Authors: J. G. Faherty
“Uh, yeah, sure. Let me put my shoes on and I’ll be right there.”
“I’ll wait,” the reverend said. “I wouldn’t want your sister to see me come back without you. She might fear the worst.”
Unsure whether he should be relieved or worried, Mitch slipped on his sneakers and followed the reverend back to the church, still confused as to how almost four hours could have slipped away.
They were still several yards away from the back entrance when they heard the first angry shouts.
“What’s going on?” Mitch asked.
“I don’t know,” Christian said, but something in his expression made Mitch think the man knew
exactly
what they’d find when they went downstairs.
A dozen possibilities flashed through Mitch’s head as he hurried down the steps, careful not to get too close to the evil thing disguised as Cyrus Christian. Even so, he was dumbfounded when he entered the room and found himself with a ringside seat to a riot.
Food flew through the air as men and women, many of them old enough to be grandparents, attacked each other with fists, feet, and even teeth. Some were stabbing at their victims with plastic utensils. Several tables had been overturned, and at least a dozen bodies lay motionless on the floor.
Mitch watched in stunned amazement as an elderly woman in a conservative suit splashed hot coffee across the face of an even older woman who was trying to hit her with a walker. Next to the octogenarian combatants, a heavy-set woman in her fifties was busy smashing her husband’s head into a tray of brownies.
Screams of rage mingled with cries of pain and bellowed curses as more people joined the melee, sucked into the maelstrom of violence that was rapidly spreading across the room.
Tearing his eyes away from the inexplicable uprising, Mitch saw a look of pure contentment spread across Cyrus Christian’s face.
Hot anger filled Mitch, and he yanked the reverend’s sleeve without thinking. “Do something!”
Christian’s head snapped around and Mitch retreated from the man’s suddenly hateful gaze.
“How dare you... Oh, yes, you’re quite right.” The malevolence drained away, leaving the man’s face as close to human as it ever got. He turned and strode into the fight, calling out for people to calm down and leave each other alone. As he walked, he touched people’s arms and shoulders; each time he made contact, the person immediately stopped fighting and sat down, a bewildered expression on his or her face.
Like a black-coated Moses, Christian headed for the center of the disturbance, parting the crowd before him and leaving an unnatural calm in his wake.
Mitch wanted to see who’d started the fight, but he was afraid it would turn out to be Danni. At the same time, he imagined her on the floor, her skull crushed. So he felt a mixture of relief and anger when he spotted her across the room, using her pocket book to keep three people from stealing the bake sale cash box. Each time one of them tried to reach for it, she swung the heavy bag, smacking hands and heads with equal glee.
Detouring around the fringes of the brawl, Mitch made his way to his sister. “Danni! Stop it. The fight’s over. Reverend Christian is here.”
As soon as he said the reverend’s name, all three would-be thieves backed away. One of them started to run for the door, but Christian’s voice, as loud as if he were delivering a Sunday mass, stopped the man in his tracks.
“Robert Metzger! Is this how you show your faith?”
The last of the crowd stepped aside and Christian emerged, his face calm but his eyes afire.
“N...No, Reverend...I, I thought the girl was trying to steal the money.”
Christian drew closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with his quarry. Metzger tried to step back, but two parishioners grabbed his arms. Others stepped forward and took hold of the two women who’d been with Metzger.
“I can see into your heart, Robert. I can see the truth behind your lies.”
“Reverend, no, I—”
“Silence! The Gods do not tolerate disobedience, Robert. For your acts there must be punishment and blood. Come closer, Robert. It is time for your penance.”
The man bowed his head, and Christian reached out with one hand, his fingers curled into talons. Mitch almost cried out, thinking the Reverend was going to pluck the man’s eyes out or maybe shove his fingers right into the man’s head, but Danni gripped his shoulder.
“Stay still, Mitch. This isn’t your affair,” she whispered.
He looked up and felt his stomach do a sick somersault at the cruel smile she wore. It reminded him of the drawings in his history book, the ones of the crowds who watched the witch burnings in Old Salem.
