THE DEVIL’S HAND(Susan Joyner-Stumpf) This story is fictitious. Any similarity to any of the characters related here, the names of towns and various shops, or the transpire of any events are purely coincidental.

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THE DEVIL’S HAND


Bedlow, Colorado is a sleepy little mountain town, the kind of place most folks pass through on their way to larger metropolitan areas, and never look back. If they do stay here, it is only overnight after a long day’s exhausting journey, for there isn’t much here to see. We only have three hotels to accommodate guests: a cheap Motel 6, a Best Western, and then the Gold Rush Hotel on Main Street, an 1850’s refurbished building straight out of the old west with the bullet holes from past gunslingers still a part of the décor.

Yeah, Bedlow is a scenic little place alright, nestled between the Crystal and Segora Mountain Ranges at an 8355 foot elevation, but we don’t have the museums, theatres or big shopping malls found in your larger cities. The closest town that has all that plus a Super Wal-Mart is 50 miles away on Highway 106 leading from here through winding Cheyenne Mountain Pass to the larger metropolis called Hester. During the winter months when Cheyenne Pass is frozen over with ice and snow, we are land-locked in that direction, for the Pass is closed pretty much during the winter months because of its road dangers during slippery weather conditions.

One thing I can say in favor of Bedlow is that what you will find here are the type of mom-and-pop shops that have died out for the most part in your larger towns. We don’t have an Ace Hardware; we have Duncan’s Hardware and Mercantile, a typical five-generation run establishment where you can buy anything from a Phillips Screw Driver to an authentic bottle of French perfume. We don’t even have a McDonald’s. But we have Larsen’s Burgers and Shakes; they’ve been in the business too for roughly five generations serving the towns people of Bedlow the best hamburgers, subs, deli sandwiches and crab cakes on Friday night this side of Denver.

Then of course you have Rusty’s Smoked Barbecue House two miles out of town where the brisket is so tender and succulent, you can eat it with a spoon, and down it with a chilled pitcher of Rueben’s Beer, a local lager you can’t get anywhere else. There’s also Trudy’s Pancake Shop on Main Street where many of the locals go for Sunday brunch after church to indulge themselves in Banana-Nut Pancakes or Chocolate Supreme Waffles with Bailey’s Irish Crème coffee. Try to get that at I-Hop.

If you want fine dining, there are two distinct places. One is called Le’ Hoit’s, an old Victorian remodeled into a restaurant serving exquisite French and Italian cuisine, purely for the discreet and well-to-do of Bedlow. Don’t ask me what it means. All I know is that it’s rumored if you eat there, you can easily drop a $100 just for dinner, not including cocktails. I think dad took mother there once or twice on their anniversary.

The other fine dining is on the first floor of the Gold Rush Hotel, decorated to maintain its authentic roots as once a place where cowboys hung their hats to play a game of poker and vaudeville painted ladies sung their hearts out as though on Broadway. Its interior is a step back in time with original stain glass, curved windows, hard-wood plank floors, elegant wallpaper, antique reproduction lighting, and gold-inlay framed pictures, some original I heard and found covered in sheaths in the basement, depicting Bedlow as it once was, an old mining town, all to create an old west atmosphere. But they serve a five-star, state-of-the-art menu complete with Imported Champagne, the first glass free on the house.

Other than that, we have Charlie’s Café on Main, serving a Saturday favorite of Tuna Melt or Egg Salad with Avocado on Marble Rye, and the other surrounding buildings are two antique shops, Dr. Stoke’s office, the only Medical Practitioner who also serves as our Veterinarian, Pike’s Feed and Seed for all your livestock, pet and garden needs, Shirley’s Office Goods, Bedlow Bank & Loan Company, Warner’s Grocery, Lacy’s Shop & Gas, Lost Cause Bar and Grill that has live entertainment on Friday nights, Lyle’s Drug Store, Ryder’s Nursing and Funeral Home; you see, in small towns, some places pull double duty. Then there’s Dance’s Candy and Liquor Store; I know it’s weird, and yes they do sell both Hershey Bars and a good bottle of Chevas Regal. The only other structures around are the Court House, two high schools and one Day Care Center, an enormous warehouse on the outskirts storing God knows what in its metallic interiors, and an old Orpheum Theatre boarded up and I don’t go around there much because I heard it’s haunted. And that’s Bedlow, plain and simple.

