Authors: J. G. Faherty
“Actually, you’re both right. All totems, large or small, are physical representations of spirits. They can also be imbued with magics, similar to what I did with the warding stones around the house. I’ll be using them to create a circle of power around the fair that will have two purposes. One, to concentrate my own powers, and two, to bind Christian within so he can’t escape before I’m done.”
“You’ve done this before?” Danni asked, her tone clearly showing she knew he hadn’t.
“No. I’ve made individual fetishes for people, though, and the principle is the same.”
“I hate to say it, but I’m not real good at carving things.” Mitch looked crestfallen as he made his confession. “I couldn’t even build a simple soap box derby car.”
A smile came to John’s face. “No carving necessary, Mitch. All we need is string, cloth, and a pen.”
“No problem,” Danni said. “I can zip down to the store and get whatever we need.”
“No!” At their startled looks, John forced himself to calm down and speak in a normal tone. “No one goes outside for any reason. It...it isn’t safe.”
Danni looked like she was about to ask him why, and he shook his head. She took the hint and changed her question. “How about thread, old rags, and markers, then? I have plenty of those.”
“Perfect.” John stood up. “Get whatever you can. Mitch and I will move some furniture around in the living room. We’ll need a lot of space to work.”
“How many of these do we have to make?”
“At least a hundred. Preferably double that amount.”
Mitch’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “That’s gonna take all day.”
John ruffled a hand through the boy’s hair.
“Then we better get started.”
* * *
By the time night fell, Hastings Mills had sunk further into ruin. Dozens of house fires burned, creating a dark cloud over the town. Ash rained down, coating everything in a blanket of black soot that stunk of death. People suffered, inside sweltering houses as brownouts and blackouts denied them the comforts of air conditioning and ice, infuriating already-frustrated residents even further.
In one neighborhood, a woman ran naked and screaming from her house as her husband of fifteen years chased her with knife in each hand. Neighbors watched through parted curtains and blinds as the man caught her in the middle of the road and stabbed her repeatedly until he fell to his knees in exhaustion.
Several people opened their doors and clapped when he finally got up and walked away, leaving her corpse in the street.
At the Broad Street Elementary School, a Cub Scout meeting descended into pandemonium when a mother returned early and found the Scout Master naked and demonstrating masturbation techniques to the troop. Within minutes, six outraged fathers showed up and beat the Scout Master to death with bats and pipes. Then they proceeded, with the young mother’s eager participation, to show the boys how real men had sex with a woman.
Many people kept their windows closed, even in the stifling heat, to avoid the sickly smell of the fires and to block out the increasingly common sound of gunfire. Others embraced the heat and ventured outside with their own weapons, looking to vent their own rages.
More than a few ended up dead in the streets.
Those who owned battery-operated radios or televisions, and who still retained control of their senses, huddled in basements or living rooms, slowly dehydrating and marveling at the complete lack of information on Hastings Mills’ troubles in the news, as if the entire town had become invisible to the rest of the world. Some of those same people finally succumbed to desperation and attempted to leave town, only to be gunned down by the exit patrols.
Women suffered through strange dreams that sent them, young and old alike, into the streets to search for lost loves. Barefoot, they wandered south, drawn to the river as if tugged along by magnets. Some never made it, falling victim to random acts of violence perpetrated by crazed men and boys who roamed through town. Those who did, however, arrived to find others there before them. Like lemmings who’d somehow managed to learn the act of prayer, one by one they lined up on bridges and riverbanks, waiting patiently as the ones ahead of them bowed their heads in silence or softly cried before leaping into the water. None of them saw the orgiastic swirlings and splashings as something unspeakable struggled to capture the unexpected bounty in its massive tentacles.
In kitchens and bedrooms and backyards, husbands punched wives and wives struck back with nails and teeth. Frightened comfort turned to furious rape. Older siblings snuck into nurseries and smothered infants with pillows. Normally docile animals turned on their owners in fits of canine rage, snapping and growling and, in one instance of Chihuahua-ian insanity, chewing off toes.
