It was one of those days toward the end of winter where the sun begins to defy the overcast clouds, and for the span of a weekend it appears that spring has arrived before a cold resurgence stomps it out again.
Beside me Oakley laughed. “You know,” she said, “I had the impression that you had more control of him than that. But it looks like he’s the one in charge of you.”
“He got along a long time before he had me. Now he’s as much a good pet as I’m a good student,” I said with a grimace. It had been two days since I’d met with the demon, and true to his word, Oakley had been unharmed. No red figures were following her around. Even the sense of death had faded, just barely recognizable, still there but more lingering than active.
After two minutes of sniffing, Shankey completed his thorough investigation of the bush before he pulled me along the path and deeper into the park. Trees stretched overhead, shielding us from the sun and rustling as the wind coursed through their branches. Then Shankey took a sharp turn and the path doubled on itself, leading uphill and around, until my feet connected with the paneled wood of a bridge. Underneath us the path ran between pillars, and I heard a set of footsteps below. And keeping pace with the bootsteps were two red figures, marching in tune to the sound.
“Hey, you!”
The footsteps had stopped, and I paused.
“You! On the bridge. You deaf, boy?”
“Who’s that?” I said to Oakley, angling my head in his direction. The voice sounded middle aged and bore an aggressive weight, the words launched like arrows meant to pin me down.
“Policeman,” she answered, her voice low, but the man had heard my original question.
“Who does it look like?” The voice snapped back.
“Look, it’s not my fault—” I said after biting my lip to hold in the sarcasm, but he cut me off.
“Did your mother never teach you to respect the police, boy? Apparently she didn’t teach you to read either, because you seemed to have missed all the No Dogs signs. That’s going to be a ticket, should’ve thought about that before you got that mutt.”
My heart thumped as I bit down on my lip harder. There’s something about seeing your own mother die that makes the fists clench when she’s mentioned.
“Asshole,” whispered Oakley, grabbing my elbow and pulling, though I refused to let go of the bridge rail. “Let’s get out of here.”
Shankey growled, sensing me tense, and barked, spittle flying from his mouth.
“I’ll send that one to the pound, too, if he so much as barks again!” The officer yelled, and my back stiffened. “Looks like he belongs there!”
And I snapped, turning on the officer below, shaking.
“I’ll send him on you if you don’t shut up!” I yelled. “He’s a mean one. Rip your legs clean off.”
“You dare threaten me? You dare—” His voice cut off in a choke, and he began to cough as anger surged in me, the muscles in my back tightening further.
“You dare—” he tried again, but the wheezing intensified, small squeaking sounds escaping his throat as he tried to speak.
Far down below, the policeman’s fire diminished as I focused on him, my jaw clenched. I watched as flames died to embers, embers to ashes, and the wheezing grew weaker.
“Caleb, what’s going on?” asked Oakley, squeezing my arm. “Caleb, we need to get help. Something’s wrong!”
“Apologize!” I shouted from the top of the bridge, and I realized my hand was extended, my finger point directly at the dying man. “Apologize!”
“I, I…” Choked the policeman, and I heard his knees hit the path. Icy air filled my nostrils as I pointed toward him, and above, darkness crossed the sky. Not the darkness of being blind, but the darkness of death.
“Caleb!” shouted Oakley. “What the hell is going on? Stop it! Stop it!”
The two red figures circled the policeman, and I heard them whispering, excitement building as they waited for him to fall. Waiting for the last of his embers to turn to ash, to reach out and take what was left of him. And part of me wanted to see that happen, wanted to watch him be dragged under as my father had been. More of me wanted that than to see him live.
And I would have seen it, had Oakley’s slap not landed square across my jaw and sent me reeling.
I wheeled backward, losing sight of the fire, losing concentration and focus, my ears ringing. From below I heard the policeman draw a breath as if he had been held underwater, his fire rekindling and flaring. And I felt his heart begin to beat again before the two red figures rushed in, their hands over his chest, trying to still it and stifle the weak heat.
“Get,” I roared at them, recovering, rational thoughts rushing back into my mind.
Their edges burst into flame, and they screamed. Terrible, high pitched screams as the fires rushed in toward them, burning away their existence in this world. Screams that sounded like dentists’ drills and nails on a chalkboard combined, and screams that continued until they fell through the ground and their corpses were swallowed whole in plumes of red smoke.
Oakley started running when the screams began, dragging me with her off the bridge, continuing to run until I tripped over a tree root several hundred yards away.
“Oh God,” she shouted down at me. “Oh God, you were so cold. Colder than ice. And the screams, who was screaming?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, sitting up in the grass, and reached upward to take her hand. “I didn’t mean to, really, I didn’t.”
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, recoiling. “I don’t know what happened back there, Caleb, but I do know you had a part in it. Somehow, you had a part in it.”
“Listen, I didn’t mean to,” I said. “It’s over now, and it won’t happen again.”
