Bad Juju
“How much salt does it take to de-spook an entire water tower?” Anna asked as Geneva maneuvered her hatchback through the back roads of Old Bloomtown. Once they turned onto Route 33, the towering pines gave up their sandy roadside sentinel to a strip of behemoth fast food signs. The restaurants were all closed, but the reds and greens of the aurora borealis cast fleeting hues on the golden arches of the McDonald’s as they drove past.
“Well, let’s see, the average water tower holds 1.5 million gallons of water,” Geneva said. “A safe bet is that we need a whole lot of salt.”
Anna shivered in the passenger seat. They were totally unprepared for this, but they couldn’t wait. Who knew what horrors would unfold overnight if they did? There was also the advantage of surprise. The demon knew its cover was blown and would expect an attack, but it hopefully didn’t know that they suspected the water tower was the source of the infection. If the poisoned water was behind the demon’s growing power, clearing Bloomtown’s water supply—and fast—was their best option. Anna was connected to Source and therefore, in theory, should be able to perform the blessing, but she’d never attempted to make holy water before.
They pulled into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. A bell on the door jingled as they walked inside. Anna spotted the aisle with the familiar blue-wrapped canisters, each adorned with an image of a little girl in a yellow dress. But there were only six left, not even close to enough. They carried three canisters each to the checkout counter.
“Do you have any more salt?” Anna asked the cashier, who didn’t bother looking up from her phone. The cashier’s tangled hair was pushed back from her face by a pair of glasses. A similar pair of glasses was perched at the end of her nose.
“We got what’s out there,” the cashier said, still focused on her phone.
“Right,” said Anna. “But I was wondering if you might have any more salt somewhere else, maybe in the back?”
The cashier sighed loudly. “Like I said, what’s out there is what we got.”
Anna glanced at the woman’s name tag. “It’s just that it’s kind of an emergency, Evelyn.”
Evelyn looked up then, pushing her glasses back on her nose and assessing Anna with a frothy glare.
“Oh, well in that case, tell you what I’ll do,” Evelyn said. “I’ll quit my scrabble game”—she waved her phone at Anna before placing it behind her on a stack of Us Weekly magazines— “leave HockeyDad77 completely in the lurch, and lock up the front door so as not to leave the register unattended. Other customers, they can wait, since we got a little queenie here with a salt emergency. Then I’ll make my way into the back room and search the inventory. Yep, just start ripping open boxes, tearing the whole place apart if that’s what it takes to make sure your every need is met.”
Anna’s eyes traveled to the large cup of tea that the woman had just about drained. Perhaps the charming Evelyn was affected by the noxious water, or there could be a portal somewhere in the store. Then again, maybe Evelyn was just a jerk.
“Just an FYI,” Anna said. “Sarcasm isn’t a good look.”
“Ain’t that a shame. I guess I’ll have to drop out of the Miss South Jersey pageant now, and I had my acceptance speech all memorized. Now are you going to buy something, or what? Because loitering ain’t allowed.”
“We’ll take these,” Geneva said, gesturing to the canisters on the counter and taking out her wallet. “Please.”
Geneva turned to Anna when they got back into the hatchback. “You know,” she said, “you can catch more flies with honey.”
Anna was baffled. “And why would I want to do that?”
“It’s an expression that means showing someone a little kindness gets you a lot further than hostility.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure that little scene was all my fault. It had nothing to do with the shady water special she was drinking.”
Geneva raised a brow. “What was it you were saying about sarcasm?”
They both laughed, the brief levity easing their nerves. But they fell silent after pulling back onto the two-lane highway. The water tower loomed eerily in the backdrop of Route 33. The white paint, visible against the dark sky, had taken on the creepy shimmer of the aurora borealis above.
The only other convenience store open past midnight was the WaWa at the gas station. The moment they walked in, it was obvious that the scowling, tattooed skinny guy behind the counter wasn’t going to be overly helpful, and there was only one canister of salt sitting on a dusty shelf. Anna hung back, letting Geneva handle it.
“Excuse me, sir,” Geneva said, “is it possible that you have any more salt? Maybe you’re getting ready to restock your shelves and have some handy? I’m looking to buy as much as possible.”
