Date: Wed, 23 Jun 2021 18:01:26 +0000 From: Kenneth Chancellor Subject: A Circle Of Wolves, Chapter 3 A Circle of Wolves Chapter 3: Secrets Revealed I drove while Bethany navigated, using the directions she received from Mr. Boudreaux over the phone. He told her Circle Oak wasn't easy to find if you weren't looking for it. When the state put in the highway, the town voted against allowing a major thoroughfare being paved through the center of town, which boasted a number of buildings considered by most residents to be historic, forcing the planning commission to compromise on passing through the outskirts. The only visible evidence of Circle Oak to the outside world was the cemetery's old and rusting arched gate that bore the town's name, and even then, some overlooked it as no more than the name of an old cemetery. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I passed by the rusty wrought iron gate and red bricked wall and had to make a U-turn on the practically empty section of road. To be fair, the cemetery was almost as populous with long needle pines as the rest of the highway was with cars and trucks, and there was no population sign or any other indication of the town's name, much less the hidden hamlet beyond. The cemetery was old, with tombstones protruding from the thick reddish-brown carpet of dead needles, sharing space with the thick underbrush in the shade of the towering pines throughout. The old and broken road that snaked through the macabre scene was so heavily shaded from above the light paled as if a thunderstorm was gathering. Eventually, we made our way to a one-lane wooden bridge I was hesitant to attempt to cross in the cherry red 1976 Mustang Seth and I rebuild during the summer I turned sixteen, until I spotted a steepled white clapboard church directly in front of us with a sign out front that read, "Welcome To Circle Oak! Population 246" "Two hundred forty-six people?" I gasped, "No wonder it's not on the map." Downtown- or what I assumed was what passed as downtown- was like something out of a movie. Ancient buildings (many of them unused while the others had been repurposed) lined the brick-paved street, which was scarred black and worn with slight indentations from the decades of traffic. The sidewalks were broken and infested with weeds. Mr. Boudreaux's office was part of the town's municipal building, an ornate brick and cement building with a line of rusty five-pointed stars dotting its top while others were carefully and beautifully carved into the doorposts and window frames. The main hall boasted a tiled floor with what Bethany was sure was a pentagram, the lines of the star's shape woven in a Celtic knot style, until she noticed a town cop's badge was designed in a similar manner, the star gold and encircled with a silver circle. I knocked on Boudreaux's door before opening it, then entered his office, only half surprised he didn't have a secretary. The room was large for an office, with three of the four walls lined with shelves that housed more books than I ever planned to read in my lifetime. The other wall was banked with a row of differing colored filing cabinets, stacked high with manilla folders and towers of paper trays. His desk was as large as the top was completely hidden from view with even more stacks of folders and file caddies. "Oh, Jesse!" he smiled, rising to his feet to shake my hand across the expanse of the desk between us, practically lying across it to reach my hand due to his small stature. "So good of you to come. And I'm guessing this lovely creature is Bethany?" He took her hand and shook it slightly, "You're a very lucky man," he told me, offering me a sly wink. "He knows," Bethany said, using a tone that more than adequately conveyed who the boss really was. "I have your file right here," he looked down at the chaos on his desk with some confusion, then sorted through the manilla folders until he found what he was looking for, "Ah! I knew it was here. I just need you to place your mark next to the indicated lines, then we can go out to Cowan Corner. The caretaker, Max, is going to meet us there. Good fella, Max. He lives in the old gate house and was very helpful to Miss Sewilla. He took her death pretty hard, especially given he's one of the few cops on the town's payroll." "Caretaker?" I asked. "It's an unofficial title," Mr. Boudreaux explained, "While you grandmother was alive, she rented the gate house to Max, and he did odd jobs around the place- lawn work, maintenance, that sort of thing. After she died, he stayed on, and looked after the place. He may be helpful after you move in." "Wait!" I exclaimed, stopping my busy autograph session, "I'm not planning on moving in." "I'm sorry," he said, leaning in, "But I'm afraid you'll have to. As I said at the funeral, the will stipulates that in order for you to take full control of your inheritance you must live in the house for a year and a day." "A year and a day?" Bethany asked. "Yes," he answered her, "Miss Sewilla was very specific about it, and insisted it be included as a provision. If Jesse doesn't live on the premises for a year and a day, he forfeits the inheritance in its entirety and his uncle, Henry, becomes the heir. I have no idea