“Changed my mind. Mind if I join you?”
Kesselring hesitated, then reached over and pushed open the door. Don got in, putting the Evilslayer on his lap. Instantly Kesselring’s eyes found the black case.
“I thought you were going to throw that in the lake,” the ex-cop said, still staring at the case.
“Haven’t got around to it yet.”
“Would you mind doing it now, so I don’t have to look at it anymore?”
Don unsnapped the two latches.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to look at it one last time.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“I explained all that. I just … well, I just feel bad about giving up.”
Don opened the case. Kesselring looked away. The Evilslayer was glimmering, as if it were reflecting the sun. But, although the day was brightening, there was still no sun to reflect. The glow grew and decreased in brightness, as if reacting to the pulses of the spike’s energy. It was indeed a magical thing. No matter that a few weeks ago Don would have flatly denied the existence of magical things. Now he believed. He would always believe.
“Why don’t you want to look at it?” he asked.
“I told you.”
“Yeah, but did you tell me the truth?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look at it,” Don said. “I want you to take one last look at it before it goes into the lake.”
Kesselring continued looking out the window for a few seconds, then he slowly turned his head until he was seeing the Evilslayer. He looked as though he were in pain, his face contorted, droplets of perspiration traveling down his forehead. Abruptly he looked away.
“Bothers you, huh?”
“You know it does.”
“I’ll tell you what, Kesselring. You touch the spike, and I’ll lose it. We got a deal?”
“I don’t want to touch it.”
“I know you don’t want to, but that’s the deal. You touch it, and I’ll toss it. What do you say?”
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You’ve handled this thing before. Probably hundreds of times. Why not touch it just once more when that’s all you have to do to be rid of it? You won’t even have to watch it go into the water. What do you say? We got a deal?”
“I don’t want to touch it!” Kesselring snapped. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I know,” Don said.
“Know? Know what?”
“That you’re the host.”
Now Kesselring did look at him. He seemed stunned. “Me? You’re out of your fucking mind. How the hell could I be the host?”
“Because you let it in, that’s how.”
Kesselring shook his head. “This is absurd. The Evil would love to get me, but it never can. I’d never let it in.”
“Then pick up the Evilslayer.”
“The what?”
“That’s what I call it. Pick it up.”
“No. You have no right—”
“So call an attorney.”
Kesselring simply sat there, looking confused and afraid.
“Pick it up,” Don said. “And all this will be over with. If I’m wrong I’ll apologize.”
“What will it prove?” The ex-cop was shaking.
“You told me yourself. The host can’t touch it. Pick it up, and I’ll throw it in the lake.”
“Please,” Kesselring said softly. “Just stop this nonsense and throw the damn thing away.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Don said. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask you to touch it.” He lifted the Evilslayer from its case. “Maybe I should just toss it overboard.”
Not looking at it, Kesselring nodded vigorously. “Yes, that’s what you should do.”
Don thrust the spike forward. Kesselring gasped, tried to deflect it with his arm, but he was too late, for the point had already brushed against his cheek. Green and orange sparks filled the car’s interior, and the ex-cop screamed. Don pulled the Evilslayer back. A black mark about three inches long smoked on Kesselring’s cheek.
“Don’t even think about trying to get away,” Don said. He held the Evilslayer threateningly. It throbbed in his hands.
“Please,” Kesselring said. “Don’t … don’t touch me with that thing again. It’s the Evil, but it’s me too. I’m fighting it.” He was trembling, almost vibrating, as if he’d been stretched piano-wire tight by invisible forces. “I have to fight for control with everything I have, and I’m slowly losing.”
“If you’re Kesselring, why’d you lie to me?”
“Didn’t,” the man said, the words catching in his throat, as if he were in pain. “It did, the creature.”
“But now it’s you I’m talking to?” Don asked skeptically.
“For a few minutes.”
