by Rick Hautala
Bob shrugged.
“Well,” the reverend said, warming slightly, “I’m glad to see that Lisa finally has gotten you to attend service.” He touched her lightly on the shoulder, gripping gently. Lisa managed a faint smile.
“And how have you been feeling?” he asked kindly.
“I’ve been all right,” Lisa answered quietly. “It’s been difficult.”
“I know, I know.” He gave his robe one final tug and then, excusing himself, ducked back into his office for a moment. He returned with his hymnal in hand. Through the doorway that led into the church, the hollow sound of the organ began to vibrate.
Bob moved over to the door and looked out into the church. It was completely full now. The ushers were lining up folding chairs along the side and center aisles. A young boy of about twelve, whom Bob didn’t recognize, was lighting candles on the altar.
“Well, I have to begin the service now,” Revered Alder said when the organ swelled louder. Bob recognized the hymn but could not recall the name. “Packed house. I can’t keep them waiting.”
The reverend made a move to squeeze past Bob and Lisa. Bob grabbed him by the elbow. “Uhh, Reverend, I, uhh—” He let his voice drop when he felt suddenly unnerved by the minister’s glance.
“Yes?”
Bob released the minister’s arm and slipped his hand, slick with sweat, into his pants pocket. “I’d like to have a word with you. After the service, if it’s convenient.”
Reverend Alder crinkled his brow. “Well, I do have an appointment to visit Elm Tree Nursing Home. Is it important?”
“Yes, it is,” Bob replied. “It’ll only take a minute.”
“Sure,” the reverend said. “After the service, come back to my office.” Then he slipped past Bob and Lisa and entered the church.
Bob stood in the doorway, watching as the minister strode out to tend his flock. He was sure that was how Reverend Alder saw it. As the thundering notes of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” vibrated the floor, the congregation rose to its feet singing. Reverend Alder stopped in the center of the church, turned his back to the congregation, and joined the singing.
Bob felt a tap on his shoulder. “What do you want to talk to him about?” Lisa asked, bending close to his ear to be heard above the singing. There was a strange look of concern in her eyes. When he didn’t answer, she held onto both of his arms and asked, “You’re not going to talk to him about, about your werewolf idea, are you?”
The astonishment in her voice chilled him. Bob pressed his lips together and nodded. “Get a little professional advice,” he said, trying to lighten things up.
“I can’t believe you’re serious,” she said. “You really believe you’re right!” It was more of a statement than a question.
“I do,” Bob said seriously. “I know what you think, but there have been too many coincidences to ignore. You don’t have to believe it, but I—”
He stopped when the singing suddenly ended. Looking quickly out at the congregation, he grabbed her arm and said, “Come on. Let’s get our seats.”
He swung the door open and moved into the congregation. Their coats were spread across one of the pews in the front row. Lisa followed a few steps behind him and then stood silently beside him.
As the service proceeded, Bob was actually surprised at how much of the liturgy he still remembered. A casual glance at Lisa’s open hymnal was all he needed now and then to bring back whole paragraphs of invocation and response. It all came back, just as mechanically as ever.
Throughout the service, Bob kept looking at Lisa. Their eyes would catch and hold, then let go without the slightest change of expression on Lisa’s face.
When the gospel reading was completed, and everyone had sat down, there was a brief moment of silence, of expectation. And in that expectant silence, there was just enough time for Bob’s stomach to gurgle loudly. He chuckled and looked at Lisa, but she remained impassive.
Swirling the wide sleeves of his cassock, Reverend Alder walked up into the pulpit. He opened his Bible to where his finger marked his place and, leaning over the pulpit, stared out at the crowded church.
“Well,” he began mildly, “I’m glad to see so many of you here tonight. Around Christmas time, I’m always pleasantly surprised to see how many people actually live here in Cooper Falls. Where do you hide from now until Easter?”
A nervous titter ran through the congregation.
