Popcorn Thief

by Cutter, Leah

  Franklin shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hear about anyone’s experience with the flesh.

  “But my time with the Lord has been just as sweet, and fulfilling,” the preacher went on.

  “Ma’s wondered why you ain’t married,” Darryl said.

  The preacher shook his head. “I was, a long time ago. Lost her after a long hard fight to cancer.” Preacher Sinclair paused. “I never found the heart in me to give it away again.”

  “We’re sorry for your loss,” Franklin said automatically.

  “It was a long time ago. I know she’s in a better place, now. I found comfort in the Lord,” the preacher said. “I joined His ministry soon after. I needed saving after what I’d done. How I’d failed her.”

  Franklin nodded. That made sense to him, though the reverend probably shouldn’t beat himself up that way.

  “Is that something moving?” Darryl asked, peering out the windshield.

  The wind picked up suddenly, pushing the branches around, sending the leaves dancing through the glow of the headlights. All the hair on the back of Franklin’s neck pricked up.

  “I think we got company,” Franklin said softly. A chill passed through him, making him shiver in the humid cab.

  The other two looked at him. “Really?” Darryl asked, curious.

  “Can’t you feel that?” Franklin asked, the wounds on his arms starting to throb.

  “Feel what?” the preacher asked.

  “That,” Franklin said, pointing straight ahead.

  The thing appeared in front of the truck, its gray dust-devil center sparkling with the power Adrianna had fed it that afternoon. It had gained size, too: Instead of being about the size of a fat twelve-year-old boy, now it was more like the size of an ox.

  “I don’t see anything,” the preacher said.

  “Me neither,” Darryl said.

  Shit. How could Franklin show them this creature? “It’s taller, now,” Franklin said softly. “It’s bumping up against the salt lick. It has these long whips, at least a dozen of ’em, wrapped tightly around its body. It looks like a sickness, a gray tornado of misery.”

  “Why can’t I see it?” Darryl complained.

  “Your arms don’t ache?” Franklin asked.

  “Nope,” Darryl said, shaking his head. “Yours do?”

  Franklin nodded his head. When Lexine had wanted to share her visitors, she’d reached out her hand to Franklin. Maybe he could do the same….

  “Take my hand,” Franklin said in desperation. “Maybe you’ll see more if we’re touching.”

  The preacher said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  Darryl glanced over at the reverend, then took Franklin’s offered hand.

  The grip around Franklin’s fingers tightened to the point of pain. “I see…something,” Darryl said. “Like a wispy cloud.”

  “It’s more than that. Bigger,” Franklin said.

  With a sigh, the preacher took Franklin’s other hand. He gasped, then he said sternly, “There’s nothing there. What I’m seeing is just the power of suggestion. It’s fog, rolled in from the trees, reflected in your headlights.” But he didn’t let go of Franklin’s hand. And he did start praying in earnest: “Lord, I need your protection this dark night. Here in the shadow of things, defend me from the evil before me.”

  “That’s not just fog, is it?” Darryl asked.

  Franklin shook his head. Sweat poured down his sides and his skin grew clammy. His wounds all ached. The darkness pressed in harder, like it was trying to flatten him back, push him away from the light in the world.

  The thing hadn’t seemed to notice them. It was focused on the salt lick, brushing up against it like a cat, focused on the top, where Franklin had put the lard of Sweet Bess.

  “I think it’s working,” Franklin said softly. The thing was shrinking! It whirled faster, but tighter, the white sparks from Adrianna’s power lines dying. “It’s getting sick,” he added. It wobbled, now, as it spun, sliding to one side, then the other, and finally, out of the headlights.

  “Did it just disappear?” Darryl asked.

  “Uh huh,” Franklin said. He wasn’t about to leave the truck to see if it had actually fallen down.

  “Woo hoo!” Darryl hooted, banging his free hand on the steering wheel. “We did it!”

  “Maybe,” Franklin said. “Let’s wait.”

  “We should go after it,” the preacher said. “Continue to expose it to the Word of God.”

