fifteen. The Baptist church had been closed for two years, its doors and windows shuttered and boarded over. Brinkley Springs had no police force or school buildings. It was patrolled by the state police, who swung through once or twice a day just to make their presence known, and didn’t show up otherwise unless somebody called 911. Its children were bused to the bigger schools in Lewisburg. They left every morning and returned every evening, until they graduated. Then they went off to college or the military or a job somewhere else, and rarely returned again at all, except for holidays or a family occasion like a wedding or a funeral. And sometimes, not even then.
Still, despite all this, Brinkley Springs had its charms. The Greenbrier River ran along its eastern border and was a popular spot for both local and out-of-town fishermen, hikers and white-water rafters. The lack of posted property attracted hunters during deer, bear and turkey seasons, and a fair number of poachers even when those things weren’t in season. The antique shops were an occasional draw for travelers and vacationers who liked to explore off the beaten path, as was Esther Laudry’s bed-and-breakfast—a remodeled home built in the early 1900s—which catered to them as well as the occasional hiking or rafting enthusiast. But for the locals, Brinkley Springs was simply where they lived. Nothing more. Nothing less. A place to sleep, eat, shit and fuck. A place to play football with the kids on the weekends or watch TV at night. A place to store their cars and pets and clothing. A place to keep their stuff. Their real lives, the places where they spent most of their time, were at those jobs beyond the town limits.
Some people said that the town was dying. They didn’t know how right they were.
***
Concealed in shadow, five human figures sat perched upon the girders and steel crossbeams that the crows had occupied on the electrical tower earlier. They were dressed alike—black pants and shirts, black shoes, black hats, and long black coats that flowed to their heels. A passerby might have found their similar garb strangely reminiscent of America’s Colonial period, except for its color and the way the fabric seemed to blend with the darkness. Even their facial features were similar; they each had pointed noses and chins, dark eyes and even darker hair. They only differed in size, but even that was slight. The largest stood well over six feet tall. The others were within a few inches of that. Each of them seemed to defer to the biggest, who sat idly, head bobbing back and forth strangely on his almost nonexistent neck as he stared at the town below. Finally, he spoke. His voice was like breaking glass.
“It is good to see you again, brothers.”
“Indeed,” the second one replied. “The years between each gathering seem to grow longer with time.”
“Much has changed since we were last together in these forms,” the third figure said, staring at the town and then up at the electrical lines.
“Not really,” said the first. “Their technology has advanced since we were last all together like this, but they are still the same—ignorant, petty little beasts, for the most part oblivious to the larger universe around them. They do not change, even as their world changes around them. They are animated meat.
Nothing more.”
“So were we—once.”
“But then we were freed. We were transformed by
The others nodded in agreement. Then the fourth figure raised one arm and pointed at the town.
“Is that it? This is why we were summoned tonight? This is where we will feed? This is where we will spread his work?”
“It is,” the first answered. “Brinkley Springs, West Virginia.”
“West Virginia?” The third figure arched an eyebrow. “Virginia? Are we close to Roanoke, then?”
“Yes,” said the first, “but it is not the Roanoke you’re thinking of. It is a different town. Named for that one, perhaps. And therein is a great example of irony. As I said, they are ignorant. They know not the importance of naming. They have forgotten it. The more they advance, the less they remember.”
“Brinkley Springs.” The second one frowned. “It seems . . . rustic.”
“They always do,” the first said. “They always have.” The second shrugged. “I do not doubt that, my brother. I just . . .”
“What?”
“I often wonder, with all of their advances, why we don’t feed on a larger scale? Imagine how magnificent our night would be were we to focus our efforts on a major metropolitan area. Think of how much more we could do. To murder an entire city? That would be
“Perhaps,” said the first, “but then you are thinking of your own glory, rather than the glory of our master. Until the door is opened again and he walks this Earth once more, we must act only out of necessity, and then with utmost caution. Killing an entire city? To conduct our endeavors in such a grandiose manner would attract unwanted attention. Undoubtedly, there are still a few magi among them whose power matches our own. For all we know, they may have organized in the years since we last walked among them. We may be met with resistance”
“Yes, that is true. Perhaps we may find one who knows how to banish us from this realm.”
The first one ignored the comment but the others murmured to each other. They fell silent when he spoke again.
“And,” the first continued, “were we to focus our attention on an entire city, I daresay we would not finish before the dawn. It would be time to slumber again before we were done, and our efforts would remain incomplete. At the very least, we would certainly leave witnesses behind. They could tell others what had occurred, and when we awoke again, they might be prepared for our arrival. Our master, when he arrives—and he will arrive one day —would be . . . displeased.”
A collective shudder ran through the group. They nodded silently.
“Sunrise comes early,” sighed the third after a few minute’s pause. “Would that we had more than one paltry night.”
“We will,” promised the first. “One day we will. He has promised us it will be so. But for now, let us make the most of the time we
“True,” agreed the shortest. “And I am hungry. Nay—
“As are we all. Let us begin. Let us feast. Let us murder. Let us glorify him from whom we have sprung.”
And then they did.
The electrical tower was the first to fall. It crashed to the ground with a horrendous roar of twisting, shrieking metal and crackling sparks. Immediately, the twinkling lights disappeared in the valley below. The fallen cables hissed and spit, coiling and thrashing like wounded snakes. The leaves, weeds and other debris began to smolder. The figures seemed unconcerned at the prospect of a forest fire.
“Should we take down the others?” The shortest pointed at the other electrical towers looming above the treetops in the distance.
“Why bother?” The large one nodded toward Brinkley Springs. “That has achieved our first goal—to instill unease and seed their fear. The soul cage will do the rest, once we construct it from the five points. Don’t waste time here. Why rend metal when we could be ripping flesh instead?”
Side by side, the five figures walked down the mountainside, laughing as they went. The grass in the clearing withered and died in their wake. The fog grew thicker. Trees groaned. A mother bear, crazed with fear, slaughtered her own cubs rather than letting them fall victim to the presence permeating the mountain. Then she repeatedly smashed her head into a gnarled, wide oak tree until brains and bark littered the ground. Deep inside its den, a rattlesnake swallowed its own tail, jaws opening wider to accommodate its length and girth. Driven by a nameless, unfathomable fear, a herd of deer flung themselves from a cliff and burst open on the jagged rocks below. A pack of coyotes that had been tracking the herd followed along a moment later, dashing themselves upon the deer’s broken bodies. Bones splintered. Blood splattered.
Overhead, a thick bank of clouds drifted over the moon, slowly covering it until it was gone from sight.
Down in Brinkley Springs, the darkness grew deeper and the dogs began to howl.
When the power went out, Axel Perry was sitting in the wicker rocking chair on his sagging front porch, sipping a bottle of hard cider, listening to the spring peepers and thinking about his dead wife. For a few seconds, he didn’t notice the electrical outage. After all, he had no radio or television playing in the background. The only
