Erik took a deep breath, then pulled the pulled the photograph from his notebook and extended it towards his son. The boy’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open.
“See, it is real,” he said. “I told you it was.”
“Yes, it is,” Erik said. “Now, come on down and let’s get some lunch. I brought you back a burger and fries.”
“Ok,” Todd said.
“Oh, and just one more thing. Don’t tell your mother about this. At least not yet. Not until I figure out what to do about it.”
“Ok, Dad. Just…just don’t take too long.”
3
Seti spent the afternoon playing with the teenage girl until he became bored with her. She was pretty and innocent, but he knew that she was a slut and must have enjoyed it. They all did, even when they cried and screamed and whimpered. They all wanted it, deep down inside. He’d done everything to her that he could imagine, and had let his followers have her as well, while he watched. But now the girl was little more than a zombie, staring at him glassy-eyed and without emotion, no longer conscious of him or of her surroundings. Like a rotten fruit, she’d spoiled much too soon, he thought.
He looked at her for a moment and almost felt sorry. She looked like she’d been in a train wreck. Her hair was tangled and plastered with dirt, blood, and other bodily fluids. Her left eye was swollen shut and her nose was battered and broken. If he could have felt any emotions, he would have felt sorrow. But instead, he just felt empty. Besides, he knew she had loved every minute of it. They all did.
“Be patient,” the voice cautioned. “Wait until the sun goes down. Then you will bring her to me and I will begin the process of becoming complete.”
“Yes,” Seti said. “When the sun goes down.” He only had an hour or so to wait. And then his dreams would be fulfilled.
“I will go gather the others and prepare,” he said, “for when the sun goes down.”
Then he kicked the girl to the side of his small camper and went out to gather his followers.
4
Dovecrest had planned to go and see the boy and his father, but he’d seen Erik drive by in the morning, and he never did quite find the energy to stop by in the afternoon. Now that the sun had set, he knew he had waited too long and would have to act on his own. He’d forgotten how the voice could influence you-sometimes, the influence was just to do nothing. It seemed to tap one’s strength, one’s willpower and one’s energy. Sometimes it caused people to do things; other times it caused people to just sit on the couch like a vegetable, and watch the world go by.
Yes, Dovecrest thought. It’s been working on my mind.
He knew that tonight was something big, something important. For one thing, the entity had left him alone for the last hour or so-he no longer felt its presence like a heavy blanket over his face. That meant it was occupied with other things. Like the girl he had taken.
It had taken the cat, and that had made it stronger. The life of a teenage girl would be most prized and would bring its strength to a new level. The girl was still alive. It had waited until the time was right. Now that the search party had left the woods and the police were concentrating on Route 102, it had the chance it was waiting for. He might not be able to stop the monster, or even stop the pawn it was using tonight, but if he could snatch the girl away, he might at least buy a little more time-and a child’s life.
This time he didn’t take the rifle, but stuffed the Beretta into his waistband, just in case. It wouldn’t have any effect on the entity, but a.45 caliper hollow-point could sure do some damage to its human helpers.
Dovecrest stiffened his shoulders and went out the back door. I am getting way too old for this, he thought, as he walked into the woods, relying only on his instincts to guide him. He knew where it would happen-he had always known that. And now he knew when it would happen as well, at least this first installment of horror, anyway. There would be more versions after this, new and improved versions, but he couldn’t worry about that now. One thing at a time.
He picked his way through the woods as effortlessly as if he were crossing his own bedroom. He had lived here for more than a lifetime, and had made it his business to know this land. It, and the knowledge of what was about to happen, were his only advantages.
The altar stone wasn’t very far away in terms of mileage-only about a half mile as the crow flies-but it was centuries away in terms of time. Dovecrest could almost feel himself traveling back in time as he walked. He felt the decades, the centuries peel away as he returned to a more primitive time, a time when good and evil were stripped of their trappings and laid bare for the world to see. A world where evil existed in its most pure, unadulterated form, not camouflaged by politics or culture or religion. This was a world where it dared to show itself as it was, without shame and without excuse, a world where it did not hide or justify its existence, but challenged good men to stare it in the eye.
As Dovecrest made his journey, he felt some of the old power returning to him, and even as he did he realized that he had made one critical mistake. He had failed to purify himself properly and make peace with God. How could one do battle against evil without seeking the protection of its counterpart? It had been easier in the old times, when worship was part of the daily life. Now, not even his own people believed anymore. And the white man was not much better. Sure, he made his weekly pilgrimage to whatever church he attended. He worshipped faithfully and then returned to his everyday life of lying, cheating, stealing….
But it was too late for such thoughts now, and he felt himself weakening beneath his own doubt, even as he felt the strength of the entity growing near. He was close to the altar now, and he could feel its presence radiating throughout this place. The white man was strange, he thought-he equated graveyards with supernatural power. That wasn’t to say there was no power in those places of death. But the truly powerful, once they were set free, preferred to infest and infect places of life and power, places where they felt strong and secure. This was such a place, and now it was cursed with this awful and awesome power, which would only grow stronger with each new death.
Dovecrest heard the sound of voices ahead and he knew he was near. He stopped and moved forward slowly to the edge of the clearing. He slipped behind the trunk of an ancient, withered oak tree and watched.
There were thirteen of them, as he had expected, carrying torches and dancing naked around the ancient stone. It would have almost looked comical if he didn’t know what was happening. It was the kind of thing they would make documentaries about, and show them on cable TV, and people would laugh and say, “look at those idiots, can you imagine!” Only this was not funny, and although much of it was little more than a silly ritual to entertain the thirteen, who, of course, needed carnal pleasures for their own fulfillment, the essence of it all was very real and very serious.
The realness of it all became very clear when he saw the naked body of the teenage girl being laid out on the altar stone. Dovecrest hunkered down behind the tree and waited for his chance. If it came, the opportunity would be swift and fleeting.
5
After dinner, Erik used the excuse that he was going out to the plaza to check on news of the missing girl, and then he went to see Dovecrest. He actually did stop at the plaza, which was now a makeshift command post, of sorts. But they told him what he already knew-there were no new leads in the case. He looked for Sheriff Roy and
