Charnel House (29 page)

Brother Peavey slammed his Bible on the podium and Bobby jumped. “All our awesome God wants is for us to love Him back,” he cried. “And we can start that by loving one another, as He commanded us to. Be kind. Exhibit the fruits of the Spirit. Give him the tithe he commanded, and he’ll reward you without measure in heaven.”

He looked out over the congregation through rheumy yellowed eyes.

“But if you give
me
a dollar, I’ll suck your
dick
. Let you come in my mouth and swallow every drop!”

The words struck Bobby like a physical blow. Brother Peavey gripped the sides of the podium and leered out at the worshipers. He looked pleased with what he saw. Bobby looked up at his father, who stared at the preacher with a rapt expression, blissfully unaware. For that matter,
everyone
seemed nonplussed. It was like they hadn’t noticed what Brother Peavey said.
Or they don’t care.
A ribbon of fear as fine as the one binding Amy Carmichael’s hair unfurled in his belly.

Brother Peavey fixed his ancient eyes on Bobby, and said, “Give me two and I’ll lick your asshole, because there ain’t a goddamn
thing
like a good rim job, is there, Bobby?”

He strode across the dais and leaped nimbly to the floor, never looking away. Bobby wanted to scream, wanted to shake his father so that he’d snap out of his hypnotic state and see what was happening, but he was held in place by that terrible blasted gaze. Brother Peavey
jumped up onto the front pew and rested one foot on the back, like Washington crossing the Delaware. His hair had grayed and now stood up in ragged clumps, Bobby saw, and fresh sores covered his lips.

“Got something to show you, Bobby,” he said, his voice thick and clotted. He smiled, revealing dead black teeth, and he ran his tongue lovingly over them. “I know you’re gonna like it.”

The minister stepped all the way onto the back of the back on the pew, balancing with the ease of a cat, then hopped to the back of the next pew. His nose broke loose and slid down his face in a smear of blood and snot, leaving behind an oozing crater between the ancient eyes. It dropped to the floor with a gelid
plopping sound. A thin mewl slipped between Bobby’s lips.

“I think you’ll want to kiss it all... night... LONG!” Brother Norman began to run across the pews in great bounding leaps as he spoke, his voice growing more and more gravelly. The festering crater that had been his nose whistled with each breath, and his scabrous lips peeled back from his rotted teeth in a feral grimace. Blackflies whirled around him like a living tornado, their hum filling the sanctuary. He unbuckled his belt and yanked it through the loops of his slacks, flinging it to one side. The heavy steel buckle hit an elderly man in the face, peeling his cheek open, and clattered to the pew beside him. Freshets of blood poured down the man’s face in sheets, but he sat unfazed, looking up toward the pulpit.

The force holding Bobby released him and he could move again. He grabbed his father’s arm and shook it, trying to get a reaction.
Anything.
The sound of Brother Norman’s dress shoes against the bare wood thundered through the sanctuary. Bobby stood to run but Norman—Brother Peavey was completely gone now, wasn’t he?—was suddenly
right there
on the pew in front of him. The hobo seized him by the neck with a scabby rough hand, jerking him off his feet.

“
Coming for you, Bobby!”
he roared in a blast of fetid heat, reaching into the front of his pants with his other hand. Bobby shrieked and fought to get away as flies began to land on him and deliver tiny stinging bites—

And found himself slumped to the side in the pew, looking up into his father’s shocked face. Just beyond, his mother stared at him through wide eyes, her brow furrowed with concern. The same look as the day before in Penn’s, he realized. Even Dana seemed stunned into an uncharacteristic stillness, the Darth Vader figurine next to her forgotten. Somewhere nearby, a baby started to wail. Bobby slowly sat up, his face burning. People all around craned their necks for a look, alarmed. The old man whose cheek had been flayed open squinted back at him, a dour expression on his wrinkled but otherwise unmarked face. Even Amy Carmichael gaped over her shoulder.

They hadn’t seen the hobo. Hadn’t heard him, hadn’t smelled him.

Hadn’t
anything.

“Is everything okay?” Brother Peavey asked from the pulpit, peering out with one hand over his eyes to shield the light shining down on him.

He was completely normal.

