The Burning Time

by J. G. Faherty

  John stood in the lobby of the Chilton Arms. By his feet were his leather satchel and a paper bag containing the meager items he’d purchased since arriving in town: matches, soap, shampoo, and a deck of cards.

  “But the police dropped the charges against me,” he said to Marge Chilton. Pink curlers still covered her head, and he wondered if she ever took them out. “Can’t I have my room back?”

  “Harbor neither the serpent nor the stranger,” she said, her voice a cold monotone, “for they may be one and the same. In the time of the Second Coming, trust only the emissaries of the Elders, for all others hide blasphemy in their hearts.”

  John tried to think of something to say, even knowing he had no chance of changing her mind. He had a feeling she was parroting parts of Christian’s sermons. The Lord only knew what kind of dark readings he was delivering these days.

  “You’re not welcome among us, Mister Root, and you’ll find no shelter here, nor anywhere else in town.” She stared at him, as if daring him to argue.

  Instead, he picked up his bags and headed for the door. He had a feeling he’d be safer sleeping under the stars than under the same room as Marge Chilton. Before resorting to that, however, there was one other alternative he had to try.

  Two blocks down, he stopped at a gas station and dropped a quarter into the pay phone. He dialed Danni’s number and waited.

  “Hello?”

  “Danni? It’s John Root. Please don’t hang up. This is important.”

  A long silence made him think she’d ended the call, but then she said, “Go on.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the chief released me, dropped all the charges. They’ve arrested someone else. I...” He stopped, unsure of what to say next.

  A loud sigh came over the phone. “John, I’m so glad to hear that.” Her voice held a hint of its old warmth. “I never wanted you to be guilty, but they said they had evidence, and I had Mitch to think about...”

  “I understand. I was wondering... could I—?”

  “Come back to work? Of course.” She gave a little laugh. “I think there might even be more for you to do. Mitch and I don’t have a handy bone between us.”

  “Actually, I wanted to ask you if I could stay at your house for a few days. I’ve been told I’m not welcome at the Chilton Arms.”

  “What about another hotel?”

  “Apparently there are no rooms available anywhere in town. At least not for me.”

  Danni made a tsk-tsk noise. “Small town prejudice at work again. I’ll make up the guest room for you. Are you coming over now?”

  “Yes, I’ll be there in an hour or so. And Danni...thank you.”

  “It’s the least I can do. I guess I should have had more faith in you, like Mitch. I’ll see you later.”

  After hanging up, John leaned against the hot wall of the gas station and felt something ease up inside him. He hadn’t realized just how upset he’d been over losing Danni and Mitch as friends until now.

  You shouldn’t let yourself get involved. Personal feelings will only make your job harder.

  “A man can’t help his feelings,” his mother’s voice echoed in his head, something she’d said to him more than once growing up.

  The question was, what exactly were his feelings?

  * * *

  “John!” Mitch greeted him at the door. Before John could say or do anything, the boy wrapped his arms around him and squeezed.

  John remained still, watching Danni for any sign of annoyance. She wore a bemused smile on her face. “Go ahead.” She mouthed the words at him and nodded.

  Relieved, John returned the boy’s hug and then pulled back. “Why don’t you go get my bags from the porch?”

  “Sure!” Mitch darted out the door.

  Still not sure where he stood with Danni, John said, “If me being here is an imposition...”

  She shook her head, and for the first time he noticed the coating of flour on her hands, the smudges of white on her cheeks. More powdery stains dotted her pale blue T-shirt. The incredibly delicious odor of baking desserts filled the air, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in over a day.

  “I already made up the guest room.” She paused while Mitch went past. “But as long as you’re here, you can make yourself useful.” She nodded toward the kitchen.

  Glancing past her, John saw several mixing bowls set up on the counter. Trays of cookies and brownies cooled on the table.

  “Getting ready for the bake sale?” His stomach growled as he spoke, and Danni laughed.

  “Yes, and if you help, I’ll fix you a little plate to hold you until dinner.”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” he said. “What can I do?”

  With a glint in her eye, she asked, “How are you at mixing cookie dough?”

  At six o’clock, Danni pulled one last tray of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies from the oven and set them on the counter to cool. By then, the kitchen felt like an extension of the oven, even with two fans going and all the windows open.

  While John wrapped foil over one of twelve aluminum pans filled with an assortment of brownies, cookies, and homemade fudge, Danni opened the refrigerator and stood there, waving the cold air across her body.

  “Oh, Lord, that feels like heaven.”

  “It is hot in here,” John said. He was looking forward to a cold shower and then relaxing on the front porch with a lemonade, or possibly a beer.

  “And it’s not going to be much cooler in church.” Danni grabbed the pitcher of ice tea and poured them two glasses. “With all the renovations they’re doing, it’s too bad putting in air conditioning isn’t one of them.”

  “You’re going to church tonight?” The idea of Danni and Mitch participating in one of Christian’s unholy masses raised gooseflesh on John’s arms.

  “Of course we are. It’s Wednesday Mass. You should come too. It might be a way to show the town you’re not such a bad guy.” She said the words in a lighthearted tone, but John saw from her expression she was serious about his attending.

