by Brian Keene
“You said earlier that arrogance is a sin.”
“And it is,” Levi said. “I was sinful. I didn’t see it that way at the time, though. I was so righteous in my desire to be one of God’s chosen warriors, using the enemy’s own tricks against them. And I was right. Powwow wouldn’t have been effective against some of the foes the Lord has led me to face over the years. I’ve had to use other methods. My father thought that me learning those methods was a blasphemy against God, but I disagreed. I learned those methods to further God’s will. Eventually, my insistence led to my downfall. I was cast out of my community, disowned by my family and forced to leave the only home I’d ever known. Sent out to live among the English—our term for the outside world. I was just about Randy’s age when this happened.”
“When what happened? They disowned you just for learning magic?”
“No. At least, not just for that. Something else happened.”
“What was it?”
Levi didn’t respond.
“Levi, why did they kick you out?”
“There was a girl. Her name was Rebecca. I . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I loved her. I’d known her all my life. We grew up together, much like you and Marsha. She was . . . impacted . . . by something I did. Something decidedly darker than powwow. Something I’d accidentally unleashed. And when I tried to undo what had happened, Rebecca . . . she . . .”
“Go on,” Donny urged. “I’m listening.”
“Never mind. We don’t have time for this now.”
Levi strode toward the door. His expression was grim and purposeful. Donny reached for him as he passed by, but Levi shrugged him off. He reached the door, paused, tilted his head and then opened the door. He hurried outside. Donny rushed after him.
“Hey.” He grabbed Levi’s elbow. “Listen, man. I’m sorry if I pissed you off back there.”
Levi smiled sadly. “You didn’t. It’s just been a very long time since I’ve had to talk about it—Rebecca and everything else. Doing so feels like ripping a scab off before the wound has healed. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does. Believe me, I know the feeling. And for what it’s worth, Levi, I’m sorry you lost your home.”
Levi patted his hand. “Well, let’s just make sure we save yours. I know you said that you don’t think of Brinkley Springs as your home, but ask yourself this: If this isn’t home, then why are you fighting for it? If you’re not fighting for the town, then who are you fighting for? Are you doing this for Marsha? If so, then perhaps she is your home?”
Donny opened his mouth to respond, but Levi silenced him with a finger.
“No,” he said. “Don’t answer me. Just think about it. It’s like the old saying goes—home is where the heart is. What you need to ask yourself, Donny, is where does your heart lie?”
***
Once Greg, his brother and Paul were safe in Axel’s cellar, they’d recounted everything they knew, sparing Jean’s son the gorier details. After that, they’d grown quiet. Greg kept expecting Paul to urge them back outside again, but he seemed to have abandoned his insistence that they go for help, opting instead to just stay where they were. So they did. Bobby huddled in his mother’s lap. Jean kept one arm wrapped protectively around her son. Axel hummed a tuneless version of “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” Gus just stared straight ahead at the wall. Paul breathed heavy through his nose, and at one point, Greg thought the mountain man had fallen asleep.
Eventually, Greg broke the silence by saying, “I reckon the Mountaineers are going to have a good season this year. Might go all the way.”
He paused, waiting for a response, but Gus, Paul, Axel, Jean and Bobby only stared at him. He couldn’t really see them all that well in the darkness because Paul had made Axel blow out the candles after their arrival. But Greg didn’t need to see them to know that they were staring at him. He could feel their eyes upon him. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling foolish.
“Well, that’s what I think, at least. They got a fella from New Jersey. A good Christian boy. Come out of the ghetto in Newark and has one hell of an arm on him. Studying to be a horticulturist or some such thing.”
Gus stirred. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me? I’m just talking college football. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“How can you be talking sports at a time like this? How in the world would you think that’s appropriate, Greg?”
Greg shrugged and propped his feet up on the kerosene heater. Axel had told them that the unit wasn’t working, so Greg wasn’t worried about burning his shoes.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It was just so quiet. We’re all sitting here and ain’t none of us talking. I just thought some conversation might lift our spirits.”
