The Burning Time (13 page)

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. “I didn’t think I had that many.”

“Great.” She turned to John. “Sometimes he’s like a dog. He just eats until he’s sick.”

John shrugged and tried to keep a smile from his face. “I was the same way when my mother used to bake cookies.”

“Ugh, you men. All you ever think about is your bellies and your...Anyway, now what am I gonna do? Church is in an hour, but I can’t leave Mitch home like this. He might puke all over the bathroom or something.”

“Ha, ha,” Mitch mumbled and then groaned again.

“I can stay with him. That is, if you don’t mind.” John hoped he didn’t sound too eager. Remembering the conversation he’d once had with the boy about how Reverend Christian scared him, he wondered if the stomach ache wasn’t a ruse.

If so, it’s a good one.

Danni chewed her lip. “I hate to do that. You didn’t sign on to clean barf.”

“I think he’ll be okay as long as he stays out of the kitchen. Besides, you’ll only be gone an hour.”

“Probably a lot longer, actually,” Danni said, untying her apron. “After Mass, a bunch of us are setting up for the bake sale on Saturday.”

“We’ll be fine. You go ahead and get ready. I’ll put the food in the car for you.”

“What about me?” Mitch asked, opening his eyes. Something about his poor-me look made John even more suspicious.

“You march yourself to bed and make sure you’ve got an empty wastebasket next to you,” Danni said.

“Eeww, gross.”

“Not as gross as vomit all over your rug. Let’s go. Upstairs.”

He nodded and rose slowly, walking down the hall hunched over like an old man.

John had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Danni brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. The back seat of the Mustang was filled with cookie tins, Tupperware bowls, and aluminum pans.

“Positive. Go. By the time you get back, my miracle cure will already be working on Mitch’s stomach ache.” John closed the Mustang’s door and handed her the keys.

“What miracle cure?”

He winked at her. “I’ll tell you when you get back.”

She started the car and drove off, twin plumes of dust following her down the driveway and onto the road.

John counted to one hundred twenty, just in case Danni came back for some reason. Then he went into the house.

“Mitch?” he called out. “C’mon down. Your sister’s gone.”

For a few heartbeats there was silence, and then he heard the creaking of floorboards overhead. A moment later, Mitch appeared at the top of the stairs.

“How’d you know?”

John laughed. “It would take an awful lot of cookies to make a boy your age that sick.”

Mitch came down the stairs and joined John in the kitchen. “You gonna tell Danni?”

“No. How’d you make yourself look so ill?”

With a shy smile, the boy said, “I snuck out to the shed and breathed from the gasoline can a few times. The smell of gas always makes me nauseous.”

“That was mighty foolhardy on your part.” John opened the refrigerator and got out the ice tea, poured them each a glass.

“I’d rather sniff gas than go to church.”

Taking a sip of his tea, John could only nod. “Well, since you’re feeling better, and we’ve got two hours with nothing to do, how about you help me set out the shingles and tools I’ll need to repair the porch roof tomorrow?”

Mitch groaned. “It’s too hot to work.”

“Would you rather I told Danni you faked your stomach ache?”

“That’s blackmail!”

John ruffled his hair. “So it is. But if we finish before she gets home, you’ll have time for an ice cream.”

“How ‘bout an ice cream and some cookies?”

“You drive a hard bargain, kid.”

“The time approaches, my friends. The Old Ones prepare to wake. For eons they have waited, waited for the stars to align themselves in the heavens. They are those who cannot die, who always have been and always will be. From beyond space and time they will come, from below the seas they will rise, from beneath the Mountains of Madness they will emerge. Invulnerable and unstoppable.”

Christian paused for breath and used the time to look around the church, alert for anything out of the ordinary, the movement of whispering lips, the twitch of an eye not staring straight forward in rapt attention. The...

There! In the back, something amiss. Now he stared, homing in on one person.

Danni Anderson. She was...

Alone?

Where is the boy?

He returned to his sermon, letting his voice grow louder until it shook the floor.

