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The following day was a flurry of pre-Thanksgiving activity. The three planned to go out to dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant and then return to Adam's to hang out as usual, before embarking on their mission. In the meantime, each spent the day as they normally would.
Conner carried a bundle of his sheets and pillowcases up the stairs.
Walking out of the master bedroom, his mother regarded him with an amused but inquisitive look, and then commented, "Nice to see you doing a bit more cleaning than I'd asked. You should convince your brother to do the same."
"Just making sure everything's done before I meet up with Adam and Trevor."
"I didn't expect you to do laundry. But thank you. I appreciate it."
"You're welcome."
She paused at the top of the stairs. "You're going to come home in the morning, right? There might be some last-minute things to do."
"Yeah. I'll be back early."
"Thank you." Two steps down, she paused again. "People will start showing up around eleven."
"All right, Mom. Don't stress. I'll be here by ten, okay?"
"Nine, please."
"Nine thirty at the latest."
After making the bed and arranging books on the desk, Conner shoved black clothing and a pair of old sneakers into a backpack. He scanned his room, taking a good look as though he might not soon see it again—which he thought likely if the police caught them setting fire to the tree. They'd probably be charged with arson. If that happened, he didn't know what he and the guys would do. They hadn't discussed the possibility of getting caught.
The three had made a pact not to talk about their plan until they were on their way to Lake Bantam. So, at Adam's, they talked about sports and Thanksgiving. At dinner, they talked about college and their wish to see Aquaman on the day of release the next month. Back at Adam's, they watched two episodes of The 100 on Netflix. Soon after midnight, they went upstairs to Adam's bedroom.
Forty-five minutes later, they changed into their black clothing and old sneakers. For several minutes, they sat in the living room, listening for any sign of activity from Adam's parents. Once they were certain that Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were likely asleep, the three quietly walked out the back door, made their way along the side of the house, and then darted to Trevor's car.
"You guys ready?" Trevor asked as he pressed the ignition.
"Yeah," Adam and Conner replied in unison.
"Good. Me too."
The three bumped fists, and then Trevor shifted the car into gear and drove away from Adam's house.
During the drive, they discussed their plan step by step. Two times. Then a third time. And although their plan wasn't complicated, they went over it a fourth time. For the remaining twenty minutes of the trip, they sat silently as they watched the landscape pass by.
The moment Conner saw the sign for Litchfield, he tensed with anticipation. Taking the exit, they followed Bantam Road to Bantam Lake Road, then proceeded to make their way toward Lake Forest Passway.
Without the benefit of nice warm, summer weather, the scenery appeared lifeless. Yet Conner recognized the tree line and several houses they passed. When Trevor turned onto Lake Forest Passway, Conner glanced back at Adam, who seemed a little nervous but smiled.
"Hopefully this will be easy," Conner said. "In and out."
"Uh, huh." Adam rested his head against the window, staring into the darkness. "We're doing this for Jared, but for us too."
Trevor pulled the car alongside the field of grass, parking on the edge of the asphalt road. He opened the console and dropped his phone inside. Adam and Conner followed suit, including their wallets and watches. Anything in any of the coat pockets? Paper? Nothing at all? Good.
"All right," Trevor said. "We each get two water bottles. Adam, you got the flashlight?"
Adam held up the mini, LED flashlight.
"Conner? You got the matches?"
Nodding, Conner slipped the box of matches from his pocket and then shoved it back inside.
"I have my car keys, which will be double-clipped inside my coat."
Trevor was the first to step out into the chilly air. Conner and Adam joined him, careful to close their doors softly.
It was 2:14.
Conner pointed out the last house at the end of the road. A light shined in one window.
"Probably leave it on every night," Adam replied.
Trevor agreed. "It's nothing." He popped the trunk and retrieved six water bottles from a small box. Closing the trunk gently, he gestured toward the dirt path, then looked at Adam. "Don't use the flashlight if we don't need it. But if we do, let's walk as far from the road as possible before you turn it on."
On the trail, small bits of crumbled asphalt and gravel crunched underfoot like shards of glass. Without the ambient noise of insects, passing cars, and boaters on the lake, their every sound seemed amplified. And the farther they walked the more a clinging dread wormed its way into Conner's body. It settled in the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone once they reached the clearing in the field.
Because of the chilly weather, they didn't expect a party. Still, they were relieved not to see a small group of locals swigging bottles of alcohol and sharing a joint.
At the far end of the clearing, Conner searched the edge of the woodland for the wide, tall old tree. Believing he spotted it, his heart thumped. He whispered, "I think that might be it."
"Looks like it," Adam said.
