Goblins (11 page)

“The thing we killed,” Keller began, his voice low, “it wasn't human.”

“I'm sure he wasn't. Some crazed maniac—”

“No,” Keller said, harshly. “I mean it really wasn't human. And the smell surrounding it was like spoiled meat.”

Handsome looked at him with one eyebrow cocked. “So what was it, an alien?” He laughed.

“No one knows,” Keller said, speaking as if he didn't hear the disbelief in Handsome's voice.

“Um, okaaaaay,” Handsome said, shaking his head.

“Gil, I'm being one hundred percent honest with you. No joke. The thing was hideous. It had dark green skin and claws. The chief told us not to tell anyone the truth. He didn't want the town filling up with media and weirdos. But how can he expect us to sit by and not tell someone besides the few of us that know the truth? I mean, it was a little green man-thing with black eyes and long claws, like a bear's. I thought it might be someone in a costume, but it wasn't. It was real.”

“Okay, so I'm supposed to buy this shit?” Handsome said. “Then you tell the others and you all have a good laugh at my expense?” Handsome was shaking his head again. “You know, you guys could've come up with something more believable than this. The whole little green man thing is overdone.”

“I didn't think you'd believe me, but I swear it was real and monstrous. Like something out of a horror or science fiction movie.”

“Right,” Handsome said. “Maybe it was a goblin from some fairytale come to life.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous. But one day the truth will come out.”

Jed felt a tickle in his throat and coughed. The officers stopped speaking about green monsters and moved to talking about the upcoming barbeque at one of their fellow cop's house.

Jed was stunned by what he'd heard, his past coming roaring back.

As a child, he'd heard the tale of the goblin king. It involved his ancestors and went back generations. His father and grandfather used to tell it to him all the time. They wanted him to have the tale memorized just in case something happened to the journal. The journal had been in his family for generations, passed down from member to member. It always stayed with the family members who remained on the island. Jed must've read the journal a hundred times, maybe more, from the age of ten until he turned thirty and no longer believed in it. The goblin legend was a myth. A tale to scare children, but also to explain what had happened to the European settlers back in 1590. What Jed had found strange was how his grandfather and father—both older and respected men—could seriously believe in such a story.

But Jed had come to see his father for what he was at times—a crazy fool. It wasn't always so, which was odd. He imagined crazy people to always be crazy. His father was as normal as a person could be, save when it came to that journal. He insisted that the story about the goblin king was true. He reminded Jed of it religiously, even after Jed stopped believing. His father did so up until the day he died of cancer. Jed placated his old man. Assured him that he would keep a watch out for when folks—children especially—went missing on the island. It would start with one at a time. People would grow in fear. The air would be ripe with it. Then the goblin king would unleash his army and wipe out every living soul on the island.

Jed hadn't paid attention. Hadn't noticed when the Brown boy went missing. Hadn't noticed when the Whitmore girl disappeared from her bedroom. Not until this very moment after hearing the police officers talking.

Later, as he sat in his cell sobering up, his mind started working better. The physical pain was there, but it was ignored. For the first time in a long time, he had something serious on his mind. He thought about the missing children, the description of the small, green creature. And then, he thought about the timing. The goblins supposedly returned every seventy years or so. It wasn't exactly the right year, but it was within proximity.

As the hours passed, he couldn't help but think the tale he'd learned was true. He didn't want to believe it, but how else did he explain all that he knew? And how would he go about stopping the goblin invasion? He wasn't in any condition to take on such a feat. He was weak, both in mind and body. He was older than his years. He was also alone in this. No one would believe such a tale—especially from him.

He couldn't think like that. He had to try. He'd start at the top. Talk to the chief and work his way from there. The chief had a small army of officers under his command, and it seemed more than a few of those officers had seen one of the goblins.

Jed's head was pounding. The hangover was in full swing. Concentrating was difficult. He needed a drink to stem the hurt. He paced his cell. Sweat lined his flesh. He stunk.

Grabbing the bars, he yelled for a guard. “Hey, I've got to speak to the chief. I've got news about the kidnappings. Vital information.” He kept at it until an officer showed up and told him to be quiet. He was informed the chief would be around in the morning, and until then, there was nothing anyone could do for him.

