"I feel like a beast of burden," she complained on the way back to their rooms. "Why do we need all these coils and coils of rope?"
Sam stopped in the dimly lit hall.
"What's wrong, Sam?"
"Beast. Why did that word spark something in me?"
"Black hasn't been trying to frighten you, has he?"
"What do you mean?"
"He likes to tell people about monsters that roam the timber in back of the house. No, he wouldn't tell you. He likes to tell girls, frighten them."
"No, it's more than that. Has something to do with Whitfield. Rumors of Beasts—Devil creatures. Are there beasts in the timber?"
"I … don't know, Sam. I've seen … something. Heard noises and sounds that … were not human, but yet, really not animal, either. But more animal than human. If that makes any sense. And once, when I was about, oh, twelve or thirteen, I suppose, I went walking one afternoon, back where Mother had told me never to go. The smell that came out of that hole in the ground was hideous. When I walked closer … I don't know how to explain this … the growl that came out of the hole was … not menacing as much as it sounded like a warning. To me. As if whatever it was in there was telling me to stay away. This sounds funny—odd, I mean—but it seemed to me like it was saying it didn't want to hurt me.
"Your mother, Falcon, Black … do they ever go back there?"
"Sure! It's just in back of the circle of stones. Big hole in the ground. I've been to the circle dozens of times since then. But no farther."
Sam thought of the tales the kids used to tell back in Whitfield: stories about monsters and Devil-Beasts, and about what happened to cause the state to fence off the area known as The Digging. And he remembered stories about deep holes in the ground: holes that emit a very foul odor. A hideous odor.
Just as they began walking the hall, a door slammed in the house. "Run!" Sam whispered, and they raced down the hallway, up the steps, and to their rooms. In their haste, neither noticed the cartridge fall from Nydia's pocket, the brass gleaming dully on the dark carpet.
Footsteps slowly tracked them, shuffling up the steps, down the hallway. They stopped, a hand reaching down, long, bony, pale fingers closing around the brass. Jimmy Perkins looked at the cartridge, grinning grotesquely. He put the cartridge in his pocket, then shuffled down the hall to Nydia's room. He stood for a moment, listening, his ear to the door.
Had to be that young man that Sam Balon fathered, he thought. Snooping with Nydia. Found Mr. Falcon's gun room. Both up to something. But, he grinned, almost chuckling, I won't tell Mr. Falcon. His smile grew more obscene. Maybe Miss Nydia would give him some of that tight young pussy in return for keeping his mouth shut? It was worth a try. He'd see about that if he didn't forget. He turned away to get the silver goblet he'd been sent to fetch. The thought of fucking Miss Nydia burned in his tormented mind. The front of his pants bulged.
"Jimmy Perkins," Nydia whispered. "He's the only one who walks with a shuffle. He's horrible!"
They flushed the food on the trays down the toilet, leaving just enough on the plates to satisfy any curious minds, then Sam began cleaning the guns, inspecting them, hiding them. He horseshoed the shelter halves, blankets inside the horseshoes, and fastened them to the backpacks after he and Nydia packed a few items of clothing, the ammunition, and most of the rope. They stowed the packs in the closet, behind some luggage. It was the best they could do, knowing it would not fool any thorough search.
"Tomorrow," Sam said, "we swipe some food from the kitchen: canned goods, anything that will keep without refrigeration. A sack full, at least. It'll be heavy, but it has to be."
"Are you planning on us running, Sam? Into the timber?"
"I … guess so, eventually." He looked into her serious eyes. "Nydia ... I don't really know what we're going to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I just wish Dad had been more specific. If that was my dad. I guess it was," he added lamely, and with a heavy sigh. "If he had told me: Sam, I want you to destroy that house and everyone in it—I would do it. Be doing it right now. But, Nydia, I just don't know what I'm supposed to do!"
