The Altar. James Arthur Anderson
“And it’s a good thing we unpacked it last night or I never would have found it.”
He shrugged, then realized she couldn’t see him. His mind was a battle of confusion. Vickie might be right. Todd might be home, even now. But what if he wasn’t? They couldn’t just walk away and leave him out here. He’d heard somewhere that in missing persons cases, the first few hours—the first few minutes, even—were critical. He might not just be lost—he might be badly hurt. He couldn’t turn back now.
Besides, there had been that scream.
I think we should go on,” he said quietly.
She squeezed his hand and forced a smile. Without hesitation, she followed him. He wondered if he should tell her about the scream—if it were a scream. No. It wouldn’t do any good. Although she didn’t show it, she was already frightened enough without adding to her worries.
They trudged forward, Erik leading the way and Vickie following. Erik had no idea where they were going. He didn’t think he could find his way back to the house even if he wanted to, now. He remembered hearing stories about people lost in the woods who wandered around in circles for hours within just a few feet of a road or trail, and for the first time he understood how this could happen.
As they pushed forward through the thickening underbrush, Erik began to feel an uncertain sense of loathing that guided his direction. It was nothing definite, just a gently prodding that turned him slightly to the north, almost as if it were turning him away from something.
-2-
Johnny Dovecrest knew exactly where he was going. Although he knew his gun was useless against what he expected to find, he carried the rifle and the semiautomatic pistol, just in case the scream turned out to be the result of an animal attack, or something equally mundane. While these woods might be just a few miles from the city as the crow flies, they might as well be a million miles away. Dovecrest knew for a fact that a couple of bears had claimed this area as their own, though if he told anyone they’d surely come and shoot the bears. And moose had been spotted here on more than one occasion. He was happy to leave the animals alone, since the land was rightfully theirs and man was the real intruder.
Deep in his heart, though, he knew it was happening again. He had waited for this moment for so many years, hoping against hope that it was over forever, but knowing for certain that it wasn’t. No. It was only a matter of time. That was the way it was, and he had prepared himself for the time when it would happen again. This time he would be ready. Or at least he had thought he would be ready.
But now that it was beginning all over again, he doubted his own ability. How ready was he, really? Had he let himself go weak? The years were certainly beginning to tell on him. He didn’t feel the confidence and invincibility he had when he was young. And this world, this modern world—it had changed so very much and would present problems of its own. He’d have trouble recruiting allies. No one believed any more. Not even the preachers. Even they discounted such things—regardless of the fact that their own holy book spoke about devils and demons.
This new world thought that science could explain everything, that it could fix anything that might happen, solve any problem, defeat any enemy. He laughed. Science couldn’t even solve the problems that it had created, terrible problems like pollution, overpopulation, and extinctions. How could it be expected to deal with problems that were far beyond its comprehension.
These thoughts rolled around in Dovecrest’s mind as he entered the woods. He immediately felt the influence of the stone exerting its force to try and turn him away. Its power turned people away from it. It created a vague, hazy feeling, something the scientists wouldn’t have accepted or understood, but very, very real, all the same. It was a feeling of dread and gloom and disgust that spoke in a soft, innocuous voice that did not register on the conscious level. If it could have been translated into words, the feeling would be telling him to turn back.
“Not that way,” it whispered to the unconscious mind, speaking softly in a soothing monotone that touched the nerves and emotions rather than the mind. “You don’t want to go that way. There’s nothing there for you.”
And along with the voice came the sudden feeling—no, the certainty—that if you did go that way it would be most unpleasant. Not dangerous, really. Just unpleasant. Like falling into a vat of rotten tomatoes swarming with maggots and fruit flies. Or swimming in a pool of fresh, pungent vomit.
The feeling was extremely obtuse and subtle, and only the rare individual would recognize it. Most men would simply follow its directive, without further thought or question.
But to Dovecrest, it spoke with the brilliance of a neon billboard. It told a fearful, terrible tale, a tale that he had heard before, so very long ago, and had waited for once again. That which he had feared and for which he had been prepared, had returned.
-3-
Seth Dobson, the man known as Seti to his followers, pulled into the Seven-Eleven and parked next to the door. The weight of the 9mm Glock felt comforting tucked into the belt of his jeans, covered by a loose-fitting shirt. He fought back the urge to take the gun out and clear the chamber, like they did in the movies. But no. That was Hollywood stuff and would only waste a round and possibly leave evidence behind. Real criminals didn’t do that, he thought, just like they didn’t hold the gun sideways when they shot. Not unless you wanted to get a hot shell casing in the face. That was only for the movies. And he was for real.
He knew they were watching him, ever since he’d done that stupid radio talk show. That probably hadn’t been a very smart thing to do. And now they were watching him.
But he couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t tasted blood in almost two weeks now, and it was driving him crazy. The best he had done was bat around a couple of his women disciples, but that wasn’t enough. He needed to kill again and he needed it now.
It was that dream, the one that had started last June, and had brought him here. He knew it was the Evil One talking; it had told him to go east, until he had come here to this place. But now that he was here, he was lost, without a purpose. If he killed again, and bathed in the blood, then he would know.
He stepped out of the old van and went inside the store. The clerk nodded at him as he walked in. He was a young man, probably a college student, and he deserved to die. In fact, he wanted to die and he, Seti, Satan’s servant, would be happy to oblige.
He walked towards the counter and imagined the surprise on the clerk’s face when he was shot. He’d shoot him in the guts first, so he wouldn’t die too quickly. Then he could take his time with him.
“Can I help you?” the clerk asked.
Seti was about to draw the gun when he felt the presence. It was still far away, which surprised him. He thought it would be close now that he was in this place, the place where it had led him. Still, it was closer. He paused.
No. It wasn’t time. The presence made it known to him that he must wait, must be patient a little longer. He couldn’t draw attention to himself, not here and not now. His people were waiting for him back at the campsite, and they needed direction. They needed him. It needed him.
“Sir? Can I help you?”
Suddenly, Seth was aware of the clerk’s presence once again.
“Ah.... Yeah. Give me a pack of Marlboros.”
He didn’t need cigarettes, but it was all he could think of at the time. He paid for the cigarettes and left disappointed. He could have had so much fun if the voice hadn’t stopped him.
-4-
Erik was about to tell Vickie that they were hopelessly lost when the distant sound of crying saved him from his confession.
“Todd!” Vickie screamed, immediately recognizing her son’s cry with a mother’s instinct.
A man’s deep, voice returned her call with a muffled “Over here!”
“Where?” Erik screamed.
“Just stay