“They’re here to help. They’re here to stop the creatures.”
“Get up, Ellerie. The heat has you muddled.” Gran pulled me to my feet. “Get back to your sister. Get some water.”
Parson Briard tugged my elbow, casting me to the side of the tent. He looked like a wheel spun too fast, struggling to regain control of the situation. “I can’t believe my ears. Cruel and useless theatrics?”
Gran nodded.
“What has happened to you, Gran? You’ve always been one of my most faithful parishioners.”
“I have. But I can’t sit by and watch this play out. This isn’t the work of the Lord you’re doing here, Clemency. No one should compel another to air their sins. Contrition means nothing if it’s forced.”
The parson bristled. “You think yourself above confession?”
“Certainly not. I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but I pray to the Lord every night for grace, as he intended. I see no reason to parade it out before the town, when I know I’ve already been forgiven.”
“Forgiven by God perhaps, but not your neighbors.”
Everyone turned, trying to see who had called from the darkness of the tent. Someone stood, their silhouette crisp against the open flaps of the tent.
Gran squinted at him. “God’s mercy is all the forgiveness I need.”
Judd Abrams stepped forward, filling the aisle like a great barge coming down a channel to dock. With his closely shaved hair and smashed nose—broken years before in a fight at the Buhrmans’ tavern—he reminded me of one of Matthias Dodson’s anvils. His left cheek bulged with a wad of chewing tobacco pocketed within it.
“Ellerie, get out of here.” Gran nudged me, but there was no way to leave without passing Judd, and the fury radiating from him seemed too formidable to approach.
“You may have your forgiveness, but I still have a broken auger and no way to fix it. Think God will show some mercy on me?”
“The auger I borrowed last fall? I didn’t break that.”
“The bit had completely snapped off when I went to use it.”
Gran shook his head. “I cleaned every inch of it myself before returning it. I would have noticed any damage.”
“He’s lying!” Judd snapped. A vein in his temple throbbed, a rattlesnake about to strike. “In front of all of you—and the parson—he persists in his lies!”
I edged toward the side of the tent, pressing against a swag of canvas, and wished for a way to escape this brutal confrontation. Even though the words were not directed at me, I felt their force like a swift punch to the gut.
“Papa?” a voice called out, small and uncertain.
Judd whipped around as his youngest daughter rose on trembling legs, urged by her mother. “It…it was me. I broke the auger.”
“What?” he roared.
“We were…we were playing in the barn—I know you’ve told me not to, but…I bumped into some of your tools. They fell and then…” The girl made a motion of something breaking into two.
“That’s not possible. That auger weighs more than you. How could you possibly—”
“It just did,” the girl cried, her blue eyes filling with tears. “I was going to tell you, I swear I was, but she said how mad you’d get, how you’d beat me bloody. She said I should bury the broken part—make it look like it had always been like that.”
“Who?” Judd took a dangerous step toward the shivering child. “Who is this ‘she’?”
“My friend. Abigail.”
However impossible within the suffocating confines of the revival tent, my blood ran cold.
Judd’s wife swatted at the child. “I’ve told you to stop talking about this Abigail. She’s not real!”
“She is!” the girl shouted, before racing out of the tent.
Judd started after her with balled fists, but paused, unable to continue with the weight of everyone’s judgment and disapproval.
“See?” Parson Briard crowed. “Confessions help clear the soul. They free the truth. Who will come forward next? Judd—perhaps you’ve something to say?”
“I—I suppose I owe Mr. Fowler an apology….I’m sorry I accused you just now…and I’m sorry I ever mentioned it to Edmund Latheton.”
The farmer’s gaze darted to Edmund. “What does he mean?”
Every trace of color drained away from the carpenter’s face. “I was only helping you out, Judd!” He turned his attention to Gran, utterly stricken. “I—I’m sorry. Judd was so angry and kept saying you needed to be made to pay….”
Gran sucked in a breath. “My chickens. That was you?”
