“What are you talking about?” Dillon wondered and flipped on the light, illuminating the room. The sight of Ashton made him grimace, the wound on his head had reopened and blood streamed down his face. His eyes were bloodshot and bags had formed beneath each one, casting darkness on his face.
Ashton smiled, his dry lips cracking as they stretched. “Did he protect you from the righteous?” Dillon rushed to the kitchen to grab a towel for Ashton’s head and when he returned Ashton was standing, swaying side to side. The odor was growing stronger, causing Dillon to wretch, and a giggle erupted from Ashton as Dillon tried to hold down the food in his stomach.
“Ashton, your head…” Dillon began, holding the towel out for him.
“Ashton is gone but I’m here now,” Ashton spoke, his voice transforming into a deep garish tone. He watched as Ashton exited the room and Dillon hurriedly followed him into the foyer, the lights brightening, the electricity surging through the bulbs. All of the doors in the house slammed shut, causing pictures on the walls to crash onto the ground below, and Dillon covered his ears as a loud screech came from Ashton’s lips. The sound pulled Dillon to his knees, reaching a level so high that he felt as if his eardrums would burst if it continued. The noise ceased and Dillon looked up at Ashton, whose body began to shudder uncontrollably, his bones cracking from the movement.
“The devil has come and his house will be spared,” the voice roared and Ashton scrambled up the stairs on all his hands and feet, vanishing from sight. Dillon could hear his heart pounding against his chest and he rose from the ground, terrified at what had just occurred. His hands shook as he latched onto the handrail leading up the stairs, and he stepped over the shattered pictures frames as he took each step. Reaching the landing, he looked around at all of the closed doors and the possible horrors behind them. Other than the beating of his heart the house had fallen in mute silence, and he took a few steps further towards his bedroom door. His hand unsteady, he pushed the door and it creaked open, revealing a disheveled bed but no sign of Ashton.
A noise provoked him to check the office and he crept towards it, the floorboards giving way as he traversed the hall. His hand twisted the knob and, as an ear-splitting roar came from the office, Dillon caught sight of Ashton in the corner of the room, crouching down.
“Ashton, please. You’re scaring me,” Dillon cried. Ashton glared at him in a glassed over gaze, shifted, and jumped over the desk. The computer and stacks of papers fell to the ground as Ashton tackled him. Dillon fell over backwards into the hallway as Ashton overpowered him. His back sent shockwaves of pain throughout his body as they scuffled on the ground. Ashton bared his teeth, howling like a banshee, as he brought his mouth to Dillon’s and latched on. He wasn’t sure whose screams were louder as Dillon felt his mouth fill with blood from the attack, his bottom lip ripping apart as Ashton began to shake his head back and forth ferociously. Dillon was able to get enough space between their bodies and he kicked out. Ashton released his lip as he flew through the air.
Dillon stood, grabbing his lip, fearing Ashton had completely severed it, but it was still clinging to his mouth. Blood flowed freely from the wound, dripping onto his shirt and onto the floor. He had barely caught his balance when Ashton jumped up and raced towards him. They connected and Dillon stumbled back feeling the banister against his back. He heard wood splinter as it gave way to the weight of their two bodies and the force of Ashton’s assault. The fall to the stairs below was immediate. Dillon felt his leg snap and screamed as the inertia rolled them both down the remaining stairs. As they reached the ground level once more, his head connected with the edge of the stairs, the pain so immense that he fell into unconsciousness.
A vehicle pulled up outside awakening Dillon, and he was unsure how long he had been knocked out cold. He could hear several other cars pull up, their lights arching onto the ceiling above, and Dillon pulled himself up with the assistance of the banister. His leg throbbed, the bone sticking out of his skin like a broken tree limb, and he breathed in sharply from the pain. Ashton was still sprawled on the ground unconscious, and Dillon stepped around him, shuffling towards the door, ensuring not to put much weight on his broken leg. His lip was still leaking blood and his hands were covered in the mess causing his hand to slide around the knob as he tried to pry the door open. Finally he was able to gain traction, the door popped open, and he pulled himself outside into the cold.
