at home that night, filling plastic grocery bags with ice from the freezer and laying them out on top of his knees and ankles. It had been a long time, indeed, since he had undertaken such a rigorous few hours of tramping about the mountain and he had found out the hard way the old gray mare just wasnt what she used to be. Aging was a funny thing. The body broke down, corroding over time, while the mind still regarded every task set before it with the vim and vigor of youth. One of lifes cruel insults. He sat and listened to mountain music on the radio, blistering reels and melancholy airs and that high, lonesome sound reverberating in his bones as he sipped from the jar of Hellwater he had taken from Witch Wilkins. He had found nothing, absolutely nothing, but pain and hardship on the slopes of Cross Mountain and it filled him with despair. He would never be able to find his boys, not alone. And after so many years, there was no hope that the authorities might lend a hand. Not on fantastical information gleaned from an old mountain witch and bootlegger that everyone in the county would just as soon forget

even existed. He had only just been emboldened by her revelation and here he was, broken and alone and staring imminent failure right in the eyes. Why he had been allowed to linger on this rock so long after the loss of his children was a mystery to him and a riddle to which only God Almighty knew the answer. And He wasnt sharing His thoughts. All his life, Shakey had more or less believed that there was a purpose to everything that occurred under the sun and moon, but if there was a reason for his prolonged stay in this purgatory, he could not see it. He listened as the radio hummed with the sounds of The Old Dominion Valley Boys playing The Blackest Crow, the singer crooning and a lone fiddle conjuring sorrowful notes with horsehair bows. He sipped corn whiskey and closed his eyes as tears streamed forth, the final refrain echoing down the long years of his life. If ever I prove false to you, the seas will rage and burn.

10 In the morning, Noah woke to the sounds and smell of country ham frying in a skillet. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and beheld his mother

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 359 flitting about the kitchen like a butterfly, pans and plates clinking in a kind of culinary symphony. Above the sweet, fleshy aroma of ham there was the buttery flavor of baking biscuits so thick in the air that he could nearly taste them. He asked her how she was feeling, though it was something of a ridiculous question, for it was clear from her gaiety that she was in a better condition than she had been in for days. When the cooking was done, she set upon the table a feast that she had amazingly cobbled together from their thinning food stores; lightly fried country ham, hoecakes with apple jelly, her homemade biscuits and tomatoes quartered and sauted in sugar and butter. He ate of it voraciously, for it was the most robust meal hed had in a long while and she delved into it alongside of him with a zeal that he had rarely seen. During breakfast, they talked of mundane things and of getting started back on his schoolwork soon. Though he had quite enjoyed the reprieve from his academics, he would not dream of uttering a disparaging word then, not when she was so filled with a sense of peace and joy. She asked him how he liked the Christmas decorations she had put out and he responded with approval and an enthusiasm that he tried not to taint with the memory of his fathers comment about its foolishness. He was thankful that she had been well asleep when Hugh came by and had not been the least

disturbed by his visit. Noah silently congratulated himself not a little on this, feeling the pride of having at last stood up to his ogre of a father. She certainly seemed to be doing well and he began to further coalesce and entertain the idea that had come to him the night before about Shakey and finding the remains of his boys. As he sopped up ham drippings with the last of his biscuit, he decided to broach the subject. Of course, in the fashion of any young man who wished to engage in an activity of which his mother would not approve, he lied. Mr. Lee has asked me to go on a hike with him up the mountain. Would that be okay? Ada paused and regarded Noah with a serious expression. You really like Mr. Lee, dont you? Noah nodded. I think were friends. He teaches me things. Used to be a park ranger, so he knows lots of stuff history about the mountain and all. It was a hard thing, Ada realized then; her little bird asserting his independence, taking small steps toward his inevitable leaving of the nest. Still, Noah had a good head on his shoulders. He always had, despite everything he had been through. Are you comfortable with going up on that mountain with

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 361 Mr. Lee? All alone? He knew well her lingering reservations about the old man, so he put down his utensils and fixed her with an intent look. Hes a good man, Mumma. She took another bite of fried ham and considered it. Well, if youre sure. He smiled and thanked her, excused himself from the table and went into his room where he began assessing the things he would need for his journey up the mountain. He wasnt sure that his idea would even work but he felt that he owed it to the old man to at least try. When Noah had gathered his gear, he asked his mother for a couple of biscuits and slivers of country ham that she gave to him in plastic sandwich bags. Youll be back before dark? she asked. He nodded. I promise, he lied, for no matter his intentions, he had no way of truly knowing. She bent to hug and kiss him, though she was suddenly struck by how little she had to bend. He was getting so big, her boy, almost equal now to her height. I love you, son, she offered as she wrapped him tightly in an embrace that he began to struggle against almost immediately.

Mumma! he protested, pulling away from her. Im not a little kid no more. As he tore from her embrace and walked out of the kitchen door, she nodded with a mixture of pride and sadness. No, you are not, Noah. Long after the door was closed behind her son, Ada continued the clean-up from their breakfast. In the next room, the television droned on with the morning news and with all the bustle and noise as she scrubbed pots and pans under the roaring, hot water of the sink, she heard nothing of the weather forecast delivered by a meteorologist out of Roanoke. He spoke of a high pressure system moving up from the south that was even now meeting with a blast of arctic air from the north over the Tennessee valley. Residents of Roanoke as well as the southern Virginia mountains could expect strong winds and rain before it turned to snow overnight and began pouring a snowfall onto the area that would, in its intensity, dwarf the system that had passed through the region only weeks before. It was slow moving and could churn above them for days, though areas to the east would receive no more than a dusting.

***

Noah had begun to worry when, after a few moments of

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 363 calling for Shakeys boys, he did not see them or feel their presence near. After closing his eyes and reciting the rhyme about Wee Willie Winkie, though, he felt them suddenly return and he opened his eyes to find them standing there. He apprised them of his very simple plan. Their father, as spry as he was for a man of his age, had no business combing the dangerous and densely wooded slopes of the mountain; which he most certainly would do every day until the mountain finally took him. So to keep that from happening, Noah was going to find their remains and bring them back to Shakey, that he might lay them to rest properly. As to how he was going to find them, thats where the boys came in. They were going to lead him up the mountain, down every deer path and across every rocky brook until he arrived at their final resting place. The plan was simple, bold, and also a bit foolish, which had been the very reason hed had to lie to his mother about going up on the mountain. He was a twelve year old boy all alone and him not even half the woodsman that Albie had been when he was swallowed up by the long ridge that dominated the eastern sky. Still, Noah reckoned, it was the only way. It was something he had to do. That was more than three hours ago now and well before the freezing rain began to fall, cutting through the air and coming

down hard and hurtful, hundreds of tiny needles pricking his flesh with every passing moment. For most of the journey, the boys had kept to simple paths that zigzagged up the slope with long, gentle climbs but now he was picking his way up a wide, steep rock field. It was a common feature of the Appalachians and not easily negotiated under the best of circumstances. With the wind and the freezing rain pelting him hard, coating the rocks with a layer of forming ice, the mountain was snapping at him, eager to add yet another soul to its collection. At best, the slightest misstep meant being immobilized by a sprain or broken bone and from there, the possibilities only darkened. Noah had not dressed for this kind of weather. He wore a denim coat with a thick liner and white, furry collar made to look like sheeps wool but it was quickly becoming soaked and stiff with the rain and the dropping temperature. Once, as he was suspended over a dark, deep space between large rocks, he reached to a rock above and lurched forward but his right hand slipped and he smashed against the side of it head-first. Lying there, his head ringing and the ice pellets knifing him in the face from a gray and indifferent sky, he declared that today was not the day that Cross Mountain would claim him. Just like Captain Red, he would complete his mission and win the day, no matter the odds or the obstacles. Trying again, he shimmied up until he could right himself and the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 365 pressed on. The end of the rock field was in sight and after that, the boys had assured him, it wasnt far. A nice, flat ridge and then smooth sailing the rest of the way, they had said. He liked the sound of that very much. When he kicked his foot off the last rock and stumbled onto the ridge, it was then that he noticed the pain in his hands. Looking down, he saw they were cracked and bleeding, cold and red. Looking at the boys who stood in the center of the grassy ridge, he could not help but think parts of him were starting to look a little too much like the deathly parts of them. On the other side of the ridge, there was a dense stand of tall pines and he made for them, wanting to get out of the weathers constant assault if only for a moment before going any further. Once there, the pines provided a canopy that blocked the rain and wind. He went to the ground and slipped the backpack off of his shoulders. In it he had packed a Swiss Army knife, matches, a flashlight, and the remaining biscuits and ham from breakfast. The space in the rest of the pack was taken up by the dingy, olive green Army style rucksack he had found in his fathers closet. It was big and could be shouldered across his back if need be and seemed the best choice for packing out the remains of Shakeys boys. Noah sat for a few moments and gnawed on the food as he watched the nasty winter storm wailing around him. In the darkening mid-day light, in the midst of the tall

grass that lined the flat, narrow ridge, he noticed something jutting up. It might have been a tree except that there were no other trees, big or small, mixed in with the grass. Curious, he rose and went trotting out to have a look. The boy realized what he had found before he had even seen the whole of it. As he neared the protrusion, he noticed smaller ones that dotted the landscape, visible only because the grass was bending low with the weight of the freezing rain. Small, worn stones with jagged angles. Headstones. They were sparse, though, and even though the sky was still filled with subdued light, he could not have made out the inscriptions if he had been right up on them. The one at the center was larger, with a base that rose up from the grass. A column of stone stood erect atop it but was roughly broken off from years upon years of exposure to the harsh mountain weather. He was standing on the very ridge on which the battle had occurred, where the cross had been erected that had given the mountain its present name. Looking deep into the grass at his feet, he could see the edges of the top half of the cross, covered by earth and growth. That strange, gray feeling began to niggle at his mind and for the first time he recognized that it was the dead reaching out to him. It was a sensation that set upon him with such

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 367 profound longing that he was nearly helpless to deny it. But his attention was drawn to the blond boys at the far edge of the ridge, beckoning him hence. In his reverie, Noah had forgotten about the storm and the stinging rain but when he emerged from it, he sprinted back across the ridge to the shelter of the pines and found the boys standing further away from him. He shouldered his pack and followed as they led him down another wide path of tall grass. The mountain slanted, jagged, rocky and imposing on either side of the pass. From Shakeys descriptions of the battle, Noah knew that he was skirting along the edge of the Windy Pass. He decided that it was aptly named. Even on a fine day, with the usual mountain breeze, the air currents would have funneled through this break in the massive mountain. But in the midst of the storm, it was as if a small tornado had been trapped between two towering walls of rock. Noah could barely stand but struggled along the edges of the pass, faithfully following his spectral guides, gritting his teeth against the elements. It must have been only a hundred feet or so but it felt like a hundred miles. Noah wiped the sheen of freezing rain from his face and looked long to the next point forward. He saw the two boys standing side by side, each of them with arms outstretched and pointing to a patch of deadfall. Not understanding, he rushed

toward them. What is it? Is this the place? he asked. They nodded their heads in unison, a strange and unearthly gesture, and Noah looked down to where they pointed. What he saw was a barrier of trees that had fallen haphazardly, some new and others not, and a layer of muck. He took hold of a branch from one of the fallen trees and began plunging it into the mud. Stabbing it into the earth, time and time again, he was rewarded with nothing but the resistance of the hard turf and red clay beneath it. He had been nearly at the breaking point, about to shout at the dead boys for wasting his time, when his spear failed to bite and went plunging into the ground so far that he lost hold of it. On his hands and knees, he dug at the site, pulling deadfall and mud back until a mansized chasm opened up. The dark space that lay beyond smelled of cold and earth. Noah reached back and pulled the flashlight from his pack. Shining it down into the dark hole, he saw that beneath him was a hollow space whose sleepy, subterranean night had not been disturbed in decades. This is it? he asked, looking up at the boys. Again, they nodded in unison. Yall gonna come down here and show me? At this, Will clutched to his brother, hiding his face.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 369 This is as far as we go. Its as far as we ever go, Albie said. Noah started to ask why but then he understood. This was the place of their earthly demise and even decades of wandering death had not numbed them to their passing. Noah wondered who had been the first to die and how long the lingering one had clung to the lifeless corpse of the other, weeping and aching for rescue. Okay, Noah said, positioning himself over the opening into the cave. Without another word, Noah slipped down into the hole feetfirst. Above him hovered the ghostly forms of the blond boys, looking on with concern.

11 The sleet coming down on the aluminum roof of Kemp Metalworks sounded through the building like an endless round of applause from some unseen audience. Men standing only feet away from one another had to shout to be heard over the noise. Hugh was bent low, his hands inside of the access panel of a large, roll-around band saw. He was fumbling with a loose power coupling, the connection so far up inside the panel that he could not see what he was doing and had to feel his way around the task.

