Charlie sank down into it, the lighter rolling from his grasp. The room whirled about him, but instead of going dark, it seemed to be filled with an eerie light from some other hidden source as the same voice went on as before, the same syrupy voice coming to him through the darkness from what once had been Miss Amelia’s face but that now had his eyes. And it began.
“Once upon a time there was this foolish, silly little girl, and her name was Catherine. All you had to do was to look at her and you knew that she wasn’t at all like other little girls. No, indeed. She didn’t like to play with dolls. She didn’t like for her momma to buy her pretty little dresses. She didn’t like anything like that. She was so silly and foolish, boys and girls, that she would do good even when she didn’t have to, even when there was nobody around to see her doing it. This little girl was even foolish enough to want to be sweet and nice with someone no one else saw any point in being nice to. Can anyone tell me who I’m talking about?”
All the hands went up at once. “Me! Me! Ask me!” Alvin called out.
“Why don’t you tell us, Alvin.”
“It was Hank.”
“That’s right. Even this retarded boy called Hank. Boys and girls, she would actually let this nasty boy kiss her sometimes. Can you imagine that? Having those nasty lips touch you? But she didn’t mind. Because she felt so sorry for him. Now, can you think of anything sillier than that? Being kind to somebody just because nobody else is?
“But one day, boys and girls, this little girl got taught a lesson. This retarded boy she had been so nice to, well, he got her alone and he did something to her, something very, very nasty, much nastier than just drooling on her cheeks, boys and girls. Now, can any one of you guess what this was?”
From deep in the room Charlie heard a voice.
“1 know! I know! Let me tell, Miss Amelia!”
“Yes, Alvin, honey. You think you can tell us what he did?”
There was a sharp burst of laughter. “He fucked her! He fucked her in her tight little pussy!”
Miss Amelia nodded and smiled. “That’s right, Alvin. I can see how good you’ve been studying your lesson for today. Because that’s exactly what he did. He took that nasty thing he has and he stuck it up her little pussy. Very good, Alvin. Now, what would you do if something like that happened, boys and girls? Why, I bet you’d go running to your momma and daddy. But not this little girl. Do you know why? Because she was so silly she still felt sorry for him. Because she knew what would happen to him if people found out what he had done to her. And she knew that if he hadn’t been like he was, he would never have hurt her. Have you ever heard of anything so foolish in all your life, boys and girls? Then one night little Catherine had a dream and in that dream she saw an angel. And do you know what that angel said to her? Well, he told little Catherine that she should go ahead and have that baby, and that God would look after it and see that when her baby grew up he would bring goodness into the world, goodness like the goodness that Oldjesus brought. Because that’s how silly old God thinks. Why, He thinks He can take something bad and nasty, like what Hank did to Catherine, and twist it around into something good and holy. But we know better, don’t we, boys and girls? Because just look what happened to little Catherine. How well did God look after her, boys and girls? That’s right, after having done nothing to hurt anybody in this world, how did God reward little Catherine? Why, He let old Luther come and take her off in the middle of the night, let him take her out to that old snake well, and kept her down inside of it until poor little Catherine had nearly lost her mind. And then he took out his old razor and his bottles of ink and for two days he cut those marks into her skin. And all this time, when these things were happening to little Catherine, she kept praying, praying for God to help her. But what did He do? That’s right. He did just what He did when Oldjesus was on the cross. He didn’t lift a finger. But little Catherine, she still hadn’t learned her lesson. Because she still wanted to stay alive. Stay alive to have her baby, because she still believed in the promise that stupid angel had given her. Now, have you ever heard anything so silly in your life? And, somehow, boys and girls, she did stay alive and she had her baby. The baby that God promised her He’d look after. But we know