Decoration Day Read online

  “Don’t know why he told you that. Ain’t been any altar boys in years and years. I light the chandelier.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know that.”

  “Oh, he does. Sounds to me like he’s lying to you. Hurry up with that water before I die of a heat stroke. I still got to tidy up a bit, and can’t do it in a sweltering place like this.”

  David stepped down past the pit and found a tin bucket. He filled it from the sink in his bathroom and brought it back to Hester. The bucket sagged heavy in his hand. He figured she wouldn’t be able to lift it, but she did. It was like she had no trouble with it at all. She disappeared somewhere on the other side of the pit. David heard the sizzle of water on hot embers, and the place filled up with the smell of wood smoke. Hester came out coughing and toting the bucket.

  “Maybe you best go outside for a spell,” she said. “Ain’t raining or misting right now, and I heard you just got over a fever. This smell might throw you back into that fever, and tomorrow’s the big day.”

  David welcomed getting away from that smell. He started down the aisle and stopped.

  “Is it true the town is cursed?” he asked. “You’re the only one who I believe has been completely honest.”

  “Yes, we’re cursed.”

  “Am I a sacrifice?”

  “Not that I know of. You’re a preacher,” she said, “and we ain’t cursed like that.”

  “Thank you.”

  With his mind eased somewhat, David left the sanctuary and stepped into the cemetery. The air seemed drier even if the cloud cover stayed heavy. He didn’t believe what Marsh had told him about the warm air and cold creek water. The curse kept it cloudy all the time. Why he believed in a curse, he didn’t know, but somehow, he felt that God shared with him that it was the truth. A ray of sunshine was a lapse in the demon’s grip on the town. He decided that if a ray broke through and illuminated him, then God answered his prayer in the affirmative.

  He walked toward the headstone the woman from his nightmare had stood before. The stone read the same. The boy’s beside it did as well. Now David wondered about the years on the stones. He couldn’t figure out why they would be dated so far back in time. The town put so much emphasis on Decoration Day because of the curse. Perhaps all time in their minds stayed focused on the 1800s. He’d never heard of such behavior, but that didn’t mean it could exist.

  As he scanned the graves, a beam of sunlight broke through the clouds. It landed on a stone near the back wall where he’d climbed over to get the wildflowers. David had his sign from God. He was supposed to save the people. Tomorrow his sermon would dispel the clouds of these people’s curse. They would be free to celebrate their lives instead of remembering the dead and having only that one day to look forward to. He walked to where the light landed. The stone read Alistair Marsh, 1828

  The sunlight faded. David knew the demon curse fought back against him when the rain began to fall thick and cold. He expected to see it roll off his skin in purple drops, but it only looked like rain. However, the talisman that he had placed under his shirt grew hot. The thing that cursed the town wanted to get to him, but the charm spread its protection around him. The One God, as Marsh had called the Almighty, protected him.

  Sunday: Decoration Day

  David stayed up far too long. His watch had quit working the day his car encountered the purple mist, but he always kept a windup spare primed and ready. According to this gold-tone timepiece, early Sunday morning wore on. He’d spent the time finishing up his sermon. As he’d thought when he found the strange writing on the pad, the letters made sense when he got back to the church. God saw fit for him to have glossolalia. David had never heard of someone writing in tongues, but God worked in mysterious ways.

  The sections he hadn’t been able to read turned out to be about the dangers of ancestor worship. Once he’d reviewed his work, the words flowed out of him again. God must have guided his pen, because David knew he would never have been able to write so quickly. The Bible verses came to him without looking up a single one or using the concordance he’d had since seminary. The verses were good. This congregation wouldn’t know what hit them, and hopefully the demon that cursed the town wouldn’t either. David knew that thing tried to get to him. The charm around his neck heated up several times. Once, around midnight, it took on a faint purple glow.

  As he put the final touches on his sermon, David felt his eyelids slip down. In the morning, he’d need everything in him preach the word of God and free the people of Innsboro. For that to occur, he needed to get deep rest. After all the turmoil of the fever and taunts of the cursed demon, deep sleep would be deeply welcomed.

  The morning broke to the sound of thunder. David sat up in bed as the noise rumbled overhead and echoed down the side of the mountain. The reverberation shook his apartment and probably the whole church.

  He got out of bed and walked to the small window. Although it faced the mountain, David saw a slip of the sky. Dark clouds hung there, ready to drop a massive amount of rain. Lightning streaked from cloud to cloud in yellow zigzags. The thunder followed right on top. The storm sat dead over the valley, but not a drop of rain fell.

  David worried the storm would hinder the congregation from attending service. The talisman around his neck heated up again in sync with another shaking thunderclap. It was like the whole sky tore open. He wondered if it might be the rapture. The whole time he’d been pondering over what Marsh and Hester told him, he’d never thought that he might be fighting against the Antichrist and bringing about the end of days.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” a familiar voice said.