"I know, Sam." She took his hands in hers. "I've been kind of … blocking everything out. That your dad said, I mean. Mother a witch. Falcon and Black warlocks." She tried a laugh that didn't come across. "It's something out of a very bad movie script. I want to believe—and do, in part, I guess—but another part of me says … Oh, Sam—I don't know. I'm like you: I'm so confused." She leaned forward and kissed his mouth. "But whatever happens, Sam, I know you'll take care of me." She said it confidently, with all the love and trust in her.
Sam put his arms around her, savoring the scent of her hair. He had to fight to keep his thoughts from becoming too negative.
Dad? Sam flung the plea into the darkness. Please tell me what I'm supposed to do.
Roma met them in the hall at midmorning. "Did you young people sleep well?" The question was asked with a smile.
Nydia returned the smile. "Almost as if we were drugged, Mother."
A pulse surged heavily in the older woman's neck, but her smile remained fixed. "I'm so glad you both rested well." She searched them both for thoughts, but as she suspected, she was blocked from their minds. "What do you two have planned for today?"
Plotting your total destruction, I suppose, Sam thought. "Nothing special. Might take a walk in the timber. It looks beautiful."
"Oh, but it is. Do return in time for a rest this afternoon," Roma said. "Falcon and I have such a gala evening planned."
Like what? Sam thought. Drinking human blood? "I promise we'll be in attendance, Roma."
"And you don't even know what we have planned," Roma said, smiling.
"Oh … I imagine something novel," Sam said dryly.
"At least that." Roma patted his cheek, her fingers warm on his flesh. She shifted her gaze to Nydia as her fingers lingered on Sam's cheek. "You're a lucky girl, Nydia. I hope you realize that."
"I know, Mother." The reply was softly stated. And you should see him with a full erection, she thought.
Crude, Nydia! Sam flung his thoughts.
Couldn't resist it.
The women smiled and purred at each other, their claws barely concealed, until Sam pulled Nydia away, toward the dining area. The large room was empty except for Lana and Susan. Linda and Judy had been sleeping when Nydia looked in on them before coming downstairs.
The rest of Black's young guests had not gotten in until just before dawn. They were still sleeping.
Sam and Nydia had no choice but to eat, for they were ravenous, not having eaten for eighteen hours. They would have to take a chance on the purity of the food. They filled their plates and joined the two young women.
"Hey, you two!" Lana beamed up at them. "We missed you yesterday. Heard you had to go into Montreal. Oh, Nydia, this home is so beautiful. Like something in a grand movie."
"It is that," Nydia said. A horror movie. But … how do I warn you?
We don't! Sam flung the thought into her brain. She has to find the true course herself.
How do you know that? she silently asked, calmly eating her breakfast.
I just do. Someone … or something is telling me. Perhaps later they will tell me differently.
And Sam counted Susan as among the lost when she said: "Black is taking me on a hike this afternoon. Says he wants to show me some ancient stones. He gave me this." She pulled at the gold chain and medallion Sam had noticed her wearing when he saw her sleeping. "Mr. Falcon offered one just like it to Lana and Linda and Judy."
The medallion of the damned. Of the Devil.
"Stupid Lana refused hers," Susan said. "So did Linda and Judy. I just cannot believe you did that! How rude."
"It's just too expensive a gift, Susan. I … just don't think it's right to take something that expensive."
Susan's eyes glittered as dangerously as a snake before striking. The venomous look faded, and she returned to her breakfast. Eating in silenc
e for a moment, she abruptly left the table without saying another word.
Lana's going to be all right, Nydia fired the thought.
I don't know, Sam disagreed. I don't think so. She's playing some sort of game.
"I think I just lost a friend," Lana said glumly. She was a small, very petite blond, with delicate features, deep blue eyes, and a lush little figure.
"Then she wasn't much of a friend to begin with," Sam told her.
"I … really don't … well, don't take this the wrong way, Nydia," Lana said. "And I don't believe you will, but I am … kind of sorry I came up here."
She's lying! Sam projected.
