Scary Creek (24 page)

“Then how do you know me?” I replied. “I’ve only been
here a few days.”

“My actions are dictated to me by the Lord. He told me
to find you and enlist your assistance.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I
can’t assist you; I can’t even help myself.”

“This town is in the grip of Satan,” he said. “It is
up to us to set it free.”

If a casual worship ceremony might result in living
one's life in the grip of Satan, or attending a mountain hootenanny and joke
fest, I was rooting for the joke fest.

“How do you propose to do that,” I asked, “to liberate
a town from the grip of Satan?”

“Each in his own way, Mr. Case.”

“That’s not an answer,” I said, “what is your way?”

“Prayer and preaching.”

“Prayer and preaching? Does the help you are
soliciting come in the form of a cash donation, or a few prayers?”

“It’s the only way I know,” he said piously.

“What if your way doesn’t work? Maybe the townsmen and
women are content to struggle on in Satan’s grip; what am I supposed to do, abandon
my haunted house?”

“Whatever you do best, Mr. Case.”

“I’m a landlord, Mr. Thacker, a miserable,
self-indulgent slum landlord with absolutely no penchant for doing the Lord’s
work.”

A bright white corona -- cleansed by the recent rain
-- wreathed George Thacker’s glistening indolent face.

“I too was once a back-slider, Mr. Case, and a drunken
conniving thief. I did it legally in a court of law. If I can change, so can
you.”

“You’re a lawyer?” I asked.

“...Was a lawyer, now I bring the ‘word’ to those who
have ignored or forgotten it.”

A faint gleam in his eye harkened back to days of
milking opportunities.  Alcohol and deprivation, however, had dulled that
gleam.

“You want some coffee, Mr. Thacker?”

“I would be honored to share with you.”

I fixed coffee for both of us and we agreed to call
each other by our first names.

“George, I don’t know if what you say is true; you might
be working with a higher authority, but how did you get my name, or know where
to find me? Will you straighten me out?”

George doused his coffee with so much cream and sugar
that I regretted offering it.

“I was called by the Lord to loosen the grip of Satan
on this community. When I ran into trouble, he told me to look you up. I assume
‘He’ thinks you’re on to something.”

I giggled nervously, restraining dangerous levels of
hysteria.

“George, if you said that to anyone but me, they’d
take you to the county funny farm.”

He nodded.  “That’s why I came to you.”

“How did you find me?”

“He said you were from out of town.”

I nodded. I didn’t need to ask who ‘He’ was. “You
really talk to him?”

He nodded. “I often talk to him two of three times a
day, sometimes more.”

“And he talks back?”

George grinned. “Most of the time. Sometimes he
doesn’t come straight to the point. He beats around the bush, makes me use my
imagination, look for signs and symbols, but eventually I discover what I have
to do.”

“You want a donut?” I asked.

He replied with a nod. I rifled though the cupboard
for the pack of day-old donuts I bought three weeks ago. They were a bit
crusty, but George didn’t mind.

“The Lord actually told you to look me up, right? He
said, go out and find Charles Case from Washington D.C.”

George nodded while exploring the scaling topography
of the leaden donuts.

“Just exactly how did ‘He’ say it?” I asked.

His eyes narrowed in concentration while he licked the
hardened flakes of confectionary sugar off his fingertips. “He said: ‘George, I
know you got trouble down there, but you’re not alone. There is another man who
is also deeply involved in the problem. I suggest you make an effort to find
him. He’s in town now and involved in something that’s related to the work you
are ‘a doin’ for me.”

“A doin’? The Lord said, a’ doin’?”

George helped himself to another donut.  “He sometimes
talks in vernacular. It all depends on when and where I contact him. You don’t
think he spoke in Latin, English or Italian to Moses, do you?”

I said I never really thought about it.  “George, how
long have you been in Vandalia?” I asked, concerned that he might be an escaped
lunatic, or a clever but bored sociopath outpatient on leave from the hospital.

“About six weeks,” he replied.

“Where are you staying?”

“I’m in the Phoenix Hotel, down the street and around
the corner.”

“If you’re a preacher, why aren’t some of your fellow
preachers rallying around you? There must be a church on every corner. I’ve
never seen so many churches in one small town.”

 George smiled prophetically. “That’s one of the first
signs a town has fallen from grace. One of each denomination is usually enough,
but in this town, it is possible to find two, three and sometimes four of the
same kind. They can’t agree on anything, not even in a proper way to worship,
which simply means they aren’t interested in anything but real estate and managing
stock portfolios.”

“Have you talked to them?” I asked.

“The first thing I did when I got here was let them know
my plan. I tried to enlist their help, but the only way they would agree was if
I promised to leave on the next bus. When I told them I was here to stay, they
slammed the door and told me not to come back.”

“I thought churches had funds for recluse indigents?”

“They do, but not for me. Besides, I’m not indigent.”

“You have money?”

He shook his head.  “No, I have something better than
money; I have the Lord on my side, and the Lord always provides.”

“When’s the last time the Lord provided a good meal?”

He smiled and raised a stale donut to his lips.

“Where do you do your preaching?” I asked.

“My hotel room, but I guess all that’s going to change
now that we’re working together.”

I frowned.  “We’re not working together,” I said.
“I’ve got a housing problem to solve, and I don’t see how it will help you.”

“The Ryder house?” He asked.

