"I guess that is understandable," Roland said.
"When I explained to Auntie that Bernhard came to Kings Shore at Daddy's invitation, well then, Bernhard was given the best chair in Auntie's place. She ran into the kitchen, returning with a cup of tea and a jar of honey. When he was comfortable, he told us what he knew."
"Robert sent me a wire," Bernhard began. "He told me what he found the night he returned to this hell town."
"Kings Shore is no hell town," Aunt Maggie said. "It was heaven on earth, until a few weeks ago."
"An apple can be heavenly on your tongue," Bernhard said. "But if you wait too long to eat it, it goes bad. That is what has happened here. The apple has gone bad."
"If you feel that way, then why come all this way, at risk of life and limb?" Aunt Maggie said.
"Robert Owens was a good friend. He would have done no less for me. When his message arrived requesting my help, I came immediately."
"Now that you are here, what will you do?" Auntie said.
"I will wait for the sun to rise, and go back the way I came, and I suggest you ride out with me."
Patricia stopped walking and looked up at Roland. "That was when I joined the conversation. Auntie was struck dumb. We both looked on Bernhard like the cavalry had arrived, and this runt of a man announces that as soon as he can, he is going to turn tail and run." Patricia's volume rose with an ire that remained vibrant through the ages.
"You can't just leave, there are people here who need help," I told him.
"Madame," he said. "I came to help my friend. I helped his child to bury him and his wife. Unless you wish to join your mother and father," he said staring right at me. "You are well advised to go."
"This is our home," I told him. "Like my father, I am not afraid to die protecting it."
"Miss," he said in a tone that was barely more than a whisper. "There are much worse things than death in this town. I think you know that."
"I had to agree with him on that, Roland."
"But you still refused to leave," Roland said.
"Yes," she agreed. "And God bless him, Bernhard stayed too. I don't think he really planned on leaving in the morning. He just needed to know that we were going to be with him every step."
Chapter 41
Taking a seat on a bench, Patricia took her journal from Roland's left hand and opened it to the page marked by the ribbon.
Patricia's Journal—Thursday, July 4, 1912
Bernhard Werner came to help at Daddy's request. I hope God has given him the knowledge to defeat those things. Daddy must have thought so, or why would he have summoned him?
"At night, we need only stay inside. They will not come in," Bernhard began.
"They are very strong," I told him. "What is to stop them from breaking down the door, or crashing through a window?"
"I don't know the answer to that, I only know they won't. Maybe they have a fear of enclosure, but I don't think that is it. We found your parents in their home."
"Auntie made a choking sound when she heard that. Poor dear. We had to pause, Bernhard's explanation to Auntie about the burial," Patricia told Roland, "was dreadfully shocking to her."
"It seems," Bernhard continued, "that they will enter a structure they feel safe in, but they will not force entry to just any building. No matter how hungry they are."
"What's to stop them from tossing a torch on the roof and forcing us into the street?" Auntie asked.
"Fire," I said. "They catch fire like they have been soaked in kerosene."
"That's right, Miss," Bernhard said. "Only two things will set terror in their eyes, fire and the glorious rays of the sun."
"But they can be killed," I insisted.
"Yes, Miss. But they do not fear death. They are already dead."
Patricia and Roland had turned into the yard. Roland's Bimmer sparkled in the afternoon sun. The air was warm, with a breeze that was just enough to make the day perfect for a walk in the air. A breeze came from the lake and carried with it a sweet aroma.
"That was when we heard Minnie Simmons. Pete Simmons, a trapper, kept a house in town. We heard Minnie holler at him to hurry in the house. We looked out to see Pete shuffling down the middle of the road. We knew he was one of them. I yelled at Minnie to get inside, but she didn't listen. Maybe she didn't hear me over her own calls for Pete.
"Minnie ran out to greet him," Patricia paused. "He put his arms around her like he had done a thousand times. But this time he pulled her in close and with a savagery I didn't think possible, tore the side of her neck open with his teeth.
"Minnie made a slight humph sound, and then we could only hear the sucking and slurping as Pete drank from her. Another one of those things came, and Pete just dropped Minnie in the street and disappeared. The other one knelt next to Minnie and finished her.
"When he couldn't draw another drop from her dry carcass, he stood and looked right at us. It was like he sensed our eyes watching him. One moment he was standing over Minnie's corpse, the next he stood on the walk right in front of Auntie's door.
"I didn't even see Bernhard leave the room, but all of a sudden he was standing in front of the door with a bottle. It looked like a wine bottle with a length of rag dangling from it. In his other hand, he held a burning candle.
"He motioned to the door with his eyes. Auntie just stood with her hands over her mouth. I shook my head, the last thing I wanted was to open the door and let that thing inside. Bernhard made another gesture to the door, but this time his eyes burned with anger. For a second I feared him more than the monsters outside, and I pulled the door open. He touched the flame of the candle to the cloth and tossed it at the thing before the door was completely open. The bottle crashed at the demon's feet, and the kerosene from the bottle set the thing ablaze."
Patricia stopped again, placing her hands to her ears. Trying to block out a noise only she could hear. Roland placed his hand on her elbow and steadied her as they climbed the steps to the front door.