“Our scripture lesson tonight, although not traditionally a Christmas message, is, I think, appropriate.” Bob saw that the reverend gripped the edge of the pulpit with a firm bird-of-prey grasp. “It’s appropriate because the story of the seven wise virgins and the seven foolish virgins is a story about being ready, ready for the beginning.
“With Jesus’ birth, in the dead of winter, we are given a promise of new life to come. A guarantee that, even though there is snow and ice and death, the world will bloom once again. It will grow green with new life! This!” He raised his hands over his head in a dramatic gesture. “This is the message that came to the shepherds almost two thousand years ago tonight.
“Join me in singing Hymn Seventy-three, ‘It Came upon a Midnight Clear.’”
A thundering note sounded from the organ. Then, just before the organ burst into the hymn, another note, piercing and discordant, shattered the night. The church hushed as everyone silently counted the regular timed blasts of the town fire-horn. There was a long pause. Everyone held his breath and then the pattern repeated.
“Four-five-one-one,” someone to Bob’s right shouted. As if on cue, there was an explosion of noise as people put their hymnals away and pulled on their coats. The church filled with a confused babble of voices.
“Where is it? Where’s four-five-one-one?”
“I don’t know!”
“Where’s the fire? Where’s four-five-one-one?”
“On Christmas Eve, no less!”
Bob looked at Lisa and read the fear and surprise on her face. She reached out and gripped the crook of his arm. “Jeff was a volunteer fireman. Four-five-one-one is out at Martin’s Lake, I think.” Her voice almost broke.
Everyone was on his feet, and the men were jostling past their wives and children to get to the door. For a moment Bob watched, then he scooped up his coat and quickly began to button it.
“Upper end of Drake Road!” someone shouted above the babble of noise.
“Martin’s Lake area!”
“Can you get a ride home with someone, Lisa?” Bob asked. “I’m going up there. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”
Before Lisa could answer, there was a loud scream of a siren outside. The flashing red light of the town’s fire truck sent splinters of light through the church as it raced up Railroad Avenue. As the siren receded, Bob could hear the cars starting up in the parking lot.
“I’ll come with you,” Lisa said, tugging on her coat. “I might be able to help too.”
“Don’t you think—Yeah, OK.” Bob started to shoulder his way through the pack of people.
Once they were outside, as Bob fumbled to get his key into the door lock, Lisa leaned close to his ear and whispered. “Julie lives out on Martin’s Lake.”
“I know!” The lock clicked and Bob swung the door open for Lisa. As he got in behind the steering wheel, he added, “There are lots of other houses out there. Let’s not think the worst until we see what’s what. OK?”
“Sure.”
Bob slammed the door shut and started up the car. He had to wait for a break in the line of cars leaving the church parking lot. The drive out to Martin’s Lake was bumper to bumper all the way. It looked as though, wherever this Christmas Eve fire was, it was certainly going to be a spectator event.
.II.
“It’s out at Martin’s Lake,” Ellie Simmons called up the stairway to her son’s closed bedroom door.
“Really?” came a faint reply, flat and with no emotion.
“Uh-huh. Look out your window and see i
f you can see the glow. It’s supposed to be a big one.”
She listened intently and then heard one muffled clump on the floor upstairs.
“Well?” she called, placing her hand on the banister and contemplating going upstairs to have a look for herself. “Do you see anything?”
“No,” Ned replied weakly.
Ellie listened to the silence for a moment and then started up the stairs. When she got to Ned’s closed door, she stopped and, pressing her ear against the wood, listened for activity inside. She thought she could hear faint breathing, but she had trouble hearing anything over the pounding in her ears from the exertion of climbing the stairs.
“Ned?” she said softly, rapping lightly on the door. “Can I come in?”
There was no answer. She knocked again. Finally, she heard a deep sigh, and then Ned answered in a whisper, “Sure.”
Ellie swung the door open and caught her breath in her throat as she saw her son lying on the bed. His hands were folded on his chest and he was staring vacantly at the ceiling. His face was pasty, with a pale, bluish tinge. His eyes looked like two soot smudges beneath his brows. His body barely made a bulge beneath the sheets.