  He turned around and saw Anna standing behind him near the stove. She wore a flowing white gown like an angel might wear.

  “How are you here?” he asked her.

  “I just am. This isn’t the rapture,” she said. “Don’t let this vision of me make you think differently. It’s just a lightning storm, nothing more.”

  “But Marsh said he thinks I can free them of a curse,” David said.

  “When did the man I married become so superstitious? There is no curse.”

  “What about all the strange things that have been happening to me?”

  “Hallucinations, nightmares. Maybe you’re going crazy,” she said.

  David began to think that this apparition sounded less and less like his wife. Just a few nights ago, she had tried to protect him.

  “I think I should still preach to these people all the same.”

  “Take off that silly charm then. It’s an idol, you know. The One God doesn’t like idols.”

  He looked down at his chest where the medallion rested under his shirt. Although the fetish didn’t feel warm, it glowed with that eerie nightmare light.

  “No.”

  Anna lunged for him. Her face transformed into a wad of writhing tentacles as she did so. David stepped back, but as soon as her hands touched the cloth of his shirt, the apparition dissipated into lavender mist. He caught a scream in his throat and let it out as a long sigh.

  The door to his apartment opened. Marsh stepped inside. He looked David up and down.

  “There isn’t much time, Reverend Stanley. I think you better put on your vestments or whatever.”

  “It’s still early,” David answered.

  “It is a quarter until ten,” Marsh said. “The congregation is almost completely gathered.”

  David looked around. Nothing in his apartment had changed, but the thunder no longer rolled, and his watch told him it had been two hours since he jumped out of bed expecting to see four horsemen. The encounter with the demonic version of Anna had drained hours from his day. This demon was powerful and determined.

  Not wanting to waste another minute, David pulled his long vestment robe over his pajamas. Nothing of the plaid trousers could be seen. He slipped on his loafers and grabbed his notes and Bible as he left the apartment.

  The sanctuary hummed with mumbled conversation. It felt alive ev
en though he couldn’t see it yet. The pit beside the steps that led to the podium platform looked almost cheery. When he stood on the platform, he saw the small auditorium had around fifty or sixty people in the pews. They crammed close to each other toward the front. The elders, without any wives, sat at the very front. The rest of the pews appeared to be filled with the servants; numerous bulbous, watery eyes looked up at him. The whispers continued.

  Marsh sat on a short pew to the side of the stage. He patted the narrow, empty seat beside him. David took it, pulling his robe down to make sure it hid his pants.

  “Are you ready?” Marsh asked.

  “Is this everyone?” David answered.

  “The whole town.”

  “But the population sign…”

  “Is wrong,” Marsh finished the sentence. “I will begin by leading the congregation in a few songs. Then you can start. Is that okay?”

  “No prayer or Scripture reading?” David asked.

  “That’s your job.”

  Marsh reached under the bench and brought out a small hymnal. He approached the podium while thumbing through the book. David felt beneath the bench for another book, but didn’t find one. Fortunately, he knew many sacred songs and would be able to wing it. Preachers were expected to be good orators, not choirmasters.

  “Everyone, turn to song 42 in your hymnals,” Marsh said.

  David heard the familiar and slightly heady sound of hymnals being pulled from the holders on the pews and of the pages turning. Showtime had arrived. Butterflies flew in his stomach. It had been so long since he’d preached a sermon that he hoped he still could.

  The song started. He recognized the tune of “Let the Lower Lights Be Burning” and opened his mouth to sing. The words sounded different. The crowd slurred and rolled syllables nothing like English. The language was nothing David had ever heard. He imagined it would be what the words on his pad would sound like if spoken. God had given him the ability to read it, but had neglected the ability to translate the spoken words.

  He flipped his pad over to the side with writing. The first half of the first page read in English. The rest was in that mysterious language. He turned to the next page. More of the same strange writing was scrawled out in black ink. Nothing was readable. The butterflies quit flying around and started slamming into the pit of his stomach.

  David kept turning pages and finding the same thing. Panic gripped him. The song ended and a new one began. The tune was “Nearer My God to Thee.” Soon he’d be giving a sermon from words he didn’t know. The words remained alien. He clutched at his chest as it tightened with panic. Through the thickness of the robe and his underlying shirt, the stems radiating off the charm poked his fingers. Perhaps God would not allow him to preach his Word wearing a symbol related to a demon.

  He worked his arm into his robe and grabbed the charm. The thin chain snapped easily when he pulled it. He brought the fetish out and tossed it into the pit without thinking that he might need it or that Marsh might want it back.

  Sweat beaded around his temples, and a drop rolled down his back. He looked at the words on the page. They remained the same. The song became clear though. He heard the lyrics in English, and they matched those he remembered of the song. David began to sing along. He somehow knew that it was in the strange tongue. The song ended.

