This was different. The snakes were everywhere, and though there were a hundred eyes in the old church, none of them focused on Tommy. Still, with the squirming, screaming girl held tightly in his hand, his fingers laced into her hair so deeply his nails brushed her scalp, and his knuckles white from the strain, he was hard as stone.
Silas stood behind the pulpit at the far end of the church. It seemed a mile or more down that carpeted walk, and Silas loomed like a giant oak. He filled the end of the room with his presence. He whispered Tommy's name and beckoned him forward, and Tommy moved. He started down that carpeted walk, drawing the girl along with him despite her struggles.
The snakes fascinated Tommy. He hated snakes, feared them more than almost anything he'd encountered on the mountain, but he did not hesitate when Silas called to him. They writhed and lunged, but didn't strike. Their eyes glittered brightly in the sunlight flashing in through the windows, and their tongues flickered like tiny fires, but Tommy remained unharmed. He pulled the girl closer against his side in case she proved more tempting.
His mind wandered. He didn't want to think about the snakes. He didn't want to think about the strange chant that filled the church because it was so much like that other chant in the woods. The mark on his forehead throbbed, but it wasn't exactly pain. The pulse matched the rhythm of the combined voices and the twining of the snakes. It matched his heartbeat, and he fell into step with it, moving very slowly through the others. Or maybe he wasn't moving slowly. His mind was foggy, and it was hard to keep track. He drifted back an hour and his smile returned.
Tommy moved silently through the trees. He kept his eyes on the trail ahead and to his left. The girl hadn't heard him yet, but he wasn't fooling himself. She'd grown up on the mountain just as he had, and if he made the slightest misstep, she'd hear it. The scene played out as it had in his dream, except in the dream she'd sped away, gaining a little bit of ground every few seconds until she disappeared from sight. Today he kept pace with her and closed the distance easily.
When Tommy had awakened that morning, a single message had burned itself into his mind and his groin. Today was the day. Today was the day that promises would be kept, both ways. Today was the day he would go and fetch the girl, and when the service was complete, she would be his. That was how things worked now. Silas called, promised, and sent you off to earn your reward, and you went. No sense arguing with it—if he'd had any objection the agonized flesh of his forehead would have straightened him out.
Angel was nowhere to be seen, and his father hadn't been home in days. There was a car parked in the driveway that Tommy had never seen before. None of it made any sense, but it didn't matter. He'd dressed, eaten, and left before sunrise, slipping off through the trees toward Jacob Carlson's vineyard on the far side of the mountain. He didn't know exactly where he'd find Elspeth Carlson, but he knew where to start looking, and somehow he knew he wasn't alone in this. She was there, waiting for him. It had been promised.
The hike across the trails was uneventful and silent. He didn't notice at first, but after a while Tommy noted that even the birds and the animals had grown quiet. He didn't see any squirrels or birds moving overhead, and nothing crashed into the brush as he passed. He might have walked onto a movie set where the grounds had been carefully cleared ahead of time to prevent distraction.
He found Elspeth walking along the upper edge of the grapevines. She had a small basket in her hand, and she was barefoot, just as he'd seen her. The girl was sixteen, and would be seventeen soon. Her hair was so long in back that it covered her shoulders and dipped to a rounded edge just at her waist. She had it tied back with a ribbon to keep it out of her eyes and to prevent it from snagging in the trees and vines.
She was a slender girl, willowy, like a sapling. To Tommy she looked like a delicate doll. Her jeans were faded, just tight enough to prove from the rear that she wasn't a boy. Her bare feet were tan, her arms a dark chestnut brown. Tommy had watched her move a thousand times and never tired of it. He followed quietly, willed his breath to silence and scanned the ground ahead for branches and leaves. He didn't know how fast she might be, and he wanted to get as close as possible before she knew he was there.
When he finally stepped out onto the trail, he was only about five yards behind her. He called out to her and she jumped, turning quickly, but she didn't run. He walked slowly down the path as if he belonged there, a wide smile on his face, and she stared at him. He saw from her stance that she was ready to sprint. He called out to her again, keeping his voice low and friendly.
