He\u2019s probably off somewhere trying to sue someone. <\/em><\/p>\nPete walked around the house to the back yard; everything – the small, overgrown vegetable garden, the haphazard pile of firewood, and several strange-looking oak trees with willow leaves – was normal.<\/p>\n
Then he saw the back fence.<\/p>\n
There, under the bright Maine sun, Pete found what was left of old man Withers -tossed over the barbed wire like a well-used rag doll.<\/p>\n
The old man\u2019s face was smeared and twisted like a bad charcoal drawing.<\/p>\n
The body was naked; swollen and distorted in the heat. Portions of the old man\u2019s scrawny, chicken-like legs were puffed full of fluid like some macabre balloon. Large sections of the trunk had been torn away, and there were places where the flesh had been eaten.<\/p>\n
Pete vomited. He wiped his mouth and willed his stomach not to turn over again. He pulled out his camera. He took photos of how the old man had been torn apart and he photographed the purple, quarter-sized knot on the back side of the old man\u2019s skull, right where the neck and the skull joined together. Then he took out his notebook, and tried to describe the old man\u2019s smeared, rotting face.<\/p>\n
He also made notes about the strange, sickeningly sweet smell that drifted on the air, and the tiny wood chips scattered inside the raw, jagged wounds.<\/p>\n
Pete wrote everything down. Then he stretched some plastic yellow crime scene tape in a large triangle behind the old white house, drove back into town, and called Race Holder, the county\u2019s medical examiner.<\/p>\n
But by the time Race finished the autopsy, and the undertaker cremated what was left of old man Withers, word had gotten around town that people were being killed again in Bayside.<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/somethingwicked.co.za\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/divider.jpg\" "\\"divider\\"")
<\/p>\n
Jeff Currier jumped into his convertible. He redlined the motor. Then he stomped on the clutch and shoved the shifter into first gear.<\/p>\n
A senior, Jeff wasn\u2019t much on high school. Instead he lived for football. Tall, solid and muscled, Jeff believed that the world was filled with two types of people: fighters and losers.<\/p>\n
Jeff was a fighter, and that gimp, Mr. Manguel, he was the loser.<\/p>\n
Manguel kept him after class – all the time – and Jeff was sick of it. Today he\u2019d had to stay after because of the Parker kid. Hell, didn\u2019t Manguel know it was just a joke?<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t Jeff\u2019s fault that the Parker kid was such a retard. Kids like that, freaks that drooled and pissed themselves, needed to be taken out.<\/p>\n
His coach had taught him that. \u201cOnly the strong survive,\u201d Coach said. \u201cStrength rules.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jeff Currier was one of the strong.<\/p>\n
Jeff had learned those lessons early, from the rough end of his step-dad\u2019s fist. The weak just slowed things down; the gimps just got in the way.<\/p>\n
Neither of \u2018em deserved to live.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The convertible whined as Jeff shifted into third. He pushed the accelerator to the floor, and jerked the wheel to the right. The small car skidded around the curve to where Highway 61 made a big \u201cY\u201d.<\/p>\n
One stretch went south – the long way – around Bayside. Most folks took this exit, even though it took longer and the road twisted and curved. Going south, traffic was always heavy.<\/p>\n
The other way, to the left, was faster; but few people traveled The Old North Road. Even though it was a straight shot to Rusville and eventually the Interstate, The Old North Road was hardly ever used – and no one went there at night. Rumor was, the road was haunted. A few folks, the weird ones like that crazy preacher, Reverend Allgood, said the dead still traveled The Old North Road.<\/p>\n
Plus, the big trees grew there. The trees just made things worse.<\/p>\n
Tall and straight, the trees looked like oaks, but their leaves – long and sinewy – hung down like slender, wooden ribbons, more like willow leaves.<\/p>\n
The trees lined both sides of The Old North Road, overhanging it like a canopy. During the summer, the growth was so dense the trees blocked the sun, making the road dark and menacing, even in the early afternoon.<\/p>\n
Few people went that way anymore; anyone who did prayed they didn\u2019t break down.<\/p>\n
Jeff Currier didn\u2019t care. He wasn\u2019t afraid. Right now he was late for a party. A few of the guys from the team had stolen some beer and Jeff was invited.<\/p>\n
Jeff pushed the accelerator to the floor. It was getting dark and he had to make up lost time.<\/p>\n
\u201cStupid Mr. Manguel,\u201d he cussed. \u201cIf I ever catch that gimp bastard in the parking lot, I\u2019ll fix him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jeff imagined slamming his car into Mr. Manguel\u2019s wheelchair. In his head, he heard the teacher scream. He heard the screech of metal as it snapped fragile bones. He saw the blood spray. The image made Jeff laugh.<\/p>\n
Jeff didn\u2019t laugh very long.<\/p>\n
Instead, he pissed himself when he took a curve too fast and his convertible skidded off The Old North Road into the ditch.<\/p>\n
Jeff jumped out of the car and kicked it, hard. He didn\u2019t have time for this. He flipped open his phone – no service. His friends were waiting for him and the party was supposed to be huge. He couldn\u2019t go like this.<\/p>\n
Jeff walked to the back of the car. Maybe there was a spare pair of sweats in the trunk. He opened it – nothing. He slammed it shut and kicked the car.<\/p>\n
Right after Jeff kicked the car, he started to scream. And once Jeff Currier started to scream, he was the second to die.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
By the time Pete found the kid – his face smeared, his body twisted, bloated and ripped apart, just like old man Withers – seven more residents of Bayside were dead.<\/p>\n
And all of them – the three old Harrison sisters, Reverend Allgood, Mr. and Mrs. Cole, and the guy who ran the Army Surplus store – had a strange purple knot at the base of their skulls.<\/p>\n
And all of them had died screaming.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
About ten miles from Bayside, the countryside rolled and pitched like the waves of a bright green ocean. The fields, filled with crops, bumped right up against the mountains on the left side; on the right, the mountains slowly transformed into beaches that bordered the ocean.<\/p>\n
A mile south of where Highway 1 intersected with Highway 3, an unmarked, paved road veered to the right, slicing back through the green fields toward a small farm.<\/p>\n
The small, yellow house sat at the end of the road, Tessa Cosindas\u2019 house. She\u2019d lived there for years.<\/p>\n
Tessa did things simple. She sold fruit, vegetables, and homemade jam during the summer from her roadside stand. In the winter, she made real wool sweaters with wool harvested from her sheep.<\/p>\n
For two decades, Tessa had worked the earth, tended her animals, and sat in the sun enjoying a quiet, peaceful life.<\/p>\n
Then, a few months ago, her visions returned.<\/p>\n
Today Tessa wasn\u2019t working in the fields. She hadn\u2019t picked up the pecans and walnuts that dotted her lawn. Instead, she just sat on her porch and cried.<\/p>\n
She cried because her past had returned; the balance disturbed.<\/p>\n
The first time it had happened, she was thirteen, then again when she was in her thirties. Now, twenty years later, the visions had returned: the killer was back. And again, Tessa had seen the people die.<\/p>\n
Tessa wanted to tell the police. She had before, but that was many years ago, and the police hadn\u2019t listened.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
For the third time that day, Pete Jacobs stared at the large map behind his desk. Dozens of small, yellow pushpins were clustered across a two-mile section of Bayside. Each pin represented a dead person.<\/p>\n
Pete walked toward his desk. It was in the corner of a small, dingy, gray and white office filled with metal desks, maps, and a few faded anti-drug posters. Across the back wall sat a million dollars worth of electronic equipment.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand it,\u201d Pete said to the small scrum of men who stood in his office. \u201cAll this technology around me and the only thing I can find connecting all these deaths is that they all live in Bayside.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marvin Boyd rocked back on his heels and cracked his knuckles. Marvin, Bayside\u2019s mayor, always cracked his knuckles when he was thinking. Of course, Marvin also cracked his knuckles when he didn\u2019t know what to do, or when he was trying to figure out how to get his ass out of a jam.<\/p>\n
Pale and sweaty, Marvin reached down and wiped a spot off his well-shined shoes with a chubby hand. \u201cWell, Pete, you gotta do something, \u2018cause dozens of dead people on your watch ain\u2019t gonna help you get re-elected.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete slammed his fist on the desk. \u201cHell, Marv, I know that, I\u2019m not stupid! And I\u2019m not just worried about getting re-elected, you pompous ass. Somebody\u2019s out there killing folks. While you\u2019re polishing your shoes, I\u2019m bustin\u2019 my hump here, trying to figure out what\u2019s going on.\u201d<\/p>\n
