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“Wakey, wakey,” a little voice said. A cold finger trailed across Teresa’s cheek.
She opened her eyes and smiled at Tiffany in the low light.
“Hello, baby,” Teresa said.
“Time to go.”
The happiness at seeing her baby dissipated. Already? Couldn’t she rest a day or two before taking another person’s . . . Teresa gulped.
“Yaldabaoth is so pleased with you,” Tiffany said, her voice brimming with excitement. So that was his name. She pranced to the doorway and turned to Teresa. “He has given you a choice!”
“A choice?” Perhaps she could choose to just spend the night hanging out with Tiffany instead of running through the woods stealing souls.
“Yes, a choice.” Tiffany beckoned her to follow. Teresa went into the foyer. She pulled on a pair of winter boots, her coat, and a pair of leather gloves lined with sheep skin.
“Open the door,” Tiffany said.
Teresa took a deep breath, let it out, and opened the door. The breath sucked back in.
Draped over the picket fence and winding through the yard, at least fifty zoe lines led off into the distance in different directions.
“Look at them all!” Tiffany squealed with delight. “You get to pick one!” She jumped up and down and clapped her hands. So pleased. So excited. How could Teresa break her little spirit?
“How do I know who they lead to?” she asked, dreading the response.
So much happiness in such a small little face. “You don’t!” Tiffany said. “It’s a surprise!” She grabbed Teresa’s hand. “Isn’t this fun?”
Teresa ignored the queasiness in her stomach and gave Tiffany a weak smile.
“Yes,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “So . . . fun.” She stared at the veiny ropes pulsing on the ground. Snowflakes drifted down, landed on them, and immediately melted. Who would be sacrificed tonight?
“Pick one, Mommy.” Tiffany danced and hopped over them, so careful not to touch them. Teresa wondered what would happen if she did.
Teresa swept her gaze across the lines. Which one? Did it even matter? One life was just as valuable as the next. Wasn’t it? She crouched and examined them for a sign that one might be weaker than another, or different somehow. If she could figure out which one might lead to an elderly person, someone who had lived their life, that might make it easier.
But they all held the same vibrant, pulsing red color.
“Try this one,” Tiffany whispered in her ear, pointing. “Or that one.” She pointed at another. “Come on, we don’t have all night!”
Teresa closed her eyes and reached her hand forward, flinching back when she grazed the smooth rope. She wrapped her hand around it. Her stomach lurched at the warm pulsing. She opened her eyes. Long furrows in the snow where the rest had lain were the only sign they had been there at all.
“Very good,” Tiffany said. “Let’s see where it leads.”
Teresa held onto the zoe and used it to guide herself, gathering the rope in her arms. Its warmth pulsed against her body.
The moment she stepped outside of the yard, someone screamed an unearthly sound, half mountain lion, half human.
“Uh-oh,” Tiffany paused in her back and forth leap over the zoe. “Ruthie knows.”
Teresa halted. “What do you mean?” she asked, unable to hide the terror in her voice.
“She can sense you are going to take another,” Tiffany said. “We have to hurry!” She took off running along the glowing strand. Teresa followed, jogging and coiling until she slipped, fumbled, and dropped the whole yarn. She gave up and ran, following it, down Forrest Parkway right on Ponderosa Boulevard, deeper into the older residential area full of rustic homes hidden within the trees.
Each shriek from Ruthie came closer and closer. Teresa glanced over her shoulder. Ruthie—her shriveled, stick-like form—lurched after them. Teresa gasped and stumbled over a coil of the zoe, caught herself, and kept running. Tiffany darted ahead and turned onto the front porch of the house where the zoe led.
“Quick. Once we’re inside, she can’t get us!” Tiffany reached her hands toward Teresa. Teresa dashed up the steps and, despite her desire to burst through the front door, opened it slowly and stepped inside. She held her breath and clicked the door shut just as Ruthie clambered up the porch steps, claw-like fingers reaching. Teresa threw the deadbolt and leaned against the door.