Belton! Hugh turned to see a slight, short man called Little Jimmy Billings standing close by and cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted. Hugh looked at him questioningly. Bossman wants to see you! Hugh nodded and glanced back at the second floor office lined with windows that looked out onto the workshop floor. He pulled his hand free, stepped away and wiped his hands clean with a rag and then climbed the steel frame stairs up to the office. The minute he opened the door and stepped in, removing his grimy ball cap, the cacophony of the falling rain was muted by the insulation and layers of wood and framing that enclosed the office and the other rooms below. Behind the desk sat Henry Kemp, his nose in a ledger. He didnt even look up when Hugh entered, just motioned for him to take a seat in one of the chairs set before his desk. He endured a long moment of silence, sitting there and wringing his filthy hat with his fingers, waiting. When Mr. Kemp was done with whatever it was he had been so engrossed in, he closed the ledger and folded his hands before him, smiled cordially at Hugh. How are things, Hugh? What was this? he wondered. A social visit? Things are fine, Mr. Kemp. Just fine. Thanks for asking.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 371 You sure about that? Hugh shifted awkwardly in his seat. I aint sure I understand Hugh, Henry Kemp began with a heavy sigh, I know you been bedding down nights in the break room, sleeping on the couch. You been cleaning up in the showers here, too. Troubles at home? Hugh nodded. Been there, buddy. Believe me. So I understand and I was willing to let it slide for a few days because Im sympathetic to how a woman can beat a man down, drag him into the dregs. Hugh grinned. But I aint running a bed and breakfast here. Ill give you one more night to bunk here but then you gotta make other arrangements. Shack up in a motel if you want, I dont care. My advice, though, is to go on home and work it out with your old lady. Gotta face the music at some point, you know? Yes, sir. I understand. Good. Thats all. Hugh stood and felt that he should say something else, mutter some obligatory words of thanks for Mr. Kemps candor and his understanding, but the truth was that he felt some embarrassment at having been called into the office to be lectured on his own personal business. This, too, was Adas

fault. If she hadnt been such a disloyal cunt, if she wasnt in the habit of driving him to the brink but that red feeling was growing inside him. A glowing ember of anger and wrath. He walked out of Mr. Kemps office and the roar of ice upon the roof invaded his ears and reverberated through the air, ceaseless in its onslaught. It was his house anyway, wasnt it? His castle. Why should he be loath to return to it just because of her? He smiled darkly. It would soon be time for Ada to face the music and oh, how Hugh would make her dance.

12 After he slid down the cold stone beneath the opening, Noah dropped the backpack and clicked the flashlight on. Despite the dim and stormy sky, the daylight coming in from the mouth of the cave above was sufficient enough to illuminate most of the space, though details were hard to make out. He shone the light around the cave and as he did so, he breathed a sigh of relief that the cave was spacious enough that it did not send him into a claustrophobic panic. The chamber that he had dropped into was large enough that a couple of cars could fit in it. The floor was uneven and rocks jutted up from the earth here and there. As he observed this, he felt the breath go out of him. On the wall to the right, a natural ledge of stone ran nearly the length of

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 373 that side of the chamber and it was there that the boys must have sat as they waited out the summer storm and then hoped for rescue all those years before because the shelf was littered with a few bones and one of the childrens skulls. The rest lay scattered on the cave floor just below the bump-out and mixed within them were ragged, half-eaten summer clothes; shorts and t-shirts, tube-socks and rubber-soled sneakers. It was not this that sent Noahs heart pounding in his chest, though. It was all the other bones. They littered the floor on the opposite side of the cave, too numerous to be counted by a simple glance, though Noah had a suspicion that their number would equal however many men had gone missing from the Crow Neck work camp a half-century ago. It seemed that he had unwittingly stumbled upon Clyde Dekkers dumping ground. After cleaving the flesh from the bones of his victims, apparently the huntsman packed the rest out of the camp and deposited them here, though Lord only knows how he had managed to discover this place. As Noah went to more closely inspect the field of morbid debris, the flashlights beam occasionally fell on the walls and it was there that Noah noticed strange markings. They were so utterly unlike English or any other kind of writing he had ever seen, it was difficult to say if they were writings at all or nothing more that curious shapes scratched into the surface of the stone. As he gently

picked his way among the bones, he also saw that at the far end, there was a break in the stone which formed a short entrance to dark passage leading farther into the body of the mountain. Shining his light into it revealed only that it was a long, cramped and dark passage and despite his curiosity, he judged it too dangerous to investigate further. Outside, the freezing rain sounded like it had lightened some and, while he was thankful for the brief respite from the storm, he felt he had better get to the task at hand. Removing the Army rucksack and opening it, he knelt by Albie and Wills bones, gathering them and laying them gently into the long sack. Noah took his time, trying to handle them with all the respect that they deserved but he was quickly becoming unnerved. An oppressive air of dread was gathering around him in the cave of bones and he felt his eyes drawn again and again to the black opening at the far end, set there in the ancient stone like a mouth.

***

Halfway back down the mountain, the torturous rain of ice ceased and in its place, large, thick flakes of snow began fall. The heavy rucksack slung across his torso, Noah did his best to double his speed and when he stepped onto more level ground a

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 375 few hundred feet from the edge of the lake, he felt his legs go weird and wobbly as they adjusted. The sun was low on the horizon now, or must have been, though he could not see it behind the wide, gray sky. Noah felt the burn of exhausted muscles as he walked up the steps of Shakeys front porch. With a heavy sigh, he knocked on the door and waited a minute or two as the old man came shuffling to it. Noah, he said, nodding a greeting. Got a monster of a storm brewin, they say. What brings you out and about in all this? He was about to answer when the old man seemed to notice the boys haggard appearance and furrowed his brow.

Boy, you look like deep-fried shit. Where you been? Up the mountain, he replied, his solemn gaze locked on the old mans eyes and when those words were uttered, he saw a darkness flash across them. Whats in the sack? Shakey asked, his voice suddenly gone timid, weak. Noah heaved the rucksack over his shoulders and held it in front of him, close to his chest. Aint no way you ever would have found them. I had to go myself, Shakey. He thrust the sack out and the old man took it. Inside, there was the unmistakable sound of bones clacking together as

they shifted. Tears came to the old mans eyes then and his lip trembled as he took in a deep breath. That was damned foolish to go up on the mountain all alone, Noah, Shakey declared. The boy glanced down at the rucksack cradled in the old mans arms and said, I wasnt alone. Understanding his meaning, Shakey nodded and thought about what an incredible thing it was, the fine ability the boy possessed, the natural way it came to him. There was a deep and contemplative silence that passed between them then. Noah felt that he should say something, offer some kind of condolences. He reached out and clutched Shakeys arm reassuringly. They were together, you know. All the while, I think, and definitely at the end. I found them together. The old man managed a tearful smile. I suppose that does give me some comfort. Noah nodded. Guess I ought to be getting on home. Mummas gonna be plenty worried by now, I bet. The old man nodded as the boy turned to walk down the steps. He hadnt gotten far before Shakey called after him. Noah?

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 377 Yesir? he asked, looking at the old man over his shoulder. I couldnt never thank you enough for this. Not if I had a hundred years left. Its alright, Noah smiled at his friend. You dont have to.

13 After Noah removed his wet, soiled shoes, he slipped across the porch in his sock feet and opened the front door. Stepping inside, he heard the television still on and the sounds of the water running at the kitchen sink. He dropped his backpack by the door and hollered out to his mother than he was finally home and sorry he was so late but hiking down the mountain in the storm was rough going. As he turned to step into the kitchen, he felt something cold and wet at his feet and looked down. The floor of the kitchen was covered in a shallow layer of water. The sink was running but unattended and had apparently been stopped up to be filled because water flowed over its edges. The refrigerator door was wide open and his mother sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly in his direction but not at him. Mumma? When she didnt respond, Noah tiptoed through the water to the sink and shut the faucet off. On his way to her, he reached out and slammed the fridge door shut. Standing next to her, he

leaned down and put his hand on her shoulder. She was cold to the touch. Beginning to panic, he whimpered a moment as he went to his knees in the cold, standing water. But he noticed her chest rising and falling with slow but steady breaths. He stood and took her shoulders and shook her. Mumma! Mumma, whats wrong? Mumma! After a moment or so of this, her wide stare broke and she blinked her eyes and looked over at her son, confused. Mumma! Noah? Back so soon? So soon? He had been gone for hours. He wondered how long she had been this way, sitting at the table and staring into space. Mumma, are you alright? What happened? She looked about the room as if searching for some memory that eluded her, the creases on her brow deepening, then she turned to him as if something had sparked a recollection, though the expression on her face was no clearer, no more present. She still seemed dazed. My heart was troubled, son, she said with a voice that was nearly a whisper. I was in him and he was in me. Noah narrowed his eyes and he studied her. It made no sense, what she had said. The words were similar to something

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 379 from the Book of John but neither their order nor their context was the same. He pulled the other chair closer to her and sat down in it, leaning forward and holding her hands in his own. I dont understand, Mumma. You mean God? You thought that God was in you? Once again, her eyes fell haphazardly over the walls of the kitchen, then settled darkly on Noah. No. It wasnt God.

Noah sopped up the kitchen water with bath towels from the closet and helped his mother into bed that night, more concerned for her than before. She wasnt making any sense. Not that he could discern. Again, he had to wonder if the last brutal, unrestrained thrashing by his father had not injured her brain. It seemed as likely as anything. He decided that in the morning, he would ask for Shakeys help in getting his mother into town to a doctor to be checked out. She would likely resist but he felt that with Shakey, another adult, on his side, she might be convinced of the wisdom of it. After she was in her bed and resting peacefully, Noah washed himself in the shower. Standing there for longer than was necessary, letting the hot water cascade down and loosen the tired muscles of his legs, his back and arms. After he had dried off and dressed for bed, he went in to check on his mother once

more. He sat on the bed next to her, leaned over and put a hand on her shoulder, which rose and fell with her quiet breaths. He lay down next to her but left his hand where it was. It was soothing to feel her breathing, to feel the warmth of her close by, and he was so exhausted from his day spent on the mountain. Noah lay in the dark next to his mother and slipped easily into a deep sleep.

***

Noahs eyes snapped open when he heard the sound. A rhythmic tip-tapping that repeated with a long, silent pause in between. He shut his eyes and tried to fall back asleep but every time he would begin to drift, he felt a surge of wakefulness go through him. He sighed, slid out from beneath the covers, sat up on the edge of the bed and listened. Tip-tap. The sound was dulled by the wall in between his mothers bedroom and the hall bathroom. He rose from the bed, closed her door behind him and turned on the light in the hallway bath. The yellow sink and fiberglass tub and shower flashed ugly and bright to his eyes that hadnt yet adjusted to the light. He stepped in and leaned over to see a fresh puddle of water pooling in the tub beneath the faucet and watched as two, fat

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 381 drops came slipping out of the spigot. He slid the diverter up and down and turned the hot and cold water knobs tighter to the right. He wanted to be sure it was done dripping or else he would just throw a towel in the tub to deaden the sound of the drops as they fell. He was tired and wished to go back to sleep, which would never happen if the noise persisted. As he waited and watched, he felt his stomach turn and a pressure began building in his guts. Good thing Im already in the bathroom, he thought, then turned and dropped his sweatpants and took a seat on the toilet. His insides were churning and growling and the pressure was quickly becoming painful. He bore down, straining to relieve himself but there was nothing. After a moment of gritting his teeth against the sensation of his guts being balled up on the inside, he at last felt a release and his shoulders slumped as he breathed an exasperated breath. Tip-tap. Well, he thought, that hadnt fixed it apparently and the drips must now be bigger because when it splashed, it had sent droplets into the air and one had come to rest on his leg. He looked down to wipe it away but what he saw instead was a dark shape, about the size of a penny, with spindly legs that propelled it across his skin. Reflexively, Noah smacked at it with his hand and sent the pest sailing into the nearby tub

where it stood unmoving, either stunned or carefully watching him through its eight, tiny black eyes. He stiffened as another release came but his bottom was tingling now and when he looked down, he beheld with no mean amount of horror that his groin and thighs were alive with tiny spiders, crawling forth from the bowl of the toilet to traverse his bare flesh. He stood and as he did so, he felt his bowels release again and, while he was not keen on the thought of his shit being spattered all over the bathroom, he was furiously brushing the spiders from his body. He glanced back and what he saw filled him with a deep revulsion. Noah was shitting spiders. They were everywhere and each time he felt that involuntary release, more were expelled from his body and began to climb and scurry over the floor, the toilet, the walls, the tub. His sweatpants around his ankles were filling with them now; black and brown and pale gray, from the very large to the very small, crawling things with too many eyes and tiny fangs dripping with venom. They scampered up his calves and thighs. No matter how much he swatted at them, it was not no avail. There were too many. He stepped quickly out of his pants and leapt for the door to get away but, though it had no lock, it was immovable. His innards groaned and spat once more and he felt them crawling up his back, beneath his t-shirt, along his waist. Animal-like whimpers escaped him and his mouth was open, held

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 383 askew in abject terror. He tore back the plastic shower curtain, halfway ripping it from the hooks and stepped into the tub. Leaning over, he wrapped his hands around the faucet knobs and turned them wide open. Maybe he could drown them or at least shower them off of him. He called out for his mother and then screamed as the spigot opened up and spilled forth a torrent of black muck and long, fat bloodworms, thin nightcrawlers, fleetfooted centipedes and silverfish as long as pencils. He danced around and beneath him some were crushed, squashing out their creamy insides that mixed with the stinking lake mud from the spigot and forming an appalling slurry beneath his feet. Then he slipped and felt himself falling. Noah grabbed at the shower curtain and brought it down with him. He lay there, floundering in the tub as the crawling things came and he was soon being buried beneath them, their tiny, snapping maws feasting on him. He breathed deeply for a final scream and just before they filled his mouth with their dark, wriggling bodies, in the transom window above the shower he saw a fat, black fly buzzing and bouncing around the sill and from the other side of the bathroom door, he heard roaring laughter, deep, sinister and unmistakably familiar. But then the creatures were inside of him, suffocating him as they crawled hungrily down his throat and back into his belly.

