The Devil's Touch

Yes!

I have to face that, too? Again? Sam projected the question.

Yes! came the silent reply. Sam could not identify the voice. He didn't think it was his father, but he couldn't be sure.

The young man looked into the eyes of the group. He read utter disbelief on the faces of the men and women. He knew it was too much for them to accept at one sitting. But he felt he did not have a choice in the matter. And there was so much he wasn't telling them.

'I know,' Sam said. 'I know. It's difficult for you to believe. But it is all very true and real, please believe me.

Monty stared at his shoes for a moment. He lifted his eyes. 'Let's take this a day at a time, Sam. Let us— adjust, swallow all this. I don't doubt you—not for a minute—please. But Jesus God—this is storybook stuff; you see this at the movies, on TV. It—just doesn't, can't happen in real life.'

'But it is happening,' Sam told them. He stood up. 'I'm going to prowl around town some, see what's happening. I'll check back with you all later.'

'Be careful,' Monty warned him.

Sam's smile was grim. 'Don't you worry about that. I know what I'm up against. What we're up against. But you people have yet to discover the true horror of what is lying in wait for you.'

'You could have talked all day and not said that,' Joe mumbled.

There was no humor in Sam's reply. 'Words alone cannot describe what is facing us all. You are days—perhaps only hours—away from getting a firsthand glimpse of all the horrors of hell.'

'Lordy, Lordy,' Joe said.

With a very stunned and badly shaken minister in the back seat of the automobile, Father Le Moyne and Noah pulled away from the minister's residence. 'I'm sorry, gentlemen,' Byron said from the back seat. 'Even though I grew up on the streets of Buffalo, running wild as a buck, I have never fired a gun in my life.'

'I took up skeet shooting about five years ago,' Noah said. 'I found it helped me to relax. Prior to that, I was a liberal's liberal: gun control, Save the Punks, abolish the death penalty—the entire nine yards. Then I did some serious soul-searching and found that most of my philosophy was unworkable in reality. I began plinking with a handgun. I found it great fun and just as relaxing as skeet shooting. If I ever again take part in any civil disobedience, it will probably be outside a prison somewhere, yelling for the warden to go ahead and execute the bastard!'

Behind the wheel, Father Le Moyne fought to conceal his smile. 'Noah, you've turned into a real tiger.'

'I'm doing my best, Daniel. But it's rather difficult to inflict a serious bite with dentures.' The writer laughed. He patted the butt of his .357. 'One of these will almost always get a person's attention, though.' He pointed to a crowd of men and women gathering on a street corner. 'Look over there!'

'Shall we stop?' Le Moyne asked.

'Just drive by slowly,' Noah said, not taking his eyes from the crowd. 'Damn pack of rabble and trash.'

The priest slowed the car. The writer and the men of God looked at the crowd. The mixed group returned the looks, glaring sullenly at the men in the car. One of the women arrogantly gave the trio the middle finger.

'Mrs. Baxter,' Noah muttered. 'Bitch used to teach Sunday School at the Lutheran church. I bet she taught them some trash, all right.'

Someone in the crowd said something, the sound of the following laughter reaching the men in the car as they slowly drove past.

'I wonder what was said?' Father Le Moyne quietly asked.

'I doubt that you really want to know, Daniel,' Noah told him. 'For I imagine it was pure filth.'

'Devil worship?' Byron spoke from the back seat. 'Covens and witchcraft and the black arts? In Logan-dale. I just can't accept it, gentlemen. I just can't. Someone is playing tricks with you all. This simply cannot be occurring in this town.'

Noah glanced back at the man. His eyes were glazed and the minister looked as though he might come unglued at any moment. Noah cut his eyes to Father Le Moyne, then back to Byron.

'Byron?' the priest said. 'This has been a very trying and traumatic day for you. Why don't you rest for a few moments? Just put your head back, close your eyes, and rest. It will do you good.'

'Don't you dare patronize me, Daniel!' the Methodist snapped back. 'I am not a child.'

'I know you're not a child, Byron. And I did not mean to patronize you. I apologize for my tone. It's just that you do not know what you are—what we are—facing in this town today.'

'What happened between my wife and I has nothing to do with black magic. And this Sunday was merely a fluke of some sort,' the minister stated flatly, his tone revealing his unyielding attitude on the matter. 'I do not believe in the black arts. While there very well may be a gathering—a coven, if you will, in this town, of misguided men and women, I refuse to accept the premise of the Devil's actually being in Logandale. The mere thought is ludicrous.'

Noah cut his eyes to the priest. The writer arched an eyebrow and sighed. 'I hope you are an open-minded person, Byron. For you are about to be rudely slapped across the face by reality.'

'Nonsense!'

'Byron,' Father Le Moyne spoke softly. 'Are you disputing the written word that in Luke the Devil claims authority over all the world?'

'Not at all, Daniel. But if I am to take that literally, then I would have to accept the premise of the individual's laying on of hands to heal, as well. Luke 4:40, 1 believe.'