Quarrel with the Moon Read online

  Despite the closeness of the night, no one was sitting on the front porch. Josh had started up the steps when he heard someone whisper his name. "Josh! Over here!" He turned and saw Roma, half hidden in the silvery tresses of the willow tree. He ran to her.

  They embraced, holding each other tightly. Josh covered Roma's face and neck with biting kisses. "What are you doing out here?"

  "Waitin' for you."

  "Why aren't you inside?"

  "She's in there." Roma slid her hands down to his buttocks and squeezed. "What's that?" she asked, feeling the outline of the bottle in his back pocket.

  "Perfume," Josh stammered.

  "You brung me a present!" Josh didn't tell her otherwise. He turned around and let her dig the bottle out of his pocket.

  Roma held the bottle up to the moonlight. "Oh, it's so pretty. How do you say it?"

  "Je Reviens. It's French. It means 'I will return.'"

  "Je Reviens," Roma mispronounced. She opened the bottle and smelled. "Josh, it's wonderful. I never had such a sweet present ... never." She kissed him passionately and pressed her body against his. Immediately Josh became aroused. Roma slipped her hand down to his crotch. "We'll save that for later," she murmured.

  "I hope I can get away tonight."

  "You got to. I'll be waitin' for you."

  "I'll go in first, Roma."

  "Yes, that's smart. An' I'll come in shortly. Like I was just arrivin'."

  Josh stood on the porch, composing himself. Under the willow, Roma doused herself liberally with the perfume.

  In the parlor the quilting frame was suspended from the ceiling. The women were gathered around it, working on a quilt of the Flying Bird design. Avarilla, her work glasses balanced on the tip of her nose, was sewing a large triangle into place. Cresta, next to her, was sewing a smaller triangle onto a larger one. Using cardboard patterns, Sissy was carefully cutting scraps of fabric into triangle shapes with a huge pair of shears. Josh stood in the doorway, smiling to himself. Cresta looked so out of place. He had never known she could sew.

  Sissy was the first to see him. "Here's Josh," she cried gaily.

  Avarilla got to her feet. "Goodness, I was hopin' you'd be back before dark. Let me fix you some dinner."

  "No thanks, Aunt Avvie, I'm not hungry." He smiled at Cresta. "You're looking better, love." Cresta gave him a controlled smile in return.

  "I made her sit in the sun today," explained Avarilla, "Sunshine's a great healer." She stroked Cresta's hair with affection.

  "I'm helping make a quilt," Cresta said brightly.

  "Quilt, quilt," Sissy crooned.

  "It's a Flying Bird design," Cresta went on. "See the triangles? Don't they somehow resemble birds in flight?"

  Josh kissed Cresta's forehead. "You seem to be feeling better too."

  "Yes, a whole lot better."

  Slamming the screen door, Roma called, "I'm here." She entered the parlor and smiled sweetly at everyone.

  "I was just about to make coffee," said Avarilla. "Roma, you do it for me."

  "Of course, Aunt Avvie," Roma replied. "Now, who wants coffee?"

  Everybody did, including Sissy. Avarilla whispered to Roma, "Make Sissy's mostly milk." Then louder, "An' there's some fresh ginger cookies in that jar on top of the cabinet. Fill up a plate of those, too."

  Roma went into the kitchen. As she worked, she called to Avarilla: "I stopped by for Jewell. I thought she might want to come, but she wasn't in."

  "She might have hiked over to her sister's in Cheat Holler," said Avarilla. "Times like this, she probably wants the comfort of her family."

  Josh looked at his feet.

  Roma began serving the coffee. First Josh, since he was the only man in the room, then Sissy, then Avarilla, and finally Cresta. Cresta looked up to thank her and was suddenly aware of her scent.

  "What a nice perfume," she said drily. Roma smiled thinly and went to fetch the cookies.

  Cresta looked at Josh, who was standing in the doorway looking at Roma. Once again the sharp pangs of jealousy cut through her. She forced her attentions back to the quilt and made up her mind that she was going to test Josh's love later that night.

  ***

  Josh rolled off of Cresta and murmured into the pillow. "I'm sorry, I'm just too worn out."