what His promises are like, don t we? Because what happened to this baby? Did little Catherine’s momma and daddy want to raise him like their own? No, indeed. Even after Catherine tried to tell them the baby came from an angel, they didn’t believe her. After all, things like that don’t really happen, do they, boys and girls? They believed they knew better. And that’s why they didn’t even want that baby to live. And you know what? That baby would have been killed if there hadn’t been someone who felt sorry for it and wanted to help it, the way he tried to help Oldjesus way back long ago. Do you know who it was? He has so many names. Some of them bad. Like Satan and Lucifer. But some of them are pretty names, like the Son of Morning, the Prince of the Air. And that’s who came down to try to help that boy, so he wouldn’t grow up to be silly and foolish the way his momma was. And that’s why he went to so much trouble to make sure this boy saw what this world was really like. He wanted him to see what kind of bad, nasty place God had made down here. Because he thought if he showed that boy what this world was like, and how many bad things happened in it, the boy wouldn’t grow up with those silly ideas about loving God. He wanted that boy to choose to be on his side and to help him with his own plan. And such a nice plan, too, boys and girls. Much better than anything silly old God could think of. That’s why we call him the Son of Morning. We don’t mean morning when the sun comes up. We mean the time right before that, when it’s darkest, when it’s pitch black, and nothing is moving. The time when everything’s asleep, when people are so deep in sleep that they’re not even dreaming. Because that’s what he wants for us. He wants to end our pain and suffering, to take away all our troubles. He wants to take us back to that time before silly old God messed everything up by saying, ‘Let there be light.’ Because that was the first mistake. Light. And without the light, there couldn’t have been that second mistake—the creation of the universe.
“And that’s why the Son of Morning cared so much about Catherine’s baby. Because he wanted her child to grow up and help him get things back to how they used to be. And what did he want this boy to grow up to be? Why, Newjesus, that’s who. Wouldn’t that just show God? God had been planning to make him silly, and instead the Son of Morning was going to make him smart and clever. But you know what, boys and girls? After all that’s been done for him, this boy still doesn’t appreciate it. Even now he wants to go on being silly and foolish. And that’s making the Son of Morning so unhappy, boys and girls, because just look at all the trouble he’s gone to getting everything ready for him, calling the disciples and making straight the way. But the Son of Morning thinks he knows what the problem is, boys and girls, and he thinks he can fix it. The problem is that this boy still loves God, even after everything that’s happened to him. But, you know, there’s somebody this boy loves nearly a much as he loves God, somebody he loves more than his own life. You know who that is?”
“I know, I know, Miss Amelia!”
“Alvin, I think we should let our special visitor try to see if he can guess who it is, don’t you? Charlie? Do you know?”
“My son,” Charlie whispered, struggling to get up. “My son.”
“That’s right, Charlie. And the Son of Morning, he’s going to use little Larry to teach Jameyboy a lesson. A lesson about trusting in Oldjesus. Alvin, hon, can you tell what that lesson’s going to be?”
“The snake well!” Alvin yelled out.
“That’s right. And what’s Oldjesus going to do to help little Larry?”
“He ain’t going to do shit,” Alvin said.
“That’s right, Oldjesus, he ain’t going to do shit, Alvin. Why, he’s not going to lift a finger to help little Larry. And little Larry, he’s going to go on screamin
g and begging, just the way Catherine did. But where silly Oldjesus going to be?”
“Up in heaven, sitting on his butt!”
“That’s right. And Jameyboy, he’ll have to listen to little Larry going on and on, screaming and begging. And do you know the only thing that will make it stop. Can you tell us what will get that screaming to stop?” the Miss Amelia thing said.
“Newjesus!”
“That’s right, Alvin. That’s the only thing that can get all that screaming and begging to stop. When Jameyboy sees there ain’t no other way. Except to become what his daddy’s always wanted him to become.”
