by Chuck Buda
James was different.
Preacher felt something when he met James. A subtle vibration that resonated within his chest. It had confused Preacher this afternoon. Now he realized it was a warning. A sign to proceed with caution. He couldn’t explain the feeling but it was something that he had never experienced before.
He rubbed his beard stubble. The itching sensation wriggled from his face down to his arms. Preacher scratched at his elbow, following the sensation. His eyes studied James. The young man wasn’t big. He appeared to be rather slight. His handshake had been strong though. The Preacher sized up his visitor. It was helpful to understand your prey’s physical prowess in case of a confrontation. Preacher hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He would flex different muscles to bend James to his will.
James told Carson to close the ministry door. The candle was blown out before the small boy finished shutting the door. A somber orange glow from the stove cast lanky shadows upon the walls. Then it was dark.
Preacher set down on his bed and stared at the crucifix that hung on the wall across from him. He grinned and turned the cross upside down. His head tilted as he focused on the symbol of his master. The one who taught him how to proselytize the masses. The one who usurped the souls of the light to feed the damned.
He whispered his prayers. Not prayers that would be muttered in the sanctity of a holy place. But words which summoned things that were unnamed. Dark forces. Beings that thrived in the shadows and fed on the unsuspecting.
Preacher’s cherry red hair sizzled. Small flames licked the ends of the follicles. He enjoyed the warmth. Crispy embers crackled as the fire spread across his torso. Wisps of smoky tendrils drifted to the open window.
Chapter 4
James dragged Carson to the Trading Post. Neither of them had slept soundly last night. James was ready to embark on the new job, excited about the fresh start. Carson fought James as he hustled him out of bed. His sleepy eyes were barely open while James tugged his arm across the street.
James worried about arriving late. Gunderson told them to be at work before the sun rose. It hadn’t crested the horizon yet but the sky brightened to a blended hue of blue and orange. He hoped that this was still considered timely.
As soon as James opened the Trading Post door, Gunderson barked from the back counter. “You just made it.”
James exhaled, relieved that they made it on time. “We’re ready to work, sir.”
Gunderson slammed his fists on the counter. “Nobody calls me ‘sir.’ The name is Gunderson and that’s all. Got it?”
“Yes, sir...I mean Gunderson.” James stammered and corrected himself.
“What’s with him?” Gunderson pointed at Carson who leaned against James with his eyes closed.
“Carson’s fine. He’s awake.”
“Don’t look awake.” Gunderson picked at his mustache, one eye inspecting Carson. “We got sausages to make and loaves to bake.” The big man strode through a crooked door behind the counter.
James yanked Carson’s arm and hurried to keep up with Gunderson. He couldn’t immediately locate the break in the counter. Then he saw the cabinet door beneath the wood. James pushed the door open and ducked under with Carson.
The back room was full of activity. Two dirty-faced women were kneading dough and smoking meats. An old man whose whole face was covered in bushy gray hair tightened an animal hide upon a makeshift rack. He winked at James and Carson before returning to his task.
Gunderson stood at a table along the back wall, fingers drumming on the counter. “If you plan on moving this slow then we should talk about other places to find a job.”
“Sorry, Gunderson.” James thought of explaining the delay but then decided against it. He figured whatever he said, Gunderson would have an answer for it. He bit the inside of his mouth and nodded at the large man.
“This here is a sausage maker. Ever use one before?” He picked at something that wriggled under his mustache.
James and Carson shook their heads, awaiting admonishment.
“Well, that’s alright. It’s like laying between a woman’s legs... Uh, never mind about that.” Gunderson’s cheeks blushed. James winced at the analogy and was glad that Gunderson had caught himself before making it worse in front of Carson. “Tellie over there brings ya a slab of meat. You take the meat and feed it through this here grinder while you hold the casing like so.” Gunderson demonstrated the chore as they watched.
Carson stepped closer and immediately wrapped his little fingers around the casing. He smiled as the slippery product squiggled out between his hands.
“Not bad, little fella. Let’s see what your big brother can do.”
