“Let’s get the hell out of here, boy!” Derrek said as he dropped the stick and backed away. Rex needed no further encouragement and they both raced back towards the main trail.
*****
“I am going to the Farmer’s market this afternoon, so, if there is anything special you want me to pick up, let me know,” Sister Margaret said as she walked into Father Hector’s office in the rectory.
“Well, I guess ribs are out of the question,” Father Hector said. “I was kind of hoping you would make pork carnitas again.”
“Oh, no, Father,” Sister Margaret said. “And since you have no healthy suggestions, I’ll just double up on the spinach and strawberries then.”
“You are very harsh,” Father Hector replied.
“You’ll thank me,” Sister Margaret said. “And…, it could’ve been worse. The strawberries were a treat.”
“What time will you be back?” Father Hector asked.
“Before noon, unless of course, they have a fresh delivery from those specialty organic farmers in the valley. Then, I may go crazy, and who knows? Regardless, I will be back no later than 3:00 PM.”
“Let’s hope it’s before noon then,” Father Hector said.
Sister Margaret smirked, ignoring the comment. “How about you? When do you expect your lunch to be over?”
“I’ll be back before 2:00,” Father Hector said. “I have to get back early as I still must finish up tomorrow’s sermon.”
“You need to get some rest, too. You were up far too late last night with those books of yours. And after that assault in the church, and all, you need to take it easy,” Sister Margaret said. She shook her head and added, “I still say we should have called the police. You aren’t a young man anymore. You could have been seriously hurt.”
“Bye Bye, Sister,” Father Hector said.
“OK, OK, I can take a hint, but, today, do me a favor.”
“For you, anything,” Father Hector said.
“Good. So, today, try and go easy on the Chalupas, all right? They do come without pork, you know. You can order them with just cheese and salsa.”
“I am shocked at you, Sister,” Father Hector said as he winked. “From where I come from, what you are suggesting is the gravest heresy imaginable.”
Sister Margaret just shook her head and said, “Honestly!”
*****
A few hours later, Father Hector looked down at his watch and winced. It was already 11:30 AM and time to leave for the restaurant. If he didn’t hurry now, he would be late. It was so typical of him to lose track of time in his office, especially with so many distractions. He glanced over at the books he had been reviewing the night before and sighed. So much to do and so little time to prepare.
He grabbed the package Sister Margaret had prepared for him and headed out the side door to the driveway. The bundle was thick and heavy, there had been a lot of pages to copy, and this was yet more evidence that Sister Margaret was the best. She always was doing more than he could ever ask. He glanced across the rectory driveway to the adjoining church and noticed her car was still gone. Obviously, the organic farmers from the valley had shown up — God help him. He could only imagine the pounds of rutabagas and endless bags of kale she was loading into her cart at that very moment. It was going to be a long, crunchy week, but, of course, she means well. He certainly could stand to eat better.
He climbed into the front seat of his car and placed the package on the passenger’s seat. After pulling down his seatbelt and fastening it, he placed his key in the ignition. Before starting the engine, he stopped. He heard a noise coming from the back seat. It barely registered in his ear, but it was … something. He turned around to look. Nothing was there. He waited a few more seconds, cupping his ear and listening intently to see if he could hear the sound again. He did. He couldn’t place the noise, but it sounded a little like paper rustling. He took the key out of the ignition.
Father Hector kept a messy car, always had, so he wasn’t too surprised at the rustling noise. Sister Margaret was always joking about his rolling trash bin, as she called it, and he just hoped a mouse had not gotten inside his car somehow. He had heard of such things. No doubt a clever rodent could make a veritable feast on the scores of candy wrappers, dropped French fries and various and assorted other snack debris that had fallen to the floor. It would be a veritable vermin paradise, and he was sure he would never hear the end of it from Sister Margaret if his car ended up mouse-infested. It would confirm every complaint she had ever made.
After thirty seconds of silent listening, he chalked the whole incident up to his imagination. His ears were aging, too, and, maybe this was a symptom of early onset tinnitus? Who knows? He put his key back into the ignition.
