Bob Hernandez scanned the empty street in front of them, wondering how such an easy gig could go south so quickly. “Where the fuck did they go?”
“I told you to take that left.”
“Nobody likes a backseat driver, man,” Bob replied to Chris Hopper, his partner for this assignment. It was shit duty like this that made him hate his job some days. The fact that Eric had seemingly gone out of his way to piss off their guests earlier certainly hadn’t helped matters. As a result, they hadn’t even waited to reach the city limits to make a run for it.
Hopper placed the copy of Field & Stream he’d been reading onto the dashboard. “You gotta admit, it’s pretty impressive. Can’t be easy to pull a Houdini with a ride like that.”
“It is when your ass is busy planning your next fishing trip instead of acting as lookout.”
“Not my fault they went squirrelly on us. Maybe next time the boss should actually say ‘hi’ first before he pulls out his dick and has a pissing match with the people we’re supposed to babysit.”
“I don’t see you telling him that.”
“That’s because I enjoy getting a paycheck.”
Bob shook his head, then turned down Myrtle Street, hoping to catch sight of the jet black boat of a SUV. Unfortunately, the numerous side streets and turn-offs made it nearly impossible to tell where they’d gone without getting lucky. “So what do we do now?”
“Not sure there’s much that needs doing,” Hopper replied. “They didn’t do anything wrong. We were just asked to keep an eye on them.”
“Which we fucked up.”
“True, but do you want to radio that in?”
“We kinda have to.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean we have to do it right away. It’s not like these guys are under arrest.”
Bob considered this. “I suppose being bitched out can wait until after lunch.” He turned to Hopper. “There’s a new Mexican place up on Fourth. What do you say?”
“Now you’re talking.”
♦ ♦ ♦
It took Francis all of five minutes to ditch their government-issued escort.
With Mitch and Danni occupied and Zeist overseeing things, Derek realized there was no time like the present to head over to Shilough and get a lay of the land.
He knew that Zeist’s personal goon squad could probably track them down if they took a few minutes to figure it out. But he was willing to bet these guys were probably more closely related to mall cops than any sort of actual trained security detail.
“That was pathetically easy,” Francis said from the driver’s seat of the SUV, almost sounding disappointed. “I mean, hell, we’re pretty hard to miss in this boat.”
“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Derek replied, scanning his phone for any messages. So far, it was clear. Apparently Zeist’s men weren’t too keen on phoning their boss to let him know how quickly their assignment had turned to shit.
“Think our new masters are going to be in a forgiving mood?”
“Ask me if I care.”
Roughly forty minutes later, they took the exit from 206 as directed by the GPS and turned southeast toward Shilough. After a few more miles, when the device got confused and tried to get them to make a U-turn in a bog, Derek turned it off. “Just keep following this road.”
“You sure?”
Derek shrugged, noting to himself how much difference a couple of miles made, even in such a densely packed state. The road they were on had narrowed greatly. Now there was barely enough space for two cars to pass each other going in opposite directions. There wasn’t much room for error, as the shoulder gave way to a ditch on both sides. “No, but it has to let out somewhere.”
“If you say so,” Francis said, “but I’m not seeing any signs for Shilough. Just for the record, the Atlantic City Expressway is only a few miles back the way we came. Personally, I think we’ll have a better shot at the craps table than with this turd hunt.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Derek sat up straight in the passenger seat and pointed. “Over there. I do believe we’ve hit paydirt.”
“Dirt anyway,” Francis replied as they passed a tiny sign which read ‘Shilough: Established 1813.’”
As it turned out, the sign was a fitting precursor for the town itself.
Francis scowled as they drove past a beaten-down bait shop. “We really should make a game of road bingo for shit-holes like this.”
“It’s not that bad. It’s kind of quaint.”
“Quaint, huh?” Francis pointed to an old church with a sign outside proclaiming that homosexuals were damned to burn in the fires of hell. “Why don’t cryptids ever haunt anywhere nice?”
“There’s that reptoid population living beneath Los Angeles.”
“Beneath, and Los Angeles are the keywords there.”
“What about last year when we were down in Australia for that rogue Yowie? That was nice.”
“If you call being bitten by a dingo nice. I mean, seriously. Would it really hurt one of these things to, say, show up in Bermuda or maybe Saint Martin?”
“There’s no pleasing some people,” Derek said with a smile before turning serious again. “Hello, what’s this?”
Near the far end of the dingy little town, tucked back from the road, Derek spied a small, one story structure. It didn’t seem any more remarkable than anything else they’d seen so far. What caught his eye, however, was the old hand-painted sign out in front of it. It depicted a faded image of a winged creature and had the words “Devil Museum” printed above it.
“Even the worst dung heap on the planet is going to have at least one tourist trap.” Despite his complaints, Francis pulled in to the gravel lot and parked the large SUV. “Think they’ll have anything useful in there?”