  Cresta was filled with hurt and anger. She balled her hands into fists and began hitting Josh on the back. "Get out! Go sleep in the living room or wherever you want! You'd rather be with that mountain slut than me!"

  "Cresta ... don't."

  "Get out!" she screamed and burst into tears.

  Josh climbed out of bed and stood looking at Cresta. "Why are you carrying on like this?"

  "I saw what I saw, and I smelled what I smelled. Did she go to Jericho Falls? Or did you bring the perfume back with you?"

  "Of course she didn't go with me. And I didn't bring her anything."

  Cresta sat up in bed. "What do you think I am, Loony Tunes? Roma was wearing Je Reviens. That's my scent."

  "I didn't notice."

  "Didn't notice?" growled Cresta. "Didn't notice? You always compliment me when I wear it. Always. I will return. Hah! That's sure as hell prophetic." She threw a pillow at him.

  Josh ducked. "I'm too tired to fight, Cresta."

  "Apparently you're too tired for anything." Her voice dripped sarcasm.

  Josh bent over, picked up the pillow and dropped it back on the bed. "I can't deal with you when you're in your moods." He walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Cresta lay back on the bed clutching the pillow. If she was going to get any sleep she would have to take a Valium. She slid her hand between the mattress and the box spring and withdrew the nearly empty bottle. She swallowed the pill without water and lay back.

  I could be wrong about Josh and Roma, she thought. The perfume could have been a coincidence. Sure, but the looks they give one another are real enough. Oh God, please let me be wrong. I don't want to lose Josh and I don't want to drive him away. I love him so much. Please, God, let me be wrong.

  Then, like a little girl, she folded her hands beneath the covers in prayer.

  ***

  Something was scratching on the door of the camper. Josh, disturbed by the noise, lifted his head sleepily. The scratching became louder and then it abruptly stopped. He opened his eyes and glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly two A.M. The scratching began again, with renewed vigor. Josh sat up and rubbed his temples. The noise stopped. Nude, he padded across the floor and opened the door. There was no one there. The moon was so bright that it hurt his eyes. He started to close the door; then he knelt and touched the deep scratches in its metal. The metal was warm where the paint had been scraped away. Puzzled, he stood up and looked toward the woods.

  The sultry night air surrounded him like a lover's embrace. For a moment he imagined he was lolling in a tub of warm water. Roma's tub. He stepped onto the ground. The earth, soft and warm beneath his feet, seemed to infuse him with a sudden vitality. The sounds of the night beckoned him. Josh walked past the entrance to the Thicket. The night sounds were louder now, the air warmer and permeated with an intoxicating aroma. A mixture of evergreen, moss and honeysuckle. And something else.

  Je Reviens - I will return.

  Josh reached the edge of the forest and began running through the black numinous void. Leaves stirred around his legs, stones tore his feet and branches scratched his flesh. He stopped to catch his breath. His heart was pounding more blood than his veins could handle. Leaning against the base of an elm tree, he inhaled deeply. The scent of the perfume was stronger than ever. Josh continued on until he reached the edge of the path which led to the Lookout.

  The effulgent moon, floating on a swell of clouds, was traveling westerly like a solitary ship on an endless voyage. Josh blinked and shielded his eyes against the harsh light as he groped his way toward the swinging bridge. He stopped at the end of the path and let the delirious scent of the perfume wash over
him.

  Standing beyond the bridge, near the edge of the giant boulder, was Roma. She was nude, bathed in moonlight and framed by the twisted branches of two dead trees. Josh made his way across the swinging bridge toward her outstretched arms.

  And when they touched it was like two stars colliding.

  18

  It was a sleepless night for many in Chestnut Ridge. The gibbous moon, humpbacked and a loathsome yellow, cast a repellent glow which dispelled nearly every shadow.

  A series of howls, carried through the mountains on the back of the wind, punctured the stillness.

  ***

  Reverend Hooper, stretched out on a pew, was aroused from his tortured dreams. As he lifted his head, his eyes became wide circles of fear. He knew that what had happened so many times before was about to happen again. He righted himself and lowered his feet carefully to the floor. The serpents slithered out of his way.

