Chapter 3 #4
“What kind of monsters do you mean?” Travis knew that many of their guests had a history of addiction and psychological problems. That might make him doubt their accounts. But Steve had been at St. Dismas long enough to get treatment.
“Black dogs with red eyes that just appear and disappear, sometimes they carry people away,” Steve replied in a voice above a whisper. “Little ugly creatures with big teeth that steal food. An old woman who offers to tell your fortune and sucks out your soul.”
When we’ve handled the mine monsters, Brent and I have to handle some clean-up closer to home, Travis thought, chagrinned they hadn’t noticed. He and Brent periodically went on patrol, but it had been a while, and he promised himself that he would create a regular schedule.
“There are more of them? Showing up in more places?” Travis prompted.
Steve nodded. “Yeah, I heard through the grapevine that a couple of my old buddies went missing. A few days later, they found bones and clothing. Something ate them.”
The monsters were smart enough to prey on people the cops were unlikely to believe, roaming the alleys and back streets that even the police avoided.
“I’ll see what I can do about it,” Travis promised him. “Do you have a theory about why it’s worse lately?”
Steve gave a humorless laugh. “Not really. Full moon, no moon, holiday, none of that seems to matter. Some of the guys banded together, managed to get some guns and knives. They were ex-military, knew how to fight. They started to patrol, and word went out for the rest of us to stay inside the area. For a while, that helped.”
“Then what?” Travis feared he could guess.
“The monsters got them,” Steve replied. “Almost like they leveled up against the threat and ripped them apart. Since then, people just hide. They don’t fight unless they’re cornered and then they lose.”
“You’re safe here.” Travis didn’t elaborate on the supernatural protections around St. Dismas, from spells to salt lines to sigils and wards. Now, he wondered if the halfway house might be targeted because of those precautions by whatever was sending the monsters.
No, he thought. Not whatever. Whoever. Just like how the monster hunters are being hunted. Sinistram’s the only group powerful enough to pull off a city-wide monsterpalooza. But what’s in it for them?
“Thanks for listening, Padre,” Steve picked up his tray. “If you have any friends on the witchy side who could help, my boys on the street would sure appreciate it.”
“See you at bingo?” Travis asked when Steve stood. “I’m calling tonight. Don’t let that scare you off.”
Steve laughed. “Save a seat for me. I might just make it.”
Travis watched him leave and replayed their conversation in his mind.
The Sinistram has done its best to be invisible for a long time.
It’s not like they’re signing their work, but those in the know are likely to suspect them first. So how does super-charging monsters and killing monster hunters serve a purpose?
I’m missing something big. I just don’t know how to fill in the gap.
Travis found that presiding over the bingo night jostled him out of his thoughts and lifted his mood.
No money was exchanged, everyone got cards and chits for free, and the cookie prizes came from donations or the St. Dismas kitchen.
Still, even their most streetwise residents got into the spirit of the game, hooting and hollering and going all-in.
Afterward, movie night provided an action flick and snacks, a popular way to pass the evening.
“Nicely done,” he told Jon as they stood in the back of the common room, watching the middle of the movie. “You set everything up to come off without a hitch.”
Jon shrugged, although he smiled at the praise. “Nothing new or different, but it’s worth it when they get some time to take a load off. And you were an awesome bingo caller.”
“We used to joke that a class in bingo games, bake sales, potluck dinners, and yard sales would have stood us in better stead as parish priests than some of the high-level theology,” Travis replied.
Or how to step in and be the town’s mine witch. They left that out at school, too.
He gestured for Jon to step outside the room with him. “Your family’s been in Pittsburgh for a while, right? Any of them work in the mines?”
Jon nodded. “Back in the day. Like around World War Two.”
“Anyone ever mention mine witches?”
Jon raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You and Brent are cleaning up old messes again?”
“When aren’t we?”
“Fair enough.” Jon thought for a moment.
