The Burning Time

by J. G. Faherty

  “As soon as you’re dressed, come downstairs and help me load up the car. Then you can set up chairs at the church.”

  “What about breakfast?”

  “They have juice and rolls at the church for everyone.” Danni’s words came back to him from the hallway; she was already heading downstairs.

  Mitch pulled on a T-shirt and shorts, knowing the church had no air conditioning. Great. Not only am I gonna have to deal with the congregation from hell, I’m gonna be sweating my ass off all day.

  He glanced out the window, hoping against hope he’d see John walking down the drive. Instead, all he saw was a sky full of ominous gray clouds and a lawn covered by heat-yellowed, desiccated grass.

  John, wherever you are, please hurry back.

  * * *

  At exactly eleven a.m., Reverend Cyrus Christian opened the doors to the rec center and townspeople began streaming in. It was easy enough for him to pick out those who hadn’t yet succumbed to the force of his will. Unlike their sullen friends and neighbors, they still looked eager to chat and say a nice word to one another.

  That will change soon enough.

  The fact that the bake sale had started on time was a bit of a small miracle in itself, considering how many arguments and shoving matches had broken out during the early morning hours as the volunteers finished setting up.

  Every insult, every rough gesture, had been music to Christian’s ears. Although they didn’t know it, his parishioners were doing his job for him, sending even more negative energy into the invisible miasma that hovered over the town, as nasty and heavy as the brooding rain clouds that refused to release their pent-up liquids.

  And just like the clouds, my own smog is also growing toward critical mass. And when it reaches it...

  Oh, what a fun time we’ll have!

  * * *

  Mitch Anderson breathed a sigh of relief when Reverend Christian opened the doors. With the sale officially under way, he could finally escape the insanity that was the Bake Sale Committee. For the past three hours, he’d stood by and watched normally pleasant old ladies act like the bullies who enjoyed pushing him around at school.

  Worst of all, Danni had been right in the center of things, calling people names and threatening to break one ancient crone’s nose for not putting out napkins fast enough.

  On top of everything else, his stomach had been complaining all morning. When they’d arrived at the church, nasty old Christian was opening boxes of buttered rolls and donuts, a sight that put an unpleasant thought in Mitch’s head.

  What if he laced the food with something that makes people do what he wants? Maybe all he has to do is touch the food, and it’s poisoned.

  After that, Mitch had refused to eat or drink anything, pretending he wasn’t hungry. But as the hours went by, his stomach had delivered increasingly loud announcements that it wanted food, and wanted it now.

  Pulling a dollar from his pocket, Mitch hurried over to Mrs. Hildebrand’s spot at a nearby table; an assortment of cookies and muffins sat in front of her, practically begging for someone to eat them.

  Better still, his old third-grade teacher was actually smiling, unlike the two crow-eyed ladies sitting next to her.

  “Hello, Mitch. Are you here for the food or helping out?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Hildebrand,” he said, laying his dollar on the table. “I was helping. Now I’m ready to eat!”

  Just then, his stomach let loose with another thunderous growl.

  Mrs. Hildebrand laughed. “So I hear. Well, since none of this would have been possible without good volunteers like yourself, I’ll give you a special deal for your dollar. How does two cookies and a muffin sound? Take your pick.”

  “Thanks!” Mitch selected two chocolate chip cookies and a chocolate muffin with colored sprinkles. He had a cookie in his mouth almost before he finished saying good-bye.

  Wishing he could have a glass of milk to go with his overdue breakfast, Mitch figured it was time to get away from the crowd and eat in peace.

  Two steps out of the church, he immediately wondered if he’d have been better off eating somewhere cooler, like the boiler room. As hot and sticky as the church basement had been, at least the fans set up around the room had provided a breeze.

  Outside, the offensive humidity hung heavy in the air, so thick and wet that Mitch felt like he was standing in a sauna. Streams of sweat ran down his neck and chest, and he decided to take his snack down to the river, where at least he could dip his feet in the cool water.