Race Holder, the medical examiner, stepped between the two men. \u201cGentlemen, there\u2019s no reason to fight.\u201d<\/p>\n
At 62, Race could have retired a few years back, but he liked being a doctor. He certainly looked the part – tall and sinewy with watery gray eyes and a head full of silver hair.<\/p>\n
Race wasn\u2019t ready, just yet, to quit. He liked his peaceful life and he wanted it to stay that way.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I speak for everyone in this room when I say we know Pete is doing everything possible to stop this,\u201d Race scowled at Marvin, defying the portly mayor to challenge him.<\/p>\n
\u201cI agree,\u201d a young man said. \u201cPete\u2019s been working nonstop, he needs our help.\u201d Neal O\u2019Bannon, editor of the Bayside Reporter<\/em>, stood and walked to the center of the room. He patted the sheriff on the back.<\/p>\nNeal wasn\u2019t the typical Bayside resident. Young, and perpetually dressed in jeans and a sports coat, he liked heavy metal music, dated several women at a time, and had been known, on more than one occasion, to question the motives of Bayside\u2019s political leaders.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou all can stand around and complain or you can roll up your sleeves and help Pete figure out who\u2019s behind this.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marvin cracked his knuckles again. \u201cWell, we\u2019re a small community,\u201d he said. \u201cCould be anyone here. It shouldn\u2019t be that hard. What about that weirdo at the bowling alley? What\u2019s his name\u2026Graves?\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal laughed. \u201cDo you really think that this is someone local, Marv? Honestly, with the collection of busybodies living in this town, a local wouldn\u2019t stand a chance. Besides, you\u2019re just pissed off at Charley Graves because he gave money to your opponent. It ain\u2019t Charley. No sir, something else is goin\u2019 on.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marvin leaned toward Neal. \u201cWell, who do you think it is? Mister from-the-big-city newspaper editor?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI haven\u2019t the slightest idea. But I do know that you should never speculate without facts, and we don\u2019t have many of those. Pete has his people working around the clock. He\u2019s called in the state police and requested help from the FBI. What else would you have him do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2026 I don\u2019t know,\u201d Marvin said. \u201cBut we gotta do something. The Coles were friends of mine. This can\u2019t go on.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marvin turned his round face toward the medical examiner. \u201cRace, isn\u2019t there anything else you can tell us?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Race Holder really didn\u2019t want to talk about the autopsies. Bayside folks were simple, honest, and hardworking; if he told them the truth, the shock would push them over the edge.<\/p>\n
Hell, Race hadn\u2019t even talked to Pete, yet. He knew the exam on old man Withers was solid, but right at the moment, he wasn\u2019t ready to talk \u2014 not even to the sheriff.<\/p>\n
Race looked around the room. \u201cWe\u2019re not finished just yet,\u201d he lied. \u201cThere are a few more tests we need to run. I\u2026 I\u2026 need to send some blood samples to Bangor and\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou mean you can\u2019t us tell anything?\u201d Marvin rocked back on his heels. His round, white face turned dark. \u201cYou\u2019ve had the bodies for close to a month now.\u201d<\/p>\n
Race glared at the mayor. \u201cMarvin, I know how long they\u2019ve been there. And I tell ya\u2019, we\u2019re not finished yet. The cause of death is still listed as \u2018a possible homicide by person or persons unknown\u2019. That\u2019s all I can say.\u201d<\/p>\n
The mayor flopped down in a chair. \u201cWell, I wish somebody would do something. I just don\u2019t get it. I don\u2019t understand why this is so damn hard. I thought you guys\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
From the back, a rough, coarse voice interrupted him. \u201cAhhhh shut up, Marvin,\u201d the voice said. \u201cWhat you don\u2019t know would fill an ocean.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Elijah Kent stood and walked toward the door. His bony, wraith-like frame moved stiffly through the small office.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy\u2026 why, Elijah, I didn\u2019t realize\u2026\u201d Marvin looked away from the worn, gray-haired old man. \u201c\u2026I didn\u2019t see you back\u2026 back\u2026 there. I didn\u2019t know your ship had returned.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elijah sat down in a small wooden chair. He leaned back against the door and pulled his long, greasy hair back.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s because you\u2019re too damn busy listening to your own gums flap. Good God, Marvin, you were born yammering and now, more than forty years later, that fat, over-fed mouth of yours ain\u2019t shut up yet. This town ain\u2019t had a moment of peace.\u201d<\/p>\n
The mayor puffed and turned his back to the old man. Elijah pointed a withered, shaky finger at the sheriff.<\/p>\n
\u201cPete ain\u2019t been here long enough to know. And most of you are too young.\u201d The old sailor scratched his head. \u201cNow you, mister newspaper editor, well, I\u2019m not too sure about you, yet. But the rest of you either don\u2019t know or you just don\u2019t understand. You don\u2019t have any idea what you\u2019re facing here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Race Holder looked at the old man. \u201cElijah, I know what you\u2019re gonna say, but you and I have already talked about that. Don\u2019t go spreadin\u2019 a bunch of old spook stories that won\u2019t do anything but get people all stirred up.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elijah stood and drifted toward Pete\u2019s desk. He leaned against the front of the desk and pointed to the map on the wall.<\/p>\n
\u201cStirred up? Hell, Race, people are droppin\u2019 like flies and you\u2019re worried about getting people stirred up? Look at that map, Doc. You know where all those bodies were found. Put two and two together. You were here back in \u201971.\u00a0 You tell me a better reason for having so many folks dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
Race loosened his tie. \u201cI know\u2026 and I\u2019m not disputing that fact. But\u2026 it\u2019s just\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I certainly would like to know what in the hell you two are talking about,\u201d Pete said.<\/p>\n
Race nodded. \u201cYou\u2019re right, Pete. Sorry.\u201d He turned to the other men. \u201cEarlier today, Elijah came to see me. He said he thought a friend of his could help. But I really don\u2019t think\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s your problem, Doc,\u201d Elijah said. \u201cYou don\u2019t think. You haven\u2019t been thinking and you\u2019re not thinking now.\u201d He swept a stack of papers, files, and the telephone on Pete\u2019s desk onto the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, you bastards, listen up, \u2018cause I\u2019m only tellin\u2019 this once. I lived here a long time and I don\u2019t plan on stoppin\u2019 just yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elijah settled his thin, skeletal frame on the desk. \u201cUsed to be a sailor. Been all over the globe. Even spent a little time in the Navy. Ain\u2019t much I haven\u2019t heard and even less I haven\u2019t seen.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete scowled. \u201cI\u2026 don\u2019t understand how this is going to help the investigation. I really need to get\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Elijah coughed, then pushed more files onto the floor. \u201cNow like I was sayin\u2019, I\u2019ve seen it all. Anyway, more than thirty years ago, I dropped anchor here at Bayside. Liked the look of the country and the size of the town. Didn\u2019t know about Bayside then. But me, not bein\u2019 big on cities, thought Bayside was the perfect place. Small. Comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marvin rolled his eyes. \u201cIs this really necessary? Honestly.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elijah dismissed Marvin with a wave of a bony hand. \u201cAnyway, I hadn\u2019t been here very long before I met Tessa. Tessa Cosindas.\u201d The old man smiled. \u201cShe was young and beautiful then. And, well sir, for a while, we were pretty thick.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWill you get to the point?\u201d Marvin shuffled his feet. \u201cWe don\u2019t have all night.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you\u2019ll shut up, I\u2019ll be g\u2019tting there a lot quicker.\u201d Elijah took out a brown clay pipe, stuffed it with tobacco, and lit it. \u201cNow, like I was sayin\u2019, I was squirin\u2019 Tessa around and things were going real nice.\u201d<\/p>\n