At Saint Vincent’s hospital, doctors and nurses administered overdoses of medications or turned off life support equipment, while in the ER the staff locked the doors, stripped off their clothes, and fell to the ground in a twisting, grunting orgy of sweat-slicked bodies.
Above it all, a discordant soundtrack to ruination, was the endless howling of dogs, a primeval melody taken up and answered from one end of Hastings Mills to the other, to which human screams and shouts played harmony.
In bedrooms at opposite ends of the town, two men slept, one tossing, turning, and moaning, soaking the sheets with perspiration, the other lying corpse stiff on his bed, the smallest of smiles creasing his lips.
Both dreamed of Hastings Mills collapsing into a giant pit of fire, people and buildings alike falling into the bottomless, flaming depths.
* * *
The day before the fair brought an unexpected surprise to the citizens of Hastings Mills: rain. Just after seven a.m., the omnipresent clouds and humidity finally exceeded their capacity to retain any more moisture and a torrential downpour ensued, dumping millions of gallons of water onto the town in minutes. Streets flooded as sewers failed to keep up with the deluge. Parched ground turned to mud. Creeks and streams, reduced to trickles for most of the month, became brown-colored torrents that overflowed their banks. In less than two hours, the river rose four inches.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the drenching rain ended, trailing off into a steady drizzle. Creeks receded and roads no longer resembled streams.
Although the heat didn’t diminish, the first real breeze in weeks kicked up, and people throughout town delighted in the sensation of air moving across their skin.
As if washed away by the rain, feelings of anger and hatred and fear dissipated, and people smiled at each other instead of raising fists or weapons. Gone was the insanity of the previous night, and friends and families gathered to offer apologies, condolences, and mutual affirmations of love. In those homes hit hardest by tragedy, men and women grieved and tried to rationalize the events of the past days, spouting half-believed explanations that ranged from heat stroke to chemical attacks by terrorists.
At the far northern end of town, John Root continued his preparations, at one point locking himself in his room and going through Christian’s grimoire page by page, searching for the one spell that just might give him the edge he needed. By the time he found what he hoped was the right one and tore the brittle page from the book, it was already late afternoon. He went downstairs and discovered Danni and Mitch standing outside, enjoying the feel of the mist and wind on their faces. He watched them from the window, but didn’t join them. He was too aware they’d merely reached the eye of the hurricane, and far worse things were to come before the storm was over. The Trickster’s evil still blanketed them all.
Anything to the contrary was just illusion.
When Danni and Mitch came back inside, damp but happy, John was waiting in the living room.
“I’ve done everything I can. After dinner I’m going to take a nap and then tonight I’ll go to Riverside Park and lay out my circle.”
“You’re going to carry all that by yourself?” Danni pointed at the giant garbage bag filled with the totems they’d made.
“You can drive me to the park, but then I want you to come straight back here. No arguments,” he added, seeing the look on Danni’s face. “I need you to stay here, where you’re protected by the wards around the house. I can’t set up my circle and safeguard you at the same time.”
“We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
John thought for a moment. “You can be my backup. Stay by the radio. If I get in trouble, you’ll come get me.”
Danni leaned over and kissed John’s cheek. “You’re learning, John.”
For the rest of the evening, the memory of her lips on his skin lingered on, and it took all his willpower to wait until he got back to his room before placing his hand on that spot.
He never did fall asleep.
At the top of the dike overlooking the park, John opened the bag containing the totems and estimated how far apart to space them. The fairgrounds occupied a large space, and he estimated it would take hours to finish his work.
John made his way around the fair, setting the totems in clumps of weeds, behind rocks, and in the branches of trees. Each one had been anointed ahead of time with a mixture of blue cohosh root and boldo leaves crushed in cinnamon oil. Once activated, the ring would trap anyone inside it and prevent them from leaving the circle. As he worked, he tried to ignore the eerily-silent grounds. More than once he looked up, certain he’d seen movement, only to realize he’d been fooled by lazy patches of ground mist floating between the booths.