"Hey," he said. "You're out early."
She stared at him without speaking. They had met before, and Tommy was pretty sure that she knew who he was, but they'd never spoken.
By the time she noticed the intensity of his stare he was too close. Elspeth turned and sprang for the trees, but Tommy was ready for her. He cut her off, snagged her by the ponytail and yanked her back. She drew in a breath to scream, but he slapped his hand hard across her mouth and killed the sound. She tried to bite him and he pulled his hand back just long enough to draw back and smack her hard enough on the side of the head to make her eyes water. He clamped his hand back over her mouth and dragged her off the trail and into the trees.
Tommy leaned in very close to her ear and spoke, keeping his voice low and controlled. His heart pounded, and he knew she felt him hard and swollen against her thigh where he pressed her tight between himself and the trunk of a pine tree.
"If you scream, I'm going to knock you cold and carry you off like a sack of potatoes," he said. He waited a moment for this to sink in. "Do you understand?"
Elspeth nodded. He kept his grip on her hair tight, and he pressed the weight of his body against her, pinning her in place. He released her mouth and she gasped in air. "Bastard," she hissed. "My pa will kill you."
"Shut up," he growled. He yanked back on her hair and she cried out in pain and surprise. Tears dampened her cheeks, but she didn't break down. She glared at him, and Tommy reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a hip flask and gripped the lid with his teeth. He spun it deftly open and leaned in close again.
"I'm going to tell you one time to drink this," he said. "If you spill it, try to spit it out, or scream, I'll do like I said and knock you cold."
"What is it?" she asked.
Tommy shook his head and brought the flask to her lips. Before she could protest further he pulled back on her hair. Her head tilted and he poured. When she started to choke, he pulled the flask away and pressed the back of his knuckles under her chin. At first she fought him, but he applied more pressure, and seconds later he saw the muscles of her throat work in a swallow. He tilted the flask again, and she drank without struggle. Tommy caught the scent of the liquor and if possible his erection hardened further. When the flask was emptied, he twisted the bottle onto the cap he still held between his teeth, and dropped it quickly back into his pocket.
Elspeth had gone all but limp in his grip. She leaned into him, eyes dazed. He held her like that for a moment, stared into her eyes, and trembled. His mind filled with visions of her body, of the taste of that drink, shared between them, of driving his hips into hers and planting her in the soft soil. Of joining.
He drew back with a gasp and turned. Without a word he started back, staying off the trail but moving parallel to it, heading for the church. His hair dripped perspiration, and though he was as careful as he could be not to yank the girl's hair out by its roots, the tendons in his arm were taut as strung piano wire.
Tommy blinked. The church came back into focus, and he saw that they had progressed only a few feet. He shook his head and kept his gaze straight ahead. Behind Silas the curtains hung across the door to the baptistery, and Tommy shivered. Elspeth's struggles had grown weaker. She held him with both hands, trying to keep herself upright and the pressure off her hair. He ignored her and continued forward. As he passed the pulpit, Silas smiled.
Then Tommy stepped through the curtains, and
the ranks behind him closed, shoulders brushing, and serpents sliding from one body to the next and back.
Silas turned and followed Tommy out of sight. As he went, he whispered, and the sound sifted through the congregation and echoed from the rafters.
"Let her be cleansed."
TWENTY
When Harry George stepped off the trail that led up toward Jacob Carlson's farm, he heard loud voices, and he stopped. It was still early. He'd already visited Rachel Sherman and Cyrus Bates. There weren't many names left on the list he'd been running through his mind since speaking with Abraham. There were far fewer than he would have liked.
Footsteps approached, and Harry stepped to the center of the trail. Whoever he heard was angry, and he didn't want to spark a wild shot from a rifle or cause a fright.
"Who's there?" he called out. Best they know someone was on the trail before they saw him. Things had been strange on the mountain over the past few years, and it was always a good idea to be sure of the level of welcome before you walked onto a man's land.
