Devil's Creek

by Todd Keisling

  3

  Stephanie looked in the rearview mirror as she pulled the car into Bobby’s driveway. The house was dark but for the porch light.

  “Your old man still goes to bed early, huh?”

  “Every Saturday night,” Riley said. He looked up at the house and sighed. “Can’t I stay with you tonight?”

  She wanted to frown but forced a smile anyway. “I’ve already pushed my luck by havin’ you out so late. It’s best you go on inside for now. Maybe you can stay over next weekend.” She watched him climb out of the car. He was almost to the porch when she put down her window and called for him.

  “Hey, Riley?” He spun around, his face lit up with excitement, hoping maybe she’d changed her mind. She hadn’t, but the eager look on his face made her smile. “About what we talked about tonight, back at the station. Don’t tell your dad. Not yet, okay? Your uncle Jack and I need to figure out some things, okay? You know how Bobby can be about…well, this sort of thing.”

  Riley nodded. She supposed he knew as well as anybody, maybe even more than she did.

  “What if he gives me a hard time about bein’ out so late?”

  Stephanie smirked. “Blame it on your aunt, the Big Bad Influence.”

  They shared a laugh before saying goodnight. Stephanie waited until Riley closed the front door behind him and backed out of the driveway. She reached to turn up the radio but put her hand down in hesitation. Most days, music helped clear her head and focus on whatever tasks were at hand. Tonight, however, there was too much going on in her head, too many things to process. Music would only scramble the puzzle she was trying to piece together. She returned her hand to the steering wheel.

  Should’ve known better than to bring up that shit. You knew the painting had something to do with what happened at the church. Even if you couldn’t remember all that well, you still knew.

  She did remember, better than she ever thought possible. The memories were always there, hiding beyond a curtain of ignorance. Sometimes those memories would surface as she slept, manifesting in the form of horrible nightmares no amount of sleeping pills or therapy could diminish, and when she awoke, they would sink back down in the murk of her subconscious like sharks, always swimming, always waiting.

  Those awful things she thought she’d imagined—the grotto, the eyes, the chants and incantations, the places her father touched her, the abuse, the awful sermons, the glow of their eyes, and a hushed voice in her head telling her to be quiet, to close her eyes, to let it happen—were horrible memories of her childhood. All these years, she’d embraced the stigma of being one of the Stauford Six without really facing the terrible reality of what it meant to be one.

  Stephanie drove on in silence, speeding through Bobby’s neighborhood until she reached Main Street. From there, she followed the overpass toward the east end of town, passing the turnoff for her apartment, continuing toward the shopping center where teens in the 80s and 90s used to cruise in banal circles on Friday nights. She sat at a red light and peered down the hill toward the parking lot, its cracked pavement illuminated in the pale phosphorous glow of closed storefronts. Two police cruisers were parked side by side in front of the local Kroger, but otherwise, the lot was empty. No one cruised these days, not when social interaction could be performed from the comfort of one’s home, at the touch of a button.

  Everywhere I go is haunted, she thought. Every street, every storefront, every home she passed by was tainted with the memory of being one of the weird and strange. One of the outcasts, one of the tortured, and one of the misunderstood. One of the Stauford Six, a child whose childhood was stolen from her in the service of a nameless god. Stauford might’ve been her hometown, but it didn’t love her, it didn’t care who she was, and by all rights, it despised her. Maybe it despised them all, in its own way, and some more than others. Maybe, in some fucked-up sort of way, she’d stuck around Stauford in a half-assed attempt at earning back its love, like a scorned child trying to appease a parent—or in her case, a dead mother and father.

  The light turned green, but she didn’t move.

  Looking down at the closed storefronts, Stephanie Green realized she’d been lying to herself all along: Stauford didn’t give a shit, it would never change, and the tainted blood that built this apathetic place would perpetuate itself until the end of time. And despite the lies she’d told herself all these years to function and have a semi-normal life, those memories were true, they were real, and now with Jack’s revelations tonight, they might not even be over.