“Doubt it,” Derek replied as the other man shut off the engine. “From the look of the place, I’m half surprised it isn’t condemned. But you never know. Blind squirrel theory and all. Grab the gear. Worst case, maybe we can get some usable footage. It sure as hell looks like they could use whatever publicity we can give them.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Francis took a few minutes to film the nearly empty street. If not for the working traffic lights and a few small stores displaying neon “Open” signs, one might have thought they were in an abandoned ghost town.
“Kinda creepy.”
“It’s the middle of the day,” Derek said. “Kids are in school and their parents are at work. I bet this place is hopping on the weekends.” He smiled and added, “Or at least limping. How’s it look?”
“I think that’s good for now. Let me get a shot of that sign and then we can go in.”
Derek waited for him to do so, then they both walked toward the front entrance. “And now for the moment of discovery.” He turned the handle of the door, firmly expecting to find it locked. It wasn’t. A bell jingled overhead as it opened.
“Think the Smithsonian should be worried?” Francis whispered.
They found themselves in a large, open space. A modest number of display cases and photos lined the walls. Before they could do much in the way of examining them, a man stepped in from a back room and approached them.
“My apologies for the delay,” he replied in a slightly guarded voice. “The museum also functions as my home. I was in the back enjoying some afternoon TV.”
“That’s ... no problem at all,” Derek replied, forcing himself not to stare.
The proprietor was tall, thin, and appeared to be middle-aged, but it was his face that caught Derek’s attention. He had a crooked nose, a protruding brow, and an overly pronounced underbite which gave his face a decisively off-balance appearance.
The man walked up to them. “Admission is two dollars per person.”
“Not a problem.” Derek pulled out his wallet and extracted a bill. “Sorry. I only have a twenty.”
“I’m a little short on change,” the man replied. “However, donations are both welcome and tax deductible.”
Derek smiled and handed the money over. “Of course. Always happy to help out a local business.”
“Much appreciated.” The admissions fee quickly disappeared into the man’s pocket, almost as if he were afraid Derek might change his mind. He made to turn toward the displays, but then stopped and glanced toward Francis, who was preparing to turn his camera on again.
The man held up a hand. “I am afraid there is no photography allowed. Video, too. Some of the artifacts here are unique, and we would prefer visitors come see them in person rather than on some website.”
“We?” Derek asked.
“My wife, Sarah, and I.”
“I can do a wide shot,” Francis offered. “Nothing zoomed in. Just enough to tantalize people. Our audience would probably like it. We’re from...”
“I know who you are,” the man replied. “Dr. ... Jenner and his crew, was it?” Derek raised an eyebrow, but the man quickly added, “I saw the governor’s press conference. We have a satellite dish on the roof.”
“Ah. Then you know we’re here to do some research for our show.”
“Yes,” the man replied. “Although I can’t lie and say I actually watch it.”
“No offense taken.”
“However, if I can be of any service in helping you fine gentlemen educate yourselves, I am happy to.”
“Excellent. Then...”
“But I am afraid the no photography rule is non-negotiable.”
Derek paused for a moment, then turned to Francis and nodded. The big man powered down the camera and lowered it to his side.
“Thank you kindly,” the man replied, then held out a hand. “My name is Ezekiel Lesterfield. I’m the proprietor of this establishment dedicated to the history of our fine town.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Lesterfield.” Derek shook his hand, noting the man’s grip was slick and clammy. He quickly dismissed that, though, as another detail caught his attention. Lesterfield? For some reason that sounded familiar. “This is my cameraman, Frank LaCroix.”
“Is that French?” Ezekiel asked.
“Canadian,” the big man replied. “Got Canuck blood in my veins, especially during hockey season.”
If Ezekiel found Francis’s joke to be funny, he didn’t show it. “Will the rest of your colleagues be joining us? I seem to recall there being four. A man and a young woman.”
There was something about his tone Derek didn’t like, but he pushed it aside. It was most likely a combination of his over-protectiveness of Danni, combined with their host’s somewhat ungainly appearance. He mentally chided himself for it. It wasn’t fair of him to be judgmental. “Not today. They’re busy with other aspects of the investigation.”
“I see.”
“But they’ll be with us for our night hunt,” Francis added.
“Night hunt?”
“Yeah, it’s for the show. We go out and conduct a full field investigation once it gets dark. Set up trap cameras, sound lures, that sort of thing.”
“And you’ll be doing this investigation in the woods around Shilough?”
“We usually don’t divulge that in advance,” Derek said, throwing a look Francis’s way. “It can be dangerous for anyone who doesn’t know what they’re doing and could also compromise any evidence we find.”
“Of course. I merely asked out of curiosity. Be forewarned, though. The woods can be a treacherous place at night.”
“Like we don’t already know...” Francis began.
“As we’re well aware,” Derek interrupted his teammate. No point in being overly snippy with the locals. “But we’re still scouting potential locations. After this, we’re going to drive down to Leeds Point and consider...”
