Dire Harvest Book 2 Chapter 9

ONE

Solitary footsteps echoed loudly throughout the long gothic hallway of the south wing of the Catholic Dioceses of Southwest Pennsylvania headquarters. They seemed to go on forever, like a stone dropped into an endless well. On the walls of this corridor hung magnificent paintings of Saints and Martyrs, depicting the ever constant suffering endured throughout the ages by those who desired to worship Jesus Christ openly. Some depictions were outright macabre, though they still told the stories with grace.  

Father Richardson felt anxious as he made his way through the passage. At the end was the office of his boss, Father McEllen. It was time to present his conclusions about Cumberland Springs, which he imagined wouldn’t go over so well with the higher-ups today. They were expecting the entire matter to be swept under the rug and forgotten. That wasn’t going to happen, not after Father Richardson gave his report. 

But what if they tried? Richardson was pretty low in the Diocese food chain. If they wanted to bury his report and send him to work on something else, what could he do about it? Nothing. The answer was nothing. He’d have to eat it and move on. But how? Not only had he heard and believed the stories from Reverend Allen, but he had felt and witnessed his own mysteries, first hand. He had been in the presence of evil. There was no denying that; his heart would never allow it.

Now wasn’t the time to postulate. He’d know soon enough how this whole thing would go. Once he entered the room at the end of the hall, his concerns would be laid to rest, one way or the other. 

“Please, have a seat, Father Richardson,” Father McEllen said from that large, hand carved, wooden monstrosity of a desk he sat behind. Father Andre sat in one of two leather chairs on the front side of the desk. Father Richardson took his seat in the empty one. 

Both priests watched Father Richardson, waiting for him to settle in.

“Well, Richardson,” Father McEllen said. “Does evil lurk in the town of Cumberland Springs?” He smiled a humorous grin and looked at Father Andre to confirm his amusing comment. Father Andre laughed.

A seriousness verging on anger came over Father Richardson. He didn’t like these men making light of the situation. “Yes, Father McEllen, it certainly does.”

The other two priests quickly lost their humorous smiles and focused intently on Father Richardson.

“I’m sorry to tell you,” Richardson continued. “This story from Reverend Allen is indeed accurate. An evil presence is lurking in that town.” He reached across and put his hand on the Bible Father McEllen kept on his desktop. “I can attest to this myself.”

Father McEllen looked down at Father Richardson’s hand. A displeasing stare escaped his eyes, but he did not speak.

Father Andre shifted in his seat. “Seriously, Richardson? What is this crap?”

Father Richardson sat back in his chair. He looked at Father Andre. “I’ve never been more convinced of anything in my life, Father.”

An uneasy silence fell over the room. Neither Father McEllen nor Father Andre had any idea what to say.

“I know you didn’t expect me to tell you this today,” Father Richardson said. “But I can’t sugarcoat it. My conclusion is that evil has irrefutably manifested in that little town.”

“Okay, Richardson,” Father McEllen said. “I’ll bite. What has led you to this determination? Enlighten us, please.” He had become mildly sarcastic.

Father Richardson didn’t appreciate his superior’s tone, but what choice did he have?

He began at the very beginning and didn’t hold back a word. All of it, from Reverend Allen’s stories (especially the names of Zlo and Bol and their Croatian meanings) and Father Richardson’s unsettling feelings while in town, to the dark figure he had faced on the road and again at the monastery. Every putrid word of it. “This is my testimony before God and church and I will swear to it in front of the bishop if necessary.”

It was clear Father Andre didn’t buy it—or didn’t want to. The stern, disapproving look on his face never wavered. He had put up a wall, and no evidence Father Richardson presented today would sway him. But Father McEllen’s face told a different story. It seemed like he didn’t want to believe it either, but something had kept him engaged. He hung on every word, at times in astonishment. It appeared he had actually taken the story at face value, for the time being, at least. 

“You watch too many of those ridiculous shows,” Father Andre said. “Or you’re reading those terrible books that are so popular. You need to spend more time on your work and less time sifting through pulp garbage!”

“I beg your pardon, Father Andre,” Father Richardson said. “With all due respect—”

“Alright, alright,” Father McEllen interrupted. “That’s enough, gentlemen.”

Father Andre’s face was red with anger. He was an uncompromising man to begin with, but now he seemed as if he wanted to unleash rage at Father Richardson.

“What’s gotten into you, Andre?” Father McEllen said.

Father Andre would not take his infuriated eyes away from Father Richardson. “I don’t buy this sensationalistic bullshit, not for one second. These people are looking to make a quick buck off the back of our sacred church. And Richardson here [pointing a finger and squinting one eye] has fallen into it, hook, line, and sinker.” His scowl deepened. “I thought you had better sense than this, young man.” 

Anger had jolted through Father Richardson, but he successfully quelled it for the time being. “Clearly, I can see you are unwilling to listen. That’s fine. I don’t need to persuade you. I know what I’ve experienced. Your opinions, Father Andre, will never be strong enough to change my view of what I have witnessed firsthand. I’ll type up my full account for the record and have it on your desk tomorrow morning, Father McEllen. Do with it as you wish. Good day, gentlemen.”

The two older priests let Father Richardson say his piece and watched him leave the room without saying a word. The door didn’t slam shut, but certainly closed with emphasis. 

“You’re going to have to reel that kid in,” Father Andre said.

“You won’t even consider his account, will you?” Father McEllen said.

Father Andre glared at Father McEllen. “Please, for the love of our Savior, tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding, Andre,” Father McEllen said. “His story was compelling. I have to take the man at his word.”

“At his word?” Father Andre said. “And what will you tell the bishop when there are television cameras and reporters and podcasters and whatever else they can think of these days, pounding on our doors, wanting to hear our opinion about this haunted little town? They won’t be shoed away with a broom like raccoons at a garbage can. They’ll burrow in; they’ll call us constantly; they’ll hound our parishioners… Worst of all, they’ll tarnish our bishop. We can’t allow it, Father. I won’t allow it!” 

“Not a fan of the media, I see,” Father McEllen said. “I can appreciate that.” He leaned back in his chair and made a triangle under his chin with his fingers as he contemplated. “I’ll give this some more thought after I see his report. If I think there’s anything to it, I’ll let you know. For now, I’m not going to worry about it.”

