We’ve stopped moving, and so has everyone else. The congregation stands motionless and silent within the walls of Old Sheldon Church, with no ceiling but the night sky.
Edgar steps forward. In the eerie glow of the lanterns, he looks more angelic than ever—that delicate, beautiful face, the golden curls, the fervent blue eyes. He’s wearing dark robes I’ve only seen the deacons wear during special services.
“My father couldn’t be here tonight,” he says. “What we must do is too painful for him. We agreed that I should lead this consecration service, as it will be my duty and my joy to lead you all through the next few decades as your pastor.”
A soft murmur runs through the crowd. Pastor Linton retiring is a shock for everyone, as is Edgar’s inheritance of the pastoral role. In some churches, they’d vote in a new pastor or be assigned a minister…but this congregation is anything but normal.
“There will be time for explanations later. For now, let’s open the service with a hymn,” Edgar continues. “‘There Is a Fountain.’ You all know the words.”
Through the fog and the crooked shadows, voices rise, wavering at first, then finding each other in ethereal harmony. It’s hella spooky.
I wouldn’t sing with this creepy crowd, even if I could. All I want is to get away, but I’m still having trouble focusing occasionally, and my mouth feels disconnected from my brain. I can only stand on wobbly legs and stare at Edgar, who sings with all the vigor of an old-time revival preacher.
During the second verse, his gaze swerves to me, and another chill rushes over my skin, a tremor so powerful, Aunt Nellie throwsme a sidelong glance.
Edgar’s eyes burn bright, but they’re hollow, too, and remote, like a pair of distant blue stars. I can’t help comparing them to Heathcliff’s brown eyes, so vivid and warm, full of passion and purpose.
Edgar’s gaze moves from my face downward, to my chest. I’m trembling from the cold, my nipples peaked against the frail fabric of the white dress I’m wearing. He takes his time drinking in the sight of me, and all the while, he never stops singing.
Does he know what Aunt Nellie has been doing to me? He must know. My family, the church, everyone has been working against me.
I thought I felt alone and misunderstood before, but that was nothing compared to the loneliness, the panic, and the rage I feel now. I’ve spent years fighting for some measure of control over my body, my life…and to have it stolen from me slowly, to be so utterly betrayed by the people I’ve known since I was born—it’s agony. It’s an unnatural violence I can barely grasp. They’re monsters. They’re fiends. And I was foolish for letting myself believe they cared, that they were keeping me safe, that they wanted to help me.
I put all my focus, all my energy into mouthing one word. One single word that expresses my defiance, that tells Edgar I know exactly what he is, at his core:Pervert.
His eye twitches—he got the message.
By the start of the fourth stanza, I’m beginning to regain some control over my muscles. Another minute, and maybe I can break free. Strike back. Run. Maybe I’ll even have the energy to scream, although my banshee still feels shaken, subdued, drowned somewhere deep inside me.
Just as I’m about to make a move, Edgar shifts his attention fromme to my dad and nods slightly.
Aunt Nellie wraps her arm around my shoulders just as Dad reaches up and jabs something into my neck. There’s a sharp pinch and a quick cold flush of liquid along my vein, spreading rapidly through my neck and shoulder. The sensation trickles over to my spine and drains along it, flooding my limbs with a strange floating, tingling sensation.
I choke a little and stagger.
The needle flashes in my father’s hand as he tucks the syringe back into his pocket.
I struggle to yell, to form words, but my vocal cords are paralyzed. It’s hard to drag in breaths.
“Shh, honey, shh.” Aunt Nellie is holding me still. Keeping me upright.
Shit, this can’t be good.Shit shit shit.I struggle to force out a scream, a pulse of power, anything—but the stuff in that needle has done its job well and quickly. I can’t summon a shriek; I can barely haul air through my heavy lungs, can barely manage to keep my legs from folding beneath me.
The hymn ends, and Edgar speaks again. “You all know why we’re here. The demon is stirring and has murdered several of our own. He’s killing off his guards, his jailers, we the dedicated few who hold him down and protect the world from destruction. Our hold on him is breaking. If we are to survive, if we are to keep this evil force submerged and protect the world from his dreadful power, we must take drastic measures. We must make painful sacrifices, as our Lord did, as our ancestors have done for generations.”
He hesitates, looks back over his shoulder toward the guy in the dark coat.
“The dissonant energy of the demon’s awakening brought tous a wise man, someone to help us in our hour of need,” Edgar continues. “He understands the lore more deeply than we do, and he knew the ingredient we’ve been missing, the element used to seal the demon away in the first place and the key to repressing him now. We need someone with powerful supernatural gifts and a blood inheritance directly from the demon himself. By God’s grace, we have just such a person among us. In penance for the harm she has done to this community, she has agreed to be our savior. Her blood will saturate the earth and serve as a warning to the demon. Her life will seal him within the tomb forever, and he will rest there in silence. No more deaths among our congregation—no fear of the demon rising and unleashing carnage on this state, this country, this world.”
Her blood will saturate the earth… Her life will seal him within the tomb…
The meaning is unmistakable. They’re going to fucking kill me. They’re going to slash my throat and let me bleed out right here in the hopes that my death will be the magical lock that keeps a god from rising.
I almost laugh. This is the stuff of horror movies—surely Edgar can see that. Surely he can hear how ridiculous and melodramatic he sounds, how foolish this idea is…
Then again, my entire life has been a horror movie. Why should this be any different?
There’s a fanatical gleam in Edgar’s eyes as his gaze locks with mine again. I struggle to move, to speak, but I can only hang between my aunt and my father, bound by their joint embrace.