“Ned, honey, are you feelin’ all right?”
She walked over to his bed when he didn’t answer. A grunt of surprise escaped her when she put her hand to his forehead and felt that it was ice-cold. “You’re sick, boy.”
“I’m all right. Just a little worn out, that’s all.”
“Well, I don’t think so. I’m gonna give Doc Stetson a call.” She made a move to go, but Ned reached out and grabbed her dress.
“No! Don’t call Doc. I’ll be all right. It’s just a touch of flu or something.”
“You sure?” She leaned over and placed her hand on his forehead. “Let me get you some water.”
“No. I, I just need, need some rest,” he said with a moan. His hand dropped to the floor, rapping his knuckles against the hardwood. Ellie took a quick step backward, still keeping her eyes on her son.
“I hope you’re all right,” she whispered, fighting to control her voice. “You’re all, all I have left, now. I can’t lose you too.”
There was no reply from her son, but his even, shallow breathing was some reassurance. She backpedaled out of the room, easing the door shut behind her was a dull click. “Call if you want anything,” she whispered through the door. “And, and Merry Christmas,” she rasped, as tears coursed down her cheeks.
An hour later, after a few phone calls, she went to the foot of the stairs and called up to Ned’s room, “The fire’s out at Julie Sikes’ place.” She wasn’t sure if he heard her. She went into the living room and pulled the plug to the Christmas tree lights. Leaving only the two Christmas candles burning in the window, she went quietly off to bed.
.III.
The approach to the lake was slow. Cars were backed up almost a mile. The closer Bob and Lisa got, the more people they saw crowding the road.
“It’d better be a big one, or this crowd’s going to be disappointed,” Bob said cynically. He looked over at Lisa and smiled. Her expression remained fixed as she stared out at the long line of cars parked along the roadside.
“Shouldn’t we park back there and walk?” she asked.
“There,” Bob said suddenly, pointing off to the right. Above the jagged line of trees, the sky glowed a deep, flickering orange. “It looks like a big one, all right!”
Bob jockeyed his car into a small space between two other cars and turned the ignition off. Up ahead, he could see the burning timbers of the house and the three fire trucks that surrounded it. Misty sprays of water arched into the blaze but seemed to have no effect on the tongues of flame. As they sat and watched, people rushed past them, making their way toward Julie’s burning house.
Bob loosened his tie and slipped it off. “Well, do you want to get closer?”
“I, I don’t know,” Lisa answered, her eyes darting nervously at the leaping flames.
“I think I will.” Bob twisted around and reached into the back seat. “I think I have an old sweater back here. Ahh. Here it is.” He wiggled his coat and sport coat off and then pulled his sweater on over his head. “No sense ruining my Sunday best.” He got out and stood beside the car, leaning through the open door.
“Maybe I’ll wait here a bit,” Lisa said softly.
“You sure?”
She nodded, then shifted uncomfortably in her seat and said, “Aww, well. I might as well come.” She snapped open her door and just about had to scale the shoulder-high snowbank before she got around the car to the road. Bob leaned out over the car hood and offered her a helping hand, but she ignored it.
They pushed their way close to the fire. The deep snow had already been trampled flat, so the going was easy. They walked past small groups of people who stood facing the blaze. As they got closer, the crackling of the fire and the hissing of the water hoses grew louder until it drowned out everything else.
A sudden shower of sparks exploded into the air and a collective gasp went up from the crowd as part of the roof caved in. The flames intensified for a while, then steadied down again.
“I wonder where Julie is?” Bob said, cupping his hands to Lisa’s ears so he could be heard above the noise. They were standing beside one of the fire trucks. Bob was leaning against the front fender. Lisa stood with her hands in her pockets and her shoulders pulled up tight.
“I hope she’s all right,” Bob said.
Lisa didn’t reply.
