THIRTY-SEVEN

I FOLLOWED BEHIND Jess as she drove her car home and watched her until she was safe inside. She promised me she’d report Dan to the police.

When I got home, still shaken up, I was surprised to see Lance’s Jeep in my driveway.

“Hey,” he said, with no hint of anger. “Can we talk?”

I hated to admit it, but I missed having him around —the good ol’ days when we’d make jokes and I was blind to evil’s existence. I worried about him now, especially after Meagan’s death. In a way, it felt like he had died too. Like I’d lost a good friend overnight.

As I went to slide into Lance’s Jeep, someone ran up behind me and shoved a black bag over my head. I couldn’t see anything, but it didn’t matter at that point. I’d already taken the bait and impaled myself on Lance’s camouflaged hook of betrayal.

Lance instructed the guy to bind my hands; I could tell they were using duct tape. After blaring earphones were crammed onto my ears, I was pushed into Lance’s backseat, then shoved onto the floorboard.

Minutes later, I was yanked from the vehicle, my head still bagged, music pounding. I was pulled by the arm, forced to stumble over uneven terrain. It was hard to judge how long or far we traveled, but finally we stopped. The sack and earphones were ripped from my head.

The woods behind the school. My property.

Lance eyed me like a hunter checking a trap. Then I saw his accomplice.

Dan.

What I would have done to him had my arms not been restrained . . .

A group of seven or eight guys made their way over to us —bulky seniors, several on the wrestling team, I think. All there to beat my face in, I imagined. I admit I was nervous, but my plan was to be a man and take the blows as they came.

Dark figures darted through the surrounding trees, Creepers drawn to human hostility like rubberneckers at a fatal car crash.

“Guys . . .” I tried to keep my cool even though I knew I was in for it. They closed in around me, Dan posting himself directly in my face. I narrowed my eyes at him. “I know what you did to Jess. How can you stand yourself?”

“It’s time,” Dan said, showing no hint of remorse.

Lance got in my face but just stood there, fists ready but not swinging. Breathing hard.

“You said you’d do it,” Dan shouted at him.

Lance inflated his chest. But still no blows.

“Are you just gonna —”

“Shut up, Dan!” Lance turned back to me. “I don’t know if the cops are on to you or not, but we are. You did something to Walt and Marshall, and it’s time to pay.”

“And this is justice? Tricking me into an ambush?” I didn’t deny that I deserved to be punished; I just seriously resented the deceptive way they were going about it.

“Go ahead.” Dan worked like a pressure cooker on Lance. “Get us started.” He reminded me of a Creeper, encircling us, enticing violence.

Then a real Creeper dropped down over us, hovering above our heads.

“It’s me, Lance.” Hard as I tried, I couldn’t pry my hands loose. “Don’t do this.”

“Hit him, Lance!” Dan said. “Or I’ll do this my way.” He tugged on a thick leather strap across his chest, and I saw it —a rifle strapped to his back. Was he about to shoot me?

“Do it!” Dan kept prodding. “For Meagan.”

Lance’s fists remained tight and ready for action. But he couldn’t bring himself to punch me.

Finally, Dan stepped in front of him, teeth clenched, literally shaking with anger.

And that’s when the Creeper made its move, swooping down and prying its way through Dan’s back, taking residence inside of him. Its shape shifted so that its huge frame was crammed inside its smaller host.

The mutations began immediately. Dan’s eyes rolled back in his head, replaced by devilish pupils. Then his skin turned gray like the Creeper’s, and his face contorted, his features twisting into something beastly and petrifying.

I fell backward into the guys behind me, but they shoved me forward, right back in Dan’s rearranged face.

He opened his mouth to curse me, and a low, threatening voice came out. I looked around —was I the only one witnessing this? His words were cruel and violent —even for Dan. But his mouth wasn’t his own. His tongue had been hijacked.

The veins in his neck were bulging. Then I saw it, beneath the surface of his skin, a scar across the indwelling Creeper’s forehead:

rage

Of course.