"The scream," she said. "I swear it could be heard for miles. Ear-splitting pitch and volume that not even today's technology could match.
"It walked down the middle of the street. After the initial shock, the screaming stopped. A human-shaped torch, taking an evening stroll. Then it fell, face first to the ground. Black, acrid smoke filled the air.
"The cool air didn't move enough to make a candle flame flicker that night. The dreadful smoke hung in the air like a toxic cloud. The fear of what was out there saved many of us choking from the stink of it. We all had our windows closed that night.
"Several more monsters rushed into the street. Drawn to the screams like moths to a flame. They stood around the burning abomination, not close enough to put themselves in any danger but they encircled it. When the flames burned out, they turned away from the macabre sight and stared at the buildings lining the street.
"It was ominous. Everyone in town got the feeling that at least one of those things was staring accusingly at them. I was included in that. They have some kind of telepathy, and I felt fear growing stronger inside of me. I swear I felt my own heart pounding in my chest before they broke their gaze."
"What about Bernhard?" Roland asked. "Did he feel it?"
"Maybe more than the rest," she replied. "He did set their friend afire."
"Friend?" Through a slight chuckle, Roland's voice sounded doubtful.
Chapter 42
Patricia's Journal—Friday, July 5, 1912
Maybe we can defeat them. With Bernhard's help maybe we can survive this plague.
With Bernhard's help just maybe Mother and Daddy can be avenged.
God, thank you for bringing Bernhard to us.
Patricia read this entry, then stood and left the room, leaving the journal on the coffee table. Roland watched the old woman shuffle through the door at the far side of the room, the smooth glide of her gait on the day they met no longer in evidence.
Sitting alone in her study, Roland looked at the page
in front of him. Maybe we can defeat them. He tried to imagine the frail, small woman he now knew, at twenty, battling supernatural bloodthirsty demons.
He couldn't. Roland Millhouse opened his laptop. He inserted the earbuds into his mini recorder and pushed Play. As Patricia's words filled his head, Roland began to type.
The church bell rang just after sunrise. Bernhard pulled the rope rhythmically while Patricia stood on the church steps waiting. An abomination about three hundred yards away still smoldered where the thing had fallen last night. All that remained in the spot where it fell was a blackened stain of scorched earth.
Jacob Hebert was the first to respond to the church bell. A stout man in his early forties, dressed in overalls and a straw hat, Jacob greeted Patricia with his usual verve.
Jacob grew up with Patricia's father, and she had known him her whole life. Like all the inhabitants of Kings Shore in the summer of 1912, he looked much older than his years, in spite of a smile that started at his lips and went all the way to his eyes.
"What has happened, Little Miss?" Jacob called when he was within shouting distance. Patricia was slightly taller than Jacob, but he had called her Little Miss from the time she was born, and to him, she would always be Little Miss.
"There is a man here to help us," Patricia called to Jacob. "He has come from afar, and he knows how to fight them."
"Who is this man?" Jacob asked.
"I will introduce him when everyone has arrived," she told him. "But I will tell you this, Daddy sent for him." The women of Kings Shore of 1912 didn't put off a man's questions, but Patricia Owens was almost royalty. When the Owens spoke, the people of Kings Shore listened.
"What can I do?" Jacob asked.
"Direct everyone into the church. We will begin in thirty minutes," the young woman said.
With Jacob there to direct all comers into the church, Patricia opened the door and entered the building. She left the door wide open. Sunshine and fresh morning air filled the room and the gloom of the previous night retreated to the shadows beneath the pews and in the corners and behind the altar. The bell gonged repeatedly, vibrating the stained glass windows. The bell's chime was smooth and the tone clear, but the volume was deafening.
The pews filled in much less time than would normally be the case. Most of the inhabitants of the surrounding farms had stopped sleeping in their homes. They worked the farms in the day, then bunked with family or friends in town. Safety in numbers was the mantra of the day.
At just after 7:00 a.m., Patricia strode to the pulpit, and the din of nervous chatter dulled, then stopped completely.
"All are here that's coming," Jacob called from the front pew. "Why have you called us here, Little Miss?"
"Before Daddy," she paused there, a knot trying to rise in her throat. "When my father heard of the goings on here, he sent word to his friend, Bernhard Werner. Mr. Werner has come to Kings Shore, and he knows how to fight the… those demons of the night."
"Why should we put our faith in a complete stranger?" a man's voice called from the back.
"How many of you saw that smoldering foulness in the street on your way here this morning?" Patricia answered.
More than half the people in the church raised a hand. Some hands shot up straight and high, while some of the more tentative citizens held their hands at shoulder height and looked around to see who was with them. A brief moment of chatter filled the church with a buzz.
"That was one of the demons," Patricia said. "Mr. Werner killed it single-handed."
A murmur of hushed voices hummed through the room. Heads turned from side to side as the people of Kings Shore discussed the news they just heard. Some pointed up to the front of the room. Heads nodded and shook as they all discussed the idea of entrusting their safety to a man they had never laid eyes on until walking into the church that morning.
