Dark Inspiration Page 14

  After a dozen incomprehensible pages, the penciled translation reappeared. The chapter translation read Taming the Power of the Beasts.

  Between each line of Arabic, smudged penciled letters spelled out a stilted English translation. Between the references to appeasing Osiris, it explained that the life force of an animal could be captured after its death and bound to an object on Earth. Its essence would fill the object, give it the power the animal had in life.

  Doug thought of the uncannily lifelike statuary he’d always seen around Egyptian burial sites. He remembered reading about the thousands of mummified cats found in tombs along the Nile. Did the bound spirits of the mummified animal donors make the carvings look so real?

  The text continued with specific instructions on how to extract certain organs intact, like the heart, kidneys and liver. The brain came out through the nose with the help of a long screw-type device Doug recognized from the taxidermy kit, but not from the taxidermy book. All the organs needed to be placed in separate jars.

  Next followed a description of the preservative mixture to add to the jars. The list made little sense to Doug. Other than cinnamon, the names meant nothing to him. He recognized myrrh from Christmas stories but had no idea what it was. The units of measurement were just as obtuse.

  A slip of ruled notebook paper tucked into the next page was the key. In ink, in a different hand, a rougher jagged cursive with a decided backward slant, was a list of the Egyptian ingredients. Next to each was a more familiar name like turmeric or saffron, and a measurement for each. Sometimes the amount was struck through and a second or sometimes third amount followed, as if trial and error had found the correct recipe.

  The face of the next page had the final instructions. After putting the organs and the mixtures into earthen pots, there was a solemn incantation to be read. Under it there was no English translation. Instead it was phonetic, as if Osiris needed to hear it on ancient Egyptian if he was going to understand it. Doug sounded out a few words. They reminded him of the Hebrew from the bar mitzvah of one of his New York coworker’s sons.

  After the ceremony, as soon as the animal was touched by the light of the sun god Ra, its essence would revitalize the body, as Ra had once returned Osiris body to life.

  Doug remembered how the hawk and the bobcat had seemed so different when they came down into the turret room. It wasn’t that they appeared more lifelike in the daylight, the daylight actually made them more lifelike.

  As soon as he read it, he knew that this book contained the missing piece, the extra push that would enliven the rabbit at his feet. The taxidermist had sprinkled a little of that Egyptian black magic on his creations.

  He had to test his theory. He went to the window and grabbed the edge of the board that covered it. He pulled and the old wood peeled away from the window frame. Light poured into the room for the first time in decades.

  The menagerie of creatures shuddered as daylight hit their bodies. A collective stretching sound rippled through the room as old hides stretched tighter. Feathers and fur straightened and fluffed, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Glass eyes flashed to life. The edges of the bear rug’s jaws curled up and its teeth glowed brighter.

  Doug understood the attic now, the blocked windows, the animals jammed into all the corners. Alexander had shuttered them in here, away from the light that let their essences bridge the divide between this world and the next. With some type of life still in them, the man who donated a bulk of his estate to the local humane society could not bring himself to destroy them. Instead he just put them to sleep.

  Mabron had accomplished the amazing. Doug now had the instructions to do the same. What a rush it would be.

  He replaced the board over the window. The room went dark and a soft communal sigh sounded as the creatures shifted back to their less lifelike mode. Doug didn’t need Laura noticing the change in the attic window. It might prod her to investigate and this was no time to share his secret hobby with her.

  He glanced at his watch. Three thirty. Laura would be home soon. But this idea had become a compelling imperative. He’d need a new subject since the entrails of Thumper here were long gone. He’d also need the items on the list. He copied them over onto the back of a receipt from his wallet. If he hurried, he could set the traps before Laura got home, and with a bit of luck, he’d have his volunteer in the morning.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The day couldn’t end fast enough for Laura. The last bell rang and she beat everyone to the parking lot. She found Treasured Things on the town square.

  From the moment she entered, she was impressed. The jumble of antique furniture and curios begged to be explored. There were period things here that would look great in her study.

  One item on a shelf caught her eye, a thin boxy gold lighter. It was barely larger than the cigarette it was supposed to light. Engraved roses covered the outside.

  “Don’t you have a good eye,” Theresa said from behind her.

  “Theresa!” Laura let loose a wide smile. She gave her new friend a quick hug. “What a great store. This lighter just jumped out at me.”

  “A ladies model from the 1940s,” Theresa said. “When it was sexy to smoke. The market for it has kind of dried up.”

  “I think I’m a latent pyro,” Laura said. “Since we moved here I’ve been collecting matchbooks. Maybe I’m graduating to lighters. Anyway, I’ve got a little ghost update that should enliven your day.”

  “Another experience?”

  Laura took her recorder out of her purse. “And it’s on tape.”

  Theresa’s eyes lit up. She grabbed Laura’s arm. “Well, let’s hear it!” She dragged Laura back to her desk and pulled a folding chair over.

  Laura told her the story of the encounter from the previous night, about the charm floating off her neck, about being able to hear the girls recorded but not live. She played the recording. It rolled on to the point where the girls admired the charm.

  “Hello,” said the girls through the speaker.