“Why—”
Kesselring waved him to silence. “Please. Let me speak. That’s why I called you last night, told you to meet me here with the case.”
“You were planning to let it in.”
Kesselring shook his head. “I’d already let it in.”
Don understood. The ex-cop had invited the monster in so he could trap it. He’d arranged for Don to get there with the Evilslayer. Kesselring was sacrificing his own life to kill the monster.
“Please,” the ex-cop said. “If you don’t, I’ll have done it for nothing. The—” Kesselring sucked in his breath. The struggle going on within him was obvious on his twisted face. “Don’t … don’t let the monster have the last laugh.”
And then something in Kesselring’s expression changed. Though unable to say exactly what had happened, Don was sure a subtle transformation had just occurred.
“You won’t do anything here,” the retired policeman said, his voice mocking. “Too many people around.”
And Don knew what the change was. The Evil was in control now. And the monster was right. Don wouldn’t try to slay it on a crowded ferry. He was going to try to end its existence, but not at the cost of his own.
They sat there in silence until the ferry reached the mainland. As it nudged the rubber bumpers at the landing, Don said, “Drive where I tell you to drive.”
Kesselring looked at him. His eyes were like Reverend Pfeil’s eyes had been, full of rage and madness and things Don could only guess at. The ex-cop yanked open the door and leaped out of the car.
Quickly returning the Evilslayer to its case, Don ran after him, weaving between the parked cars. He banged one with the Evilslayer’s case, and the driver hollered at him, asked him whether he knew how much a new paint job cost. Behind him, drivers began to honk because Kesselring’s unoccupied car was blocking the way.
Don saw Kesselring leap in front of a car that was pulling off the ferry, causing the driver to jam on his brakes. And then the ex-cop was on the mainland. Don hurried after him. The ferry landing was in a wooded area, about two miles from town. Kesselring was running down the edge of the two-lane blacktop. Two of the cars coming off the ferry passed him, and then he leaped in front of the third one, waving his arms. When the car stopped, the retired policeman ran to the driver’s door and pulled on the handle, but it was locked. Kesselring let out a howl of rage, a sound no human being should have been able to make. He wheeled and dashed into the woods.
Don ran after him. As he reached the trees, the sun came out for the first time in weeks. For Ice Island, the horror was over. But for the rest of the world, it still existed. Unless Don was able to stop it here. At least if he caught up with Kesselring in the woods, there would be no witnesses to what occurred. Maybe he could make up a story, say Kesselring was wanted for something and resisted arrest. Don lost his footing and nearly fell. The leaves on the forest floor, soggy from the spring thaw and all the rain, were treacherous.
The branches of the trees and bushes slapped his face, tore at his clothing. Kesselring was just dashing madly throu
gh the trees, not following any path. Although Don was unable to see him, he could hear him, and Don thought he was gaining. The monster might be supernatural, but it had to deal with the limitations imposed by an old man’s body. And Kesselring, still recovering from the beating he’d taken, wasn’t in the best of shape. Don ran between a pair of pine trees and found himself in a clearing. Kesselring stood there, facing him, panting. His face was twisted again, revealing the war going on within.
“Do it now,” the ex-cop said. “Through the heart quickly.”
Instantly Don popped the catches on the case and removed the Evilslayer, which vibrated in his hands like a tuning fork. He stepped toward Kesselring, whose face still revealed the inner struggle between the Evil and the retired cop. The man just stood there, his chest exposed, vulnerable. Don raised the spike, tensed his muscles …
And found he was unable to do it.
“Go on,” Kesselring pleaded.
But Don was unable to move. How could he plunge this thing into Kesselring’s heart? He knew the ex-cop was dead anyway. He knew the man was host to something vile and evil, and yet his hands would not bring the spike forward.