Father Andre sat quietly. His scowling face never changed.

TWO

Brandon sat in the waiting room, still trembling from the events that had changed his life forever this afternoon. The nurse had brought him a clean hospital t-shirt to change into about an hour ago—his own shirt was coated in his mother’s blood. He had seen his father briefly when he came in with Sarah, but dad had gone to be with her while mom was still in surgery. Brandon couldn’t bring himself to leave his mother. Even though she was in another part of the hospital, he felt closer to her here in the waiting room.

He could have never dreamed of an experience like today. And it had happened so fast! In literal seconds, a man had stormed into their house and turned the Crawford family upside-down. Where did he come from? What was he going to do to Sarah? Why did he have to do that to their mother? Brandon couldn’t comprehend any of it. From his first birthday to his fifteenth, he had lived in the warm shelter of a loving family. His parents had kept the horrors of the world away from him and his sister, and did a great job of it… until today. How could this have happened?

Thank God for his birthday present! Had it not been for the crossbow, God only knows what might have happened to Sarah. He didn’t want to think about it. Though the image of the arrow dropping that asshole to his knees did make Brandon smile. It was the only comfort he had at the moment. 

Was mom going to live? She had to! None of them could go on without her. He cried, thinking of what life might be like if he and dad and Sarah had to live without her. You can’t have her! he thought. Please, God! Please don’t take her from us! He bent forward and let the emotions flow into his hands. 

“Brandon,” a voice said. It came from directly in front of him.

He looked up into the face of a woman who was wearing hospital scrubs. She looked important.

“I’m Doctor Nichols,” she said. “I’m one of the surgeons who just operated on your mother.”

Anxiety ran through his veins. Was this woman about to deliver news that would destroy their lives? Was she about to pull the rug out from under the Crawfords and let them fall into a bottomless pit?

She smiled. “It’s okay, Brandon. Your mom came out of surgery just fine. You can’t see her yet, because she’s still in recovery. But I wanted to tell you that the worst is over.”

Brandon jumped out of his seat and hugged the doctor so hard he almost knocked her to the floor. The doctor laughed.

“Everything is going to be alright,” she said.

“Thank God,” another voice said from across the room. It was his dad. He had just entered the waiting room to check on his son.

Brandon let go of the doctor and ran to his father. They hugged and cried and laughed and rejoiced together. A feeling of love and relief washed over both of them like cool spring water.

He didn’t know or understand how something like this could have happened, but here and now, standing in this hospital waiting room with his father, Brandon vowed it would never happen again; not to his family.

THREE

Sirens wailed from all directions, causing fear and concern in everyone attending the Mile Long Yard Sale at the town square. All attention was promptly diverted to the emergency vehicles racing through the area. Ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks all roared into the community, sounding like the end of the world had begun and the shit had just hit the fan.

Devon and Ronnie (along with Ed Martin) were to blame for some of that commotion. They were the first on the scene. Other ambulance services from neighboring communities were called and had added to the uproar, but Cumberland Springs EMS was there before anyone else. 

They arrived at the house in the East End Neighborhood where 911 dispatch had directed them. A small group of neighbors had gathered in the street and a few people were inside the fence, looking down at something in the side yard next to the house. Their faces gave both Ronnie and Devon a nervous feeling in the pits of their stomachs. 

As they entered the yard, a man in a black suit—the same man who had spoken with them earlier at the lake (the FBI agent)—approached them. He looked official and confident, like he had the situation under control. “Gentlemen,” he said. He didn’t bother to show his credentials this time. “There are two individuals in need of attention. One is a boy with blunt force trauma to the head, the other is an older man who has gone through a strenuous experience and probably needs checked over. There is also a body which does not require your attention. The State Police Crime Lab will attend to that.”

Devon looked at the FBI Agent. He wasn’t merely just a crime scene investigator; there was something about this guy Devon couldn’t put his finger on. The feeling must have been mutual, too, because the guy looked at Devon the same way. They stared at each other for a quiet, uncomfortable moment, until Ronnie finally broke up the stare.

“Come on, Dev. Let’s get to work,” Ronnie said. 

Devon broke his attention from the man in the black suit, but couldn’t get their brief exchange out of his head. What was it about that guy? He didn’t know him, but felt like he did, or that he was at least supposed to.

“Holy shit!” Ronnie exclaimed. He had come upon what the few others in the yard were staring at. It didn’t look like it had ever been human. He had seen mangled bodies before from car accident scenes and that small plane crash that happened in the area a few years back, but this went far beyond any of that. The only thing he could equate it to was a large mound of poorly butchered meat, coated in gallons of fresh blood. Ronnie had to turn his head for a moment to compose himself.

“Holy shit is right, pal,” Devon said as he came up beside his partner. “I guess that’s not our concern, though. The FBI guy said to leave it alone.”

“I wonder who it is?” Ronnie said. 

“I’m sure we’ll find out later,” Devon said. “I’ll take the kid. You check out the person who had the strenuous experience.”

Ronnie went to the older gentleman who was sitting on the porch steps with Reverend Allen of First Baptist Church. It looked like the reverend was consoling the man. Ronnie recognized him as Ron Dzerbeck, his childhood little league coach. He looked extremely upset at the moment.

Lauren Rivers was already here and attending to the young boy, who must have been the one with the blunt force trauma. Devon walked over to them and knelt down in the grass. The boy was awake, but just barely. There was blood in his hair and a huge knot toward the crown of his skull.

“Jesus, Lauren! What happened here?” Devon asked. 

She looked over at the bloody pile of meat glistening in the sunlight. “That guy tried to abduct little James O’Neil.” She gently moved the boy’s hair away from his forehead. The gesture was motherly, even though she had no children of her own. 

“You’re not going to tell me this boy did that, are you?” Devon said, looking over at the dismembered body in the middle of the yard.

“No,” she said. She then looked around and lowered her voice. “Mr. Dzerbeck did that.”

“What the—” Devon said in disbelief. “Ron Dzerbeck did that? Are you serious?” He tried to keep his voice low as well.

She shook her head. “I saw the whole thing, Devon. I still can’t believe it.”

