dread that permeated his very soul.
It was definitely beginning all over again. As if there had ever been a doubt. Only this time, he didn’t know if he had the strength to win.
He stepped carefully into the woods, expertly making his own trail through the dense undergrowth. The woods hadn’t changed much over the centuries, he thought, as a squirrel scurried up a huge oak tree and peered down at him. The birds chattered to themselves as the early morning sun filtered through the canopy of leaves. It was a peaceful scene of quiet beauty that might have graced a National Geographic cover. But he knew that this forest also held evil and death within its depths.
The woods grew thicker and darker as he picked his way forward, and before long he felt the unseen presence enter his mind and tentatively look around, like a child exploring an unfamiliar attic. Dovecrest felt the ominous, chill touch of the thing tickling his brain. Then he felt its sudden silent laughter reverberating through his mind, echoing throughout his skull like an ancient bell. It was not sound he experienced, but pure thought.
“Ah, my old friend,” it said, its caustic thoughts eating into his mind like a powerful acid. “So, you, too have survived. We are two of a kind, you and I. Not really so much different at all.”
The laughter echoed again.
“Only this time, you will not survive. You grow weaker, even as I grow stronger.”
Dovecrest grimaced as he continued to walk forward, and the presence immediately sensed his thoughts and knew that the Indian was aware of his own weakness. It seized upon his fear and gripped him tightly until his breath came in spastic gasps. Then, just as suddenly, it let go again, and laughed.
“Come,” the presence commanded, softly, but with much power. “I have something quite interesting to show you.”
Dovecrest cleared his mind, breathed deeply and followed the silent command as it took him further into the woods. He tried not to think as he pressed forward, mechanically placing one foot after the other.
The open field appeared suddenly, virtually out of nowhere and Dovecrest blinked rapidly as he stepped into the brilliant morning sunshine. He stopped and saw the black stone altar waiting for him in the center of the open circle. It was just as he remembered it, formidable and indestructible.
“Come,” the presence taunted. “See what I have for you.”
Dovecrest sighed and walked towards the ominous black stone. Yes, something was splattered on the slab, a small figure that had once been alive. He silently prayed that it wasn’t human.
With relief mixed with revulsion, he realized that the mutilated body belonged to an animal. The black fur was peeled back to expose the organs, which had been strewn out like spaghetti on the altar in a dried pool of blood. Dovecrest studied the body closely and saw that the animal’s heart was missing entirely.
The Indian swallowed hard as he noticed a flea collar around the animal’s neck. It was a cat. Somebody’s pet. But now all that remained was a pile of moldering meat.
“A small token of things to come,” the presence said. “You could join with me and save yourself. You would be richly rewarded. You would receive everything, to your heart’s content.”
Dovecrest refused to answer or show any emotion as he picked up the remains of the animal and cradled them in his arms. He suspected the cat had belonged to the new people, the ones whose boy had also wandered into the woods. He shuddered to think of the fate that had almost met the little boy.
“So be it,” the presence said in his mind, almost regretfully. “Then we will meet in hell.”
He did not realize how prophetic that statement would be at the time.
Dovecrest couldn’t bring the cat back to life, but he couldn’t leave it on the altar either. He’d best return the body to the owners and fabricate some explanation. He certainly didn’t want them out there searching for their pet, and he knew that was exactly what would happen if the cat didn’t return home soon.
Slowly, he trudged back to his house. The body of the cat stained his shirt and the laughter of the unseen presence slowly faded away in his brain.
-3-
The Patriot Plaza was just up the road a half mile or so from Erik’s house where Farmington Road joined Route 102. He stopped several times along the way to post his “Lost Cat” posters to utility poles, and to stuff them into rural mailboxes. Then he pulled into the plaza, parking in front of Dockside Cleaners, his first stop.
The brand new plaza was cut from the forest like a frontier fort, and contained four small stores, each with large front windows. Just behind the plaza on the Farmington Road, he noticed a small cemetery, also cut out of the forest, with what appeared to be a brand new sign: Rhode Island Historical Cemetery #6613, Cheponaug.
He looked at the cemetery for a moment, then went into the dry cleaners where he hung up a poster. His next stop was the pizza shop. He decided to save the convenience store for last, since he needed a gallon of milk, so he went into Annie’s Antiques store next.
The antique store looked out of place in the new plaza. A bell rigged to the door signaled his entrance. An old woman nodded to him from a rocking chair behind the counter as he quickly surveyed the assortment of collectibles that included everything from Victorian furniture to what claimed to be authentic Indian arrowheads.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked?
He looked around quickly and decided that he might like to browse around in the shop some day when he had more time. A large bookcase filled with old volumes caught his eye, and he wondered what treasures might be hidden there.
“Ah...yes,” he said, still looking around the shop. “Could I please hang this poster in your window? I’m new in the area and our cat is missing.”
The old woman got out of the rocking chair and hobbled over, leaning on a cane that looked even older than she was.
“You’re welcome to hang it,” she said. “But I suspect more people would see it in the Dairy Mart next door.”
“Thank you,” he said and taped it to the window. “I’d planned on hanging one there, too.”
“Of course, I don’t expect it’ll do much good.”
He looked at her curiously.
“Why not?”
She sighed. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s pet has disappeared into these woods. Strange things a-goin’ on. Ever since that guy got run over by his bulldozer about a year or so ago.”
“What?” Erik was beginning to think this old woman was senile.
She laughed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you none. I’m just an old lady with too many memories and too many stories to tell. Name’s Annie Jacques.”
“Erik Hunter,” he said, and shook her hand. It was cold, frail, and bony, but it radiated friendliness.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hunter.”
“You live in the area?”
“Bout