  When he got there, he took off his shoes and socks and sat down on a large rock, his feet dangling in the drought-shallow currents. For the first time in days, the heat seemed just the tiniest bit less oppressive, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought to come down here sooner. He’d always loved the quiet serenity of the place.

  He was leaning back, eyes closed, when a voice spoke behind him.

  “Hello, Mitchell.”

  Chapter 22

  Mitch let out an involuntary yelp and scrambled to his hands and knees, his heart knocking against his ribs like a caged animal trying to escape. Balanced on his rock, he looked over at Cyrus Christian, who stood a few feet away, his lips cast upwards in a smile as cold and dangerous as an icy sidewalk.

  “Uh, hello, uh, Reverend.” Mitch glanced around, but his only choices for escape were into the river or right past Christian.

  “I looked for you at the church but you were nowhere to be found. Your sister was worried, but I had a feeling you’d be down here. Young boys love the river, I told her.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Mitch’s bladder called for attention and he pressed his legs together. “Is, uh, something wrong?”

  Christian shook his head, a quick, birdlike gesture that somehow carried undertones of violence. “Oh, no. But it’s almost time to start cleaning up, and you promised to help.”

  “Time to...?” Mitch looked at his watch. Four-thirty? I must have fallen asleep. But I don’t remember...

  All the false pleasantness disappeared from Christian’s voice, and his eyes narrowed. “You do intend to help, don’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure. Let me put my shoes on and I’ll be right there.”

  “I’ll wait,” the reverend said. “I wouldn’t want your sister to see me come back without you. She might fear the worst.”

  Unsure whether he should be relieved or worried, Mitch slipped on his sneakers and followed the reverend back to the church, still confused as to how almost four hours could have slipped away.

  They were still several yards away from the back entrance when they heard the first angry shouts.

  “What’s going on?” Mitch asked.

  “I don’t know,” Christian said, but something in his expression made Mitch think the man knew exactly what they’d find when they went downstairs.

  A dozen possibilities flashed through Mitch’s head as he hurried down the steps, careful not to get too close to the evil thing disguised as Cyrus Christian. Even so, he was dumbfounded when he entered the room and found himself with a ringside seat to a riot.

  Food flew through the air as men and women, many of them old enough to be grandparents, attacked each other with fists, feet, and even teeth. Some were stabbing at their victims with plastic utensils. Several tables had been overturned, and at least a dozen bodies lay motionless on the floor.

  Mitch watched in stunned amazement as an elderly woman in a conservative suit splashed hot coffee across the face of an even older woman who was trying to hit her with a walker. Next to the octogenarian combatants, a heavy-set woman in her fifties was busy smashing her husband’s head into a tray of brownies.

  Screams of rage mingled with cries of pain and bellowed curses as more people joined the melee, sucked into the maelstrom of violence that was rapidly spreading across the room.

  Tearing his eyes away from the inexplicable uprising, Mitch saw a look of pure contentment spread across Cyrus Christian’s face.

  Hot anger filled Mitch, a
nd he yanked the reverend’s sleeve without thinking. “Do something!”

  Christian’s head snapped around and Mitch retreated from the man’s suddenly hateful gaze.

  “How dare you... Oh, yes, you’re quite right.” The malevolence drained away, leaving the man’s face as close to human as it ever got. He turned and strode into the fight, calling out for people to calm down and leave each other alone. As he walked, he touched people’s arms and shoulders; each time he made contact, the person immediately stopped fighting and sat down, a bewildered expression on his or her face.

  Like a black-coated Moses, Christian headed for the center of the disturbance, parting the crowd before him and leaving an unnatural calm in his wake.

  Mitch wanted to see who’d started the fight, but he was afraid it would turn out to be Danni. At the same time, he imagined her on the floor, her skull crushed. So he felt a mixture of relief and anger when he spotted her across the room, using her pocket book to keep three people from stealing the bake sale cash box. Each time one of them tried to reach for it, she swung the heavy bag, smacking hands and heads with equal glee.

