Daughters Unto Devils

by Amy Lukavics

I strain my ears. “No,” I start to say, but then I do hear something. It’s very far off, very faint, a high-pitched tone that sounds exactly like screaming children. It’s not coming from behind us, thank goodness, at least there’s that.

  “What on earth is that?” I ask Emily. She shushes me once more.

  Blackjack’s ears flick and turn themselves to the left. “I think it’s coming from the east,” my sister says slowly. “It sounds like animals, or something.”

  “I guess we should go toward it,” I say. “It’s our only sign so far. Did Zeke ever mention any animals?”

  “No, but it’s not as if we told each other the stories of our lives,” Emily said.

  I turn Blackjack to the left, and we weave through the trunks. There are more logs to maneuver over this way, more boulders and ponds to go around. The screaming becomes louder, and Blackjack begins to shudder and cry out.

  We only ride for a short time when I see it: the shape of a wide, low cabin, tucked away behind the trees ahead. Emily sees it at the same time as me. Blackjack begins to spook from the sounds of the screaming, growing louder still, and with them the air has grown thick with dread. He rears, threatening to bolt, and I call back for Emily to get down. Once she’s off, I lead the horse back a bit until he calms, then secure his reins to a low-hanging branch.

  “We’ll need to leave him here,” I say and hop down to join Emily. “He won’t go any farther. We just need to be careful. Remember this spot, all right?”

  Emily nods, slowly. My stomach turns at the feel of the unfamiliar ground beneath my feet.

  “All right, sister,” I say, and hug Emily in an act of pure nerves. “Let’s go.”

  The screams tear over each other, becoming steadily louder as we make our way to the cabin. When we are close enough to smell the smoke coming from the chimney, we begin to duck behind trees. I cannot imagine what I’m about to witness—an animal being slaughtered? Children in agony? I have no other idea as to what could be causing such a terrible noise.

  When we’re close to the cabin, a large wooden fence comes into view, big and sturdy, that wraps around the entire back end of the dwelling. The high-pitched shrills are coming from inside.

  There is no sign of Pa, or Rocky, or Zeke, or Doctor Jacobson anywhere.

  “We need to move around,” Emily whispers. “We can’t see anything from here.”

  So we dart from tree to tree carefully, quietly, as if playing hide-and-seek on the mountain with the children. My heart aches to return to them. When we’ve reached the opposite end of the cabin, we cautiously approach the fence, crouching and crawling in the soft moist soil that is riddled with pebbles and sticks and pine needles, so that we would not be visible from inside the house.

  My sister and I lower our eyes to a gap in the fence and hold our breath.

  Before I know what’s happening, our noses are nearly bitten off by a giant swine, the largest I’ve ever seen, with a fanged mouth that covers the entirety of the gap in the fence. It cries out in anger when we both get away, a frenzied squeal that sounds just like the many coming from behind it.

  “Pigs,” Emily sighs in relief. “It’s only pigs. I thought...I thought that somebody...”

  “I know,” I say and crawl on my knees to the far corner of the fence for a better look. “So did I.” Emily follows, the color drained from her face.

  I rise a couple of inches, then a couple more, until I am crouching at the top of the fence and can see down into the pen, as well as the cabin behind it. The cabin is very nice, large with a pointed roof, built with double paned glass windows that Ma would have gone green with envy over. The thought of Ma brings tears to my eyes, but then I see something embedded in the center of the pig pen, bloody and filthy and covered in mud and pig waste.

  Hannah’s nightgown. And next to it, flattened to almost nothing beneath massive hooves the size of clubs, Pa’s hat.

  A white jawbone sits gleaming in the dirt by the hat, a row of cracked yellow teeth embedded in a line across the top. I know as soon as I see it that it once belonged to Pa. Before I can react, Emily screams. It blends right into the sound of the pigs.

  I didn’t even notice that she was standing, too, peeking over the top of the fence with me, and my hand flies over her face in attempt to stop her from making any more sound. We sink to our knees behind the fence, both of us gasping for air, and the pigs seem to scream even louder.