“He’s right,” Paul murmured.
“You want to talk sports?” Gus sounded incredulous.
“No, I don’t mean that. I couldn’t care less about football right now. But Greg is right about it being quiet. There hasn’t been a sound from outside in quite a while.”
“Do you think it’s over with?” Jean asked. “Could they be gone?”
“Maybe,” Gus said, “but I ain’t sticking my head out there to see.”
“One of us should,” Axel replied. “It doesn’t make much sense for us to be sitting down here freezing our butts off in the dark if the danger is over with. At the very least, we’ve got to alert the authorities like you boys had originally planned.”
“Still do plan on it,” Paul said. “Soon as we get out of here.”
“You didn’t seem in a hurry to leave,” Greg pointed out.
“Neither did you,” Paul snapped. “And besides, I figured we could use a rest.”
“Well . . .” Greg sighed. “We got one. And our situation ain’t changed none while we were sitting here on our asses. I reckon Axel is right. We should go check.”
“You go right ahead,” Gus said. “I’m staying down here.”
Paul stood up. “We’ll all go. That’s the safest way.” Jean hugged her son tighter. “Bobby’s not going anywhere until we know for sure it’s safe.”
The men glanced down at her and then back to Paul.
“She’s right,” Greg said. “Don’t seem right to send the boy outside with us.”
“No,” Paul agreed. “I don’t guess it does. Jean and Bobby, you stay here. We’ll let you know if the coast is clear.”
Gus and Greg got to their feet. Groaning, Axel did the same. He put his hands on his hips and arched his back. His joints popped loudly.
“Damn arthritis,” he muttered. “Sitting around in this damp basement hasn’t improved it at all.”
Bobby reached for Axel. “Mr. Perry, I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here with me and Mommy.”
Greg noticed the emotion on the old man’s face as he turned to look at the boy. Axel looked happy and sad all at the same time. He shuffled over to where Jean and Bobby sat and handed the boy his gnarled old walking stick.
“Here.” Axel handed the boy the cane. “You take this. You remember what I told you about it, right?”
Bobby nodded emphatically. “Yes, sir. You said it was magic because it came from Mrs. Chickenbaum.”
Axel laughed. “That’s right. Mrs. Chickbaum. Now, we’ll only be gone for a minute. We’re just gonna creep upstairs and have a look-see—make sure all of the bad men are gone. While we do that, you just hold onto this old stick. It will keep you and your mother safe. Okay? Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.” Axel patted his shoulder and then turned toward them. “All right, let’s go see what’s what.”
The four of them hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, each one waiting for someone else to go first.
“Age before beauty,” Greg said to Axel and Paul as he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “You two were the ones who wanted to go.”
Grumbling to himself, Paul started slowly
up the stairs. Gus followed him. Greg and Axel stared at each other.
“Go ahead,” Axel said. “I insist. I’m old and I’ll only slow you down.”
Greg followed along behind his brother. He heard Axel creeping along behind him. The wooden stairs creaked beneath their feet and the handrail shook slightly. Greg worried that the stairs might collapse under their combined weight. After all, the house was nearly as old as Axel was. There was no telling how much damage time and insects had done over the years. That would be a hell of a way to go— surviving the massacre outside only to break their backs in Axel Perry’s basement.
When they reached the top, Paul opened the door. They turned around and glanced back down the stairs. Jean and Bobby stood at the bottom, staring up at them from the darkness. Greg raised his hand and waved.
“You guys be careful,” Jean called. “And please hurry back?”
“We will,” Axel said. “And Bobby, you just hold on to that walking stick. Okay?”
“Okay, Mr. Perry.”
“We’ll be right back. I promise.”
As they crept through Axel’s house, Greg turned to the old man.
“You shouldn’t tell the boy that old stick is magic.”