He puffed out a ring of blue smoke. \u201cThen she started seeing things. Horrible things. Death and blood and pain, things like that. Saw folks\u2019 faces all twisted and messed up. Then the folks she saw, well sir, they started dyin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal O\u2019Bannon leaned forward. \u201cAre you saying that this woman you used to date might be the killer?\u201d<\/p>\n
Elijah shook his head. \u201cNo sir, that ain\u2019t what I said at all. Tessie wouldn\u2019t hurt a kitten. And she was always with me when the killin\u2019s happened. But she\u2026 well, she\u2019d start seein\u2019 things\u2026 in her head\u2026 as they happened. She\u2019d see the face of the person gettin\u2019 killed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete cocked his head. \u201cThis the same lady that has the fruit stand off Highway 1?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes sir.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve heard of her,\u201d Pete said. \u201cNow, you say she saw who was being killed? When?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis was years ago,\u201d Elijah said. \u201cI was a lot younger then and, well, I just thought she was crazy or hopped up on dope, something like that. I got spooked and pulled up stakes. Left her cryin\u2019 on the dock.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo why are you telling us this now?\u201d Neal asked. \u201cIf it was so long ago, what does that have to do with these deaths?\u201d<\/p>\n
Elijah took another long draw on his pipe. \u201cMister newspaperman, that\u2019s the second intelligent question you\u2019ve asked tonight, so I\u2019m gonna answer it: I\u2019m telling you boys this because Tessie called me the other day. Said her visions had returned. Said she saw Withers, that punk Currier kid, and a bunch of other folks die. She was all cryin\u2019 and the like.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t believe a word of this,\u201d Marvin hissed. He turned toward Elijah. \u201cThat\u2019s the silliest story I\u2019ve ever heard. Elijah, you\u2019re an old fool. I know this woman and she\u2019s nothing more than an ex-hippie trying to make a fast buck.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elijah slid off the desk and stood, his face shrouded in smoke. \u201cWell you can laugh all you want. But if I was you, Mr. Sheriff, I\u2019d go see her. \u2018Cause I think Tessa may know a helluva lot more than anyone thinks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you think she\u2019s so damned important, why don\u2019t you go talk to her?\u201d Marvin whined. \u201cLet these people get on with what they need to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elijah looked down at his boots. \u201cI ain\u2019t seen Tessa in years,\u201d he said, his voice quiet. \u201cAnd I don\u2019t plan on goin\u2019 back. That was all a long time ago.\u201d Neal O\u2019Bannon looked at Pete. \u201cYou know, Pete, if you want, I\u2019ll go out there with you. Who knows? This woman may know something that helps.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr Marv may be right,\u201d Pete said, \u201cand Tessa may just be crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The woman was close to fifty. Tall, slim, with that look that said she was perpetually stressed. Tessa saw her, in her mind. The vision woke her.<\/p>\n
In her head, Tessa saw pearls, a cream-colored suit, new shoes – a businesswoman. The woman\u2019s silver Lincoln was stalled on the side of the road. She stood next to the car, cell phone in hand, yelling – reading the riot act to some poor soul on the other end.<\/p>\n
Tessa scrunched her eyes. She tried to make the vision go away. She covered her ears with her hands and burrowed under the covers of her bed. Outside, the rain fell against the roof.<\/p>\n
Another flash, and Tessa saw the woman\u2019s face up close; she was heavily made up, her face harsh and angular. She saw the woman\u2019s tight, thin lips part. Then the woman screamed.<\/p>\n
The screams pounded Tessa\u2019s ears like a thousand drums being beaten all at once. Tessa saw blood and flesh and pieces of the woman fall away. She saw something strike the woman\u2019s head. She heard the flapping of the buzzards\u2019 wings as they descended from the sky, ready to feed on the woman\u2019s corpse.<\/p>\n
Another flash; she saw the dead woman\u2019s face, smeared and distorted.<\/p>\n
After that, everything faded to black.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
By the time Pete reached Tessa\u2019s farm, the sun had dipped low against the horizon, painting the sky a bright, fiery orange.<\/p>\n
Originally, Pete wasn\u2019t going to talk to Tessa, but after a week, and another grisly death, he had his back to the wall.<\/p>\n
He was angry and frustrated. He\u2019d done everything he could to protect people, yet the dead were stacking up like firewood. And Bayside, the little village he loved living in, was coming unraveled.<\/p>\n
People in town were frightened; he knew. And frightened people did stupid things. If he couldn\u2019t stop the deaths, Pete knew, Bayside was a time bomb waiting to explode.<\/p>\n
Already, the town selectmen had circulated a recall petition to get Pete out of office, and Marvin, still pissed off about Elijah\u2019s lecture, had been the first one to sign.<\/p>\n
Things were bad, Pete thought. He just prayed they didn\u2019t get any worse.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He had gone back and forth over the whole idea. This wasn\u2019t what he had been taught. Law enforcement was methodical, organized. Good police work, Pete believed, did not involve asking for help from people who had visions.<\/p>\n
But what if Tessa did know something? That thought, along with the fact that Pete was just about ready to pull his hair out, now had him sitting in his Jeep, in Tessa Cosindas\u2019 drive.<\/p>\n
\u201cCrazy woman.\u201d Pete opened the door, then turned and put his gun on the seat. Elijah had told him not to take the gun with him; he said Tessa wouldn\u2019t talk at all if she saw a gun.<\/p>\n
Pete turned off the motor. He walked slowly through the yard and stepped around the bright orange planter, made from a chipped toilet.<\/p>\n
This was a bad idea<\/em>, he thought.<\/p>\nPete knocked on the door. Around him, he saw wind chimes, broken pottery, and a collection of rusty tin cans, each sporting a large flower.<\/p>\n
He changed his mind. The thought that Tessa was indeed a tie-died, fruit-selling nutcase, flashed through his brain.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is a waste of time.\u201d He turned to walk down the stairs just as the door opened.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Elijah was right. She was beautiful. Even at her age – which Pete knew better than to try and discover – Tessa was stunning. Her long, auburn hair framed a round, gentle face and large, green eyes. She had the body of a woman much younger. Pete immediately felt at ease. Now he understood why Elijah smiled when he talked about her.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d Tessa said. \u201cCan I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry to bother you, ma\u2019am, but\u2026 but I wondered if I might have a few minutes of your time. My name\u2019s Pete Jacobs, I\u2019m the\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know who you are, Sheriff Jacobs,\u201d Tessa said. \u201cI\u2019ve been expecting you. Can I get you some coffee?\u201d She directed Pete to a pair of high-backed wooden chairs at the far end of the porch. She stepped back inside the house, and after a few seconds, returned with two cups and a silver carafe of coffee.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou look troubled.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am, ma\u2019am,\u201d he said. \u201cElijah\u2026 Elijah Kent suggested I speak with you about\u2026\u201d Pete took a small notebook out of his pocket.<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout all the deaths in Bayside?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, ma\u2019am. Those.\u201d He took out a pen. \u201cDo you mind if I take a few notes?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa shook her head. . \u201cWhat would you like to know, Sheriff?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell\u2026 Elijah, he said you\u2019ve seen\u2026 you\u2019ve had visions of\u2026 those folks who were being killed. Is that true?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa shifted in her seat. She pulled her bare feet under her skirt. \u201cI called Elijah several weeks ago. We talked, briefly. I wasn\u2019t sure if I should even speak to him or you. Elijah said I should, it was actually his idea.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand,\u201d Pete said. \u201cBut please, I am interested in what you have to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa drew a deep breath. \u201cYes. I\u2026 I have witnessed several deaths\u2026 in visions. They\u2019re like pieces of an old movie. I see the person\u2019s face for a few seconds. Then I see them scream. After that, there\u2019s bright white light, like a flash from a camera, and I see the person die. It\u2019s\u2026 horrible.