The Spirits of Six Minstrel Run

by Matthew S. Cox

  The plume came from a fully-enflamed Jeep Cherokee crashed into one of a row of trees planted alongside the trail leading to the distant church building. Its back hatch appeared to be open, but she couldn’t see inside for all the fire and smoke. Despite the frightfulness of the scene, she sensed Robin had gotten away from the fire.

  Mia stopped far enough back to protect her truck from a potential explosion, and started running across the grassy field toward the big, white one-story building. Adam said he wanted to take Robin to holy ground before killing her. She swore under her breath for rushing off without grabbing any sort of weapon, but she didn’t have time to do anything other than haul ass.

  Weston’s voice emanated from the forest to the left. He sounded too far away to understand, but the taunting tone came through clear. The instant Mia looked in that direction, she knew Robin had gone that way. She changed course, barreling into the woods. Branches whipped at her face, roots threatened to take her feet out from under her, but she kept going, guided by the mocking voice.

  “I know you’re around here,” called Weston. “Demons cannot conceal themselves from the eyes of the Lord. Repent and go willingly unto Him and you shall be forgiven.”

  Mia skidded to a stop, trying to catch her breath. Panic and urgency gave way to thinking. He’s lost her. Robin’s hiding… He’ll hear me coming if I just run in. She resumed following the man’s voice, moving with a focus on quiet rather than speed. If Robin screamed or he stopped trying to trick her into showing herself, she’d bolt.

  “The Lord is thy Shepherd…”

  She bristled at the rhetoric, but the man’s babbling religiosity acted like a homing beacon. Soon, she caught sight of him up ahead, stalking among the trees with a roll of duct tape in one hand. A distant kaboom signaled the end of the Jeep. Hopefully, that would tell the sheriff’s deputies exactly where they needed to be.

  Weston flinched at the explosion, but didn’t turn. He scanned the woods with wild, feverish eyes.

  She hurried closer, circling left to stay behind him, and looked at her empty hands. Oh, screw it. I don’t need a weapon to take on a sixty-eight-year-old man. Mia closed to within twenty feet, then burst forward in a sprint. He spun toward the rustle of her tearing up the underbrush. She ran straight into him, crossing her arms into a battering ram that she drove into his chest. Weston barked like a kicked goose and flew over backward. The duct tape sailed off into the weeds.

  Enraged, Mia rushed in, kicking at his side. She landed two good shots on his ribs before spotting the hunting knife on his belt and squatting to grab for it. He caught her by the wrists and dragged her off balance before she could open the retaining strap. She fell forward, draped across him. Weston forced her arms behind her back and held her wrists together.

  “You poor child,” rasped Weston. “The demon’s in your mind. “I’m trying to help—”

  She hurled herself upward, mashing her head into his face. He lost his grip on her arms. She rammed her elbow back into his chest as fast and forcefully as she could a few times before he grabbed two fistfuls of her hair and tossed her aside.

  Mia landed flat on her chest and screamed in pain tinged with fury. Wings of adrenaline carried her to her feet the same time Weston wobbled upright. He lunged in trying to grab her, caught off guard by her fist crashing into his jaw. He staggered away while Mia gasped and cradled her hand to her chest, surprised by how much it hurt to punch someone in the head.

  Ow. Shit.

  “As soon as I destroy the demon, your mind will be free. You’ll see that—”

  She shrieked and ran at him.

  He caught her by the forearms, holding her at bay for a few seconds until she again surprised him by attempting to bite him on the shoulder. Weston flung her back and drew his knife.

  “You’re making things difficult. If you don’t obey God’s will, I’m going to have to knock you senseless until it’s over.”

  “Why are so many religious people insane?” She rasped a few breaths. “My daughter is not a demon. A demon is someone who can murder an innocent child.”

  “That is no innocent child. What you did is against nature.” Weston’s voice shifted deeper. “She belongs dead.”

  Mia stared at him, stunned. “You… you’re not the pastor anymore, are you?”

