Small Town Monsters

by Diana Rodriguez Wallach

  Max’s fingers clenched hers. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I think the Sunshine Crew and the Angel of Tears are connected. Somehow. Maybe?” She pressed between her eyebrows, rubbing. “Or this is all bullshit, and my dreams are just dreams. I really don’t know!” Her voice cracked, desperation leaking in. “My aunt thinks I’m overreacting and my dreams are random Freudian textbook stuff. Meanwhile, my mom thinks I could be under the influence of the same demon that’s inside your mother. She’s acting like I’m getting too close.” She put air quotes around the words. “But neither of them feels right to me. And I just feel…messed up.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “You’re okay. And you’re making sense. We know my mom was in the Sunshine Crew. I don’t know how people could go from that to devil worship, but both things are spreading through town. It’s possible.”

  “It’s also possible I’m freaking out and conflating two completely unrelated things just to make sense of my own fear,” she croaked, a shiver rocking her shoulders.

  Max leaned closer. “We’ll figure this out.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

  He released her hand and reached for her, pausing. “Can I?”

  She collapsed against his chest, and he hugged her tight, her legs pulled up and curled like a cat. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

  When her breathing settled and he sensed she was falling asleep, her head sweaty against his chest, he didn’t move her. He didn’t want to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Vera

  Her parents called at eight in the morning. Finally. Vera was already awake, having opened her eyes at six a.m. with her head on Maxwell’s chest, which was covered in her father’s vacation T-shirt. The weirdness was too much for the early hour, so she snuck into her room before her aunt could find their bodies entwined. Vera never fell back asleep. Then the phone rang.

  As soon as her mom said hello, Vera blurted everything.

  “I think it’s all connected,” Vera insisted as she sat on the edge of her unmade bed.

  She could hear Maxwell downstairs playing Jenga with Chloe. She told him that her mom was on the phone, and as much as she knew Maxwell wanted to speak to her parents, Vera wanted some time alone. She needed her mom. He understood.

  “Mom, this shrine…it was in my patient’s room, it’s all over the hospital, and Maxwell’s mom had it. There were, like, worshippers in her room. And I’m not just sleepwalking anymore. I’ve been having dreams, lots of them, ones I didn’t tell you about before. I dreamt of being in the car when my classmates died. I’ve dreamt of Maxwell’s mom, hospital patients, the gas works employee. And I know what you said, but I don’t think the dreams are coming from the demon. I think they’re coming from inside me. I think I’m having them for a reason.” There, she said it. She thought her mom was wrong, for maybe the first time. Ever.

  Vera clamped the phone against her shoulder, waiting for a response, twisting a bedsheet over her wrists. She wrapped it round and round, forming a winter muff, holding her breath.

  “Honey, there’s something I need to tell you.” Her mom’s tone was unexpected, like she was bracing Vera for something. “I know this shrine. I’ve seen it before. In Chicago.”

  Vera dropped the sheet.

  “Twelve years ago, we were called out by the local diocese,” Mom continued. “There had been serial killings. Women were turning up mutilated. It was horrendous.”

  Vera slumped back on the bed, listening as the ceiling fan whirled above her, the beaded metal chain rocking with each rotation.

  “The police thought the killings were human sacrifices, that it was tied to the occult. One of the victims survived. They found her half dead in the frozen Chicago River. She told the police that the four men who attacked her wore crimson cloaks. They placed her on an altar, beside a large ivory statue of what looked like the Angel of Death—a skeleton in a white robe, with soaring wings and black tears, holding a skull-engraved torch with its flame smothered.”

  “That’s it,” Vera sputtered.

  That’s exactly it.

  “The church wanted me to interview the woman—they thought I could get a sense of what happened.” Her mom drew a slow breath and exhaled with the control of a yogi. “What I saw wasn’t just demonic, it was one of the darkest spirits I’ve ever felt. A cult leader managed to convince the four others that they were praying to a deity. He said the women were ‘sinners,’ and his followers believed him, without question. They left…parts of the victims…as offerings at the base of a shrine that they called the Angel of Tears.”

