Chapter 17 Cemetery House
Simone had not asked enough questions. Everyone knew she had met Tsawb before, and so no one had told her what to expect this time. But Tsawb was not just a sort of vision appearing in the inky blackness of a cave tunnel. Tsawb was materially real. Sometime in the ancient days before even the Sarrs came to the Fold, sometime when all the land belonged to just himself and the Black Vulture, Tsawb had been made guardian of the Door in Crow Wood. He had set himself down not to move again, and very gradually his immense shell had become covered with soil, with grass and plants, and finally with trees. Beneath its surface, Turtle Hill was Tsawb, and the dateless, square-columned temple at the foot of the hill led directly to his enormous head. Tsawb’s view of the world was the inner chamber of this temple. Within that sanctum for many centuries he had been fed human sacrifices.
All Simone had been told, by Razatella and others, was that she should descend the stairs of the outer chamber to a tunnel and the Door. But she never could leave well enough alone. She decided to explore the temple first, and this soon brought her to the sanctum. This windowless room was large, torch lit, and colorless; and in the center stood what obviously was the stone altar of sacrifice, a rectangular slab with horns at the four corners for tying the victim in place. Beyond this was a shadowy cavern in the far wall, the upper edge of which was the edge of Tsawb’s shell. With a start she realized that she could just make out the shape of Tsawb’s head within. Then his head, large as a room, glided forward on folds of neck until his nose almost touched the altar, and one red eye turned toward her.
“You!” he groaned, and this time the voice was real, not just an illusion in her mind. Simone hastily stepped back into the doorway, gripping the stone frame. “You are one of my three deadly enemies, those three who have passed my Door to the wrong sides and still live. Come closer!”
Simone did not feel the mind control that he had somehow exercised over her the first time. She stayed where she was and waved a silly, somewhat mocking greeting.
“Hi ya, Tsawb. Had a rough autumn?”
“You should not be alive,” he said. “You and your brother should have perished under Lucilla where I sent you. There is no way out of that maze of tunnels.”
“You’re behind the times,” Simone said. “Maybe there was no way out, but there is now. For skinny people.”
“Come closer. Where are my priests? Bring her to me.”
“I ordered them sent away,” said Simone, venturing a step or two into the room, “just for a little while.”
“Why!”
“Because I didn’t care to see the inside of your smelly gullet, that’s why.”
Now the earth shook and dust poured down from the roof. “I have not received the sacrifices due to me, and you are responsible. Bring back my priests and sacrifices at once, for if I move again, it will be to rise and conquer. Then all in the Fold will die.”
“I doubt that,” said Simone matter-of-factly. “If that was possible, you would have done it a long time ago to better protect your precious Door. Now here’s the deal, Shellshock. My brother Clay is dead. That leaves you just two ‘great enemies.’ I’m going back home to my world, so that leaves just one. As for the witch who’s on the other side, I’ll find her there if I can and send her packing back to you. So then your record will be perfect again, and you can start re-swelling your ego. Agreed? I said, agreed?” She drew her knife. “Or would you rather try going through life with just one eye?”
Sarah Overby had just gotten back from church and was watching Beakman’s World with her little brother, when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Sarah.”
“Simone?” Her heart began to pump wildly. Simone, is it really you? Where have you been? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m at the convenience store just south of Mullin’s Cave.”
“Are you all right? We thought you and Clay were dead.”
“Look, let’s not talk yet. Can you come pick me up?”
“I can come,” said Sarah, picking up her purse.
“I’m going to be dressed kind of weird. People are staring at me, so hurry. And don’t tell anyone yet. I’ll explain later.”
She hung up. Sarah turned to her brother who was laughing uproariously at the antics of Lester the Rat.
“Did you catch that, Randy?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
When Sarah pulled up in the convenience store lot, Simone jumped into the car and slammed the door.
“Drive, Sarah, I’m sick of being gawked at.”
“Good grief, you look like something out of the Middle Ages,” said Sarah as she turned the Taurus around. “Where have you been?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“What’s that?”
Simone was putting her nevel in the back seat. “Nothing. Is my Mom OK?”
“She’s fine except she’s been out of her mind. Where did you go?”
“OK, I’m going to tell you,” Simone said., “but no one else. I went to that other country where they speak Kreenspam and Gellene, that place you never really believed in.”
Sarah bit her lower lip and drove faster. “Actually, I almost do believe you now. I mean, I wouldn’t if not for Gelen.”
“Who’s that?” asked Simone, feeling uneasy at hearing a name common among humans in the Fold.
