The Burning Time

by J. G. Faherty

  Am I dying? Is this what it feels like?

  They say if you die in your dreams, you die in real life. So I should wake up now. Wake up. Wake—

  * * *

  Cyrus Christian held a glass bowl under Billy Ray until it overflowed with blood and offal. Only when Billy Ray’s body slumped lifelessly against the ropes did he turn and face the four people waiting eagerly behind him. Dipping his hand into the fluids, he traced a series of symbols on each of their foreheads and recited a phrase to each of them.

  “By the glory and the power, I bind thee to me, to serve as extensions of the Dark Lords’ will. You are my arms and eyes and ears. You are my slaves. You are the tools I wield. In return, I give you strength and protection from those who would stand in our way.”

  One by one, the chosen four knelt and kissed Christian’s gore-splattered feet. They stayed humbled before him until he ordered them to rise.

  “The time has come for us to finish what I’ve started in this pisshole of a town. Meet me in my office in one hour, cleaned and dressed.”

  “And until then?” Harry Showalter asked.

  Christian pointed at Billy Ray’s corpse.

  “Feed.”

  * * *

  John Root woke to the stench of fire. Before he opened his eyes he knew the town had taken a turn for the worse. He rolled over and looked at the clock. Nine hours he’d been asleep. No dreams, either, which he was thankful for. He sat up, the sheets sticking to his already-sweaty back and legs. Another unseasonably hot day. Was it something his old nemesis purposely emplaced, or was it a by-product of the dark, dangerous forces he called upon?

  Hopefully, in two days’ time it won’t matter anymore.

  John knew better than to believe defeating the Trickster was a sure thing. Over the centuries, many had tried to stop him. Some, including his own relatives, had achieved limited success, but no one had ever truly banished the Harbinger of Chaos from the world.

  Many, like John himself, believed it an impossible task, that the Hand of Chaos was an immutable part of the natural order, and the best anyone could hope for was to set back the timetable for the inevitable day when he opened the way for the Dark Gods to come forth again, bringing about another of the cataclysmic struggles between Good and Evil that shaped the teachings of so many ancient cultures.

  And what if I fail? John knew the answer to that question all too well. Three times he’d visited towns in the wake of the Ancient One. Seen firsthand the devastation. Twice, the towns resembled the aftermath of a military attack. The third had been intact but empty, a modern equivalents of the Roanoke settlement or the Marie Celeste.

  Footsteps on the stairs alerted John to Mitch’s imminent presence. Taking a deep breath, he put on his best expression of confidence. It was one thing to prepare himself for failure. There was no reason to worry Mitch or Danni.

  Plenty of time for that later.

  Breakfast that morning was a solemn affair in the Anderson house. The extreme heat and humidity was enervating, sucking dry their will to do anything more energetic than spread peanut butter and jelly on moisture-laden white bread and wash it down with tepid ice tea.

  “I can’t believe this weather.” Danni’s hair hung in limp, curling strands, and her shirt was already showing dark stains under her arms and between her breasts. “I feel like I might pass out, and it’s not even noon.”

  John looked at each of them in turn. “We have to keep up our spirits, remind ourselves of how much we care about each other. That will help prevent Christian’s darkness from tainting us.”

  “You mean I have to be nice to her for the next two days?” Mitch pointed at Danni and made a face like he’d just eaten something sour. “Talk about doing the impossible!”

  “Keep it up, little man. You might just find yourself wearing that PB and J.”

  Mitch laughed, and Danni joined in. Perfect, John thought. Now if I can only keep it up for the next thirty-six hours or so.

  John’s original plan had been to spend the day observing the activities at Riverside Park, to get a lay of the land and develop a strategy for how he’d go about setting up his traps. However, the moment he’d smelled the smoke and felt, down deep in his bones, the anguish and insane waves of hatred emanating from the town, he’d understood he’d be spending the day inside with Danni and Mitch.

  Hastings Mills has turned into a cauldron of uncontrolled rage. Thanks to the influence exerted by the evil thing inside Cyrus Christian, it would be safer hitchhiking through a war zone than walking the streets of Hastings Mills.

  No, there’ll be no leaving the house today. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d waste the day. Rather, he’d just have to rearrange the order of things slightly and use the time to assemble and finalize everything he’d need for the coming confrontation.

  John waited until they’d finished eating before bringing their attention back to the task at hand. “Mitch, Danni, I’m going to need your assistance today.”

  “With what?” Mitch asked, eager as always to help.

  “I have to make a fairly large number of totems, which I will need to use during the binding of the Ancient One.”

  “Totems?” Danni looked confused. “Those big poles with the faces on them? How are we supposed to make those?”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a ’tard, sis. Those are totem poles. Totems are different. They’re like, little magical figurines.”

  “Actually, you’re both right. All totems, large or small, are physical representations of spirits. They can also be imbued with magics, similar to what I did with the warding stones around the house. I’ll be using them to create a circle of power around the fair that will have two purposes. One, to concentrate my own powers, and two, to bind Christian within so he can’t escape before I’m done.”

  “You’ve done this before?” Danni asked, her tone clearly showing she knew he hadn’t.