  “We need to run,” I whisper as soon as I can gather myself enough to do so. “We need to run and get the children now.”

  “How is this happening?” Emily cries, her breath quickening. “What happened to them? I don’t understand. What about Zeke...”

  “I’m sorry.” I can hardly hold myself together as we crawl back through the dirt, covering our skirts with mud. The fence shakes as the pigs run into the other side of it. From the forest ahead of us, I can hear Blackjack crying out in panic. “This is all my fault, I’m sorry for everything, Emily. Oh, my God—”

  “The children,” Emily repeats as we reach the end of the fence. “We need to get Joanna and Charles.”

  It’s so dim in the forest that it’s hard to tell what time it is or how much light is left out in the prairie. There were clouds rolling in on our way here, I remember, and traveling to Elmwood without the full light of the moon will be extremely difficult. Emily and I prepare to run across the small clearing to the nearest tree large enough to hide behind.

  “On the count of three,” Emily says and gathers her skirts up around her waist. I do the same.

  “One,” I whisper.

  “Two...”

  “Three!” someone behind us yells, someone behind the fence, someone at the back of the cabin. The voice is deep, loud, almost like a growl, and cuts over the squeals of the pigs with ease. “Run, girls! You don’t want to be late getting home tonight!”

  We stand to run. I can’t help but look back to see who or what is behind me.

  It’s Doctor Jacobson. And, standing beside him is Zeke.

  At least, I think it’s Zeke. His face is tinged deep with green and striped with ugly veins that are so dark they look black. He is grinning through his cracked lips, a grin so wide it could be drunk, and the teeth beneath are broken to pieces. The cracked flesh of his mouth bleeds down, smearing the front of his chin with red, and he waves. His hair sticks out in random patches over his head, the majority of it fallen or pulled from the scalp. Emily gasps.

  Still beside Zeke is Doctor Jacobson. His glasses are askew, his usually friendly face is unsmiling, and his bald head is speckled with blood and bits of mud. His eyes are open, but he doesn’t appear to be here at all.

  “Remarkable child she was, Hannah,” he calls out to us, and his voice sounds as grated and crumbled as Zeke’s. “But I do wish your pa hadn’t brought her over here. He spread the infection over the barrier, you see, and already it’s changing its ways in the different terrain, already it has adapted to the spirit of the forest. My son wasn’t able to stop it this time, hmm, Ezekiel?”

  Zeke begins to laugh so hard that he coughs on whatever thickness is clogging his throat. The green of his skin, the rot of it, is sickening. The patches of missing hair and scarlet grin make him unrecognizable, a monster, yet he stands as though he is in control of himself. The evil works differently here than it does on the prairie, I realize with horror. Anything could happen here.

  “All that time patrolling the forest line to keep the demons out,” Doctor Jacobson continues. “I did it myself until Zeke came of age to handle the shotgun. I thought nothing could get his guard down after hearing about what happened to his grandfather after the Kensington incident.”

  I knew it. Ma has become possessed, just the same as Jasper Kensington. My heart sinks into my stomach.

  The doctor sighs. “I should have known he was lying when h
e swore the girl wouldn’t distract him from his responsibility.”

  Emily cries out, her eyes brimming with tears. Zeke was trying to protect her.

  “Like a fool, I went along with his request to let you all live until things got out of hand. Your pa is the one who made the final mistake, though.” Doctor Jacobson looks into the pen. “He should have accepted that the baby didn’t have a chance after the ant attack. The prairie had claimed that little body, mmm-hmm, and it started to come alive again just minutes after he arrived, but rest assured, girls, that was not Hannah in there, oh, no, not at all.”

  He looks to his son. “We don’t stand a chance, Zeke and I. He’s almost gone already. Look at him, there isn’t any hope for us now...”

  “No,” Emily wails. My heart is in my throat as I try not to look at the tiny nightgown and half-crushed jawbone in the stinking mud of the pen.

