Chapter Five

My tears have been my food day and night, While my enemies say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”

-Psalm 42:3

By the time we reached our destination it was hard to tell exactly where we were. Through all the dust, it seemed we were somewhere on the outskirts of Lusk, in a neighborhood where the houses had fallen into disrepair. Paint chipped off the walls, fences lay broken on the ground, old cars rusted in the yards, and rottweilers on chains barked at us as we passed. Every sign we passed said “No Trespassing,” “Beware of Dog,” or “Go ahead, make my day” with a picture of a hand holding a revolver underneath.

Exactly the sort of place where the neighbors keep their heads down and stick to themselves. Some people move to small towns so they can be in close-knit communities. Others go there so folk will leave them alone.

The Janitor slowed the car down as we approached a small, tan house with boarded up windows, a chain-link fence, two large, dead trees in the front yard, and a sign on the gate which said, “Trespassers will be shot.” The Janitor turned the vehicle, and stopped the car right in front of the gate. The Veteran hopped out and opened the gate wide for us, and the Janitor drove through, into the back yard.

I glanced between Sheila and Candice. Sheila stared straight ahead in silence, her eyes wide and her face a mess from crying. Candice still fixed her eyes on the floor and rocked herself back and forth. I wanted to say something, anything at all that might give them hope, but in such a situation I couldn’t even imagine a reason to hope. Everything within me had turned to despair.

When the car came to a slow stop, the Janitor stepped out and came around to Sheila’s door. The Veteran opened Candice’s door and seized her by the front of her sweater. “You struggle, we hurt you. Don’t get cute.”

The Janitor walked Sheila and the Veteran walked Candice, away to the back door of the house. Jesus Shirt came to get me. He grabbed me by my long hair and yanked me out. I whimpered as the strands tugged on my scalp.

“Quit your whining,” he hissed and shook me violently. “The more you cry, the more I want to hurt you.”

As he pushed me along, toward the back door, I looked over at one of the houses nearby. A robins-egg blue house with flowered curtains in the windows. An old woman stood at the window, watching me. I gave her a pleading look, silently begging for her to do something.

She pulled the curtains closed.

Why did I expect anything different?

Jesus Shirt marched me up the three, rotted wooden steps leading to the house’s back door. He reached past me, and opened it. With another hard shove from my captor, I was inside the house, where my eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness.

The first room was the kitchen. An old stove, stained dark red and brown stood crooked against the wall. There was no refrigerator, neither was there a table in what should have been a small dining room. Further in, I could see a couch with ugly flower patterns on it, covered in clear plastic. There was also a rocking chair with the same pattern, similarly covered in plastic.

Jesus Shirt marched me around the corner to what looked at first like a coat closet, until he opened the door and I saw a wooden staircase leading down into a pitch-black basement, with a trapdoor standing ajar over it.

I stumbled on the first step. Jesus Shirt pulled me in closer and hissed in my ear, “Walk right or I’ll push you down the stairs, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered, knowing it was better to simply agree than try to explain that I was clumsy.

I walked carefully down those stairs, which is especially difficult when you’re held by your hair and your hands are cuffed behind your back. By the time I got to the bottom, my eyes had adjusted to what little light came down through the open trapdoor. Sheila and Candice were both chained to a concrete wall by their wrists. The Janitor and the Veteran stood in front of them, satisfied smirks on their faces.

I stepped in something both sticky and slick on the floor. With the smell of copper wafting into my nose, I tried to imagine that what I’d stepped in was anything but blood, but reason won out in the end. There was no point trying to deny the horrors we were about to endure for the rest of our lives.

Jesus Shirt pushed me up to the back wall and the Janitor bent down to fasten chains around my ankles, bolted to the wall. The Veteran unlocked and removed my hand-cuffs.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs drew my attention to Granny and the Sinner. Both descended with hungry looks on their faces.

Once they’d reached the bottom of the stairs and their shoes clicked on the cement floor, the Janitor clasped his hands together and said, “Now, let us discuss a few rules. I know peacemaker blood is succulent, but it’s important that you never feast on the boy. We need him to keep our other meals alive and fresh, and while he can heal wounds this does not extend to his own. If he suffers a fatal wound, that’s it, he’s gone.”

My stomach felt like it was about to boil over, and spill my guts on the basement floor, though I hadn’t eaten anything in a long while.

The Janitor continued. “The two females here are the ones we’ll be feasting on every day. Any time you feed on either of them, make sure the peacemaker is standing by to heal the woman. Any time we bite the girl, the woman will probably bleed for it. Then again,” he chuckled, “I suppose it’s possible the neighbors might bleed instead.”