Ripped from the nightmare, Noah woke with a sharp lucidity brought on by instinct. His dreaming mind had been aware of the sudden presence in the room even before he returned to consciousness and it had begun hammering at him with that primal fight-or-flight sensation. He jumped from the bed and switched a light on but there was nothing to be seen. No creatures, no father, no stinking huntsman. But there was something in the room with him, he knew, for he could feel the blood pulsing in his ears and the hair on his body stood erect among gooseflesh. Then the bedroom door slammed shut without having been touched and Noah made to move next to his mother but something unseen pressed against his chest and pushed him back and down against the wall. On the bed, his mother was raised into the air and flipped, her eyes coming open as she came down on the bed. She eyed the bedroom door and pushed up to move in that direction but something came down hard on her back and clawed at her nightgown, shredding it in places and pushing the hem of it up around her waist. Objects all over the room toppled or were thrown about. A mason jar full of spare change hurled across the room from the dresser and burst against the wall above Noahs head, raining down jagged bits of glass and coins. Then she saw Noah down on the floor, struggling against an invisible force, his eyes wide with fright. He was watching as

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 385 something had at her, his mothers legs forced apart and her entire body responding to the movements of something that he could not see. From the stink in the room, though, Noah was certain that it was Clyde Dekker but he had never felt the huntsman with such power before and he had always been able to see him. Something had changed but Noah couldnt imagine what could have so empowered the vile spirit. As shocking and disturbing as it was to watch his mother taken by the entity, it was not that alone which chilled him deep in his heart. It was the passive look on her face. There was no terror as she held his gaze, no surprise. Only regret and pity and desperate reassurance, her eyes communicating what she could not manage in words. Its gonna be alright, baby boy. Its gonna be alright. Just be still. This will pass. But how could she be so accepting of this bizarre violation? How could she not fight back, not even appear to try? Unless she had already been down that road before. Suddenly, Noah realized something terrible and it filled him with a deep shame. All this time, he had thought that the stinking man had been fixated upon him alone because the boy could perceive him whereas others could not. But that hadnt been it. In separate ways, the huntsman had tormented his mother as well, tormented her in ways worse than he could imagine. They had each suffered

alone, Noah and his mother, each unwilling to burden or endanger the other. Dekker had used this unfailing love to divide them, his hauntings chipping away at the foundation that had carried them through so many years under his fathers evil rule. Somewhere along the way, the huntsman had broken his mother and she had resolved to endure his assaults in silence. In his mind, Noah heard Dekkers laughter and his delight in the brutality. The boy snarled and tried to move forward but whatever held him down was far stronger and as he struggled against it, the force began to slap and choke him, Noah reaching up to grapple with hands that werent there. Sit tight, boy. Almost finished here, almost done, the huntsmans gravelly voice passed through his mind. It seemed Noah had little choice, for no matter how hard he fought against it, he could not move from his position on the floor. The bedroom was alive with a woeful electricity, the very air charged. He sat and kept his eyes on his mother, blocking out all else, wishing the horrors of this world away, wishing that wishes could come true. When the attack ceased as suddenly as it had come on, he scrambled up and to his mother. She lay there on the bed, unmoving but breathing, her eyes half-closed as if she were only partially awake. His attempts to rouse her were fruitless, though, and he ended up draping one of her arms

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 387 over his shoulders and dragged her from the bedroom and down the hall. As quickly as he could, shuffling along with her weight leaning against him, he made for the door, intent on getting her out of that house, never to return. But when he threw open the front door he was reminded of the dismal state of the weather. Snow was coming down in sheets so thick that he could barely see Shakeys house across the street and was already deep on the ground. She was in a ravaged nightgown and he in sweatpants and no socks or boots. Besides, where would they go? There was no driving out in this storm. And the problem wasnt just their house, he knew that. The whole neighborhood Hell, the whole damned mountain was little more than a haunted hunting ground for Dekker, who seemed able to move about at will. Noah shut the door and stood for a moment, his mind racing to form a plan. The huntsman was gone for the moment, Noah knew. As had just been proven to him, he had become quite adept at sensing the things presence and right now, he and his mother were alone in the house. He dragged her over to the couch and set her down heavily. Peering out of the window, he saw that the old mans house was sitting there in the gathering snow, dark and quiet. The clock on the wall read 3:28 a.m. It would be morning soon enough, he thought, and maybe by then his mother would have emerged from her state and they could dress and go across to Shakeys house. His truck would have chains on the tires. If

anyone could get them away from Cedar Banks in this blizzard, it was the old man. Noah laid his mother out on the couch, draping a quilt over her, and she slept. He would sit up for the rest of the night, the television on as a distraction, though the volume was muted. Only the sound of the empty house and their own breathing could be heard apart from the blowing wind outside and snow settling on the world. There he would remain, ever vigilant, sitting in the chair and waiting for daylight to begin its slow illumination of the gray sky. It wasnt clear to him why a weight should feel lifted by the onset of daytime, for at this place hideous things were as likely to befall you during the sunshine hours as they were when the sky was dark and cold.

14 The boy was dismayed to discover that he had fallen asleep sometime in the early morning. He rubbed his eyes and sat forward in the chair. His mother was still sleeping but she hadnt changed positions even slightly from the way he had set her down hours before. He went to the floor and knee-walked over to the couch, placing his hands upon her shoulders and shaking gently. Mumma, he called to her quietly. She did not stir with any sort of recognition.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 389 Mumma, wake up. We got to get out of here. He shook a little harder. Still, there was no response. Noah shook her again, vigorously this time, almost violently. Inside him, a hollow feeling began to grow that told him that his plan was pure fantasy. His ears and face reddened with shame and embarrassment not only for his naivety but for the state of his mother as she was. If he had gone to her with what was happening to him, she would have gotten them out of there. Surely, she would have and Hugh Belton be damned. The boy sat on the floor, his back against the couch, his mother lying nearly deathlike behind him, and he watched the snow falling thick outside. A cold certainty settled over him. They would not be allowed to leave this place yet. Not until things were put right. Balance had to be achieved, payment made. Noah felt this knowledge come unbidden to him but felt it in his bones nonetheless. This place whether it be named Cross Mountain or Cedar Banks or Crow Neck this place demanded it. Fine, he said aloud. If it was another death that it wanted, then so be it. If there was anything of a soul left of what was Dekker, this place could have it or it could have his fathers. He would gladly give both to it. Not his mothers, though, and not his own. But still he was vexed by the same question hed had the day when Tommy was visiting. How was he to kill what was already

dead? Noah simply had no idea and he suspected that no one alive knew the answer, either, not even Shakey Lee, who had walked between the worlds for years before Noah was even born. No one knows, he said aloud, thinking it through. No one. No one alive, came the thought into his head like a whisper, though again it seemed not to be his own. He closed his eyes and quieted his mind, opened himself, and hoped for more. Its up to the dead to move on, boy, it came again after a moment, this time with a strange and decrepit voice that sounded far away. Sometimes they dont even know theyre dead. It was a bizarre idea, Noah thought. How could Clyde Dekker or anyone, for that matter - not know they were dead and, moreover, why would they choose to stay? He had always believed that people died because the Lord reached down and plucked them from the world because it was their time, though he had never been able to reconcile how God determined this. It was one of the mysteries of creation and something that mankind was incapable of understanding. But perhaps the free will they had all been granted survived even death and the most stubborn or forlorn could choose to remain. Noah allowed himself to be open for a while longer but nothing else came to him. He opened his eyes, went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the tap. He stood there

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 391 and thought. The huntsman was most certainly dead. He had been lynched and his remains disposed of rather gruesomely decades ago after he was caught while butchering Clara Amburg. But what if he had clung to the world then and, in the long years that passed in this lonely corner of the Appalachian Mountains, he had forgotten? He wondered how he could remind Dekker of his demise. You cant, the voice came again, though he was not expecting it. But they can. Even as he began to question aloud who they were, his eyes were drawn to the dark hallway of the house and the room with the crawlspace door that lay at the end of it. Son of a gun, he uttered as his fingers went limp with the realization, the glass of water slipping from his grasp and shattering in the sink below.

***

Though it troubled him to leave her side while she was still asleep or whatever it was that his mothers unconscious state could be called Noah also felt that her condition would remain unchanged. Besides, there was nowhere else to look for answers and no one else to seek them out but him. Across the

street, Shakey Lee was alone in his house with the bonewhite remains of his children, confronting the demons of his past regret. He would likely have to involve the old man in this soon enough. Now, though, it was time for Noah to wrestle with some demons of his own. He did not relish the idea of crawling into that dark space again, voluntarily or not, but if there was a chance that the dead that lingered therein could provide some direction to him, then it would be well worth it. Either he would emerge with the first real answers since coming to this place or he would not emerge at all, and if the latter proved true then it was simply his time. It occurred to him that neither of these fates were something that a boy of twelve years should have to face, but then living as he had under the yoke of his fathers brutality had stripped him of any claim to childhood innocence long ago. Noah bent to the door, fishing the small, jagged key to the new lock from his pocket and freed it from the latch. With the tips of his fingers, he grasped the edges and pulled the door forth, its yawning blackness opening before him and the blast of cold air rushing out and chilling the room almost instantly. He had grabbed a penlight from his room and he patted his pocket to make sure it was there and then crawled inside feet-first. In the freezing cold space, his breaths escaped him in long, smoky puffs and he tried very hard to put at bay the memory of that

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 393 Thanksgiving night and of the daycare so many years before. Reaching up, he fingered the edges of the door and closed it. At once, he was plunged into a dark and frigid night. It was not long before he felt them pawing at him with their cold, blood wetted flesh, and their many voices blending together like the raucous sound of cicadas in the summer trees. He fought hard against revulsion and fright, endeavoring to still his mind. Do you remember the one who murdered you? he asked them. Dekker, they replied, though they called him other names as well. Names that Noah could not quite make out. Do you know what keeps him here? Out of the darkness a voice came to the fore and along with it, some innate knowledge of the one who spoke. Abner Whitman, a man who had thieved bags of grain from a neighboring farmer to feed his own and had received ten years for his crime. The huntsman had come upon him as Abner was on his way back to the work camp. Noah had witnessed the mans death, or some remnant of the event, in a vision when he had gone to the mailboxes by the road. The huntsman had slashed his throat and shoved him into a large burlap sack that he used to tote wild game back to the camp, back to his kitchen. She keeps him here. The girl, Abner offered, his old-time drawl so thick, Noah could barely understand him. He looks for

her, always looks for her. Why does she stay? Noah sensed a collective shrug. They didnt know. Will she help me? Have to ask her, I reckon, Abner spoke up. Will you help me? At this there was a stir and loud voices protesting, voices filled with reluctance and anxiety, and others with anger. Even though they were long dead and bound to the in-between place where they languished, they were still afraid of the huntsman. Then an image came to Noah and accompanying it there was an urging. Though it was dark in the crawlspace, a scene of the inside of it flashed upon his minds eye; a bit of exposed wood frame just above the door. He pulled the tiny flashlight from his pants pocket and clicked it on and leaned up on his elbow to cast the light around the space before him. Though all of the inside of the space had been covered in metal, there was one narrow strip that had not. What was this meant to tell him, he wondered? He considered asking but the voices of the dead were still locked in clamorous argument. He reached up and touched the wood, pressed on it as he moved his finger along it from right to left. As he dragged his finger from one cross brace to the next, he poked and felt the piece of wood give just a little. Noah looked closer to see

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 395 that it was not a brace at all but one loose length of board that was sandwiched between two other braces to frame out the door. He scratched at the edges with his fingernail until he shimmied the piece out far enough to grab hold of it. No sooner had it clunked to the floor than something serpentine came pouring out of the space where it had been. It gave Noah a shock and he threw himself backward instinctively but he watched as it clattered to the floor, a sound like dominoes falling one by one. He shone his light down on the object and grimaced. The bone braid must have been almost six feet long. It consisted of small bones like those of a finger joined to one another by short lengths of fabric in between. But as Noah looked more closely at it, he saw that it was not fabric or yarn of any kind that linked the bones but locks of hair in a wide array of colors and textures that had been wrapped around the ends of the bones and shellacked with some kind of glue to solidify the bond. It took no great feat of imagination to know what the grisly object was, especially considering its placement. These had been Dekkers trophies, the only bits of the people he had killed that he had not discarded or eaten. These he had kept for himself. At the far end of the long chain, the first bone had been capped with a bit leather and on its opposite end was a frayed length of hair, black with strands of gray mixed in that joined it to the next. The huntsmans first

kill. When he found the other end, Noah gasped and let the morbid trinket fall to the floor. On the opposite end of the braid was a petite, white bone a ladys finger and hanging loose from its end was a long, flowing lock of auburn hair. The blue ladys hair. His final kill. Noah clicked off the light and sat in the darkness a moment, listening to the dead bicker about whether or not they should face down the ghost of their murderer or if they even could. Finally, rising above the din, Abners voice shouted down the others, who grew quiet and subdued. She helps, then well help you. Well drag him down. All the way into the Pit. Noah nodded and lay back. He could not see it in the black but the bone braid was there beside him and he felt his eyes drawn to the spot where it lay. If he was to seek out the blue lady and convince her to confront her murderer, he would need to know more. I have to know what he did to her. He could sense the reluctance in Abner, but it was not a request which could be denied. Show me, Noah spoke to the dead men and the darkness.