  “I don’t think—” Franklin said. He jumped in his seat when the thing suddenly came roaring back.

  Wind slammed into the side of the truck. Leaves, branches, and dirt hit the windshield. The thing whipped out at the salt lick, tearing it apart. Lines of salt went flying through the air.

  “Tell me you at least saw that,” Franklin said. He wished he could get farther away, but he couldn’t press his back hard against the seat.

  “Something’s attacking the salt lick,” Darryl said. “Like a storm cloud, or something.”

  Franklin knew the moment the creature spotted them.

  “Go,” Franklin told Darryl. “GO!”

  Darryl let go of Franklin’s hand, but the preacher held on, praying for all he was worth. “LORD! You must save this sinner! Turn back the evil, send the darkness back to where it belongs.”

  The truck rumbled to life. Darryl threw it into reverse. “Hang on!” Darryl said as he threw his arm over the seat and looked behind.

  The thing raced after them, whirling mad. It might have been diminished, but its fury was greater than ever.

  It gained on them.

  “Faster!” Franklin cried. Every bump they took jarred his back, but he didn’t care.

  That thing could kill the three of them out here in the woods, and no one would find them for days.

  Darryl glanced out the front, then floored it. They skidded along the gravel. Bushes scratched the sides of the truck.

  Preacher Sinclair continued praying out loud. “Please, Lord, let the evil before me pass,” he pleaded. “Shelter me from the darkness.”

  Franklin wondered what the man saw. The creature’s intent spilled out into the cab of the truck: It wanted all of them maimed, hurt, dead. How dare they attack it? How dare they hurt it? They were puny and it would kill all of them, as painfully as it could.

  “Can’t you turn this thing around?” Franklin asked as Darryl swore and slowed down.

  Darryl slammed on the brakes. “Fuck it,” he said through gritted teeth. He threw the truck into forward and gunned it.

  “I’m gonna run down that fucker,” Darryl said, heading straight for it.

  The creature stopped, but didn’t seem worried. It snapped its whip arms, as if waiting, daring them to come, like some demented game of chicken.

  “This is stupid, Darryl!” Franklin said, as he put his arm on the dashboard and braced for the impact.

  “I’m tired of this thing,” Darryl said.

  Then they collided.

  The creature didn’t bounce away, or even push back. Instead, it pushed through the truck, passing into the bumper, the engine, and into the cab itself.

  And then straight through Franklin.

  Chapter Ten

  FRANKLIN HAD NEVER FELT SUCH COLD in all his life, not even that time it’d snowed and Darryl had stuck a handful of it down the front of Franklin’s jeans.

  He tried to breathe through his frozen lungs, but it was like breathing under water. Ice crystals formed along his throat, making it feel like what little air coming through was going across the tips of knives. Everything had a blue haze to it: the dashboard of the truck, the woods outside, even his own hands, up to his blue-tinged fingernails. Preacher Sinclair was saying something—yelling, even—but the ice had plugged Franklin’s ears. A blue halo shone around the preacher’s afro. Maybe someday, Franklin could ask Mama to do something like that for him.

  Just as suddenly, the world roared back in, the frozen mo
ment passed. But Franklin was still cold, still chilled, still shook even though every cut and scrape and gouge throbbed with pain. “Home,” Franklin said, his teeth chattering.

  “What the hell happened?” the preacher demanded. “That thing—is it inside of you now, son?” He wrapped his hands around Franklin’s head. “You can be healed. All we have to do is pray. God, save this child. Bring your mercy down—”

  “Preacher,” Franklin pleaded, trying to shake his head free. “Stop it!”

  Darryl got them out of the woods and pulled over on the highway. He stopped the truck and leapt out of it.

  Damn it. Darryl couldn’t leave. Franklin couldn’t fight both the preacher and the effects of the thing.

  The preacher continued praying, with his warm hands pressed against Franklin’s still frozen chest. “We can exorcise this thing,” the preacher continued. “Pray it right out of you.”

  Darryl hopped back into the cab after just a moment, a silver emergency blanket in his hands. “Stop trying to save his soul and actually help him,” Darryl instructed the preacher, handing him one end of the blanket.

