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“Ah, it’s sad what Amber Hughes is putting her parents through. It’s hit them hard. But you cut and run when you don’t want this life, this small town family. Amber wasn’t the first runaway to leave Hart Hollow, and she won’t be the last. The best we can do is pray for her soul. Pray she finds her way back home, or to her own version of home.”
“I guess you’re in the right business to not have to worry about that kind of thing, huh?” I said, setting my fork down. I was done with the dinner, ready to get to the dance.
“And what kind of thing is that?” Deacon Rex asked, turning his head to one side. Now he looked like the dog.
I grinned when I spoke, and Valerie glared at me, as if she knew what I would say next. “Well, you’re celibate. No children. So you never have to worry about them.”
Deacon Rex grinned, and I could see the malice there. “My parish is my children. God’s children are my children. And I love them all, so very much.”
Before I could speak—a red remark on my tongue—a distant cry from outside made us all turn toward the front window. The scream was inhuman, a shrill sound coming from the direction of the road. We all stood, and after, I would remember their faces. Valerie looked concerned. Deacon Rex looked like an actor in one of the school plays I’d sat in on in the gym during my free period.
“It’s likely a coyote,” Deacon said, sniffing the air as I had, an almost imperceptible movement. I watched Valerie leave the table, rushing toward the hallway that led to the front door, drawn to the sound.
The shriek sounded again, and she walked faster. I followed, down the hallway, crowding Valerie as she opened the front door of the grand home and took a few steps onto the front porch. I brushed past her, shielding her.
When Deacon Rex and I reached the front steps, I saw something on the road beyond the front gate. I could see better in the dark than most. It’s why I didn’t fear walking the town at night. The shape moved slowly—almosttwitchy—and behind me I felt Valerie sway backward slightly. After steadying her, I shoved the Deacon aside as I rushed down the steps, skidding to a halt when I saw dark hair and long legs. It wasn’t a dog, but something else. Something bigger. “Don’t go down there,” I said, and I turned to see Valerie next to me, her face white.
I glanced back to the house and saw the Deacon standing at the door, one hand on his cane, the other brushing his long hair from his face. His brow was pinched, as if his eyes were narrowed at me.
The night swelled with the autumn chill, with fear, with a gnawing feeling that we were being watched by the thing struggling in the road. I hummed with a desire to help whatever it was.
Deacon Rex called down to us. “Don’t go down to the road. I’ll call the game warden or the Sheriff.”
“What will they do?” Valerie asked. We were still like children in some ways regarding the workings of society and the roles others played.
“They’ll put it down. Put it out of its misery,” Deacon Rex said, walking down the steps to the well-manicured lawn, one slow step at a time. I felt like I was still watching an actor in a play, that he didn’t belong there in such a beautiful place.
Everything about the home was in sharp contrast to another piece. The windows were eyes watching, the round church quarters beautiful and haunting with the stained glass windows. The front step was grand, and the interior pristine in some places and derelict in others.
Vines crawled to the east side, searching for the sun.
When Deacon Rex reached us, he placed a hand on Valerie’s other shoulder. I took my hand from her, and it almost looked like he smiled.
The shriek came again, but this time it sounded far away. We all looked to the road, and the dark mass was gone.
“Oh my. Oh, where did it go?” Valerie asked.
“I don’t know, but we better get inside in case it comes back. They’re tricky animals. They try to lure their prey out. But, we’re smarter than that.” Deacon Rex’s voice was far away.
Everything about him gnawed at my senses and made me feel irrational anger. He reminded me of Markus, though Markus looked like a dulled version of the Deacon.
I wanted to sketch him, immortalize the small ticks I saw, the moments when his facade dropped.
I would draw his true face one day, which would be what my nightmares had foretold.
The omens I carried in my blood.
I stood still on the lawn, staring at his broad back as he walked across his lawn, unseeing eyes trained on the town over the hill. I knew he felt me.
I spoke with a firm voice, looking at Valerie. “I need to get to the dance,” I said, pointing to my watch.
The Deacon turned, a smile on his face when he glanced at Valerie. “I’ll grab your coat, Valerie. I won’t keep you,” he said.
Not this time.
The words echoed in my head, unsaid, but heard by some part of me I hadn’t woken.
Hehadn’t woken.
