Adam, too, liked Dan and found the Indian boy easy to get along with. There was a calm sort of confidence about him, and an emotional and intellectual openness more common to metropolitan Southern California than small-town Arizona. Both Scott and Dan were different from most of the other kids here, more like himself, and he was grateful that he had found them.
He didn’t know what he’d expected to see at Dan’s place. Not a tepee, certainly, but also not the rather mainstream-looking house with its potted palms and wicker patio furniture. They’d gotten Dr Peppers out of the refrigerator and sat around in Dan’s bedroom, talking a bit about scary stuff—haunted houses and mysterious deaths and cactus births and eerie occurrences. Dan said it was the mine that had drawn evil to McGuane. Adam assumed he meant that the town was built on a sacred site and that the gods or spirits or whatever had cursed the place, but Dan said no, not exactly.
The earth was their mother, he explained, not just their home. It was the source of all life. It was also a living entity, made up of dirt and rock, plant and water, and the mine was like a big open sore on its body. It hurt here, and it sent out the equivalent of antibodies to fight the disease—ghosts and spirits, demons and monsters.
“It is trying to protect itself,” Dan said. “That’s why this place is haunted.”
The day was warm, but Adam shivered. There was a logic to Dan’s argument that made it seem not only believable but likely, and he imagined increasingly powerful supernatural entities being sent to McGuane until the town was entirely overrun. The other boy seemed totally serious, it was clear that he was not goofing around or playing with them, and there was something about the gravity of his bearing that lent weight to his words.
Adam was acutely conscious of the fact that he was on a reservation, in the house of a chief, and it was a strangely disorienting experience. He felt suddenly as though he was in a foreign country, a place that was geographically part of America but where American laws and beliefs did not apply.
He’d lived with, gone to school with, been friends with, people from a lot of different minority groups back in Downey. There were Russians, Salvadorans, Guatemalans, Mexicans, Armenians, India Indians, Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, Vietnamese. But Native Americans had not really been represented in the multicultural melting pot of Southern California, and their ways were unfamiliar to him, what little knowledge he had having been filtered through the distorting prism of movies and television. They were exotic but indigenous, and their ghost stories, their folklore, their superstitions, seemed scarier to him than others because they’d been here for so long. They were an old people, the first residents of this land, and he found that spooky. It gave their beliefs greater credence in his eyes, and he had no trouble buying Dan’s theory.
“You don’t really believe that,” Scott said.
“Of course I do,” Dan replied. “It’s common knowledge. At least among my people. And it explains why all of that weird stuff happens here. Besides, do you have a better theory?”
Scott shrugged.
Adam looked at Dan. He was impressed by how comfortable the other boy was with his heritage, with his religion. Dan wasn’t embarrassed by it, didn’t try to apologize for it or explain it away, and that made Adam feel a little better about his own background. He suddenly didn’t feel so ashamed about being a Molokan, and for the first time he experienced a sense of… not pride but… acceptance.
He cleared his throat. “I know a place that’s haunted. A really spooky place.”
“Where?” Scott said, interested.
“It’s on our property—”
“I knew it! After all those murders…”
“It’s not the house. It’s not even near the house. It’s on the opposite end of our property. It’s a… a banya.” He felt good as he said the Russian word. “A bathhouse.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a place where they cleanse themselves,” Dan said, and Adam was reminded of the fact that Indians had banyas too. Or their version of it. “It’s like a steam bath, right?”
“Yeah,” Adam said.
“And it’s haunted?” Scott asked.
He nodded. He described the bones and the shadow, told them of his grandmother’s refusal to go in the building. They both wanted to see it immediately.
They’d walked over to his house, and he’d taken them out to the banya and shown them first the bone he believed to be the femur of a child and then the shadow of the Russian man.
The shadow.
They’d both seen it. Scott found it cool and exciting and thought they should call the Enquirer to take a picture of it, or at the very least charge admission to see it, but Dan’s response was more serious and subdued. He would not speak while inside the banya, and when he was once again outside he told Adam that he agreed with his grandmother, and he suggested that Adam stay as far away from the banya as possible.
Adam had half thought that coming here with a group of people would dissipate the oppressiveness of the atmosphere, would lessen the dread he felt, but it did not. He was just as scared being here with Scott and Dan as he had been when he’d come by himself. More scared, perhaps, because he now had verification that the shadow of the man was real, was a concrete apparition and not some misinterpreted wall stain or trick of light.
And Dan’s warning sent chills down his spine.
They’d left quickly after that, and on the way back his friends asked him if there was anything creepy about the rest of the property or the house itself, and he had told them no.
But that wasn’t true, and he wished they were here now to confirm what he was feeling as he concentrated on the television and tried not to hear any other noises. The air in the house felt as heavy as the air in the banya, and there was that same sense of apprehension, that feeling that something bad was about to happen.
There was another thump from upstairs, and on the wall above the steps he thought he saw the quick dart of a wild shadow.
He ran out of the house.
He did not turn off the television, did not even close the door behind him. He simply dashed outside and kept running until he was halfway up the drive.
His heart was pounding, and he had a difficult time catching his breath, but that heavy dread was gone, and he turned around to look at the house. What was it? he wondered. What was in there? One of Dan’s earth-sent spirits? Or the ghosts of the murdered family Scott had told him about? He didn’t know, but either way he was scared, and he wished Babunya was here. She seemed to know how to handle this kind of stuff.
The front door of the house was wide open, and he knew flies were getting inside, but he wasn’t about to go back and shut the door. He thought of leaving, walking over to Scott’s or something, but he was supposed to stay home, and his parents would be ticked if he left. He’d probably be grounded for a week. So he sat down on a large rock, facing the house so he could watch it, prepared to haul ass at the slightest hint of anything strange.
He still desperately had to take a leak, and after a few minutes passed and there was no sign of movement, he stood, glanced around to make sure there was no one coming, and moved behind a paloverde tree to relieve himself.
He’d just zipped up when he heard the sound of an engine on the road behind him. He turned as a car pulled into the drive. A dusty old Plymouth rattled down the gravel trail, and he saw Babunya in the passenger seat and another old lady driving. The car braked to a stop next to him, and Babunya got out. She closed the car door, waved to the other woman, said something in Russian, and the old lady said something in reply before backing up.