On Tenterhooks

by Greever Williams

  Chapter 44

  In his left hand, Preacher carried his weather-beaten Bible. In his right, he carried a long, coiled bullwhip. The handle was a human bone, bleached and jarring next to the blackness of his clothes. Even from this distance, Steve could make out the massive thorns that covered the bullwhip’s length.

  Steve’s gaze was fixated on the whip, so he didn’t see the other figures emerging from the forest until Abby whimpered at his side. Two massive creatures moved to flank Preacher. The beasts each stood eight feet tall, with shaggy, mottled coats of brown fur. They walked on two legs, yet their bodies looked like that of a grizzly bear. They had massive arms, shaven to the elbows and adorned with scars carved into symbols—squiggles within circles, jagged geometric patterns. They flexed tremendous paws, tipped with talons that Steve knew could shred the simple wooden walls of the house like yesterday’s newspaper.

  “That must be the help Biker warned us about,” said Martin. “My God, they are huge.”

  Their necks were short and full of massive sinew. They each had long, wild manes of jet-black hair that sprouted unkempt in all directions. On the top of each of their heads, there was a massive rack of short, thick antlers adorned with gold rings and baubles. The antlers were not symmetrical or graceful like those of a deer or an elk. These antlers looked like tools for hunting and killing. The tips were black with dried blood, and many of the points were broken off. The beasts had filed or groomed the antlers according to some foreign plan.

  “Do you think a bullet would even slow them down?” Veronica whispered. She released the safety on her pistol without taking her eyes off the trio outside the window.

  “They look sorta like ursataurs—half bear, half bull,” Abby whispered. “We studied stuff like this in mythology. Never imagined they existed. And right now, I really wish they didn’t.” Her voice quivered.

  Each of the ursataurs bore a giant golden ring in its snout, which moved up and down with the rhythm of their heavy breathing. Long snouts full of gray, snapping teeth sat below giant, luminous eyes of solid black that were deep and full of hatred. As they stared at the house, Steve was certain that they could see into him, into his blood. And he knew that they were hungry.

  Abby sensed it too.

  “Go for the eyes, Veronica.” Her voice spoke with a quiet confidence, despite the fear in her face. “Aim for their eyes.”

  Steve turned to look at Abby. She was trembling, and her eyes were large and alert, watering as she forced back tears of terror. She was a child. She gripped her hunting knife and held it close to her, like a little girl clings to a doll for comfort. Steve was almost old enough to be her father, and now in this moment huddled at the grimy window, he understood why Jack had been so protective of his family. Now Abby was his family, along with Veronica and Martin.

  Protect them. Protect them. Protect them. Protect them.

  It was his silent mantra and a prayer to God to steady him for the imminent confrontation.

  “Are you sure, Abby?” he asked her.

  “Yes.”

  Trembling aside, there was an absolute confidence in her face that Steve couldn’t deny.

  “Okay, Veronica, you heard the lady.”

  Veronica nodded.

  The ursataurs stood a foot behind Preacher, each to one side. They stomped and pawed at the ground with massive, cloven hooves, snorting and tearing through grass at the edge of the lawn. They were poised, waiting for Preacher to give an order.

  Preacher looked toward the house, smiling, and held up his left hand, Bible aloft.

  “Come, children of my Lord!” he shouted in a singsong voice. “Come forth into the light and the heat that will cleanse your souls!”

  He lowered his Bible and stared at the house, still smiling. No one moved. Steve held his breath. Preacher waited, as if he expected the front door to open and then to see them come out without argument. After a moment of calm, he raised the bullwhip in his right hand and once again addressed the house.

  “Dear children of my Lord!” he shouted. “Do not deny the power before you!”

  He released the coiled whip, letting its length drop to the ground.

  “Release yourselves into the warm embrace of my Lord, now, before I am compelled to SEEK YOU OUT!”

  His voice dove with the deep bass of a foghorn. Steve felt the power of words penetrate and jar his bones, like the vibration of an electrical shock.

  Preacher pulled the whip back with a sideways flick of his wrist. The wind whistled through its barbs as it rocketed through the air, and he spun it around his body.

  WUUUUU. WUUUU. WUUUU. WUUUUU.

  He pulled the whip back, and it snapped in the air in front of where he stood at the edge of the clearing.

  TISH!

  He cracked the whip in the air in front of him again, four times, in the direction of the house.

  WUU-TISH! WUU-TISH! WUU-TISH! WUU-TISH!

  Each time he snapped his wrist, the whip whistled and snapped, reverberating through the trees of the silent forest around him with a shower of sparks where it struck the air. He lowered the whip and once more looked toward the house.

  “First, a single lash for the impertinent whore who denied her mother!”

  Veronica felt the familiar clammy sweat on her neck and the shortness of breath. The panic attack was coming. She lowered the gun as she fought to maintain control. She breathed in deep through her nose and exhaled raggedly through her mouth.