Why have I told you all this, you must be thinking? Well, it’s important for you to get the feel of Bedlow, my sleepy little Mayberry town, where the last exciting thing that happened here was when Farmer Stanley’s herd of Black Angus got loose and stampeded down Main Street two years ago, about a herd of 200 thundering hooves down the cobblestone streets. That was awesome to see for us young folks but the adults weren’t too thrilled about it. Especially when it came to clean up time and much of us disappeared to Croaker’s Creek so we wouldn’t get stuck cleaning up all the dung and knocked over hydrants. After that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Oh, I forgot to tell you who I am. Well, I’m Josh Von Erstinwald, sixteen, graduating from high school next year. I know, I know, crazy name. I get made fun of constantly. My father’s a German immigrant. But he’s the Mayor in this town so he pulls a little respect around here, except from his kids, like me. Just kidding. I have the typical blonde hair and startling blue eyes of my German roots, but then my mother’s Swedish, so I have her Nordic lines too, so I was doomed to be a “pretty boy.” Some of the girls think I look like a young Brad Pitt. It makes me popular at school, until they ask me my last name. For the serious ones, it’s all over with them then. Guess they don’t want to inherit a name like Von Erstinwald. But I still see them looking at me on the sidelines, they can’t help themselves, I laugh to myself. And some leave notes taped to my locker, how they think I’m so cute and can’t live without me and childish shit like that. I just ignore it all for the most part. I have my buddies though, and don’t get me wrong, we dig girls, none of us are ready to “settle down” and get totally serious. We go out as friends with a few of the girls on Friday nights, the typical teenage stuff, you know, cigarettes, someone will have gotten their older brother to get us a pint of whiskey from Dance’s Candy and Liquor Store so we’ll pass it around between seven or eight of us to get a buzz going. But no serious dating or going steady. Just a good time amongst a good mixed group of friends.

So then there’s me, of course, and then my two younger sisters, Ashley, she’s nine; Paige, eleven, and my younger brother Jared, thirteen. Yes, my mother has been very busy steeped in motherhood. She doesn’t work, just some volunteer stuff at Ryder’s Nursing and Funeral Home assisting with the elderly. When she’s not doing that, she’s entertaining since my father is a big shot here in town. She has a Bridge Club and a Garden Club and who knows what else kind of club but she’s always there for us kids and has a four course dinner on the table when dad comes home, sometimes late. I don’t know how she does it. She’s an amazing piece of my work, my mother.

So you can imagine one Saturday afternoon to my amazement, when this shiny black MX-5 Miata with dark tinted windows rolls up nice and slow onto Main Street as I’m coming out of Duncan’s Hardware and Mercantile where my father had sent me to get some small bolts to fix one of our barbed-wire fences that came loose by the corner post. We have a ranch like a lot of folks around here and we raise and breed Registered Tennessee Walking Horses. Both our parents are avid riders, so us kids, like many of the kids in this area, grew up loving horseback riding and most of us learned to ride before we could even walk. I know my two younger sisters, Ashley and Paige, can handle a stallion just as well as any seasoned rider three times their age. They grew up doing that, as we all did.

As a matter of fact, on this fine Saturday, I was on Poco, one of our black and white geldings. The neat part about Bedlow is there is also no zoning restrictions so you can ride your horse down the main center of town and there are even posts to tie them up at, next to SUV’s and Toyota’s, of course. And most do, when they’re not in their cars, so it was nothing for me to tie Poco up on the side street from Duncan’s. I was putting the things I bought for my father in the saddlebag when the black MX-5 Miata pulled beside me.

Normally, I wouldn’t even be concerned who pulled up next to me except this car was so awesome and we don’t see that many around these parts. A Vet every now and then, once a Lamborghini, candy-apple red. It took our breath away. Some rich dude and his lady passing through, stopped to get gas at Lacy’s Shop & Gas. We all acted like this thing landed from out of space. The dude and the lady got back in their Lamborghini and hi-tailed it out of Bedlow. They must have thought they arrived in the Twilight Zone, the way everyone was staring at them.