Bobby’s father laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

“I had a nightmare,” Bobby whispered, and saw the expression on his father’s face transform from concern into angry embarrassment in an instant.

“Everything’s fine, Brother Peavey,” his father called in a tight voice, and gave Bobby a pat on the back that seemed just a little too hard. “Looks like someone didn’t get enough sleep last night and just had himself a bad dream.”

A titter rippled through the congregation. Brother Peavey smiled warmly. “Are you telling me I’m long-winded, Bobby?”

“No, sir,” Bobby managed. Tears stung his eyes. Norman
was
coming for him, and no one knew it. Even if he said something, they’d just think he was crazy. “I guess I stayed up too late watching TV.”

“Well, most here probably think you did them a favor.” Another smattering of laughter ran through the congregation, and the minister chuckled. “I guess I’ve gone on long enough,”

He nodded at the organist, who began to play “Just As I Am” while he offered the invitation for people to come forward and accept the invitation of Jesus to be saved. Bobby slumped against his father, dejected. There was no way he could go to the preacher’s house now. What if Norman came back while they were alone? If he were trapped in the minister’s study with the hobo, he doubted he’d be as lucky escaping as he had been the day before. It felt like something out of one of Alfred Hitchcock’s movies—one of the scary ones, nothing at all like his adventures with the Three Investigators. Norman was coming for him, and he had nowhere to turn for help.

A hot tear streaked down his cheek and he wiped it away furiously before anyone saw it.

Bobby didn’t know what to do.

When the final prayer ended the service he’d made a beeline out of the sanctuary, intent on sneaking past Brother Peavey to the car lest they come face-to-face and the minister transform into Norman again, because if he did it was apparent that no one would notice. Halfway across the lobby Bobby remembered Brother Peavey planned to talk to his parents about him coming over for the afternoon, and that, brothers and sisters, was one thing that was most definitely
not
happening. Now Bobby stood in the lobby, watching the preacher through the glass exit doors as he made the rounds just outside, shaking hands and smiling and laughing.

Like nothing was wrong at all.

If he spoke with Brother Peavey to tell him he wasn’t coming—a forgotten paper due Tuesday morning would make a serviceable excuse, he thought, hoping that the lie wouldn’t condemn him to an eternity of torment—the preacher might transform into Norman again, might grab him right there in the sunshine in front of everyone and do something awful
(let you come in my mouth and swallow every drop
) to him while the parishioners smiled and nodded and went about their business of leaving. But if he did nothing, Brother Peavey was sure to catch his parents on the way out, and then one of two things would happen: he’d either
have
to go to the preacher’s house because they’d make him, under the pretext of keeping his word, or he’d have to explain to them why he’d wanted to talk to Brother Peavey in the first place. Why had he ever had such a stupid idea?

A hand touched his arm and Bobby spun, startled, to find himself face to face with Amy Carmichael. She stood holding her Bible in front of her with both hands, a tentative smile on her face. She wore a blue checked dress with a white belt and collar and she looked so beautiful that for a moment he forgot to breathe.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Sure, I’m fine,” he said, trying to return her smile.
Except there’s this hobo named Norman who said he’s coming for me, Amy, and you know what? I’m starting to believe him.

“What was your dream about?”

For a long, frightening moment Bobby thought she was talking about his dream from the night before, where she’d kissed him again and again as they lay together on a bed of rich green grass under a warm summer sun, and felt his palms go sweaty. Then he realized she was referring to his outburst during the sermon and stammered, “I dreamed Brother Peavey was trying to kill me,” before he could stop himself.

She looked past him, through the glass doors, where the preacher stood chatting with a young well-scrubbed family. “That must have been scary.”

If you only knew.
“It was.”

“How?”

“Pretty scary,” he said, thinking of the minister bounding from pew to pew, transforming into a living nightmare as he came.

She giggled, but there was no malice in it. “No, how was he trying to kill you?”

“Oh.” Bobby flushed.
Idiot!
“He turned into a monster.”

Coming for me.

Amy shivered. “That
is
scary. What kind of monster? Like a werewolf or something?”