  “We fed them both to the pigs, you know,” the doctor calls sadly, and he and Zeke climb up so that they are standing over the squealing animals. “We thought it might help. But it was too late. The barrier has been crossed. It isn’t just the prairie, anymore, I’m afraid.”

  Without another word, both Doctor Jacobson and Zeke spread their arms out and fall silently into the pig pen. I hear them both land in the dirt, loud solid thunks that spark a frenzied reaction from the swine. Over the ruckus of the screaming animals comes the crunch of snapping bones, the rip of tearing flesh, the popping of snapped cartilage.

  The Jacobsons are being eaten alive, but neither of them make a sound.

  “Run!” Emily screams and bolts.

  I follow her as fast as I can. We sprint through the woods, toward Blackjack’s whimpers, jumping over logs and stones and vines and dips. Finally we reach the horse. He’s frantic, rearing on his back legs and trying to pull away from the branch. Emily unties it with hands shaking so badly I don’t think she’ll ever get it.

  Finally she does, and in an instant we are up and riding north to the prairie, the horse moving with frightened precision and a clear memory of how to get out. Emily tightens her arms around my middle, crying into my back.

  There’s no doubt about it now—Ma is never coming back. All that remains of the Verner family are Emily and me and the children. And our cabin, or the land that the Kensington cabin sits on, has been evil all along. Did Henry know this would happen when he drew the map out for my pa and sent our family into Hell?

  The Jacobsons’ cabin falls farther and farther away every time I look back, and then I can’t see it anymore at all. I lead Blackjack to the tree I burned into my mind, the tree that marks where we hid the children, frantic, crying out their names over and over again.

  There comes no answer.

  I nearly leap from the top of the horse, and Emily stays on, to keep control of Blackjack and make sure he doesn’t bolt. I tear the bush back from the hollowed log, tears streaming down my face.

  The children are gone.

  “We promised we’d protect them,” Emily says through her tears. “We failed them, Amanda, our own brother and sister.”

  “They’re still alive,” I insist, frantic, as we peer at the prairie cabin from the edge of the forest. “I know it. They have to be. We have to get them.”

  The sun is low, but still high enough to lend us light for at least some of the ride to Elmwood. “If the children are alive and we can manage to harness the ox to the wagon—”

  “Why did we ever leave our mountain?” Emily whispers behind me. “We’re all going to die here.”

  “You mustn’t talk like that,” I scold. “What if we just rode close enough to look through the window?” I ask, and nudge Blackjack forward through the grass. “I can see if they’re alive or not, and if we need to bolt, we can.”

  Let them be alive, I beg. Please.

  “Oh, I can’t bear the thought of any more death, Amanda,” Emily says. “But I feel as though it is inevitable.”

  “No, Emily,” I argue. “Have faith, sister, I will take us away from here, and the children, as well.”

  We’re about halfway to the cabin when we both hear it, a sliding note of music with the sweet woody sound that can only be made by Pa’s fiddle. Someone inside the cabin is playing a flawless version of “Come, Holy Ghost.” And with the tune blends the voices of Joanna and Charles, high-pitched and shaking, and my arms break out into gooseflesh.

  Come, Holy Ghost, Creator blest,

  And in our souls take up your rest;

  Come with your grace and heavenly aid

  To fill the hearts which you have made.

  O Comforter, to you we cry,

  O heavenly gift of God Most High,

  O fount of life and fire of love,

  And sweet anointing from above.

  You in your sevenfold gifts are known;

  You, finger of God’s hand we own;

  You, promise of the Father, you

  Who do the tongue with power imbue.

  “I told you they’re alive!” I cry out, thankful beyond words at the second chance. “I won’t let her have them, Emily. We will not fail them again.”

  “Yes,” my sister says. “I hope you’re right, Amanda.”

  The song is nearly through when we break into the front yard of the cabin. Smoke billows from the chimney, and the fiddle plays on without skipping a beat. The only thing that keeps me moving forward is the voices of my siblings.