So here was this MX-5 Miata and I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. Poco whinnied and stomped the ground nervously, and I rubbed his neck, thinking he was afraid of the car. But he seemed more afraid of what got out of it than anything else.

And I can only describe him as very tall, wearing a black turtle-neck with a black-grey tweed jacket, black jeans, black alligator boots, hair so black it was blue, and eyes, piercingly dark because I don’t know anyone who has “black” eyes to speak of. But I could barely make out pupils when I got close enough so I will just safely say they were the darkest eyes I had ever seen.

His face was of chiseled-perfect handsomeness, if I say so myself, as a young boy not interested in the same sex, but able to appreciate beauty even in men. He was striking, actually, and I had to look away so he wouldn’t get the wrong impression. I was his opposite, fair-skinned, long blonde hair, slender-framed, blue-eyed. I watched as he emerged from his car, like in slow motion, and looked around for a moment at his surroundings, and then at me.

At first I pretended not to notice him. I was busy with Poco, calming the gelding who was by now trying to pull his reins free from the post. He has never acted like that before and I was confused to what was spooking him. He’d seen cars, and noises from town were familiar. It just didn’t occur to me that it was whatever stepped out of that MX-5 Miata that had Poco on edge. But I didn’t understand it then, and I wish I would have heeded Poco’s warnings and left immediately, for horses and dogs are good judges of character, my father always said.

It was his eyes I felt first on my exposed neck, a tinge of a burning sensation that I have no other way to describe. I knew HE was looking at me as my back was turned as I secured Poco to the post. I tried not to act spooked myself and even laughed out loud to bluff the stranger. As I turned around, there he was, suddenly, standing in front of me when he was just seconds ago on the other side of his car. I chuckled to myself, thinking, what did he do, fly over here? Later on, that thought wouldn’t seem so out of the question.

He was even taller now than I originally thought, as my eyes found his under the morning’s blazing August sun, now promising a sudden cloudy overcast, hovering just above us, ironically. I felt like I was looking upon a towering, massive building, black as night, eating the space between us to the point my breaths came in short and heavy and I’m a healthy kid, or was, up until that point, when breathing became an issue.

His hand reached out and I flinched, for a split-second, not knowing what it was. Gosh, what’s wrong with me, I thought to myself. I’m a total, bumbling idiot here. I straightened up. I wasn’t going to allow a stranger passing through to affect me like this.

“My name is Natas Kard,” he replied, in a deep, husky tone, almost like Darth Vader. But this could have been my imagination playing tricks on me. Sure it was. “My friends call me Nat, for short. And . . . you are?”

It wasn’t a question, I felt. It was a subtle demand. And . . you are? Okay, so I took my cues from plays I’d been in and acted out the rest. I steadied my voice and made it appear confident, though I’m sure he was seeing right through me. “I’m Josh Von Erstinwald,” I told him, waiting for the comment to come, like, where did you get a name like that, or even a rude laugh. None of that came, however, much to my surprise.

Instead, a smile etched across his thin lips and he simply asked, “I’ll be in town for a couple of days. Can you recommend where an old, tired stranger can sleep comfortably, perhaps get a good meal?”

It was then I looked at him, for just a moment, my eyes searching for pupils, for a sign of human life, for though he looked human enough, something about him was unsettling and I couldn’t put my finger on it at the moment to save my life. I only know my horse, who loves people, was frightened to death of him, and I didn’t feel either like he was going to be on my mother’s Christmas Card List. A crack of distant thunder sounded off in the distance, as if Poco and I needed any other props to startle us. That’s odd, I thought, as today’s forecast predicted sunny skies with just a few passing, rainless clouds.

“Yeah, well, augh, there’s the, augh,” there I went stuttering, “there’s the Best Western on 9th Street, a Motel 6 off of Center, and oh, right down there,” I pointed, “right on Main about a block is the Gold Rush Hotel, that’s cool, it’s authentic old west atmosphere that most folks passing through like to stay,” I finished. Was it that hard, I cursed myself?

He looked down at me, patronizingly, was it? Or was it more when you look upon an ant pile and you watch the insects scramble to their dirt caverns once they’ve comprehended in their little insect heads that they’ve been detected, so you don’t step on them . . .

“Well, then,” he said matter-of-factly, “that’s what it will be. The Gold Rush. I bid you a good day, young sir. I’m sure I’ll meet your acquaintance again soon.”

