Max_Writer

He was still struggling through the book when they reached Ross’s Corners.

“I need you to stop at the general store,” O’Shea said.

“Why?” Jones asked.

“I need to pick up a thing or two,” O’Shea said.

Jones pulled the tow truck up in front of the pumps. As O’Shea went into the general store, Jones filled the tank with gasoline. Vanderholdt staying in the vehicle, reading as quickly as he could.

The general store looked typical of every general store he’d ever been in. A couple of old men played checkers on one side while a few people shopped. Behind the counter was a woman who was probably in her 60s.

“Evening gents,” O’Shea said. “Ma’am.”

The woman nodded at him and the men just glared.

“Ayuh,” one of them finally said.

“Looking for an oil lamp,” O’Shea said.

“They’re right here,” the woman said.

She led him to a shelf where there were several kerosene lanterns and tins of kerosene. He picked up three of the lanterns and a tin of kerosene, taking them to the counter. The old lady looked him over.

“What’s city folk doing out here in Ross’s Corners?” she asked him. “Buying oil lamps?”

“A little investigation, ma’am,” he replied. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“You a police officer?” she asked.

“Something like that,” he replied.

“The police are up here investigating Ross’s Corners, huh?” she said. “You looking for Maggie McPhirter?”

He pulled out his little notebook.

“What does Maggie have to do with all of this?” he asked.

“Disappeared two days ago,” she said.

“Disappeared two days ago,” O’Shea echoed, writing. “Two days ago, you say?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Whereabouts?”

“You a police officer?”

“Something like that.”

“You have a badge?”

“No ma’am.”

“Then you’re not a police officer.”

“Well, I’m a private investigator.”

“Hmm. Private investigator ...”

She charged him $10 for the three lanterns and the kerosene.

“You don’t need to mind the people around here,” she said as she took the money. “They’re suspicious of outsiders ever since she vanished.”

“Rightly so, ma’am,” he said. “Rightly so.”

“She went to check her barn after dark,” the old woman went on. “Hasn’t been seen since.”

“Whereabouts does Maggie live?” he asked. “Used to live?”

“Couple miles north of town,” she said. “Any suspicious looks you might have got today are on account of that. Folks are a little shy of strangers right now. Think nothing of it.”

“Maggie live alone? Husband? Fella?”

“She’s got a husband. Her husband’s a farmer.”

“What’s his name?”

“That’d be Sam. Sam McPhirter.”

“They get along well, did they?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She went out to check on her barn. Any reason why? Anybody know? Middle of the night?”

“Ayuh.”

“Husband didn’t think that was strange?”

“He was half asleep. She said she’d check.”

“That’s all she said?”

“Uh-huh. Last anybody saw of her. Some folks hereabouts worried. Some fellow came through yesterday.”

“What this fellow look like?”

She described Grover’s ugly face, coveralls, jacket, and cap perfectly. Just then, the man walking in through the front door.

“Well, that’s him right there,” she said.

“He’s with me,” O’Shea said.

He asked if the police had investigated and she told him that both the sheriff and her husband, who was the constable in Ross’s Corners, had looked for the girl without luck. When he asked, she noted that there had been no sign of any struggle either.

“Like the night swallowed her,” she said.

Jones paid for his two gallons of gas. It came to 40 cents. He also purchased three bottles of Coca-Cola.

“So, you know anything about the old farm up on Boone Road?” O’Shea asked.

“That’s Rupert Merriweather’s farm,” she answered.

“Yes.”

“He keeps up on his taxes but hadn’t done nothing with the place since ... 40 years ago.”

“It doesn’t have electricity, I suppose.”

“No. Not many places out here do.”

“I understand. I understand. Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“You going up to Rupert Merriweather’s place?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“The children say it’s haunted.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Haunted?”

“Well, that’s what they say.”

“Well, isn’t that what all children say about all abandoned houses?”

“Ayuh.”

She sniffed. He asked how many children thought it was haunted but she wasn’t sure. When he asked if they threw rocks at the windows, she noted that the whole house was shuttered up, though there were a few holes in the roof. He asked if the children heard noises out at the house she seemed to doubt that. When he asked where the local children were, she guessed they were in school. O’Shea looked at his pocket watch. It was about 2 p.m. He asked when school let out and she guessed between 2:30 and 3 p.m. but she noted that she hadn’t had children in a long while.