"Killin' one of them don't mean this man knows shit about shit," an irritated man hollered from somewhere in back. "There could be a hundred of those demons out there in the woods."
This brought another wave of discussion, only this time the volume rose as the talk turned heated between some of the more frightened folk. Humans, like any animal that's cornered and scared, will more times than not act out with aggression.
Bernhard took the Bible from the pulpit. It was one of those monstrosities the preachers use, and he dropped it on the floor. That book made a bang so loud you would have thought he fired a scattergun in there.
Roland paused the audio. He couldn't help but grin at the sound of Patricia's laugh while she told this. It was obvious to him that she grew very fond of Bernhard during the short time they had been together.
Roland pushed the Play button to continue.
The crash of that book on the floorboards brought a hush to the room in a heartbeat.
Some of the men even raised their rifles at the front, ready to shoot anything that moved. It was quite tense for a few moments.
When the church went quiet, Bernhard picked up the good book, put it back on the altar, and you would swear that little man grinned.
"He sounds like he was quite a character," Roland remembered telling her.
"Oh, he was that alright," she said, laughing again.
"Here is what I know," Bernhard began. "The demons are not immortal. As you have all seen by now, they can be killed. They have weaknesses."
"They don't look so weak to me," the same man who called out earlier said.
"They are most definitely not weak," Bernhard replied in his calm, almost bored tone. "But they do have weaknesses. For instance, fire is one, as Miss Owens will attest. If you can touch them with a flame, they ignite as though they have kerosene in their veins."
"That's the truth," Curtis Davidson called out. "They came to my place. My boy was among 'em. Killed his own mother. I found the lot in my barn the next morning. Burned it to the ground with the demons inside. I have never seen fire burn so hot. As terrible as it must have been for them in there, they would not come out into the sun. Screams like that can only come from Satan himself." Curtis sat in the pew next to his youngest, buried his face in his hands and wept.
As it turns out, the voice from the back was Alfred Sharpe, and by this time, he had made his way to the front of the church.
"So that's it then," Alfred said. "We just torch 'em when they come into town, and the ones that don't burn will move on."
"It will not be as easy as that," Bernhard told him. "They will not stand still while you set them ablaze. These things move faster than anything you have seen before. At a full run, your eyes can barely see them. It is like trying to watch the wings of a hummingbird. If they see you with fire, they will evade your attack, and before you know where they went, they will be seizing you from the rear and your life will be ended."
"Then that information is of little value, Mr. Werner," Alfred said.
"Alone, I would have to agree. As I said, they have weaknesses. These creatures cannot live in sunlight, so if it is possible to find their resting place in the daytime, they are defenseless. You can drag them into the sun, and the things will perish in the most heinous fashion imaginable. Also, they cannot survive for long without their head."
"What do you mean, for long?" Alfred asked. This brought another round of murmuring. Bernhard stood silent until he had everyone's attention.
"If you remove the head of one of those demons, you must cast it far away from the body. Then while it is defenseless, set the carcass ablaze. They can reattach any body part if they get hold of it within a few minutes. Even their heads."
"Is that all then?" Alfred looked dejected. "It seems the only way to kill them is to get so close that we are at more risk of death than the monsters."
"You speak true, sir," Bernhard replied. "Many of you will be dead when the final chapter here is written. Some of you will most likely become one of them."
An eruption of dissent filled the church, as scared and angry townsfolk faced a bleak and uncertain futu
re. Bernhard turned his back on the crowd and walked to the reverend's chair against the back wall of the pulpit.
These people had two choices. They could set out at sunrise, riding as far and fast as they could and with some luck, get far enough away before dusk to be safe. Those who chose to stay could fight, try to find a safe hiding place every night, or die. Bernhard would sit and wait for them to come up with this conclusion on their own. That was the only way they would see it for the truth.
Chapter 43
Roland woke to the creaking sound of Patricia's rocking chair on the hardwood floor in her parlor. Once again, he had fallen asleep on her old couch. Once again, she had covered him with an old afghan, and once more he ached all over for the experience.
Before he joined his host, Roland sauntered across the room to the kitchen door. He couldn't help but grin. Patricia had a tray set up on the counter, complete with sliced fruitcake and a crystal pitcher of what turned out to be cranberry juice.
"You're a good boy, Roland Millhouse," Patricia said when he carried the tray into the room. "I think I will be sad to see you go."
"Are you getting ready to send me on my way?"
"Not ever," she said. "Don't even think it. But you will not want to spend too much more time in the company of an ancient relic like me."
He poured two glasses of juice, placed a slice of cake on each plate and set one of each on the table in front of her.
"I could hear you clicking away on that machine a while ago," she said. "Do you think anyone will be interested in the ramblings of an old woman?"
"It is really hard to say what will interest today's readers, Patricia. If a celebrity writes a book, millions will line up to buy it. A teen idol can write a memoir and sell millions. How can anyone who hasn't lived to see twenty years have enough life experience to write a memoir? Yet they do it, and it sells. Will they line up to buy a story of vampires attacking a village one hundred years ago? Probably not. Does your story need to be told? Absolutely."
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