  “No. I’ve made individual fetishes for people, though, and the principle is the same.”

  “I hate to say it, but I’m not real good at carving things.” Mitch looked crestfallen as he made his confession. “I couldn’t even build a simple soap box derby car.”

  A smile came to John’s face. “No carving necessary, Mitch. All we need is string, cloth, and a pen.”

  “No problem,” Danni said. “I can zip down to the store and get whatever we need.”

  “No!” At their startled looks, John forced himself to calm down and speak in a normal tone. “No one goes outside for any reason. It...it isn’t safe.”

  Danni looked like she was about to ask him why, and he shook his head. She took the hint and changed her question. “How about thread, old rags, and markers, then? I have plenty of those.”

  “Perfect.” John stood up. “Get whatever you can. Mitch and I will move some furniture around in the living room. We’ll need a lot of space to work.”

  “How many of these do we have to make?”

  “At least a hundred. Preferably double that amount.”

  Mitch’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “That’s gonna take all day.”

  John ruffled a hand through the boy’s hair.

  “Then we better get started.”

  * * *

  By the time night fell, Hastings Mills had sunk further into ruin. Dozens of house fires burned, creating a dark cloud over the town. Ash rained down, coating everything in a blanket of black soot that stunk of death. People suffered, inside sweltering houses as brownouts and blackouts denied them the comforts of air conditioning and ice, infuriating already-frustrated residents even further.

  In one neighborhood, a woman ran naked and screaming from her house as her husband of fifteen years chased her with knife in each hand. Neighbors watched through parted curtains and blinds as the man caught her in the middle of the road and stabbed her repeatedly until he fell to his knees in exhaustion.

  Several people opened their doors and clapped when he finally got up and walked away, leavin
g her corpse in the street.

  At the Broad Street Elementary School, a Cub Scout meeting descended into pandemonium when a mother returned early and found the Scout Master naked and demonstrating masturbation techniques to the troop. Within minutes, six outraged fathers showed up and beat the Scout Master to death with bats and pipes. Then they proceeded, with the young mother’s eager participation, to show the boys how real men had sex with a woman.

  Many people kept their windows closed, even in the stifling heat, to avoid the sickly smell of the fires and to block out the increasingly common sound of gunfire. Others embraced the heat and ventured outside with their own weapons, looking to vent their own rages.

  More than a few ended up dead in the streets.

  Those who owned battery-operated radios or televisions, and who still retained control of their senses, huddled in basements or living rooms, slowly dehydrating and marveling at the complete lack of information on Hastings Mills’ troubles in the news, as if the entire town had become invisible to the rest of the world. Some of those same people finally succumbed to desperation and attempted to leave town, only to be gunned down by the exit patrols.

  Women suffered through strange dreams that sent them, young and old alike, into the streets to search for lost loves. Barefoot, they wandered south, drawn to the river as if tugged along by magnets. Some never made it, falling victim to random acts of violence perpetrated by crazed men and boys who roamed through town. Those who did, however, arrived to find others there before them. Like lemmings who’d somehow managed to learn the act of prayer, one by one they lined up on bridges and riverbanks, waiting patiently as the ones ahead of them bowed their heads in silence or softly cried before leaping into the water. None of them saw the orgiastic swirlings and splashings as something unspeakable struggled to capture the unexpected bounty in its massive tentacles.

  In kitchens and bedrooms and backyards, husbands punched wives and wives struck back with nails and teeth. Frightened comfort turned to furious rape. Older siblings snuck into nurseries and smothered infants with pillows. Normally docile animals turned on their owners in fits of canine rage, snapping and growling and, in one instance of Chihuahua-ian insanity, chewing off toes.

  At Saint Vincent’s hospital, doctors and nurses administered overdoses of medications or turned off life support equipment, while in the ER the staff locked the doors, stripped off their clothes, and fell to the ground in a twisting, grunting orgy of sweat-slicked bodies.

  Above it all, a discordant soundtrack to ruination, was the endless howling of dogs, a primeval melody taken up and answered from one end of Hastings Mills to the other, to which human screams and shouts played harmony.

  In bedrooms at opposite ends of the town, two men slept, one tossing, turning, and moaning, soaking the sheets with perspiration, the other lying corpse stiff on his bed, the smallest of smiles creasing his lips.

  Both dreamed of Hastings Mills collapsing into a giant pit of fire, people and buildings alike falling into the bottomless, flaming depths.

  * * *

  The day before the fair brought an unexpected surprise to the citizens of Hastings Mills: rain. Just after seven a.m., the omnipresent clouds and humidity finally exceeded their capacity to retain any more moisture and a torrential downpour ensued, dumping millions of gallons of water onto the town in minutes. Streets flooded as sewers failed to keep up with the deluge. Parched ground turned to mud. Creeks and streams, reduced to trickles for most of the month, became brown-colored torrents that overflowed their banks. In less than two hours, the river rose four inches.

  Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the drenching rain ended, trailing off into a steady drizzle. Creeks receded and roads no longer resembled streams.

  Although the heat didn’t diminish, the first real breeze in weeks kicked up, and people throughout town delighted in the sensation of air moving across their skin.