“Why not? It makes him feel better—safer. Where’s the harm in that?”
Greg shrugged. “I guess.”
“And besides,” Axel continued, “how do you know it’s not magic?”
Greg shook his head. “Crazy old man.”
“I’m not the one who thinks the NOW controls the world.”
“It’s NWO, not NOW. How many times do I have to tell you people that before you’ll listen?”
Paul and Gus crossed to the windows and peeked outside.
“See anything?” Greg asked.
“Nothing,” Paul said. “Even the bodies are gone now. It’s like nothing happened.”
“Well, that’s the worst part, isn’t it?” Gus turned away from the window. “Not really knowing what’s happening? I mean, if this was a tornado or a blizzard or a flood, we’d know what to do. We’d know how to protect ourselves. But after everything that’s happened tonight, we still don’t have the faintest fucking clue what we’re dealing with here.”
Greg walked to the front room. The others followed him. When he began unlocking the front door, his brother stopped him.
“You sure about this?”
“Sure I’m sure,” Greg replied. “You and Paul looked through the windows and didn’t see anything, and it’s quiet now. I reckon that whatever happened, the worst is over now.”
The locks clicked open. Greg turned the doorknob and opened the door—
—and something tall and black and foul-smelling grabbed his face and yanked him outside. Smothered, Greg was unable to scream.
The others did it for him.
***
“So,” Donny asked as they walked along, “if you’re not Amish anymore, then what’s up with the clothes and the beard and the hat? Couldn’t you dress a little more . . . I don’t know, modern? Stylish?”
Levi sighed and tried to conceal his annoyance. He’d been asked questions like this hundreds of times, and his answers always remained the same.
“I’m single,” he said. “I thought that women might be attracted to the beard. All of the magazines and talk shows say that beards are back in style now. And as for the hat, I wear it for the same reasons anybody else wears one—to keep the sun out of my eyes and the rain off my head. And to hide my bald spot.”
“Shit, Levi. Just get hair plugs.”
“Haven’t you ever read the story of Samson? Mess with a man’s hair and you take away his power.”
Donny chuckled nervously. Levi could tell that the younger man wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, and that was fine by him. In truth, Levi privately wished that Donny would stay quiet. Even though they were currently shielded from the enemy, there could be other dangers around, and there was no sense in advertising their presence. Plus, he needed to think and he could do that better if Donny was silent.
“What about the buggy? Why do you drive a buggy if you’re not Amish?”
“Have you seen the price of gas lately?”
“Good point.”
Finally, Donny stopped talking. Gritting his teeth, Levi tried to focus. He sensed the soul cage overhead, just as Randy had said it was. The boy hadn’t known its true name or purpose, of course. He’d thought it was merely a prison to keep them from leaving the town. In truth, it was a construct of great willpower and malice, a mystical barrier designed to capture the souls of all living things that came into direct contact with it. Judging by the amount of energy it was giving off, the cage had captured many souls indeed. Levi wondered if he could dispel it before the soul cage’s creators had a chance to feed off its contents, but then decided against doing so. Better to save his strength for the main task, rather than wasting it on the cage. If he was successful, the souls trapped in the cage would be free. He only wished it wasn’t too late for those the entities had already fed on directly.
The corpses that had filled the streets earlier were missing now. A few small piles of dust remained behind, but most of these had vanished, as well, eradicated by the cool, swift breeze. Levi slowed their pace as they passed by the hanging tree that Randy had mentioned. The carving was still there, stark against the bark: CROATOAN.
How was it connected to what was happening here? The methods and goal—eradicating every living thing in an entire town—were those of Meeble, but their adversaries obviously weren’t him. What did it all mean? Levi couldn’t help but picture their dilemma as a puzzle spread out on a tabletop. In the center of the puzzle was a hole, and until he found that missing piece, the full picture wouldn’t be revealed. Somehow, the entities stalking Brinkley Springs were connected to Meeble and the Thirteen. The question was, how?