“Abrams helped. And…that other man.”
Judd snorted. “What other man?”
“The tall one, with the funny hat. I’d never seen him before. I thought he was one of your ranch hands.”
“It was you and me in that coop. No one else.”
“He was big, almost as tall as you, and…” Edmund’s brow furrowed as he struggled to remember. “He had a silver coin, I think. A silver…something. It kept flashing in my eyes….” His fingers scrubbed over his face, nails raking red slashes down his cheeks. “I’m so, so terribly sorry, Gran. I don’t…I still don’t know why I did it…what came over me…”
“Wickedness,” Parson Briard said. “Your heart was full of wickedness. Repent now and be forgiven.”
“I do,” Edmund said, pushing his way to the aisle. He knelt at Gran’s feet, clutching the farmer’s calves. “I want to apologize. To atone. Most earnestly.”
The parson nodded gravely. “Your repentance is seen. Your sins are forgiven.”
“God can forgive you all he wants. I won’t,” Gran muttered, kicking Edmund away before he stalked off. When Judd tried to step into his path, the farmer shoved the giant man aside without a second’s pause. “Come on, Alice. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”
The schoolteacher remained in her seat. “I…I want to stay.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She cast an uncertain eye over the group. It fell on Bonnie Maddin and lingered warily. “No, I’m staying. Someone here burned down my schoolhouse, and I want to know who it was.”
I sucked in a swift breath, my gaze falling to my feet.
I hadn’t done it.
It had been a dream.
I hadn’t burned down the school.
I didn’t think.
Gran studied her for a long moment before shaking his head and walking off.
Parson Briard raised his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Who will clear their conscience next? Come, come all, and be set free!”
The tent came alive with whispers as people urged their friends, their spouses, their family forward.
“I saw Martha leaving the Buhrmans’ yard early on the morning of Ruth Anne Mullins’s funeral,” Molly McCleary declared, her eyes glassy and bright as she pointed at her mother-in-law. “She was muttering to herself, and her dress was splattered with blood.”
Prudence leapt to her feet with vindication. “I told you I didn’t kill that goat!”
Violet turned toward the Elder’s wife, aghast. “Martha, is it true?”
The older woman burst into tears.
Near the front, Cora Schäfer rose. “I heard Mark Danforth bragging to his friends about busting up Cypress Bell’s fence!”
“That was you?” Cypress exclaimed, and grabbed Rebecca’s brother by the front of his shirt.
Rebecca’s brother let out a snicker of laughter, even as he tried to squirm free.
At the far side of the tent, an argument broke out between Alice Fowler and Bonnie Maddin. Without warning, Alice struck her, and left behind a blood-red handprint.
“It wasn’t me, I swear!” Bonnie wailed.
“I’ll get your confession even if I have to beat
it out of you!” the schoolmarm snarled, launching herself at the girl.
Martha’s sobs were nearly drowned out in the sea of angry voices and accusations. She fell before Violet, grasping at her skirts and shaking with penitence. “She said she could give me the medicine Amos needed, but I had to do what she said. He was dying! How could I say no?”
“Who?” Violet demanded, trying to shake Martha from her. “Who would want to hurt me?” Her eyes flashed back to the Lathetons. “It was that bitch, wasn’t it?”
“Get this cow off me!” Bonnie howled.
Martha’s response was lost as a brawl erupted behind her. Corey Pursimon rammed his neighbor Roger Schultz so hard, the farmer fell, knocking Martha over in the process.
“You lying bastard, you ruined my fields!”
“Unhand my wife!” Amos cried as Martha struggled to right herself.
I lost sight of the Elder as he forced his way into the crowd, but suddenly his walking stick swung free and smacked Winthrop Mullins on the side of his head. Red rivulets raced down the boy’s face, and he released a string of curses, diving after Amos.
“You have to stop this,” I said, whirling around to the parson. He’d made his way to behind the lectern, watching in horror at the chaos he’d created. I grabbed his arm, shaking him. “Parson Briard—we have to stop this! People are getting hurt!”