  He walked down the aisle, stepped over the altar railing and made his way toward the ladder in front of the stained-glass window. His hands gripped the rungs, but he could not bring himself to climb. And yet, he must. If he did not climb the ladder and serve as witness to the blasphemy, he would be rejecting his duties. The preacher took a deep breath. "The Lord said, ye shall be witnesses unto Me."

  He began to ascend. With each step he prayed for the courage and the stamina to see him through one more night of horror. He reached the top rung; his face was but a foot from Christ's stained-glass countenance.

  The sulphurous moon lit up the cemetery as brightly as a stage setting. The creatures had gathered in a far section of the burying place, the section that was still used. The wooden marker on Faye Brooks' grave had been uprooted and cast aside. The grave had been dug up and the coffin exhumed. It now lay on its side, open and empty. The shredded lining had been scattered over the dead grass. The cadaver was serving as a toy, a plaything, for some sort of terrible ritual now in progress. Two of the beasts had caught Faye's blood-clotted hair between their snarling jaws and were dragging the body around the graveyard. The others ran behind the moving cadaver, yelping and snapping at the tattered flesh and trailing entrails.

  Reverend Hooper closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Oh, God, what do you want of me?" he wailed. He straightened up on the ladder and, in supplication, thrust out his arms so that they were perpendicular to his body. The harsh moonlight streaming through the multicolored window cast the preacher's shadow across the floor. Then he looked down and saw his silhouette. It was the sign of the cross. A rattlesnake, as thick as a man's arm, crawled across the shadow and the holy pattern was destroyed.

  ***

  The piercing howls infiltrated Sissy's dream and altered it, turning it into a nightmare.

  The flowered pathway suddenly twisted, leading her into a grove of skeletal trees. Sissy knew with heart-rending certainty that she was lost. The contrast between the cheery brightness of the flower-drenched path and the cool darkness of the grove was absolute. It was like stepping into a pit. The trees seemed to enfold themselves behind her. The darkness pressed upon her; the air became thicker and harder to breathe.

  A black rain began to fall. The twigs, limbs and trunks of the trees were eaten away.

  Danger!

  She had to find shelter from the rain. She began running, stumbled over a root, but continued on. The stinging rain was flung into her face and further impeded her sense of direction. Then she saw it ... the outline of the coal tipple, even blacker than the black sky. She hadn't realized she'd come this far. That part of the mountain was forbidden to her.

  Sissy was frightened. She called out to her mother and then to her husband, Ben. She began crying, her tears mixing with the rain. She had forgotten that Ben was dead, he'd gone off to the war and hadn't come back. There was no one to tell her what to do.

  Sissy took a step toward the opening of the mine and then ran headlong with all the speed she could muster. She crawled inside, grateful to be safe and dry. She sat on a pillow of dead leaves, her knees drawn up to her chin, and wished the storm away. A soft sound, discernible above the wind and the rain, caused her to turn around. She strained her eyes in the darkness, watching the shadows.

  One shadow extricated itself from the others and began taking on a distinct form - that of a man. No, not quite a man. The head was lower than the back, the arms were long and trailed to the ground. And even as it came nearer to the faint source of light, it remained a shadow, its flesh dark, its features indistinct. Only the eyes were definite. Large, yellow and blazing, like brush fires seen from far away. But they weren't far away, they were close and coming closer.

  Trembling with fright, Sissy clutched herself tighter.

  It reached out to touch her. Sissy stiffened. Its hand made her flesh crawl because it wasn't like a hand at all, it was more like a paw.

  Sissy woke up. The dream always ended in exactly the same place. Her instincts told her that perhaps it was not just a dream. Perhaps it was something more. She desperately wanted to understand. Why did it always stop when she was sure there was more? She'd questioned her mother; Avarilla had told her to put it out of her head. But how could she forget it? She made up her mind to ask someone else about the dream. Didn't all stories have an ending? And she had to know the ending of this one. Perhaps she would ask Alex. Yes, she would ask Alex. He was her friend, he would explain things to her.

  ***

  Heavy woven drapes shielded Sophie's bedroom from the moonlight. The small kerosene lamp which she kept burning throughout the night had gone out, and the room was in total darkness. It was impossible for her to read her alarm clock, but Sophie reckoned it must be about three o'clock in the morning. Her ears caught the sound she was waiting for.