  Not if what Riley said was to be believed. And why would the kid lie about what he saw? She recalled the boy’s trembling hands as he told them what he saw the night before in the woods. Jack’s recounting of their time in the grotto, the impossible space deep below the foundation of their father’s church, aided in connecting the dots. She remembered her father’s hellish idol, with teeth too wide and crazed eyes filled with arcane knowledge. Why on earth would Genie Tremly want to have that terrible thing in her possession?

  “Some sort of fucked-up memento, maybe.” The sound of her voice startled her from her thoughts. She didn’t care for the slight tremor of fear rippling through her words. Stephanie glanced up, saw the light turn green again, and stepped on the gas. The troubling thought of Genie’s intentions followed her all the way to the next intersection. She flipped on the turn signal and merged on to the Cumberland Gap Parkway.

  No, not a memento. Remember the other shit in the notebook? The news articles, the magazine clippings, and the notes on all those symbols? Something about moon phases? And didn’t Jack say some of them were etched into Genie’s tombstone?

  For a moment, Stephanie considered driving out to the cemetery to investigate for herself, but the thought of walking through a graveyard this time of night was a bit much for her right now. Instead, she drove another mile before turning off the parkway, traveling past the old Layne Camp High School building, down the hill, and toward Standard Avenue.

  Genie Tremly’s house emerged above the tree line in the distance, towering over the surrounding subdivisions. There were lights on in the house. She imagined Jack was home by now, and when she drove by, his parked car confirmed it. Should she stop? And why? They were both tired, mentally and emotionally drained after the day they’d had, and at least one of them was doing the sensible thing by settling down for the night.

  Stephanie’s foot lingered on the brake, idling slowly in front of Ruth McCormick’s home, staring up at the faint glow coming from the upstairs bedroom window of Genie’s house.

  You want to see it. You actually want to see the idol. Your brother’s story wasn’t enough. You want to see that infernal thing for yourself, in person, just to make sure you aren’t insane. You want to hold it in your hands, maybe even destroy it…

  In a way, she really did. The idol symbolized everything she hated about her childhood, the church, her bastard of a father. Maybe, in some way, the idol was the root of all their problems. And if not the root cause, then an extension of the source, like a dark antenna sending out a malignant signal, focusing, amplifying somehow.

  Hadn’t she seen her father levitate in its presence? Hadn’t his eyes changed color? Hadn’t darkness itself leaked from his pores?

  “Enough,” she spat. The empty car said nothing. “Go home, Steph. Get some rest. You’re fuckin’ arguing with yourself.”

  Stephanie glanced once more at the old Victorian before stepping on the gas. Jack’s silhouette wandered by the living room windows, and a moment later, the lights went out. The dim glow upstairs pulsed. She kept an eye on it in the rearview until she crested the hilltop and the light faded from view.

  Ten minutes later, Stephanie parked outside her apartment. She gathered her things and went inside. The feeling of exhaustion was immediate, announcing its presence in the form of a massive yawn reverberating through every muscle down to her toes. When she turned on the bathroom light to brush her teeth, her eyes fell upon the framed print of J
ack’s painting.

  She took in its grim scene, the vivid detail with which he’d painted the congregation on the shoreline. Had this really happened? She couldn’t remember every detail, but what was there in her memory was more than real—she felt errant fingertips upon her skin, caressing her flesh, touching her in places no child should be touched. She felt the hot breath on the back of her neck, expelled in desperate gusts while strange guttural words crawled from familiar lips. They were baptized there in the dark waters of a grotto, deep inside the earth and yet beneath a sky of impossible stars, the air still and pregnant with hushed voices of the Void.

  A sharp chill raked down her body. Trembling, Stephanie Green took the frame off the wall and set it inside the hall closet. She didn’t care to talk about it ever again.

  4

  “Hey. Honey. Wake up. Come to bed with me. I want to play.”

  Susan’s words slithered through Ozzie’s ears and writhed around his brain. He’d been in the grip of a nightmare, running from shadows with glowing eyes, and Zeke Billings was one of them. Everything else faded as her words infected his dream space, stirring the most primal parts of him from slumber. He had an erection even before his eyes were open.

