rolled in their sockets, and he grew restless, switching on the radio to a gospel station.
They drove past swollen streams where branches bent against the rushing water, the forests dark despite the sun bullying its way through storm clouds. The old man turned up the radio until the speakers buzzed, and he sang as loud as he had in forty years, bellowing his faith in the Lord and warning the devil to seek shelter elsewhere because his heart was filled with the love of God.
And then he stopped suddenly and looked at the address scrawled on the back of a restaurant napkin. He checked the map, then grabbed the wheel and jerked it, the Caddy swerving off the road, spitting muddied gravel that popped against the windshield. Ben cursed and pulled the wheel back, but he was already at the end of a narrow driveway that disappeared up ahead in a tangle of trees, their limbs choked with moss.
“What the fuck?” Ben yelled, but the old man held his finger to his lips and switched off the radio.
He wiped his face with the sleeve of his red sweatshirt andfumbled for the bottle of water he’d wedged between the seat and door. He gulped the bottle dry and tossed it into the backseat.
“We’ll walk from here,” he said.
It sat hunched, a massive home with a caved roof and a hole in its side, rotting furniture and mounds of knickknacks leaking from its guts into the forest. Towering white pillars rose from a crooked front porch, the paint peeled atop graying wood with raised nap from centuries of rain and heat. The house looked to Ben as though it had never been new or clean or beautiful, but had been built as it now stood—a murdered ruin.
“What is this place?” Ben asked.
“An oracle,” the old man said. “Only one left I know of.”
The old man’s foot broke through the porch and he cursed, yanking it free. He knocked on the door twice and stepped back. They waited, bird cries hailing the end of rain.
The door creaked open, and something ancient whispered to them from the dark, “Who’s that?”
“An old friend.” The old man hitched up his sweatpants and wiped the sweat from his eyes. “I’m in need of information.”
“We no longer have information,” the voice said.
“I’ve come with payment.”
“Have you come here before?”
“When I was a young man.”
The ancient thing stepped into the light and Ben saw an elderly woman, face as wrinkled as sheets balled up at the end of a bed. Her eyes were the color of the winter sky at dusk. She lifted her chin and stared at nothing, reaching out for the old man’s face. Hetook her hand and held it to his cheek, and her fingers crawled like a spider across his nose, dropping down to rest on his chin.
“I remember you,” she said. “Lots of cream and lots of sugar.”
The old man grinned and then she looked in the direction of Ben.
“And what about him?” She stared with blind eyes. “How does he like his coffee?”
The house was dark, reeking of mold and wet wood. They walked through a labyrinth of high ceilings and cavernous rooms, filled with ornate furniture covered in blossoms of mildew and liquid black trails of ants. The old woman led them past a grand staircase, through a dining room with place settings sitting on a giant table.
They walked through the kitchen and pushed open a heavy creaking door. Two men sat on a couch in a small room with green carpeting and floor-to-ceiling windows dark with grime, remains of old leaves pasted to the outside glass. The two men sat upright, straight and stiff as ship’s masts. Both held canes. Both stared blankly with cloud-white eyes.
“Two visitors,” the first man said. “Delilah, fetch them some coffee.”
“I’m working on it,” she said. “Don’t bark orders when I’m showing them in.”
“I’ll do what I want,” the first man said. “Get that coffee before I shove this cane up your old cunt.”
She muttered something and shuffled away, straining to push through the kitchen
They drove past swollen streams where branches bent against the rushing water, the forests dark despite the sun bullying its way through storm clouds. The old man turned up the radio until the speakers buzzed, and he sang as loud as he had in forty years, bellowing his faith in the Lord and warning the devil to seek shelter elsewhere because his heart was filled with the love of God.
And then he stopped suddenly and looked at the address scrawled on the back of a restaurant napkin. He checked the map, then grabbed the wheel and jerked it, the Caddy swerving off the road, spitting muddied gravel that popped against the windshield. Ben cursed and pulled the wheel back, but he was already at the end of a narrow driveway that disappeared up ahead in a tangle of trees, their limbs choked with moss.
“What the fuck?” Ben yelled, but the old man held his finger to his lips and switched off the radio.
He wiped his face with the sleeve of his red sweatshirt andfumbled for the bottle of water he’d wedged between the seat and door. He gulped the bottle dry and tossed it into the backseat.
“We’ll walk from here,” he said.
It sat hunched, a massive home with a caved roof and a hole in its side, rotting furniture and mounds of knickknacks leaking from its guts into the forest. Towering white pillars rose from a crooked front porch, the paint peeled atop graying wood with raised nap from centuries of rain and heat. The house looked to Ben as though it had never been new or clean or beautiful, but had been built as it now stood—a murdered ruin.
“What is this place?” Ben asked.
“An oracle,” the old man said. “Only one left I know of.”
The old man’s foot broke through the porch and he cursed, yanking it free. He knocked on the door twice and stepped back. They waited, bird cries hailing the end of rain.
The door creaked open, and something ancient whispered to them from the dark, “Who’s that?”
“An old friend.” The old man hitched up his sweatpants and wiped the sweat from his eyes. “I’m in need of information.”
“We no longer have information,” the voice said.
“I’ve come with payment.”
“Have you come here before?”
“When I was a young man.”
The ancient thing stepped into the light and Ben saw an elderly woman, face as wrinkled as sheets balled up at the end of a bed. Her eyes were the color of the winter sky at dusk. She lifted her chin and stared at nothing, reaching out for the old man’s face. Hetook her hand and held it to his cheek, and her fingers crawled like a spider across his nose, dropping down to rest on his chin.
“I remember you,” she said. “Lots of cream and lots of sugar.”
The old man grinned and then she looked in the direction of Ben.
“And what about him?” She stared with blind eyes. “How does he like his coffee?”
The house was dark, reeking of mold and wet wood. They walked through a labyrinth of high ceilings and cavernous rooms, filled with ornate furniture covered in blossoms of mildew and liquid black trails of ants. The old woman led them past a grand staircase, through a dining room with place settings sitting on a giant table.
They walked through the kitchen and pushed open a heavy creaking door. Two men sat on a couch in a small room with green carpeting and floor-to-ceiling windows dark with grime, remains of old leaves pasted to the outside glass. The two men sat upright, straight and stiff as ship’s masts. Both held canes. Both stared blankly with cloud-white eyes.
“Two visitors,” the first man said. “Delilah, fetch them some coffee.”
“I’m working on it,” she said. “Don’t bark orders when I’m showing them in.”
“I’ll do what I want,” the first man said. “Get that coffee before I shove this cane up your old cunt.”
She muttered something and shuffled away, straining to push through the kitchen
Similar Books
