After burying the cat, Erik decided it was time to do a bit of research and find out a bit about the history of the place where he now lived. He began by logging into the Providence Journal’s online service. Annie from the antique store was right about the bulldozer incident, which had happened just about a year ago.
The driver had been killed when the machine ran over him. It was ruled a freak accident. But it was rather odd that an experienced driver had made such a critical mistake, and questions had been asked, but never really answered.
The dozer had, indeed, unearthed the graveyard, and, in particular, a headstone made of some sort of meteoritic rock, according to a geologist from the University of Rhode Island. The cemetery contained thirteen graves of unidentified colonists from the early 1700’s. It was believed to be a small colony of Europeans who had been massacred by the Narragansett Indians. A couple of URI professors were still researching the subject, but so far, there wasn’t much specific information. Erik jotted down their names. Maybe he’d give them a call at some point.
The path of Farmington Road had, indeed, been moved after the discovery of the historical cemetery. The final construction of the plaza and the housing development had begun as soon as the road was finished. A look at the police log did show a number of pet disappearances, including that of a Rottweiler, but most of these disappearances had subsequently been explained as road kill.
It was a little bit weird, but there was no mention of anything out of the ordinary, or any reference to cults or devil worship. Erik breathed a mental sigh of relief. The old lady’s imagination must have been as vivid as his. There was also no mention of the rock that his son had told him about, though the description did seem consistent with the rock that made up the meteoritic headstone. But the headstone was right out in plain view at the side of Farmington Road, not in the middle of the woods, so that made no sense.
Finally, he checked out Dovecrest’s name on the Journal’s search engine. There were sporadic references to a Johnny Dovecrest from all the way back to the late 1800’s. Dovecrest and his father, Erik assumed, had held tribal offices with the Narragansetts until the 1960’s, when Dovecrest seemed to retire even from tribal life. Some of Dovecrest’s relatives were still heavily involved in tribal affairs, it seemed.
Erik wondered if it were unusual for Dovecrest to have the same name as his father-he didn’t know if the Indians used “juniors.” He decided it might be worthwhile to visit the small town library, and perhaps even the town hall to check out some of the vital records.
Still, there were some things that didn’t add up. Like Todd’s mention of the big rock, and his broken geologist’s hammer. And how Dovecrest always seemed to be in the right place at the right time-first to find Todd, and then to find the remains of his cat. Then there was the question of his cat-why hadn’t the predator eaten its prey?
Just on a hunch, he decided to do a search on Satanic cults. Even as he typed the keywords into the search engine, he felt a shiver run up his spine.