Coven by David Barnett Read Free Book Online

to warp the room.
    First Mr. Sladder called the campus physical
plant department. He was told that no power failures had been
reported on campus and that the station meters showed no
fluctuations into the agro site. He called the state police and was
told that no traffic accidents that might’ve brought down a power
line had been reported. Lastly he called the power company, who
could not account for their power loss. But a “crew” would be sent
“first thing.” “First thing when?” Mr. Sladder shouted into the
phone. “First thing next week? Next month? Lugheads!” He hung up,
sputtering. “Dag dabbit. Like to kick ’em all in their
bee hinds, I would. Ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of blammed
shammers.” The draining light made him look shrunken in the stiff
uniform. His hat with a big badge on it sat ludicrously atop his
cropped head.
    “ Come on, Nellapee.” He
gave her a flashlight. “Let’s go check the junction box. I musta
overlooked somethin’.”
    Outside smelled funny. Something vaguely
bitter meshed with the usual ripe stable smells. They walked
between the white buildings. Penelope saw a flask in Mr. Sladder’s
back pocket.
    The old man looked worried. Could he be as
afraid of the dark as she? She glanced past the fences to see how
far the fog had crept, then realized they were walking in it. It
came up nearly to her knees.
    “ Dag ground fog creeps up
on ya. A fella can’t see where he’s walkin’. Careful of holes, hon.
Holes all over the dag place.”
    Mr. Sladder slid into the utility shed as if
swallowed, light and all. Penelope stood alone in the fog, which
the moon had made opaque—a murky, graying half glow.
    “ Blam it! Look at
this!”
    Penelope entered the shed, which was full of
coursing rings of light. She smirked at an odor like burned
plastic.
    “ Power surge musta blowed
through here. Fuse housing melted ’fore the breaker pole could
trip.”
    The black pop switch on the center box
read “On.” The main class CTL fuse sat in the melted carrier
like a nugget of coal.
    “ Has this happened before?”
she asked.
    “ Well, sure, honey. The
lugheads don’t regulate the power proper is what. Just ain’t never
happened this bad.”
    “ But you can fix it,
right?”
    “ Me? Naw, hon. Have to get
a ’lectrician out here to replace these boxes.” Mr. Sladder
scratched his ear. Was he disturbed? “Just ain’t too keen on
sittin’ around in the dark.” In the flashlight beam, the lines in
his old face resembled knife cuts in meat.
    Then a series of very loud crisp sounds
echoed outside—
    chunk. Crack!
    Penelope jumped.
    Again: chunk. Crack!
    “ Jiminy peter and Creesus
Jeist! Ja hear that!”
    She snatched his arm, which was thin as a
wood rail in the starched shirt. “What was that? What’s
happening?”
    “ Monkey business is what,
dear. Scuse me while I consult my old friend Mr. Johnnie Black.” He
took a quick sip from the flask and smacked his lips. “There she
goes, much better. Now come on.”
    The skinny arm led her out of the shed. The
fog was everywhere now, a shifting great lake. It parted murkily
around their steps.
    “ Mr. Sladder—”
    “ Jus’ you stay behind me,
sweetheart.”
    “ Is someone
here?”
    “ Dag straight I’m afraid,
hon. Probably some town lugheads, comin’ up here all the time in
their pickups, drinkin’, carryin’ on. ’Swhat happens ta boys when
they’se not brung up proper.”
    The farthest stables were out of use. Here,
a section of the post fence had been broken, the twin
crossbeams cracked.
    “ Looks like someone had a
job here,” Mr. Sladder remarked.
    Penelope remembered the two
robust chunks. They’d been awful, irrevocable sounds. “Was it…an ax that did
this?”
    “’ Fraid so, hon, and a big
one, to drop beams as big as these.”
    So people were running
around the site with axes ? “I’m scared, Mr. Sladder!” she
whispered. “We have to call the police.”
    “ We’ll do just that,