Devon shined a light into the boy’s eyes and checked him over. “We’re going to have to get him to the hospital. I’d say he has a concussion. Are you okay?” he said to Lauren.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “In fact, I feel better than I have in a while, oddly enough.”

“Can you stay here with him while I go get the stretcher?” Devon asked.

“Absolutely,” she said.

Devon stood up and took a step, but paused. He turned back to Lauren. “Hey, what’s the deal with that FBI guy over there?”

Looking at Devon with an unsettled face, Lauren said: “Did you feel it, too?”

“Feel it?” Devon asked. But as soon as the words escaped his lips, he understood what she had meant. He had felt it. There was something about the man, but he didn’t discern it at first. Now it was turning from an impulse to a compulsion. Something told him he needed to talk to that guy. About what, he had no idea.

“I can tell,” Lauren said. “Something is making you want to talk to him. I’m dealing with the same thing. I can’t explain it, but I just feel like I’m supposed to know him. And he keeps looking over here, too, so I’ll bet he’s having with the same issue we are.”

“Yeah, I think he is,” Devon said. “Here he comes.”

“How is the boy?” Agent Ward said as he approached Lauren and Devon.

“I think he has a concussion,” Devon said. “We’re going to take him to the hospital. Where are his parents?”

“Mr. Dzerbeck said he thinks they are up the street at the town square,” Ward said. “A neighbor went to find them.” He looked at Lauren. “I’d still like to know how you figured out these kids were in danger, miss…”

“Lauren Rivers,” she said. “And you are?”

“Oh, I’m Special Agent Henry Ward,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to introduce myself earlier. We were kind of busy, if you’ll recall.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Lauren said.

“So, I’d really like to know how you found this guy today, and those kids at the barn,” Ward said.

Lauren looked at Devon, then back at Agent Ward. “I think we all need to have a talk outside of here. Can we meet up tonight? Maybe at Reverend Allen’s house? I’m sure he’ll want to be involved in this as well.”

“You want me to be there, too?” Devon asked. “Why me?”

“I’m not sure, Devon,” Lauren said. “I just know you should be there.”

Devon didn’t answer. He left the group and headed for the ambulance.

“Well, I definitely would like to talk to you about today,” Agent Ward said. “So yes. I’ll make time to meet with you this evening. I have to give my statement to the State Police and deal with all of this [gesturing around the yard], but I’m sure tonight will be fine.” He handed her his business card. “Text the address and time to my cell number.”

A frantic scream erupted from the front street. The O’Neils were home. “My boys!” Pattie O’Neil yelled as she ran into the yard. Her husband, Fred, was right behind her.

FOUR

“The time is now,” Bol said. 

The rec-yard was again full of inmates, and again they were all huddled together at one end, as far as possible from the two who had scared the living shit out of them. None of these men could say why they were so terrified; it made no sense to any of them. But here they were, pressed together like frightened children at a novelty haunted house, waiting to be horrified by the next masked actor who jumped out of the darkness at them.

“These creatures amuse me,” Tuga said. “Look at them. Such a pitiful display.”

“Pitiful is too kind a word,” Bol said. “I wouldn’t give them that much credit.”

“So true,” Tuga said.

“I’m finished with this place and these wretches,” Bol said. “Our time is now. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Actually, yes. I do agree,” Tuga said. “I approve of your idea. Our purpose was always to cause havoc on this disgusting earth as individuals. But together, combining our strength, we should create an unstoppable force, capable of bringing about unimaginable destruction. Why are we just now coming to this conclusion?”

“It certainly took us long enough,” Bol replied. “Perhaps we needed this time to learn, to grow into the beings we have become, to fill with rage and wrath until we could no longer suffer these intolerable creatures another day.”

“Perfect!” Bol said. “You’re traveling companion is at the end of his days, but mine is still young and virile. The fact that he’s an imbecile is of no concern since we’ll be overtaking him completely. Join with me; I welcome you.”

“We still have a third to affix,” Tuga said. “Our energy will be its greatest when we unite with the third.”

“Indeed. We’ll look for it once we’re free from here,” Bol said. “When we find it, this world will be ours. As it should be!”

The older inmate fell to the ground and curled into the fetal position. His body turned into a shriveled, leathery shell of shrunken skin over skeleton. The body cut loose of everything it held inside, setting off a merciless stench. If it weren’t for the orange prison clothes that hung on him like an oversized rag, it wouldn’t be possible to identify him as human.

FIVE

“Look at these chicken shits,” Harry said. “They’re terrified!”

Billy looked around at the huddled group of inmates in the rec-yard. None of them were speaking. They weren’t even making eye contact with each other. Scared didn’t seem like a strong enough word to describe the looks on all of their faces. These men were petrified.

Harry led the way through the crowd. This time, he didn’t slink. If these babies were this afraid today, he didn’t much worry about them lashing out at him and Billy. 

Is this a stupid idea? Harry wondered. After all, they were merely offering a candy bar in exchange for protection. Well, they weren’t actually going to ask for it right off the bat today. This was more of a good faith gesture, an introduction. But if all these other guys—some of them were as big as Schwarzenegger in his prime—were afraid of two inmates who hadn’t made a move or said a word to anyone yet, maybe there was something to it. Did they all know something Harry and Billy were too stupid to see? Probably.

But they were bold. An opportunity had presented itself, and Harry would not let it just slip by. Eventually, one of these cowardly fuckers would build up the balls to reach out to the scary guys. What would happen if it was someone from the group who had caused them the most grief? That’s all Harry and Billy needed: another couple of assholes giving them a daily dose of shit. No, they had to be the first to make contact. They had to show friendly intentions before anyone else corralled them into their camp. This was the only way to get through the rest of their sentences and get out of Camp Fuckery alive.

As they made it through the crowd and into the open space of the yard—the space that was usually filled with inmates hitting the weights and shooting hoops—they felt the same feeling as before, this time stronger: the urge to run and hide with the others, to give up this nonsense and cower in the corner like frightened toddlers. 

“Damn it, Harry!” Billy said. “This ain’t gonna work!” He was pale and about to run away at any second.

“We’re doin’ it, man,” Harry said. “No backing down.”

