“Yeah, yeah, Garrett, I saw it, too.” Dylan had tried very hard to push that scene away, let it be forgotten like a bad dream.
“Everyone’s talking about it, Stark, and I mean everyone. But Duke’s all right, they said. Getting out tomorrow, I heard. No one’s ever survived an attack like that before.”
Dylan had discussed this with Gina once they’d gotten home. Duke should have some sort of supernatural immunity if he was of the Pearson bloodline. And he had sent the snakes away as if they had suddenly become afraid of him. He wanted to get in touch with Alan Blair. He would have probably heard about it by now. In a small town, this could spread like wildfire.
“The Hemming Herald showed up after we left the McGraws’. The Sheriff’s Department, too.”
Garrett began to walk as he babbled. Dylan followed, a little queasy, not really wanting to discuss the matter any further. They passed a couple of deputies with their thumbs locked behind their utility belts. One with a pencil-thin mustache was watching the pretty lights whirling around above his head––the Twister’s huge mechanical arms swinging its frenzied passengers around like ragdolls.
Ned Robertson made sure to have several deputies patrol the fair because it fell during the reaping season, but this was the first year to also have animal control specialists on hand in case snakes came for the party. Alan Blair was here, too, talking to a man with a ponytail carrying a large bag and a metal rod in his hands. The man’s T-shirt said “Critter Catchers.” Over this, he wore a black leather vest with NO POLICE STATE written in white across the back.
“Hey there, Dylan,” Alan said.
Dylan said hello and introduced him to Garrett. The man with the critter-catching gear wandered off behind the funhouse.
Alan admired the scene and said “This town is something else.”
Garrett shoved his hands in his pockets and threw back his head. “Me and Stark here want to help you guys out.”
“I appreciate that, but it’s really much too dangerous. That’s why I called in the professionals.”
Dylan saw the man with the ponytail reappear between Drown the Clown and the Zipper, raking through the growth with his metal rod. “Doesn’t look very professional to me.”
“It’s the best we could do on short notice. Where’s your sister?”
“She’s suppose to be here with…her boyfriend.”
Alan straightened. “The one who she says is––”
Dylan nodded and felt Garrett tugging at his shirt sleeve. “What? What? Tell me. I want to know. What about Jared?”
“Tell you later. Anyways, Alan, I’m sure we’ll see you in a bit. Gonna keep walking.”
“Be careful. By the way, have either of you seen Floyd Wiggins?”
“No,” Dylan said. “If he’s here, he’ll be sitting at the Shriners’ booth chatting it up with everyone over coffee.”
“I ask because I went into Avery’s this morning and he wasn’t there. A Mr. Taggart said Floyd didn’t answer his phone when he called him this morning.”
“He said his leg had been bothering him. Maybe that’s why.”
“Maybe so. Maybe so.” Alan didn’t like it. It was in the air and he could taste it. Death had swallowed up this little town and, as Floyd had warned him, all bets were off.
3
Downtown Durden looked cosmopolitan when compared to downtown Hemming. Hemming didn't even have a traffic light, but Durden had dozens of them. It was equally desolate and lacked any sort of entertainment, but come Friday night, the main drag was alive with teenagers crawling in their hand-me-down compacts and short-bed pickups.
Sheriff Ned Robertson often found his way into Durden to treat himself to a fine meal once his shift was over, usually at The Eagle. The Eagle was probably the only affordable upper-middle-class eating establishment in town and had been for fifty years. There had been a few chains that tried for a few months, but they went away quietly and generic Mexican restaurants had taken their place. Ned showed up every Friday night while his wife was at home hosting her weekly book club discussion. He'd eat supper at The Eagle and head on over to Avery's for an hour or so, usually to play a game of blackjack with Shitty Smitty in a booth by the jukebox. Worthwhile conversation was easily found pouring out of the mouths of the early-risers at Avery's, but in a hopping little joint like this, cheap talk was exceptionally rare. Besides, it made him feel more important, more elite to dine among the well-to-do socialites of local government.
