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That was over seventy years ago this spring, but I still remember it with complete and utter clarity.

I spent four weeks in a hospital in northern Minneapolis getting my jaw re-hinged and my mouth stitched shut. I know if Jones would’ve been there he would’ve made some crack about how the doctors could’ve done everyone a favor and kept stitching until I couldn’t talk at all. I miss him now as much as the day he was taken.

Catherine stopped by to see me one afternoon when I was able to speak and we talked for some time. There were many things she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell me, but for the most part she answered my questions.

She said that the thing that had tried to be born from inside me was an ancient spirit that had probably been lurking in our area for quite some time. Whether it was a spirit of the ground or water or wind, she couldn’t say. I told her about the murder of John Whiterock and she said that the possession of Justin Feller was probably Asag’s doing as well. When Whiterock was murdered it appeased the spirit and loosened its hold on the young boy. I asked her if it would have worked again, the murder of someone to release me from its grip and she didn’t answer me, only looked out the window onto the city streets below.

She left when I fell asleep and to this day, even after searching for the last fifty odd years, I haven’t been able to find a trace of Catherine Abercrombie anywhere.

When asked later about the events that happened in Sara May’s bedroom, most who were present couldn’t recall exactly what they’d seen, but one thing was unanimously agreed upon: almost every word Catherine had uttered after the thing had revealed itself had been in that strange language, even though I understood her clearly.

Other than my jaw and mouth, I had no other injuries, internal or otherwise, and was able to come home at the end of June. Much of life in Rath had returned to normal in the wake of my exorcism, but some things weren’t able to heal as most know who’ve gone through trying times.

Arthur Nimble shot himself three weeks to the day after the events at the Tandy farm. Someone passing by his store heard the gunshot and swore up and down that they heard him talking clearly to someone even though his tongue had been torn out by the root.

I stayed on the farm with my mother and father until I turned eighteen and was drafted into the marines. I asked Sara May to marry me before I left and she said she would on the condition that I come home alive to her.

I’m happy to say I kept that promise and it resulted in three beautiful children of our own along with a house I built on my parents� property after they’d passed away. We just celebrated our sixty-first wedding anniversary and the love that blossomed so many years ago continues to flourish.

I firmly believe that love is what saved me that night from the clutches of something unholy. I don’t know if it was a demon, or a spirit, or a being from another planet, but I do know that it couldn’t stand the power that love exudes.

So many years have passed since the depression ended. People fought, loved, lost, and moved on to other places, different lives. I think about that a lot sometimes when I can’t sleep late at night. It gives me comfort to know the virility of the human spirit and how much we can overcome if we decide to.

But on other nights, when the wind is cutting its teeth against the side of our house, and Sara is asleep beside me, I can’t help but remember those last few seconds before I lost consciousness on that night all those years ago. I can’t unsee what Catherine did with the thing writhing in her hands. How she straightened its body out and how her own mouth widened enough to shove it, fighting and shrieking down into her own body.

I remember how her eyes changed from that placid gray to completely white. And sometimes in those darkest nights, I’m very thankful I never was able to find her again.

17

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I turned nineteen years old the day I set foot on a boat that would carry me to Africa.

I can recall the salt sting of the air in a scratch on my temple that I’d gotten in a bar brawl the night before. The memory of those first days on the boat and how seasick I was are as fresh and clear as they were all those years past. I remember how terrified I was the first time I was shot at while entering a bunker two months later, how the bullet had seemed to whisper something to me as it passed by my helmet and killed a Corporal standing fifty yards to my left.

But I must be honest, I have never been more afraid before or since than when Catherine Abercrombie spoke those words on that wet night in May of thirty-six.

I glanced around at the other people in the room, sure that there was a joke I was missing out on, but they all looked back at me somberly, several of them with a hint of fear. Even my father watched me to see how I would react, and I realized he had been privy to all this as well.

“I don’t understand,� I said again. “Sara was the one who was sick. She had the mark and she floated, I saw her.� Sara came close to me and touched my hand. She was the only one besides Catherine that didn’t seem afraid.

“I was falling on the stairs a few days ago and daddy was behind me. He caught me by the back of the neck and I bruised there.�

“But your voice, it changed that day in the barn,� I said, my stomach turning in slow flops.

“The thing inside of you, Lane,� Catherine said, “it has influence. It can do things, terrible things. And what it does is only a means to an end. To get inside you it had to break you, it had to separate you from everyone and everything you love so that it could pry its way in. Seeing Jones die along with Sara in so much pain was the final straw. I believe when you passed out in the field is the moment it entered your body.�

I laughed. “You’re all crazy. Nothing’s inside of me. I feel fine.� But did I? I hadn’t felt right since waking up. I’d been sick, cold, shaky. But that was normal after witnessing something like I saw, right? I wasn’t sure anymore.

“Lane, I’d like you to lie down now. You can help us. Help me get rid of it since it still doesn’t have a full grip on you. If it did, you would have never allowed yourself to be brought here.�

“How do you know,� I said, a spike of anger flaring within me. “How can you be sure it’s inside of me?�

“Because, I can see it,� Catherine said.

There were several whispers that flew around the room like moths. I shook my head. “What do you mean, see it? How? I don’t understand. Dad, tell her she’s wrong, tell her I’m okay.�

My father had never looked so haggard. He started to step forward, to embrace me but Catherine blocked him with one hand on his chest. “We discussed this, Mr. Murphy. You gave me your word.�

“I’m okay. I’m not possessed,� I said.

“Lane, please get on the bed,� Catherine said.

“I don’t want to, Dad please. Mrs. Shawler…� My pleas went unanswered as Catherine moved closer to me. Sara was crying, her quiet sobs the thing that troubled me the most. “Catherine-� I started.

“Mramdal fu tunal kasu,� Catherine said, and something inside of me moved.

It was a painful uncoiling, like a portion of my stomach was being rearranged. “What are you doing?� I whispered through the pain before doubling over.

“Suto von presa. Dune vago coom.� My spine tightened and I straightened back up, feeling like a ventriloquist’s dummy under the care of a violent master. A pressure started to build in my chest and I thought for a brief moment I was going to vomit. Instead my jaw was pressed downward from something inside my throat and I gagged.

Sara fell back into her father’s arms, her hands pressed over her mouth. Mrs. Shawler cursed and made the sign of the cross over her chest. My father moaned my name, and I gagged again as something extended from between my lips.

The fingers were black and glossy with moisture. They were tipped with ragged nails caked with filth. And as they extended from inside me, I saw that they were very long and bent either way on their joints.

My jaw broke. There were two pops like knots in a fire and agony erupted throughout my face. I thought I would fall, knowing my legs couldn’t hold me up through the pain, but I didn’t. Instead Mr. Shawler moved enough to one side so that I could look directly into the mirror mounted over Sara’s desk.

A shriveled face peered out of my gaping mouth between the fingers. It was humanesque in the sense that it had a nose and two eyes as well as a mouth, but that was where the similarity stopped. It appeared burnt and shriveled, the skin cracked and flaking in places. Needle-like teeth shone between its dark lips, and it snickered at the sight of my eyes widening while it peeked out of my mouth.

Mrs. Tandy fainted, falling against the wall and sliding down without someone to catch her. Sara whimpered into her father’s chest.

“Asag, you are unwelcome here. This boy is not yours,� Catherine said, approaching me slowly from the side. The thing in my mouth tilted its head and hissed.

“He is mine until I need him no longer.� The thing spoke in a croaking whisper and I felt it readjust itself inside me.

“I know your name and bind you to the ancient law of Drindal. You cannot disavow the words. I bind you and curse you.�

“I have many names, hag. Leave this place or I will tear him apart from the inside out.� The fingers tightened and the corners of my mouth began to tear. If I could have screamed I would have then, but the thing inside me was in complete control. I couldn’t move or make a sound it didn’t wish me to. I was a puppet.

“You’ll do no such thing in my presence,� Catherine said, peeling off her gloves. The skin of her hands was covered in designs. They were drawn in dark, thick ink that swirled and curved over every inch of her fingers and palms. There seemed to be strange letters written amongst the intricate patterns, but none that I’d ever seen before.

I had a moment to realize the thing inside me was scrambling back down and then Catherine plunged her arm up to the elbow into my mouth.

I fell back onto the bed and Catherine came with me, her knees driving into my stomach and chest. A scream unlike anything I’d ever heard echoed through the room and everyone watching dumbly covered their ears and cried out in unison. Blood gouted from my nose and splashed the front of Catherine’s shirt and pants. I tried to fight her off me because now the pressure of her and the tearing of the thing inside me was too much. I was going to die, flayed apart as they fought over my flesh.

“Release him and you can go back beneath the earth,� Catherine said, shoving her arm farther down my throat. A muffled growl came from inside my chest and Catherine screamed, her face so close to mine some sweat fell from her brow onto my face.

I was burning inside. I was dying. There was nothing left of my resolve to live and I just wanted it to be over. The door to the room was open and I saw a flash as Arthur Nimble ran out. The walls were vibrating, pictures falling from them in showers of glass as the window locks exploded and the panes raced upward. Rain blasted into the room directly sideways as if it were falling that way. It collected on the wall and ran outward toward the floor and ceiling.

Catherine grunted something and I flailed my arms, finally regaining movement in them. “David! Help me hold him! It’s slipping!� Catherine yelled. Then my father was beside her, grasping my arms and pinning them to the bed as I swallowed blood and tried to scream. Spikes of pain ripped through my stomach and my legs spasmed in short kicks.

“Release him or I will destroy you,� Catherine growled. She pivoted to one side and her elbow slid past my jaws. There was a drumming sound on the wood floor and I realized it was my heels hammering out a machinegun rhythm. The thing inside me crawled deeper, boring into and through me, violating every inch of my being and I cried out in my mind for God to kill me. I looked at my father and spoke the same message with my eyes. He sobbed my name and turned his head away, still holding me down tight to the bed.