The sound returned. It was just the tiniest of rustling coming from behind him. A low, barely audible swish, gaining strength and a bit louder than before. Now he knew it wasn’t his imagination. It was real. Something was sliding over one of the empty plastic coffee cups, or stray Taco Bell bags littering the floor. He sighed, took out the key, unfastened his seatbelt, and got out of the car.
He opened the back door and, for several minutes, ran his hands through the trash on the floor, feeling around for anything warm and furry burrowing in the sea of paper and plastic. If Sister Margaret could see this, she would have a fit. Throughout his search, his body was tense as he expected a rat to lurch out of the garbage pile at any moment. After rifling through the contents for a few more minutes, and finding nothing, he knew his car was rodent free. It wasn’t that big of a car, after all. He looked down at his watch and sighed. Now he knew he would be cutting it close, but, he would still make it.
He returned to the driver’s seat, fastened his seatbelt, and put the key in the ignition. He turned the motor over and the engine roared to life. He put the car in drive. I definitely need to clean out the car this afternoon when I get home. As he reached the end of the driveway and started to turn out into the street, he felt something brush against his leg. He looked down with a start and jerked back in shock as his eyes grew wide.
“Oh my God!” he screamed. “Oh my God!”
There, slithering out from beneath his seat, a white snake emerged. It was enormous, easily taking up the entire floorboard. It quickly coiled itself fully around his leg and lurched upward into his lap, extending its upper body towards Father Hector’s chest. Its large diamond-shaped head, with dull, red eyes, now hovered just inches away from his face. With his right hand clutching his chest, and his left foot stomping on the brake, Father Hector’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped over into the passenger’s seat.
*****
“Are you still waiting for your party to arrive?” the waitress asked as she glared down at Sylvia. It was 1:30 and she wasn’t making any money from a table hogged by a single woman drinking water all day.
“I guess not, but…, let me check one more time,” Sylvia said as she looked down at her phone. She started to press redial, but then stopped herself. Five messages were more than enough. He wasn’t coming. Stood up by a priest! A new personal low.
“So, can I get you anything, or…, do you need more time?” the waitress asked as she visibly rolled her eyes.
“You can start us out with a big plate of nachos and a full pitcher of margaritas, Senorita!” Heather said as she suddenly appeared from around the corner and sat down at the table. The waitress nodded and headed off to the kitchen, happy to finally have something other than water to bring to table six.
“What are you doing here?” Sylvia said once the waitress was out of earshot.
“Snooping,” Heather said as she winked.
“On me?”
“Of course,” Heather said. “I just had to check out this Father McHottie myself!” She looked to the left and then to the right, and said, “Sadly, it appears he is Father McNottie. No show?”
“Yeah, he’s a big no-show,” Sylvia said. “Stood up twice in two days.”
“What are you talking about?” Heather asked.
“You, last night,” Sylvia said. “We were supposed to get a drink, remember?”
“Sorry about that. I had a headache and needed to turn in early,” Heather said. “And who knows, maybe I was so jealous of your big date today I had to go home and cry into my pillow? It is such a shame he didn’t show. I was really looking forward to meeting Father McHottie.”
“First of all, remember? I told you he is probably old enough to be your grandfather.”
“You mentioned his age before, and, I have reconsidered my position. There is nothing wrong with GPILFs at all,” Heather said.
“You will have to explain that reference to me later, but, second of all, you do remember he is a priest?”
“I have seen some pretty sexy Padres in my day. I wouldn’t let that stop me.”
“At the very least,” Sylvia said, “get the pet name right. He is from Mexico, not Scotland. He would never permit himself being called Father McHottie, on principal.”
“OK,” Heather said, “how about Father Elhotto? Or would it be Lahotta? I never could remember the masculine/feminine rules for nouns.” She grinned as she added, “This is exactly why I flunked third year Spanish in college.”
“Heather, you always make me laugh,” Sylvia said. “Even though you are a horrible eavesdropper.”