  Weston laughed in the younger, lower voice. “Oh, city girl’s a smart one. It’s your husband’s fault you got a mouth like that. You sit down and behave yourself. Me and the preacher have a demon to put back where it belongs.”

  “I can’t tell where Weston ends and Vic starts, but I’m not going to allow either one of you anywhere near my daughter.”

  “Oh… you wanna be with that kid so bad huh? If it means that much to you, I can make it happen for you.” He lunged, stabbing at her chest.

  Mia leapt aside, darting around a tree for cover. The blade chipped a sliver of bark away with a dull thump. Weston strolled around the tree, wrinkly face twisting into a malevolent smile.

  A wheezy elder voice muttering Bible passages leaked from his mouth at the same time the deeper voice spoke over him. “Preacher man cracked like an egg when he saw the kid, alive and breathing, same as he remembered her. Sending the ‘demon brat’ back to hell was all his idea. I’m only helping him out.” Weston slashed at her again.

  She caught his arm in both hands, holding the knife out to the side. Weston continued invoking scripture in an endless, incoherent half whisper. Goosebumps rose on her arms in response to the needling cadence of his raspy voice. Vic laughed. She grunted, struggling to hold his weapon back. The old man rambled in a loop about God and demons, eyes manic. Mia locked stares with him, certain that only she—or another psychic—could hear Vic’s voice coming out of him, the same way she’d been able to speak with Robin before.

  Sirens wailed from somewhere far behind her.

  Unable to get his knife out from her grip, he punched her in the head with his left hand, knocking her staggering, then slashed, scoring a minor slice on her forearm. Mia yelped and scrambled away. He charged in, mashing a hand into her chest and shoving her over on her back.

  “Bye bye, Mommy,” said Weston, raising the knife.

  “No!” shouted Robin, jumping out of the weeds.

  Weston twisted to stare at her. “There you are…”

  Mia reared back and drove both feet into his gut with a mule kick that launched the skinny old man into the air. He landed hard, barking out a heavy wheeze. She rolled forward, leaping on top of him and slugging him over and over in the head. Weston flailed his arms, babbling deliriously.

  Robin ran around to stay behind Mia.

  She hit Weston one more time and leapt off him into a run. Mia scooped Robin up and sprinted into the woods carrying her. Weston groaned. She ran a little ways looking around at the trees, but didn’t seem to be going toward where she’d left the Tahoe. Every direction looked the same. Robin kept quiet, clinging, not even crying.

  “Now you’ve pissed me off,” grumbled Vic, over Weston’s continued muttered scripture.

  Mia stopped caring about going anywhere specific except away from him. She hiked Robin up a little higher and ran. Even carrying a six-year-old, she didn’t have a problem staying ahead of him, but she also didn’t appear to be leaving him behind. Hoping she had more endurance than the aged pastor, she pushed herself to keep going.

  “Go faster, Mommy!” yelled Robin. “He’s right behind us.”

  Trees and branches rushed by on both sides. Mia ducked her head, trying to spare her face from the endless low-hanging branches in her way. Twigs and leaves crunched behind her along with the grumbled curses and out-of-breath wheezes of a man too old to be running in the woods. Sirens grew louder off to the right, so she swerved that way.

  Mia ran hard, ignoring the pain in her legs, ignoring the desire to simply drop where she stood and rest—right up until she found a ridge.

  A clipped yelp flew from her throat as she skidded to a stop with inches betw
een the tips of her sneakers and a steep downhill slope. She didn’t have enough time to think ‘oh shit’ before the dirt beneath her gave out and she fell into a tumbling logroll, bouncing over rocks and jutting roots.

  Robin’s clear high-pitched scream followed her down the hill.

  44

  The Cabin

  Saturday, June 22, 2019

  Trees stretched up into Mia’s vision, thrust like twisted spears into the clear blue sky.

  It made no sense why trees would be sticking straight out in front of her like that. Or why the sky looked like a giant blue wall hanging. Or why her entire body felt numb.

  A light patting jostled her cheek. “Mommy?”

  Blurry whiteness crept into her awareness. She squinted, wondering what sort of ghost hovered next to her.

