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Devourer of Souls Six
SIXTuesdayI hid my worries for two days. After we’d finished dinner Tuesday night and I’d washed the dishes, Dad was relaxing in the den watching the Mets with his nightly post-dinner beer. I worked up the nerve to poke my head around the corner. “Dad . . . got a minute?”Dad always listened to me, taking everything I said seriously, never treating me like a kid. Even if the Yankees were playing the Mets at Shea Stadium and it was the bottom of the ninth, he’d block it out and listen. I’ll always be grateful for that.Which makes me feel even worse about how I’ve turned out.Anyway he stood, walked to the television and shut it off, sat back down and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”“I won’t end up like Jake Burns someday, will I? And you won’t ever be like his dad . . . will you?”Dad sat forward, frowning slightly. “What brings this on? You guys aren’t havin’ any troubles with Jake, are you? I mean, any more’n usual.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “His dad isn’t . . . ”I shook
Devourer of Souls Seven
SEVENDespite Dad’s reassurances that night, I had a nightmare, one of the worst I’d ever had. We were all back at the Commons Yard Sale—me, Kevin and Jake—standing before Mr. Trung’s table. I couldn’t move, frozen in that way we usually are in nightmares. The air felt thick and humid. Everything sounded muffled, as if we stood underwater.Chanting guttural words, Mr. Trung laid tiles out in overlapping rows. I couldn’t see the engravings on them because they blurred and moved across the ivory. He laid the tiles, arranging them, preparing them . . .For us to play.Then Mr. Trung stopped his strange, gurgling song. He stared at each of us in turn. I desperately tried to move my arms, legs, head, something, but I couldn’t. I was locked in place, joints frozen, feet rooted to the ground. Mr. Trung’s eyes—much larger and a deeper black than I’d ever seen—seemed to peel back layers of me until I felt raw, exposed and quivering beneath his gaze.Mr. Trung reached into the black wooden
Devourer of Souls Eight
EIGHTWednesdayI didn’t realize until breakfast when my sister Amy asked what I’d done with the blueberries that I’d forgotten to stop by Mr. Trung’s on the way home from fishing Saturday. Dad had already left for work so Amy felt the freedom to call me several choice names, questioning the number of chromosomes I’d been born with. I basically told her to “shove it.”But I knew how much Dad loved blueberry pie. Eager to keep him in a good mood so I could attend that night’s showing of The Creature from the Black Lagoon at Raedeker Park, I finally told Amy very kindly to “shut your cake-hole, I’ll get the damned blueberries.” She then threatened to tell Dad I’d said “damned.” I countered with a threat to tell Dad about the older boy she’d been dating on the sly from Webb County Community College (Amy was only a junior in high school). That pretty much sealed everything up in a tense truce, so I left the house that morning feeling pretty damned productive, indeed.So damned producti
Devourer of Souls Nine
NINEAfter dropping the blueberries off at home (and telling myself over and over that Mr. Trung hadn’t seen me hiding in his bushes) I pedaled to Bobby Drake’s farm to bale hay. Bobby’s dad ran a dairy farm just outside town. That’s where most of us earned our cash. It was pretty much an all-summer occupation. With Kevin still most likely chopping firewood it was just me and Bobby and Bobby’s younger brother Matt . . . and, well, the last person I expected to see: Jake. Of course, Jake’s family needed the money—his dad out of work again—and Mr. Drake always welcomed the extra help.We all arrived in front of the Drake barn around ten. Mr. Drake pulled his tractor out, hitched up one of his wagons. We clambered on and trundled off. We usually worked until we filled that wagon, then afterward we’d hitch up an empty wagon, work straight until noon and break for lunch, which Mrs. Drake always packed into a cooler for us.Then we’d get back to work. Once we filled the wagons, we’d retur
Devourer of Souls Ten