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete leaned forward. He scratched his head. \u201cAnd you have these visions frequently?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYears ago I did, from the time I was ten until I was about twenty-two. Then, suddenly, they stopped.\u201d Tessa folded her hands around her coffee cup. \u201cI\u2019ve lived peacefully for the past twenty years or so, but about\u2026 two months ago, the visions started again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was about the time Mr. Withers died?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, it was,\u201d Tessa said. \u201cI saw him die.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete cocked his head. He wasn\u2019t sure whether or not to believe her, but he wanted her to keep talking. \u201cYou say you saw him die. Can you describe it? Do you remember where?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not sure. It must have been outside, because I caught a glimpse of grass and sky. But I don\u2019t know where.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you see anything else?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. I could hear things, though\u2026 sense them. I could hear the flapping of wings\u2026 buzzards I think.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBuzzards? Are you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Jacobs, I\u2019ve lived here a long time. I know the sound a buzzard\u2019s wings make.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete smiled. \u201cIt\u2019s just that the bodies were\u2026 well, the buzzards got there and\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the buzzards were eating the flesh, weren\u2019t they?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought so. Once, when I was a teenager, in one of my visions, I saw a buzzard\u2026 eating a corpse.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete scribbled another note. \u201cDo you have any idea who we\u2019re dealing with? Have you ever seen who is killing these people?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa shook her head. \u201cNo. Never. It\u2019s\u2026 it\u2019s almost like I\u2019m looking through the killer\u2019s eyes. I\u2019ve never seen a face.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long do your visions last?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot long,\u201d she said. \u201cUsually a few minutes, and they are very painful – think of the worst headache you\u2019ve ever had and multiply it by ten. They always start out the same. The person is alive and doing whatever it is they\u2019re doing at that moment, then I see images of their death. After that, I hear the flap of wings and, well, you know the rest.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete closed his notebook. \u201cIs it a person or\u2026 or is it something else?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wondered if you would ask me that question,\u201d Tessa looked down at the porch, \u201cand I\u2019ve wondered how I would answer it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I\u2019m not sure.\u201d She took a long sip of coffee. \u201cI think whatever is killing was<\/em> human, but I don\u2019t sense that now. All I feel is blind, white-hot hatred and rage and pain. I\u2019m\u2026 I\u2019m not sure. But like I said, I believe at one time it was human.\u201d<\/p>\nTessa leaned forward and stretched. Pete could tell she was worn out. Maybe it was the visions, he thought, or something else.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, if you\u2019ll excuse me, Sheriff. I feel the need to rest. This\u2026 this has been most difficult.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete stood, finished his coffee, and walked toward the steps. \u201cI understand. I appreciate your help.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSheriff?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, ma\u2019am?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you for not laughing. It\u2019s\u2026 it\u2019s been a long time since someone listened.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete nodded. \u201cYou\u2019re welcome, ma\u2019am. I believe you\u2019re the first person in several months who hasn\u2019t tried to tell me how to do my job.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa smiled. \u201cPerhaps it was for the best that you came to see me, then.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete stopped, placed a worn business card on the porch rail and walked back to his Jeep.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The green neon light that flashed over Billy\u2019s Diner was burning bright by the time Pete returned to his office. Keri, the dispatcher, was waiting for him, her face red. She was ready for a fight.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd just where have you been?\u201d she hissed. \u201cI\u2019ve been tryin\u2019 to reach you for hours.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was busy,\u201d Pete said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, why didn\u2019t you answer your radio?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2019Cause I was out of the car, mother<\/em>.\u201d Pete rolled his eyes. \u201cNow, is there something you need? Or are you and Dad gonna send me to my room?\u201d<\/p>\nKeri shoved her ample chest toward him. \u201cFine.\u201d She handed Pete a stack of small, pink notes. \u201cBut Neal O\u2019Bannon has called about fifty times tryin\u2019 to reach you. Said it was really important. Just thought you might want to know.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Pete finished typing his notes from the interview with Tessa before he called Neal\u2019s office. He really didn\u2019t expect find Neal there, but then again, Pete didn\u2019t understand newspaper people.<\/p>\n
The phone rang twice.<\/p>\n
\u201cBayside Reporter,\u201d the voice said. \u201cThis is Neal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy dispatcher says you\u2019re a real important fellow, Mr. O\u2019Bannon. Said I was supposed to call you right away.\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal laughed. \u201cShe\u2019s a good girl, that Keri. I know I wouldn\u2019t want to make her mad.\u201d<\/p>\n
At his end, Pete smiled. \u201cMe either.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPete, I wish you would have called earlier,\u201d Neal said. \u201cThis is important; too important to talk about on the phone. You should probably come over here.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Twenty minutes later, Pete sat in Neal O\u2019Bannon\u2019s bright, comfortable office. Like Neal, the office wasn\u2019t what one typically associated with reporters; tan walls, a large, overstuffed couch, and several bright Van Gogh prints. \u201cI thought newspaper reporters smoked, kept whiskey in their desks, and worked in dark, inky places?\u201d Pete said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSome do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete surveyed the room. \u201cWhat about you? This place looks too nice to be a newspaper office.\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal laughed. \u201cI don\u2019t function well in clutter. And I gave up smoking – except for the occasional cigar; but the whiskey is there, in the other room, above the coffee maker.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete stood. \u201cNow that\u2019s my type of newspaper man.\u201d He walked to the small kitchen Neal had pointed out and rummaged through the cabinets until he found a large bottle of amber liquid.<\/p>\n
\u201cLike the expensive stuff, huh?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was a gift,\u201d Neal shouted back. \u201cBring the bottle. You\u2019ll need it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete stretched out on the couch. He poured a large shot into a coffee mug. Then he handed the bottle to Neal.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what\u2019s so important we can\u2019t discuss over the phone?\u201d he asked. \u201cAnd why do I need this drink?\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal pointed to a stack of musty, yellowed newspapers on the floor. The papers were bound, like books. Only the books were the size of a television.<\/p>\n
