Music of the Gods



  Music of the Gods

  Richard Schiver

  First Printing June 1995

  Nocturnal Mutterings

  Copyright © 1995-2012 Richard Schiver

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the Author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to Actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the express written consent of the author and publisher.

  “I suppose we’re lost now!”

  Donald sensed the anger in Susan’s voice, the question phrased more as a statement of fact, and he bit his tongue to keep from replying in kind.

  “I know where we are.” He said.

  He’d planned this weekend trip to get them away from all that. The bickering, the name calling, and the general mistrust that had become the cornerstone of their failing marriage.

  “Would you mind enlightening me?”

  A route sign appeared along the side of the road almost hidden by the thick gloom of the dense forest around them.

  “We’re on route Eighty Three.”

  Susan crossed her arms over her narrow chest.

  “And where is Route Eighty Three?”

  “Upstate New York?” Donald replied not really sure himself.

  “I thought so,” she said, “ we’re lost and you have no clue where we are.”

  He glanced at the scribbled note in his hand, directions to the Bed and Breakfast written in his undecipherable script. She was right. There was no use denying the obvious, they were lost, and it was his fault.

  “You wanted to go for a drive in the country.”

  “In our Country,” Susan shot back.

  “Let’s not fight.”

  “Who’s fighting, I’m just stating the obvious.”

  “Bullshit! You’ve been riding me ever since we left the house.”

  Reaching the top of the winding road they emerged from the green tunnel of overhanging tree limbs. Bright sunlight filled the car, a refreshing change from the perpetual gloom through which they had traveled.

  The sunlight lifted his spirits. He would find a way out of this. Endless cornfields blanketed each side of the road bordered by green mountains towering to the sky in the hazy distance.

  “It’s beautiful,” Susan whispered.

  Donald sighed in relief. Maybe if she was distracted by the scenery she would shut that irritating trap of hers and he could concentrate on getting them back on the right track. Too stubborn to just give up and turn around he glanced again at the directions. It was no use. They were absolutely, positively, lost.

  “Look out!”

  His attention was brought back to the road by Susan’s cry of alarm. The leering grill of an approaching truck filled the windshield. Donald cut the wheel to the right, hard. They slipped along the trailer as the tires squealed in protest. The steering wheel was ripped from his hands as the passenger side tires dropped off the pavement.

  The hood of the car bounced crazily in front of them. The wooden fence bordering the field disintegrated beneath the front bumper. Several boards danced across the hood. One slammed through the windshield and impaled the seat between them.

  Susan screamed again. The car was yanked to the right as the passenger side tires dropped into a ditch. The bottom of the car scraped over the ground with a deep rumbling that was felt more than heard.

  Donald was thrown against the stops of his seatbelt and the air bags deployed. The car threatened, for a moment, to roll over onto its side then fell back with a shuddering crash that drove him into his seat.

  “Susan,” he cried out. Years of arguments and mistrust draining away from him as one thought filled his mind.

  Is she all right? His body thrummed with the flow of adrenalin as he beat down the air bag and looked over at her.

  “Are you all right?” He asked, struggling to keep his shaking hands still.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Susan shouted. “Are you trying to kill me? Is that why you brought us out here so you could kill me?”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” he yelled back, his own anger rising to meet the challenge laid before him.

  “You were driving. Weren’t you watching the road? Or are you lost?”

  Donald looked at Susan, fixing his stare on the crease that bisected her forehead. Her features had grown narrow over the years, her nose was like the sharp blade of an axe, giving her a haggard appearance. Her blue eyes flashed with anger, dispelling any softness that might have remained on that harsh, angular face.

  It hit him then with the force of a blow to the stomach.

  He hated her!

  Why did I ever marry her? It was a question he’d been asking himself a lot lately. A question for which he had no easy answer. What could he have possibly seen in those harsh features? What had happened to the beautiful young girl he had married?

  “I thought,” he searched for an answer, wanting to explain, not sure how, or even why he needed to.

  “I thought we could try to save our marriage, I thought if we spent a quiet weekend together.”

  “A weekend!” She exploded. “You thought! You were going to waste two days of my life trying to save a marriage that was doomed the moment I said I do.”

  “Please Susan, let’s not fight, this isn’t the time or place.”

  “You’re right, for once you’re actually right about something. And speaking of places, where in the hell are we?”

  “I don’t know,” Donald looked through shattered the windshield at the tilted world beyond. Twenty feet in front of them the hanging branches of a weeping willow stirred. Behind the slender leaves he caught a glimpse of a bright green sign with two white letters shimmering in the sunlight. WH. The branches moved a little more revealing an I,

  “But I can find out.” He pushed open the door, struggled against it, and metal squealed in protest. With the door open he lunged forward. The seatbelt yanked him back into the car and the door began to swing shut. He caught the door with his foot and unhooked his seat belt as Susan laughed hysterically.

  Pulling himself from the car, ignoring Susan, he got to his feet and stood on the edge of the road. Around him the day was tranquil, the air filled with an expectant hush, the only life he could see were several buzzards lazily circling in the sky high above them.

  We’re not dead yet, you bastard’s. He thought as he shaded his eyes to look back the way they had come. The truck was gone, having vanished into the distant tunnel of overhanging tree limbs. He leaned against the car, the metal hot beneath his fingers, and became aware of the silence that surrounded them.

  From his belt he removed his cell phone and flipped open the cover.

  No Service.

  Adjusting his sunglasses he walked around to the front of the car and approached the hidden sign.

  “Well. Where are we?” Susan shouted from the car.

  What had started as a faint unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach grew to an icy ball of dread as he pulled aside the hanging branches blocking the sign.

  The full name of the town was revealed. White letters floating against a green background as his stomach drew itself into a tight knot. His disquiet grew to a single thought.

  We don’t belong here!

  WHITE HALL 1. The sign read.

  “Well!” Susan demanded.

  One mile to White Hall.

  Do we really want to go there? Icy fingers caressed the nape of his neck. The world spun around him, his sight became blurred, and his knees turned to water. Letting the branches fall back into
place he stumbled back until his legs came into contact with the bumper of the car. He was acutely aware of the stillness blanketing the cornfield on his right.

  “Where are we Dammit?”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled, still lost in the dizziness that had gripped him.

  “Well that’s just wonderful, thank you Dr Livingston for that illuminating response,” Susan faltered, stumbling over her words as a look of concern crossed her face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice softer.

  “Nothing, nothing at all.”

  “Well forgive me for giving a shit!”

  “There’s a town a mile down the road,” he said, ignoring her outburst. Turning from the car he stepped to the edge of the road.

  “We can walk that far,” he said, as he looked first one way then the other. In the distance heat waves danced above the surface of the road creating the image of water lying on the asphalt. Suddenly he had the unmistakable sensation that someone, or something, the thought intruded with a shudder, was watching him.

  He glanced in the direction of White Hall. Two hundred yards away the road vanished into a dark tunnel of overhanging tree branches as the forest crowded close to both sides of the road.

  “You expect me to walk a mile