James took over for Gunderson in cranking the meat through the grinder. It was harder than he imagined it but once he worked up some momentum, the handle rotated smoothly.
“Good. Keep doing that until I come back to check on you. We got about two hunnert pounds that need to be done.” Gunderson slapped James on the back and left them to their work. James was stunned when he heard how much meat needed processing. He felt a bead of sweat begin to take shape upon his brow. At least they had jobs and a means to earn some much needed coin, he thought.
Carson seemed to be enjoying himself. The smile etched on his face threatened to become more permanent as his little hands worked the coils.
Five hours later, Gunderson resurfaced. He strode to the table and grinned wide. “Well now. Looks like you boys will stick around after all.” He grasped the top coils of meat in the tub below and held it up to inspect it more closely. He squeezed the sausage to check for firmness and consistency. “When you finish up that last bit over there, why don’t you fellas come grab some wurst and bread and we’ll have a little lunch.”
“Oh, boy. I’m hungried real bad.” Carson snapped to life.
“Hungry, Carson.” James corrected him. “Thanks, Gunderson.”
“You boys find a place to stay last night?”
James nodded and finished up the last of the grinding. “We stayed at the church. Everything was taken last night and we were too tired from traveling to sleep on the ground.”
Gunderson squeezed one eye shut and leaned toward James. “Just you be careful with that Preacher. He comes off as a holy man but I think he used to sell snake oil in a previous life.”
James wondered what Gunderson meant. “You don’t trust Preacher?”
Gunderson rubbed his dry palms together. “Ain’t that I don’t trust him. I just don’t trust him.”
James blinked as he stared at Gunderson. He felt more confused after that response.
“I ain’t one for prayin’ and such. I believe man is responsible for his own actions, not some floatin’ thing in the sky. People can believe what they choose, but that’s my beliefs. As for Preacherman, well, he works real hard to fill up them seats in his church. And I don’t need no sales pitch followin’ me around town all the time.”
“He hasn’t sold us anything about the church. Not yet.”
Gunderson laughed. “He will. You don’t think you’re stayin’ in his house fer free, do ya? Nope. Preacher gonna make sure he gets what he can outta ya while you rest your head there. Mark my words.”
James glanced at Carson to see if he understood the conversation. Carson’s face looked serious.
“Well, let’s get something in our bellies before we go at it again. Oh, and bring that tub with you so we can hang the sausages up front.”
“I thought you said they were wursts?” James realized Gunderson had referred to the meat as sausage after corrected him yesterday afternoon.
“They are whatever I call them. Now get your hind side up front.” Gunderson shouted at James. Then he giggled under his breath as the boys passed him on their way to the front room.
Chapter 5
Preacher tidied the chapel. It was already pristine because that’s the way he preferred to keep it. But he continued to wipe down the fixtures and the wood anyway. The constant work h
elped keep the urges at bay. The door opened and a hushed voice snapped him from his mindlessness.
“Am I interrupting anything?” A woman in a plain brown dress leaned into the church. Preacher recognized the woman immediately. Mrs. Foster was a regular in his congregation. Her husband had stopped attending services a while back. Once he got himself into some financial trouble, the drinking had started and then he was too busy to spend time in church.
“Mrs. Foster. Please. Come in.” He dropped the rag on the first row of pews and rushed to welcome his new guest. He clasped her hands in his and used his grip to lower her to the pew. “What can I do for you today?” His voice was calm and warming.
As she sat next to the Preacher, Mrs. Foster started sobbing with her chin tucked down to her chest. He pulled her in close to his shoulder and stroked her hair. “Now, now. What seems to be troubling you, dear?”
She sniffled loudly and burrowed her face into his shirt. “It’s Bart. He’s been drinking so much. I don’t know how much more I can take.”
Preacher stroked her hair. “Has he kept his hands to himself? The Lord doesn’t take kindly to abusers and I certainly won’t stand for it myself.”
Mrs. Foster sobbed harder then replied. “His hands aren’t the problem, Preacher. It’s his belt.” She burst into further tears as she clutched him tighter.
