The Burning Time

by J. G. Faherty

  “Okeey-dokeey.”

  Sneaking out of the house was no problem. Cookie did it a lot in the summer. She liked to sit outside in her underwear and feel the breeze tickle her skin. Sometimes she even peed in the bushes next to the driveway. That was scary, ‘cause her parents would get mad if they caught her, but it was fun, too. Like a game.

  As she crept out the back door, she thought about peeing in the bushes now, but decided against it. The voice might get angry if she didn’t get to the bridge right away.

  After looking both ways, Cookie Dodge ran across the street and headed for the river, singing softly to herself the whole way.

  “Me and Mr. Albert sittin’ in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g...”

  Chapter 20

  Cyrus Christian stood in the doorway to the church’s recreation room, where two dozen or so women were busy stacking paper plates, setting up coffee urns, and unfolding tablecloths. While the original plan had called for having the sale outside, the ongoing heat had forced the committee to bring it inside, where at least there were fans.

  He scanned the room until he spotted the person he’d been looking for. Danni Anderson stood at the opposite end from him, sorting packages of regular and decaf coffee. Ignoring the greetings of his flock, Christian strode across the room and tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Danni, might I have a word with you in my office?”

  She looked up, a small smile gracing her lips. “Of course, Reverend.”

  He felt like smiling himself. Anyone in their right mind would have been nervous to be alone with him; he had no illusions as to his effect on people. The dark forces filling him were growing stronger each day, and it had reached the point where the tainted energies leaked out of him the way curry or garlic will leak out from the pores of habitual eaters.

  The fact that Danni expressed no concern meant she was well and truly under his influence, something that would make his job that much easier.

  When they reached the office, Christian shut the door and told Danni to have a seat.

  “We have a problem, Miss Anderson, one I’m hoping you can help me with.”

  “Anything, Reverend. What is it?”

  “I’m afraid it’s this man you are putting up in your house, John Root. I’ve done some checking on him, and the information I’ve received makes me nervous not only for yours and Mitch’s safety, but for the safety of our fair town.”

  “John?” Danni frowned. “But the police said he had nothing to do with the murders of those women. And he’s so good with Mitch.”

  “The Devil cloaks himself well in the skin of friendliness,” Christian said. “He seems nice enough now. But what about later?”

  “Later?”

  “When his true colors come out.” Christian walked around the desk and sat in his chair, leaned toward Danni. “How much you know about Mister Root?”

  Danni pursed her lips as she thought. “I know he’s from South Carolina, and that he travels the country, collecting old tales for his books.”

  “Mmm-hmmm. And did you know that in the last several towns he’s stayed in, there have been reports of children going missing?”

  “What?” Danni’s eyes went wide.

  “That’s right. Of course, he always had a strong alibi when questioned. And then there was the money...”

  “What money?”

  Christian fought to keep from smiling. “The money that went missing from the homes he stayed in. Again, nothing that could be linked directly to him, and even if it could, he was always long gone before the theft was discovered.”

  “How did you find all this out?”

  The reverend leaned back. “I have friends in other churches, ministers and parishioners who had their suspicions of Mister Root, just as I do. Do not forget, it was I who warned the town of the stranger in their midst. And you cannot say that things in Hastings Mills haven’t been going sour since the arrival of you so-called friend.”

  Danni chewed her lower lip as she considered Christian’s words. He wanted to pound the desk in glee. He could see her thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken them out loud.

  Things have been strange lately.

  And John’s already been in trouble with the police.

  What if the reverend’s right?

  “I...I don’t know,” Danni said, looking torn between anger and self-doubt.

  “Of course you don’t. None of us do.” Christian spread his hands. “But as the saying goes, isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?”

  “Yes.” Danni nodded. “Yes, it is. What should I do?”

  Now Christian allowed himself a small smile. “I can’t tell you that, Miss Anderson. But if it was me, I wouldn’t want a stranger like John Root anywhere near my little brother.”

  A look of hard determination came over Danni’s face. “You’re right. I’ll go take care of that as soon as I’m done here.”

  “Why wait?” Christian stood and indicated the door. “Go now. We can handle things here. Your family is much more important.”

  Danni rose from her chair. “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll see you in the morning.” She existed the office at a fast pace.

  Christian waited until the door shut behind her before letting his smile take on its natural malignancy. “Have a nice night, Miss Anderson. And you, too, John Root.”

  * * *

  “Tell me more about Reverend Christian.”

  John looked up from the pot of macaroni he was stirring, wondering how he should answer Mitch’s question. He’d been debating how much of the truth to tell the boy ever since he’d promised him more information.

  After a moment’s thought, he decided to be totally honest, even if it meant frightening the boy. Better scared than unprepared.

  “It’s a long story. Suffice to say that the thing pretending to be Cyrus Christian has been around a long, long time, long enough for his ways to become the stuff of folk tales and mythology. Wherever he goes, you can count on certain things happening: young women dying strange deaths, violence in the streets...”

  “And people falling under his spell?”

  John nodded. “Yes. A handful at first, but the longer he stays, the more powerful he grows, and more people he can influence.”

