Devil's Creek

by Todd Keisling

  “We are in the womb of the earth. Our new lord speaks to me here. He was beneath us all along. For centuries, maybe. I broke through the church’s foundation until I met the earth, and then I pulled back the stones with my bare hands. And it’s here that I found our lord.”

  Jacob raised his finger and touched the wick of a candle near the center of the slab. A spark lit up an adjacent figure which Jack hadn’t seen before. The figure was carved from stone, its details crude but unmistakable. Deep lines ran up and down the sides of the idol, around its center into individual divots to mark out teeth, and into two deep holes for eyes. Even in the shifting light, Jack saw it was supposed to be a child of some sort. A deeply deformed, grinning child etched in stone.

  Father Jacob lifted the idol to his face.

  “My lord,” he whispered, “I give this sacrifice to you. My father, my Omega, my guiding light, allow me to honor you with the blood of an innocent. Tonight, and forever onward. Let me spread this child’s blood and water the fields with his life so your new kingdom may grow. Your will and the Old Ways are one.”

  The pastor’s hand engulfed in flames, filling the room with a hazy azure glow, and Jack saw for the first time he was wrong about the floor. Those weren’t fragments of old pottery beneath their feet. They were bones. Thousands of bones cracked and split apart. Broken skulls and ribs sat in piles around the altar.

  Jack raised his face to the faint halo of light above and let loose a shriek that pierced the shifting shadows around them. Years before, he would’ve cried out to God, or even his mother. As his shrieks were lost to the chaos happening above, Jack’s heart sank.

  There was no one left to hear him.

  3

  “You’re too late, Sister Tremly.”

  Imogene stood in the entrance of the church, gulping back her gag reflex as she witnessed the horrific tableau before her. Six figures clad in red stood over their fallen brethren, each with a blade in their hands. Hiding behind them were their sons and daughters in white, but Imogene’s heart sank when she counted.

  She cleared her throat. “Where’s my grandson? Where’s Jackie?” Imogene winced at the sound of her own voice. Dry, raspy, desperate. There was a time when she used to command the attention of her brothers and sisters within these walls. Those were better times. Now she felt weak, powerless, and uncertain of how this would play out. She had six rounds for a weapon she hadn’t fired since she was a little girl. Deep down in her heart, she knew they wouldn’t be enough.

  “He’s with our lord now.”

  One of the mothers stepped forward and lifted back her hood. Laura Tremly stared down her mother with a sickened grin. Splotches of sapphire dotted the whites of her eyes, and black veins splintered the flesh across her face. Imogene gasped in disgust.

  “My God, what’s he done to you, Laura?”

  “He opened my eyes, Sister Tremly. Shown us the way to a kingdom on earth. He showed you the way, too, but you turned from him like Lot’s wife. He’ll do more than turn you to salt. He’ll rape your soul.”

  The other mothers chittered at her words, forming a chorus of hateful mockery that made the hairs on Imogene’s arms stand at attention. Laura raised her sacrificial blade. The pale light overhead illuminated the long scars down her naked arms, older wounds from Jacob’s many bloodletting ceremonies.

  Imogene took a step back and raised her weapon.

  “Jackie’s in the pit with his father, and his blood’s gonna spill for the sake of the world. So shall you all.”

  “So shall you all,” chimed the other five. One by one, they turned and pushed their little ones into the pit below. Each child’s shriek ripped through the stillness of the church, filling Imogene’s belly with the leaden cold of dread. No, dear God, no, no, no—

  “Tonight, we bleed for a new world, sisters.” Laura flicked the tip of her blade toward Imogene, but her mother was too focused on the ladies at the wound in the floor. With their children down in the pit, there was no need for them to linger on this plane any longer. Imogene knew the blasphemous scripture by heart. She knew what came next, after their sacrificial offerings were presented to the godhead for final communion, and despite the knowledge she found she could not look away.

  Remember this, her daddy whispered. Hold on to this. For Jackie’s sake.

