• • •
Eli played old country on the way back to the tent. Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Willie Nelson filled the tiny cab of his truck. He kept the volume low even though we weren’t talking, seemingly content with the crooners to serve as background noise. The drive was maybe twenty minutes, but with music that wasn’t exactly my taste and a driver who hadn’t said much of anything since we’d gotten into his truck, it felt more like a few hours.
After a mile or so, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“There was a kid at your service earlier.”
“There were a few, sure,” he said.
“There was a kid in the back. Greasy hair,” I said. “He didn’t look like he wanted to be there.”
Eli nodded.
“Micah Caldwell. He has a sister named Jenny.”
“What’s his story?”
“A sad one,” Eli said. “His mother came to me a few months back. I did what I could for her, which wasn’t much. She had the kind of sick you can’t help.”
“Yeah?”
Eli ran a hand over his face and sighed.
“Yeah. She passed a few months ago. She was into the drugs. Crank, I think they call it. That boy mostly raised his sister. He’s a good kid. He’s just angry, I think.”
“How angry?”
Eli shrugged.
“I don’t know. He won’t talk too much to anyone. He comes to services now and again, but there’s no type of anger like the anger that comes with a crisis of faith.”
I turned that over in my head. Anger. Anger feeds a poltergeist. Hell, it births it.
“You don’t think he has something to do with this, do you?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know much of anything. I’m an amateur, best thing I got is educated guesses.”
“It’s not,” Eli said, with no trace of doubt in his voice. “He’s angry, but he’s a good kid. You should see how he took care of his mom and sister.”
I wasn’t buying it. “Good kid” is the same thing they called the guys at school who shoved me around and called me a retard when I was younger, before I’d found out what I was.
He was our guy.
“Is he around when things get weird? I mean, at the sermons, revivals, whatever you call them?”
Eli squinted, staring at the road.
“Come to think of it, yeah,” he said. “I still don’t buy it’s him, though. I read the eulogy at his mother’s funeral.”
“Well sorry Rev, but I think you might be wrong.”
“I refuse to believe it,” Eli said.
I didn’t push it. There was no point. I was already sold on the fact that this kid, Micah, was the one drawing the poltergeist to these revivals. I’d confirm it once I saw him, and then Gretchen and I could get to work putting things back to rights. I nodded to myself, content with my deductive reasoning, and rode the rest of the way to the tent in silence.
When Eli pulled into the muddy lot, there were already a few cars waiting, though nowhere near as many as there had been earlier in the day. These, I figured, were the diehards.
“Feel free to have a look around,” Eli said. “I need to get ready.”
“Yeah, sure. Do your thing,” I said and climbed out of the truck. Overhead, rain clouds were rolling in, and the air held the fresh, invigorating scent of rain. I’d left my bag in Gretchen’s car. Not that it had much in it outside of some basic herbs, a notebook, and a few other odds and ends, but I missed the comfort of having it thrown over my shoulder. Besides, my iPod was in there. So, with no tunes and not much else to do, I took a lap around the field, trying my best to just enjoy being outside.
With every step I took, I thought about Gretchen. When I got sick and had to miss school, she’d come over and help out so my old man could work. When he was sick, she came over and looked after me. On more than one occasion, I’d come home from school and she’d greet me from her porch, feed me, and sit with me until my Pop had finished work at the garage.
She’d also been the one to realize what I truly was, why I had so much trouble. Because of her, my old man and I could have conversations, go fishing, all that jazz. We never told him what I was, she just claimed that she had “experience” with kids like me. He didn’t question her. Granted, not many people did.
She’d also taught me about the other things I could do. She taught me how my blood could release the energy contained within nature—from plants, from stones. She’d taught me about their inherent properties, which herb I could use to put someone instantly to sleep, which herb I could use to repel spirits, how to bind spirits in crystals.
Everything I was able to do now was because of her.
Now, she was sick, sicker than she was telling me. I knew that much.
I completed my circuit of the small field and was contemplating another when I saw Micah, cigarette hanging from his lip, hands shoved in his pockets. He was leaning against a minivan with wood grain panels, watching the crowd with a disinterested air of equal parts annoyance and disdain. He was about my size, dressed in old, ratty, grease-stained jeans and a tank top. His hair was dyed so black it was almost blue, and hung loose to his shoulders. I could see a few tattoos over his arms, but I couldn’t make out what they were.
If he noticed me it didn’t show, and I used the chance to drift a bit closer to him, weaving through the crowd back towards Eli’s truck. Once there, I opened my senses and let the spirit world in.
My control was lacking.
I was nervous, face to face with a killer. Gretchen was weighing heavily on my mind. Instead of doing like I had been taught—taking deep breaths, closing my eyes, counting each heartbeat as I let another barrier slip away—I opened it all once.
There’s a big difference in being in a city or a house when it comes to the spirit world. Where man is, the spirit side of things is tamer, more mundane. Which isn’t saying much. There’s still a plethora of weirdness there. Out here, in a wilder setting, it was a whole different animal.
