Anathema (2 page)

Stevens opened his mouth to scream, but it was immediately filled with rotted leaves and debris. So he closed his eyes and hoped the end would come soon.

The old man tripped on a tree root and went down hard. The flashlight flew from his grip, and shanks of pain ripped through his knees. He scrambled to his feet.

A finger of lightning etched across the sky, struck a nearby tree, and snapped it off near the base of the trunk.

The old man watched as the tree fell in his direction, but he was too old and too slow to move out of the way before he was crushed.

Reverend Timothy and Jarvis heard the snap of the tree, smelled the cooked wood, and cringed when they heard the old man scream, but neither man looked back. In fact, they hadn't even looked at each other. It had become every man for himself.

Chapter 1

Present

The roadside sign read:
WELCOME TO PRAIRIE REST. BLINK AND YOU'LL MISS US
. The Anderson family's Suburban rolled past the sign, and Jim Anderson gave a sigh of relief. They had made it halfway across the country without a major catastrophe. Jim thought that was pretty good, considering the children, Travis and Molly, were at each other's throats for practically the entire trip.

Diane, his wife, hadn't said more than two words during the journey. She was still peeved that he had torn them away from their nice house in the city and hauled them all to this Midwestern wasteland.

"We're just about there,” Jim said.

"Oh, goody. I can hardly wait!” Diane snapped. She pushed a strand of her black hair away from her forehead.

"Could you at least
pretend
to be a little excited?” Jim looked in the rearview mirror. Both kids were sound asleep in the back seat. “For the children's sake."

Diane only grunted.

Diane and Jim Anderson never argued—they had “debates.” They believed parents who argue created an unhealthy environment in which to raise children. The decision to move to Prairie Rest had sparked many heated debates. Some of these lasted into the early morning hours, but ultimately, Jim won. Just like he always did.

Truth be told, the last few years of the Anderson marriage had become one very long debate. Jim attributed this to the fact that Molly was conceived before they were married. This gave them little time to honeymoon and experience each other. Four years later, along came little Travis. Now the honeymoon, or any part of it, was really over.

As the children grew, Jim and Diane found they had more time for each other. Unfortunately, they also found they weren't very compatible. After the diaper changing was gone and the night feedings were no more, they had nothing to talk about. The relationship had grown as stale as week-old bread.

Of course, they had been very compatible that cold September night in the back of his beat-up Chevy. That seemed like eons ago. These days, the old mattress mumbo was just a figment of his sex-starved imagination.

Jim turned the yellow Suburban off the double-lane highway onto a graveled road that was barely wide enough for a single car, and the jarring thump of the vehicle leaving the smooth pavement woke the children.

Travis rubbed the sleep from his pale blue eyes—his father's eyes—and scooted forward in his seat. “Are we there, yet?” He peered over his father's broad left shoulder.

"Just about, Sport."

"Yippee!” Travis exclaimed with as much excitement as a ten-year-old could muster. At least
someone
was excited about this whole thing.

The boy dropped back into the seat and poked his sister in the arm. “We're almost there, Molly. Almost there!"

"I heard, Dorkface.” She slapped his hand. “Now, leave me alone,
geez
."

Rufus, the family's ten-month-old German Shepherd, leapt from the cargo area. He licked Travis's face and whacked Molly with his hard tail.

"Dad, make him stop!” Molly pleaded. She held her hands in front of her face to stop the stinging blows.

"Rufus!” Jim commanded, “That's enough."

Rufus, ever obedient, stopped, looked at his master with big, brown eyes, and then laid his head on Travis's lap.

Travis leaned over and kissed the dog between the ears, and Rufus wagged his tail.

"Stupid dog,” Molly muttered while she picked the shepherd's hair off her blouse. “Big, dumb, stupid dog. We should've left
you
back in California with the trash."

"Hey!” Travis cried and pulled the dog close to him. “We should've left you with the trash.” Travis stuck out his tongue.

"Dad!"

"All right! That's enough. Both of you."

For the life of her, Molly couldn't understand what Dorkface was so excited about. All she saw when she looked out the window was a sea of corn—miles and miles of the stuff. Nothing else.
Big whoop!
She had given up her friends for this? She'd just die if this was all there was!
Sometimes mommy was right. Daddy was nothing but an asshole.

