"You mean, like a curse?"
"Call it what you will."
"Marsh broke a golden ball," I said, remembering back to when I first peered into the Light. "Is that what you're talking about?"
"That was the first crucible," Damon answered. "There are others."
"So, these things are like, what? Kryptonite?"
Damon chuckled. "Must you see everything through the prism of a cultural reference?"
"Just tell me, are they dangerous?"
"To you, no. To me they are blockades. At least one of these crucibles is protecting the poleax in the Light. It prevents me from seeing it, which is why I cannot locate it."
"How does that work? They have some kind of power?"
"More than you can imagine. Your efforts have been crude but you have seen what is possible when the connection between spirits is strong. With Marshall Seaver your connection is friendship. Imagine how strong a connection can be when it is based on hatred and fear."
"So there's so much hatred between you and this enemy that his blood holds power over you? Nice. Who is this guy?"
Damon glanced at the imposing warrior statue in the fountain.
"Him?" I asked. "He must have been important, having a statue and all."
Damon looked up at the statue with disdain. "It is his blood that prevents me from retrieving what is mine. Your friend broke one crucible. Another is here in the Black. I need you to find it and destroy it."
"Why can't you find it yourself?"
"Because I cannot see it!" Damon answered, frustrated. "Have you not been listening?"
"Well, if you can't find it, how do you expect
me
to?"
Damon pulled his black sword and lunged at me so quickly, I didn't have time to defend myself. He grabbed my arm and held the tip of the blade against my throat. I froze. All it would have taken was a slight push and I'd be smoke.
"I do not often bargain, Foley. If you continue to challenge me with questions, I will move on and find someone else to help me. I have been patient this long. I can continue to wait."
I held eye contact with him. I didn't want to show weakness, or fear.
"Just trying to understand," I said.
The madness left his eyes and he pushed me away. I didn't know if he had jumped me for effect or I had dodged a bullet to oblivion. Either way, this guy's emotions were all over the place.
"You have the freedom to move anywhere in the Black. I do not. There is a small group of spirits, traitors, who possess one of the crucibles. They were once trusted soldiers, until they chose to betray me. The only thing that prevents me from destroying them is the crucible they hold. It has kept them safe for centuries."
"You don't know where they are?" I asked.
"The crucible keeps me blinded," he said. "Until it is broken and the blood spilled, I cannot find the traitors."
"And what happens when that crucible is broken?" I asked.
"Another obstacle will be removed and I will be one step closer to the poleax. The traitors know of my weapon's location in the Light. I am sure of it. Once I find them, rest assured, they will guide your friend to its resting place. It will be a pleasure to see that they do."
"But why Marsh? Just because he broke a crucible?"
Damon gave that question some thought. I couldn't tell
if it was because he didn't know the answer or didn't want to tell me the truth.
"He was marked by the blood," he finally said, choosing his words carefully. "He alone can break the other crucibles that protect the poleax."
I couldn't comprehend all the ancient curse stuff, but at least I understood what he wanted me to do.
"It comes down to this," Damon said. "I can send you back to your family and friends and the life you so cherished. But to do that, I need the poleax. Find the crucible, destroy it, and when the poleax is mine, life will be yours once again."
"I'll think about it," I said, and then I closed my eyes and got out of there.
Seconds later I arrived at my home. Or my vision of my home. There was no way I would make any decisions under pressure. I needed time to let it all sink in.
The last time I was at my home in the Black, I was alone. Not this time. Sitting on the steps
leading up to my porch was an old man with straggly gray hair. He was totally out of place, but somehow familiar.
"Something I can do for you, chief?" I called out.
The guy looked at the ground and kicked some leaves around.
"Tried to do the right thing," he mumbled. "Look where it got me. I'm dead, ain't I? Dead . . . dead . . . dead."
"Yeah, sorry. Welcome to the club."
"You too?"
"As a doornail, whatever that means."
The guy lifted his chin and looked at me. Tears ran from his eyes and down the gray beard stubble on his cheeks. He was a mess. You'd think that after you die you'd get cleaned up a little in the afterlife.
"You Cooper Foley? The guy who got killed in the boat?"
"Whoa," I exclaimed. "How did you know?"
"There isn't much that happens in Thistledown that gets by me."
I remembered who the guy was. He was poking around the lake and found my Davis Gregory jacket. He was the only guy who knew I was dead. At least he was when he was alive. Which he wasn't anymore. Not if he was talking to me in the Black.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"George," he answered. "George Ogilvy. They call me George 0. I died because I tried to tell your friend the truth about what happened to you . . . and about the horror that
demon'll
bring to anybody who gets in his way."
13
"You saw Damon?" I asked. "He talked to you?"
"Don't know nothing about no Damon," he said. "The guy haunting me was a skeleton man."
"Gravedigger," I said. "He isn't real. It's a character my
friend created."
"That ain't no character. He's as real as you or I, and since you and I are dead, maybe he's
more
real than us."
The old guy wiped away tears. He seemed disoriented, though I wasn't sure if that was because of his brush with Gravedigger or because he hadn't expected to find himself
dead.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I find things around the lake. Things nobody wants no more. Some people pay good money for other people's junk. I was sleeping in the woods to get an early start on combing the north shore when I heard the two boats colliding.