“Yeah, I mean, yes, sir,” I said and mounted poor Poco who was by now out of his wits with a near anxiety attack. I slowly eased the gelding away from the car and headed toward Main and the trek home, about two miles out of town.

Nat snapped his fingers while I was still within hearing range, and I stopped. “You know,” he called after me, “when you get a chance, you need to check your horse’s rear left hoof. There’s a rock imbedded there.”

As I was only two miles out of town, I rode Poco all the way home, with unexpected rain coming down in slanted sheets soaking the both of us to the bone, lightening and thunder whipping around us like a Stephen King nightmare, the worst rainfall that Bedlow has ever seen, and dismounted poor Poco inside the barn. I asked him to lift his left rear hoof. Sure enough, there was a rock imbedded there in his frog, the tender area underneath the hoof. How did Nat know that? I dismissed it and put Poco up. But it never left me, that first meeting. I talked about it all through dinner, boring my family with details that they thought were the product of a young boy’s wild imagination. My mother even mentioned, God forbid, to have the stranger over for dinner. I told her to let me know so I would be sure to be some place else. She laughed.

If only she knew this wasn’t funny.

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It was the next day. The sun was still not shining. Very unusual for Bedlow this time of year, but of course, so was yesterday, with the torrential downpour. Was it any coincidence that Mr. Nat’s arrival into town signaled weather we haven’t seen in these parts for years?

Anyway, so here it was Sunday and after church, instead of going out to eat like we normally do, the family went home because mom wanted to fix dinner and bring an extra plate over for our distant neighbor, Ms. Zangler, a widow who was ill and lived alone and was getting worse. Mom said she was going to mention to Ms. Zangler that she needed to take up residence at Ryder’s Nursing Home. I noticed that mom dropped the “Funeral” part of the title of the Nursing Home. When I mentioned this, mom gave me a dirty look so I let it go. Poor old lady Zangler. She won’t be around much longer, I thought. Mom is such a good Samaritan.

During the middle of dinner, the phone rang. It was for my father. There was trouble at the Gold Rush Hotel. I never mentioned to my family that that is where Mr. Natas Kard was staying. I wondered why I failed to mention that little tidbit? Anyway, my father was needed there, along with Sheriff Riley and Deputy Tobias. It was of a serious nature, and dad wouldn’t say any more to us, just changed his clothes and left the house in a big hurry. We all sat at the table, all this food laid out that mom slaved over the stove to cook, homemade mashed potatoes, roast, string bean casserole, Pistachio Salad, Peach Cobbler for dessert, but we all lost our appetites. Mom asked me to watch the kids please, she was going to bring a plate over to Ms. Zangler and to stay off the phone too, in case dad happened to call.

So I was stuck babysitting when I could have rounded up my buddies Brett, Kyle and Luke. I had a cell and wanted to call them anyway, leaving the main phone line open like my mother asked me to. I told them what was going on with my dad, and then I told them about Mr. Natas Kard. I said I would get together with them as soon as mom got back. We’d meet at Croaker’s Creek.

Finally, I was with my buddies when mom came home an hour later. I told the guys of the strange dude that drove up in a MX-5 Miata. They said that’s funny, they met him too. I said, oh really, when, you never mentioned it on the cell, and they said they were going to wait to tell me when we got here to Croaker’s Creek.

Well, Brett said Saturday he went with his dad to Lyle’s Drug Store to get an ice cream cone in their parlor part of the store where you can still get old-fashioned cherry coke floats and banana-splits. He said when they walked out, they bumped into The Stranger with the MX-5 Miata, or he bumped into them, he couldn’t remember which. Anyway, he introduced himself to them, shaking Brett’s dad’s hand, said he was in town for a couple of days and could they recommend a place to eat, he just settled into the Gold Rush Hotel.

Brett said his father turned him on to Charlie’s Café and The Stranger thanked them, and looked at Brett, and he said he looked down because he didn’t like looking into the guy’s “black” eyes, they were too freaky. I said, yeah, what’s the deal with that bad action and Brett agreed the less he knew, the better off he was. And by the way, he told me, Kyle and Luke, that on the same hand that the Stranger shook his dad’s hand, his dad woke up this morning with a rash there, a real bad rash, and that’s why they didn’t make it to church. And I told Brett, I bet he wasn’t upset over that, and he laughed and said, you’re right.