In the crawlspace, gray invaded the black, then it was as though he were watching Cedar Banks through an old spyglass but

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 397 it was another time when this place was known as Crow Neck and the men that were about looked at him with long, brooding faces. He saw the world as Clyde Dekker did, perched upon a rock near the main road and surveying the camp that lay before him. They move about like ants, the others, and though his bloodlust constantly demands that he cull their ranks, he finds the predictable routines of the men curious and amusing. Always, they move in the same pattern, before and after the call for chow. Every swinging dick shuffling to and fro, onward to the next objective and all of them utterly unaware of the weird symphony of their labors. All except for him. The huntsman sits and smokes and considers the world before him. He is beyond their paltry toils. If not for him and his skills, they would be reduced to eating bean slop and dry bread. In the hard winters, when the supply trucks could go as long as a fortnight between deliveries, without the huntsman, many would have wasted and wanted. But they had not because he always provided meat and sustenance for them. Their breathing of life, which most seemed to take for granted, was his alone to bestow or take away. Life in this wilderness was a courtesy, not a right. Up at the Amburg house, Clyde sees the young girl come out into the yard with a basket of laundry to be hung on the line to dry. He watches from afar as she bends to pull the clothing from

the basket and he feels his blood getting up. The pretty thing has long been the object of fantasy for all of the men in camp, especially himself. He thinks of her often when he is alone but in his imaginings, she is not his wife nor steady girl. He cares nothing for such conventions. In his fantasies, he knows her as no other could. Carnally, of course, but he also knows the sound of her screams and the precise amount of pressure required to snap her spine and immobilize her. The way the brilliant red of her insides contrast with her pale, freckled skin and the sudden cascade of blood down her breasts as he slides the knife across her slender, aristocratic neck. These things he imagines. These things he longs for. There was a jostling of his vision and Noah felt himself being propelled forward in time. Dekker is approaching the steps of the building that serves as both his quarters and his kitchen. Though it looks radically different in many ways, from the land around it Noah can see that it is the house that his father moved them into. The huntsman has something large and unmoving in the sack he carries over his shoulder. Forward again, but not very far. The huntsman is in the camp kitchen, standing naked before a large wooden table that Noah has seen before. Only this time, he is not sharpening a knife but using one. He cleaves meat from

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 399 a ruined pile of flesh and bone. Unthinkable amounts of blood and fluids drip from the tables edge, pooling onto the floor below where also there lay bits of auburn-haired scalp and a blue dress, crumpled and soiled. Not far away, behind a small

door in the lower part of the wall, Noah knows there are slabs of cured meat that were once men. The sound of the knife edge sliding over bone is a sound that Noah has never known and never cares to hear again. Dekker works away, so fervently lost in his butchering that he does not hear the others coming until they are upon him. Finally, he turns to see them standing in the doorway, a crowd of men with shovels and picks and axes in their hands, the expressions on their faces replete with horror and disbelief.

Noah tore himself from the vision and pushed open the crawlspace door. Snatching the bone braid from the floor of the crawlspace, he scrambled out and dashed across the hallway to the bathroom where he vomited into the toilet until there was nothing left. Then the boy sat on the edge of the tub, dry heaving. It was no wonder that the huntsman had taken such an interest in his family. Of all of the houses that his father might have chosen in Cedar Banks, he had settled on the old camp kitchen building; Dekkers lair. Hugh had moved his wife and son right onto the goddamned killing floor.

15 Shakey stirred from his nap when he heard the sound of knocking. He thought surely it must have been his imagination, the remnant of a dream, perhaps. Or maybe the radio, which quietly bled out the sounds of Earl Scruggs Foggy Mountain Breakdown. Then the knocking sounded again and the old man plucked the open book from his chest and sat up. He couldnt imagine anyone being out and about in this weather. The winter storm that had set down on the valley was as bad as any he had ever seen in all of his years living there. It wasnt fit outside for man nor beast but as he rose to his feet, he considered that it might be Noah. When he opened the front door, he found that he was right. The boy stood on his front porch in an oversized parka with fur around the hood that he must have harvested from his fathers closet, his denim jeans stuffed into the top of his tall snow boots. He was certainly dressed for the weather and Shakey was about to crack an Eskimo joke when he saw the graven look on Noahs face. What is it? Your Mom okay? The boy shook his head. Im not sure, but theres some things I gotta tell you. Well, yeah, come on in, then, Shakey muttered, hurriedly

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 401 stepping out of the way as the boy entered and shook the snow from his coat and boots. He bent to remove the boots but the old man waved it off. Hell, dont worry about that. Have a seat and tell me whats on your mind. Noah turned to drop his coat on the floor when he noticed that in the chair nearby the rucksack lay open and the boys skulls sat atop the pile of their bones in the bag. It struck him as creepy and odd at first but then he supposed that for Shakey, it was no different than a wake or a viewing. He was spending some time with his loved ones before laying them to final rest. The old man noticed him staring and said, Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, and moved to put the bones back into the bag, No, its okay. Dont worry about it. Theyre fine where they are, Noah replied and then took a seat on the couch and sat, wringing his hands and glancing often out the front window at his house across the street. Whats going on, Noah? Do you know about Clyde Dekker? Aw, shit, the old man sighed and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing the boy. Yeah, I do. But I was hoping you didnt. Noah snorted and shook his head. Everyone was always trying

to protect him. Well, I ran across him or he ran across me, I dont know - pretty early on after coming here. Hes awful frightening, aint he? Shakey nodded, tried to reassure him, Its all just bluster. He couldnt hurt a fly. Noah was not so sure. At the very least, he had seemed well equipped to terrorize them if nothing else. Maybe before, yeah, Noah said, shaking his head, but now somethings changed. Hes got hold of something potent somehow. I dont know if it works that way, Noah. Dead is- Thats right! the boy shouted at him, near to tears and frustrated, You dont know! That thing it took Mumma! The old mans eyes narrowed, his head cocked to the side. Took her? Took here where? No, the boy shook his head, not took her somewhere. It took her it I think he raped her. Noahs voice broke and a long sob escaped him as Shakey looked on, dumbfounded. Dekker raped her, he said finally, looking up at the old man, eyes red with tears and anger. I think maybe he has been for a while now. Shakey stood and walked the floor, his hand going to his bearded chin. For the mothers sake, he didnt want to believe

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 403 what the boy was saying. He could see that Noah certainly believed it, though, and he had come to Shakey in such desperation. From what the old man knew of history and of the criminal, Clyde Dekker, it was certainly something that the old villain was capable of, something he had probably done many times before he was found hacking up the corpse of Clara Amburg. Its no surprise, I guess, Noah said, his head in his hands, Dad moved us right into his butchery. Lord knows what all he did in there. What do you mean? Shakey asked, quickly turning back to the boy. What I mean is thats no house we been living in. Its Dekkers kitchen. How do you know? the old man asked. As much as he knew about the areas history, even he didnt know which buildings had been used for what purpose in the work camp all those years ago. Much of the documentation from the camp had been lost or destroyed, as if the world itself wished to forever erase the memory of the things that had happened there. Noah could see that there was some explaining to do. The old man sat down on the table again and leaned in. It was the boys turn to tell a tale. He started at the beginning, with his father and the beatings handed out to him and his mother all his life. He told of the times he had seen the stinking man, of the

strange compartment within the wall of their house, what it had once held and what still lingered there. He told Shakey Lee of all that he knew, right up to the comatose state of his mother and what he had discovered by communing with the murdered dead not an hour before. In a few moments of fevered recollection, Noah laid bare all that he had seen that winter at Cedar Banks. Shakey scowled and shook his head. Cedar Banks, Shakey spat. They fixed this place up, didnt they? A few new walls and appliances, coats of paint, new shingles. They tried to wipe away the stain but its still coming through, aint it? I reckon this placell always be Crow Neck, no matter what anybody wants to call it. Noah sat, staring off into space, occasionally looking out the window. The boy was worried about his mother, worried about a great deal many more things than he should have to be. He had been through a lot, Shakey realized, and he was still standing. Life kept taking the legs from beneath him, knocking the wind out of him, but the boy always got up and came back for more. Noah may not have ever fancied himself tough but Shakey thought he was. Maybe the toughest he had ever seen. I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish wed never come here, Noah said, exasperated, his voice trembling. The old man nodded his understanding. Of course, if you hadnt come here, my boys would still be

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 405 lost up on that mountain. Now I can lay them to rest. Because you came here. Because you did what no one else could. You found them. Thats a damned remarkable thing. Especially after all youve been put through. Noah looked up at him. Is this one of those hidden-lessons-in-the-past kind of things? The old man chuckled. I suppose it is. Well, youre a real philosopher, Shakey. He shook his head. Dont know about that at all. But I do believe its important to keep a faithful perspective when it comes to life and the world, even God. If you dont then it seems to me youve kind of missed the point of it all. Which is? the boy asked with a touch of bitterly earned sarcasm. It did not escape Shakeys notice, though he could hardly blame the kid. That theres hope. Theres always hope, Noah. Noah sighed and his eyes dropped down in thought and there was a long, contemplative pause. So whats your plan? Shakey asked. Noah sucked his teeth as he considered it.

I have to go see the blue lady. I have to go see Clara Amburg. See if shell help put the nail in this things coffin for good. Sounds good. Ill come with you. Actually, I was hoping you would do something else for me. You got it. Whatever it is, Im in. Noah smiled. Id like you to keep an eye on Mumma, he said, looking across the street. Dad aint been home in days and I figure hes due to appear any time now. She shouldnt be there alone if he shows up. Shakey nodded and looked out the window. The afternoon light was waning fast, a dark and wintry night encroaching on them and still it was snowing. Would it ever stop, he wondered? If he aint shown up yet, I doubt itll be today. Not in this storm. Yeah, I know, Noah agreed. I just got a bad feeling is all. So be careful. Alright. One more thing. Im gonna need the keys to get up to the Amburg house.

16

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 407 Shakey and the boy stood in his driveway next to the snowcovered Chevy before they parted ways. Noah explained that his mother was asleep on the couch and would likely remain that way, if the old man would just be so kind as to keep watch nearby. He found the boys idea that his pugilist of a father would be dropping in for a visit that evening very unlikely but if Noah was having an intuition about something, it might be in his best interest to take heed. So as he had gathered up a few things before walking outside, Shakey flicked open the cylinder of his 1849 Colt five-shot revolver a faithful reproduction of the original pistol and emptied the blank rounds onto the table. He replaced them with real ammunition that Shakey had had crafted by a talented gunsmith from Arkansas. The rounds were expensive and the occasions on which he used them were rare but for all the historical firearms that the old man owned, the Colt and his Springfield rifle were the only ones capable of firing live rounds. The pistol hung heavily in his wool coat pocket as he walked toward the Belton house. Certainly he hoped that the weapon was nothing more than a precaution and that he would not have to use it. But then some other part of him welcomed the possibility of Hugh Belton stepping through that door; the towering brute who valued his own warped principles above the lives and well-being of his wife and son. If that was to happen, it just might be the best thing for

all, he thought, nodding to himself. If Noahs father showed up and wouldnt be warned away, Shakey would put the man down in a New York minute, no hesitation. Stepping into the house, he shut the door lightly behind him and flicked a wall switch that turned on a lamp on the other side of the room as well as a long string of Christmas lights hung high up on the wall. In the dimness, he could see Ada stretched out on the couch in her nightgown. She lay on her side, facing the front of the room, the window, the television, hands clasped next to the pillow beneath her head. He watched as her chest rose and fell with breath but she made no other movement or sound. It looked to him like she was in a very deep and peaceful sleep. Shakey walked the house, checking the rooms. He told himself that it was for safetys sake but in truth, the old man simply has a curious nature. He wanted to see the place in which the boy had survived during his stay here, wanted to know if it bore the scars of a broken family or if it seemed quite normal and average on the surface. Mostly, he found the latter to be true but when his eyes fell upon the twisted cross in the worship room and the squat door beneath the wainscoting, he could not help the troubling shiver that ran through him. Off the light went and Shakey returned to the kitchen, where he sat at the table and considered all of the strangeness that had been about of late. He hoped that Noah was okay out in the storm, up

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 409 at the Amburg house all alone. Well, probably not all alone, he thought. It was woefully cold outside, the kind of chill that was hard to shake from old bones. He fancied a steaming cup of dark brew and decided that, were Ada up and about, she would not begrudge him a little coffee. He rummaged through the cabinets and drawers until he found the filters and the coffee grounds to brew a pot. On the couch, Ada began to stir with subtle movement but Shakey was in the midst of pouring water into the machine and noticed nothing.

The first traces of dull awareness came like waves washing upon a shore, cascading over her body and waking it slowly, sensation creeping back into every limb and supple breadth of skin. Her legs stretched and a shudder ran through her belly. The house smelled of brewing coffee and the couch bore the heady scent of her family, both familiar fragrances. Ada wanted to pick up her head, open her eyes and have a look around the room. She willed it but her body would not respond. Again and again she tried but in the end she was nothing more than a transient, screaming voice in the darkness of her own mind, where it felt as if she had been mired for an eternity. She felt the sleeve of the nightgown slip up her shoulder as her arm pushed forward clumsily. It was a motion meant to stretch her muscles and

tendons but the placement of the pillow diverted its path into the crack between the couch and its cushion. She had not sought the movement of her own volition but felt the sensation of it all the same. Her fingers stretched out and felt something sandwiched there in the cushions of the furniture, something cold and familiar to the touch and as her fingers dragged along a thin metallic ridge, they found the gentle taper of the bolster, the curving scoop of the finger guard. Ada couldnt understand what the object was doing there and she puzzled over it for a moment. She did not know that when her son had camped out on the couch several nights before, waiting to see if Hugh would return, he had stashed a kitchen knife there in the cushions for protection. After the night had passed without incident, he had forgotten about it and there it had remained. Now her fingers were grasping the worn handle, their grip not yet sure, still waking. A lurid smile cut a line across her face, though it was not by her bidding. Her eyes were still closed and she had the indescribable notion that something was crowding her, not her thoughts or her will alone, but her entire self. Then she realized that in this dark corner of her subconscious, she was not unaccompanied. Something terribly recognizable stunk and slithered in the twilight of dawning consciousness and it not her had taken control.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 411 Her body lay there quiet and unmoving as nerve endings sparked to life and the huntsman allowed his incorporeal self to cozily slip into this new vessel, this new flesh, molting like a serpent shedding one skin for another.