His thoughts turned to revenants and shades. Could the black figures be one of those? Shades were spirits, the shadowy ghost of a dead person. The term stemmed from several sources, including Homer’s Odyssey and Dante’s Divine Comedy. In Greek mythology, the dead lived in the perpetual shadow of the underworld. The Hebrew version of the shade—the tsalmaveth—translated as death-shadow. While the entities certainly had shade like attributes, he didn’t think that was what they were. Likewise, they didn’t seem to fit the definition of a revenant. But then again, many of those definitions were faulty. The term had been assigned to creatures that were not revenants, but Siqqusim, a race of beings able to inhabit the bodies of the dead. In Akkadian literature, when Ishtar and Ereshkigal threatened to “raise up the dead to eat the living and make the dead outnumber the living,” they were referring to casting Siqqusim into corpses. They were zombies, rather than revenants, but it was a distinction that was lost on both.
Medieval revenants were more similar to what he faced now. Levi considered the Anglo-Norman legends and folklore of that time—the documented accounts of William of Newburgh, the chronicler Walter Map, the Abbot of Burton and the bishop Gilbert Foliot, and the later writings of Augustus Montague Summers. Though the accounts varied, all had agreed that revenants who returned from the dead were wicked and evil while alive, and that the only way to destroy one was through exhumation, followed by decapitation and the removal and subsequent immolation of its heart.
Was it possible that his foes were some new form of revenant, a type thus far unknown to occultists? If so, how was he supposed to defeat them?
He was still thinking about it when they heard the screams. Without a word, Levi and Donny ran toward the sound. Their footsteps pounded on the asphalt, punctuating the cries. They rounded a corner, emerged onto another street and found a house under siege.
“That’s Axel Perry’s place,” Donny said.
The five dark figures had surrounded the home.
Two of them were in the front yard. One had just torn the face off an unfortunate victim. The man’s body lay jittering and twitching on the wet grass. Three other men s
tood on the front porch, watching in terror. Levi recognized one of them as one of the two owners of the local garage.
“Oh, shit,” Donny moaned. “I think that’s Greg Pheasant lying on the ground. But what’s wrong with him? He doesn’t look right.”
Levi reached into his pocket and pulled out his copy of The Long Lost Friend. He kissed it and then handed the book to Donny.
“Here. I’m about to drop our concealment. Keep this on you and don’t let it go. And Donny, for God’s sake as well as our own, stay here and do exactly what I tell you.”
“What are you going to do?”
Levi gritted his teeth. “I’m going to pick a fight.”
Without another word, he inched toward the house.
The injured man was still twitching, but his movements had slowed. As Levi crept closer, the man’s killer leaned over and thrust a hand into his back. He could hear the flesh rip from where he stood. The killer fished around inside the body and then wrenched the spine free, snapping it off at the base of the skull and then holding it in one hand like a dead snake. The man’s movements abruptly ceased.
The man in black held the grisly trophy high over his head. “Now we’ll feed on the rest of you.”
“No,” Levi said, stepping forward. “You won’t.”
TEN
The shadowy figures turned toward the sound of his voice. When they saw the source of the interruption, they shrieked. Levi imagined that the sound was probably like what one would hear if standing beneath a jet engine. Donny dropped Levi’s copy of The Long Lost Friend, slapped his hands over his ears and shouted something, but Levi couldn’t understand him. The words were lost beneath the cacophony.
Levi tried his best to ignore the noise and focus.
Levi’s heart beat once. Twice.
Then, still shrieking, three of the creatures swept forward in human form. The other two shape shifted into crows and soared toward him. Levi stood with his feet spaced at shoulder width and his hands in his pockets. His demeanor was grim but calm. He did not speak or flinch as they closed the gap. One of the birds pecked at his cheek. The sharp beak drew blood, but Levi didn’t flinch. Its feathers brushed against his skin as it passed. They were ice cold.
