by Debra Dunbar
As he turned to Hattie for confirmation that he wasn’t insane, Lefty launched into a response in the same language.
The demeanor of the three locals eased only a little, but they appeared uninterested in allowing them any closer to the village.
Lefty treated with the locals for a few minutes, before tipping his hat then reaching out to grip Vincent by the elbow, leading him back to the car.
The farmers watched as they withdrew, eyes hard, feet moving with anxiety.
As Vincent maneuvered the vehicle around, he asked, “So, what was that about?”
“Cooper was here,” Lefty replied. “In the Guest House.”
Hattie repeated, “Guest House?”
Lefty pivoted to face her. “These folk are the sort who live on faith alone. You gotta understand that. On one hand, their religion says that they can’t be around no unclean or disbelieving soul. On the other, they’re supposed to offer aid and succor to any…well, any old sucker.”
Vincent asked, “The point?”
“The point is when someone comes rambling through who don’t speak the language—it’s German, by the by—or if one of their own ends up in an awkward way, vis a vis their religion, they have a building at a comfortable distance to put them up in.”
“The Guest House.” Hattie confirmed.
“Right. I think the name is more than a little sarcastic. It’s part hostel, part exile. Anyways, it seems Cooper holed up here for the short term to wait for you.”
Vincent asked, “Any chance they told you where to find this joint?”
Lefty nodded to the east. “Down through those maples. They said to leave before sunset.” His voice dropped a little. “I don’t think it was an order as much as friendly advice.”
“Where’d you learn German?” Hattie asked.
“Oh,” Lefty replied with a sudden lift of his tone. “Alsace-Lorraine. I’m far from fluent, but I know enough to get by.”
There was something in his tone that seemed…nostalgic. As if there was a pleasant memory attached to that time in Alsace-Lorraine. Vincent eyed him, not sure what had happened in the middle of a horrific war that would have left his friend with a pleasant memory.
“I’ll bore you with the details some other evening.” Lefty waved any further questions off.
They trotted down an overgrown path between a row of barren maples that reached over the lane like skeletal claws. The Guest House stood beyond the macabre canopy in the center of a clearing. Abandoned furniture adorned a long porch. The architecture seemed out of place among the Amish, as if it had been built by an outsider who’d either abandoned it or donated it to the locals.
“No car,” Lefty noted.
“Didn’t they find Cooper’s car at the burn site?”
Lefty nodded. “So he’d been staying here, but drove to that other house. I wonder why? Was he intending to meet this Hell pincher? Because that don’t seem much like the Cooper I knew.”
That was definitely the question of the day—and Vincent hoped the answer was in this building.
“Looks like it’s empty,” Hattie said. “Let’s see if this Cooper left anything useful.”
Lefty nodded to them as he wound around the building. “I’ll take a look around outside. Don’t want any surprises.”
Vincent nodded his assent, then hopped up the steps to the covered porch. The red-painted door was closed, but as Vincent gave the knob a try, he found it to be unlocked. “Not much point in locks around these parts, I suppose.”
Hattie stood back as he pinched time and opened the door to look inside. It had become a habit for Vincent. Better to find out if there’s one son of a bitch or another behind the door with a gun. The interior was utterly dark. Several curtains had been drawn at every window, but that by itself didn’t seem enough to cast such a pall inside the building. Once he’d cleared the room of direct danger, he restored time.
Hattie had followed him inside. As the air thinned back into its normal density, she asked, “Do you smell that?”
“No. What?”
“Something…odd. I can’t put a name to it, but it seems familiar.”
Vincent gave the room a good sniff. It was dank and musty from disuse. A note of cedar from the siding carried in through the open door. “Nothing out of sorts that I can tell.”
Vincent reached behind Hattie to close the door as the frigid breeze filled the house.
She blinked at the sudden onset of darkness. “Is there a window, or—?”
Vincent felt his way along the front wall, jamming his leg into the front of a rocking chair. He released a low string of curses as he finally found the curtains and whipped them open only to find a solid wall behind them.
“The hell, now?” he grumbled.
His fingers traced the wood behind the curtains. Wood. Not glass. As he investigated, and his eyes grew accustomed to the low light, he declared, “It’s boarded shut.”
“What, all of them?”
“Possibly. Explains the lack of daylight.”
Hattie stepped toward the center of the room. “There. That’s what the smell is.” She fumbled over a low table, her fingers tracing the outline of a thin galley rail that kept the contents of the table secure at the edges. She lifted something thin into the air. “That’s what I smelled. Beeswax candles.”
Vincent shrugged. “I don’t smoke. You got any matches on you?”
She pawed along the table for a few seconds, then the sound of a rattling match box met Vincent’s ears.
With a quick whip, Hattie struck a match and lit the candle. Then another.
“Looks like your friend stocked up on lights.”
A warm circle of light spread from the two lit candles. Vincent approached, blinked at the brightness. Beneath Hattie’s elbows all of the table’s usual contents had been shoved aside. A Bible, a hairbrush, and a tiny stoneware dish. The rest of the table had been consumed by a series of candles—more than Hattie had lit.
He bent down to inspect, and as he did so Hattie followed suit.