TENI met Bill Ward at Raedeker Park around seven. The Creature from the Black Lagoon started at eight, so we bought some hotdogs from the concession stand and walked through the zoo, because they always offered free admission an hour before the weekly movie. Raedeker Recreational Park wasn’t just an athletic field and a playground. It was a collection of various attractions on the west end of town. Down Barstow Road past the New York State Electric and Gas Payment Center, left onto Samara Hill and about two miles up on the right sprawled Raedeker Recreational Park. Upon entering, if you went straight, you’d take a winding road descending to Raedeker Park Zoo.The zoo wasn’t that impressive. It offered only a moderate collection of animals, always permeated by a mild air of dilapidation, constantly under a renovation that never seemed to end. According to Dad, it started to go downhill years ago after it suffered a rash of weird accidents. First, a train ride derailed, resulting in m
Devourer of Souls Eleven
ELEVENI’d always loved Creature from the Black Lagoon, even though I’d already seen it several times before on Channel 34’s Sunday afternoon cinema. It was campy and a bit silly, overacted, and I was well old enough to know the monster was a guy in a rubber suit . . .But despite that, something in the beginning gave me a bad turn that night. After Dr. Maia (played by Antonio Moren), discovered the petrified hand-fossil of the Creature’s ancestor, the live Creature reached menacingly out of the Amazon’s waters to scrape its claws on the bank. It was an amazingly effective shot despite the brassy musical score accompanying it. The only thing shown is that webbed claw, looking terribly life-like in black and white (to an imaginative fourteen year old, anyway), reaching out of the water and clawing the bank, almost as if it was marking its territory.But the jolt I suffered that night had little to do with cinematography and to do more with the images conjured in my head of something
Devourer of Souls Twelve
TWELVEI squeezed my bike’s handbrakes, slowing to a stop. “Jake,” I said, feeling oddly calm, for some reason. “What’s up?”He shrugged, his face weirdly blank in the yellow glow of the streetlights.“Were you at the movie? Didn’t see you.”He shook his head. “Nah. I . . . uh, had some thinkin’ to do. About stuff. Hey,” he leaned over his handlebars, face finally coming alive, looking eager, nervous, maybe excited . . . and . . .Yes.Afraid.“Listen. I’m gonna do somethin’ tonight. I need help. Someone to watch out. Could . . . could you go with me? I’m sorry for the way I freaked out in the woods Saturday. I just . . . I need your help, man. Need you to watch out for me.”I stared at him: his brow furrowed, jaw firm, a vein pulsing on his temple, eyes wide and glimmering. I knew where he wanted to go but I asked anyway. “Where?”And then I saw it, creeping back into his face as a gradual sneer—that old Jake Burns look, but with something else burning his eyes.Hate.Absol
Devourer of Souls Thirteen
THIRTEENI’m still not sure why I followed Jake out to Mr. Trung’s. Dad had set pretty firm rules for the night. I could go to the weekly movie on my bike alone, so long as I returned home by eleven, allowing for some dawdling after the movie and the ride home. But here I was, flying down Bassler Road behind Jake Burns at what had to be eleven already.Usually Dad went to bed before us because he had to report to the lumber mill by five, but who knew? Maybe he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Maybe he’d wait up and when I didn’t come home like I was supposed to he’d wait up some more, come out looking for me or call the sheriff, even. Worse, maybe Amy had come home early, noticed my absence and in true big-sister fashion, ratted me out. Could be either of those fates was in store.Or maybe neither of them. Maybe Dad had gone to bed as usual—around 8:00, right after his nightly beer—and had fallen hard asleep like always. Maybe Amy was still out with her friends and wouldn’t get home until
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Devourer of Souls Coda
CODAThe welcome sign for Tahawus is up ahead on the right. A glance at the dashboard clock on my JEEP shows that, indeed, it is only about forty minutes away from Clifton Heights. I find that hard to believe. It feels like we’ve been driving for hours. Of course, I’ve learned in my few years in the Adirondacks that the back roads feel endless, surrounded on both sides by thick, seemingly impenetrable stands of Adirondack pine. A thirty minute drive to Old Forge feels like an hour and half, most days.As I slow for the turn-off, I glance at Father Ward in the passenger seat. He sits with Nate Slocum’s journal in his lap, staring out the window. He’s been quiet for most the trip. I don’t blame him. His encounter with Stuart Michael Evans sounded harrowing. Of course, he’s now telling himself that clicking sound from Stuart fleeing the confessional booth must’ve been his walker, and not . . . something else. That Stuart had suffered some sort of hysterical break instead of . . .Chang
