OCTOBER 26, 2017 // 23
Ben had noticed it too when they
walked in. It was faint, but ever-pres-
ent, sharp and saline like a fouled
brine. Just as Ben would begin to
forget about it, the smell would return,
retrieved like an unwanted memory,
prickling his nostrils into hard O’s.
“Different places have different
smells, Odd,” he said. “You probably
won’t even notice it when you wake
up in the morning. And if it is a dead
squirrel, I’m sure Sultan will let us
know.”
Of course, after he got the kids in
bed, he immediately shimmied the
knob of the basement door, but it was
deadbolted. So he poured himself
another bourbon, pining to see how
the honeyed firelight from the wood
stove would dance off Jessica’s auburn
hair. A couple more bourbons and a
half-filled ashtray nearly erased the
cottage’s wandering stench and the bad
taste that Earl Slone had left in Ben’s
mouth. A ghost? Really? He replayed
the meaty smack of the creature’s palm
against the car’s window until the net-
work broadcast bid adieu for the night
with the “Star-Spangled Banner.”
Smack! That’s about as corporeal as
they come.
As the broadcast settled into static,
he listened to the rain spray the house.
He didn’t trust Earl Sloane enough
to leave $15,000 in a parked car. But
where else could he stash it away from
both Earl and the kids? He fingered
the seams of the knotty pine, but
nothing gave. The kitchen cabinets
were too likely to be explored. There
was a foot of air under the platform
bed in his room which left little to the
imagination. So he began to rummage
through the built-ins, discovering a
Bible on a bed of seashells, a local area
guide, a drawer full of machine parts,
some extra beach towels, a crab pot, a
collection of 8-tracks that ranged from
country to doo wop, a guest log, a mis-
placed set of tongs, and, in the bottom
drawer, a heap of skulls reeking of dust
and death.
Vertebrates. Animals. Critters.
Trophies? The waft from the drawer
was arid, deep, and unlike the stench
that had been following him around
the house. He counted seventeen, all
various shapes and sizes. Maybe a
deer, maybe a raccoon or two, nothing
human, but maybe some of these regis-
tered too familiar.
Sultan had tuckered himself out
sniffing the baseboards and lay dead
asleep atop the throw pillow Ben had
set on the floor. He pulled one skull
from the drawer and set it near Sultan’s
sleeping head as his hand shook at the
eerie similarity.
• • •
He will forget how squishy they are
when they open. He will never remem-
ber how good its steam felt on his chin
as the cold rain soaked his covered
head. He will not remember shivering.
He will never take solace in the luck
of this lost cub stirring at the shore of
this lapping river; how it went limp in
his grip. He will never relish the hot
fat smeared into the gauze around his
mouth. There is only eat, cold, and
home in the moonlight.
He does remember the tree ava-
lanching toward him. And them. The
orange light that sifted him into a
silver bed. The cuffs. How they petted
him until he healed. He couldn’t recall
how many times he had walked into the
orange light. Outside of it, it was only
eat, cold, and the moon. He will find a
ride home.
He will not remember seeing the
orange light appear again, hovering
like a 3,000-pound firebug above the
tree line. Afraid, he will flee the river-
bank, forfeiting the young sea lion to
the sand, its taste still wrapped around
his lips. Why will they keep coming for
him? Why will they not let him die?
• • •
With the weather cleared, they spent
the day swamping across a soggy side
of Neahkahnie Mountain, encountering
poison oak on a few occasions, but no
treasure. No gas either. They drove into
Cannon Beach proper on fumes for
dinner.
“Why are there so many missing
dogs?” Audrey asked, pointing at one
of the telephone poles slathered with a
phone number and a photo of an absent
Scottie. “Is it like a dog plague?”
Ben held his tongue as well as the
leash, the end of which Sultan was
really testing. “It’s not a dog plague,
Odd.”
They found a place to nosh fish and
chips while staring at Haystack Rock.
“So,” Audrey began, “if the Pres-
ident is a criminal, why should any
other American not just do whatever
they need to get ahead? I mean, it’s like
the law almost.”