  “I—”

  “Hey, sis, I don’t feel so good.” Mitch entered the kitchen, one hand on his stomach and the other against the wall for support. His summer tan was gone, replaced by a pasty-white pallor with a hint of green. Dark smudges rested below his eyes. His hair lay plastered to his head and sweat dripped from his forehead.

  “You look like crap.” Danni grabbed his hand and guided him into a chair.

  “Thanks. You don’t look so great yourself.” He gave her a half-hearted grin.

  “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” She touched a wrist to his forehead. “You’re warm, but probably no worse than John or I. I don’t think you have a fever.”

  “It’s my stomach. It feels like there’s a cement mixer turning around inside me.” As if on cue, a rumbling sound came from his belly, and he groaned.

  Hands on her hips and a stern look on her face, Danni asked, “Just how many cookies did you eat while we were baking?”

  “I don’t know.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. “I didn’t think I had that many.”

  “Great.” She turned to John. “Sometimes he’s like a dog. He just eats until he’s sick.”

  John shrugged and tried to keep a smile from his face. “I was the same way when my mother used to bake cookies.”

  “Ugh, you men. All you ever think about is your bellies and your...Anyway, now what am I gonna do? Church is in an hour, but I can’t leave Mitch home like this. He might puke all over the bathroom or something.”

  “Ha, ha,” Mitch mumbled and then groaned again.

  “I can stay with him. That is, if you don’t mind.” John hoped he didn’t sound too eager. Remembering the conversation he’d once had with the boy about how Reverend Christian scared him, he wondered if the stomach ache wasn’t a ruse.

  If so, it’s a good one.

  Danni chewed her lip. “I hate to do
that. You didn’t sign on to clean barf.”

  “I think he’ll be okay as long as he stays out of the kitchen. Besides, you’ll only be gone an hour.”

  “Probably a lot longer, actually,” Danni said, untying her apron. “After Mass, a bunch of us are setting up for the bake sale on Saturday.”

  “We’ll be fine. You go ahead and get ready. I’ll put the food in the car for you.”

  “What about me?” Mitch asked, opening his eyes. Something about his poor-me look made John even more suspicious.

  “You march yourself to bed and make sure you’ve got an empty wastebasket next to you,” Danni said.

  “Eeww, gross.”

  “Not as gross as vomit all over your rug. Let’s go. Upstairs.”

  He nodded and rose slowly, walking down the hall hunched over like an old man.

  John had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

  “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Danni brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. The back seat of the Mustang was filled with cookie tins, Tupperware bowls, and aluminum pans.

  “Positive. Go. By the time you get back, my miracle cure will already be working on Mitch’s stomach ache.” John closed the Mustang’s door and handed her the keys.

  “What miracle cure?”

  He winked at her. “I’ll tell you when you get back.”

  She started the car and drove off, twin plumes of dust following her down the driveway and onto the road.

  John counted to one hundred twenty, just in case Danni came back for some reason. Then he went into the house.

  “Mitch?” he called out. “C’mon down. Your sister’s gone.”

  For a few heartbeats there was silence, and then he heard the creaking of floorboards overhead. A moment later, Mitch appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “How’d you know?”

  John laughed. “It would take an awful lot of cookies to make a boy your age that sick.”

  Mitch came down the stairs and joined John in the kitchen. “You gonna tell Danni?”

  “No. How’d you make yourself look so ill?”

  With a shy smile, the boy said, “I snuck out to the shed and breathed from the gasoline can a few times. The smell of gas always makes me nauseous.”

  “That was mighty foolhardy on your part.” John opened the refrigerator and got out the ice tea, poured them each a glass.

  “I’d rather sniff gas than go to church.”

  Taking a sip of his tea, John could only nod. “Well, since you’re feeling better, and we’ve got two hours with nothing to do, how about you help me set out the shingles and tools I’ll need to repair the porch roof tomorrow?”

  Mitch groaned. “It’s too hot to work.”

  “Would you rather I told Danni you faked your stomach ache?”

  “That’s blackmail!”

  John ruffled his hair. “So it is. But if we finish before she gets home, you’ll have time for an ice cream.”

  “How ‘bout an ice cream and some cookies?”

  “You drive a hard bargain, kid.”

  Chapter 17

  “The time approaches, my friends. The Old Ones prepare to wake. For eons they have waited, waited for the stars to align themselves in the heavens. They are those who cannot die, who always have been and always will be. From beyond space and time they will come, from below the seas they will rise, from beneath the Mountains of Madness they will emerge. Invulnerable and unstoppable.”

  Christian paused for breath and used the time to look around the church, alert for anything out of the ordinary, the movement of whispering lips, the twitch of an eye not staring straight forward in rapt attention. The...

  There! In the back, something amiss. Now he stared, homing in on one person.

  Danni Anderson. She was...

  Alone?

  Where is the boy?

  He returned to his sermon, letting his voice grow louder until it shook the floor.

  “Behold! Behold, I say! He Without Form will come to you at night and trample your dreams. Listen for Him, for His words will open your mind. Baagga Ka Ba Alluma! Azza Hrgalub! He is the Keeper of the Gate. His children are Legion! Prepare yourselves, give yourselves to them, for through them, you will open the tunnel and look upon the unimaginable, until our world is shaken to the very core and what is unreal becomes reality!”