why she insisted on that exact time period, but she was very keen on it being exactly one year and one day." "I might know why," she said, but didn't offer any more information. I saw something in her eyes, something I only saw when we were in study hall and she was trying to figure out a math problem. "Okay then," she suddenly said with a smile, "Jesse will move in tomorrow." "I will?" I asked. It wasn't a protest, as that would be pointless with Bethany, but an uncertainty of her motives. She always had a plan, always scheming, and it almost always got me in trouble. "Yes," she smiled, as if I should have already understood why she decided that I was moving into a house I haven't even seen, in a town I've spent all of ten minutes in. I didn't bother asking her what her motives were and continued signing the next year and a day of my life away. My mind just played out different arguments in opposition to the plan. I was still in high school, to begin with, and I had never lived alone before. Of course, Seth and Mom considered it their responsibility to teach me everything I needed to know about how to be self-sufficient, including summer camping trips where they taught me how to live off the land, what plants were edible, which had medicinal properties, and how to make fire without the use of matches or a lighter. Mom taught me how to cook, sew and can vegetables from the garden we planted in the backyard every spring, and Seth taught me the basics of home maintenance and how to fix just about anything related to my car. "What were you thinking?" I asked Bethany as we followed Mr. Boudreaux down the twisted road with potholes so large, I was seriously concerned about the Mustang's undercarriage, "I can't move out here." "Yes, you can," she told me, "And I think it would be good for you. You can't stand to be in your parents' house, you're smart enough to test out of high school if you wanted, and we're going to be moving out to live together in a few months anyway. It's sudden, I know, but this is the perfect solution to so much, including securing your financial future. In a year, we can discuss whether or not to remain here, but for now, it just makes sense. Besides, I want you to have the opportunity to learn about your family and get to know your uncle. I have a feeling you're going to be surprised about what all you learn." I slowed as Mr. Boudreaux turned into a long, graveled private road where the blacktop suddenly ended. A "Private Property" sign was posted on one of the posts that sat at either side. A mailbox was attached to the other. About twenty yards in sat a small bungalow with a rock exterior that I assumed was the gate house. I looked for signs of life, but only saw a police cruiser and an old truck that indicated anyone was living on the premises. The main house was another fifty yards in, a ramshackle two-story Victorian in desperate need of a paint job. The badly peeling white paint revealed the aged gray wood beneath. The body looked like a carelessly pieced together collection of small porches, recessed balconies and bay windows jutting out of an otherwise simple rectangular box, with a twisted redbrick chimney that brought to mind an exposed, bloody spine, and window shutters that hung precariously from the sides of windows like mountain climbers holding on for dear life, a few of them completely missing. It was topped with the high pitched and pointed roof of what appeared to be a massive attic space that boasted stained glass windows depicting something I couldn't make out from my vantage point. Like most houses in the area, which was prone to flooding, it was raised, supported by short black brick columns that gave it the appearance of floating about a foot off the ground. On either side of the house were large, ancient pecan trees that shaded the otherwise sunny yard and narrow strips of overgrown flowerbeds that completely surround the house. "Wow, that's beautiful," Bethany said with amazement. I looked up at the house through the front windshield again and wondered what she was looking at. All I saw was a potential horror movie set that probably should have been torn down decades ago. We got out and followed Mr. Boudreaux to the front porch. I could tell he was as creeped out by the place as I was. Around us, all I saw were towering yellow leaf pines, accompanied by the sound of nearly perfect silence. Only a few bird calls could be heard, broken with the rapid tapping of a nearby woodpecker. "Max should be here shortly with the keys," he explained, "He'll be expecting us, and I'm sure he noticed when we pulled in." Max did make an appearance shortly, all six foot two inches of muscular perfection emerging from the wall of pines between the gate house and the main house. He had hair as black as Bethany's cut into a tight fade, wearing a simple white t-shirt that did little to hide the well-defined pecs beneath, and a pair of old, faded jeans that hugged the large bulge of his crotch. The easy, confidant strut of his walk was intoxicating. More than that, I felt an unmistakable sense of recognition when I first saw him, an unexplainable certainty that I knew him, and in an intimate way. About ten yards out, I saw him pause, looking at us