  Small hands gripped her shirt by her neck, shaking her. “Mommy! Wake up. He’s gonna get us.”

  Dozens of bruises throbbed in time with her pulse. The reality of her situation crashed into her all at once: Weston, the knife, falling… Robin. The blur sharpened into focus—her daughter, smudged with dirt and soot—kneeling next to her. The child trembled, wide-eyed in fear.

  “The demons begged of Jesus,” shouted Weston in a brittle voice, “Drive us out and send us unto the herd of pigs. I see you, demon, and shall drive you out!”

  Shit! He sounded close.

  Mia scrambled upright and took the girl’s hand. She started to run, but hesitated upon noticing Robin’s bare feet. The girl kept going, pulling at Mia’s arm. The pain of crashing down a steep hill echoed in bruises all over Mia’s body, but she fought past it. She considered picking Robin up so they could move faster, but her weary muscles could do only so much. Even with a much smaller stride, the child would’ve outpaced her if not for hanging off her arm.

  Snapping and crunching echoed out of the forest behind her. No doubt, Weston had found a less painful way to the bottom of the hill, which afforded her enough time to recover from the daze. She couldn’t remember most of the fall and worried she might’ve hit her head on a tree at the bottom.

  Memory loss isn’t a good sign. She clenched her jaw, determined to force her head clear.

  “You cannot run from God, Mia,” called Weston, sounding close but nowhere to be seen.

  “Come on!” yelled Robin, pulling at her. “This way.”

  Mia grabbed at her pocket, but she’d left her phone in the truck. The thick woods surrounding her blocked the sky as well as the smoke plume from the burning Jeep. “Crap. Where are we?”

  “Over here,” whispered Robin, veering left. “There’s a cabin where we can hide.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I see it.”

  Mia struggled to keep up with the child. She searched the woods ahead of them, not finding any trace of a cabin. Though, the direction Robin wanted to go did feel right.

  Weston started to shout something about God but his voice shifted to a cry of alarm, then the thud of a body falling amid snapping vegetation. Mia grinned to herself at him falling over. She hoped it would give her the time to reach a safe spot—a locked cabin door should hold him off long enough for someone to find them or at least the cabin might have something she could use as a weapon.

  The child pulled her along, heading for a steep hill of exposed dirt and rock roughly two stories tall. Without hesitation, Robin grabbed a stone and started climbing. Mia reluctantly let go of her hand and took hold of a jutting root. With seemingly practiced ease, the girl navigated the maze of roots, rocks, and weeds. Wherever she couldn’t find purchase, she jabbed her toes into the dirt like a knife. Mia dragged herself up right behind her, flinching at a steady drizzle of soil falling on her face from above. A watermelon-sized stone near the top that Robin stood on for a moment gave out under Mia’s sneaker, tumbling down the cliff face. All her weight hung on a cluster of roots, which tore out from the dirt after only a second of holding her.

  Mia’s scream started from fright but shifted to determination. A kick at the cliff shoved her sideways, swinging to the left. She caught hold of a thicker root and kicked her sneakers into the dirt, stopping her fall. There she paused a few seconds, waiting for the fear spike from almost falling to fade. Robin disappeared over the top, about six feet above her. Somewhere below, Weston’s rambling about the fury of the Lord grew close.

  With a grunt, Mia hauled herself up, grabbed another root, and tested a rock with her foot. It didn’t budge when she kicked it, so she shifted her weight onto it and scrambled up to the ridge. Robin grabbed her shirt, ‘helping’ her up and over the top.

  Flat on her chest, Mia gasped for breath.

  “We’re almost there.” Robin tugged at her.

  Mia pushed herself up to kneel. A ramshackle structure stood about thirty yards away, nestled in the woods beside a bizarre collection of copper tubing and large tanks. It made Wilhelmina’s cabin look like the Waldorf, being one decent storm away from complete ruin. Whoever made this cabin hadn’t used it—or the still—in decades.

  So much for a locked door… maybe a weapon.