He grinned to himself. This is why his job was perfect. Preacher needed to feed on souls and the good Lord above sent him all kinds of folks who were desperate for outreach of any kind. It made things so much easier for him to have the downtrodden come to his door, rather than having to hunt them down himself. It was just an added benefit that people trusted a man of the cloth and would never imagine he could be responsible for such devious acts. Preacher kissed the top of her head with delight.
“Oh, Mrs. Foster. I’m so sorry that Bart has not learned his lesson. I pray for him night and day. And you, of course. But I’m afraid prayers aren’t enough to save your husband’s soul from the devil’s hands.” Little did she know the devil’s hands were upon her, he thought.
“What can we do? I can’t go on like this. He’s hurting me so much and I have nowhere to turn.”
Preacher lifted her chin so that their eyes could lock. Her teary brown eyes darted back and forth with his. He leaned closer, his lips close enough to kiss her lips. He sensed Mrs. Foster’s breathing as it went deeper. He felt her desires opening to him, beckoning him to fill the void where her husband lacked fulfillment. Preacher knew he had her in the right moment.
“We will save him together. You and me. With the Lord’s help.” His lips brushed hers. He felt her mouth open to his and then he pulled her up to her feet. “Come. Let us pray together. In my quarters. Where we won’t be disturbed.” He led her through the center aisle to his room.
Before they entered she tugged his hand. Her cheeks were flushed and her rapid breathing disclosed her sexual desires. “Wait. I can’t. This is wrong. I need you but I can’t break my vows to my husband.”
“Mrs. Foster, I assure you my intentions are pure. I simply want to bring you peace of mind and comfort. On your knees, in my room, you will find salvation.” He pulled her inside and slammed the door closed. Mrs. Foster gave herself up to him. She dropped to her knees and stared up into his eyes. Another streak of tears rushed down her face. Her hands grasped his thighs and she opened her mouth before him.
Preacher rested his hands on the back of her head. He squeezed her scalp. Mrs. Foster struggled against his powerful grip. But she was locked into place. The fear shown in her eyes as they grew wide.
His fingers sizzled and burned into her skull. Preacher opened his mouth and sucked the vapors of her soul. The rush of her breath filled his lungs and he towered over her. Small flames danced at his fingertips, leaving charred ash upon her scalp. The singed hairs falling to the floor around his feet.
Mrs. Foster ceased to live.
He thrust the emptied husk of her frame against his cot. He raised his fiery hands to his face, staring at the orange and yellow flames. The black eyes rolled in his sockets and he laughed out loud, tilting his gaze to the ceiling. The surge of power flowed within his veins. Preacher felt as if he could crush a thousand boulders to dust. Mrs. Foster’s life force became one with his own.
As the heat cooled off, Preacher looked down at the body in his room. He felt a touch of guilt but not for taking Mrs. Foster’s life. It was more for allowing his urges to take over. The timing wasn’t right. It was broad daylight and anyone could have wandered in on them. And he had no idea which towns people, if any, had witnessed her come to the church. He would have to explain it away when the questions arose. Folks would want to know what had happened to Mrs. Foster, especially if the last time they had seen her was when she knocked on his door.
He stared at the crucifix on his wall. It hung in the Christian position. He hissed at the cross and it spun upside down to his will. Preacher sat upon the bed, one hand set on Mrs. Foster’s breast. He thought about different ways he could make her body disappear. That wouldn’t be the challenge. The alibi would be the problem.
Unless he could go on the offensive.
Preacher grinned, satisfied that he would draw the attention to Bart Foster and the destructive relationship he shared with his wife. After disposing of her remains, Preacher would alert the Marshal that he hadn’t seen Mrs. Foster since his last service.
Chapter 6
Carson swept the porch like Gunderson taught him. He used short, tight strokes so that the dirt came off the boards with ease. This job wasn’t as fun as squeezing the meats into the sausage skins. He enjoyed the work though. Nobody had ever really let Carson work before Mr. Gunderson. The responsibility made Carson feel like a big boy.
