He scored a lot of laughter with that comment. Sex sells, he thought. So does the truth.
"But what if I told you that The Pioneer Club felt safe when they met in that clearing at night? They felt safe there because no Indians ever came near it. Never did and never would. Grass didn't grow there and wildlife—bears and cougars and dogs—avoided it at all cost. And what if I mentioned the lights that sometimes appeared in the trees, the voices moaning in the wind, the apparitions, the figures seen in that area that never materialized, lingering somewhere between the known, material world and whatever exists on the other side? What about all of that? Mass-hysteria? Panic? Or is it something more? Is it a haunted place where our ancestors forced unfortunates to pay the ultimate price for their sins? Is it a locus of evil?"
He stopped himself. He'd been ranting, and the students were staring at him, a bit open-mouthed, unsure of what to make of him. Ludwig couldn't help it. He found the topic fascinating and easily became fired up while talking about it.
He took a deep breath and looked at his watch.
"I see we're running short of time, so maybe we need to wrap this up. Don't forget to pick up a syllabus on the way out of the room. It has your reading assignment for the next class on it."
The guy in the back, the one who had asked the first question, had his hand up again.
"Yes?"
"I want to go to this place in the woods, man," he said. "Can you tell us where it is?"
Other heads in the room nodded.
"You all want to go there, do you?" Ludwig said.
"Yeah."
Ludwig shrugged. "If you find it, let me know. I've been trying to pinpoint that clearing's location for the last fifteen years. No luck. And even if I did know, or even if I just had some theories, do you think I'd share them with you? What are you going to do with the information? Go out there on Halloween and drink beer, hoping that somebody levitates or a ghost floats by?"
"That would be cool."
"It would, wouldn't it? But I'm not kidding when I say that nobody really knows. And unless you want to go out there and wander through every inch of forest in Union Township until you come across it, the location may remain a secret for a long, long time. At some point, probably during the late nineteenth or early twentieth century, The Pioneer Club simply ceased to exist. At least, there are no records that I've been able to find to prove they were still around. Maybe they thought they'd outlived their effectiveness. Maybe the membership grew old and died out. Maybe the modern world made it more and more difficult for them to hide their activities." Ludwig shrugged again. "Who knows?"
He paused, and the students started to stir. They sensed class was ending, and the minds that hadn't already shifted to whatever they wanted to do next did so. But Ludwig wasn't finished with them. He liked to send them away with something meaty to chew on.
"Of course," he said, "it's possible that The Pioneer Club never really disbanded. It's possible some form of that club exists in New Cambridge today. So whenever you pass an old man on the street or in the store, and he gives you more than a passing glance, ask yourself if he might not be thinking of taking you out to that clearing in the woods to answer to a higher power. You just never know, do you?"
CHAPTER NINE
Roger waited for the girl.
He had pulled his van off to the side of County Road 600 and turned the flashers on, making it look like he was just a regular guy having car trouble. The van was so old—he had it when the first girl came to live with him—that it wouldn't be hard for anyone to believe that it had broken down.
But he also knew that a girl wouldn't always stop to help a guy with car trouble. A guy would. A guy would stop and maybe get out his tools or at least offer to give a jump or a push or a lift. But Roger knew a girl might not. She might be scared or nervous. That's why he had another story to tell her when she stopped, one that would put the girl at ease. He had a plan.
He stood at the front of the van and leaned against it, even shaking his head a couple of times to add to the illusion that he was a guy having the worst sort of luck in the world. He smelled gasoline and oil, the industrial rubber they used for the hoses. But he kept his eyes up the road. He knew she'd be coming soon. She always came at the same time, the same place. Roger liked that. He liked routine.