Popcorn Thief (10 page)

Franklin didn’t know what to believe. Had the preacher
really been speaking to God? Or was it just for show, like his sermons where he
got so riled up?

“That’s great, reverend,” Darryl said dryly. “But we should
get going. Bring your lard,” he added to Franklin as he walked out.

“Lead the way,” the preacher said. “I am your humble
follower in this pursuit.”

Franklin shook his head as he picked up the jar of lard and locked
the door. May might have been right. They was all gonna hurt before the night
was out.

Darryl proudly lowered the back of the truck bed, showing
the two-foot-square cube of salt he had back there. It oozed with antibiotic
cream. “Spread it on top, thick,” Darryl directed, handing Franklin a plastic
knife.

Franklin dipped into lard with a sigh, then dripped it onto
the top of the salt lick. He hated wasting good lard this way. Maybe he should
have just gotten some bacon grease or something instead.

Hopefully, though, the creature would like it enough that it
might also lick up the antibiotic cream, and do some damage to itself.

They all jammed together into the front of Darryl’s truck,
Franklin in the middle, boxed in by Darryl and the preacher. “We going out to
Lexine’s cabin?” Franklin asked as Darryl peeled out of the driveway, jostling
Franklin’s back and causing pain to shoot up his spine.

“That way, yeah,” Darryl said. “So we got the salt lick, and
we’ve covered it with stuff we hope is poisonous to the creature. What you got,
reverend?”

“The power of prayer,” Preacher Sinclair said sincerely. “If
that thing is as evil as y’all claim, it should falter when faced with the Word
of God.”

Franklin shook his head but didn’t say anything. He wanted
to believe the reverend. He did.

He was afraid, though, that they were all heading straight
for disaster.

* * *

The woods hid all the light from the sky, tripling the dark.
Franklin didn’t like how closed in they felt. He didn’t see Sweet Bess, but he
could swear he heard her snorting, somewhere close.

Darryl had placed the lick out on the road, in the beams of
the headlights from the truck. They sat, the three of them, sweating in the cab
of the truck, waiting for something to happen.

“Did you hear the one about—” Darryl started.

Franklin
thwapped
him on the thigh.

“What? It was clean. Mostly,” Darryl said, unrepentant.

“You may not believe it, but I was a young man myself,
once,” Preacher Sinclair said. “I remember those jokes, and that time when
flesh was the only thing on my mind.”

Franklin shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He didn’t want
to hear about anyone’s experience with the flesh.

“But my time with the Lord has been just as sweet, and
fulfilling,” the preacher went on.

“Ma’s wondered why you ain’t married,” Darryl said.

The preacher shook his head. “I was, a long time ago. Lost
her after a long hard fight to cancer.” Preacher Sinclair paused. “I never
found the heart in me to give it away again.”

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Franklin said automatically.

“It was a long time ago. I know she’s in a better place,
now. I found comfort in the Lord,” the preacher said. “I joined His ministry
soon after. I needed saving after what I’d done. How I’d failed her.”

Franklin nodded. That made sense to him, though the reverend
probably shouldn’t beat himself up that way.

“Is that something moving?” Darryl asked, peering out the
windshield.

The wind picked up suddenly, pushing the branches around,
sending the leaves dancing through the glow of the headlights. All the hair on
the back of Franklin’s neck pricked up.

“I think we got company,” Franklin said softly. A chill
passed through him, making him shiver in the humid cab.

The other two looked at him. “Really?” Darryl asked, curious.

“Can’t you feel that?” Franklin asked, the wounds on his
arms starting to throb.

“Feel what?” the preacher asked.

“That,” Franklin said, pointing straight ahead.

The thing appeared in front of the truck, its gray dust-devil
center sparkling with the power Adrianna had fed it that afternoon. It had
gained size, too: Instead of being about the size of a fat twelve-year-old boy,
now it was more like the size of an ox.

“I don’t see anything,” the preacher said.

“Me neither,” Darryl said.

Shit. How could Franklin show them this creature? “It’s
taller, now,” Franklin said softly. “It’s bumping up against the salt lick. It
has these long whips, at least a dozen of ’em, wrapped tightly around its body.
It looks like a sickness, a gray tornado of misery.”

“Why can’t I see it?” Darryl complained.

“Your arms don’t ache?” Franklin asked.