Billy swallowed, but his dry mouth gave his throat nothing to work with.

The two continued, slowly, shuffling their feet an inch at a time. They gained ground, but only at the speed of a race of turtles in a sandbox.

The feelings of dread, the unearthly smell of something vile, the heaviness in the air… it was all still there, even worse than before. But they continued, passed the point of no return. They were here now. It was time to put the plan into action and see what might come of it.

Harry stood facing the two men, with Billy behind him. The faces on these two creatures were terrifying! They didn’t look like the faces of men, but of something otherworldly. All the human features were there, but everything about them was wrong, as if a sadistic seamstress had permanently stitched a mask of sorrow to their heads. They were both staring off into the distance, indifferent to Harry and Billy at the moment.

Harry cleared his dry throat, preparing to speak. There was no moisture to help him with the words. “Hey, man,” he said in a raspy voice. “How—how—how’s it goin’?”

Neither inmate replied. They just stared into nothing, unaware there was a world around them.

Slowly pulling the candy bar from his pocket, Harry said: “We wanted to be the first to welcome you.” He held it out in front of him, displaying the Snicker Bar logo.

Suddenly, the older of the two inmates fell off the bench and curled into the fetal position on the ground. The other inmate—the big one who looked more menacing than any other prisoner in this joint—didn’t even blink. 

Harry jumped back, bumping into Billy, causing Billy to fall to the pavement on his ass. He hadn’t expected anything like that to happen. “What the fu—” 

The inmate who fell began to shrivel right before their eyes, like someone had hooked up a VacSeal to him and sucked all the air out of his body. He had quickly turned into a skeleton in a dried up leather skin suit. Then came the smell. Putrid odor erupted from the withered body, unbearable for anyone not wearing a hazmat suit. Fluids oozed out of every hole in his head, especially his mouth. His asshole must have opened up as well because his orange pants were rapidly filling up with matter. 

Harry turned to look at Billy, who sat frozen in place on the ground. He didn’t see the cause of his death, which happened in a split second, but Billy did. The big inmate sprung from the bench, grabbed Harry by his head, and twisted it all the way around, causing a sound like a snapping tree branch to ring out. 

The inmate ran past Billy, leaving him to witness the carnage that would come next.

At the other end of the rec-yard, screaming erupted from the tight crowd of prisoners who were so afraid to leave their group. The inmate who had just killed Harry with the efficiency of a trained assassin was now tearing his way through the prison population. Bodies flew and scattered, men screamed bloody murder and were silenced by a maniac on a bestial rampage, and blood coated the rec-yard like a toxic chemical spill. The men were dying, and no one came to save them.

The alarm siren finally went off, adding to the chaos of the moment. The screeching sound, mixed with the cries and screams of men being torn to pieces, created a symphony of agony.

So many had fallen. Some had escaped the melee and did their best to hide, but there were very few places to find shelter out here in the yard. A few inmates had attempted to fight back; they made their efforts in vain. The inmate creature ripped them all to shreds with the same ferocity he had used on Harry. 

Suddenly, the large steel door leading into the prison facility from the rec-yard was torn completely off its hinges and thrown with unbelievable force into the scattering inmate crowd. This flying metal guillotine cut several men down as they scattered like roaches. 

Then it was over. Bodies lay in pools of meat and blood, some still alive and crawling to seek whatever safety they could find, most of them dead from the conflict. 

Billy stared in shock and horror at the scene. He tried to move his legs, but couldn’t; they felt like they weighed a ton. He soon realized that Harry’s dead body had fallen onto his lower half and lay there like a blanket made of roadkill. Poor Harry. He didn’t deserve that. He was one of the good ones. 

The smell, the carnage, the shriveled up body of the older inmate… all of it combined to make Billy lose his stomach. He felt so horrible at this moment that part of him wished he had died along with the rest of them.

SIX

The main siren in the rec-yard had gone off, causing a chain reaction of other sirens throughout the prison to erupt in unison. Each rang out with a different pitch, supposedly to let the guards know which section was under alert. They had never all gone off at the same time before, nor were they supposed to unless Armageddon had occurred. These different frequencies combined to make it impossible for anyone not wearing ear protection to move. It was the last chance—the Alamo—for the guards to retake the prison if the place was ever overrun. 

Is that what had happened now? Had the Somerset County Correctional Facility actually fallen? Jim Fazio and Mike Kramer couldn’t tell for sure. They had both been taking an afternoon constitutional in the guard’s restroom and were oblivious to what was happening outside. There’s nothing in this world that will make a prison guard crimp off in mid-shit faster than the alert siren. 

Mike hit the bathroom door first, then stopped in his tracks in the main hall. Five dead guards lay at his feet, each torn to pieces. Blood, flesh, and even chunks of bone littered the corridor. Someone had come through here and cut these men down like beasts. Their faces were all frozen in an expression of terror. Mike had to struggle to keep his lunch from coming back up.

They couldn’t stand here with the sirens blasting in full panic; their bodies wouldn’t allow it. Mike ran for the first guard station and unlocked the door with shaky hands. It took him much longer than any other time he had opened this door, but he finally got it done. Inside, he grabbed two sets of noise cancelling headphones from the tactical cabinet. He put one on, then threw the other set to Jim Fazio, who was finally heading in his direction—it had taken Jim a minute to digest the carnage at his feet when he came out of the crapper. Next, Mike grabbed two riot shotguns from the same cabinet and headed out the door. 

The two guards advanced further into the prison, keeping their eyes focused on the gun sights in front of them. The first section they came to was the cafeteria. The scene inside of this room was exponentially worse than what they had just viewed in the hallway. There were at least twelve to fifteen dead prison guards and inmates scattered around the room. Some of them even had their heads turned completely around on their shoulders. Like the hallway, this room was also painted with blood and butchery. The filthiest slaughterhouse in the world could not compare to how this place looked at the moment. 

At the other end of the cafeteria was a metal door that was supposed to keep the prison population out of the kitchen and storage area. That door had been torn from its hinges and cast aside. Mike and Jim slowly moved in that direction. 

Though both men wore noise cancelling headphones, the vibrations from the blasting sirens still shook their chests, adding even more urgency to the situation.

