The Boogens Read online

  “Mr. Lockett? Some of these rocks have got pick marks on ’em. Like they’ve been dug out of somewhere.”

  Brian knelt and looked more closely. Tim was right. There were smooth gouges and scrapes across several of them, clearly marks resulting from being struck by the cutting edges of picks. Brian moved up the slope and checked more of them. The marks were apparent on at least half of the rocks.

  Was it possible these rocks were simply the diggings that had not been carted away yet? Somehow it didn’t quite make sense. Even the rocks at the top of the pile had gouge marks. If they had been dug out and were waiting to be loaded into ore cars, how would they have gotten so high in the shaft?

  Brian drew a small prospector’s pick out of his belt and climbed to the top of the pile. He swung the pick into the side of the shaft near one of the support timbers. Bits of sandstone crumbled and dropped away. He dug eight inches into the wall, but there was no indication of galena.

  He moved to the other side of the shaft and tried again. This time the pick hit something hard two or three inches below the surface. He chipped away the loose sandstone and then rubbed the facing of hard rock. It was quartz. He stared at it, even more puzzled. It made sense to find some quartz with the sandstone, but sandstone, quartz and galena was not a common mixture.

  He stepped down from the rocks and moved the light across the pile again, thoroughly confused now. It was almost as if somebody had deliberately piled those rocks there, as if an effort had been made to close up the shaft.

  “Mr. Lockett, look at this,” Tim said.

  He was kneeling at the edge of the shaft, holding a metal belt buckle. Brian took it and scraped away the crusted dirt from the face of it. U.S. Army, the raised letters said. On the back, the tiny lettering impressed in a corner said Made in Korea.

  “It must have belonged to Hitchings or Thomas,” Brian said. He wondered if a thorough search of the dust might also turn up some coins and keys.

  He handed the buckle back to Tim and looked at the pile of rocks again. “Let’s do some digging, Tim.”

  A hundred feet below them, Chris moved cautiously around the edge of the cavernous stope, pausing every ten or twelve steps to turn on the geiger counter and swing it gently through a half circle. The thing was rattling occasionally, indicating the presence of radioactivity, but she couldn’t be sure how strong the reading was or what direction it was coming from. She was not familiar with the machine, and she suspected it was functioning erratically, While it was in the same position, it rattled sometimes, and sometimes it didn’t.

  When she had first arrived at the stope, she had moved halfway down to the edge of the lake and shone her flashlight toward the dark mound she had seen the day before. Today, however, there was no sign of it. The water along the entire shoreline appeared to be smooth and unbroken, with no movement of any kind in the water or on the shore. She had smiled uncertainly, wondering if maybe she had been so frightened yesterday she had been hallucinating. She had moved closer, almost to the point where she thought the mound had been, but still she saw nothing. Either that mound was some huge animal that had wandered away or gone for an underwater swim, or she had been seeing shadows yesterday. The latter possibility was more likely the case, she had finally decided, and started working her way around the edge of the cavern.

  There seemed to be fewer strange creatures around today. She had seen several lobsterlike things scuttling off into holes, and a small snake had slithered away from under her boot. Other than that, the place seemed to be much quieter.

  The wall of the cavern curved around to the left, to the narrower end of the lake. The rattling from the geiger counter seemed to grow stronger as she followed the curve. When she reached the water, the machine rattled sharply and stopped, then rattled again. It was like the intermittent static from a distant shortwave signal.

  The lake seemed to continue under a broad archway that rose about three feet above the surface and stretched almost to the other side. To get through it, she would have to wade into the water about six feet from shore and then duck under the arch. She gazed indecisively at it for a minute and then moved forward a few feet into the water. The slope was very gradual, and the bottom seemed to be firm. Her boots would get soaked, and the water would probably run over the tops and down into her socks. But that would be safer than taking her boots off. There was no telling what kind of deadly things might be swimming around in that water.