Then she was there.

Sara was beside me, her hand brushing my cheek, eyes finding my own, and even though she was afraid, I could hear her voice above the cacophony of the room.

“You’re the one, Lane. You’re the one I always loved. Hold on for me.� To this day I don’t know if she spoke aloud or if the words were in my head. She’s told me herself that she doesn’t remember if she said anything or not and it’s very possible that I imagined them entirely, but regardless the effect was instantaneous.

Catherine’s arm recoiled from inside me and the slender, burnt thing sprung from my mouth.

It slid out in an ebony ribbon of long arms and legs with hooked flippers where its toes should’ve been, and it stuck to the ceiling above the bed, the horizontal rain running over its body.

A gunshot ripped through the room and the thing flew from the ceiling in a spray of ichor. Arthur Nimble stood in the doorway clutching a rifle, its barrel smoking. Catherine yelled something and was gathering herself up from the floor where she’d landed when the thing sprung like an enormous frog up and onto Nimble’s chest.

Arthur slammed into the nearest wall and rebounded, falling face first to the floor. The thing was under him, grasping and worming in his grip as he rolled over. In that brief second I saw it had its head in his mouth and was chewing his tongue to ribbons.

Then Catherine was there, her painted hands gripping it around its thin waist. She pried it from Nimble and smoke or steam began to erupt from the places where her hands touched it. The thing screamed again and this time blood erupted from everyone’s ears except Catherine’s and my own. One by one everyone in the room fell to their knees and slumped over as if they’d been shot.

My own vision wavered and became a deep shade of gray as I tried to sit all the way up. Catherine had pinned the long arms to its sides and was staring it full in the face with her strange eyes. Its body whipsawed again and it mewled out something that sounded like a plea.

But then Catherine uttered a word I couldn’t make out and the mist that was gathering in my eyes turned black, and I fell into nothing.

16

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It started to rain as we drove along Secondary Road and I was acutely reminded of the night we had gone to Ellis Wilmer’s.

It had a sense of symmetry, the comfortable whop of the wiper blades, the darkness beyond our headlights, even the smell and taste of the strong coffee my father had brewed before leaving.

There were no lights on in any of the houses in Rath, the school as dark as a tomb. Missy Arnold sat outside her shop in the rain, hands folded in her lap. She was laughing.

We turned right on 7 and headed south as the rain fell harder. There was no lightning, no thunder, just the steady splash of water on our windshield. My father and I said nothing to one another the entire ride, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

When the Tandy’s house came into view, my breath caught in my throat. Every light in the house seemed to be lit and it shone like a ship at sea. There were three other vehicles there besides the Tandy’s truck and I wondered which one was Catherine’s. I hadn’t seen her arrive or depart in anything at Nimble’s and was curious as to what a woman like her would drive.

We left the truck and hurried out of the rain to the porch overhang but the storm still managed to soak us in the process. Mr. Tandy was there at the front door to meet us as we shook ourselves off.

The man looked a decade older than the last time I’d seen him. His skin was sallow and there were purple bags beneath his eyes. He seemed smaller somehow, as if time had shrunk him. He and my father shook hands but he didn’t offer me the same gesture, only nodded in my direction.

“Come in,� he said, leading us inside.

The house was two levels, the interior brightly lacquered wood and rose patterned wallpaper. A spacious living room sat to the left, a huge stone fireplace crackling heartily in one wall. To the right was a closed doorway to what I assumed was the kitchen. I heard Jones’s voice asking if I knew what assuming normally does, and clenched my eyes shut in several hard blinks. Beyond the kitchen door was a formal dining room with a table and chairs I knew my mother would’ve given her left arm for. Past the dining room was a stairway angling up and back to disappear on the second floor. Catherine stood at the base of the stairs.

She was wearing the same clothing as she had earlier in the day but now she had a slim, black pair of leather gloves concealing her hands. Beside her was Jane Tandy, Sara’s mother, and Arthur Nimble. Mr. and Mrs. Shawler were seated beside them. They all watched us approach looking as nervous as I felt.

“Hello, David. Hello, Lane,� Catherine said. We echoed her greeting and I tried to smile at Mrs. Tandy but she looked away almost at once. I swallowed and turned my attention to Mrs. Shawler, who’s grim face remained impassive. She gave me a quick wink before glancing at my father.

“Well, we all know why we’re here,� Catherine said, inspecting us. “I can’t say what we will encounter once we get upstairs. There’s no telling what any of you will hear or see. I will say that none of it will be pleasant. What we are trying to cast out is devious and disparaging. It will try to twist your minds into believing lies and discarding truths.� She looked at each one of us in turn. “Listen to me at all times and no matter what, do exactly as I say without hesitation. We will have one chance and one chance only to do what needs to be done.� She paused again. “Beyond that, I’ll be unable to help.�

My knees wobbled but I pictured Sara lying in the bed upstairs, something hideous inside her, poisoning her. I felt her fingers intertwined in my own, heard her soft voice saying that she liked me.

“I’m ready,� I said, and Catherine eyed me before nodding.

“Let’s begin,� she said.

Catherine led the way with the Shawlers and Nimble going next. I followed Mr. Tandy and my father brought up the rear. As we climbed I saw Mrs. Tandy place her face in her hand and move quickly away toward the living room.

The stairs creaked beneath our feet and the scent of sweat hung in the air. The stairway turned on a landing then emptied out into a wide hallway with doors on either side. All of them were shut tight, the gap beneath them completely dark except for the one at the end on the right. A slash of light cut from underneath it and another smell invaded my nose. It was a sweet burning, almost like when we would torch a clover field, only there were other scents mixed in that gave it an exotic aroma.

My heart picked up speed as Catherine reached the door to Sara’s room and opened it, stepping quickly inside. Everyone followed suit, each of them disappearing through the doorway without hesitation until it was my turn. I took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold.

The room’s walls were painted a sunny yellow, the trim and window sashes a bright white. I imagined how open and airy it must look on a sunny day when the shades weren’t drawn and the summer breeze was allowed to flow inside. There were several drawings of horses on the walls and I recognized Winnie in one that depicted the animal galloping in a field of flowers. There was a small desk topped with a porcelain dish and ivory hairbrush. Beside them was a long, burning stick of incense that trailed up a thread of smoke. The bed at the center of the room was stripped to the mattress and sheets, its width almost double my own. Heavy leather straps were attached to the brass headboard as well as the base.

I stopped dead several steps inside the room, my eyes locked on the bed.

It was empty.

I blinked, glancing around the room, searching for Sara’s slight form to be crouched in one corner or standing against the wall. But she was nowhere to be seen.

Catherine stood by the foot of the bed and gazed back calmly as my father moved in beside me.

“What’s going on?� I asked, looking around at all the faces that were pointed directly at me. Footsteps creaked on the stairway before coming closer down the hall. A moment later Mrs. Tandy appeared in the doorway, and when she stepped aside, Sara May walked in behind her.

The level of confusion that consumed me unhinged my jaw at seeing Sara up and moving around. Her color was good, her eyes were clear, and she walked freely. By all accounts she looked healthy. When I faced Catherine again, she was closer, the hands in her gloves held out in placation.

“I don’t understand,� I managed. “Why isn’t she in bed?�

Catherine stopped before me, her eyes boring into my own. “Because Lane, this isn’t Sara’s exorcism. It’s yours.�

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Catherine closed the rickety door behind us that blocked Nimble’s small office from the rest of the store.

The storeowner’s workspace consisted of a scarred oak desk and a short-backed stool along with receipts of all sizes scattered and stacked around the room. Several cases of whiskey stood behind the door and it was these that Catherine pulled away from the wall and sat on. She motioned for me to sit on the stool and I did so, a current of nervousness running through me that only amplified my physical discomfort.

We looked at one another for a time before Catherine shifted on the crates and folded one leg over the other. “Lane. What’s your full name?� I told her and she nodded. “Good solid name. Can you tell me exactly what happened in the field yesterday? It’s the only thing I wasn’t filled in on, and the bit of eavesdropping I did while that fat blowhard was talking didn’t paint the best picture.�

Despite the fact that I didn’t recall her standing in the store when Daryl was speaking, I took her word for it and began telling her in a halting description of what happened to Jones and Sara. When I’d finished, the same sensation of becoming lighter coursed through me. Even a little of the nausea had abated.

Catherine had sat silent throughout the tale and only watched me with her gray eyes. One of her booted feet twitched like a cat’s tail and she kept her long-fingered hands laced together. “How are you feeling?� she asked after a time.

â€ÂÙ¾±³¦°ì.â€�

“You and Jones were very close.�

â€Ô¨±ð²õ.â€�

“And Sara? How do you feel about her?�

My face grew warm. “She’s…wonderful,� I said, finding it nearly impossible to tell anything but the truth to this woman.

Catherine stared at me and seemed to consider something before saying, “Lane, do you understand what’s been happening over the past few days?�

“No. I don’t.�

“To put it simply, there is good and evil in the world. Sometimes they are completely natural while at others they are beyond that. There’s no cosmic balance that has to be attained as some priests or holy men would say. Bad things happen every day just as there are great kindnesses. Either way the world continues to turn. What we are dealing with here is something vile, an entity, being, energy, whatever you’d like to call it, that has a penchant for suffering. Its sole reason for existing is to cause pain and strife for all who encounter it. Now I’m not sure if it got its taste for this over time or if it was born fully evil. What matters is it has targeted the town of Rath and it won’t give up its quest until it succeeds.�

“What does it want?�

“What anything wants that has the capacity to think or reason: power. It wants control and domination. It wants to be free of whatever has kept it dormant or chained from the rest of the world. It wants to be born.�

“Born?� The word stuck in my head like a thorn. “But how would it do that?�

“By getting inside someone to break their will, make them hopeless, and take every happiness from them. Once they’re completely under its control, then it can take them off like a dirty suit and discard them.�

I had started to tremble. The image of Sara floating above the field, her neck and back arched in agony. The mark of a black hand on the back of her neck. How her voice had changed in the barn.