The voices grew silent, then the footsteps continued, moving more quickly. A moment later, Jacob Carlson rounded the corner ahead, followed by his boy Amos. Harry started to raise a hand in greeting, and then stopped. Jacob's face was contorted with a mixture of anger and worry that chilled the marrow in Harry's bones.
"Jacob?" Harry said. The single word was statement and question at the same time.
Jacob stopped and stared, but his expression didn't soften. He strode down the trail, reached up and slapped Harry's hair aside from his forehead. Behind him, Amos had leveled a wicked-looking shotgun and was covering his father's actions.
"Wha…" Harry backed off a step, and then he understood. He reached up and held the hair aside, baring his forehead. "It's not there, Jacob," he said. "It's just me."
Jacob Carlson stood in the center of the trail and stared hard at his old friend. Despite the many years they'd known one another, they seldom met. The families on the mountain were spread out and kept their distance. It had always been that way. It had been almost five years since the two had spoken.
"She's gone," Jacob said simply. He started to shake, and his hands came up to his face. The mask of fury he'd worn seconds before broke like soft earth and crumbled away. Harry stepped forward and reached out, as if he'd put a hand on his friend's shoulder to comfort him, but he stopped short. Amos hadn't dropped the barrel of the shotgun yet.
"What is it, Jacob?" Harry asked, keeping his voice even. "Who's gone?"
"Elspeth is gone," Amos barked. He lowered the barrel of his gun, but only a little, keeping it at an angle from which he could raise it quickly. "Elspeth's gone. They took her to that church. We aim to get her back."
The boy wasted no words. From the set of his jaw and the gleam in his eye, Harry didn't doubt he meant every word he spoke.
"That right, Jacob?" Harry asked. "You heading over to the old church alone?"
"He ain't alone," Amos grated.
Jacob held up a hand to quiet the boy.
"I have to get her back, Harry. Her ma is in a state you wouldn't believe, and half the rest of the family is already over there, that damnable blasphemous mark on their foreheads. It's happening again, all of it, and so fast…"
Jacob faltered, and Harry stepped forward this time, putting an arm around his old friend's back. He stood there for a second in silence before speaking.
"He's back, Jacob, Jonathan's boy is back. I was up at the stone church yesterday. I spoke with him, and he means to make things right. There are ways to deal with this."
"We already know how to deal with it," Amos cut in. The boy's face was red and it was clear that he resented anything that came between him and the chance to blow someone's head off with his shotgun. The last time Harry'd seen the boy, Amos had been waist-high and full of smiles. Now the cut of his features showed few of the lines Harry associated with smiling, and the way the boy's knuckles tightened on the trigger and stock of his gun, it was a damned good thing they were on the same side of the present situation.
"It won't work, son," Harry said gently. "You can march in there with all the guns you want, you won't walk away with your sister. You might get lucky and take one of them out, maybe a couple if you're quick, but in the end they'll either feed you to the snakes, or turn you into one of their own. If you and your sister ever left together it would be with his mark on you, and there's no soap on the mountain that can clean it off."
"That's crap," Amos spat the words, then, for emphasis he spat on the trail. "There's no man born that can stand down a shotgun. I'm tired of all your stories—and his. I'm getting my sister back."
Jacob turned then, and the fire was back in his eyes as suddenly as it had melted to tears.
"You ain't' going nowhere, boy. You stand there and listen for a minute while I talk to Harry. When I'm done I'll decide what we're going to do. If you love your sister, you'll listen to me, and you won't spit at folks who're trying to help you."
Harry glanced at Amos, who took this like a slap to the face, but fell silent. "You say Abraham's back?" Jacob asked. Harry nodded. "He's already cleaned out the old church. He's staying up at the cottage. I told him I'd find those who still believed, and those who might be taught." Jacob nodded slowly. "What about his ma? Sometimes I wish…"
"She's dead," Harry replied. "Abe buried her himself, up at the cottage."