"What'd you think, Molly?” Her father looked at her round face in the rearview mirror.

Molly shrugged. “All I see is corn. Corn. Corn. Corn."

"Oh, you'll get used to it. Just wait and see."

"I doubt it.” She crossed her arms and dropped back in the seat. What she wouldn't give to be at the mall right now. There probably isn't a movie theater within a gazillion miles of this place. As for boys, she doubted if any of the goat-herders here looked anything like those dreamy ‘N Sync guys. The boys in this town probably all wore blue jeans and straw hats. She'd bet a few even had teeth missing.
Yee-haw!

Part of the problem was that Molly was fourteen, and like all fourteen-year-olds, she knew practically everything there was to know about life. Don't try to tell her something different, it just wouldn't fly. The other part of the problem was Molly. With her raven hair and mischievous cyan eyes, she was nearly a carbon copy of her mother, both in temperament and appearance.

"Witchy-bitchy, Molly! Witchy-bitchy, Molly!” Travis suddenly yelled.

"MOOOOM! Travis called me a bitch!"

Diane turned around and scowled. “Both of you settle down, or I'll have your father stop the car and you can get out and walk the rest of the way."

Travis stuck his tongue out at Molly; Molly wrinkled her face at him. “You are so dead when we get out of this car."

Stupid brother. Stupid dog. Stupid place.

"It'd be nice if you'd discipline the kids once in a while.” Diane scowled at her husband.

"Why! You seem to take such pleasure in it!” Jim snarled back.

Sometimes, he wished he would've left the lot of them back in California with the trash, but he had to admit,
witchy-bitchy
was sort of funny.

Eventually, the gravel road forked, and Jim veered to the left. Off to the right was a cemetery. It was surrounded by a six-foot wrought iron fence. Morning Glories clung to the black rods and their bright pink blooms brightened the otherwise dismal place.

"Hey, Molly,” Jim said, trying to deflate the tension that had filled the vehicle like helium in a balloon, “do you know how many people are dead in there?” He nodded toward the graveyard.

"I don't know, Dad. How many?"

"All of ‘em"

Molly rolled her eyes. “Stupid."

Well, he tried.

While the road they'd just left was nameless, this stretch was called Miller's Lane. After a couple of miles, the lane passed in front of the Miller's house—the Anderson's new home.

"Here we are.” Jim pulled the Suburban onto the serpentine driveway.

There was a heartfelt, “Yippee!” from the back seat as Travis pressed his face against the window.

Three yellow and black Roadway Transport trucks were parked in front of the house. The furniture had arrived a whole day early. That was good. Jim wouldn't have to listen to his wife bellyache that she had no place to sit her ass.

Jim parked the Suburban behind the last truck. The vehicle barely had time to stop before Travis opened the door and tumbled out of the back. Rufus, barking madly, was right behind him.

"Cool.” Travis looked up at their new house.

Diane wasn't enthusiastic at all. She unlocked the door, let it swing open, and reluctantly stepped out of the vehicle. When she saw the house, she almost cried.

Damn you, Jim. What the hell have you gone and done now?

The house was a monstrosity. It was a three and a half story stone structure with a porch that wrapped around the front. Windows were broken. Shingles were missing. Screens were torn. Years of soot covered the exterior. It would take a crew of ten men working around the clock for the next ten years to restore the walls to their original beauty. The best thing to do would be tear the thing down and start over.

The sidewalk that led to the front door was cracked and broken. Dandelions and thistles flourished in the fissures.

Parasitic vines and Creeping Charlie had overtaken the lawn. In one corner of the yard was an area that, at one time, might have been a garden, but it was so overgrown with weeds it looked like a pasture. Rusting, broken down machines were scattered across the yard. An old washing machine had been taken over by a swarm of yellow jackets.

"So, what do you think?” Jim asked.

"I think it's a dump,” Diane replied. She still couldn't believe what she was looking at.

"Is this where we're going to live?” Molly asked. She cuddled next to her mother like a frightened child.