“Guilty as charged,” Heather said.
“And you have no respect for personal boundaries.”
“None,” Heather said as she nodded.
“But, you are a true friend,” Sylvia said. “I am glad you ended up having lunch with me today.”
“Great!” Heather said as she turned to her left and spied the waitress approaching the table with a pitcher of Margaritas. “And now, let us put a hurting on the fresh lime crop.”
Sylvia smiled and said, “You have a deal.”
*****
The sun drooped low in the sky as Sister Margaret turned into the parking lot of Saint Sebastian Catholic Church. Her eyes glanced over to the clock on the dashboard of her 1992 Honda Civic. She saw the time — 4:30 PM and winced. Time had completely gotten away from her, and she hoped Father Hector hadn’t started to worry. Perhaps she would make some flan to make it up to him. He always did have a sweet tooth. Besides, how could she be blamed? How could she have known the Northern California Natural Herbs and Spices convention would be meeting at the farmer’s market today?
The passenger seat of her car was loaded with at least six crates of strawberries and arugula, with her trunk and back seat equally loaded down with a whole host of other fresh vegetables and herbs. She stepped out of her car and grabbed a few boxes off the front seat before something caught her attention. It was Father Morales’ car. It was sitting at the end of the rectory driveway which was very strange and out of place. Father Hector always parked under the carport by the rectory — always. She looked over to the rectory again and then back to the car, and wondered if his emergency brake failed. There was a slight slope to the driveway, after all, and the same thing had happened to her before. Ten years earlier her parking brakes had failed and her beloved Civic had drifted down the same slope. Luckily, it hit the mailbox and did not go into the street. She put down her boxes and strolled over to investigate.
When she got near the car, a shudder shot up her spine. The motor was running. Something was wrong — very, very wrong. She dashed to the car. When she arrived at the driver’s side door, her eyes grew wide. Through the window, she saw Father Morales slumped over in the passenger side seat.
“Father Morales! Father Morales!” she cried.
*****
Sylvia yawned as she put the paperback book down into her lap. She stretched as she glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was 11:30PM. The afternoon of margaritas with Heather had taken their toll. Both had wisely decided to Uber home. Neither she nor Heather were in any condition to drive. Snowy, snoozing on Sylvia’s lap, raised her head and yawned too. Pommes always enjoy a group nap and when Sylvia began to stir Snowy growled. She was not ready to be moved.
“Hey, now!” Sylvia said. “None of that nonsense.”
Snowy, properly chastised, stood up and stretched before leaping up on Sylvia’s chest and licking her face.
“Now, I think it is about time for us to go to bed,” Sylvia said. “But first, I think a nice hot bath is calling my name.” She shook her head and added, “Just look at me! Living the wild life out here in California, all alone on a Saturday night and ending it with a hot bath.” Snowy barked, and Sylvia scratched behind the dog’s ears. She turned to Snowy and said, “It is a good thing you aren’t a cat. Then the stereotype would be complete.”
Sylvia walked into the bathroom and turned the faucet hard to the left — extra hot, just like she liked it. Large, billowing clouds of steam rose from the rapidly filling tub. The water began to foam after she tossed in her favorite jasmine bath bomb. She dropped her robe, grabbed her Lady Catherfield romance, and eased down into the hot water. “Ahhhhhhh!” she said as the hot water enveloped her body.
She tried to read, but, it wasn’t five minutes before the combination of tequila and the hot, soothing water had Sylvia drifting off to sleep. She didn’t wake, though, as she had her head propped up perfectly on her bath pillow. She was an old pro at tub napping. Her book did not fare so well and had slipped underwater with her. Now it was destined to plump up to twice its normal size.
Snowy, however, was not asleep. Her back fur was standing up straight, and she was in a full attack stance, staring at the mirror. Her growls turned to whimpers as the temperature in the bathroom started to drop. Snowy shivered and cried as she watched something being written on the fogged-up mirror. It said, WON REH EVAS NAC UOY YLNO.