“The people who worked the mines were very old when I was a kid. By then, the underground mines were closed, and there were just a couple of strip mines left. But sometimes at the holidays, the old men would sit around and drink and tell stories. If I stayed real quiet under the table, they forgot I was there, and they’d tell some doozies. ”
“I bet.”
“They were all good Catholics, but they also believed in ghosts, monsters, and witches,” Jon replied. “Just like the women would go to church to pray in the morning and stop at the tea shop to consult the neighborhood seer on their way home.”
The official term Travis had learned in seminary was “syncretism,” the blending of different belief systems. People saw nothing wrong with hedging their bets, since good luck often seemed elusive.
“What did they say about the witches?”
Jon took a moment to answer. “Geez, I haven’t thought about that stuff for a long while.
But they’d tell stories about close calls: cave-ins, rock falls, bad air, fires.
Sometimes there was a ghost warning them to get out.
Other times, they swore a monster caused the problem.
They all wore saints’ medallions and took omens seriously.
And they thought they were safer because witches from the old country put spells on the mines. ”
“Did they ever say what the witch actually did?” Travis told him briefly about what he had found at the library.
Jon nodded. “That sounds right. They mentioned how the witch would bless the mine and cast out demons and unholy creatures. Never heard them repeat what the witch said, but I got the feeling it was more of an incantation and less of a prayer. Interesting that from what you found, sometimes they got both a witch and a priest in one package.”
That hadn’t surprised Travis, since he felt sure he wasn’t the only one who had ever combined his religion with the natural power of inherent magic.
“Does that help?” Jon asked.
“Yeah, it does. Validating a theory,” Travis replied. “Thanks.”
“Oh, Aricella said she was coming by tomorrow morning with the bakery order, and she made a point of saying that she wanted to talk to you,” Jon added.
Aricella was a talented bruja in addition to being a mighty fine baker. She was one of the folks Travis had dubbed his “Night Vigil”—people with magic or supernatural gifts who served as an intelligence network, reporting anything unusual their talents revealed.
The unlikely band of informants had provided valuable tips more than once that had helped Travis avert trouble or find the missing piece for a hunt.
“Let me know when she gets here,” Travis replied. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”
When the movie ended, everyone helped clean the snack table and stack the folding chairs. St. Dismas kept a nightly curfew, another way to add structure to their guests’ lives and make it easier for them to avoid bad influences on their own outside the facility.
Afterward, Travis got ready for bed, which normally included time spent clearing his mind with meditation and prayer.
While he had been iffy about praying since he left the priesthood, he found the familiar words and cadences soothing, and figured that any worthwhile cosmic entity would understand his struggle.
Most of the time, the combination of a dark, quiet room, soft music, and contemplation helped to still his racing thoughts and relax tight shoulders. Some nights, it wasn’t enough. He gave up after half an hour and went to make himself a cup of tea.
Resigned, Travis checked the police reports of missing persons, and then shifted to the social media sites where loved ones posted looking for information. He had learned long ago that the unofficial bulletin boards were more accurate than the police information.
Pittsburgh’s missing persons count didn’t compare to larger cities like Los Angeles, for which Travis remained thankful.
Many people were found fairly quickly, although a few well-known cases remained unsolved.
Travis started counting the recent postings, separating them by the date reported.
Sure enough, the numbers had increased over the last year.
The numbers weren’t large enough to attract media attention, but Travis saw a definite upward trend.
More worrisome were the number of disappearances that appeared completely random, people who just vanished without any history of financial or personal trouble.
Like they’ve been snatched. But why? And who took them?
Aside from their lack of predictable reasons to run away, Travis couldn’t find any other common elements.
They were male and female, representing a range of ages and ethnicities.
The only thing he noted was an absence of both children and elderly people, two groups that usually figured prominently in missing persons lists.
Travis yawned and figured the tea had finally done its job. He made some final notes on his findings and closed down his computer. He fell asleep quickly, but his dreams were dark.