Jed thought about mentioning the goblins, but realized the officer wasn't going to listen to a town drunk, let alone believe such a thing. Jed wondered if the guy had been one of the people who'd witnessed the goblin. If that was the case, he might listen to him. Make sure he saw the chief. But no, Jed thought. It would be better to hold his tongue and wait to speak with the top dog in charge.

Chapter Fourteen

Shortly after seven A.M., the chief stood in front of Jed's jail cell.

Jed had slept but a mere hour. Sweats, shakes, aches and pains ran the course and were still doing so.

“Heard you had news about the kidnappings?” the chief asked.

Jed scrambled to his feet and fixed himself quickly. The room swayed a bit as he headed toward the bars and was thankful for their support. “I certainly do, Chief.”

“Talk,” Hale said and backed up a step. The man looked tired. His eyes were red and had bags under them. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Could we speak in private?” Jed asked, lowering his voice.

“Right here is fine.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.” Jed glanced down the corridor as best he was able to. “You know, sensitive nature and all.” He winked.

The chief exhaled and let his arms fall to his sides. “I'm letting you out because the officer who arrested you had a change of heart. You're sober now too. I don't have time for any bullshit. So why don't you get on out of here before I change my mind?”

“I—” Jed began, but was interrupted.

“And stay away from the Stop N' Sip.” Hale turned to leave.

“Chief,” Jed said, his voice desperate.

Hale stopped.

“I'm as sober as a church mouse on Sunday,” Jed said. “Something I haven't been in a long while. I have real, honest to goodness information that you need to hear.”

Hale turned back around and looked at him. One eyebrow was cocked. Jed knew the man was thinking. Deciding whether to listen to him.

“You're going to want to hear this, Chief,” Jed said.

Hale took a deep breath, whether to relax himself or keep himself from losing his temper, Jed didn't know. Then the man rolled his eyes. “An officer will be by shortly to let you out. Come to my office right after.”

Thirty minutes later, Jed was escorted to Chief Hale's office. The room was orderly, the complete opposite of any section of Jed's trailer. A portrait of the president of the United States hung on the wall to the left of the desk. A number of documents, including two commendations, also hung in thin black frames on the walls. The desk had a computer monitor on it, a cup filled with various pens, a tissue box, a picture of an antique Mustang and a metal mesh basket brimming with papers. There were no photos of the chief fishing with buddies, or of a wife or kids. A bookcase filled with work-related books took up one wall. A water cooler sat in the far corner next to a tropical plant. The entire place appeared unused, cold and boring. A for
show only
model of a police chief's lair. Jed didn't see a speck of dust anywhere. The air smelled stale and had a leathery scent to it. Maybe the chair was new.

Now that he was sober, Jed marveled at his sense of smell and what he was able to notice. The world was more than a blur. His head pounded, but he was used to the feeling. He'd remedy that later.

No, you won't
, his mind screamed.
You've got responsibilities now
.

He looked down at himself and, for the first time since he could remember, felt ashamed. His brown corduroy pants and Everclear T-shirt were raggedy and decorated with stains. His shoes had holes in them and were caked in grime. He was blight on the room that needed to be swept away.

“Are you all right, Jed?” the chief asked.

Jed snapped out of his daze. He'd forgotten about the man sitting across from him, having allowed his alcohol-desiring mind to wander away for a minute.

“Yeah,” Jed said. He sat there for a moment, trying to remember why he was there. Then he remembered.

Shit. Now that he was sitting in front of the chief, he wasn't sure how to begin. He needed to get the man to listen. Hear the whole story without being cut off or asked to leave. He started to doubt himself. There was no way Chief Hale was going to believe him. Unless the story he'd heard Handsome and Keller talking about was true. Which it was.

Damn it, Jed needed a drink. Just a little something to calm his nerves.

“Jed?” Hale said.

Shit, he was wandering again.

“Sorry, Chief,” Jed said. “Being dried out comes with some complications.”

Hale nodded, then pulled out his desk drawer and withdrew a bottle of painkillers. He plucked a tissue from the tissue box and set it down on the desk. Next, he popped off the bottle's lid and shook the container until two capsule-shaped pills fell out. Hale pushed the tissue across his desk to Jed and returned the bottle of painkillers to the drawer.

Jed stared at the pills, then at Hale.

