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“Would you…um…know the names of any of these guys? Not just the ones who hung around Griswold’s but the ones who may actually have had a hand in murdering Morse?”
Crow reached over and punched the OFF button on the tape recorder. “You didn’t hear me say this, and if you print it I’ll call you a liar. Are we clear?”
“We’re clear. ”
“Okay. Gus Bernhardt let something spill once, years ago, back during that short—and I mean very short—period where he and I were kind of chummy. My first days on the job as a cop. We were both off duty and had been drinking and he let it slip that he was there when the Bone Man was killed, and then he clammed right up. Never said another wor
d again but it was enough. No way on earth are you going to get that into print without poking a stick in the beehive. ”
“I guess not. Well, can you tell me—off the record—who else was there?”
“I never did put names to all of them, but from what I’ve been able to pick up here and there over the years, I can say for sure that Jim Polk was one of them. He and Gus were always thick as thieves. Maybe my dad, too. And Vic Wingate, and he is one mean bastard. If I had to pick someone as the ringleader at that lynching, it’d be Vic. ”
“He was just a teenager, Crow,” Val said. “Just a kid. ”
“That bastard was never a kid,” Crow snapped, his voice suddenly bitter and harsh. “He was born old, mean, and twisted. He was over my house enough when my dad was still alive, and from my earliest memory Vic was always very controlled, very focused, and as evil as the day is long. ”
“Evil is a pretty strong word, Crow,” Newton said, but Crow only shrugged. “Okay, I won’t print the names of the men you suspect. Can I turn my recorder back on?” Crow nodded and Newton hit the button. “So, what happened to Morse’s body? Where is he buried?”
“In your hometown actually, Newt—Black Marsh. The people in Pine Deep nearly threw a fit when they learned that Morse’s body was going to be buried in our local cemetery. There were threats and some of them were nasty, so Henry somehow managed to have the body shipped to Black Marsh and had it buried there. He put up a stone and even bought a suit for Morse to be buried in. ”
“So it was all swept under the carpet?”
“Sure. It wasn’t long after that that the town started building up, going upscale. The Massacre was pushed back out of sight and no one really ever talks about it. We have too many fun ghost stories to keep us in business, no real-life tragedies need apply. ” He gave an ironic laugh. “In all the official reports Griswold was counted as murder victim number seventeen. Problem was that Griswold was local money who left no heirs, no will, no papers of any kind, so it was a bitch of a legal tangle to decide what to do with his property. It’s still there. Fields and gardens all gone back to forestland now, I expect, but the big old stone farmhouse would still there, back past Dark Hollow. I think the property reverted back to the state, or something like that. I don’t know how the law works on something like that. I would imagine the place is overgrown, and the local folklore insists the place is haunted. ”
“Sounds appropriately spooky. Ever go there?”
“No!” Crow said abruptly, startling Newton, but the look of alarm that had appeared on Crow’s face passed quickly. He tried a dismissive laugh, but it sounded flat. “Uh…no, man, I don’t think I would ever go there. ”
“Why not? Surely you aren’t scared of ghosts! Not you, of all people. ”
“Ghosts? No…no, I don’t think I’m afraid of any ghosts. ”
“Then what?”
“It’s just…ah, man, it’s really hard to say without sounding like I’m off my nut. ”
“Too late for that, sweetie,” Val said softly. Crow gave her leg a little pinch and she slapped his hand.
“Why…what is it you’re afraid of?”
Crow looked at him strangely. “Why, him, of course. ”
“Who?”
“Griswold. ”
“I thought you said the man was dead. ”
Crow shook his head vigorously. “You see, that’s just it. He wasn’t. ”
“Wasn’t—what? Wasn’t killed. ”
“No, wasn’t a man,” Crow said. “I don’t think Ubel Griswold was a man. ” Before Newton could reply, Crow explained. “You see, when I looked into his face back then, even though it was just a brief look, and even though I could still recognize him somehow as Griswold, the face I saw wasn’t a human face. So, I don’t think he was a man. ” His eyes were intense, haunted. “I think Ubel Griswold was a monster. ”
(4)
In the silent wormy darkness, he waits; beneath tons of muddy dirt, he waits. He is not lost in the utter blackness of his forgotten grave in Dark Hollow; he is not dwarfed by the immensity of it, but the lightless vastness of it. When he trembles and the ripples of each shudder rolls out through the roots of the mountain, he is not trembling with fear, or loneliness, or despair. He is shuddering with a darkly sensual delight that undulates outward and upward toward the town, throughout the farms, into wells and beneath cultivated fields until it laps against the rushing waters of the canals and rivers that ring all of Pine Deep. Beneath those millions of pounds of bubbling muck he is the poison in the earth, the author of blight and sickness, the soulless heart of corruption. As each new tourist car rumbles over the bridges and rolls along the black arm of A-32, as hotels fill and fill, as everyone in town turns blindly away from manhunt toward holiday, as hearts quicken with excitement at the coming of Halloween, he—down deep in his grave—laughs with a ravenous and expectant delight.