The ebb and flow of power alone rolled across the ground in multicolored waves, sliding through the grass and mud like a fog of pure energy. The trees, mostly pines, towered into the heavens, the tops reaching far out of sight. Overhead, the sky and sun were magnified and dotted with wind spirits, bird spirits the size of small planes, and insects that, were they physically real, could easily pick up a man and carry it off. In the shadows beneath the trees, hungry things slithered back and forth, lurching through the underbrush, marking their passing with a flash of glowing eyes, the scratch of claws, or the growling yowl of something in search of a meal. Eli’s tent was spotlight bright, tendrils of pure white light lashing in the air around it, the power of the collected believers’ faith given form.
The sudden influx of sensation drove me to my hands and knees. Far away, I could feel mud and water seeping into my jeans, pressing between my fingers. My head throbbed like I was resting next to a massive subwoofer. I may have been crying. I couldn’t be sure.
This was the first time I’d really tried to peek across intentionally, without Gretchen there to walk me through it.
I felt like I was a Jabberwock away from Wonderland.
I fell face down in the mud. I could feel it seeping into my nose, my mouth, but even that was a distant sensation. I was somewhere between sensory overload, mind-numbing pain, and complete and utter ecstasy. It was a tidal wave of sensations that I couldn’t begin to sort through.
I wasn’t sure exactly what happened next. There was a swell of sensation, like being caught in a rip tide, and everything went blissfully black.
When everything started swimming back into focus, I was staring up into a single face. Behind it I could see the same spirits, the same energy twisting and writhing it’s way between them, but it was much easier for me to close my eyes and start shutting everything out. A halo of color surrounded it, an aura streaked through with blues, the color of sadness. It took a while, but I started being able to pull a voice
out of the concussive throbbing in my head. When I opened my eyes again, I saw steel gray clouds overhead and the occasional bird drifting by. When the face came back into view, it was Micah’s staring down at me, twisted with concern.
“You alright?” he asked. “You had a seizure or something.”
I sat up, probably too quickly because the world started swimming again, and I had to close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. When I opened them again, Micah was crouched down in front of me, a few feet away. I could see mud and grass staining the knees of his jeans. A Marlboro hung between his fingers, sending a thin snake of smoke up towards his face.
“Easy, killer. No need to have another fit,” he said, his voice oddly compassionate. “Let’s make sure you’re alright before you try getting vertical again, whatcha say?”
“I, uh, yeah,” I stuttered.
“Good. Sound plan,” he said. “When you’re ready to give it a go, let me know. I’ll help you up.”
“Um, thanks,” I said, utterly confused. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Maybe a deranged, slavering madman or a cold, calculating Hannibal Lecter type. Whatever it had been, it was definitely not this. More importantly, for a brief second, I’d seen his aura. There was nothing there—no spirits, no poltergeists, just an ever-present sadness.
“So, you epileptic?” he asked.
“Huh? Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m epileptic. Forgot my medicine,” I lied. “Should be good, just give me another minute.”
“My mom used to forget hers all the time. I get it. Take your time, man. You went down hard,” he said, then offered his hand. “Micah, by the way.”
I took it, gave it a quick shake. I wasn’t as wary of him as I’d been to start with, but I still wasn’t sold.
“David Bowie,” I said.
Micah quirked a brow and flicked an ash from the end of his cigarette.
“David Bowie? Your name is David Bowie?”
“David Bowie Smith, actually. My parents were, well, strange,” I lied, feeling utterly and completely stupid.
“Right, okay,” he said and shrugged. “You ready to try getting out of the mud there, Ziggy?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure.” I said.
He offered his hand again. This time, when I took it, he pulled me to my feet, which were shaky at best. I was all but covered from head to toe in mud, but if that was the worst of it, I could make do.
“So, um, thanks,” I said, cutting a nervous glance around the field. A few folks on their way in had stopped and turned their attention toward us. They must’ve decided the show was over, because after a few seconds they forgot about us and went on their way towards the tent.
“Should probably get inside,” he said. “Service is about to start. I need to find my sister, make sure we get a seat.”
“Right, yeah. Thanks, by the way.”
He shrugged.
“I’d want someone to do it for me,” he said, taking a last drag off his cigarette and pitching it into the muddy grass, where it died with a quiet hiss. “You be careful, alright? Won’t do anyone any good for you to fall and hit your head or something. Take an ambulance forever to get out here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
He turned without another word, shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking towards the tent. I spent another few minutes gathering up my composure, then followed him.
The service went off without a hitch, and thankfully neither Eli nor anyone else made any mention of my appearance. Micah sat with the younger girl in plaid I’d seen earlier through the entirety of the service. Neither of them moved or spoke the entire time. When the service finally finished a few hours later, they were the first ones out the door.
I watched them go, then met up with Eli, who let me know we’d be hanging around a bit late, long enough for him to talk to some of the parishioners about the upcoming funeral, put away some of the things he’d used over the course of the service (which thankfully, didn’t involve anything slithering nor reptilian), and tidy up. Which meant a few more hours in what were now mostly damp, muddy clothes.