Dan reared back and shoved me so hard it felt like a train hit me. He stood me up again, and that’s when I felt a burst of pain in the back of my head, like someone had bashed me with a baseball-sized rock. I caved to my knees, and the guys kicked me in my ribs, punched me in the face, even pulled my hair. All I could do was hunker down while they struck me in the mouth repeatedly, calling me a murderer, among other things.

The distinct, disgusting taste of blood flooded my tongue, and a black haze settled over my vision. Were they going to beat the very last breath out of me? Leave my body in the woods to rot after my soul was ripped out through my gut?

As the light-headedness got worse —I felt like life was draining out of my veins —all I could think about was her. Sweet Ray Anne. That kiss I’d never get. The jerk who would.

I was outnumbered and a bloody mess, but I fought back with all I had, scoring a few good kicks to shins and ankles. But then Dan dealt a serious blow to the side of my head . . .

Ears ringing.

Earth spinning.

Consciousness leaving.

And that’s when I saw him, lying across from me, his pose mirroring mine exactly.

Molek.

His mouth moved in slow motion, and I heard his voice, but not in my ears —in my mind. The sound of a thousand disturbing whispers, all out to get me at once.

“Come . . .” He caressed my face. “I’ve prepared a place for you.”

With every nudge of his clawed fingers on my skin, fear shot through me, paralyzing and cold.

I was no match for the pack of wolves devouring me, no threat to the Lord of the Dead who’d come for me. But I refused to surrender, mustering every shred of strength to keep my eyes open.

Hard as I tried, though, I couldn’t survive this.

I’d lost. Everything. Right down to my soul.

That’s when I heard a familiar voice demanding that I be left alone. Finally, the old man had returned. Don’t ask me how, but he ran the guys off —they left me there in the mud.

When I pried my eyes open, Molek had disappeared too.

The brown-skinned, gray-haired man in overalls hovered over me, casting a dazzling glow onto the earth around his work boots. “You okay, son?”

He used a pocketknife to get the tape off me, then helped me sit upright, patiently holding on to me as my spinning head threw off all sense of balance.

Horrible as I felt, I had to make the most of having him there.

“Who are you?” It hurt to move my mouth. “What have you done to me? Besides ruin my life.”

“Done to you? You’re an eyewitness to a war few believe exists. I’d say that’s a privilege.”

Seriously? I groaned. He pulled a rag from his pocket and used it to wipe blood from my face.

“I don’t get it —why me?”

“This is your land now, ain’t it?”

“So?”

“He thinks it’s his. Staked his claim over a century ago, and has no intention of leaving.”

“You’re talking about —”

“The Spirit of Death.” He lowered down, eye level with me. “Molek.”

Just the mention of his name made me cringe. “He was here,” I said. “Just now.”

“I know.” The old man nodded. “He’s a dominant wicked power that patrols this land, and he’s working hard to expand his territory.”

I looked around. “Why this land?”

He stared out into the woods, deep in thought. “More than a hundred years ago, this was a plantation, run by the cruelest of masters. Molek was at home here with him, the soil soaked with innocent blood.”

That was disturbing. I leaned forward in an effort to stand but collapsed back. “He still wants people to suffer tragic deaths,” I said.

Another nod. “He and his satanic forces.”

Satanic forces.

There it was, out in the open, affirmed by a man who obviously had major insight into the supernatural.

He helped me onto my feet. Slowly. “The more people give in to his deadly plans,” he said, “the more powerful he becomes.”

“It’s not fair.” I struggled to lock my knees. “The Creepers have good people in shackles. People I care about.”

He gripped my shoulders, steadying me as I swayed too far to one side. “People are enslaved by their own evil attitudes and impulses —their hard hearts. Dark forces exploit that. Prey on people’s brokenness. Thrive in a culture of unbelief.”

“What do they want from us?”

He searched my face. “Surely you know by now.”

When he put it that way, the answer was as clear as the water that had gotten me into this catastrophe. “Our souls,” I said.

He nodded. “Cut off from the light. For eternity.”

I was stirring inside, experiencing a resurgence of determination, fueled by frustration. “They never should have built a school here. We have to warn people —convince them to stay off this property. Shut down Masonville High!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You watch the world news? Evil isn’t confined here. Wicked overlords stretch across land and sea —until someone drives them out.”

“By someone, you mean the Watchmen?”