“Sometimes you have to burn a field black before new roots can grow,” he murmured. Slowly his eyes drifted back to me. They were vaguely out of focus, as if he wasn’t truly seeing me beside him. “You said it was going to be tumultuous, but I had no idea it would be so beautiful.”
His words rang wrong, like a guitar out of tune. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything like…”
I let out a sharp breath, air knocked from my lungs.
I needed to turn. I needed to look. But my body froze with sudden fear and the absolute certainty there was someone behind me. Someone who should not have been there. Someone who had orchestrated this entire revival so they could watch with twisted curiosity as it played out.
“Parson…who are you speaking to?”
His eyes fell squarely on me. “Look at her, Ellerie. Isn’t she magnificent? An angel of vengeance, come to purify the Falls. You don’t know how hard I’ve prayed for her.”
A shiver raced over me, my body cold and trembling. I could feel evil wafting off the creature, malicious and irresistible. It called out to that dark, hidden place within me, where every angry impulse I’d had and shoved aside was buried. It reached out, wanting to sort through them all, find the worst and stoke its rage.
I strained my eyes, looking as far to my periphery as I could. There was a slender form bedecked in white eyelet, and my mind raced back to that night when Papa and Samuel had emerged from the pines. The night I had lit the Our Ladies. The night I had seen a woman in a pale dress step out from the wheat field.
The night I’d lit the schoolhouse on fire.
No.
“What do you want?” I hissed, unable to turn and face her. “Why are you doing this to us?”
She said nothing, but I felt the weight of her gaze shift as she considered me. A hand stirred, impossibly long and bulbous fingers reaching out to brush the weave of my braid. I wanted to cringe from her touch, but was trapped, caged, a butterfly pinned on a mounting board, to be studied and stared at.
“Me?” she murmured, her voice soft and alluring. “I haven’t lifted a finger in any of this. Look. This is all them.” She made a soft sound of consideration. “All you, honey-haired girl.”
“This is madness! We have to stop! We have to stop right now!” Rebecca Danforth shouted, drawing my attention.
She’d pulled herself onto a chair in the middle of the tent and was struggling for her voice to carry over the indignant roar. Someone knocked into her, and she clutched at her belly, altering her balance to avoid toppling over.
“Stop!” I cried, running toward Rebecca and leaving the creature behind.
No matter what unkind words had passed between us, I could not stand back and watch something terrible befall her.
“Stop! Stop this!” I shouted, pushing my way through the melee. Someone swiped their nails across my face, and I had to duck to keep from being hit as Mark Danforth charged into my path, but I finally made it to Rebecca. I held out my hands, trying to steady her. “Are you all right? This is out of control!”
She nodded and pushed aside my assistance. From her pocket, she withdrew a pistol, and before I could scream, she fired a warning shot into the air, ripping open a hole in the canvas above her.
“Enough!” she cried, and the crowd fell into an uneasy silence.
There was a small burst of laughter from the corner where Parson Briard now cowered, but when I looked, the Dark Watcher was gone.
Rebecca dragged her hand over her face. “Look at yourselves! Look at what is going on. Our town is tearing apart. Again. Something is terribly, terribly wrong here.” She turned her focus on me. “Isn’t it?”
“It is,” I said. “And I know why.”
Everyone had stopped their struggles, turning to face us. Not a single person looked unaffected by the fighting. Everywhere I looked there were broken noses, broken lips. Torn clothing and swollen fists.
I scanned their rapt faces, turning until I came to the parson. With a trembling hand, I pointed to him. “There are things that man knows and has not told you. There are dark forces at work, causing the troubles in Amity Falls. The drought, the bad harvests, the strange mutations. All of…this,” I said, gesturing to the destruction throughout the tent. “The suspicions and violence. All because of these things in the woods. The Dark Watchers. I don’t know what exactly they are—creatures or monsters, old gods or supernatural…things. But they’re here, and this…all of this…is because of them.”