A clump of flies hovered around a squished horse patty on the steps. Carson wrinkled his nose at the mess. The smell of horse droppings didn’t bother him as much as the texture. Carson bent over to inspect what someone’s boot had left behind on the step. He picked up a twig that sat in the street and started poking at the pile. He laughed when the end of the stick made the mess worse. The flies, temporarily interrupted from their business, swarmed around Carson’s head before landing back on the mound of goo.
Carson felt like he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He looked at the window of the Trading Post to see if Gunderson had caught him fooling around. But the window was empty. Just the things that Gunderson sold sat idly in the glass, waiting to be taken home by the purchaser. Carson turned his attention up the street. People walked on their way to and fro. Not one person cared to notice him or the Trading Post as they went by.
Then he saw the Preacher.
The man’s bright red hair and pasty white skin stood out against the drab background of the clapboard buildings. Carson smiled at the Preacher. The man smiled back, his eyes watching Carson as he worked. Carson waved his hand and then picked up the broom to continue working. He wanted to show Preacher how hard he worked. It made him buzz with pride that he had a job and he wanted to make sure that Preacher was impressed with his efficiency.
A cloud of dust drifted up the street as a coach charged through the middle of the street. Carson paused his sweeping to watch with fascination at the loud noise. He always enjoyed seeing coaches and wagons at high speeds. Something about the large wheels spinning in circles made him happier than watching horses alone.
The coach screeched to a halt in front of the inn, a few doors down from the Trading Post. Carson stared as the driver disembarked and propped the door open for the passengers to climb out. A lady in a blue dress stepped down using the driver’s hand to balance herself. Then another woman stepped out. Her black hair was coiffed up in a pretty bun, not tightly, so that a few strands of hair draped over her shoulders. Carson jumped up in the air and hollered.
“Momma!” Carson tossed the broom and ran down the steps and into the street.
Sarah Johnson looked surprised to find Carson so quickl
y. She held her arms wide, entreating Carson to charge into her embrace. He jumped onto Sarah, clutching her neck tightly with his little arms. Sarah swung Carson around in a circle and then set him back down.
“What are you doing out in the street, young man?” Sarah breathlessly quizzed Carson.
“I was working and I sawed you come out and James is inside but we can get him right away and he’ll be happy to see you and Gunderson let us maked meat stick which are wursts or sausages depending on which he wants to call them and we ated some with bread that’s bester than the ones we had at our old house...” Carson trailed off as he tried to catch his breath.
Sarah giggled and rubbed his hair back as she scanned his face. She glanced at her companion traveler. Carson followed her eyes and realized that Miss Lark had come too. He was sure that James would be excited to see her because they had kissed and he could tell that James liked Miss Lark better than other girls.
“Miss Lark. Miss Lark.” Carson jumped on Eleanor, leaving a dirty streak of mud along the hem of her tidy blue dress. She didn’t seem to mind as she hugged Carson back.
“Hello, Carson. Where’s James?” Carson stared at her teeth which were whiter than anything he had ever seen.
“I’ll getted him for you. He’s working in the Trading Post and Gunderson will be sore if he has visitors but you’re better than visitors and I can show you the meat sticks and how we hang them and did you know the casing that fits outside the meat is from an animals gut and it feels slimy but kind of neat too...” Carson ran out air as he tugged Eleanor’s hand toward the Trading Post.
Sarah and Eleanor begged Carson to wait until they got their luggage off the coach. Carson glanced at the Trading Post and saw James pressed up against the window, staring back at them. His face was frozen in surprise. Carson let go of Miss Lark’s hand and waved James out.
The Trading Post door opened and James took a few steps before stopping in place. His chest heaved as the emotions overcame him. James ran down the steps and onto the women who recently arrived. He grabbed his mother and hugged her tight. The embrace lasted several long moments. Then he put his mother down and approached Miss Lark. James pulled Miss Lark into his chest and they kissed. The embrace was so hard that Miss Lark’s hat fell off her head. Carson picked it up and dusted it off against his pants.