“Try Costco,” he said, stone-faced.
“It’s not open. Nothing is. You’re our last hope unless we want to get on the turnpike, and our need for salt—sounds silly—but it’s kind of time-sensitive. So, if you did have any, it would really help us out.”
“Lady,” he said, smacking his gum. “I make nine dollars an hour, and you want me to help you out?”
Anna bit the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. But the smile on Geneva’s face didn’t waver as she reached into her purse and took out her wallet.
“How about if this hour,” Geneva said, placing a bill on the counter, “you make twenty-nine dollars.”
They left the WaWa with a full box of salt canisters still wrapped in plastic. Apparently, some flies didn’t like honey after all, but cash was always palatable. They now had a total of eighteen canisters. It would have to do.
• • •
By the time they pulled up to the roped-off gravel road leading to the Bloomtown water tower, the predawn light dimmed the shimmer of the aurora borealis. After Geneva parked the dented hatchback, Anna crouched on the dusty road and poured salt from the canisters directly into her backpack. When her backpack bulged to capacity, they poured the remaining salt into the satchel that held Emi. After securing the salt, they ducked under a rope, ignoring a weathered no trespassing sign. The weight of her backpack pulled on Anna’s shoulders as they passed the small pumping station at the base of the tower.
The area of patchy grass surrounding the tower was shrouded in an uneasy stillness. No insects buzzed, no birds sang an early-morning song. Although creepy, the silence had an upside. The pump was off, which meant the tank was full. Anna and Geneva had researched the structure online before they left the house. Water was pumped from a local reservoir up into the tank, and gravity created the water pressure that brought it back down through Bloomtown pipes and faucets. The tower held about a day’s worth of water, which was accessed in the mornings when demand was high on the regional water system. Their arrival right before the morning rush was well timed.
Anna counted six steel legs supporting the water tank that loomed a hundred feet above them. A spindly ladder was attached to one leg, extending all the way to the roof of the tank. It was the only way up. Anna craned her neck back. The tower hadn’t looked as high from the road. Geneva must have been thinking the same thing. The crease between the woman’s eyes was deep enough to stand a quarter in.
“I’ll go first,” Anna said.
“Wait,” Geneva said, taking both of Anna’s hands in hers. “Close your eyes.”
Anna reluctantly obliged.
“I think it's important that we take a few moments to acknowledge that although what we’re about to do may be illegal—well, it is illegal—our intentions are for the greater good of this community, and by extension, mother earth as a whole.”
Anna rolled her eyes under her closed lids. They really didn’t have time for this.
“We good now? Can I open my eyes?”
“Yes,” Geneva said. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Swear on my life.”
Anna gripped the ladder’s bottom rung, wincing when rusted metal flakes scratched her sweaty palms. Why would they place the ladder so far from the ground? Her arms protested as she pulled her body up, grabbing for a higher rung, and then another. Her feet flailed, searching for and then finding the bottom rung. Buzzing with adrenaline, her thigh muscles burning, she began to climb, reminding herself that there wasn’t a choice. She had to move forward. The demon that killed her mother was trying to destroy everyone she had left, and she couldn’t let that happen, not this time.
The ladder rattled in Anna’s hands as Geneva began her ascent. A thick guilt unfurled in Anna’s chest. Because of her, Geneva risked an arrest record, injury or worse.
They scaled the rusty ladder for several minutes, climbing slowly and in sync to keep it from shaking. About halfway up they stopped for a break, both of them breathing hard. Anna used her legs to secure herself to the ladder and wiped her clammy raw palms on her jeans, smearing rusted steel on the denim. She looked down at Geneva.
“Should have worn gloves, huh?”
Not up for chitchat, Geneva nodded, white-knuckling the ladder. They got moving again, both of them focusing on their hand and foot placement and not looking down. There was no wind, which should have been a good thing, but instead the unseasonably muggy air felt heavy, like it was pressing down on them as they climbed.
The ladder finally deposited them at a wraparound catwalk encircling the fattest part of the water tower’s bulb. Anna immediately plopped down on the meshed metal of the catwalk’s floor. She trembled with relief, but this was not their final destination. Looking up she could see the much smaller catwalk that encircled the very top of the bulb. That’s where the hatch was located, usually accessed when the tank was full.
