Bad Moon Rising

From his knees he straightened his torso so that he could look over the edge of the counter. The store was empty; the outside light looked like late morning. There was traffic outside, people and cars. Mike leaned his hands on the counter to steady himself, and the touch of the solid wood and Formica had a nicely steadying effect on the whole room and an equally calming effect on his stomach. Solid reality. It felt good enough to risk standing up and he gave that a shot, using both hands to pull himself up, first to one foot and then to both. The room, agreeably, did not start dancing around again.



There was a horrible taste in his mouth and he looked around for something to drink. He saw the trash can, saw that he’d thrown up in it.



“Swell,” he said and carefully walked over to the small bathroom. As before, the face in the mirror was one he didn’t recognize, but this time it was not an hallucination of his own, older face; now it was just his normal face but his skin was greenish and there was puke dried on his chin, throat, and upper shirtfront. “Swell,” he said again, and reached for the tap.



When he had cleaned himself up, he felt better, stronger. He emptied the trash can and washed it, then mopped the floor behind the counter, which was stained with vomit and sweat. He removed all traces of what had happened, embarrassed by it without understanding what had happened or if there was any shame he should feel. Probably not, but guilt was a reflex for him.



It was nearly an hour before he realized that the sign on the door was hung the wrong way. A lucky break, he thought as he went over to flip it to OPEN.



Still no sign of Crow. He thought about calling him, but something inside told him not to. Not now, not yet.



He got a bottle of Yoo-hoo from Crow’s apartment fridge, pulled the stool to the end of the counter, picked up the copy of Cemetery Dance that he had started reading. The entire encounter with Tow-Truck Eddie was buried down deep, buried along with a lot of other things that were stored in the shadows in the back of his brain. Stored out of sight, but not gone.



2



Crow sat in the plastic visitor’s chair, sloshing around the cold dregs of hospital coffee in a cardboard cup and watching the sky outside thicken from gray to purple as another storm front pushed in from the west. Val was finally asleep, her face turned away from him so that all he could see was the lumpy mountain of bandages that covered the right half of her head. Her hands twitched as she slept. Bad dreams, he thought, knowing that right now there were no other kinds of dreams she could be having.



Boyd’s body was missing. Exhausted as she was, the news had nearly broken her. She dissolved into frustrated, horrified tears and went on and on until Crow began to fear that she was having a breakdown. How much could one person take, after all? There was nothing the nurses could do; she was pregnant, so sedatives were out of the question, and there’s only so much emotional mileage you can get from a cup of chamomile tea. So, Crow had held her while the storms of fear and hurt raged in her heart, and it was close to three o’clock before pain and exhaustion dragged her down into a rough and troubled sleep. He doubted she would find much restoration there, and he hated the thought of what shapes lumbered through her nightmares.



Just after five there was a soft tap on the door and Crow got up quietly and padded over, opening the door softly to see Sarah Wolfe standing there. She looked as smashed down and weary as Val. She started to say something, but he put a finger to his lips as he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him.



“Sarah…how’s Terry?”



She offered him a brave smile. “The same. Stable, if that really means anything.”



“You know Val and I are praying for the big guy.”



A quick nod, then, “Crow, I need to speak to you about something and I don’t want you to hate me for it.”



“Wow, that’s a hell of an opening.”



“It’s about the Halloween Festival.” When he looked blank, she said, “The party, the movie marathons, the whole—”



“Sarah, sweetie…don’t get me wrong but…who the hell cares anymore?”



“Terry wanted you to run things if he couldn’t. He’s been telling me that over and over again these last few weeks as he’s gotten…well, sicker.”



Crow just looked at her. “Sarah, do you know what’s been happening lately? Mark and Connie are dead.”



“I know, and I heard that some creeps from the college broke in and stole the body of that horrible man—”



“Sarah…with all that’s happened to Val and her family I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Halloween right now.”



She took his hand and held it in both of hers. “Crow, this is hard for me to ask because I know how stupid and trivial it sounds, but please hear me out. Okay? You know how bad this crop blight is for the farmers in town. They’re on the verge of losing everything—their farms, their homes. Terry loaned out some money to those that were hardest hit. He’s mortgaged our house, his businesses, and even the Hayride up to the hilt. And there have been a lot of deals made between the farmers and the businesses in town, a lot of loans swapped back and forth, and what the banks couldn’t guarantee, Terry did.”