\u201cThose are our historic files,\u201d Neal said. \u201cI\u2019ve spent the last two days going through them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey look old.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey are,\u201d Neal said. He pointed to the top of the stack. \u201cThis one goes back to .\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete took a long sip of his coffee. \u201cSo why were you digging in your old newspaper files?\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal leaned back in his chair. \u201cIn college I was a history major. And I learned that there are very few tragic events that don\u2019t get written down. Especially if there is a newspaper around.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d Pete said. \u201cBut I\u2019m not sure I follow you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal pushed a stack of papers toward Pete. \u201cIt\u2019s like this: For several months now, I\u2019ve heard people talk about Bayside\u2019s past, saying there were \u2018horrible, evil events\u2019 that happened. But nobody ever seems to know anything more. Elijah even mentioned it the other day, when he was at your office. He said something about \u2018not knowing about Bayside\u2019 when he settled here and how \u2018most of the men in the room didn\u2019t understand\u2019. Remember?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd that got you to thinking\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Mister sheriff, it did. So I went down to the basement and went through these files.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought all this stuff was online?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMost is. Including ours. But those files only go back to 1920. Want anything before that, and you have to use the old-school approach.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete smiled. \u201cAnd\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal O\u2019Bannon took a long drink, and then wiped his mouth. \u201cPete, you won\u2019t believe what I found.\u201d He pointed at the dark, water-stained file on his desk. \u201cOpen this one to the page with the marker.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete eyed the headline. \u201c\u2018Tragedy on Holly Farm\u2019,\u201d he read. \u201cBayside residents killed by marauders.\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal took another long drink of his scotch. \u201cKeep reading.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete\u2019s eyes scanned the story, then, like he\u2019d been bitten on the ass, he abruptly sat up, and spilled his drink.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2026comes a report to us that the entire population of Bayside Township perished a fortnight ago when all the township\u2019s buildings were burned to the ground by a group of heathen marauders. Many of the town\u2019s children were celebrating the construction of the new church at Holly Farm when the building\u2019s doors were blocked and the building set aflame\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\nPete continued reading: \u201c\u2026at least one witness has claimed those who tried to assist the victims and extinguish the blaze were shot by armed gunmen. A rumor has come to us, through most trustworthy sources, that the marauders were part of the apocalyptic group, the Spiritus Sancti.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\nPete looked around. He felt his face grow warm. \u201cNeal, what the hell is this?\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal handed him a book. \u201cSpiritus Sancti was a cult that believed they could bring about the end of the world through the blood sacrifices of virgins,\u201d he said. \u201cThey must have started around here, sometime after 1800. Eventually, they spread all over the country.<\/p>\n
\u201cShit. But what\u2019s this have to do with the murders?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKeep reading. You\u2019re not done.\u201d He handed Pete a water-stained map. \u201cLook at this, look at where all those buildings were located.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete followed Neal\u2019s finger. \u201cThis Holly Farm, it was owned by the Cosindas family? Is that the same family that Tessa\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYep, Mister sheriff, it is, her great-great grandfather.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete looked back at the musty, brittle page. \u201c\u2018\u2026the structures burned quickly, preventing the noble firemen from Rusville, situated only a few miles to the north, from defeating the conflagration with their new one hundred gallon pumper\u2026\u2019\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cI\u2019m not sure I follow,\u201d Pete said.<\/p>\n
Neal turned the map toward Pete. \u201cThis map shows Rusville was originally about four miles away from Bayside, before they built Highway One. The road mentioned there is The Old North Road.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou mean the original village of Bayside – those buildings they were talking about – sat along The Old North Road?\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal nodded. \u201cI believe so. I think there was a church and a parsonage, a small store, and some houses scattered along that two-mile stretch.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd somewhere along that road\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwo hundred and seventy one men, women and children were sacrificed. Most of them on a burning funeral pyre intended to bring about the end of the world.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete wiped his face. \u201cSweet Jesus.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKeep reading,\u201d Neal said. \u201cIt gets worse.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u2022<\/p>\n
The vision wasn\u2019t like the others. It didn\u2019t wake Tessa from her sleep. It didn\u2019t come at night. This one caught her while she worked the crossword on page 28-C of the newspaper.<\/p>\n
For more than a week, Tessa\u2019s mind had been clear. She thought the visions might have stopped.<\/p>\n
She was wrong.<\/p>\n
This image hit her like a hammer – a shock of electricity that seemed to split her brain in two. Tessa covered her face with her hands. The pain sliced through her head like a sharp knife.<\/p>\n
She saw the bright flash of light. Then she fell into darkness.<\/p>\n
Tessa stood next to a man near a grove of strange-looking trees. She stood next to Marvin Boyd.<\/p>\n
Her mind reeled. God, was it her? Had she somehow managed to kill dozens of people? Her heart raced. Sweat poured down her face. It matted her hair and soaked her blouse.<\/p>\n
Another bright flash, and she heard – and saw – Marvin cuss and whine. He said something about the land being priced too high. She heard another voice, another man behind her, argue back. She heard something about a shopping center; about money and interest.<\/p>\n
Then the voices faded, like someone had turned down the volume. Tessa strained to listen, but the voices had moved further away, off in the distance. For a few seconds she didn\u2019t hear, or see, anything. Then she saw the back of the second man. He walked to his car and drove away.<\/p>\n
Tessa turned and looked. She recognized this place, a place she\u2019d avoided since she was a small girl – The Old North Road.<\/p>\n
She watched herself walk toward the highway, away from the trees.<\/p>\n
Then she heard the scream.<\/p>\n
A bright flash, and she saw herself next to Marvin again. He turned toward her. Behind him, the sky was dark, stormy – the clouds looked like old grease in a cast iron skillet.<\/p>\n
She saw another flash, something bloody, dark and twisting. It struck Marvin – a snake, twisting, flailing, thrashing. She watched Marvin\u2019s face bend and warp. The snake-like thing wrapped itself around Marvin and pulsated; blood dripped on her feet.<\/p>\n
She felt the anger, the hatred; it boiled through her blood like acid. Her heart raced, she couldn\u2019t breathe. Her chest felt as though a huge rope had been twisted around her and pulled tight.<\/p>\n
Gasping for air, Tessa moved her hands to her throat. She was choking, dying. Another flash: something dark and slender twisted and curled around Marvin\u2019s face. The black began to pulsate. Bones snapped. The snake-like band continued to wrap itself around and around. One end coiled, then rose and struck Marvin in the back of his skull.<\/p>\n
Another flash, and the snake – was it really as snake? – twisted and slithered and pulsated. Flesh ripped. Pieces of Marvin\u2019s body tore away.<\/p>\n
Tessa felt a rumble. Beneath her, the ground split; more black snakes shot out. They twisted around Marvin and yanked him deep into the earth. The ground flexed and vomited. What was left of Marvin\u2019s naked body was spewed out, tossed like trash onto The Old North Road.<\/p>\n
Tessa stood silently. She saw herself lean down, toward Marvin, then stop. Behind her, she heard the flap of wings; the buzzards were on their way. Then there was darkness.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Pete stayed at Neal\u2019s office late into the night. Along with the newspapers, Neal had laid out maps, files, and a stack of old, faded photographs.<\/p>\n
