Every once in a while, the creatures will approach one another and offer what can only be described as a kiss. It’s not really a kiss, of course, and serves as another example of humans assigning some greater anthropomorphic meaning to instinctual behavior. In truth, prairie dogs locking their front teeth in greeting is a way of recognizing their family units, or potential rivals, and establishing complex social networks. It’s pretty cute, though.
We project a lot of things onto other species. It’s something I’ve always known, but the less I find myself relying on spiritual explanations, the more these biological realities stick out.
“They’re just flesh and blood, like we are,” I say, thinking out loud.
Saul glances over at me. “Prairie dogs?”
“Demons,” I reply.
We sit a moment longer, letting this observation settle.
“They can drift through layers of reality,” I finally continue. “There’s a hidden biology there, and Kingdom of the Pine has learned to exploit it. They summon them here and put them to work. But how?”
“Maybe that’s where the spiritual side comes in.” He reaches over and opens the massive antique book that rests between us, its heavy binding hitting the loose shingles with a thud. I notice several pages in this section have been marked, and the one we’ve arrived on sports a glorious hand-drawn image.
“Take it,” Saul offers, prompting me to begrudgingly lift this massive volume onto my lap.
The illustration features two priests holding down a ravenous demon and wrapping an iron collar around his neck. The creature has stringy hair and stark white eyes along with a set of lengthy, now-familiar digits. Behind them is a dazzling tear that hovers in the air, a portal to another world, just like the one from my flashback.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, running my fingers gently down the ancient page.
“Remember when I told you I’d broken into three churches?” Saul replies. “One of them was … pretty important.”
I turn my attention back to the tome, unable to tear my eyes away as I continue onward. I gently flip from page to page, stopping at every marker. The next illustration is of a woman hunched over a clay bowl while a priest gently pats her on the back. A swarm of flies is erupting from her mouth and filling the basin.
“I tried to get as much information from this book as I could, but it takes forever to translate,” he explains. “Most of it seems to be in Latin.”
“Bona res est scire,” I reply, working over the text that accompanies the depiction of spewed-up flies.
I’m hoping for a concrete explanation, a step-by-step breakdown of every detail in the bizarre renderings.
Unfortunately, all I find are prayers.
“You understand Latin?” Saul gushes.
I flip deeper into the volume, my fascination and disappointment somehow growing in unison.
“Prayer for the hungry, prayer for the broken, prayer for release,” I announce. “I’ll spend some time with this, but I’ve gotta be honest: the pictures are more helpful.”
I pull out my phone and snap some photos of the massive walls of text, storing them for further study. The prayer for release shows a priest standing over a figure in shackles, confidently making some grand proclamation. The shackles around the bound man’s wrists and ankles are cracking open, offering freedom.
“I think we’re on the right track, though,” I say.
I continue through the tome, but I notice Saul watching me with great concern.
“On the right track for what?” he questions.
“To stop them,” I reply, looking up. “To expose Kingdom of the Pine and shut them down.”
Saul shakes his head.
“Not gonna happen,” he states. “It’s a lost cause. They have so much more power than you think, Darling, and their influence goes deep in this town. It’s not just an organization, or a church, or a camp; it’s a culture.”
“We’ll see,” I retort. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we can’t shut the whole thing down, but I’m not gonna stop until I find her.”
“Willow?” Saul replies.
I freeze, the very mention of this name flooding me with potent memories. I see the dark-haired girl standing outside a coffee shop as it pours down rain. I see her gently running her fingers along a row of book spines. I see her strolling ahead of me on a hike into the mountains, leading the way.
“Willow,” I repeat, then swiftly push these thoughts from my conscious brain. “You knew her, too?”
Saul takes a deep breath and nods, slowing things down. He’s hesitant.
“Do you know where I can find her?” I ask, my body tense.
Saul nods again.
“Tell me!” I demand, coming off much more aggressive than I’d hoped.
“I can’t do that,” he replies, solemn. “It’s a death sentence. I know you miss her. God knows I miss someone, too, but as long as these demons are riding our backs, we have to stay away.”
“Not if we exorcise the demons,” I counter, a critical piece suddenly falling into place. “Actually … I’m pretty sure I already did that. I burned one alive.”
Saul just stares at me, not sure if I’m serious or not. “You what?” he finally blurts.
I shake my head, just barely keeping up with all these new ideas as they come. “I locked Willow’s demon inside a flaming car and killed it.”
“How is that possible?” Saul protests. “They’re so far beyond the limits of—”
“They’re flesh and blood,” I interrupt, reminding him of the tangible nature we’ve ascribed to these otherworldly beings.
Saul is still unconvinced. “Why would a demon burn?” he asks. “They’re from a world of eternal flame. So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.’”
I consider everything I know about these creatures and my encounters with them, walking through each of my harrowing experiences and allowing myself to catalog every moment. I think back to that time in my dark living room, and at the party, and my memories of the slab.
Suddenly, a chill tickles across my skin.
My heart skips a beat, fear pulsing through my veins and focusing my senses like a stiff shot of adrenaline. I shift awkwardly on the roof, glancing over each shoulder.
“It’s just the breeze,” Saul offers, noting my discomfort. “It gets chilly out here this time of night.”
I’m reminded of my alarm over the draft downstairs, a simple cracked window all it took to put me on edge. It’s sickening how much power a shift in temperature now holds over my mental state—Pavlov’s perfectly trained dog.
The cool breeze comes again, washing over my body like a tear between worlds.
Suddenly, it all falls into place.
“Hell is frozen,” I snap, sitting upright. “It’s not a flaming wasteland, it’s ice cold. Think about what it feels like when they’re around, what happens when they open a tear to their world.”
“Then why is every old Christian painting full of fire and brimstone?” Saul questions.