  There it was again - the sharp creak of a floorboard. Sophie's worst fears were confirmed. Someone was in the store.

  She lay frozen in bed for another minute; then she slipped out of bed and eased the drapes open. The metal hooks made a harsh sound. She sucked in her breath. The room was suddenly filled with the jaundiced moonlight. Shuddering, she tiptoed to her closet, eased the door open and felt inside for her husband's shotgun. It had not been used or cleaned since his disappearance, although it was still loaded. Sophie silently prayed that she would not have to use it.

  Mustering her courage, Sophie crept into her kitchen, holding the shotgun. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the pale strip of light under the curtains leading to the store. At least the kerosene lantern in there still burned - her guardian against the night.

  The nose of the shotgun went through the feed-sack curtains, then Sophie's white-knuckled hands, and finally her face.

  "I've got a gun," she announced in a shrill voice, her eyes darting wildly about. The place appeared to be empty and she relaxed somewhat. It was just her imagination working overtime. She stepped into the room and had started to smile when she saw what looked like a dustrag lying on the counter. Had she left one there? She hadn't dusted that day. Still, she had to admit that she didn't remember things as clearly as she used to when she was ... well, younger. Sophie's tidiness overcame her fear. She leaned the shotgun against the wall and went to clear away the object.

  Sophie smelled death before she saw it, the sour stench stinging her nostrils.

  On the counter lay the deformed chicken she heard the children talk about, the one which had been born with two heads. Now both hung limply from necks which had been wrung. Tied to each broken neck was a wrinkled length of ribbon. Black satin. Nine inches in length. Two inches in width. Fifteen cents worth.

  ***

  The gnarled trees were groaning and bending against the wind in chorus; a row of curtseying witches.

  Roma looked down at Josh. His eyes burned hot from narrow slits, his mouth was wet and slack. She smiled, revealing a moist tongue and glistening white teeth. She began moving her pelvis. Josh groaned. Roma threw back her head in triumph. She reveled in being in the dominant position. She increased the pace of her mov
ements, and Josh bared his teeth in ecstacy. He began to pant, sucking in the sultry night air as heedlessly as a drowning man sucks in water. Roma raised herself higher, arched her back and, moving her hips in a circular motion, thrust herself downwards. She rubbed her breasts with her left hand, roughly dragging the palm across her swollen nipples. Her right hand pressed against Josh's chest. His heart beat wildly beneath it like a caught bird.

  Roma flexed her fingers, curved them downwards and let her sharp nails penetrate his skin. She raked her nails down his chest. Josh's flesh was rent and five thin welts of blood appeared. Roma lowered her head and licked the blood flow. Then she fell upon him, pressing her red, red mouth against his.

  ***

  The saffron moonlight paled to cream as dawn chased away the night. Cresta licked her dry lips, then opened her eyes. Her mouth and throat were parched. It was her particular side effect from taking Valium. She lifted her head; it felt wrapped in cotton batting. She staggered into the kitchen to the refrigerator, withdrew a Tab and drank about a third of it before noticing that Josh was missing from the couch. Furthermore, the door was wide open. She went to the door. The light made her wince. The prints of Josh's bare feet marked the ground. Also the prints of something else - an animal, perhaps a large dog.

  "Josh?" She followed his footprints through the woods. When she reached the last trees before the hanging bridge, she saw them.

  The rising sun cast them in silhouette. They were standing locked in a passionate embrace. Cresta's hands flew to her mouth and muffled the cry which rose in her throat. Her eyes stung with hot tears. "Josh, oh Josh," she whispered.

  She wanted to be sick, but her body would not allow her the physical release. Blinded by her tears, she ran back to the camper, slamming into the side of the vehicle. She felt for the open door, found it, and stumbled inside.

  Her one thought was flight. She had to get away from Josh. From Roma. From the Ridge. Cresta felt ashamed, ashamed that she had put so much love and effort into a relationship which she should have known was doomed from the beginning. Finally she was left with this. She had loved Josh, and he had betrayed her. Now what was she going to do?