“Oh. My. God. A demon. There’s really a freaking demon!” Ghosts were one thing. And witches, not so good, but still human. But demons? I’d been willing to accept the possibility when we read about them, but if they were real? Like, really real? I bounced my feet against the floorboard so hard and fast that my knees nearly knocked into my chin. Thank God I wasn’t driving or I’d have swerved off the road and gone right into a muddy ditch by now. “What the hell are we gonna do?”
Dylan gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles were extra white. “There’s only one thing I can think we should do.”
“And what’s that?” I snorted, watching the trees pass by the window a little too fast. “An’ slow down. We don’t need to be in another accident.”
The car slowed slightly and Dylan loosened his grip on the wheel. “We need to go back and see Father Alvarez again. He’s a Catholic priest. If anyone will know what to do about a demon, it’ll be him.”
My stomach hitched and twisted itself into a great big knot. “I don’t know if he’ll believe us.”
Dylan gave me a quick sideways glance, then looked back at the road. “He’s a Catholic priest. Of course he’ll believe us.”
At the church, we found Father Alvarez at his desk like he’d been earlier—his laptop churning and several religious books lying about. Dylan knocked on his open office door, and Father Alvarez looked up.
“Kaitlyn. Dylan.” He nodded to us. “Did you have an opportunity to speak with Patricia?”
“We did.” Dylan went in and sat in one of the empty chairs facing the father.
“Good. I hope that brought you some peace?” His question hung in the air like a dank fog that lingered in December—the kind that rolls in off the lake and coats the air so thick you can’t see a foot in front of your face.
“Actually,” Dylan said. “Meeting Patricia gave us more questions—”
“Oh.” Father Alvarez looked down at his computer and sighed. “Did she tell you they’re just rumors?”
“Yes,” I said, sliding into the chair beside Dylan, holding my bag on my lap. “But it also gave us confirmation.”
He looked up at us, eyes weary. “Confirmation?”
“You remember what I told you? About how we’d seen Hunter and Kaitlyn?”
“You told him?” Dylan’s eyes shot open nearly as wide as his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It didn’t make a difference at the time,” I huffed, and pulled the crucifix out of my messenger bag. “He gave me this and told me he hoped I’d feel better.”
“How could you not have told me? After everything we’ve been through together?” Dylan ran his hands through his hair, his face creased with betrayal.
“I’m sorry . . . II don’t know. I didn’t really think he could help with ghosts.” I shook the crucifix in front of him. “All he did was give me a necklace and say, ‘God bless you.’” I could see the father cringe, but so what? It was the truth. “So there was no point telling you, was there?”
“There was no point?” Dylan’s face was red. The only time I’d ever seen him this mad was when Hunter wrecked Dylan’s new car after driving too fast out on Route 20.
“No, it didn’t occur to me to tell you I came here in the middle of the night after your girlfriend attacked me.” I glared at him. It wasn’t like I had to tell him every move I made. Who’d he think he was, anyway? My mother? My boyfriend? Ugh.
“Kaitlyn. Dylan.” Father Alvarez’s voice was soft and patient with an underlying edge that said I’m-tired-of-dealing-with-other-people’s-problems. “Please, stop arguing. One of the reasons I came to this town was because it’s calm and quiet and small. When I was in Chicago . . .” He stopped, weighing his words. “Let’s just say that most cases of reported hauntings or possession end up being people with emotional issues. Less than one percent of all the calls to the exorcism hotline are anything more than psychiatric problems.”
“There’s an exorcism hotline?” Dylan looked so surprised, I nearly laughed. And I would have if I wasn’t still ticked off at him.
“Apparently,” I snorted, then turned straight back to Father Alvarez, pretending Dylan wasn’t pissed at me, too. “But there is a one percent chance that it’s not because both of us are emotionally damaged from the accident that we’re seeing things, right?”
Father Alvarez frowned, but didn’t argue.
