Free Daemon of the Dark Wood by Randy Chandler

there is a sinister history here, buried beneath some cryptic legend.”
    Dr. Knott said, “So we may assume my elderly patient knows about it and was compelled to express it in her artwork. You’re right, Professor, it is intriguing.”
    “Would it be all right if I took a photograph of that drawing?”
    His first inclination was to refuse the professor’s request. Instead, he said, “As long as you don’t shoot any of the patients, it wouldn’t be violating confidentiality. And of course the artist must remain anonymous.”
    “Excellent. My camera’s in my car.” Thorn was already moving toward the exit.
    “Professor?” said Knott. “I’d like a print myself.”
    “You got it, Doc.”

Chapter
Six
----
    Sharyn Rampling’s day brightened considerably when Alfred Thorn walked into her room and flashed his Cheshire-cat smile. She snapped her book shut and stood to greet him. He engulfed her in a vigorous bear hug and she happily yielded to his hardy show of physical affection.
    “How’re you doing, dear?” he asked as they finally disengaged.
    “Better, now that you’re here. I think I’m going stir crazy. I’m not used to this confinement.”
    “But other than that, you’re … okay?”
    “I’m not crazy, if that’s what you’re hinting at. Dr. Knott says I probably just need my medication adjusted.”
    “Well, anything’s better than an attitude adjustment, eh?”
    Sharyn laughed. “You’re the craziest one in the room, Alfie. Maybe you should check yourself in. I think there’s a vacancy next door.”
    Thorn brought his finger to his lips. “Shhh … That’s our little secret, Professor Rampling. I don’t have the time for a good head-shrinking. I’m on the trail of something
verrry
interesting.”
    “Really,” she said, smiling sardonically. “I can see it now. The cover story in
The American Journal of Anthropology
: ‘How I Spent My Summer Vacation’ by Alfred Thorn, Esquire, PhD, and all those other letters you’re so fond of putting after your name.”
    “Touché,” he said, clutching his hand over his heart. “But seriously, Sharyn, I
am
onto something.”
    “Well, have a seat and tell me all about it. As if I could stop you.” She sat on the bed and waved him to the chair. “Anything to get my mind off myself.”
    He drew the chair close to the bed, sat down and leaned forward.
    “You sometimes teach mythology, don’t you?”
    “Yes, but I’m hardly an authority on the subject. Last quarter they had me teaching Business English and Grammar, though I don’t know the first thing about business.”
    Thorn waved off her disclaimer. “What do you know about the Great God Pan?”
    “Oh, I was afraid you were going to ask me something I didn’t know, something about some obscure Asian god or some such. Actually, I know quite a lot about Pan.”
    “Well?”
    “Well, what do you want to know? Specific questions would be helpful. You’re a brilliant man, Alfred, but I sometimes wonder how you ever got through all your schooling, with your bull-in-a-China-shop approach.”
    “Start with the basics. Pretend I’m an ignorant student who thinks Nike is just a brand-name shoe.”
    “Ha! All right then, class. Listen up and learn. You
will
be responsible for this material.” She winked at Thorn, then proceeded with her mock lecture. “Now, keep in mind that ancient cultures borrowed liberally from one another to the extent that it is very difficult if not impossible to trace the origins of many mythological figures. Pan is no exception to that rule. He was one of the oldest of the Greek gods, and the Greeks claimed that Pan was the same as the Egyptian god Amon-Ra, the supreme god of the sun. Some scholars believe the legend of Pan actually began with Pancika, the Hindu fertility god.
    “The Greeks were unsure of Pan’s parentage. Some said Zeus was his father, others said Hermes sired him. But they all agreed that Pan was born with horns on his head and with the