The tree beckoned to them like the torch of a lighthouse to a boat lost at sea. Setting out quickly through the field, they waded through the tall grass, which brushed against their jeans like stiff hay. The ground nearly frozen, it felt like walking on uneven concrete. But it was the wind Conner couldn't stand. It whipped against his face like a frigid slap of the hand.
Emerging from the field, they stopped at the edge of forest and studied the tree. The four symbols carved into the bark were barely visible. The gap at the bottom where the snake had slithered inside, seemed to mock them like parted lips. Oh, you're here again.
Conner readied his bottles of gasoline. "Let's get this over with."
"Wait," Trevor said. "I want to see what the symbols are."
Adam clicked on the flashlight and directed its beam onto the first etching. It resembled a small mountain or hill.
"The soil," Trevor said. "That's gotta be the mound of dirt. What did Stella say? Earth. Mother Nature, right?"
"Yeah," Conner replied. "The next one is"—squinting at the marking, it appeared to be a drop of water—um . . . oh! It's a drop of blood. That's the blood. She said something about spilling of blood."
The third symbol was clearly the rendering of a snake.
And the fourth . . .
Adam knelt at the base of the tree. His eyes fixed on the symbol, he muttered, "I don't know. What the hell is that?"
"Beats me," Conner said. "It looks like a snowflake to me."
"It can't be," Trevor replied, crouching next to Adam. "Why would it be a snowflake? It has to be something else."
"Does it matter?" Conner asked.
"I guess not. But it's not a snowflake."
"C'est un portail," a male voice said.
Startled, Conner wobbled off balance, dropping one of his water bottles as Adam and Trevor jumped to their feet.
It was the man responsible for Jared's torture and death.
His sudden appearance had certainly frightened Conner. But it was the gun in his hand that scared him the most.
"C'est un portail," the man repeated. "A portal."
When Adam stepped forward, the man aimed the gun. "It will only take one shot in the head to kill you." He approached the three. "I can't believe you idiots were stupid enough to come back here." He glanced around. "Where's your friend? Was he smart enough not to come?"
Conner grimaced. "Screw you."
"Why are you guys here? You wanted to see something magical happen?" He lowered the gun to his side and cupped a hand to his mouth. "Hey, Papa. What should we do with these idiots?"
So it was true. The man actually believed a ritual would resurrect his demon-father from the netherworld.
He flippantly waved the gun at the three like it was more of a prop than a weapon. "Sit down."
Conner sat his butt on the ground, exchanging worried glances with his buddies. They looked as nervous as he felt. He retuned his gaze to the man. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure." The man squatted, aiming the gun at the three one by one. "I've been checking the tree for a month or so, but I never expected to actually find you here. I would have brought some rope or something so I could tie you to the tree . . . let Papa do what he wants with you."
"Your papa?" Trevor scoffed. "You really think a demon is your father? And he's coming back because you cast some spell?"
The man grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth in the moonlight. "You don't know how these things work. You must believe it, though. You guys came back here for a reason. So why are you here?"
When no one responded, the man stood and gestured to Adam. "Get your ass over here. Or I'll shoot each one of you."
Conner gripped the sleeve of Adam's coat, but Adam stood.
"Get over here," the man ordered. Once Adam was in front of him, he calmly said, "Turn around and get on your knees."
Adam obeyed, looking at his friends with fearful, watery eyes.
The man pointed the gun at the back of Adam's head. "Okay. Now, I need a volunteer. Or do I have to pick?"
"What?" Conner asked. "What do you want us to do?"
"I want you to go to the tree."
The muscles in Conner's upper back spasmed in response, tying his nerves in an aching knot. He rose to his feet and walked to the tree while keeping his eye on Adam. "Now what?"
"Put your hand inside that hole at the bottom."
"What?"
"You heard me!" the man shouted. "You're going to see if the snake is still in there. I checked a few nights ago, and it wasn't too happy about being disturbed."
"What the hell?"
"Snakes usually hibernate during winter. Stick your hand in and see if it's still in there."
"But—" Conner flinched at the loud click of the gun being cocked. "What if it's not?"
"Just stick your hand in. If you piss it off, you better be real quick. Otherwise, you might die from a rattler bite." He tapped the gun on the crown of Adam's head. "If you're lucky, you'll pull out snakeskin."
Any fear Conner had experienced in his life paled in comparison to that moment. A terror throbbed within him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to break down in tears or vomit. His hand trembled with a shake that he didn't think he'd be able to control.
The man yelled, "Do it!"
On all fours, Conner peered into the hole, hoping the moonlight illuminated the tree's hollow enough for him to see inside. But no such luck. He didn't want to feel along the bottom, so he opted to insert his hand slowly by keeping it suspended in the air. An icy flutter glided up his spine.