And moving as if through a dream, Charlie got to his feet again, whispering, “I’ve got to save Larry.” He pushed his way back to the first door, then crouched down and began to crawl along the narrow, suffocating passageway. Suddenly he felt something take hold of his feet, pulling him back into the room. He put his hands out, trying to find something on the wet and slimy walls to grasp hold, something to keep whatever had him from dragging him back into the hidden room. With all his strength, he pushed himself up until his head knocked against the top of the passageway. Then he felt the thing let go of his foot. He heaved himself forward. He looked up and saw in the eerie light the doorway in front of him, the doorway that led out to the ledge and down to the fireplace. He reached for it and again he felt something take hold of his leg. He knew that the ledge had to be only a few inches from his hand. He twisted around and reached as far as he could to try to get ahold on it, to give himself leverage against whatever was pulling him back. His right hand flailed in the darkness in front of him.
Then all at once Charlie felt the thing that seized hold of his hand. He looked up, and even before he could see the face, he knew what had him, knew from the old and terrible strength that held his hand in its. It was the same hand that had grabbed him fifteen years before, reaching up out of the shallows of the Allatoona. Charlie gasped, and in the dreamlike light, he saw the same eyes, the same ghastly mouth twisted into its hideous grin.
He felt the horrible strength pull him down.
17
For over a half hour Larry had been tagging behind Jamey, following him as the other boy pushed deeper and deeper into the woods. But each time he got just close enough to Jamey to reach out and touch him, Jamey would somehow elude his grasp, either by walking faster or by Larry himself getting tangled up in one of the ground crawlers that seemed to be everywhere. Back when Jamey had turned off the dirt road, plunging into the woods, Larry had called out to him, telling him he was going the wrong way, that the Randolph house was straight ahead, but Jamey hadn’t even seemed to hear him. Somehow, Larry told himself, Jamey must know what he was doing. He had to.
“Slow down, please!” Larry called out, reaching down to pull a vine from around his shoe. “I can’t go this fast! Jamey!”
And this time, as soon as Larry had gotten the words out, Jamey stopped. Larry pushed his way through the thicket and came within only a few yards of the other boy. “For God’s sake, Jamey, tell me where we’re going. Where’s my dad? Jamey?”
That was when he heard the words. Jamey was saying something. But somehow Larry got the shuddery sensation that the other boy wasn’t saying the words to him but to someone else.
“Jamey? Who are you talking to?” Larry asked, looking all around and seeing nothing but a few patches of moonlight shifting down through the thick leaves overhead. “Jamey—
Suddenly Larry caught the other boy’s words. “Wait at the well. Wait at the well.” Saying it over and over again, mechanically, like a record that had gotten stuck.
“The well,” Larry whispered. “Jamey? What are you talking about?”
But Jamey had already pushed Larry away and had started walking again.
“No, Jamey. That’s crazy. You can’t go out there. Don’t you remember about the well? That’s where…” Larry stood there, unable to say another word.
That was where he was going. The snake well. Larry stood there, feeling the same way he did in the worst part of his worst nightmare, when the forbidden door was on the point of opening and he knew without seeing it who was standing on the other side, whose eyes were already looking at him, whose mouth was already twisted into its hideous grin.
“NO!” Larry yelled, lunging furiously after the other boy. And this time, by a superhuman effort, Larry managed to reach out and finally take hold of Jamey’s t-shirt. Suddenly Jamey stopped. Not realizing this until too late, Larry knocked right into him: Then, grabbing hold of the other boy’s shoulder to try to keep them both from falling, Larry said, “What’s wrong?”
Jamey wasn’t moving.
“What is it?”
Still holding him, Larry could feel the other boy’s rapid breathing, even his heartbeat, as frantic as a rabbit’s.
“Jamey...?”
The boy jerked around to one side, then the other.
“What’s wrong?” Larry repeated. It reminded him of the first time he had gone hunting with his dad. They had caught sight of a deer through the bushes. The deer seemed to sense something—something it didn’t comprehend, and yet somehow knowing that whatever it was, it was definitely something to stay away from.
“Jamey?” Larry whispered again. Then, letting go of the boy’s shoulder, he looked behind him. There was a noise back in the underbrush. It kept on a moment, then stopped. Larry squinted hard, scanning the few patches of moonlight that fell across the tangle of woods all around them, but he couldn’t even make out the path they had come by. The woods had closed back around them as seamlessly as if it had been some dark, vast, shifting ocean.
