her lap. "It's going to be good, love. I promise you that. It's going to be so good."
Cresta was completely enchanted with the camper. She walked all the way around it, pausing to stroke the glossy white paint and trace her fingers over the intricate design - a stenciled band of curlicues - which ran the full circumference of the trailer somewhat like a belt. He took her inside.
"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "It's like a miniature house on wheels. We should give up the apartment, Josh. It would be much cheaper to rent a parking space."
Josh laughed. "We'd probably get hijacked by some freaky terrorist group."
"A shower, a stove, a john - everything really works?"
Josh nodded. "I tried everything, except, of course, the bed." He pushed open a sliding door leading to the tiny bedroom. "A wall-to-wall mattress. Just the thing for kissing and making up."
Cresta became serious. "Josh, we're not going to fight on this trip. I promise you. No more bitch."
"No more bastard." They embraced and held each other tightly. Cresta felt Josh become aroused. "Josh," she admonished, "we can't. Not here on the street."
"I know, damn it, we're double-parked. We'd better get going. We'll stop somewhere in Jersey at a supermarket and pick up some supplies. If you've noticed, the camper comes equipped with dishes, flatware, pots and pans and so forth."
"Wonderful. I thought we were going to have to live off of paper plates." Cresta flipped open a cabinet door and saw the collection of liquor and wine bottles. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything, and when she turned to Josh he was already climbing into the cab.
"Come on, love. At this rate, we'll never make it to Jersey."
Cresta glanced back at the cabinet. They would be lucky if they made it at all.
5
A burial mound is an artificial hill of earth built over the remains of the dead. They were characteristic of Indian cultures of Eastern North America from 1000 B.C. to A.D. 700. The mound on the Cheat River was approximately twenty-two feet high and one hundred and ten feet in diameter at the base. It enclosed several tomb chambers or vaults. Numerous relics had been discovered from two of the burial chambers, and Harry Evers and his assistants were in the process of excavating the third.
The camp was situated about thirty feet from a palm-shaped cove in the Cheat River. About a hundred and fifty yards to the right was the Indian mound, and beyond that the green curtain of forest.
The moon was full. Flat and white, it resembled a round piece of paper pasted against the indigo sky. Fast-moving clouds glided across the moon, making it disappear, reappear, and disappear once again like a magician's illusion. The shifting light infused the darkness with a certain life. Shadows moved within shadows, and the silhouettes of trees constantly rearranged themselves into different shapes. It was a setting full of surrealistic images.
The campfire hissed and sputtered as if protesting the ambiguous night. The trio - Harry Evers and his two assistants, Ted Dwyer and Amy Parrish - gathered closer to the glowing embers, but not for reasons of warmth. It was balmy, and under any other circumstances the three would have found pleasure in the comfort of the tepid air, the rushing sound of the nearby river, the scent of coffee brewed over an open flame. But they were troubled by things that they had left unspoken.
They glanced uneasily at the dream-haunted sky, then at one another. Suddenly they broke into shamefaced grins.
"How about a ghost story?" offered Ted Dwyer, a slender, bespectacled young man of twenty-three. Ted wore his black hair shoulder length and sported a full beard and mustache. From his left ear a feathered earring dangled like a bird wing.
"Ted! That's not funny," groaned Amy Parrish, his lover, a quietly pretty, serious young woman, also twenty-three. Amy's face was covered with freckles, but no makeup. Her curly red hair, parted in the middle, sprang from either
Cresta was completely enchanted with the camper. She walked all the way around it, pausing to stroke the glossy white paint and trace her fingers over the intricate design - a stenciled band of curlicues - which ran the full circumference of the trailer somewhat like a belt. He took her inside.
"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "It's like a miniature house on wheels. We should give up the apartment, Josh. It would be much cheaper to rent a parking space."
Josh laughed. "We'd probably get hijacked by some freaky terrorist group."
"A shower, a stove, a john - everything really works?"
Josh nodded. "I tried everything, except, of course, the bed." He pushed open a sliding door leading to the tiny bedroom. "A wall-to-wall mattress. Just the thing for kissing and making up."
Cresta became serious. "Josh, we're not going to fight on this trip. I promise you. No more bitch."
"No more bastard." They embraced and held each other tightly. Cresta felt Josh become aroused. "Josh," she admonished, "we can't. Not here on the street."
"I know, damn it, we're double-parked. We'd better get going. We'll stop somewhere in Jersey at a supermarket and pick up some supplies. If you've noticed, the camper comes equipped with dishes, flatware, pots and pans and so forth."
"Wonderful. I thought we were going to have to live off of paper plates." Cresta flipped open a cabinet door and saw the collection of liquor and wine bottles. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything, and when she turned to Josh he was already climbing into the cab.
"Come on, love. At this rate, we'll never make it to Jersey."
Cresta glanced back at the cabinet. They would be lucky if they made it at all.
5
A burial mound is an artificial hill of earth built over the remains of the dead. They were characteristic of Indian cultures of Eastern North America from 1000 B.C. to A.D. 700. The mound on the Cheat River was approximately twenty-two feet high and one hundred and ten feet in diameter at the base. It enclosed several tomb chambers or vaults. Numerous relics had been discovered from two of the burial chambers, and Harry Evers and his assistants were in the process of excavating the third.
The camp was situated about thirty feet from a palm-shaped cove in the Cheat River. About a hundred and fifty yards to the right was the Indian mound, and beyond that the green curtain of forest.
The moon was full. Flat and white, it resembled a round piece of paper pasted against the indigo sky. Fast-moving clouds glided across the moon, making it disappear, reappear, and disappear once again like a magician's illusion. The shifting light infused the darkness with a certain life. Shadows moved within shadows, and the silhouettes of trees constantly rearranged themselves into different shapes. It was a setting full of surrealistic images.
The campfire hissed and sputtered as if protesting the ambiguous night. The trio - Harry Evers and his two assistants, Ted Dwyer and Amy Parrish - gathered closer to the glowing embers, but not for reasons of warmth. It was balmy, and under any other circumstances the three would have found pleasure in the comfort of the tepid air, the rushing sound of the nearby river, the scent of coffee brewed over an open flame. But they were troubled by things that they had left unspoken.
They glanced uneasily at the dream-haunted sky, then at one another. Suddenly they broke into shamefaced grins.
"How about a ghost story?" offered Ted Dwyer, a slender, bespectacled young man of twenty-three. Ted wore his black hair shoulder length and sported a full beard and mustache. From his left ear a feathered earring dangled like a bird wing.
"Ted! That's not funny," groaned Amy Parrish, his lover, a quietly pretty, serious young woman, also twenty-three. Amy's face was covered with freckles, but no makeup. Her curly red hair, parted in the middle, sprang from either
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