Devourer of Souls Twenty-Three
TWENTY-THREENowFortunately not everyone in town was at church that night. A scattered few—those devoted non-attendees our faithful little town tolerated—had of course been at home. Some of them were volunteer firemen. They were the ones who found me in the basement the next morning.“Somehow I didn’t break my neck falling down those stairs. The heat and the smoke of course rose and enough of the floor held and didn’t collapse on me. I ended up spending only a week over at Clifton Heights General for mild injuries and smoke inhalation. I did, however, suffer ligament damage in my knees and ankles from the fall, exacerbated because of my CP. For several weeks I got around first in a wheel chair, then with a walker.”I sat back in the confessional booth, speechless, deeply concerned for the poor man’s soul, wondering about his sanity . . .Except.I distinctly remembered the burning of Tahawus Methodist Church, the summer after my senior year in high school. My father had helped o
Devourer of Souls Twenty-Two
TWENTY-TWOEver see the movie Backdraft, Father? By the summer of my senior year, everyone including me had. A good enough movie, it was mostly forgettable, except there’s this scene in which one of the fireman characters mistakenly opens a door without checking the knob for heat first. When he opens the door, his ass gets fried by a huge gout of flame. A backdraft, caused by the sudden rush of oxygen.Now, I’m not exactly sure if that’s what I was trying to accomplish. Point in fact, I didn’t end up causing a backdraft. For that you need a smoldering fire that’s used up all the oxygen in a room. But hey—I wasn’t a firefighter or arsonist. I was a scared and pissed off (but mostly scared) eighteen year old trapped in a room with no way out. The door was guarded and it didn’t matterby whom, because I wasn’t gonna be waltzing by them any time soon.That chanting was getting louder. Weirder. The words all jumbled and mixed together, like from my nightmare of what I’d seen in that clear
Devourer of Souls Twenty-One
TWENTY-ONEThroughout his entire talk with me, the muffled sound of hymns had drifted from the sanctuary through the storeroom door. When he left, the hymns rose into a crescendo, exploding into a chanting the likes of which I’d never heard before. His voice boomed in that strange language I remembered from my dreams. I imagined him striding up onto the stage, arms spread high into the air, yellow suit blazing with unnatural light, the flesh on his face hanging loose as the thing that hid behind it got closer to finally coming out.I hauled myself to my feet, gasping at the pain exploding in my ankles and knees, gritting my teeth against a sudden surge of bile. Somehow I managed not to puke, leaning back against the shelf, gasping for air, trying to gather my resources for one last final . . .What?What could I possibly do? The man in yellow had covered all the angles. Had obviously planned this whole thing out long before he’d come here. Hell, he’d done it before, apparently, in
Devourer of Souls Twenty
TWENTYWhen I awoke I found myself lying face first on a thinly carpeted floor. My head pounded, feeling about twice its normal size, throbbing behind my eyes. I licked dry, cracked lips and felt my stomach heave.I felt enormously tired. Fuck it all, right? I didn’t understand any of this. Didn’t understand why it was happening. How it could happen so fast. How apparently a quaint little Adirondack hamlet had turned into a compound full of crazed cult members in just several days . . .Of course, you’re assuming it didn’t start quietly, long ago.. . . I barely understood what was really going on beneath the surface of things . . .We’re going to be over into His Unknowable image.. . . and I wasn’t sure I cared much, anymore. My best friend or what remained of him was good as gone. My preacher Dad had not only gone full-on religious-nut-loony, he’d apparently set Bobby and me up as targets or even (fucking unbelievable) sacrifices to invite the man yellow into our town. If the
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
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 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 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
