Fingers in the Mist

by O'Dell Hutchison

  There are so many things I want to say to her right now. I don’t give a damn about our family name, and I don’t give a damn what people think of her. She’s never treated me as a part of the family, mainly because she hated my mother and felt I was too much like her. I bite back the smart-ass remark that tickles my tongue and reply with a steely, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” And with that she turns and walks away, leaning over Reverend Carter’s shoulder to whisper something in his ear before offering Monique a comforting pat on the shoulder.

  “Dude, you were so close to punching her out.” Chas walks over and gives me a hug, helping to release the tension a bit.

  “She totally had that coming. Thanks for sticking up for me.” Erin offers me a small smile, and I do my best to give her one of my own, but my lips won’t cooperate. I hate this place. I hate everything about it.

  “Do you girls want to go get something to eat?”

  Chas turns at the sound of Jeb’s voice, a look of surprise on her face. “Umm, sure.”

  I start to follow them, but turn when I feel someone’s eyes on me. Reverend Carter stands a few feet away, staring in my direction. There’s something familiar about his golden brown eyes. Something that makes my skin crawl.

  The sky begins to darken and the wind picks up. Thunder rolls softly overhead, and a shiver runs down my spine. Those are the same eyes I saw peering back at me through Mitch’s window last night.

  I take a step toward him, and the wind rushes around me. A deep rumbling comes from overhead, and I suddenly realize that what I thought was thunder before isn’t thunder at all. A murder of crows, at least a hundred or more, fly through the sky, the beating of their wings rolling in thunderous waves. All activity in the square stops as all three-hundred-fifty-three townsfolk look up at the sky.

  The crows fly in a perfect circle over my head. It’s not the town square they’re circling. It’s me.

  One of the birds breaks formation and dive bombs the stage, landing with a heavy thunk and an explosion of feathers. Two more hit the ground, diving at people like miniature missiles. The crows start to fall like rain. Some of them hit the ground and fall silent, the power of their descent breaking their necks. People scream, and I see several of them rushing for shelter in the nearby church, others flocking to their cars as the remaining crows swoop between them. It’s like a scene straight out of that old Alfred Hitchcock movie.

  I finally break out of my state of shock long enough to search the crowd for my friends, but I can’t see any of them. I catch a glimpse of Judy huddling over Mitch as she follows my father to his pickup. I start to run toward them, but a hand grabs my ankle, pulling me to the ground. I look back, expecting to see someone who needs my help, but what I find is the twisted face of Mason staring back at me. He grabs me by the hair and pulls me to my feet.

  “You did this. Call them off or I’ll snap your neck.”

  A blinding pain fills my head and I feel myself collapse against him. He screams in my ear and releases me. Just as quickly as the pain was there, it’s gone. I fall to the ground and turn to see Mason swatting at a large crow pecking at his face.

  The sky grows even darker as heavy black clouds roll off the mountain toward town. They move so fast it’s almost as though I’m watching a time-lapse video. Thunder roars overhead and lightning cuts across the sky. The deluge hits the minute the clouds cover us, drenching those of us who didn’t make it to safety. As soon as the rain begins to fall, the remaining crows fly away, the sound of their shrieks muffled by the rolling thunder.

  I stagger to my feet and take off running toward my father’s truck. I can only hope that Chas and the rest of my friends made it to safety without getting their eyes pecked out. I have to get out of here.

  My father starts to back out, and I throw myself against the passenger window. Judy shrieks and my father slams on the breaks. I pop open the back door and hop in next to Mitch.

  “Are you okay, Caity?” Mitch snuggles up next to me, his small body trembling.

  “I’m fine, buddy.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d come. I thought you were at home,” my father says as he drives toward our house. Evidently, he hasn’t yet heard of my fight with Monique. That will no doubt change once my grandmother gets a hold of him.

  “Where did those birds come from?” Mitch asks. “There were so many of them. They, like, came out of nowhere.”

  “I don’t know.” I stare out the window, watching the rain blur the scenery that sweeps by. For some reason, Mason had it in his head that I’d summoned the crows. Why he would think that is beyond me. The only thing I’ve ever managed to do was move a few things by sheer force of will, but how could he possibly know that? No one but my mother and Jonah knew what I could do.

  When we get home, the rain has let up a little, but it still comes down heavily. Dad parks as close as he can to the house and we all hop out at once, then run up the steps. It’s not until we actually step onto the porch, safe from the rain, that we see the bloody handprint on the door.

  Chapter Five

  No one moves or makes a sound for what feels like forever. We just stand there. Staring. The blood is deep red and appears fresh; thick drops run like melting ice cream down the front of the door. Yancy barks hysterically from inside the house.

  “Everyone, go to bed,” my father says, eyes focused on the handprint.

  No one moves. I can’t stop staring at the mark. Images of Jonah’s bloody hands poke at my mind and I try to push them back.

  “What the hell is this? What have you done?” Judy spins and looks at me, her eyes ablaze with anger.

  “Nothing,” I say. What is it with everyone blaming me for all of the freaky shit that happened tonight?