  Detouring around the fringes of the brawl, Mitch made his way to his sister. “Danni! Stop it. The fight’s over. Reverend Christian is here.”

  As soon as he said the reverend’s name, all three would-be thieves backed away. One of them started to run for the door, but Christian’s voice, as loud as if he were delivering a Sunday mass, stopped the man in his tracks.

  “Robert Metzger! Is this how you show your faith?”

  The last of the crowd stepped aside and Christian emerged, his face calm but his eyes afire.

  “N...No, Reverend...I, I thought the girl was trying to steal the money.”

  Christian drew closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with his quarry. Metzger tried to step back, but two parishioners grabbed his arms. Others stepped forward and took hold of the two women who’d been with Metzger.

  “I can see into your heart, Robert. I can see the truth behind your lies.”

  “Reverend, no, I—”

  “Silence! The Gods do not tolerate disobedience, Robert. For your acts there must be punishment and blood. Come closer, Robert. It is time for your penance.”

  The man bowed his head, and Christian reached out with one hand, his fingers curled into talons. Mitch almost cried out, thinking the Reverend was going to pluck the man’s eyes out or maybe shove his fingers right into the man’s head, but Danni gripped his shoulder.

  “Stay still, Mitch. This isn’t your affair,” she whispered.

  He looked up and felt his stomach do a sick somersault at the cruel smile she wore. It reminded him of the drawings in his history book, the ones of the crowds who watched the witch burnings in Old Salem.

  Mitch returned his attention to Reverend Christian and saw with some relief that all he was doing was gripping the man’s face, the way a grandmother might grip a child before planting a big, lipsticky kiss.

  Only Christian didn’t kiss Robert Metzger. Instead, he spoke a single sentence.

  “For you sins, you shall enter the river at midnight and wait for the Gods to decide your fate.”

  Metzger’s eyes grew wide, and a tear ran down one cheek, but he nodded. Christian let go and repeated his delivery of penance to the two women. When he finished, the three of them slowly walked away, their bodies shaking with barely-controlled sobs.

  Christian turned toward Danni and Mitch.

  Oh, God! He’s going to touch me! A whimper escaped Mitch’s throat and he tried to push away, but Danni held him tight.

  “Danni. Mitchell. Would you please get some people to help you clean this mess up? And then afterward, I’d like to see the two of you in my office for a brief chat.”

  “Of course, Reverend,” Danni said.

  Mitch let out his breath in a loud gasp as Christian nodded to them and walked away.

  Danni poked him in the arm. “You heard the man, Mitch. Grab a broom and start sweeping.”

  Chapter 23

  “This is as far as I can take you,” the truck driver said, giving John Root an apologetic grin. “Can’t navigate a big rig through residential streets.”

  “You’ve taken me farther than you had to, and I thank you. Have a safe trip.” John stepped off the runner and shut the door, thanking God for delivering someone willing to pick up a stranger.

  I’m back in town earlier than I expected. Hopefully I’m not too late to—

  John’s thoughts crashed to a stop as he stared down at the town of Hastings Mills. Smoke rose from what looked like several house fires. The wails of police sirens and fire engines mixed with the howls of dogs in an evil chorus that battered John’s eardrums.

  Hurry, John Root. There’s folks depending on you.

  John nodded to his mother’s voice in his head. Holding one arm against his side to keep his precious bottles of Holy Water from banging together and breaking, John headed into town as fast as he could walk.

  * * *

  “Please, sit down.” Reverend Cyrus Christian motioned to two chairs in front of his desk.

  Danni sat down, her face expressionless. Mitch hesitated, then sat next to her before anyone noticed his nervousness. John wanted him to act as if everything was normal, but it was getting harder and harder.

  A quick glance at his watch showed it was almost six. Where was John? Had he given up on them after Danni threw him out?

  Mitch’s anxiety grew worse as Christian locked the door and closed the blinds. “What’s going on?”