“It has her,� I whispered. “It has Sara.� I looked up at Catherine’s calm, gray eyes that were like clouds scudding over a gunmetal sea. “You can help her? Save her?�

She sighed and licked her lips. “I won’t lie to you, Lane, I’ve dealt with terrible things before, but none that seemed so hell bent on possessing a child. It’s tenacious and powerful, I could feel its presence the moment I stepped into town. There are no guarantees…� She paused and her face softened for a moment. “But I’ll try.�

I could have hugged her then. If not for us just only meeting and being alone, I would have. “Thank you, Miss Abercrombie.�

“Call me Catherine.� She rose from her seat and turned toward the door. “Now, there’s a lot to do before we go ahead with this. I’m going to go speak to the Tandys, look in on Sara, but I’ll need you and your father there this evening. Your connection to her will be very important.�

Tonight, I thought, and repressed a shudder. The thought of what was to come was worse than end-of-the-year tests, worse than having to go to the doctor, worse even than helping Jones muck out his barn. Jones. At the thought of my friend a white-hot ember of anger flared within me. Whatever this presence was, it had taken my best friend from me, tried to take my mother, and now had Sara in its grip.

“I’ll do whatever you need,� I said, my voice wavering with warring emotions. A tear sprung to my eye and I swiped it away. No time for crying now.

Catherine appraised me again and gave the barest hint of a smile. “Nine o’clock tonight. Be at the Tandy’s no later than that.�

Then she was gone and I was left standing in the center of Nimble’s office.

When I felt steady enough to leave, I found my father waiting near the entrance to the store. Several of the other men had departed and Catherine was nowhere to be seen. The day was darker than when we’d entered the store and the air smelled damp and foul, like it had been shut inside a cellar for too long. In the truck my father didn’t say anything, only glanced at me several times before wheeling us in the direction of 7.

“No, I don’t want to go all the way to Arbor right now,� I said, stopping him from pulling onto the road.

“W³ó²â?â€�

“Because I don’t want to risk not being here for tonight.�

Catherine must have filled him in on what was going to happen for he simply nodded and turned us toward home instead. When we got to the house I suggested we call my mother instead, and he dialed the number and let me talk. The nurse who answered said she was sleeping and that she’d give her the message when she woke.

I hung up feeling wrung out and tired but too antsy to sleep. It was nearly suppertime and I helped my father cut a few potatoes and set them to boil beside two strips of venison, even though my appetite was nonexistent. But to my surprise I ate everything on my plate when we sat down. The food was delicious. My father commented on how it was a good thing, but there was no energy behind his words. He on the other hand only picked at his food, storing the leftovers in the fridge before pouring three fingers or more of whiskey for himself and turning on the radio. The name ‘Hitler� and the words ‘fascism� and ‘domination� fell out of the speaker. These were common things we’d been hearing for some time now, but I really had no concept of how big the world was outside of our little town. I was only just beginning to realize how small I was in the grand scheme of things, how precious and delicate the bindings of family and friends were, and how quickly everything could be taken away.

I left him listening to the news and went to my room, unable to decide what to do with myself in the remaining few hours before the exorcism. I knew little to nothing about the vague ritual, and Catherine’s words still lingered in my mind. Sara would need me tonight. That much was apparent. In all rights I should have been terrified about what was to come, but the thought of being able to help the girl I loved was more than enough to strengthen my resolve. Tonight the helplessness and utter confusion I’d felt over the past days would be put aside. There would be answers and possibly revenge for what had happened to Jones. The feeling that was growing inside me was the same as when I’d killed the turkey buzzard with the shotgun. It was strong and good and I knew at the base of it all was an inkling of hope that things would return to normal, or as closely as possible to something resembling it after everything that had occurred.

No more had the warmth of the thought flowed through me when an icepick of despair slid through my chest and I shuddered. Goose flesh drifted across my skin and when I breathed out I could see my breath.

Something was there with me.

The room was quiet and partially layered with shadows of the growing evening. I searched all the corners and even dropped down to look under my bed, but there was nothing beyond a few clots of dust and hair. I waited to hear Danny’s laughter or smell the foul odor that had clogged the air before, but I could sense nothing past the crushing hopelessness that had invaded me.

Not knowing what else to do, I knelt and prayed at the foot of my bed. We only went sporadically to church since the nearest congregation was in Arbor and neither of my parents were practicing Catholics. So my prayers were undoubtedly awkward and fumbling, but my heart was in them. I asked for peace for Jones and his family. I asked for my mother to recover and come home. I asked for my father to remain strong. And I asked for the courage to do what I could to help Sara that night.

The whole time I spoke to myself I could feel the room growing colder, constricting as if the walls were coming closer. But I kept at it until warmth returned to my fingers and toes and I no longer felt the cloistering pressure anymore. When I opened my eyes the sun had dropped below the horizon and darkness was hanging in cobwebs in the trees. Footsteps approached my room and then there was a knock at my door, my father’s voice on the other side of it.

“Lane. It’s time, son.�

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“L²¹²Ô±ð.â€�

I was underwater. The surety of it was reinforced by the liquid quality to my hearing and the fact that I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning. A hand squeezed my shoulder and I flailed one arm, trying to strike whoever was holding me under. My fist struck flesh and there was a grunt of pain before the words being said to me finally made sense.

“Lane! Stop! Calm down, you’re okay. Just breathe.�

My father. I opened my eyes and the world swam.

I was in my room and the shades were drawn wide, letting in somber light. I was warm, so warm I almost wished then that I was underwater. I bet I would’ve steamed.

“What happened?� I croaked, my throat a rusty hinge.

“You don’t remember?� my father said, leaning back away from me.

I tried going back. Going back to whatever brought me here. There was darkness and pain, an awful, gut-wrenching pain, and before that a feeling of paralysis. Then images came back to me. Sara floating above the field. The stumps rushing toward us. Heely screaming.

And Jones.

“Jones, he’s…� I couldn’t get myself to say it.

My father’s jaw hardened and he nodded. Tears flooded my eyes and I managed to roll onto my side. My father held me while I cried. He stroked my hair back from my brow but didn’t say anything. When the sobs were done constricting my throat and body, I swiped the hot tears from my eyes and gazed up at him.

â€ÂÙ²¹°ù²¹?â€�

“She’s safe. She’s with her parents and hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s safe.�

“What happened?�

“I’m not sure, Lane. Nathan told me what he saw. Told me how Heely was killed, how Jones…but I wasn’t there.�

“He’s telling the truth,� I said, feeling my throat trying to close again at the thought of the stumps and Sara hovering in place. “It happened.�

My father sighed deeply and looked out the window. “I figured it was. Crazy as it sounds, I figured it was.�

“How long have I been asleep?�

“About twenty hours. I was going to bring you to the hospital in Arbor but I couldn’t find anything wrong with you physically, no wounds or cuts, and the same with Sara May. The doctor came out and had a look at both of you but said we’d have to wait and see if you woke up. There was nothing he could do.�

“You didn’t tell him what happened?�

“No. We didn’t.� After a pause he asked, “How are you feeling?�

I did another self-assessment. The pain was gone from my back, and other than the sensation that my head was waterlogged, I couldn’t find anything else wrong. “Feel okay. Head feels big and sloppy,� I said.

“Can you can stand?�

“Think so.�

He got me up and out of bed then. I felt a little like a newborn trying to walk, but slowly the strength and steadiness returned to my muscles. He brought me to the table and set out some bread, sliced sausage, and cheese. When I saw the food, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to eat. I kept seeing Sara. And Jones. The stumps. But with some urging from my father I took a few tentative bites and realized I was famished. I ate two sandwiches loaded with butter and my mother’s homemade pickle relish. After downing two cold glasses of water I was tired again but told my father no when he suggested I lay back down.

“I want to see Sara,� I said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. She needs her family around her, and to be honest they’re very shook up. I’ll talk to Nathan and see what he thinks tonight.�

“Where’s Jones? I mean…where’d they take him?�

My father’s face softened. “He’s at Morning Peace Funeral Home in Arbor. The service will be on Tuesday. They’re going to have him buried at their farm out under the tire swing.�

My vision clouded again at the mention of Jones’s swing. His father had put it up for him when we were about seven. We’d spent more hours than I could count playing on it, and I recalled how thrilled Jones had been when he’d told me his pa was going to hang it for him. The simple pleasure of an old tire and rope seemed to deepen my sorrow even further and I broke down again. My father hugged me, held me at the table until the storm of grief had passed.

“I want to see momma,� I said when I could speak again. “I’d like to go see her.�

“Sure. We can go if you feel up to it. Get your coat, it looks like it might rain again.�

We left the house after I’d changed into better clothes, and climbed into the truck. The sky was the same slate color as the day before but the ground was dry. It hadn’t rained in a while and I wondered if the storms would ever go away now that Jones was gone.

As we rattled down Secondary Road my head started to throb. I rubbed at my temples and tried to focus on the pain. It was better than thinking about Jones. When we pulled even with his driveway I couldn’t look, so I faced the other way until we reached 7. When we didn’t turn toward Arbor right away, I glanced at my father who was staring at Nimble’s store.

“The hell is going on now,� he muttered and turned the truck into the little parking area in front of the store that was crowded with two other vehicles. “You stay here,� he said, shutting the truck off, but I was already opening my door.

“I’m coming in.�

“Lane, I said-�

“I’m coming in,� I repeated. There must’ve been something in my tone that stopped him because he just stared at me for a second then headed toward the door. I’d never talked to my father that way before and it unsettled me some. But I didn’t have time to apologize because then we were stepping inside and raised voices in the heat of an argument drowned out all other thoughts.

