The Altar (3 page)

He stopped at the base of the slab. His heart pounded madly and he had broken out in a cold sweat. Swallowing hard, he felt his body trembling with fear as he slowly turned away to look back at where he’d come from, hoping to see his house back through the trees.

The beacon from his father’s study had long since been consumed by the trees, and the path had disappeared also, now hidden in the darkness.

Vaguely, he realized he was lost and it had become dark. When he turned to look at the huge rock, though, he instinctively knew that being lost in the woods was the least of his troubles. As much as he wanted to run,
needed
to run, his feet remained glued to the ground, frozen in place by fear and some unknown, unseen, and unnatural power.

The slab was shiny and polished smoother than Grandma’s dining room table. A groove resembling a rain gutter ran around the outer edge. Tentatively, Todd reached his hand out and rested it on the polished surface. It felt cold to the touch, colder than an ice pop right out of the freezer. He was overwhelmed with a feeling of intense loneliness, as if he were the only person left in the entire world. Then, for no apparent reason, the slab began to warm up. His fingers tingled and he jerked them away.

The image of Dovecrest again flooded his mind and last night’s vision returned as he stared at this slab’s nightmare surface. This time, though, he didn’t see a vision of Dovecrest, but of a teenage girl lying upon the smooth, polished stone—a blonde girl. He flushed in embarrassment as he realized that she was naked, and she began to whimper softly as the moon poked its face over the tops of the trees.

Todd watched in fascination and terror as a shadowy figure appeared beside the girl and raised its arms high in the air. The moonlight glinted off a shiny steel surface as a knife blade hovered over the girl’s body for just an instant before plunging down in a sweeping arc of silver death.

The girl screamed once and a fountain of blood spewed from her chest and flowed out and over the slab to fill the grooves on its edge.

Todd clamped his eyes shut. His knees buckled and he fell forward to sprawl against the stone. Slowly he opened his eyes again, willing the dream to be gone.

The vision evaporated in an instant and only the slab was left. This new dream, a daydream, had been the product of his imagination after all.

Yet somehow he sensed that it was more—perhaps a history of what was, or a taste of what was to be.

He suddenly felt sick and the contents of his stomach did a back flip. He looked at the slab with hatred as he choked back the bile.

Without fully realizing what he was doing or why, he swung his geologist’s hammer over his head and brought it down with all the force he could muster. A loud clang echoed through the clearing as the hammer struck the rock; the shock of the impact vibrated up Todd’s arm and into his shoulder as the hammer bounced back like a rubber ball hitting the street.

Todd had slammed his eyes shut with the effort of the blow. When he opened them again he stared at the rock for a full ten seconds before he began to scream. It took him that long to fully comprehend the vision before him.

The very stone itself was trickling blood from a tiny chip he had made on its otherwise perfectly smooth surface.

-5-

Johnny Dovecrest was dicing onions for a stew when he heard the scream coming from deep within the woods. He paused, his knife poised in mid-air, and listened intently. But there was only silence now.

He put the knife down, walked to the window and looked into the blackness of the forest. His experienced eyes bore into the darkness but saw nothing. It might have been his imagination. But the hair on the back of his neck tingled, telling him it might have been something else. Something he didn’t want to think about.

He had tried to tell them not to build here, that it wasn’t safe. But they had refused to listen. Just like they always refused to listen. Now he feared the worst.

Either way, he had to know. He took his old M1 Carbine from its case in the closet, stuck his .45 caliber Beretta Mini Cougar into the waistband of his jeans, and went outside, praying to God that it wasn’t happening again.

CHAPTER THREE

-1-

A sound caught Erik’s attention and he walked over to the window overlooking the back yard, thinking that Todd might have hurt himself. The sun had gone down and the yard was quite dark by now. He couldn’t see any sign of his son as he pressed his face against the windowpane.

“Vickie?” he called, making his way downstairs to the kitchen where she was arranging the contents of her cabinets. “Vickie, is Todd down here with you?”

“No. He went outside to look for rocks.”

“I didn’t see him out there. I’d better check.”

“Maybe he’s in his room.”

“Would you check for me? I’ll look outside.”

Erik stepped out into the crisp night air that had suddenly chilled now that the sun had set.

“Todd? Where are you?” he called

His voice echoed with hollowness in the woods.

“Todd?” he called again, louder. “Are you out there?”

He walked around to the front yard, saw nothing unusual, then returned to the back again. Vickie hurried outside to join him.

“Erik, he’s not in the house. I’ve checked everywhere.”

“And he’s not out here, either.”