“Nope,” Darryl said, shaking his head. “Yours do?”

Franklin nodded his head. When Lexine had wanted to share
her visitors, she’d reached out her hand to Franklin. Maybe he could do the
same….

“Take my hand,” Franklin said in desperation. “Maybe you’ll
see more if we’re touching.”

The preacher said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Darryl glanced over at the reverend, then took Franklin’s
offered hand.

The grip around Franklin’s fingers tightened to the point of
pain. “I see…something,” Darryl said. “Like a wispy cloud.”

“It’s more than that. Bigger,” Franklin said.

With a sigh, the preacher took Franklin’s other hand. He
gasped, then he said sternly, “There’s nothing there. What I’m seeing is just
the power of suggestion. It’s fog, rolled in from the trees, reflected in your
headlights.” But he didn’t let go of Franklin’s hand. And he did start praying
in earnest: “Lord, I need your protection this dark night. Here in the shadow
of things, defend me from the evil before me.”

“That’s not just fog, is it?” Darryl asked.

Franklin shook his head. Sweat poured down his sides and his
skin grew clammy. His wounds all ached. The darkness pressed in harder, like it
was trying to flatten him back, push him away from the light in the world.

The thing hadn’t seemed to notice them. It was focused on
the salt lick, brushing up against it like a cat, focused on the top, where
Franklin had put the lard of Sweet Bess.

“I think it’s working,” Franklin said softly. The thing was
shrinking! It whirled faster, but tighter, the white sparks from Adrianna’s
power lines dying. “It’s getting sick,” he added. It wobbled, now, as it spun,
sliding to one side, then the other, and finally, out of the headlights.

“Did it just disappear?” Darryl asked.

“Uh huh,” Franklin said. He wasn’t about to leave the truck
to see if it had actually fallen down.

“Woo hoo!” Darryl hooted, banging his free hand on the
steering wheel. “We did it!”

“Maybe,” Franklin said. “Let’s wait.”

“We should go after it,” the preacher said. “Continue to
expose it to the Word of God.”

“I don’t think—” Franklin said. He jumped in his seat
when the thing suddenly came roaring back.

Wind slammed into the side of the truck. Leaves, branches,
and dirt hit the windshield. The thing whipped out at the salt lick, tearing it
apart. Lines of salt went flying through the air.

“Tell me you at least saw that,” Franklin said. He wished he
could get farther away, but he couldn’t press his back hard against the seat.

“Something’s attacking the salt lick,” Darryl said. “Like a
storm cloud, or something.”

Franklin knew the moment the creature spotted them.

“Go,” Franklin told Darryl. “GO!”

Darryl let go of Franklin’s hand, but the preacher held on,
praying for all he was worth. “LORD! You must save this sinner! Turn back the
evil, send the darkness back to where it belongs.”

The truck rumbled to life. Darryl threw it into reverse.
“Hang on!” Darryl said as he threw his arm over the seat and looked behind.

The thing raced after them, whirling mad. It might have been
diminished, but its fury was greater than ever.

It gained on them.

“Faster!” Franklin cried. Every bump they took jarred his
back, but he didn’t care.

That thing could kill the three of them out here in the
woods, and no one would find them for days.

Darryl glanced out the front, then floored it. They skidded
along the gravel. Bushes scratched the sides of the truck.

Preacher Sinclair continued praying out loud. “Please, Lord,
let the evil before me pass,” he pleaded. “Shelter me from the darkness.”

Franklin wondered what the man saw. The creature’s
intent
spilled out into the cab of the
truck: It wanted all of them maimed, hurt, dead. How dare they attack it? How
dare they hurt it? They were puny and it would kill all of them, as painfully
as it could.

“Can’t you turn this thing around?” Franklin asked as Darryl
swore and slowed down.

Darryl slammed on the brakes. “Fuck it,” he said through
gritted teeth. He threw the truck into forward and gunned it.

“I’m gonna run down that fucker,” Darryl said, heading
straight for it.

The creature stopped, but didn’t seem worried. It snapped
its whip arms, as if waiting, daring them to come, like some demented game of
chicken.

“This is stupid, Darryl!” Franklin said, as he put his arm
on the dashboard and braced for the impact.

“I’m tired of this thing,” Darryl said.

Then they collided.