Kyle and Luke had similar stories, both with a parent in and around Main Street and they bumped into The Stranger, or he bumped into them, they didn’t know which. All felt an eerie sensation, meaning, us young kids, not the adults. Adults seemed to take to this Stranger, they gravitated towards him. Kyle even noticed that a lot of women walking hand in hand with their men even looked back at him. None of us could figure all this out, but The Stranger tried to talk to each of them, like he talked to me, and they wanted nothing to do with him. But their dads were all talkie, talkie. I even said my mom wants to invite him over for dinner and I swear I won’t be home that night and they all laughed.

When dad got home that night, I followed him around, asking questions. Only later, when we were both alone out in the barn and he was grooming one of our big white stallions named Flash, did my father finally open up to me.

“Now I swear, Josh, this is just between me and you,” and my father looked at me with that look that promised if I said anything, he’d kill me and pretend I wasn’t his flesh and blood.

“Swear, dad, on Scout’s Honor,” I swore, knowing in the end I may not tell my mom or siblings, but damn if I wouldn’t tell my buddies.

“Well,” dad said, “by the time we got to the Gold Rush Hotel, it was chaos. There in the billiards room, son, where they have gambling and all going on, well,“ and dad cleared his throat, continuing, “well, it was like stepping back in time, Josh. Tables were turned over, holes were in the wall, glass broken everywhere. You know Mr. Pike from the feed store? He’s over in the corner of the room, bleeding all over the place, a stab wound in his abdomen from a butcher knife. This is a non-drinking guy who doesn’t gamble, what was he doing there?” Dad shook his head. It was hard for him to keep going.

“Son, all I can say is, hell broke loose in there. Local towns people who don’t normally drink or gamble were in there betting big bucks, betting their damn ranches away, and some sobered up and realized what they had done and they got into a fight and it was just awful . . .” dad’s voice trailed.

I imagined the beautiful interiors of the Gold Rush Hotel ruined now, splattered with whiskey and glass and local blood. I asked quietly, “Was Mr. Nat anywhere around there, dad?”

My father looked at me for a brief moment. A look of horror crossed his face, but again, I have an active imagination and maybe my father was just worn out and drained from all this. His various shades of pale returned to his normal reddish coloring.

“As a matter of fact, some of the witnesses said he was over at a table playing several rounds of poker,” my dad said. “Now, I don’t know if he had anything to do with it, son, I wasn’t there and the witnesses there were all half-cocked and loaded so I’m even taking some of their statements as iffy.”

“But dad . . .” I started.

“But nothing, son,” my father spat, letting me know the conversation was closed. “Don’t go starting rumors. As a matter of fact, your Mr. Nat followed me out to my car and was apologizing for the whole affair, saying, he was playing an innocent round of poker and then that all happened and I believed him. As a matter of fact, he’s coming for dinner tomorrow night and your mom is cooking something special and I expect you to be there. He’s looking forward to seeing you again. He said you’re a polite young man and I raised you well.”

“Yeah, I just bet he did,” I mumbled under my breath.

I handed my father a different grooming brush for Flash and headed out. I stopped and turned around. I said, “Dad, you can ground me for a month. You can punish me however you like. I’m not sitting down to dinner with you all and Mr. Nat and that’s it.”

I didn’t wait to hear my father’s protests. I left quickly, out of hearing range and went to bed, Mr. Nat taking up unwanted space inside my ever exhausted mind.

_ _ _ _


Monday evening. I did the famous Disappearing Josh Act, as promised. From what I heard, mom went all out for Mr. Nat. She had Lobster Bisque, Sweet Okra Gumbo, Crab cakes, Tossed Caesar Salad, and homemade Peach Ice Cream.

I stayed over with Kyle and ate beanie weenies out of a can with him, as his parents went to a PTA meeting and we had his house all to ourselves, except for his ten year old sister who had a crush on me. Other than that, she wouldn’t know if we smoked a cigarette in front of her face and I doubt she would tell, because if she did, she’d never see Josh around the house anymore and that would break her dear little heart and we couldn’t have that.

