ahead of him. Tugging on the top edge of the blanket, he looped it up over his head like a cloak, and with a renewed sense of determination, strode through the eight inches of snow toward the light.
Harry’s eyes fixed intently on the small ball of light, his footsteps falling faster. Nearly to the point of jogging, he popped out of the cluster of trees and found himself in the wide meadow, the carpet of snow glimmering as though from some light of its own. The light he had been following originated from a dark cluster of trees right in the middle of the pasture, where he remembered the small house to have been.
The wind raged through the open field, tearing forcefully at the blanket atop him. He clung to the wet and frost-covered cloak; the soaked edges of it clapping like hands behind him. There were no trees to fight the rage of the gale in the middle of the field, which felt as though it was shredding his flesh with its icy breath.
The wind suddenly kicked up with a force unreckoned with. He had to lean into it to keep from being tossed onto his back. The ferocity of the wind ripping through the valley sounded like screaming… like the pained wails of an infant.
Harry stopped and cocked his head, placing his ear straight into the wind. It wasn’t the wind that had made that sound! It was separate, riding on the wind. And the screams of that child sounded like nothing he had ever heard before. His heart pounded in his chest and he could almost empathetically feel the pain in those screams.
Shedding the blanket, he ran towards the small white house, the frigid air slicing at his lungs from the inside, burning in his sinuses. His feet felt as though they each weighed a hundred pounds as he forced them to rise and fall through the thick, wet snow, the wind trying to force him backward.
As he rapidly approached, he could see shadows through the thin line of light between the closed shades of the window on the side of the house. A car buried in snow save for the windshield and scraped patches on either side window, sat in front of the house, its dark shape casting a long shadow out across where he assumed the road lurked below the snow.
The screams grew louder, pleading with him from across the field. He was almost to the point of physical exhaustion, but he had no choice but to press on as the screams cried to him, begging for mercy, for some sort of respite… until finally they were silenced, a loud thunk echoing through the night, hitting Harry like a slammed door.
He stopped, only twenty yards from the house, the bare tips of the branches of the trees encircling it scraping across the roof like fingers trying to peel back the shingles. He surveyed the field. The tire marks behind the car were still fresh as he could see them like dark lines across the shining white surface of the snow, tracing the course back into the wall of trees at the far side of the field. Muffled voices assaulted him on the bitter wind, shadows passing in front of the light in the window.
And then there was another wail, a hoarse cry like that of a newborn.
Harry raced towards the front porch, leaping through the snow and onto the wooden steps, ascending them as though on springs. His breath seized in his lungs, freezing like a mass of ice in his heavy chest, and he slid across the ice-covered porch. Weightless, he skated, his shoulder ramming into the front door, knocking it inward. Shards of woods blew into the air as the lock tore through the brittle wood of the trim. His feet caught on the edge of the tile in the entranceway and he careened forward, landing squarely on his chest, his breath exploding from him.
He looked up, pawing at the slick floor, fighting to regain his feet.
The room had taken on a red tinge from the handful of candles that flickered in the corners in front of the red velvet curtains. Three dark shapes loomed over him. He struggled to see in the light after coming in from the blinding darkness. Screams filled his ears from close by, ripping at his flesh.
With as much effort as he could muster, Harry hauled himself to his feet, his eyes scanning the room frantically, trying to focus. All of the furniture had been pushed back against the walls, exposing a square, patterned red carpet in the middle of the hardwood floor. There was a small wooden pedestal in the middle of the room, and what looked like a marble birdbath next to it. Atop the pedestal, a baby flopped on a swaddling cloth, his arms and legs fanning the air above him. A dark figure stood above the child, dipping an open palm into the contents of the birdbath, and then tracing a line on the forehead of the screaming child.
“Get out of here!” a female voice shrieked at him, a hand tightening around his upper arm.
Harry whirled, his right arm swinging with a closed fist at the body of whoever held him, striking the soft flesh of the midsection.
There was a hollow thud as his attacker hit the floor, damp breath gasping for air. Two other figures closed in upon him, their arms outstretched, reaching for him.
Lowering his shoulder, he lunged through the other two, knocking them to the ground. The birdbath toppled to the floor, its contents spilling across the polished surface. Steadying himself, he grabbed the child from the pedestal and brought him against his chest, zipping him up beneath his jacket.
“You have no idea what you’re doing!” one of the women cried as he whirled to face her.
On the left side of the room, beneath the light of the window that had guided him there, were three small lumps, bodies wrapped from head to toe beneath a thin white cloth. Bloodstains covered the bodies, growing in size with each passing second from the unseen wounds beneath. A tuft of dark hair protruded through the top of the cloth of the largest of the bodies.
His lower jaw fell and the contents of his stomach rose from his gut and into his chest, his thudding heart fit to burst.
One of the shapes appeared directly in front of him, this time moving very slowly and deliberately, arms straight at him, palms to the sky.
“Doctor,” the voice said, more calmly this time. “Please… just hand me the child.”
Her visage came into focus, the white of her habit in stark contrast to the blackness that swelled around them. Her eyes were awash with shadows. He watched her mouth move, trembling.
“This is a matter of spiritual importance,” she continued. “These children must be destroyed.”
Harry glanced back at the bodies that littered the couch, and pulled the child beneath his jacket even closer to his chest. It let out a pained wail.
“You murdered these children,” he gasped, slowly easing backward toward the door.
“They were the spawn of Satan,” Sister Catherine said evenly. “While they may have looked like nothing more than harmless children to you, doctor, these four contain limitless evil bound beneath human flesh.”
“You’ve lost your mind!”
“Like yourself, we were skeptical at first. We found the body of the mother who dropped them off ripped to shreds, her blood covering the ground in a hundred foot radius, her intestines run through the tops of the trees like a Christmas garland.”
“Stay back,” Harry said, glancing to either side as the other two sisters closed in on him. One of them held a long, thin knife in her closed fist.
“These four children are impervious to pain. When that little girl broke her ankle, she didn’t even shed a tear, she just continued walking on it even though her bones stuck out from the torn flesh.”
He could feel the cold air coming in from the door behind him, the wind howling from the blackened night.
“I heard them screaming—”
“As we placed holy water on their foreheads to baptize them… to try to save their eternal souls from damnation.”
Harry stepped out onto the icy porch, still fixed upon the three women who were nearly to the frame of the door now.
“If you take that child with you, his fate will be your responsibility. The evil he spreads will mean your damnation. Give back the child and save your own soul!”
Harry placed his right hand over the child’s exposed head, every muscle in his body tensing as he prepared for flight.
“There is no redemption in hell, doctor. Weigh your decision very carefully, for you have but one chance here.”
He stared down at the thin blond locks atop the child’s head that filtered through his open fingers. The blood in his veins hammered in his temples as her words echoed in his mind.
“You’re not going to kill this child!” he shouted, turning and sprinting across the porch.