  Franklin shivered, helpless, as they wrapped the blanket around him.

  “It’s the ice of Hell, isn’t it,” Preacher Sinclair said.

  “This what you was afraid of? With Sweet Bess?” Darryl asked, ignoring the preacher, getting the blanket tucked in around Franklin, then starting up the truck again. He blasted the heat, directing the vents at Franklin.

  Franklin could barely feel the breeze they made, let alone the warmth. “Yes,” he managed to say. “Only worse.” So much worse. Everything felt displaced inside of him. He was breathing a bit better, but it still hurt. Jesus, everything hurt. He only knew where his arms and legs were because of the pain, but he didn’t think he could even stand.

  “I’m sorry,” Darryl said quietly.

  “I am too,” the preacher said. “We should go to the church. So I can drive the demon out of him.”

  “The demon’s not in him,” Darryl said.

  “Are you sure?” Preacher Sinclair asked. “It passed into the truck, into him, then disappeared. It didn’t pass out of the truck.”

  “That thing inside you?” Darryl asked Franklin.

  “No,” Franklin said, shaking his head. Ow. That had been a mistake. He tried not to move, though he winced at every bump Darryl took at high speed.

  “Are you certain, son?” the preacher asked.

  “Yes,” Franklin said. “You couldn’t see it because I passed out, and I couldn’t see it anymore.”

  “If you say so,” Preacher Sinclair said. But he still watched Franklin warily, as if expecting the creature to pop out of his chest at any time, like some kind of alien.

  * * *

  “How long will this last?” Darryl asked as he helped Franklin up the stairs to his house. The kitchen was quiet and empty.

  Where the hell was Mama? That thing hadn’t come here and attacked her again, had it?

  “Day, maybe two,” Franklin said as he staggered on his own to one of the kitchen chairs then collapsed down into it. He was getting better, but he knew it would take a while for all the effects to disappear.

  That thing had passed through the core of him. Franklin still felt hollowed out.

  “I’m sorry,” Darryl said again.

  “Don’t be,” Franklin said firmly. “Much better that it pass through me. Couldn’t have it get inside the truck and attack the three of us, you know?”

  Darryl nodded. He helped himself to one of Franklin’s beers, or rather, the beers in Franklin’s fridge that Darryl had put there. “Preacher still thinks you’re possessed.”

  Franklin nodded wearily. “Took us long enough to get him to believe, and now he’s seeing evil everywhere.”

  Darryl chuckled. “All you gotta do is let him baptize you again. Then he’ll think you’re clean. Probably.”

  Franklin shivered at the thought. He wasn’t going to Wolf River and be baptized in the waters tonight, that was for damn sure. “Maybe this weekend,” Franklin said. The preacher had been awfully worried. “I need to sleep. That’ll help this thing pass.”

  “That’s right. You got that big date tomorrow, don’t you?” Darryl teased.

  Franklin glared at Darryl. “I’m too tired to argue with you. But I’m not going just to see Julie. Maybe Lexine talked with these folks, talked about her property, or about that Earl Jackson.”

  “You’re smarter than you look,” Darryl said.

  “So are you. That idea with the salt lick was a good one. But I don’t think the creature will fall for it twice,” Franklin said.

  Darryl nodded. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “We’d better,” Franklin said. “’Cause it’s got a taste of our blood. And it wants more.”

  * * *

  Franklin’s frustration near boiled over by 10 AM. He couldn’t lift anything—the attack from the night before had left him weak and in pain. Even trying to get dishes out of the fridge left him trembling. His field had lost another stalk of corn, but he couldn’t drag the fallen combatant to the compost heap. He couldn’t do laundry, or change the bandages on his back. Everything felt too closed in, like he was wrapped in scratchy blankets and couldn’t get out.

  Sick and tired of being sick and tired, Franklin threw himself back on the couch, among his piles of pillows, watching one bad movie after another. He’d tried to watch the science fiction channel, but the ghosts and demons not only looked fake, they didn’t behave like any he knew.

