weaving road. “On OSR
you will pass a large burial ground on the left, take the first road
after you pass it. The road is unmarked and unpaved, so you have to
keep an eye out for it. About 5 miles down, you will see the
Kingbird’s cottage . . . I hope this helps.” She handed the
napkin-map to Tony.
Tony had thanked
Jennifer for her time, got in his car, and followed the map out of
Salamanca. He had found the unmarked road with little trouble,
although, five miles into the wilderness there wasn’t any sign of
domicile. He worried he was on the wrong road, or that Jennifer sent
him astray. Barren trees seemed to shrug in an absurd fashion, as if
clueless to the validity of the napkin-map. After seven miles he
finally saw the ominous structure sitting alone in the wilderness.
* * *
The Cutlass was
parked up front, glossed over in sheen of melted ice, making the
exterior candy-wet like black licorice. The car didn’t have a speck
of rust; Tony guessed that the roads didn’t get salted, or plowed
very often on this part of the reservation, hence the large snow
chains on the tires.
Tony walked up a small
set of steps to the warped door of the cottage, and knocked three
times—no answer. He tried the doorknob. It opened. He peeked
through. “Is anybody home?” he said through the opening.
Apprehensions of crossing the Kingbird threshold uninvited stopped
him from going further. The only
welcome I’m likely to receive is a shotgun pointed at my face .
Around the backside of
the house, he found a long wooden barn of much older construction.
Its entry cracked open, and Tony saw matted snow stained blush,
trailed inside. He went over—the door let out a slow creak,
followed by a dog’s bark.
“Cody, stay,” a
brusque voice said.
“Mr. Kingbird?
Hello?” Tony peered around the door timidly, not sure what to
expect. He didn’t have much field experience in the way of case
work, much less dropping in on complete strangers unannounced.
“Yeah I’m here.
C’mon in, I won’t bite,” Elias replied.
Tony walked in; he saw
the tall man had his back to him, submersed in the disembowelment of
the deer carcass before him. A beagle sat at the man’s feet with
its tail wagging excitedly.
Tony introduced
himself, and went to shake the man’s hand.
“Maybe next time,”
Elias turned and looked down at wet blood on his hand. The man’s
face was weathered but not unkind; he had high cheekbones and deep
smile-lines in the creases of his eyes. Jet black hair fell halfway
down his back in a braid. Old blood stained the sleeves of his fur
lined parka. “I think I know why you’re here, but I can’t help
you,” He turned back to his work.
Tony wasn’t sure if
someone tipped Elias off, or if the guilt got to the man. “Listen,
it’s not my intention to send her back to you, I’m just looking
for some information. There was an incident last night, and she hurt
herself pretty badly. We are just looking for some insight on how to
help her—we don’t even know her name,”
“Her name is
Angeni—there is no helping her. She had been lost to us long ago.”
Tony found pain in his
face. “She is your grandmother?”
“Was told to be my
great grandmother, over one-hundred and thirty years old.” Elias
took off his gloves and wiped his hands on an old rag. He pulled out
a hand rolled cigarette from an inside pocket of his parka. When lit,
it introduced the sweet smell of fresh tobacco into the stale
smelling barn. “Darkness within keeps her alive. It feeds her flesh
from the minds of the vulnerable.”
“I’m not sure I
follow.”
“As a young woman,
Angeni was said to be gifted with a far reaching mind and a strong
connection to the old spirits. One day she received word that her
husband died in an accident, and she became grief stricken, her mind
began to bend.” Elias took a hard pull form his cigarette. His
slightly downcast expression turned into a full grimace. “An
Englishman fooled her into
you will pass a large burial ground on the left, take the first road
after you pass it. The road is unmarked and unpaved, so you have to
keep an eye out for it. About 5 miles down, you will see the
Kingbird’s cottage . . . I hope this helps.” She handed the
napkin-map to Tony.
Tony had thanked
Jennifer for her time, got in his car, and followed the map out of
Salamanca. He had found the unmarked road with little trouble,
although, five miles into the wilderness there wasn’t any sign of
domicile. He worried he was on the wrong road, or that Jennifer sent
him astray. Barren trees seemed to shrug in an absurd fashion, as if
clueless to the validity of the napkin-map. After seven miles he
finally saw the ominous structure sitting alone in the wilderness.
* * *
The Cutlass was
parked up front, glossed over in sheen of melted ice, making the
exterior candy-wet like black licorice. The car didn’t have a speck
of rust; Tony guessed that the roads didn’t get salted, or plowed
very often on this part of the reservation, hence the large snow
chains on the tires.
Tony walked up a small
set of steps to the warped door of the cottage, and knocked three
times—no answer. He tried the doorknob. It opened. He peeked
through. “Is anybody home?” he said through the opening.
Apprehensions of crossing the Kingbird threshold uninvited stopped
him from going further. The only
welcome I’m likely to receive is a shotgun pointed at my face .
Around the backside of
the house, he found a long wooden barn of much older construction.
Its entry cracked open, and Tony saw matted snow stained blush,
trailed inside. He went over—the door let out a slow creak,
followed by a dog’s bark.
“Cody, stay,” a
brusque voice said.
“Mr. Kingbird?
Hello?” Tony peered around the door timidly, not sure what to
expect. He didn’t have much field experience in the way of case
work, much less dropping in on complete strangers unannounced.
“Yeah I’m here.
C’mon in, I won’t bite,” Elias replied.
Tony walked in; he saw
the tall man had his back to him, submersed in the disembowelment of
the deer carcass before him. A beagle sat at the man’s feet with
its tail wagging excitedly.
Tony introduced
himself, and went to shake the man’s hand.
“Maybe next time,”
Elias turned and looked down at wet blood on his hand. The man’s
face was weathered but not unkind; he had high cheekbones and deep
smile-lines in the creases of his eyes. Jet black hair fell halfway
down his back in a braid. Old blood stained the sleeves of his fur
lined parka. “I think I know why you’re here, but I can’t help
you,” He turned back to his work.
Tony wasn’t sure if
someone tipped Elias off, or if the guilt got to the man. “Listen,
it’s not my intention to send her back to you, I’m just looking
for some information. There was an incident last night, and she hurt
herself pretty badly. We are just looking for some insight on how to
help her—we don’t even know her name,”
“Her name is
Angeni—there is no helping her. She had been lost to us long ago.”
Tony found pain in his
face. “She is your grandmother?”
“Was told to be my
great grandmother, over one-hundred and thirty years old.” Elias
took off his gloves and wiped his hands on an old rag. He pulled out
a hand rolled cigarette from an inside pocket of his parka. When lit,
it introduced the sweet smell of fresh tobacco into the stale
smelling barn. “Darkness within keeps her alive. It feeds her flesh
from the minds of the vulnerable.”
“I’m not sure I
follow.”
“As a young woman,
Angeni was said to be gifted with a far reaching mind and a strong
connection to the old spirits. One day she received word that her
husband died in an accident, and she became grief stricken, her mind
began to bend.” Elias took a hard pull form his cigarette. His
slightly downcast expression turned into a full grimace. “An
Englishman fooled her into
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