Judas Goat Page 4

  Lenny watched the SUV turn around then head back out, the vehicle bouncing along the bumpy dirt road as it went. He felt uneasy being alone here, like he’d been abandoned, and for a split-second the notion of jumping back in the Impala and getting the hell out there occurred to him as a real option. But he dismissed it and tried his best to approach this rationally. If he planned to spend a few days in the house he knew he’d have to get over this foolishness pronto. For God’s sake, he thought, it’s just a little house and a garage set in the woods at the end of a dirt road. In fact, at first glance there wasn’t anything creepy about the house at all. But he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that there was more here than met the eye—and not all of it good. It was purely speculative, of course, and none of it made much sense, but Lenny could sense something here, and whatever that something was, it made him edgy.

  “Christ,” he sighed, looking around nervously. “Haven’t had the willies like this since I was a kid. What the hell’s the matter with me?”

  Something moved in the trees to his right.

  A squirrel scurried along a low branch, stopping just long enough to sit back on its haunches and stare at him, little hands out in front of him and clasped together as if in prayer.

  “Hey buddy,” Lenny said, voice hollow in open space.

  In reply, the squirrel effortlessly vaulted away, hopping from branch to branch as he climbed the tree before finally disappearing from sight somewhere near the top.

  Keys in hand, Lenny walked back to the driveway and followed it to the outbuilding. It stood stoically in the cold winter air, looking like no one had set foot in it in years. He unlocked the padlock and slipped it free. The door had a handle rather than a knob. He clutched it and gave a pull, but it stuck. A second, harder tug yanked the door loose and it swung open, releasing a small misty cloud of dust that danced through the air but quickly dissipated. Along with it came the strong smell of burned wood, gasoline and a few other faint odors he couldn’t immediately identify.

  Lenny stepped through into the dark building, hand searching the wall for a light switch before he remembered the electricity was off. Rather than return to the car for a flashlight, he swung the door open wide as it would go and let daylight slowly wash over the interior.

  It was a basic open workshop. No interior walls and no furniture, but for a wooden stool set before an ancient workbench on one wall. A woodstove sat in the far corner, and nailed to the walls, high up near the ceiling in several places were numerous deer antlers, most cracked and discolored with age. Must’ve been from the previous owner Kinney had mentioned. He was relatively certain Sheena would’ve never possessed such things and wondered why she hadn’t taken them down. Then again, she probably hadn’t spent much time here. He could picture an old man building things in this space, fixing things or puttering around with his tools and trinkets while the old woodstove burned. What he couldn’t picture was Sheena being comfortable in such a setting.

  He looked around, eyes following the dark contours of the roof. Lots of old tools and bric-a-brac were stored along the beams crisscrossing overhead and a ladder lay against another section of wall, an older model made of wood but still sturdy as best he could tell in the limited light.

  The floor was cement, the walls unfinished, and the small windows blurred with grime. More antique tools lined much of the wall space, most organized neatly on scarred wooden shelves or hung from pegboards. An assortment of shovels, handsaws, rakes, picks and brooms were leaned in corners or hung on the walls, and a relatively new snow-blower was parked in the corner opposite the woodstove. Next to it, a rusty charcoal grill was partially covered by a plastic cover, and along the base of the wall to its left were several gas cans, an assortment of empty wooden buckets, some paint brushes and rollers, and a chainsaw. A few unopened boxes of motor oil sat on lower shelves, and on another were plastic cases housing thousands of loose nails, nuts, bolts, screws and washers, all in individual compartments.

  Lenny moved back outside, closed and padlocked the door, then followed the driveway back to the house. At the head of the walk he stopped and eyed the cottage, still apprehensive about going inside.

  A light wind cut through the trees, rustling the forest and reminding him just how cold it was out.

  In New York City no one was ever truly alone, but here it felt like he was the last man on Earth.

  An odd tingling feeling swept the length of his spine, up along the back of his neck and out across his shoulders. The speed with which it moved, the intensity of it, and the violent shivering it induced was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Fear detonated deep within him as the tingling shot down his arms and into his fingertips, and he suddenly found himself gripped with terror so profound he could feel himself completely losing control.

  But just as he began to come apart, the sensation left him.

  Heart racing, Lenny stood on shaky legs, stunned, lightheaded and trying to understand what had just happened. Something palpably colder than the winter air had passed directly through him, invading, throttling him and departing so quickly all that remained in its wake was an empty feeling of confusion and sorrow. He could still feel the chill in the air, but whatever had caused the rest was gone.

  His breath left him in large cloudbursts. Smoky specters, they twisted and turned skyward before vanishing, as if magically, into thin air. Lenny reached for his cigarettes but his vision blurred as his eyes began to water. He removed a glove and wiped them clear. His fingers still felt like ice.

  He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply then slowly let it out.

  Maybe he wasn’t truly alone here either.

  * * * *

  Once Lenny had finished his cigarette he dropped the butt and crushed it beneath his shoe. With renewed resolve he quickly unlocked the front door to the cottage and stepped inside before he could think any more about it.