  She moved cautiously forward until the water was almost to her knees and the archway was about two feet above the surface. Surprisingly, the water was warm, almost uncomfortably so. She switched on the geiger counter and held it under the arch. The thing rattled wildly for a moment, then stopped. She gave it a shake and it rattled wildly again.

  The machine obviously was not functioning properly, but there had to be some strong radiation somewhere on the other side of that arch. She turned the machine off, took a deep breath and ducked under the arch. She had to take only two steps before she could stand upright again.

  She found herself in another cavern, this one only about a hundred feet long. On one side was a narrow stretch of earth, but it appeared to be pure white. She held the flashlight beam on it for a minute, studying it carefully, finally realizing what she was looking at. The entire beachlike strip was a mound of bones. Most of them were the skeletons of small fish and small animals the size of frogs or rats. But there were also some strange-looking skulls as large as her fist. Among them were some oddly shaped spines.

  Had all these creatures lived in here? Or had they wandered in and died from some kind of poison or radiation? She swung the light beam back to the water, moving it from side to side as she studied the surface close to her and then deeper into the cavern. When the beam was about two-thirds of the way across, she held it steady on what appeared to be a vapor cloud. Below the cloud, the surface of the water was boiling like a pot on a stove, sending up trails of steam.

  Chris lifted the flashlight, following the vapor into the darkness. Then she moved the light slightly to the side and caught her breath. The sloped ceiling above was teeming with life, great masses of white insects and bugs and wormlike creatures, all fighting and crawling over each other. It looked as if they were struggling to get at the greenish slime that seemed to be oozing from the rocks. Chris stared at the horrifying sight and then lowered the flashlight beam back to the boiling water.

  The warm, primordial cavern was apparently the breeding place for all the mutant species in the larger stope outside. The hot springs provided the warmth and the water and probably a great deal of the food. Chris remembered the geiger counter, suddenly wondering what else this cavern might provide.

  The thing almost jumped out of her hand when she switched it on. It rattled frantically for several seconds, then changed abruptly into a steady hum.

  She had seen enough. She switched off the geiger counter and ducked under the archway, sloshing her way back to shore. She moved about ten paces up the dry slope, sat down and started unlacing her boots.

  It was no wonder an unusual number of miners became sick or died young from working in the Hatcher mine. They had probably died from radiation sickness and cancer. Very likely, that was why the mine was closed down so abruptly during World War II. The owners probably found out what was going on and quickly closed the mine without telling anybody. And then they dissolved the corporation to protect their money from any lawsuits that might develop. Apparently nobody had found out. And then the mine was sold cheaply to Hitchings and Thomas.

  After she had wrung out her socks, she draped them over her boots and shined the flashlight on the lake again. There wasn’t a ripple on it; it was as smooth as glass.

  11

  A crack of lightning awakened Mark Lowrie. It sounded as if it had struck in the center of the living room and split the entire house apart. Two seconds later the thunder exploded against the mountain and rumbled away into the canyons.

  Mark was still on the rug in
front of the fireplace. He was surprised to find two pillows under his head and a heavy wool blanket covering him. He turned sharply and looked behind him.

  Trish was standing at the window, tightly clutching herself, wearing only his shirt. Mark smiled. “When did all this start?”

  She turned quickly, as if startled, then smiled. “About an hour ago. Did you have a good sleep?”

  “Fine. Did you?”

  She nodded and turned back to the window.

  “What’s the matter? Trish, did you sleep at all last night?”

  She shrugged and gave him a weak smile. “A little. I’m okay. I never sleep a whole lot.”

  Mark slid out from under the blanket and pulled his pants on. “Come on, Trish, what’s bothering you? You look like the world is coming to an end.” He moved across and put his arms around her from behind. Outside the rain was coming down hard, splattering angrily off the porch and gouging deep gullies in the road below. Under the aspens, the soggy leaves were turning into dark mush.

  “It’s this house,” she said. “I have a terrible feeling that something bad happened to your friend.”

