The Possession of Tyra Dove

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

By the time Tyra reached the village green, she had just about managed to stop her hands from shaking. There were techniques for controlling this which she had learned from her therapist, and when she killed the engine she took a few minutes to regain control.

She grabbed her overnight bag, climbed out of the vehicle and looked around. Laurie had managed to provide her with a rudimentary layout of Saddle Hill. Foley village consisted of a cluster of cottages facing the green. There was also a general store, a small garage, and a clinic. Scattered around the village were several farmsteads, in the middle of which sat the walled grounds of Booker Hall, and surrounding it all was the tree line of Hangman’s Wood.

In the middle of the green was a small pond with a strange wooden contraption sitting beside it. Curious, Tyra walked briskly across the untended grass until she reached the pond. The water was brown and still, and beneath the surface she could see the blurred, darting shapes of speckled fish. The wooden device she had seen from a distance consisted of a sturdily built oak chair with iron bands on the arms, attached to the end of a long beam that ran across a wooden pivot. Set in a small stone pillar was a brass plaque, which declared:

THIS DUCKING STOOL IS USED FOR THE PURPOSE OF THE PUNISHMENT OF COMMON SCOLDS, TROUBLEMAKERS, ADULTERERS, AND PRACTIONERS OF BLACK MAGICK AND PAGANISTIC RITES. PROPERTY OF FOLEY VILLAGE COUNCIL 1891.

When Tyra ran her hand over the wood she discovered it was in good condition and that the wicked-looking machine appeared to be in working order. Her gaze shifted back to the flat surface of the pond as she tried to imagine the poor victims of old being dunked into the dirty water.

Not far away was another gloomy relic from Foley’s dark past and Tyra wandered over to inspect it. It was a T-shaped wooden construction, about four feet high, the horizontal beam split down the middle with three holes cut out of it. Another plaque simply stated: PILLORY. Like the ducking stool, the wood had been treated and the hinge oiled. Evidently whoever was in charge of preserving the village heritage took pride in their work.

A light mist hung in the air as Tyra headed back towards her car, and again she experienced a brief moment of foreboding as the image of Julie’s bare body forced itself back into her mind.

Just turn around, get in the vehicle, and leave town then. Yeah, right.

She climbed onto the uneven sidewalk and found herself in front of a building of white stucco and mock Tudor timberwork with an overhead sign which read, THE DEVIL’S BARREL. She had originally planned to stay overnight in Lattingdon, but as it was getting late; she thought it might be worth giving this place a try.

The Devil’s Barrel?

Tyra allowed herself a wry grin as she pushed the door open. It was beginning to look as though any weekenders opting to take a detour from Interstate 90 were destined to find themselves in a kind of witchcraft theme park.

Passing through a small ante-room, Tyra was pleasantly surprised to find herself in a spacious bar furnished with thick carpeting, mahogany tables, and a large, crackling open fire. The only patrons were a couple of young guys playing pool and an old man nursing a glass of dark beer at the bar. Tyra could feel their eyes on her as she stepped up to the bar.

“Hello?”

Immediately, Tyra’s impression of an ‘olde worlde’ inn was broken by the appearance of a slender girl from a room behind the bar. She had short, mousy hair, brown eyes, and a round face, but what caught Tyra’s attention was the skimpy maid’s uniform she was wearing. The low-cut corset-style top just about covered her pert breasts, her midriff was bare, and her micro-skirt was so short she need hardly have bothered. The bawdy effect was completed by a white headband, a black choker, fishnet stockings and red high-heeled pumps. From Tyra’s feminist viewpoint, it looked as though her wardrobe had been selected solely for male viewing pleasure.

“Yes, ma’am?” the girl said.

“I was hoping to find a room for the night,” Tyra said.

The girl looked at her curiously. “Here, ma’am?”

“Yes, here,” Tyra replied, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

Instead of answering, the girl was studying her with rapt interest.

“Hi there?” Tyra waved her hand in front of the barmaid’s face, but before she could reply, a squat, bald man emerged from the back.

“We don’t normally take in guests,” he said, and then put on his glasses and looked Tyra over approvingly. “But we do keep a spare room upstairs, and it’s clean.”

Lecherous old bastard. It had better have a lock as well!

He thrust a pudgy hand across the oak bar and ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Orville Bead,” he said. Tyra inwardly shuddered as she took his sweaty palm.

“Terri Davis,” Tyra said, releasing it quickly and then surreptitiously wiping her hand on her jeans.

“I won’t charge you very much,” he said. “We don’t often get visitors up here.” He squinted at her. “May I ask what brings you to Foley?”

“I’m a freelance travel photographer and I like exploring remote places. I saw the hill from the turnpike and it had an interesting shape so I drove up.”

“And how long are you planning on staying?”

“Just for the weekend. Back in Boston on Monday,” Tyra said.

“Get some spectacular views from up here, I can say that,” he said. “At least when the weather’s clear. So you want the room?”

For a fraction of a second, Tyra almost lost her nerve. Julie’s obscene appearance, and now this strangely attired young girl, made Tyra wonder if there wasn’t something to Laurie’s theory after all – but then Tyra wouldn’t be one of the best in her field if she turned back at the first suggestion of danger. Besides, she was confident she could handle herself.

“Sure,” she said.

“Alrighty. Maddy, show the lady to her room,” he said without so much as glancing at the girl.

Looks like Will Swagger isn’t the only male chauvinist around these parts.

Tyra followed Maddy up a set of rickety stairs, feeling Bead’s gaze burning a hole in her rear end. In the passageway they passed a framed etching of the hill, underneath of which was the inscription: SADDLE HILL, PLACE OF DAEMONS.

How quaint. I wonder if they sell souvenir postcards.

The room was small but clean, the bed linen fresh, and the bathroom stocked with brand new soap, shampoo, and laundered towels. There was also a faint, tangy odor which reminded Tyra of dried herbs, but she figured that was a minor detail that could be easily rectified by an air purifier.

As Maddy turned to leave, Tyra said, “Why don’t you stay a moment?”

“Ma’am?”

“Call me Terri, okay?”

Maddy shifted uncomfortably.

“Sit down,” Tyra patted the bed reassuringly.

Maddy looked at her uncertainly, but then she obediently tottered over on her high heels and perched on the edge of the bed. Like Julie, Tyra mused, she appeared totally docile.

“Who dressed you like that?” Tyra asked.

Maddy glanced down at her pushed up cleavage and put her hands in her lap. It was then that Tyra noticed the small pair of overlapping V’s on the inside of her right wrist. She reached over and gently raised Maddy’s hand.

“That’s an interesting tattoo.”

Now Maddy turned her face and looked into Tyra’s eyes.

“You’re not from Foley, are you, Maddy?”

Maddy’s parted her lips and Tyra felt her warm breath on her face.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” Tyra said.

In a tiny whisper, Maddy said, “I was hitchhiking…”

A bell rang downstairs cutting her off, and Maddy instantly jumped up.

“I’m here to help, if you want me to,” Tyra said.

Maddy paused in the doorway and looked at her pityingly. “You can’t,” she said.