A lunatic moon

Chapter 12 - A new moon

Sunday, August 19th, 1984

He woke up early, excited to go fishing. He dug a few worms out of the garden and grabbed his fishing rod and tackle box. He left a note for his brothers in case they wanted to join him and he started walking down to Prosser's pond. The sky was clear and the birds were busy singing and chirping. A couple of robins at opposite ends of town were singing their morning song, apparently in friendly competition with one another. It was one of those late summer days that were absolutely perfect. The sky itself held a day long promise of nothing but blue. Maybe, just maybe a few puffy shaped clouds in the afternoon for interest, in case you wanted to pretend they were in the shape of something funny, like a rabbit with long ears, or a mouse on a skateboard. Something goofy like that.

This was exactly what he'd been dreaming of while he was locked up in the PAC but he put that out of his mind and turned down the dirt and gravel, back street that branched off onto a tractor path leading past the spring fed irrigation pond. He pushed through the golden rod and queen anne's lace, mindful of the tiny green spittle bugs, that clustered on the stems in little gobs of spit. This time of year there were so many, if you weren't careful you'd end up with them plastered all over your arm.

It was clear it was going to be a good day for fishing. the grass was high, the crickets were buzzing a thousand songs and he could hear the occasional croak of a frog. If you knew what to listen for and paid attention, you could hear it talking to you. The weeds, the pond, the trees, the air, they all had something to say and they were telling Danny to hurry up and cast his line.The bass were waiting.

He sat there fishing and smoking having a great time of it. He reeled in his hook and lay back on the grassy slope at the edge of the pond. There was no rush whatsoever and he was already going through his worms pretty quickly. He watched the flying bugs passing over his inert body as they went about their various missions. Different bugs doing different things. He noted each species as they went by. Here a white cabbage moth, there a dragon fly, a honey bee, some kind of buzzing beetle, a fat blue bottle, a yellow jacket looking for rotting pears, dropping from trees that edged the one side of the pond. As he lay there feeling at one with it all, he gradually became aware of a prescence. Something didn't belong and he felt like he was being watched.

Sitting up with a grunt he brushed dry grass from his hair and looked around. He couldn't see anyone, but it was there. That uncomfortable prescence. He was certain of it and it was putting a damper on his mood. He sent his mind out searching and found it. They were behind him and it was a person, not far and they were spying on him.

Annoyed, he spoke up. "I know you're there, so show yourself!" Nothing. He wasn't about to be taken for a fool though and the fact that they continued to be sneaky was just making him angrier.

"Alright I said. I know you're there. I can hear you, so just come on out!" Still nothing, but he heard a rustling in the grass, so he stood up and turned around to face whoever it was. They were hiding, obviously squatting in the tall grass. He wasn't positive who it was. It wasn't one of his brothers, he'd know for certain if it was one of them. The prescence was familiar and decidedly unwelcome, but he just couldn't put his finger on their name. So he tried a bluff.

"I can see you for fuck's sake! So you may as well just stand up!" It worked. There was a thick rustle of weeds, cracking twigs and a heavy groan as Gord Bennet stood up. He looked guilty, with a big old shit eating grin on his pasty round face. His cheeks were blotchy red with embarrassment, which he tried to shrug off with bravado.

"Wotcha doin' talkin' to yourself Danny" He blustered, crushing the wildflowers as he walked towards him.

Danny frowned, "Huh? What..?"

"I said, who are you talking to? You didn't know I was there, so you were just talking to yourself! Are you going crazy?" He chortled, clearly thinking he was being clever.

Danny just shook his head in exasperation. "Gord. I KNEW you were there. That's why I told you to show yourself! Are you stupid?"

"Yeah but you didn't know it was ME though!"

He pushed through the last of the weeds and stood on the tip of Danny's fishing rod.

"Hey! You wanna watch where you're standing? Jesus!" He bent down pushing against Gords leg, trying to stop him from breaking his rod.

"Oops. Sorr-eee!"

He lifted his foot, but now he was hooked so when he stepped away he dragged the rod through the grass.

"Oh my god! Hold on, you're fucking hooked now!" He knelt trying to pull the hook out of Gord's pant leg. This was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Being this close to Gord Bennet was almost more than he could bear.

