Devil's Pathway

by Vicki V Lucas

  We swing by the school. The roof is a rounded two-story building with the supports on the outside. Like everything else, it looks old and falling apart. Seeing it is supposed to make me feel better, but I dread classes more now.

  I don’t see any strange things. This doesn’t cheer me up because I’m trying desperately to avoid seeing demons. I watch for that strange man I saw outside my window, but I don’t see him.

  On Sunday, Aunt Kate calls from the front door, and I throw my book down on my bed with a groan. I glance out the driveway where Ryan is throwing the last bit of equipment for camping in his truck. He’s been as excited as a kid at Christmas while planning this trip. I still feel bad about my outburst that first night and try to work up some enthusiasm.

  Sleeping on the cold, hard ground with bugs crawling all over me and just a piece of tarp between me and demons in the night is not going to be fun.

  Maybe the demons only hang out where people are. Or maybe there are more of the vile creatures in the woods than in the city. I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.

  My strategy is to get into the tent before it is dark. If I can pretend I don’t see them, they won’t know I’m any different from other people. The plan sounds kind of cowardly and childish to me, but I know what the demons can do. I’ve seen them do it.

  I walk by Aunt Kate’s office with its stacks of unpacked boxes. I stop and look. Nothing is on the walls. The bookcases are empty. In Chicago, Aunt Kate loved her office with all her treasures, as I called them when I was teasing her.

  Why hasn’t she unpacked yet?

  I thud down the stairs and out the door when I realize that Aunt Kate doesn’t want to set up her office. Because then what?

  What kind of job would you do here, Aunt Kate? Do you even want to be here?

  All the way to town I consider those packed boxes. Aunt Kate gave up her career to come here, and I was so busy complaining that I didn’t even think about it.

  We left so much behind in Chicago. Museums, restaurants, concerts. Even the church we used to go to was somewhat bearable. The soft cushions, the singing like a rock concert with drums and guitars. And the pastor was more of an entertainer who told hilarious stories.

  The truck bounces over some holes in the street and jolts me back to the present. Ryan slows to a stop by an old church building with a bell tower. The bell rings its announcement at an irritating volume that the service will begin soon.

  Ryan points to the tower with a grin. “We got the bell working right before you came. I bet the neighbors don’t like it, but it made everyone at church pretty happy.”

  A group of people is chatting in the back of the sanctuary. When we approach, everyone tries to greet us at once. I received multiple handshakes as I’m bombarded with welcomes.

  “Oh, you’re Nic. I’m so glad you are here.”

  “Good to meet you, Nic! How was the trip? We were praying for you!”

  I mumble an answer when all I want to do is push them away and remain distant.

  I dodge more uncomfortable conversations and plant myself on a hard pew. The floors squeak and creak under Ryan and Aunt Kate’s feet as they join me. But rather than sitting quietly in the pew, they chat with the people around us.

  “Nic, this is Joe and Tammy Carroll.” Ryan motions to a couple who look to be about his age. “And this is their daughter, Megan. She’ll be in your class.”

  I nod and try to smile at the pretty girl in front of me, but the mention of school makes my stomach churn. “Hi.”

  Megan barely smiles back. She has long light-brown hair streaked with blonde. Her face is caked with plenty of makeup, but she has pretty blue eyes. For some reason, they make me think of the stars I saw the night we arrived.

  “Megan’s in your class,” Tammy says. Her hair has a lot of gray, but she didn’t look that old. “You’ll see her lots in the days to come.”

  I shift in my seat. I hate these conversations.

  What am I supposed to say? Can’t wait? Cool?

  I can wait, and I don’t think it’s very cool. I wouldn’t mind skipping this last year of high school and going straight to college to get out of situations like this and get into what I love. Psychology.

  While everyone else was at parties and basketball games, I was at the mall watching people and trying to guess what their personality type was and what they were feeling by how they presented themselves.

  I’m not going to be at a mall for a long time, so I might as well have some fun here at church. I settle into the pew when Ryan breaks the awkward silence.

  “Megan is our pianist,” Ryan says.

