Prologue

Oklahoma, 1990

Possibly the old man made up the stories he told as he sat on the bench outside the Dairy Queen in Ada, Oklahoma. He'd spin whoppers while carving twigs with his pocketknife, a bone-handle Barlow with the blade almost worn through. Whittle and talk, and so people called him Whittles.

Sergeant,the state-champion football boys added in 1962, shortly after the old man first appeared in town. Sergeant Whittles, a joke about the worn-out tanker jacket with army patches on the sleeves. But Whittles could weave a tale that would make a kid's hair stand on end, and so the name became a moniker of genuine respect. As Whittles told it, he'd been a miner, a treasure hunter, a Wild West show performer, a horse thief, and too smart for his own good before he joined the army in 1914 to avoid prison time. He'd served in World War I, World War II, and Korea.

He understood the folly of youth, the allure of it, and the potential consequences of its na?ve recklessness. He'd felt the odd thrill of cheating death, tempted it, and walked away from it more than once. He spoke of it in ways that indelibly marked his young listeners, some of whom remembered those oversized tales for years after they'd left Whittles, and hanging out at the Dairy Queen, behind.

For that reason, when two former MVPs of the 1962 state championship football team found themselves driving through the Winding Stair Mountains, almost three decades older and three hours west of Ada at the slow pace of a delivery van, the topic of Sergeant Whittles came up.

A debate ensued about the veracity of a story Whittles had told them on Halloween night of their senior year. The driver thought it was true. The passenger was certain Whittles had merely been pulling their leg. The debate led to an argument. After a few hotel-bar beverages on their overnight run, the argument led to a bet. The bet led to the engagement of a local guy who, for a few more beers, thought he could pinpoint on a map the area they were looking for.

The map led to a stop on the return trip, and then a hike, and then a climb.

"Hey, I see somethin'!" the driver yells.

The passenger stops, surprised to have fallen so far behind. "Yeah? What'd you find up there?" He wheezes, thinking maybe he'll stop where he is. The bet, the late night, the beer had been stupid…although old Whittles probably would've gotten a kick out of it, two middle-aged guys clawing their way up a mountain, miles from anywhere, all because of some crazy story from years ago.

"There's a…a little cave…I think," the leader answers. "Like Whittles said."

The skeptic freezes.

That can't be,he thinks, can it? He stares upward into the sun while rocks tumble and bits of brush fly. His companion disappears into the side of the mountain, but he doesn't make a move to follow.

Because according to the way Whittles told the story, what he saw in that cave as a kid haunted him the rest of his life.