Tucker’s Grove (6 page)

Jerome spoke up when ever
yone had squeezed into the pews. “
This place of worship stands on holy ground, for I have made it so. All of your crops will be blessed, and all of your children will be strong and protected from evil. I will make it so.
We
w
ill make it so. We will be a community, a bastion against darkness.”

He turned to the altar and touched the demon jar. “
You have seen me cast out demons. The most powerful and most dange
r
ous of those evil fallen angels are here, trapped inside this urn.”
H
e brushed the surface of the vessel. “
They are locked there by the grace of God, by the holy symbols…
and by the gift of blood.”

Jerome extended his thumb toward the congregation. “
Today, we make one grand final summoning to draw out all the evils and ills
that permeate this land, that permeate our hearts. We will draw away the pain and darkness, so that Tucker
’
s Grove can be a perfect place, a shining example for mankind.”

The people in the church shouted their Amens. Some stood from the pews.

“
A drop of b
lood,”
Jerome said, “
from me, from you
—
from all of you, and this town will lock away those evil spirits fore
v
er.”
With a flick of his knife, he sliced open his thumb once more, this time a little more extravagantly than he
’
d expected. The blood flowed, and
he touched it to the Cross symbol so that the ancient, mysterious urn drank the scarlet liquid. He held up the knife. “
Who will be the first to join me?”

The people in the front pew nearly fell over themselves to come to the altar. Each took up the knife,
drew blood, and touched red thumbprints or fingerprints to the pale ivory curves of the ancient vessel.

The second row came forward, jostling and pushing one a
n
other. Some wept with joy, while others closed their eyes and prayed as they made their offerin
g. This was not like a somber Communion ceremony: They were an army laying siege to the evil things that had troubled their lives.

With Jerome
’
s command, a great wind of shadows, dark thoughts, evil deeds, frightening memories
—
the very manifest
a
tion of si
n
—
swept up the hills and blew like a quiet winter wind into the church. The congregation could sense how much more darkness the demon jar was drinking, but their blood maintained the seal, trapped the bad things forever.

Jerome felt his heart swell with lo
ve for these people, his pe
o
ple. Mollie stood looking preoccupied, maybe a bit worried. He slipped his arm around his wife
’
s waist. “
Why are you so quiet, my dear? This is our finest, most perfect hour.”

Mollie bit her lower lip and shook her head, afraid
to answer at first. Finally, she said, “
All that blood…
Instead of trapping the demons, what if it
’
s
feeding
them?”

With a great outcry, the last of the parishioners stumbled back from the urn. The incredibly old Egyptian
—
or Sumerian, or A
s
syrian
—
vessel had
begun to glow a faint orange, like fire within an eggshell. The embellished clay walls pulsed in a heartbeat, as if the demons inside were fighting and struggling to break free.

Jerome took a deep breath, but could find no words. He had gathered numerous
demons from across the countryside on his travels up to Wisconsin, collected them from suffering people over the course of his journey. Victims had come to him from far and wide, and he had torn out the demons and imprisoned them in the vessel, carried th
e
m here to his new town.

And they were all furious.

Cracks appeared in the ivory ceramic, then fire belched out of the fissures. The demon jar exploded with a thunderstorm whir
l
wind of black screaming voices, buzzing flies. Howling anger and dripping venge
ance, they roared out with enough force to snuff a tornado.

Parishioners ducked, throwing themselves onto the pews, onto the floor. The unleashed demons filled the church and swirled around; some streaked through the open front door. A black smoky jet sma
shed through the stained-glass window, sending jewel-toned shards flying in every direction.

The evil blackness whistled around Jerome and Mollie. He grabbed his wife, tried to protect her, but he didn
’
t know how. A murky, miasmic face that was made of fan
gs rose before them, screaming
—
a scream that sounded more like laughter.

Mollie cringed. The shadows pummeled her, wrapped about her as though she were being sprayed with mud. She collapsed to the floor, crying in terror.

Jerome balled his fists and shou
ted, “
Begone, I command you all!
Begone!
”

And the demons fled the church, racing out and away to find new hosts in the vicinity of Tucker
’
s Grove.

The evil storm subsided just as abruptly as it had begun. The interior of the new church had been shredded,
leaving clouds of dust, splinters, and fear. The people were stunned, moaning, touching small cuts and inspecting tattered clothes. As Jerome ran among his people to help, some of them looked away in deep shame, afraid to let him see the shadowed hollows
in their eyes, the new darkness that glinted from their gaze.

Jerome felt his bones turn to ice and understood that his dreams were dashed. He had meant to establish a perfect town, to create a new Eden free of sin or evil or hate. Instead, he had brought
more darkness to the area and saturated this very place.

He clung to the sharp foundation of his faith. He would not surrender. He refused to leave his town. He had far too much work to do here.