I pulled out Henry Willis’s journal, thankful Patricia had let us borrow it, with a promise it would be returned. “Listen to this.” I opened the book and read to the father about Agatha Archer and how the townspeople had taken her baby and then later hanged her for witchcraft. When I finished, I closed the book. “And Patricia said for years that some of the old folks in town have been saying Agatha made a deal with a demon.”
“They’re old and superstitious. They need something to talk about. Nothing more.” Father Alvarez sounded like he was trying to convince himself that everything he said was true.
“Did you know Old Joe?”
“I didn’t. I knew of him, but we never met. I was sorry to hear of his passing.”
“He was old and maybe a little crazy, but people in town respected him. He wasn’t a gossip.” I leaned forward to make sure Father Alvarez was really listening to what I had to say. “And do you know what Old Joe told Patricia right before he went and died out there?”
Father Alvarez gave a little shake of his head.
“He said Agatha made a deal with a demon named Alastor.”
All the color leaked right out of Father Alvarez’s face when I said that. I must’ve hit a nerve. “Dios be with us.” He looked at me, a tiny gleam of sweat glistening on his forehead. “Are you certain? That was the name?”
“You know of him?” I asked casually as if the thought of a real freakin’ demon didn’t scare the crap out of me, and then tucked the journal back in my bag for safekeeping.
Father Alvarez crossed himself, rose unsteadily to his feet, then turned to one of his loaded bookshelves. “If . . . and it is a big if . . . but if what Joe said is true, then . . .” He scanned the titles with his fingertip, stopping on a dark book bound in leather and embossed with gold. He pulled it from the shelf, sat back down, and opened it. After flipping a few pages, he stopped and looked up at us, fear plain on his face. “I’d hoped the accidents and rumors out there were nothing more than local superstition. No one ever had any real evidence. And no one’s died there since I’ve been here.”
“You mean until Hunter and Keisha died,” I spat, the heat rising in my cheeks. We hadn’t been chased by some old folk superstition any more than Hunter and Keisha had been killed by it.
The father let out a long sigh. “Yes. Since I’ve been here no one has died out that way until your accident.” His words came out in a harsh whisper, and his eyes devoured the page of the book in front of him until he finally looked up at us. “According to the Church, Alastor is a vengeance demon. Very cruel and very deadly.” He set the book before us, its page opened to a medieval-looking drawing of a creature with scales and fangs and massive horns. “He’s linked with possession,” he said slowly. “So if what you’re telling me is true”
“Of course it’s true,” I nearly yelled at him, spit flying out and spattering his desk. “Why on God’s good earth would we make it up?” Stupid thing to say. Lots of kids made stuff up to get attention, but I wasn’t one of them. Still, I couldn’t blame him. He probably heard all sorts of crazy stories. But he had to believe us. He had to. Ghosts were real. And, apparently, so were witches and demons. If we didn’t do something, that witch and her demon would torment Hunter and Keisha, and then me and Dylan would be haunted for the rest of our lives . . . if they even let us live.
“I’m not trying to diminish your pain”
I gritted my teeth and pulled down my shirt collar so he could see the finger-mark bruises around my neck. “Oh, you’re not diminishing anything. It’s real, alright, Father. They’re real. Do you see these?”
He nodded, pale lips pressed together, probably wondering if Mama’d had a go at me.
“These are not superstition. These are finger marks. Keisha’s finger marks. She did this to me last night.” His mouth opened slightly, but I pressed on. “Yes, Keisha. The dead girl.” I pulled my collar back up. “Not my mama. Not Dylan.”
Dylan sat up straight, nearly jumping out of his chair. “Hey”
I held up a hand to shush him. “I’m just saying. No one living is to blame. It’s Keisha. And she’s not too pleased about being dead and me hanging out with her boyfriend.” I looked at Dylan, then back at the priest. “And if we don’t do something about Agatha’s spirit and that demon curse, then me and Dylan won’t ever be free. None of us will.”