  Mark smiled and kissed her neck. “You feel the psychic powers of old ghosts?”

  “I heard noises all night.”

  “What kind of noises?”

  “Thumping. Gurgling sounds. Squeaks and creaks. Like the whole house was crawling with things. I feel like something is going to reach out and grab me at any minute.”

  “Is that the effect lovemaking has on you?”

  She smiled. “No. That was wonderful. But next time, I’d rather do it someplace else.” She turned around, her eyes pleading. “Let’s get out of here, Mark. Go for a ride or something.”

  “It’s not exactly your perfect day for taking a ride.”

  “I don’t care. Let’s go down to Pineglen and have breakfast.”

  “Okay. I want to stop by the sheriff’s office anyway. The forty-eight hours have passed, so I guess Ken is officially missing now.”

  She smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the chin. “Thanks. I’ll get cleaned up.”

  Mark watched her go down the hall and into the bathroom, wondering if there were any basis for her fears. He had no sixth sense at all, and he had never given any thought to talk of ghosts and evil spirits, but he didn’t discount the possibility that some other people had intuitive powers. He stood perfectly still and glanced around the room, listening, The rain was drumming heavily on the roof, and every ten or fifteen seconds another flickering of light outside was followed by the rumble of thunder. The only immediate sounds were the gurgling of water in the drainpipes. He wondered if the thumps she heard had been the little explosions that came when the burners lighted in the heater.

  He walked into the kitchen and looked out the back door. All he could see was more rain and a cascade of water pouring from a gutter drain. Then he looked at the woodpile and grimaced. The tarp had blown off and the wood was getting soaked.

  He made a quick dash across and pulled the tarp back up, putting three or four logs on top to hold it in place. He hurried back to the protection of the eaves and then stared at a strange-looking hole in the earth about fifteen feet from the back of the house. It looked as if a deep crevice had been gouged by the runoff from the hill above. The strange part of it was that a gulley led into the crevice and a foot-wide stream of water was pouring into the hole. The hole would fill up for a moment and then quickly empty, the water apparently draining into some underground pit or river. Where was it going? Into the basement, possibly? But if that were true, the basement would have flooded a long time ago, and the heater would no longer be working.

  Mark watched for a minute as the water level rose and receded. Then he frowned and peered more closely at a small white spot at the edge of the hole. It looked like a lump of mud, but the white part of it looked like hair. His heart dropped a little deeper into his chest as he strode out into the rain again and knelt beside the lump. He picked up a piece of wood and turned the lump over, then took a quick breath.

  It was a dog. Or, more accurately, it used to be a dog. Most of the head and one of the front legs were still intact; the rest of it was nothing more than a skeleton with a few scraps of hair and flesh. Tippy probably. Coyotes? Or maybe a mountain lion? Then the smaller animals had probably finished him off.

  Mark glanced at the house and pushed the carcass back into the hole. For a moment it floated through a half circle. Then the water receded and it disappeared.

  Mark tossed the stick away and went back to the house. He stood by the back door for a minute, shaking off what water he could, then stepped into the kitchen. There was no point in telling Trish about it. At least not right now. He found a dish-towel and wiped off his face and chest. He pulled off his pants and hung them over a heater vent.

  At least one of the mysteries was solved. He went back to the living room and dried his shorts in front of the fire. If he told Trish about Tippy, she would probably assume Ken was lying out in the forest somewhere too. He pulled his shorts back on and stood frozen for a minute, listening.

  He had heard a thump, but it was not the muffled thump of heater burners igniting. It sounded more like something heavy had banged against the sheet metal in one of the heater vents. He moved into the hall, just past the bathroom door, and stopped. He could hear water running in the bathroom. There were no other sounds. He opened a closet door and peered into the darkness.

