Obtuse

By B E Schafer

An ancient pact:
After an oath was made over 100 years ago, the town of Sawmill is swimming in a sea of secrets and lies.

Stranger beware:
At first glance the quiet farm town of Sawmill seems like the ideal community.
Think you are safe as a visitor or a new resident? Think Again! Jacob Hirsch learns this as he digs deep into the story revealed to him by a stranger in need of his help. Jacob soon discovers the residents of Sawmill lack the tolerance for his ambiguous snooping.
Behind Sawmill's picture-perfect facade, a nightmare, centuries old, is continuing to devour the innocent...and is about to strike chillingly close to all the things Jacob holds dear.

Dead wrong:
What begins as another award-winning article for Jacob quickly turns upside down. When a source leads him toward a much darker story, Jacob finds himself embroiled in something so horrid, he cannot grasp the reality of the situation. He soon is in the middle of a town secret...a ruthless, twisted and downright immoral tale...layered with deceit and black magic.
Urban Legend
Spun out of tales that began with the building of the Wabash and Erie Canal to present-day lore-Obtuse will suck you in and not let go of the evil that swarms its way into your soul and leaves you gasping and shivering with edge of your seat fear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B E Schafer
• Release date: Sep 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311824059

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Leslie stood in the middle of the field, surrounded by the menfolk.

A cool drizzle fell from the fall sky and a bolt of lightning rocketed through the hazy dusk as thunder rumbled through the valley beyond the ridge of hickory trees.

She felt all alone.

She had been told she was going to the Harvest Day's Celebration. Now she found herself cold and wet in a strange town, with strange men, and the young man who had lured her into the car six months earlier.

The men stood on either side of her in a semi-circle. Through the valley and beyond were thick woods. No buildings. No women.

She was the only girl, all right.

Squinting through the rain, she painstakingly attempted to loosen the ropes that bound her hands to the pole. One man whispered in her ear. Don't fight it. You'll only make it worse.

Leslie's lip quivered. Why are you doing this to me?

The man placed his finger to his mouth. Say no more. I beg you, say no more. Let me go! she yelled.

The young man whispered to her soothingly. Don't resist and you will see the light of day again. I promise you this.

Leslie shivered in the cold, fall rain and listened to the roll of thunder as it crackled through the night sky. What she heard now was not thunder but a growl, and in a matter of moments she saw the flame-red eyes coming toward her. And as the eyes drifted closer, she still had no idea what was to become of her.

JULY

The LORD hath made all things for himself: yea, even the wicked for the day of evil.

The Proverbs: 16:4

ONE

In the car, Sarah had a look of confusion painted across her face.

She felt secure that David was holding her hand.

When she first saw him from across the skating rink, she felt a fluttering of deep excitement. At that time, she couldn't tell if it was infatuation or love.

She knew what her mother would have said.

You are only fourteen and you don't have the least idea what love is.

I am in love, Sarah thought.

David held her hand tightly as his father drove them away from the skating rink. She watched out the side window while the car slowly moved in the opposite direction of her house.

First she looked at David, and then she whispered, We are going the wrong way!

David patted her hand reassuringly and kissed her quickly on the cheek. It's OK.

David's words put her at ease for the moment, but the car kept moving beyond the way home. Then the car turned south, moving back to town, and she felt a moment of relief. Suddenly a quick turn and the car was going in the wrong direction again. Her confusion and fear grew deeper as David's father turned the car onto the highway and headed north. Maybe David's father was lost. Maybe his father had a stop to make first. Maybe he had forgotten she was with them. Was she being kidnapped? Maybe they were going to rape her? Maybe she was going to die? As the car picked up speed, traveling further away, she began to sweat and thought about screaming. But she decided that she was probably freaking out over nothing.

Squinting, she leaned toward the window and realized there was no crank, no handle. She swallowed as a knot formed in her stomach.

I'm dead...I should never have gotten in the car.

With the back of her hand, Sarah wiped a tear from her cheek and brushed her long auburn hair off her shoulders.

They were miles from town now, picking up speed and moving further away from her home.

David pulled her closer.

Close enough to see she was terrified.

It will be all right, he told her.

Suddenly, his father exited the highway onto old route sixty-eight. All she saw was a faded sign that read Sawmill.

Both sides of the highway were lined with open fields, dotted here and there with trees. No buildings. No people. The road was desolate, as if curving to nowhere.

David's father checked his mirrors. Behind and before him, the road was clear.

He pressed the pedal to the floor.

Sarah watched as the fields blurred by, morphing into thick woods. Without warning, she was flung against the seat when the brakes slammed and the car turned sharply up a dirt lane.

The lane was overgrown with thick grass, trees, and twisting briars.

When the car stopped, David's father got out, went around, and opened the trunk. Adam Keller was a large, burly man who stood about 6'2". His face was covered with a beard reminiscent of Abe Lincoln's and his brown eyes were set deep in their sockets.

David squeezed Sarah's hand. Sarah, I'm so sorry about this. This is nothing against you. This is about an ancient pact. It is all about the Harvest! I love you. Understand, I had no choice in this...

David's words were cut short when Adam flung the door open, ripping Sarah from the seat. David followed quickly behind.

Standing by the car, Sarah thought about running. Then Adam reached out taking her arm in a firm grasp. Sarah started to scream.

Don't scream, Sarah, David said. No one can hear you anyhow. Even if someone did, no one would come.

Adam pushed Sarah against the open trunk. She's pretty, David. You did a good job in selecting her. He likes the pretty ones.

She started to cry as Adam felt her breast.

Firm, young, ripe, and tender. Just the way he likes them.