"Well what are you doing putting your rod there then?" He asked stupidly, while looking down as Danny struugled with the hook.

No point in answering that one. With one final yank he got the hook free and reeled in the rest of the line. He carefully placed the rod on the other side so Gord wouldn't step on it again.

He turned facing Gord. "Why are you spying on me Gord?"

"I'm just joking around." He whined petulantly. "I saw you when you walked past my house, so I followed you.'

As if that made it perfectly fine then.

"So what, you thought you'd hide in the grass and jerk off while watching me fish? Is that it Gord? Were you whacking off back there?"

"No." He pouted. Then ignoring Danny's taunts, "Can I have a cast with your rod?"

"What? Are you serious? You mean the rod that you almost broke?"

"Yeah. Let me have a cast."

"No Gord. Why should I let you use my rod? You're back there sneaking around, spying on me. You come up here, step on my rod, almost break it and now you wanna use it? Fuck off."

He started walking around Danny to get to the fishing rod. "Come on. One cast."

Danny who knew better, knew that one cast would turn into a dozen and he'd be standing there watching Gord catching fish on HIS fishing rod...He put his forearm against Gord's chest and pushed him back. "You don't touch it Gord."

Gord liked the attention and made for the rod again. Danny pushed him back and he knew what was going to happen next. Gord put one foot forward and with both hands planted on Danny's chest tried to push him over onto his ass. Surprise, surprise Gord. He couldn't budge Danny at all, so he redoubled his efforts and with a loud "Unh!" Shoved Danny with all his might, but Danny was unmoved.

Danny was pissed off now. The mood was ruined. The Sun had gone into hiding and a cold wind kicked up, blowing ripples across the surface of the pond. Somewhere a bunch of pears thudded, as they left the tree and hit the ground. A lone frog croaked a warning and the crickets stopped cheering. It was getting dark. To Danny it seemed that the colour had drained from everything and he was seeing it all in black and white. Something in his face made Gord take a cautionary step back, but it was too late.

"You wanna fight me Gord? You gonna fight dirty and pull my hair, like that day at the cemetary? Maybe bite me?"

He smiled and his teeth felt sharp. Gord took a slow looping swing, his signature move and Danny caught it easily with his hand. He used it to pull Gord right up close so that their noses were almost touching.

"Get the fuck outta here shit heel." He hissed and with one hand between Gord's boy boobs and sent him flying backwards. He landed hard under an old tree where no grass grew and the ground was like concrete. The air whooshed out of him and he sat there on his butt, hurt and stunned.

"You hear me Gord Bennett? Get the fuck out of here. Now!" He took a few steps towards him and Gord scrambled to his feet gasping for breath. "You're an asshole." He moaned. "What's wrong with you?"

Danny smiled his sharp teeth again and the wind whipped his hair. Little whitecaps hurried across the pond. It grew darker still, like late evening.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with ME?! " He beckoned with the crook of his finger. "C'mere...Do you wanna find out?" And he laughed. It didn't even sound like himself. It made Gord move though. He started running and Danny thought that was very funny indeed. His maniacal laughter followed Gord halfway down the lane.

By the time Danny got home, the sun was back out, but his day was something less than perfect now. It was a good thing for Gord that he didn't run into him along the way. So much for control though. It hadn't taken much for him to lose it at the pond. For not the first time since finding Mike's shattered body, Danny really began to doubt his ability to remain sane in all of this...

Sergeant Cifford Bell and officer Sam Wright set up their clandestine surveillance project of Jean Duhamel. They hoped to use the property next door to his. It was about a half mile away and was ideal in that it was at the top of a gentle rise in the landscape offering a clear view through binoculars of his house and car. A decrepit, low, single story dwelling, existed as part of an ancient farmstead. It's fieldstone chimney looked as if it would come down in the next strong windstorm and the shingles, scattered about what remained of the roof, were curled up at the edges. Brittle, hundred year old, tar paper clung reluctantly to it's leeward walls while the walls facing the prevailing wind were bare sunbleached planks. It looked as if it had been long abandoned and the two cops believed it as such until they'd done a background check on the property taxes finding the payments current and up to date. They had been by a couple times already but had found nobody home. This time they were there to see if the owner, one George Dyment, had either passed very recently, or was extremely hard of hearing and had not heard them knocking. The property deed had his age listed at ninety two years old.