“Behold! Behold, I say! He Without Form will come to you at night and trample your dreams. Listen for Him, for His words will open your mind.
Baagga Ka Ba Alluma! Azza Hrgalub!
He is the Keeper of the Gate. His children are Legion! Prepare yourselves, give yourselves to them, for through them, you will open the tunnel and look upon the unimaginable, until our world is shaken to the very core and what is unreal becomes reality!”

Christian pointed at the windows. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. “Let He who sleeps beneath the ocean floor awaken. Let He who mothers the walking fish rise again. He who clears the way hungers for release. Sacrifice is the way to enlightenment, blood the river of life.”

He raised both hands over his head, and outside the clouds grew darker, heavier, casting a shadow across the town.

“This is the Word of the Gods!”

“Praise the Gods!” three hundred voices responded. “Praise Shub-Nggurath! Praise Cthulu!”

Reverend Christian lifted the chalice. “Come and partake of the Blood of Sacrifice, my friends.” He sipped the liquid inside, the cold, thick goat’s blood trailing soft clots on his tongue.

Below him, the people of Hastings Mills approached the altar.

“Miss Anderson, might I speak with you a moment?” Christian placed a hand on Danni’s arm and guided her away from the line of women heading down to the rec center.

“Of course, Reverend Christian. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is the matter, or at least I hope there isn’t. I was just wondering why your brother wasn’t at Mass tonight?”

Danni gave a rueful smile. “He’s home, probably praying to the porcelain god right now.”

“The what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. No disrespect intended. He ate too many cookies while we were baking and earned himself a giant bellyache. John’s watching him until I get home.”

“John Root?” Christian struggled not to let his true emotions show.

The young woman nodded. “I know a lot of people in town don’t trust him, but even the police admitted he had nothing to do with the murders. And Mitch really seems to like him.”

“I see. Well, as long as the boy isn’t too ill. I’ll let you get back to work. I presume you’ll both be at the bake sale on Saturday?”

“Oh, yes.” Danni laughed. “There’s nothing left at home for him to snack on.”

He stayed by the doorway after she went inside, greeting several other women and expressing his thanks for their help. Only after the last of the volunteers trickled past did he let his smile drop.

The boy’s alone at the house with Root? Perhaps I should send them a little surprise.

Christian hurried to his office. After closing and locking the door, he pulled down the dark window shade and removed the Book from the bottom drawer of his desk. He took a moment to caress the ancient cover, running his fingers across the rough, cracked human skin that bound the eons-old pages.

It’s almost time to replace the binding. Maybe after my work is done, I’ll have a use for the boy after all.

Opening to a well-worn page, he began reading:

Vermis Mysteriis, Absu, Ur, and Orm

Hear my call, heed my desires

Bring forth the Dogs of Hell

Turn the Spectres into Flesh

Look inside me and see the one for whom

Your beasts should be brought to life

And send them to do your bidding.

Alla Xul! AI!

As he uttered the last line, Christian raised the book over his head. A flickering green light filled the room as the five-sided sigil branded on the front cover glowed bright orange.

Outside, thunder crashed, setting the town dogs to howling once again. A ragged bolt of lightning speared down from the dark clouds and struck a tree behind the church, the sudden explosion shaking the walls and causing the lights to flicker momentarily. The brittle sound of splitting wood filled the air as the decades-old pine toppled over.

Startled voices came from the recreation center as the volunteers reacted to the sudden pyrotechnics.

The glow faded away from the book and Christian returned the tome to its hiding place.

“Have a pleasant evening, Mister Root.”

*   *   *

John and Mitch were sitting on the front porch, enjoying ice cream sandwiches, when a chorus of howling suddenly filled the air.

“Wow, I’ve heard dogs barking at night before, but lately it seems like every dog in town is going crazy,” Mitch said.

John started to nod, and then he remembered something his mother used to say.
He calls the howling of the dogs.

“Mitch, I think it’s time you got ready for bed.”

“What? It’s only eight-thirty. I don’t have to go to bed for another two hours.”