“Oh my God,” Vickie whispered. “You don’t think....”

“He probably wandered off into the woods. I
told
him not to leave the yard! I just got through telling him not to go off into the woods by himself....”

“Let’s find him first. Then you can lecture him. I’ll go get the flashlight.”

Erik nodded, then walked across the yard and stood at the edge of the woods.

“Todd!” he screamed, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. He waited for the echoes to die down, and then called again.

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that the noise he’d heard earlier was a scream. Todd was probably out there frightened half to death in the darkness. At least he’ll never wander off into the woods alone again, Erik thought grimly.

Vickie returned with the flashlight. Its beam bounced up and down over the dew-coated grass as she ran.

“Anything?” she asked hopefully.

Erik shook his head, then realized she couldn’t see him.

“Nothing at all,” he said, finally, and decided not to mention anything about the scream to her.

“He’s all right, isn’t he?”

Erik forced a nervous laugh. “Sure. He just went out into the woods and got lost. How far could he have gone?”

“Yeah,” Vickie said in a trembling voice.

Erik knew she was thinking the same thing as he was. The pastor had told them these woods went for miles. Still, how far could a little boy go in such a short time.

Together they stepped tentatively into the woods, using the flashlight beam to guide them. The moon had come up, a yellow half moon lying low on the horizon, but its light couldn’t penetrate through the treetops.

“Look,” Erik said, sweeping the ground with his flashlight. “A path.”

He knelt down and studied the dirt; though he was no Indian scout, it was quite obvious to him that someone had passed this way very recently.

“He’s been here,” he said, confidently, though he really had no way of knowing for sure if it had been Todd’s sneakers that had disturbed the dirt.

“If he stayed on the path it should be easy to find him,” Vickie said.

“Yeah. It’s got to go somewhere, right,” Erik replied. He laughed nervously.

The darkness hung heavy as a quilt by now, filling the forest with mystery and strangeness. Erik called his son’s name as he walked, as much to bolster his own courage as anything else. Though he hated to admit it, something about being in the woods at night frightened the hell out of him. Despite his dream of living in the country, he remained a city boy at heart, and didn’t know or understand very much about nature. Although a downtown street posed far more danger at night than a rural forest, he was much more at home there than he was here right now.

Growing up in the city had made him street smart. As one of the few academically talented kids in an inner city school, he’d quickly learned how to defend himself. He’d studied a bit of the martial arts, joined the high school wrestling team, and worked hard at building an image of toughness while earning high grades.

At least he knew what to fear from the city—and how to handle it. He knew that the scum who prowled the city streets preferred easy prey to someone who might fight back. As a result, he’d been left alone.

But here in the blackness of this strange forest, his fear was vague and undefined, somehow sinister and mysterious. Although he knew he could be no more than fifty yards from his back yard, he felt as if he had crossed the boundary into some ancient, primitive world where the rules he learned to play by didn’t work.

His concern for his son increased with every step he took. Since the path was too narrow for two people to walk side by side, Vickie followed behind him, clinging to the back of his shirt like a child holding onto her father, while he led the way, holding the flashlight beam low over the path ahead of them while pretending to be totally in control of the situation.

The path gradually narrowed even more until it disappeared entirely. Erik found himself standing in the underbrush looking out at an endless forest that seemed like it went on to the ends of the earth. He remembered what Pastor Mark had told him, and vaguely remembered from the plot map that the real estate agent had shown him that these woods did continue all the way to the Connecticut border, several miles away.

“Todd!” he screamed. “Todd! Can you hear me? Are you out there, Todd?”

He was almost frantic now, and his voice betrayed his panic.

“Maybe we should go back and call the police,” Vickie suggested. “Before we get lost, too.”

She was the calm one, now, and her tone settled him down a bit.

“They don’t have police out here,” he reminded her. “They have a sheriff.”

“Maybe we should call him. Or 911.”

For once, Erik wished he owned a cell phone.

“Who knows,” Vickie said. “Maybe he’s back home right now wondering where
we
are.”

Erik sighed deeply. “I told him not to go into the woods.”

Part of him wanted to press on, while another part of him trembled in terror when he thought of going deeper into these woods. Another part wondered if Vickie were right, and Todd was home waiting for them. Wouldn’t that be a kicker, he thought, imagining Todd home watching cartoons.

“You should have stayed home,” he said to Vickie.

“It’s too late now.”

“Maybe you could go back,” he said feebly.

“We’ve got to stick together now,” she replied. “Besides, there’s only one flashlight.”

“Yeah. We should have brought two.”

“We only own one,” she reminded him. “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.