Pete read through the old newspapers, working toward the present, making notes about the stories Neal had marked.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo there have been several incidents like this?\u201d he said. \u201cBeginning in 1861?\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal nodded. \u201cYeah, and they\u2019ve been roughly spaced about twenty years apart. There was another incident in 1885, then another in 1906.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut these stories don\u2019t say what the bodies looked like. What makes you think\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal handed the sheriff a stack of tan paper tied with a red ribbon. \u201cThose are copies of several coroners\u2019 reports. The top ones are from 1906, the bottom ones from 1936.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete cocked his head. \u201cWhy would you have coroners\u2019 reports?\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal smiled. \u201cI think Frank – you remember Frank Reeding who owned the paper before me – well, he was researching these killings, but stopped. Those were in his files. All this stuff was down in the basement.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete\u2019s gaze skipped across the pages; his expression changed from curious to sick. \u201cThey describe the bodies pretty much like old man Withers and that kid, Jeff Currier,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Neal nodded. He took a long drink. \u201cSounds like the same type of killings have been occurring in Bayside for more than a hundred years.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Pete scowled. \u201cOkay, so now we know Bayside\u2019s ugly past. But we\u2019re still not any closer to discovering who – or what – is killing these people, and why.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d Neal said. \u201cI called Homer Wallace, at the historical society. He said they have a file about the killings, supposed to contain some personal letters from some of the families around here. I\u2019m going over there tomorrow, see if there\u2019s anything there that will help.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete rubbed his face. He yawned. \u201cGood idea, \u2018cause tonight, I need some sleep,\u201d he said. \u201cAll these late-night investigations are eating my lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal laughed. \u201cYeah, you better go. We\u2019re outta whiskey.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Two hours after a pair of tourists found Marvin Boyd\u2019s body, Bayside fell apart. The people panicked. Fall festival plans were canceled and, by that afternoon, Highway 1 was pregnant with traffic heading out of town.<\/p>\n
By nightfall, the small antique shops along the sea walk and every business downtown had shut their doors. The bright green sign at Billy\u2019s Diner was turned off. Billy said he didn\u2019t care what he left behind, he was going back to Bangor.<\/p>\n
Across the community, the families that remained had locked themselves in their homes. Churches held round-the-clock prayer vigils; their pastors spoke about the end of the world.<\/p>\n
Bayside, it seemed, had given up and retreated in fear.<\/p>\n
At least, that\u2019s how it felt to Pete Jacobs.<\/p>\n
Only, unlike most of the town, Pete didn\u2019t leave. Instead, he drove back out to Tessa Cosindas\u2019 house and banged on the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cTessa?\u201d he called. \u201cTessa, let me in. We need to talk.\u201d He banged on the door until his hand was numb.<\/p>\n
Then he kicked the door open.<\/p>\n
There, next to her spinning wheel, Pete found Tessa spilled across the hardwood floor.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She opened her eyes, slowly. Her head throbbed. She felt groggy, like she just woke up from a three-day hangover.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere you are,\u201d Pete said.<\/p>\n
Tessa tried to sit up. She touched her forehead. Her face felt warm.<\/p>\n
\u201cCareful,\u201d said Pete. \u201cYou have a nasty bump there, but I think you\u2019ll be okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long was I out?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t know,\u201d Pete said. \u201cBut from what I can tell, it wasn\u2019t that long. I just got here a few minutes ago.\u201d His face flashed concern. \u201cDid\u2026 did you have another vision?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa nodded. \u201cI saw Marvin\u2026 Marvin Boyd.\u201d She pulled Pete close. Tears filled her eyes. \u201cI think he\u2019s\u2026 I saw\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete held her hand. \u201cDeputy Jones found Marv, torn to pieces all along The Old North Road.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa\u2019s sobs filled the room. \u201cI\u2026 I don\u2019t think I can take this anymore. Not after this. It was\u2026 was the worst.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow so?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw myself there,\u201d she said. \u201cI saw myself standing next to Marvin. And I saw something strike him. I think\u2026 I may be the killer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean, \u2018strike him?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa covered her face. \u201cI saw him being attacked. Something hit him; something that was dark, and slithering, like a snake. I felt what it felt – hatred, and a desire for revenge. It wrapped around Marv and thrashed and whipped. It covered his face and tightened until\u2026 Then it stuck Marv on the back of his head.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete wiped his face. He walked to the kitchen and returned with a small plastic bottle of water. \u201cHere, drink this,\u201d he said. He handed the bottle to Tessa.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo this time you saw what killed Marv?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt may have been me, sheriff.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete smiled. \u201cNo, Tessa, it wasn\u2019t you. But I do believe you saw what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa gulped the water. \u201cI\u2026 I guess,\u201d she said. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t human. It was, like a snake, a huge, twisting snake that slashed him to pieces.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Pete shook his head. He had seen the fear on Tessa\u2019s face. He\u2019d heard the terror in her voice, but a snake? And her, could she be the killer? Those ideas, he thought, didn\u2019t make sense.<\/p>\n
\u201cTessa, I\u2019ve been out there. Searched all around. There\u2019s no sign of snakes. Not snakes the size you\u2019re talking about.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll I know is what I saw. It was twisting and slashing, then the ground opened, and the snake pulled Marvin down, into the earth.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you say?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw the ground open and the snakes pulled Marvin inside.\u201d Pete gulped. He wiped the sweat off his face and reached for his cell phone.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said the ground opened?\u201d Neal O\u2019Bannon wasn\u2019t sure he\u2019d heard the sheriff correctly. \u201cShe actually said that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWith God as my witness,\u201d Pete said. \u201cI was sittin\u2019 right there, on her couch.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAmazing,\u201d Neal said. \u201cPete, you probably should bring her down here. Don\u2019t go to your office. The few folks left in town will see. Bring her here, the back way.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand any of this.\u201d Tessa shook her head. \u201cWhy are we at your office? I don\u2019t want this in the paper.\u201d<\/p>\n
Neal smiled. \u201cThat\u2019s not what we\u2019re trying to do, Tessa. I just thought this would be better, you know, so people wouldn\u2019t talk.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAccording to Pete, there\u2019s not that many people left in Bayside,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cTrue. But the few still here don\u2019t have anything else to do but watch Pete and gossip. See?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa nodded. \u201cSo you still haven\u2019t told me why you brought me here.\u201d The sheriff handed her a tan leather portfolio. \u201cDo you know Homer Wallace?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d Tessa said. \u201cHe\u2019s the president of the Bayside Historical Society.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s also the world\u2019s biggest pack-rat. Homer doesn\u2019t throw anything way. Ever.\u201d Tessa giggled. \u201cI understand that. I\u2019m kinda that way, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete pointed to the folder. \u201cLots of folks leave stuff to the historical society when they die. Homer catalogues them under \u2018family legends\u2019. That portfolio, there, was left to the Historical Society by one of your relatives.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa looked hard at the tan leather. \u201cI\u2026 I don\u2019t recognize it,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ve never seen this before.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou probably wouldn\u2019t have,\u201d Neal said. \u201cHomer told us he was under strict orders never to show it to you.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy? Why would someone in my family not want me to see this?\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete reached over and clicked open the small gold lock. \u201cRead it. I think you\u2019ll understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Tessa unfolded the leather. The portfolio smelled old, dusty. Inside, tucked into the pocket, were several pieces of thick, brown paper.<\/p>\n