  “She chose a path of material gain, never to know the comfort of a true love of family. She is repugnant and corrupt, unfit to live! I shall rend the flesh of her womb!”

  WUU-TISH!

  He cracked the whip, and it struck the ground, singeing the weeds so that they popped with sparks and smoke. The group was silent, huddling around the window. Veronica continued her heavy breathing, taking in large gulps of air to calm her racing heart.

  “Perhaps then, first I shall bestow a pair of lashes on the simpleton drug peddler.”

  Martin felt the turning of his stomach. It was as if Preacher was reaching into his body and grasping hold of his innards and rolling them between his bony white fingers. It was excruciating, but Martin refused to yield. He swayed for a moment, but remained on his feet out of sheer will.

  “His life of uninspired weakness and complacency cost him his mate. And his naiveté cost him the life of his undisciplined offspring! He deserves nothing more than to grovel at my feet, forever. And so I shall sever his gangly legs at the knees!”

  WUU-TISH!

  The whip struck the ground again, setting the small brush ablaze. Martin refused to acknowledge Preacher’s threats. Once the whip hit the ground, the pain in his stomach abated.

  No one inside the cabin spoke. Teeth gritted and floorboards creaked. They tensed, ready to defend.

  “Or let us end this simply, with a lash for the lack of a man whom you call a leader!”

  Steve felt Preacher’s voice in his head. The words reverberated into a cacophonic gibberish that faded over time into a hiss of background noise, bubbling like an excited audience before the curtain opens.

  “His doubts and childish reliance on the gossamer wings of faith have led you, all of you, to your own undoing! I shall gouge the flesh from his neck and watch his lifeblood gurgle into the dust at my feet!”

  WUU-TISH!

  He struck the ground for a third time. As with each time before, a shower of sparks erupted like a roman candle. The ground of the lawn smoldered and smoked in a dozen places, as the weeds and undergrowth burned under the fire of the whip.

  Preacher paused, listening and watching the house for movement. After several seconds of silence, he began to laugh. Martin had heard the same panting laugh in his dreams of Maggie’s death. But this time it was much louder. Over and over it rang across the clearing, like the cold cranking of a dead car alternator.

  Rut rut rut rut rut rut rut

  Preacher’s mouth was open, panting like a dog. His grayis
h tongue pulsed in time with his spurts of laughter. He stopped. He re-coiled his whip again.

  “Ahh. . .the child. Yes, the child among you!”

  Abby’s eyes began to burn, just as they had in the alley in Cozumel. She squeezed them shut. She pushed on them with the heels of her hands as hard as she dared.

  “The overconfident little hatchling who thought she was prepared for her future. Tell me child. . .did your intuition foretell this outcome for you? I think not. Do you know what pain you will feel within my grasp, you prideful waif?”

  The ghostly shadow of the cabin window floated in the blackness behind her eyelids. The pain was burning, acid on her tender flesh. She pushed harder until popping patterns of light exploded like tiny fireworks in the darkness.

  “Our earlier dance was merely a prelude to the ecstasy of terror that awaits you! For your failed vision, two lashes. I shall dispatch your eyes and show you true vision!”

  WUU-TISH! WUU-TISH!

  Abby whimpered involuntarily from both his words and the pain in her eyes. Steve grabbed her shoulder.

  “Don’t listen to him Abby,” he growled. “That’s what he wants. Don’t give in!”

  He steadied her. She continued to tremble, but flexed her hand around the butt of her knife. She rubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. When she blinked several times, the pain lessened.

  “I won’t. I won’t!”

  “No matter what happens,” commanded Steve, looking at each of them, “remember who you are and why you are here.”

  “And tell me foolish ones,” Preacher called again, “where pray tell is your savior now, he who led you down this winding, treacherous path? Has he served you well now? Does it become clear to you now, in your final moments, how poorly you have chosen?”

  “Be ready with that thing, Veronica,” said Martin. “When they come, I’ll bust out the glass and maybe you can get a couple of rounds into those things. . .at least slow them down.”

  Veronica nodded, gritting her teeth.

  Preacher bowed his head. He tossed his whip and Bible into the dirt. He placed his hands at his sides. He stared at them, bulging eyes penetrating them through the dirty windowpane. He was no longer speaking, yet they heard his guttural growling inside their heads.

  “My father, who dwells in hell, hallowed be thy name.”

  “Get ready, Veronica,” said Steve.

  “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in hell.”

  Preacher turned his palms out toward the cabin and lifted his arms.

  “Give us this day our daily blood and strengthen our trespasses, as we dispatch those who rally against us.”

  He continued to raise his arms until they were level with his shoulders. Abby backed away from the window to give Martin and Veronica room to work.

  “Lead them into perdition and deliver them to evil.”

  Preacher’s splayed his arms wide. He hung down his head, his gray tongue hanging limp and moist like a massive slug clinging to his chin. He laughed again for a brief moment.

  Rut rut rut rut

  Steve raised his hand.