  “I said, go to bed.” Dad says as he pushes the door open. Yancy skirts around him, her tail tucked between her legs. She bounds down the steps and escapes into the rain.

  “Yancy!” Mitch moves to chase after her, but my dad stops him.

  “Let her go. She’ll come back.” Dad scoops a protesting Mitch into his arms and carries him into the house, stepping over the small pool of blood that has splattered onto the hardwood floor.

  “Close the door. It’s dripping all over.” Evidently, Judy’s more concerned with the well-being of her precious hardwoods than she is about the gruesome mess or what it could mean.

  “Caity?” Mitch’s voice comes from inside his bedroom as I start up the stairs.

  “What’s up, buddy?”

  He steps into the hall and whispers, “Can I sleep in your room tonight?”

  “Sure. Change into your PJs and come on up.” I’m sure he’s even more terrified to sleep alone after everything that happened tonight, and I can’t say that I blame him.

  I change, then take a few minutes to wash my face and brush my teeth. When I get back to my room, I find Mitch snuggled in my bed, the covers pulled up to his chin. I turn off the light and crawl in next to him.

  “Caity?” he asks after a few minutes. “Are you awake?”

  “Yeah.” I have a feeling I won’t get much sleep tonight.

  “Do you believe now?” he says.

  “Believe what, buddy?”

  “The Redeemers. I heard Mom and Dad talking. Dad said that they left the handprint.”

  Surely my father hasn’t bought into all of this Redeemer crap. “It’s not the Redeemers,” I say. “It was just someone playing a nasty joke.”

  “If they come here, I won’t let them take you.” He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze.

  “I won’t let them take you either.”

  My words seem to appease him because in a few minutes he’s asleep. I listen to his slow, even breaths, my mind racing with everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours. I’d love to be able to blame Monique and her cronies for the handprint on the door. I wouldn’t put it past her to do something like that, but she was at the festival the entire
time. There’s no logical way for me to explain half of the craziness that’s happened the last twenty-four hours, and it drives me insane.

  ***

  The next morning we all pile into Dad’s truck and drive the half mile to church—another thing they do around here that is absolutely foreign to me.

  The air is still and unsettling—typical of Highland Falls. The only sounds around here are the mooing of cows, the constant wind, and the occasional roar of a distant tractor during harvest season. This depresses me. It’s too perfect. I need signs of life: Traffic, pollution, robberies, and car-jackings. They’re not everyone’s cup of tea, but at least it keeps a girl on her toes.

  We barely make it into the chapel on time and end up sitting in the back. I search the crowd when we walk in and see Trevor sitting with his mother and a very pale and scratched up Mason.

  Monique sits with her mother on the other side of the church, far from Trevor, which makes me happy. I spot Chastity sitting with Bunny and baby Parker a couple rows in front of us. Erin sits with her family in the row behind them and I spot Jeb and his family a few rows behind Trevor. Now that I know all of my friends are safe and haven’t had their eyes pecked out I can relax a little.

  Right as we settle into our seats, Mrs. Fowler—the local librarian—hits the first notes of “O Merciful Creator” on the organ. I mouth the words, unable—or unwilling—to sing. Judy’s voice rings out across the other hesitant parish members. She sings loud and proud to prove to everyone that she is pure and free from sin, which is a total joke. If she hadn’t come along, maybe my parents would still be together and my mother alive.

  Once the song finishes, everyone takes a seat and Reverend Carter takes his place behind the podium.

  “Good morning, brothers and sisters.” His deep voice, amplified by the microphone, bounces off the walls of the church.

  A collective “good morning” resounds throughout the room as all three hundred-plus townsfolk respond. I turn and look behind me to see that the place is completely packed. People stand around the back of the church since there are no seats left. Typically, there are two back-to-back services so everyone can attend in comfort, but today appears to be different.

  “I’m happy to see all of you here today after the disturbing events last night,” Reverend Carter says. My skin crawls when I picture him standing outside our house, peering into Mitch’s window.

  “Today should be about rejoicing, but I’m afraid I have some grave news for you.” He clears his throat as though it’s difficult for him to speak. I can’t tell if he’s sincere or if he’s putting on an act. “Last night, seven of our beloved families returned home to find the mark of the Redeemers on their front doors.”

  A collective gasp ripples across the crowd, and the Reverend holds up a hand to quiet the murmuring. What surprises me is that no one laughed when he said this. Am I the only one here who doesn’t believe? Are they going to insist Santa Claus is real next? Maybe he hangs with the Redeemers. Maybe he’s the one who delivered the bloody handprint.

  “This was quite unexpected. The Redeemers last paid us a visit just ten years ago. While there’s no set plan on when they come to claim their payment, rarely is it so soon.”

  A short, stocky man—I’m guessing he’s Erin’s father—stands and interrupts the Reverend. “Am I the only one here who doesn’t know what a Redeemer is? Could you please explain to me why in the hell there was a bloody handprint on my front door last night?”

  “Forgive me. I forget we have a few parishioners here who are unfamiliar with our town’s history. For those of you familiar with the procedure, please be patient with me.” Reverend Carter clears his throat, and when he speaks again, it’s with a somber tone.

