44
Rayne
It’s Come for the Children
B y evening, another snowstorm moved in. But not even the chill outside could destroy the warmth Salem filled me with.
She loved me. This beautiful, intelligent, brave, miraculous woman loved me . For the rest of the day, I kept catching myself staring at her, wondering how, why? What did I do to deserve her, to be chosen by her?
All my mistakes, my faults, seemed so brazenly obvious.
Yet she faced them like they were nothing, mere dips and bumps like the same ones she effortlessly flew over on her bike.
The terror she had endured here should have had her begging for a way to escape, desperate to get as far away from me as possible.
I’d always felt like a burden. Every breath I took felt stolen, every beat of my heart was in defiance. I strived to need nothing and depend on no one.
But God, I needed her like the trees needed the sun, like the tides needed the moon.
Part of me believed she would vanish by morning, disappearing like dawn’s thick fog. But she was real enough to kiss when I woke, real enough to laugh with as we ate breakfast. She fed me slices of apple from her hand and squealed when I put her fingers between my teeth.
She held my face close and told me she loved me. After so many years in Hell, it felt like I’d finally found the stairs to Heaven.
But those stairs were gated, guarded by an angel of death.
I needed to find my mother’s body. She was connected to this creature somehow; perhaps her remains held the secret to its destruction.
My father must have hidden her somewhere he believed she would never be found, just as he had with the tapes and photographs.
But where? Blackridge wasn’t massive, but it was dense, covered in thick forest and harsh terrain.
How many weeks, months, years would I have to search to find her final resting place?
Even if I had to search and dig until I was old and gray, I would end this. I would find a way. It wasn’t only the dead that cried for justice; I did too.
Next to the lounge, the overcrowded library became my constant refuge over the next few days.
I kept my father’s wicked old book there, cracked open on the wooden table, where I would study it for hours.
With multiple French dictionaries on hand and the assistance of the internet, I did my best to translate, but reading had never been my strength.
I didn’t have the patience, and few things made me feel so incapable as staring down at that black-and-white page, all the letters blending together.
But with Salem there, I kept calm through the long, frustrating hours.
She refilled my coffee before I even realized it was gone, made sure I ate when my hands became shaky from neglected hunger.
When my eyes grew so tired they could no longer focus, she took over with the book, her brow furrowed in concentration as we slowly uncovered the mysteries within.
The details for elaborate rituals filled its pages.
Our translations were crude at best, but it became clear this was not a book of worship.
It contained no mythos or parables, only instructions.
Much of it was impossible to decipher, but my father had already done some of the work for us, and left his notes in the margins.
These rituals demanded horrifying sacrifice. The torture of innocents, the killing of children.
My father’s notes were sprinkled throughout a chapter that called for the sacrifice of one’s firstborn. They were clinical and cold: Did the composition of the candles matter? Or the kindling used for the fire? Did the sacrifice need to be conscious?
Blood draws it near, death gives it power , he wrote. Flesh must be stripped from the bones and left to be consumed.
It made me ill to read, but I pushed on. Somewhere within these pages was the answer I sought: If it told how to summon the beast, surely it also told how to send it back.
Finally, scribbled in the margins, I found it.
A note from my father, which read, Bones are its tether.
The script must remain intact. If the bones are broken or burned, such that the runes upon them are indecipherable, the beast will be sent back.
Hide them well within its nest. It will guard them.
I had to step away, pacing up and down the library. It will guard them within its nest.
My freedom lay in the lion’s den.
I poured myself two fingers of whiskey, my mind running a million miles an hour. I’d need help, of that I had no doubt. The sheriff could get a search party together; we would go armed and ready. We would search the woods, until—
The soft crackle of static caught my attention.
Moments later, Salem poked her head into the library and said, “I think someone’s trying to call you on the radio.”
When I reached the foyer, an almost imperceptible whisper was coming from the speakers. Quiet as it was, I recognized it, and sprinted the last few steps to pick up the mic.
“Rebecca, I need you to repeat,” I said, keeping my voice slow and calm. No response came.
Frowning, I held the button and repeated, “Rebecca, come in. Do you hear me?”
Faint noise came from the speaker. Crackling. Slow, desperately shallow breaths.