  “No, no, no.” Vera wrapped an arm around her stomach, ready to heave. She rolled on her side, curling her legs. If her parents vanquished this demon twelve years ago, that meant there was only one plausible reason it was now festering here, in Roaring Creek.

  “You didn’t mention the shrine before!” Mom defended, as if seeing Vera’s reaction.

  “I forgot! There’s so much going on, and the last time we spoke, it was only one patient. It wasn’t connected to Maxwell’s mom. But now it is. And it’s in my dreams. It’s all over the hospital.” Vera looked toward the bedroom door, and for a moment she swore she felt the pulse of the basement reaching through the house and into her chest.

  “I know, that’s what we realized in Chicago. This demon has the power to influence many. When we walked in, all four men were collapsed in front of the altar, lips smeared red, with their leader clutching a chalice of blood mixed with poison.”

  “A crystal chalice with gold trim.” Vera didn’t need to wait for an answer. That cup still haunted her nightmares. She knew exactly when it broke and where. “We’re the reason Maxwell’s mom is afflicted. The hurricane, the demon, it was in the chalice.”

  “No. Well, yes, but not exactly. We trapped it in the chalice, but demons don’t want to possess things, they want to possess people. That’s why we’re able to contain it in an object, if the object belonged to the person doing the demon’s bidding. The chalice was in the leader’s dead hand, and I could still feel the evil attached to it. It called to me. So we performed the binding prayers right there at the altar. Then we brought it home to ensure its protection,” Mom explained. “When Tilda told us that the chalice broke during the hurricane, and she performed the ritual, we thought we were okay. Even when we got home and realized she had missed some of the prayers, we still thought it was all right. The room and the object had been blessed as recently as a few days prior. But as a precaution we performed the ritual again, and we waited. Nothing happened.”

  “The community center exploded!” Vera sat upright.

  “We thought it was a gas leak.”

  “You never considered the alternative? That it was intentional? Or demonic?”

  “Of course we did, but the report said an employee made a mistake. It said he was grieving a dying child and was distracted. It made sense. Accidents happen.”

  “Mom, think of the timing!”

  “Months had gone by before the explosion, and in our experience, demons don’t patiently wait around for months. We thought if anything was let loose, we would feel the effects immediately. Not to mention, there’s no reason this inhuman spirit would even stay in Roaring Creek. It could have gone halfway around the world, for all we knew. Contrary to what you may think, we do not know everything about how the demonic plane works.”

  Vera groaned, all her blood, all her sanity, plunging from her head. The room, the world, tilted.

  “I can’t believe this…,” she murmured, trying to form words. “This thing, it isn’t just infecting Maxwell’s mom. I think it’s infecting the whole town. The shrine, all the deaths, the overdoses, the car accidents, Mom!” she yelped. “What if it’s all because of us?”

  “Honey, you’re reaching.
Calm down….”

  “You don’t know that! You’re not here! You’re never here. Something is wrong in Roaring Creek. I can feel it, like this dread I can’t shake. And now you’re saying it started with a cult, which is exactly what Maxwell and I were saying last night. I think I know how it’s spreading, and if I’m right, it’s infecting so many people.” Tears leaked without warning, cutting tracks down her cheeks. “How can all these people be possessed?”

  “They’re not. Not all of them. It’s not that powerful. In Chicago, I think only the leader was truly overtaken by the inhuman spirit; the rest were just under the influence, so to speak, like they were drunk or hypnotized.”

  “Hypnotized by a demon!” Vera shot back, her breath hiccupping as tears fell. “Maxwell’s mom—it’s not mind control or hypnosis, it’s possession. It’s affecting her whole body, her face. She spoke in his father’s voice; there was smoke coming out of her. I’m not sure how much longer her body can take it.”