Mitch returned his attention to Reverend Christian and saw with some relief that all he was doing was gripping the man’s face, the way a grandmother might grip a child before planting a big, lipsticky kiss.
Only Christian didn’t kiss Robert Metzger. Instead, he spoke a single sentence.
“For you sins, you shall enter the river at midnight and wait for the Gods to decide your fate.”
Metzger’s eyes grew wide, and a tear ran down one cheek, but he nodded. Christian let go and repeated his delivery of penance to the two women. When he finished, the three of them slowly walked away, their bodies shaking with barely-controlled sobs.
Christian turned toward Danni and Mitch.
Oh, God! He’s going to touch me!
A whimper escaped Mitch’s throat and he tried to push away, but Danni held him tight.
“Danni. Mitchell. Would you please get some people to help you clean this mess up? And then afterward, I’d like to see the two of you in my office for a brief chat.”
“Of course, Reverend,” Danni said.
Mitch let out his breath in a loud gasp as Christian nodded to them and walked away.
Danni poked him in the arm. “You heard the man, Mitch. Grab a broom and start sweeping.”
“This is as far as I can take you,” the truck driver said, giving John Root an apologetic grin. “Can’t navigate a big rig through residential streets.”
“You’ve taken me farther than you had to, and I thank you. Have a safe trip.” John stepped off the runner and shut the door, thanking God for delivering someone willing to pick up a stranger.
I’m back in town earlier than I expected. Hopefully I’m not too late to—
John’s thoughts crashed to a stop as he stared down at the town of Hastings Mills. Smoke rose from what looked like several house fires. The wails of police sirens and fire engines mixed with the howls of dogs in an evil chorus that battered John’s eardrums.
Hurry, John Root. There’s folks depending on you.
John nodded to his mother’s voice in his head. Holding one arm against his side to keep his precious bottles of Holy Water from banging together and breaking, John headed into town as fast as he could walk.
* * *
“Please, sit down.” Reverend Cyrus Christian motioned to two chairs in front of his desk.
Danni sat down, her face expressionless. Mitch hesitated, then sat next to her before anyone noticed his nervousness. John wanted him to act as if everything was normal, but it was getting harder and harder.
A quick glance at his watch showed it was almost six. Where was John? Had he given up on them after Danni threw him out?
Mitch’s anxiety grew worse as Christian locked the door and closed the blinds. “What’s going on?”
“Hush, Mitch,” Danni said. “The reverend has something to tell us.”
“I do, indeed.” Christian took a small envelope from his desk and opened it, poured a small amount of black powder onto his hand. “Danni, do you know what this is?”
Danni leaned forward. “No, I—”
With a sudden exhalation, Christian blew the powder into Danni’s face. She coughed once and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she slowly slid from the chair onto the floor.
Mitch jumped up, torn between running for the door and helping his sister. “What did you do?”
The reverend came around the desk, his coal-black eyes glittering with insanity. “Nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you, you little shit. You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long, boy, and today’s the day I remove you for good.”
Mitch bolted for the door, forgetting in his terror that it was locked. He was still fumbling with the handle when the back of his head exploded in pain. As his knees buckled and he fell, strong hands grabbed him and dragged him back to his chair.
“I have plans for you, boy. But first, you get to watch what I do to your sister.”
“Leave her alone!” Mitch pulled free, but before he could get to his feet, Christian delivered a backhand slap that turned his legs to rubber.
“We’ll have none of that.” The reverend snapped his fingers and a coil of heavy rope appeared in his hand. Paying no attention to Mitch’s screams, Christian proceeded to tie his feet to the chair’s legs, and his chest and arms to the chair’s back. When he finished, the only things Mitch could move were his feet and head.
Mitch screamed again, and Christian shook his head. “Scream all you want. This room is completely soundproof to the outside world. I could shove a stick of dynamite up your ass and splatter your insides across the walls, and no one would hear a thing. However,” he said, removing something from his desk drawer, “you are giving me a headache. So let’s just shut you up.”
