Nephilim Genesis of Evil Page 12

  Joan agreed and hung up with a forced laugh. The emptiness of the sound stayed with Myrtle long into the night.

  CHAPTER 25

  Nicholas D’Angelo awoke to severe pounding in his head, and something cool and clammy on his cheek. He thrashed a hand out, swiping at his face. Flecks of soft dirt and rotted leaves fell to the ground. The commotion of his flaying about stirred the branches and leaves in the bushes where he lay hidden, the sound loud in the hush of the forest. But suddenly what happened before he fainted came rushing back, hitting him like a bullet through his chest.

  He had been with Mick. They had been watching the fisherman and the man from the café. The two men had been doing some kind of weird ceremony. They had seen him and Mick.

  Mick.

  Nicholas peeked through the shrubbery with a dreadful thought. If the men were still out there, his panicky movement had just given himself away.

  Night was full and he could see nothing. He breathed shallowly, listening. Nothing. He sat for a moment, unsure of what to do. His head throbbed.

  “Mick?” His whisper was husky with fright.

  He waited a full five minutes, eyes darting at every imagined sound. But the woods stayed silent. His friend didn’t appear. And neither did the two men.

  With each passing moment, fear tied itself into a net that wrapped even more tightly around his heart. He remembered seeing the horror of the ceremony and a dangerous force descend upon the clearing. It had been pure evil. He could not shake the look on the fisherman’s face as he turned when Nicholas cried out. It was a painting of all the horrors of hell.

  Then he watched what the man did to Mick. How his friend had screamed! It cut through him, that penetrating terror. Horrified, he’d stumbled backwards and slid down a ravine and must’ve hit his head on a rock. Then blackness until he awoke.

  Now his head pounded hideously, and when he felt the back of his head. Along with the lump from this morning, where his father hit him, there was a new lump that had bled profusely, but was now clotted into a scab. It hurt when he touched it. It felt like he had a hangover, but a hangover never felt like this. The pain reminded him of the time his father shoved him down into the basement. He had lost his balance and tumbled down the wooden stairs, landing in a tangled mess on the concrete floor, blood spurting from his skull. This pain wasn’t as bad as that. But it was close.

  Time crept by. He needed to force himself from the bushes, but fear paralyzed him.

  After what felt like an eternity he crawled out of his hiding place and stood up. He couldn’t see a thing around him except the trees, and he heard nothing. Not even an owl. Stars began their evening appearance, and the moonlight slipped through the trees, coating everything in a milky white aura.

  He inched up the slope and back toward the clearing, straining to make out any movement. He shook from head to toe. Suddenly the moon disappeared behind clouds. He found himself in almost total darkness. He reached out and touched a tree trunk. He shuffled his feet forward, stirring the leaves and dry pine needles noisily. He stopped, waiting for an attack from the fisherman, but none came.

  Growing bolder, he moved ahead, not as worried now. If the men were there, they would’ve got him by now, he reasoned. He was safe from them.

  But where was Mick? What did the fisherman do to him?

  Nicholas called out again, this time a little louder.

  Silence.

  He made his way to the edge of the clearing. Moonlight slithered out of the darkness, bathing the forest in pallid shadows. The two men had disappeared. And so had Mick. All that remained was a dark circle in the middle of the clearing, and a sickening smell that turned Nicholas’ stomach.

  Then he felt terror curling itself around him. He threw a hand over his mouth, stifling a scream. He flung himself backwards, away from the clearing. His hands clawed the ground and his feet skidded for purchase until he backed himself into a tree. He leapt to his feet and hurled himself further away from the menacing presence that infiltrated the clearing.

  He let out a moan.

  Then he fled.

  He ran, terrified of the night. Every noise was the fisherman coming to get him. The blackness held him in its grip, and he ran blindly. The trees looked foreboding, and he soon stopped, dizzy and winded. He sat down heavily, put his head in his hands, and wept. After what seemed like hours, he crawled under an outcropping of rocks. He lay there trembling in the darkness, the nightmare of what happened in the clearing playing out like a hazy movie.

