The Altar. James Arthur Anderson
half mile away where it crossed the road. Although new houses and even a small strip mall had recently been built to the south, the reservation occupied land to the north, which made Dovecrest his nearest neighbor in that direction.
“Please come in.”
Todd scampered to join his mother, who was drying her hands with a dishtowel.
“My name’s Erik Hunter,” he said, extending his hand. Dovecrest shook it with deceiving strength for what looked to be a frail old man. “And this is my wife Vickie and my son Todd.”
The Indian nodded politely to them both.
“Nice to meet you,” Vickie said.
“Pleasure,” Dovecrest replied. “I’d like to welcome you to Cheponaug.”
“Cheponaug?” Erik asked.
“That’s what my ancestors called this place. The name isn’t used anymore.”
“How interesting,” Vickie said. “Thank you very much for the welcome.”
Erik felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at the stranger. He exchanged glances with his son and noticed that something about the man bothered Todd, too, as the boy stayed unusually close to Vickie.
“I’ve brought you a small gift, a token of welcome,” he said, holding out a small package.
“Thank you,” Erik said.
“It is our custom,” Dovecrest said in a voice that left no room for argument. “Please accept it.”
Erik self-consciously untied the simple white string and unwrapped the brown paper. Inside the package he found a string of broken quahog shells polished to a fine luster and set in a necklace.
“How beautiful!” Vickie said, stepping forward to admire the trinket. The shells contained intricate polished patterns of blue, violet, and white. Then she took it from Erik and held it up to her neck.
“You don’t wear it,” Dovecrest explained. “You hang it over your door for protection. It will keep your home free from evil.”
Erik frowned and caught his wife’s gaze. She obviously thought the old man had been smoking too many peace pipes. He took the trinket back from her.
“Would you like some coffee?” Vickie asked, nervously.
“No. No thank you. I must be going. But please, hang the talisman over your door, the door facing the forest. It will keep away evil spirits.”
Then he turned and was gone before Erik could even say goodbye.
-3-
About an hour after Dovecrest had left, Pastor Mark Brian of the Chepachet Baptist Church paid a visit. Erik and Vicki had met Pastor Mark about a year earlier when he’d filled in for their regular pastor, who was on vacation. Having a good church in the neighborhood was just one more benefit of moving to the country, and Erik felt that it was a lucky coincidence that they’d now be attending Pastor Mark’s church.
“We’re so very happy to have you in the neighborhood,” the pastor said.
“We’re very happy to be here,” Erik replied. “This sure is different from the city. You’re the second member of the welcoming committee so far.”
Mark laughed. “Things are much more personal in the country. I suspect your neighbors will be dropping by, one by one.”
“Yeah,” Erik said. “Johnny Dovecrest stopped by just a short time ago. Do you know him?”
“Old Dovecrest,” Mark said. “Yes. Everyone knows him. Quite the character, that one. There are more rumors about him than you can shake a stick at.”
“What kind of rumors?” Vickie asked.
“Mostly pretty harmless. It seems like he’s lived here forever and never gets older.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. The guy is ancient.”
“That’s what my father said, too. He’s been ancient since I was a boy, and even the old-timers never remember him being young.”
“He gave us this thing to ward away evil spirits,” Vickie said, holding up the talisman. “It...kind of scared us. He said to put it near the back door, by the woods.”
Pastor Mark looked at the object for a moment.
“This is just an old Indian superstition. You don’t need this.”
“Are the woods safe?” Vickie asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that. Those woods go on for miles. Part of the land is on the Narragansett reservation, and part of it is state land that’s been put aside and not used. You could easily get lost out there if you didn’t know your way around. I wouldn’t go wandering around out there if I were you.”
“So it is dangerous?” Vickie insisted.
“Yes and no. Like I said, you could get lost out there. You wouldn’t want your boy wandering off there by himself. He could get lost very easily. There aren’t any bears or lions or anything, but there is the occasional fox and lots of raccoons. A few years back a moose even wandered in from Maine and had to be tranquilized and brought back when it fell into someone’s swimming pool. But you could get hurt there, just the same. It’s never a good idea to go into the woods alone anyway, especially city folk like you.
“Dovecrest tries to scare people away because he doesn’t want people in the woods—and, honestly, you don’t belong on the reservation anyway. He tells people the place is possessed by evil spirits, and talks about the dogs and cats that disappear there. Most of that’s just for show—even the Indians don’t worship evil spirits anymore. They have their own church. These woods are just a large stretch of oak forest. No more and no less.”
Vickie laughed. “I know it’s silly, but the Indian scared me a little.”
Mark laughed. “There are all kind of rumors in New England. Someone’s pet runs off and gets lost in the woods and the next thing you know the place is overrun with vampires. These woods aren’t any more evil than any other place on this earth.”
“Lord knows, I’ve seen enough evil in the city,” Erik said, but he could tell that all of this talk made Vickie nervous.
“Pastor, would you mind blessing our new home?” she asked. “I think we could all use as much of God’s presence as possible.”
“I’d be happy to.”
The family bowed their heads and Pastor Mark led them in prayer.
CHAPTER TWO
-1-
After the darkness came the pain. A blinding, burning pain of fire and brimstone, straight from Dante’s Inferno. The agonizing pain seared the nerves, choked the lungs, burned the tissues from the inside out. It tortured each and every cell—or the memory of each cell, for the actual, living cells had long ago ceased to carry on their biological functions of osmosis, respiration, and division.
His was the awful pain of remembrance, the terrible pain of awakening after three centuries of sleep—of death.
The first sacrifice, accidental, had awakened the pain and with it had come reluctant consciousness. Despite his resolve, he had questioned and protested. He had tried to close his nonexistent eyes and return to the emptiness of sleep, the nothingness of death.
But the pain had invaded his peace, his stillness, rolling over him like endless waves of fire. With shock, he realized that he had no nerves, no lungs, no tissues or cells. Without a body, he should feel no pain. Yet the pain tortured him with its vivid and impossible reality.
Time passed and he imagined himself in hell. Gradually, he became lucid and remembered, despite the pain. The agony never lessened; he merely grew accustomed to it, like a festering, cancerous growth that continued