  It was a big walk-in closet ten or twelve feet deep, with some dusty boxes on the high shelves. The floor was almost completely covered with a layer of amber-colored liquid that hadn’t quite dried—as if somebody had spilled a gallon of cheap shellac or varnish. There was also the damp, musty odor of a room that has never been aired. Mark opened the door wider and moved a step inside, being careful to avoid the sticky substance. He could see very little in the darkness. Unaccountably, his heart was beating rapidly.

  “Mark, don’t go in there.”

  Trish was standing in the bathroom door, a look of fear on her face.

  “Why not?”

  “Didn’t you hear that noise?”

  Mark hesitated, then smiled. “Yes. But I think it was just the heater vents expanding. Or contracting. They do that in these old houses.”

  “Please don’t go in there, Mark.”

  He was almost glad that she insisted. He took a last look into the darkness and closed the door.

  “Well!”

  Mark hadn’t realized how tense he was. Both he and Trish were in the hallway facing the closet, and the strange voice had come from somewhere behind them. He turned sharply and stared.

  It was Jessica. She was at the end of the hall, leaning against the doorpost, half soaked, looking like she had just returned from a war. She smiled and lifted an eyebrow.

  “I see at least somebody had some fun last night.”

  Mark glanced at his shorts and at Trish, still wearing only his shirt.

  “God, you scared me,” Trish said, catching her breath. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “I just walked in. Buffalo Bob dropped me off in his truck.” She laughed. “Are you two playing musical clothes, or what?”

  Mark laughed. “We were just checking out the closet.”

  Jessica nodded. “Kinky. I never did it in a closet before. You must be getting desperate.”

  They moved into the living room and Mark got his pants from the kitchen. “How was your evening with Cowboy Bob?” Trish asked as she picked up her clothing.

  Jessica dropped on the couch and laid her head back with a sigh. “A bummer. All he wanted to do was show me his rodeo pictures and clippings and all the belt buckles he’s won. He must have fifty buckles.”

  “Kinky,” Trish said.

  Jessica gave her a sour look. “God, Trish, you’re worse than Roger. Speaking of kinks, did the old boy get off all right?”

  “He was gone when we got home.”

  “Tippy show up?”

&nb
sp; “Not yet,” Trish said. She tossed Mark his shirt and quickly pulled a sweater over her head.

  “We’re going out to breakfast,” Mark said. “Want to come with us?”

  Jessica groaned and closed her eyes. “No way. I don’t think my head would fit into your truck. I’m going to take a nice long bath and then enjoy this wonderful weather by burying my hangover under a pillow.”

  Mark put his boots on and Trish got her coat. “Want us to bring you anything?”

  “No, but you might buy some beer for Roger.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  Jessica watched them go out the door and closed her eyes again, wondering if she should just stretch out on the couch or go take a bath. She breathed deeply, her mind a blank for several minutes. But her head was throbbing too hard for her to sleep. She desperately needed some aspirin.

  She hauled herself to her feet and found some aspirin in the bathroom. Turning on the bathwater, she wandered into the bedroom, kicking off her shoes. She sat down on the bed and unbuttoned her blouse, staring absently at the heater grate lying on the floor. She finally frowned and gingerly picked it up by the edge.

  It was covered with sticky yellow stuff. More of the goo had made a huge stain on the floor. It was like thin honey. She dropped the grate and peered into the heater shaft. It was covered with the stuff, and some yellow liquid was oozing down the sides of the metal. She looked at the disconnected lamp cord, then back at the vent and over at the door.

  A strange gurgling sound, like somebody breathing with a clogged throat, was coming from the direction of the hall.

  “Roger?” she called out uneasily. It would be typical of Roger to pull such a trick. But he wouldn’t have come back so soon. Would he? She rose and moved across to the door.

  The rasping gurgle was louder now; it seemed to be coming from the closet across the hall. “Roger?” she called again.

  Suddenly there was dead silence, as if he knew she was coming closer. She moved across to the closet and quietly grasped the doorknob, positioning herself directly in front of the door. With a sly smile, she yanked it open. Then her heart stopped.