Free The Innswich Horror by Edward Lee

the most unpleasant manner of
suddenness.
    From the westerly woods I had, for sure,
heard a noise.
    I was not at all suited for imbroglio,
but—now—I knew I was being spied upon, and I was determined not to
be harassed.
    I peered intensely into the wood, then may
have heard a twig snap. “I hear you!” I exclaimed, and did not
hesitate to step through the curtain of trees. “Show yourself like
a man!”
    Several more twigs snapped as my stalker had
clearly embarked deeper into the trees. I wasn’t sure why, but I
continued to give well-gauged chase.
    Fifty yards into the woods, a dappling of
sunlight betrayed the stalking entity.
    For only the briefest second, I glimpsed the
figure, not his face but his attire: the long, greasy black
raincoat and hood.
    “Really, Mr. Zalen, this is no way to treat
a paying customer!” my voice surged into the trees. “If it’s
thievery on your mind, I can assure you, I’m well-armed!”
    This much was true, and from my trouser
pocket I’d already withdrawn the small hammerless semi-automatic
I’d bought at the Colt Patent Firearms Company in Hartford. It was
a Model 1903, which I’d read had been the weapon notorious bank
robber John Dillinger had carried the day he’d been gunned down. I
was not a crack shot, but with a full magazine, I was crack
enough.
    Zalen stood still but had clearly heard me.
At once, he bolted and let himself be swallowed by the woods.
    “I’m disappointed, Mr. Zalen!” came my next
call. “But, thief or not, don’t forget our appointment
tomorrow!”
    The density of trees soaked up my voice. A
shy, retiring sort as myself might be shaken by such a
near-confrontation but I felt nothing of the sort. I felt calm,
confident, and unwavered, and I had no intention of avoiding Zalen
tomorrow. He had something I wanted, and I would pay for it as
planned. Now that he’d been apprised that I armed myself, he’d be
uninclined for any untoward behavior.
    When I turned to reverse myself from the
woods and regain the road, I saw the house.
    Mary’s house, to be sure.
    Only the dimmest sunlight penetrated the
intricate umbrella of high boughs. The region’s all-pervading lack
of rainfall had reduced the forest ground to a carpet of tinder. I
first dismissed what I was seeing as a hillock, but then a more
concentrated scrutiny showed me small, single-paned windows amid a
long, vast sprawl of ivy. Eventually I detected corners that had
not so been overrun, as well as a slate roof and chimney made of
the old tabby bricks from the pre-Revolution period. Beyond the
squat and ivy-covered abode, though, stood a clearing radiant with
sun and there a lone, wee figure seemed to frolic. As I peered
closer, I saw that it was a young boy firing arrows with a crude
and more than likely hand-made bow. The arrows were those made for
children, with rubber suction cups at their tips, and with these
the lad determinedly took aim at an old, propped up window frame
which still contained glass.
    So this was one of Mary’s
older children. Odd, though, that only one would be enjoying these
splendid outdoors. This close to the house, I expected to hear and
see evidence off all eight of her children. She implied that her stepfather looked after the younger
ones, I recalled. Yet the house sat in an
almost palpable silence.
    At once, I felt
encroaching, even trespassing. It was only the pursuit of Zalen
that had led me this deeply into the parched woods. Nevertheless,
however impelled to leave, I remained, staring at the
leaf-enshrouded house. The impulse to look in a window was very
strong, but then I had to chide myself. Not only would that’ve been
the act of a cad—which I was not—it would’ve been illegal. I have no right to be here, so I must
leave. But I had to wonder about the
motives of my deepest subconscious—or what Freud called the
Id.
    Was it Mary that my Id hoped to spy
upon?
    When I turned to leave, I almost
shouted.
    There, standing immediately before me,