  “Last night, the Redeemers selected each marked family as a family living with sin. Sin is something each of us struggles with every day of our lives. It is something we must rise above, but some are weaker than others. As penance, the marked households must sacrifice a member of their family to the Redeemers. Please know that the citizens and leaders of this town have no say in the selection. God himself selects the unworthy family. It is God that sees who we really are, and it is God that chooses the punishment. The Redeemers merely fulfill the work of the Lord. It is important you remember that.”

  A shiver runs down my spine. He can’t be serious.

  “This evening, after the sun has set, the church bells will ring. We will lose power and water and our vehicles and other electronics will no longer operate. We will be forced to live without luxury as a reminder of how lucky we are to have the blessings of modern technology in our lives. We will be without these luxuries until the end of the seven-day cycle. Once the bells toll this evening, you are not to leave your homes. If you do, the Redeemers will take you, whether you were marked or not. If you want to live, it is very important that you follow this rule. If your family is marked, do not fight them when they come to collect their payment. Remember: The Lord himself made this decision. They are doing His work.”

  I look around at the congregation, and they all seem completely unfazed, like this is a normal thing. I can’t believe any of this could possibly be true.

  “When the bell tolls at seven a.m. each morning, everyone is required to gather outside the church. At that time, the family who offered a sacrifice will present themselves before the town as they are granted redemption. Once the Gathering has concluded, you must return to your homes where you will stay until the following morning. This will continue for a total of seven days. Once the Redeemers have carried out their work at the end of the week, the town will return to normal.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Mr. Simpson chuckles and looks around the church at the somber faces. “Do you people actually believe this crap?”

  No one speaks. Several people stare at their hands to avoid his questioning stare. “So, you’re telling me that I have to just let some freaky bastard come into my house and take a member of my family?”

  “That’s another way of putting it,” Reverend Carter says.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing. You people actually believe this?”

  My thoughts exactly.

  Erin’s mother tries to quiet him, but he brushes her off. “You didn’t tell me we were moving to a town filled with a bunch of crazy freaks,” he says to her. “I don’t believe in any of this supernatural shit.”

  A collective gasp erupts from the crowd, and I find myself wanting to stand up and cheer for him. Erin blushes and looks down at her hands.

  “I know it sounds fantastical,” Reverend Carter says, “but I assure you it is very real.”

  “Well, I’m not sticking around for this. I’m going home to pack up my family now.” He grabs his wife by the arm and pulls her to her feet, forcing her down the aisle. Erin follows behind them, her eyes trained on the ground.

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Simpson, I’m afraid you’ll find it difficult to leave.” The Reverend’s voice echoes off the walls of the chapel, stopping Mr. Simpson. “I’m sorry. That’s just the way things are. We have many luxuries here, and you must admit that we are a very prosperous and peaceful town. It’s a small price to pay when you think about it. Our lives here are practically perfect. We’re far from the corruption and greed of the city. This one small sacrifice, while difficult at first, will assure your family is blessed with a life of prosperity and abundance. If you live righteously from this point forward, your family will be blessed with a perfect life for all eternity.”

  “You can stick your prosperity and abundance up your ass, Reverend. I don’t need to sacrifice anyone I love for a perfect life. I’m going home to pack up my family and then we’re out of this crazy town.”

  The congregation is silent, the only sounds coming from the footsteps of the retreating family, followed swiftly by the slamming of the church doors. I want to stand up and run after them, beg them to take me with them. I can’t believe no one else has said a word. What kin
d of sick joke is this?

  Reverend Carter, completely unfazed by the interruption, looks up from his podium and addresses us once again. “Will the marked families please join me up front?”

  He looks at us expectantly. People shuffle in their seats, but no one moves.

  “Please,” he urges, “don’t be embarrassed. We’re not here to judge. We are all friends. All of our families have gone through this at some point in time.”

  A handful of people turn in their seats, eagerly awaiting the first family to reveal themselves. It’s kind of sick, really. They watch as if this is some type of reality TV show.

  “I know this is frightening, but as an honest, God-fearing town, this is our cross to bear. You have a chance at a new beginning. The Redeemers have found you worthy of absolution. That in itself is a blessing. Remember what you are gaining by doing this.”

  The more this man talks, the crazier he sounds. There’s no way he can seriously consider sacrificing a family member a blessing. Then again, I’d feel pretty blessed if he would sacrifice his daughter, but something tells me their family wasn’t selected.

  After a few more seconds of silence, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson rise and move to the front of the church along with their thirteen-year-old grandson, Marcus. The Andersons have to be in their late seventies, and gained custody of Marcus a couple of years ago when his parents were killed in a car crash. Mrs. Anderson always had a freezer full of popsicles she would hand out to the kids playing near her house, and Mr. Anderson is always helping the farmers with their crops. I don’t know Marcus, but he looks like a very clean-cut kid. What could they possibly have done wrong?

  A young couple stands and takes the hands of their two young children. I shake my head when I realize it’s the Morgan family. Their daughter, Abby, is one of Mitch’s best friends. She grasps her mother’s skirt as her father follows behind.