“Do the children come by here and buy penny candy?” he asked.

“Once in a while,” she admitted. “Probably around 3 o’clock.”

He asked if she minded if they waited around for a few minutes, noting he wanted to ask the children what stories they’d heard about the house. She didn’t seem to care one way or another.

“Say Grover, would you do me a favor and load these kerosene lanterns into the car for me?” O’Shea asked.

“Okay,” Grover said.

He took the lanterns out to the tow truck and put them in the bed. He opened up the passenger side door and handed Vanderholdt a bottle of Coca-Cola. The other man put it on the floor of the vehicle without otherwise touching it. He was engrossed in the book.

Around 3 p.m., several children did show up at the general store. O’Shea interviewed them but the mismatched, contradictory, and confused stories that he got from them led him to believe that they really didn’t know much of anything. They told him that something was out there, but what it was and where it lived in the house was disputed. One child said it lived in the attic, another claimed it laired in the cellar, and a third thought it was hidden in the chimney. Another child said it lived “out back” while yet another claimed it hid in a closet in the house.

“Bobby, he had a monster in a cardboard box!” one little girl claimed.

“There’s a ghost of a lady,” a little boy said. “She got killed. Her husband killed her. He had a hook for a hand.”

Things went on like that until he asked if any of the children had actually taken a dare and been to the house and heard or saw anything.

“Only one who’s been up close to the house is Tommy Jeevers,” one child said.

“Tommy Jeevers,” O’Shea said, noting the name in his book. “And where is he?”

“Nobody knows ...” one child said mysteriously.

“No,” the little girl said. “Tommy Jeevers said he saw something bumping around and growling.”

She growled impressively.

“Said he saw it?” O’Shea asked.

“No,” she said.

“Saw it or heard it?”

“He saw something bumping around ... heard something going bumping around going ...”

She growled again.

“Did he now?” O’Shea said.

“Yeah,” another child replied. “And I heard, I heard ...”

That child made another strange growling noise completely unlike the little girl’s.

“Where does Tommy Jeevers live?” O’Shea asked.

“He lives on Seevers Road,” one of the children said.

“How far away?” O’Shea asked.

“That’s out by the river,” another child said.

“Any of you friends with him?” O’Shea asked.

“No,” one child said.

“Tommy Jeevers is a liar!” another said.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard,” yet a third said. “Tommy Jeevers is a liar.”

“Wait here,” O’Shea said.

He bought a good-sized bag of penny candy and returned to the child. He shook it in front of them.

“Now, which one of you wants to earn half this sack of candy by running and fetching Tommy Jeevers?” he asked.

The children looked at each other nervously.

“Tommy Jeevers’ got yellow eyes,” one of them mumbled.

The other children didn’t seem to agree with that statement.

“The whole bag,” O’Shea said, sweetening the deal quite literally.

“I heard he’s got yellow eyes,” the child said again.

“He’s mean!” one little boy said. “He gives Indian burns!”

“All right, I’ll just keep this candy for myself,” O’Shea said.

It seemed each child had a frightening story to tell about Tommy Jeevers, who must have been quite a bully.

“Down by the river you say?” O’Shea finally asked.

“Miskatonic River,” one child offered.

“It’s five miles,” another child volunteered.

“He’s probably walking home right now,” yet another child said.

“How’s he walk home?” O’Shea said.

“With his feet,” a child said.

“What road’s he take?” O’Shea asked.

“I don’t know,” a child said. “I think he goes through the woods.”

“Tommy Jeevers goes through the woods because if the monsters come to get him, he’ll spit in his face!” another child said. The little boy went on and on about how Tommy Jeevers would get any monster that came for him.

O’Shea handed that child the bag of candy and then turned and walked away. He heard the other children made a fuss and there was the sound of a struggle and then a ripping noise and the sound of the candy falling to the floor. The kids fought over the candy as he left the general store.

He found Jones and Vanderholdt in the tow truck, the latter still poring over the book. Grover was finishing off a second bottle of Coca-Cola.

“It’s going to take me weeks to read this thing,” Vanderholdt said.

“I had you a Coke, but you took too long,” Jones said to O’Shea.

“That’s all right,” O’Shea quipped. “I bought you both some candy but I gave it away.”

“I got gum,” Jones said. “Candy’ll rot your teeth.”

O’Shea told them what the children had said – that a boy named Tommy Jeevers had gone up to the house and heard some noises. He thought it might be worth talking to the child before they went to the house itself.