  Christian pointed at the windows. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. “Let He who sleeps beneath the ocean floor awaken. Let He who mothers the walking fish rise again. He who clears the way hungers for release. Sacrifice is the way to enlightenment, blood the river of life.”

  He raised both hands over his head, and outside the clouds grew darker, heavier, casting a shadow across the town.

  “This is the Word of the Gods!”

  “Praise the Gods!” three hundred voices responded. “Praise Shub-Nggurath! Praise Cthulu!”

  Reverend Christian lifted the chalice. “Come and partake of the Blood of Sacrifice, my friends.” He sipped the liquid inside, the cold, thick goat’s blood trailing soft clots on his tongue.

  Below him, the people of Hastings Mills approached the altar.

  “Miss Anderson, might I speak with you a moment?” Christian placed a hand on Danni’s arm and guided her away from the line of women heading down to the rec center.

  “Of course, Reverend Christian. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is the matter, or at least I hope there isn’t. I was just wondering why your brother wasn’t at Mass tonight?”

  Danni gave a rueful smile. “He’s home, probably praying to the porcelain god right now.”

  “The what?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. No disrespect intended. He ate too many cookies while we were baking and earned himself a giant bellyache. John’s watching him until I get home.”

  “John Root?” Christian struggled not to let his true emotions show.

  The young woman nodded. “I know a lot of people in town don’t trust him, but even the police admitted he had nothing to do with the murders. And Mitch really seems to like him.”

  “I see. Well, as long as the boy isn’t too ill. I’ll let you get back to work. I presume you’ll both be at the bake sale on Saturday?”

  “Oh, yes.” Danni laughed. “There’s nothing left at home for him to snack on.”

  He stayed by the doorway after she went inside, greeting several other women and expressing his thanks for their help. Only after the last of the volunteers trickled past did he let his smile drop.

  The boy’s alone at the house with Root? Perhaps I should send them a little surprise.

  Christian hurried to his office. After closing and locking the door, he pulled down the dark window shade and removed the Book from the bottom drawer of his desk. He took a moment to caress the ancient cover, running his fingers across the rough, cracked human skin that bound the eons-old pages.

  It’s almost time to replace the binding. Maybe after my work is done, I’ll have a use for the boy after all.

  Opening to a well-worn page, he began reading:

  Vermis Mysteriis, Absu, Ur, and Orm

  Hear my call, heed my desires

  Bring forth the Dogs of Hell

  Turn the Spectres into Flesh

  Look inside me and see the one for whom

  Your beasts should be brought to life

  And send them to do your bidding.

  Alla Xul! AI!

  As he uttered the last line, Christian raised the book over his head. A flickering green light filled the room as the five-sided sigil branded on the front cover glowed bright orange.

  Outside, thunder crashed, setting the town dogs to howling once again. A ragged bolt of lightning speared down from the dark clouds and struck a tree behind the church, the sudden explosion shaking the walls and causing the lights to flicker momentarily. The brittle sound of splitting wood filled the air as the decades-old pine toppled over.

  Startled voices came from the recreation center as the volunteers re
acted to the sudden pyrotechnics.

  The glow faded away from the book and Christian returned the tome to its hiding place.

  “Have a pleasant evening, Mister Root.”

  * * *

  John and Mitch were sitting on the front porch, enjoying ice cream sandwiches, when a chorus of howling suddenly filled the air.

  “Wow, I’ve heard dogs barking at night before, but lately it seems like every dog in town is going crazy,” Mitch said.

  John started to nod, and then he remembered something his mother used to say. He calls the howling of the dogs.

  “Mitch, I think it’s time you got ready for bed.”

  “What? It’s only eight-thirty. I don’t have to go to bed for another two hours.”

  “Go upstairs and get ready for bed. Now.” John tried to keep his voice firm without sounding anxious. He wanted the boy to listen to him, not be frightened.

  He should have known Mitch was too smart not to see that something was going on.

  “What’s wrong, John?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe something. But either way, I want you inside. Now.”

  “What about you?” Mitch stood up but didn’t open the door.

  “I’ll be in shortly. Now go on.”

  Mitch had barely shut the door behind him when John heard the first growl. It seemed to come from the azalea bush in the front yard. A second later, another growled sounded, in the darkness to the left of the porch.

  A third animal answered from somewhere near the driveway.

  Something rustled in the azalea.

  Thinking better safe than sorry, John opened the screen and backed inside, keeping his eyes on the suddenly menacing landscape of the front yard.

  Even then, he never saw the creatures until they crashed through the flimsy barrier of the screen door.

  The first one hit John in the chest and knocked him into the hallway. He managed to get an arm up in time to block the beast’s teeth from reaching his throat; instead, the wolf-like monster’s jaws bit into the flesh just below his elbow. He screamed as something snapped inside his arm. With his free hand, he jabbed two fingers into one of the dog’s eyes. The creature opened its muzzle to howl and John climbed to his feet, cradling his mangled arm against his chest.