In the Lansky house, the golem stirred as invisible life was breathed into it. Wade watched it slowly shuffle across the floor, its ponderous legs and massive arms moving like some primal creature just awakened from a million years of ice-locked sleep. It bumped its head on an archway and stopped, looking almost stupidly around the room, the slits that were its eyes having no expression.
Miles came into the room and took the huge clay man's hand as one might take the hand of a child. 'Is it time?' he asked.
The golem nodded, gaining balance and understanding with each second.
'What do I call you? You gotta have a name.'
The golem shrugged its solid shoulders.
'I think I'll call you Hershel.'
The golem lifted its hands in a gesture of acquiescence as Doris and Anita huddled together against a far wall. Wade sat with a faint smile on his lips.
'That thing really understand what you're saying?' Doris asked.
'I suppose,' Miles said. 'Sure, it does.'
She walked from the corner of the room to look up at the huge clay man. 'You can't walk around with no clothes on. You look … indecent.'
The golem gazed down at the woman.
'So I made you some pants. You wait where you are.' She left the room, returning with a large pair of trousers. 'Denim,' she said, holding out the jeans. 'Difficult material to sew. But I did it.'
The golem looked at the offered jeans, then looked at Miles.
Miles wore an exasperated look. 'Momma, a golem don't know from pants. What's he gotta have pants for?'
'Because I said he's gotta, that's why. If he's gonna be our shtarker *(strong man)* he's gonna look nice, at least.'
The four of them managed to get the jeans on the golem, and, surprisingly, the jeans fit well.
Miles patted the golem on the arm. 'Joe E. Lewis, you ain't, Hershel, but you got class.'
The golem lumbered out of the room, bumping his head as he went out the door. He sat down on the porch, waiting.
Wade picked up his shotgun, checking the loads. Miles did the same. The four of them sat in the living room. Waiting. Waiting for the evil to begin. Waiting for the horror they knew was coming.
Waiting for the night.
Waiting and praying they had enough faith to get them through it.
'Did you have anything to do with my friends' decision to remain in Whitfield?' Jane Ann asked Balon.
'Their final decision … no. That was something they decided upon a long time ago. Unknowingly. Wade made his decision when he shut down the newspaper. Miles when he sold his store.'
'Tony?'
'He lost his faith years ago. Young Sam was only a child. Tony is evil.'
'The world is a pretty crappy place, isn't it, Sam?'
'Father Dubois and I discuss that same topic from time to time.'
'You make it sound like old home week.'
The misty face smiled. 'Heaven is not what most mortals envision, I can assure you of that. But I can tell you no more.'
'I wish this was over.'
'Yes.'
'I want to go home.'
'You will.'
'Is it lovely … there?
'It is different.'
'Peaceful?'
'Quite.'
'Am I going to suffer before I … go?'
'I cannot lie. Yes.'
'Miles and Doris? Wade and Anita? Anita is not very strong.'
'They will suffer to a degree.'
'But mine will be physical.' It was not spoken as a question.
Balon projected no reply. 'Your silence tells me I'm right.' The mist thrust no mental response.