The headlights of six vehicles blinded him momentarily, and he put his hands over his eyes trying to see through the beams. He ambled closer to the stairs and he began to see the silhouettes of a small group of people standing in a straight line, facing the porch. As his eyes adjusted to the glare, he started to recognize some of the faces and in the middle of the group, Terry Shlepp held court.
“I need help,” Dillon begged, “I’m injured.”
Terry stepped forward. “There’s no help for the wicked.” Dillon watched in sheer terror as he watched the preacher light a cloth in a bottle of liquor and pass the lighter to another member of the group. Dillon quickly counted a total of ten people on his front lawn as each of them lit their own weapons, some holding bottles others with crude torches. The flames flickered in their eyes as they held onto them, and Dillon backed up towards the door, dragging his broken limb as an unbridled pain consumed him.
Just as he closed and locked the door to the mob outside, he heard a crash in the room next to him and flames spread out across the floor as the Molotov cocktail hit its mark. Dillon screamed as he fell over from the sudden inferno and he began to crawl towards the kitchen as he listened to the flames whipping around the room behind him. Ashton was nowhere to be seen and he worried that his husband would be trapped upstairs as the flames took over the house. The kitchen was empty as well. He pulled himself up to the counter as another crash was heard, and he could see flames underneath the door leading to the living room.
“Ashton!” he coughed as smoke began to fill his lungs. He glanced out the window and saw the group had begun to circle the house, torches in hand, blocking his exit from the backdoor. Panic began to set in and his adrenaline pulled him back out into the smoky foyer as the electric cut off, shrouding the house in a flickering inferno. He was becoming weak, the pain too much, and he fell to the floor watching as the flames engulfed everything around him.
EIGHT
The rage inside Terry was building as he watched the fire begin to consume the home. The old wood that had kept the house strong for over a century, through hurricanes, floods, and all other acts of God, was going up as quickly as a paper factory. From his vantage point he watched as the flames climbed the staircase up to the second floor, and it kept him warm, even as the wind brought the temperature to near freezing. He shivered from the cool breeze. It was sad to see such a beautiful property burning to the ground, but it was the justice that was needed to save his town from further disruption. He was no longer just a preacher. He was the savior they had desperately needed.
The rest of the group had circled the house to ensure neither of the men escaped and to ignite the home further wherever they saw fit. After the gay man’s intrusion earlier, he had formulated the plot that was playing out in front of him and coerced the small group to help. Standing alone, Terry congratulated himself in silence. He backed away as the fire grew, the flames encompassing the porch only a few yards away from him. It was a glorious moment for him, and as the rest of his congregation returned to his side he hugged them.
“I want to thank you all for coming, for providing God’s fury to these young men,” he yelled over the sound of the crackling. Out of nowhere an explosion erupted from inside the walls of the house and part of it fell inwards, pushing them further into the yard. The front door of the house became dislodged from its frame and fell forward, and although the entire front of the house was burning in full force, they watched as a man emerged from the doorway. He continued through the inferno, unscathed by the flames licking his flesh, and touched down at the
bottom the stairs in front of them. Ashton was bloody from head to toe but grinned, a guttural chuckle emanating from the depths of his throat.
“Pastor Shlepp, so nice of you to drop by with your minions,” he bellowed. The group began to disperse, but Terry stood his ground as Ashton moved closer to him, the smell of burnt fleshing tinging the air.
“Who are you?” Terry shook. Ashton cocked his head to the side, bones cracking.
“I’m the one who’s always there. The one who will always be there even when you’re rotting in the ground beneath our feet,” Ashton snarled, “Your father would be so proud of what you’ve become, Shlepp.”
“You don’t know my father, you devil!” Terry screamed.
“Oh the honorable Reverend Shlepp. He came for me too, you see. Years ago, on this same land. He was a righteous man, indeed. He accepted the sins around him, all the sins but you don’t. Your one track mind has you blinded to the rest of the miserable ones you call Christians.” Ashton began to circle the preacher, driving fear deep within his soul. His followers fled back to their vehicles, driving away as a brisk wind blew around them. Terry watched as the fire began to spread further from the house, the dry grass acting as gasoline as it sped closer to the fields.