  They sprinted across relatively flat ground to a dirt clearing. The air held a strong alcohol smell mixed with the pervasive stink of moldy wood and a chemical essence she didn’t recognize. One doorway—without a door—peered in on a single-room space awash with graffiti. Five bare mattresses, all moldy and wet, lay around the floor among spent syringes, beer cans, disposable lighters, and bulbous glass pipes. She winced at the thought of going inside such a place, especially with Robin lacking shoes. A second building, somewhat more intact than this one, sat a short distance deeper in the trees behind the still. That one at least had a door.

  Mia scooped Robin up, hurrying around the collection of rusty pipes and junk.

  The door on the large shed refused to open, the knob either locked or rusted solid. Hazy windows coated in years of grime offered a partial view of a work table with a vice near a pegboard of old tools.

  “Mommy,” whispered Robin. “There’s a hole on the side.”

  Mia looked where the child pointed. A couple boards on the left face of the shack had disintegrated. Termites—or some manner of little white insects—swarmed all over the wood fragments. “Umm…”

  “The demon will not prevail,” roared Weston from the base of the cliff.

  She grimaced at the bugs, but her legs had enough of running for one day. Mia dropped to all fours. Robin stepped among the infested wood, unconcerned she walked barefoot over live bugs. The oddity of seeing such a girly-girl so blasé about the disgusting mess distracted Mia enough to crawl in behind her before thinking too much about it.

  Once inside, Mia hastily looked around while Robin crawled under the workbench. A waist-tall wooden shelf holding a few paint cans stood against the wall not far from the hole. Mia jumped up and grabbed it, dragging the shelf left until it blocked off the hole. She backed up, clapping dust off her hands. The pegboard held mostly small wrenches, manual drills, and other old-timey tools she’d never seen before and had no names for. None of them looked worthwhile as any sort of weapon. Sections of pipe in various sizes leaned against the wall on the right in a pile with copper tubing.

  “That’ll work…”

  Mia picked up a three-foot long piece of cobweb-covered pipe, clutched it like a baseball bat, and tucked herself under the workbench beside Robin. Her exhausted body trembled from fatigue, breaths rapid but short. Too much adrenaline flooded her system to even consider resting. Just have to wait… She eyed the small, dirty window beside the door. If Weston tried to get in that way, he’d be wide open for a pipe to the head. If he managed to shove the shelf out of the way and crawl in, he’d be even more vulnerable on his hands and knees. She doubted the door would open ever again… but even if it did, the old shed would force him to attack from straight in front of her.

  It might not be much, but the place did provide some protection.

  Don’t see us. Just keep on running. The shallow slice on h
er forearm throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

  “I’m scared, Mommy,” whispered Robin, clinging to her arm. “Please don’t let him make me a ghost again.”

  “I won’t.” She closed her eyes. And if I mess this up, I promise we’ll haunt the house together.

  Twigs crunched outside. Words like ‘God,’ ‘demon,’ and ‘hell’ drifted out of constant, incoherent rambling. Mia looked around at the junk, a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t seem likely at all that anyone would find them way out here in time to help.

  She swallowed the saliva in the back of her mouth and tightened her grip on the pipe.

  45

  In the Name of

  Saturday, June 22, 2019

  The wind worried at the old shed’s walls, rattling the ancient tools above the workbench.

  Despite Mia’s efforts to hold still, her muscles wouldn’t stop quivering. Robin clung desperately to her arm, cutting off circulation to her hand. She trembled, her face wet with tears though she didn’t make a sound. The stink of smoky burned plastic saturated her hair and dress. Mia risked looking away from the door for a few seconds to give her daughter a comforting smile, but wound up glaring at a tangle of duct tape still wrapped around the child’s left wrist. She almost wanted Weston to find them so she could punish him for doing that to her daughter.

  Minutes passed in silence.

  They both jumped at a sudden flutter of flapping wings passing close overhead.

  A swath of pale beige drifted by the window. Robin’s grip on her arm tightened.

  Mia stared at the door. As much as what he’d done to Robin infuriated her, she didn’t want the girl to witness what would happen. Weston stalked by the window again, heading the other way.