Could he lie and say that he'd felt the snake? What would the man order them to do next?
He slipped his hand into the darkness. Cautiously moving it from side to side, he felt for the width of the hole. Then he lowered his hand, carefully waving it from one rough-textured end to the other.
The man groaned. "Dammit, stop fucking around. Is the snake in there or not?"
Conner dragged his fingertips across the soil, his hand scraping the woody root-like threads of the hole. When he touched something thin and papery smooth but with veiny ridges, he jerked his hand out into the open air.
"What?!" the man demanded. "Did it bite you?"
"I don't think it's in there."
"Did you feel anything?"
"Yeah. The snakeskin, I think."
"Pull it outta there."
Confident the snake no longer resided in the hole, Conner reached in and yanked the snakeskin out. "See? The snake's gone."
"Holy shit!" The man excitedly danced around. "Give it to me."
He tossed the skin to the man, who snatched it from the ground and eyed it gleefully as if he'd discovered buried treasure.
The man rushed to the tree and knocked Conner to the side. "You're sure the snake isn't in there?"
"I didn't feel anything, and it didn't bite me."
"The fourth skin!" The man stretched the skin from end to end and pressed it against the symbols etched into the tree. Then he glanced around frantically as if searching for something. "Um. Okay. So, what I need to do . . . We need to pin this over the symbols. And then I need the oil to rub on to it." He suddenly froze and then glared at Conner. "You're sure the snake is gone?"
"I told you, I didn't feel anything."
The man dropped to his knees and shoved his hand inside the tree.
Remarkably, the man was more interested in the snakeskin and tree, as though the boys were no longer a concern.
Trevor nodded at Conner, and they both raced forward, ramming the man's body against the tree. Adam immediately joined them, pressing the man's face into the ragged bark.
"You son of a bitch!" Adam yelled.
Flailing about, the man screamed in anger. As he struggled in their grip, he managed to pull the trigger, shooting a bullet into the distance.
Conner shouldered all his weight into the man, pinning him to the tree while Trevor repeatedly slammed the man's hand against the bark until the gun fell to the ground.
Adam seized the weapon and pressed it to the back of the man's head. "Maybe you're just a crazy fucker," he hollered. "But you're not finishing your damn ritual tonight."
The man grunted. "You guys are fucking up big time. You don't know what the hell you're doing. But you're gonna pay."
Conner leaned into the man. "We know more than you think we do. We came here to end this. Your ritual failed."
"It didn't fail your friend."
A distortion of colors blurred Conner's sight, fueled by his rage. He elbowed the man's head. "Go to hell."
Trevor tossed the man to the ground and then lunged on top of him. "Burn the tree!" he yelled.
Conner and Adam scrambled about the ground, searching for the water bottles. At the tree, they squirted the gasoline around the base and as far up the trunk as possible.
Sucking in cold air, Conner plucked the box of matches from his pocket. He struck the match against the box, and it instantly ignited into a billow of fire. Startled, Conner dropped the match and staggered backward.
The man shouted, wrenching himself from Trevor's grasp. He crawled toward the tree, wailing, "No! Look what you've done. No. No. No. Papa!"
Leaping flames climbed higher and higher along the trunk. The tree snapped, cracking and popping loudly.
"What do we do with him?" Adam asked.
Conner watched the grief-stricken man sway on his knees.
"I don't know," Trevor said. "We never thought about him showing up here."
"We should run," Adam said. "He doesn't even know who we are."
The man wailed, "I'm so sorry, Papa."
Conner shook his head. "He's effing crazy."
Snatching a water bottle from the ground, the man suddenly rose to his feet. "This is what you did." He wildly shook the remnants of gasoline onto himself.
The fire lapped at his body, engulfing him in flames. Yet he didn't scream in agony. At the base of the tree, he raised his hands to the sky.
"Son of a bitch!" Adam shouted.
"Where's the flashlight?" Trevor asked.
Adam slipped it from his pocket.
"Okay. No evidence left behind. Let's get the water bottles and get the hell outta here."
The three frantically collected the bottles and then regrouped.
"That's it, right?" Trevor asked. "We got everything."
"Yeah," Conner said. "Let's go."
"Run like a mofo all the way to the car."
The three sprinted through the grass, across the clearing, and then along the path to the road. Reaching the asphalt, Conner glanced at the man burning against the trunk of the tree. Then Conner ran for the car.
Trevor grabbed their backpacks from the trunk and then jumped into the driver's seat. "We need to change our clothes."