The creature didn’t bounce away, or even push back. Instead,
it pushed
through
the truck, passing
into the bumper, the engine, and into the cab itself.

And then straight through Franklin.

FRANKLIN HAD NEVER FELT SUCH COLD in
all his life, not even that time it’d snowed and Darryl had stuck a handful of
it down the front of Franklin’s jeans.

He tried to breathe through his frozen lungs, but it was
like breathing under water. Ice crystals formed along his throat, making it
feel like what little air coming through was going across the tips of knives.
Everything had a blue haze to it: the dashboard of the truck, the woods outside,
even his own hands, up to his blue-tinged fingernails. Preacher Sinclair was
saying something—yelling, even—but the ice had plugged Franklin’s
ears. A blue halo shone around the preacher’s afro. Maybe someday, Franklin
could ask Mama to do something like that for him.

Just as suddenly, the world roared back in, the frozen
moment passed. But Franklin was still cold, still chilled, still shook even though
every cut and scrape and gouge throbbed with pain. “Home,” Franklin said, his
teeth chattering.

“What the hell happened?” the preacher demanded. “That
thing—is it inside of you now, son?” He wrapped his hands around Franklin’s
head. “You can be healed. All we have to do is pray. God, save this child.
Bring your mercy down—”

“Preacher,” Franklin pleaded, trying to shake his head free.
“Stop it!”

Darryl got them out of the woods and pulled over on the
highway. He stopped the truck and leapt out of it.

Damn it
. Darryl
couldn’t leave. Franklin couldn’t fight both the preacher and the effects of
the thing.

The preacher continued praying, with his warm hands pressed
against Franklin’s still frozen chest. “We can exorcise this thing,” the
preacher continued. “Pray it right out of you.”

Darryl hopped back into the cab after just a moment, a
silver emergency blanket in his hands. “Stop trying to save his soul and
actually help him,” Darryl instructed the preacher, handing him one end of the
blanket.

Franklin shivered, helpless, as they wrapped the blanket
around him.

“It’s the ice of Hell, isn’t it,” Preacher Sinclair said.

“This what you was afraid of? With Sweet Bess?” Darryl
asked, ignoring the preacher, getting the blanket tucked in around Franklin,
then starting up the truck again. He blasted the heat, directing the vents at
Franklin.

Franklin could barely feel the breeze they made, let alone
the warmth. “Yes,” he managed to say. “Only worse.” So much worse. Everything
felt displaced inside of him. He was breathing a bit better, but it still hurt.
Jesus
, everything hurt. He only knew
where his arms and legs were because of the pain, but he didn’t think he could
even stand.

“I’m sorry,” Darryl said quietly.

“I am too,” the preacher said. “We should go to the church.
So I can drive the demon out of him.”

“The demon’s not in him,” Darryl said.

“Are you sure?” Preacher Sinclair asked. “It passed into the
truck, into
him
, then disappeared. It
didn’t pass out of the truck.”

“That thing inside you?” Darryl asked Franklin.

“No,” Franklin said, shaking his head.
Ow
. That had been a mistake. He tried not to move, though he winced
at every bump Darryl took at high speed.

“Are you certain, son?” the preacher asked.

“Yes,” Franklin said. “You couldn’t see it because I passed
out, and I couldn’t see it anymore.”

“If you say so,” Preacher Sinclair said. But he still
watched Franklin warily, as if expecting the creature to pop out of his chest
at any time, like some kind of alien.

* * *

“How long will this last?” Darryl asked as he helped
Franklin up the stairs to his house. The kitchen was quiet and empty.

Where the hell was Mama? That thing hadn’t come here and
attacked her again, had it?

“Day, maybe two,” Franklin said as he staggered on his own
to one of the kitchen chairs then collapsed down into it. He was getting
better, but he knew it would take a while for all the effects to disappear.

That thing had passed through the core of him. Franklin
still felt hollowed out.

“I’m sorry,” Darryl said again.

“Don’t be,” Franklin said firmly. “Much better that it pass
through me. Couldn’t have it get inside the truck and attack the three of us,
you know?”

Darryl nodded. He helped himself to one of Franklin’s beers,
or rather, the beers in Franklin’s fridge that Darryl had put there. “Preacher
still thinks you’re possessed.”

Franklin nodded wearily. “Took us long enough to get him to
believe, and now he’s seeing evil everywhere.”