“What is this?” she whispered.
Vincent traced the top of the table with his fingertips. A series of lines had been gouged into the surface with careful precision. The carvings traced a symbol with each of the candles at the vertices…excepting the two that Hattie had moved to light.
“Doesn’t look terribly Amish, does it?” she muttered.
“No, it does not.”
Vincent grabbed one of the candles and stood up, walking a tight circle. As he approached one of the boarded windows, he held the curtain aside. The meager candle light illuminated more sigils etched into the boards.
Hattie stood slowly, sucking in a sharp breath. “Vincent? We’ve seen these before.” She pointed to the walls, all of which had been deliberately and fastidiously etched with occult symbols. “Remember the shed? The demon’s shed?”
Suddenly all of the exposed wood in the sigils seemed to brighten. It was subtle, but the light in the room had lifted. He glanced around the room trying to make sense of it, when he spotted a single door leading to the only other room in the building.
A line of sinister glowing red spilled from beneath the undercut of the door. In a second, the outline of the entire door was wreathed in flickering light.
The pressure in the room shifted. Just as Vincent realized what was happening, the door pounded out against its hinges in a bright flurry of heat and violence.
Vincent dropped the candle and pinched time as he dove over the table for Hattie. The door hung mid-air, having been blown off its stout wrought-iron hinges.
Hattie scrambled backwards against the thickened air. A carpet of roiling flame spilled from the top of the door frame, scalloping and ebbing like balls of flaming cotton licking the ceiling. The air between them and the conflagration boiled. Even in the time pinch, he could see the flames sway in an elegant, mesmerizing dance. The air shimmered with the heat, revealing a single figure just behind the door frame.
&n
bsp; Vincent grabbed Hattie and pulled himself in front of her, trying to gain purchase on the floor as he did so. She jerked him towards her, eyes wide. The door was angled too close to them and he eased her away, ensuring the hunk of wood didn’t make accidental contact as it slipped imperceptibly forward.
Crouching beneath the door and the flames that followed it, the two crawled through the time-pinched air back toward the entry. The pinch was grinding at Vincent’s innards. The area of the effect wasn’t too wide, but this much energy unloading into his time bubble pressed on him like a stick of dynamite trying to explode in inches. He gasped for air as Hattie jerked the exterior door open. His throat seized in a retch as his stomach flipped.
With a cough that sprayed a fine mist of blood into the air, his time bubble dropped.
The explosion hammered them both, sending them flying over the porch and tumbling down the steps into the grass beyond. The ground trembled as the flames thundered through the building. Glass shattered, dropping straight off the boards inside.
Vincent landed on his face, grunting as Hattie’s knee drove into his side. He spun onto his back to make sure they weren’t on fire seeing Hattie slapping at her coat, as well as his.
Sitting up in the grass, Vincent dry heaved to the side. Once he’d caught his breath, he glanced up to the burning building.
That figure that had been obscured by the advancing flames now stood in the doorway. It simply watched them as the woodwork all around took to flame. It had the look and demeanor of an Amish farmer—black vest and trousers over a simple white shirt. Long beard. Bald head. But the eyes glowed with sizzling heat. Tiny flames licked out from its orbits and nostrils in sinister mockery of the righteous figure it had taken.
Hattie shrieked as the demon lifted a hand to them. She tumbled over Vincent, gripping his coat to roll him with her as fire streamed from the demon’s fingertips to strike the ground where they had been a split-second before.
Spinning around, Hattie waved flat palms in front of her face. She reached backward and placed a finger on Vincent’s lips. He froze, watching as the demon stepped out into the grass. The wispy brown blades caught fire as the creature waded out. It peered at the strike point it had just blasted into the turf, tapping at the charred ground with its foot. Hattie pressed harder into Vincent’s lips as it turned toward the field, its gaze passing over them without notice.
This was definitely not the same demon they’d encountered in Deltaville. That other being had seemed unwilling to do the two of them harm. They’d even found some measure of understanding with one another. And most importantly, the Deltaville demon was as immune to their powers as they were to each other’s.
This creature, however, was hell bent on killing anything that moved, including the two of them.
The demon wandered past them, the tiny flames from its nostrils flowing in and out in anger as it passed by. Once it was several paces away, they crept away on hands and knees.
The demon swung around, eyes blazing anew. Gunfire popped from the corner of the porch. Sparks flew from the demon’s chest and it bellowed, the unearthly shriek rattling Vincent’s teeth.
Lefty continued his advance, stepping clear of the porch with his gun held at arm’s length. He squeezed off two more shots, these aimed for the head.
The demon lifted both hands toward Lefty and Vincent shouted, “Get down!”
Flames boiled out from the creature’s hands, rising and falling in arcs toward the corner of the porch. Lefty pitched to the side, rolling in the grass away from the attack.
“We have to do something. This thing won’t stop until we’re charcoal,” Vincent whispered.
Hattie clamped her eyes shut for a moment, then nodded. “It’ll take everything I’ve got, and I’ll need your help.”
Vincent nodded. “Whatever you got, it’s better than what we’re doing.”