  He walked directly into a kitchen. The back wall consisted of oak cabinets and a stainless steel sink. Above the sink, a window dressed in sheer, off-white curtains looked out over the rear of the property. The woodstove Kinney had told him about and a modest table and chairs occupied the wall to his right, and to his left was a refrigerator and small closet. The floor was an inexpensive dark tile, the walls a dull tan, and the counters white Formica. The ceilings and trim were oak and had been beautifully crafted, but gave the house a very confining feel.

  The living room was off the kitchen and furnished with a couch, two comfortable chairs; a coffee table, a desktop-sized stereo set on a shelf along with some hardcover and paperback books, and an old console television in the corner. But this room too was dark and cave-like. The ceilings and floor were hardwood, and the walls wood-paneled, so despite the three windows in the room, it felt like he was standing inside a large wooden box. A door in a tiny alcove just off the living room led to the cellar. Lenny opened it, peered through thick cob and spider webs down the stairs to the cement floor below. Looked empty but for a washer and dryer.

  He closed the door, moved back into the kitchen and looked at the staircase leading to the bedroom upstairs. It was also beautifully finished oak, but Kinney was right. It was relatively small but unusually steep.

  Lenny hesitated, looked to the section of floor just beyond the base of the stairs. That was it, the exact spot where Sheena died, where her neck had cracked and the final breath had left her body as she lay crippled.

  He looked away and fought off the horrible visuals filling his head.

  The lone bathroom was on the other side of the staircase and to the left of the kitchen counter. Oddly enough, it was the brightest room in the house. Through the single window on the back wall he could see the outbuilding in the distance. The bathroom had been updated fairly recently with a white tile floor, a bathtub/shower combo and a toilet and sink with a mirrored medicine cabinet above it. For some reason, a towel had been draped over a good portion of the mirror.

  He lifted it and revealed his own puzzled reflection.


  No cracks or stains, just a regular mirror. He pulled the towel free, tossed it atop a small hamper then exited the room and returned to the foot of the stairs.

  This time he looked up. The narrow passage only added to the claustrophobic feel of the place, but beyond that he could see a doorway to the bedroom. He forced himself forward and up the stairs, holding a railing installed along the right-hand side until he’d reached the second floor landing.

  The lone bedroom was the largest room in the cottage, and also much brighter than the rest of the house. Though the same woodwork existed here, two large windows filled nearly the entire front wall, which flooded the room with sunlight. The bed was king-size and took up a good portion of the room. A large bath towel lay in a heap across its foot, as if dropped there moments before. A basic oak bureau with a large mirror mounted above it filled the interior wall, and against the other was a small desk and chair.

  The house was meticulously maintained, neat and clean, though an even layer of dust had collected over everything in the months the cottage had sat empty. But the bedroom, like the rest of the house, seemed unusually cold and lacking in personal touch. The old expression, “a woman’s touch” certainly didn’t apply here. This was a practical, functional, neatly kept little house, but one completely devoid of warmth or personality.

  It was hard to imagine anyone happy living here.

  Sheena’s face floated through his mind, her eyes filled with tears.

  Night…so many years ago…Sheena sitting on the floor…head bowed…

  Lenny’s stomach clenched. Unlike many memories he had of Sheena, the vision was neither detached nor without context. He’d only seen her cry once, and clearly remembered the scenario from which the memory had been drawn.

  He did his best to push it away as he crossed to a walk-in closet and opened the door. But for a few pairs of shoes and a handful of outfits hanging from a rod, the closet was empty.

  Turning to leave, he saw himself in the bureau mirror. He looked even more uncomfortable than he felt. It was like he was trespassing. What right did he have to be traipsing through someone else’s house, invading their private space and rifling through their belongings like a two-bit thief?

  He left the room, only to freeze at the head of the stairs. The staircase looked even more treacherous from the top. Ignoring mental images of Sheena falling and crashing to the floor below, her body twisted and broken, he made a slow, cautious descent then dropped down into the kitchen.

  He listened to the house. But for the occasional whistle of birds outside, it was deathly quiet. The constant buzz Manhattan produced had become imbedded in his consciousness over the years, as had the vibrancy it elicited. As a result, what should have been peaceful and relaxing was instead suspicious. The world wasn’t supposed to be this still. The pulse of the city had always helped to mask things, and without that filter, the raw emotion behind the real tempest raging in his mind was impossible to ignore.

  “That’s why you wanted me to come here, isn’t it?” he asked the silence. “Because then I’d have to remember.”

  He tried to imagine her there, standing in the kitchen with him.

  His voice drifted through the house unanswered.

  Lenny headed for the door. It was time to unload the car and get himself settled in as best he could.

  * * * *

  He left the groceries and booze on the kitchen table then broke open a bag of ice, filled the cooler and set the beer, Pepsi and cold cuts inside. The second bag he left outside next to the front door. It was cold enough out to keep and would more than likely get even colder overnight.

  After setting up and filling both hurricane lamps, he placed one in the living room on the coffee table and kept the other in the kitchen. The candles and box of matches he left on the kitchen table, where he could access them easily if need be, and then he turned his attention to the radio he’d purchased. It was enclosed in a plastic blister pack, and after wrestling with and swearing at it for close to ten minutes he finally stormed over to the drawers and rummaged through them until he found a steak knife. Slashing at it like Jason Vorhees on a camp counselor, the thick plastic finally gave way and he was able to pull the radio free.