17 It was all but dark now. Noah trudged across the landscape, ensconced in his fathers parka, though his pants seemed wetter and heavier with every step. With each footfall into the white, the snow gathered in a ring where his boots and pants met and the snow was forced downward into them. Elsewhere it gathered in the folds of his scrunched up jeans and solidified. Ahead lay the wide chain-link fence and confined within it, the manor house, its dark and empty windows suspended in the structure, the entire house looking too much like a boney skull with shadowed sockets. On the bank that jutted out and began a slow descent into the lake, there stood the two naked trees and the few headstones that accounted for the old Amburg family cemetery. In the failing light, the stones - each of them easily three feet tall - were still visible above the gathering drifts of ice and snow. The boy was half-surprised when he plunged the key into the lock of the gate and it let go with only a modicum of reluctance. In his imaginings, as he had crossed to the house,

the lock was covered in a sheen of ice and did not give way and he had to beat it before it let go, if it let go at all. He had prepared himself for the possibility that he would need to scale the fence to gain entrance. Fortunately, these things turned out to be nothing more than the fancies of fear. The gate eased and he pushed inward against the deep snow, opening up a space wide enough for him to fit through. As Noah emerged on the other side, it felt as though the temperature dropped by a few degrees instantly. Under the parka, the skin on his neck tightened, the hairs standing on end. It wasnt the cold wind that was to blame, though it rushed across the land with nearly arctic ferocity. It was a sign that he was familiar with by now that something was close, something dead but restless. The barren limbs of the trees had provided some shelter against the snowfall and as he edged closer to the gravestones, he realized that they would be nearly covered in it were it not for the trees that stood beside them, sentinels ever unyielding even to the passing years. Spatters of snow were stuck to the faces of the stones, obscuring the inscriptions and he stared for a moment before deciding on one. With his gloved hand, he brushed the snow and ice away until he could read it in its entirety.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 413 Clara Lillian Amburg 1925 1942 Beloved Daughter One of His flock Taken by a wolf He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside still waters.

She was close. He felt that in his bones. He supposed that he would call to her in the same way he had the boys, though he was not sure if she would come to him or, indeed, if she would respond at all. He hadnt thought that far ahead, knowing only that he must go to the house and her grave and hoped that deliverance, in some form, would be found. It was nothing more than a deep compulsion of which he felt certain. But then hed had that same feeling before, hadnt he? When he just knew that Shakey had killed his own boys all those years ago. With that in mind, perhaps it was pure folly to be here at all. Perhaps the

whole thing was a fools errand, a distraction. That was how the devil worked, wasnt it? Truth and certainty layered between generous helpings of lies. And here he was, duped into a ridiculous attempt to commune with the dead when he should be vigilant at his mothers side, seeing her through the night. Noah spent a few long moments second-guessing himself, nearly

turning back and then he recalled that one of the Great Adversarys most powerful weapons was doubt. No longer as sure of this course of action, but certain that he felt the presence of something, he closed his eyes and struggled against the howling winds and stinging ice to bring his mind to a quiet place. He waited for her voice to come to him just as the others had. He waited but nothing came. Cold and frustrated to the last of his enduring, he snapped his eyes open and found the blue lady before him. She floated there, blank eyes locked on his. Unlike the boys and unlike the huntsman, she did not appear entirely solid of form and when she moved it was with a wispy elegance. She seemed more like a dense vapor than flesh and blood and bone and muscle and he decided that perhaps it was because some part of her had moved on when she was laid to rest and yet another part of her remained. If true, then she was in two places at once, though, and Noah didnt quite understand how that could be. Clara Amburg was beautiful even in death and he found himself bound to her stare as he pondered these things. But there was business to attend to. She had come to him, so now what? Before he could speak, she vanished and though he did not see her, he knew she was close, knew where she had gone. Turning toward the house, he saw her inside, her image distorted by the wide array of old windows. She stood there,

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 415 watching him now from where he had stood and glimpsed her weeks before. He waved to her but she made no motion of recognition, only stared out at the expanse of land and lake behind him and the blinding snowfall between. Noah drew his hood tight and lumbered through the white toward the Amburg house and the ghost of the young woman that waited within.

18 He had been sitting at the kitchen table for some time now and outside it had gone full dark. Shakey had polished off two cups of coffee and just poured a third. He meandered into the living room and stood before the window and watched the blizzard. Behind him, he heard a soft grunt and the sound of movement, sounds that might otherwise be lost but that cut through the silence of the house. He turned to see Ada Belton stirring on the couch and breathed a sigh of relief. This should go a long way to assuaging the boys fears that she was locked deep inside a sleep from which she might never emerge. He set his coffee down and went to her. Mrs. Belton, its Shakey Lee. Noah asked me to look after you for a few minutes. Her eyes snapped open and she eyed him warily. Shakey could hardly blame her since it wasnt as if they had become very

close. Wheres wheres the boy? she spoke in a frail, dry voice. The old man stepped closer and bent to her level, contemplating what half-truth to tell her that would allay her concern. Her arm jerked forth from beneath the pillow then and something shiny and wicked whistled through the air until it met with the side of his neck and dug in. In that instant, his eyes locked on hers and Shakey understood. It was Ada Beltons hand that wielded the blade but the woman herself was locked somewhere inside and the look in those eyes belonged to something cruel and malevolent. As he felt his warm life spilling down his neck and soaking his shirt and jacket, he stumbled backward into the television, nearly knocking it over. He clawed his way along the wall toward the front door, instinctively seeking the exit even though there was nowhere to go and no one to call for help. Behind him, the huntsman sprang from the couch, powerful in his new skin and of a mind to murder. He rounded the couch on the other side and came upon Shakey just as the old man was standing at the front door, struggling with the knob, smearing crimson as he tried in vain to open the door and escape. His knees were going weak, threatening to buckle and his head felt light and woozy. When the huntsman grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and dragged

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 417 him back into the room, Shakey felt what little fight he had left diminish. His soul would soon be liberated from his flesh. Dekker wrapped an arm around the old mans neck and held him close. He reversed his grip on the knife and held it low. You think I dont know nothing about you, that it? Well, I know. With that, he plunged the blade deep into Shakeys gut and ground his fist in slow, firm circles, shredding the old mans insides. I been here a long time, the huntsman whispered, his breath foul. I know you couldnt look after your own. I know that. Then he sighed. Wish I could say it was me that took those boys from you but it wont. Still, after all em years you aint got no goddamned better at looking out for whats yours. The blood ran dark from Shakeys abdomen now. The end was truly near. His mouth struggled to form words, his voice only a whisper choked with gurgling blood. Our Father who art was all he could manage. Oh, you want to say a prayer? Dekker asked, smiling. The doomed always wanted to fill their last breaths with futile, pious words. Well, how about this? Heavenly Father, there aint nothing on the other side. Nothing, ya hear? Its just like this place. Its Shit. Only colder and darker. He watched as the last glimmer of light faded from the old

mans eyes and when Shakey Lee was gone from the world, the huntsman dropped him like a slab of meat onto the floor Pray on that, you old fool. Dekker stood there, the knife slick in his grip with warm blood. He felt like a man who stood fifty feet tall, alive and absolutely animal in the world again. Overcome with a primal need to kill, eat and fuck. But here he was in a nightgown. The huntsman sighed. It was a pity that it was a womans body but it would do for now. When the old man had slumped dead to the floor, his jacket had crumpled up around him and out of one of the pockets had slid a pack of Camel cigarettes and a slim book of flimsy matches. The tightly rolled sticks of tobacco were spilled across the floor, a few of them soaking up the dark red that began to pool around the body. He had never cared much for cigarettes, being the puny and tasteless things that they were but seeing as how there was no other bacca around to be smoked, he figured why the hell not? Trapped inside, Ada looked upon the carnage with her own eyes and was sickened by it. As she screamed inside of herself, Clyde Dekker smiled wide, smoked and looked through the window at the black night and the endless barrage of stark, white snowflakes like millions of falling stars.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 419 ***

It had been a long trip from the shop toward home. Hugh had loaded the bed of the Ford down with enough scrap metal to even out the weight of the vehicle and the chains that he had strapped to the tires made driving possible, though the going was slow and tenuous at times. Incredibly enough, the plows and salt-and-sand trucks seemed to have been running all the while, improving the odds that damned fool drivers like himself would make it to their destinations safely. He smirked and thought that he would have to send the Department of Transportation a glowing letter of praise someday soon after he had gotten back home and wrested control of it from Ada and his mouthy cur of a child. Mr. Kemp, in a self-aggrandizing move, had given all of his men leave to head home when the storm began to blow severely. And even though he had only yesterday forbidden Hugh to bunk another night on the couch in the break room, he had urged him to stay put rather than venture out into the uncertain weather. How very goddamned magnanimous of him, Hugh had thought even as he smiled and declined the offer. It was time for him to get on home and see to his family, he had told the man and Henry Kemp could see that he was not to be deterred. Hell, his boss had even helped Hugh chain up the Fords tires before hauling ass

into Whitetail to the warmth and comfort of his own place. Now Hugh wound slowly around the curves of the mountain back roads, the Ford pushing snow in its wake like a boat on the lake. It slid constantly to the left and right even with the added traction of the chains, which had loosened since the start of his journey and were whacking against the wheel wells with hypnotic repetition. The sound made him think of the punishments he would likely have to dole out when he returned home and, in turn, Black Billy began to itch where it lay sheathed against his leg. Easy, old boy, he whispered, part of a psalm coming to mind. Be still in the presence of the Lord and wait patiently for Him to act. His gaze was constant and unblinking through the windshield as he searched for the vague edges of the road buried in white. It would take only one slight miscalculation to send him headlong into a ditch or down a slope and he was not about to be robbed of his homecoming; this night when he would bring some law down upon his house and reclaim it, spilled blood and broken bones be damned.

19 Noah muttered a curse under his breath as he stepped into the manor house and shut the door behind him, silencing the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 421 howling, frigid wind. I swear I think its colder in here than it is out there. He fumbled in his parka for the hilt of the flashlight he had brought and clicked it on. There was a light switch somewhere close, he knew, so he shone the flashlight over the wall to find it. A panel of four switches hung suspended in a cavity in the wall and he reached over and flicked all of them on. A string of lonely overhead bulbs flickered on and flooded the dark space with a modest amount of light. Though they provided only scant visual warmth and illumination, he was grateful for it. As he had before, Noah followed around to the right, through the parlor and the drawing room and into the windowed room where the ghost of Clara Amburg had stood watching him only a moment ago. The room was now empty, though, and in the many panes of glass set against the night, the boy saw only himself reflected. He could sense that the blue lady had moved on and was now in another room of the house somewhere above him. The black-shelled rotary phone sat on the table. He would follow Claras ghost into whatever dark chamber of this house that he was led as long as the promise of killing the huntsman lay at the end. But there was his mothers health to consider and the feeling had begun to press upon him that he must not wait to get her out of that house and away from this place. He was certain that nothing would improve until then and if there

was anyone who might be able to make that happen even in the midst of the raging winter storm it was Deputy Wren from back home. The likelihood that the phone lines were down had not even occurred to him, though as he considered it now, it sent a rush of panic through him that spurred him to hurry to the phone and lift the receiver to his ear, saying a silent prayer as he did so. When he heard the steady hum of a dial tone, Noah calmed. He dialed the Wrens phone number and listened to the rings over and over again until the call was picked up and he was breathless to hear a familiar voice. Youve reached the Wrens, the Deputys recorded voice played on the answering machine. Were not home now, though, so just go on and leave a message at the beep. After the screeching tone, Noah blurted out something about his mother being very sick, maybe even needing a hospital and his father not home but maybe coming back, that he didnt want them to be there when he did, that they needed to get out of Cedar Banks tonight and to please, please send help. When he hung the phone on the hook in the empty house with the wind moaning around the corners, he thought it was the loneliest sound he had ever heard and with this there came over him a sudden despondency, though he did not understand why.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 423 Noah went back to the foyer and ascended the first step, flicking the light switch on as he went, though it energized only a single bulb that was hung in the upstairs hallway. The renovation of the house had stopped before spreading to the upstairs, though the floors had been cleared of any carpet that had remained. In the dim hall, corners of wallpaper leaned away from the wainscoting and crown molding, dark patches of fungus having formed here and there and looking like Rorschach tests. There were many doors leading off the main hallway, all of them closed but one. Noah took a deep breath, summoned his courage and walked toward that room. The room had a single, round portal window that looked out onto the grounds below. From the threshold, Noah saw the blue lady standing there, her back toward him and looking absently out through the glass. Of all the specters he had seen at this place, she was certainly the most comely in her brilliant, coral blue dress and her flawless, ivory skin. He was glad that she took this form rather than the ruined one she must have been when the huntsman had started in on her. That was a thing he did not wish to see. Clara, he called to her gently. She turned her pale, white eyes toward him. Youre the boy who lives in the camp, arent you? Noah just nodded. Her voice was as entrancing as her