Nydia ignored the thought. "I know, Lana. I don't like most of my brother's friends, either. And neither does Sam." She started to warn the blond about her mother, the house, but the words would not form on her lips. She struggled to speak the warning but remained mute. She shut her mouth.
You see? Sam silently scolded her.
You can't know for a fact that she is lying!
I know only the words that come into my head.
But I thought your God was a just God? Nydia flung the challenging question.
He is. But He also helps those who help themselves. And He cannot tolerate a liar.
I don't understand, but I will accept what you say.
That's half the battle, honey.
Sam then remembered something, the recollection coming so strongly it hit his mental processes with the impact of a tidal wave: His Bible. He had never unpacked it from his luggage; it had remained in the bag since his arrival at Nelson College. And it was still there, in the bag, in his room … at Falcon House.
An unexpected ally.
"We have an excellent library here," Nydia was telling Lana. "All the latest novels. I'll show you where it is, and maybe you can find something you'd like to read."
"Oh, I'd love that. Could I … maybe dine with you two all the time—if it's okay?"
"Sure," Sam said. That way maybe I can figure out what you're scheming. "Sure, you can eat with us."
She squeezed his hand. "Thanks, Sam. You're the nicest guy I know."
She was gone from the table before Sam could reply.
"Umm!" Nydia said, humor creeping into her eyes. "I have some competition."
"Nah." Sam brushed it off. He leaned close and whispered: "Besides, I like girls with big tits."
The silence that hung over Whitfield was heavy and evil. Like a hot, humid day, it clung to people, enveloping them in a stinking shroud.
Those who thought they had fooled the Almighty as easily as they deceived their friends now found themselves caught in the middle of something they could not understand. They prayed to God, but they had lied in their hearts too many times, and even now, their prayers were insincere. They watched as phone company personnel pulled the plugs to their phones, cutting them off from the outside world. They sensed evil and danger all around them and tried to flee in their cars and trucks. But they could not get out of town. They returned to their homes and waited in fear for the unknown to occur. And they prayed, but the prayers fell on deaf ears.
They called their pastors, but the church pulpits had long ago been filled with those who worship another God. And the preachers laughed at them, some of them making evil deals with the husbands.
"Save you?" the preachers questioned. "All right. Your life for your wife."
"It's a deal," many husbands cried, pushing their wives into the arms of the ungodly.
The wives were taken and raped … among other acts committed against them.
But the husbands found that to bargain with the Devil is a fool's game. And they would learn that very painfully.
In the Lansky house, the golem stirred as invisible life was breathed into it. Wade watched it slowly shuffle across the floor, its ponderous legs and massive arms moving like some primal creature just awakened from a million years of ice-locked sleep. It bumped its head on an archway and stopped, looking almost stupidly around the room, the slits that were its eyes having no expression.
Miles came into the room and took the huge clay man's hand as one might take the hand of a child. "Is it time?" he asked.
The golem nodded, gaining balance and understanding with each second.
"What do I call you? You gotta have a name."
The golem shrugged its solid shoulders.
"I think I'll call you Hershel."
The golem lifted its hands in a gesture of acquiescence as Doris and Anita huddled together against a far wall. Wade sat with a faint smile on his lips.
"That thing really understand what you're saying?" Doris asked.
"I suppose," Miles said. "Sure, it does."
She walked from the corner of the room to look up at the huge clay man. "You can't walk around with no clothes on. You look … indecent."
The golem gazed down at the woman.
"So I made you some pants. You wait where you are." She left the room, returning with a large pair of trousers. "Denim," she said, holding out the jeans. "Difficult material to sew. But I did it."
The golem looked at the offered jeans, then looked at Miles.
Miles wore an exasperated look. "Momma, a golem don't know from pants. What's he gotta have pants for?"
"Because I said he's gotta, that's why. If he's gonna be our shtarker *(strong man)* he's gonna look nice, at least."
The four of them managed to get the jeans on the golem, and, surprisingly, the jeans fit well.
Miles patted the golem on the arm. "Joe E. Lewis, you ain't, Hershel, but you got class."
