Hauntings (18 page)

              “What can I get you?” The bartender asked.

              “Whatever you've got on tap and some food. What have you got?”

              “If you want food, go to Sam & Ella's What we've got here is spirits and beer.”

              “No pizza, or chips or nuts, nothing to eat?”

              “Well, we don't exactly match the fine cuisine of Sam & Ella's and we sort of have an agreement not to compete with them. They don't sell alcohol, and we don't sell food, but we do have some peanuts, and on Saturdays for a change of pace we have corn chips. So do you want some peanuts? They're a buck a bag.”

              “Yeah, give me a bag of peanuts.” Oswald took the bag, opened and emptied it into his mouth, chewed then washed what was left down with his beer. He paid the bartender and left.

              “Home cooking, that's the life for me.” Oswald said to himself as he got into his car and drove back to the cabin. Oswald was more comfortable in finding his way to the cabin now that he has driven to and from town on an occasion or two. He slowed as he approached the last little hill before the cabin came into view, he drove up the hill without a problem in low gear and stopped the car next to an older blue mustang.

              Sitting on the porch Indian style was Clara.

              “Well hello there!” Oswald called to his young friend.

              “You know Ed and Freida are worried about you, don't you?”

              “they're always worried about me. They worry when I'm away and they worry when I'm here. It's what they do,” Clara replied nonchalantly, “talking about worry though. Where have you been? I've been waiting here all day for you. I thought you might be lost somewhere.”

              “Well, I'm here now. Come on in. Let's get something to eat,” Oswald replied leading the way into the cabin's kitchen. He grabbed some dry wood and kindling and tossed it all into the ancient stove's firebox. Kneeling down he lit a match and held it to the kindling starting the fire.

              “Clara, are you hungry? I think I've got some hamburger in the icebox.”

              “Hamburger sounds good to me.” Clara replied. Oswald dug around in the cupboards and found a skillet, He took it to the sink and pumped some water to rinse away the dust from the pan.

              “Look, it's cold in here, Clara said nearing the wood stove, Why don't I cook the burgers and you go out and gather some more wood and make a fire in the fire place for us.”  Oswald didn't want to cook, but wanted to eat so this seemed a fair division of labor. He went outside and broke dry branches from the dead tree into manageable pieces and lay them on the ground building what he thought would be a good sized stack for a fire. He thought he had seen an ax around the yard somewhere, he could use one now to chop some of the larger pieces into a more manageable size. He looked around the back of the cabin and found not only an ax leaning against the cabins wall, but also a small stack of firewood left from the last time the Dyers came to visit the place. He took a few of the larger pieces and carried them to the porch, then went back for the smaller pieces and kindling he broke off the dead tree.  He carried what he could inside and laid it next to the hearth and went back out for the larger logs. He soon came back inside with his arms full. He dropped the wood on the floor near the hearth, knelt down and focused his attention on placing the kindling just so before stacking the larger pieces of wood on the grate.

              As Oswald worked at starting the fire in the fireplace, the aroma of grilling onions and ground beef wafted into the room. His stomached growled in anticipation. When Oswald was satisfied that the wood would catch fire he struck a match and held the flame to the kindling. The dry kindly lit easily burning in a gentle glow below the larger pieces of wood. He blew the small glow being careful not to blow the little fire out, but into a  flame and that flame into a greater fire. Satisfied with his work, Oswald looked up to see Clara at the desk looking at the Druid's book. He had the impression that she knew what she was looking at, that she understood the runes, but that simply was not possible. He coughed and caught her eye.

              “Dinner is ready when you are,” She said pleased with herself. Oswald followed her into the kitchen eager to see what Clara had made.

              “Have a seat Ozzy, I'll fix you a plate. In moment she prepared a plate with Salisbury steak with brown gravy and grilled onions, green beans and rice and placed it in front of him. His mouth was watering. She then fixed a plate for herself and sat down across across the table from him ready to enjoy the meal.

              “I was wondering how you were getting along out here so I thought I'd come out for a visit. When you weren't here I began to worry and decided to wait for you to get back.”

              “There really wasn't any need to worry about me.” Oswald replied between bites of food.

              “Oh I can see that now. Of course there isn't, but still it might be nice to have a bit of company every now and again, don't you think?” Clara said smiling sweetly to Oswald.

              “Besides, Ozzy, you're the only interesting person in the county that I know.”

              “That's kind of you to say,” Oswald replied.

              “Just for example, that book you have on your desk with the strange writing. What is that? Can you actually read it?”

              “That is a book of runes. I borrowed it from Orney library at the university before I left. I thought I might take my hand at translating it while on my hiatus. If I'm successful, it just might make my name in the field.”

              “Make your name in the field?” Clara repeated questioning.

              “It would be the highlight of my career. Something I could take pride in professionally.”

              “Oh, somehow the book gave me the creeps when I was looking at it. What is it about?”

              “As far as I can gather so far it appears to be a Druid version of the Book of the Dead,” Oswald said then speared the last bite of his Salisbury steak on the tines of his fork. “That was delicious, Clara, thank you.”

              “It was my pleasure, I got a meal out of it too, you know.”

              “That's a good thing, because I think that cook out I wanted to invite you to may have to wait until warmer weather returns.”

              “Are you really planning on staying here that long?”