A polished bar with matching mahogany stools had taken the place of the smoking section once Arlo County had allowed the sale of liquor, but no one was sitting at it. Most everyone would be at the fair right now, and even though Ned was off-duty, he kept his radio on in case Cooley or one of the other deputies ran into any snakes, but he really kept it on so he could hear whose kids were caught smoking weed behind the funhouse and things of that sort.
He recognized the woman behind him by her cackling laughter. She was Margaret Oates, the assistant director of the Arlo County Archives and part-time substitute teacher. She was also one of them damn shakers down at Sand Mountain.
Ned ordered a steak and a tall draft. Fingers gripped his shoulder.
“Howdy, Ned. I mean Sheriff.”
He spun around. “Hello, Margaret. How goes it?”
“It goes. You know George Prescott, don't you?” She pointed to the man sitting across from her lowering an oxygen mask from his pale face.
Ned nodded at him. “Yeah, George and I go way back. He was on the force for a while.” Now he owns the funeral home Ned had become so accustomed to visiting over the years.
Margaret leaned in close and whispered “Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“Oh, praise be to Jesus, you won't believe it, Ned. It's about the Keeper.”
“Don’t bother me with that horseshit, Margaret,” Ned said, grabbing his beer.
“Ned Robertson, you––”
“I mean it. Just keep that holy-rolling bibble-babble to yourself, okay?”
“We know who it is.”
“Oh, it's a real-life person?” Ned asked, bored. “I thought––”
“I can't say anything here, but come by––”
Ned took her delicate hand and held it in his own. “Sweetie pie, I'm just not interested. You understand?”
“Suit yourself,” Margaret said. She got up and adjusted her floral print dress that hung to her ankles. "Let their blood be on your hands then."
And with that, she paid the bill and wheeled George out through the front door. When his steak arrived, Ned ordered another draft.
4
After rolling back into Hemming, Ned stopped off at Avery's to top off his tank and shoot the bull with Avery and Shitty Smitty. He wasn't in the mood for cards tonight. Something about the way Margaret nearly burst from her skull with excitement when she'd said We know who it is.
It's just the same old bunch of mythical malarkey he'd been hearing for years since Carl Motley took over as the head cheese at the Sand Mountain Church. He'd heard it for at least a decade and that was far too much for any sane man to tolerate. But these folks actually believed some fellow with a sack full of snakes is going around knocking off youngsters because the devil told him to. If God told him to do it, it'd be met with the same critical attention, but Ned Robertson wasn't a God-fearing or Satan-fearing man. He'd had his own drag-out with religion when he was a kid living with his grandmother in Lewiston. She'd bop his ass if he didn't know the book of Job from memory. If a gun was put to his head, he could probably reel out the whole book and not miss a lick. From the King James Version, of course. King Jimmy.
“You look ragged, Ned,” Avery said as he pulled a stack of bills from the register. He licked his thumb and counted them.
“The Sand Mountain folks are getting fired up again. I'm worried Motley will lead them into a manhunt.”
“Manhunt?”
Ned told him about his conversation with Margare
t Oates.
“Ah, she's a crazy old bitch, Ned. Pardon my French. Her nuts and bolts are getting loser by the minute.”
“It’s not just her, Avery, it's all of them. Bunch of crazy fuckin loonies, I say,” he said, then over his shoulder “Sorry, Smitty, no offense.”
Smitty shrugged absently.
Ned picked at his cuticles until they bled.
“They're liable to hurt someone because they've fingered some fella for the Keeper.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I remember. We never found that guy, but I’d bet my boots Motley was involved. He’s a loose cannon. I just can't bring him in on anything. Not yet anyway.”
Avery walked over and locked the door. "Honest to God, Ned, I want to you nail the bastard, but if you want my opinion, I think you need to bring in some experts from the city to dig into this snake problem."