“Jamey, what’s wrong? What is it?” And, as he looked at the other boy s profile, a horrible thought came to him. “Jamey? Are you asleep? Are you—”
Jamey started up again, but Larry grabbed hold of his arm. It was cold. That was when he realized. Since they had started walking, Jamey had not looked at him once the whole time, not for a split second. Not once had Larry even caught a glimpse of his eyes. Jamey,” he whispered, “look at me. Look at me. Let me see your eyes, Jamey.”
But the other boy didn’t look around. And, before Larry knew what was happening, Jamey had jerked himself loose from Larry’s grasp.
“Goddamnit,” Larry yelled. “Don’t!” He went to catch hold of the other boy, but tripped over another one of the ground crawlers. He scrambled back and made a quick kicking motion with his leg, trying to snap it. But even this didn’t work. Glancing up, pushing the hair out of his eyes, he called out, “Jamey!” He stumbled forward and pulled as hard as he could on the vine. Finally it snapped. He almost fell to the ground, but then righted himself with the help of the side of a tree. He glanced up ahead.
“JAMEY!” he cried, the word breaking in his throat. He stood there and listened to the echo of his shout as it came back to him from the woods, his voice, with each new echo, sounding more forlorn and more desperate than the one preceding, until the last repetition faded and dwindled into nothing, dissolved into the other sounds of the woods, lost in them somewhere, like Larry himself. Then, starting up again, Larry tried to run as fast as he could through the treacherous underbrush. But by the time he had gotten to the place where Jamey had slipped into the darkness of the woods, there was no longer any sign of him.
He was gone. And Larry was lost. Totally lost.
Larry bent over, trying to catch his breath, feeling a helpless sense of desolation, not knowing what to do, not even knowing anymore which way to go, whether to keep on trying to find Jamey or to turn back, assuming he could even begin to retrace his steps.
He looked back the way they had come and remembered how far it was. And how dark.
He straightened up and started walking again, but at a much slower pace. He went on like that for five minutes, stopping every now and then to call out for Jamey. Finally, exhausted, he found a patch of moonlight,
like an oasis in a desert of night, and sat down on an old hollowed-out log. He rested there, his head hanging, picking some of the briars off his shirt and blue jeans, trying to catch his breath, waiting for his second wind. In his head he heard the dull pounding of his blood, though what he seemed to be hearing was not his own blood but two voices, first Jamey’s, trancelike, hypnotic, saying over and over, “Wait at the well. Wait at the well.” And then Larry’s own, asking, “Wait for who? Wait for who?”
Larry got back up on his feet. He looked around for the slightest clue, the least trace of a sound that could guide him. But there was only the impenetrable darkness of the woods, and even worse, the thousand peculiar, unplaceable little noises of the night, that always were just at the point of becoming something else—crickets that for a split second would seem to whisper a warning to him, leaves whose rustling momentarily began to sound like the groaning of something half human, fallen branches that cackled mockingly underfoot.
Shit, he said aloud, just to hear a recognizable sound, then lurched aimlessly into the woods, pushing back a dark veil of leaves. He had gotten only a few feet when he tripped over something. He tried to catch himself, but it was too late. He found himself tumbling over and over in the dark, down a steep incline, crashing through briars and vines. Then he stopped. He lay there. He felt down to his ankle. It hurt and, for a moment, he was afraid he had sprained it. He got to his feet and tried it gently. There was a slight pain, but nothing major.
Scooting around, he was about to try to get up on his feet when, looking up into the little clearing in front of him, he stopped.
About fifteen yards from where he had landed there was a little mound of something silhouetted in the moonlight. Larry walked toward it. He frowned. It rose less than a foot off the ground, most of it entangled with weeds and vines, but here and there he could see the crumbling brick of the ledge. He took a few wary steps closer toward the thing. “Jesus,” he whispered.
Deliver Us From Evil Page 33