“Why don’t you go find him?” Vanderholdt said. “I’ll read and you can come back and get me.”

They decided to look, for at least a little while, for Tommy Jeevers. Vanderholdt noted that, if the journal was right, there was a monster in the attic of the house.

“Chances are there’s a hobo living in the attic,” O’Shea said.

They ended up driving around in the rain for about 15 minutes but saw no sign of any children on the nearby roads. They headed north and the road they chose came to a dead end. Warning signs noted that the road ended. It was close enough to the Miskatonic River that they could see the muddy water of the river swollen from the rain they’d had lately. They were unsure which farmhouse on the road might be the Jeevers house.

Jones turned the truck around and they went to the house, arriving around 3:45 p.m. The overcast skies and falling rain made the place look even gloomier than it had the day before. Thunder and occasionally lightning filled the afternoon sky and the rain was coming down solidly. As Jones turned off the engine, lightning flashed and thunder rolled in the sky above.

“It was brighter when I was here yesterday,” Jones said.

“It’s possible this could be more creepy, but I haven’t worked out how that could be,” Vanderholdt said, looking at the house.

“You want to stay in here while we go inside and look?” Jones asked him.

“I would recommend, prior to going into the house, you may want me to actually find ...” Vanderholdt said. Then he changed his train of thought. “All right, from the journal, if you do happen to go in the house, if you see a circle drawn on the floor ... do not step on it.”

“Just a little bit of friendly advice,” O’Shea said, looking towards the house. “You asked for a way this could become any more creepy: you stay here and read this book much longer, it’s going to get dark. Then I guarantee you, it’s going to be twice as creepy as it is now. Just saying.”

“All right,” Vanderholdt said quietly. He remembered he’d left an electric torch in the trunk of his Stutz Bearcat.

He used one of the cotton gloves to mark his place in the immense book. Then he asked if there was something he could wrap the book up in to protect it. When Jones asked him if he was going to leave it in the machine or bring it inside, he noted that he was probably going to leave it in the tow truck as he didn’t want to take it out in the rain. O’Shea told him to put it under the seat but he was adamant about wanting to wrap it up. When Jones suggested Vanderholdt’s coat, he reminded the man he had to go out in the rain as well.

“Do you have a tarp?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s back in the back,” Jones said. “It’s wet.”

O’Shea pulled off his tie.

“Don’t think that’s big enough,” Jones quipped.

O’Shea ignored him and removed his coat and overcoat, removed the shoulder holster and then his shirt, leaving only his undershirt. He put the holster, coat, and overcoat back on and offered his shirt to Vanderholdt to wrap the book in.

“Hail the common man,” Vanderholdt quipped as he wrapped the book up in the shirt.

Jones got out an electric torch and a German luger, tucking the latter into his jacket pocket. O’Shea got out of the truck and lit the three kerosene lanterns, taking one and the can of kerosene and heading towards the house, leaving two lit lanterns in the bed. Jones also got out, took a lantern and headed for the house. Vanderholdt left the book in the truck, opening his umbrella and grabbing the last kerosene lantern, and followed them.

“The back door is open!” Jones said to O’Shea as they reached the porch.

“I’d like to look at something before we go in the house, if you don’t mind,” Vanderholdt said.

O’Shea shrugged his shoulders. Vanderholdt examined the doors and windows on the front of the house and saw what he expected. Over the lintel of the door and both windows, someone had long ago carved strange symbols that resembled those that had been drawn in the journal.

“Can I borrow your notepad and pencil?” Vanderholdt said to O’Shea.

The other man gave him the notebook and his ink pen. When he asked if the man had a pencil, he noted that he didn’t carry a pencil.

“Got one in the truck,” Jones said.

After a moment, Vanderholdt headed back to the truck.

“Look in the toolbox,” Jones called after him.

Vanderholdt found a carpenter’s pencil in the toolbox in the back of the truck and returned to the house with it. He made rubbings of the symbols over the door and windows sheltered from the rain by the porch, using up several pages in the notebook. O’Shea asked if he were covering up anything he’d written down. Vanderholdt assured him that he had not. He thanked the man.

“My grandmother was Amish,” Jones said. “She told me stories about how they would put marks on the barns to keep things safe on the inside. I wonder if these things are made not to keep things safe on the inside ... but to keep things on the inside.”