  One by one, the five mothers of Jacob’s seed raised their blades to their throats and spilled their own blood upon the floor. Gouts of viscous black oil spewed from their open wounds, writhing down the front of their robes. The wooden floor sizzled and steamed beneath them as their bodies collapsed.

  Imogene swallowed air and grimaced at the sour taste. The heat of the room clouded her face, and her heart raced in her throat. She gripped the revolver and held her finger against the trigger. “Please don’t make me do this, Laura. For your mother’s sake, please—”

  “My mother is dead to me,” Laura spat. “You’re nothin’ more than a godless heretic, come to disrupt our communion with our one true god. But you may yet find salvation if you bleed. Bleed with us, heretic. Bleed for our lord’s mercy.”

  The following moments happened quickly for Imogene Tremly. When she tried to recall them to the authorities later, she found her thoughts were out of focus and refracted, like staring at them through a pool of murky water.

  Imogene’s daughter lunged for her.

  From behind, Henry Prewitt and Gage Tiptree called her name.

  Laura Tremly’s foot caught the edge of Brother Adams’s corpse, and her knife swung wide in an arc as she stumbled forward.

  Imogene screamed as the blade sliced up the left side of her face, cutting through her cornea, and forever blinding her left eye. She collapsed to her knees and clutched her face, panicking at the sudden warmth slickening her cheeks. Somewhere overhead, Roger yelled for Maggie and Jerry to hurry the fuck up, Genie’s hurt.

  “You’ll all burn,” Laura cried, but she was silenced by the butt of Henry’s shotgun. A moment later, Henry was at Imogene’s side. She winced as she looked up at him with her good eye. He’d gone pale, the color bled right out of him, and she’d later swear he’d aged ten years that night. All of them would.

  A cry echoed from the hole in the floor, and Imogene shot to her feet, one hand covering the left side of her throbbing face. Blood oozed between her fingers. She tucked her daddy’s gun into the waist of her dirty jeans.

  “Genie, wait—”

  “Never mind me, Henry Prewitt. Our babies are down there with that monster. We need to see this through.”

  And before they could stop her, Imogene Tremly staggered to the ladder and descended into the darkness of Calvary Hill.

  4

  Father Jacob placed the idol back on the altar and trained his eyes upon the children. They’d fallen into the chamber like angels from Heaven, if such a place existed. He used to think so, but those days, those lies, were behind him. When he moved, the children shivered in fear. They huddled together like rodents, packing themselves together like one writhing entity, attempting to scare off a predator.

  But he was no predator. No. In his moments of Gethsemane, down here in the darkness of this earthen Golgotha, Jacob Masters had questioned his devotion and faith. He’d questioned the revelations bestowed upon him by the scripture writ upon these ancient walls, by the whispers of a god from within.

  My lord, he’d asked, why the blood of innocents? Why not the sacrifice of a lamb, a deer, a beast of the forest?

  And his lord spoke in myriad tongues, languages foreign and familiar all at once, a hissing tease of language rippling through his mind, his heart, into the core of his soul, and he knew it was true: The innocents are beasts, my child. They are no different than the lambs in your book of lies. No seed will sprout without the sustenance of nature; so, too, must this earth be fed. It is my will as told in the Old Ways upon these walls.

  Jacob walked toward the ancient wall, tracing his dirty fingers over the etchings revealed to him in his time of need.
These scriptures were his new Bible, comforting him when he needed it most. There was no other way. He knew it in his heart. Heaven could be a place here on Earth, and it would begin here, taking root from the throats of these six innocents.

  There would be more, of course. Lifeblood from these children would only go so far. Stauford’s children would feed the maw of his lord in time. There they would find redemption in the roiling belly of the nameless below.

  Shouts from above rattled his mind, stealing his attention away from his meditations. The children whimpered in the gloom.

  They come, my servant. The heretics come to stop our heaven on earth.

  “I will stop them,” he muttered, staring at the carvings on the wall. Thick rivulets of blackened sin leaked from the corners of his eyes, coating the contours of his face.

  No, my child. You will not. But I can prepare your body. I can prepare your soul. Will you give yourself to me? Will you die for me?