The handwriting was delicate, almost feminine and the ink, once dark black, had faded to a thin purple.<\/p>\n
Tessa began to read: \u201cNovember Twenty-ninth. Eighteen hundred and eleven<\/em>.<\/p>\n\u201cTo all those whom are descendants and who come after me. I, Thaddeus Ezra Cosindas, do hereby attest to the veracity of this document.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cAs witnesses, I offer the solemn oath of the honorable Judge Edwin Colson, and that of my dear friend and pastor, Moses Ezekiel Procter.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cWe each have sworn our sacred oath that what we are about to set forth is true.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\nTessa paused. Gently, she laid each thick, brittle page on the desk.<\/p>\n
\u201cFive days prior to the date of this document, we three men, the remaining survivors of the Village of Bayside, Maine, buried our loved ones.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cUnder a dark, fire-scorched sky, we toiled until we had placed our wives, our children, and those so dear to us<\/em> in the bosom of the earth. Our families and friends rest in the ground where they were slain.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cWe curse Heaven, and we curse God and his Creation for authoring this tragic story. We weep when we remember the day we allowed the Spiritus Sancti into our small village.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cHad we known then, what we are so surely conscious of now, we would have slain the Seven and Four and the Spiritus Sancti, who claimed to be workers of God.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cYet we did not.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cInstead, we allowed them into our homes, treated them as friends, shared with them our food and, most assuredly, signed ours and our own family\u2019s death warrants.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cAs this was during the hot summer, we welcomed the strong, able men who seemed, at first, so devout, so God-fearing. With their help, our crops were harvested quickly and our new church building finished.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cBut then, not but five days ago, Talbot, the leader of the Spiritus Sancti, urged us to fast, pray, and seek God\u2019s continued blessing for a good harvest. At his bidding, we brought the entire town together at the site of the church.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cHe called it a revival. We now know it was the stage for slaughter.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cAs our families knelt in prayer, the Seven and Four, and the Sancti, those monsters, the spawn of Lucifer, sprung their trap. They burned our church as our little children celebrated inside.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cThe Sancti stood silently while our young screamed and cried in terror, beseeching their families to free them. The Seven and Four stabbed and shot those who tried to enter the flaming building.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cBy some unholy means they brought forth Hell-fire and great explosions and death, most surely from Satan himself.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cAs for myself and my companions, we sequestered ourselves behind a small grove of willows, fearing our own deaths. We watched, unable to save our families. We hid even as our children burned and our wives bled<\/em>.<\/p>\n\u201cUpon the rising of the sun, the Seven and Four and the Spiritus Sancti had departed our village, leaving Bayside a desolate ruin.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cBut we shall have our revenge.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cWe shall ride the earth, unending, until we find the Seven and Four and the Sancti and they, like our children and our wives and our friends, will most certainly meet their doom.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cFurther, with the help of the Haitian woman called Gianna, we call upon Satan – for the Almighty has betrayed and forsaken us – to curse this very ground, the ground which now holds the bones of our beloved.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cWe have pledged our souls to Lucifer himself. We will fight his spawn with his own Hell-fire. We have asked the Dark One\u2019s aid to strike down all those who would descend from the Seven and Four and the Spiritus Sancti, from now until the end of days.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cMay they, unto their thousandth generation, know our wrath. May the very ground itself avenge us.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cTo sanctify our pact, we have placed no marker. Instead, we have planted four and twenty trees supplied by the good Reverend Procter. Those trees, for as long as they stand, shall serve as the only monument to our loss.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cWe sign this oath with our own blood, just as surely, as we condemn ourselves to eternal Hell<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\nTessa folded the leather closed, and stood quietly at the window. She stared out into the night. \u201cSheriff,\u201d she said, \u201cI think you know what needs to be done.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want what?\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete leaned forward. \u201cHonestly, Father, I\u2019m not insane.\u201d<\/p>\n
Father Michael Flanagan shook his head. He wasn\u2019t sure he\u2019d heard the sheriff correctly. \u201cYou need me to bless a dozen chainsaws?\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete nodded. \u201cAnd water. I need twenty-five thousand gallons of holy water, father. And\u2026 I need it by Thursday.\u201d<\/p>\n
Father Flanagan rubbed his forehead. \u201cAnd why do you need so much?\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete smiled. \u201cWell, sir, it\u2019s a long story.\u201d<\/p>\n
The priest leaned back in his chair. \u201cSheriff, for this, I have plenty of time.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Pete stood quietly in the middle of the road.<\/p>\n
The November wind felt raw; the cold seemed to seep inside his coat and creep deep into his veins.<\/p>\n
Above him, the sky hung low – a murky gray canvas covering a stark, barren stretch of land. The road was deserted.<\/p>\n
Around him, the trees had grown together. They formed a large, twisted tunnel that stretched for what seemed like miles. Pete saw patches of the gray clouds through the dark, twisted limbs.<\/p>\n
The ground was still. There were no sounds of nature – no bird chirped. The very earth itself seemed to have fallen silent. The whole place, Pete thought, was like a giant, open tomb. Pete walked to the closest tree. Gently, like a mother would a new child, he touched the trunk. The tree felt warm. Its rough bark scraped his hand.<\/p>\n
Pete looked down. His work boots stood across long slender roots that twisted themselves in and out of the earth like so many dark, gnarled fingers.<\/p>\n
He understood now. He wondered why it had taken him so long; why he hadn\u2019t seen sooner.<\/p>\n
Tessa had been the key.<\/p>\n
Had they listened to her, all this might have been avoided. Had Pete used a little imagination, many people might be alive today. But Pete was slow. He hadn\u2019t gotten the full picture until Tessa had told him about Marvin\u2019s death. As she had talked, Pete had understood – the warning lights had flashed; the alarm had sounded.<\/p>\n
With Neal\u2019s help, he\u2019d learned how the monster was formed. And thanks to history, he now understood why the monster killed. Now, almost two hundred years later, it was clear what, exactly, the monster was.<\/p>\n
Standing in the silent cold, Pete knew how to stop the deaths – he also knew the attempt could cost him his own life. But Pete Jacobs didn\u2019t have a choice. He was the law in Bayside, and even if it killed him, he had to try and protect those people who remained.<\/p>\n
Pete clicked on his two-way. \u201cYou guys stand ready,\u201d he said. \u201cBut don\u2019t do anything until you hear from me. Got it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes sir,\u201d said a distant voice covered in static. \u201cReady when you are.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete Jacobs smiled.<\/p>\n
He wiped the sweat from his face, then reached down and picked up a large, razor-sharp axe. The axe head, forged by an artisan blacksmith from the local monastery, was made of silver and fitted with a polished mahogany haft.<\/p>\n
Pete took a small bottle of holy water and poured it over the axe head. He ran his fingers across the flawless silver, then touched the image of Saint Peter, etched into the side.<\/p>\n
It was a work of art, he thought.<\/p>\n
Silently, he made the sign of the cross. Then he raised the axe over his head, turned, and, with every ounce of strength he had, slammed the silver blade into the trunk of the tall, strange tree.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The tree screamed.<\/p>\n
There on the road, the sky echoed with huge, anguished cries.<\/p>\n