Bell and Sam stood at the door listening for any sounds inside. all they could hear were crickets and the tick of the cruiser's engine while it cooled in the fresh morning air. Somewhere a crow called, lonely and wanting. A short but stiff breeze ruffled both their hair. Bell nodded and Sam rapped loudly on the door.

"Mr. Dyment? anybody home?" Sam knocked again.

The door was a simple design made of double layered planks, bleached grey from years of Sun and season after season of harsh winters. It's hinges carried a heavy coating of rust, but at some point George Dyment, or someone else had installed a sturdy, new deadbolt lock. It had no doorknob, instead a basic thumb latch would permit entry. When Sam tried to open the door, it didn't budge an inch.

He knocked long and loud this time. "George! Mr. Dyment! Are you there? Do you need help?" He looked to Bell and shrugged.

"Let's do a walk around." Bell suggested and stuck his hands in his pockets.

When they passed the front window, Sam tried to peek in, but heavy curtains and plastic taped to the inside frame blocked his view. They rounded the corner brushing through waist high weeds. A few cows and goats were grazing in the pasture and a couple more were lying on the ground, underneath the roof of large shed with a trough of rainwater. They regarded Sam and Bell with indifference.

"Well there's animals still here, so he's gotta be around." Bell said looking around the pasture.

"Not necessarily." Sam said backing up when a goat came up to them chewing loudly. "They could probably survive out here indefinitely. As long as they have grass to graze on, they don't need anyone to come out and care for them. Right?" He looked to Bell.

Bell shrugged. "I guess...I don't really know. Farming isn't my forte, but you're probably right Sam."

They went around to the back door, carefully avoiding cow flops and manure that lay on the ground pretty much everywhere. The back door was identical to the front, in that it had a thumb latch to open it and a newer deadbolt lock. It didn't budge either. It had two back windows that were sealed up with black garbage bags. An old outhouse stood nearby and behind that there was a large trash heap. A burn barrel stood in the open on bare dirt with nothing else around it. A short distance away a heap of ashes covered the ground. Sam grabbed an old rusty rake leaning against the house and started poking in the heap of old ashes. He turned up a metal belt buckle and other steel bits. After a couple minutes he'd raked out the belt buckle, some other doo dahs and a few small chunks that looked like old bone. He propped the rake against the house and looked to Bell.

Bell was just standing there with his hands in his pockets gazing across the pasture to where it ended in and old wire fence. A closed gate showed the way to a tractor path presumably going all the way back to the tracks. He was deep in thought. Sam walked up beside him and gave him a little nudge.

"What do you wanna do? Prybar? I think we should at least go in and check on Mr. Dyment. If anything at least we'll be able to determine whether he still lives here, is away on holidays or is dead...in there..." He tilted his head towards the house waiting.

Bell drew a deep breath and sighed. He absent mindedly patted a goat that was pushing it's head against his hand. With his eyes still fixed on the distance and without looking at Sam, he said "Prybar. Let's see if everything is okay in there."

Sam was back in a minute and started working on the door. Whoever had sealed the door had done a great job and Sam was sweating, breathing hard and had skinned his knuckles by the time the door squealed half open. He looked inside and could only make out dim shapes and shadows. A foul odour of mildew, rotten vegetables and death wafted out.

"Smell that?" Sam asked.

"Yep. It could be spoiled meat, or a dead cat, or dog. We can hope." He pulled his maglight from his belt and Sam did the same. They didn't need them long though. As soon as they squeezed through the back door, they found themselves in a tiny kitchen. A working lightswitch was right beside the door and they flipped it on.

The kitchen was jammed full of clutter. Stacks of newspaper were piled high every square foot of the old linoleum. Empty coffee cans and plastic containers full of junk and cutlery covered the counters. A small space on the ancient, chipped, formica counter was left bare for fixing food. A plate with a petrified sandwich covered in mould was all that remained of George Dyment's last meal. Following the narrow pathway between stacks of old newspapers they wound up in the middle of the house, or what would normally be the living room. The lightswitch on the wall didn't work in here so they had to use their maglights. Sam was the first to point out a human form on a rotten old sofa.