“Go upstairs and get ready for bed. Now.” John tried to keep his voice firm without sounding anxious. He wanted the boy to listen to him, not be frightened.

He should have known Mitch was too smart not to see that something was going on.

“What’s wrong, John?”

“Maybe nothing. Maybe something. But either way, I want you inside. Now.”

“What about you?” Mitch stood up but didn’t open the door.

“I’ll be in shortly. Now go on.”

Mitch had barely shut the door behind him when John heard the first growl. It seemed to come from the azalea bush in the front yard. A second later, another growled sounded, in the darkness to the left of the porch.

A third animal answered from somewhere near the driveway.

Something rustled in the azalea.

Thinking
better safe than sorry,
John opened the screen and backed inside, keeping his eyes on the suddenly menacing landscape of the front yard.

Even then, he never saw the creatures until they crashed through the flimsy barrier of the screen door.

The first one hit John in the chest and knocked him into the hallway. He managed to get an arm up in time to block the beast’s teeth from reaching his throat; instead, the wolf-like monster’s jaws bit into the flesh just below his elbow. He screamed as something snapped inside his arm. With his free hand, he jabbed two fingers into one of the dog’s eyes. The creature opened its muzzle to howl and John climbed to his feet, cradling his mangled arm against his chest.

For the first time, he was able to get a good look at the animals. He recognized them instantly. Hell Hounds. Creatures of the nether realms, usually only seen in spirit form on Hallows Eve, when they accompanied imps and demons on their rounds of mischief. In their own worlds, they feasted on the eternally tortured flesh of those condemned to the fiery pits.

It took a powerful person to not only call the Hell Hounds to Earth, but to give them solid form as well.

Cyrus Christian.
His powers have grown.

The three Hounds arranged themselves in a triangle formation in the hall, the one with the injured eye hanging back a step or two. Each one stood four feet tall at the shoulder, with barrel shaped bodies and short tails. Their fur was black as midnight, and their eyes burned a luminescent pale orange, with no pupils that John could see. Beneath curled lips, jagged teeth showed bone-white against dark red gums.

John desperately tried to remember how to banish a Hell Hound, but the pain in his arm dominated his thoughts, the red-hot agony filling his arm from wrist to shoulder.

The lead Hound crouched down and the others followed suit. He realized they were about to pounce, and he had no way of defending himself.

“John? What’s—holy shit! What are those?”

The Hounds glanced past John to where Mitch stood at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mitch. Go back upstairs and lock yourself in your room.” John didn’t look back. He tried to keep his voice low and steady, but with his teeth clenched against the pain, his words came out more brusquely than he intended. He fully expected Mitch to either panic or argue about being sent to his room.

So it was something of a surprise when he heard footsteps thumping up the stairs.

With the boy gone, the Hounds returned their full attention to John. At that moment, a banishment spell came to mind, something his mother had taught him. It wasn’t specific to Hell Hounds, but he hoped it would work well enough to buy him some time.

“Dea to order vos. Vado tergum , Vado tergum. Reverto ut vestri locus. Licentia is universitas. Dea to order vos. Dea to order vos.”

A purple glow appeared around the three Hounds. The lead creature shook its head and snorted. The one with the injured eye howled again and fell over, its body contorting in violent spasms. The purple field of energy intensified to a bright violet and contracted around the injured Hound. With a loud pop, the glow disappeared, taking the beast with it.

The other two crept forward, unharmed.

John said the spell again, but nothing happened. He hadn’t expected it to work. He knew his talents lay not in magical spells, which required years of training and building reservoirs of power, but in the potions and herbs he made with his own hands, ”down home” cures and tricks that owed as much to homeopathic medicine and botany as magic.

Now all those jars and vials lay useless upstairs, locked away in his carry bag.

Think!
There had to be something he could do, something to slow them down or hold them off long enough for him to get to his room.

He backed up two steps, and the Hounds moved forward again, keeping pace. Their constant growling vibrated the walls, rattling pictures and causing his teeth to ache. He reached the stairs and grabbed an umbrella, knowing it was as useless as a pencil against the giant creatures.