�-soon to say anything of that sort,� Arthur Nimble was saying.

“The facts are right there for God’s sake. I mean a boy’s dead, Arthur,� Daryl Hudson said.

“That was an accident,� Nimble replied.

“Yeah, but did you hear what caused the accident? Did you catch the part where Nathan said he saw his own little girl ´Ú±ô´Ç²¹³Ù¾±²Ôâ€� in the middle of the field? That seem just a bit odd to you? How about him claiminâ€� the stumps came to life and one killed his old mule?â€�

The group of men stood around the alcove with the woodstove. Nimble was near the center as were the two Hudson brothers. Old Vincent King was there as well, jaundiced-eyes half lidded and scowling. Mr. Shawler stood behind Daryl Hudson, and Alfred Hagen, the feed shop owner, leaned against the farthest wall, shock of gray hair in disarray beneath his faded cap.

“Something’s terribly wrong here, friends,� Daryl continued. “Vince knew it the moment we heard about Ellis’s goat gettin� bit by its own young. Things are still happenin� that aren’t right, and now we have a boy dead.�

“Daryl, you need to calm down,� Nimble said.

“The hell I do! Something needs to be done. We have to find the root of this. And I think I know where it is. I think we all do.�

“That’s enough, Daryl. I won’t tolerate any more of that talk in my store. You want to spout nonsense, go do it outside or by God I’ll throw your old ass out myself.�

“You coward. I always knew you were chicken shit. Same as your old man. He woulda said anything to keep out of the war.�

“You sonofabitch,� Nimble said, stalking forward, hands knotting into fists. “My father had diverticulitis and you know it.�

Chairs skidded back as everyone stood and several people got in between the two men. I stared from beside my father, hearing the argument but unable to follow what Daryl was getting at. Something had to be done? The root of this?

“I had two cows and a pig die,� Daryl yelled over the commotion. “Alfred had ten bags of seed go bad in his storage. They turned to black mold. David Murphy’s wife is in the hospital for reasons unknown, and we all know it’s because of that girl!�

“Stop it!� my father roared, and the room fell silent. I’d never heard him yell that loud before. Every eye in the place turned to him. “What are you suggesting, Daryl? I’m getting the picture, but why don’t you spell it out for everyone here. Your old man must’ve had loose lips about what happened with John Whiterock, but what confuses me is why you’d think it was something worth repeating.�

“Murphy, you should keep your tongue unless you know what you’re talking about,� Daryl growled. He had taken a step toward my father, and though the elder Hudson was perhaps sixty at the time, he still cut an imposing figure from years of work in the field.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,� my father said, not backing away an inch. “John Whiterock was murdered because your father and Elias Feller thought he’d bewitched little Justin Feller. I’m sorry to say my grandfather was present as well and didn’t stop them. And now you’re suggesting the same thing about Sara May. You should be ashamed of yourself.�

“What happened to your wife then, David?� Daryl asked.

“That’s none of your damn business.�

“I think it’s everyone’s business if it affects the town.� The old man’s eyes found me standing slightly behind my father. He pointed. “You. You were there too. You saw her. You saw the girl hover in the air. You tell everyone the truth, boy.�

“Don’t speak to my son,� my father said, moving in front of me.

“I’ll talk to anyone I damn well please,� Daryl said, stepping forward. There was movement from behind me as Daryl cocked back a fist and prepared to hit my father. One second Hudson was there, the next he was stumbling back and tripping over his own feet.

A woman had appeared beside my father and her hand was outstretched toward Daryl as he continued to fall and finally skidded several feet before coming to rest against the side of the fireless woodstove. She wore faded jeans, scuffed work boots, and a dark, long-sleeve shirt buttoned tight to her throat. Her hair was black as coal and tied back from her face. She was pretty in the same off way I thought my mother was pretty. She had narrow cheeks and a rounded nose below two gray eyes. She was fairly tall and lithe in a way that spoke of someone who liked to run.

Everyone was frozen in place as she lowered her arm to her side and glanced around the group. Ernie helped his brother up from the floor as my father ushered me off to the side.

“Who the hell are you?� Nimble said.

“My name is Catherine Abercrombie.�

“You fuckin� bitch,� Daryl said as he gained his feet and threw himself at the woman.

Catherine moved in that funny way again. It was like watching a piece of film with a frame or two missing. One second she was standing relaxed, not looking at Daryl, and the next she’d turned, stepped forward, and driven her fist into his stomach.

Daryl doubled over as if he’d run into the hood of a car. Catherine shoved his head sideways and the old man went down on the dusty floor of Nimble’s where he lay wheezing.

She looked around in an almost lazy way and when no one else said anything or stepped forward, she glanced at my father and said, “I’m assuming you’re David Murphy?�

“I am,� he replied.

There was silence again in the store while his words were digested. Finally Nimble said, “You called her here, David?�

My father nodded. “Daryl’s right about one thing, something has come to our town. Now it might have always been here and just woke up or it might be passing through, but to be honest I don’t understand any of the things that have happened and no one else does either, except maybe Miss Abercrombie here.�

“Can I ask why she would know anything?� Vincent King said.

“You can address me yourself,� Catherine said, staring at King. “I’m standing right here.�

King seemed to struggle with something before saying, “Well, out with it then. Why would you know what to do?�

“Because I’ve performed over fifty exorcisms,� she said quietly.

This set the room abuzz once again. Ernie helped Daryl off the floor for the second time, and Catherine eyed him warily as he wobbled to the nearest chair and sat, head hanging down, shoulders slumped.

“How do we even know that’s what this calls for?� Mr. Shawler asked, his voice rising above the din.

“You’ll let me be the judge of that,� Catherine replied.

“Respectfully, ma’am, aren’t priests the only ones who are okayed to do an exorcism?� Nimble asked.

“They’re the only ones recognized by the church, but of course the church only recognizes what old, white men can do. Never women.�

“It’s not right. She’s lying,� Daryl mumbled. She ignored him.

“I went to Father Benedict in Arbor and talked to him personally yesterday,� my father said. “He knew of Miss Abercrombie’s talents and got word to her.�

“Why didn’t he come instead?� King said.

Catherine gave him a smile that would’ve frozen flame. “Because Father Benedict can barely put his shorts on without fucking it up.�

“Blasphemy,� Daryl coughed. Everyone ignored him.

“When I heard of the occurrences here, I became interested,� Catherine said. She spoke in an eloquent way that hinted at a fine education well outside of Minnesota. Maybe even outside the United States. “And I only travel when something interests me.� Her gray eyes finally fell directly on me and I felt pinned to the floor. Time seemed to stand still for a moment and there was a tugging shift within my bones, as if she were seeing through me, sifting my thoughts and memories and sorting them within seconds. She nodded in my direction and I tried to summon a smile but failed.

“You must be Lane,� she said. “I’d like to speak with you in private.�

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I stayed home from school that day.

When my father said it was okay and that I’d barely missed any school all year I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Jones and I had skipped the day before, even though class had been cancelled. I’m guessing he wouldn’t have minded but there was no reason to push my luck.

We stayed mostly inside that day, venturing out only to plant a few rows of potatoes and beans in the wet soil of our garden. When we’d finished my father poured me a dram of whiskey and told me to go lie down. I drank the liquor and did as he said, weariness nearly taking my feet from beneath me as I went to my room. I don’t remember being so tired before or since, and it wasn’t thirty seconds before I fell into a dreamless sleep only to be woken what seemed like minutes later by my father knocking on my door. He asked if I felt up to working for Mr. Tandy today, and even though I was still bone-weary, the thought of seeing Sara gave me a jolt of energy.

We took the pickup to the school and I waited in the cab while he went inside and spoke with Mrs. Shawler. After a short time my classmates started to stream out of the schoolhouse and split off in their separate directions. Jones emerged followed closely by Sara who looked more peaked than the day before. They came to the truck and I climbed out.

“Hey, Lane,� Jones said.

“Hi,� Sara said, waving a little before looking away.

“Hey,� I returned.

“Where were you today?� Jones asked.

“H´Ç³¾±ð.â€�

â€ÂÙ¾±³¦°ì?â€�

“A little. Momma’s not well either.�

“Sorry to hear,� Sara said. She came closer and looked me in the face, searching for what I wasn’t saying. I couldn’t meet her eyes in fear that I’d spill the whole story to them both right there. A moment later my father came striding toward us and glanced around.

“You all working this afternoon?� he asked. We chorused a round of ‘yeses� and he jerked his head toward the bed of the truck. “Boys in the back. Let the lady ride up front.�

The trip to the Tandy’s was short in the pickup, though I kind of wished we could’ve walked. I wanted to tell Jones and Sara about what had happened the night before and knew it would’ve come out on the walk to the farm. But there was no time to fret about it once my father dropped us off. Nathan Tandy was waiting in the barn when we arrived and before we knew it we were in the field, dirt beneath our shoes, shovels in hand.

The somber sky hadn’t lifted all day and it seemed to press down even more while we worked so that at any second I expected to see the tree tops scratching clouds. The constant sickness of my stomach was slowing us down, but if Jones noticed he didn’t say anything. My back had started to ache also. Not the typical muscle strain from running a shovel, a deeper pain right between my shoulder blades like a knife was stuck there.

A knife. Like the one momma almost slit her own throat with the day before.

I shook my head trying to rid myself of the thoughts. She was safe now over in Arbor. She had doctors and nurses and all kinds of people to help her if anything was wrong. I would go and see her tonight I decided. I knew my father wouldn’t object and it would be good to sit beside her and have her tell me everything was going to be all right.

