“What does this mean? What do I do?” asked Melanie.
“I’d like to try to figure out the cause before we start to suggest a course of action. If there’s an underlying cause, we’ll treat that and hope the puberty slows. If there’s not, then we may decide he needs hormone therapy to counteract the environmental or genetic influences.”
“Genetic?”
“In about five percent of cases in boys it comes from the father or maternal grandfather,” explained Dr. Chisholm. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. I’ll get all these tests and you can schedule a follow-up with reception.”
“Okay,” said Melanie, rising tentatively.
“We’ll figure this all out, Ms. Hunter. Please remember, we haven’t found anything really wrong with Davey. If anything, he seems to be a outstanding specimen.”
Dr. Chisholm smiled again; Melanie felt a chill.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mike
THEY SAT IN A BOOTH at a steakhouse. Mike and Gary took up one side and Katie had the other to herself. Gary kept reaching out to touch the dusty oar affixed to the wall. Each time he did, he wiped his fingers clean again on his napkin.
“I’m just saying: I don’t know why we’re not going back to the river again,” said Gary.
“We’ve been trying that for weeks, and we’ve seen nothing since that first night,” said Mike. He gripped his temples and then smoothed his hair back.
“But that was the best evidence we’ve ever collected,” said Gary. “I think we have to keep plugging away at that until we can reproduce those results. Have you ever seen anything like that?”
“You know I haven’t,” admitted Mike. “But how long are we going to beat that dead horse before we allow ourselves to branch out?”
“I know a place,” said Katie. “And if it doesn’t work out,” she continued, “we can always go back to the river. Maybe we’ll learn something by going somewhere new.”
“Good point,” said Gary.
“Where?” asked Mike.
“It’s not exactly a haunting. Well, maybe it is, I’m not sure,” said Katie. “I met these guys who come from New Hampshire. South though, close to you,” she pointed to Gary. “They think they have a line on a Loogaroo.”
“A what?” asked Gary.
Mike smiled and asked—“May I?" Katie nodded her consent, and Mike explained. “It’s a Caribbean word, but you find the same myth in many cultures. It’s a woman who’s in league with the devil. As part of her bargain she gets magical abilities, but she has to give blood to the devil each night. If she can’t get blood from an animal, she’ll have to give her own blood and she’ll eventually die.”
“So like a vampire?” asked Gary.
“Yeah, it would be like a vampire in a lot of ways,” said Katie.
“A lot of similarities. In fact, they’ve got the same compulsive myth,” confirmed Mike. “A common defense is to leave a pile of sand or rice by your door. She’ll have to count the grains before coming in, so you’ll be safe until morning. I’ve got to say, that legend probably hasn’t been prevalent in New Hampshire since the Penacook Indians.”
“These guys are part Abenaki, I think,” said Katie.
“I don’t get it,” said Gary. “Even if they have found something, why would our process help? We’re trying to test the ability to amplify paranormal activity so it can be measured. What’s that have to do with this Loogaroo?”
“Don’t be hasty,” said Mike. “What if there’s a paranormal energy connection? It would certainly support our theory of why paranormal activity has declined in the past century. Maybe this creature does exist, but it has been weakened by the decrease in energy.”
“I guess we can’t rule it out,” said Gary. He touched the pack of cigarettes in his front pocket.
“So what have they seen?” Mike asked Katie.
“They had a dog tied outside, near their house. Every Saturday they’d have their relatives over to the house to hang out, and in the morning, the dog would always be sick. They took the dog to the vet and discovered that he was severely anemic. They looked into all kinds of causes, but the vet kept coming back to severe blood loss.”
“Hardly definitive,” said Mike.
“Well, then, after the dog died, they saw other animals being affected. Always on a Saturday, after the relatives,” said Katie. “They’d go out in the morning and find dead birds, or a raccoon, or squirrels. One of their uncles was like the Shaman or whatever, and he suggested those animals had been drained of blood. Sure enough, they started opening the dead animals and they never had a drop of blood left. Their uncle told them about the idea of the Loogaroo; said their ancestors learned about it from the French, who said it was part wolf.”
“Is this still going on?” asked Mike.
“No,” said Katie. “The uncle died last year, and the family doesn’t convene at the house anymore. So these guys, Roland and Merritt, they said that after their uncle died the activity just trailed off.”
“So it was him,” suggested Gary. “Seems like the most plausible explanation. The uncle had a thing for blood and was killing the animals.”
“Or maybe he was unknowingly helping it,” Mike said, gazing up towards the ceiling. “Maybe the thing was drawing energy from him, and now it doesn’t have enough energy to manifest.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” said Katie. “He was a sensitive, or catalyst, and his presence was required for the activity.”
“That’s good,” said Mike. “You’ve presented a hypothesis that we can corroborate or disprove. In the worst-case scenario we’ll just record the woods for an evening.”
“I wish the uncle was still around so we could test him,” said Gary.
“Good point,” said Mike. “Katie, can you follow up with Roland and…”
“Merritt,” Katie filled in.
“Right, and ask them if anyone else in their family has experienced anything. Also—who is going to replace the uncle as Shaman, and is he a blood relation as well?” asked Mike.
“You think this type of thing is inherited?” asked Katie.
“Might as well be,” said Mike. “Worth checking out. So, Saturday then?”
“I’ll send you the details,” said Katie.
“YOU SAID THEY USED TO HAVE the family conferences here? Where did they gather?” Mike whispered, looking around the small trailer.
“They used to put up a meeting tent outside every spring. Now that the family doesn’t meet, they don’t need it,” said Katie.
Katie, Mike, and Gary stood in the living room of the trailer, waiting for Roland to return from his bedroom. None of them wanted to sit. The wooden chairs looked like they might break under any load, and the sofa was criss-crossed with silver tape holding together the upholstery. Gary clasped his hands behind his back and studied a painting of a deer hung over the sofa.
“Here it is,” said Roland. He walked back in holding up a necklace.
“Thank you.” Mike took the object. Decorated with teeth, beads, and feathers, the necklace was strung on a thin strand of woven leather.
“You test that,” said Roland. “You’ll find something.”
“We will,” said Mike. “So far, we’ve only found the right energy from minerals or even some metals, but we’ll be thorough.”
Roland nodded.
“Can we tap into your electricity, or should I set up our generator?” asked Gary.
“Our power is really bad,” said Roland. “But you’re welcome to it. There’s an outside outlet near the steps.”