“Your Mom took on a foster kid last month, a sixteen year old named Gelen—like Helen with a ‘g.’ Don’t ask me. Anyway, she’s a foreigner and nobody knows where she came from. They couldn’t even figure out where to deport her to, and nobody could understand her language. Not a word of English, you understand, except ‘Viola.’ Hey, let go my arm, I’ve got to steer.”
“Was she dressed funny when they found her?” Simone pressed.
“I don’t know, I think she was. But I’m coming to the spooky part. She was gabbing that talk of hers one day when I was over seeing your Mom, and it suddenly hit me that I understood her. She talks Gellene.”
Simone muttered something like a swear word.
“And she says the most vicious, horrible things to people—smiling, you know—and thinks no one can understand her. Well, she said something to me I don’t even want to repeat, and when I answered her back in Gellene, you should have seen her eyes pop. I tried to tell your mother, but she won’t believe me. She thinks Gelen is an angel.”
“Why did she take her in? Why her?” Simone asked.
“She suspected that Gelen knows something about you and Clay disappearing.”
“Mom’s that bright, is she?”
“Well, it didn’t take genius. The same night you disappeared Gelen was pulled over by the police when she was trying to drive your Mom’s Dart. It must have happened right along this stretch we’re on now.”
“I must have left the keys in the car! Did I?”
“I guess. Anyway, your mom wanted answers about her, and about all the strange reports that night you disappeared. They said on the news that some farmer met werewolves in his field that evening, and other people said that they were almost carjacked by invisible men. Some kids sneaked into Mullins Cave, too, and judging from the tracks, brought big dogs with them. Then two days later somebody found a couple of corpses just off the highway south of here, along with some weird Satanic stuff. All this at once, and the police never solved any of it. But your mom thought Gelen must know something. The lady who places foster kids is a friend of your mom’s, and so she pulled some strings to get her Gelen. Not that it did any good. Say, where’s Clay?”
Simone answered evasively. “He went to the same place with me, but he hasn’t come back. So what’s this Gelen say for herself? Has she learned any English?”
“More than she lets on. She supposedly doesn’t know anything about you. She’s always dodging questions by pretending to not understand. We’re t
alking scum here.”
“Tell me about it. She’s even worse than you think.”
“So where are we going?”
“Take me straight home,” said Simone.
Susan Tanner was not warmly emotional about her daughter’s return. Hands on her hips, she stood in the kitchen and yelled up at Simone for what seemed a good fifteen minutes, only taking a breath now and then out of necessity. Sarah quickly retreated to another part of the house and called her parents, leaving Simone to take it. Halfway through the harangue, a plump and ugly girl showed up in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, her expression at first curious, then wary. She was wearing blue jeans and one of Simone’s flannel shirts.
Susan wound down, still dry eyed. “And now when you finally show up, you have Sarah pick you up instead of me! Why didn’t you call? What’s wrong with you?” She paused and coughed. “Where’s Clay?”
“He didn’t come back with me. Excuse me, Mom, I’ve got to go change clothes.”
She pushed by Gelen with a glare and went to her room. Her mother followed her and watched with amazement as she took off rough and ragged clothing not found in any catalog in the world. Underneath were odd, excessively modest undergarments. When Susan caught sight of Simone’s bare upper arm, she hissed in breath sharply.
“What happened to you?”
Simone looked where Susan was pointing.
“It’s just a scar, Mom.”
“It looks terrible. What happened?”
Simone sat on the bed with a sigh. “I was in another country, and it’s a violent place.”
“You went to Mexico? What did they do to you?”
“Nothing! I mean, this was the worst of it, anyway. I did more back to them.”
Her mother touched her arm gently. “This hasn’t had proper attention, no stitches.”
“Yeah, that’s why it healed so ugly. They don’t do stitches there.”
“Of course they do in Mexico.”
“I didn’t say I was in Mexico, Mom.” Simone went to the closet. “What’s all this? These aren’t my things.”
“No, they’re Gelen’s.” Susan let that sink in. “I thought you were never coming back.” She did not seem to know which way to look. “I’ll go up to the attic and get your clothes. Gelen can move into Clay’s room.”
She went up at once, leaving Simone seemingly to herself, until she noticed the ghost-like Gelen watching her from the hallway. With no hesitation, Simone strode up to the witch girl and slapped her in the face so hard that she almost knocked her down. Instantly awash with tears, Gelen cringed against the wall.
“Try to hurt my mother,” Simone said to her in Gellene, “and I’ll kill you.”
Gelen began to make noise, half moan and half scream.
“You know I mean it. I don’t care what happens to me, you die. Now get out of the house. You’re going back to the Fold.”
With an armload of clothes, Susan came running to the sound of Gelen’s screams and paused to size up the situation, her thin, straight mouth working noiselessly. Sarah appeared at the other end of the hall.