The pain between my shoulders flared and I shrugged, trying to work out the knot or whatever was bothering me. Jones chopped at the bottom of our latest stump and soon it wiggled loosely in the soil. We looped Heely’s towrope around it and urged him forward. The stump popped free and we began to fill in the hole left in its wake. Sara worked fifty yards or so away, plucking rocks from the dirt. I took a moment to admire her. For only a second I let myself imagine what it would be like to hold her, touch her face, kiss her lips. I could see us living in a little house someday, children playing in the yard outside. The vision was so vibrant and strong, for a moment all my discomforts faded.

Jones nudged me out of my daydream and nodded in the opposite direction. Mr. Tandy had worked his way around the edge of the field with Winnie, his big horse towing several stumps to the large pile Jones and I had accrued near our side. Jones shot me a knowing grin and I tossed some dirt at him that he sidestepped easily. Mr. Tandy was approaching us and we were about to move onto the next stump when something stopped me in my tracks.

Sara was gazing at the sky again, expression blank just as it had been the day before. I looked around. Something was wrong. It was a beat before I realized the slight wind that had pushed at the trees all day was gone.

The field was silent. Motionless.

“Lane. What’s happening,� Jones said.

Sara dropped the rock she was holding and her head tilted back in a silent scream.

I started to run to her, feet sliding in the dirt. Mr. Tandy yelled something as he pulled up beside Jones, but I didn’t stop. Sara’s arms came out from her sides and her feet came together so that she looked a lot like Jesus on the crucifix in my parents� bedroom.

There was a sizzle in the air like lightning had just passed overhead and Sara’s feet left the ground.

I stumbled to a stop a dozen yards from her and watched, awestruck. She rose from the earth in a smooth motion, her feet coming up to almost chest-height. Her arms stayed straight out from her body as if she were nailed to an invisible cross and her head tipped so far back it nearly touched her spine. Jones was yelling and I was sure it was in horror at what was happening to Sara, but when I looked his way I saw I was wrong.

The stumps we’d pulled from the ground were moving.

They crawled with their many roots like squids dragged from the deep and deposited on land. The roots writhed and whipped and several stumps hopped forward in what looked like gleeful urgency. The lead stump was a large one with a wickedly pointed taproot at its bottom. It wriggled forward as Mr. Tandy and Jones backed away, leaving Heely standing near the last hole, unaware of what was approaching. Just as the stump closed in, the mule must’ve realized he was in danger. He tried to lunge forward but the animated stump was faster.

It leapt into the air and buried all two feet of its taproot into the mule’s side.

Heely screamed like a human, his bray deep and sonorous that echoed the worst kind of agony. His front feet gave out and he toppled forward into the dirt, the stump riding him down like some obscene parasite. Bright blood pumped from the wound and a sucking sound filled the air like a child draining the last of a malt with a straw.

Winnie danced around, eyes wild and teeth exposed as Mr. Tandy tried to hold her. Sara’s father was in shock, I could see it plain as day even from a distance. His jaw was slack and his movements were jerky like a badly strung puppet. Jones was backing away from the dying mule and the thing that was arching itself up and repeatedly stabbing the animal with its taproot. I was about to yell something, call out an instruction of some kind, when Jones turned and ran.

There are moments of clarity in everyone’s life. I’m not talking about a clear understanding of a situation or facts. That type of thing happens on a day-to-day basis for intelligent people. The clarity I’m speaking of is that which borders on precognition, an ability to see not only what is but also what will be in a surety that is fact even before it happens.

I saw what was to come, and in that split second my soul died a little.

Jones ran from the horror gutting and drinking the mule and passed directly behind Winnie.

The horse sensed him and lashed out with one of her powerful hind legs.

Her hoof caught Jones in the side of his head and I saw his skull flatten there, the top crowning as the bone shifted and broke.

Jones flew to the side, arms and legs akimbo, and I knew he was dead before he hit the ground.

The pain flared again in the middle of my back and it was so sharp I thought that a stump had somehow gotten behind me and was stabbing me like Heely. I looked down at my chest, sure that I would see a twisted and bloody root protruding there, but my shirt was unbroken. All the air seemed to have been sucked from the world as my knees gave way. My strength was gone, leeched from me as I struggled to stay upright and failed.

Sara floated above the ground, back arched now as if in extreme pain.

The Earth tipped on its side, the dirt coming up to meet me even as the girl I loved let out a shriek that tore at my eardrums and followed me down into the dark.

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I fell asleep in my father’s rocking chair on the porch that night.

I hadn’t meant to. I’d wanted to sit up and watch the dark for anything that might come calling, but the exhaustion became too great and I nodded off sometime around midnight.

When my father had found us sitting on the floor with the knife nearby it had taken nearly ten minutes for me to explain what had happened and to extricate myself from my mother’s arms. I’d helped her to her feet and she’d fallen against my father like a tree cut at its base. She told him she hadn’t remembered getting the carving knife or sitting down with her back against the wall, only Danny’s voice telling her that she must do it. I explained how I’d noticed the buzzard and shot it without coming right out and saying the obvious, and my father had looked at us both hard before gently guiding my mother to the truck, telling me he’d be back as soon as possible.

When the rear end of the truck had disappeared down the driveway an irrepressible sickness rose within me and I barely made it to our toilet before nausea overtook me. When I was finished, the temporary elation I expected that normally came right after losing your lunch wasn’t there. My stomach still roiled and my head hurt like someone had landed a solid punch to my temple.

I tried to fix myself something to eat, but there was nothing appetizing in the kitchen so I settled for a glass of water that I took along with the shotgun and some fresh shells out onto the porch.

The storm kept pissing down rain until nearly ten o’clock before it grudgingly moved on, sending threats of thunder over its shoulder as it receded toward the east. The scene of my mother on the floor kept looping in my brain and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t make sense of it. The bird had made her do it, not Danny. When I’d blasted it in half she’d come out of her stupor or trance or whatever you want to call it. But it wasn’t really the bird, it was something using the bird. First the goat, then the thing from the puddle, then Danny, then Sara, now the bird.

But the real question was what did it want?

I shifted in the chair, keeping my hand over the comforting cold steel of the shotgun. The wind caressed the trees in the yard, and even with the unyielding sickness and trepidation, I nodded off.

The next thing I knew my father was shaking me awake and the beginning of morning was on the horizon.

“Come on, son. Let’s go inside.� He guided me in, taking the shotgun from my hands and sat me down at the table. Without another word he started a fire in the stove and began to make breakfast. The odor of cooking bacon and eggs stirred only a fraction of hunger in my belly, and when he set down two plates of food I barely kept from gagging. He offered a cup of coffee to me and I took it from him, warming my hands that had been ice cold since finding my mother.

“Where’s momma?� I asked, trying a sip of the dark liquid.

“I brought her to the hospital in Arbor.�

“Is she going to be okay?�

“I’m not sure. The doctors are checking her over.� He must’ve seen the stricken look on my face because he followed it up with, “She was perfectly fine the whole ride there, just tired. Eat something, you look pale.�

The bacon was too salty and seemed to be made out of rubber. The drooling yokes of the eggs looked poisonous. I managed two bites before setting my fork down. My father cleaned his entire plate and drank two cups of coffee before clearing the dishes away. When he returned to the table he stared at me and sighed once before taking his glasses off and folding their bows in.

“Lane, I know you haven’t been honest with me but I want you to know I’m not upset. Your mother’s in the hospital, and if there’s any way for us to figure out why, we’ve got to try and do it. You don’t have to be afraid of me not believing you. Just start from the beginning and tell me everything.�

Even though the sickness attempted to keep me silent, I made my mouth start forming the words. They came slow at first, telling him about the night we went to Ellis Wilmer’s farm, but soon my tongue was tripping over itself and I was talking so fast he had to ask me to slow down twice before I was done. When I’d finished I felt drained, empty, but also a little better, as if a fraction of weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

My father sat looking at me, then the floor, then the window before finally speaking. “There used to be a Dakota Indian that lived in Rath by the name of John Whiterock. He had a place out near where Tandy’s farm is now, just a little spit of land with a tent. He’d been tried and acquitted of crimes during the Dakota War and had moved north after thirty-two of his friends and family had been hanged down in Mankato the day after Christmas in eighteen-sixty-two. That was the largest mass execution in US history, and John had been present for it. A few years later he’d moved north to Rath, which wasn’t much more than a group of farmers eking out a living off the land. Kind of like today.

“Now of the farmers settled here there was Ben Hudson, Ernie and Daryl’s father; Elias Feller, a widower with two young boys; and my grandfather. I can’t say that any of them took kindly to John Whiterock. As much racial inequality as there is today, it was tenfold back then. But John never bothered anyone and the farmers kept to themselves as well. At least until Elias’s youngest son came down with an illness.�

My father unfolded and folded his glasses, fidgeting with them like I’d never seen before. “The boy’s name was Justin and he wasn’t much older than Danny was when the sickness fell upon him. Now Ben Hudson’s wife, Helen, had served as a nurse in the Civil War and she tended as best she could to Justin, but his symptoms weren’t easily handled. My grandfather told me he heard the boy speaking in languages and an ancient, hollow voice that had no business coming out of a five-year-old boy. Sometimes he’d spit and curse at anyone who came in the room, and he’d sweat so badly the bed would drip from the sheets onto the floor.

“Of course this all can be a little better explained today since we know fevers affect people in strange ways.� My father’s face darkened for a moment before he continued. “I’m sure today there would’ve been a better diagnosis, but in those days superstition was nearly as strong as the racism. John Whiterock heard about Justin’s sickness and went to speak with Elias Feller as well as Ben Hudson. He told them about a piece of land out in North Dakota that had always been cursed. Crops died whenever planted, strange lights and noises were seen and heard in the woods, and time to time a child would fall under the control of something evil that lived in the land.� My father paused, seeming to judge me.

