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Eleven
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Devourer of Souls Twelve
TWELVEOf course, there were decent—if not really convincing—reasons for me not noticing that I was still carrying that book. Not only was I confused, annoyed and maybe even a little hurt that Bobby was buying into that bullshit, but in all honesty I was worried about him, too. Bobby was a lot like me. His asthma wasn’t just some lame wheezing now and then, he had it bad. He got the kind of attacks that closed his throat right up. They could land him in a hospital under an oxygen tent if he wasn’t careful.I’m not gonna lie. My cerebral palsy is no picnic. Everywhere I go, I shuffle-lurch-walk. Running is tragically comic. At the end of every single day my joints throb, feeling like they’re filled with jagged bits of glass. But, I can breathe. I can do things without gasping for breath.Like that walk in the woods. I went slow and picked my way carefully because, as I’ve mentioned, my crooked feet tend to trip more easily than others. However, at least I could walk that path alone.
Devourer of Souls Thirteen
THIRTEENThe man in yellow—Reverend McIlvian—took a drag on his cigarette, snorted smoke out his nostrils and pointed at me, smiling kindly as he spoke. “I un’erstand yer skepticism. Me own dear mowther usta spin me countless yarns bout His healin majesty’n grace, an that’s whot I always said meself. ‘Horseshit, Ma. Plain ole horseshit.’”He replaced the cigarette in his mouth, puffed a few times, then said, lips clenched around his cigarette, “Course, things changed a wee bit intha war. Found meself inna bad place, lookin for answers, most often’n not intha bottom of a pint glass of bitters, or intha busniess enda my service revolver. We all come to Him in different ways, lad . . . an a right pack of us need to come to th’ end of ourselves afore we’ll give Him the time’o day. I spect many a soldier’s come to Him in much the same way overtha years.”I frowned, feeling confused and wary . . . and I’m not ashamed to admit, a little scared. And when I’m scared, I get snarky. “Yeah? Wha
Devourer of Souls Fourteen
FOURTEENI blinked and jerked awake, nearly falling off the stump I’d obviously sat on to rest. A sudden weariness washed over me. I blinked some more, feeling very much like I’d just woken up from a long sleep.I looked around.The clearing was empty. The man in yellow—Reverend Alistair McIlvian—had gone, leaving me alone. Or had he ever been there to begin with? I yawned, thinking how unlikely it was I could’ve nodded off and dreamed the whole encounter.I looked up. The sun had moved on. Time had passed. How much? Enough for the sun to move. How long had I slept, if in fact that’s what I’d done? Was it late afternoon, early evening . . .Sounds.Laughing. Clapping. Singing?Hymns. People singing hymns somewhere past the end of the path, near the church . . .“Brothers’n sisters of His mercy, ‘ere in Tahawaus . . . ”I lurched off the stump (dimly realizing I still clutched that book under my arm) and shuffle-stepped my way out of the clearing and down the path. I rushed as
Devourer of Souls Fifteen
FIFTEEN. . . and jerked upright at the dining room table at home.My vision throbbed and blurred, making me dizzy. Instantly overcome by a bone-deep fatigue, I yawned and stretched. Rubbing my eyes, I looked around, muddled, head fuzzy, trying to get my bearings.I glanced at the sliding glass doors. Darkish outside. Early evening. A look at the clock on the wall in the kitchen confirmed it: seven o’clock.I yawned again, ran a hand through my hair to the back of my neck and rubbed it there, working out the stiffness. Asleep. I’d fallen asleep at the dining room table. I must’ve dozed for a few hours, judging by how stiff and sore my neck felt . . . but what had I been doing that put me asleep? Not school work, obviously. It was summer. I did all my pleasure reading in my bedroom . . .I looked down. An icy chill rippled along my spine at what lay open on the table before me.A hardcover book with a yellow cover, its pages gilded golden-yellow.I bit my lip hard enough to taste
Devourer of Souls Sixteen
SIXTEENIn the dream I was walking down the path again, this time at night. I shouldn’t have been able to see much, but the moon above seemed strangely large and bright. It cast an odd luminescence that filtered through the trees, bathing everything in an eerie yellow glow. The path seemed different. Alien. As if I didn’t belong there. It looked like the path running through the woods from the gas station to the church, but it also looked like it led elsewhere, somewhere different . . .Somewhere beyond.Up ahead on my left, I recognized the break in undergrowth leading to the clearing where Bobby and I discovered those two dead dogs and that weird altar. As I quickened my pace, compelled toward that clearing, I felt myself moving along the path smoothly, quickly, with purpose, strength and ease. I was walking with a rhythmic, even gait. I felt no pain in my extremities or my lower back at all.I didn’t look down at my legs, however, just marveled at how fluidly I was moving down t
Devourer of Souls Seventeen
SEVENTEENAmazingly, Dad didn’t wake when I screamed. In fact, I’m not sure whether or not I did scream aloud. All I really remember is jerking upright, heart banging, head pounding, sweating bullets and what sounded like a scream fading in my head.After about fifteen minutes—during which my heart hammered like I’d just finished a marathon—no sounds came from Dad’s room next door. No stirring of bedsprings, no creaking of floor boards, nothing.Eventually, my heart slowed down and my hyperventilating faded. I managed a shaking breath and ran a hand through my sweat-damp hair. I tried to piece together my second nightmare that week. Like last time, only blurred fragments remained. I’d been on the path in the woods heading toward that clearing, from which had come a strange and unsettling but also arousing medley of growling moans, grunting, hissing and yowling . . .The man in yellow.He’d been there. His face had looked different, however. Like a loose-fitting rubber mask. I reme
Devourer of Souls Eighteen
EIGHTEENIt didn’t take long to figure out why Dad hadn’t heard me scream, if indeed I had. The house was empty. Six-thirty in the morning—way too early for VBS to start, but the house was empty. I had no idea where Dad was. I assumed the church. Where else would the pastor of the town’s only church be during VBS? He’d left no note, however, and I had no idea when he’d left. For all I knew, he could’ve gone two hours ago, thirty minutes ago, or maybe he’d even snuck out last night after I’d fallen asleep. He always made his bed in the morning, so that didn’t offer much in the way of evidence.All these things tumbled through my head as I sat at the den table, staring into nothing. I didn’t know what to think or feel. Three days ago, Bobby and I had skipped the opening Sunday night services of our annual VBS to get snacks from the gas station and to chill. On the way back to the church we stumbled across those two dead dogs and that weird alter with the symbol carved into it. Both of
Devourer of Souls Nineteen
NINETEENBobby’s front door slammed shut in the wake of my frenzied escape, a sharp crack disrupting that quiet July morning. Not caring if anyone saw me, I stumbled to a stop on the front walk, covered my face with my hands and breathed in deeply, trying to quiet the pounding in my head.What the hell had I just seen?In all respects, I’m thankful that to this day only distorted, fragmentary half-images remain of what I saw flopping in that water-filled bathtub. Those fingers, fish-belly white and slimy, had sprouted from a hand and arm of the same color. It had reached up from a body the same as it. Huge, bulging and reptilian-fish eyes had glared unblinkingly from beneath the water, and . . . and . . .Gills.Several rows of them, slits on either side of that . . . thing’s neck, from its ears to its collarbone. Gills, puckering in white skin, pink around the edges, fluttering open and shut in rhythmic pulses, bubbling . . . breathing underwater.Thankfully I remembered no more
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