FIVE

“DON’T BE AFRAID.” THE MYSTERIOUS FIGURE SPOKE TO ME.

“Who are you?” I patted down the cabinet and finally found my flashlight. But when I shoved the switch on, it didn’t work. “What do you want?”

“Only to speak with you.” His voice was low and calm. “May I?”

I grabbed a butcher knife from a wooden block by the stove and pointed the blade at him, squeezing the handle with a shaky hand. “Leave me alone!”

And with that, he vanished. The lights flickered on, my flashlight suddenly shined bright, and the TV broadcast returned to the screen —a rerun of a classic Nebraska University football game that struck me as way too cheery right now.

What was that?

I had no paradigm for this.

I rushed to my sofa and grabbed my cell. It was dead and took forever to power back on when I plugged it in. I drummed my fingers on the case, waiting for it to light up so I could call Ray. But when she answered, I could tell she was crying.

“How are you doing?” she asked, obviously trying to stifle sobs.

“I’m . . . I’m good, you okay?” No way I was going to bring up my disturbing experience now. She had more than enough weighing on her.

We talked for a half hour, and by the time we hung up, I’d realized that Ray’s diagnosis was not something she was going to get over anytime soon. Maybe ever.

I crawled under my bedsheets even though I wasn’t tired. I planned to keep my eyes open all night in case the phantom man came back. But then Custos arrived, poised and on the lookout in my bedroom, so massive his head grazed my twelve-foot ceiling. Relief washed over me, and I became sleepy fast. I still didn’t get much rest, though. Custos was too bright and magnificent.

When I woke up at sunrise on Wednesday morning, Custos was gone. But my theory was that he remained aware of where I was and how I was doing at all times, even when he wasn’t right next to me.

The whole time I was showering and getting dressed, I kept envisioning the stranger that had trespassed into my living room. I tried to come up with a theory about who he was. What he was.

He didn’t look or smell like a Creeper, but he wasn’t anything like a Watchman, either. And he was definitely not an ordinary human. He was an apparition looming in the dark, suspending electric currents —and then telling me not to be afraid, for crying out loud.

A pastor might know something about this sort of thing, right? I decided I’d confide in my Bible study leader, Gordon.

Some months ago, Ray and I had started to tell him about our supernatural sight, but right away, Gordon got hung up on asking how we’d gained our vision. The last thing we wanted was to entice someone else to seek out the potentially fatal well water, so we downplayed the whole thing and kept our mouths shut about it from then on. But the supernatural being haunting me now was like nothing I’d ever seen before.

I gave Gordon a call and was grateful when he agreed to meet me for lunch.

I had a nagging sense of obligation to stop by my mom’s that morning and check on her. The rank alcohol smell and dark circles under her eyes depressed me every time, but it’s not like I could just abandon her completely. And honestly, I was really missing Daisy. I’d wanted to bring my dog with me to my new apartment, but my mom had insisted she needed Daisy around in case someone ever tried to break in. Never mind that her house was ransacked by evil on a daily basis anyway, basically at Mom’s invitation. Plus, I needed Daisy way more than she did —to warn me if a Creeper attempted to sneak into my apartment.

I loved driving my Ducati, but Masonville’s rural roads had a way of coaxing me into thinking about things —deep things that sometimes made me uneasy. Today I got to mulling over how, just the other day, I’d promised Ray Anne that I’d stop beating myself up about her injuries. But now my guilt was compounded. Her infertility was Dan’s fault, for sure, but I never should have allowed him to harm her to begin with. Another irreversible consequence of my failings.

In my experience, carrying guilt around can physically press on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. If only I could go back and do things differently.

There were plenty of things I’d change.

Of course, I’d do absolutely whatever it took to make sure Ray Anne never got shot. I’d gladly take the bullet for her myself.

I’d also try way, way harder to get through to Meagan before it was too late.

And Walt and Marshall . . .

That one was too agonizing to think about.

I forced their faces —and their caskets —out of my mind. Like I always did.

I had to. Otherwise the regret became unbearable, like a wrecking ball bashing my soul.