uncertainly before continuing to close the distance between us. From the moment I could see his icy blue eyes, I could see his gaze never left mine. The connection growing stronger the closer he came. "Hello," he said to me with a friendly smile. "This is Jesse," Mr. Boudreaux told him, "And this is his girlfriend, Bethany." His eyes broke from mine, but only for an instant, acknowledging her presence then returning to me. "This, of course, is Max Lowell." "Lowell?" I asked with surprise, "My stepfather has the same last name." "He does?" Max asked, his voice a rich baritone with a gravel quality to it that almost sounded like a soft growl. The expression on his face changed to one of uneasiness. "Interesting," was all he added. He unlocked the door and entered, followed by Bethany and Mr. Boudreaux. I remained outside a moment to collect myself, looking at the surrounding thicket with trepidation. The very thought of my moving here terrified me, but the idea that Max would be living only a few yards away made the idea a little easier to accept. I entered the foyer to sound of a commotion, angry voices talking in unison, barely registering the shiny, clean wooden staircase that led upward along the foyer wall. Just withing the tall arched doorway of the living room, I found Mr. Boudreaux and Bethany hotly questioning an old woman with a wild mop of gray hair. Max was leaning against the wide doorframe watching what was happening and smiling with his amusement. "Who are you?" Bethany asked, her arms crossed, hugging her torso just beneath her breasts, which were shielded from my view by a black Nine Inch Nails t-shirt and her bra. The effect Max had on me left me feeling horny, and I wanted her badly. "I'm Louvenia Sprouse," the old woman answered haughtily, "I'm Sewilla's oldest and dearest friend." "I know that," Mr. Boudreaux told her with frustration, "What I want to know is why are you in the house?" I was looking for Sewilla's cook book," she answered, "I wanted her recipe for Mustang grape jelly. It's the best anyone has." She looked at me, then at Max before returning her attention to me. "Who are you?" she asked. "That's Sewilla's grandson, Jesse," Mr. Boudreaux told her, "The new owner of this house." "The red thread," she said thoughtfully, then snapped her fingers in such a manner that I was certain someone had set off a small fire cracker. The house grew eerily silent, Bethany and Mr. Boudreaux stood motionlessly staring into space, as if somehow dazed. Even Max was frozen in place, still standing in the doorway, but looking dreamily at nothing. I watched as she moved through the room with purpose toward me. As she approached, I realized she was merely exiting the house, but in no real hurry to do so. I turned to look at her as she approached the door, and saw Crow standing just to her left. She looked at me suddenly, startled. "Did you find my grandmother's cook book?" I asked her. "No, I didn't she smiled sympathetically at me, "But you should look for it, and don't stop until you've found it. When you do, let me know and I'll teach you how to use it." "I already know how to cook," I smiled. "You don't know anything," she told me, taking a couple of steps toward me, "I can see it in your eyes. Your mother hid things from you. She never did approve of the old ways, so I guess it was bound to happen. No, you find that book. It's imperative that you do." She turned to leave, closing the door gently behind her. No sooner than the door was closed did they seem to snap out of the trance they were in. "Well, let's check out the place," Bethany told me. I barely heard her. I was looking at Crow who was signing something to me that made my blood run cold. A witch who is not a witch, he signed, an alpha who is not an alpha. "Are you okay, Jesse?" Bethany asked, touching my arm gently. "Yeah," I lied, looking at her and offering her a convincing smile, "Everything's just so overwhelming." She began to move up the stairs. I looked to where Crow was standing, but he was gone. Quickly following behind her, I climbed the stairs to explore as Mr. Boudreaux excused himself and left. Max followed slowly behind, climbing the stairs as he must have done an unknown number of times before. At the top of the stairs, I had a weird sense of déjà vu, but shook it off when Bethany turned left and peered into a pink and white bedroom. It must have been Mom's old room, I thought, looking at the canopied bed and the while painted furniture. Neither of us entered, and Bethany gently closed the door in reverence. The other room was blue with a lot of wooden furniture. It was pretty bare, which made sense. Henry would have taken his things with him when he moved out. Max explained that Henry's house was just down the road, and a well-worn path through the woods connected my house to his. It was weird to hear him refer to the house as mine. A very old-fashioned bathroom was at the end of the hall, all white tile and porcelain fixtures. It had a clawfoot tub and not a shower. Walking back to the landing, we entered the master bedroom and I froze in my tracks. I looked around the room carefully, then touched the wood paneled wall. It was the bedroom from my dream. My breath grew shallow, flowing