  Laura’s skin went to goose bumps again, even though she had played the recording a dozen times. Theresa gave an involuntary shiver.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  Laura spoke again on the recording followed by a silent pause.

  “Sooo pretty,” sang the twins’ soft voices.

  Theresa gripped the edge of her desk in excitement. Laura’s voice asked how she could help the girls and they gave their final reply.

  “We’ve lost our mother.”

  “Doesn’t that just break your heart?” Laura said.

  “The poor things,” Theresa said. “What did Doug say when he heard this?”

  “He’s not in the loop,” Laura said. “I don’t think any amount of proof about little girl ghosts would convince him. He’s convinced it is all in my head. This project is for the two of us.”

  “So what’s your plan, Ms. Ghostbuster?”

  “We need a longer period of contact,” Laura said. “A more detailed conversation that we can hear without having to replay a recording. For that, they need more energy, some power they can access easily.”

  Theresa thought a moment. Her face shifted from enthusiasm to concern and back. “I might have what you need.” She left and pulled an odd-looking object off the shelf. It resembled a lamp, but where the bulb and shade would be, there was an opaque glass hemisphere. What would have been the lamp body was clear glass with two thin vertical metal rods inside. An electrical plug trailed from its black plastic base.

  “And this escapee from a sci-fi movie set is…”

  “A static electricity generator,” Theresa said. “A science toy bought by some relative for a kid who no doubt never appreciated it. Turn it on and sparks fly from the half melon on the top. Touch it and your hair stands on end. Surely you had one of these in school in New York.”

  “Our school was lucky to have light bulbs,” Laura said. “Let alone something like that.”

  “Well,
if your spectral visitors need a power source,” Theresa said, “you’ll be hard pressed to find one as easy to tap into as this. Drain out all the juice you want and it just makes more.”

  Laura reached for the generator and Theresa pulled it just out of reach.

  “I’m really torn up about handing you this,” Theresa said. “I know how safe these girls seem. I heard their sweet voices. But my premonitions were strong and they are still unsolved.”

  “You are such a worrier,” Laura said. “Be there for the show, then. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  Theresa gave her head a slow shake. “Had a little ex-husband issue this morning. Dustin and I had better stick together and close to the house for a few days.”

  “Anything I can do for you?”

  “Nah,” Theresa said. “It’s under control. He’s been worse. I guess you can do this by yourself. Who’s better at handling kids than you?”

  “Hey,” Laura said with mock bravado. “I get paid by the State to handle kids.”

  Theresa handed her the generator with artificial reverence. “Then take this, sister. May it serve you well.”

  Theresa walked her over to the door. Laura glanced again at the lighter on the shelf. Theresa scooped it up and slipped it in Laura’s pocket.

  “Hey?” Laura said.

  “Take it,” Theresa said. “If it hasn’t sold in two years, it won’t sell. I owe you for all you’ve done for Dustin.”

  “Thanks,” Laura said as she left the store. For some reason, having the lighter in her pocket felt reassuring. “I’ll send the girls your regards.”

  “Be careful,” Theresa said. “If the experience gets out of control, you pull that thing’s plug, okay?”

  “Right away,” Laura said. “’Bye.”

  Through the shop’s front window, Theresa watched Laura carry the generator to her car. She wrung her thin hands together.

  It will be fine, she thought. She didn’t have a premonition touching the generator. Of course that really didn’t prove anything. She didn’t get a premonition putting on her wedding ring for the first time, and how well did that work out? She wished she had told Laura to hold off until she could join her in the experiment. Theresa couldn’t shake a nagging fear that something about the spirit girls was far from right.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “Doug?” Laura called as she blew through the front door.

  She tossed her purse on the kitchen table and saw the note. Doug must have been in a rush when he wrote it. The handwriting was kind of jerky and there was an odd backward slant to it. There were just two words—Gone shopping.

  At the Moultrie Piggly Wiggly, the pimply teen at the checkout slid the last of Doug’s spices over the scanner. The total rang up to $36.24.

  “You must be making something special,” she said.

  “You have no idea,” Doug said.

  Laura was making notes in a history textbook when Doug rolled through the front door with the world’s most expensive half sack of groceries. The refrigerator was nearly bare so Laura expected a bit more of a haul.

  “I guess we’re eating light,” she said.

  Doug gave the bag in his hand a glance. “Oh, no, I wasn’t shopping for dinner. Just some spices and things.”

  “You brought home spices, but no food.”

  Doug breezed by her without a kiss hello. Laura realized it wasn’t the first time. He pulled open the refrigerator.

  “Son of a bitch,” Doug said. “This thing’s empty.”

  “I could have stopped for something on my way home,” Laura said. There was an edge to her voice.

  “No, no,” Doug said. “I’ve got the home front. That’s the deal. There’s no problem here. We have rice as a starter and if a billion Chinese can eat it for breakfast, we can sure have it for dinner. I can mix something up.”

  “Forget it,” Laura said. She closed the history book. “I’ll find something if I get hungry. I’ve got work to do for tomorrow.” She rose from the table.