With Pete\u2019s first cut, the tree unleashed the hideous sound of loathing and fear and fury which had grown inside its trunk for years.<\/p>\n
The scream grew louder. Blood, centuries old, poured from the large, jagged wound and spilled onto the road. Pete swung again and again. Pieces of bloody, dark bark filled the sky as the first of the strange trees died.<\/p>\n
The trees had stood for two centuries. They had absorbed the evil, the hatred and the pain spilled on the ground so long ago. They stood and waited, called as demonic sentinels and charged with killing the descendants of those who had first spilled blood along The Old North Road.<\/p>\n
Finally, the scream forced Pete to his knees. He dropped his axe and covered his ears, trying to shield himself from the pain.<\/p>\n
He shouldn\u2019t have.<\/p>\n
In that moment the tree attacked. Branches twisted and turned and bit and slashed. The ground beneath Pete trembled and shook.<\/p>\n
A huge black root forced its way out of the dark, moist earth and twisted around the axe. Pete yanked the axe away and rose to swing again; more raw, bloody pieces of wood fell away as gallon upon gallon of dark, red blood filled the ditch along the road.<\/p>\n
And still the tree fought.<\/p>\n
Black roots slithered out of the ground and wrapped themselves around Pete like so many snakes.<\/p>\n
Pete ripped pieces of root off his belt. \u201cYou\u2019re not dragging me to your Hell hole,\u201d he screamed. He swung the axe again and again.<\/p>\n
But the plant continued to grasp and twist and slash. The branches, thin and sharp, slashed Pete\u2019s face like thousands of razors.<\/p>\n
Bloody and hurt, Pete turned, chopping his way through a bowl of twisted roots that pushed their way out of the ground. He had to fight his way back to the pavement and his Jeep.<\/p>\n
The roots slithered toward him, winding around his legs like thousands of tiny wires, ripping through his uniform and gouging at his skin.<\/p>\n
Pete fell to his knees and crawled across the bloody ground. Tessa was right,<\/em> he thought. The roots twist and slither. They can\u2026<\/em><\/p>\nA huge taproot forced its way around Pete\u2019s gut. It squeezed like a python. Pete felt the air being forced out of his lungs. He gulped air, trying to breathe, but the root\u2019s hold was unbreakable.<\/p>\n
Pete flexed his right arm. Several of the small, wiry twigs snapped, freeing his hand just long enough to click the button on his two-way.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay guys,\u201d he coughed. \u201cCome get \u2018em.\u00a0 They\u2019re all yours.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete gulped again. He tried to force air back into his body, but the root twisted tighter, suffocating him. He felt another root twist around his neck, toward the back of his skull.<\/p>\n
Pete fell to the ground. The silver axe fell from his hand. As he slid into blackness, just down the road, just beyond the reach of trees, the roar of chainsaws filled the air.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He heard music. Loud, loud piano music – rock \u2018n\u2019 roll, he was sure. Death wasn\u2019t so bad, he thought. At least it had a soundtrack.<\/p>\n
Pete opened his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cThought we\u2019d lost you there, chief,\u201d Deputy Jones said. \u201cHow do ya feel?\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete rubbed his face. He was alive. Alive, but in serious pain. His sides ached and his back felt like someone – or something – had twisted him in half then put him back together.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been better,\u201d he said. He looked around. \u201cWhere am I?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHospital,\u201d the deputy replied. \u201cRusville Memorial. We got ya here as fast as we could\u2026 Thought you\u2019d like the tunes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete pushed himself up. \u201cAnd\u2026 The Old North Road?\u201d<\/p>\n
The deputy smiled. The first genuine smile Pete had seen in a long, long time.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe took out ever\u2019 damn tree,\u201d he said. \u201cThey fought us like hell, too. But between the chainsaws and the flame-throwers – well, sheriff, there\u2019s nothin\u2019 there but a bunch of stumps and about a million gallons of dried black shit that I\u2019d swear was blood.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete nodded. He rubbed the back of his head. \u201cDamnedest thing I ever saw, Jonesy. Trees that scream and bleed and kill. Hell, maybe those people at the church were right. Maybe it is the end of the world.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jones laughed. \u201cNaw\u2026 just some real strange shit.\u201d He reached down. \u201cBut you might want to keep this handy, just in case.\u201d He laid the blood-stained axe across the bed.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Over the years, folks slowly returned to Bayside. The new ones, well, they don\u2019t know, and most of the ones who stayed won\u2019t talk. The few that do, well, they usually refer to the \u201cofficial account.\u201d<\/p>\n
That story, complete with police files, photographs and written testimonials, tells of a deranged stranger who, hoping to bring about the end of the world, attacked and killed several people with a knife carved out of wood.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s the public story.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But for the curious, there\u2019s a small safe in Neal O\u2019Bannon\u2019s newspaper office. Inside it are several hundred photographs.<\/p>\n
Those photographs never appeared in the Bayside Reporter<\/em>. Neal put them away. They were never printed because they showed the dozens and dozens of bodies – some burned, some ancient and withered and some bloody and newly rotting – that were found twisted among the roots of the tree stumps.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Neal keeps the photos hidden because they prove the bodies were slowly being eaten by the trees who guarded The Old North Road.<\/p>\n
Filed with the photos is a list of names. Names like Currier and Withers and Boyd – descendants of the original group of the Seven and Four. But the names of the Spiritus Sancti were lost forever. Neither the Sancti, nor their ancestors, were known ever to have returned to Bayside.<\/p>\n
Also in the safe are several letters from Port-au-Prince, Haiti.<\/p>\n
The letters, found in an old desk at Bayside\u2019s Our Lady of Sorrows Church, were written by a Catholic priest. The priest wrote of a woman he met who had been condemned to death.\u00a0 He said the woman – who was burned at the stake in 1813 – told him she was given a thousand dollars in silver and two cows to try and bring dark spirits from Hell to earth. The woman said she was asked to perform this task for three men seeking to avenge the deaths of their families.<\/p>\n
The priest\u2019s letters said the men were from Bayside Township. And while the letters don\u2019t name the woman, they note that right before her death, she confessed she had tried to call forth demons.<\/p>\n
The letter does not say whether the woman had been successful.<\/p>\n
Pete won\u2019t talk about the letters or the photographs. He had wanted Neal to burn them, but Neal refused and they remain, today, locked in his safe.<\/p>\n
Pete stayed silent. He won\u2019t show people Race Holder\u2019s autopsy reports; reports that tell how each victim\u2019s skull had been penetrated by a razor sharp tree root, which separated the skull at its base from the spine.<\/p>\n
And neither Pete nor the medical examiner will discuss how slivers of wood were found in each wound on each victim – proof that they had been ripped apart by the tree roots themselves.<\/p>\n
Pete doesn\u2019t like to talk about the day he killed the trees, either.<\/p>\n
All he will say – for the record – is that on a cold November day, he and several dozen men worked non-stop until every tree lining The Old North Road had been cut down, chopped into logs, and fed into an industrial wood chipper.<\/p>\n
However, at the Harrison Brothers\u2019 Sawmill, a work order confirms that during November, the mill received four and one-half tons of bloody wood chips, which were burned to ash, then mixed with 25,000 gallons of holy water. The gray slush was sealed in plastic drums which carried the Papal seal.<\/p>\n
Attached to that work order is a handwritten manifest that accounts for 271 sealed plastic barrels. Those barrels were shipped to the middle of Penobscot Bay and dumped in the ocean.<\/p>\n
Folks don\u2019t talk about the Bayside Incident anymore. Many years have passed. Tessa stills sells homemade jam at her fruit stand, and Elijah still smokes his pipe.<\/p>\n
Pete has retired now. These days he just sits in the sun at the big white house and watches the boats out on the bay.<\/p>\n
But behind him, near the back fence where he first found old man Withers, a small tree has started to grow – a small tree that looks like an oak, but has wispy willow branches.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Copyright \u00a9 2011 by M. Scott Carter
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