  Jacob Masters closed his eyes and smiled. He spoke without hesitation. “Yes. Take me, my lord.”

  A moment later, the idol’s flame snuffed out, and the darkness moved in. Somewhere in that formless abyss, the children heard the muffled screams of their captor, a man devoured by the void.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  1

  Imogene grit her teeth to hold back a tide of agony as she descended into the darkness. She heard voices, what sounded like Father Jacob crying to himself, and a dull hum reverberating from the rise and fall of his pitch. Beyond those sounds was the sobbing of children, tempering her resolve as she climbed into the murk.

  “I’m coming, kids.” Her voice echoed into the chamber, a pained and raspy sound reminding her just how tired and frail she really was. The last several years took a toll on her. How many of those years were wasted in servitude? She couldn’t bear to think about it.

  Only the children mattered now.

  “Mamaw Genie?”

  Her heart stopped. “Jackie? Is that you, baby?”

  She looked down, following the curtain of light from above, illuminating centuries of earth and dust and bones. There were shapes beyond the circle. Small, fragile shapes, tiny arms and legs, little heads and terrified hearts. If she held her breath, she could almost hear the fear racing in their chests.

  “I’m coming, darlin’. I’m almost there.”

  “Please come quick, Ms. Genie. Jackie’s hurt, and somethin’ happened to Father.”

  Little Stephanie Green. She’d recognize that sweet voice anywhere.

  “I’m almost there, kids. Not much farther now.”

  Her descent was slow going with one hand pressed against her face, her other arm wrapped around each rung of the ladder. One step at a time, lady. Twinkling splotches of color swam before her face in the darkness, accompanied by a lightheadedness that could only be wrought by the blood seeping from her wound. She waited long enough to rest her face against the nearest rung.

  “You okay, Genie?”

  Imogene looked up and squinted against the light above. Jerry, Roger, and Henry peered down at her. “Yeah,” she gasped. “Are Gage & Maggie taking care of my daughter?”

  Jerry nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Henry mounted the ladder. “I’m right behind ya, Genie.”

  Imogene peeled her forehead away from the rung. The thin metal bar was slick with her blood. Her head swam.

  “Careful on the steps,” she mumbled, fending off the droning bells in her head. Keep going, she told herself. Almost there.

  Seconds later, Imogene’s feet met the dirt floor of the earthen pillar rising from the dark. A series of chiseled steps led down to the floor of the temple, and she descended two at a time. Dusty bones of unsung sacrifices crunched beneath her as she steadied herself. The children crawled on aching limbs into the circle of light and crowded around, nearly toppling her in their desperate excitement. All except one.

  She scanned the darkness with her good eye. Jack Tremly remained huddled in the dark, and she could barely make him out in the shadows.

  “Mamaw Genie, I think my arm’s broke. Is Mama okay?”

  Imogene frowned. “Yes, darlin’. She’s okay, and so are you. We can mend a broken arm, honey. One of your uncles can carry you up. Now, let’s get all of you kids back up the ladder—”

  A crackling noise erupted from the dark, disturbing the centuries of dust in the chamber. The children cried out and huddled behind her like chicks seeking shelter from a storm. She was their Mother Hen in this dark place, and whatever lurked in the shadows beyond the light would have to go through her to get to them. Imogene reached for the revolver in her jeans and shakily pointed it toward the noise. Jack gasped when she took her hand from her wound.

  “It’s okay, Jackie. I’ll be okay. Your mamaw’s had worse.”

  “Ah, Sister Tremly. Miss Imogene. Genie.”

  Jacob’s voice raised the hairs on her neck. More footsteps cracked across the bones from somewhere beyond the halo of light. She glanced up, saw Henry and Jerry were almost into the chamber, and felt some relief. At least she wouldn’t have to face this bastard alone.

  “You’re done here, Jacob.” Her voice was dry but commanding, betraying the weakness in her head, her bones. “You can’t have these babies. I won’t let you.”