Adam shoved Sarah's body into the trunk before she had a chance to react. The last thing she saw was the lid coming down followed by total darkness. She began to bang on the lid, screaming as tears gushed from her eyes. She pounded until her knuckles bled and her throat was hoarse. In the darkness of the warm, stale trunk, she grew silent.

She lay there in the dark, listening to the voices outside.

I'm sorry, Son. I know you like her. I do this out of need and survival. You might not understand all this now, but someday you will.

I just wish...you know.

Adam glared at him. She is a virgin? You didn't screw her, did you?

No! I wouldn't jeopardize her like that.

Good. You know what would happen if she was not a virgin?

David nodded.

Sarah shivered with fear in the darkness of the trunk. She wondered what they had in store for her. And she wondered who the he they had spoken of was. She began to cry again as the car started. She let out a scream, hammering her hands against the metal. Her body bounced about as the car lurched ahead, taking her towards an unknown fate.

TWO

I heard this story once. It scared the hell out of me, Bill said. I didn't want to believe it at first. I shrugged it off as an urban legend.

Jacob didn't take his eyes off the road. He was driving his '67 Camaro on unfamiliar paths. They'd just come off state route sixty-eight and were headed toward the small town of Sawmill.

But the longer I lived here, the more I believed there were strange things about this town. Bill continued.

So what is the story? And what good is it going to do me? Jacob asked.

Are you sure my name won't be mentioned? Bill asked.

I never give up my sources, Bill.

Even if your life was threatened? If your family was threatened?

Uh. Jacob took the sharp s-curve coming into town just a little too fast. The back tire hit the shoulder and the car began to kick into a spin before he was able to correct it. Trust me. I'm looking for a damn good story. Your name is safe. Now, why is it you chose me?

"Well, I read your article last fall. The one you did on the Stonebridge Auto Club. I heard you created a lot of talk over that. I heard someone broke your arms over that story.

Yes, my arms were broken. However, they never got the name of my source. Things changed after that and there was no more trouble for me. The things I wrote about were true; I work in facts and I do check out my sources. So, whatever you have to tell, be sure you give me all the facts.

Jacob pushed the brake and turned into the gravel lot at Keller's General Store.

Bill Schuler was forty-five, short, stocky, and over his lip a moustache grew. His face was sun-darkened and his eyes sunken into deep shelves with dark circles beneath; they made him look much older than his years. Jacob was younger. He was thin, more meaty than scrawny, and light-complexioned. He wore black plastic-rimmed glasses and a five o'clock shadow. His eyelids fluttered constantly and his left eye wandered.

Can we drive on? Bill asked. I don't want anyone seeing me with a stranger.

After a few seconds, Jacob said, You brought me here. Where do you want to go?

Bill tapped on his knee, nervously looking to see if anyone was around. Turn left out onto Main Street.

Jacob obliged and put the Camaro in reverse. He eased onto Main and headed east toward the railroad tracks. It was quiet in the car, quiet enough to hear the loping of the engine's cam.

The town of Sawmill wasn't much. You had Keller's, the only store and gas stop. Up the street from there was Braun's Café; directly across the tracks was O'Leary's bar. A bank, the Methodist church, a library, and the public grade school summed up Sawmill. It seemed the town was as big as the locals wished it to be and no more.

Two teenage boys covered in dust stood near the store, one drinking a Coke and the other filling the tire on his bike.

Why do you do it? Bill asked.

What? Write what I do?

Sure.

"For the glory, I guess. I don't want to be your typical news reporter. I want to write about things that are different. I want to get a job with a larger paper, like The New York Times, or The L.A Times, or The Dispatch in Saint Louis. My style of writing informs as well as entertains."

Well, what I have to say will entertain some, sicken others, and just maybe save a life or two. And then others may never believe it. See the water tower over there?

Jacob nodded. Yes.

See that line of trees on the hill? The hill and those trees span for a hundred miles in either direction. Around here, it is known as The Ridge, or Hickory Ridge to some. Eighty percent of the trees up there are one kind of hickory or another. Beyond the ridge is farmland, Wolf Creek, and the canal. Between the creek and canal is thick woods and marshland. Take a right just across the track.

Jacob took a right and another quick right when Bill motioned for him to do so.

Stop here.

Jacob pressed the clutch and brake, bringing the Camaro to a hasty stop.

Bill pointed at the building next to them. Jacob looked at the limestone façade and saw that the brick siding had the faint outline of what may have once been a mural.

That is the library, as well as the museum. Lot of info to be found in there; that is, if one knows what one is looking for. Drive on.

Jacob put the car in gear and drove in the direction Bill pointed.

Make note of the roads I take you down. Map them in your mind. This part is very important. Now for the story. I moved here in '65; and I soon learned I was an outsider in a small town where most everyone can trace their ancestors back to the ones who settled here. The people around here don't care much for outsiders.

So why did they let you move in?

"They can't stop it. It would draw too much attention. They'd just as soon make you uncomfortable until you pack up and leave. Or scare the shit out of you and hope you'll get out of town fast. Anyway, I purchased a hundred acres and a home, known around here as Connolly Manor. The house and property had been sitting empty for quite some time and I responded to an ad in The Stonebridge Times. A Jerome Connolly sold it to me. He was a young man, barely eighteen, and said he inherited it. He had no interest in living here; he wanted the money to put himself through college. The place needed lots of work, but I didn't care. I loved it. I was a young lawyer with a wife and a child on the way. I knew I wanted to get my family out of the filthy city and into a serene and safe place. It did not take long for me to realize we were not welcome."

"So