Christian whispered something and opened his hand. A black butterfly fluttered into the air, made a small circle, and then headed right for Mitch’s face. Mitch tried to turn his head, but the butterfly touched down on his lips like a feathery caress.
Mitch opened his mouth to yell, and all that came out was a soft whimper. Its job done, the butterfly flapped its wings one last time and then disappeared.
“Much better,” Christian said, then he bent over and lifted Danni back into her chair. Her head hung down, but she didn’t fall back onto the floor. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you back your voice soon enough. I’d hate to miss out on your cries of pain when I strip the flesh from your bones.”
This can’t be happening, Mitch thought, as he twisted against the ropes. John wouldn’t let it. It’s a dream. I’m still asleep down at the river.
Ignoring him, Christian took a large, black book from a drawer and began reading softly from it. The words were meaningless to Mitch. He couldn’t even tell what language they were. But their effects were immediate: the lights dimmed, and the air filled with the stink of rotten eggs.
Sulfur,
Mitch remembered from his science class. Each time Christian turned a page, a heavy wind whipped through the room, scattering papers and tousling Danni’s hair.
Christian raised his hand and spoke in a louder voice.
“Denizens, hear me! So-holoths, hear me!
Feeders in the deep, hear me! Make me your vessel,
so that I can share the vile pleasures of this one’s
flesh with you! Fill me with your foul corruption,
share my space in this plane. Hear me now, as I call
upon you to gain from my depravities! Come to me!
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl!”
With his last word, Christian’s shirt split open and a mass of greenish-brown tentacles burst from his pale chest. Rows of tiny mouths covered the bottoms of the appendages, with jagged teeth showing inside the puckered openings. At the rounded tip of each gruesome member was a pus-yellow eye with a red pupil.
At the sight of the tentacles, Danni’s eyes went wide and she screamed, the muscles in her neck standing out like steel rods under her skin. Mitch screamed as well, but only in his head, as Christian stood up, the five-foot-long rubbery limbs squirmed and twisted around each other like angry snakes.
Christian’s lips curled up in a dreadful parody of a smile. “Where is your God now, you pathetic twat? Cowering like a virgin on her wedding night? He knows he is no match for my Gods. They grow stronger each day, each hour.”
One tentacle reached out and stroked Danni’s arm. When it withdrew, two circles of red stood out on her flesh, tiny droplets of blood beading up around each one.
“And your sacrifice will make them stronger still.”
Mitch closed his eyes, wishing he could stab something into his ears so he wouldn’t have to hear his sister’s final cries. As Christian started laughing, one thought kept running circles in Mitch’s head.
John, how could you let this happen?
* * *
It took John an hour to reach the church. He’d had to stop at Danni’s house, get three items he needed and then hurry all the way across town. Kneeling by the rectory door, he removed several objects from his jacket pockets: three flasks of Holy Water, a lock of Danni’s hair, and something he’d felt most uncomfortable about stealing, a used tampon. But blood was always best if you wanted powerful magic, and he’d had been unable to think of any other way of getting some at that moment.
The final object was a wooden cross, strung on a rawhide lace. It had been given to him decades earlier by a priest whose life he’d saved. According to the priest, the cross was centuries old; had, in fact, been carved by Pope Clement XI and thrice blessed by succeeding Popes. It had been handed down through the priest’s family for generations and was rumored to have the power to repel evil intentions.
With everything he needed laid out before him, John slipped the cross over his neck and began the spell designed to cleanse Danni and at the same time strip away Christian’s evil powers.
* * *
Cyrus Christian paused, his face contorting in sudden pain. The alien tentacles, which had been busy tearing away Danni’s clothing, drew back in consternation.
Root. He’s nearby. He thinks his magic is stronger than mine? Very well, old man, we’ll see about that.
“Tempest growing overhead, filled with the hatred of the dead...”
* * *
John gritted his teeth against the sudden pain of what felt like a dozen claws piercing his flesh. The Trickster was mounting a counter-attack. Now it was a race to see who finished first. He sprinkled more Holy Water on Danni’s hair and blood.