The First Church (18 page)

Curious, Sato
walked up to it and looked in.  There was a large man holding a folder, there was English written upon it. 
Sato squinted, then his eyes widened.

Miles Cunningham
.

Sato
tried to push himself into the man in the car, yet found resistance.  The man was sober, unable to be possessed.

But for a moment, he was able to see where the man was headed.

The police station.

Sato backed out of the man, looked at the house which so recently became part of his domain, and smiled. With his own skull placed in the basement of the church, he could project himself out. How far out, he was unsure, but perhaps he could find out.

Sato went to the new house, looking for a drink.

Chapter 45: Going for a Walk

Jim stood on his porch and listened to the robins as they sang in the yard.  Lisa came out of her house, sat down on her front steps and put her face in her hands.

For a moment, Jim watched, and then he walked down his front steps and crossed the narrow strip of grass which separated the two properties.

“Lisa,” he said cautiously.

She looked up.  Eyeliner and mascara had run down from the corner of her eyes.  Mixed with fresh
tears, the black makeup made a mad pattern of twisted roots across her fine cheeks.

“Hey,” Jim said, swallowing nervously, “I’m sorry, but, can I help you with anything?”

She looked at him for a moment and Jim almost took a step back, afraid she might yell at him.

Finally, she shook her head.

“No,” she said, sniffing, letting out a small smile.  “No.  Timmy White just broke up with me.”

“What?” Jim asked, surprised.  “Seriously?”

She nodded.

“Why would he do something stupid like that?” Jim asked.

Lisa smiled sadly.  “I don’t know.  I guess he doesn’t like me anymore.”

“How can anyone not like you anymore?” Jim asked.  “I think you’re great.”

“Thanks,” she said, wiping away the makeup with the palm of her hands.  She looked at them, shook her head and then wiped them clean on the grass.  “You’re sweet.”

“No,” Jim said.  “Not really.  I just think anyone who would
break up with you is an idiot.”

Her smiled broadened,
and she laughed a little.  “Thank you, Jim.  So, what are you up to?”

“Just waiting,” Jim said.  “I might have to go out with my grandfather soon.”

“Where?” she asked.

Jim shrugged.  “We won’t know until we get the call.”

“Sounds exciting,” she grinned, and then she sniffled a little.

“It might be,” Jim said.  “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“To where?” she asked.

“Just up and around the burial ground,” Jim said.  “Can’t get too close to the Church.”

“I heard,” Lisa said.  “Terrible about the Rev and Mrs. Staples.”

Jim nodded.

Lisa stood up.  “I’d like to go for a walk, Jim.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, really,” she said.  “I’ve had a tough day, and you always make me smile.  And plus it’s really sweet of you to want to take a walk.  Even if you don’t think you’re sweet.”

Jim smiled.  “Okay.  Cool.  Want to loop
around, so we don’t have to get too close to anyone’s house, or possibly upset the police?”

“Sounds good to me,” she said.  “Do you need to tell your grandfather?”

“No,” Jim said.  “I told him earlier I might take a walk.  Plus, I have my cellphone.  If there’s an emergency, he’ll get in touch with me.”

“I’m amazed your grandfather can do as much as he does,” Lisa said.  “I know he’s been blind for a while, but still.  It’s crazy he can do all those different things.”

“Yeah,” Jim said proudly, “my grandfather’s pretty awesome.”

“Lead the way, Jim,” Lisa said, smiling.

He did so.  They walked quietly for a while.  Together
,
they enjoyed the afternoon sun.  Birds sang and occasional cars passed by.  Neither of them spoke, and Jim waited patiently for Lisa to break the silence.

The walk really was for her.  He knew it helped him leave the house and wander, so he figured it might do the same for Lisa.

Eventually, they came to “Mirkwood,” the path named for Tolkien’s Middle Earth.  It cut through a few acres of woods, which ran up
to
the back of the burial ground.  They turned off the sidewalk and onto the worn dirt trail.  Trash littered the ground every few feet, each item a reminder of how the path was about as far from “Mirkwood” as one could get.

“So,” Lisa said, “who was the man you and everyone met with the other night?”

Jim paused
before he answered.  “Do you promise not to laugh?”

“I promise,” she said.

“He’s a ghost hunter,” Jim said.  “Did you hear about the ghosts in the First Church?”

Lisa looked over at him, as though to make sure he wasn’t being
silly.  When she
saw,
he was serious, she said, “I had heard a rumor about a ghost being seen.  Then Matt and Carlton got hurt, and the police officer died in there.  Plus, the
… the bad stuff with Mrs. Staples and the Rev.”

Jim hesitated for a moment, and then he said, “It’s the ghosts doing it all.”

Lisa stopped and turned to face him.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

Jim nodded.  “There are three ghosts in the Church now.  Dead Japanese soldiers.  They like to hurt people.”

“Ghosts can’t hurt people,” Lisa said, shaking her head.  But when Jim remained silent she asked in a low voice, “
can they?”

“Yes,” Jim answered.  “They hurt me.”

Her eyes widened slightly.  “How?”

“They shot me,” Jim said. 

“Oh my God!  Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jim said, blushing slightly.  “Um, do you want to see it?

“Is it … is it gross?” Lisa asked hesitantly.

“No,” Jim said.  “A little scar showed up hours after it happened.”

“Okay,” Lisa sa
id.  “As long as it isn’t nasty
looking.”