Crumpled and sick, Mollie retched onto the floor, cradling
her abdomen. Jerome knelt beside her, helped her to her feet. She swayed against him. “
Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

Mollie drew a deep breath. “
I
’
ll be fine. I just felt the baby kick, that
’
s all.”

He didn
’
t ask her why she was shuddering.

And she di
dn
’
t tell him that the kick had felt distinctly like that of a cloven hoof.

MASSACRED

Gen Custer and 261 Men the Victims

3 Days Desperate Fighting by Maj. Reno and
Remainder of the Seventh

—
Bismarck Daily Tribune
[Dakota Territory]: July 6
, 1876

³

“
The [steamer]
Far West
arrived this morning, bringing terrible news from the expedition and 38 wounded men for treatment in the hospital. Genl. Custer with his command met an ove
r
whelming force of Indians on the Little Big Horn and five companies
were completely cut to pieces, not one man being left….

“
This has been a very gloomy day at the post. There are 24 women here who have been made widows by the disaster.”

—
Medical Journal of Assistant Su
rgeon J.V.D. Middleton, Fort Abraham Lincoln, Dakota Territory. July 6, 1876

³

“
After we gained the bluffs we could look back upon the plains where the Indians were, and could see them stripping and scalping our men, and mutilating the bodies in a horrible
ma
n
ner. The prairie was all afire.”

—
John M. Ryan, survivor of the Reno Hill battle, as reco
l
lected in the
Hardin
[Montana]
Tribune
, June 22, 1923

³

Kenner is coming back from the dead to kill me. Tonight. And I can do nothing but wait. The vengeful sorce
ry that animates my former comrade has already slaughtered the other three, one by one, during the rotten core of the night.

Walter Tucker, the first, knew nothing of his fate and lay ma
n
gled by the riverbank with his face a frozen expression of soul-burst
ing fear. But at least he did not have to endure these hours of horrified waiting. Darby is murdered. Barrett is mu
r
dered. How am I to fight against an obsidian-clawed ghoul turned against his friends by Sioux hatred and magic?

I can hear the hushed expect
ancy of the river, feel the lulling sway of the
Far West
as it fights against the ropes tying it up during the blackest hours of night. The pungent smell of old, rain-soaked hay seeps into the air, piles strewn on the deck here to make the cramped conditio
ns a little more comfortable for us
‘
brave fighters.
’
I don
’
t complain
—
after that night on Reno Hill surrounded by screaming victorious Sioux, feeling our parched throats and having nothing but horse blood to drink…
how could I complain about mere crowdedn
e
ss?

Captain Marsh has pushed the
Far West
admirably, but I doubt if any steamer could move faster than Kenner
’
s murderous spirit. I could have fled the boat this morning at the Powder River Depot, hoping for safety. But that
would not save me: not even the massive stockade of Fort Pease had stopped the demon that Kenner has become from shredding Darby like confetti.

So I wait, awake in the darkness on the
Far West
, knowing that I have not run far enough or fast enough. Tomorro
w, perhaps, the steamer will reach Bismarck and civilization…
but by then my body will have been torn apart by obsidian claws.

I sit back and watch the stars through stinging tears.

And Kenner is coming.

³

The following text regarding the events on Reno Hi
ll and Ge
n
eral Custer
’
s defeat was submitted to the Montana State Hi
s
torical Society by Lieutenant Edgerton. Ultimately rejected, August 1896, “
due to obvious implausibility.”

“
God, I
’
m thirsty!”

Three hundred and fifty beaten men huddled in the darkness
atop Reno Hill, waiting in baffled terror and wondering when the thousands of Sioux warriors would swoop down to co
m
plete the massacre.

“
Goddamn Indian cowards!”
Kenner cursed, digging his knife into the baked ground. He probably would have spat in disgust
, as was his habit, if his throat hadn
’
t been so parched.

Murderous shadows hid in the wicked moonlight; huge bonfires burned in the village below, and capering warriors shouted and danced their victory over the white soldiers.

“
If they
’
d come here one at
a time, I
’
d take them all on, man to man. Then we
’
d see who
’
s the better fighter!”
He stuck his knife up to its hilt into the ground.

“
They don
’
t have to.”
Barrett sounded more calm than any of them felt. “
They can just wait us out. We
’
re almost out of a
m
munition. Definitely out of water. All the Sioux have to do is watch the creek. With this heat, we
’
ll be dead in a few days.”

“
God, I
’
m thirsty,”
Walter Tucker whined. His thin and skittish voice matched his physical build exactly.

“
Shut up, Tucker!”
Kenn
er growled at him. At least Tucker wasn
’
t talking about the wife and two babies he had left behind at Fort Abraham Lincoln; he had given up on ever seeing them again.