ceiling somehow, arms and legs spread apart, and once the red ocean beneath him drifts wide enough, he can see his own reflection in it. The sight makes him vomit, and the puke that falls from his mouth shatters the reflection, scattering the revelation of what has been done to him like a dream sequence in an old movie. He closes his eyes as the blood settles, not able to bear seeing his tortured body again.
The jukebox starts again as the V-8 engine in the parking lot roars to life.
“We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas…and a happy new year!”
He doesn’t understand why the demon has done this…this thing to him. The sunglasses reflected the whole excruciating procedure for him, giving him a show of the knife tearing through his flesh. He screamed. Oh, he had screamed! Calling out for deliverance at first, then death at last. But no help came, and death is still taking its time finding him. The creature never even asked another question, just breathed his stinking breath into his face as he cut…and cut.
Jesus! his blurred mind calls out. He shakes what’s left of his head, and something else falls out of it, landing in the red puddle below with a loud splat , and he finally drifts away.
Eleven
The clear skies filled quickly, armies of storm clouds charging from nowhere and spilling again across the sky as soon as the Ford’s tires turned south onto Interstate 81. If Marcus didn’t know better (which he didn’t, did he?), he’d think the weather had just tricked them back onto the road. He’d never seen anything like it—one moment picking out constellations and the next unable to see five feet ahead of them in a total whiteout.
Marcus squeezed his eyes tight, not wanting to look ahead. No amount of “fear not, for I am with you” rehearsals could get him out of that old church basement—the one Satan had built a portal to.
“This doesn’t seem right,” Ashley’s voice stated shakily from the back seat.
The possibilities of what she could be referring to were endless, and Marcus tilted his head in search of clarity. On a day in which nothing seemed right, he wondered what might be prompting such a statement from his girlfriend now?
“The GPS says we’re on I-81,” Heather reassured her, evidently understanding her sister’s source of concern. “We’re going the right way.”
Why Ashley thought they might be going the wrong way, Marcus didn’t know. They couldn’t see anything, and Ian barely dared take the car up to five miles per hour as the blizzard rocked them back and forth. Nevertheless, Marcus opened his eyes and looked at his watch. “We’re going north,” he exclaimed.
“What?” The statement almost took Ian’s eyes off the road.
“No, look.” Heather held her phone up between the two front seats.
Marcus looked at it, growing concern sliding down his vertebrae and wrapping itself like a python around his nervous system. “Do we trust my compass or your phone?”
Ian swore under his breath, and the sound of the windshield wipers swinging back and forth on the highest setting filled the ensuing silence.
Marcus was scared. More scared than he’d been in a long time, perhaps since the day in the church basement. The only other experience that he thought might come close was the time in North Carolina when his dad was away and a bunch of the neighborhood kids got wasted and decided to come banging on his door, Confederate flags pinned to their shirts. But that had been stupid, blind hatred empowered by alcohol. This…this was something else entirely. But what? And why?
As if reading his mind, Ashley asked, “Why do you think this is happening?”
No one responded.
“I mean, first it was the radio. Okay, weird coincidence. Then the mailboxes. Earthquake? But the diner…the toilets, the lights, the storm…” She paused, the wipers squeaking away. “This is about us .”
Ian slowly took a bend in the
The jukebox starts again as the V-8 engine in the parking lot roars to life.
“We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas…and a happy new year!”
He doesn’t understand why the demon has done this…this thing to him. The sunglasses reflected the whole excruciating procedure for him, giving him a show of the knife tearing through his flesh. He screamed. Oh, he had screamed! Calling out for deliverance at first, then death at last. But no help came, and death is still taking its time finding him. The creature never even asked another question, just breathed his stinking breath into his face as he cut…and cut.
Jesus! his blurred mind calls out. He shakes what’s left of his head, and something else falls out of it, landing in the red puddle below with a loud splat , and he finally drifts away.
Eleven
The clear skies filled quickly, armies of storm clouds charging from nowhere and spilling again across the sky as soon as the Ford’s tires turned south onto Interstate 81. If Marcus didn’t know better (which he didn’t, did he?), he’d think the weather had just tricked them back onto the road. He’d never seen anything like it—one moment picking out constellations and the next unable to see five feet ahead of them in a total whiteout.
Marcus squeezed his eyes tight, not wanting to look ahead. No amount of “fear not, for I am with you” rehearsals could get him out of that old church basement—the one Satan had built a portal to.
“This doesn’t seem right,” Ashley’s voice stated shakily from the back seat.
The possibilities of what she could be referring to were endless, and Marcus tilted his head in search of clarity. On a day in which nothing seemed right, he wondered what might be prompting such a statement from his girlfriend now?
“The GPS says we’re on I-81,” Heather reassured her, evidently understanding her sister’s source of concern. “We’re going the right way.”
Why Ashley thought they might be going the wrong way, Marcus didn’t know. They couldn’t see anything, and Ian barely dared take the car up to five miles per hour as the blizzard rocked them back and forth. Nevertheless, Marcus opened his eyes and looked at his watch. “We’re going north,” he exclaimed.
“What?” The statement almost took Ian’s eyes off the road.
“No, look.” Heather held her phone up between the two front seats.
Marcus looked at it, growing concern sliding down his vertebrae and wrapping itself like a python around his nervous system. “Do we trust my compass or your phone?”
Ian swore under his breath, and the sound of the windshield wipers swinging back and forth on the highest setting filled the ensuing silence.
Marcus was scared. More scared than he’d been in a long time, perhaps since the day in the church basement. The only other experience that he thought might come close was the time in North Carolina when his dad was away and a bunch of the neighborhood kids got wasted and decided to come banging on his door, Confederate flags pinned to their shirts. But that had been stupid, blind hatred empowered by alcohol. This…this was something else entirely. But what? And why?
As if reading his mind, Ashley asked, “Why do you think this is happening?”
No one responded.
“I mean, first it was the radio. Okay, weird coincidence. Then the mailboxes. Earthquake? But the diner…the toilets, the lights, the storm…” She paused, the wipers squeaking away. “This is about us .”
Ian slowly took a bend in the
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