Around 9:00 in the evening, I called to make sure the coast was clear so I could come home. My dad answered the phone and his voice sounded real strange. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but I knew, I knew, something was terribly wrong. By the time I got home, I was right. For the first time in their marriage, my parents slept separately. My dad slept in the guest room and mom was locked inside the master bedroom and didn’t even let me come in when I knocked. I tried to ask my dad what happened, did Mr. Nat not like the Lobster Bisque or something like that, he said that had nothing to do with it and he didn’t want to talk about it. All I know is my parents, for the first time in over twenty years, a loving couple that never fought, all of the sudden didn’t sleep together that night or the next for all I know, and the only thing different, the only thing that had changed, was the dinner guest they had over that fatal night.

_ _ _ _


Actually, the rest is just a blur, to be quite honest. The quaint, sleepy town of Bedlow was in shambles, turned literally upside down. It should re-name itself Bedlam, but locals weren’t impressed with my sense of humor and normally ignored me when I said this.

My parents were on the verge of divorce. Mr. Pike, old nice, clean-cut Mr. Pike from the feed store, committed suicide after the stabbing incident. Brett’s father, only forty-five years old, not much older than my own dad, having shook The Stranger’s hand, remember? Well, he developed a rash so bad it left oozing lesions and he died from infection.

Rusty from Rusty’s Smoked Barbecue House died of a heart attack. Let’s see, he was only thirty-six. He had been gambling the last couple of nights over at the Gold Rush and dropped dead on the floor, according to the Bedlow Gazette.

Shirley from Shirley’s Office Goods went cuckoo-nuts, and I do mean crazy. Like streaking down the street naked, screaming, cutting herself crazy. I think they put young twenty-five year old Shirley in Ryder’s Nursing and Funeral Home so she can now have twenty-four hour round the clock nursing care. They put her next to poor old Ms. Zangler who’s now totally comatose, just sits there most days in a confused daze, unaware of her surroundings.

A farmer a mile away, his name was Bentley, he lost his entire ranch in a betting deal at the Gold Rush, another church-going guy according to my dad who doesn’t drink or gamble but found himself inside the billiards room, laying down his entire 100th generation heirloom 5,000 acres, cattle and all, now he’s homeless.

My good friend Luke, him and his father ended up in some terrible car accident one afternoon, both killed instantly. It was really hard for me, Brett and Kyle to attend his funeral, to bury our best friend like that. Luke wanted to go to the same college with me, up in Denver, take computer courses. He’ll never see that dream happen.

Finally my father, Sheriff Riley and Deputy Tobias came to the conclusion that Natas Kard had overstayed his welcome, that the town hasn’t been the same since his arrival. Ever since I met him that day off Main Street, the rain never stopped and we lost half of our towns people to really weird events and circumstances, most of them young. My own parents, who once loved one another, were seeking a big divorce lawyer from the city. All this happened within a very short period of time, just around the time when ole Nat decided to stop overnight in our lazy, sleepy town of Bedlam, I mean Bedlow. Damn that Miata.

My father, being the Mayor of the town, thought it best that it come from him to tell Mr. Nat he should move on. I’ve never begged my father for much in life, but this time, I promised to cut the grass for a year and wash his car if I could go with him.

“Why son?” he asked. “You never liked the guy. Why now?”

“Because, dad, I need . . . closure, I guess,” I replied. It sounded good, anyway.

He nodded. “Suit yourself, but it’s going to be real quick and simple.” My dad looked off into the distance for a moment as we got in the truck. “And it’s going to be polite, too,” he added, as if that made any hell of a difference.

_ _ _ _


When we arrived in town, it was as though we were expected. Mr. Nat was standing outside his shiny black MX-5 Miata, dressed in the same attire the day I first met him, all in black. My father got out of the car first. I had my second doubts then and watched my father approach him through the rear-view mirror. Be a man, Josh, be a man, I told myself, and jumped out, holding my head with confidence, a confidence I didn’t feel but I sure as hell was going to project it that way.

I stood alongside my father as he delivered the news.

“Mr. Kard,” my father began, “we, the towns people of Bedlow, believe it to be in our best interest if you were to take your patronage elsewhere, considering all the events that have transpired within the last couple of days. Please understand you have never been criminally implemented in any of these matters, so . . .”

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