  Mitch poured himself a glass of ice tea. “If he’s always the same, why can’t people find him and stop him?”

  “The trouble he causes is always the same, but he isn’t,” John said. “Sometimes he’s a politician, sometimes a teacher. And he wears a different face in every town. That’s why it’s taken me so long to find him.”

  “How long?”

  John ran a hand through his silver hair. “When I started my search, you weren’t even born yet.”

  “Wow. I didn’t think you were that old.” Before John could comment that Mitch wouldn’t believe how old he really was, the boy asked, “So how I can help you?”

  That was a question John hadn’t expected. He took a moment to consider it before answering.

  “You can gather information for me,” John said. “No one in town trusts me enough to tell me anything. But you’ll have to be very careful. Don’t ask too many questions. I’d rather not have the information than risk something happening to you.”

  “What could happen?”

  “A lot.” John placed both hands on the boy’s shoulders, made sure he was paying close attention. “Remember, the town isn’t the same anymore. The people you know... Well, they might not really be the people you know anymore. Say or do the wrong thing, and they’ll mention it to Reverend Christian.”

  Mitch’s somber expression told John the boy understood the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll be careful, I promise. But while I’m doing that, what will you be doing?”

  “Figuring out a way to keep us safe and break Christian’s hold on Danni.”

  The sound of Danni’s car pulling into the driveway stopped John. He put his finger to his lips. “Remember, right now your sister can’t be trusted. Not a word of this to
her, understand?”

  Mitch nodded.

  John hoped for the boy’s sake he knew how to keep a secret.

  * * *

  Reverend Christian returned to the rec center just as Marjorie Campbell was putting the finishing touches on the banner hanging proudly over the stage, where the prizes would be awarded.

  “Reverend Christian!” Marjorie waved a hand at him. “Does this look right to —”

  With a snap like a tree branch breaking, the hinges of the ladder pulled free from the wood. Marjorie had time for one terrified gasp as the ladder collapsed beneath her, leaving her suspended in the air for a split second. Then gravity enforced itself on her again, and she crashed to the ground. Several more popping sounds followed.

  Christian had a feeling they weren’t from the ladder.

  “Oh, my God!” Helen Kapinski dropped a box of plastic forks and ran to the stage. “Someone call an ambulance!”

  The rest of the women crowded around their motionless friend, heads bobbing up and down, bodies jigging side to side like a gaggle of geese jostling each other for better look.

  Christian let them caw and screech for a moment, then strode forward, putting on his best authoritative air.

  “Ladies, ladies, please. Step back. Give me some room. I’m trained in first aid.”

  The gaggle parted before him. Mrs. Kapinski knelt by the body, one shaking hand hovering hesitantly over Mrs. Campbell’s wrinkled face.

  Christian nudged her aside and placed his fingers against Mrs. Campbell’s wattle-laden neck. The pool of blood spreading under the woman’s head, combined with the unnatural angle of her neck, told him they’d be better off calling a hearse than an ambulance. But he pretended to search for a pulse. After several seconds, he pulled his hand away and shook his head.

  “I’m afraid the Gods have claimed her.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Kapinski put her hands over her face.

  Someone in the crowd murmured that it was a terrible thing to happen.

  “Nonsense.” Christian stood up and took them all in with his gaze. “Blood consecrates, my brethren. Blood is life, blood is what the Gods demand. The giving of one’s blood—one’s very life!—for the Gods is the truest sacrifice any of us can make. And to do it in this very place of worship...” Christian paused, spread his arms. “To do it here is a wondrous thing!”

  “Praise be the Gods!” someone shouted.

  “Yes!” Christian raised his hands over his head. “Praise them! Praise them all! Let them know you live to do their will!”

  “Praise the Gods!” the group called out in unison. “Praise the Gods!”

  Christian dropped to one knee and placed his hands in Marjorie Campbell’s blood. Standing, he held his hands out to the gathered women.

  “Come now, and feel the power of Marjorie’s sacrifice.”

  One by one, they bowed their heads and stepped forward to be anointed.

  With each touch of his bloody fingers, the power within Reverend Cyrus Christian grew a little more.

  Chapter 21

  John knew something was wrong the moment Danni entered the kitchen. She strode past her little brother without so much as a hello, her face twisted in an angry grimace.

  “John Root, we need to talk,” she said, her voice cold and hard.

  “What’s the matter?” John asked, rising from his chair.

  “I want you out of my house. And you’re never to go near Mitch again.”

  “Danni!”

  “Shut up, Mitch. This has nothing to do with you. Go upstairs. We’ll talk later.”

  Mitch stood still, prepared to argue further.

  “Listen to your sister, Mitch,” John said, not wanting the boy to get in trouble.

  Stomping his feet in anger the whole way, Mitch left the room.

  “What happened, Danni?” John asked. He had a good idea he knew what her answer would be, and she didn’t disappoint him.

  “Reverend Christian told me all about you. The missing boys. The stolen money. Did you honestly think you’d get away with it?”