“Even as you spread your hate, you are as blind as a bat. You call yourself a man of god, his messenger, Pastor Shlepp? He laughs at your pure ignorance. You’re nothing more than a farce hidden behind a book and a steeple.”
Terry was getting furious as the man continued to circle him, but he was unable to move from his spot even as the fire took hold of the fields around them. It was going too quick and Terry had never imagined the flames consuming the entire area. It surrounded them now, on both sides, his skin starting to sweat from the heat.
“We hold hands more than you care to admit. You’ve been doing my work for a long time. We’ll be spending many moons together, you and I. We will even save room for your disciples,” Ashton laughed again, the deepness echoing through the air. “Tell me, Shlepp. Will the Almighty God forgive you for your transgressions? Your crimes against the humanity that he created?” In the distance the blaring of sirens could be heard as emergency vehicles herded towards the blaze, and Terry began to sob.
“Don’t cry, you sniffling rodent! Run before they catch up to you. Seek vengeance on the family that defied you,” Ashton screamed. Shlepp freed himself from the invisible restraints, scampered to his car, and pulled out of the driveway amongst the wildfire that had broken out. His car sped down the road, passing by the army of firetrucks that forced their way down the country road. The fire had spread rapidly and he could see nothing but the orange glint for miles. Smoke billowed around the car as he went towards the town, the fire following him all the way.
He came to a stop in front of his house as he watched the world around him burn. Some people were already evacuating, coming from their houses with valuables and piling into cars, but the majority of people were blatantly unaware of the tragedy that was about to come to their town. Something had grabbed hold of Terry and he found himself in his garage, grabbing a shotgun from a shelf. Robotically, he entered his home going straight towards his bedroom and opened the door. Janice was still asleep, even though chaos was right outside the window, and Terry pulled the gun to his shoulder and cocked it, the barrel pointed at his slumbering wife. He paused for a moment, tears welling up in his eyes, and then his finger squeezed the trigger.
The blast sent him backwards but without missing a beat he continued down the hallway towards Luke’s room. He tried to twist the knob, but he was locked out. He stepped back, aiming the shotgun at the door knob. Another blast from the gun allowed him access to the room, and his son scrambled from his bed from the commotion.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” Luke pleaded, putting his hand towards his father but Terry was unmoved.
“There’s so much darkness in this world, Luke. So much darkness,” Terry said as he pulled the trigger once again. His son lay limp on the ground, blood dripping from the wall and he continued back towards his wife’s lifeless body to ensure she had passed on. Gripping the shotgun, he sat down on his couch and let the gun fall to the floor. He brought his hands to his face letting the tears flow from him as sadness ravaged through his body for what he had just done. Through watery eyes he caught a glimpse of fire outside his window, d shook away the tears, wiping them on his shirt, and picked up his shotgun again.
Outside, a sea of flames awaited him and the entire neighborhood was in ruins. He rushed to his car, turned on the ignition, and drove towards South Belle. Many people were still trying their best to escape Acadian Springs, and as he approached the church he could see a small gathering of people outside the doors. He jumped from his car, shotgun in hand, and pushed through the crowd to get to locked doors beyond them. Terry’s hands were shaking as he tried his best to unlock the doors and finally succeeded, the people pushing him from behind.
“Get back, all of you!” he screamed, pointing the shotgun at the bunch and they all backed away, stunned at the preacher’s actions. He locked the door, ignored their pleas, and entered the chapel. It was serene, even as the fire wreaked havoc outside, and he sauntered down the middle aisle, touching each pew as he passed. He had spent so many years among the wooden pews: running between them as a small child, providing service for the congregation, and all the way up to just a few hours ago. The cries from outside the doors began to diminish, and he hoped they had all gone away as the fire drew closer.
He sat on the stage, looking up towards the gigantic cross that clung to the back wall, and began to cry. He had known that the homosexuals would bring nothing but torment to the town, but all of the madness outside these walls had been by his own two hands. Terry was unsure if he could ever forgive himself for leading them astray. What was right and what was wrong began to meld together in his mind, the difference between good and evil like a difficult algebraic equation that he couldn’t solve.