  He turned it on and searched the dial.

  Nothing but static.

  “OK, awesome.” He switched it off. “That worked out perfectly.”

  Lenny plunked down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and ate his oh-my-God-sized Slim Jim. He tried to clear his mind of nightmares and anxiety and thought instead about New York. Hopefully Walter had been signed by that agent. He’d try calling him later, and he’d check in on Tabitha too. Maybe if he was lucky he’d catch her sober. It seemed strange not to have his job at the front desk looming over him. He wondered if he’d ever go back there, if he’d ever spend another night babysitting the damned.

  Maybe they were babysitting you.

  Again, set to his memory of Sheena’s voice. Yet it sounded more like something Tabitha might say.

  Swallowing down the last of the Slim Jim, Lenny grabbed a beer, popped the cap and lit a cigarette. Man, he thought, I need to get healthier. I’m getting too old for this shit. Got to quick smoking and...

  You’re dead in the dreams, Lenny.

  He defiantly threw back some beer.

  You’re bleeding.

  He slammed the bottle down and got to his feet. “OK, now what? What the hell am I even doing here?” He paced about the kitchen like a caged animal. “This is ridiculous. A mistake, I—this is—I made a mistake. I need to just sell this place and go home—

  This is your home.

  “—and forget all about this bullshit and—”

  You can never forget.

  “Why did you do this? What do you want from me?”

  All your idols turn to sand.

  He smoked his cigarette angrily, drawing long and violent drags. Why the hell was he so uneasy? Why had he been having such horrible nightmares and thoughts? Who was that man in black he’d seen, where had he gone and how the hell had he disappeared so quickly?

  Your gods are false.

  He leaned on the counter and watched the outbuilding through the window over the sink. Sheena was dead and gone. Whatever she’d hoped to accomplish by leaving him this place was pointless. None of it meant a damn thing now, not their past, his sins or hers, apologies or lies, regrets or grand epiphanies. It was all meaningless. It was too late. He was too late.

  Lenny checked his watch. Almost one o’clock.

  * * * *

  When he’d finished his cigarette, Lenny made himself a sandwich, opened another beer and the bag of potato chips and had lunch. He ate stoically, mechanically. You’re an actor, he told himself, you’re trained to manipulate and control emotion. Use those skills to keep yourself centered. Keep all this at bay with the tools you’ve acquired over the years. Play the part. You’re just a guy sitting at a table eating a sandwich and drinking a beer. Be that guy, nothing more. His mood lightened as he remembered some of his early acting classes and many of the sillier exercises his teachers put him through. Even then, as an enthusiastic young man so certain fame and fortune and a legendary career lay just ahead, he’d found many of them downright asinine. Today we’re going to be a tree. Become the flower. Convince me that you’re a shoe. Of course he had no way of knowing then how pointless the entire endeavor would become. All those years of study and struggle, chasing that brass ring and never coming anywhere near it. What a waste, he thought. What a waste of a life.

  Apparently Sheena’s life had slowly spiraled down into nothingness too, but at least she’d fallen in love and gotten married before being brutally snuffed out mere feet from where he now sat.

  Lenny looked over at the spot. Eating was suddenly far less appealing.

  He put aside the remains of his sandwich and checked his cell phone. The signal was adequate but not great, so he threw on his coat and went outside.

  In the yard
the signal improved significantly. If Tabitha had been able to get herself out of bed she’d be at work, if not she’d be in no shape to talk anyway, so he dialed Walter’s number instead. As the call connected, Lenny strolled around the side of the cottage and noticed an old picnic table leaned against the back of the house.

  “You’ve reached Walter Jansen. Leave a message after the beep.”

  A tone sounded. “Hey, it’s me, just checking in,” Lenny said. “Hope things went well with the agent. Let me know. I’m at the house in Trapper Woods. It’s a decent little place, but you were right, too many bad memories. I’m putting it on the market so I don’t see me staying long, couple days at most. Anyway, give me a call when you can, I actually have a good signal out here.”

  He snapped the phone shut and was headed back for the house when a strange clinking sound drifted through the woods. It sounded like keys jingling but he couldn’t tell where it was coming from, only that it was getting closer.

  Just as he’d homed in on the direction, a big black dog with a thick coat galloped up alongside him, the tags on his collar rattling. Tail wagging, the dog playfully jumped up and put his front paws on Lenny’s chest, nearly knocking him off his feet. An enormous wet tongue lapped his face. Lenny chuckled, holding the dog’s neck with one hand and petting his head with the other. “Good to meet you too, mister.”

  “Marley, get off him you clown.”

  Still dancing with the dog, he managed to turn and look behind him.

  A woman in her forties dressed in a heavy coat, sweater, jeans, boots and a knit hat, stood a few feet away. She looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Sorry, did you two want to be alone or…”

  “Yeah, do you mind?”

  The dog dropped back to the ground, tail wagging furiously. “That’s Marley,” the woman said. “As you can see, he’s extremely ferocious.”

  “Regular Cujo.”