beauty, a lilting birdsong quality to it that was evocative of old southern gentry. You shouldnt be here. Father says Im not to speak to any of the camp men, she said, dropping her gaze to the floor and then back to the window. Not even to look upon them. Dangerous men, he says. Hes right, Noah offered. A lot of them are. Or were. She glanced back at him, puzzled. That was a long time ago, Clara. Yes, of course, she nodded and then returned to gazing out the window. I sometimes forget. Noah thought that whatever state of being that was occupied by the dead here - be they Clara or Dekker or Abner Whitman and the others it must be a dreadfully confusing state. Indeed, it was only Will and Albie who seemed always lucid about time and the place, though maybe it was because they were the most recently departed spirits he had encountered. Perhaps it was that the longer a soul, so consumed with the memories of a life once lived, remained in the in-between place the unknowable borderlands between this world and the next - it became impossible to distinguish the past from the present. Maybe, he reasoned, that is why when ghosts were glimpsed they were often seen repeating the same acts over and over again, unaware of the here and now.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 425 I used to stand here and watch them bustling around the camp, all the men, she told him. And sometimes when he was among them he would stop and turn to look up at the house. It was as though he could feel me watching. I could feel his eyes on me. He used to watch me often. The huntsman, Dekker, you mean? She turned toward him, a blank look on her face. Is that what he was called? I never knew. He was just the cook. Noah had to smile at that. However greatly evil his deeds had been, however powerful and terrible that Clyde Dekker had imagined himself to be, in the end he was nothing more than a convict. Nothing more than the camp cook. Well, thats why I came to find you, Noah offered. I know why you came, she said, her voice curt. But I cant help you. Youre afraid of him. She turned and her dead eyes narrowed. So are you. Your fear has grown more with each passing day. Noah shifted and looked away, knowing that she spoke the truth. He remembered the cold terror that had enveloped him the night that he had been choked in his bed by the stinking man. The night when he had first seen her. Whether she had intended

it or not, she had delivered him then from further torment and perhaps much worse. But she did not see it. She knew herself only as the terrified girl she had been that day that Dekker had come for her. This last, most visceral sensation echoed down the years and had served to define her ever since. There was nothing I could do then and theres nothing now. Im just a girl. The boy nodded and tried to think of a gentle way to communicate his thoughts to her. If the story was to be believed, then it was true that the huntsman had taken the young girls innocence by force before murdering and butchering her. But above all other things, Dekker had been a hunter and such a person delighted in not only the kill but the consumption of the flesh and as he had been interrupted in the act of dressing his kill, the huntsman had been robbed of that final element of his homicidal act. Noah had come to think that it was this desire to complete the ritual that drove him to linger here and to constantly search for her. Youre more than just a girl to him, though, I think, he offered cautiously. For him youre an obsession; a fruit he never fully tasted. She turned away again and Noah swallowed hard, unsure if his choice of words had been too much. Then Ill just have to keep hiding from him, wont I? You

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 427 should leave this place. Go and dont ever come back. Forget about Crow Neck and all that youve seen here. The boy scoffed. Believe me, I would love to. But something tells me it wont end here. Not unless it ends here tonight. She shook her head wildly and rushed to face him with such unnatural speed that it frightened him and he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet. Im just a girl! What could I do? she screamed at him, tears as delicate as droplets of ice streaming down her face. Noah shook his head. You were just a girl, he explained, but now youre something else. And youre not alone anymore. Not like you were on that last day when he came and took you. The apparition floated before him, shifting in its opaqueness. At times, he could see through her and out of the window beyond where the snowfall seemed to be lessening at last. The wind, too, had gone quiet. What do you mean? The others that you see in camp, he replied, arent always just memories. Some of them are still here, same as you are. He murdered them just like he did you. But together you can make him leave here. Make him go on. On to what?

Noah shrugged. To whatever comes next for something like him. She searched his eyes and then her gaze dropped to the floor, heavy with doubt and fear. This boy who had sought her out didnt understand the weight of what he was asking. Of that she was certain. Let me show you something, Noah said and reached into the inside pocket of his parka. He felt his fingers close around the thing and then he pulled it free, coiled up in his fist like a length of rope. What is that? she asked, her head cocked as she watched him fumble with it and then let it unwind, part of it coming to rest on the floor. Mementos, he replied darkly. Clyde Dekker took these from everyone he ever killed. One finger bone and one lock of hair, all strung together. You can see he was at it a long time, even before he came here. Her face wrinkled in disgust at the gruesome thing and at the sheer number of the trinkets; so many broken lives and violent deaths callously chained together. Noah was pulling it through his fingers, searching for the opposite end. When he found it, he thrust the dangling bit of bone and auburn hair toward her so that she could see. This one on the end here? Thats yours.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 429 She knew it was true. A look of recognition came over her face and the entirety of her phantom form began to tremble. And unless you help me, Noah assured her, I dont know exactly how but I think the next one he adds to this damned thing is going to be my mothers. And then mine. The ghost of Clara Amburg looked into the eyes of this young boy and saw that she had been wrong. He knew well what he was asking of her. Whatever it was that he believed she was capable of, it was not a fanciful notion that he regarded lightly for he had come here with his own life staked to its success. Who are you, boy? she asked him. My names Noah. Noah, she breathed. Your namesake is the one who survived the wrath and the flood. He nodded and she turned away from him again toward the window and did not see. Clara had remained here at Crow Neck, ever wistful to see her mother and father again but unable to move on and join them. During those decades she had grown quite adept at hiding from the stalking, stinking form of her murderer, though she had sensed that he was changing, growing more cunning and looming larger out in the gray of the borderlands than he ever had. Even if she did not seek him out, she knew that it would likely not

be long before the huntsmans shadow fell upon her and in that moment, there would be nowhere left for her to hide.

20 On his way across the grounds, Noah passed Shakeys house, which sat like a dark stone at the edge of a field of white. The lights that burned within were still few and faint and from this the boy took heart that the old man was still watching over his mother and waiting for his return. The snow fell slow and steady now, tossed about on a gentle breeze that had replaced the thrashing currents of air that had earlier assailed the lakeshore and the mountainside. At a distance, his own house looked still and quiet; a short, broad silhouette against the gray waters of Ashwood Lake. He slogged through the knee-high snow toward the front porch and climbed the steps, considering slipping out of his boots and leaving them to dry by the door. Certainly, it was something that would normally be expected of him but then the day and the night so far had been anything but normal, so he twisted the doorknob and stepped inside without a further thought. Closing the door behind him, he noted the intense chill inside of the house and started to kneel down and remove his boots when he glimpsed his mother sitting across the room in the easy chair, still dressed in her nightgown. In her fingers she held a cigarette that lazily smoked in the confines

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 431 of the room and filled the room with a nicotine haze. So pleased was he to see her that he paid no heed to the unusual sight of the cigarette or the feeling that washed over him, raising gooseflesh on his skin. He stood erect and grinned wide. Mumma! he shouted and started toward her but then felt the toe of his boot slip on something beneath. He looked down to see the buckled form of Shakey Lee and the wide puddle of dark red that had gathered around the body. Welcome home, boy, she greeted him, placing the cigarette between her lips and exhaling a plume of foul smoke. This was followed by a bellow of terrible laughter that he knew only too well. From the venomous tone, he knew at once that it was not his mother who spoke but the huntsman. Noah had feared what Dekker was capable of but he had never considered that huntsmans endgame might be to escape from the borderlands into the physical world. Possessing anothers body was as close as he would ever come to living again, though, so it made sense. Noah only wished that it had occurred to him before. How powerful the huntsman must have become to do such a thing, he thought, and how broken his mother must have been to allow it. It shook him to his very core. What do you want? Noah spat, his lip curled in anger. Dekker shook Adas head and as Noah looked on, it was as though he could see past the figure of his mother to the thing

that had wormed its way inside like a sickness and taken over. The sweet face of his mother faded and in its place he saw the gnarled, unshaven features and black cavities of the huntsmans eyes. I just come to collect my pound of flesh and make good on the deal with yer momma, son. Noahs eyes narrowed. What deal? Dekker took another long drag off the cigarette. It was simple. A few good screwings for me and in return I take yer old man out of the picture. So that you and her can get free and go live happily-ever-after. The boy felt something turn cold in his gut and he thought he might even vomit. He had always cursed his mothers complacency and permissiveness in regard to his father, the way she always took him back in when the bruises began to fade. Shed had enough, though, it seemed and whatever pact she had made with the murderers ghost, she had done it out of love and loyalty to her son. It was foolish of her but in the moment of this realization, Noah felt his heart swell for her just before it broke. His gaze was pulled down toward the old man, his friend, lying dead upon the floor. Happily-ever-after, he whispered, then looked back up at Dekker. But that aint gonna happen, is it?

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 433 Nope, the villain quipped, the smoke curling out of his mouth with the word. Every inch of Noahs instinct told him to flee, to tear out of that house like his feet were afire and hide in the woods if he had to. As the ghost of Clara had advised, go and never, ever look back. But he was left now with the same dismal conclusion that his mother must have come to time and again with his father. There was nowhere to go that this thing would not find him and he sure as hell wasnt leaving without her. Noah stood in his living room, devastated. His plan was going to fail. It had already failed. The huntsmans possession of his mother negated anything that Clara and the others could do to help him, for Clyde Dekker had left the in-between place and was now beyond their reach. As the world was crumbling around him, Noah heard a faint sound outside that seemed to be getting closer. The groan of an engine as a vehicle made its way through the deep white. His mind leapt to the possibility that it was Deputy Wren or someone sent by him but almost as soon as the thought had formed, he dismissed it. It hadnt been long enough for the deputy to make it all the way from Eastlake and certainly not in this weather. Through the windows, headlights flashed from the road and then swept across the living room walls as the vehicle turned into the driveway. Noah glanced through the pass-through into

the kitchen and thought he saw his fathers red pick-up coming to a stop in the driveway. Dad he muttered absently. Dekker ground his cigarette out on the arm of the chair and flicked it to the floor. Looks like the shows bout to start, he said with a grin and then stood, the knife grasped in his hand. Noah thought that perhaps his fathers arrival would be his deliverance but only if he could warn him and only if he could make it into the truck so they could leave together. They would have to come back for his mother, he supposed. Come back with someone who knew about driving spirits from the bodies of the living; a preacher maybe. Noah bolted from the spot where he was frozen to the floor toward the kitchen but Dekker had seen this coming and was halfway across the room already. The huntsman was quicker and stronger in Adas body than Noah would have imagined and he grabbed the boy by the hood of his parka, pulling him backward. Noah fought against him, though, and in all the grasping and throwing of arms, Dekker nicked the top of the boys right ear off with the knife. It fell to the floor and Noahs hand went to his head, pressing against the wound and the blood that began to pour forth. The huntsman grabbed him again and tossed him back into the living room where he tumbled across the floor and came to rest at the threshold of the hallway to

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 435 the bedrooms. That oughtta settle you down, he snarled at Noah. Sit tight, boy. Yer times acomin.

When Hugh opened the kitchen door and stepped in, knocking the snow from his boots against the threshold, he looked up at Ada standing there in the kitchen. As he stepped in and slammed the door, he brushed the white flakes from his black and red checkered coat and tossed his stocking cap to the floor, leaving his hair madly askew. It was then that he noticed his wifes nightgown stained dark red in places. Her hands and forearms were also smeared with dried crimson and flecks of it were nearly lost among the freckles of her face. Damn, woman, you look like you been butchering a side of beef! Did I miss supper? Whatre we having? His wife regarded him with a cold, iron stare for a moment then tilted her head to the side and grinned in a manner that he had never seen before. Looks like yer on the menu, hoss. What in blazes are you talking- Hugh began to reply, his brow furrowing at the strange affect his wife was displaying. Living with someone for so many years, one becomes accustomed to their nuances; the small things about them that are wholly

unique but that likely couldnt be named specifically. Though he had only glimpsed her behavior for a few seconds, she seemed an entirely different person to him, even down to the cadence and tone of her speech. There was no time to think more of it, though. She was rushing at him, a kitchen knife in her grasp and her arm outstretched as she brought it up with a haymaker punch, arcing toward his throat, the sharp blade whistling through the air as it came. She was trying to kill him and sure as shootin that was something unusual. Hugh raised his left forearm up to block. She closed on him and her swing was stopped cold. He had hoped the impact of their arms meeting would jar the knife from her grip but it did not, so with his right hand he pushed against her chest and sent her reeling backwards. Black Billy was itching, burning hot against his leg now and as she regained her footing, he had time to free the club and bring up and at the ready. Hugh stood there, knees bent, his muscles taut and infused with adrenaline. He hadnt intended to put Ada in the grave tonight but if this was how she wanted it, then he was only too happy to oblige. Didnt think the bitch had it in her. When his wife regained her footing, she deftly reversed the grip on the knife and came at him again.