Hale held up a finger, then pushed himself away from his desk and stood. He walked over to the water cooler, filled a paper cup and handed it to Jed before sitting again.

Jed thanked him, then downed the pills and water before crushing the cup and placing it in his pocket.

“Now, Jed,” Hale said, leaning on his desk, “do you have information about the kidnappings?”

Jed sucked in a lungful of air. “I don't know how to begin, so I'm just going to. And I don't expect you to believe what I tell you. Heck, I'm not sure I believe it, but if it's true, the island's in a heap of trouble. I wouldn't even be here talking with you if I hadn't heard about what really took those kids.”

Hale said nothing. He leaned back in his high-back, leather chair and interlocked his fingers as they rested on his abdomen. “And who took the kids?”

“Not who, but what,” Jed said. “Goblins.”

“I think your time's up, friend,” Hale said and went to stand.

“Chief, I heard your officers talking about it. Little, green, ugly son of a bitch with claws and black eyes.”

Hale froze mid stand and stared at him. He finally plopped back down in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest again. He smiled, the action looking forced. “You obviously overheard some movie or book talk. Maybe some fellows messing with a drunk. If that was the case, I apologize.”

Jed kept his eyes locked onto Hale's. “Chief, before you kick my ass out of here, I'm going to tell you a story. A story that dates back to the year 1590. It's a generational tale that's been passed down from father to son. You might choose not to believe it, but with everything going on, I suggest you listen.”

Hale frowned, took a second, then told Jed to proceed.

“Around a hundred years ago, give or take a decade,” Jed began, “there was a case of children going missing, their families slaughtered. A few of the old-timers in town, including my grandfather, had said it was the goblin king—the creature who'd come forth from hell after a shaman from one of the local tribes back in 1590 had summoned it to get revenge on three men from a group of settlers who raped and killed his daughter. The creature wasn't of Native American legend, so to speak, but of European origin. The shaman didn't feel the killers deserved to be tormented by
his
people's demons, but of their own. So one day, he found out what they feared most as children. The men had been drunk and talked freely when the shaman tossed around gold. That same night, he delved into the spirit world and found out that the goblin king existed and then called forth the demon of European legend. It was a most evil being, known to steal humans, especially children, and add them to its army.

“The shaman only wanted the men responsible for his daughter's murder. But unlike his own people's demons, of which he knew the ways and rules, the goblin king was a mystery. The shaman hadn't performed the summoning ritual properly. The goblin owed no allegiance to the shaman. The shaman had no true power over it. So, the goblin king stole the few children the island had, as well as the shaman's tribe's children, and brought his army to the surface and wiped out the entire island's population—hence the missing settlement of Roanoke Island.”

The chief remained still, except for his lips that he pursed. Jed couldn't get a read on the man and continued.

“My grandfather had heard the goblin tale like his father had. He didn't believe in it until the island's children started disappearing and one of the goblins was tracked back to its lair, a cave that led deep underground. My grandfather and a group of others took up arms and went into the cave. What they found were the missing children's clothing and a doorway to another dimension. Not knowing what else to do, they gathered up a crap load of dynamite and blew the cave and portal to hell. My father never saw the action, but the journal about what happened back in 1590 and so forth—each new generation adding their own goblin story to it—was left to him. The journal was passed down and memorized by islanders so that when children went missing, they'd know the goblin king had returned.

“I'm the only surviving member of the group that knew about the goblins. Unfortunately, the journal was lost when my house burned down, but I remember the stories it contained. And the most important part of all was that the goblin king would return every seventy to one hundred years or thereabout to capture children for its army and to wipe out the remaining population.

“And this time period, the infamous 1590,” Hale said. “The date John White returned from England to find the settlement containing his wife and daughter, deserted. The word Croatoan had been carved into a tree. So, they didn't move to another island or get wiped out by whomever. They were killed by goblins?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” Jed said. “But like it did to the original Roanoke settlers, the goblin king means to come back and wipe out the island's population once again. It will continue to return every hundred years, as the curse goes, allowing a new generation to form so it can wipe it out all over again.”

Silence filled the air until Hale shifted in his seat, the leather complaining. Jed didn't know what to make of the man's demeanor and only hoped he'd believe him. If the man didn't, people were going to die and the world was in for the shock of its life.