“They sent a guy named Blair. He arrived earlier this week.”
“He come up with anything?”
“Nah, not really. He’s just a kid himself. I don’t expect much to come of it.”
Smitty popped a quarter into the Wurlitzer and the ghost of Johnny Cash began to cry, cry, cry.
“Where’s he staying?” Smitty asked, spitting a gob of tobacco into the trashcan beside the jukebox.
“The Bartleby,” Ned said, wishing he hadn’t.
Smitty thumbed the straps on his overalls and broke wind. “He staying long?”
“Two weeks. Just don’t go blabbing to everyone about it. All I need is for Motley to get high-and-mighty and scare off this kid who’s doing us a favor, no matter how green he is.”
“Ayuh,” Smitty said. “Will do, Ned.”
Ned’s radio came to life. “Sheriff, we’ve got a situation down here at the fair. You better get down here right away.”
5
The loudspeakers on the midway were blaring “Living After Midnight” when Jared and Gina both heard the deadsong. It seemed to come from all around, and the screaming kids on the Ferris wheel and the Zipper didn’t help. Gina and Jared ran through the clusters of people pointing up toward one of the buckets dangling from the Ferris wheel. It rocked violently back and forth as Brock Wilcox stood up in it. He was looking down at his feet.
Deputies Cooley and Bryant were yelling at the attendant to bring the wheel around, but the attendant pulled levers and pressed buttons without luck. They were all sweating it out, yelling and pointing as others began to scream as well.
Jared closed his eyes and felt out the scene and turned to Gina. “There’s six of them up there––snakes. And I feel more around but I don’t know where they are.”
“Well, do something!”
“I can’t! Pearson’s controlling them and I can’t take them back.”
“Try!”
Jared squeezed his eyes shut once again, probing through the noise and began to sing. Gina heard it drowning out all that her ears could take, and no one seemed to notice. The two deadsongs overlapped, building a chaotic chorus that fought on a supernatural level, and each was completely different. Mr. Pearson’s was more mature, refined, but much less powerful than Jared’s. Kids howled in pain, echoing, reverberating all through Gina’s brain and it was simply too much. She wanted to throw up or pass out or run away, but she gripped Jared’s arm to keep her feet planted on the ground.
“It’s too late,” he said. The words were barely out his mouth when Brock Wilcox hit the ground ten feet ahead of them. His face and arms were painted glossy red. Lights from the Zipper danced across the body, animating it with broad pulses of blue, green, and yellow.
The wheel finally began to turn as Cooley jumped down from the control panel to examine Brock’s twisted body. Bryant was helping kids off the ride but it was taking too much time. After it was all said and done and the air was alive with wailing horrors so thick and shrill, it nauseated the masses and sent them into a fit of madness. But nothing could articulate the hysterical sensations shared by all when five lifeless children were carried out and laid onto the platform.
Six dead tonight.
So far.
“I have no words,” Jared said in awe. “He’s really outdoing himself.”
“Oh Jared, we’ve got to find Mr. Pearson.”
“No, there’s…” He closed his eyes. “He’s coming for me now.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Come on,” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her through the crowd.
“But why?”
“I screwed up, Gina. I shouldn’t have called them on Duke. And…”
“And what? Spit it out for God’s sake!”
“I told him I wasn’t going to reap anymore, and he would have it. He pawned it off on me so Duke wouldn’t have to. I know that now.”
They finally made it to the car. Jared fumbled with his keys to open it.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere to hide and figure things out. Get in.”
Gina climbed in and they tore through the soft earth and out onto the highway. The engine rose into a mighty growl as she watched the speedometer needle buried at seventy, leaving the carnival carnage far behind them.
“There’s something else,” Jared said.
Oh please, no more.
“Ellis said something about the boss being in town. I didn’t know what he meant at first, but I can sense someone else here, someone or something more powerful than Ellis or myself. I don’t know where it’s coming from, though. When I try to focus on it, all I get is static. Can you hear it?”