Noah didnt sit very long on the floor to see who would win

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 437 the contest between his father and Dekker. As Dekker rushed back into the fray, the boy scrambled to his feet and bolted into his room, the soles of his boots still wet and slipping on the floor. He flicked the light switch in his room and saw the Louisville Slugger leaning up against his bed. The parka he wore was ripped and hanging awkwardly across his shoulders from where the huntsman had grabbed and thrown him and Noah took a moment to pull it off and toss it to the floor. His ear was still bleeding, though it had begun to slow as the cool air coagulated it into the foundations of scar tissue. From the next room, he heard grunts and growls of anguish as the two went at it. He grabbed up the bat and then stepped out into the hallway. The two stood between the kitchen and living room, grappling with each other. Dekker had the knife blade inches from his fathers throat and from the look on his face, Noah could tell that the freakish strength being displayed by his mother had become apparent to Hugh. Noah moved cautiously around to where the television stood, though neither of the two seemed to pay him any mind. As Dekker, much shorter in his mothers body than Hugh, continued to drive the knife down toward him, his father raised a knee and jammed it into the stomach of the other. Dekker leaned in and the grip that he had on Hughs clubwielding hand loosened enough for his father to escape. Now free, he swatted at the arm holding the blade. Dekkers

weapon arm went limp and out to the side, the knife slipping away and sailing through the air to come clattering to rest in the kitchen sink. Now, with nothing to stop him from advancing on Dekker but whatever brute strength the entity could summon, his father caught Dekker across the jaw with the shaft of the club and leaned into him, walking him back into the living room and pummeling the huntsman with Black Billy wherever he saw an opening. It was a blessing and a curse, though, because Dekker now had both hands free to grab and claw at his father and his arms almost always deflected any attack that might have struck his head and stupefied him long enough for Hugh to land a damning blow. After a few more body shots with the club, Noah thought perhaps his father had gotten the better of his opponent but with the quickness of a serpent, Dekker shot both arms out and grabbed hold of his fathers wrists, pulling them down crossways as he doubled over and dragged the taller man down with him. Again there was that look of bewilderment on his fathers face as the body of this tiny woman who he had thrashed time and again held his thick arms and pulled them toward the floor. Then, with Dekkers chin tucked into his chest, he shot up and threw his head back, catching Hugh beneath the jaw with the crown of Adas head. Surprised and now a bit dazed, his father staggered backward and the huntsman spun him around into the

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 439 living room, his arms sliding up and snatching the club from his fathers grasp and into his own hand. Dekker tossed it quickly into his other hand and then swung low to catch Hugh on the side of his knee. The big man buckled and went down to the floor. Noah looked on at this turn in the melee with a certain horror. He had not intended for his father to beat his mother to death. But he had hoped that either his father or himself would manage to incapacitate her so that she could be taken to someone who could help. Now the tables had turned decidedly in the huntsmans favor and Noah was once again wondering what was left for him to do. Dekker shoved his father backwards and Hugh toppled over the body of Shakey Lee, rolling the old man over onto his stomach and then slid to the floor next to him. Now, Dekker seethed, standing above him, hows about a taste of the medicine youre so fond of giving out? With Black Billy gripped in his hand, he jabbed Noahs father a few times in the chest and then applied a few blows to his neck. Then, in a sudden and unbridled rage, began raining down blows indiscriminately. Some of them found his fathers flesh but many went wild and caught nothing but air. Before Noahs eyes, he saw the form of the huntsman fade away and his mother became visible once again. When the strokes fell, it was her voice that growled and not Dekkers.

Incredibly, in her mindless rage against the one who had beaten her and her son so often, she had wrested control from the entity. You- Thwack! Son of a- Thwack! bitch! Thwack! Hows it feel? Thwack! Hows it fucking feel now, asshole? Noah cried out. Mumma! At the sound of her sons voice, she halted her assault and looked up, a stunned and vacant look in her eyes. She let go of the collar of her husbands coat and stood, stepping back and looking down at the bloodied, beaten wreck of a man before her. She looked over at her son and in that instant, he saw the unmistakable look of his mother in them, the familiar tone and lilt of her voice. Noah? she said, confused and exasperated. The boy was about to run to her and embrace her but before he could even take the first step, the image of his mother

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 441 shuddered and flickered and was replaced by the giant, scowling form of the huntsman once again. He turned his black gaze to the right, as if addressing something beside him and said, Back inside, you uppity cunt. Dekker glanced over at Noah, standing there with the Slugger dangling loosely in his grasp, but smirked and gave the boy a wink, then turned his gaze back upon Hugh. His father was on his knees, just barely upright. His face was bloodied and bruised from the battle, one side so swollen that his eye could hardly be opened to see anything. He knelt there, swaying and moaning. You, the huntsman spat. Tonight, Im gonna cut you up and feed you to yer boy. A devils grin spread across his face. Raw. Noahs father looked up but could not manage any retort even if he had cared to. After I take my piece, of course, Dekker added. Cooks privilege, ya know. The boy looked on in disbelief, a storm of emotions whirling in his heart. In that moment, all of the past cruelties of his father came to him like a barrage of images and sensations, every one anchored with the feeling of hopelessness he had so long known. He could wade in now, take the huntsman by

surprise and end it all with a few swings of the baseball bat. In truth, though, he had no desire to save his father from what would be the last, killing strokes of the murderer. But the man was his father, after all, no matter what he had done and perhaps that was worth something even now. On the other hand, he would not sacrifice his mother for the benefit of her husband or just so that he could escape Crow Neck and all the fell things that called the place home. The hard truth, Noah realized, was that he wanted neither of these evil creatures to prevail but he was unable to make a choice between them. He only wanted his mother and a simple life away from all of this violence and torment. Dekker bent and raised the club above his head and though Noah felt compelled to do something, he stood there and watched instead. Black Billy was grasped tight in the huntsmans hand and as he held it aloft, he glanced up at the boy to offer a final, taunting look before he took Hugh Belton from this world. But he paused and his expression went slack, the dark cavities of his eyes seeming to look not at Noah but beyond him. What in the hell? he whispered. His fathers endurance finally gave out and, with a groan, he thudded to the floor alongside Shakey Lee. For a moment, Noah was confused by the shift in Dekkers attention and tightened

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 443 his grip on the Slugger, brought it up to bear, but the huntsman hardly seemed to notice. The boy followed Dekkers gaze and turned to look behind him. He gasped at what he saw. Outside of the front window were the faces of the dead, crowded shoulder to shoulder as they stood, watching. All of their lifeless eyes were locked on the huntsman and it was clear that he recognized every one of them. Centered among the many was the glowing apparition of Clara Amburg in her blue dress. So many of them flanked her. Some Noah knew from the crawlspace but others he did not. They were all victims who had fallen under the huntsmans blade. In the crowd, he even saw the familiar face of Shakey Lee with his young, golden-haired boys beside him. Glancing around the room still cast in the dim glow of the Christmas lights, he saw pale, ghostly visages peering in from every window. The gathering faces of the slain were everywhere. For a moment, Noah thought that perhaps they had come to welcome him. Perhaps, with some foreknowledge innate to them of his imminent death, they had come to count the boy among them. But their collective gaze had not fallen upon him. With retribution etched into their pale and narrowed eyes, the dead looked long at the huntsman and lingered just outside of the house, waiting.

Hugh Belton ached all over from the vicious beating he had

just been handed by his wife, despite her runty stature. He blamed it on a rush of adrenaline. The kind of thing that drove people to pick up a car when their child was trapped beneath it. He had heard about things like that, he was sure of it. He lay there now on the floor, his face swollen and hot as if burning from within and one side of it awash in blood, though some if it had once belonged to the old man lying next to him. He wondered what it was the old property manager had done that could have motivated Ada to kill him. Unless, of course, something had snapped in his wife and she had simply gone completely insane. The more he considered it, the more likely it seemed. He craned his neck to see Ada standing above him, a bewildered look on her face as she stared at something that Hugh could not see. The familiar club was held tight in her fist. It had been a long while indeed since a woman had grasped that weapon and used it. The last had been his mother and it was him that she had used it on. Now wielded by his wife, Hugh would soon die by it. He was spent and so he laid his head back down against the cool of the hardwood floor. As he did so, he noticed something poking out of the pocket of the old mans coat. It looked like the butt of a pistol. With his wifes attention still trained on something else, Hugh leaned over and plunged his hand into the dead mans pocket. It was a gun alright; an old, heavy one from the feel of

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 445 it. He did not know if the pistol was loaded or not and there was no way to tell. Presumably, the old man wouldnt be toting around an unloaded gun but then he had heard of people doing far dumber things than that. There was no time to check it to be sure. He would just have to take the chance. He felt his finger slide into the trigger guard and rest against it. With his thumb, he cocked back the hammer as he pulled the gun free of the coat. Summoning all the fortitude that he had left and ignoring the throbbing pain that racked his body from his head down to his knees, he sat up as quick as he could. You aint gonna be the end of me, he snarled at her. As Ada turned her head toward him, he leveled the pistol at her and pulled the trigger.

There was no time to do anything to stop his father. Noah had been looking around at the apparitions of the dead that surrounded the house when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, from where his father lay next to the old mans body, moaning and writhing in a pool of blood gone cold and sticky. He heard him say something and then saw the outstretched arm and a pistol gripped in his hand. He had just begun to wonder where the gun had come from when the flash and smoke erupted from the barrel with a report that rapped against the walls of the house

and the huntsman in his mothers body jerked backward, then lurched forward, but did not fall. Before Noah could even think to do it, he had the Slugger up and was rounding to the other side of the couch where his father knelt, smiling at what he had just done. It was instinct on the boys part; the instinct to protect his mother even if it wasnt entirely his mother any longer. He thought of what Shakey Lee had said to him earlier that day. Theres always hope. Noahs hope was that he could get his mother to someone who could help her. A priest or Witch Wilkins or even a Rabbi if thats what it took. He wouldnt let anyone take her from him if he could help it. Not Dekker and certainly not Hugh Belton. At the last minute, his father turned to see what his son was doing, approaching him so quickly and from behind. Without a word, Noah swung and the bat crashed into the side of his fathers head. He had laid the stroke across the mans cheekbone and ear and his eye closed as his head snapped forward and the rest of his body followed, going prone, the gun slipping from his grasp and pinwheeling across the floor. It stopped at the feet of Dekker, who bent down and picked it up. Noahs father had fired and while he was certain that he had aimed for the chest, the shot wasnt true and the bullet had caught the huntsman in the left shoulder instead. A bloom of red

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 447 spread out from the wound and that arm hung limp at his side but apart from that, Clyde Dekker looked to be doing just fine. Noah felt his blood turn cold and he dropped the bat onto the floor as his shoulders and arms went slack. Dekker cocked the hammer back and brought the gun up to aim at the boy. Out of the back window, Noah could see the lingering forms of the murdered and knew that he would be joining them soon. That was fine with him. At least it was an end, if only of a kind. Looks like yer times come, kid. Go ahead, Noah said, his voice breaking. Please. I dont want to be here anymore. That right? the huntsman replied. The boy nodded. Just go on and do it, he breathed, letting go a sigh as his eyes dropped to the floor and closed. As you wish, he heard the huntsman say and then the click as the hammer descended and a shudder went through Noahs body.

The huntsmans smile eroded and he brought the pistol closer, held it askance for a look and saw that the round had not fired and was still lying there dormant in the cylinder. Goddamnit, he cursed and then clicked the hammer back again, rotating the cylinder to line up the next bullet.

When he brought the pistol back up, he saw the boy had opened his eyes wide, standing there and not believing that he wasnt already deader than four oclock. Thats good, the huntsman thought. Its better for the boy to see it coming. It was Clyde Dekkers belief that any animal, facing the gun that was about to put it down, could see more clearly in that last second than in their entire life before. And in that final moment, as the bullet blasted forth, every creature experienced a stark terror at the impending approach of death that was unrivaled by anything they had ever felt. To witness it was an exhilarating rush. He slipped his finger back onto the trigger and was preparing to pull back when something came rushing out of the darkness at him. Not from some corner of the house, not from outside, but from within him. Once, when he walked these woods as a living man, he witnessed the fury of a mother bear protecting her cubs. He had barely escaped that encounter with his life but the memory of the animals rage paled in comparison to this. Ada Belton came screaming and clawing at him from within and tore the huntsman from his hold over her.

Dekkers gun arm lowered and an embattled look washed over him. Then, before Noahs eyes, he began to disappear, flickering

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 449 away intermittently, and as he did so the form of his mother was visible again. After a few moments of struggle, Noah saw only her. She had bested the huntsman and regained control of her body and mind, if only for a time. Seeing her prevail, Noah felt his knees weaken and buckle and he went to the floor. There, on his knees before his mother, he looked up at her, hardly able to believe. Her eyes fell upon him and she managed a smile a mothers smile which said a myriad of things without saying a word. Dont give up like that, son, she said. Dont ever let me catch you giving up like that again. His eyes filled with hot tears. Mumma Im here, Noah. But I dont know for how long. Fight him, Mumma. Please, please fight him! Ada let go a sigh and shook her head, though her warmth never faltered. I aint got it in me, son. Hes taken everything I had left, she said, her voice gentle and tired, yet firm. Everything except for you and I wont let him take that. No way, no how. Mumma, please Noah begged in anguish. Its alright, baby boy, she said and smiled down at her son. Its alright now. I love you.

She grimaced a moment, still struggling inside of her with the huntsman, then brought the pistol close to her body and pressed the barrel hard against her chest. No, wait Noah cried and crawled toward her. Look away, son, she whispered to him. Look away. Look away. The gun fired and the smell of black powder suddenly filled the air as the boy scrambled toward his mother, who collapsed and slumped over immediately. The bullet that had been intended for Noah had pierced Adas chest and lay trapped somewhere in the dense, fibrous muscle of a heart that was now still and silent and would be forever.