  “Hush, Mitch,” Danni said. “The reverend has something to tell us.”

  “I do, indeed.” Christian took a small envelope from his desk and opened it, poured a small amount of black powder onto his hand. “Danni, do you know what this is?”

  Danni leaned forward. “No, I—”

  With a sudden exhalation, Christian blew the powder into Danni’s face. She coughed once and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she slowly slid from the chair onto the floor.

  Mitch jumped up, torn between running for the door and helping his sister. “What did you do?”

  The reverend came around the desk, his coal-black eyes glittering with insanity. “Nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you, you little shit. You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long, boy, and today’s the day I remove you for good.”

  Mitch bolted for the door, forgetting in his terror that it was locked. He was still fumbling with the handle when the back of his head exploded in pain. As his knees buckled and he fell, strong hands grabbed him and dragged him back to his chair.

  “I have plans for you, boy. But first, you get to watch what I do to your sister.”

  “Leave her alone!” Mitch pulled free, but before he could get to his feet, Christian delivered a backhand slap that turned his legs to rubber.

  “We’ll have none of that.” The reverend snapped his fingers and a coil of heavy rope appeared in his hand. Paying no attention to Mitch’s screams, Christian proceeded to tie his feet to the chair’s legs, and his chest and arms to the chair’s back. When he finished, the only things Mitch could move were his feet and head.

  Mitch screamed again, and Christian shook his head. “Scream all you want. This room is completely soundproof to the outside world. I could shove a stick of dynamite up your ass and splatter your insides across the walls, and no one would hear a thing. However,” he said, removing something from his desk drawer, “you are giving me a headache. So let’s just shut you up.”

  Christian whispered something and opened his hand. A black butterfly fluttered into the air, made a small circle, and then headed right for Mitch’s face. Mitch tried to turn his head, but the butterfly touched down on his lips like a feathery caress.

  Mitch opened his mouth to yell, and all that came out was a soft whimper. Its job done, the butterfly flapped its wings one last time and then disappeared.

  “Much better,” Christian said, then he bent over and lifted Danni back
into her chair. Her head hung down, but she didn’t fall back onto the floor. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you back your voice soon enough. I’d hate to miss out on your cries of pain when I strip the flesh from your bones.”

  This can’t be happening, Mitch thought, as he twisted against the ropes. John wouldn’t let it. It’s a dream. I’m still asleep down at the river.

  Ignoring him, Christian took a large, black book from a drawer and began reading softly from it. The words were meaningless to Mitch. He couldn’t even tell what language they were. But their effects were immediate: the lights dimmed, and the air filled with the stink of rotten eggs. Sulfur, Mitch remembered from his science class. Each time Christian turned a page, a heavy wind whipped through the room, scattering papers and tousling Danni’s hair.

  Christian raised his hand and spoke in a louder voice.

  “Denizens, hear me! So-holoths, hear me!

  Feeders in the deep, hear me! Make me your vessel,

  so that I can share the vile pleasures of this one’s

  flesh with you! Fill me with your foul corruption,

  share my space in this plane. Hear me now, as I call

  upon you to gain from my depravities! Come to me!

  Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl!”

  With his last word, Christian’s shirt split open and a mass of greenish-brown tentacles burst from his pale chest. Rows of tiny mouths covered the bottoms of the appendages, with jagged teeth showing inside the puckered openings. At the rounded tip of each gruesome member was a pus-yellow eye with a red pupil.

  At the sight of the tentacles, Danni’s eyes went wide and she screamed, the muscles in her neck standing out like steel rods under her skin. Mitch screamed as well, but only in his head, as Christian stood up, the five-foot-long rubbery limbs squirmed and twisted around each other like angry snakes.

  Christian’s lips curled up in a dreadful parody of a smile. “Where is your God now, you pathetic twat? Cowering like a virgin on her wedding night? He knows he is no match for my Gods. They grow stronger each day, each hour.”