  “You never were a true believer, darlin’. I could see it in you from the first day you brought your daughter to the church. That didn’t stop you from leaving her with me, though. Did she tell you what I did to her?”

  Imogene swallowed hard. Her throat clicked. Don’t let him get to you, her daddy whispered. He’s trying to get in your head.

  “She didn’t have to, Jacob. It’s on her face. In her eyes.”

  Jacob’s laughter sprang from the dark. The children clustered around her, held tighter, as if she might be plucked from their circle in an instant. Imogene shared their fear.

  “You might say I came in the name of the lord, Sister. Your little bastard, Jackie, is proof. He was bred to be opened on our altar. His blood should be flowing right now. And it will. Perhaps not now, but soon. When you aren’t here to protect him. When you aren’t here to protect any of my little lambs.”

  Father Jacob Masters emerged from the shadows. His eyes glowed in the dark, filling the chamber with a sickly azure light that turned her stomach. Thick, black tears oozed down his cheeks, collected at the rim of his chin, and dripped in sporadic ropes. Black veins crisscrossed his pale flesh, shattering gaunt cheeks in a hundred pieces.

  “I am steeped in my own sin, Genie. You know the only way to cleanse the soul is through bloodshed. The only way to temper the soul is through the fires of redemption.” His fingertips sparked like matches, erupting in flames. He gestured to the etchings on the walls. “Our lord’s scripture teaches these rites of the dead. Search your heart and you will know it is true. Tell me you didn’t come here to shed my blood and burn my church to the ground.”

  Imogene didn’t have to. Jacob knew her well—knew them all, in fact. He had that way about him, a way of seeing inside his flock, knowing what made them tick, which strings to pull. She didn’t know if he’d always possessed that sight, or if the beast from the pit gave him such a gift. Either way, he’d worked his will upon her, whispering to her when she was at her most vulnerable, after her husband Steve died in a car accident.

  Jacob took advantage of her weakness, suggesting she give her daughter to him, let him have his way with Laura so he would have a sacrifice, and like a good little lamb who’d felt betrayed by her god, she’d done as he wished. For the good of the church. For the promise of heaven on earth. For her new god.

  The regret settled in her belly and burned there, eating a hole through her. She’d spend the rest of her life feeling that regret. She knew it, and worse, so did Jacob.

  “Kids,” she said, lowering her voice. “I need to you to close your eyes and cover your ears. You too, Jackie.”

  She didn’t wait for them. Shaking, her heart full of hate and regret, I
mogene raised her daddy’s revolver and pulled the trigger. The flash from the muzzle lit up the room like lightning, painting Jacob’s shadow across the wall for an instant before he fell backward against the altar. The stone effigy of their buried god sizzled in blue flames.

  “Genie!” Henry shouted, dropping to the floor. He crumpled when he hit, hissing at the impact to his knees. “Christ, girl, what have you done?”

  Imogene ignored her friend, his words muffled by the sudden ringing in her ears. She walked forward and stood over the bleeding body of the preacher. Jacob Masters looked up at her with pallid blue eyes and grinned.

  “Blood and fire,” he growled. “You’ll have them tonight, but I’ll have them in time.” He raised a pale finger to the wound in his chest, covered the tip in blood, and lifted it to his forehead where he drew a crude symbol upon his flesh. A thick stench of burning meat sizzled upward from his touch. “The heretics will be my gateway. Death for life. So it is written.” He leaned back and chuckled to himself. “As I am below, so shall I be above. My will and the Old Ways are one.”

  Imogene Tremly raised the revolver and clenched her teeth. She fired another round between Jacob’s eyes and kept firing until the sickly light was gone from them for good. Even when the rounds were spent, she kept pulling the trigger, waiting for the bastard to stand back up.

  She would for the rest of her life.

  2

  After they carried the children from the church, the men returned to the pit to bury the man who’d taken so much from them. They used the tools leftover from when Jacob dug his way into the forgotten chamber all those years ago. Even with his corpse lying there, Roger and Henry and Jerry and Gage swore they heard him whispering to them from the shadows, cursing them from beyond a veil they could neither see nor feel.