"If someone called 911," Conner said, "we can't speed away like we're fleeing the scene of the crime. So we need to park close."
The burning flames of the tree could be seen from the car.
"Drive to the lake," Conner said. "Maybe the cabin we stayed at is empty. We can park there and change."
The cabin was occupied. Two cars were parked in the driveway. But the house next door appeared to be vacant. Once they parked, Adam muttered, "I can't believe he set himself on fire."
Thinking of the burning body at the base of the tree, Conner would have been more horrified had the man not been crazy and responsible for Jared's death.
"Get undressed," Trevor said. "Shove the black clothing in the red backpack. We'll throw it away at the rest area on the way to Newman. We'll toss the sneakers too."
The flash of police lights sped along the main road toward the Forest Lake Passway.
"Small town, fast response," Conner said. "We should wait, like, five minutes to make sure no more cops or fire trucks pass by."
"What time is it?" Adam asked.
Trevor popped open the console and handed out the phones.
"Almost three thirty," Conner said. "If we wait much longer, it'll be five o'clock by the time we get home."
"Let's get changed," Trevor said. "Then we'll hit the road."
"You okay to drive?" Conner asked. "Are you tired?"
"Are you kidding me? I'm wide awake now."
A moment passed before Adam released a loud, boisterous cackle. "Sorry. I shouldn't laugh now. But that was effing funny." He slumped on the back seat and repeated Trevor's energetic tone. "I'm wide awake now."
The car filled with laughter, and when their laughs had dwindled to a lingering chuckle, Conner said, "Let's get the hell outta here."
Initially, the drive home was quiet. The transient scents of gasoline and smoke lingered in the air, although Conner was certain that the fumes were stronger in recollection than actuality. The shock of the burning man had diminished as though the rough, jagged edges of the image had worn smooth by the passing of time and detachment. The more Conner watched the scenery outside the widow, the more the bright orange flames faded from his mind.
Trevor never once drove over the speed limit. At a rest area, the three sauntered to the men's room to wash up. On the way back to the car, Adam casually tossed the red backpack into a rusty dumpster.
Once they were within miles of home, Trevor said, "We're never telling anyone about tonight. Not Lou. Not Stella. Nobody."
"Of course not," Adam replied.
Conner agreed. "This is our secret to keep forever."
Their experience that night only further solidified their bond, strengthening their friendship in a way no one could understand. Still, Conner understood that no matter how well kept or infrequently thought, their secret would always linger like the light, discolored outline of a scar.
The three bumped fists. "Always and forever."
"Always and forever."
"Always and forever."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
When I was young, two horror films that freaked me out the most were Stanley Kubrick's The Shining and William Friedkin's The Exorcist. As an adult, they still freak me out. I consider both masterpieces, and I don't believe either can be duplicated or surpassed in achievement. So, I never toyed with the idea of writing my own version of either story.
Yet one night, I found myself watching Youtube "first time reaction" videos to both films. While the reaction videos were interesting and entertaining, they reminded me of why I would never attempt to write a similar novel. I could never write something that was equal to what I considered untouchable classics.
I write stories primarily about people and relationships while dealing with supernatural or other horror elements. Therefore, I recognized that I wouldn't want to write a typical possession/exorcism story anyway.
The seed of the idea for Condemned came to me once I understood that I'd much rather write about how the possession/exorcism affected the people close to the victim. Could I write a novel about possession and exorcism without having the actual possession and exorcism in the novel? I instantly thought of Conner, Adam, and Trevor. From the friendship of those three characters, the idea for Condemned blossomed into a full-fledged plot.
Most of my stories begin with an introductory scene that leads into the buildup of the plot. And my endings typically feature a bit of a character's life following the climax of the main plot. However, I liked the idea of beginning Condemned with the moment that the plot kicks into gear and then ending with the moment that the climax concludes. I know it's a bit unorthodox compared to a lot of novels. I also realize that some readers might be turned off by the sudden conclusion, but I truly believe it was the best way to end Condemned. The experience—the scar—that Conner, Adam, and Trevor share starts with the first line of the novel and ends with the last. And that's exactly how I want readers to experience the boys' story.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to my wonderful editor, Angela Houston. It's always a pleasure working with you. I'm already looking forward to the next project.
Thank you, Dr. Julie Sellers for assisting with the proper Spanish and French in this novel.
A thank-you to those of who you gave me early opinions on the synopsis and cover drafts. Your feedback was very much appreciated.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In addition to being a published author, Christopher Renna is also a developmental editor with a focus on the work of young writers and indie authors. He lives in New York with his husband, two children, and their rescued dogs.
For more information, visit his site www.christopherrenna.com, or connect via social media on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.