She paused, and I felt her shift, unsure whether she was about to run. But then she sat next to me, her head on my shoulder, tears falling onto my arm as she started to sob.
“Don’t you ever do that again, Caleb. Whatever it was. Don’t you ever make me scared of you or for you again. It’s ridiculous, now that I think about it. I don’t mean to blame you.”
“I won’t,” I said, holding her hand. And I meant it.
Chapter 32 - Leaks
“I found what you asked me for, back in your room” Said Oakley. “It was in a newspaper three weeks back, and I’m surprised I didn’t hear it on the news.”
We were in the library, and I could hear her unfurling the newspaper before me and shaking it out onto the table.
“And? What did it say?” I asked. I already knew—I had known since I left the trailer park, but I needed the confirmation. I needed to know it was right.
“There was an explosion,” she said, speaking slowly. “Experts said it was a gas leak.”
“And?”
She paused, then continued, “And a lot of people died, Caleb. There really wasn’t much left. The paper said only the shells of trailers remained, the ground scorched. No one was left.” She stopped again, waiting.
“Ok,” I said, my arms crossed. “That’s it?”
“That’s it? Caleb, is that all you have to say? I know that’s where you’re from, and all you have to say is ok?”
I stiffened, my mouth slightly opened, searching for words.
“How, how did you know?”
“Your address was written on your luggage!” she said, her voice raising. “I saw it when I was in your room, and I didn’t think anything of it, until you had me look this up!” She threw the newspaper at me, and the pages fluttered over my face. “This is what scares me about you, Caleb. You knew these people, and there’s no reaction. OK is all you have to say. Were your parents there, too? Is that how they died? Do you even care?”
“Oakley, I don’t really know what to say.” The rest of the library had gone quiet; I could feel the stares, and I shifted.
“Well I do. I don’t know what’s up with you Caleb, or what’s been happening. But I’m starting to think you’re behind it. And I
don’t want any part of it.”
I heard her chair rub backward against the carpet, and she stood with a huff.
“Don’t bother looking for me. I used to feel bad for you, too, but I guess you don’t have feelings. And take this,” she slammed down a plastic container onto the table. “It was lasagna night last night, and my mother saved some for you after she heard you were alone.”
Then she stomped from the library, leaving me motionless in my chair. Someone shifted to the right of me, and from the back of the library a book fell off a shelf as the door slammed behind her.
Then, before I knew what I was doing, I was running. My forehead rammed into the door she had just slammed, knocking me backward before I found the handle. Then I was outside in the cold, looking down the street at her fire receding in the distance.
“Oakley, wait!” I shouted, but her fire kept moving.
“Oakley! They died before then,” I said as my voiced cracked. “They killed her.”
And she turned.
“What’s that?” And I could hear the tears in her own voice.
“They were killed Oakley. That’s why I’m here, because they were murdered, my own mother was murdered. And those were the people that killed her, the people that died in the fire. All rotten, every one of them.”
Then she started back toward me, picking up speed, her walk turning to a run. Then her arms were around me in a hug.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “I feel awful, I didn’t know, and I didn’t want it to be true.”
Then she stopped talking, because suddenly her lips were pressed against mine, my mouth open with surprise, then my hand moving up her back to cup the back of her head. Then she pulled back and spoke.
“You’d better start opening up more, Caleb, because when you don’t, I’m scared that hell’s about to break loose,” she said, and she kissed me again.
Chapter 33 - Post Mortem
“Matthew, I want to ask some questions today,” I said. I was in the coffee shop again, and the preacher man had just finished his lesson.
“Knock, and the door will be opened,” he answered in his deep voice, and he stopped packing his belongings.
“Where do people go when they die?” I asked.
“Why do you ask?” he replied as he put down his drink. “Is this about your mother, Caleb? The Lord takes care of her now.”
“No, that’s not it. When people die, they’re gone, right? They don’t come back, right?”
“What’s dead is dead,” he answered.
“You’re not answering my question. What’s dead, what’s in Hell, what belongs in Hell—it stays there, right?”
“There will always be evil in this world, if that is what you are asking. That is why you must be righteous, Caleb. To protect against the evil. To protect yourself.”
“Answer me,” I said, raising my voice. “Can something come back? Can it?”
The preacher man paused, then spoke.
“In the beginning, Caleb, the devil himself, Lucifer, was an angel. Lucifer walked in Heaven, and he walked on this Earth. Then he fell. And now, he walks in Hell. But there are ways, there are places and times, where he can walk on this Earth again. When the corners of Heaven and Hell touch. Where he tempts us, and trips us, and seeks to drag us down with him.”
“And other things can rise, then? Like demons?”
“Yes, Caleb. Other demons can rise too,” he sighed. Then he asked a question. “I’ve heard that Liz instructed your school to revise your history program, Caleb. Is this true?”
“I didn’t realize it was her, but yes. They changed the schedule this year.”