“Christ, Sarah…why the hell did he do that?”



“Because he loves this town, Crow. He loves it so much that he feels responsible for it, that if he lets it fail, then it’ll be a personal failure. I think that’s why he’s been seeing his sister. You know he nearly died trying to save Mandy when they were attacked. I think on some damaged level Terry is trying to save her all over again by trying so hard to save the town.”



“Maybe,” Crow said cautiously. He had other thoughts on Terry and Mandy.



“If the Halloween Festival fails, then Terry won’t be able to make good on the loans. He’ll be ruined, and it will destroy the economy of Pine Deep. Completely. A few people will survive, but the town as we know it will become a wasteland of foreclosures and bankruptcies.” Her eyes were bloodshot and when she had reapplied her lipstick she’d done a shaky job of it. “Crow, we need that Festival to happen. This isn’t just a money thing, and it’s not just about Terry’s—and my—financial future. This is really about the survival of Pine Deep.”



“I get that, Sarah, I really do…but what the hell can I do? No way I’m going to leave Val here and go off to play spooks and specters with the tourists.”



She shook her head. “Terry has plenty of staff to run the day-to-day operations, but you were the one who set up most of the events, you’ve been the liaison for all of the celebrities, you’re the one who has the contacts and knows how every part of this festival runs. If I had another month I might be able to train a couple of people to handle this, but we don’t. Halloween is two weeks away.”



“I get it, I get it…but—”



“If you’re going to be here at the hospital, then I can have Terry’s laptop and files brought here. You could send some e-mails, make some phone calls…basically keep things on track. The Festival this year promises to be the biggest ever, which means that money is going to pour into Pine Deep. If we can just keep everything running smoothly, then we can accomplish what Terry staked everything he has to achieve.” Her eyes searched his face, and she still held his right hand.



Crow gently disentangled his hand and walked a couple of paces away, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “Geez, Sarah…I don’t know. So much of this depends on what’s happening here in town. We’re going to be arranging funerals and all.”



She managed a weak smile. “Well I did start this off by asking you not to hate me.” She came over and gave him a hug. “Just think about it, okay? I’m going to have Terry’s computer and files brought in anyway…just in case.”



He grinned, too. “But no pressure.”



“Oh, heavens no. Pressure? Here in bucolic Pine Deep, where the nights are quiet and sleepy and nothing ever happens and everyone’s just happy as clams.”



“Yep, that’s us, that’s Pine Deep.” He sighed. “Whoever coined that phrase ‘America’s Haunted Holidayland’ should be stood against a wall and shot.”



She patted him on the cheek. “That was you, sweetie. Ten years ago when you were interviewed by Don Polec for Action News.”



“Yeah, well,” he said, remembering, “it sounded good at the time.”



“And now?”



“Now it just sounds too much like truth in advertising.” Down the hall he saw Saul Weinstock and Gus Bernhardt coming out of the elevator. “Okay, Sarah, let me think about it, and when Val wakes up, I’ll run it by her. No promises, though, so if you have another backup plan you should start looking into it.”



“There’s no other—” she started to say, then stopped, nodded, and said thanks.



Crow watched her head down the hall, saw Weinstock give her a reassuring smile, and then she was gone. Crow saw that the smile lingered on Weinstock’s face and that made a frown form on his own.



“Hey, Crow!” Weinstock said as they came to stop in front of him.



“Any word on—” Crow began, but Gus cut him off.



“No,” Weinstock said, “Gus thinks that it really was those jackasses from the college.”



“Little Halloween is bigger than Mischief Night around here,” Gus observed. The Pine Deep police chief was a big, sloppy fat man with a perpetually sweaty face and boiled-red complexion. “This whole morgue break-in is turning out to be a Little Halloween stunt. We were dealing with crap like this all night. Trash can fires, webcams hidden in the girl’s bathroom at the dorms, the doors to the school bus arc-welded shut.”



“But, Boyd…” Crow began.



“We’ll find him eventually.” Gus shook his head. “These college jocks love their friggin’ jokes.”



“Glad they think it’s funny. Personally I’d like to kick their asses. Better yet, wait until Val’s on her feet and then lock them in a room with her. That’d teach them.”