By the time he finished, almost three hours later, only twenty of the two hundred and forty totems remained.
However, in order for his plan to work, he couldn’t complete the circle until Christian was already inside, a dangerous strategy as it meant waiting until after the fair opened for business before placing the final totems.
What’s done is done,
he thought, wrapping the black plastic bag around the remaining totems. He’d only need two to close the circle; the rest he intended to place around Danni’s house, just in case.
Just in case I fail, I can use them as additional wards to keep evil away from the house while the town goes to Hell around them.
He hoped it didn’t come to that, but there was no predicting the future. He could very well be dead this time tomorrow, and the whole town, Danni and Mitch included, with him.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the person coming up behind him
Until she attacked.
John let out a surprised shout that quickly turned into a gasp of pain as something heavy landed on his back and teeth bit into the soft flesh between his shoulder and neck. Dropping the bag, he bent forward and threw himself back, putting as much force as he could into the move. He succeeded in toppling them both backward. As they hit the ground, he thrust his elbow into her midsection, was rewarded with a heavy exhalation of air and the release of her jaws. He rolled over, coming to his knees facing his opponent.
And stopped, completely taken by surprise at the sight of the women in front of him.
Middle-aged and matronly, she wore a flowered muumuu and fuzzy slippers. In the dark, her eyes were two circles black. She held her hands out like talons, nails ready to shred flesh from bone.
Adding to John’s stunned amazement was the fact that he knew her. He’d bought groceries from Agnes Kopek many times. She always gave Mitch a piece of candy and enjoyed passing the time with customers as she rang up their orders. From their conversations, he knew she was on the PTA and volunteered at the animal shelter.
And now she’s a madwoman, controlled by an ageless monster.
John reached into his pocket, where he had a vial of brown mustard seed and mint oils, a potent defense against those intent on doing harm. His hand closed on the vial but she was on him again before he could use it, a dervish of teeth and nails.
Letting go of the vial, John pushed her away and then lashed out with his fist, a direct blow to her left temple. Something snapped in his hand, sending currents of fire up his arm, and he fell to his knees, crying out in pain. He looked up, expecting to see her coming at him again, but his punch had done the trick. The matron lay motionless in the wet grass.
John gritted his teeth against the pain in his hand. He’d definitely broken something, but there was no time to worry about it. He had to reverse Christian’s spell on Mrs. Kopek and then get the hell away from the park. A dab of oils on her head and neck was all she needed; when she woke up, she’d be free of Christian’s influence.
By then, his hand had gone from beyond painful and into another level of torture where each beat of his heart sent waves of throbbing agony from his fingers to his elbow. Doing his best to keep his injured limb immobile, he used his good hand to radio Danni.
“It’s me. I’m done. Please come get me.” He didn’t even try to keep the pain out of his voice.
“John? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” In the background, Mitch shouted something and Danni told him to hush.
“Just hurry. The park. Front entrance.” Closing his eyes, he sat against one of the gate posts and concentrated on not moving. He had no idea of how long he’d sat like that when a sudden voice made him jump.
“John?”
He couldn’t hold back a cry as his damaged hand jerked and bumped against his leg. He looked up and saw Danni staring at him. Consumed by pain, he’d never seen or heard her car pull up.
“My hand. I broke it.” He motioned for her to help him up.
“Jesus, you sure did. It’s swollen all to hell. We have to get you to the hospital.” She aimed him toward the Mustang, but he shook his head.
“You and Mitch have to get Mrs. Kopek into the car. We need to get her as far away from here as possible. I don’t want Christian to know anything happened here.”
“Fine. Then it’s the hospital.”
“No, everything I need is at your house. Just get her into the car so we can leave.”
Grunting under the woman’s excessive weight, Danni and Mitch dragged her body to the Mustang and then did their best to lift her into the back seat. John tried to help, but even the slightest movements caused bursts of light to explode in his vision.