All of the gnashers giggled.

Candice choked out a sob.

My skin crawled.

“If the boy here refuses to heal the woman, beat him,” said the Janitor. “In the stomach, on his legs and arms, never the head. If he still refuses to heal her, beat the girl next. Oh! And don’t forget to give them food and water once a day. Any more than that and they’ll refuse it, but give it only once a day and they’ll be hungry enough to eat out of your hands. If we take good care of these three, we should be set for life, and have just enough variety to avoid boredom. Any questions?”

Jesus Shirt waved to get the Janitor’s attention, then folded his arms. “Does this mean we can’t hunt anymore?”

The Janitor waved a dismissive hand. “No, of course not. We can still hunt all we want, as usual. This just means we don’t have to. Our survival is secured.”

Granny raised her hand. The Janitor grunted in irritation and pointed to her. “Can we feed now?” she asked, her voice like worn leather. “I’m hungry, and we haven’t eaten since the cop at the drugstore.”

The Janitor shook his head. “Let’s not feed on these two just yet. Remember, we have the man who tried to defend them in the van still? Bring him here, and we’ll drink him dry.”

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“No!” Sheila screamed, suddenly snapping out of her trance. “Please, no! Don’t!”

The Janitor turned to her and snickered. “Looks like I found a nerve.” He pointed to the Veteran and the Sinner. “Go get his body and bring it here. We’ll make her watch.”

As the two of them ascended the staircase, laughing to themselves, Granny walked over to Sheila and grasped her face in her gnarled, talon-like hands. Her long, painted nails lightly clawed at Sheila’s skin. “Make no mistake, honey,” hissed Granny, “you will watch this.”

Sheila flinched and tried to pull away from Granny, but the gnasher held onto her, grinning wider every time Sheila fought and failed.

Candice kicked Granny’s leg out from under her. The old gnasher stumbled for a moment, then turned and smacked Candice across the cheek with the back of her hand. Both Sheila and Candice grunted in pain.

The Janitor lunged at Candice and seized her by the hair. He jerked her back and forth, eliciting more sounds of pain from both her and Sheila. “Don’t try that again!” he snarled. “Next time, we’ll hurt you worse.”

Candice spat in his face.

Footsteps resounded from the top of the staircase as the Veteran and Sinner started their descent, bringing Harry’s body with them.

“No, God, please, no…” Sheila pleaded through sobs.

I shouted every profanity I knew at the gnashers, and pulled against my chains. Having grown up on stories of Samson, whom God had given abnormal strength, and such movies as Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, there was a faint part of me that held out hope that I’d somehow find the strength to break the chains, or tear the bolt from the concrete wall.

“Oh ho?” Jesus Shirt mocked. “Are you actually trying to escape?”

The Janitor strolled over to me. “Oh, this ought to be good.”

I stretched out for him, but found he was just outside the reach of my fingertips.

“You’re cute, kid. You know that?” said the Janitor. He reached into his pocket and produced a keyring. He held it out on the tip of his index finger, dangling it in front of me. “Tell you what, if you can make the bolt in that wall move just enough to get your hands on the keys you get to choose one person to unlock. Yourself, the woman, or the girl. Everyone else stays. Sound fair?”

While the Janitor mocked me, Granny held Sheila’s face again and forced her eyelids open. The other gnashers gathered around Harry’s body, each taking a limb in their hands and opening wide their fang-filled jaws.

Sheila wailed. “Stop! No! No!” She fought against Granny’s grip. The gnasher’s long nails slipped and jabbed Sheila in the eyes. She screamed as blood oozed from her slashed irises. Granny cursed Sheila for ruining her game.

I roared and yanked against the chains with all my might. The steel edges of the shackles dug into my ankles, cutting my flesh and wearing it raw. But the bolt in the wall didn’t budge. My fingertips fell just short of the keyring.

At the sound of the gnashers’ teeth rending Harry’s limp body, Sheila bawled until her voice came out in hoarse croaks. I didn’t dare look. The slurping and the satisfied grunts were sickening enough.

Jesus Shirt licked his lips and looked up at me. “Come on, now, boy. I thought you believed in God. If your faith was the size of a mustard-seed you could move mountains, right? Yet here you can’t even break your chains? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you believe?”

The Veteran stood from Harry’s body as well and turned to the Janitor. “You know, this man’s blood is good and all, but he’s dead. Ain’t nothin’ like drinking from someone still breathin’. Let’s feed on the woman.”