  John shook his head, in sorrow rather than an admission of guilt. “You’ve been misled, Danni, and not by me. But I don’t want to cause any trouble. I’ll get my things and go.”

  “No.” She held out a hand. “You go now. You can wait on the porch while I get your stuff. I don’t want you to say another word to my brother.”

  “All right.”

  Ten minutes later, John stepped off the Anderson property and onto the highway, then paused.

  So where do I go?

  All the hotels and motels were closed to him. The townspeople were under Christian’s spell and more likely to stone him than give him a place to stay.

  You could just go home. People are going to die here no matter what you do. It’s just a question of how many. And it’s not like this town is going to complete the cycle, set the final clock in motion. You know the Stranger has a lot more work to do, many more places to visit before he has enough power to open the Gates.

  John recognized the voice. It was that side of him open to influence from the Powers the Stranger served. All people had it, were vulnerable to it. Sin, temptation, selfishness. It all stemmed from the same place. But even knowing that, he couldn’t help arguing with his own internal weakness.

  Yes, but if I stop him here, it sets him back decades or even centuries. Maybe even for good.

  For good? Hah! You cannot stop Chaos; you can’t end Evil. And what about all the good you could be doing while you waste your time here, on this town full of people who could care less if you live or die?

  That’s only because they’re under his influence.

  No, it’s because they’re human and weak. They’re more concerned with helping themselves than helping others. In fact, if you think about it, the world might be better off without them. These are the kind of people who killed your son, your wife.

  John set down his bag so he could swipe a hand across his face, brushing away more than just the ever-present summer sweat. Just the thought of Clara and Jack never failed to bring tears to his eyes.

  That’s right. Your family, who you should be growing old with you right now. Instead, they’re in graves, thanks to a superstitious swamp rat with a gun and a can of gas. In fact, you might say this is all your mother’s fault. If she hadn’t raised you in magic, you might’ve had a normal life.

  Suddenly, the images in John’s head broke into pieces, replaced by his mother’s face. Never let temptation fool you, John, she said, her voice as clear as if she was standing right next to him. Remember, it’s not you. Don’t give in. Doing the right thing isn’t always easy, but it beats losing your soul.

  She smiled, and her face faded away, leaving John’s thoughts clear again. In the aftermath, he realized who’d really been speaking in his head.

  The Master of Illusion.

  “Nice try,” he whispered to the night air. “But it will take more than that.”

  So be it, the dark voice of the Stranger said. Have a nice night, John Root.

  With a sigh, John picked up his bag and began the long walk into town.

  * * *

  Cyrus Christian opened his eyes; the taste of Marjorie Campbell’s blood was still sharp on his tongue. He’d held a small hope that the power it contained might be enough to break through John Root’s defenses—both magical and personal.

  “No matter,” he said to the empty room. “There are other ways to skin a cat. Or a man.”

  He closed his eyes again.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes of walking brought John to the town limits. During that time, he’d decided on a course of action. After using his black bag to search his shelves at home, he’d determined he had everything he needed to break Christian’s spell on Danni Anderson and possibly to drive the Stranger from town completely, except for one crucial item.

  Holy Water.

  Normally, he would have just taken a jar or flask to the nearest church and fi
lled it. But with Christian’s influence befouling Hastings Mills more and more each hour, there was no telling if the Holy Water at any of the town’s churches was contaminated or not. Which meant a trip outside the city limits. And since he had no car and couldn’t trust any of the local cab services, he had no choice but to walk the eighteen miles to Elmsville and back again.

  The idea of being away from Mitch and Danni for almost a full day had John in a bit of a frenzy. It felt as if he was abandoning them, even if his reason for leaving was to help them.

  Just goes to show how attached you’ve become to them, he told himself. Which is the one thing you shouldn’t be doing.

  Shouldn’t, it was true, but then again, how can you tell your heart what to do? Facts were facts, as his mother used to say. And you can’t take them back. And the fact was, he cared for Danni and Mitch. Too much so, especially in Danni’s case.

  With a sigh, John headed up Route 16.

  * * *

  “Rise and shine, Mitch. There’s a lot to do today, and I need your help.”

  Mitch rolled over, ready to object to Danni’s brusque good morning, but something about her expression killed the words before they reached his mouth. It wasn’t anything he could pin down. She wasn’t frowning or glaring, her lips weren’t tight, her teeth weren’t clenched. But there was a lack of warmth, a stony, blank look that seemed somehow familiar even though he couldn’t remember ever seeing it on his sister’s face before.

  Then it came to him.

  It was the reptilian gaze of a cobra, like the one he’d seen on Animal Planet a few nights ago. The snake had been in hunting mode, its head raised, dark tongue flickering in and out as it tasted the air. But all the while, the eyes had held that same cold look, as emotionless as a robot.

  “Okay, sis,” he said, tossing back the sheets. John’s warnings about her suddenly seemed all too real. The idea that his sister was under some kind of evil spell made him want to scream. But he had to act normal. If Danni suspected anything, she’d go right to Reverend Christian, and that would end any chance John had of breaking the minister’s enchantment.