“No, not like that,” he said, then shrugged. In his mind’s eye he saw the glistening flyblown hole where Brother Peavey’s nose had been, the terrible scabs and dead teeth. “More like a leper, like in the Bible. Or a mummy, maybe, but without the bandages.”

“Gross!”

“Yeah. I couldn’t get away from him.”

“At least you woke up.”

He grinned, for real this time. “I think I woke
everybody
up.”

They laughed, and for the moment Bobby forgot about everything except the pretty girl standing before him. That, and the way his stomach felt full of butterflies again, just like at the Barlowe house.

He found it wasn’t bad at all now.

“Well,” Amy said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’d better go before my dad comes looking for me.”

I’ll be coming for you, Bobby.
The voice in his head was faint. Distant.

She started to go, then turned back. “Do you like carnivals?”

Bobby thought that for her he would like just about anything—even crawling back under the Barlowe house with Norman the psycho child molesting hobo, if need be—but in this instance he wasn’t lying when he replied, “Sure I do.”

“Me too. Especially the scary rides.” She paused and stared at the ground between them for a moment like she wasn’t sure what to say next. “There’s a carnival set up in the parking lot at the Gateway Shopping Center. We passed it on the way to church this morning. My mom said she’d take me tomorrow at noon since there’s no school. If you wanted to meet me there.”

Bobby thought there was a very real chance his heart was going to explode in his chest.

“That’d be awesome,” he said. His voice sounded to him like it was coming to him down a long tunnel. One lined with rainbows and daisies and puppies.

“It’s a date, then,” she said, smiling shyly. Blush colored her cheeks. “See you tomorrow.”

He watched her cross the parking lot, blonde ponytail swinging from side to side, his mind in a faraway place where monsters didn’t exist. When he lost her among the cars he returned to the matter at hand: dealing with Brother Peavey. The story about a report due Tuesday would have to do. Even if God sent him to hell for lying, as long as it didn’t happen until after his date with Amy, Bobby thought he could live with that.

After my date with Amy.
Didn’t those words have such a
fine
ring to them?

He pushed through the door and walked into the morning sun, squinting. It took him a second to spot Brother Peavey, and when he did his heart fell. The minister was talking to his father and mother, and they were all looking right at him. His father beckoned him over. Bobby crossed the lot slowly, praying that Brother Peavey
stayed
Brother Peavey. He wished he were somewhere else.

Kissing Amy Carmichael in a field, perhaps.

Bobby squeezed between his parents and Dad draped an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close. “Brother Peavey tells us you’d like to have lunch at his house today.”

“No!” Bobby snapped.
Too quick.
“I mean, I wanted to, but then I remembered I have a book report due Tuesday and I haven’t even started reading the book yet.”

Even though he knew God wasn’t going to strike him dead right then and there—if Tanner and Joey were still around after all the things they did and said, he didn’t think one little lie would invoke wrath from the heavens—he hated doing it. But what choice did he have?

Brother Peavey reached for him and Bobby flinched, but the minister only tousled his hair. “That’s alright, son. I remember many a Sunday afternoon spent doing schoolwork I’d put off until the last minute.”

Bobby tried to smile, but didn’t quite make it. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re welcome over anytime.”

“Thank you, Brother Peavey,” Mom said. “Now, Bobby, I think you owe someone an apology.”

Brother Peavey held up his hand, smiling. “Not necessary. If I had a dollar for every time I fell asleep when my father was preaching, I’d be a rich man.”

“I’m sorry,” Bobby said.
Even though I didn’t do anything wrong.

“It won’t happen again,” his mother said. There was a note of finality in her voice.

Dana skipped up then, the Darth Vader figurine in one hand and her pink Bible in the other. “Can we go to McDonald’s for lunch?”

“We’ll see,” Dad said—which they all knew was parent-speak for
no—
and shook hands with Brother Peavey. Bobby relaxed a little as they walked to the car. That hadn’t been bad at all.

They didn’t go to McDonald’s for lunch, but Sizzler, and over his chopped steak—a stupid name, because it was obviously just a hamburger served with a piece of Texas toast instead of a bun—Bobby thought about his morning, trying to make sense of it. He had obviously been wrong about Norman being possessed. It seemed like Norman was the one who possessed people, like his mother and Brother Peavey. Was that even possible?

