The Pale Man Rises

CHAPTER THREE

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Clay turned abruptly toward the door. "Oh dad I didn't hear you come in." he said. "Couldn't sleep?" his father asked. Clay now turned to the window and looked out once more.

"It's funny you know, in the past storms like this used to make me sleep like a log, but this morning it kind of scared me...I couldn't dose off again. I've been up for awhile now just looking out the window." he said and once more turned to face his father. He had a look of melancholy on his face.

"You know dad the old oak tree looks kind of eerie in the storm." he now said with a shiver as if he was suddenly cold. "It gives me the creeps almost." he said and his voice sounded oh so sad.

The image of the tree did indeed heap dread upon that which he was already cursed with. He prayed the storm was only a brief interlude. Should it progress on into the day he could foresee problems with getting the money without his parents finding out and possible violence when he tried to explain this to Luther. The thug sounded scary, how would he react to the storm and the possibility of it causing a delay in their transaction? And what if the money wasn't there in the safe? What if his father had at last taken his mother's advice? It was a very real possibility after his four-year absence. His nerves needless to say were frayed.

"Son, son cheer up, things cain't be that bad." Vernon told him. "Are you ready to help me with those cows?" he then asked. Clay twisted about a more congenial look on his face.

"You got another one of those raincoats for me?" he asked his father. "On the top shelf of the closet." Vernon said.

Vernon then went to the closet and pulled the apparel from the very top where it was hidden from view. He then flung it across the bed to his son. Seeing him put it on over the few clothes he wore he then inquired.

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"Is that all you're going to wear a T-shirt and khakis?" "It's enough for now." Clay answered. "Then the tree is not the only thing that will give you a chill." Vernon told him.

"Ah dad don't treat me like a kid just because I've been acting like one for four years." Clay chuckled. His father joined him in the laughter as they went about continuing to make ready for the chores ahead.

Soon enough they were done and bounded down the stairs and out the front door onto the porch. All around the storm continued to rage the wind buffeting the landscape like a relentless fighter. They made their way down the steps and into the yard moving along with great caution.

They moved on then trudging through the puddles and mud in the yard and along the path beyond the house. They passed the pickup and the white station wagon parked there, beyond the red faded barn that housed the tractor and other farm equipment then past the tobacco barn and on toward the cattle barn where Vernon kept his animals sheltered against the elements.

Vernon held a powerful flashlight out in front of them as they went. They wore galoshes over their shoes as their feet squished through the inundation. The path led down a slope over a wooden bridge that covered a culvert which a ditch snaked through and split off the eastern quadrant of the land. The ditch led from the highway to the forest beyond the farm. At the highway it intersected with the ditch there that ran alongside the road on either side and whenever there was a storm the rain would flow down its embankments into the depths to prevent it from causing a flood or accumulating in stagnant and unhealthy pools.

When they made it to the bridge they could hear the water racing down the ditch headed for the forest where it emptied into a creek. Vernon Reese pointed the beam of the light down on the rushing churning flow of water. He turned to his son then.