Mike looked inside the storage room while Jim covered him with his weapon from the exposed entrance. The worst possible scenario, other than the scores of dead guards and inmates littering the grounds, had come true. The exterior door to the storage room was also torn off, exposing the warm sun and fresh spring air. There was still fence and razor wire on the outside, but whoever—or whatever—had come through here would most likely have no problem tearing through all of that. The evidence was clear: there had been a breakout.

SEVEN

Clay wasn’t all together happy when Lauren had asked him to stay at home. He had always thought that any problem was a problem for both of them to handle together. However, Lauren had felt much differently about this one. She had told her husband she would keep him informed as much as possible, but this meeting at Reverend Allen’s house tonight was something she needed to sort out alone. He didn’t take it well, sitting on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels as she walked out the door. He acted like he didn’t notice her leaving. She hoped he’d get over it sooner rather than later. 

Lauren had arrived before the others. When she had brought up the idea of this meeting to the reverend earlier, he brimmed with excitement. It was important for him to be involved in the matter of fending off evil. God had placed him in this situation for a reason, and it was his honor to be here. He couldn’t wait to meet the others and dive right into this problem head first.

When Agent Ward arrived, Lauren answered the door. He stood on the front porch, smiling, but looking apprehensive all the same. She quickly noticed the conflicting thoughts in his eyes; it wasn’t something he could hide. The man looked like someone who’d had a horrible day, but had just guzzled down a pot of coffee, preparing for round two.

“Nice place you have here,” Ward said.

Lauren smiled. “This is Reverend Allen’s house. We’ve been meeting here or at my grandmother’s place.”

“What have you been meeting about?” Ward asked.

“Come in,” Lauren said, ignoring the question.

He stepped inside and into the study, where Reverend Allen was waiting. 

“Agent Ward,” the reverend said, getting up from his seat to greet his new guest. The two men shook hands. “I’m so glad you could make it tonight.”

“Thank you for having me, sir,” Ward said. He was slightly taken aback by the reverend’s excitement. It usually took a while before Ward warmed up to someone he had just met. He hadn’t had the time to depose these people yet, or discern if they were genuine or working some hidden agenda. Over excitement at a first meeting was almost always a red flag for him. 

“Drink?” Reverend Allen asked. 

“I’ll take a beer if you have one,” Ward said. 

“I think I can round up one or two of those,” the reverend said. He patted Ward on the shoulder as he walked by on his way to the kitchen. 

“Seems like a nice guy,” Ward said to Lauren.

“Yeah, he’s great!” she said. “Reverend Allen is well liked in this town.”

Ward looked past Lauren at the window. “Someone is on the porch.”

Lauren went to the front door and was thrilled to see that Devon had arrived. She didn’t think he was going to show up tonight. Earlier, at the scene of that horrible incident, Devon seemed apprehensive at the thought of this meeting. He looked even more apprehensive now, but at least he was here; that’s all that mattered. 

Reverend Allen brought refreshments from the kitchen and welcomed everyone into the study. They sat for a few minutes, exchanging small talk, getting to know Agent Ward (who was not a part of this community), and breaking the ice. Right away, everyone in the group noticed how comfortable they were with each other. It felt as though they had been friends for as far back as any of them could remember. It was a warm, comforting feeling that relaxed them and felt natural, not forced. 

“Well, I’d like to talk about the reason I came here tonight,” Agent Ward finally said. “I’m still racking my brain how you found those kids today. And how you also found the assailant in the middle of another abduction.” He looked at Lauren and shook his head. “I’m sure the FBI, or any law enforcement agency, would love to know how you pulled that off.”

The room went quiet. 

Reverend Allen finally broke the silence. “Agent Ward, let me ask you a question: have you ever had a hunch about something or someone? Have you ever just known something was about to happen or had a feeling that led you somewhere?”

“Please,” Ward said. “You’re not going to sell me on the idea that a feeling led you to both places at just the right moment. It’s not possible.”

“I hate to disagree with you, son,” Reverend Allen said. “But it is possible. In fact, it’s more than just possible; it’s factual.”

Ward looked at Lauren. “So that’s your story? You just felt where to go at the right moment?”

Lauren looked at Reverend Allen. He smiled at her and said: “Go ahead Lauren, tell him everything. He needs to know it all to understand.”

“Yes,” Ward said. “Please, help me understand.”

Lauren took a deep, cleansing breath, then let it out slowly. She began her story at the very beginning, the night John Doe (Hanson Parker as Agent Ward knew him) showed up in the ICU. Every detail came out, from the dreadful feelings to the horrible odors to the menacing shadow figures. She left no stone unturned. Next, she moved on to the nightmares, which had plagued her ever since the night Hanson Parker died in that hospital bed. All the terror she had experienced night after night came out in vivid, horrific detail. Lauren cried, then continued her stories, then cried more. She fought the emotions, knowing her account must be told tonight. This was the place where her healing would begin; this was the turning point.

Reverend Allen looked at Devon, who was pale and nervous. “You okay, young man?” he asked. 

Devon looked at the reverend. “I’m okay,” he said. 

“Do you have something to add to the discussion, Devon?” Reverend Allen asked. 

Devon hesitated. He was never more unsure of himself than he was at this moment. “Can I get back to you on that?” 

The reverend smiled. “Certainly. If you all don’t mind, I’d like to add my story to the conversation.”

Reverend Allen told the group about his brush with evil and the ass-kicking he’d received in room 337 while Hanson Parker lay in bed, indifferent to the world around him. He told every disgusting, harrowing detail, from the punches, kicks, and scratches to the taunting and humiliation. He even lifted his shirt to expose the scars he still carried from the dreadful event. He told his story with anger and conviction. The reverend was pissed off that evil had come into our world. It didn’t belong here with us. It had its home in the fiery pits of hell, and that’s exactly where it belonged. But now, it was reaching its wretched, boney fingers beyond the pit and touching humanity. He couldn’t sit by and allow this. 

“Holy shit!” Agent Ward said aloud but to himself. He looked at Reverend Allen with piercing eyes. “That was you?”

“Pardon?” the reverend said. 

“I was there that night! In the hospital, I was there with Chief Crawford,” Ward said. His face couldn’t hide his astonishment. “I saw you fly out of that room and land in the hallway. In fact, I saw the security footage, too. Holy shit!”