I nodded. “Go ahead.�

“Whiterock told them that something similar was happening in Rath and that young Justin was suffering from some type of demonic possession. Needless to say both Elias and Ben didn’t take very kindly to the Dakota’s thinking. They ruffed him up a little and sent him on his way.� My father stopped again, refolding his glasses and laid them before him. I could see he wanted to keep fussing with them but was making an effort not to.

“What happened to Justin?� I asked.

“He got worse,� my father said. “His fever grew and grew until no one could stand within a few feet of his bed. My grandfather said it was like being next to a woodstove that was burning green pine. Justin started saying things, terrible things to his father, telling him his mother, Elias’s wife, was in hell and was…well, I won’t repeat what he said she was doing, but it was blasphemous. A horrible stench filled the room and a mist came with it, obscuring everything.�

The smell in my room the night before returned to me then and I wrapped my arms around myself to keep from shaking.

“When the mist cleared, Ben’s wife, Helen, was lying on the ground, her breathing shallow and uneven. They took her home but she died shortly after that in the night. No marks on her body and nothing apparent that caused it. She was there one minute, dead the next. Now what happened early that morning isn’t written down anywhere. You won’t find it in your schoolbooks or in the town records. Elias Feller accompanied Ben Hudson to John Whiterock’s buckskin tent. I’m sorry to say my grandfather was with them. He told me that he had gone along under the impression that they were only going to throw the Indian around some, rough him up again, put the fear of God into him. But as soon as they got there, Ben ran inside the tent and stabbed Whiterock with a bayonet he’d kept from the Civil War. Now he didn’t kill him, he wounded him. Then he and Elias drug him out, tied a noose in the nearest tree, and hung him slowly over a period of several hours.�

The house was silent around us and I was holding my breath. The sickness and weight was back and I thought I might have to run to the bathroom again. My father rubbed his palms together and grimaced. “My grandfather said Whiterock suffered very much before he passed, and when he was dead they burned his body along with his tent. When they came back to Elias’s house, my grandfather was shaken beyond anything he’d experienced before. He’d served in the war and seen horrible things, but the death of John Whiterock was beyond any suffering he’d witnessed. He was on the verge of leaving town to go to Arbor where the nearest sheriff lived and tell the entire tale to him when Elias came rushing back down from Justin’s room saying that the boy was better. When the rest of them stepped into his room they saw that Elias was telling the truth. Justin was sitting up in bed, asking for water, for soup, speaking like nothing had ever happened.

“Now Elias and Ben Hudson took it as a sign that their murder of John Whiterock was justified. They believed it had been the Indian causing the boy’s malady all along, but my grandfather wasn’t convinced. He never told me what he believed was true, only that John Whiterock was innocent and died a terrible death at the hands of a scared father and a grieving husband.�

I swallowed, sensing the end to the story, and looked around. Morning had come fully but had grayed since seeing the promised brightness in the east. It was darker than it should have been. I was about to ask him something when he spoke again, quietly, as if he were afraid someone or something would hear him.

“I knew the goat wasn’t natural when it bit its mother the other night. Not only because of the aggression, though. You see, goats don’t have front teeth on their upper gum, not even when they get older. They’re only born with some in the back on the lower jaw.� He waited a beat before meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry if you’re scared, Lane. I’m sorry if your mother and I weren’t giving you enough credence.�

“It’s okay, Dad,� I said, nearly embarrassed by his apology.

“It’s not, though. Your mother’s in the hospital now and maybe we could’ve…� His words trailed off and he looked out the window, a sheen of tears covering his eyes.

I didn’t know what to say so I just looked at the table for a minute before asking, “So you think this is something like what happened before?�

“I don’t know. But it seems awful similar.�

“What are we going to do?�

He looked at me then and his gaze was clear and strong again. “We’re going to meet it head on.�

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The walk home that evening was dismal.

The sky mirrored my mood, clouds gathering mass and growing into tall ships that sailed across the sun, blocking it out. The air smelled of rain, but even with the promise of getting wet, I couldn’t get myself to hurry.

Sara.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her and how her voice had changed. Beyond everything that I’d seen in the passing days, everything I’d heard, what had happened in the barn with her was the worst. Mostly because it was the first time a person had been affected by whatever force was afflicting our small corner of the world. And partially because holding her hand and talking with her in private had been ruined.

I kicked a rock and it hopped down the road before me. The obscene thing she said kept replaying in my mind. It hadn’t been her doing that. It had been something speaking through her. The thought froze me to my core. I had to tell someone, someone other than Jones. An adult that would believe me.

My father.

It was apparent that he would be the only one that could help. He had seen something chasing me, was aware of the change in my mood. Even if his only reaction was to have me committed to the asylum down in Arbor, he would still be more vigilant of the things I’d mentioned. Maybe if they kept occurring then everyone would believe me.

With a newfound glimmer of hope, I began trotting home. The rain started to fall when I was halfway up the drive, but what I saw when I entered our yard was the thing that dampened my spirits the most. My father’s truck was gone. He must be out on a call. Something whispered in my mind of timing always being the worst when you needed something and I really had to agree. Maybe I could prime my mother for the talk we were about to have. I didn’t feel as comfortable telling her as I did my father, but I could at least reassure her that I was lucid and calm before spilling the events of the last days.

I steeled myself for the looks that she would give me when I started speaking. One son in the ground, the other crazy as a loon.

Up the porch stairs and into the house away from the rain. The house was quiet and dark. Darker than it should’ve been. My mother always had several lights burning as soon as she started to make supper and it was well into the time she was typically in the kitchen, clattering away with pots and pans. The silence was unnerving and it was only then that I realized I was no longer moving forward into the dark kitchen.

“M´Ç³¾³¾²¹?â€� My voice died as soon as it left my lips. A scratching sound came from somewhere deeper in the house. I moved forward, swallowing a solid lump of fear. The kitchen was empty, dank light filtering in through the window over the sink. The stove was cold, no fire in its belly.

“M´Ç³¾³¾²¹?â€�

A quiet shushing of fabric came from the next room near the hall. I didn’t want to see what was waiting for me, didn’t want to know even though I sensed it would be something terrible. But if I learned anything from those long dark days of the depression it was that you had to keep moving forward because there was really no other place to go.

I stepped into the next room and stopped.

My mother sat on the floor beside the hall. A splash of dishwater light fell on her thighs and shone on the carving knife in her hand. Her face was partially hidden in shadow but I could make out her expression and it was one of pure anguish. Tears ran in heavy tracks down her cheeks and her mouth was drawn wide in a silent sob.

“Momma, what are you doing?�

“Danny told me it was my fault. I heard him today in his room. He said it was my fault he died.� She punctuated her speech by a choked groan and brought the knife blade beneath her neck.

“Momma don’t!�

“He told me to do it. He’s still telling me. It’s the only way.� She pressed the knife against the soft skin of her throat.

“No, please, listen to me. I saw him too, but it wasn’t him, Momma, it wasn’t him. It’s something else looking like Danny. Danny’s in heaven, Momma, he’s safe and in heaven.� I knelt down, getting more on her level as a wash of dizziness rolled over me.

“He said heaven was a lie. He said he was alone in the dark and it was my fault. This is the only way.�

Movement outside the window snapped my head around even though I was loathe to look away from her.

The turkey buzzard spread its wings, balancing itself in the top of its tree. It stared at the house.

Before I could form another conscious thought, I was moving. Up and away from my mother, heading for the door. My hand gripped cold steel and without breaking stride I pushed through the screen door out into the storm.

The bird’s head was focused on the house, the window where it could see my mother, but its eyes shifted to me as I whipped up my father’s twelve gauge and pulled both triggers.

The blast of the double barrel shoved me back, punching my shoulder hard. The bird had tried to lift off the branch at the last second but there was no escaping the wave of lead that ripped through the sodden air.

The buzzard tore nearly in half.

Dark, ragged feathers flew in a puff of blood and started to drift down like black rain behind the plummeting body that slapped the wet ground with a thump.

I stood watching it for movement but there wasn’t even a twitch. My feet carried me back to the house on their own accord, stomach roiling at the thought of what I’d find. I had no idea if I’d been fast enough to break the spell the bird had over my mother.

Through the entry and the kitchen, hurrying now even if I was to see the worst sight I’d ever witnessed in my short life.

My mother still sat on the floor where I’d left her, head hanging low over her chest. The knife was on the floor beside her.

And its blade was free of blood.

She raised her head and looked at me with haunted eyes. “Lane?�

I don’t remember dropping the shotgun or hugging her. But then she was clutching me as if she were about to fall and crying, saying she was sorry again and again. I held her while the sound of my father’s truck rattled into the yard and the storm continued to roll over our little house.

9

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My mother was distant at breakfast the next day.

She answered my father’s questions slowly and with delay. He had also noticed her partial stupor and asked if she was feeling all right. She said she was, just hadn’t slept as well as she normally did.

I wondered why her sleep had been disturbed. Had she heard something in the night? Seen something? Even the sunlight pouring into our kitchen that told of the bright day to come wasn’t enough to stave off the cold pool of fear gathering in my belly.

My father offered to drive me to school again that morning but I declined, assuring him I would be okay. As I think back on it now, he was most likely asking not only for my sake but for his own to boot. I think by then he had an inkling that something was wrong and all the time getting worse, like a cliff inevitably coming closer and closer to our family.

The walk into town was uneventful, not to say that I didn’t keep flicking my gaze over my shoulder every few steps. The heat that had permeated the day before was gone, filled in with a coolness to the air that reminded me of fall more than spring, and I kept shrugging my shoulders to keep warm within my light jacket. When I reached the turnoff for the schoolhouse, a voice whispered from the nearby field and I froze, guts shriveling in on themselves until I realized I knew who had spoken.

Jones poked his head up from behind an overgrown juniper bush that hadn’t greened out yet.

“Over here,� he said again, and I glanced around before jumping down off the gravel road to join him.