“Only the…the deadsong.”
“Well, I really don’t want to stick around to meet the boss.”
Gina turned it over in her mind. All of the pieces were slowly coming together, but the big picture was still an indiscernible mosaic not yet complete. But she went with her gut and said “Does the name Samuel Thade mean anything to you?”
He shook his head. “No. Should it?”
The Charger squealed to a halt at the intersection of Macklin and Potsdam. The lot at Bixby Lanes was peppered with a few cars, but Gina didn’t have long to look before she was thrown back in a splash of green as Jared gunned it through the light.
She spoke as fast as she could, telling him about the stranger who had been invited into their home and had been all but worshiped by her mother.
“That’s him,” Jared said.
“Who is he really?” Gina wished she hadn’t asked.
Jared didn’t look over at her. He was embarrassed and afraid to look into those blue eyes and deliver a heart-stopping truth such as the one ready to fall from his lips.
“He is Death. He is the devil. Evil with a capital ‘E’.” Jared finally cut his eyes to hers. “He’s the one who sold you to your mother.”
Gina sat there speechless, wishing for the nightmare to go away. “Sold me to her?”
“Rented might be a better word. A temporary arrangement.”
“Why didn’t he just kill me when he had the chance?”
“There are rules.”
“And what has he done to my mother?”
“I don’t know. I think he’s toying with you.”
“Why?”
“Because he can.”
Nothing like a dirty devil dancing up a little fun before the finale.
Jared parked the car at the end of an unnamed dirt road that stemmed off of Whippoorwill Road. He doused the headlamps and killed the engine. They sat there, exhausted and completely spent.
“Will he hurt my mom?”
“I don’t think so.” Jared unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face her, taking her hand. “You’ve got to understand that your mom knew this would happen. Maybe not on the surface, but somewhere in her mind, she knew the Keeper would come for you this year.”
“Then it wasn’t a dream,” she said.
Jared wrinkled his brow. She squeezed his hand, afraid to let it go.
Then she began to tel
l him about the snake she saw in her bed. The one that had spoken to her. The one that called her baby girl.
“They can’t do that.”
“This one did. And it knew things, Jared. It knew about me. It knew about Uncle Paul, too.”
“What about your uncle?”
She’d never told anyone before. Hell, she’d nearly forgotten about it herself. She tried to forget for so long, she’d convinced herself it never happened.
“Paul…molested me when I was little. He stayed with us for about a year after Aunt Cindy kicked him out. He…did it a lot. I swore not to tell. No one else knows. Except you. And…and…”
“That’s enough,” he said, putting up a hand.
Jared thought this over. Anger charged him up like a battery and he wanted to do things, terrible things, to make this asshole pay for what he did to Gina. That would come later. Right now, he had other things to chew on.
He’d been around the snakes for almost a year now, training with Ellis, and he’d never heard one speak before. Jared wondered if she had in fact dreamed the whole thing, but there was one other possibility he didn’t want to consider.
“It didn’t look like the others either,” she went on. “It had the same red stripes on its underside, but it was…bigger. Scarier. Its head was––”
“Red? Like its head had been dipped in red paint?” Jared shivered when he said it and Gina saw him do it.
She nodded slowly. Jared looked out through his windshield at the blackness beyond the tree line. Finally he said “It wasn’t one of mine.” His eyes rolled to hers, and she could see they had begun to well up with tears. He blinked and one slithered down his cheek, splattering into a dark spot on the collar of his shirt.
It all began to make sense. Jared needed to say no more but he opened his mouth anyway. Gina braced herself.
“It was Thade.”
6
Alan Blair caught himself a critter. It had bitten Billy Lowell beside the Double-Down Hot Dog stand over near the community center, which was across from the stadium where the tractor-pull was drawing to a close. No one had heard Billy’s screams over the raging International Harvester spinning its tires in the dirt.
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