Anna looked out at the twinkling lights of Bloomtown. The corridor of Route 33 was lined with glowing streetlights, while the residential areas were shrouded in darkness. It wasn’t much, but it was hers, the only home she’d ever known. Freddy and Dor were down there somewhere, probably drinking awful hospital coffee and waiting to see Dor’s mom. Freddy would stay with Dor all night if he needed to, distracting her with dirty jokes.
“We need to keep moving,” Geneva said. It took a few more minutes to reach the tiny platform at the pinnacle of the tank. The bulbous surface was studded with small metal grips that they could place a foot or hand on if needed.
Antennas were bolted to the inner radius of the roof in a spikey, silver crown. They were a good omen. Cell phone companies often leased space on top of water towers to get better reception for their customers. Insulated wires were fed up through the tanks to provide electricity to the cellular antennas. This meant there might be a relatively easy way to access the tank’s interior.
Anna squeezed through a gap in the antenna spikes, careful not to touch the metal. They were in luck. The hatch on top of the tower was rusted shut but not padlocked. After a dozen or so attempts, with both of them yanking on the hatch and groaning like juiced-up gym rats, it cracked open. They squatted next to it, shining their flashlights down into the hole. But instead of water, they saw a series of wooden planks—a platform—about six feet down.
“What the hell?” Anna said.
“The workers who installed the antennas probably built that,” Geneva said. “I doubt the water ever gets up that high.”
“Hold my legs,” Anna said, ducking her head down into the hatch before Geneva could refuse.
It was dark inside the tank, oppressive, like there wasn’t enough air. Anna fumbled for the flashlight in her back pocket, freezing when she heard a faint splash. Crack balls! Did she drop the flashlight? She patted her back pocket. No, it was still there. Anna could scan the top interior of the tank from her position, but the wooden ledge beneath her was blocking her view of the water.
“Help me up,” Anna yelled, placing the flashlight between her teeth. Geneva took hold of her outstretched hands and then pulled her up by her backpack straps, maneuvering her out of the hatch and into a sitting position on the roof.
“Thanks,” Anna said.
Geneva only nodded, her lips cemented in a tight line. Demon got your tongue? A crazed laugh built in Anna’s chest, but she resisted it. Keep it together, Fagan.
“We have to get down on that ledge,” Anna said.
“Oh, hon, I was afraid you were going to say that.” Geneva’s forehead was peppered with beads of sweat. “It doesn’t feel safe. I don’t like it.”
“But we can’t get to the water from here.”
Geneva rubbed the crystal on her necklace. Anna braced herself for another speech about mother earth, but instead Geneva turned into a responsible adult at just the wrong time.
“Going up that ladder was one thing, and believe me I wasn’t happy about it, but climbing down into this thing? You could fall. You could drown. I’d never forgive myself, and your father would kill me.”
Anna was running out of patience, not that she had much to begin with.
“He can’t kill you if he’s already dead, and that thing is trying to kill him and everyone else in this town. Pretty soon, the population of Bloomtown is gonna rise from their nightmare-infested slumber and start slurping down more of this water. Who knows how many are on the brink of hurting themselves or someone else?”
Geneva’s brow furrowed causing sweat to pool in the crease in her forehead, a drop of which fell onto her tank top, disappearing in the tie-dye pattern. The guilt in Anna’s chest sat up and shook its finger. Anna took a softer tone.
“Whatever fear you’re feeling,” Anna said, “could be coming from this rotten egg we’re sitting on. We have to get down there and clear this water.”
Anna didn’t give Geneva a chance to respond. Gripping the mouth of the open hatch, she dropped down inside the tank and hung, legs swinging, over the wooden platform. She stretched one foot down, testing her weight on the planks. They didn’t budge. The platform was sturdy enough. She let go of the hatch and dropped onto the wooden planks. A tiny creak, a small crack. No big deal. She looked up. Geneva was framed by the circular opening, silhouetted by the faint shimmer of the aurora borealis in the near dawn sky.
You see, Anna was about to say, easy peasy! But then the darkness in the tank pressed in on her, squeezing the air from her lungs, and a panic squeezed her chest. This was a horrible mistake. The tank walls were a crypt, a trap that she’d stupidly fallen into.
