Page 38

We’re here to consecrate the ground, that much is clear. Whatever ritual they claim to have discovered, it’s happening tonight. What I don’t understand is why they couldn’t leave me home to sleep while they performed it. I’m so tired.

So tired because…I haul the truth out of my drowsy memories…because Aunt Nellie has been drugging me.

A chill traces over my skin, revulsion at her touch. Just moments ago, Dad said, “You gave her too much,” so he knows . He went along with this scheme of hers to keep me drugged and docile, to control and “cure” the banshee inside me.

Fuck. Fuck me, and fuck them.

The certainty traces through me like a sickening bolt of lightning—that this gathering is somehow about me .

That I’ve been tricked, that I’ve been gullible, that I should have known better, shouldn’t have let them lull me into a dazed existence, shouldn’t have trusted my own blood, not even for one second, because when did they ever give me a reason to think they truly cared about me?

I wanted their love too much. And that was my mistake.

I try to speak, to scream, but the thoughts get distorted on the way to my mouth and they come out as garbled nonsense.

“Hush now,” admonishes Aunt Nellie.

Tension stretches between the members of the congregation—taut lines of fear running from person to person as they file slowly from their cars, across the grass, into the columned shadow of the church.

Several of the deacons carry crystal decanters, which I assume are filled with blessed water. Is it really that different from other kinds of water? Does it truly have some kind of power? It must, or the god wouldn’t have stayed dormant this long.

No, that’s not what’s important here. Focus, Cathy. Focus.

I struggle against the drugged haze in my brain. What are they doing with me? What the hell could they possibly be planning? A baptism, an exorcism…a sacrifice? Aunt Nellie used that word.

No…no, it’s not possible, even for them.

But I can’t be naive about this, not with all that’s been happening. Not with the way they’ve been treating me for years.

Maybe that’s why I believed their gentleness and kindness after that horrible episode at the church—I was so hungry for acceptance. I thought, I hoped, that maybe Dad and Aunt Nellie finally saw me, understood me. But it was the worst kind of lie.

I have to get away. I have to make my body comply. Sheer fucking force of will… Come on, Cathy, get it together…

I go limp and drag my feet, but Dad hauls me up roughly and curses under his breath. Maybe I shouldn’t antagonize him, at least until I know what’s going on. A few more minutes might give me better control over my limbs. So I walk again, complying for the moment.

I spot one of the trees that has always fascinated me—a crooked, swollen trunk with an eye-shaped split in its side.

Within that opening are neat lines of bricks, a bit of wall built within the tree itself.

Those bricks cover holes where the limbs of the God Beneath began to emerge on the night of my birth.

My dad and the deacons sealed the holes with clay, iron, and salt, and they soaked those trees with blessed water until the god settled again.

We’re entering the church now, passing through a brick archway.

Dad and Aunt Nellie walk me toward the front, where Edgar Linton and a few of the deacons are standing, illuminated by the glow of several lanterns hung from the arches behind them.

Ian Holcum, the guest speaker from this morning, is here, too, his shaggy brown hair casting dramatic shadows onto his hollow cheeks, around his dark eyes. He’s wearing a long black coat.

I shouldn’t be surprised he’s here—after all, he’s Edgar’s precious “expert” on myth and lore. Still, it’s odd. Usually the church is resistant to outsiders, especially when it comes to our private rituals.

We’ve stopped moving, and so has everyone else. The congregation stands motionless and silent within the walls of Old Sheldon Church, with no ceiling but the night sky.

Edgar steps forward. In the eerie glow of the lanterns, he looks more angelic than ever—that delicate, beautiful face, the golden curls, the fervent blue eyes. He’s wearing dark robes I’ve only seen the deacons wear during special services.

“My father couldn’t be here tonight,” he says. “What we must do is too painful for him. We agreed that I should lead this consecration service, as it will be my duty and my joy to lead you all through the next few decades as your pastor.”

A soft murmur runs through the crowd. Pastor Linton retiring is a shock for everyone, as is Edgar’s inheritance of the pastoral role. In some churches, they’d vote in a new pastor or be assigned a minister…but this congregation is anything but normal.

“There will be time for explanations later. For now, let’s open the service with a hymn,” Edgar continues. “‘There Is a Fountain.’ You all know the words.”