I parked in the driveway at my old house and zeroed in on the dark Creeper graffiti scribbled above the front door:

infirmity

I had a basic understanding of the word, but an online search on my cell brought up an official definition: “physical or mental weakness.” That definitely fit my mom, now more than ever.

I let myself in and navigated through the laundry baskets full of clothes and towels, probably still dirty. Piles of plates and wine-stained glasses, too.

It was 11:00 a.m. —technically morning, so she was probably still in bed. Why hadn’t Daisy come barreling to me, jumping up and trying to lick my face?

“Mom?”

I climbed the hardwood staircase, treading over bits of what looked like super-thin shreds of decaying paper, mostly lodged against the banisters —remains of Creeper notes, too tattered to read. I’d seen evil forces use those to communicate about their plans —confirming dates and targets for a strike —so of course I didn’t like seeing them at my mom’s.

A foul smell hit me as I neared the top of the stairs —like really disgusting body odor, but way worse than any human could ever give off. I covered my nose and kept walking, hoping my mother was all right.

I reached her closed bedroom door and stood outside it for a moment, reluctant to face what I might find on the other side. Finally I clutched the knob and turned it cautiously.

The horrible smell got even stronger. And there was my mother, sleeping, twisted among mismatched sheets like I’d seen her too many times to count, chains and cords flung in every direction. But today, some man I didn’t recognize was sleeping with an arm draped over her waist. A large work shirt lay crumpled on the floor a few feet away from me, Wayne stitched in red cursive on the name patch.

My jaw clenched. Will you ever stop letting men use you?

I’m pretty sure I would have slammed the door had the sound of high-pitched whispers not suddenly echoed through the room. I jumped back when I caught sight of a bony hand poking out from under the sheets at the foot of the bed. A Creeper was intertwined with my mom and the guy. Odor mystery solved. My stomach churned with nausea.

I sighed and walked out of the room, anxious to find Daisy and leave. On my way to the stairs, I happened to glance into my old room, and there she was on the floor, staring at me, panting hard. I could see her ribs.

My fingers clamped into fists. How could my mom neglect my dog like that? Just let her waste away?

I scooped Daisy into my arms, and she yelped like she hurt all over. I stomped down the stairs and out the door, vowing under my breath that it would be a long time before I entered that house again.

At my place, Daisy scarfed down a bowl of dog food, then curled up on the new bed I’d bought her and drifted into a deep sleep. I stroked her ears, feeling guilty for not checking on her sooner.

My mother was so self-absorbed and totally dysfunctional that she’d nearly let my dog starve to death. It was a miracle I’d survived my childhood.

Gordon and I slid into a booth across from one another, both holding plates with cheeseburgers and fries. Gordon rolled up his starched sleeves while making small talk about sports, then set his thick leather Bible on the table and prayed over our meal. Before long, he asked me what was on my mind.

I told him all about the visitation, as I called it, by some sort of paranormal being. Over and over, Gordon nodded and rubbed his chin. Finally, I asked him, “What do you think it could be?”

He sat silent for a moment. “I suppose it could be some kind of demonic —”

“No. I know for a fact it’s not that.” I may not have earned a doctorate of divinity like him, but I knew very well what a Creeper looked and smelled like, thank you very much. “What else could it be?”

He scanned the room, maybe paranoid that a church member might be overhearing our bizarre conversation.

I leaned in across the table, careful to keep my voice down. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Gordon looked at me like I might be kidding.

“I’m serious.”

He sat up taller, his expression all business now. “Look, Owen, I don’t know what you’re seeing, but I can tell you that God warns us in the Bible not to consult with the dead.”

“You think that could be it? Some dead guy with, like, unfinished business who wants my help?” I’d seen a movie once that had made that plot seem semirealistic.

Gordon looked away and exhaled. I got the impression he was really weighing what to say next. “Owen, I have to ask, are you sure what you’re seeing is really there? It’s not your imagination?”

