Chapter Six: Strange and Eerie Sounds in the Night
The door slammed behind us and we found ourselves outside in the darkness and the cold.
Drover began shivering and moaning and looking up at the cloudy sky. “Hank, I sure wish we could have stayed inside, don’t you? It seems awful spooky out here.”
“All good things come to an end, Drover, and as for the spookiness of the situation . . .”
It was kind of spooky, to tell you the truth. For one thing, I didn’t know my way around Slim’s place. I had never spent much time down there, don’t you see, and I wasn’t too familiar with the way it was laid out.
For another thing, the wind was moaning in the tops of the trees. I never did care much for a moaning wind. It gives me the jitters.
And then another thing. I remembered the singing I’d heard the night before. Now, I was something of a singer myself and had been known to belt out a few songs after dark, but let me tell you something. When I hear music in the night, I like to know where it’s coming from. If it comes from nowhere, I get suspicious.
Also a little nervous.
Scared.
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t the kind of dog who believed in ghosts and goblins and such things, but . . . it was a spooky night.
“Don’t let it bother you, Drover. This is just another night, one of many this old world has . . . what was that?”
“What?”
“I thought I heard something, a banging sound. Did you make a banging sound?”
He rolled his eyes around. “I don’t think so, unless it was my heart. It’s kind of banging around.”
“No, this was something else.” We listened, and there it was again: a banging sound. “Drover, I think we’d better check this thing out. Something strange is going on around here.”
“Maybe it would be better if we stayed on the porch.”
“No, that’s a bad idea. Do you want to know why?”
“Not really.”
“If we stayed on the porch, Drover, we’d be running away from our fears. We’d never learn what it was that caused us to be afraid.”
“Yeah, that’s what I like about it.”
“Where’s your curiosity? Your sense of adventure? Don’t you want to plumb the mysteries of the Great Unknown?”
“I never was much of a plumber.”
“Very well, if you insist on being a scaredy-cat and a chicken-liver, I’ll go by myself. I’ll take all the chances and then I’ll take all the credit, while you go to the porch and hide from every little sound in the night. Is that what you want, Drover? Is that the way you want to conduct your life? You’re old enough now to make your own decisions. The choice is yours.”
“I think I’ll go to the porch.”
“Oh no you won’t. You’re going with me.”
“But I thought . . .”
“The choice is yours unless you make the wrong choice. I can’t allow you to make dumb decisions. Come on, let’s move out.”
We went creeping through the darkness, towards the sound of whatever it was that was banging. It was pretty tense there for a while, but the mission turned out to be a big success. We discovered that the door on the cake house had come unlatched, and it was banging in the wind.
“There, you see? It was nothing to be afraid of. But if I had let you go to the porch, you’d still be up there shivering and imagining all kinds of crazy . . .”
Suddenly I heard something else, a new sound. It was coming from a grove of bodark trees a short distance away. “Drover, did you hear voices? Unless I’m seriously mistaken, someone is lurking over in those trees.”
“Hank, is this Halloween night?”
“No. We don’t observe Halloween.”
“Am I old enough to make a decision yet?”
“I suppose we can talk about it. How old are you now, Drover?”
“Well . . . I’m not sure. That depends on when I was born.”
“That’s correct. And when were you born?”
“That’s the part I’m not too sure about. I think I was there but I don’t remember much about it.”
“You think you were there but you don’t remember much about it. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yeah, my early years are kind of hazy.”
“Were there any witnesses to this alleged event?”
“Well, let’s see. My brothers and sisters were there, and so was my ma.”
“None of whom is available to testify in your behalf, is that correct?”
“I guess so.”
“In other words, we have no proof whatsoever that you were born. We still have no date of birth, and hence, no age. I’d say your case looks pretty weak, Drover.”
“Can you remember when you were born?”
“Uh . . . why do you ask?”
“Well, if you can’t remember when you were born, then how do we know you’re old enough to make a decision about whether I’m old enough to make a decision?”
“Drover, the answer to that is so obvious that I won’t even bother to say it.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
“Well . . . what is it?”
“You really don’t know? Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“No, just say it.”
“Very well, I’ll say it one time and I’ll expect you to remember it.”
“Okay, I’m ready.”’
“The answer is: Shut up.”
“Oh.”
“And quit asking moronic questions in the middle of an important investigation.”
“What’s a ‘moronic question’?”
“The question you just asked is an example of a moronic question, and I forbid you to ask any more.”
“How can I find out what ‘moronic’ means?”
“You can’t. Now, I think we’ve settled the matter about your authority to make decisions, and once again you’ve proved yourself unfit and irresponsible. I’m sorry, Drover, but I have no choice but to make the decisions for both of us.”
“How can you make a decision if you’ve got no choice?”
“Exactly. And always remember, Drover: I’m doing this for your own good.”
“Does that mean we can’t go home?”
“That’s correct.”
“Could we go back to the porch?”
“No. Any more questions before we launch our investigation of the mysterious voices in the trees?”
“I’m scared.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Yeah, but it’s true, and I want to go home!”
“The truth, Drover, is that you were born scared.”
“I still don’t remember a thing about it.”
“And you’ll just have to learn to live with it. All right, let’s move out. We’ve got a job to do.”
And with that, we went creeping into the darkness, towards the grove of trees from whence the mysterious voices had come. To find out what it was, you’ll have to turn the page.