I stared in silence. “How did you know?” Before he
could answer, I silenced him with a wave of my hand. “Never mind, it’s probably
public information by now.”

He fished another donut from the bag. “I hear it’s
haunted,” George said.

“Does that mean anything to you?” I asked.

He shook his head again. “Not as long as I’m right
with the Lord.”

“Would you like to give me a hand out there? I’ve got
a job to do and it’s going to take two or three good men.”

“I’m one of them,” he said enthusiastically.

“Good,” I replied, “then I’ll see you bright and early
tomorrow.”

He wiped his fingertips with a napkin and sprang to
his feet. “What time?”

We synchronized our watches and then he took my hand
firmly in his. There was strength in his grip I had underestimated. He could
have damaged my fingers with a little effort. He suddenly looked taller and in
greater control than I had imagined.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

I thanked him and led him to the door. Inflated by his
potential as a warrior in this comic cosmic battle, I invited him to “arrive early
tomorrow and we could finish the donuts and coffee.”

“Thank you, and may the Lord watch over you.”

It was the first time since my caregivers had
abandoned me to daycare that anyone had voiced actual concern for my spiritual well-being.
I imagined that George was sincere, but slightly off center. There was no doubt
in my mind that I would sleep well tonight. I closed the door and stretched out
on the bed. My mission had gained a little more credibility.

My bed was still unmade from the day’s activities with
Connie. Her odors were lingering about the sheets and blankets. I rooted
through them for her fragrance. As I drifted off to asleep, I found her again
in my dreams.

Chapter Twenty-One

  I slept peacefully through the night and woke with
the conviction that things were getting better. It was an old proverb, but it
made me feel timeless and less subject to the whims of fate. The old ways were
still intact, still visible beneath the new. If there
is
anything to
fear, it has always been there.

George arrived shortly after I finished shaving. I had
water boiling on the propane stove and bread in the toaster. He was wearing the
same suit, but had changed his shirt. It was light blue and neatly pressed. A
string tie was hanging around his neck.

“Morning,” I said letting him in.

He was beaming, nearly glowering. He looked more
respectable than he
had
the night before.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Soundly, thank you,” I replied.

He nodded vigorously. “I started praying last night.
Things are going to be al
l
right from now on; I know it.”

I thanked him
for his prayers and t
hen added as an
afterthought.
 
“George, you can pray all you want, night and day if
you wish, I don’t care;  in fact, I will probably appreciate it, but if you
don’t mind, I’d rather not hear about it.  I believe a man should resolve some
things in his heart. If you persist, I’m going to insist you stay away from my
RV.”

He continued his self-righteous glowering in silence.
I poured coffee and put toast and a jar of pineapple marmalade on the table. It
was a few months old and I was not sure how I had acquired it. I disliked
pineapple preserves, jellies and jams, and would have never consciously
purchased it. It was something that just happened to appear in the ‘frig’ one
day and never went away. It was tough and rubbery with age and had acquired a resistance
to bread and knives. George managed somehow to spread it on some toast.

“Did you notice if Virgil was in his office this
morning?” I asked.

He nodded and pointed toward the office with his
coffee mug.

“He has some interest in the Ryder house and I invited
him along.”

George kept nodding his approval while digging and
eating spoonfuls of pineapple out of the jar.

“Is that where we’re going, to the Ryder house?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I’m going to open a grave.”

George stopped eating and stared.  “Is that legal? I
mean, can you do that?”

“It’s on my property,” I said. “I don’t see why not.
Besides, I have reason to believe the bodies in the graveyard are not deep
enough, which creates a health problem. Then again, I want to relocate the graveyard.
It’s just a little too close to the house for my peace of mind.”

George appeared to have lost interest in the toast and
coffee.

“That’s not what I thought you had in mind.”

“I didn’t say I had anything in mind.”

“I thought you were planning on doing something on the
order of…”

“…Of what? A prayer meeting so you can pass the hat.  How
about a nice quiet little exorcism?”

I thought it was a good idea, but George shook his
head vigorously.

“No, I thought you were going to sanctify the hospital.”

“Hell, George, there’s nothing wrong with that
hospital. People cannot help themselves when they go crazy. It’s not their
fault. You can’t shake a psaltery at a sanitarium and make everyone sane and
sanitary. It just doesn’t work that way.”

His voice was full of resignation.  “I know, but I was
hoping you might know something that I didn’t. But if the Lord sees fit…”

“George, I told you…”

“Yes, yes, I know, it won’t happen again. All right,
I’ll go along with you, until I have a chance to learn what’s happening. I know
Satan is a powerful force, and if he’s got as firm a grip on that house as he
has on the county…”

“I thought you said you weren’t afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” he said. “I’ll go when and where the
Lord calls, but how do I know he’s working through you?”

I could not restrain a theosophical smile.

“Don’t ask me, George; you came looking for me,
remember?”

I locked up the van, walked around to the front of the
building and entered Virgil’s office. He was with a girl just out of high
school. He was instructing her in the proper procedure for filing papers. She
hung on every word. He gave her a folder and met me half way.

“She’s trying too hard,” he said. “If she’d relax, it
would come much easier. But she’s desperate for the job.”

Virgil looked George over carefully, wondering why he
had never seen him in town. I couldn’t help wondering if he sensed the narrow
spectrum of madness seated in the corner of George’s heart, or if he appeared
as a potential home buyer with no problems other than making a final mortgage
payment before his arteries hardened and stopped his clock.