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A Predator Awakens

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,

doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

~ Edgar Allan Poe

H enry Postman watched as the casket slowly lowered into the waiting earth. His Maggie. Gone. The life they’d built over.

“It was a nice service.” Betsy Frasier, Maggie’s dearest friend, had been at his side through it all.

Henry forced a smile. “Yes, it was.”

“I thought Reverend Doughtry did an amazing job capturing who Maggie really was.”

“Yes. Yes, he did. As always.” A loud thump confirmed the casket had reached its last resting place. His beautiful wife would be ensconced under a pile of dirt. This was not lost on him—it was Maggie's worst nightmare.

“Mentioning all Maggie’s charity work.” Betsy sniffed as she went on. She held her handkerchief against her mouth. Henry didn’t notice any actual tears, though. “I’m going to miss her so much. We worked the Wednesday night meal service together for over twenty years.”

“I know.” He patted her arm.

“The meal is ready, Henry.” Reverend Doughtry hesitantly stepped closer, interrupting Betsy’s perception of grieving.

He nodded to the good reverend and walked beside him and Betsy to the annex where the ladies of the Pinedale Christian Church had prepared a feast featuring each of Maggie’s special dishes in honor of her.

One by one the women came by offering him food he couldn’t eat. Members of the congregation expressed their sympathies.

“I’m so sorry, Henry. She was a saint.”

Henry nodded as the reverend’s wife paid her respects. “That she was.”

He watched the members of the church he attended with Maggie and wondered what his wife would think if she knew his thoughts now. She’d probably scold him for not paying more attention. He smiled at the typical Maggie response.

As the meal droned on, he excused himself. Betsy and the reverend were busy chatting with others and barely acknowledged his departure.

This church family. What would they think if they knew his heart’s secrets? The things he’d done for love.

He trudged through the crunchy cemetery to his wife’s freshly covered grave.

Maggie had changed him for the better. But now she was gone.

“It was a nice service,” he mumbled, his eyes scanning the rows of tombstones in front of Maggie’s. “You’ll be happy here.” Her plot lay next to Maggie’s family. Many of their friends were here too.

Maggie had asked for this spot in the cemetery because it was close to her people, and there would be room for Henry as well. Both their headstones had been carved in advance. Hers read, “Faithful Servant. Loving Wife. Precious Daughter.” Three phrases to describe his special one. The inscription on his read, “Loving Husband. Church Deacon.”

Maggie told him she’d leave the third phrase blank for him to choose.

“I’ll stop by soon to see you.” Henry eyed the piles of flowers around the gravesite, a reminder of how well-loved Maggie had been.

He still couldn’t believe she was gone. How many funerals had they attended together? It seemed only natural for him to turn to her and say what a nice service it had been.

Today, he’d said it about hers. His wife’s.

He’d come home from work one day and found her in the yard. She’d been tending to her roses when her heart gave out.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you children. I know you wanted them.” Though Henry was fifteen years older, it was Maggie’s health issues that proved the problem. She’d wanted to adopt. He didn’t much like the idea. Eventually, Maggie found her children through the ones she taught in Sunday school. She threw herself into serving the Lord and believed Henry shared her passion for God.

And he let her believe as much.

Henry placed his hand against his lips then left his kiss on Maggie’s tombstone.

He didn’t return to the annex and his wife’s farewell meal. Instead, he worked his way through the tombstones to the old truck.

As he drove from the church he’d attended since he and Maggie married, he rolled the window down to let the clean mountain air clear away his sorrow.

Henry left the town of Pinedale and turned onto the county road that threaded through Wyoming’s Wind River Mountain Range.

His four-hundred-acre property butted up to the mountains, surrounded all around by land managed by the Bureau of Land Management. There were other houses past the BLM borders, but they gave him the privacy he’d once needed.

Henry never realized how much he loved this place until he’d seen it through Maggie’s eyes. When they’d first met, he’d invited her to his home. Maggie had fallen in love with the home and vast property immediately.

After their wedding, he’d brought her here as his wife. For a while, he’d worried about things, but he soon realized there was no need. After all, he’d married late in life but Maggie was barely thirty. She told him she’d been waiting for God to send her the right husband.

She’d been waiting for him. Henry couldn’t believe his luck. Maggie was the perfect wife. She loved him unconditionally and had slowly softened his sharp edges. Almost made him believe change was possible. If there hadn’t been that constant reminder of what he wanted to leave behind.

Maggie had worked hard for him and for the Lord. He would miss her. When he’d found her in her garden he’d wept, although he could almost hear Maggie chiding him. The garden was one of her favorite spots. What better place to draw her last breath?

He parked the truck in front of the house and got out. Shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare, he felt something on the gentle breeze. Something that had been waiting for a long time to be unleashed.

Henry had no doubt the good folk of the Pinedale Christian Church would come in waves over the next few weeks. It’s what they did. What he and Maggie had done when they’d lost a member of their congregation. He’d wait them out. Eventually, the crowds would trickle to only a few visits a week.

Inside the house, Maggie’s absence was everywhere. He’d allowed her full control on decorating the place how she saw fit. Maggie’s taste ran a little on the frilly side, but he didn’t mind.

He stepped to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee before opening the door to the basement. Holding onto the banister, he slowly traversed the steps. His woodworking tools and projects lay scattered around the space. Maggie used to tell him she loved the scent of wood shavings. He kept a bucket of them for her.

Henry had taken up woodworking for those long winter days when getting outside wasn’t easy.

But it wasn’t his first hobby. Not the one he’d never stopped craving through the years.

On the far wall, hidden by a bookcase, a locked door waited. He fished out the key and slipped it into the lock. The door squealed open. His past gathered him close as he stepped inside the place he rarely visited. The place no one knew about, not even Maggie. The one place where he could truly be himself.

He flipped on the lights. A dank smell struck him in the face along with the reasons for it. His girls waited for him. Their barrels were lined up against the wall. Special-made just for him. He’d carefully labeled each one. They allowed him a glimpse inside at their contents.

The faces looked out at him. He’d found a way to entomb them in the confines of the barrel so that their faces were always there for him to see. And remember.

A moment of regret sped through his body as he walked past each of them, remembering their final seconds of life. The things they’d endured. He’d been a different breed of evil back then. Their names were written on the barrels, but he didn’t need the names to know. Their faces locked in those final moments of painful death were branded on his soul.

“I’m back, my girls. I’ve neglected you long enough. But I promise I won’t forget your sacrifices.” He sighed deeply. “There will be others to join you soon.” It couldn’t be avoided. The beast had broken free again. It couldn’t be controlled any longer.

He reached the final barrel and remembered her. The first one here. Though more than twenty-five years had passed since he’d watched her life fade, the feelings he’d experienced coursed through his veins at the memory. He fought the exhilaration as Maggie’s pretty face floated through his mind. She’d almost tamed him. But Maggie was gone now, and it was time for the real Henry to return.

When he pictured Maggie’s disappointment, he suffered more regret. “I’m sorry, my love, but I’m afraid you never really knew the real me.” He spread out his arms as if to embrace his girls, knowing this would be his future, while his brain traveled back to the cemetery behind his church.

He’d always wondered what the final passage would be on his gravestone. Now he knew. Loving Husband. Church Deacon.

Serial Killer.