The specter of a beautiful woman, singing in Sutter’s holler.
I believe that story, told in a soft, hesitant voice by little Corinne Baker, because I’ve seen her, too. Anneliese.
The rest are Bellflower’s parlor tricks.
The same kind of nonsense he told me he manifested with the Sutters: Disembodied voices. Doors slamming of their own accord and bedclothes stripped from virgins’ beds. Unseen lovers in the night.
With each witness, the tension grows inside the packed church. The sun drops low in the sky. The light fades to a sickly yellow green, like it does before a storm. I blow at the hair falling into my eyes, sweat beading along my brow and sliding down my neck. Somebody throws open one of the windows, and a blast of humid, dense air rushes in, sending the chandelier above the center aisle rocking.
Bellflower looks straight at me with a smug grin. “I call Miss Calvina Watterson to come forward and bear witness.”
I swallow hard. Calvina may be the only person he’ll call that might speak up for me. I hope she’ll hold true to her word.
She makes her way to the front, dressed in black with a corsage pinned to her dress. It’s a mourning bouquet; orchids tied with black ribbon. Her mama must have died, just as she feared. My heart jumps to my throat.
She takes a seat at the altar and pokes a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She won’t meet my eye. It ain’t a good sign.
“Miss Watterson, is it true that your mother passed away yesterday?”
“Yes, sir. She did. At the hospital up in Springfield.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. And what was her cause of death?”
“She had complications of a broken hip. Arthritis.”
“But lately, she’d made a full recovery, isn’t that right?”
Calvina’s eyes dart to me, and then flicker away. “Y . . . yes. For a bit. After your healin’ service, sir.”
“Can you tell us what led you to believe Miss Doherty might have had something to do with the recent fall that brought about your mother’s death?”
He’s leading her—coaxing her to say what he wants. I stand up. “You’re full of horseshit, Bellflower.”
“Goddammit. Sit down!” Sheriff Murphy yanks me back down onto the hard wooden seat.
“So sorry for the interruption, ladies and gentlemen.” Bellflower smiles beatifically. “Now, could you please answer the question, Miss Watterson? You told me that your mother saw something right before she fell. Something unnatural. It swooped down from the trees.”
Calvina grips the handkerchief so hard her brown knuckles turn white. “I can’t recall, sir. Things have gone fuzzy the past few days.”
At this, Bellflower frowns. “Are you sure? Because I remember quite well. When you came to me, just last night for counsel, you told me a creature that looked like Miss Doherty, but had leathery wings and sharp talons, came swooping out of the pines. Your mother took off at a run, tripped over a stone, and fell.”
Calvina presses her lips together and looks away. “I don’t know about that.” For once, I wish I could really read people’s minds, so I could know what Calvina’s thinking.
Behind me, the talking gets louder. Some people start moaning and carrying on again.
One lady near the front points up at the ceiling. “I see a creature! Can’t you see it? Up there by the light. It’s perched atop of it!”
Sure enough, the chandelier starts swaying harder, as if something or someone is pushing it back and forth. The wind has died, so it’s not that. I wonder if it’s another of Bellflower’s distractions.
Bellflower bangs the gavel. He’s getting frustrated. Angry, even. For the first time, he looks to be losing control. “Miss Watterson, did you or did you not tell me that a foul, demonic creature accosted your mother?”
Calvina starts crying then, fat tears rolling down her face. “I can’t do this,” she murmurs, just loud enough I can hear her. “I won’t.”
“What did you say? You must speak up, Miss Watterson.”
Calvina stands, her eyes wide. “I said, I can’t do this! You put those words in my mouth, sir. You said you’d pay for my mama’s funeral if I promised to—”
Bellflower pounds the gavel on the altar. It flies out of his hands. The chandelier above starts twirling in a mad circle. Something’s happening here, and it’s not me making it happen. Not even Bellflower. Not this time. I wonder if it’s Anneliese.
“Sit down!” Bellflower commands.
Calvina shakes her head and stabs her finger at the townsfolk. “Now, y’all listen, and you listen good! Miss Doherty and her granny ain’t never been nothin’ but good to me and everyone else in this town. This man’s a false prophet and he’s got you half blind and foolish with his lies, and y’all better wake up, ’cause if you hang that innocent girl, you’ll bring a curse down on this town, the likes of which you never seen. Now that’s a vision I had from the Lord Himself. You can mark it.”
Calvina shrugs like she’s satisfied and steps down from the altar. I smile at her, tears of gratitude filling my eyes. She nods at me as she walks down the aisle and out the door. After she leaves, everybody starts talking at once.
Bellflower glowers at me, his eyes boring holes into mine. I don’t flinch. I don’t even blink. He tries to retain order, tries to refute Calvina’s testimony, but the cacophony of voices drowns him out. The energy in the room has changed. He’s losing control of his flock for the very first time.
There’s genuine fear and hysteria now. A pair of young girls fall out of their pew, howling and clawing at their hair. One of them faints. A froth of spittle bubbles from her mouth. Aunt Val comes screeching out of the corner, her arms covered in oozing, red scratches. She latches on to Bellflower’s arm. He pushes her away, a look of disgust on his face. “She sent her creature down from the rafters. It did this!” she cries, holding out her arms for the congregation to see. Blood drips from the scratches. If she did that to herself, I can’t help but admire her dedication to her act. Damn.
Some menfolk take out their guns. This ain’t good. All it’ll take for this to turn into a massacre is one idjit hillbilly popping off a shot. Next to me, Sheriff Murphy cocks his sidearm. I turn my head to see I’m facing down the barrel of a gun.
“Better my gun pointed at you than theirs.”
He ain’t wrong, but my trust of anyone in authority here has long since gone.
Bellflower finally manages to calm the rabble. The church goes silent again, apart from the wild creaking as the chandelier sways above our heads. Sheriff Murphy slowly lowers his pistol. I pull in a shaky breath.
“I now call the accused to testify,” Bellflower intones. “Miss Doherty, if you claim to be innocent of the crimes of which you are accused, now is your opportunity to prove it.”
How on earth can I prove anything? Especially when Bellflower already wants me dead so his demon can claim my body? This is just part of his sideshow game.
I stand once more and move forward, feeling a hundred pairs of eyes pinned on my back. I fold myself wearily into the chair at the front of the sanctuary and try to focus my hunger-crazed mind. Whatever I say or do next, I need to be careful and choose my words wisely.