I pull up to the little house I was starting to doubt I’d find. For a while I thought Aunt Alice’s one-story rundown shack had gone bye-bye just like the Crag’s Inn. But it’s still there, still creepy-looking and hopefully still occupied by the living.
I park my bike a little ways down the drive so I don’t startle her by driving up to the door. As I walk toward the house, the stench of death is all around me. But this time I don’t have to wonder why. I see the outline of hairy clumps on the driveway and as I get closer can tell that they’re dead dogs. Three of them, maybe fifty feet away from her door.
Last time a headless groundhog in her driveway, now this.
I don’t want to examine the dogs very thoroughly, but they’re dead, all right. If one suddenly jumps up and bites me, my heart will stop. Just plain and simple.
I wonder where the dogs came from and why.
But that’s why I’m here. To get answers to some of the whys.
Mom and Dad don’t know I’m here, of course. It’s after school, and I’ve come with specific questions. I’ve come to learn a few things about my family. About our family.
Before I can knock on the door, it opens for me. And there she stands, a hobbit-like figure leaning against a cane, wild curly strands of thinning hair sticking up.
“Bobby, that you?” her ancient voice says in its deep Southern drawl.
“It’s Chris.”
“Who?”
“Chris—Tara’s son.”
“That’s Bobby’s bike.”
“I know.”
Her eyes seem to sharpen, and she appears suspicious.
“What’re you doing with it?’
“I’m, uh, borrowing it.”
She scowls at me. Her pet crow seems to caw in response, welcoming me in the same way.
I feel a shiver go through me.
“What do you want?”
I have a feeling she’d beat me over the head with that cane without a second thought. Maybe that’s what happened to the dogs on her driveway. They sniffed by her doorway and got a big whack in response.
“Can I talk with you for a few minutes?”
“Think that’s what we’re doin’.”
I nod, smile politely, continue to keep the cane in my view. “Yes, but I was wondering if we could go inside.”
“I’m not for entertaining today.”
“No, you don’t have to go to any trouble. I just want to ask you some questions. About Walter Robert Kinner.”
Her eyes somehow tighten even more, as if she’s making a wish after blowing out a birthday candle. Obviously the name registers.
“What does he want now?”
“Do you know him?”
“My own poppa?”
Question number one already answered.
“Please, can I come in?”
Now maybe she knows why I want to come inside. Someone might be watching, or listening. Like they always are.
Plus, I want to get away from those dead dogs.
The place is the same. The black crow in the corner. Some weird mannequins. Candles.
The same stuff as before. Until I spot something on the coffee table.
One of those cards. The creepy cards that I saw at Ray’s party.
Sure enough, next to the card is a flat dish with ashes in it.
The card has a long blade on it.
Oh that’s just awesome. Where is the blood to go with it?
“I don’t have anything to eat,” Aunt Alice says.
“It’s fine, thanks.”
She hobbles to a chair near the crow and then sits down, urging me to do the same. I sit on a hard couch.
At this point, I just can’t resist.
“What happened to those dogs?”
“They died.”
Her reply isn’t meant to be witty or smug. She says it in a matter-of-fact way, as if this sort of thing happens all the time.
“But why are they in your driveway—lined up?”
“To keep away the spirits.”
I nod. “Dead animals, uh, keep away the spirits?”
“You see ’em, don’t you? I know you do. You’re a boy, so of course you do. A Kinner boy. Oh, how my poppa wanted a boy. He got us girls. Didn’t know what to do with my sister—your grandma—but sure knew what to do with me.”
She rocks back and forth a bit in the chair. If I just saw her I’d think that she was surely senile. But the way she talks—she’s all there.
“Doesn’t always work, but it helps. Other things do too, but you’re young and you haven’t been here long.”
“Other things?”
“Bobby used to tell me that he’d smoke that special stuff just to be able to get some sleep and not see them in the blackness of his dreams.”
I think of Mom drinking herself to oblivion and about my own experience the night I did the same at the cabin. No nightmares that night.
“Have you seen Uncle Robert?”
“He found love. That’s what did it. I could see the cloud around ’im. Every time he’d come around. This black cloud of death. Told him he was a fool. But he didn’t listen to me. Kinner boys don’t ever listen. They gotta do what they gotta do.”
“What happened to him?”
“Don’t know. Do you? You got his bike.”
I shake my head.
She’s answering these questions more than I thought she would.
“Does Mom know about Walter Kinner being alive?”
“Her grandpoppa? How would she?”
I shrug. “Well—you told me.”
She smiles, and I see a yellow set of teeth that have got to be fake. “’Cause you know. You seen ’im, haven’t you? They tried getting to Bobby, but Bobby wouldn’t do it. Poor tortured soul of a boy. Thought he’d be all noble and save the girl. But there’s no saving anybody anymore. There’s just death. That’s what you’ll learn, if you haven’t already.”
“What’d they want Uncle Robert—Bobby—for?”
“The same reason they want you. The last male pups left in the litter. Can’t let you get away, can they? Their women they discard like those dogs out there. But not the men. Oh no.”
I breathe in and feel like we’re being watched or listened to. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe they’re fine with me finally knowing.
“Why do they want me?” I ask.
I’m here to confirm and compare what I know and what I’ve heard.
It’s the only way I can do what Lily wants me to do: get proof.
“You do what they’ve always done. You take what you need and you leave nothing in return.”
Her words seem like an ominous warning.
“But I just—what about the males—why the males?”
“You’re their last great hope. Bobby was a lost cause. There was another hope, but I put an end to that. No son of mine would ever grow up black as that bird.”
Son of mine?
I’m about to ask her about that, but Aunt Alice continues.
“All they want is for you to continue the sick, twisted bloodline. And you’ll get whatever you want, son. Whatever. All for exchanging a small and simple thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Your soul.”