The golem lumbered out of the room, bumping his head as he went out the door. He sat down on the porch, waiting.
Wade picked up his shotgun, checking the loads. Miles did the same. The four of them sat in the living room. Waiting. Waiting for the evil to begin. Waiting for the horror they knew was coming.
Waiting for the night.
Waiting and praying they had enough faith to get them through it.
"Did you have anything to do with my friends' decision to remain in Whitfield?" Jane Ann asked Balon.
"Their final decision … no. That was something they decided upon a long time ago. Unknowingly. Wade made his decision when he shut down the newspaper. Miles when he sold his store."
"Tony?"
"He lost his faith years ago. Young Sam was only a child. Tony is evil."
"The world is a pretty crappy place, isn't it, Sam?"
"Father Dubois and I discuss that same topic from time to time."
"You make it sound like old home week."
The misty face smiled. "Heaven is not what most mortals envision, I can assure you of that. But I can tell you no more."
"I wish this was over."
"Yes."
"I want to go home."
"You will."
"Is it lovely … there?
"It is different."
"Peaceful?"
"Quite."
"Am I going to suffer before I … go?"
"I cannot lie. Yes."
"Miles and Doris? Wade and Anita? Anita is not very strong."
'They will suffer to a degree."
"But mine will be physical." It was not spoken as a question.
Balon projected no reply. "Your silence tells me I'm right." The mist thrust no mental response.
Jane Ann sighed. "I will endure it."
"Yes," the thought pushed into her brain. "And so must I."
SEVEN
"They're leaving," Roma said to Falcon. "Heading into the east woods." She swore, a venomous string of profanities. "It is difficult for me to believe I have birthed a Christian. It's disgusting! Where did we fail, Falcon?"
He laughed. "We didn't, Roma. Put such thoughts aside. Balon interfered, that's all. His seed must have been strong."
"Like a hot river."
"You still remember?"
"I shall never forget it. I mounted him a half dozen times before he lost the battle and I could keep him ins
ide me.
"Tell me, Roma: Did you cheat?"
She seemed astonished he would even ask such a foolish question. "Of course!"
"Then there is the answer to your question, and many more unasked questions. Why Black is deceitful and plotting, for one. Balon's seeds were many. Pure and strong, with most of them forming Nydia. Black is weak and scheming. Weak in many areas; I've known that for years. We must not lean too heavily upon him. You know, of course, he cheated taking his difficult military training?"
She whirled about, her face flushed. "He swore to me he would not."
"But he did. I wanted to tell you … wanted to see how that deception affected him. I will tell you this, and you know I am a warrior: Black will be no match for young Sam. I … sensed something else, as well, Roma: the young man has killed, and not just in the heat of open battle. I sense … he has killed, once, at least, probably several times, on orders from his government."
"Covertly and cold-bloodedly?"
"Yes."
"When you were able to see his thoughts, study his innermost character, how had the killing affected him?"
Falcon paused, lighting his pipe, sending billowing clouds of fragrant smoke swirling about him. The silence only heightened the moment. "Not at all," he finally said. "The young man is a true warrior. And you know how He," Falcon cast his eyes upward, "feels about warriors."
"Young Sam is his father's son." Roma smiled.
"Entirely."
Her smile grew wicked.
Falcon read her thoughts. "Roma … ?"
She met his eyes, dark evil gazing into dark evil. "Yes, Falcon?"
"It's too dangerous. You're much too old for that nonsense. Birthing the twins almost killed you. Or have you forgotten?"
"No, but I failed with them. And now—if your deductions are correct, and I believe they are—I know why. It would not be that way with young Sam."
"You would not cheat? You, my dear?" He chuckled. "Anyway, Roma, it's out of the question for a number of reasons, paramount among them the fact young Sam is in love with his half sister, and she with him. They're practically nauseating with it. Besides, I forbid you to take the chance." He turned his head, smiling as he spoke the last, knowing what her reaction would be. He was not disappointed.
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