I leaned back and crossed my arms. I’d gone out on a limb and trusted this guy, come to him for answers, and now he was questioning my sanity. I didn’t think —just popped off. “Do you really believe it’s all in my head, or are you just embarrassed because you don’t have all the answers?”

I instantly regretted being rude. I lowered my chin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to —”

“No, it’s fine.” I didn’t deserve the smile he gave me. “It’s a valid question.”

I wondered if I’d ever have even a shred of his humility.

I wasn’t sure how long Gordon would be willing to continue our discussion, but in between munching on fries, he kept it up. “I can admit that when you’ve talked to me about this sort of thing in the past, and also now, I do feel somewhat at a loss for answers, and that does frustrate me. But here’s what I’m certain of: mediums, psychics, spirits of the dead —all that stuff —it’s not from God.”

Interesting. I hadn’t mentioned Veronica or her psychic predictions. But I never took her seriously to begin with.

Gordon pushed his plate aside and leaned in toward me. “Owen, I see it as my responsibility to do everything I can to protect you and help you mature in your faith. And my best advice is that you commit to living your life according to God’s Word.” He put his palm flat on his Bible. “You’ll never regret following these instructions, no matter the situation.”

His advice seemed sincere and all, but trite. Like telling a cancer patient to take some Tylenol and have a great life. I gave up on the subject and asked if I could run something else by him. Of course Gordon didn’t mind. He was the second-best listener I knew, after Ray Anne.

“It’s about my girlfriend.”

Gordon knew Ray Anne. He was a pastor at the church she’d attended all her life, where I went now too. I shared her bad news with him and admitted I didn’t know what to say to her, much less how to help. I was also dealing with how the situation could potentially affect me, but I struggled to put that into words. Anyway, I was far more concerned for her than for myself at that point.

Gordon spoke for a few minutes, ultimately suggesting that I trust the Lord and follow his leading. That sounded good and all, but . . . how? I might have asked, but Gordon got a phone call and had to run. “Let’s meet again soon,” he said. I told him I’d give him a call later in the week.

I stopped by Ray Anne’s that afternoon, and she was still weepy. We sat side by side on lounge chairs in her backyard, staring out at the pool. I’d brought my guitar, and I attempted to play her a song. I’d been trying to teach myself how to play, and I seriously stank, but that was fine because it made her laugh a little.

She mentioned that Gordon had left her a voice mail telling her how sorry he was to hear about her situation. “Did you tell him?” she asked.

It hadn’t felt like a betrayal to confide in him at the time, but now that Ray Anne was questioning me, I worried she’d be angry at me for blabbing. “No.”

Well, that was an outright lie.

“Oh. Well, I guess my mom did.” She left it at that.

Hard as I was trying, I was failing miserably at being honest —about as badly as when I’d been shackled. Add that to my guilt pile.

“Owen?”

I could tell Ray Anne was about to say something important. I set my guitar down and looked at her.

“I really, really want to be a mom someday.” She stiffened her bottom lip. “But I can’t let this consume me. We have a mission to accomplish.”

I squeezed her hand. “How about you let me worry about the fate of Masonville for a little while? You deserve some time to deal with this.”

She rested her head on my shoulder. “Spiritual forces don’t lose focus,” she said. “Neither can we.”

I caught a glimpse of Demise peering down at us from the neighbor’s roof. I popped my knuckles. “Believe me, Ray Anne, I won’t.”

That evening, I sat on my sofa and used my cell phone to search for prayers that keep evil away. Like all the times I’d googled that before, some suggested prayers came up, but they were mostly meant for when a person suspected an evil presence was near —maybe lurking in their house or lingering in a hotel room or something. I needed to know how to prevent a high-ranking principality from ever coming around again. How to enact a spirit-realm force field over Masonville.

That got me thinking about T. J. Caldwell’s plantation. I seriously wished I could go back in time and take in the scene with my supernatural vision. Witness for myself when and why Molek set his heart on that land in this town. Not that he has a heart.

At some point, out of curiosity, I typed, are ghosts real? When I hit search, my phone lost power, along with my entire apartment.