Now it was Ezekiel’s turn to interrupt. “A waste of time, I can assure you. A tourist trap, nothing more.”
“Oh?” Derek asked, inwardly amused at the irony.
“The story of Mother Leeds is the most popular telling of the legend, but it is little more than an old wives’ tale. Sadly, it is a myth that allows the greedy merchants at Leeds Point to profit while we sit here in relative obscurity.”
“We typically don’t take legends like that at face value, anyway.”
“That is not to say the so-called devil was not real, but as with so many things, the true story has been perverted over the years. One might go so far as to claim it was stolen by them.”
“Do tell,” Derek replied, letting the proprietor lead them into the museum.
♦ ♦ ♦
“As you can see, the legend of the Jersey Devil originated much closer to Shilough than Leeds Point.”
To say that Derek was less than impressed by the old newsprint within the museum’s few glass cases was an understatement. Yellow journalism at its best, proclaiming the fantastical, no doubt while ignoring the real issues of the day.
“So then how did Leeds Point get all the credit?” Francis asked, looking at an old flyer offering a reward for the devil’s capture.
“Simple. Shilough has always been a relatively close-knit community. We keep to ourselves and do not seek to profit off our legends.”
“Says the guy running the museum.”
Ezekiel grinned, showing crooked yellow teeth. “This museum’s purpose is merely to preserve the truth, as well as provide a modest income for my family. You’ll note the lack of a gift shop, which we would certainly have if we were willing to compromise our ethics.”
Derek chuckled. “He’s got a point, Frank.”
“Besides,” Ezekiel said, “after my ancestor exorcised the beast, there was little need for us to seek publicity. Let the folks over in Leeds keep their silly legends.”
Derek finally remembered what Danni had told them on the way down. That’s why this guy’s name sounded so familiar. “So the exorcism actually happened?”
That seemed to perk Ezekiel’s interest. “You’ve heard of it?”
“We would be remiss in our jobs if we didn’t conduct proper research.”
“I’m impressed. Most who come this way purporting to be so-called devil hunters are nothing of the sort. All they know about the Barrens is what anyone who performs five minutes of cursory research would, and most of that are lies. The Leeds legend, the Kallikak family, the Philadelphia hoax.”
“They used an actual painted kangaroo for that one, didn’t they?” Derek asked.
“Yes,” Ezekiel replied, the humor draining from his face. “Made quite the killing before anyone thought to take a closer look. We don’t have much use for those types around here.” He led them to a series of framed photos on the wall. “Here he is. My great-great grandfather, Jedediah.”
Derek stared at the first picture. It depicted a mature, stern-looking man standing in the center. A world-weary woman was by his side. Surrounding them was a large group of boys and young men. However, it wasn’t so much the image itself that stood out, but the appearance of all those in it.
“So, is this his ... flock?”
“No,” Ezekiel said. “That’s his family. The woman next to him is his wife, Sarah. All the rest are their children. My ancestor was blessed with a large family – eighteen sons and a daughter.”
“That’s a lot of boys.”
“As it has always been with my family. At least nine out of ten of the children born to my bloodline are male, perhaps more.”
Derek looked closer and spied the lone girl. She was a tiny, frightened-looking thing surrounded on either side by a pair of hulking brothers who had their arms around her. He supposed it was meant to be a protective, brotherly gesture, but in the image captured, it appeared more like jealous hoarding on their part.
Again, that could have been due to the unpleasant appearance of those captured in the image. Damned ugly family. I can see where our host gets it from.
He glanced toward Francis and could see the big man was probably thinking the same thing.
Derek immediately felt guilty about it. He wasn’t normally one to judge by looks alone. Still, there was something off about the photo, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Seventeen,” Francis said, drawing Derek’s thoughts back to the present.
Ezekiel turned to him. “Excuse me?”
“There’s only seventeen kids, sons anyway, in the photo.”
Ezekiel smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So there is. I am told that one of his children, Abram, was quite sickly. He was often bed-ridden, under the care of his sister, Sarah. No doubt this photo was taken during such a time.”
“Sarah?” Derek asked, remembering what the man had said about his wife. “Seems to be a lot of that going around lately.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but Ezekiel’s gaze held little humor in it. “It’s a fine name for a woman. A good, God-fearing name. There are far too many strumpets in this world. Whores of Babylon, all of them. Doesn’t seem anyone remembers a woman’s rightful place anymore.”
Derek was suddenly glad he’d left Danni behind. Not only was Ezekiel’s comment sure to infuriate her, but he was getting a strange vibe from the man. Not to mention, something about Jedediah’s picture was still nagging at him.
“So, about that exorcism,” Francis said after a beat.
The intensity left Ezekiel’s eyes as if he suddenly remembered he was their guide. “Ah, yes. I’m happy to tell you all about it.”