  Time crept on, but he did not move. Even as the darkness gave way to dawn, and the hulking forms surrounding him became trees again, he did not move. Finally, when the heat of the sun soaked its way into his weary soul, Nicholas edged his way from his hiding place. Still shaking, he began walking. His head throbbed and he felt nauseous. He didn’t know where he was, or where he was going. He just knew he needed to go somewhere.

  CHAPTER 26

  At dawn the next morning, Ed, Samuel and Mick stood inside Ed’s cabin. The two men and the boy knew nothing. Since the time of their inhabitation, what was once their essence, their vitality, their soul, had ceased to exist. But inside them, something else lived and thrived. And communicated. Evil drifted between them like gray smoke. Ed stood up and went outside, followed by Samuel and Mick.

  They didn’t need to speak. Their mission was clear.

  The three trudged out into the woods with no clear direction, but with a goal in mind. They were hunters stalking prey. Human prey. They did not speak to one another. They did not notice their surroundings, the stillness of the woods, broken only by the sound of their feet falling methodically to the ground, rustling the dirt and leaves. They did not notice that the birds, usually greeting the light with pleasant songs, had fled.

  Soon, voices floated through the clear air.

  Ed stopped and cocked his head, discerning where the sound was coming from. Samuel and Mick waited submissively behind him. Then they started marching again in the direction of the noise.

  They climbed a ridge and waited. Down the hillside, two middle-aged men chatted loudly as they followed a path up the hillside. They both wore khaki shorts, sturdy climbing boots, T-shirts, and backpacks.

  Ed watched them. Inside him the spirit seemed to salivate. More sacrificial lambs, ready to assume their roles.

  The hikers had set a brisk pace and were making good progress, and they were focused on the increasing elevation of their journey and on their conversation. After traversing a rocky incline, they stopped and both took long swigs from water bottles. One hiker surveyed the landscape around them while the other knelt to retie his boots. The first man took off his cap and wiped his forehead while his companion finished with his boots and stood up. They started off again. Neither noticed the two men and the boy on the ridge watching them.

  The hikers continued. Ed, Samuel, and Mick stalked them, gaining ground above them until they were able to enter the path in front of the two hikers.

  “Man, you scared me!” the first hiker said in a deep voice. His bearded face was deeply tanned and glistened with sweat. He took his cap off again and wiped his entire face.

  The second hiker, taller and thinner than his stockier friend, halted and rested his hands on his knees. Both breathed heavily from the exertion of the trail.

  “What’s up there, bud?” the second hiker asked, slinging his pack off and resting it against the trunk of an aspen tree. “You lost or something?”

  The first hiker dropped his pack as well. He stretched for a moment, bending at the waist and touching his toes. Then he sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “Smells like someone could use a shower,” he said out of the side of his mouth.

  His friend tried unsuccessfully to use his hand to hide his smile. “Shut up, Lewis,” he muttered back. But Ed didn’t notice the hiker’s expression, or what he was saying.

  Samuel joined Ed. They stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the path. Behind them, Mick stood like a soldier at att
ention. They said nothing, just stared at the hikers.

  “You guys okay?” The man with the cap, Lewis, took a step forward, holding one hand to his nose. He scrutinized Ed’s features. “I don’t know about these guys, Howie,” he said with a grimace.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Howie asked.

  Ed raised his hand to Lewis.

  “Are you him?” Ed said in a lifeless voice.

  Lewis scanned Ed’s face closely. “Who’re you looking for?”

  “The one who prepares the dead.” Ed lowered his arm and waited.

  “What?” Lewis shuffled backward a few feet away like he’d been punched. He scratched at his beard, peering at Ed.

  “What does that mean?” Howie asked. “Dude,” he nodded his head at Samuel, “I think your friend needs to get some help. And what about him?” he pointed at Mick.

  Samuel’s gaze was focused somewhere between the two hikers. Mick remained impassive.

  “Hel-lo.” Howie stretched the word out, waving a hand in front of Samuel’s impassive face.

  “Hey, be careful,” Lewis said. He reached out and tugged at Howie’s arm. “Maybe we should leave these guys alone.”

  “No, we should call for help.” Howie dug into his pocket and extracted a cell phone. “These guys seem like loonies. They probably got lost out here, and they’re tired and hungry. Get them some water.”

  As Lewis reached for water in his backpack, he said, “You won’t get a signal up here.”

  Howie pushed buttons on the phone, then he stuffed it away in frustration. “You’re right.”

  Lewis found a water bottle and held it out to Ed. “Maybe this’ll help you.”

  Ed turned to Howie. “You are the one who prepares the dead.”

  Both hikers studied him. Ed’s eyes flicked between them.

  “So you say,” Howie said. He took on a laidback demeanor, trying to appear non-threatening. “Why don’t we get you guys some help, okay?”

  “You.” Ed focused on Howie, willing the hiker to meet his gaze.

  “Hey,” Howie began, but his voice drifted off. His eyes locked with Ed’s. Howie felt himself say to his mind: look away. Look away! But he couldn’t.

  “I call you,” Ed said.

  “Yes.” Howie uttered the one word, but his jaw kept moving, as if he were trying to form more words, but no sound came out of his mouth.

  “Howie?” Lewis moved forward quickly, but a terrorizing glare from Ed made him freeze. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

  Howie continued to stare at Ed. His jaw worked silently. But his mind was screaming for Lewis to rescue him. Howie knew his life was being sucked out of him, pulled out into the dead eyes of the man standing before him. He knew this, but was powerless to do anything.

  “It is time.” Ed’s intense gaze penetrated Howie’s being.

  “Yes,” Howie said, succumbing to the pressure that overwhelmed him. His arms went limp at his sides.

  Ed turned to Lewis. “You.”

  “What are you doing to us?” Lewis asked in a shaky voice. He dropped the water bottle and took one step back.

  But Ed’s hypnotic presence was too much for him. Lewis gave up his mortal self without a fight. He let himself drift into Ed, and it wasn’t until an unbearable pain seared his very core that he tried to struggle against the force invading him. But it was too late.

  “I call you,” Ed said.

  Lewis nodded.

  “Come.”

  Ed gestured at the two hikers, and they shuffled forward. Ed turned and started up through the trees. Samuel and Mick fell into step behind him, with Lewis and Howie in the rear. They marched like a silent brigade up the hill.

  The backpacks remained, gravestones marking the presence of the men who had once stood on the path.

  The spirit beings returned with the new victims to the clearing and found it empty. No humans presently defiled the ceremonial site, but their aftermath remained in the trampled ground, the reek of human sweat, and the smell of dread. The human interference polluted the site.

  Ed stood in the center of the clearing and surveyed the area, the spirit in him knowing that the releasing ceremony would go forward inexorably. The instruments of evil had already been set. The clearing was but an earthly place. Power was the mechanism that propelled everything on this prepared journey.

  Ed moved the one with water to his left and the one with fire to his right, then positioned the two hikers in front of them. He touched the one with water with his mutilated left hand and the one with fire with his right, and a diabolic force flowed between them like a hurricane. The woods seemed to be on fire and heat coursed through the clearing. The fisherman channeled the otherworldly forces. Soon the ones with water and fire joined him, the three summoning up all the infernal depths in an eerie mantra.

  The bodies of the two hikers arched upwards off the ground. Guttural cries escaped their lips as darkness descended over them. Their eyes popped open, filling momentarily with blood, mouths gaping open in deadly screams, a black vortex sucking the noise from the air.

  Then it was finished, and there were two more. The spirit in Ed contemplated the one with water and the one with fire. They were learning, knowing, feeding off the energy. Soon they would be able to go out on their own and retrieve more hosts. Soon they would have all the necessary ones, and the time of release would be upon them. The gathering would continue until they had all returned. It was as it should be, as it was set into motion so long ago. And once they were gathered, they would unite with their leader and seek their liberation.