Kesselring took off his jacket, as if making it easier for Don to do what he had to do. But that, Don realized too late, wasn’t his intention at all, for as soon as the coat was off, the ex-cop threw it over the Evilslayer and grabbed it. Sparks flew, but not as intensely as when the spike had actually touched his flesh. He was struggling to hold on to it. Don tried to yank it away from him, but Kesselring didn’t let go. Don could feel the Evilslayer’s power surging through his hands, traveling up his arms, through his organs, his legs.
The monster screamed, a sound that was part human, part animal, part the stuff of nightmares. With a rush of strength, Kesselring tore the spike from Don’s grasp. It flashed and sparked in his hands, but the jacket provided enough insulation for him to hold on.
Don drew his gun. If he had to kill Kesselring in the conventional way and in so doing set the creature free, then so be it. If it killed him, it would be free anyway. Then he recalled how Kesselring had lamented his failure to attempt wounding the host, immobilizing him so the job could be finished. Don lowered the gun to Kesselring’s legs.
But he didn’t shoot, because the tormented look of inner conflict was back on the ex-cop’s face. “Resist!” Don yelled. “Fight it, Kesselring. Fight it.”
Although Don knew in the back of his mind that he should still shoot Kesselring in the leg, he couldn’t do it. He wanted Kesselring to win this battle by himself, to overpower the monster through sheer force of will and send it back where it had come from. He wanted the ex-cop to live, maybe because he desperately needed to see just one person who’d been condemned by this madness survive. Just one.
Suddenly Kesselring was whipping his body from side to side, his face contorted in sheer agony. Don yelled. “Fight it! You can win! You can, you can!”
Abruptly, the Evilslayer still sparking in his hands, Kesselring stopped moving. For a moment he just stood there, looking bewildered. Then he slowly turned the spike so that the point was against his chest, the jacket hanging from it as if it were a clothesline.
“You’re no fucking help at all,” he said.
And then he fell on the Evilslayer, the way a Roman soldier might have fallen on his sword.
Sparks filled the clearing, as if a high-tension line had been downed, buzzing and popping and crackling, giving off light as bright as a welder’s arc, which shifted from green to orange to white with the quickness of a strobe light. Don had to shield his eyes to see Kesselring. The man had rolled over onto his back, the spike protruding from his chest. But something was wrong, because Kesselring, still using the jacket to protect his hands, was struggling to pull out the Evilslayer, succeeding in pulling it out. And Don realized that it had penetrated only partway, not to the heart, not far enough to kill the monster.
Frantically, Don scanned the clearing, spotting a large rock that lay beneath a rotting tree stump. Holstering his gun, he rushed to the rock, picked it up, moved quickly to Kesselring, who was still struggling with the spike.
“Do it!” Kesselring screamed.
You’ll be a murderer! The Evil said.
“Kill me! You have to!”
You’ll go to jail.
“No, do it. It’ll be okay.”
The scum of the earth will fuck you in the ass!
“Trust me!”
Allison and Sarah will hate you, because you’ll be a murderer who gets it in the ass from scum.
“Just do it.” Kesselring sounded weak. He was fading.
As Kesselring and the Evil vied to sway Don, the ex-cop’s face twisted and untwisted, his eyes in focus one moment, rolling into his head the next, his mouth opening and closing, drool running down his cheeks. And Don realized that even if the retired policeman somehow survived the experience, he would be insane.
“You’ll be all right. Trust me.”
Your asshole will be as big as a mineshaft.
“Please, just do it.”
Your wife and daughter will have a scumbag convict for a father. A scumbag convict with AIDS and a reamed-out asshole. How will they survive? Will Sarah sell blow jobs in the restroom at the bus depot? Will she spread her legs for—
Don smashed the rock down on the head of the Evilslayer, driving it completely through Kesselring and into the ground beneath him.
A tremendous green and orange flash of lightning snaked through the clearing, hitting the old stump and exploding it, the pieces falling from the air like wooden snow. Thunder boomed, and the ground shook so violently Don was barely able to stand. The odor of ozone filled the air. Wind swirled through the clearing like a tornado, picking up the wet leaves, which danced as if on strings.
