There are no eyelids left to narrow or widen, but I get the distinct impression Pastor Bend is keenly aware of what’s happening, still sensing the blue liquid as it sloshes around his brand-new form.
A jagged, glowing rip in time and space appears before the demon, opening wide as the creature slips through, then swiftly closing behind.
Aside from the mangled shell of a body that lies before us, there’s no trace they were ever here at all.
Keep moving.
Once again, we turn and dash away from the raucous bedlam, weaving through plumes of flame that rise higher and higher as they spread into the forest. I lead our trio along the edge of the towering blazes, slinking close to the heat in an effort to keep the demons at bay, but the farther we travel, the more I realize these efforts are meaningless.
As my analytical mind continues to churn, the truth gradually becomes apparent. The creatures aren’t after us.
As we finally reach the edge of the clearing, I slow my retreat and turn back to the chaos.
“What are you doing?” Saul cries out, anxious to push onward. “We gotta go!”
My eyes dart from one macabre scene to the next, the pattern I’ve been sensing now fully revealed in all its diabolical glory.
Across the clearing my gaze locks with a crowd of other campers, tired and scared but completely unharmed as they watch the chaos unfold. I recognize each and every one of them as captives from below, along with the boy from the archery range.
We’re all here, and not a scratch on us.
Meanwhile, screams of horror continue ringing out through the night, camp counselors receiving judgment from the very creatures they hired to do the judging.
Religious lore of all stripes teaches of entities who act as enforcers, and if you believe in these creatures then the truth of their verdicts often comes as a package deal. If angels and demons exist, their motivations might as well fit the profile we’ve laid out for them.
Now, however, I know the truth.
Whatever these beings are, whether spiritually manifested or defined by the same science that governs the rest of us, it’s clear their moral scale is not perfectly calibrated with the church’s.
Certainly not as much as the congregation would have me believe.
I have no doubt the culture of these monsters revolves around pain, punishment, and judgment, but once the church’s shackles fall away, they answer to an even higher cosmic assessment of right and wrong.
What that is, I’m not sure, but it certainly doesn’t have a problem with gay people.
Forcing bigoted views on others and ramming them through a destructive system of conversion therapy, however, appears to be a massive ethical transgression.
I watch as the boy from the range starts gathering his fellow campers, calling out to them in a fervent, triumphant tone. The others are nodding along, raising their voices to join him, and although the cacophony of grinding thrash metal and breaking bones is too much to hear exactly what they’re saying, I think I get the point.
Soon enough, the former prisoners are gathering large sticks from the woods, wrapping fabric around the ends, and then igniting these makeshift torches with the nearby fires.
The camper from the archery range pumps his fist in the air one last time—delivering the most ferocious battle cry an angsty teen has ever mustered—then starts trudging his way through the woods, back toward the camp’s faculty center. The rest of the campers follow close behind.
* * *
As Camp Damascus continues to burn, echoes of snapping wood and bone filling the air, our trio turns and disappears into the forest. We’re headed the opposite direction, taking our time without the threat of demons or the people who haphazardly wield them.
We move in silence.
It’s not long before we arrive back at Willow’s vehicle, standing on the edge of the mountain and gazing across Neverton below. It’s an absolutely glorious vista, and while I’ve witnessed it plenty of times, there’s something special about tonight’s.
A weight has been lifted, not just from us, but from every victim of that terrible place.
I glance over to catch Saul enjoying a similar moment of reflection. He’s not wearing any headphones, his meditation holding its own without the help of any particular soundtrack.
Willow steps next to me, and as she does I turn to meet her gaze. Our eyes lock, and suddenly a powerful urge overtakes my body.
“Hey” is all she says, a million little things communicated within the breathless tone of this singular word.
I can’t help the smile that works its way across my lips, an uncontrollable display of the lurking joy that bubbles its way to the surface and fully consumes me.
We don’t hesitate, refusing to wait a second longer before our lips meet in a passionate eruption. We melt into each other, all the stress and strain and fear that kept us at arm’s length finally crumbling away.
This is so much better than the memory of our last kiss, not only thanks to the visceral warmth of her body against mine, but for the future that lies stretched out before us. This isn’t just some hazy recollection that could dissipate at any moment, it’s the real thing.
Memories come and go, but the present is ours.
Within the softness of her lips and the tickle of her hair as it frames my cheeks, I discover a safety unlike anything I’ve ever known, a sense of true acceptance.
Meanwhile, the flames continue billowing into the sky behind us, a raging inferno where Camp Damascus once stood. The blaze is so large that its orange, mountainside glow illuminates the entire Neverton valley.
My shadow stretches on for miles, fully engulfing the city below.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHUCK TINGLE is a mysterious force of energy behind sunglasses and a pink mask. He is also an anonymous author of romance, horror, and fantasy. Tingle was born in Home of Truth, Utah, and now splits his time between Billings, Montana, and Los Angeles, California. Tingle writes to prove love is real, because love is the most important tool we have when resisting the endless cosmic void. Not everything people say about Tingle is true, but the important parts are. You can sign up for email updates here.
Find him on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook @ChuckTingle.