  “Vera.” Her mom’s tone was suddenly stern. “We will be home as soon as we can. Two days, maximum. Do you hear me? I’m coming. In the meantime, you must stay away—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! You expect me to ignore what’s happening? I can help her.” Vera had to help her.

  “No! Absolutely not.” Her words may as well have been aimed at a toddler reaching for the stove. “My gift, it’s nothing like you’re experiencing. I’ve always had it, as far back as my oldest memories.”

  “But some of my dreams are true—the hurricane, that was real. I know, I lived it.”

  “Which is what makes it a normal dream, but the other ones…Honey, what you’re describing is completely different from me.”

  And different was wrong. Vera stared at the floor, her mother painting a white line through the room; Vera was on the other side. Her jaw tensed.

  “You think I’m possessed too?” Vera spat.

  “No, of course not. At least, not like that. I’m just saying you can’t trust your dreams until we know where they’re coming from.”

  Vera ground her teeth. Her mom just admitted to being wrong about the hurricane, about the danger of the object breaking. She could be wrong now. And even if Vera wasn’t special, or magical, she had instincts. Everything inside her screamed she wasn’t “under the influence” of anything demonic. Yet for some reason, it was easier for her mother to believe that than to believe Vera might have a power that rivals her own.

  No. Vera’s eyes squinted to slits, a million responses forming in her head, but none emerging from her lips.

  Finally, her mom let out a heavy sigh, sensing Vera’s ire. “I realize two days is a long time in a situation like this. I understand that more than you know. And I want to help this family. If you really feel time is imperative, then call Father Chuck. Tell him what’s happening and explain it’s an emergency. He’ll have to go around the traditional channels, at least until we get there.”

  Vera curled in on herself, her chest tightening. She still said nothing.

  “Vera, it’s going to be okay.” Her mom’s voice was softer. “I know it seems dire right now, and you’re scared, but it’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  She couldn’t promise that from Barcelona.

  Vera felt insulted, scared, and clueless all at once. There was a boy in her living room expecting Vera to strap on a cape and save his mother. A cult was spreading through Roaring Creek. Shrines were multiplying everywhere she looked. Patients were praying to Death.

  Vera paused, blinking away tears. Then she sat up straighter.

  The hospital.

  Samantha.

  The Sunshine Crew.

  No.

  Vera popped to her feet, eyes searching for her purse, her car keys.

  “Mom, I have to go.”

  * * *

  Vera stomped through the hospital corridor, the fluorescent overhead lights adding to the queasiness in her stomach.

  She’d sprinted out of the house, telling Maxwell she’d text him as soon as she could. She had to find Samantha. Only, before she did, Vera ran into the head of nursing outside of a ladies’ room and held a ninety-second conversation on the dangers of the Angel statues. Vera insisted, rather desperately, that the shrines were tied to demonic worship, while trying not to explicitly state it was her mother who saw the figure on a satanic altar surrounded by body parts. It didn’t matter.

  “My hands are tied,” the nurse said.

  No, Vera wanted to correct her, what’s coming is so much worse than bound hands.

  Now Vera had to hope that at least her friends would believe her. She raced toward the cafeteria, peeking into patient rooms as she passed. On this floor alone, three doors were open. There was a shrine to the Angel of Tears in two of them.

  An ache built behind her eyes, her fingers flexing with a desire to smash the statues into smithereens. This is all my family’s fault. The din of the cafeteria rose, blending with the stench of burned meat. She stepped inside and scanned the crowd. Chelsea was in line for a rubbery personal pizza, while Samantha grabbed a mostly lettuce premade salad. Vera met them at the cashier line.

  “I’m so glad you’re back!” Samantha greeted. Her voice was cheery, but there were purple circles under her lashes, her gaze looked bleary, and somehow, her face was bonier. “Lou’s been covering your shifts, and I swear if he tells me one more twenty-minute story about his pet hamster, I will bear no regrets for my actions.”