Ben gulped his beer wrong,
coughed, and wondered if Audrey was
implying something about their situa-
tion. She was not a stupid girl, and he
felt she could see his muddy finger-
prints all over her life.
“Mortality,” Sam answered.
“I think you mean morality, buddy,”
Ben interjected.
Audrey scoffed at her brother’s
mistake and let her eye wander across
the puddled patio to find a table of
teenagers her own age — three boys
and a girl. One of the boys, his hair
the color of wet sand, was staring
right at her as his friends talked. She
blushed and looked away, but when
she returned, his eyes were still trained
on her. A third and fourth glance away
didn’t stop him. Who does that? It was
so forward. So confident. Could she do
that too?
“Well, it’s been a pleasure making
mud with you gentlemen today,” she
said, “but I think I need to speak with
my own species.”
Ben followed her line of vision
across the patio, the first time the boy
had shied away, and Ben groaned deep-
ly enough to wake up Sultan at his feet.
“I don’t know, Odd.”
“This is exactly what Suzy Archer,
of Spokane, would do,” she said.
The Pete in him understood.
“Then be my guest,” he said, “but
don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As she sashayed across the patio,
shedding dirt from her boots, her body
bolted electric on what Suzy Archer
was all about. It was liberating, like
crawling into a new skin. The group
stopped talking as she approached
their table. She looked right at the
sandy-haired blond boy, ran her fingers
through his hair, and said, “Help me!
My name is Suzy Archer. I am from
Spokane, Washington. I think my dad
is losing his mind.”
“Take a seat, Suzy A.!,” the girl
said. “Yeah,” one of the guys said,
“Suzy A.!” When she sat down, she
felt the last of Audrey Driscoll expel
through her nose. She wasn’t sure who
was left, but she wanted to find out.
Ben watched his daughter meet-
cute, before shaking his head and
turning to his son.
“I’m sorry we didn’t find any trea-
sure,” Ben said.
“I don’t care about the treasure,”
Sam said. “Hey, if I have to be Aaron
Archer, shouldn’t Sultan get a new
name too?”
“Like what?”
“What about King?”
Ben laughed into the end of his beer.
“Are you okay, Dad?”
“Oh yeah, fine,” Ben said. “That
sounds great. So you really didn’t care
about the treasure?”
Sam shook his head.
“Then what were you up to? Why
are we all boot-deep in mud?”
Sam kept his eye pointed at the
table. “I was looking for a ghost,” he
said. “I need to know that they are
real.”
Ben lumped, and sucked in a great
deal of air through his nose.
“Is this about mom?”
Sam nodded. “I miss her.”
“Me too, buddy.” Ben swallowed
the last splash of his beer and patted
Sam’s shoulder. “Me too.”
Sam started crying out of his one
good eye, which made Ben just fall
apart. A boy should be able to cry
out of two eyes. He already regretted
saying what he was about to say, but he
couldn’t stop himself. “You know our
neighbor, Earl?”
Sam wiped a big streak of snot onto
his sleeve, and said, “Not really.”
“Well, Earl thinks that thing we saw
out on the highway is a ghost.”
“Yeah?” Sam perked up.
Ben nodded, but Sam’s face went
dark. “What is it?”
“Do you think all ghosts are like
that one?” he asked.
“Probably not,” Ben said.
Ben paid the check and then called
across the patio, “Suzy, let’s jet!”
“I’ve got it, Dad,” she said. “Jessie
will give me a ride later.”
“And this Jessie knows how to get
you home?”
“It’s not our home,” she said. “But
yeah.”
Ben groaned again, but held his
tongue. Pete Archer was the kind of
man who didn’t want to raise a fuss.
As they walked back to the car,
Ben noticed some crime scene tape
roping off a slab of the beach as a
yellow excavator lifted the corpse of
a German Sheppard out of the falling
sand. It was stiff, with all four legs
extended like some furry end table set
upside down.
“Well,” Sam said. “I guess we
know what happened to those missing
dogs.”
Not all of them, Ben thought.
To be continued in Part II …
CW