“She did it on purpose, Caleb. You’re learning about some of the most terrible people in history, people marked by evil itself. These people, they didn’t do what they did alone. They had help from other sources. Otherworldly sources. Demons and forces that amplified their actions, that sought to raise destruction on the world. They walk among us, and they seek to do it again. And that is why, Caleb, you must guard yourself against them, and why I am here to teach you. We cannot afford for you to fall into the same traps.”
***
I descended into the cellar that evening, and Iaco was there waiting for me.
“Back so soon?” he asked, twirling a cigar in his fingers, the now-familiar smile across his face.
“How’d you get out of the box? I left it shut.”
“Once you let a demon out of its cage, it’s not as simple as closing the door to put him away,” he said, and he puffed the cigar. His breath still smelled of alcohol, reminding me of my father in the trailer so long ago.
“I came to ask some questions,” I said, ignoring the red wisps of smoke that fluttered over my face from his cigar.
“Shoot, little lord. But didn’t your mother tell you demons lie?”
“What are the red figures? You know I can see them. Are you one of them? Because you seem different.”
“Oh boy, that’s quite an explanation. No, I’m not one of them, and I’ll give you the abridged version so we don’t have to speak philosophy all night. Though if you’re interested, it is a favorite subject of mine. I would be most obliged.”
“No, I’ll take the short answer.”
“You humans and time. It’s not like you’re running short on it.” He puffed again and continued. “By now I’m sure you’ve guessed that Hell isn’t exactly the most pleasant of places, little lord. In fact, demons of similar constitution to myself are always trying to get out. But those figures that you see, they aren’t demons. They’re people—people so worn away from years of torment that they forget who they are after death. And they'll do anything to relieve that torture, to taste life again. So the ones that do escape through the nooks and crannies where Hell touches Earth, well, they find others that belong down there. And when they drag them down, they get a taste of what they once were, feasting upon the life that is no more. Same thing happens when the living make morally questionable decisions: They shed a bit of their goodness then, their life, and your red figures will line up in ranks for the feast.”
“So that’s why demons are always trying to tempt people? To feast on them?”
“Well yes, and no. Some of them just do it for fun. Wait, no, that’s actually just me.”
“I was told that demons are responsible for many of the more evil people throughout history. Like Dracula. Or Genghis Khan. Or Hitler. Is that true, then?”
Iaco choked on his cigar then spat ash on the floor. He laughed, the laugh I had grown to hate so much, the laugh that made me feel ignorant.
“Oh hell, you truly don’t know, do you?”
“Just tell me already,” I shouted, and I caught him flinching again. “And why are you scared of me? You’re not hiding it well.”
“That wasn’t us. That was your grandmother. And I’m scared because you’re her grandson, little lord. Her rightful heir.”
Chapter 34 - Fieldtrip
Oakley came over the next night. She had started doing that, sneaking out of her upstairs window at her house, walking across the roof to the low-hanging tree that she could climb down, and biking to the monastery. I welcomed her—I needed to forget what the demon had said, everything else, too, and her presence helped.
“There’s a group of kids from school breaking into a haunted house the day after tomorrow,” she said from the windowsill, her feet dangling on my bed, where I sat with my back against the wall. She reached down to squeeze my arm. “Want to come? Might be more fun if you’re there.”
“A haunted house? Why would you want to go in that?”
“Because it’s fun,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. “Plus, you’ll get to meet some of my friends.”
“Sure, I guess. What makes it so haunted?” This house is already haunted enough for me, I thought. As if I need to tempt Hell any more.
“Oh, they say it’s been deserted for years. And there are noises that come from it—a howling when the wind
hits it just right and voices and such. There’s creepy music that will play late at night. One of my friends thought he saw someone through the window when we walked past, but it was too dark to tell for sure.”
“Oh, I’m sure he did,” I responded. “And was he scared by this ghost?”
“Laugh all you want, but it’s for real. Maybe you should have a more open mind,” she said. “My friend even said his dad remembered it before it was deserted. He wouldn’t even talk about what happened there. So my friend went digging, and he said he found out. He doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, but I’m sure I can get him to tell beforehand. Will you go, then?”
“Sure,” I said, and she inched closer to me, the radio playing softly, and her lips met mine in a nervous kiss we had learned to share.
And at that moment, I remembered the demon’s words.
They wouldn’t even venture into this school after what happened.
And I asked a question.
“Oakley, speaking of digging into the past. I’m doing a project on the history of the monastery. Could you look into it for me, maybe dig some newspapers up?”
“Of course,” she answered. “We’ll take care of it in the library tomorrow.”
***
“You need to get more sleep,” said Mary at school the next day as I yawned, stretching my shoulders.
“I’m fine,” I replied, leaning back in my chair.
“No, you’re not,” she whispered as class began. “You’re practically falling asleep. Your eyes are drooping shut.”
“Not like it matters if they are,” I answered. “Won’t miss anything more than usual.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, everything’s alright.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said. “Do you need to talk or something? Like about your mother?”
My head jerked upward, staring at where I knew her to be, the teacher rambling in the background.
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