A Note at the Start: I’m writing this short piece within a larger world I’m still creating. As such, nothing here is what might be called cannon outside of the general atmosphere I’m going for.
The dead men lay on their backs, feet together, arms outspread. It was a dreadful sort of mandala. From the woods, the glowing eyes of a coyote peered, and overhead, the vultures circled. Their eyes were gone, to the birds no doubt. We had shooed them away, but they kept landing again. The dog in the trees was patient, hungry but patient. It was probably his work opening up this one; it looked like teeth marks which had disgorged number five.
We didn’t have names, yet. We barely had faces. The birds which had first told us there was something up the mountain had frustrated us regarding further identification.
“Cause of death?” I wondered more than asked. Stopping outside the ring of flesh, I glanced over at the kneeling doctor.
“Don’t know,” he lifted a stiff arm and let it fall. “Grass still green, body still stiff—”
“And I don’t see any tracks leading away. Suicide?”
“Possible. Toxicology will show. Some sort of cult, you think?”
“Wouldn’t be…” the words were on my lips, but I tried to swallow them back down. The doctor stared through his gleaming glasses, his thin lips tightening.
“Wouldn’t be? Wouldn’t be what?” he urged.
“There are stories,” I said. “Local legends.”
“These aren’t locals; no one I know.”
I glanced at him squatting just outside the limits of the circle.
“How would you know?”
“As GP, I think I’ve seen everyone in town naked, at some point, sheriff. Yourself included. I don’t know these men.”
“They could be from Altonton.”
He looked at me, a raised eyebrow coming over his glasses.
“They could be,” he said. “Any party from Altonton pass through? Where are their cars?” He looked around. “It’s a mighty hike up here. And how are we getting them down? Helicopter? Ambulance can’t come up here.”
“They’re all in suits,” I added, glancing at the shining dress shoes. “Best duds…Sunday meeting.”
“Could have been Sunday, at a stretch. Probably Monday, though.”
We were silent awhile, the noise of the radio burping out updates. Then I heard my deputy’s voice:
<Mr. Lundi not home. Left yesterday night.>
I reached for my radio, stifling a curse.
“Barry,” I called into the receiver. “Did they tell you why Mr. Lundi isn’t home?”
“It’s Mr. Lundi, sir.” I was about to cut in and say I knew. “I mean,” Barry went on, “junior. Apparently back from college.”
“He just left,” the doctor observed.
“Yeah, it’s all online. There’s been, well the whole college is closed down. Death of one of the faculty. I’m not finding more than a few paragraphs here or there.”
“They don’t close a college because someone dies.”
“I know,” I hushed the doctor. Depressing the button again, I asked, “Got anything else?”
“He was expected back this morning. I’m not the only one looking for him. That secretary looks like he’s going to give himself a heart attack the way he jumps when the phone rings. I couldn’t catch who was calling, but he didn’t seem too happy having his appointment canceled.”
I thought a moment. The doctor had stood up.
“Anything else, chief?”
“What?” I woke from my brown study. Addressing the mic, “No, that’s good,” I said. “Keep me posted if either Lundi shows himself.”
“Roger.”
“Why do you want to find Lundi?” the doctor asked.
I looked at the ring of dead men, and then up at the circling shadows above.
“I read it in a book, once.” I answered. “Have you ever looked into the history of this town?”
“Not much. The Lundis were founding members.”
“They were the founding members,” I said. “Count Lundi was, by all accounts, one of those great men you hear about. He saw the revolution before it came. It helped, I suppose, that by all accounts, he was a man of the people.”
“I thought he was an architect or something.”
“He was. He built great things. Our town hall was his mansion. The library his magnum opus. Died, you know, before he finished. The town elders are mostly descendants of his foremen. He took all his money out of France. Sold what property he could. Ran away to Louisiana. Headed West. There’s a famous building of his too, in Louisiana. A church. It’s beautiful.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“I haven’t always—” I began. “I mean, well, there was a mystery I needed to unfold. An urban legend I was told as a child.”
“Yes,” the doctor stepped toward me. “You used that word before, legend. Is there some history here? I’ve lived in this town as long as you, longer.”
“When I was a child,” I continued, “I was in the library, and I didn’t want to be found. They still used a switch in those days. I had been, well, a boy. I don’t know how I found it, and I never found it again. But there were books in this room in this library. One of them was open on a table. A woodcut of a, well, a very naked woman, and I wanted to see more pictures like that. I didn’t really read the legend next to it. Just flipped the page over.”
“And what did you see?” the doctor asked after a pause.
“Something very much like this,” I answered. “It was a new moon last night, wasn’t it?”
The doctor didn’t answer.
“I did read the legend on this one. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it: ‘To open the eye’s to open the door.’ And on the page next to it, a list of requirements. Monday, a new moon, and a Lundi’s son.”
The doctor’s head tilted.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
“That’s the brilliance of telling the truth,” I said. “No one believes you. I’m also a hundred and fifty years old,” I added.
“This is no place to joke,” chided the doctor.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “We don’t have time for jokes.”