“I agree,” Granny croaked.

The Janitor carried the keys over to a hook on the wall, just beside the staircase, then reached up and closed the trapdoor. The last bit of light left in my world was gone, and all around me was pure darkness. I was blind.

In the void I heard the gnashers shuffling their feet and gathering around Sheila. No sounds came from her, except for ragged breathing.

Strong, calloused fingers clasped my wrist and brought my right hand out to rest on Sheila’s shoulder. The Veteran’s voice said, “If ya don’t heal her, she’s gonna die.”

Then there was that terrible sound of the gnashers’ teeth rending her flesh, grinding against her bones. She gasped and sobbed, but had no voice left to scream anymore. Candice and I were the only ones screaming. Sheila’s warm blood poured over my hands, leaking between my fingers.

But I had resolved myself. I wasn’t going to do their bidding for them. The blessing I had, the ability to heal people, it was to create peace, not to keep someone trapped in this sort of Hell. She’d lost her husband, and now these monsters fed on her in the dark, a dungeon from which she’d never escape. By now, I couldn’t imagine she still wanted to live.

So, though my hand never left her shoulder, I refused to heal her. I held back the warmth from within me, and let them feast upon her, praying they wouldn’t notice that I had chosen to let her die. This seemed far more merciful than prolonging her suffering. And, maybe, if they saw that I wouldn’t heal people for them they’d decide they had no more use for me, and end my life too. I hated to leave Candice behind in all of this, but there was nothing I could do for her anymore.

The slurping and chomping continued on, with gasps and moans of delight from the twisted, evil creatures.

After several minutes, the Janitor let out a shocked gasp. “No pulse! No pulse! She’s dead!”

Harsh fingers yanked my hair again and jerked my head back and forth. “You think this is funny?” Jesus Shirt roared. “She’s dead because of you!”

“In a better place,” I said under my breath.

“What was that?” he bellowed.

“She’s in a better place!” I bellowed back and spat where I thought his face might be.

Jesus Shirt shoved me away. “What do we do?”

“You heard me before,” the Janitor said, “Beat him. Then the girl too.”

A high-pitched howl from outside made my heart leap into my throat.

Is that a siren?

Then came an electronic voice. “This is the police! We have your house surrounded. Come out with your hands above your heads. Now!”

“What do we do?” asked Granny, her voice betraying just a hint of fear.

The Veteran snickered. “I think we can handle a few more cops.”

The Janitor groaned. “Well, after this we won’t be able to stay in Lusk anymore. Follow me.”

I heard them hurry up the steps, and for just a moment white light flooded the basement again as they opened the trap door. Then it was gone, and darkness surrounded us once more.

I listened to them thumping around upstairs.

A slew of gunshots followed.

Whatever police officers were left in the town of Lusk had come to fight the gnashers, though they likely didn’t know what they were up against.

“Please, God!” I said out loud. “Please get us out of here! Please help!” I begged over and over, repeating those words as a mantra. My fate was so far from my hands now, it was in the grasp of those who had never seen gnashers before.

A sound like thunder shook the house above us.

Something odd wafted in the air. I sniffed, trying to discern what it was, beyond the stench of blood in that basement.

“Smoke!”

“What?” Candice said.

“Don’t you smell that? It’s smoke!”

It was not just wood burning either. A stench like rotting eggs and a sour odor also hung in the air.

Sweat beaded up under my arms as the basement rapidly grew hotter, and more smoke flowed in. Every breath felt like needles in my throat. I hacked and coughed, as did Candice.

“Help!” she cried out. “Someone help!”

I cried out too. “Help! Help!” But after shouting twice the pain in my throat was too much, and every time I tried to yell again I choked on the toxic air all around me.

Bits of the trapdoor started to glow as the fires burned down to the bottom. The basement was concrete, so I knew the fire wouldn’t get to us, but the heat would, and soon we’d lose all air.

My vision blurred, and my head felt dizzy. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep my balance much longer, I laid down on the blood-soaked floor. Still the room spun.

This place, this dark, bloody basement, was about to become my grave. Terrible as that was, it was better than letting it become my Hell. Feeling I would surely die soon, a smile took its place on my lips.

Crash!

The trapdoor collapsed, and the embers fell onto the wooden stairs.

In the haze, I saw a bright orange and yellow figure tromp down the stairs, an axe in hand.

Upon the wicked He will rain coals;

Fire and brimstone and a burning wind

Shall be the portion of their cup.

-Psalms 11:6