“The hell are you doing?�

“Had to talk to you. We gotta skip school.�

“What? Mrs. Shawler’ll skin us, not to mention our parents.�

“They won’t find out. You can do your pa’s handwriting, right?�

“Not perfect.�

“You fooled Shawler last fall.�

“J´Ç²Ô±ð²õ…â¶Ä�

“I got moonshine.�

“W³ó²¹³Ù?â€�

“Got some of pa’s shine that he got offa Nimble back when they were runnin�.�

Truth be told, I’d only had whiskey once. I’d snuck a glassful just as I had with the coffee and run it out behind our barn to drink. The taste had made me gag, but shortly thereafter I got a real light, warm feeling that flowed down to the tips of my toes and back. Thinking I’d found the best thing since Coke, I slugged the rest of it, sure the faster I drank it, the better the result would be.

I’d been wrong.

My parents hadn’t found out, at least my father hadn’t let on that he knew, but I had never been sicker than that long afternoon with the sky spinning above me, ground tilting beneath my back, and the smell of my vomit overwhelming in the grass beside my head.

Needless to say, Jones’s temptation of shine didn’t have the desired effect he’d hoped for.

“I don’t want any shine, Jones. We need to go to school. We gotta work Sara’s field this afternoon and-�

“I seen Danny yesterday,� Jones said.

My mouth felt like the words had been punched out of it. I just stood there, a little unsteady, and studied my best friend’s face.

“What did you say?�

Jones grimaced and it looked like he was going to cry. “I ain’t crazy, Lane, I ain’t. I thought about it all night and I know what I seen.�

“Did you say, Danny?� He nodded and I slowly sat down, letting my school bag settle beside me. After a beat Jones joined me, the stricken look on his face partially replaced with hope.

“You seen him too, didn’t you?� My silence was answer enough. “Oh God, I did think I was going nuts. I stayed up nearly all night going over it. You followed him. That’s why you almost fell into the well.�

Relief and renewed worry battered me. The things I’d seen weren’t in my head. First my father, now Jones. This was real.

“Where’s your shine?�

Jones led me toward his farm on a goat path that wound through a stand of trees behind Missy’s shop and across a field that had grown over since it was cleared years before. We left the field and walked down into a hollow near a high bank that bordered his farm. After some effort of getting through a dead patch of wild raspberry canes, we came into view of an outcropping of rock at the base of the hill. A formation of stone jutted from the bank and several enormous rocks stood on end, creating a makeshift shelter from the cool northern wind that coasted through the hollow. Inside the rock ring was a gouged place in the earth, burnt black by fire along with a pile of birch bark and a stack of dry wood. A clay jug with a cork sat near the bank, nestled in some moss.

“Found it earlier this spring,� Jones said, crouching near the little depression. “Came down here a few times when ma and pa were fightin�. Was gonna show it to you once I made some more additions to it. Want to get another wall up and put a proper roof on it with some tin.�

He sounded apologetic while explaining his plans. I brushed aside his guilt at not bringing me here by walking straight to the jug of shine, popping the cork free, and downing two long swigs. The white lightning burned like unholy fire from the back of my tongue to the base of my stomach. Almost immediately the world took on a softened quality at the edges and a little of my anxiety leaked away.

Jones snapped a match against stone and the sound bothered me so much I took another swig of whiskey while the flames spread through the birch bark and started to gnaw on the wooden tee-pee he’d created above it.

I sat down near the fire and held my hands out. They were cold and the flames felt good. Jones grabbed the jug from me and with a much more practiced tip, took a drink.

“Tell me,� I said without looking up from the fire.

“After you went to piss I started digging. When you didn’t come back right away I started walking over to the tree you went behind to see if you were all right. I knew you were bothered about something, just couldn’t figure what it was and of course you weren’t telling me. So then I see you start heading off toward the barn and I think you have to go shit now and you’re lookin� for a biffy. But then I seen him.� Jones clears his throat and his normally cheerful face is anything but. “Told myself that it couldn’t be him, but he was wearing those overalls he used to always have on. Saw his hair moving and I got real cold all of a sudden.� Jones looked up at me and clutched the jug close to his side. “He changed as I lost sight of him round the barn. He didn’t look so small anymore and he didn’t have hair. He was just sickly pale and smooth like a stone at the bottom of a river. But I only seen him for a second, then he was gone and so were you.�

The wind nudged the tops of the trees and sung through a hole in our rock refuge. The fire guttered and surged.

“You were right. Something was bothering me,� I said slowly. Then I told him everything, starting on the night my father brought me to Ellis Wilmer’s. The day stayed bright but cool while I talked and Jones sat still as the stones around us. When I was done I took another drink of shine, even though my mind had started to swim a little and my vision wasn’t keeping up when I turned my head.

Jones stayed quiet for a while before finally saying, “But your pa saw it? Saw whatever crawled out of the puddle?�

“Yeah. But I’m not sure what it looked like to him.�

“What the hell’s happening, Lane?�

“I don’t know.�

“I’m not sure I want to go back to Sara’s. Don’t know if I can make myself after yesterday.�

“It’s not Sara’s place, Jones. I don’t think that’s what’s at the center.�

A little fear crept into his voice. “At the center of what?�

I didn’t answer him, just stared into the flames. After a time, Jones added more wood and we each took another slug of shine. I can’t recall falling asleep but I know I did because when I woke the sun had shifted in the sky and there was more warmth in the air.

I stirred and sat up, scowling at the foul taste in my mouth. A hint of booze still played in my head and I walked into the woods a ways to relieve myself. When I came back Jones was crushing out the few remaining embers in the fire pit.

“Think we should work this afternoon?� he said without looking up at me.

“Yeah. I might be able to write a note for you too.�

“Nah. I’ll just take a wuppin. Not like I’ve never had one before.� He grinned a little and in that moment I knew how deeply our friendship went. Jones had listened to me, never questioning any of the things I’d said, never doubting. And beyond that, he was trying to cheer both of us up. You only have a few true friends in a lifetime. Jones was the best I ever had.

We headed back the way we came and when we got in sight of the schoolyard, we both waited, trying to figure out exactly what time it was. It was close to school getting out, we knew that, but neither of us had the guts to go and peek in one of the windows at the clock on the wall. Just as we were beginning to argue who had to leave the hiding place, Sara May came around the side of the school and stood by the stairs, looking at Secondary Road while she waited. Jones and I gave each other a glance and stepped out into the open.

â€ÂÙ²¹°ù²¹?â€� I asked, walking closer.

Her head snapped around but she didn’t seem too surprised to see either of us appearing out of the wilderness. “There you both are,� she said.

“Yeah, here we are,� Jones said, looking around nervously. “What’s going on?�

“Didn’t you see my note?�

“What note?� I asked.

“The one I left beside Mrs. Shawler’s.� We both must’ve looked as dumb as we felt because her eyebrows lowered and she squinted. “You two skipped, didn’t you?�

“Yeah,� I said, not seeing any reason to lie.

“You’re lucky then. Mr. Shawler was awful sick this morning and Mrs. Shawler called off school for the day. She left a note on the door and I put one beside it for when you two showed up saying I’d meet you here about when class normally ended.�

It was the one piece of luck I’d had in several days and it felt good knowing I wouldn’t have to answer for skipping.

“You guys ready to work?� she asked.

Jones and I shared a look and I nodded. “Yep. Sure are.�

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10

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The work was easier than the day before.

I’m not sure if it was the cooler temperatures or because of what Jones and I had shared with one another, but the stumps seemed to pull themselves out of the ground. Mr. Tandy was pleased when we took a little break and he inspected our work. He told us if we got four stumps out that day, he’d give us a bonus of ten cents apiece.

With the renewed vigor of promised riches fueling us, we dug harder, faster, and chopped roots with gusto. Mr. Tandy had piled the stumps we’d already pulled out in a heap at the far corner of the field, their tangled shapes looking like a stack of dead spiders.

It was shortly before quitting time that I saw Sara wavering beside her bucket of rocks. I’d been sneaking glances at her all afternoon, goose bumps running over my skin when she was looking back. But her posture this time was off, the unsteadiness in her stance apparent. I dropped my spade and moved toward her quickly. Jones must’ve sensed something was wrong because he asked if I needed him but I just shrugged as I approached Sara.

She was staring at the horizon that had become a bloody mess of clouds snagged on the tree line. Her eyes were vacant dots sunk into her skull and her mouth was moving when I stopped a few feet from her.

“Sara? Are you all right?�

She blinked and her jaw opened wide as if she were yawning before her pupils focused on me. “I don’t know,� she said. “I feel a little faint. Think I need some water.�

I picked up the pitcher she’d brought us not an hour ago but it was bone dry. “Here, come with me,� I said, and took her by the arm. She walked beside me and I ignored the racing thoughts that accompanied touching the girl I was in love with. I led her toward the barn, waving once to Jones who nodded and went back to work on the stump. Inside the shade of the barn Sara sat down on a hay bale and I started for the house to get some water when she stopped me.

“There’s a hand pump in the corner,� she said, pointing to the red spigot and handle attached to it. I pumped the pitcher partially full of icy water and brought it to her, helping hold it as she took several long drinks. When she was finished I sat down beside her and studied her face.

“I’m okay. I feel silly now,� she muttered, her cheeks coloring. “Think I got winded and a little lightheaded from bending over so many times to pick up rocks.�

“It can happen,� I fumbled, trying to keep the conversation going. “You’re a really hard worker.�

She smiled. “Daddy didn’t get a son like he wanted so I had to fill in.�

“You can outwork a lot of boys I know.�

“You’re sweet.� I didn’t know what to say to that.

The barn creaked around us and a tabby cat slunk between the hay bales and then out of sight. It was nice just sitting beside her in the quiet of the barn. I could’ve stayed there for the rest of my life and been content. Sometimes I go back to that moment and relive it as well as my aging mind can remember.

