“There are coyotes in the forest,” Ben said.
“Coyotes don’t gather their prey like this,” Cal said. “And I doubt they’d have the strength to move a full-grown deer. Though the coyotes around here are bigger than they used to be. There’s a theory that they traveled through Canada, breeding with wolves along the way before recolonizing the East Coast,” Cal said.
“Interesting,” Ben said. He hoped the priest had a Wikipedia entry’s worth of information about coyotes. Anything to distract some of his attention from the grisly scene in front of him. Anything to postpone the obvious questions.
“Let’s go,” Ben said, turning his back on the pit of horrors. He got no argument from the priest.
Ben restrained himself from running out of the woods. He held his breath when he saw the tree line, promising himself that his first inhale would be of the sweet air of the living world.
Father Cal trudged out of the undergrowth a moment later, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. The Crofts was silhouetted against the verdant slopes of the mountains, and they gathered their breath, watching the fields ripple around the motionless house.
“That was appalling,” Cal said after a few moments. “Why don’t you seem more horrified?”
“I found a mutilated deer two weeks ago. At first I thought it was a bear or something, but…” Ben shook off the memory of those black eyes staring at him. “I think some of the locals are having fun with us.”
“You think that the villagers filled up that ravine with dead animals? Why would they leave the creatures’ bodies so far from the Crofts? If they wanted to harass you, wouldn’t they put them in a place where you were sure to find them?”
“Could it just be hunters?” Ben asked.
“It’s not the season, but even if it were, they shouldn’t be trespassing. I can’t imagine you’d want men hunting the forest with Charlie playing there.”
“And I’d have heard the hunters’ gunshots, right? Unless they hunt with bows; I know some people find that more sporting.” He frowned. “Listen, I don’t know, okay? But please keep it to yourself. Charlie’s not allowed out of sight of the Crofts, and I don’t want Caroline to worry. Honestly, we have enough on our plate right now.”
They began the trek across the tall grass fields, and Ben told the priest more about the dead deer and the head on his doorstep.
“You’re really not going to call the police?” Cal asked when they reached his car.
“I can’t see how any good would come of it. And there was no harm done. We’ll need the village on our side if this inn is going to work.”
Father Cal looked as if he was going to pursue the point, but then he agreed. “Well, I can’t say it was entirely pleasant, but we’d be glad to have Charlie in September. And it was good spending the morning with you, Ben. You take care of yourself and your family.”
“Yes, sir.”
Father Cal climbed into his sedan and stuck his head through the window. Ben thought he was going to say something, but he only stared at the Crofts for what felt like a minute. “It’s a fine place, no mistake,” Cal said. “But doesn’t it ever frighten you to be alone in such a big house, so far from everything else?”
“No, Father, I’m not afraid,” Ben said. He caught the scent of the pit as he shook his head. He would have to take a shower and launder these clothes. But he mustered a smile for the priest as he waved goodbye to him. “And I’m not alone.”
He gave so much weight to the declaration that, for a moment, he even believed it.
16
Charlie stood at the center of the faerie circle, still as the trees that ringed it.
He tried to concentrate on the sound of the wind through the forest. He tried to hear past the rustling of leaves and the creaking of branches. He tried to listen for that which did not want to be heard.
It had been days since he’d followed noises up the mountain. Though he’d been grateful that the Watcher had finally revealed itself, their encounter had lasted only a moment. He’d gotten only a glimpse of it, silhouetted against the sun. It had stood there, the edges of its darkness catching fire. Since first seeing it, Charlie had replayed the sight constantly in his head. He thought about what it looked like, what it wanted, and what it would do next. It had summoned him to the mountain, and he had followed, and now it was the Watcher’s turn once again. Charlie had only to be patient. This was why he waited here, still and silent as a tree. He felt sure that their game would soon continue.
Above Charlie, the birdsong stopped as the din from the forest changed. There was a new sound now. One that did not follow the rhythm of the wind or the sway of the trees. Charlie stepped off the stump to land in a crouch on the floor of pine needles. In his bare feet, he was as quiet as an owl gliding on a breeze.
These tapping sounds were the same as the ones he’d heard on the day he’d seen the Watcher. Explosions of noise across a range of pitches. Just as before, they lured him toward the mountains. He picked his way through the trees and underbrush as he ascended the slope. But the tapping from the deep forest never seemed to get any closer.