  Mama hadn’t reappeared. Neither had Gloria.

  Was Franklin just too tired and beat up to see them? Or did the hollowed-out feeling he’d had since the creature passed through him mean something? Had he actually been scooped out?

  Had the creature, somehow, taken his ability to see ghosts?

  If that was the case, Franklin didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. Not having Mama or anyone else haunting him, making him special and weird and different, that might be a relief.

  Maybe it meant the creature couldn’t attack him again. He was safe.

  But Franklin also would miss the wonder of the other world. He didn’t just want to have to take the existence of spirits on faith alone. He wanted to do more than just believe. Plus, this had always been his duty. He didn’t know if it was his calling, like how the Lord had called the preacher into his ministry. But it didn’t feel right, not seeing Mama around.

  If the creature had taken Franklin’s ability, how could he get it back? He didn’t want to pass through that thing again. Even if he did, there wasn’t any guarantee that he’d get his power back, and that the creature wouldn’t take something more, something bigger or more important.

  Later that afternoon, Franklin changed the bandages on his arms. The swelling had started going back down, and the skin didn’t feel so hot to him, like a fever lived just underneath the scars. He still covered them back up. It didn’t feel right, going to meet a bunch of strangers with all his sores exposed.

  “Brought you some more food,” May called as she let herself in the door around suppertime.

  “Are people still bringing stuff to Aunt Jasmine’s?” Franklin asked.

  “Darling, she’s got a freezer full of food at this point,” May replied. “She can afford to share more than this.”

  “I’ll go see her tomorrow, after church,” Franklin said. “How’s she holding up?”

  “You know Ma. Tougher than nails.” May hesitated, then continued. “She’s still lost weight. And there’s a sadness, deep and still, that comes up.” May sighed. “I miss Lexine too,” she said quietly.

  “Same here,” Franklin said, the pain not just in his back and his arms, but his gut as well. He’d been so busy, he really hadn’t been taking any time to mourn.

  And he still gotten the thing that had gouged up Lexine, had hurt him, Daryl, Adrianna.

  He was out of ideas how to go about it, though.

  * * *

&nb
sp; Franklin put on the pretty green shirt that May had told him to wear for Julie, as well as a nice pair of light gray pants and sandals.

  He was ready at least thirty minutes before Julie said she’d come by. He didn’t know what to do with himself as he waited.

  Mama still hadn’t returned to her place at the kitchen table.

  Feeling like he had as a boy when he’d played doorbell-ditch on the neighbors, Franklin walked around the table, pulled out the chair that Mama normally sat in, then slid into it himself.

  No chilling effect of a ghostly body walked down his spine, no sense of other filled him.

  There was nothing there. Nobody but him in the quiet kitchen.

  What had happened to Mama? Had she passed on? He doubted it. She still had things to do. Then where was she? Had that creature destroyed her? Or was she settling her account somewhere else?

  The minutes ticked by in the empty kitchen, and Franklin prayed for the first time ever that his gift hadn’t deserted him.

  * * *

  Julie rang the front doorbell right on time. Franklin was up and at the door seconds later, pulling it open.

  “Hi,” Franklin said. “It’s good to see you.” She looked just lovely, wearing a sky-blue sleeveless shirt and white shorts-skirt.

  “Nice to see you too,” Julie said. She stepped into the hallway at Franklin’s invitation. “You look better,” she added, examining his face critically. “But you haven’t been taking it easy, have you?”

  “Guilty as charged, ma’am,” Franklin admitted. He didn’t know how much he could tell Julie about the creature, how much Lexine had told the group about her own abilities.

  “It won’t be stressful tonight,” Julie promised. “And I’ll bring you back anytime you want. You just say the word.”

  “Thank you,” Franklin said. He followed Julie out to her car, an old gray Ford Focus.

  “It may look like a wreck,” Julie apologized. “But it’s got great heart.”

  The interior was a matching gray, the seats clean but stained, and it smelled musty. Franklin eased himself in carefully, trying not to put any pressure on his back.