He gave me a half smile. “Suppose you can call ’em that. But no. They watch over humanity, but the responsibility to drive out wickedness, that belongs to mankind.” He looked toward my school. “You guys all run in fear, evil will stay —lie in wait to strike the next souls who come along.”

It was a lot to take in. Then he dumped more on me. The realization of a lifetime.

“Last people who owned this land only fed into the evil. Held rituals here.”

“Rituals?” I tried to take a step, and man, it hurt.

“Occult gatherings,” he said. “Blood sacrifices that Molek received as worship unto himself. His army grew in strength and numbers.”

“Wait.” Dazed as I was from the beating, that sobered me up. “My grandparents owned this property.”

He didn’t flinch. Nothing he didn’t already know.

“But . . . they were religious,” I said. “Made my mother go to church every week.”

“For appearances’ sake, son. And to look for vulnerable recruits.”

Shocking as it was, it solved a mystery that had plagued me my entire life. “My mom . . . she was raised in the occult. That’s why she ran away —why she’s so messed up.”

“Few people make it out alive.” He extended a hand to help me walk. “You’re blessed to have her.”

I never thought I’d feel grateful for my mom, much less admire her. But somewhere inside that shell of a woman was a girl who’d fought hard to survive. Harder than I could probably imagine.

The old man let me lean on him the whole time we journeyed through the woods. I ached all over, but that didn’t stop me from firing questions at him Ray Anne–style: nonstop and direct. Frustratingly, he gave mostly life principles instead of the straight-up answers I needed. And he offered no explanation about why he glowed, how he knew so much, or why the water was way more than just water.

When I asked his name, he said, “I’m not here to make a name for myself,” and left it at that. But then he warned me: “That old water well can open eyes or shut ’em for good. Best that you tell no one about it.”

I stopped walking, stinging with shame over what I’d already done. “How’s that?”

He waited for me to look into his face. “People know how to conceal their motives, but there’s no fooling that water.”

I was still trying to make sense of what he’d just said when we arrived at the street that ran alongside my school. He told me to wait there, then turned like he was about to leave.

“Wait! There’s so much I need to understand. People I have to help.”

He lifted his face to the blue sky. “I’m just a messenger.”

I heard a car horn and turned to look. Ray Anne was slowing and pulling over. I turned back to the old man. But he was gone.

Ray Anne drove me home, explaining how she’d made a last-minute decision to turn onto that street; otherwise she never would have spotted me. She was horrified by my bloodied appearance, but I was just grateful to be alive.

She pulled into my driveway and said she’d be back soon to check on me. I insisted on walking to the front door by myself —my way of proving that I really wasn’t a weakling, even if I did just get my tail handed to me.

I hobbled into the house, and my mom took one look at me and went nuts. I felt different around her now. I was actually glad she was home. And sober.

It would have been difficult to bring up what I’d just learned about her, even on a normal day, but now definitely wasn’t the time. She pulled out a first aid kit I never knew we had and demanded to know who hurt me.

I didn’t tell her. She knew where Lance lived, and she was acting like one of those moms —you know, the kind that would take on a Navy SEAL if she found out he’d messed with her boy. I told her it was some guys I didn’t know.

She wanted to drive me to the ER, but I refused. So she bandaged me the best she could and tanked me full of pain meds.

My head was so sore it hurt to rest it on my pillow, and I was sure I had some broken ribs. No matter how I turned, I couldn’t get comfortable on my mattress, my body throbbing and my mind racing.

There was no doubt now —I’d witnessed Dan in a full-blown possession. I tried telling myself it was Rage, not Dan, who’d attempted to beat me to death today, but I couldn’t stop blaming Dan.

Lance, too.

I finally fell asleep but woke around midnight to answer my cell. Mrs. Greiner, of all people, calling from out of town.

“Have you heard from Ray Anne? She’s not returning our calls, and we’re worried sick.”

Come to think of it, she never came back to check on me. That wasn’t like her at all.

Her mom’s voice shook with distress. “Our neighbor saw her late this afternoon, and she said she was headed to the woods, of all places. You have any idea why?”

“Uh, no, I . . .”

I dropped my phone.

Please tell me she didn’t.