"I'm afraid so.” Diane sighed. She stroked her daughter's hair and shot an icy stare at her husband. “It's what Daddy wants."

Jim ignored the caustic remark. “Why don't you go inside and check things out. I need to talk to the movers for a minute."

The inside was no better than the outside. Wallpaper, yellow and stained, was peeling from the walls, exposing the wet, crumbling plaster behind it. Paint curls hung from the ceiling, ready to fall to the cracked marble floor of the foyer at any time. Near the top of the stairs, just above the first landing, was an oval, stained-glass window. But even on the brightest of days, sunlight couldn't penetrate the crust of filth that coated the elegant design. Consequently, this absence of light made the landing seem dim and foreboding, and the shadows seemed to creep out of the walls.

"Still think it's a dump?” Jim asked, coming up behind her.

"No, I was wrong.” Diane put her hands on her hips and turned to face Jim. Her eyes bore into him. “This place is a disaster area. There's dirt in every corner of every room. It's dark and cold. That banister looks like it'll snap right off the minute someone puts any pressure on it. And the place stinks like piss. I guess that pretty much covers it."

Jim's left eyelid began to twitch. Just like it always did before he got angry.

Diane continued, “I'm afraid to turn on a light because the wiring is probably so bad it'd start a fire. Besides, if I could actually
see
anything, I'd probably run out of here screaming bloody murder.

"I can't for the life of me understand why you want us to live in this hellhole."

"Hey, kids,” Jim said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, “why don't you go and check out the rest of the joint.” Translation: Jim felt a debate coming on.

Travis scurried through the house with the same kind of excitement he'd shown the day his father had brought home Rufus. Molly strolled into the kitchen with the uninspired obedience that seemed to possess all teenagers.

Jim wished the rest of his family saw things the way Travis did—as adventures instead of curses.

"I bought this place for us, Diane,” he said at last. “I bought it
because
it needs work and I thought we could do it together. I thought maybe it'd bring us close again."

Diane walked across the floor, wincing every time the floorboard squeaked, and ran her hand across the banister. She stuck her hand in her husband's face.

"Look at this, it's filthy! The air's so polluted with dust my lungs burn every time I breathe! It'll take
years
before this place is inhabitable!"

Jim moved toward her. “No, it won't. Not if we do it together. It'll be fun."

"Fun! Will it be as much fun as that Internet company you invested in? How much money did we lose there? Or how about those securities you insisted we had to have? ‘We have to prepare for our future,’ you said. Well, the future's here and I don't see our mailbox overflowing with those fat dividend checks! Fun, oh, yeah, we're having fun now!"

"All right, I made a few bad choices. Everyone does, but it's different this time.” Jim wrapped his arms around Diane's small waist.

She pushed him away. “You're right, Jim, everyone makes a few bad choices, but not everyone has made a career out of it. When was the last time you wrote a book that actually sold more than a dozen copies?"

"At least I didn't fuck the pizza boy!” That shut her up. “I sometimes wonder if Travis is even my son, or the product of a horny teenager and an unfaithful wife who just couldn't wait to have another man's pepperoni in her oven!"

"You bastard!” Diane screamed and slapped Jim across the face.

Never in his entire life had Jim Anderson wanted to hit someone as he did at that very moment. He wanted to hear bones crack beneath his fist. He wanted to feel blood on his knuckles.

Instead, he turned and walked away.

"Where are you going?” Diane snapped.

Jim spun around on his heels. “Why the hell do you care? Maybe I'm off to find some nice little waitress of my own!"

He slammed the front door hard enough to rattle the windowpanes.

Chapter 2

Jim Anderson pulled the Suburban up to the curb, got out, and walked into the tavern. He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then found a stool at the bar.

The Stumble Inn smelled of stale smoke and bacon grease, but at least it was quiet. There were only a couple of guys playing pool in the back room and a trio of middle-aged men sharing a pitcher of beer in a booth near the jukebox.

A mirror behind the bar reflected the liquor bottles on the shelf in front of it and gave a panoramic view of the room behind him. It reflected something else, too. Something Jim didn't much like—himself. There were creases in his face where there shouldn't be. His eyes were as dull as stones.