“It’s coming together,” Reverend Allen said. “This is the beginning.”

Tears were rolling down Devon’s cheeks. He reached for a tissue on the coffee table in front of him. 

“I think you have something to say, don’t you, Devon?” Reverend Allen asked. “Go on, son. This is the place. You have nothing to fear here.”

Staring at the ground, Devon said: “I’ve seen it, too.” He looked like he was experiencing guilt.

“Go ahead, Devon,” Lauren said. She sounded gentle and concerning. “You can tell us.”

After several moments of contemplation, Devon gave his testimony. He began in Iraq, the first time he had seen the darkness. His story about what the insurgents had done to that group of children repulsed everyone in the room, but he continued with the details, just the same. He described what he had experienced in the ambulance the night they had picked up John Doe in the potting shed where the police had found him—the shadows, the smells, the feelings of dread. Next, he gave his account of the visions which had plagued him since last November. They were more abundant in recent weeks, happening far too often now. 

“I’m seeing a new therapist,” Devon said. “Dr. Lightner. She seems to understand what I’m going through with all of this.”

“She’s not the only one who understands, Devon,” Reverend Allen said. “I think you can see we’re all well acquainted with it.” He looked at Ward. “Isn’t that so, Agent Ward?”

Ward looked into the reverend’s eyes. There certainly was a story to be told from his perspective; it matched up almost perfectly with the things he had heard tonight. Though he had seen no shadow figures with his own eyes, there was no doubt his recent experiences had the same feel and texture as these other stories. 

“You do have something to say,” Lauren said. “I can tell.”

Ward let out a heavy sigh and mumbled: “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”

Like the others in the group, Ward began at the beginning, the first time he had laid eyes on Hanson Parker. He reluctantly went back to the day that Katie was abducted and found dead under a rack of canoes. It was hard for him to talk about; he choked up several times, but pushed through. He had interviewed Parker twice in person. Both times, he was convinced Parker was the bastard who had killed Katie. No one would believe him, though, and there was never enough evidence to put the fucker away. So he continued hunting, right up to the day Chief Crawford had found Hanson in that old potting shed. 

Ward was apprehensive to continue, but felt strongly that he needed to let the rest of his story out. It was eating away at him from the inside like a rat in a burlap sac. 

He told them about the voices on the surveillance recordings. No one could hear them except for Ward. They were vile and hateful and didn’t sound human. They appeared to come from another place, an unspeakable place. He also admitted to the group that he was afraid of them. 

Ward pulled out his iPhone and accessed his email. He had sent the files to himself—which was not actually permitted by the FBI—so he could study them further at home. He opened the second file, the worst one, and put his phone on the coffee table with the speaker volume all the way up. “You all can tell me if I’m crazy,” Ward said. “I’ve played this file for a dozen other agents and no one can hear these voices but me.”

Only a few seconds had passed before everyone in the group jumped in fear. They had heard it! Somehow, these people who he had just met today could actually hear the loathsome voices no one else could. He was shocked and delighted at the same time.

“Those nasty things sound just like the voices who taunted me during my attack at the hospital!” Reverend Allen exclaimed. His face showed his repulsion.

Lauren looked every bit as upset as Reverend Allen. “That’s the voice of the creature I keep seeing in my dreams.”

Devon’s face had lost all color, and he was trembling. “That sounds just like the old woman who I thought had attacked me in the ambulance last week.”

Ward was aghast, beside himself. They had heard it! Someone else had heard the voices. And the weird part was that each person here had heard them before. He felt relief, but also apprehension. None of this, not one single part of it, made any sense at all in the real world. He could not wrap his head around it to save his life. 

“What brought you to Cumberland Springs, Agent Ward?” Reverend Allen asked. “Were you tracking the man responsible for today’s abductions?”

Ward didn’t want to say it, but knew it was the last piece of the story needing to be told here tonight. Maybe these people would have a better perspective than his own. So he let it fly. He started with his dream about the place where Katie’s body was found and how in the dream he had witnessed her abduction, but couldn’t do a thing to save her. Then finally, how he unknowingly ended up at that very spot in the middle of the night, only to be discovered by a cop—who may or may not have actually been there—who told him he had to go to Cumberland Springs, immediately. 

“I can’t believe I actually said it out loud,” Ward said. 

“Do you know why you had the courage to tell your story?” Reverend Allen asked.

Ward put his hands up. “I give, Reverend. Why?”

Reverend Allen laughed at the gesture. “It’s because you're supposed to be here. You’re all supposed to be here. I can see it as plain as a sunny day in July. You have all been brought together for a purpose.”

“Ok,” Lauren said. “But why all the dreams and visions? This stuff is downright evil, Reverend. Why are all of us being haunted like this?”

The reverend let out a sigh. “I wish I had the answer to that, Lauren. It would make things a lot easier on all of you, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s trying to weaken us,” Devon said. 

Everyone looked at him.

“I’ve never felt so low or so weak in all my life,” Devon continued. “If something is actually controlling these visions, I’d say it’s trying to make us weak.”

Reverend Allen shook his head. “I can’t argue with that, Devon. Whatever this thing is, might be afraid of you all. Perhaps it knows something about you and knows your strengths are dangerous to it? Now there’s an interesting concept.”

The reverend sat quietly for a moment, deep in thought. When the epiphany struck him, he snapped his fingers and looked excited. “You don’t have to suffer these things! You now understand what they are—just a futile attempt to crush your spirit. The dreams can’t hurt you, nor can the visions or a voice on a recording. Your strength is within you, in all of you. This thing has no power here. And as long as you all understand and have faith, it can never hurt you!”

The energy level rose in the room. Everyone in the group had been driven into the dirt by an unseen force that had attacked them all, relentlessly. But now, they understood what was happening and why. They had figured out at least part of this whole conundrum, which was a world of relief for all of them. 

Ward had joined the excitement for a moment, but was the first to come down. He had remembered something about today that went farther down the rabbit hole than dreams or visions. He had seen Hanson Parker’s eyes in the man he shot today. He could never mistake those eyes, never. They had burned into his memory like a branding iron to a calf’s ass. Those predatory, sinister, searing eyes that peered into him with malice. They were alive and doing just fine in the body of another man. 

