The Altar

“So you’re saying that there couldn’t be a cult group out there in those woods?”

“I didn’t say that. I have no proof one way or another about a cult group. I’m just saying there isn’t an altar stone. If it were there, I would have found it. Now as for a cult group-anything’s possible in this crazy world.”

“The pastor and I saw Dovecrest last night and he claims a cult group had the missing girl and killed her. He shot one of the members. They must have moved the bodies later.”

The sheriff made some hasty notes on a notepad. “Then why isn’t Dovecrest around? Why didn’t he call the police?”

“Because he knew no one would believe him. Sheriff, my son saw something in those woods a few nights ago. And my friend at the radio station told me there may be a Satanic cult in the area, a cult that’s been killing people. I think that needs to be checked out.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hunter. I will check it out. I’m on my way to see Pastor Mark right now. Then I may go back out into those woods one more time in daylight and see what I can find.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. If there’s anything I can do….”

“Just one thing. If you see Dovecrest, ask him to turn himself in.”

3

After he had spoken with Erik and Mark, Johnny Dovecrest had gone deep into the woods, to a small cave on the western edge of the reservation. He’d taken his guns, plenty of ammunition, and a week’s supply of canned food. If he had to, he could live off the land.

He knew the law wouldn’t understand what happened. They would assume that he was behind the killings. The demon would have no problem setting it up to look like he’d killed the girl. And the bullet from his gun would be linked to the cult member he had killed.

Besides, he would be the easy suspect. He was the Indian, the outsider. He knew how it worked. When in doubt, blame the outsider. He’d seen the same pattern over and over again for more than three centuries.

In some ways, it would be easy to let them catch him. He’d be put in a clean jail cell, given three meals a day and cable TV. What more could he ask for?

But for him a life sentence would be eternity. Besides, he couldn’t do anything to stop the madness from a jail cell.

He knew what had to be done. He had lacked the courage to do it the first time around, and had been content to merely imprison the demon. He thought the spells would hold it down forever, or at least until he could find someone to replace him as the guardian. But he had been wrong. The spells were temporary. And while they might have held for centuries, it took only a small disturbance to bring the demon back. And this time it had learned from its past mistakes. It would be much more difficult to defeat this time.

Furthermore, he didn’t have the support of the tribe, or of the colonists. They had believed back then. They had been able to see the truth and to band together to take action. The world had moved on now, though, and people no longer saw the truth. They were blinded by modern science and technology, and could no longer see the primitive struggle between good and evil.

Dovecrest found the old spells in their hiding place in the cave. He knew what he had to do. But he couldn’t act alone. He would need help, and he didn’t have much to go on.

Erik and the preacher seemed to believe his story, but even they were not sure. They would probably go searching for the altar themselves, hoping to find proof. That was the tune that the modern man sang. Show me. Give me proof. Nothing could be taken on faith alone. Everything had to have evidence and proof. And that was the demon’s strength. Dovecrest shook his head. If they only knew.

Of course, they wouldn’t find the altar-unless it wanted to be found. It had remained a secret for all of these centuries, and had ways of keeping people from finding it. No, they would look for it and come up empty, then they would discredit him entirely. Unless he could bring them to it and show them….

He moved to the back of the cave, sat down and began to meditate. He needed to gather his thoughts and formulate a plan.

4

Erik called Pastor Mark and they compared notes. They agreed that something weird was happening in the woods, and the Pastor had also urged the sheriff to check into it.

“Sheriff Collins is trying to trace the identity of the dead man,” Mark said. “I’d be willing to bet that he’s a member of some cult.”

“What do you think of the altar stone,” Erik asked.

“I don’t think the stone’s the issue,” Mark replied. “Maybe we should go and look for it, just the same, but even the sheriff said that the stone doesn’t have to exist in order for there to be a cult. As long as someone thinks it exists, they might be drawn to this place. And the legends of this stone have existed for years, according to the sheriff.”

“So what do we do now, Pastor?”

“For right now I think we need to wait-and pray.”

“That’s as sound advice as any I’ve heard,” Erik replied. “Let me know if you learn anything new.”

“I will. I’ll see you at services tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

Erik hung up the phone just as Todd walked into his office.

“Hey Dad. The girl is dead, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. They found her today.”

“They think the Indian did it, don’t they?”

“He’s a suspect. They’re not sure though.”

“It was the rock. The rock killed her.”

“It may be more than the rock, Todd. I think there’s a group of bad men running around in the woods.”

“Maybe there is, Dad. But it’s the rock that tells them what to do.”

“How do you know that, Todd?”

“Because it tried to tell me what to do. Only I wouldn’t listen. I fought back.”

“Todd, could you find that rock again in the woods? If, say, the sheriff and I went with you?”

Todd thought for a moment. “It depends.”

“What does it depend on?”

“It depends on if it wants me to find it or not. You can only find it if it lets you.”

5

Seti wore a loose shirt that only half-covered the nasty growth that was throbbing and bubbling on the back of his neck. He felt like Quasimodo as he drove through the small town. The place was Hicksville, he thought, with its tiny one-room library, a miniature post office, and a small greasy spoon restaurant lining what they thought of as “main street.” What a joke, he thought. The new plaza up the road was larger than this downtown. At least it had a convenience store and a dry cleaners.

He drove through main street and out onto Route 102, which would lead him to Route 6 and into Providence, less than 20 miles away. He had to recruit a twelfth follower, now that Tony was gone. But the voice in his mind- which now came from the growth on his neck, it seemed, had warned him not to take anyone from the town. Another disappearance would be noticed, and it wasn’t quite strong enough yet to have too many questions asked.