Unclean Spirit by Julieana Toth Page A

daylight finally broke; he had spent a miserably sleepless night. It had taken over an hour for him to get Cooter to eat something and nothing he had done to coax the old dog out of the barn had worked. Charlie loved that dog and hoped nothing was wrong with him; if he didn't shape up, he'd take Cooter in to see Doc Elmo. As it was, he was going to have to pay a visit to his own doctor. The boil on his nose had pained him all night long and this morning it looked like a miniature cow utter on the verge of bursting. The pain had been only part of the reason Charlie hadn't slept. The odor he had thought originated from his own body had infiltrated the entire house. It was a rotten, nauseating smell that put Charlie in mind of decomposing animal carcasses. Charlie wondered if a skunk or prairie dog had crawled into the house's electrical wiring and died. Charlie knew he would have to check it out later in the day. For now though, he was going to have some breakfast and then call Doc Feener's office.
                  Charlie put bacon in the skillet and leftover biscuits and gravy in the oven. He opened the kitchen door and called for Cooter. The dog stuck his head out of the barn but would come no further. Charlie poured himself a cup of coffee then went to turn the bacon.
                  "What the hell?"
                  The burner was red hot, but the bacon wasn't frying. Charlie switched burners and opened the stove to check on the biscuits. The warmth in the oven greeted him but he couldn't smell the bread and the gravy was still gelatinous. Charlie increased the oven's temperature and turned his attention to the bacon, which was still raw. Charlie didn't have to touch the range to know that it was operational. Had to be the bacon or maybe even the skillet. Fine, thought Charlie, screw the bacon, I'll make due with biscuits and cream gravy. But ten minutes later, Charlie's breakfast wasn't even lukewarm and the old guy was royally pissed! Charlie slammed the oven door closed just as the phone began to ring.
                  "Yeah, what?" Charlie's tone left little to the imagination.
                  "Charlie? It's Starr Forsythe."             
                  "Miz Starr? Shit, sorry for bitin' yer head off...it's just that it's been a shitfuck mornin'!
                  "You in El Paso? How's Mr. F.? He gonna be okay?"
                  Starr condensed the situation for Charlie, telling him only about the surgery and Paul's return to a conscious state, "...and I really don't know how much longer we'll be here. Dad's still in the Intensive Care Unit, so it might be a while yet before we can bring him home."
                  "And Miz Tamara, how's she?" 
                  "Tired, concerned. But you know Mom, she can weather just about anything.
                  "What's going on there that's got you so riled-up, Charlie?"
                  Charlie didn't see any point in telling Starr about the weird going-ons at the ranch. "Nothin' for you to worry 'bout, Miz Starr, nothin' at all.
                  "Marybeth and Patsy called to say they'll be arrivin' in El Paso tonight. If you can hold on a sec I'll git that flight information fer ya."                 
                  While Charlie rummaged through the papers by the phone, Starr listened to the static that had suddenly become audible on the line. It seemed as though Charlie was taking forever to find what he was looking for and the longer Starr listened to the crackling noises on the wire, the more aware she became of a certain cadence to the sounds.              Crackle,crackle...silence...crackl e crackl e crackl e silenc e crackle, crackle...silence...crackle, crackle, crackle...silence.
                  Starr could feel herself being caught up in the rhythm