  “That’s wonderful!” Aunt Kate gushes.

  Megan smiles but shifts her stack of music in front of her. “Thanks. I love playing for Jesus.” Her voice lacks enthusiasm.

  I study her and tally up the clues. Monotone voice, avoiding eye contact, and hiding behind things. The pages flip through my head as I remember. I fight back the smile as I know her secret.

  She’s lying.

  I glance at Ryan, but he’s not paying attention even after all our studying of the body language books he brought home to read. His long legs are stretched out under the pew in front of him as he reclines.

  I’m sick of being the new person, unsure of what’s happening and what to do. I want someone else to feel uncomfortable.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Do you really?” I can’t help myself.

  Her control slips, and her smile disappears for a brief second. “Of course I do! There’s no better way to use my talent.”

  But as she speaks, she leans away from us.

  You’re trying to get away, aren’t you? That’s the classic clue of distancing right there. Do you even know what you’re doing?

  I feel bad about bothering her, but I get caught up in catching her lie right in front of me.

  She leaves at the first chance she gets to play the old, upright piano. From her tight shoulders and the ferocious way she’s pounding on the instrument, I don’t think we’re going to be friends.

  Her playing interrupts the multiple conversations around the small sanctuary, and Pastor Tom takes the stage to lead us in several songs.

  I can’t stop shifting during the service although Aunt Kate keeps glaring at me. I stop myself and study the small crowd. There are maybe eighty people in the building, and only a few my age.

  It’s an old building with an older group of people, but it seems normal enough, and everyone seems to want to be here, like they believe what they say and act accordingly.

  But why is there a weird vibe? Why do I feel like something’s going to come out of nowhere and attack all of us?

  Aunt Kate slams a hand down on my knee. I was not aware I was shaking it. I force it to stay still, even though a jittery sensation has washed over me.

  I felt the same way right before the incident at school happened. I shift again. Aunt Kate jabs me in the ribs with her elbow.

  I’m not going to get caught up in another event like that again. I don’t want to see more blood. Especially when it creates lakes on the floor.

  My right hand goes cold. Like it’s on the cold hard metal again.

  “Our past doesn’t have to affect us. We can be free of what we did or what someone did to us.”

  Pastor Tom is completely different than the pastor in the Chicago church. He doesn’t wear fancy clothes, just an older suit. His gray hair is cut close to his head, not in the latest fashion. He’s shorter than me, but his light-blue eyes were friendly as he crushed my hand when he shook it at the door.

  One of the pastors in Chicago shook my hand once, but he wasn’t interested in me. Pastor Tom asked me about how I was settling into Grangeville like he cared. It made me feel good.

  “Peter promised to follow Jesus. And yet, when it truly mattered, Peter lied about knowing Jesus, not once but three times. This happened right before the crucifixion. Peter was waiting at Jesus’ trial, and someone recognized him.”

&nbs
p; I don’t see the big deal. If it was my life at risk, I’d lie, too.

  I remember exactly what I did when my life was on the line. Changing positions, I straighten my back, trying to avoid remembering too much. I want out, but Aunt Kate would kill me if I left.

  “But, as we’ll see next week, the past doesn’t stop Peter. When he faces Jesus again, he is freed from what he did and becomes a great leader of the church. The past doesn’t have to define you. You can be free of it and be used by God to do great things if you turn it over to Him.”

  Is he right? Can I leave behind the horrors of what I’ve seen and the grief that hounds me? It seems too good to be true.

  I crumple the bulletin until Aunt Kate glares at me, and I smooth it out again.

  Pastor Tom says a prayer, and Megan plays a song as everyone begins picking up their stuff and moving outside. But I can’t shake the feeling that Pastor Tom was talking to me.

  “Nic,” Ryan calls as people begin to leave.

  I turn around, glad to escape a lecture from Aunt Kate about respect to see Ryan speaking to a man who looks to be in his early thirties with light brown hair and hazel eyes. The man smiles as I approach.

  Ryan says, “I wanted you to meet Mr. Lawson. He’s the high school’s music teacher.”