Father Alvarez closed his eyes for a minute and murmured a prayer in Spanish, sweat beading around his forehead. When he opened his eyes, he looked scared to death, but sure about something. “I’ll come with you to the tree. I need to be certain about what we’re dealing with.” He rose to his feet and collected a crucifix, a Bible, and a bottle marked with a gold cross. “I’ll bless it, and we’ll pray for any lingering spirits to cross over.”
“Is it really that simple?” Dylan got to his feet and Father Alvarez handed him the bottle of holy water.
“We’ll just have to see.”
I rode with Dylan out to the Devil’s Tree, Father Alvarez trailing close behind in his blue Chevy truck along old Gravel Hill Road. I never imaged a Catholic priest, or any priest for that matter, driving a pickup truck. Then again, I’d never imagined a priest wearing cowboy boots either.
Not more than fifteen minutes later we all climbed out of our vehicles and stood staring at the Devil’s Tree. It wasn’t so scary in the daylight, but we hadn’t broken out the Ouija board yet. Heck, Father Alvarez didn’t even know we had the Ouija board with us. I hoped Dylan wouldn’t mention it.
The father walked up close to the tree. Closer than I’d have felt safe. “Is that where Old Joe tried to cut it down?” He pointed at the deep hack marks in the tree bark near the base of the trunk.
I nodded, licking my cracked lips. “I think so.”
“And this is where you took the photographs?” he asked Dylan, his faint Mexican accent more pronounced than I’d noticed before.
“It is.”
“And Hunter went and peed around the backside,” I added. The newspaper hadn’t mentioned that part of our story. “That’s when things really started to get weird.”
“He urinated on the tree?” Father Alvarez looked like he’d gone and swallowed a lemon tart—whole.
I shrugged. “He had to go and thought it’d be funny, I guess.”
Father Alvarez frowned, but removed his Bible and some notes from the satchel he carried over one shoulder, and then looked at Dylan. “Do you have the holy water?”
“I’ve got it here.” Dylan pulled the small glass bottle from his pants pocket.
Father Alvarez pressed his lips into a nervous line. “Okay. I’m going to pray over the tree, and you sprinkle the holy water on it as I do. Kaitlyn, I need you to sprinkle salt.”
“Right. Salt.” I nervously scraped at a scab on my knee, then jerked my hand away at the sight of fresh blood. That’s just what I didn’t need to be doing, ripping apart the pieces of me that were actually healing. But I needed something to keep my hands busy.
From his satchel, Father Alvarez removed a plastic sack of white crystals, which he handed to me. “This is blessed salt. As I pray, sprinkle it around the base of the tree.”
I took the bag and shoved my hand inside, the small crystals rough and sharp against my fingertips. Okay, this was something I could do, especially if it would help send away a demon.
Father Alvarez whispered a prayer, then opened his Bible, tucking his notes between the pages. He began walking around the tree as he spoke. “We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers . . .”
The sky grew dark and thunder rumbled overhead. That same freaky wind that always seemed to spring up around the old oak started whipping my hair into my face. I wanted to bolt, but stuck my hand into the bag of blessed salt instead. It stuck to my fingers and wedged itself beneath my nails—but I pulled out a handful and tossed it at the tree. Boy, I sure hoped this worked.
Dylan tossed some holy water on the tree and Father Alvarez kept praying. “All infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies, and sects.”
The tree began to creak and moan. Not just a little moan like when the wind blows and makes the branches twist, but a deep, dark, terrible moan that seemed to come from inside the tree itself.
I saw Old Joe first. He hung from a limb, his body mangled and swollen and blue as if he’d just been dragged from the watery ravine where he died. He looked straight at me, his words gurgling out, creek water dribbling down his chin. “You kids shouldn’ta come . . . but nobody listens, do they?” His cloudy eyes swung over to Father Alvarez. “Nobody listens. Do they, Father?”
Mouth slack, Father Alvarez stuttered and took a step back.