  I will do whatever it takes to get them back, I promise myself. That thing is not my ma. I will kill it if I must.

  “I need you here with me,” I say to Emily, and she nods sharply. “Can you focus? Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, and her hands curl into fists. “Let’s just get them and get out of here.”

  Without a word, my sister and I stalk to the front door, ready to scream at the children to run to us, and I put my hand on the doorknob.

  “Come in,” calls Ma’s voice, twisted into something different, before I even turn the knob.

  I push the door open, ready for anything.

  Wrong.

  I am only vaguely aware that the brand-new hardwood floor is completely ruined with blood. It puddles in large pools, all around, not leaving a corner untouched. It’s splattered over the mattresses, the newly shaved walls, and drips over the front of Ma’s naked body as she sits rocking in her chair. She is wearing the grizzly-bear rug over herself like a coat, and jerkily plays Pa’s fiddle with perfect precision.

  In the center of the floor is the head of Peter, the ox.

  “Help us, Amanda!” Joanna cries from the back corner, where she sits with Charles in her arms. “She’s going to eat us!”

  The fiddle music stops midnote. I dash to the side of the door, where Pa’s hunting knife is lying, bloodied, on the floor. The demon sets the fiddle down gently and stands to face us.

  “Do you have it in you, girl?” it says to me through my ma’s mouth. “Do you have what it takes to kill your ma? She blamed you for last winter, you know. She was humiliated by the weakness of your mind, after she fought so hard, for so long, to keep this heart beating...”

  “Be quiet!” Emily yells at the demon. “It’s lying, Amanda, of course it’s lying. It’s toying with you. Don’t be distracted now—”

  I squeeze my fist around the warm, slippery handle of the knife even harder to try and get my hand to stop shaking. Do I even have a chance against this thing? If I move for it, will it catch my wrist in its hand, break my arm from the socket, bake my insides into a pie?

  “Distractions!” Ma hisses. “Amanda Verner loves distractions, oh, yes. She’ll get them however she can, by a clawed creature in the woods, by a post boy writhing on the forest floor, by pretending that she was capable of protecting poor little Hannah...”

  “Don’t you
speak her name!” I step toward the demon, and the children scream. It doesn’t move a muscle; in fact, it looks amused, still naked and covered in blood and cloaked with the grizzly-bear rug. Do something, my mind screams, and I throw a weak slice with the blade across the creature’s forearm. My ma’s skin opens, but only just a little; it’s too shallow a cut to inflict any real damage.

  “Oh, Hannaaaaah,” the demon sings, and I am momentarily distracted by the sudden movement on the ground.

  The ants have returned.

  They cover my boots, try to make their way up my legs, frenzied, fast, faster even than the ones that got my baby sister. I back away in time to avoid them for the most part, and just as I feel the first bite on my thigh, I hear the children scream. The ants are making their way for Joanna and Charles, who stand and back up into the corner of the cabin.

  “Move across the room!” I yell, not taking my eyes from the demon, holding the knife up once again. “I won’t let it come after you. Get away from the ants!”

  The children run over the frantic layer of prairie ants, their boots making slick crunching noises as they make their way to Emily.

  “Oh, you won’t, won’t you?” The demon steps forward and grabs my throat. I feel my windpipe being crushed beneath the tremendous strength of my ma’s arm as I’m lifted completely off the ground. An ant bite comes alive with pain on my stomach, then my hip, then my thigh again. “I knew from the first moment I sensed you on my earth that you were completely pathetic.”

  I’ve ruined everything, I think as my vision begins to blur. I’ve made my last mistake...

  Suddenly we’re knocked off balance, and the creature drops me to the floor. I move away from the ants, gasping for air, and realize that Emily has knocked the demon over. My sister sits on her knees, cradling the side of her head with her hands. The demon stands, and the grizzly rug falls off.

  Most of the hair from my ma’s head has been torn out, and some of the raw patches on her scalp are shining with blood and pus. “I will kill you now,” the demon spits at my sister, truly angry for the first time. “No more toying.”