  “Wait for it.”

  “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever.”

  Preacher put his arms down and slurped in his tongue. He wiped the drool from his chin with a sleeve.

  “NEMA.”

  He then raised his both arms, palms skyward. Both of the ursataurs pointed their faces toward the sky and bellowed.

  “SCREE!”

  “Now!” shouted Steve, ducking to the side. Martin smashed the windowpane with the butt end of his machete. Veronica pointed the barrel of the gun through the opening, ready to let fly at the closest beast.

  Steve crouched, plugged his ears and braced for the report of the gun, but no shot came. He saw from the corner of the window that the beasts had not moved from their spot. A scare tactic? From the other side of the house came the horrible reply.

  “SCRUM!”

  Chapter 45

  A massive object hit the wall of the kitchen behind them. The house groaned under the impact. The ceiling timbers showered them with dust. They turned away from the window. Steve located the source of the first impact, as he recognized the misshapen horns that punched through the wall. Another of the ursataurs was behind the house. The beast wrenched his head free and rammed the house again. This time Abby screamed.

  Veronica fired two shots into the back wall of the house, guessing where the beast was. Steve heard a wail of pain as the beast wrenched himself free.

  Good. I hope the damn thing just crawls away and dies.

  Then he heard a smashing of wood and a scream of agony from Martin. While they were distracted, one of the creatures with Preacher had bounded across the lawn and tried to take them from behind. Its grace and speed defied the physics and gravity of its size, so it took Steve several seconds to realize how it had happened.

  The ursataur had smashed through the porch rail and splintered it like an overcooked french fry. The beast was too big to get more than a muscle-bound arm through the tiny window, but it had managed to rake a bloody trail down Martin’s back with its talons before he could dodge.

  Martin was groaning, crumpled on the ground. A dark red stain bloomed across the back of his white button-down shirt, and Steve could smell the sickly sweet odor of burning flesh. Abby screamed Martin’s name, as she tried to drag his limp form across the floor, away from the window.

  The ursataur’s tattooed forearm was flailing through the opening, raking the air in a random pattern of savage intensity, determined to rend flesh. The demon paid no attention as it thrashed its arm into the shards of glass remaining in the window, so intent was it to find a victim. The ancient window frame groaned under the pressure.

  The stench of the beast was palpable in the close quarters of the room. Steve heard Martin’s howls, but he could do little to help. The agonizing chorus from the ursataurs continued to pound his temples from both sides of the house.

  “SCREE!”

  “SCRUM!”

  Abby tended to Martin with a gentle touch and soothing words, the only first aid she had. The back wall shook again with another massive blow. Veronica looked at Steve, begging for direction. She had six shots left. Steve knew the wall and the window frame both would buckle soon. Martin was down, and Veronica’s confidence was shaken. They were outnumbered and outflanked, and Preacher knew it. It was all happening too fast.

  “No,” Steve said. “NO! Not like this—not like this!

  “Veronica!” he screamed over Martin’s cries of pain and the ursataur calls outside.

  He pointed at the window. “Shoot it! Biker said it wouldn’t do much against Preacher, but maybe it’ll slow these things down! Do it! Aim for the eyes like Abby said!”

  She was scared—he could see it. She nodded, took one giant breath, pointed her gun toward the window, and squeezed the trigger twice. The demon had blocked out the sun with its towering frame in the window, so Steve could see the muzzle blasts in the semi-darkness. With a single thud, the beast collapsed onto the front porch, its scarred forearm hanging lifeless on the edge of the window frame.

  Looking out onto the empty lawn beyond the porch, Steve knew there was no time to celebrate the small victory. Preacher and the other demon were no longer visible, and he knew there was at least one other closing on them from behind. The taunting calls had stopped, and there was nothing audible outside the house.

  “Stay away from the wall and the windows,” Steve whispered.

  Abby had managed to pull Martin onto the couch, and she sat on the floor in front of him, whispering in soothing tones and stroking his head. Martin was quiet, but Steve saw that he was still breathing. He lay on his stomach. His back was a patchwork of bloody torn shirt and skin. The blood had trailed down the sides of his shirt and the faded yellow flowers on the couch cushions were turning red. Smoke rose from his back. Steve could smell the burned flesh.

>   Abby sobbed as she tried to draw enough breath to comfort Martin. Her soft and tender whispers came in spurts, and she forced back tears through ragged breathing. Veronica remained stone still, her gun still trained on the windowsill. Any minute she expected the ursataur’s arm to begin moving once more. She wanted to be ready if it did. The stench of the beast filled the cabin, mixing with Martin’s burning flesh. Steve’s ears were still ringing with the ursataurs’ roars, Veronica’s gunshots and Abby’s crying. The miasma, the cacophony, it all was too much for him to take. He stumbled to the corner of the room and retched. He gasped a ragged breath, fell on his knees and retched again, then leaned his back against the wall and took shallow breaths.