in slow, steady breaths as I felt a chill of fear rush up my spine. "What's wrong, Jesse?" Bethany asked, moving in to stand close to me. "This is the room," I told her in a soft, frightened voice, as if the walls themselves were listening, "I'm sure of it. This is the room in my nightmare. The room the old woman was murdered in." "Murdered?" The sound of Max's voice surprised me and I spun around. "Jesse has been plagued with a recurring nightmare of a woman getting murdered, ever since the day we found his mother's body." She said it like she thought I was crazy, like it was a joke, and that pissed me off. "It is the same room!" I yelled at her. "Okay," she said in a soothing voice, "If you say so." She wasn't being condescending, but I took it that way. "Maybe you just remember it from childhood," Max interjected, "And your mind used it in the dream." "I've never been in this room before," I told him, unable to become angry at him for some reason, "Mom never even talked about her family, or anything else before I was born, and she sure as hell didn't bring me to visit any of them. I didn't even know about my grandmother or Henry until Mom's funeral." He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the door jam. The bedroom door opened into the room. Looking at him I noticed something behind it. "Move," I told him, directing him to enter. Closing the door, I found a large circle carved into the wood paneling, in the same manner as the X carved into the drywall of the living room where I found my mother's mutilated body. It was a sight that caused me to stop breathing, and I heard Bethany take a sharp breath. "What?" Max asked. "A large X was carved into the wall of the room where we found Jesse's mother's body," Bethany told him while I just stared at the circle in disbelief, "It had the same style, like three claws slashed in into the wall." "How did my grandmother die?" I asked. "Well, it an ongoing investigation," he told me, "But I supposed you should know. She was murdered." "Stabbed to the chest and her throat cut open?" I asked. "How did you know that?" he asked with suspicion, "We never released those details. "It was in the dream," I told him, trying to wrap my head around what was happening. "The kitchen!" I yelled, running from the room, down the stairs. "If it's an old green and white kitchen with a checkerboard floor..." I ran down the foyer to the back of the house, took a right and nearly collapsed. It was the same as in the dream, only bright with daylight. Oh, my God!" I yelled hysterically, feeling my legs begin to buckle under me. I felt someone catch me and hold me briefly before lifting me up and carry me out of the house. Max set me on the steps of the front porch and knelt in front of me. "I need you to tell me everything you dreamed about that night," he said calmly, "I need a statement." "I've been drawing the nightmare out in comic book panels," I told him, "They're pretty detailed. I'll give them to you." "Oh, no you won't!" Bethany told me, using her authoritative voice, "There's no fucking way you're moving out here. Not after this." "I'm sorry, Bethany, but I have to. Especially now." The two murders might be related," she cried, tears welling up in her big brown eyes. "That's my point," I told her, standing to hold her to me, "This may be the only way I'll ever find out what happened to my mother. Besides, I'm kind of already committed to living here for the next year." I pulled her away and took her face in my hands. "I knew You'd get me into trouble." Bethany argued with me about my decision to move to Circle Oak, then refused to speak to me the rest of the way. Even when we were in bed, she wouldn't snuggle, and continued to ice me out. I went to sleep feeling awful about her being angry, or scared, but I had the first good night's sleep in what seemed like forever. I dreamed of nothing and slept in late. The next morning, as I packed my stuff into the Mustang and went to retrieved my belonging from the home I once shared with Mom and Seth, Bethany relented, promising to come see me on weekends and in the summer after she graduated. Her mother wasn't going to allow her to move in with me any sooner than that, especially not to a dead-end town in the middle of nowhere. Seth, on the other hand was furious. He argued and bargained, even attempted to bribe me with the promise of building me any house I wanted if I didn't go. He was frantic, oscillating between anger and what I was sure was fear. It was the only time I'd ever saw him afraid of anything. "Jesse, you can't go," he told me as I was getting into the car, "You don't understand." "What don't I understand, Seth?" I spit at him, "That Mom kept secrets from me, that she practically lied to me? I have a chance to get to know the only living family member I have left, maybe learn something of my roots, maybe even discover who my biological father is, and find her killer. What else don't I understand?" "Your mother wasn't hiding Circle Oak from you, Jesse," he sighed in defeat, "She was hiding you from Circle Oak." Please help keep Nifty by donating what you can to keep this site funded, and keep stories like this free to the public. Thank you! http://donate.nifty.org/