Part XXXII

Part XXXII

For the next six hours we rode in silence. Carl had the laptop perched on his lap, but angled toward me. The map Bruce had given me pulled up on the screen so I could find my way to the first piece of what was left of my Uncle's soul.

It was getting dark when we arrived at a small motel, that sat just off the road like a hitchhiker disillusioned with the world. The vacant stare from the office window told me they'd have a room.

Inside, Carl on his bed watching an old western on the TV, and the Old Man curled on a pillow at the head of mine, I looked at the map and tried to figure out exactly how I was going to find what I'd come all this way for.

If we were actually in a town, it was one by name only. It felt more like a border between towns, a nebulous rural outpost that struggled to survive on the fringes.

It took a while to find what I was looking for, but when I did I was sure. In August of nineteen seventy-four there had been a tornado that had struck in Ash Valley. Those that had seen it, were convinced they saw a face rolling out of the tornado's cone. It had been on such a clear day, that the film footage taken is crisp and I found a link to it on Youtube.

While I saw what they wanted me to see, I also saw something else. This had been an incident that still ran through the minds of the people who lived here. A demon in a tornado is the stuff of urban legend. That's where we had to go. I had to find the exact place it had been when the footage had been shot.

I closed the laptop and Carl took his eyes from the screen and moved them to me.

Find what we're looking for?

I hope so. Get some rest. Tomorrow we go hunting demons in tornados.

Carl gave me that quizzical look he always kept in reserve for when I spoke.

The Irony of the whole thing was that we had to drive away from where we were going in order to find someone who could tell us what we needed to know. The area around where the twister had hit was painfully remote. I knew that the best way to get some answers was to find the people who kept the local knowledge. We couldn't find a barber shop, so we found the next best thing.

The Diner sat by a gas station, the only one we'd seen in a while, near a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. The Pick-ups parked outside told me it was the right place since none of them were newer than the late 80s. Inside, Carl and I pulled up to the counter and ordered some breakfast. The sideways glances we got weren't predatory, just curious.

I'd waited to drop the question until I'd finished sopping up the egg yolk and bacon grease with my toast. As the waitress smiled and started to take my plate away, I licked the tips of my fingers clean and smiled.

You wouldn't happen to know where we can find someone who could tell us where the '74 twister touched down could you?

I'm not sure if it really happened or if I was just thinking it did, but it sounded as though every fork in the place dropped onto a plate at once and every conversation came to an abrupt halt. The smile on the waitress's face half hid and she took my plate away. She returned with the coffee and refreshed my glass. Everyone waited for her to give the OK, and when the first word slipped through her teeth, the Diner perked back up and the silence faded.

If you're some kind of storm-chaser, we don't really get that many. That one was a fluke.

We're not storm-chasers. I've seen the footage and just wanted to take a look.

People who go looking for Demons usually end up findin'em.

The statement had come from an old man sitting at the counter just down from Carl. He'd paused his consumption of toast and cigarette and was giving me and Carl the look of a man who knew what he was talking about.

So, you can tell me where we can find it?

I can do better than that, I can show you. It touched down on my farm.

My name's Aubrey.

He took a bite of toast and a drag off his cigarette, then followed it with a swig of coffee.

My breakfast is on you.

I laughed a little bit and then wondered whether or not he was lying to get a free meal.

The farm road hadn't been graveled in a long time and dust plumed up from behind his pick-up so that my visibility was ten feet at best. When he finally came to a stop, I almost had to slam on the break to keep from rear ending him. We sat in the van for a second to let the dust die down before we hoped out. Even having waited, I could feel the air turning to mud in my mouth and tried my best to not spit.

The area looked like it had from the old footage, except the field was desolate now and had not been farmed for many years. Even so, there wasn't a single weed as far as I could see. The field on the other side of the road was coming along fine.

That twister killed the ground. Never got crops to grow on it again. People said it had taken all the top soil and that was why, but I re-topped the soil four times and it didn't do any good. The big smart fellers from the University even came out and took samples. They said the soil had plenty of nutrients and there was no reason the crops should be growing. They even took some back with them, they didn't anything to grow either. I told 'em it was because the Devil had walked here. They thought I was crazy.

He turned to me and Carl, and took a drag off the cigarette that seemed eternal in his hand.

I don't set foot on that ground anymore, but the place you're looking for is about three hundred yards that way.

He pointed with his cigarette and I watched the smoke roll from it, it looked like a little twister coiling up.

Thanks, I appreciate it.

You're welcome to it. I've got things to do.

He got back in his truck and left me and Carl coughing and chewing on dust the devil had walked upon.