That’s when I spotted the bodies. Some were in old-timey clothes. A few were in new ones. Then I saw Hunter. His disfigured body lingered in the branches, swinging like a grotesque piñata, his neck broken and mouth hanging open. But he looked at me, his charred lips and face a mask of pain. “Help us, Kaitlyn. Help us.”
Keisha’s body appeared on a branch not too far from Hunter. Same thing. Broken and swinging, hanged from the neck. “It’s your fault, Kaitlyn. We should never have come. It’s all your fault we’re here.”
Hand back in the salt bag, I started crying. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to come out to this stupid tree. I couldn’t do this. I wouldn’t. I turned to run, but came face-to-face with the wild-haired witch-woman. Her eyes were crazed and her neck broken.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” She glared at me. “No one escapes my tree more than once.” Agatha Archer may be dead, but she was still a witch. And she was pissed. Standing less than a foot in front of me, she made a hideous, rattling sound as her reeking breath billowed into my face. I gagged at the smell. It was something like sulfur and rotten meat.
Father Alvarez glanced at the ghosts, then went back to reading the notes in his Bible, his voice hurried and shaking and shrill. “In the Name and by the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ, may you be snatched away and driven from the Church of God and from the souls made to the image and likeness of God and redeemed by the Precious Blood of the Divine Lamb.”
Hunter and Keisha and all of the other spirits wailed like they were being tortured. The sound of their cries rattled my bones and wormed its way into my soul. I dropped the salt bag and covered my ears.
The wind howled and thunder crashed.
Dylan grimaced in pain, but he didn’t cover his ears. He kept going, tossing more holy water at the tree. Then Agatha was there . . . right next to him.
Before I could scream for him to watch out, she smacked his hand, making the holy water fall to the ground. It drained from the bottle and seeped into the earth like blood.
The spirits’ screams intensified and the wind raged, but Father Alvarez kept reading. “Most cunning serpent, you shall no more dare to deceive the human race, persecute the Church, torment these children of God, and sift them as wheat—”
Everything fell silent.
It was almost like the eye of a great big hurricane was passing over. Even Father Alvarez stopped praying. We all looked up. Hunter and Keisha were gone. I didn’t see Joe or Agatha. Only dark, empty, creaking branches.
Then Dylan collapsed to the ground and began thrashing around like he was having some sort of seizure. His eyes rolled back until they were nothing more than blue-veined whites, and a hoarse, raspy voice clawed its way out of his throat. “I’ll sift you as wheat, Father.”
Father Alvarez’s lips peeled back in fear, hands trembling. “Our Father, who art in heaven . . .”
Dylan sat up, the sightless orbs that were his eyes gazing directly at Father Alvarez. And then he laughed, deep and vile and cruel. It was the most vicious laugh I’d ever heard, and a guttural, raspy not-Dylan voice came purring out. “You think you can dislodge me with that, you unclean man?”
Father Alvarez stopped mid-sentence, looking from me to whatever Dylan had become.
“You’d better be ready to face your own demons, Father, if you want to face me,” he hissed. “Does the girl know she’s trusted a priest who fled from the likes of me? She trusted one who fled from the writhing mass of humanity where demons thrive? She trusted a priest who has built his entire life on a lie?”
My legs screamed at me to run, but I was frozen in place with fear. Father Alvarez had run from a demon before? He’d built his life on a lie? “What’s he talking about?” I barely heard my own words against the thumping of my wild heart.
The thing that was Dylan swung his head and looked at me, his face no longer Dylan’s but some sort of hideous beast contorting Dylan’s skin. His face like a mask from some terrifying Halloween carnival. The stench that rolled off of him was like the meat I’d forgotten in Hunter’s truck one night last summer after work. Rank and rotten. Vomit burned its way up my throat, but I forced it back down.
“Ask the good father what the Catholic Church thinks about priests who prefer men, girl?”
“Stop!” Father Alvarez’s voice cracked. “You’re a demon of deceit and lies. Leave this boy at once.”