Jim pulled his arm back into his sweatshirt and then freed his shoulder.  Where the ghostly bullet had penetrated was a small, dime shaped scar.  It was bluish in
color
and cold to the touch.  His arm ached occasionally as he moved it.  A reminder of what the dead could do.

“Oh my God,” Lisa said, leaning closer.

Jim’s heart skipped a beat as a sweet, delicate smell slipped over him.  Lisa wore some type of perfume, the scent rich and enticing.

“Did it hurt?” she asked, looking up at him.

Jim nodded, swallowed drily and added, “It still hurts.  What’s really strange is how cold it is.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, straightening up.

“The scar, it’s cold when I touch it,” he said.

“Oh wow,” she whispered.  Then Lisa looked at him and asked, “Would it be okay if I touched it?”

“Yeah,” Jim said.

Cautiously she reached out and touched the scar.

The feeling was electric.  There was
pain
at the slight pressure, but chills raced along his spine and goose bumps rose up on his arms.  His heart skipped a
beat.

“It is cold,” she whispered.  Her fingers lingered for a moment and then she drew her hand back.

She smiled shyly at him.  “You said they shot you?”

“One of them did,” Jim said, trying not to sound as excited as he felt.  He put his arm back in his sleeve and tucked his undershirt in.  “He pointed a gun at me and fired.  Whatever it was, it hit me.  When he went to shoot
again, the second ghost stopped him.”

Lisa reached out and took his hand. 

They started to walk along the trail again.

After several moments of silence, she asked, “Is it safe to be on the other side of the burial ground?”

“I think so,” Jim said, but doubt suddenly flooded him.  “I mean, they didn’t come out of the Church to chase me or anything.  They stayed in the doorway.  Why?”

“I just remember reading, somewhere, how ghosts can haunt more than a building,” Lisa said.  “I mean, they can haunt places and stuff.  And I was thinking how the Church owns the burial ground.”

“And it owns the woods here, and Mirkwood, too,” Jim said softly.

“Oh wow, yeah, it does,” Lisa whispered.  “Do you think we should go back?”

“I think,” Jim said, “since we’re almost at the burial ground, it’ll be better to get back home by going around
the Church.  I don’t want to have to run from anything in the woods.”

Lisa nodded.  “Yeah, you’re right.  I don’t want to be running from something through the woods either.”

The trees thinned out, and the stones of the small graveyard behind the First Church came into view, as did the back of the building.

“Oh my God, Jim,” Lisa said.  She pointed with her free hand and said, “Look!”

Jim followed the line of her finger and saw a body.

An older man stripped naked.

Someone had cut out his eyes and crucified him on a stone cross.  The man had been
flayed
as well.  Strips of his skin were hung over
stones, and dried blood was splattered across the same.

“We need to leave, Lisa,” Jim said, squeezing her hand.  “We need to get home, now! I have to tell my grandfather!”

Lisa nodded, and then she gasped.

A trio of men appeared in the open doorway of the Church.

Each of them carried a long knife and the one in the center pointed his at Jim and Lisa.  The man spoke, and his comrades laughed.

The one on the right started down the stairs.

“Run!” Jim yelled.

He kept his grip firm on Lisa’s hand and ran with her.

The men yelled as Jim and Lisa sprinted towards the Hurlington House.

Several shots rang out,
and trees just beyond them exploded.  Wood shards ripped through the air.  Jim hissed as one tore into his cheek and slammed into his teeth.

And then they were behind the Hurlington House.

Screams of rage and fury chased after them.

Jim didn’t look back, he and Lisa continued to run, straight for his porch and the safety of his grandfather’s apartment.

Chapter 46: Luke Drinks Tea

Luke sat in the perpetual darkness which was his life.

He had a cup of tea in his hands,
and he chased away thoughts of his ex-wife.  Occasionally, it bothered him, the fact she had abandoned him and their daughter.  How she had never known James and how wonderful he was.  He couldn’t understand how she had thrown all that away.

Luke sighed, brought the cup of tea to his mouth and blew upon the hot drink before he took a cautious sip.

I’m nearing my end
, he thought.

The realization was sharp and sudden, but it was not painful.

Death was part of life.  A new beginning, if the teachings of the Church were true.

He hoped they were, but he didn’t worry too much about it.  Either Luke would go to Heaven, if there was such a place, or he would not.  If he dwelled on it, he would go mad.

So like the thoughts of his ex-wife, he pushed those of the afterlife away.

He relaxed and listened to the sounds of his house.  Each noise comforted him, soothed him with its familiarity.  Some nights he dreamed he could still see.  But he was always back in Vietnam.  Always on the morning when the sniper would rob him of his sight.

The door to the hallway on the first floor slammed and interrupted Luke’s thoughts.

Two pairs of feet thundered up the stairs, and he recognized one of them as his grandson’s.  The other person was lighter.

A moment later, James knocked loudly.

“Come in, James,” Luke said.  He put his tea cup down as the young teen hurried in, his companion close behind him.

“Are you two alright?” Luke asked.

“Yes,” James said, panting.  “We’re okay.”

“Please, sit down,” Luke said.  He inhaled through his nose and caught the distinct scent of perfume.  “And you as well, young lady.”

“Wow,” she whispered. 

Luke recognized her voice.

He smiled.  “It is not a magic trick, Lisa.  I’ve simply had a long time to learn how to use my other senses.”

He heard the two of them sit on the couch. 

And close together, he imagined.

“Now,” Luke said, “what has brought the two of you thundering up into my room?”