Kneeling there with his mother going cold in his arms, Noah had never known such hollowness, never before felt such a penetrating absence. He held her and wept over her and was broken with grief. It was only after a long moment of being lost in it that he noticed the dark shape of the huntsman standing close by. Though he still feared Dekker, there was no room in him for it and no energy left to cower and scurry away from the murderous spirit. Noah looked up at Clyde Dekker but did not see the scowling countenance he expected. The huntsmans color had gone gray and the apparition shuddered, seeming less substantial than ever

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 451 before. Whatever sustenance upon which the entity had become dependent had ended with Adas life and when Noah stared into the empty blackness of Dekkers eyes, what he saw was not defiance but defeat. He might have smiled but for the cost of the victory. A chill shot through him and Noah looked up to see the dead were coming inside now, passing through the walls, filling the entire house. It was stunning to behold and chilling to contemplate; all these lives that the huntsman had taken. The devastating loss of all the loved ones left behind to linger in sorrow. Noah was one of them now. They surrounded Dekker, this angry mob of apparitions, and grabbed at him. A furious noise arose as they shouted at the huntsman, some speaking the names of those they left behind, some lamenting the life they might have known if not for him, others reminding him that he was as dead as them now and that he always had been. With every touch of one of his victims, Dekker withered and slowly began turning to shadow. Even though the spirits had no physical form, Noah felt the weight of their presence nonetheless. Just as it had in the crawlspace, it reminded him of the Sundays at his fathers Pentecostal church. The way the faithful fell upon him, gibbering mouths bleating unintelligible words and hands grasping him. A panic rose in him and he held tighter to the

body of his mother, shrinking from the crowd but paralyzed to move elsewhere. Then, pushing through the mass of spirits came Shakey Lee; a younger version of the man, though, who smiled more easily and did not seem so peculiar, a version which no longer had the burdensome, haunted look in his eyes. Beside the old man were his boys. They made their way toward Noah and knelt beside him. Shakey put a ghostly hand on Noahs arm and nodded. Itll be alright now. Everything will be just fine, Noah. Theyre taking him away. Indeed they were. Noah looked on as the huntsman was slowly torn apart, the pieces of him becoming tiny black drifts of smoke that broke from the whole and then were sucked downward into a dark chasm beneath them that Noah could not see but could sense. One after another, they came for him and each took something from the cruel beast that had taken everything from them. The huntsmans face was frozen in an open-mouthed scream of agony when the storm of darkness that had brewed inside of the house reached its climax. The boy looked on as the last of the stinking mans form collapsed into tiny slivers of black, like so much burnt newspaper, that rode on a vigorous and invisible wind. All the while, the old mans hand was squeezing reassuringly and his calming voice was in Noahs head. Its alright, Noah. Itll pass. Rest easy now.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 453

He awoke hunched over, his head hovering above the hole in his mothers chest. Tears had dried in salty trails down his cheeks and the house was cold, his mother even colder. Noah did not recall falling asleep, though he remembered the kindness of Shakey and his boys who came to comfort him. He remembered being overwhelmed by the dead that had gathered in the room to rip apart the ghost of Clyde Dekker and escort him to Hell. All of them were gone now. The soft, rainbow glow of his mothers Christmas lights, so peaceful and evocative of a joyful season, seemed odd as they illuminated the room in which such evil things had just occurred; this house where his mother and friend now lay dead. Noah gently slid his mother onto the floor, her limbs so lifeless and yielding that some deeply primitive part of him recoiled. Outside, the snow continued to fall but the storm was now over and he was more alone in the world than he had ever imagined he would be. A stirring from the opposite end of the couch reminded Noah that his father still lived and so he was not entirely alone. What would be seen by many as a blessing, though, only filled Noah with dread and anger. Whatever happened in the aftermath of this night, his father was his only surviving family and the authorities would no doubt release the boy into his custody. It

wouldnt be long before his father killed him in the same way that he had been bound to kill his mother one day. After all the black things he had done, it seemed that Hugh Belton would still come out on top. Noah peeked around the couch to see that his father was slowly regaining consciousness, though not yet enough to move under his own power. Long after his mother was in the ground, Noah knew that he would pay for the beating his father had taken tonight. He would pay for it over and over. Dont you let him hurt you, baby boy, he heard the voice of his mother in his mind. Dont you let him do that no more. You do whatever it is you have to do to make sure of that. Noah glanced over at his mothers body and the pistol lying on the floor beside her. A dark thought began to form in his mind. After all, not even an hour before, the man had tried to kill Noahs mother with that very gun. Tried and failed, yes, but that didnt change anything. Not really. Nodding to himself at his decision, the boy stepped around her body, knelt and carefully picked up the pistol.

21 A heavy fog lifted from his mind and as it withdrew, sensation returned. Along with it came the many aches and pains

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 455 that throbbed all over Hughs body. He was sliding, it seemed. Sliding on ice. Was he on the lake? Had it frozen over? He opened and shut his eyes a time or two, trying to clear his vision and gain some focus. Wooden walls, the smell of gunpowder, the faint glow behind him of those goddamned Christmas lights that his wife had hung in defiance of him. Craning his neck, he saw his son with one of Hughs legs grasped between the boys body and the crook of his arm. He wasnt sliding but being dragged. He tried to remember what had happened. Hugh felt sure that he had killed Ada. God help him but she had left him no choice. He started to mumble something about defending himself and called to his son, demanding to know where he was being taken but the fiery pain in his head returned and he felt the world tilt and disappear into that hungry gray fog. When he awoke again, he was struck immediately by the chilling cold. In what little light that spilled in from somewhere to his right, he could see his breath like smoke in the darkness. He turned his head and saw Noah there, down on one knee and bending over to see inside, his head cocked as he looked stone-faced at his father. Son? Noah did not reply but reached a hand toward him, laid

something heavy on his chest and then scooted away from the opening. When Hugh saw the boy swing the small door closed and heard the click of a padlock on the outside, he understood. The little monster had locked him in that crawlspace. He fumbled with the object that Noah had placed in there with him and felt it was the pistol that he had used to shoot Ada. Only now the cylinder of the pistol hung open and empty of any ammunition. Hugh hollered at his son to open the door or all hell would break loose when sooner or later he busted out of the dark hole. As if in answer, he then heard pounding from the other side of the door, repetitious and rhythmic, the clack of a hammer on a sixteen penny nail head and the groan of wood being pierced and bound into place. That boys gonna wall me up and let me die in here, he thought. After another moment, the pounding stopped and Hugh heard the footfalls of Noahs boots on the floor of the worship room as they withdrew and he was abandoned to the freezing darkness. The space was so tight and Hugh a man of such large stature that it felt like a metal tomb in which he could barely move. Noah, you let me out of here right now, you hear? he shouted. Right goddamn now, boy! Silence. Noah! he bellowed once more but then resigned to cursing

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 457 under his breath. Then, as Hugh lay there inside the wall and imagined a way out of his predicament, he felt a presence with him in the tiny box, like the vague awareness of an animal close by. Perhaps many animals. There was a sound that he did not know, as if something enormous were wriggling inside the walls. He was just getting spooked, Hugh decided. Nothing more. Slowing his breaths, he was about to talk himself through it when something shifted in the black and sounds and sensations came to him that he could not explain away. He was not alone in this place. There were things in the dark that moved and whispered. Hugh Belton began to scream.

***

Noah had just stepped out onto the front porch when he heard the panicked cries of his father. They went on and on, shattering the lonely quiet of the winters night and Noah could not help but smile. He sat on the top step and watched the snow fall. When the police trucks with the big tires came rushing into his driveway, the boy could not have said how long he had been sitting there. In fact, he could say nothing at all. He only stared out into the night and shook his head in refusal

when they wanted to take him inside to get warm and to treat the wound on his ear. Sometime later, Deputy Wren leapt from a vehicle that came careening down the road to the driveway and rushed toward Noah, draping a thick blanket around him. He stared over the boys shoulder into the house where a half dozen Rockingham County policemen milled about taking photographs and scribbling notes. Deputy Wren kneeled before the boy, the look in his eyes one of tenderness and compassion. A look that Noah had never once seen from his own father. The deputy did not bombard him with questions and warned away anyone who looked like they might. He did not offer platitudes that would only dwarf the enormity of the loss that the boy was experiencing. He only sat with him and held him close. All the flashing lights of red and blue bounced and glittered off the landscape of snow and ice and might have been a curiously beautiful sight to behold but Noahs gaze was unwavering. His eyes searched the darkness beyond for a glimpse of something no longer of this world but the next. He was looking for her ghost and knew that he always would.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 459 Epilogue

"I am dying. But within me is a pledge of that affection which thou didst feel for me, Morella. And when my spirit departs shall the child live." Edgar Allan Poe, Morella

March, 1994 The red-haired boy stands at a gravestone, one of many in the cemetery outside of the small church with walls of grey limestone that were hewn by hand almost a hundred years before. It is Sunday and today is the boys thirteenth birthday. There will be a party for him later, with pizza and ice cream and all the usual trappings. He has even invited a few girls to attend, though he is not sure if they will. The grave still seems fresh compared to the others, though with the change of season, a modest amount of grass has begun to sprout up through the oblong area of dirt. It is the final resting place of his mother, though he knows that only her body lies there. The woman herself is elsewhere. Noah Belton understands this better than most. He has come here before church on his birthday for another burial; his own. He has come to tell his mother that he has cast aside his given name, relegating it to the past and the part of him that

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 460 lies there in the ground with her. Today is a new day and henceforth his life will be a new one. He has come to tell her that he will now be known as Noah Donavan Wren. He has taken her maiden name for his middle and his new last name comes from the man who official as of last week has adopted him as his own. In the few months that Noah has lived under Deputy Nicholas Wrens roof, he has found the man to be more a father to him than his own ever was. He knows that his mother would be happy at such news and that she would not begrudge him the willful act of dissociation from his birth father. On the rare occasion when he is asked to offer some insight into Hugh Belton, the only thing the boy can say is that the man was better suited to raising pit vipers than children. After he imparts the news, he lays a bunch of spring flowers at the base of the headstone. Noah visits here often and there is much about his new life that he has already told her; about moving with the Wrens out of the trailer at Cadys Run and into a house here in Mountvale, a small town in the hills of the Shenandoah Valley. He wears his wild, red hair longer now, so different from the tight crew cut that was mandated by his father for many years. Standing there, his mind wanders to the dark events of that winter night when his world was torn asunder. Events that he has never spoken of to her, though he often wonders if she knows.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 461 Such as how the police found his fathers fingerprints on the gun that killed her and that a jury found him guilty of the crime. For the boy, it matters little that such a verdict was not entirely righteous. That Hugh Belton failed in his efforts to murder her that night was a blessing of Providence. Besides, in a way, he had murdered her simply by taking them to that place. A place that sits in the shadow of a haunted mountain that is unfit for any but the dead to inhabit it. Every few weeks since Hugh was sentenced to life in prison, Noah has received a letter from him. He does not open or read them, though, content to be shut of him forever. In regard to the night of his mothers death, the police quickly came to their own conclusions about the details of what occurred and at Nick Wrens urging - Noah had done a lot of nodding and keeping his mouth shut. There was so much that he wanted to tell about what really happened that night but always Nick had reinforced what Noah already knew; no one would believe such a story if he told it. Like Shakey had once said to him, it was best to pick your battles. As for the old man, after a great deal of explanation and bending of truth, Noah was able to convince the sheriffs department to clear Shakey Lees name, telling the officers that the bones of the missing children that they had found in his

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 462 house had been recovered by the old man only days before. It was just plain luck that he came upon their remains somewhere on Cross Mountain, though the old man never had the chance to say where. He told them that in all the years that had passed, Shakey had never stopped searching for his lost children, and in every way that mattered, Noah knew that was true. They were all buried together in Shakeys family plot in Whitetail. Neither Clyde Dekker nor Clara Amburg nor Witch Wilkins were spoken of to the police during the recounting of the events at Cedar Banks and the cave of bones was never mentioned.

The church bells begin to ring and the boy tells his mother that he must go. His new family waits inside for him. As he walks from the grave, a stiff spring wind rises up and blows through the valley, tossing Noahs mop of curls about and with the morning sunlight catching them it seems as if the boy wears a crown of red flame. It exposes his ear with the missing bit of flesh at the top, though, and he brushes it back down as the wind subsides. It is another reason that he wears his hair longer now; so that he does not always have to look upon it and so that he does not often have to lie to explain it. Noah carries with him many scars from that night but the missing piece of his ear is the only one he wears on the outside. As he walks toward the church, the bells still signing out,

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 463 he considers that inside is a place where people of faith go to be forgiven and to find it within themselves to forgive others. Scripture tells him that God is patient and loving and forgives all things of those who ask it. Occasionally, though, in the lonely stillness of the day or night, Noah can sense his mother nearby. In those moments of forlorn longing, he is reminded that he will never again feel her touch or embrace and will never again look upon her radiant smile. It is then that the long shadows of the huntsman and of Hugh Belton fall upon him once again and a bitter anger stirs up a wintry coldness inside of the boys heart. Noah reckons that, for him, there are some things that are simply beyond forgiveness. No matter how hallowed their burial or how much soil of a life comes to cover them, there are some losses too great and some wounds too deep. There are pangs that never lose their sting. These things lie below the surface of our selves, unseen but not forgotten, and always threatening to rise.

POUND OF FLESH / WARD / 464

"There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast." Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers