Nephilim Genesis of Evil Read online

“I dunno.”

  “Where is he?” Gino yelled again. “I don’t want that sheriff back here bothering us.”

  “I…he…” Nicholas couldn’t make his mind think. He was terrified of his father, of the volcanic rage that spewed from him. Nicholas’ vision blurred with tears.

  “You’re crying? What the hell are you crying for? You’re not missing like that other kid,” Gino leered at him. “What happened?” he shouted.

  Nicholas swallowed his panic. “Mick found a clearing in the woods. It had this weird burned spot right in the middle of it.” His words came out in a rush. “We went back to check it out, but when we got there, that old fisherman and the guy who owns the café were already there, and they were doing this creepy ceremony.”

  “What?” Gino shoved his face into Nicholas’. A vein on Gino’s forehead pulsed threateningly, and Nicholas could smell his stale, coffee breath. “What’re you talking about?”

  “I don’t know what it was,” Nicholas whined. “They were like zombies, and the one was making these freaky noises, like he was growling, and then this black cloud came down. It was awful. We tried to run, but they heard us.”

  He was so focused on trying to inhale through the constricting knot of fabric and his father’s fist under his chin that he never saw the other hand until it struck him across his cheek. Once. Twice. The blows landed with a cracking sound. The left side of his face stung as if a thousand tiny needles pricked him at the same time. Behind his father, he heard his mother whimper.

  “Gino, please,” she said.

  “Shut up,” Gino snarled over his shoulder. “You saw a ceremony, huh?”

  “Yes,” Nicholas said.

  “And what happened when you tried to run?”

  “They, uh, they came after us,” Nicholas whispered.

  “Oh yeah?”

  Nicholas nodded.

  “And then what happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Nicholas began to cry.

  “Don’t cry, boy!” The hand smacked him again, even harder. He felt liquid run out of his nose and down onto his lips. “You take it like a man, you hear me?”

  He nodded, his head spinning. He forced the tears back, at the same time tasting blood on his lips.

  “What happened?” Gino snarled.

  “I…” He watched his father’s nostrils flare up, and he almost fainted. “Those men took Mick. They made him one of them. I ran away, but I fell and hit my head.” He could see the disgust bathe his father’s face.

  “You coward.” Gino clenched his teeth, defying his son to challenge him. “And then what?” he finally asked.

  “I don’t know what happened after that.”

  “You don’t know?”

  He saw the splayed hand coming at him in slow motion. “Please, Dad, please. I musta passed out. I just remember what they did to Mick, and then I woke up in the bushes and it was dark, and I couldn’t find Mick. I passed out again, and then it was morning, so I walked into town, and they called the sheriff. I swear that’s all. I swear.” Fear of his father consumed Nicholas, and he hung limply from his father’s grip, blubbering incoherently.

  “Stop it,” Gino commanded him. He hit Nicholas twice more and shook him fiercely. Nicholas wheezed and coughed, and finally controlled himself. “The sheriff is still out looking for Mick,” Gino said, “and you want me to go to him with stories of ceremonies and dark clouds, like I’m some kind of idiot?”

  Nicholas stared at his father, speechless. That’s exactly what he wanted his father to do, but he knew that if he emitted a sound, the beating would go on.

  “Answer me, boy.” Gino hiked him up higher, until his feet lost contact with the floor.

  “No sir,” he grunted, gasping for air.

  “I didn’t think so,” Gino said. He threw Nicholas back onto the bed. As the springs groaned, Nicholas waited for more blows. He desperately wanted to raise his arms in defense, but didn’t.

  Gino leaned over the bed, dark slits of his eyes staring at his son, his face red from the exertion. He pointed a thick finger down at him. “You stay here and think about this, and don’t come out until you’re ready to tell me what really happened. You got that?”

  Nicholas nodded mutely.

  Gino swung around quickly and almost knocked over Nicholas’ mother. She started to come in the room but Gino backhanded her across the face. She gasped and threw a hand to her cheek.

  “You leave him alone,” Gino yelled at her.

  She cowered away from her husband. Gino slammed the bedroom door closed.

  Nicholas curled up and tried not to cry. He was fully aware of everything now; whatever shock had been there was gone. His head hurt like crazy but he knew better than to ask to go to the hospital to get it checked out. No way was that going to happen. He lay there, scared of what had happened the previous night, but more scared of his father. His father was in a rage and Nicholas knew better than to say anything. He would stay in his room until his father cooled down. And he wouldn’t say a word about the clearing and Mick. Besides, his father was right about one thing. No one would believe him.

  CHAPTER 31

  “It’s even hot in the shade.” Pamela Henderson sat on a fat tombstone, fanning herself with an art magazine. “Maybe we should’ve stayed indoors where it’s cooler.”

  “I hate being cooped up in the store all day.” Douggie spread a blanket on the ground in a corner of the cemetery where the huge old pine trees provided the most shelter from the sun. He and Pamela ate a late lunch here every day, and it was as much their routine as opening the gallery each day at ten.

  “Quit grumbling.” Pamela opened a basket and took out veggie sandwiches, bottled tea, and apples and bananas. She unwrapped a sandwich and handed it to Douggie. “What’d you think of the new piece?”

  “He’s no Rembrandt.” Douggie flashed her a wide smile.

  “He doesn’t have to be.” Pamela tugged playfully on Douggie’s beard.

  Douggie bit into his sandwich. “I’m worried about Jimmy,” he said through a mouthful of bread, cream cheese, tomato and cucumber.

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t look good.”

  “He’s old. Best thing Anna could do for him would be to put him in a home, that way she can stay down in Boulder and never have to come here again.” Pamela squinted at Douggie. “You know she hates living here now. Especially with Travis fawning over her.”

  Douggie kept his eyes down. Sometimes Pamela’s coldness shocked him, but he was too passive to confront her.

  “You know she’s still pissed off at Jimmy,” she continued.

  Douggie noticed the brittle tone. Pamela didn’t like Anna, figured that with her prudish Christianity Anna probably thought less of Pamela because she’d never married Douggie. Douggie knew better. He knew that Anna would never say such a thing and would probably never think it. Anna was too kind, but Pamela didn’t see that.

  “It’s got to be hard, losing your husband like that,” he said.

  “It’s her own darn fault.” Her voice grew harsh. “Why did Anna decide to stay up here that winter in the first place? It’s not like you or I living up here, or even that old fool Brewster. At least we know how hard it can be. But to expect her father to last the entire winter, as old as he was?”

  A claustrophobic gloominess settled over Douggie.

  Pamela sighed. “Jimmy wasn’t thinking right, even back then, so there’s no surprise he wandered out onto the frozen lake like that. It’s just too bad that Paul couldn’t pull himself up once he’d gotten Jimmy back onto the ice. And as if that wasn’t enough, you could’ve died, too.”

  Douggie remembered it all without her having to bring it up. It had been a bitter cold day. The news had said that it was only five degrees Fahrenheit, but the thermometer hanging outside their cabin door indicated that it was even colder than that. The wind was whipping down off the mountains, forming great snowdrifts and clearing the icy surface of Taylor Lake. He had been lo
oking out his front window, watching snowflakes fall like miniature stars in the early December twilight. Paul had come trekking through the knee-deep snow. Douggie had gone outside and hollered at Paul, curious as to why Paul would be out in the frigid air so late in the day. But Paul hadn’t heard, so Douggie had decided to go out after him. By the time Douggie had gotten himself bundled up, with a body suit, heavy gloves, hat, and boots, Paul had disappeared from view. He hurried down the path that Paul had cut through the snow, following it onto Main Street, where he gazed on a scene of horror.

  Paul was running across the frozen lake. Farther ahead of him, Douggie recognized Jimmy, with his stooped gate. As Douggie watched, Jimmy slipped from view, and Douggie knew instantly that the ice had broken, and that Jimmy had plunged below the lake surface.

  The next few hours were a whirlwind. Douggie had raced out onto the ice himself, heedless of the danger. Paul had jumped into the water and managed to push Jimmy back onto the icy surface, but he couldn’t heave himself out. Douggie pulled Jimmy back to shore, but when he returned for Paul, the ice cracked more. Douggie raced to the road, found a log for Paul to grab onto, but by this time Paul was too cold and exhausted. He drowned before Douggie could drag him out of the water. Douggie barely remembered going back to the cabin for Pamela, who in turn ran to tell Anna. A shocked group drove a nearly frozen Jimmy and a lifeless Paul into the hospital in Boulder.

  Douggie’s thoughts returned from that bitter day. “Paul was the one who wanted to stay up here that winter, in case you’ve forgotten,” he said quietly. “He loved it up here. Not that it matters anymore.”

  “This place feels haunted sometimes.” Pamela stood up and stretched, taking in the scenery, the tombstones that marked time. She read some of the names. “It’s like I’ve known some of these people, like I’ve lived here before. There’s such,” she searched for the word, “energy.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  She sat down and kicked off her Birkenstocks. “I don’t like the feel right now, though. There’s something wrong about it.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Those kids going missing. We haven’t had any problems in the Crossing, but you get those teenagers here, with their drinking and their drugs. It’s only a matter of time before the crime follows.”

  His mouth twitched into a wicked smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve thrown your hippie ways into the wind.”

  “No,” she said. “When you and I did drugs, we were experimenting, expanding our minds. We never resorted to criminal activity.”

  “Other than taking the drugs themselves, since they were illegal,” he said dryly.

  “You know what I mean.”

  He nodded. “The one boy turned up. We can only hope they find the other kid soon. It’s bound to affect business.”

  She grunted her response as she moved into the sun and leaned her back on a tombstone. It was fashioned out of red granite, with a large ornate cross carved above the name. She loved spending time here amidst the remembrances of the dead. It was morbid on her part, but being here fit with the whole impression of the town, especially the past few days. The Crossing always had an underlying current, almost like a dread, although that seemed too strong a word. But she felt that aura, or whatever it was, now.

  She looked down past the old metal gate and saw Taylor Lake. The sky was cloudless. She rested her head on the stone, closing her eyes and sunning herself. She could hear Douggie chewing, then the sound of a bottle opening and his gulping the liquid down.

  Drowsiness overtook her as the heat soothed her bones. A slight breeze rustled through the trees. She drifted off, dreaming of being out on the lake in a boat with Douggie. In a state of semi-consciousness she thought she smelled matches burning, and she heard the tall brown grass breaking. She wondered why he was walking around and puzzled that she hadn’t heard him get up.

  “Hey.” She heard an edge of alarm in his voice.

  Her eyelids flew open. The sunlight struck her full in the face and she could only see Douggie’s silhouette, a black shape against brilliant light. He was on his feet, hands on his hips. She moved and saw that his back was turned toward her. Then she noticed what had made him get up. Ed Miller stood off at a distance, and with him were Samuel Friedman, two other men, hikers she surmised, from their khaki shorts and sturdy boots, and a boy that she’d seen around town.

  Pamela scrambled to her feet, brushing dirt from her legs. “What’s going on?” Even though she wasn’t very friendly with the other locals, news still traveled. She’d heard the rumors this morning, about Ed and Samuel missing, and how they might be involved in the disappearance of the kids. And it dawned on her that the boy must be the one who was still missing.

  Ed met her eyes. His were so empty of substance, of life, that she thought she could see through them. A stale smell assaulted her, body odor, but something else, like an old fire.

  “Hon, they don’t seem to be okay,” Douggie whispered to her.

  “No kidding.” She shuffled uneasily toward him.

  Ed closed the distance between them, stepping around a tall gray obelisk tombstone. Samuel went to the left, blocking the path to the cemetery entrance. The others stayed as still as the tombstones.

  “What do you want?” Douggie asked. Pamela detected fear in the warble of his voice.

  “What’s the matter with them?” she hissed, gripping his arm.

  “I don’t know.”

  Ed halted in front of them, his piercing eyes darting from Douggie’s face to hers.

  He focused on Douggie. “Are you the one of the earth?” His voice was hollow, lacking in timbre and tone.

  “Ed, maybe you should back off.” Douggie stiffened, acting tough.

  “It is time.” Ed beckoned with his damaged hand and Samuel came up the path.

  Pamela watched Samuel carefully, but made the mistake of looking him in his eyes. They were as dead as Ed’s, and they hooked her. She wanted to run, to shout at Douggie to split, take off, and she’d be right behind him. But she couldn’t make herself do that. She couldn’t make herself do anything except peer into Samuel’s vacuous eyes. She sensed that Douggie’s arms dropped to his sides, and she somehow knew that Ed was hypnotizing him the same way that Samuel was hypnotizing her.

  “I call you.”

  Pamela noticed Douggie nod slowly. She fought against an urge to do the same.

  “What are you doing?” she didn’t realize that she’d opened her mouth, and her own words jarred her into action. “Stop this.” She forced her feet to move, to wrestle against a foreboding energy.

  Ed stepped up to her. “You will come with us.”

  “What?” she struggled for breath. She stared into a void that almost pulled her in. But mentally she was strong.

  “You,” his voice, barely a whisper, empty but so dark, “will be a host.”

  “Screw you, buddy.” She backed away from Ed, anger fueling her. “Get away from us.” She reached to push him back. But his eyes drilled into her, and despite her efforts, she felt her will drain from her.

  Clouds formed over her vision, but through the haze she saw Douggie standing nearby, motionless. Then the last of her true being faded as she succumbed to Ed’s control.

  • • •

  Ed waited until he sensed no more resistance from the woman’s spirit, then he turned to the others. Even though she did not have a role in the ceremony, she would serve as a host for other spirits. “Come.” He pointed up the hillside, away from Taylor Crossing. “Our time is now.”

  Douggie and Pamela were beyond speech. They were followers now, the essence of their beings submerged in the evil presence before them.

  Ed stalked through the high grass. Douggie and Pamela fell in behind him, then the two hikers, Mick, and Samuel. They left through the back of the cemetery, past one last, stately, granite tombstone. The name Taylor was etched on its smooth surface.

  CHAPTER 32

  La
ter that afternoon, Rory sat at the oak table in his kitchen, reading a fragile book that he’d found in the living room. It was a copy of the Apocrypha, the book that Myrtle had told him about. He’d been reading the references to the Nephilim from the Book of Enoch. It was fascinating, but he was having a hard time focusing. His mind kept going back to last evening, and his conversation with Anna and her references to spiritual influences and dark forces. She had verbalized his fear that what he’d seen in New York was indeed unexplainable, at least in a way this world would understand.

  He concentrated on the book. Enoch tells how the fallen angels took earthly wives, then imparted their knowledge of occult phenomena to them, teaching their wives about magic, the art of enchantment, sorcery, and other ungodly acts. These things were passed on to their offspring, the Nephilim, who continued in their evil ways, sexually defiling women, men, and beasts. The Nephilim had such huge appetites that they devoured not only the animals of the earth, but even men, which in turn caused them to stink. Like the Genesis account, Enoch writes that God finally wiped out the race by releasing the upper waters, saving only Noah and his family, who had a pure bloodline.

  Rory’s mind wandered again, this time to Nicholas. The poor boy had been terrified when he wandered into town, but he couldn’t get over what else Nicholas had said about the dark mist that talked to him. To Anna and Myrtle it must have sounded like pure gibberish, nonsense spoken by a child in shock. And at any other time, he would’ve agreed. If only he could dismiss it that easily.

  Even as he thought about the mist, he began to perspire. He got up and poured himself a glass of water and went out on the porch. The air was still and hot, and a few boats dotted the lake. Big drops of sweat rolled from his armpits and down his sides, soaking his shirt. He downed the water, gulping it as if he hoped to wash away his memories.

  But the flashback kept coming. The sinister mist, hovering above the street. It was so real, he thought he could reach out and touch it. And then the dark thing seemed to talk to him and no one else. It called him. And as he looked at the mist above the street, it grew eyes that penetrated him. And then the car hit him.