Chapter 28
April 30th, 1976 - Pikeville, Kentucky - 11:30 PM
The woods were littered with sharp rocks and sticks. As Sylvia ran, dead branches and thorns shredded her exposed, young flesh. Blood poured off cuts on her feet. She was so tired, every muscle in her body aching. Her breathing was rapid and short, and her side felt if it would tear apart at any moment. She scrambled forward to find a way out of the pitch-black forest.
She could see nothing; blind to all but the endless expanse of nothingness before her. The trees were thick above her, most rising thirty feet into the darkened sky, their intertwining branches shrouding an already moonless night into complete black. She always feared the dark. She had long been taught that horrors unknown lurked in the inky night; but now, this view was upside down. The light chilled her more. She slowed down as pain ratcheted up her left side and she started to crumble to the ground, her overworked thighs collapsing. She did not stop running, though.
Her heart raced in her chest, and despite the pain radiating through her gut, growing more agonizing by the second, she pushed on. A blood-stained terror had her in a death grip. It blindly shoved her forward. Pine branches, bristling hard as diamond needles, continuously scratched her arms and face. The thin white gown she had been wearing was long gone, having been reduced to shreds by the thicket and leaving her naked and even more vulnerable.
Her thoughts were a jumbled mix of horrifying images, playing in her mind in a continuous loop. Mouths dripping with blood. Her mother shrieking in agony. A rabid, frenzied, naked mob — ripping, shredding, chewing, laughing, eating. Eating! Eating!
Click… Click… Click…
She squeezed her eyes tight. It will all be right! It will all be right! It will all be right! It was only a few yards more. She must keep running. Running. Running.
Her hands were clasped tightly to her chest, clutching something in her palms. It squished and oozed in her death-like grip. Suddenly, she stopped. She heard something. She heard a noise behind her, something other than the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. It was far off and muffled, but the sound was getting louder, and thus closer. Her blood froze. Voices! They were calling her name! She began running again, only faster and more reckless n
ow. Her body operated on raw reptilian power, flinging her forward into the darkness.
Click… Click… Click…
One hundred feet behind her, a single bluish beam shone haphazardly through the trees. Another beam soon joined it, and then another. Within seconds, a dozen lights blazed through the branches. Soon the forest was ablaze with flashlight beams, accompanied by a chorus of voices shouting in the night. Their calls were strange, an odd mixture of anger and sweetness.
“Sweetie! Sweetie! Come back home now,” one voice called out. “We have to finish the feast!”
“Sylvia, honey, Maw Maw made you a special batch of brownies!” another said. “With extra walnuts too, your favorite! Come back to Circle and you can have some.”
“It’s OK to be scared, Sylvia. We understand,” a third said. “But, you must come home now.”
“Your mother is crying, Sylvia,” Maw Maw said. “She is crying for you to return home!”
“Sylvia! Sylvia! SYLVIA!” shouted Joe.
Sylvia’s legs flew beneath her. She choked back a sob. They hadn’t seen her yet. She had to be quiet. The sound of her running through the brush was leading them to her, like a wild animal pursued in the hunt. She willed her wails down deep into her stomach and rushed forward into the dark, trying hard to run in silence.
After a few more minutes of stumbling quietly through the undergrowth, she stopped. Her heart soared. Through the dim woods, she saw it. The forest was ending, and in the distance, through a clearing, she saw a lighted porch lamp. The friendly yellow light seemed to beckon her, opening its arms in a golden warm glow, calling her forward. She had to hurry. She had to get to that light!
Click… Click… Click…
*****
“If you think this country is going to elect some redneck, peanut farmer, nobody from Georgia as President of the United States, you are going to need to go into therapy yourself! Perhaps…, you can cut yourself a discount rate on your own head shrinker’s couch,” Vincent Padovana said. He shivered before walking over to the fireplace and stoking the dying embers. April nights in Kentucky were still chilly. Summer was still far away, but, it was at least warmer than New York.
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