And then Don was looking into the glowing eyes of the Evil.
A blackness was oozing from the beast, filling the clearing, enclosing it, isolating it from the rest of the woods, cutting it off from the world. The beast stood there before him, glaring at him, the Evilslayer sticking through its chest as if the monster were a cardboard cut-out on a paper spike. It stood on its hooves, its hairy body rippling with energy, its alligator-like mouth opening and closing, its pointed teeth flashing.
It reached for him with its claws.
And then it was gone.
And so was the blackness and the thunder and the lightning. There was just the woods. And Kesselring.
Don stood there, trembling, confused. Then he realized there was no bloody wound in the ex-cop’s chest, not even a hole in his shirt. And yet he was turning blue, the way Don had seen heart attack victims turn blue. And then, although there should have been no life left in him, Kesselring’s eyes opened, focused on Don. His lips parted, and he whispered, “Thank you.”
His eyes grew lifeless, staring skyward but seeing nothing.
It was only then that Don realized the spike, the Evilslayer, wasn’t protruding from Kesselring’s chest. It was nowhere to be seen. It was a magical thing, and not really part of this world, Don supposed. So it had gone with the Evil into oblivion.
For several moments Don stood there, staring at Kesselring’s body, listening to his own frantic heartbeats. Then he turned and walked back toward the ferry landing.
Epilogue
“Pass the syrup,” Don said. Sarah handed the bottle to Allison, who handed it to him, and he poured some of the amber liquid onto his pancakes.
“Ummm,” Don said, taking a bite. “Sure beats store-bought.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Here we go again.”
“I have a confession to make,” Allison said.
“Yes?”
“I can’t tell it from the stuff we buy in the grocery store.”
“Me neither,” Sarah said.
Don sighed. “Okay. We won’t make our own this year.”
“Good,” Allison and Sarah said together, and they both laughed.
Don shook his head, trying to look disa
ppointed. They knew he wasn’t really upset, of course. It was a game they played with each other, nothing more. Even Don had to admit that tapping Al McDougall’s sugar maples, collecting the stuff, cooking it down … well, it was all kind of a big hassle. And Allison was right, it really wasn’t that much better than store-bought, not enough to justify all the work.
And in the overall scheme of things, maple syrup didn’t matter. What mattered was that life for the Farradays—for everyone on the island—was back to normal. People would never forget the bad things that had happened, but they were learning not to dwell on them. No one who’d been to the revivals was able to remember anything about them, so those horrors, at least, would not have to be dealt with.
Sure, for some people what had happened was worse than it had been for others. Stan and Patsy Brock, for example. They’d lost their son, Wesley. Or Carolyn Pfeil, who’d lost both her husband and her daughter. There was no shortage of people left behind to grieve.
Carly Pfeil’s body had washed up on the mainland at Grand Marais. The bodies of Tommy and Jean Quirk washed up farther east, at Whitefish Point. The Quirks had been badly chewed by something. Some people speculated that they’d been caught in the propeller of a passing ship. Others said fish had probably done it.
The media had learned about the Ice Island murders. Reporters had come from Detroit and Chicago and New York. The killers had been tested for any chemicals that might have affected their brains, but nothing was found. The state police even had the water supply tested, again without results. Finally—and a little reluctantly—the investigators concluded they’d encountered a very rare instance of people succumbing en masse to cabin fever. The media picked up on it, dubbing the story the “Cabin Fever Murders.” Newsweek ran a cover story in which psychologists explained how being cooped up inside the house all winter could affect human behavior.
Ice Islanders didn’t talk about it very much, although Don suspected a lot of them were more than a little worried about next winter. Would it happen again, people going crazy because of cabin fever? Don wished there was some way he could reassure them, for he knew it wouldn’t happen again. Not next spring or the spring after that or the one after that. Not ever.
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