Through the fog and the crooked shadows, voices rise, wavering at first, then finding each other in ethereal harmony. It’s hella spooky.

I wouldn’t sing with this creepy crowd, even if I could. All I want is to get away, but I’m still having trouble focusing occasionally, and my mouth feels disconnected from my brain. I can only stand on wobbly legs and stare at Edgar, who sings with all the vigor of an old-time revival preacher.

During the second verse, his gaze swerves to me, and another chill rushes over my skin, a tremor so powerful, Aunt Nellie throws me a sidelong glance.

Edgar’s eyes burn bright, but they’re hollow, too, and remote, like a pair of distant blue stars. I can’t help comparing them to Heathcliff’s brown eyes, so vivid and warm, full of passion and purpose.

Edgar’s gaze moves from my face downward, to my chest. I’m trembling from the cold, my nipples peaked against the frail fabric of the white dress I’m wearing. He takes his time drinking in the sight of me, and all the while, he never stops singing.

Does he know what Aunt Nellie has been doing to me? He must know. My family, the church, everyone has been working against me.

I thought I felt alone and misunderstood before, but that was nothing compared to the loneliness, the panic, and the rage I feel now.

I’ve spent years fighting for some measure of control over my body, my life…

and to have it stolen from me slowly, to be so utterly betrayed by the people I’ve known since I was born—it’s agony.

It’s an unnatural violence I can barely grasp.

They’re monsters. They’re fiends. And I was foolish for letting myself believe they cared, that they were keeping me safe, that they wanted to help me.

I put all my focus, all my energy into mouthing one word. One single word that expresses my defiance, that tells Edgar I know exactly what he is, at his core: Pervert.

His eye twitches—he got the message.

By the start of the fourth stanza, I’m beginning to regain some control over my muscles. Another minute, and maybe I can break free. Strike back. Run. Maybe I’ll even have the energy to scream, although my banshee still feels shaken, subdued, drowned somewhere deep inside me.

Just as I’m about to make a move, Edgar shifts his attention from me to my dad and nods slightly.

Aunt Nellie wraps her arm around my shoulders just as Dad reaches up and jabs something into my neck.

There’s a sharp pinch and a quick cold flush of liquid along my vein, spreading rapidly through my neck and shoulder.

The sensation trickles over to my spine and drains along it, flooding my limbs with a strange floating, tingling sensation.

I choke a little and stagger.

The needle flashes in my father’s hand as he tucks the syringe back into his pocket.

I struggle to yell, to form words, but my vocal cords are paralyzed. It’s hard to drag in breaths.

“Shh, honey, shh.” Aunt Nellie is holding me still. Keeping me upright.

Shit, this can’t be good. Shit shit shit. I struggle to force out a scream, a pulse of power, anything—but the stuff in that needle has done its job well and quickly. I can’t summon a shriek; I can barely haul air through my heavy lungs, can barely manage to keep my legs from folding beneath me.

The hymn ends, and Edgar speaks again. “You all know why we’re here.

The demon is stirring and has murdered several of our own.

He’s killing off his guards, his jailers, we the dedicated few who hold him down and protect the world from destruction.

Our hold on him is breaking. If we are to survive, if we are to keep this evil force submerged and protect the world from his dreadful power, we must take drastic measures.

We must make painful sacrifices, as our Lord did, as our ancestors have done for generations. ”

He hesitates, looks back over his shoulder toward the guy in the dark coat.

“The dissonant energy of the demon’s awakening brought to us a wise man, someone to help us in our hour of need,” Edgar continues.

“He understands the lore more deeply than we do, and he knew the ingredient we’ve been missing, the element used to seal the demon away in the first place and the key to repressing him now.

We need someone with powerful supernatural gifts and a blood inheritance directly from the demon himself.

By God’s grace, we have just such a person among us.

In penance for the harm she has done to this community, she has agreed to be our savior.

Her blood will saturate the earth and serve as a warning to the demon.

Her life will seal him within the tomb forever, and he will rest there in silence.

No more deaths among our congregation—no fear of the demon rising and unleashing carnage on this state, this country, this world. ”

Her blood will saturate the earth… Her life will seal him within the tomb…