  This thought flooded the spirit in Ed with power. The air grew heavy. It knew the time was coming.

  CHAPTER 27

  When Rory had awoken a little after eight on Monday morning, the image of Anna immediately came to his mind. At first, he was angry with her. Angry that her mood had so suddenly changed, without explanation, and after things had started out so well. Then he got angry with himself, for not saying more about it. While he ate breakfast, he decided that he would stay at the cabin today to avoid seeing Anna. But after finishing a cup of coffee on the porch, he changed his mind. He wanted to talk to her, to find out what went wrong. So after a quick shower, he rowed across the lake, noting that fewer boats were out this morning. Since it was a weekday, he would’ve expected this. But he was a little surprised that Old Man Brewster wasn’t out on the dock, hassling people.

  Rory walked down the dirt road, looking at the buildings in the hot summer sun. A few tourists were headed toward the lake. Jimmy wasn’t in his rocker on the porch of the general store. And no one occupied the wooden tables outside the Silver Dollar Café. The restaurant appeared to be closed, which seemed odd since they were open every day. Something was not quite right, as if the earth’s axis had tilted slightly, upsetting a delicate balance in the town’s day-to-day happenings.

  As he neared the general store, Rory saw a woman watching him from the front window of the Colorado Mountain Art Gallery. He knew from talking to Myrtle that it was Pamela Henderson. He waved at her. She barely acknowledged him before turning away. He moved on and noticed a sedan with emergency lights parked by the lake. The sheriff was in town.

  I wonder what’s up, he thought as he went up the steps of the general store. A number of glances fell on him as he strode through the door.

  Anna stood behind the counter, one hand wrapped around her midsection, the other nervously playing with her hair. Travis Velario gawked at her as he munched on a donut. Jimmy sat on a fold-up chair near the door, contemplating the floor. Lillian Chadwick, the postmistress, had a cup of hot tea in her hand and was busy talking to a towering uniformed man with blond hair in a military cut. Nearby, Myrtle listened with rapt attention, one hand holding tightly to Boo’s collar.

  “Hello,” Rory said quietly to the group that was now focused on him. He stepped into the room, placing a friendly hand on Jimmy’s shoulder as he passed. He took in the distressed faces, lingering on Anna’s. “What’s g
oing on?”

  No one answered at first, and Lillian stopped talking. Boo thumped his tail audibly in the awkward silence. Anna started to speak, but lost her voice. Her hand went quickly to her mouth, stifling a cough. “Hello, Rory,” Myrtle finally responded. She waved a hand at the officer. “This is Clinton Truitt.” He had to look up to meet the man’s gaze. He guessed that the sheriff was in his fifties, but he was well-built, slender but muscular. He looked tired.

  “A couple of boys have gone missing,” Lillian said, her clipped British accent and lack of expression making her statement seem routine. Rory suspected she had distanced herself from the news.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Mick Hull and his friend Nicholas D’Angelo,” Clinton said. He had a voice like his demeanor, gentle but full of strength.

  Rory’s gaze strayed to Anna’s. She threw him a cautious look. “When were they seen last?” He turned his focus back to the sheriff.

  “Not since yesterday afternoon.” Clinton took off his hat and picked at the brim. “The parents did some checking around town last night before reporting the boys missing. We looked for them last night, and then again after daybreak.” His wrinkled uniform, gaunt face, and shadows under his brown eyes gave him the appearance of a man who hadn’t slept much last night, if at all.

  “There’s no trace of them?”

  “No, the only thing out of the ordinary was a burned spot in a clearing out past the Matchless Mine.”

  “Like a campfire?” Travis asked.

  Clinton appeared puzzled. “No, not like that at all. It was like someone made a perfect circle and then burned the grass in it.” His brow furrowed. “Maybe they came across some weird cult thing.”

  “Do you get that kind of thing up here?” Rory asked.

  Clinton shook his head. “None that I’ve ever seen, but I’ve heard about stuff like that happening in the mountains.”