  “Are you mad?” Doug said. “Because I forgot to go shopping?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m mad,” Laura said. “But dinner’s just a part of it. You’re getting completely checked out. Moving here was going to be a new start for us. But I barely see you all week. You sleep in and then you’re up there in that room all night.”

  “I’m writing,” Doug said. His voice had an edge to it. “It’s my job. It’s what I’m here for.”

  “You can’t do that during the day?”

  “I have to write when the inspiration comes. It’s not like churning out sausage.”

  “It’s not just the time,” Laura said. “Even when we are together, you act like I’m barely here. When was the last time you asked me about my day? When was the last time you kissed me without me forcing you into it? I’m your wife, not a roommate.”

  “Babe,” Doug said. He moved behind her and put his arms around her waist. “I love you. You know that sometimes I get wrapped up in my work. It’s nothing for you to be insecure about.”

  Insecure? Her blood came to a boil. She bit back the scathing response that begged to come out. Doug’s arms around her had all the comfort of hospital bed restraints. She pried him away.

  “Look, I do have prep to do for tomorrow and I’m already tired,” she said.

  She picked up her book and went into the nursery and slammed the door. Any ideas about testing the static generator tonight scattered to the winds.

  The word still rankled her. Insecure. This was the same deflective crap he spewed with every problem they had. Somehow it was always her fault, always some defect in her personality that made life difficult. In college, she was too insular to appreciate his fraternity brotherhood and the time it demanded. In New York, she was too needy to understand the responsibilities of his job. After the miscarriage, she had to see the shrink because she needed to talk. Forget about him needing to listen. She dropped the heavy book on her desk.

  He’d damn well better be in here with an apology in ten minutes flat. She cracked the door open a few inches to give him the hint.

  But a half-hour later, she was still alone. She finished her work and went out in the hallway. The kitchen was empty. At the top of the stairs, a band of yellow light shone from under the closed door to the turret room. All that broke the silence of the house was the faint muffled click of computer keys.

  Laura’s heart fell. He really went back up there. Did their marriage mean so little? She shuffled off to the bedroom. It would be almost midnight by the time she fell asleep, curled up on her side of the bed, pillow damp with tears.

  Chapter Forty

  This time it wasn’t a rabbit.

  When Doug parted the tall grass around the trap in the morning the steel cage held a small fox captive. The little russet pup couldn’t have been more than a few months old. She stared up at Doug through the mesh, ears drooped down, big brown eyes wide with fear, whimpering. With her tiny teeth, it wasn’t likely that this youngster was long weaned from its mother. She was about to learn a harsh lesson about the consequences of curiosity.

  Doug beamed at the thought of the larger project. The rabbit looked good, but the fox would look great. And with a little Egyptian voodoo tossed in…wow.

  But first things first. This thing needed to die. Doug wasn’t sticking his bare hands in the trap. The kit’s teeth might have been small, but there were still a lot of them. Besides, her neck wouldn’t snap like the rabbit’s did. He needed a whole new approach that would still leave the skin unblemished. An idea came to him.

  He pulled the trap from the grass. The kit let out a whelp and cowered in the far corner. She sniffed the air and shot desperate, searching glances from the swinging cage. But the mother that had rescued her so many times before was gone.

  Doug crossed between the barn and the house and made his way down to the propane tank. He set the trap on the ground. The kit launched herself at the trap door to no avail. Doug pulled off his shoes and socks
and pulled his jeans up above his knees. He grabbed the cage and headed for the pond.

  The rank smell of stagnant water hung over the pond, a combination of dead algae and fish. Doug stepped in. The dark water was cool. The slick black muck oozed between his toes. A catfish heaved itself off the bottom and swam away in a charcoal cloud.

  The kit let out a terrified scream. She threw herself at the sides of the cage, panicked by the water instinct taught her to avoid. Her paws flailed at the mesh in an irrational bid to somehow dig her way out.

  Doug steadied the cage and lowered it an inch into the pond. The kit wailed and rammed its head against the top. Doug smiled and lowered the cage another few inches. Water sloshed against the kit’s haunches. It looked up at Doug with pleading brown eyes and let loose another mournful yowl.

  Doug pushed the cage underwater.

  The water exploded in thrashing foam as the drowning kit struggled for air. Doug pushed down to keep the cage underwater. The shuddering of the cage grew weaker with the kit’s waning struggle for air. The cage went still.

  That same rush of power Doug felt while killing the rabbit flashed through him again, but this time it was many degrees stronger, as if the accomplishment of dispatching a predator was a greater accomplishment. A chill went up his spine and he smiled a little crooked smile. Doug watched the second hand sweep a complete revolution on his watch. He pulled the cage from the pond.

  The kit lay dead. Her open glassy eyes stared through Doug. Her soaked, matted fur was tinged with the dark sediment her struggle had stirred up. Doug gave the corpse a concerned once-over. He breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t broken her skin. He headed for the attic.

  The skinning took much longer this time. Doug’s work stretched into the afternoon, but not just because the fox was a little bigger. He took extra care with the beautiful coat. Each pass of the blade was a labor of love, each peel of the skin like opening a gift. The kit would be a work of art.