No. She swallowed it back, steadying her breath. It wasn’t her fear she was feeling, Anna was almost certain. It was this place, dark and full of bad juju.
“You okay, hon?”
“What? Yeah, I’m good,” Anna said, hoping Geneva missed the hitch in her voice. “Gonna look around.”
She shuffled forward on the ledge using her flashlight to guide her. But the light cut a meager path through the stifling darkness, and all she could see was the wood at her feet. Afraid that she might slip over the unseen edge, Anna placed the flashlight between her teeth and got down on her stomach. She elbow-crawled forward on the wooden planks until she could wrap her fingers around the end of the platform.
A thud and then, even worse, a loud crack, sent Anna’s heart racing as Geneva dropped onto the ledge behind her. She shimmied on her stomach next to Anna, adding the glow of her flashlight to the crushing darkness. Anna wanted to hug her but was afraid to move that much. She gave Geneva’s hand a quick squeeze. The woman had guts.
Together they peered over the edge of the platform, but the glow of their flashlights was enveloped by the darkness below. Geneva removed her shoulder strap, took Emi out of its satchel, and brought the device to the edge of the platform. She pointed the machine down into the blackness and pushed the trigger. The tank filled with blue light.
Below them the water was a rolling black lava forming boils that sprayed dark sludge across the tank walls as they burst.
“What’s wrong?” Geneva asked. “You okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just so disgusting.”
“What is?”
Geneva couldn’t see what was in the water. She couldn’t see the large, oval portal on the back wall of the tank exhaling plumes of dark pain dust that fell into the water and collected on the walls in globs. If the electromagnetic portals were sucking in the pain of Bloomtown, then this was where it ended up. No doubt about it, the water tower was Bad Juju Central.
Instead of feeling victorious, cold despair settled over Anna and her headache took on a punishing rhythm. As the pounding intensified behind her eyes, so did her panic. The tank thrummed with malevolence, and it was squirming its way inside her. Next to her, Geneva was trembling, making Emi’s blue beam bounce around the tank, throwing shadows all over the walls.
“I don’t feel so good,” Geneva said. Her tie-dye was pasted to her chest with sweat. “Is the water…is it bad?”
Anna nodded and wriggled the backpack off her shoulders. She gripped the bottom and let the unzipped top fall forward over the platform’s edge. A soft hiss echoed through the tower as the salt hit the water.
She had the salt. She had the water. But for the life of her, Anna couldn’t remember what to do next. Who did she think she was, trying to create a ginormous friggin’ tankful of holy water?
No, she told herself. She could do this. Only hours ago she was out of body. She’d seen Penelope, had found her mother! Anna took a deep breath and remembered the words of her father—before the hoarding had consumed him, when he could still make holy water. The weight of the backpack diminished as the salt fell, taking with it some of her panic.
“Wherever this salt falls shall be free from the attacks of malicious entities!” Anna shouted, her voice wavering but strong. “Anyplace that it touches will be protected by the powers of Source.”
The salt met the water and a loud hiss rose from the depths of the tank. The sound bounced off the walls, surrounding them like applause.
“It’s working!” Geneva said.
Anna looked down. A foam was forming on the surface of the water; a dirty color that appeared dark blue under Emi’s light but was probably a murky brown. Please, let the water clear. But the foam quickly fizzled out and the churning, dark energy saturated the water once more.
“No,” Anna said. “It’s not.”
“Keep going,” Geneva said.
Anna opened her mouth and a fresh torture thundered in her head. Wincing, she accidentally let go of the backpack, snatching it with one hand before it fell into the water. Her heart thudded in her chest. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t make holy water. Her connection to Source was too weak to cleanse this concentrated cauldron of evil. Inside her the river rage crashed against its levee. She was a fool to think she had a chance.
There was a movement directly beneath them. The planks creaked and Geneva stiffened. Something was attached to the underside of the ledge. It dislodged with a wet squelch and fell into the water. Two floating rows of tiny lights moved in unison through the dark water below them, and then Anna’s eyes adjusted.
It was the demon, wearing its Saul costume, floating on its back and grinning up at them, its Chiclet teeth shining in the darkness.