Darryl chuckled. “All you gotta do is let him baptize you
again. Then he’ll think you’re clean. Probably.”

Franklin shivered at the thought. He wasn’t going to Wolf
River and be baptized in the waters tonight, that was for damn sure. “Maybe
this weekend,” Franklin said. The preacher had been awfully worried. “I need to
sleep. That’ll help this thing pass.”

“That’s right. You got that big date tomorrow, don’t you?”
Darryl teased.

Franklin glared at Darryl. “I’m too tired to argue with you.
But I’m not going just to see Julie. Maybe Lexine talked with these folks,
talked about her property, or about that Earl Jackson.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Darryl said.

“So are you. That idea with the salt lick was a good one.
But I don’t think the creature will fall for it twice,” Franklin said.

Darryl nodded. “We’ll figure something out.”

“We’d better,” Franklin said. “’Cause it’s got a taste of
our blood. And it wants more.”

* * *

Franklin’s frustration near boiled over by 10 AM. He
couldn’t lift anything—the attack from the night before had left him weak
and in pain. Even trying to get dishes out of the fridge left him trembling.
His field had lost another stalk of corn, but he couldn’t drag the fallen
combatant to the compost heap. He couldn’t do laundry, or change the bandages
on his back. Everything felt too closed in, like he was wrapped in scratchy
blankets and couldn’t get out.

Sick and tired of being sick and tired, Franklin threw
himself back on the couch, among his piles of pillows, watching one bad movie
after another. He’d tried to watch the science fiction channel, but the ghosts
and demons not only looked fake, they didn’t behave like any he knew.

Mama hadn’t reappeared. Neither had Gloria.

Was Franklin just too tired and beat up to see them? Or did
the hollowed-out feeling he’d had since the creature passed through him mean
something? Had he actually been scooped out?

Had the creature, somehow, taken his ability to see ghosts?

If that was the case, Franklin didn’t know whether to be
happy or sad. Not having Mama or anyone else haunting him, making him special
and weird and different, that might be a relief.

Maybe it meant the creature couldn’t attack him again. He
was safe.

But Franklin also would miss the wonder of the other world.
He didn’t just want to have to take the existence of spirits on
faith
alone. He wanted to do more than
just believe. Plus, this had always been his duty. He didn’t know if it was his
calling, like how the Lord had called the preacher into his ministry. But it
didn’t feel right, not seeing Mama around.

If the creature had taken Franklin’s ability, how could he
get it back? He didn’t want to pass through that thing again. Even if he did,
there wasn’t any guarantee that he’d get his power back, and that the creature
wouldn’t take something more, something bigger or more important.

Later that afternoon, Franklin changed the bandages on his
arms. The swelling had started going back down, and the skin didn’t feel so hot
to him, like a fever lived just underneath the scars. He still covered them
back up. It didn’t feel right, going to meet a bunch of strangers with all his
sores exposed.

“Brought you some more food,” May called as she let herself
in the door around suppertime.

“Are people still bringing stuff to Aunt Jasmine’s?”
Franklin asked.

“Darling, she’s got a freezer full of food at this point,”
May replied. “She can afford to share more than this.”

“I’ll go see her tomorrow, after church,” Franklin said.
“How’s she holding up?”

“You know Ma. Tougher than nails.” May hesitated, then
continued. “She’s still lost weight. And there’s a sadness, deep and still,
that comes up.” May sighed. “I miss Lexine too,” she said quietly.

“Same here,” Franklin said, the pain not just in his back
and his arms, but his gut as well. He’d been so busy, he really hadn’t been
taking any time to mourn.

And he still gotten the thing that had gouged up Lexine, had
hurt him, Daryl, Adrianna.

He was out of ideas how to go about it, though.

* * *

Franklin put on the pretty green shirt that May had told him
to wear for Julie, as well as a nice pair of light gray pants and sandals.

He was ready at least thirty minutes before Julie said she’d
come by. He didn’t know what to do with himself as he waited.

Mama still hadn’t returned to her place at the kitchen
table.

Feeling like he had as a boy when he’d played doorbell-ditch
on the neighbors, Franklin walked around the table, pulled out the chair that
Mama normally sat in, then slid into it himself.

No chilling effect of a ghostly body walked down his spine,
no sense of
other
filled him.