  Only she wasn’t there when he awoke. The TV was turned off, as were the recessed ceiling lights, but there was a dim glow filling the room from somewhere else. He turned, wincing at a crick in his neck, his head still swimming in an alcoholic haze.

  “Suze?”

  A row of white candles flickered on the floor. They lined the hallway to the stairwell, an illuminated breadcrumb trail dotted with articles of clothing. Here was the black lace bra he’d bought her for Christmas. A few feet onward, her lace panties lay in a heap. He smiled and adjusted the iron bar in his pants.

  “On my way, darlin’.”

  He rose to his feet and staggered to the side, nearly toppling back to the sofa. When the world stopped spinning, Ozzie wandered upstairs. She must want to be romantic tonight, he thought, feeling a little disappointed. He staggered into the door and pushed his way into the room.

  “Hello, officer.”

  Susan lay on her side, covered in only a sheet. Her hair spilled over her pale shoulders, and shadows danced across her figure as his clumsy entrance disturbed the flames. Candles were arranged on the floor, on the dresser, and along the windowsill, filling the room with an inviting glow.

  “Wha’s all this?”

  She rolled onto her back and stretched her arms, exposing the tops of her breasts. “I thought I’d set the mood. Don’t you like it?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure…” he slurred, nearly losing his balance as he took off his shoes. “Candles are fine, I guess.”

  “Oh, Ozzie,” she purred. “Undress for me. I want to see how hard I make you.”

  He managed a smile. Imaginings of what he would do to her tonight bobbed along a sea of whiskey in his head. Susan gasped when he finally stripped off his pants, and he beamed with pride. Yeah, look at that thing, he thought, you know you want it.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” she cooed, reaching out to trace her fingers along his shaft. “Why don’t you join me here, Chief? I need to place you under arrest.”

  “That so, huh? Wha’s the charge?” He pulled back the sheet, revealing her beautifully naked body, pale as creamy moonlight. His mouth watered, and when he swallowed back the saliva, he tasted something gritty, something metallic. Something like dirt.

  “Failure to appear in court.” Susan grinned, wrapping her hand around him and pulling him down to the bed. She kissed him, placed her hands on his chest, and slowly pushed him back against the headboard. “You’re in contempt.” She leaned over to the nightstand and retrieved two pairs of handcuffs. “How do you plead?”

  He grinned, feeling stupidly drunk, his vision suddenly clouded with dark shadows. The gritty dirt taste in his mouth grew stronger, enough when he tried to swallow it back, the flavor almost made him gag.

  “G-guilty, your Honor.” He forced a smile and lost himself in the pendulous swing of her breasts as she leaned over him, cuffing his wrists to the bedposts. “Take me to jail.”

  “Mmm,” she purred as she climbed off him, lightly tracing her finger along his cock, delighting as he rose to attention on her command.

  “The old boy’s got a mind of ‘is own.”

  “Yes he does, Chief.” She met his glass stare. “I want to do something different tonight, Oz. I want all of you tonight. I want to do everything to you.” She slipped two fingers between her legs. “I’m so wet just thinking about it.”

  Oh Christ, he thought. Never seen her this horny before. And yet he’d never heard her talk like this before, either. Sure, they got wild in the bedroom, but usually he was the one leading the charge, guiding her, instructing her where to bite, to kiss, to suck. This new Susan excited him and unnerved him. Maybe it’s the booze, he thought.

  Susan took her wet fingers and slid them up the length of his shaft. All rational thought left Ozzie’s brain in a single gasp of air.

  “I-I’m yours,” he stammered. “Do whatever you want. I just want you.”

  “Anything I want?”

  “Yes,” he groaned, smiling as she took his permission to retreat to the dresser in front of the bed. He watched with drunken curiosity, admiring the view of her shapely ass in the warm glow of candlelight. A moment later, Susan returned with two more sets of handcuffs. He wasn’t surprised by their appearance—although he’d been the one to introduce bondage to their bedroom, Susan took to it almost immediately. She once said she loved the thought of dominating him, of having him all to herself to do with as she pleased. And Ozzie couldn’t complain, either. She rode him like a madwoman atop a bucking bronco, sometimes moaning, sometimes near the point of screaming in ecstasy as they climaxed together.