Horrible sound. Won't never forget it. When I found your jacket, I put two and two together and figured you were history."
"How did you know it was my jacket?" I asked.
"Had your name in it."
Oh.
"Your parents own the yellow cottage a couple miles from town. You got that pretty sister."
"You really don't miss anything, do you?"
"When you spend your life collecting junk, you get to know who's throwing it out. I seen you every summer since you were kids, and I seen your friend. What's his name?"
"Marsh."
George's lip started to quiver and he began to cry again. I felt bad for the old guy. Not only was he dead but his last days hadn't been good ones.
"All I wanted was to tell your friend what happened," he said, his voice cracking. "That's all. Nobody should be left to rot under the water like that."
"Yeah, thanks for that image."
"But then . . . I started seeing things. Terrible things. A snake came outta my drain while I was brushing my teeth.
It sunk its fangs right into my arm, but then it just up and
vanished, like it was never there. Then all the tools at my house, they all turned to rubber. I know it sounds crazy
but I'd pick up a hammer and it'd fall limp in my hand. But
it only looked that way. I tried hammering with it and I smashed up my finger. Now, I'm a lone wolf, but I needed
to see some normal folks. You know, to prove all was right with the world. So I went into town. The place was lousy with tourists, but none of them had faces. Men, women, even kids, they all looked like mannequins in a store window, just floating around all silent-like. I near went outta my mind. I realized pretty quick that none of it was real, it
was just tricks that ghost was playing on me. I tried telling normal folks—you know, the ones
with faces—what was going on but nobody believed me. Can't say I blame them. They all think I'm loony anyway."
"I believe you, George."
"I finally couldn't take it no more and holed up in my house. I boarded up the bedroom to keep that skeleton and his crazy tricks out.
Lotta
good it did. He came through the wall like it was made of air."
"All because he didn't want you to tell Marsh what happened to me?"
"Not just that. He haunted my dreams, showing me horrible things. People at war, all kinds of killing and cruelty.
He told me we were all on some road and the more people who knew about it, the more would be in trouble. He said it was all your friend's fault."
"Marsh? No way."
"Ah, I didn't believe him. I think he only told me that so I'd go after the kid and scare him even more. I think I know why, too."
"Okay, why?"
"'Cause that ghost can't really do nothing. Sure, he can show you things that scare the living wits out of
ya, but it
ain't real. He's got it in for that boy and I think my
gettin' in the act would of made it all seem more real. But I wouldn't do it. No, sir. I'm a good man."
I could have told him that not everything Damon did was an illusion, but I didn't want to mess up his mind any more than it already was.
George took a deep breath and looked around as if trying to figure out exactly where he was. "Yeah, a real good man," he said sadly. "Look where it got me."
The poor old guy had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had paid the price.
"So you never told Marsh what happened to me?" I asked.
"I tried. Couple of times, but I was so scared. The best I could do was give him a key to my house. I got a piece of your boat there. I used it with a bunch of other wood to close off my bedroom.
Lotta
good that did."
My heart raced. "You have a piece of my boat in your bedroom? How do you know what it is?"
"It's got a name on it . . .
Galileo.
Must be a piece of the stern."
"It is. Did you tell Marsh what to look for at your house?"
"Didn't get the chance. The bogey came after me. It chased me into the road and, well, the truck that hit me wasn't an illusion."
"I'm sorry, man." I said, wincing.
"Why? Wasn't your fault."
"And it definitely wasn't yours. If it makes you feel any better, you did the right thing and that means you probably won't be here for long."
"Yeah? That's good. I think. Where exactly
is
here?"
How was I going to explain that to him? At that moment, Bernie the mailman came walking along the sidewalk, whistling some silly song.
"Bernie!" I called out. "Just the guy I'm looking for."
"What can I do you for, Chicken Coop?"
I pulled the mailman into my yard.
"This is George. George 0. He just got here from the Light and needs the download on how things work."
Bernie lit up with a big smile. "Well, he's come to the right guy."
"George," I said, "Bernie's like you. He knows where all the skeletons are buried. Ooh, bad choice of words. He knows everything about everybody. He'll help you understand what's going on."
"You a mailman?" George asked with a frown. "You ain't one of them crazy ones, are
ya? I've seen enough crazy to last me a lifetime."
Bernie laughed. "Well, you're on to another life now so keep an open mind."
George didn't look too happy. I sat down next to him on the stairs.
"You're a good man, George," I said. "What you did is gonna help Marsh after all."
George sighed. "I gotta tell
ya, that bogey scares me. Not because of the things he did but because of what he showed me. If we're on this road he talked about, it ain't just your friend I'm worried about. We're all in for a load of trouble."
There was nothing I could say to that.
"I'll take it from here, Cooper," Bernie said with compassion.
"Good luck, George," I said, and stepped out of the Black . . .
. . . to arrive at our lake cottage in the Light. My goal was to get Marsh to George 0.'s house so he could find the piece of the
Galileo
and figure out exactly what happened to me. That was the goal, anyway. I had no clue how to do it.