"Matthews, Patricia - Goatman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Matthews Patricia)

"Oh, that's right, you live out at the old Dearborne place." Mrs. Fairchild
smiled. "Well, out there in the country, the people still believe in the old
legends. They have stories that you wouldn't believe.

"Now, let's see. There was an article, just last fall, in one of the big papers.
Some writer came out here and talked to people . . ."

She turned away from Moira and walked to the back of the room, where she pulled
out a large drawer from a tall, dark cabinet.

"Here it is." She unfolded a yellowing paper, and pointed to an article on one
of the inside pages. Moira took the paper and held it to the light. Conscious of
the smell of the dust, and of Mrs. Fairchild's watchful appraisal, she read:

"Baltimore, Maryland, Aug. 25, 1974: The people who live in the deep forest find
it easy to believe in things that city dwellers scoff at. Take the case of
Goatman, a very real entity to the folk who live in Prince Georges County,
Maryland, a secluded land where myths still live.

"Last week, Toller, a blue tick hound belonging to Bill Wheeler, was found
horribly mutilated at the edge of the Wheeler property, which adjoins the
forest. Old Toller is only one of the five dogs whose deaths are credited to the
mysterious creature known as Goatman.

"What does Goatman look like? The accounts vary considerably. Some say he's
about the size of a man, with legs like a goat, and the torso, head and arms of
a man. Others say that sometimes he walks upright, and sometimes on all fours,
and is entirely covered with long hair.

"Some say that Goatman is a man, or least he once was a man. A scientist at the
nearby Agricultural Center, who has experimented on goats, believes that this
man went mad, and ran away to live in a hut in the woods.

"At any rate, whatever Goatman looks like, if you have occasion to go walking in
the woods around Prince Georges County, you had better walk softly, carry a big
stick, and maybe a bag of garlic around your neck."

Moira rolled the images over in her mind. Of course the stories had to be
apocryphal, but the concept was intriguing; and here, where the forest loomed
and houses could be a mile or more apart, easy to accept. She had always felt
that forests were magical, possessed of a life not visible to ordinary humans.
Standing beneath a great tree, listening to the wind whisper in its branches,
how could you not feel that the tree had a life, a spirit, a soul?

Forests and woods had always fueled imagination. Perhaps it was a human response
to that which reminded them of their old connection with the earth and nature, a
connection which modem life had worn so thin. But she was getting fanciful. Time
to check out her books and get back to the car before Tray became too impatient.

The setting sun was washing the meadow with color when Moira drove in the yard