Wait. What? Father Alvarez liked guys? But he’s a Catholic priest . . .
The thing rose to its feet and ripped Dylan’s shirt open, revealing his bare chest and lightly muscled abs. “Come now, Father. Tell us the truth about your desires.” The thing inside Dylan slowly licked his lips and gave the father a wicked smile. “The desires you hide so well from your precious Church. The desires you even try to hide from yourself.”
Father Alvarez was crying now. Not just a few tears, but rivers of them. He backed away from Dylan and looked back at me. “I’m sorry, Kaitlyn. I’m so sorry, but I can’t—I can’t do this.” He tucked his Bible into his bag and headed for his Chevy.
“What do you mean you can’t do it?” My voice hitched with hysteria and I screamed after him. “You can’t leave us!”
Father Alvarez looked at me. His face filled with sorrow and shame, the priest turned and ran the last few steps, quickly leaping into his truck.
“Where are you going?” I shrieked.
“I’m sorry.” Father Alvarez slammed the door of his cab and the engine roared to life, then he tore off down the gravel road leaving me alone to face the demon.
Dylan took a step closer to me, a nasty smile on his face. “It’s just you and me now, girlie.” He leaned closer. “Should I tell you what this boy thinks of you. Should I tell you what he wants to do with you.” He ran his hand down the front of his jeans and grabbed his crotch. “So much unexpressed desire.”
I looked away and started crying. This wasn’t Dylan. He’d never do something like that—ever. “Dylan would never betray Hunter.”
“Oh, he loved Hunter, true. He even cared about Keisha. But this boy would have taken you from his friend given the chance. He dated the black girl to be closer to you.”
Was that true? Had Dylan really started dating Keisha to spend more time with me? Or was the demon just lying to upset me? My stomach twisted in nauseous knots. He was so close now I could feel his hot breath on my cheek, the stench of rotting eggs overpowering. I stepped back, but he grabbed my hands hard, nails digging into my skin.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. “Please. Let Dylan go. You don’t need to do this. You’ve had your vengeance.” I looked up at the tree, desperation seeping into my blood. “Agatha, if you’re still here. Please, call off this demon!”
The demon pulled me close, his wet tongue slowly lapping the tears from my cheek. His breath soft and hot and smelled like the dumpster outside the local butcher’s shop. “Agatha brought me here, but she can’t send me back,” he chuckled, a deep and gravelly sound that made my bones ache.
I took a deep breath and hoped that something I’d learned watching all those horror movies with Hunter and Dylan and Keisha might help me now. “In the name of Our Lord, Jesus Christ, I command you to leave Dylan’s body.”
He looked at me for a moment, his unseeing eyes wide. Then he tilted his head back and laughed, his eyes no longer white, but pale amber. “You helpless little fool. You really are nothing more than the white trash everyone thinks you are. You’re stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You’re worth nothing more than the trailer you live in with that drunk mother who wishes you’d never been born. Why do you think your father left? His life was worthless. Just like you.”
Fear and anger welled up in my throat. Fear that what he said was true. Anger to fight with every fiber of my being that it wasn’t. I wasn’t stupid and I wasn’t nothing. I wasn’t worthless. I couldn’t be. I could do more than my mama. I could be more than her. I had to be.
He dropped my wrist then and shoved me to the ground.
Pain shot up my backside, making my already bruised tailbone throb with agony. Tears blurred my vision and I leaned back my head, trying to get control of the pain in my ass and my heart. It was nearly dark as night despite it being the middle of the afternoon.
Dylan raised his hands in the air. Words I didn’t understand began coming from his mouth. Probably Latin if I remembered the sound right from my freshman year.
At least he wasn’t coming at me for the moment. This was the chance I needed. My eyes scoured the ground, searching for the bag of blessed salt I’d dropped. There. In the dirt, not more than three feet away. I lurched for the bag, scooped up a handful, and tossed it into Dylan’s face, making sure that some landed in his open mouth.
