The Child Thief

whisper. “It…that thing, was in my head. I was just so scared. So fucking scared.”

And Leroy didn’t have to say any more than that. Nick knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Those eyes, they burned into me. It made me do it. Made me. You saw it, right Nick? You were there, in the woods. I know you saw it.” The terror still showed on Leroy’s face. “Felt its eyes, those burning eyes.”

And Nick knew then, without a doubt, that the horned monster had been in Leroy’s head, just like it had been in his.

“Look,” Leroy said. “I need to tell you something. Gotta tell someone. Please, man. Please just listen to me.” Tears were running freely down his face. “Something I did, something bad. It’s about my dad.”

God, Nick thought, he won’t quit.

“Remember when everyone was talking about why they’d run away?” Leroy went on. “Because their parents or stepparents treated them crappy. They ran off ’cause they didn’t have anyone that loved them. Anyone who’d look out for ’em. And how I agreed with them and all. Well that wasn’t the case. My parents, they loved me. They loved me more than anything. Did their damndest to keep me out of trouble. But I kept fucking up, lying to them, stealing from them, arguing, fighting. And every time, no matterwhat, my folks tried to work things out, tried to fix things, to give me one more chance.” Leroy was bawling now. “One day, I just went crazy and…you know what I did?” Leroy couldn’t seem to get the words out. “I killed him. My own dad. I killed my dad.”

Nick stared at him, horrified. This was just too much.

Leroy grabbed Nick’s hand. Nick tried to pull free, but this time Leroy held tight. “You want to know why? You want to know why I killed my own dad?”

Nick didn’t. Nick didn’t want to hear another word. He could still hear the Reverend ranting on, and on, and on about God and Satan, could see the crowd glaring at him and Leroy like they’d personally nailed Jesus to the cross. Nick had had enough of this nightmare. He just wanted this whole mess over with and done.

“Over a beer. I stabbed my own dad over a beer. A dumb-ass beer. I tried to take it out of the house and he wouldn’t let me. I don’t even like beer. Just wanted to impress some stupid dudes on my street. Can you believe it? We got in a fight and I stabbed him, shoved a kitchen knife into his chest. I didn’t mean to. I swear to God I didn’t. I don’t even remember how it happened. But it did. He’s on the floor then, blood everywhere. Is he cussing me, does he look like he wants to kill me? No, he’s just shaking his head slowly back and forth and looking at me with the saddest eyes you ever saw. He was sad for me, Nick, not him. Him, lying there dying and all he’s thinking about is me! God!” Leroy made a sound like someone had just stabbed him. “I can’t get his eyes out of my head.” Leroy let go of Nick’s hand, rolled into a ball, hugging his own legs, and began to sob uncontrollably.

Nick turned away. Tried to go away, to withdraw within himself, and when he did, it was his mother’s face, her smile he saw, her voice he heard.

The basket began to sink back into the water. Nick clutched the bamboo, clenched his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and pressed his forehead against the weave. “Mom,” he whispered as he sank beneath the water. “I’m so sorry I left you. Please forgive me, Mom. Please.” And the dark waters swallowed him.

NICK CAME OUT of the darkness. It was not like waking, more like coming back from nothing. He heard muffled voices. He blinked; blurry, dark shapes leaned over him. Where am I? he wondered. He was cold and wet. His chest hurt. His stomach felt bloated, his throat burned—he retched violently and someone rolled him over on his side. He pulled his knees up to his chest and retched again; what felt like bucketfuls of salty water erupted from his throat. He felt like he was heaving out his very guts. He kept retching until nothing would come up but thin strings of bile.

“Come forth, my child,” came a man’s voice. And when he heard that voice, everything came back to Nick. He let out a long moan. So he’d not died. He’d tried. This time, when the black waters came he’d welcomed them. But it had been for nothing, for he was still here.

Nick wiped the water from his eyes and saw he was on the bank of the pond, with Leroy sitting next to him. Leroy’s eyes were red and his face deathly pale. Redbone’s body was laid out on the ground before them, his hands folded across his chest. Two women were wrapping him in a dingy sack cloth.

“Show yourself,” the Reverend Senior demanded. He glared into Nick’s eyes as though trying to see into his soul. He turned to the crowd and waved a thin wisp of a woman forward. “Eva.”

The woman approached Nick and Leroy cautiously, the way you would approach a pair of poisonous snakes. Nick recognized her instantly as the woman who had spat on Peter. She wore the same long, chaste dress of all the women, but her hair was wild and unkempt, hanging down across her face in long, greasy strands. She leaned over Nick and he got a closer look at the dozens of crosses hanging from her neck. He could see they were made of bones—they looked human in shape, only tiny, and Nick realized they must be from the small people, the pixies and faeries and such.

“Eva,” the Reverend said. “Are they free? Are the demons gone from these children?”

Eva thrust out an open palm, letting it hover just in front of Nick and Leroy. She pressed her other hand against her cheek, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she started to moan. Her hand began to tremble, her tongue fluttered in and out of her mouth, and a clucking came from her lips.

The crowd fell silent, watching her every move.

Suddenly she clutched her throat. Her eyes went wide as though someone was strangling her. She managed a few faltering steps backward before collapsing.

Nick stared on in disbelief.

Two women rushed forward and lifted Eva to a sitting position. Eva stuck a long, ragged finger out at Nick and Leroy and spoke in a harsh rasp, “The demons burn me! They burn me throat!”

As though on cue, the two women supporting Eva both clutched their throats, wailed, and fell to their knees. An anxious murmur flowed through the crowd as other women glanced uneasily at each other, then another woman fell to her knees, also clutching her throat, then another, and another. Soon most of the women that Nick could see were clutching their own throats and moaning as though in great pain.

“THAT’S BULLSHIT!” Nick cried. “You people are insane!”

“Take them to the post,” the Reverend commanded.

The post? Nick thought. What now? A moment later he found out, as three men dragged him over to a field on the far side of the pond. There stood several scorched posts with blackened logs and ash scattered around their bases. The men bound Nick’s arms behind him and tied thick ropes around his neck, ankles, and midsection, then proceeded to do the same to Leroy. Leroy hardly seemed to notice or care, his eyes distant, confused, lost.

The crowd had followed them over and now made way for two men carrying an iron pot, the same one that had sat next to Peter. Nick could see the smoldering coals and brands.

Nick’s legs began to tremble. I can’t take this, he thought, I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here now! He fought his bonds, quick, frantic movements, hardly feeling the pain as the rough rope bit and tore into his skin, unaware of the small, whimpering sounds that escaped his lips or the spittle running down his chin.

The Reverend Senior grabbed Nick’s jaw in a hard, viselike grip, holding the boy’s head still. He glared into Nick’s eyes and hissed. “I see you, demon. I see you very well. I see your fear. Now leave this boy,” he shouted. “Leave him and save yourself the pain of God’s mark!”

“You’re crazy,” Nick shouted. “You’re fucking insane! Can’t you see there’s no demons here but you?”

The good half of the Reverend’s mouth turned up in a smile. He obviously took Nick’s words as vindication. Nick couldn’t help himself at this point and screamed, “YOU FUCKING LUNATICS!”

The Reverend spun away from Nick and raised his long arms skyward with a dramatic flourish. “SEE THE DEMON!” he shouted. “It can’t hide. Not from us. Not from GOD! ”

“We see,” responded the crowd.

The Reverend nodded to the giant bald man holding the brand. “Place the mark of our Lord on these boys. Place it so the demons cannot hide from it.”

“HOLD!” called a voice from the crowd.

The Reverend spun around as though he’d been stung. The Captain stepped forward. The man with the