Alice Fowler—with her silver hair now ripped free of its usual tidy bun, and a sleeve hanging off her bodice, torn ragged—glanced back at the parson. “Is this true, Clemency?”
“I…” The parson adjusted his collar, his face dripping sweat.
I pressed ahead. “The Fairhopes told the Elders—they told Briard—and rather than go out and fight these things, the parson wanted to hold this ridiculous revival. And all along, they’ve been here, using him the entire time. That wasn’t an angel of vengeance, Parson. It was a Dark Watcher. Laughing at you, laughing at all of us for falling into her trap.”
He shook his head. “That’s absurd. That was no—”
“Matthias,” I said, whipping around to find the Elder. “Amos, Leland. You were there last night. You heard Ephraim speak. Tell them what he said.”
“No. No. It doesn’t matter what was said.” Simon Briard spoke up, coming out of the crowd. He helped Rebecca from the chair, snatching the pistol away. “It doesn’t matter what any of them say. They say to unite the town—be it supply runs or revivals, Decidings and Judgments. But you can’t unite what has already rotted away to the core.” He took a deep breath. “Ellerie speaks of strange creatures. Of monsters. Harbingers of evil and doom.” He turned on me, eyes blazing. “Call them what they really are—devils.”
Voices rumbled throughout the crowd, murmuring and hissing.
“And devils don’t come unbidden. Someone in Amity Falls wanted those things here. Someone brought them to us. On purpose. To corrupt and twist. To destroy us all.”
I shook my head, trying to stop him, but Simon pressed forward, fingers tightening on the gun.
“I was out along my property line this morning when I stumbled across…something. It was a circle of stones and trinkets, strange markings in the dirt. It looked a few months old, probably made before the snows set in. Someone came onto my land and summoned this evil. And I know who did it!”
He held a small square of fabric above his head.
�
��What is it?” Amos McCleary called out, squinting through a black eye.
“A handkerchief. One of Old Widow Mullins’s designs. See here the monogram she stitched into it? S-E-D.”
My throat tightened as he read off the initials. I knew what he was about to say.
“Samuel Elazar Downing,” he proclaimed. “He summoned these devils. He brought this darkness upon our town. And look—here is where he sealed the unholy bargain with his own blood. Three drops exactly.”
Three drops of blood.
Three drops of blood on a handkerchief.
I’d pressed my bleeding finger to a handkerchief three times, and given it away.
To Whitaker.
I remembered that night’s cool darkness. There hadn’t been enough starlight for me to make out the pattern embroidered on the corner of the cloth, but I had felt the textured threads. Something had been stitched into Whitaker’s handkerchief. Had it been Sam’s initials?
And if so, how had that handkerchief made its way to Rebecca’s farm? Into a summoning circle? Into Simon Briard’s hand?
I broke away from the group, my head spinning and knees buckling, before sinking to the parched earth. My stomach lurched, bringing up a hot splash of bile, and I had to press a hand to my lips to hold it back.
Blood was needed to seal a bargain. I had thought I was pledging a marker to Whitaker alone, but he had used it for a far darker purpose.
My blood had been used to bring these creatures to the Falls.
This was all my fault.
His fault. He summoned them.
Every death, every misfortune these things had wrought was because of me.
Because of him.
I’d…
He’d.
Who was he?
The vomit came then, fetid and as thin as gruel. I’d had nothing of substance to eat since the afternoon before, and it felt like knives razing my throat as it fought free.
The stagnant air pressed upon me like stones. My temples pounded and I couldn’t stop my limbs from shaking. Thoroughly hollowed out, I curled in on myself, wanting to die.
No one noticed my plight.
I listened in a listless daze as Simon continued his recriminations. The parson joined in. A search was to be organized. They would root through every nook and cranny of Amity Falls until Sam was found and brought forth to stand trial.
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