He howled like an injured beast. Backing away from me, he clawed at his face, leaving a trail of bloody gouges down his cheeks. “It burns!”
The near-black sky began to lighten. I grabbed more salt and tossed it at Dylan. He screamed again and backed past the Devil’s Tree.
His skin was red and welted where the salt had struck. He didn’t look like Dylan at all anymore. More like some sort of deformed, demented version of himself.
He gave me a curled-lip smile. “It’ll take more than a little salt to drive me from my host, girlie.” Then he was gone like a gunshot into the woods. Only the lingering scents of sulfur and excrement were left where he’d stood.
Slowly, the rotten smell vanished and the sky cleared back to blue with white, puffy clouds. It was almost like nothing horrible had just happened. Almost.
“Dylan!” I screamed after him. The salt was supposed to chase the demon out, not chase Dylan away.
Doubt battled inside of me. Part of me wanted to run after him with my crucifix and salt. The other part wanted to bolt in the opposite direction—straight back to church to demand that Father Alvarez come back and help.
So, I sat for a minute—alone in the dirt and salt—waiting for my tears to stop. I could go after Dylan, but that didn’t make much sense. If I did that, I’d be alone in the woods surrounded by wild animals and ghosts and a demon. Not a good idea.
Father Alvarez might refuse to help, but if we were at church, maybe he’d feel safer. Maybe I would, too. Then he could tell me if he’d seen demons before, and could give me something to help save Dylan. Something to put Hunter’s and Keisha’s souls to rest. Something to break the witch’s curse. I’d do it on my own if I had to—even if he wouldn’t come back to help. Dylan was alone out there and Hunter and Keisha were trapped. There wasn’t anyone left to help them except me.
I backed away from the tree until I could feel the roadside gravel beneath my feet, then I turned and ran smack into Dylan’s car. “Oh, crap.” How was I supposed to get out of here? It’d take me hours to walk back to town.
Peering in through the driver’s-side window, I spied Dylan’s keys lying on the front seat. Oh, no. There’s no way I was gonna drive. The last thing I wanted was to get behind the wheel of a car. First, I’d never driven a car in my life. Second, after the accident I’d sworn that the last place for me was in the driver’s seat.
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. In and out. In and out. An owl screeched overhead and my eyes popped open. Well, I couldn’t stay out here. With this tree. Alone. I could climb in that car, start the ignition, and drive out of town. Just drive and drive and drive. How hard could it be? I was nearly eighteen. I could do it. I could drive. I could drive straight out of town and never look back.
Daddy said, We’ve always got choices. He’d made the choice to leave me and Mama. No. I wouldn’t be like Daddy. I had a choice to make. And I needed to choose right. I could leave Dylan and Hunter and Keisha. Just leave them all like Daddy left me and Mama, and try to get on with my worthless life.
Or I could do something real. Something good. Maybe I could help them. Maybe I couldn’t. But I sure as hell had to try.
So that left me with two choices. A long, hot, dusty walk back to church, which would take me nearly three hours. Or a fifteen-minute ride in Dylan’s air-conditioned car without a license. I could break my feet or break the law. Well, shoot, under the circumstances, I hoped the cops would understand if I got caught.
I snorted back a laugh. Yeah, I could just imagine me trying to explain about Dylan being possessed by some demon and running off into the woods. They’d never believe me and I’d end up in juvie. That’d be the end of any dreams I’d ever had of getting out of this place and doing something more with my life.
Well, with Hunter dead, my dreams had gone and died along with him. So screw it. I’d do what I needed to do in the quickest way I knew how.
Grabbing the handle, I yanked open the car door. I’d drive the speed limit, but get myself back to Father Alvarez as fast as I could. There was no way I’d leave Dylan out there in the woods possessed by something evil, or leave Keisha and Hunter trapped with that witch. Whether I got out of this town or not didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that I wouldn’t be like my daddy. I was going to make the right choice. I wouldn’t abandon the people I loved.