  As I shake his hand, I am struck with friendliness again, for he grips my hand and smiles–not the fake kind I normally get from teachers.

  “Glad to meet you now, Nic,” he says. “I like to meet my new students before we’re in the classroom. Just call me Claude.”

  It feels too weird to call a teacher by his first name, but I can’t help thinking that his old-fashioned name matches the church.

  “Okay,” I mumble, not sure what to say.

  But before it becomes awkward, a huge burst of laughter erupts from a group of people hanging out in the front of the church.

  “That’s Mr. Harris,” Claude says. “He teaches Idaho history. You should meet him because he’s helping with the youth group here. I assume you’ll be there.”

  I manage something noncommittal which Claude doesn’t seem to hear. He motions to Mr. Harris for him to join us.

  Claude introduces us. “I wanted you to meet Nic. He’ll be in your class next week.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say, trying desperately to work up some enthusiasm.

  Mr. Harris shakes my hand, but his grip is weak, and his hand is icy like there’s no blood pumping in his veins. His bleach-blond hair blends into his whitish skin.

  “We’re heading up to Florence for some camping,” Ryan breaks in. “You know, it’s the old, abandoned town that was huge during the Gold Rush days.”

  “I’ve heard about it. Be careful up there,” Mr. Harris warns, his brown eyes serious. “Some pretty bad stuff happened in Florence.”

  “That was a long time ago.” Claude laughs again. “Didn’t you hear the sermon? The past doesn’t rule us.”

  “But it does,” Mr. Harris snapped. “Some things never go away, even though we are forgiven.”

  Awkward!

  I want to know what Mr. Harris means, but I can’t figure out what questions to ask. Ryan says goodbye, and we turn to leave. We chat with a few more people and then jump into Ryan’s black Tundra. I can’t wait to get out of there.

  The place makes my skin crawl. There’s something weird going on in that building.

  Aunt Kate catches Ryan’s excitement. She asks about every little thing we drive past. They get so wrapped up with their conversation that they seem to forget about me.

  And that’s fine.

  I stare out the window at the endless trees while we travel the road as it twists and turns up into the mountains. Aunt Kate gushes about the view.

  “Look at that! Oh, it’s way too epic to catch with a camera, even a panoramic! Look! The river looks like a ribbon way down there! It’s just breathtaking!”

  I want to mention that she has had tons of breaths to exclaim over the scenery, but I don’t.

  Aunt Kate gasps at every corner and forces Ryan to stop for pictures. I am impressed with the beauty. I just refuse to say so.

  When we are almost to Florence, we pass a camper pulled off the small dirt road, their camp already set up. An older couple is sitting beside their fire with a view of the canyon and river.

  “That’s a great spot!” Ryan sounds envious. “But, hey, we’ll camp at the old town.”

  “But they’re on the side of the road, next to the cliff,” Aunt Kate exclaims. “That’s not a camping spot!”

  “Welcome to Idaho,” Ryan drawls with a grin. “We make our own way.”

  After we pull onto a smaller road, Ryan slows to a crawl to ease over the giant potholes.

  “Not great if you’re in a hurry, but this used to be a toll road.” Ryan continues in his role as tour guide. “The stories say a bandit named Cherokee Bob started the toll for his own purposes. He and his gang stopped everyone leaving. If the miners didn’t have enough gold to satisfy him, he killed them and took their gold.”

  “That’s horrible!” Aunt Kate says.

  We finally roll into a large meadow with long grass and a small stream winding through it. Ryan announces our arrival to Florence as we pass a tiny cabin with a caved-in roof.

  I shift in my seat, growing more uneasy as we roll into our camp site.

  Coming here is a bad idea.

  The demons’ presence is so strong I don’t need to see them to know they are there. I can feel them which makes me want to gag.

  They feel far more powerful than any I have ever encountered. The darkness thuds in me like it has a heartbeat of its own, like it is alive deep down inside of me.

  Aunt Kate was right that night we arrived in Grangeville. The past with all the vileness and evil didn’t follow me here. It didn’t have to.