Bob’s face was beginning to prickle from the intense heat, and he was thinking about pulling back when one of the firemen bumped into him as he ran to the back of the truck and grabbed an axe. As he was heading back to the fire, he snagged Bob by the shoulder. “Hey,” he said, his face glistening with sweat, “you could make yourself useful. Keep your eyes on this length of hose and make sure it doesn’t coil up. That’d cut off the water. Keep an eye out for sparks, too.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Bob said, but the man had already rushed away.
Lisa came up close to him and said, “I think I’ll get going now.”
Bob nodded.
“Are you going to stay?”
Bob nodded again.
After a pause, Lisa said, “Could you use some coffee?”
“Sure.”
“Why don’t I see about making some up. I’m sure the other guys could use some too. I’ll go back to the church and get the big coffee urn.”
Bob started when suddenly the hose pulled away across the ground, leaving a deep furrow in the trampled snow.
“Coffee’d be good. Take my car.” He handed her the keys and then walked over to the hose, kicking it once for good measure. It felt as though the water in it had frozen.
Julie’s house was already a complete loss. Only skeletonlike studs remained standing, black lines against the raging wall of flames. The trees around the house were safe from catching fire. They had been soaked down and, anyway, were covered with thick snow.
Bob jumped when he felt a rough tap on the shoulder. Turning, he saw Granger. The fire danced wildly in the police chief’s eyes.
“Wicked, huh?” the policeman said.
“Especially on Christmas Eve. Do you think it was from the tree lights?”
“No way of telling yet.”
“How about Julie?” Bob asked anxiously. “Do you know? Was she home?”
Granger shrugged. “No one’s seen her. If she was home, she’s still in there.” He nodded toward the inferno. “I sure hope to hell she was visiting a friend or something.”
Bob tried not to think about it. “Lisa’s gone for coffee.”
“Good,” Granger said with a sigh. “It’s gonna be a helluva long Christmas Eve. Christ, if it isn’t one thing it’s another!”
The breeze suddenly shifted around, sending a billow of smoke and steam over the crowd. Bob covered his face with his forearm and stifled a cough. The smoke made his eyes sting.
What if she’s in
there! his mind screamed. What if she didn’t get out!
He thought about what a friend of his had once said: that burning to death is probably one of the most painful ways to die. As soon as you open your mouth to scream, or even to breathe, your throat and lungs get fried. You don’t have any vocal cords left to scream! After that…
He shook his head and focused as best he could on the thick canvas hose snaking along the ground.
The last standing timbers fell, pitching out onto the snow with a fiery shower of sparks. Some of the charred wood fell onto the hose, and Bob rushed forward, stamping out whatever embers he saw. This close to the fire, the heat prickled his skin, making it feel tight. Again the thought of dying by fire entered his mind. He hoped the strangled whimper that escaped his throat was lost in the noisy confusion.
.IV.
By dawn, the house was leveled, the fire was out, and everyone who had stayed the night was cold and exhausted. Most of the crowd had left after the first few hours, since the roof had fallen in and the fire was certain to be contained.
Now, only the chimney remained—a tall, jagged black tower standing out sharply against the pale blue sky. The rest of Julie’s house was a blackened pit in the ground surrounded by soot-smeared snow and ice. Charred timbers lay scattered about on the snow. Steam still hissed up from the burned-out cellar where three firemen wearing hipboots were prodding the wreckage.
Bob was sitting on a blanket some distance from the destroyed house. He leaned his head back against the cold bark of the tree and looked up at the sky. His hands cupped an empty coffee mug.
Lisa stood beside him, watching the firemen as they milled about the ruin. She looked down at Bob, her face an unmoving mask.
“Would you like some more?” she asked.
“I’m going to be awake for a week after all the coffee I’ve had tonight. Sure. Fill ’er up.” He handed his cup to Lisa and tried, for a moment, to close his eyes and rest.
“I wonder where she is?” he said, half to himself. “I mean, if my house was burning, I’d sure as hell want to stick around and—”