              “If need be. Clara I was on the verge of walking away from everything I worked for all my life. I was burnt out. The thought of returning to a class room sickened me. I lost the love of my studies. I was going to walk out with no intention of coming back, but Aleister Dyer talked me out of it. He offered me this cabin and all the time off I'd need to get my thoughts together. I was never really close to the man, but now I owe him a debt of gratitude. “

              “You may want to rethink that after you've been here awhile.”

              “There are some strange things about the place, but I suspect that is just my imagination getting the better of me after all the horror stories I've been told about the Dyer's and this cabin.”

              “Like what?” Clara asked Oswald got up from the table to switch on a light. Nothing no light. It was then that he realized that he didn't hear the the generator running in the root cellar.

              “Damn!” He exclaimed. “I forgot about the generator. I left it running while I was gone, now I'm out of gas. No electric lights tonight I guess,” He said as he walked over to the kerosene lamp on the desk. He shook it just a bit to feel the kerosene swirl inside the lamp. He gently lifted the glass chimney covering the wick, struck a match and lit the wick, he adjusted the flame to give as bright a light as he could without making smoke. He then brought the lamp to the kitchen table and set it down. The lamp's glow provided a warm flickering light to the room.

              “So what's strange about the cabin, or is it the woods?”

              “Both actually. For one thing there is a circle shaped concrete slab in the root cellar, right in the center of the dirt floor.”

              “That could be a cover over an otherwise open well.” Clara suggested.

              “I thought that at first myself, but it's big, too big for a well. It's about twelve feet in diameter. I guess it could still be a cover for a well, but who digs wells so wide? “

              “I wouldn't know,” Clara replied.

“Also Druids would dig a circle in the center of their house's to bury their dead. They actually they built their houses on top of the graves of their family members.”

              “I think maybe they got to you in town the other night, with all their old stories.”

              “It's not just the cabin.”

              “I know they told you about sacrifice rock down the hill, but no one goes down there. No one from town even comes out here, that is except for me, of course.”

              “I wasn't thinking about sacrifice rock, but I would like to see that, maybe we can go together and take a look in the morning?”

              “Oswald, I don't know what you're thinking, but I wasn't planning on being here in the morning.” Oswald blushed.

              “No I wasn't thinking of that at all. I would like to see the altar that's all. These things all appear to be connected.”

              “Maybe they are connected, but then again it can all amount to nothing. Personally I think anything that was going on all those years ago is done and over with,”  Clara said as though it was a matter of accepted fact.

              “Clara, sometimes altars are set up and rituals performed because of something that occurs, or has occurred on that spot some time in the past. If people observe or feel something in a place over and over again, that place may become a holy site a place of worship.”

              “Do you think that's what was going on here?”

              “Maybe. I don't know yet, but I'm going to look into it. I'm going to find out.”

              The other day I took a walk in the woods to familiarize myself with the area and maybe gather a little extra wood. I came to a clearing and I saw a flock of sparrows.”

              “There's nothing unusual about sparrows in the woods.”

              “I know, but it wasn't simply the sparrows, it's what they were doing, what they did that caught my attention.”

              “So what did the birds do?”

              “ I don't think you'll believe Clara, but this is the truth. I saw them vanish.”

              “What?”

              “Clara, I saw a gathering of sparrows in the clearing, they flew together as if they were of one mind, one consciousness. First they swooped down from one direction, then flew up and swooped down in the opposite direction.”

              “I've seen them do that before.” Clara said, “birds do that, who knows why.”

              “Yeah birds do that, I suppose it's instinctive behavior, but you haven't seen them do this.”

              “What then?”

              “Vanish, they disappeared! First they swooped in one direction, I was watching them, then they swooped in another direction , but now I could see through them, then they swooped again and were gone! Birds don't normally vanish.”

              “No they don't,” Clara replied beginning to worry about Oswald.

              “I remembered something I read, something about sparrows. I had to do a little research. So I drove up to Sterling today to see what I could find out in their library. I looked into local legends and lore and found in a book about the Sauk mention of a gathering of sparrows. You see to the Sauk a certain kind of gathering indicated a weakening or an opening between worlds. When such a gathering was witnessed the shaman would perform a ritual, a cleansing ritual I suppose, to close the portal before anything came through it.”

              “Uh huh. It's getting late, I better be going. I'm sure Ed and Freida are already mad enough to spit nails at me. Thanks for the food and the company.”

              “Yeah, um, thanks for coming over. Maybe next time you can stay longer.”

              “We'll see,” Clara said making her way for the door. “I better get going before its too dark to see my hand in front of my face as they say,” Oswald followed her to the door carrying the lamp, he held the door open for her, and then walked her to her car.

              “You are always such a gentleman, Oswald. You're like a man out of time,” Oswald smiled at the thought and watched as Clara climbed in her car and drove away down the dark rutted dirt road though the woods.

              Once Clara was out of sight, Oswald walked back inside, cleared the kitchen table, putting plates, utensils, pots, and pans in the sink. He decided to put off washing the dishes, that could wait until morning. The book had been calling to him and he had ignored its call as long as he could. Clara may think he is losing his mind, that the pressure the townsfolk have tried to put him under was too much for him, but that isn't the issue. That isn't his problem. She doesn't understand that he is on the verge of discovery. Perhaps rediscovery is more accurate, after all the Sauk knew, maybe the Druids knew. Only modern man has forgotten.