Jacob stared at him. "Dead? But I saw her…" He fell silent and thoughtful. "Damned if I know when the last time I saw her was. I used to stop by, now and again, but I never knew what to say."
Harry nodded. "I know, Jacob, I know. If we could turn back the years, there are a lot of things I'd change. Fact is, we can't, and what we have now is one chance. That chance is named Abraham, and he's waiting on us up at the chapel."
Jacob nodded again and turned back down the trail the way he'd come. "Come on up to the house, Harry. I'll have to tell Barbara what's happened. She'll want to come too."
Amos stood his ground stubbornly. He held the shotgun at a forty-five degree angle, pointed into the trees beside the path.
"Where are you goin', pa?" he asked, his voice incredulous. "They still have Elspeth. How can going to a church change that?"
"Maybe your cousin can explain that better than I can," Jacob replied. "This isn't the first time this mountain was dark with the likes of Silas Greene. Maybe it won't be the last. We beat it once, though, or thought we did. We should have finished it, but we let it go. Live and let live, Jonathan told us. Enough is enough. It wasn't enough, and now your sister is gone.
"Harry's right about one thing. If you go waltzing into that churchyard with your shotgun, you won't come back. Not like you are now. Not caring a thing about your sister, or your ma—not caring what I say. Is that how it is now, boy? You going to go marching off against my orders, or are you going to trust me and stand with your kin? We don't have any time to wait for you to decide. Every minute we're here, they could be doing things to her. Every word we waste she could be screaming our names and if we want to help her—really help her—we need to get up that mountain."
Amos wavered. He glanced down the trail. His knuckles were still white on the gun's stock, and the tendons in his neck stood out like ropes. He wanted to go. He wanted to prove he was a match for whatever lay down that road, but he was used to doing what Jacob told him. He was used to respecting his Pa, and that respect won out in the end.
"The Murphy's is gone over," he said at last. "Tommy and Angel, for sure. I saw Ed down at Irma Creed's place. The two of them are marked. A lot of folks are marked."
Harry nodded. "They got Henry too," he said. "He's gone and I don't expect he'll be back. Not unless he comes for me. We all stand to lose if we don't do something to stop it."
Jacob nodded. He started off down the trail, and Harry fell in at his side. Amos stood in the path a moment longer. His gaze flickered one way, then the other. In the end, he shook his head angrily and followed his fathe
r back down the trail toward their farm, their mother, and whatever solution they sought. He had no idea what they were talking about, but he knew about his cousin Abraham, and he'd heard plenty of stories about the stone church. He also knew stories about that other church, and if they were true, maybe having a few more folks—and guns—along for the ride wouldn't be a bad idea after all.
They reached an old wooden gate a few moments later. It was open, and after they had all slipped inside, Amos pulled it closed behind them and latched it. It was another quarter of a mile to the house, and the three of them walked it in silence.
Barbara Carlson stood on the porch, watching them return. She glared hard at Jacob. When she saw Harry, her features slipped to a mask of confusion. By the time they reached the porch, she was heading back inside, and Harry knew from long years of experience that when she returned she'd have a coffee pot in one hand and cups dangling from the fingers of the other. Jacob followed her inside; Harry took a seat in one of the old wooden chairs on the porch. Amos chose to stand at the foot of the stairs. He didn't lean his gun against the rail, or set it down. He held it at the same forty-five degree angle and glared alternately at the house, Harry, and the road leading off into the distance.
By the time Jacob and Barbara returned, Jacob had filled his wife in on all that Harry had told him. Her eyes were alight with fear, but there was something else there as well. Hope? Determination?
"Abraham Carlson," she said, pouring thick black coffee into thick ceramic cups. "I never expected to hear that name again. And Sarah dead…"
"We should have seen this coming," Jacob cut in. "I told you I saw those Murphy boys in their truck, loaded with enough wood and paint to build a new barn. And the marks. There's no way to mistake those marks."
A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult Page 417