  “Seriously.” Chelsea gagged as she paid for their food. “The other day he showed me an album of the hamster dressed up in costumes, like a tiny sailor suit. I almost committed murder by sporking.”

  “Glad you didn’t.” Vera faked a grin as she followed her friends to their table, wondering exactly how to segue the conversation. “Guys, there’s something I gotta tell you—”

  “Did I text you about my grandma? We had to put her in hospice,” Chelsea cut in, her voice heavy, but her eyes looked at Vera like she was trying to communicate something else.

  Vera’s brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry….”

  “Why? Transitioning to the afterlife is the easiest journey she’ll ever take.” Samantha’s voice was flat, lifeless. “She shouldn’t fear it. No one should.”

  Vera’s eyes shot toward Samantha, her gaze vacant. She was direct-quoting the Sunshine Crew? How deep had she sunk? Only, before she could ask, Chelsea cut in.

  “My dad’s having a really hard time. It sucks, but let’s talk about something less depressing.” Chelsea bit into her pizza, her expression begging, Please. I know what you’re going to say, but don’t.

  Vera bit her lip. It was an impossible ask.

  “How have you been?” Chelsea grumbled, mouth full. “Why weren’t you at work?”

  “Um…” Vera looked down at the table. Blurting My friend’s mom is possessed by a demon or You may be in a cult didn’t feel like the right opening line. “I’ve been busy….”

  “Whatever happened with that guy who came here?” Chelsea pressed, working hard to divert the conversation. “You still seeing him?”

  “Yeah, actually,” Vera admitted, lies of omission piling up on her shoulders. Maxwell was sleeping on her couch, though that wasn’t what she’d come here to say.

  “Ohhh!” Chelsea cheered, clapping her hands. “I need happy news right now! Give me details! What have you guys been doing? Where have you gone?”

  Vera glanced out the window, unsure what to say. In the courtyard, patients were creeping along with walkers and gliding in wheelchairs. Fresh air and exercise were intended to lift their moods and promote healing. Meanwhile, Vera’s world had become so dark lately, she’d half forgotten it was summer. Was it wrong to delay the evil details for a few moments, ease them into it?

  “We’ve been hanging out at my place mostly,” Vera said, sticking
to what was true.

  “Your parents are cool with that?” Chelsea raised her brows.

  “They’re in Barcelona.”

  “What?!” Both girls gasped in unison.

  Vera bit her lip, basking in their reaction and knowing she was making this seem way cooler and way less satanic than it was. But the truth was, Vera liked Max. There, she admitted it. She liked him, and maybe she could have one conversation about the new boy in her life that didn’t involve demonic possession. Was that so wrong?

  “Tell. Us. Everything.” Chelsea clapped her hands in time with the words.

  “We’ve just been talking, mostly, but it’s been…intense.” Vera buried her eyes in her lap, hoping to conceal the realities she was holding back. “He lost his dad in the explosion, and his mom isn’t doing well.”

  The girls nodded with understanding. “PTSD can last your whole life,” said Chelsea.

  “The Sunshine Crew says we need to embrace our pain and stop fearing our lives.” Samantha’s voice sounded distant, almost dreamy. She stared out the window, as if in a trance. “Besides, the pain doesn’t really matter. It’s only temporary. Soon we’ll all be reborn. We should embrace it.”

  Every word was a needle piercing Vera’s let’s-be-normal bubble.

  “What?” Vera asked, her jaw hanging. The last time she’d been at work, Samantha was skimming chat rooms and recommending herbal teas. What happened?

  “How’s he dealing?” Chelsea blurted, drawing Vera’s attention and silently pleading with her to ignore the Sunshine Crew.

  No way.

  “His mom is in really bad shape.” Vera’s voice was measured, choosing the best way to describe this. “She was in TSC too—”

  “Hey, did you hear Steam Punk is playing at the Vine this weekend? We should go!” Chelsea pulled out her phone, full-on blabbering now. “Lemme see how much tickets are….”