Once she caught her breath, she peered through the darkness. Blue light flickered from a room down the hall. Teresa tiptoed to the doorway and peeked inside.
Sheriff McMichael lay in a recliner in the corner wearing only boxers and an undershirt. A snore escaped his parted lips. The zoe led straight into his chest.
Teresa ducked back into the hallway and pressed herself against the wall.
He was old. In his seventies at least. Aside from the fact that he never believed her story about what happened to the baby, she really didn’t know him very well. Did he have a wife sleeping in the next room?
It wouldn’t do to have someone wake up and catch her stabbing a giant needle into the man’s chest.
“Should I search the house for others?” she asked Tiffany.
“You can only take one, Mommy.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Teresa crept down the hall and checked the other rooms. She went back to where the sheriff was still fast asleep.
Ruthie scratched at the front door.
Tiffany handed Teresa tonight’s oversized hypo. Her hand shook when she took it.
“Just like last night.” Tiffany made a stab and pull motion.
Teresa nodded and tried not to throw up. She positioned herself next to him, raised her arms, and was about to plunge the needle into his chest when an orange cat jumped into his lap with a trilling meow.
Teresa jumped back with a loud gasp. The cat held her gaze.
“What in the hell are you doing in my house?” the Sheriff’s voice hollered. He struggled to sit up, bucking the recliner in his flailing. The cat launched to the floor.
The sheriff’s left hand reached toward the side table. His gun, still holstered, sat on top of a Hunting & Fishing magazine.
Teresa leaped on top of him and pushed against his chest. Their combined weight tilted the recliner back as far as it would go. It knocked over a floor lamp, fell to the side, and spilled them onto the floor.
McMichael landed on top of Teresa, crushing the wind from her lungs. They locked eyes.
“You,” he said. His cheeks were flushed. He struggled to his knees and lunged sideways for his gun. Teresa, still wheezing, sat up and shoved the needle into his chest.
His torso swung back toward her. His limp hand caught her in the chin, rocking her head back and to the side. The sheriff grabbed at the syringe while his mouth opened and closed, his lungs pleading for air.
Teresa yanked the plunger. The barrel filled with glowing red zoe.
He didn’t shrivel like Ruthie had. Instead, his skin turned a putrid green. The vessels in his eyes burst, changing the white to a blotchy red. His tongue swelled up and flopped out of his parted lips. Bloat tightened his skin. He stopped moving.
The smell of death and decay seeped from his overstretched pores. Teresa gagged and withdrew the needle. The zoe swirled like a mini hurricane inside the barrel.
They couldn’t leave the way they came in. Ruthie would get them. She clawed the door as if sensing Teresa’s conundrum.
Teresa ran down the hall, Tiffany close behind. In a bedroom at the back of the house, she opened the window, pushed the screen out, and went through feet first. Something gouged the back of her left leg.
Teresa cried out and landed on her side, jarring her shoulder and rattling her teeth.
Ruthie shrieked from the other end of the house. Panic pushed Teresa to move. She ran toward town, slipping on the accumulated snow.
At the town square, Teresa doubled over and gasped for breath. The cold air pierced her throat and lungs. Her whole left side ached.
“Come on, we’re almost there!” Tiffany said. She took off into the darkness.
Ruthie shrieked again before letting out a low, rumbling moan. Teresa looked over her shoulder. The sheriff hobbled after them on bloody bloated feet.
“Go,” Teresa whispered, gritting her teeth. “Go, dammit!” Her legs listened, but sharp cramps riddled her quads and calves.
She ran down the dirt road, now sloppy with snow, and dodged to leap over the creek. Her push-off foot slipped, and in her attempt to stop herself from falling, she twisted her ankle and tumbled to the ground.
“Oh God,” she cried. She reached for her ankle, but something cold and hard gripped it first.
Ruthie had hold of her foot. Teresa screamed.