“What’s wrong?” Lauren said to Ward. She had put her hand on his arm and could feel his fear. 

“I think I saw something today,” Ward said. He really was scared. “Something I don’t want to believe.”

“Go ahead,” Reverend Allen said. “You don’t have to hold back here, son.”

“The eyes! I saw the eyes!” Ward said and put his face in his hands. “I saw Hanson Parker’s eyes in that man today.”

The room again went silent. Agent Ward had just added another dimension to all of this. 

Reverend Allen was the first to think it, but hated where his mind was going. Ron Dzerbeck had mentioned those eyes today, after he had used a wood splitting axe to reduce the guy to an indescribable pile of meat and bone. While the reverend consoled him after it was all over, Ron had told him he had seen the eyes of Harlan Wallace in the man he had just killed. He swore to it on his family name. Now, Agent Ward was talking about those same eyes, but swearing they had belonged to Hanson Parker. This didn’t feel good at all. The reverend felt sick, knowing they had just uncovered something more horrifying than any of them could imagine. 

“Agent Ward,” Reverend Allen said in a somber voice. “Tell us about Hanson Parker. What did you discern from your interviews with him?” The reverend could feel what was about to happen. He closed his eyes and listened, waiting for it to be said.

“Well, he was pretty much just a junkie during the early part of his life—drugs, petty crime, stuff like that. Then he disappeared off the radar for a while. The first time I interviewed him, he was trying to turn himself in for a string of kidnappings that went all the way back to the 1990s. For me, that was enough to lock his ass up forever. But I couldn’t get a District Attorney to buy it. They all said he was mentally unsound, so they put him in a state institution, twice, then let him go after a short stint.”

“What made them think he wasn’t mentally sound?” Reverend Allen asked.

“It’s stupid, really,” Ward said. “He kept saying that he was under the control of someone else, but we never found an accomplice.”

“Did he give a name?” Reverend Allen asked.

Lauren held her hands up to her face, anticipating what Agent Ward was about to say, and knowing that a whole new set of problems was about to be exposed.

“He did, actually,” Ward said. “He called the guy Zlo.”

EIGHT

The sun had gone down and most of the pastoral staff had left the Diocese for the day. The place was quiet—unsettlingly quiet. This solitude didn’t bother Father Richardson at the moment, though; nothing would. He was on a mission. Two men who were not in Cumberland Springs that day, or at the St. Vincent Monastery on that terrible night, had tried to tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about. They had tried to say charlatans who wanted to make a buck off of the Catholic Church had influenced him. But they didn’t feel the things he had felt, nor had they seen that thing—that despicable dark shape. How could these men, supposedly his superiors, simply brush him off like he was a fool? He knew going into the meeting they wouldn’t react favorably to his testimony, but this hurt. 

His faith was strong, though. Nothing another man could say would make him lose faith in what God had allowed him to see and feel. That’s where it had to have come from, right? God had showed him that evil actually exists in the world, beyond the acts of man. He had shown these things to Father Richardson for a reason and now it was his (Father Richardson’s) responsibility to search further, no matter what the bureaucracy of the church had to say about it. God had shown him the signs, there was no denying it—no denying Him.

The report would be the beginning; after that, he didn’t know where to go. But this was his life’s mission now. He would simply follow the signs and his heart, no questions asked. He was an instrument directed by God. Isn’t that what he had signed on for in the first place?

The story came out of his mind, through his fingers, and into the keyboard with ferocity. His typing skills couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. There was so much to say, so much to tell the world; he couldn’t get it down fast enough. Father Richardson knew he’d be working through the night, and into the next day if necessary, but he couldn’t stop until his tale was told. 

It didn’t matter what Father McEllen or Father Andre did with his report. They could wipe their asses with these pages for all he cared. No, this story would not die with those two men in the muddled bureaucracy of the church. He would start there, of course, that was protocol, but after that, this sucker was going out everywhere, even to Rome if he could get it there. Evil existed beyond the acts of man, no question about it. 

And not to forget about Cumberland Springs and his new friend, Reverend Allen. They needed help. Whatever this thing was, it was still present in that little town, and people were suffering. He’d have to go back immediately; there was no time to fool around. The job of a priest, or any man of God, was to help his fellow man. There was a cry in the wilderness out there that he could not ignore for another second.  

Father Richardson had never known passion like this; it was a fervor. He wanted to explode with excitement, right here in his office. By all accounts, he should have been upset, getting shut down the way he did from the higher-ups, but their dismissal only created a monster. They had unknowingly started a movement, and in their very own diocese. 

Suddenly, Father Richardson felt a presence in the room behind him. His computer desk was against the back wall, so his back faced the door as he wrote. Someone could easily come up from behind without him knowing. But his senses were so heightened ever since he returned from his trip, he felt the change in atmosphere almost instantly.

“Father McEllen,” he said, as soon as he realized who had come into the room.

The man didn’t speak. He simply walked up next to Father Richardson and put a notecard on his desk, face down. He looked at Richardson and winked, then left the office as quietly as he had come in.

That was weird, Father Richardson thought. He didn’t know what to make of this. Father McEllen never came to this part of the building. If he needed something, he would call through the internal phone system or send him an email, but never an in-person visit. And he didn’t say a word; that was the strangest part.

Father Richardson picked up the card and flipped it over. In black ink was a handwritten name and address: Father Delrosso, Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, Boston, MA.

He thought about calling Father McEllen or sending him an email asking for more information, then decided against it. The man was silent in his delivery. Perhaps it was a sign for Richardson to keep this quiet? That seemed to make sense. He had said his new mission in life would be guided by his heart and signs from God. A notecard with a name on it seemed clear enough.

NINE

The family sat around Vickie’s bed in the ICU, waiting for her to wake up so they could all tell her how much they loved her and needed her and shower her with so many more words of endearment. Sarah’s concussion was mild, so the doctor said it would be fine for her to sit with Glen and Brandon at her mother’s bedside. 

Glen did his best to console his children and ease their suffering from the day’s events, but knew it would be a long time before any of them recovered from this. There was a rough road ahead for all of them, but they’d get past it, together. That’s all they could do. 