“Dear Heavenly Father, with a heavy heart I come to you. Full of grace and forgiveness. You are the Almighty Creator and we beg for your mercy. Fear is waiting to engulf us, dear Lord. I ask that you hold my hand through the shadows as I pass from this life into your Kingdom. Even as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil…” Terry began as more sirens screamed outside. He removed his shoes and socks, maneuvering the shotgun; the butt of the gun towards his feet and the barrel at the bottom of his chin.
He heard glass break away from the doors and he prepared himself to take one final squeeze of the trigger when Mark’s voice rang out in the chapel, “Terry!”
It was enough for him to give pause and he jumped up from his position, repositioning his rifle to point it at the intruder. Mark was brandishing his own gun, pointing it directly at the preacher. “Put the gun down, Terry!”
“I can’t. I can’t do it, Mark.”
Mark continued down the aisle towards him and Terry feared he would have to use his last round on the man. “Put it down, Terry. Goddamn it!”
“Look at what I’ve done. My Acadian Springs,” Terry cried, letting his guard down. His shotgun began to sink from its horizontal position and Mark pressed forward, his pistol still aimed at him.
“There’s still time to do the right thing, just come with me. Don’t do anything we both will regret,” Mark countered, reaching for Terry’s shotgun. Something snapped inside of him and he twisted the shotgun, the butt hitting Mark in the side of the head, and as Mark fell he pulled Terry down with him. They fell off the stage. Terry fought with the man as they fumbled around on the ground, the shotgun a few feet away from them. Mark’s gun had slid underneath the first row of pews and Terry stretched out his hand trying to reach for it as Mark pulled him further away.
Terry was able to kick Mark square in the face sending him sprawling in the opposite direction of the guns, Terry scrambled for the pistol, gripped the cold metal in his hand, and swiveled around to face Mark once again.
Mark raised his hands in the air as Terry backed away and kicked the shotgun further from them.
“Just let me go in peace, Mark! That’s all I want. I want to be with Janice and Luke,” Terry reasoned, pushing himself against the far wall. He could feel the heat from the blaze outside and Mark fell silent, watching him. A thunderous boom erupted in the chapel, sending stained glass flying inwards, and Terry fell forward, the gun sliding even further under the pews. He looked towards Mark who had fallen as well, and they both looked around in confusion. Over the sound of crackling fire a cackle began from the back of the church, and they both looked towards the sound as Ashton levitated down the aisle.
“Evil comes in many forms, Pastor Shlepp,” the man said, grabbing the shotgun from the ground. He held out his hand to Terry and he reached for it, pulling himself off the ground. Ashton’s blood stained face glimmered in the flickering light from outside and he handed the gun to Terry. “Remember, Pastor Shlepp, brick doesn’t burn.
Terry sat down on the pew and put the butt on the ground once again, resting his chin on the barrel. Ashton stood back, leaning against the stage and Terry looked up at him with tears in his eyes.
“Pray, Pastor Shlepp. Pray to the God you’ve defiled with your hypocrisy. Pray to the God you’ve spread false sermons about. PRAY!” the man screamed and Terry choked.
“Even though I walk through the shadow of death, I will fear…” Terry sobbed, his toes seeking out the trigger.
“I can’t hear you, you vile man! Louder!” the man howled. Mark had gotten up from the ground but stood in shock watching Terry.
“I will fear no evil. For you are with me; your rod and your staff, they bring comfort to me!” Terry yelled. His toes locked onto the trigger and it was time.
NINE
Mark covered his ears as the shotgun blast echoed off the walls of the church and watched in horror as Terry’s head exploded onto the wooden pews. Ashton fell to the ground and Mark pulled himself out of the trance, rushing forward to check on him. Smoke began to infiltrate the broken windows, and with all his strength he lifted Ashton from the ground and carried him down the aisle, out through the doors of the church. The fire raged outside, but firefighters ran in all directions grabbing Ashton from him and pulling him towards a waiting ambulance. Mark followed them, jumping into the back and the doors closed behind him.
The House the Devil Built Page 21
