him. He stepped back from the threshold, closed the door to the
garage, and returned the shotgun to the table. He knew a bleakness of
the soul that perhaps no one outside of hell had ever known before
him.
The dead crow thrashed, trying to tear loose of the colander. Eduardo
had used heavy thread and tied secure knots, and the bird’s muscles and
bones were too badly damaged for it to exert enough force to break
free. His plan seemed foolish now. An act of meaningless bravado–and
insanity. He proceeded with it, anyway, preferring to act rather than
wait meekly for the end.
On the back porch, he held the colander against the outside of the
kitchen door.
The imprisoned crow scratched and thumped. With a pencil, Eduardo
marked the wood where the openings in the handles met it. He hammered
two standard nails into those marks and hung the colander on them. The
crow, still struggling weakly, was visible through the wire mesh,
trapped against the door. But the colander could be too easily lifted
off the nails. Using two U-shaped nails on each side, he fixed both
handles securely to the solid oak door. The hammering carried up the
long slope of the yard and echoed back to him from the pine walls of
the western forest.
To remove the colander and get at the crow, the traveler or its
surrogate would have to pry loose the U-shaped nails to free at least
one of the handles. The only alternative was to cut the mesh with
heavy shears and pull out the feathered prize. Either way, the dead
bird could not be snatched up quickly or silently. Eduardo would have
plenty of warning that something was after the contents of the
colander–especially as he intended to spend the entire night in the
kitchen if necessary.
He could not be sure the traveler would covet the dead crow. Perhaps
he was wrong, and it had no interest in the failed surrogate. However,
the bird had lasted longer than the squirrels, which had lasted longer
than the raccoons, and the puppetmaster might find it instructive to
examine the carcass to help it discover why. It wouldn’t be working
through a squirrel this time. Or even a clever raccoon. Greater
strength and dexterity were required for the task as Eduardo had
arranged it. He prayed that the traveler itself would rise to the
challenge and put in its first appearance.
Come on.
However, if it sent the other thing, the unspeakable thing, the lost
Lenore, that terror could be faced. Amazing, what a human being could
endure. Amazing, the strength of a man even in the shadow of
oppressive terror, even in the grip of horror, even filled with
bleakest despair.
The crow was motionless once more. Silent. Stone dead. Eduardo
turned to look at the high woods. Come on. Come on, you bastard.
Show me your face, show me your stinking ugly face. Come on, crawl out
where I can see you. Don’t be so gutless, you fucking freak.
Eduardo went inside. He shut the door but didn’t lock it. After
closing the blinds at the windows, so nothing could look in at him
without his knowledge, he sat at the kitchen table to bring his diary
up-to-date. Filling three more pages with his neat script, he
concluded what he supposed might be his final entry.
In case something happened to him, he wanted the yellow tablet to be
found– but not too easily. He inserted it in a large Ziplock plastic
bag, sealed it against moisture, and put it in the freezer half of the
refrigerator, among packages of frozen foods.
Twilight had arrived. The time of truth was fast approaching. He had
not expected the entity in the woods to put in an appearance in
daylight. He sensed it was a creature of nocturnal habits and
preferences, spawned in darkness. He got a beer from the
refrigerator.
What the hell. It was his first in several hours. Although he wanted
to be sober for the confrontation to come, he didn’t want to be
entirely clearheaded. Some things could be faced and dealt with better
by a man whose sensibilities had been mildly numbed.