He looked at his kids, so proud of them. They had survived an ordeal no child on this earth should be made to suffer, and they lived through it. Hell, Brandon almost stopped the guy right at the scene. If he hadn’t acted so quickly, Sarah might not be sitting with them right now. 

Earlier, Larry Gilmore had stopped by with two State Troopers to tell Glen what had happened to the man responsible for all this mayhem today. Agent Ward—and Ron Dzerbeck, of all people—took the son of a bitch down, ending his reign of debauchery in their sacred little town. He didn’t want to hear the details at the moment; he’d get it all from the State Police after his family was taken care of. As far as Agent Ward was concerned, he owed that hero a beer, no doubt about it. 

“Chief Crawford?” A voice said, standing in the doorway. “May I have a word, please, in the hall?”

Glen looked for a moment at the figure. “Oh, Dr. Nichols. Yes, of course.” He looked at his kids. “Stay here with mommy, guys. I’ll be back in a minute.”

In the hallway, the doctor’s expression was extremely serious. Her face sent a chill through Glen’s body.

“I wanted to talk to you about the surgery, Chief,” she said. “There are some things I think you should know.”

Glen swallowed, hoping to subdue the lump in his throat.

“Vickie’s injuries were quite extensive. She had lost a lot of blood and sustained a great deal of organ damage from the stabbing. I won’t go into too much detail at the moment, but I will say that I believe she will need more surgeries. There is a great deal of repair work that still needs to be done. For that, we’re going to have to send her to Pittsburgh. We’re sending all of her information to a specialist at Mercy Hospital and waiting to hear their recommendations.”

“Okay,” Glen said, absorbing as much of the information as he could, past the wall of his emotions. “But she’s alive; that’s all that matters, right?”

“Absolutely, Chief,” Dr. Nichols said. “And I believe in time, and with the help of the specialist, she’s likely to make a full recovery.”

“Well, that’s fantastic!” Glen said, smiling, with tears in his eyes.

“Yes, it is,” the doctor replied. “But there is one other thing I believe you should know: Vickie slipped away from us twice during the surgery.”

“Slipped away?” Glen asked.

The doctor looked into his eyes. “She died, Chief. Twice. The second time we almost didn’t get her back. She was gone for five minutes.”

“Oh my God,” Glen said. All color had drained from his face and he had to lean against to wall to steady himself.

“I’m only telling you this now, because I want you to understand that when someone is gone for that long, there is a possibility of brain damage. It’s not definitive, but the possibility exists.”

“Okay,” Glen said. “I understand.” He looked as though the world had just exploded and everyone he had ever loved was blown away with it. “Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment, Chief,” Dr. Nichols said. “We’ll know more after she wakes up.”

Glen walked back into the ICU room. Another thought hit him before he went inside: Kara Walker. This madman had butchered Vickie’s best friend, but unlike Vickie, Kara did not survive. He couldn’t tell her this right after she woke up; they had all gone through far too much suffering already. But she would need to hear it from him, before the news came from anyone else.

Inside the room, Glen saw from the look on his children’s faces that their mother had awakened. Her eyes were open, and she was smiling. He cried. He thought about calling the doctor, but decided against it. The moment belonged to his family. They were alive and together; this time was theirs. 

As he watched from the doorway, allowing his children to dote over their mother, a strange sensation passed over him. He wasn’t alone. His first thought was that the doctor may be standing behind him, or perhaps one of the nurses, but when he turned, he saw the hall was empty, though he was sure it wasn’t. Something was here. A chill ran a quick cycle throughout his body and his nerves alerted him there was a problem in the universe. Glen tried to shake it off, but it was no use; this was all around him, studying him with threatening intentions. 

“Damn, my nerves are shot today,” he said quietly. But his statement didn’t make things any better. There was an invisible force surrounding him, a presence. It made him feel weak and worthless and full of fear. 

Vickie motioned for Glen to come to her. When he saw his wife’s face and her endearing expression, the phantom presence surrounding him fell away. All that was left was his joy at seeing his wife’s smile. 

He sat on the small, round stool next to the bed. Vickie spoke softly in a raspy voice. He didn’t hear at first, so he stood up and put his ear close to her mouth. 

Vickie spoke again, only loud enough for Glen to hear: “We have nothing to fear,” she said.

Glen pulled back and looked into his wife’s face. She was smiling and bursting with delight. They must have given her some pretty good drugs, he thought. But there was more to it than that. The woman actually glowed. Her eyes were bright and shiny and her cheeks were alive with color. She had the look of a person who had just received every possible blessing life could offer. He looked over at the kids, who had the same looks on their faces. He prayed they would all carry these expressions with them for the rest of their days.

TEN

These worthless mounds of flesh and bone! Damn them all! Look at them, gathered around that whore, so happy she’ll cling to a few more precious seconds of life. Oh, if they only knew what is in store for them, for all of them, and these putrid, wholesome worms who live in this sewer of a community. No, they shall not stand again. No, no, no! The soul of this charnel pit belongs to me and me alone! Their suffering shall be legendary. No creature that has ever walked this fetid ground will know torment like the wretches who populate Cumberland Springs. 

I’ve noticed they’re assembling a group; combining strengths to defend the flock. This has happened before, to no avail. These flesh receptacles have no penchant for protecting themselves. I will simply pick and choose at my leisure until there are none left to spread their wicked seed. Then, and only then, will my craving subdue.  

I am unstoppable! I am the wrath that prowls the earth! I am anguish, sorrow, and despair!

The end has begun, my loathsome friends. Sleep well tonight, for tomorrow the feast shall be mine. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

You have reached the end of Dire Harvest Book 2. Now I’d like to give you my personal thanks for coming along on this journey with me and making it possible for me to continue writing terrifying tales. I look forward to reading your reviews and comments on social media. Book 3 is coming soon! Please keep in touch for updates.

Robert lives in Nashville, TN and spends most of his time writing terrifying tales, watching horror movies, and sharing life with his lovely forever, Rochelle. He enjoys a good steak, a well-crafted pizza, and an evening glass of Jameson, neat or on ice (it doesn’t matter). Life is simple if you make it that way…