With nothing better to do, I left the stuffy confines of the tent, the smell of hay and sweat, and walked outside into the early night air. A long line of cars was already filtering out, brake lights casting long shadows across the trampled mud and grass. The few cars that remained I assumed belonged to the small cadre of people inside discussing the funeral service with Eli.
With the cars thinning out, I could barely make out Micah in the darkness, the bright red of his cigarette levitating to his mouth and back down at irregular intervals. If his sister was there, I couldn’t see her through the darkness and the haze of the mist.
I thought about talking to him again and maybe trying to press a bit, see what he was all about. Something in my gut though was now telling me I was wrong. So instead I waited by the door. He waited by his van. Neither of us moved or acknowledged each other. Finally, Micah shook his head, climbed into his van, and drove off a bit too fast to be safe.
“What happened to you?” Eli asked, stepping out from the confines of the tent a few minutes later.
“I, uh, I slipped,” I said and felt a slight flush a guilt. I was lying to a man of God, after all.
“Well, let’s get you on back. See if we can find you some clothes that don’t look like you’ve been rolling around with the hogs,” Eli said, walking past me and towards his truck. I gave one last look around the field, sighed, and followed suit, shoving my hands into my very, very muddy jeans.
• • •
“Should I even ask?” Gretchen asked, watching me trudge up the stairs. She was sitting on the front porch, a bottle of beer in one hand, her feet propped up on an old patio table. She’d been intently studying a few moths acquainting themselves with the bug zapper when we’d pulled up, and her expression when she’d seen me had been a mixture of mild amusement and a touch of embarrassment.
“I fell,” I grumbled.
“You fell?”
“I fell,” I confirmed.
“Into a septic tank?”
“Har. Har,” I said. “You mind if I go get cleaned up or would you like to be a pain in my ass for a bit longer?”
There are times when my mouth works faster than my brain’s ability to filter the words that fall out of it. This was one of those times. I was pretty sure every animal within five miles of Eli’s house had gone silent. There was no wind, no sound from the rustling of grass or the gentle whisper of leaves moving against each other. The moon even slid behind a cloud, hiding from the ass-chewing I was about to receive.
Gretchen stood up and set her beer on the table.
“Eli, would you mind if I speak to Jonah for a minute in private?” she asked.
It was in that moment, that single instance, from the way she stood up to the tone in her voice, that I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was doomed.
“Sure thing. I need to go see if I can find him some clean clothes, anyhow.”
“Thank you,” she said flatly, and turned her eyes towards me.
“Gretchen, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” I stammered, hoping, no, praying, that she’d realize that I was just a dumb kid who let his mouth get the better of him. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, it’s just, what had happened was…”
And those were the last words that came out of my mouth before I went airborne. I wasn’t even sure what it was that hit me. I just knew one minute I was rambling apologies, and the next I was flat on my back, ten feet away from the porch, staring at the stars.
Thing was, and I knew this for a fact, that wasn’t even a love tap. There was only one person who came close to Gretchen—some old Hoodoo witch name Mama Duvalier who, as far as I knew, lived in some weird mountain compound with her equally weird family. If she’d wanted to, Gretchen could’ve launched me into the next county without so much as breaking a sweat.
I closed my eyes and took a minute to catch my breath. When I opened them again, Gr
etchen was standing over me.
“Jonah, I love you like my own, you know that,” she said. “Let’s make sure you’re clear, though. You ever, and I mean ever, talk to me like that again, especially with an audience, and I’m going to put my foot firmly in your backside. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” I muttered and laid my head back in the grass.
“Yes?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Good,” she said, and reached down, offering me a hand. I took it, and she pulled me to my feet, breaking into another coughing fit from the effort.
Inside, Eli had a fresh set of clothes for me. After a shower and a change, I felt mostly human. Plus the clothes fit reasonably well. The jeans were a little long, but the black t-shirt was old and well-worn, which made it comfortable. Eli fried some meat, I didn’t ask what exactly, and I managed to get a bit of supper before Gretchen informed me that I’d be sitting outside and keeping an eye out for the night. I didn’t protest. Thick skulled though I may be, I’d learned my lesson.
For the night, at least.
So as soon as the lights went out, I lay down on the front porch, propped my head on my backpack, closed my eyes, and went to sleep.
• • •
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, but when I did wake up, the first thing I noticed was that my shirt, my hair—nearly every inch of me was utterly soaked in sweat. I took a second before I opened my eyes to lock down the walls in my mind as a precaution and rolled over on my back. This was the second time in eight hours that I had the pleasure of coming to my senses with a woman standing over me.
She was maybe Gretchen’s height, but thin, her features all sharp angles and jagged edges. She was pale, too pale to be alive, blue-gray lips peeled back from yellowed teeth. She’d been a blonde at one point in time, though her hair had faded to an almost white and lay against her face in matted tangles. I was pretty sure the dress she was wearing was the one she’d been buried in.
The poltergeist stared down at me, eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. I’m not too egotistical to admit that I was scared. Scratch that, I was terrified. A cold knot settled in my stomach. I could taste the copper tang of adrenaline on my tongue, but I couldn’t move.
Living on a Prayer: A Jonah Heywood Story (The Jonah Heywood Chronicles) Page 3