"There. That's him I think." The lumpy thing on the couch was covered in old blankets, so Sam approached it while Bell held his flashlight trained on the form. At first Sam thought he had made a mistake and it was only a bunch of dirty old rags. There was just no mass to the heap whatsoever when he pushed on it, it felt like a bundle of sticks. That is until he saw a mummified hand sticking out. He peeled the filthy blanket from Dyment's corpse, the hand, no longer attached, fell to the floor and both Bell and Sam were horrified at what they saw.

Old George Dyment had been dead for years it seemed. His body was a dried out husk. The skin was almost black and withered. Wrinkled like crumpled paper. The worst part was his mummified face. His mouth stretched wide in a rictus scream of agony and fear. Perpetual and forevermore, this bony shriek of grievance at the moon and it's familiars. His upper denture was unhinged and hung halfway down the cave of his leathery face. Eyesockets staring empty, imploring, seeking, begging forgiveness from the horror it faced. Where his throat had been was an empty space. Stripped of his larynx, trachea and critical arteries. The front of his plaid flannel shirt was dark with old blood.

And when Sam, crouching, leaned in for a closer look, something happened that would haunt his dreams for years. There was a slight creaking sound, Bell swung his flashlight quickly, trying to pinpoint the source of this noise. Shadows leaped and ducked, lunging and hiding, rushing forward at both men, from the corners of the old livingroom. Then a loud crack and a plume of dust shot up, as one of the floorboards gave way from Sam's weight. Startled, Sam tried to shift his position but the corpse wouldn't allow him. As the room canted crazily under the broken floorboard, the skeleton fell forward to touch Sam's forhead with it's own. The cold dryness of it's domed skull, gave the assurance of finality. Sam yelled and twisted his body, flailing at the air. He would have fallen over the little coffee table if Bell hadn't been there to steady him.

The body of George Dyment was now leaning forward, peering at them from empty sockets, as if trying to see who had disturbed his last resting place. They both thought they heard a soft sigh issue from his wide open maw, but that was probably just their imagination.

The coroner was there within the hour to remove the body while Bell and Sam sat in their cruiser with the doors open. They had set up some lights in the living room, running an extension cord from the kitchen. From what they could see, it looked like George had been killed right there, while sitting on his sofa. The coroner was unable to determine yet if it had been a murder, or an animal attack. There were no other bodies discovered on the main floor of the house and no signs that there had ever been a dog present either. If it had been a murder, it had taken place about three years before. Everyone was surprised that the livestock had survived this long without any human intervention. They hadn't proved that with any certainty, but that was the way it looked. With the house empty though and the owner dead and gone it begged the answer of who had been paying his property taxes. Eventually they discovered he had a younger sister that was still alive and fairly well to do. She had taken on the responsibility of keeping his taxes up to date even though she hadn't talked to him in years.

"Looks like we'll have the place to ourselves now. We can conduct our surveillance without interruption." Bell said while they sat in the car. Sam shuddered involuntarily.

"For starters," Bell continued "We'll set up shop on the west side of the house, there's a window that we can pull the plastic off of and set up a telescope and use binoculars. we aren't going to see much at night so it'll have to be from dawn to dusk and random hours and days. we won't be able to spend a lot of time doing surveillance without good reason. the chief will have our ass in a sling."

"Sounds good." Sam replied. "I'll bring in my binocs. they're more powerful than the ones we have at the station."

I have my old telescope on a tripod in the garage. Haven't used it in years, it'll be perfect for watching Duhamel." Bell got out of the car. It looked like the coroner and his assistant were done for now. They'd removed the body with the blankets and anything that might have been associated with Dyment's death. All that remained was the stench of death. Both cops went inside to clean up a little and prepare their surveillance area before bringing in their equipment. They had no way of knowing that they'd already been discovered and were under surveillance themselves. Duhamel was furious with impotentcy. He couldn't just go killing two cops now...or could he?

