Hold The Dark: A Markhat story Read Online Free PDF

he said. The other Hoobins nodded. “Now tell us, finder. What have you come to say?”
    “I’ve been to the Velvet. I spoke to a woman named Darla.”
    “We know this woman Darla,” said Ethel. His tone was neutral, merely matter-of-fact, but it hid a hint of disdain. I gathered Ethel didn’t approve of Darla’s un-Balptist sense of humor.
    “I’ve also talked to some Watchmen,” I said. Disel snorted, went quiet at a glance from Ethel. “The Watchman remembers seeing Martha, now and again. He doesn’t recall anything unusual, on that last day.”
    Ethel nodded.
    “I’ve got a feeling that’s all we’re going to get out of the Watch or the Velvet or the people on the street,” I said, gently. “That’s all we’ll get, because that’s all they know.”
    Ethel looked confused, but he kept his mouth shut.
    “I need to look in other directions,” I said. “And I need to start by looking here. In Martha’s room. At her things.”
    Lowrel and Disel, in perfect unison, sat bolt upright and half-rose from the enormous chairs. Ethel stilled them both with a slight lifting on his right hand.
    “Missus Hog told us you could see through shadows that left others blind,” he said, staring at me. “She said we were to do as you ask, even if it goes against our ways.”
    Lowrel and Disel sat, turned their glares on the toes of their boots.
    “What you ask—to touch her things, to see what only a husband must see—is it necessary, finder? Do you must?”
    “I must. There might be something there—or something missing—that could tell us what happened.” I spread my hands, imploring. “Martha’s been gone seven days. You don’t know where she’ll be, this night. I don’t know either. But if we all agree that she isn’t where she is by choice, we must also agree that she is probably in danger.” I rose. I’d saved my best for last. “Didn’t Mrs. Hog tell you I could be trusted?”
    Ethel was still a moment. Then he nodded, once, his gaze never leaving mine.
    “Up the stair. Third floor. Last door on left.”
    “Is it locked?”
    “This be home,” said Ethel. “What manner of people lock their doors at home?”
    I didn’t answer. I just got up, found the stairs and ascended before one or all of the brothers changed their minds.
    But the stairs remained empty behind me. I found the third floor, counted doors and put my hand on the polished brass knob that led to Martha’s room.
    I put my hand on it, but didn’t turn it right away. I listened to the sounds of the house—the creaking of wood beams, a soft hooting of wind somewhere up in the attic, a gentle snoring that came from the bedridden Mother Hoobin’s room. All the sounds were muffled and faraway, lost in the big solid confines of the house. They were gentle sounds, homey sounds, the sort of easy familiar sounds that lull you right to sleep.
    I turned the knob, pushed and let light from the hall lamps spill in before me.
    It was just as I imagined. Neat and orderly. Hand-sewn and bright and comfortable. There was a four-poster bed with veils hung across the posts and a big iron-banded cedar chest at its foot. There was a polished oak dresser that hadn’t come from any flooded farmstead, a big round mirror hung on the plaster wall above it. There was a nightstand on the far side of the bed, a flower-box beyond the window and a door that led to a bathroom on the far wall. There were lamps, and a handful of long matches in a silver vase. I lit both lamps and looked about.
    The wood floors were covered with two big red rugs, the weave and dye so fine I found myself unconsciously tip-toeing over them.
    A pair of fuzzy slippers waited by the bed. A second pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses sat atop a book on the nightstand. A long-hemmed, plush, red bathrobe hung on a hook by the bathroom door.
    And there was the closet. I made for it first.
    If it was empty, I had some bad news for the Hoobins. But I doubted I’d find it empty—anyone