Daemon of the Dark Wood Read Online Free PDF

Nothing more, nothing less.”
    Relenting, she reached out and took the heavy volume with both hands. “Thank you kindly, Professor. I do love the way the man tells a story. I’m not a scholar but I love a good tale, well-told.”
    “I think the old scribbler would be pleased to count you among his devoted readers.” Thorn gave her a warm, knowing smile.
    “Your flattery’s wasted on me, Professor.” She balanced the book precariously on the knobs of her knees.
    He laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Mrs. Leatherwood. You always say what’s on your mind.”
    “I’m too old to do otherwise.” She removed her bifocals and cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief she pulled from the bosom of her dress. “And I’m not so foolish as to believe you drove all the way up here just to give me this book. So come out with it. What do you want now?”
    He looked down at his feet, assuming the countenance of a scolded child—though Liza judged him to be in his mid-fifties. And right handsome in a rugged sort of way, looking more like a sportsman than a Professor of Anthropology at Dogwood Community College.
    “Though I don’t understand your reluctance to share your knowledge of the local folklore and legends, I respect your decision to keep it to yourself. But I would appreciate it if you would point me to someone of your generation who
would
be willing to help me with my project.”
    She put her glasses back on and gave him a closer appraisal. He was all business now, the scolded pup having yielded to the seasoned bloodhound.
    “You see, Mrs. Leatherwood, I’ve already turned up some fragmented yarns of a ‘Demon of the Dark Wood’ and the ‘Devil of Goat Head Hollow.’ Most all of these folk legends have a common thread running through them, and they have much in common with the lore of faraway places and long-ago times. Hawthorne himself made reference to ‘the Black Man that haunts the forest.’ These stories and myths are an important element in most cultures, and sometimes they are linked to actual events, growing over the years to mythic proportions. And it’s that convergence of history and myth that most interests me.
That’s
the region I want to explore.”
    Liza leaned back and set her chair to rocking. “So you come up here to deliver me a lecture. Well, it was most gratifying, but I still can’t help you. And I don’t know anybody who can.”
    Thorn spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Forgive me for lapsing into lecture, but I’m convinced that Widow’s Ridge is a hidden treasure trove of native myth. Over the years I’ve developed sort of a sixth sense about my fieldwork. I get a certain feeling—an actual tingling sensation—when I’m on the edge of discovery, and I’ve got that feeling right now. Forgive me if I’m overly passionate about my work.”
    “Passion can be the ruin of a man,” she said, firmly entrenched in her role of Keeper of Secrets. “You’ll not find your treasure round here. And here’s a bit of hill wisdom you’d do well to remember:
A man who digs cursed earth, uncovers great sorrow.
”
    “That’s a good one,” he said, beaming a big smile. “Better than a Chinese fortune cookie. I’ll bet you’re full of those old sayings. It would be a real shame if you took such gems to your grave.”
    “Professor, you’re about as pigheaded as my Wilbur was. And I’ll thank you not to speak of my grave before I’m dead and buried in it.”
    With a chivalrous bow, he said, “I beg your pardon. I meant no offense.”
    “I’ll take none if you’ll leave me alone now. I’ve got chores to tend to, and I don’t have time to sit here yapping about old wives’ tales and mountain superstitions. You’ll not find your bogeyman round here.”
    “Once again, I’m humbled by your unabashed honesty,” said Thorn. “I won’t trouble you further. But you still have my card if you should change your mind.”
    “I won’t.”
    “You take care, now,