“I’m glad you and Jones agreed to help clear the field,� she said. “It’s nice having company after school.�

“Don’t you ever have any of the other girls over from class?� I asked.

“No, not really. Darlene came and stayed a couple times but she started being kinda mean so I told momma I didn’t want her to come over anymore.�

“Don’t you get lonely?�

“Sometimes. But momma and daddy and I play cards a lot. They’re teaching me Rook now. It’s really fun.�

“Never played that one before.�

“Maybe you can have your dad bring you over sometime and I’ll teach you.�

“That’d be really nice,â€� I said, feeling stupid at the reply. I struggled for something else to say but the well of conversation had dried up. Ìý

I was about to rise from the bale and tell her I was going back to the field when she said, “Do you like me, Lane?�

I blinked stupidly at her, not daring to hope. “Like you? Absolutely, Sara.�

“I mean like me more than a friend? I’ve seen how you look at me and you have to see I’m looking back at you the same way.�

“Well…y…you…� I swallowed the knot that had formed in my throat. “You’re wonderful,� I managed. “You’re so quiet.� I could’ve kicked myself. I would have tried if I hadn’t been sitting down.

“I was quiet, wasn’t I?� She seemed to be asking herself. “I’ve always liked watching and listening rather than talking. Is that strange?�

“Not strange at all.�

“You’re the same way.�

“I am?�

“Yes. You don’t say nearly as much as Jones.�

“No one does.�

She laughed and reached out to hold my hand. I could’ve died happy then. Right there. If God had come off his holy throne and stepped down, pointing an enormous finger at me, I would’ve been able to go without pretense. Despite the nervousness racing inside me, something was happening below my midsection. I knew what it was, but there was no stopping it what with Sara’s smooth fingers laced within my own. My experience with girls consisted of facts Mills had told Jones and I on several occasions that didn’t leave the realm of scientific anatomy, and what had happened within the barn in the last several minutes.

To my horror Sara glanced down at my lap.

And her voice changed to something deeply guttural and poisonous. “Oh Lane. Looks like a little worm is standing up. Careful not to get it snipped off.� Sara clacked her teeth together an inch from my face and I leapt away.

I trembled in the barn’s doorway, ready to flee if she said anything in the baritone voice again that shouldn’t have been able to come from a fourteen-year-old girl. Sara yawned and she shook her head like a dog that has something in its ear.

She looked up at me, eyes watery and confused. “Lane? What happened? Why are you over there?�

“You said something…�

“What? I said I liked you.�

“After that. You said something about biting off a worm. Your voice changed.�

She frowned. “No, I didn’t.�

I started to argue but a coldness sank into me. It was happening again. This time to Sara May, the very last person I wanted affected by the shadow that was hovering over my life.

“Do you feel okay?� I asked, trying to keep the waver out of my voice.

“I think so. Thanks for getting me the water. I suppose we should get back to the field,â€� she said, her words somewhat clipped. I nodded and followed her out into the setting sun.Ìý

7

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I’ve heard people say that if you’re going to die, your life flashes before your eyes and everything happens in slow motion.

Time slows, not really the actual ticking of the clock, but our perception of it. Our minds speed up, synapses firing faster than light, images and thoughts there and gone in a fraction of a heartbeat. The brain can stretch time.

But it didn’t happen that afternoon in May.

I fell quickly and surely down. No time to think or ask questions. It was simply gravity doing its unending work.

But just as fast as I fell, my hands were out in the quickness that youth holds for a while. They latched over the rim of the old well and I slammed into the side, all the air going out of me.

Jones yelled my name again in the world outside, but I couldn’t answer him. All my strength was used in gripping my little handhold. My feet scrabbled against the well’s wall, slick with condensation and decay. Somewhere below me there was a splash of some debris falling. Or maybe it was something moving down there in the dark. The latter possibility gave me new strength.

With a heave, I yanked myself up and got my chest over the edge of the pit and didn’t stop straining and crawling until I was free of the well. I drew my feet out just as heavy footfalls approached from the direction of the field.

Mr. Tandy was there, his strong hands beneath my armpits, dragging me back farther from the well. Jones stood in the yard, eyes wide, mouth open like a fish.

And beside him was Sara. Beautiful Sara looking stricken and sick.

Mr. Tandy stood me up and spun me around to face him. “What the hell you think you were doing, boy?�

“I…I thought I saw something.�

“Saw what?�

“I don’t know. Something in the grass. I came to look and the cap broke.�

“Damned fool. Didn’t I tell you that? Didn’t I tell you there were wells?� Mr. Tandy sighed and deflated a bit. He wasn’t really mad. Not really. He was scared. A child in danger is the worst kind of fear an adult can experience, and I’d done this to him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Tandy. I shouldn’t have left the field.�

He considered something for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s all right. I’ve been meaning to put heavier covers on these bastards for some time now. It’s my fault really.� He smacked me on the shoulder in a kind way and moved toward the well. I looked at Jones and Sara but really all I could see was Danny pouring the gasoline over his head and popping the match alight.

“Are you okay, Lane?� Sara asked.

“Fine,� I lied. “I’m fine.� Jones tried to meet my eyes but couldn’t. Sara searched for something else to say as her father grunted and lifted what remained of the well cover back into place. I wondered what I’d see then if I walked to the pit’s edge and looked down. Would there just be infinite darkness, as if the well went all the way through the earth? Or would I see Danny’s face down there looking back up at me.

I shuddered and started across the yard. Sara turned as well and I caught a glimpse of her neck again since she’d tied her hair back with the heat. The dark mark I’d seen the day before was larger. She glanced at me and I lowered my eyes, not looking up again until we’d reached the stump we were working on. I picked up my shovel and began uncovering the roots and didn’t speak to anyone else again that afternoon.

I didn’t even tell Jones about the spot on the back of Sara’s neck that looked like a hand.

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8

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The trouble with being a family is when something terrible is bothering one of its members, it’s liable to bother everyone else as well.

Family is strong. One of the strongest things I can think of. But the weakness is the love that’s shared within it. We care so much sometimes that it can break us.

So when I arrived home that first day after working in Sara May Tandy’s field, I didn’t breathe a word about seeing Danny to my father or mother. I couldn’t. Firstly, I didn’t want to see the stricken looks on their faces by saying his name, and secondly, I’d never worn a straightjacket, but didn’t think I’d fancy it either.

So I kept my mouth shut.

The turkey buzzard was in its customary tree that night when I stepped outside after helping clean supper up. I started to wonder if it had died and only rigor mortis was keeping it clamped in place. I hoped so.

As I was staring it down, the screen door opened and shut and I heard the clink of a glass setting down.

“You want to talk to me, son?�

My father was sitting in his favorite rocker on the porch. A little glass of whiskey rested on the railing beside him, and I was glad to see he hadn’t brought the twelve gauge out as well.

“About what?� I asked.

“About what’s bothering you. Your mom and I can see it from a mile away.�

“I’m okay. Maybe a little tired.�

“Natural to be tired, you worked hard today. I remember what a time we had pulling some of the bigger stumps with my dad for the north field. It was real hell I’ll tell you.� When I didn’t say anything he shifted in his chair and gazed out at the early dusk. “Still thinking about what happened yesterday?�

I nodded even though I wasn’t really. Really it was a culmination of everything. How did you tell your father that you were afraid you might be going insane and absolutely terrified that you weren’t?

“Strange things happen, son. It’s not uncommon to bump into them from time to time. And sometimes bad accompanies the strange. That’s what makes it scary. But you don’t need to worry. Most things are harmless.�

“What if they aren’t?�

He seemed to consider this. “Then we fight, son. We fight.�

I felt the well cap give way beneath my feet again and finally asked myself the question that had been nagging me all evening. Did Danny try to kill me? Or Danny’s ghost, his energy, whatever you want to call it. Did he blame me somehow and had come back to make sure I got my comeuppance?

Or was it something that just looked like Danny?

Regardless, my father’s words were well-meaning but ultimately uncomforting. Whatever it was, either in my mind or tangible, it wanted to hurt me.

We went to bed early that night and, even though my body ached and I was as tired as I’d ever been, sleep eluded me each time I closed my eyes. I had gotten the uncanny feeling that something had been behind Danny’s closed door in the hall when I’d gone to bed earlier, and that sensation was still strong, hanging in the air of my room like a cloistering gas.

Each time I would begin to sink into sleep some noise would wake me. A creak or a crack that normally wouldn’t have registered at all was now a footfall, a turned doorknob. I held my breath so many times listening as the night wore on, my lungs began to hurt.

I’m not sure when I fell asleep but I came awake shortly before dawn, the gray tinge of light barely tainting the dark. I was on my side, facing the door when my eyes snapped open and I realized that I could see the blanket on Danny’s bed across the hall.

Not only was my door open but so was his.

My skin crawled.

Slowly I pivoted my head, forcing my eyes to focus in the dimness, forcing them to see. My fourteen-year-old mind told me that if I appeared to be still asleep, I’d be safe.

As my eyes adjusted I saw there was something on the floor of my room. Many somethings. Little heaps of dirt spaced evenly apart.

Small muddy footprints.

And they led to the foot of my bed.

I drew my feet up under me, knowing that at any second a cold hand would slide beneath the blanket and seize them. My breathing was heavy and erratic, there was no pretending I was still asleep. I had to look, had to know.

With a quick movement I sat up and snapped on my bedside light.

My floor was clean and clear, just as I’d left it the night before.

The door was shut tight.

Silence save for my breathing.

I collapsed back on the bed, not sure if I was relieved or more frightened. Had I been dreaming? My sleep-addled eyes sending the wrong messages to my brain?

I sniffed the air.

A horrid stink had filled the room, the smell of meat rotting in an enclosed space.

Like a coffin.

Somewhere else in the house came the sound of quiet laughter. But it was loud enough to know I was meant to hear it.Ìý