There was nothing there. Nobody but him in the quiet kitchen.

What had happened to Mama? Had she passed on? He doubted it.
She still had things to do. Then where was she? Had that creature destroyed
her? Or was she settling her account somewhere else?

The minutes ticked by in the empty kitchen, and Franklin
prayed for the first time ever that his gift hadn’t deserted him.

* * *

Julie rang the front doorbell right on time. Franklin was up
and at the door seconds later, pulling it open.

“Hi,” Franklin said. “It’s good to see you.” She looked just
lovely, wearing a sky-blue sleeveless shirt and white shorts-skirt.

“Nice to see you too,” Julie said. She stepped into the
hallway at Franklin’s invitation. “You look better,” she added, examining his
face critically. “But you haven’t been taking it easy, have you?”

“Guilty as charged, ma’am,” Franklin admitted. He didn’t
know how much he could tell Julie about the creature, how much Lexine had told
the group about her own abilities.

“It won’t be stressful tonight,” Julie promised. “And I’ll
bring you back anytime you want. You just say the word.”

“Thank you,” Franklin said. He followed Julie out to her
car, an old gray Ford Focus.

“It may look like a wreck,” Julie apologized. “But it’s got
great heart.”

The interior was a matching gray, the seats clean but
stained, and it smelled musty. Franklin eased himself in carefully, trying not to
put any pressure on his back.

Julie looked at him. “The shocks aren’t great, I’m afraid.
You’re going to feel every bump, aren’t you?”

“It’ll be all right,” Franklin assured her.

Julie started the car. It gave a deep rumble. “Whatcha got
in there?” Franklin asked.

“V-8,” Julie said with a grin. “My dad’s a mechanic. Taught
me all about cars. He took out the puny two-point-oh and put in a powerhouse.”
She spun gravel under her tires as they climbed out of the driveway and up to
the street.

“How many speeding tickets you got?” Franklin teased.

“Too many to count,” Julie admitted. “Most of the time I
just tell ’em I’m a nurse and I got an emergency to get to.”

“Smart,” Franklin said. “So how’d you end up doing that?
Nursing?”

“Dad wanted me to be a doctor,” Julie said. “Pushed me hard.
I just don’t want that kind of responsibility, you know? I’d rather be the
power behind the throne, the one who actually does the work, rather than the
king.”

“I have a cousin who wanted to be an EMT. She’s been
changing my bandages for me, on my back. Doing a real good job, too,” Franklin
said.

Julie laughed and shook her head. “I’d thought about that
too—but I’m not that much of an adrenaline junkie. Rather get my kicks
speeding down the road, you know?”

Franklin didn’t—he didn’t want to admit to her that he
didn’t have a car. The silence grew between them for a few moments—not
quite uncomfortable but getting there—before Franklin asked, “Did you
grow up around here?”

“Close enough. I grew up in Hendrickson.”

“Never heard of it,” Franklin admitted.

“It’s a wide spot in the road,” Julie said. “Nothing much
there but farms, cattle, and a few shops. There was no way I was staying. How
about you?”

“Born and raised here,” Franklin told her. “But mostly it
was Mama and me. Papa died when I was two. That’s when Mama bought the house,
with the insurance money.” Franklin had used most of her life insurance money
to pay off the rest of the mortgage, so he was free and clear—only had to
pay taxes on it.
 

“Lexine was your cousin, right?” Julie asked.

“Mama’s sister, Aunt Jasmine’s kid. By marriage. But that
didn’t matter, not really. We were all one family, all of us raised together.
Darryl and May and Jason and Lexine—they was really like brothers and
sisters to me.”

“What’s your favorite memory of Lexine?” Julie asked
quietly.

Franklin thought for a moment. He couldn’t talk about the
spirits Lexine showed him. He’d never forget the one time in the spring when
Wolf River had been flooding, and she’d shown him the raging spirit of the
water. There were other memories, though, that he had. That were special. “Alpine
strawberries grew wild in the fields near her place. You ever have those?”

Julie shook her head.

“They’re about the size of a pine nut,” Franklin said. “And
about that shape, too. But they’re sweeter than all get out. And they right
near explode with flavor. Like the perfect strawberry.” He smiled at the
memory. “Lexine brought a handful of those over one night, along with some
lemonade blueberries, the ones that are pale pink?”