  I came to it.

  Chapter Eight

  Finding Gold

  Aunt Kate and Ryan pull coolers, containers and our bags out of the truck, and we begin setting up the two tents and pulling out the cooking gear. She knows something is wrong with me but doesn’t ask. I grab the tent Ryan got for me and hope she thinks my rude attitude is because putting up my tent is impossible.

  No matter what I do, the poles held together by an elastic thread keep from coming apart when I try to slide them through the tiny fabric slots. I throw them down in a small fit of anger but then remind myself that I can’t let any rage escape my control.

  I did once. And ended up with a kitchen knife, attacking Ryan. It was a dream, right? I won’t let it control me. Not ever, and especially not here. Not where they’re so close and strong. I’ve got to keep Ryan and Aunt Kate safe. Something bad is going to happen very soon and very close to me.

  Ryan laughs at my attempts to set up the tent and comes over to help. He won’t wipe the grin off his face as he takes in the mess I’ve made of vinyl fabric and rods connected with elastic.

  “Not sure what you’re doing here,” he drawls. “But this doesn’t look like any tent I’ve ever seen.”

  “You try it,” I snap, certain something’s wrong with it.

  He easily snaps the rods into one solid line and slides them down the fabric holes. Within seconds, he forces the rods in to the metal circles at the bottom of the tent, and the tent is up.

  “Nothing to it,” he winks.

  He throws a sleeping bag at me. It slams into my chest and pushes me back a step.

  “So I see,” I say with all the sarcasm I can muster. It comes on a bit strong, but Ryan just punches me on the shoulder.

  I glance down at the sleeping bag when Ryan turns back to help Aunt Kate. My sleeping bag is dark green with light green on the inside, and the tent is a variety of blues. The other sleeping bags are black and tan, and Aunt Kate and Ryan’s tent has a couple shades of brown. There is no red in sight.

  Ryan remembered.

  I will never have that wretched color near me again.

  I crawl into the tent to unroll my sleeping
bag and hear an engine. Ryan starts talking, so I poke my head out to see what’s going on.

  “Well, would you believe that?” His voice is full of surprise and amusement. “It’s the Carrolls!”

  The Carrolls. Megan’s family from church.

  A large green truck pulls into the meadow but heads to the opposite side. They won’t be using tents with the giant trailer they are pulling. I bet there’s a bathroom in it, too.

  They pause as Tammy, Megan’s mom, rolls down her window. “Greetings, neighbors!”

  “Well, hello,” Ryan calls. “Get set up, and we’ll get our fire going for dinner. Come on over.”

  I groan, but Ryan can’t help himself. He seizes any chance he gets to talk.

  This morning I thought camping without running water or plumbing was awful. Now I know it’s far worse to camp within sight of someone who has a cozy bed, a toilet, and a shower.

  The Carrolls pull off the road to set up their camp, and Megan jumps out. I don’t know why, but the sight of her sets me on edge.

  I don’t need more people around me right now. What if I can’t control it? What if I lose control?

  We keep busy setting up the rest of our gear. Aunt Kate and Ryan settle into their tent while I roll out my sleeping bag and throw in my small bag of clothes and books.

  We dig a hole for the fire, and then we’re pretty much done. Aunt Kate is dying to explore, so we walk down the tiny dirt track that leads from the meadow to Boot Hill, the biggest thing remaining to prove Florence ever existed.

  Some might find this area serene. Long grass covers the narrow meadow with a small stream. Robins and black birds with red stripes on their wings fill the air with their whistle. Tall evergreens circle the meadow, and a slight breeze brings the scent of pine. Even the sky has done its best to complement the beauty with fluffy large clouds in a deep blue sky.

  I’ve never seen a meadow like this one. Although I know Florence sat in the middle, there are few buildings left. Deep ditches covered with thick grass are the biggest proof that miners dug for gold.

  And despite the superficial peace and serenity, somehow I know the only thing that remains here is evil. It didn’t leave when the miners did. It’s hanging on like a bad stench after a fire.