Gord Bennett was undeterred. Danny Ferguson had scared him badly at the pond, but after he he'd gotten home and had time to think about it, he felt ashamed of himself. Why didn't he just beat the crap outta Ferguson. Fuckin' spoiled little brat. Him and his little faggot brothers! He could beat the shit outta all of them if he had the chance. he just might do that sometime too. First though, he was gonna get Danny back for pushing him. He thought he was so tough? Yeah just wait 'Fag-uson'... you're gonna get yours..! Gord vowed.

Gord Bennett's selective memory had already disposed of some critical points regarding the confrontation at Prosser's pond. He'd forgotten how strong Danny had been. In his anger, he'd also forgotten just how sharp Danny's teeth had looked and that strange light in his eyes. He'd already forgotten the way the mood had changed from an angry confrontation to a menacing darkness, foreboding of something worse than only having the wind knocked out of you. If Gord had any true friends they might have been able to warn him against acting in anger, or holding a grudge. Gord held onto grudges the way a hungry infant might grip his bottle. Tightly.

He decided that with the time left he had before summer's end, he was going to spy on Danny, follow Danny and watch for just the right moment when he would pounce and show Danny just who's boss around here.

Danny, Kevin and Carrie sat in the shade of the Ferguson's front porch. The afternoon had bloomed hot and lazy. Nobody felt like doing much. Carrie had come calling on Danny slightly out of boredom but also for the comfort of hanging out with one of Mike's best friends. It was nice to be with people who had known her brother as well as she had. The three of them sat on the porch smoking and telling jokes. Their laughter rounded out the pleasant ambience of the day and Louise was happy that the teens seemed to be recovering from their recent trauma. She brought out three glasses and a pitcher of iced lemonade which she set on a tv tray at the end of the couch that stayed outside on the porch all year round. Danny and Kevin sat beside each other on the porch couch, while Carrie perched on the brick ledge between two flower planters. Danny thought it was a nice way to frame her. So did Kevin. After bringing out the lemonade, Louise hustled back inside humming softly to herself. Both Bobby and James were in the living room playing Atari. It was just one of those days that balanced precariously between perfection and disaster. At one point Gord Bennett walked past and Danny waited with bated breath for him to say something to them, but he just scowled and disappeared from view.

They remained out on the porch talking until the lemonade was all gone. Although Louise couldn't hear it from the kitchen, at one point the conversation had become hushed and serious. Her relief would have turned to horror if she'd known what had just transpired during those whispered tones. Danny had just promised both Kevin and Carrie that he'd take them both back the tracks and show them where Jean Duhamel lived. At first he hadn't wanted too, but they insisted and he relented on the promise that neither one would ever go there by themselves. They both solemnly promised and Danny could believe them. When Kevin went in to go pee, Carrie produced Mike's old knife. Turning it over and over in her hands she eventually looked up at Danny with tears in her eyes.

"Hey, ummm...thanks again for letting me have this." She said. "It makes me feel like Mike's with me and I feel safe when it's in my pocket."

Danny smiled ruefully. "Yeah I know what you mean. I feel like Mike's still around too."

He would never tell Carrie or Kevin about Mike-boar. That was just too crazy and he didn't know if they'd laugh at him or think he'd totally gone bonkers.

She slid off the edge of the porch wall and stuck the knife in the front pocket of her jean shorts. Danny really liked those ragged old shorts on her. He kind of wished he was that knife sliding into her front pocket like that. He'd bet it was nice and warm in there. She fixed her hair a little bit, then said,

"Well, I better go." And before he knew it she'd come up to him as he sat on the outdoor couch and leaned over planting a quick, soft kiss on his lips. He caught a whiff of her shampoo as she bounced down the front steps and crossed his lawn. She turned back briefly with a little wave, her cheeks flushed. Danny thought he'd never seen a girl more beautiful than her at that moment. He sat stunned on the porch by himself for a long time after that, listening to the sounds coming from inside the house behind him. He was wondering if he was falling in love with Carrie Vansickle. He was also wondering if it would cure him or cause brain damage. Because the way he felt right then was crippled. A delicious mixture of heartache and fear kept him pinned to that musty old couch until his butt fell asleep and he had to pee.