“Right. Get ready.” She reached out to the demon, which finally seemed to notice them again as Hattie’s illusion dissolved. With a sharp inhalation, she curled her fingers as if caging the demon’s head from a distance.
The creature stumbled backward a step, flailing at its face. More hell fire shot from its eyes and mouth as it clawed at its own head.
“Get the car started!” Vincent shouted to Lefty.
They all ducked as a plume of fire spread through the smoke-filled air overhead. Hattie whimpered. Then her knees gave out, and she dipped for the grass.
Vincent caught her before she hit the ground, crouching to cradle her legs and lift her off the ground as he turned for the car. The creature’s shrieks turned into roars of rage, but Vincent didn’t look back. No time for that. Had to make it to the car.
The air warmed behind him, and he heard a rushing noise. Clutching Hattie tight to his chest, Vincent pulled from his deepest recesses to pinch time once again. The hellish racket died into a murky silence. All he could hear was his own breath and his pulse pounding in his throat.
His legs pounded step by step until his guts felt shredded and his head felt like it was splitting in half. His lungs were ablaze. Three more steps.
Two more.
He’d almost made that last step before the time pinch failed him, and he landed on his knees beside the car.
Lefty opened the passenger door and reached out to grab Hattie’s coat sleeve. Vincent coughed and wheezed, helping him lift Hattie into the seat. Once she was in, Lefty released Hattie and switched his grip to Vincent.
A titanic crashing sound erupted behind them. Vincent peered over his shoulder to find the farm house collapsing in upon itself as the flames licked the rafters. The demon turned to face the structure as well. It wilted, face downcast. The fire churning from its eyes reduced to simple embers.
Vincent stared in confusion as the creature reached for the ground to ease itself into a cross-legged posture. One more crack from the structure, and the rest of the roof dropped into a hail of sparks and fresh flames.
The demon closed its eyes and lost all of its fire. It went dark, silent, motionless like a basalt statue. The ebony surface of its entire shape reflected no light. Only a shadow sitting peacefully in the grass.
Bit by bit, the edges of the demon’s form flaked away, lifting on the winter wind like ash.
They watched as the last puffs of demon ash slipped into the air, swirling into the rising smoke of the ruined building. Vincent wiped the sweat from his face, now frigid in the chilled air. As he found the strength to stand again, he turned to check on Hattie. “She’s breathing, right?”
Lefty checked, then nodded. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll live. What do you think happened there?”
Lefty sat back in his seat, shaking his head. “There are so many questions I have about this damned day, I don’t know where to begin.”
“Same here.”
Lefty nodded for the back seat. “Get in. I want out of this unholy place.”
They drove back into the town of Lancaster, and as if by unconscious agreement, Lefty kept driving south.
Hattie came to shortly after they’d cleared the town. She coughed, then gestured madly for Lefty to pull over. The car had barely come to a halt before she’d opened the door and ran out to be sick onto the side of the road.
Vincent stepped out to offer support, but she held him at a distance with a flat palm. He lingered at the rear of the car while she finished and rinsed her mouth out with a few handfuls of snow. Once she was standing upright again, she cleared her throat and eyed Vincent.
“Remind me…never to do that…again.”
“What exactly did you do?”
She huddled her arms, then nodded for the car. They got back in, Vincent climbing into the back seat next to her. As Lefty got them underway, she explained, “I tried pinching an illusion into the demon’s…eyes? Whatever it has.”
Vincent frowned. “Doesn’t that require you to get inside its head? Know what it wants to see?”
Hattie ran a hand over her forehead
, wiping the perspiration off onto her coat sleeve. “Aye. That was a gamble.”
Lefty asked, “How’d you do it?”
“Well, I thought about the way it acted.”
Vincent asked, “What do you mean?”
“It acted angry. It was piss-puckered and ready to kill.”
“Well, it is a demon.”
She turned to face Vincent. “That’s not really the point. I think we can agree that thing was not a Hell pincher.”
Vincent nodded.
“Right, so…what if it was brought there somehow? By the Hell pincher, and left there as a trap? Think of those symbols all around it. Hedging it in. It’s like a cage, but the bars aren’t made of iron. They’re made of ancient runes.”
“Hell pinchers don’t pinch fire, then. They bind these demonic beings and let them do their dirty work,” Lefty said.
“So, you gave that thing the illusion of freedom?” Vincent asked.
“No. Quite the opposite. I had a notion something like that wouldn’t understand freedom. Only pain and anger. So, I showed it a cage. Its cage.”
Lefty chuckled as he shook his head. “Nice thinking.”
She grinned, then held her head. “Ugh. It took a lot out of me. Had to be abstract about’t. Figured…a thing like that speaks in emotions, not words.”
Vincent leaned over to put a hand on her shoulder. She reached up to grip his fingers briefly.
“You saved our lives,” he told her.
“I thought I could hold it longer, but that thing really took the power out of me.”
Vincent scowled. “You got that right. Felt like it took twice as much power to pinch time around that piece of work.”
“Not like last time.”
“Deltaville? Yeah. At Deltaville I felt like we could do it all night. Limitless power. Not today.” He caught a glimpse of Lefty eyeing him, then sat back. “I wonder what that means.”