“Momma,” Gelen whined in a thick accent, “she hurt me, she hit me.”
“Simone?”
“She’s a member of a Satanic cult, Mom. She’d as soon kill you as look at you. I told her to get out of the house.”
Gelen retreated behind Susan. “She evil, bad. Hurt me, I no hurt her.”
“Gelen is my daughter now, Simone—your sister. You can’t hit her. How could you?”
Simone took the clothes. “I told you. She’ll try to kill us, you and me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would she do that?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, it can wait till after supper, then. I’ll put some leftover turkey in the microwave. You come talk to me in the kitchen when you’re dressed.”
Her mother had taken charge, or imagined she had, and that to her mind was more important than finding out the truth about either of her daughters. When Simone did not come to the kitchen immediately, Susan simply went on with meal preparation, setting a place for Sarah, and called the girls when all was ready. The four ate in silence for some time.
Susan looked up sharply at Simone, decided not to ask about the scar on her cheek, and instead said, “When is Clay coming back from this country that isn’t Mexico?”
Simone set her fork on the table very deliberately. “Mom, I’m sorry. Clay won’t ever be coming back. He died.”
Susan struggled with her facial expression and ended by almost smiling. “No he didn’t. How? Where?”
“I don’t know where. Somewhere in the country we went to.”
“Then how do you know? Tell me.”
“Someone told me, Mom.”
“And you believed it? Without finding out for yourself?”
Simone stared blankly.
“You go and get him,” Susan demanded. “You know where to find him, so bring him here.”
Suddenly it was too much for Simone. She looked to Sarah, who was embarrassedly studying the near edge of the table top; then to Gelen, whose left cheek still glowed pink.
Gelen smiled broadly with a twinkle in her eye. “Ei koir,” she said sweetly to Simone. “Koir adelpha. Ozeis.” (You’re a pig. Pig sister. You stink.)
Simone got up quickly. “I’m going for a walk. C’mon, Sarah, let’s go.”
She led Sarah into the cemetery, which was already dark at this time of year. As they walked, the monuments and crosses reminded Simone that she had not prayed, except in scraps, since before the battle in Trans-Titan.
“Simone,” said Sarah, “if I’d been gone for four months, my parents would have told me off just like your Mom did, but they would have cried and hugged me too. They would have talked about their broken hearts and all that. What is it with your mother?”
Simone had no ready answer. “We got counseling once,” she said, “as a family. It didn’t seem to help, and we quit because it cost too much. We’re dysfunctional.”
Sarah left it at that. “And that Gelen, isn’t she just as bad as I said? Wait a minute, does she really belong to a Satanic cult?”
“Yeah, she really does.”
“I’m glad, because I want to think the worst of her. Maybe the others will come around and sacrifice her.” They walked on. “Stop a minute, Simone, there’s something I have to tell you, and I can’t put it off any longer.”
They sat down on adjoining stones, and Simone steeled herself for another blow of some sort.
“OK, Sarah, tell me.”
Sarah clasped her hands together and chuckled. “Get this. Carl Besanto has broken up with Dawn Carter. Just last month. This is your chance, Simone. You know how much he liked you last spring. You should call him tomorrow and—what are you laughing at?”
“You, Underby. I’m not calling Carl Besanto.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because I’m engaged.”
“Engaged,” Sarah echoed in a sickly voice. “Come on, Simone. What, really? Who is it?”
“A guy in that country.”
“Oh.” Sarah wanted to avoid discussing the country that was not Mexico. “Well, uh, best wishes.”
“Don’t bother, we’re not exactly picking out a silver pattern yet. I’ll probably never see him again. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
Sarah thought about that. “Just like Clay,” she said. “I always thought you both would come back. Are you absolutely sure he’s dead? How do you know?”
“It’s hard to explain,” said Simone. “I was in a battle in a war. That was, uh, weeks ago, on October thirtieth. One of the prisoners we took told me about Clay the next day. She was a beautiful girl who had been forced to marry when she was fourteen, and then her husband died and so she was a rich widow. Then
she somehow got dragged along to the battle. Anyway, she had heard from someone else that Clay died.”
“But that’s third hand, Simone. Maybe she got it mixed up.”
“I don’t think so. She was a pretty cool customer. Super competent. The kind who gives you awful news like that and then—well, I told her she would go free, and she gives me this gleeful look and says, ‘This is my day.’ People like that don’t get confused; they’re on top of things. Did I mention that she’s rich?”
“Did she really say that?”
“What? That she’s rich?”
“No, that it was her day.”
“Sure she did, so what?”
“Nothing. Funny thing to say on Halloween.”