What if Norman was Satan himself?

The thought chilled Bobby. How could he fight that? If Norman was able to possess someone as godly as Brother Peavey with ease, what chance did a kid like him have? Worse, there was no one he could talk to about it, because no one else seemed to see him. Besides, the only grownups he really knew outside of his parents and Brother Peavey were his teachers at school and there was no way he was going to talk to any of them. Being thought crazy was the sort of thing that went on your permanent record, he knew. His mom was out, but maybe his dad? He looked across the table at his father and found he was already looking back, his brow furrowed with worry.
Uh oh
.

Bobby pushed thoughts of Norman out of his mind and focused on acting normal for the rest of the meal, but to his dismay the look never left his father’s face, and when they got home, as soon as they were through the door Dad said, “Dana, go play in your room.”

“Is Bobby in trouble?”

“Go on, now.” His tone brooked no argument.

She went, not willingly... and not before flashing Bobby a sympathetic look. Goodness knew she’d been the one in the hot seat enough times.

“Wait for me in the den, Bobby,” his dad said.

Bobby went through the doorway connecting the kitchen and den and took a seat on the brick fireplace hearth. If he sat on the couch, his parents would have to stand over him to lecture, or yell, or whatever it was they had planned. Normally that wasn’t a problem; he understood that when you were in trouble you needed to be a little submissive, but today was different.

Today one of them might not be themselves.

The thought of being trapped on the couch while Norman possessed one of them—
what if he could take over them both?
—filled him with bleak terror. There would be nowhere to go, despite there being four doorways in the room. The instant he made a move Norman would be on him, pinning him on the deep couch to do God only knew what. Even if it was only one of them, the other would blithely sit there and watch Norman attack, perhaps smiling blandly, the way his father had when Norman was racing toward him in the sanctuary. Bobby didn’t think his mind could take that again.

From the hearth, however, the sky was the limit. Even if they stood over him instead of sitting on the empty couch, being so low gave him an advantage. He could dart between them, or around them, or just about any way he wanted. Then he had his choice of ways to escape: the back door next to the fireplace; the doorway to the kitchen and garage beyond; the door to the living room, where the front door was; and the doorway to the hall, which gave him the choice of any bedroom or bathroom and the windows they contained. He liked those chances a lot more.
Just the way Starsky and Hutch would think.
Good detectives always knew how to get out of a sticky situation, because bad guys were constantly trying to kill them.

A situation which suddenly felt all too personal.

He could hear his parents in the kitchen, talking in low voices. About him, he was sure. They had to present a unified front when they yelled at him for falling asleep in church and embarrassing them. He understood, and at some level he appreciated it, even if he wasn’t so crazy about getting in trouble. He knew they loved him and were worried, and better, weren’t going to hit him with a belt the way Uncle Roger would had Tanner done the same thing.

If Tanner survived the church falling on him when he crossed the threshold, that was.

What if they ground me and I can’t go to the carnival tomorrow?
The thought sobered him. That might be even worse than having one of them transform into Norman. Amy would be waiting for him, and if he didn’t show up, he was certain there’d be plenty of other boys willing to ride the Ferris Wheel with her, or win her a stuffed bear. She was beautiful. This was his chance—a scary ride was an
awesome
place to try holding her hand—and he may have blown it before he even knew he had it. All because of Norman.

All because of Joey Garraty.

And that was really the truth of it, wasn’t it? If Joey hadn’t been such a jerk to him, none of this would have happened. After he went into the house, they should have simply walked back down to Tanner’s and been done with it. Pride. That’s what Joey Garraty’s problem was. One of the worst sins, according to Brother Peavey, because pride made you rely too much on yourself and not enough on God. Someone like Joey Garraty probably didn’t even
believe
in God. Which, now that he thought about it, was probably just another form of pride.

“We want to talk to you, Bobby,” his father said as he came through the doorway from the kitchen.

Mom was right behind him. “About what happened in church.”

“Yessir,” Bobby said, nodding. “Yes’m.”

They sat at either end of the couch, but just as Bobby was mentally high-fiving himself for being so smart his father patted the cushion between them and said, “Why don’t you come sit over here?”