Strange Seed by Stephen Mark Rainey Read Free Book Online Page B

only in a sheet, no coffin.”
    Rachel grimaced. “That’s awful.”
    Paul nodded grimly. A moment’s uneasy silence followed, then Rachel continued. “And the boy?   What did he die of?”
    No one knows. They called in Dr. What’s-his-name from town, but he just said something about calling in a specialist and, in the interim, the boy died.”
    “The boy’s name was Joseph?”
    “That’s what’s on his…marker, though Hank says he never heard the Newmans call him that, or the girl ‘Margaret.’ In fact, all he remembers about the relationship the Newmans had with those children is that it was very quiet. Hardly a word ever passed between them. But that, I think, we can take with a grain of salt. Hank admits not being…socially involved with them. That’s not the way he put it, of course.”
    Rachel grinned. “Hank’s a character, isn’t he?”
    “Uh-huh. Almost a stereotype of the aged, weather-worn hermit.”
    “All I know,” Rachel offered, still grinning, “is that I like him.”
    *****
    And the last day, the day the Newman woman threw herself from the second-floor window, followed soon afterward by her husband—those small deaths proved what Lumas had contended all along:   Some folks can learn to accept what happens here, and some can’t. Some believe that man alone, and his cities, do the creating, and if you told them that man’s creations are pale and insignificant by comparison, they wouldn’t understand. They’d say, “What do you mean? Tell us what you mean.” And you’d know   they couldn’t understand. They’d say, “What do you mean? Tell us what you mean.” So you know you couldn’t tell them. You might talk for hours but they wouldn’t understand, or they’d understand and not believe it. Maybe they’d do what the Newmans did. And you’d have to see to it that their bodies were put back where they belonged. Like the bodies of the children were.
    But maybe none of it would happen this time. It had started, but Paul Griffin had a bad destructive streak in him, though he’d deny it. He wanted to put things in order, his order, which had nothing to do with what had been intended.
    His father had understood right off.   And there was hope to be gained from that, because Paul was his father’s son.   There was hope.   For Rachel, too.   Maybe more than for Paul.   She understood more than she realized.
    *****
    This is turning out to be quite a long letter, isn’t it?   A lot longer than I thought it would be.
    I’ve got good news.   Friday, the man comes to put in the windows.   Thank God!   I go outside as much as I can to get away from this lousy darkness (our lights don’t help much).   Paul’s getting the fields ready for next spring’s planting (he has to put in a “cover crop”), and sometimes I watch him, and other times I go on little nature walks.   It’s amazing how many kinds and varieties of wildlife there are here, mostly insects and spiders of one sort or another, and birds—cardinals, hawks, etc.
    Lately, my walks have been short.   That wolf (I find it hard to believe there actually is one) is once again on the prowl.   Paul found several more slaughtered animals, woodchucks and such, and a fox, and early this morning he was awakened by noises outside our bedroom window.   He swore he saw something moving around near the barn (about seventy-five feet away), though it was much too dark for him to be certain.   Also, the weather has become amazingly unpredictable.   We might have gorgeous blue skies early in the day, but by afternoon it can be sullen and overcast—as it is now.   In the last week, we’ve had two vicious storms, and walking anywhere, even on the road in front of the house, can be risky.
    Believe me, I’d like to get outside more than I’ve been able to.   Other than its darkness (only temporary, I hope), this house is pretty noisy.   It’s an old house and noises are to be expected from old houses, I suppose,