  She closed the handcuffs around his ankles and then fastened them to the posts at the foot of the bed. He winced from the pressure, the metal cuffs cutting into his flesh and pinching his circulation.

  Ozzie met her gaze and grinned. “When you gon’ come here and take me for a ride?”

  “Not yet,” Susan whispered, “but soon, Daddy. Soon.”

  Daddy? That was a new one. He laughed it off, taking joy in watching her naked figure haunt the bedroom before him. She tiptoed toward her side of the bed, reached under the pillow, and retrieved something he couldn’t see.

  When she turned to face him, the first thing he noticed wasn’t the blade but the distant look in her eyes. The world fell away from him, his heart frozen, his blood displaced with the burning chill of ice water, and the thick churning taste of bile climbing up the back of his throat. His instinct was to jump out of bed and charge her, disable her ability to use the weapon, cuff her, and interrogate her—except he could do no such thing. He was helpless, hopelessly cuffed to the bed by wrist and ankle, about to become a case study in idiocy and another sex crime statistic.

  I want to do everything to you.

  “S-Susan, whatcha got there, babe? You’re makin’ me nervous.”

  “I hate that it’s come to this, Oz. I really do. We had some good times.”

  The sultry tone of her voice was gone, displaced by a different sort of Susan, one he’d only caught fleeting glimpses of here and there. A phantom of her personality, there and gone again in a blink, a quality that only came out during arguments or intense conversation about her siblings. He’d shrugged off such sightings, figuring she’d overcome anger management issues in her youth. Now, as he lay bound naked to the bed, Ozzie realized he was terribly wrong.

  “Suze, listen to me. Whatever you’re plannin’ to do, you don’t have to. Whatever I’ve done—”

  “It ain’t what you’ve done, Oz, it’s what you’re gonna do. You know what Zeke means to me, and I can’t let you blame him for doing what he was told.”

  Ozzie blinked, the haze of intoxication clearing for a few precious seconds, and some of the pieces came together. His heart sank. Oh fuck.


  “Our father asks so little of us, so when He does speak, we must listen. I can’t let you arrest my brother. Not when you were the one who sent him out there in the first place.”

  His mind raced. How? How the hell could she possibly know?

  Susan turned toward the window and tilted her head, listening. All Ozzie heard was the racing of his heart, the settling of the house’s foundation, and the stir of tree limbs in the breeze outside. She’s fucking crazy, she’s lost her goddamn mind, everyone told me she was nuts, oh fuck, I should’ve listened, one of the Stauford Six is gonna kill me—

  “Yes, father. I will prepare this vessel.” She smiled. “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow morning.”

  Susan turned back to him, and her smile faltered. “For the longest time, I thought I was crazy. I thought the voices I was hearin’ in my head were because of trauma, because of what happened out at my daddy’s church. But I know that’s not true. My father speaks to me, Oz, and He’s told me something wonderful. Something so beautiful I can’t wait for tomorrow to come.”

  “What’s happenin’ tomorrow, Suze?”

  “A reckoning, my love. The god of my father will free the sins of Stauford, like He wanted to all those years ago. This false Babylon will fall, and it all starts here.”

  Ozzie tested his restraints. The cold metal dug into his wrists and ankles. Pain shot through his arms and legs.

  “Please, my love. The heretics of this city have blinded you. Let me peel back your veil, help you see the truth.”

  “Yeah, what truth’s that?”

  “There ain’t no salvation without suffering, Oz.”

  And before Ozzie Bell could scream, Susan Prewitt gave a demonstration of her father’s Old Ways.

  5

  Fifteen miles away, Tyler Booth stirred in his sleep, troubled by lithe shapes emerging from the dark. He was back in the pit beneath the church, a dream so vivid he could smell the musty earth surrounding him, his nose itching from the dust and ash afloat in the air. The impossible passageway yawned before him, illuminated by flickering torchlight, and beyond its mouth was a sky full of eyes. They blinked erratically, separately, each focusing on him in their own time, examining his frail dream-shape beyond the passage.