  “Now, Reverend Stanley will present us a sermon on this, the 148th Decoration Day.”

  Marsh stepped aside. David took his notes, still in the strange language, and stood at the podium. Fortunately, he knew the verse he would open with. Maybe God would see fit for him to read his notes soon.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I know this is an important day for you because of your history, but let me warn you of worshipping ancestors and the dead. Ecclesiastes 9:5 says: For the living know that they shall die: but the dead know not any thing, neither have they any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten.”

  He looked at his notes. The words became readable. David started to preach as if it was a hellfire and brimstone sermon. The room heated up. More sweat rolled down his back and his cheeks. He paused for effect and noticed that the congregation seemed to sweat as well. They remained still and quiet though. The look they gave him might have been called awestruck. David had never seen the expression. All he knew was that he liked the attentiveness.

  His breath caught, he continued. Sweat dripped into his eyes. It stung. He would have wiped it away, but he didn’t want to mess up his tempo. A realization came over him as he flipped the page on his notepad. The air felt sultry like a swamp on a hot July day. The audience’s faces had changed as well. The awestruck gape to their mouths was now one of restrained terror. Every gaze focused on a point behind him.

  David stopped his sermon. A noise like a wet growl rumbled behind him. He turned to look out the windows. Drops of violet rain rolled down the glass, thick like molten lead. The crowd began to sing. He couldn’t recognize the words, but the tune was that of “Dixie.” The heavy rain washed down the windows now. The color darkened the panes so that the light coming in seemed to shine through stained glass. David noticed that despite the downpour, the sun shone brightly.

  He turned around to face the pit, knowing full well that whatever terrified the audience came out of it. The dread of the horrible hole that he’d had since encountering it the first time came to full fruition. As he glanced toward it, a thing jutted from the pit, so horrible it took the scream from his throat.

  The globular creature dangled over the abyss by two long tentacles balanced on the edges of the stonework. The thing took up most of the space over the pit. More of the hideous appendages flailed at the air. A mouth full of rows of teeth took up a large portion of the front of the globular body. Bright, pulsing lavender light shone from beneath it.

  David realized that the symbol on the steeple and the gate wasn’t some kind of star, but an idol of this thing that had cursed the town. All he could wonder was how many other ministers had greeted the creature over the last century and a half.

  The congregation’s song swelled as a tentacle reached for him. He tried to flee but could not. God spoke to him at that moment. The One God told him to stand fast in the face of evil. The tentacle wrapped around him and lifted him in the air. The crowd cheered. He thought he heard a prayer or two mixed in before the creature shoved him into its horrible mouth.

  The teeth didn’t tear him to shreds; instead, he plummeted into great, unknown depths. Knowledge found him there. He saw everything and understood. A band of Union marauders came to Innsboro while the men and servants were away. They slaughtered the old, the women, and the children. Marsh found his dead son and wife, Boy and the woman from David’s fever dream, and swore revenge. He sold the town to the creature in exchange for defeat of the Union forces that had massacred his family. An army of toad men like the ones David saw the night the purple rain first fell rose up and defeated the soldiers. Marsh led them to victory. After that, the town owed its soul to the creature. It gave them an out: to find a holy man of the One God to take their place. The man would not be afraid to preach the truth. Once this preacher was found, the town would be free. Until that time of deliverance, the town would disappear, only to reappear long enough to find a preacher, celebrate Decoration Day, and then go back to the abyss, where the inhabitants lived on and waited. Some died after a long time. Others, mostly the servants, slowly turned into the toad people

  David watched other preachers destroyed by the creature as the years passed. He saw the creature watching him come down the road with dread and anticipation of his sermon. The creature reviled him for his ability to break the contract, but at the same time desired him for its own evil purposes. A purple haze rose over all this, and all knowing faded out.

  Monday

  David awoke in a green field. Yellow wildflowers bloomed on the side of the hill. His car sat parked on the side of a rutted mountain road. He brushed off his pants and headed to his car. The drive up the mountain was ea
sy. Happiness filled him up because he had done what God wanted him to do. Now he was the missionary to new people, and God resided in his brain. His long tentacles wound around His blobby body, floating in a purple smoke, biding His time until He could be worshipped again.

  About the Author

  Vic Kerry lives in Alabama with his wife, five dogs, and cat. By day, he is a mild mannered psychotherapist. By night, he's an over-wound adjunct psychology instructor, fueled by too much sweet tea. Whenever he can catch a minute, he's a horror writer. Vic has an MFA in writing popular fiction from Seton Hill University and is haunted by the ghost of his dearly departed Lovecraft-loving cat, Possum H. Puss Lovecraff. You can like him or friend him on Facebook or stalk him through Twitter (@DarklyVicKerry) and his blog (www.vickerry.wordpress.com)

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