“Rayne?” The child’s voice was the tiniest whimper. “Help me.”
My blood ran cold. She was keeping her voice low, obviously afraid of being heard. For a few seconds, I didn’t dare to even speak into the mic again.
“Where are you?” I whispered. My hand shook, and I flinched violently when Salem walked into the foyer. Her face fell when she saw my expression.
“In the shed. Me and Rachel were helping Daddy get the chickens inside, but he heard something and told me to go inside but I got scared and...” She sniffled, her voice shivering with cold.
“I hid in the shed. I have his walkie-talkie. Rachel is with Daddy in the barn but the animals are all upset. Missy was screaming.”
Missy. Their friendly potbellied pig. There was an awful feeling inside me that it wasn’t the swine she’d heard screaming.
Suddenly, another voice came through the speaker. Even more muffled than Rebecca’s, as if it was sounding from the other side of a wall, Andy’s voice yelled, “Becca! Where are you? Becca! Come outside.”
“That’s not Daddy,” Rebecca whispered frantically. “I know that’s not my daddy!”
“Stay where you are.” I was already gathering my things. Backpack, gun, GPS... “Stay inside, no matter what you hear. Understand? No matter what you hear.”
“Rayne, what’s happening?” Salem’s voice was thick with alarm. Loki could tell something was happening as I put my backpack on, and began to whine at the door.
Heart pounding, stomach sick, I turned to Salem and said, “The angel took Andy. The girls need our help.”
“Please hurry,” Rebecca whimpered. “It keeps calling me. It knows I’m inside.”
“Stay where you are, Seahawk,” I said. “I’m coming to get you. Just hang on. Hang on, please. Please.” I kept repeating the words even as I let the mic go. She didn’t need to hear my begging, but something in this cursed world had to.
If there was a God, he was a fucking dick if he didn’t spare these poor kids.
I turned, ready to sprint for the door, but Salem was already there, zipping up her jacket. Her boots, beanie, and gloves were on. She had my hunting knife strapped to her belt, and she really must have sprinted, because she also had a small pitchfork from the garden shed.
“Salem...” I shook my head as I went to her, cradling her head in my hands. “Please, sweetheart, please stay here, I can’t—”
“You’re not going alone,” she said, unflinching. “They need our help. There’s no time.” She wrenched open the door, a rush of cold, snowy air billowing into the foyer. “We go together.”
With Salem clinging to my back on the ATV, we sped into the storm.
Loki ran ahead of us, sprinting over the snowbanks the vehicle couldn’t navigate. The blinking light on his collar guided my way as we headed north along the road.
I parked the ATV along the wooden fence that surrounded Andy’s farm.
In the distance, I could see the subtle glow from the house’s front porch light.
The sound of goats bleating in fear carried on the wind.
Cows were scattered beneath the trees, eyes glowing eerily in the headlights.
Despite the storm, they had all shunned the warmth of the barn.
“Loki, heel.” The dog came instantly to my side, watching me for his next command. “Salem, stay close to me. When we get into the yard, stay low and quiet. Follow me.”
Salem nodded. Only her eyes were visible beneath her hood and wrapped scarf. She trusted me. She would follow me into the storm, into danger, without hesitation.
Now was my last chance, so I pulled her close. “I love you.”
She yanked down her scarf, throwing her arms around my neck to kiss me.
“I love you too,” she whispered. “We’re going to make it, Rayne.”
The howling wind, although frigid, drowned out the crunch of our footsteps as we ducked under the fence.
The barn doors were ajar, and I thought I could make out a faint light within.
The house was lit, the curtained windows casting a warm glow.
About fifty yards from the front porch stood the shed.
The wind died down for a moment, and only the nervous lowing of the livestock and the crackling of the trees in the wind broke the eerie silence.
I readied my weapon, nerves making it difficult to keep still.
Where was the damn thing? My stomach churned with thoughts of what could have occurred in the time it took us to get here.
“I need you to get to the shed,” I whispered, pointing Salem toward the small building. “Your only goal is to get Rebecca, and get to the house, okay? When you get inside, take her straight down to the basement and wait for me, got it?”
She nodded slowly. “Where are you going to go?”