  As if washed away by the rain, feelings of anger and hatred and fear dissipated, and people smiled at each other instead of raising fists or weapons. Gone was the insanity of the previous night, and friends and families gathered to offer apologies, condolences, and mutual affirmations of love. In those homes hit hardest by tragedy, men and women grieved and tried to rationalize the events of the past days, spouting half-believed explanations that ranged from heat stroke to chemical attacks by terrorists.

  At the far northern end of town, John Root continued his preparations, at one point locking himself in his room and going through Christian’s grimoire page by page, searching for the one spell that just might give him the edge he needed. By the time he found what he hoped was the right one and tore the brittle page from the book, it was already late afternoon. He went downstairs and discovered Danni and Mitch standing outside, enjoying the feel of the mist and wind on their faces. He watched them from the window, but didn’t join them. He was too aware they’d merely reached the eye of the hurricane, and far worse things were to come before the storm was over. The Trickster’s evil still blanketed them all.

  Anything to the contrary was just illusion.

  When Danni and Mitch came back inside, damp but happy, John was waiting in the living room.

  “I’ve done everything I can. After dinner I’m going to take a nap and then tonight I’ll go to Riverside Park and lay out my circle.”

  “You’re going to carry all that by yourself?” Danni pointed at the giant garbage bag filled with the totems they’d made.

  “You can drive me to the park, but then I want you to come straight back here. No arguments,” he added, seeing the look on Danni’s face. “I need you to stay here, where you’re protected by the wards around the house. I can’t set up my circle and safeguard you at the same time.”

  “We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  John thought for a moment. “You can be my backup. Stay by the radio. If I get in trouble, you’ll come get me.”

  Danni leaned over and kissed John’s cheek. “You’re learning, John.”

  For the rest of the evening, the memory of her lips on his skin lingered on, and it took all his willpower to wait until he got back to his room before placing his hand on that spot.

  He never did fall asleep.

  At the top of the dike overlooking the park, John opened the bag containing the totems and estimated how far apart to space them. The fairgrounds occupied a large space, and he estimated it would take hours to finish his work.

  John made his way around the fair, setting the totems in clumps of weeds, behind rocks, and in the branches of trees. Each one had been anointed ahead of time with a mixture of blue cohosh root and boldo leaves crushed in cinnamon oil. Once activated, the ring would trap anyone inside it and prevent them from leaving the circle. As he worked, he tried to ignore the eerily-silent grounds. More than once he looked up, certain he’d seen movement, only to realize he’d been fooled by lazy patches of ground mist floating between the booths.

  By the time he finished, almost three hours later, only twenty of the two hundred and forty totems remained.

  However, in order for his plan to work, he couldn’t complete the circle until Christian was already inside, a dangerous strategy as it meant waiting until after the fair opened for business before placing the final totems.

  What’s done is done, he thought, wrapping the black plastic bag around the remaining totems. He’d only need two to close the circle; the rest he intended to place around Danni’s house, just in case.

  Just in case I fail, I can use them as additional wards to keep evil away from the house while the town goes to Hell around them.

  He hoped it didn’t come to that, but there was no predicting the future. He could very well be dead this time tomorrow, and the whole town, Danni and Mitch included, with him.

  Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the person coming up behind him

  Until she attacked.

  Chapter 35

  John let out a surprised shout that quickly turned into a gasp
of pain as something heavy landed on his back and teeth bit into the soft flesh between his shoulder and neck. Dropping the bag, he bent forward and threw himself back, putting as much force as he could into the move. He succeeded in toppling them both backward. As they hit the ground, he thrust his elbow into her midsection, was rewarded with a heavy exhalation of air and the release of her jaws. He rolled over, coming to his knees facing his opponent.

  And stopped, completely taken by surprise at the sight of the women in front of him.

  Middle-aged and matronly, she wore a flowered muumuu and fuzzy slippers. In the dark, her eyes were two circles black. She held her hands out like talons, nails ready to shred flesh from bone.

  Adding to John’s stunned amazement was the fact that he knew her. He’d bought groceries from Agnes Kopek many times. She always gave Mitch a piece of candy and enjoyed passing the time with customers as she rang up their orders. From their conversations, he knew she was on the PTA and volunteered at the animal shelter.

  And now she’s a madwoman, controlled by an ageless monster.

  John reached into his pocket, where he had a vial of brown mustard seed and mint oils, a potent defense against those intent on doing harm. His hand closed on the vial but she was on him again before he could use it, a dervish of teeth and nails.

  Letting go of the vial, John pushed her away and then lashed out with his fist, a direct blow to her left temple. Something snapped in his hand, sending currents of fire up his arm, and he fell to his knees, crying out in pain. He looked up, expecting to see her coming at him again, but his punch had done the trick. The matron lay motionless in the wet grass.

  John gritted his teeth against the pain in his hand. He’d definitely broken something, but there was no time to worry about it. He had to reverse Christian’s spell on Mrs. Kopek and then get the hell away from the park. A dab of oils on her head and neck was all she needed; when she woke up, she’d be free of Christian’s influence.