The Hum (22 page)

here?”

“I wish I knew. Maybe this will help shed some light on it.” Russell replied, holding up the tattered and torn journal given him by Gary.

“Who was that man down there?”

“Someone I met on the plane. He told me a little about the people of Taos, and I’m hoping this book will tell us more.”

“Do you think he’s…he’s dead? Did that thing eat him too?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“I think so. We should go, babe. Let’s get out of here, get away from that thing.

CHAPTER 36

Back in the safety of their home, Russell had a hard time letting the kids, Sam, and his parents out of his sight. They decided it best for the kids to sleep in their room for the night, neither of them chancing separation again. Their four bedroom home was the perfect size to house all of them, and its location at the end of a long gravel driveway ideal for keeping watch in case of intruders.

Knowing Kevin Black was still unaccounted for, Russell called Deputy Ramos and put an All Points Bulletin (APB) out for him. The entire state of Virginia was basically on the lookout for the kidnapping murderer. With over ten different weapons in his private arsenal, Russell made sure each grownup had their own personal protector, as well as posting himself on guard by the front door.

After the kids were tucked safely in his king sized bed, Russell went back out to the living area and took his seat across from his parents. He could see the eyes of Sam and his parents focused on the journal lying on the coffee table, almost as if they expected it to suddenly open up and read itself.

“Can you please tell us what’s going on around here, Russ?” Russell’s father, George Jent said.

“I’ll do my best, but I’m still trying to understand some of it myself. You already know about Deputy Carlson being killed and Sam being kidnapped, so I’ll fill in the blanks there first. We did some digging around and found out that the man who gunned down my deputy is from a small town in New Mexico called Taos. About eight years ago, another murderer came through here and he was also from the same town.”

“The same town?” George Jent asked incredulous
ly.

“Yes, and there’s more. Countless murderers from
Taos have been killing people throughout the country and the world. And it gets even weirder: they all claim to hear this strange hum and have really bad headaches prior to murdering. The kicker is that every single one of them is now either dead or in a mental asylum.” Russell gave his parents a few minutes to digest everything. Looking at Sam’s face, he could tell she was still pretty shaken by the entire ordeal.

“The only reason we’re here with you today is because of a man named Gary Roseburg.  I met him on the plane on my way back from Taos.  He was in the process of clueing me in on this craziness when another guy attacked and tried to stab a pen in his neck.” Russell could tell from the shock in his parents’ eyes that he’d have to take it slow.  They didn’t live in his world—in theirs, death only occurred as a result of old age.

“We managed to catch the man that killed Deputy Carlson, but he’s in a coma at the hospital here in Wise.  Most of what Gary told me was hard to understand.  That is, until I stepped foot inside that tunnel tonight.”

Looking over at Sam, Russell tried to gauge her thoughts on what they’d seen. She seemed distant, a million miles away. He wondered if she’d ever be able to sleep peacefully again after all they’d been through.  Would he, for that matter?

Over his shoulder, Russell could see the sun making its debut. The mountainside behind their home provided a pretty amazing view to wake up to every morning, even more so today.  The daylight would make it easier to spot Mr. Black, in case he decided to make a second appearance. And Russell hoped he did.

Picking back up where he’d left off, Russell said, “There’s evil at play here in our country. Gary’s journal will most likely provide us with a better overall picture of what we’re up against, but from what I’ve already gathered, this thing is dark and ancient.” Turning his attention to Sam, Russell said, “I had a dream or a vision of people sacrificing themselves to that thing we witnessed down in the tunnel. I won’t go into detail, but suffice it to say that creature down there seems to be feasting and growing stronger from those sacrifices.”

“But why here, Russell? If the humming sound originated in Taos, why...why has it moved here?” Sam’s voice broke as she asked.

“From what I read on this thing, the hum seems to follow its hearers throughout the world. The investigation conducted by Congress found a link to the hum somewhere up in northern Michigan, but nothing conclusive came of it.”

“This tunnel you mentioned—do you think it goes all around the country?” George Jent asked.

“I do. I believe this thing is traveling underneath us as we speak.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Are you trying to keep me from sleeping ever again?”

“Sorry, babe.  Just trying to give everyone a better understanding of what we’re dealing with here.”

“How do we stop it?  Can we stop it?” Sam asked. “That part I’m not too sure of. I’m hoping that journal can help us with that. Gary mentioned something about this thing having ties to the Catholic Church and the Sadducees and Pharisees of the Bible. He inferred the former was a direct descendant of the latter.” Seeing the look on his father’s face, Russell asked, “What?”

“I’ve always thought the same thing myself. The way the Pope and the saints are worshipped, the way priests are used as an intercessory for God, and their desire to be put in the high places is more than a little coincidental.  What I don’t understand is how that thing you saw ties into the church.” George Jent said. “We could sit here and speculate all day or we could open that and read.” Ruth Jent said, pointing to the journal and speaking her first words since they’d

began their little gathering.”

Russell smiled.  His mom had always been one to cut to the chase, get to the point. She was a strong woman, born and bred in a small town in the poorest of households. But she’d overcame; she’d put herself through college and had become a nurse.

Reaching towards the tattered book, Russell’s mind buzzed at the possible things they might soon hear. “Are you sure?” Russell asked, addressing Everyone in the room.

After receiving three head nods, he cracked the journal and began.

Taking note of the opening title and date:
Gary Roseburg, December 2000
, Russell quickly scanned to the back of the journal. It was today’s date: March

15th, 2013. Doing the math in his head, he said, “He’s been following this thing over twelve years.”
I worked for the St. Ignatius Loyola Catholic Church

in the small town of St. Ignace, Michigan for almost
five
years, after graduating college in 1995.  Over time, I learned a lot about the town as well as its founding father, Ignatius of Loyola (1491 1556).  He was a Spanish knight from a local Basque noble family, a hermit, and he became a priest in 1537.  He founded the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) and was its first Superior General. Ignatius emerged as a religious leader during the Counter-Reformation. His devotion to the Catholic
Church was characterized by absolute obedience to the Pope.  He was known to drop everything at the chance to just be in the vicinity of his papacy, even if he wasn’t even in the same town. From what I read, Ignatius didn’t covet the office or the Pope—he simply worshipped the ground he walked on. Rumor was that he’d kill his own son, if the Pope ordered him to do so. He experienced a vision of the Virgin Mary and the infant Jesus while at the shrine of Our Lady of Montserrat in March 1522. As a result, he went to Manresa, where he began praying for seven hours a day, often in a nearby cave, while formulating the fundamentals of the Spiritual Exercises. I believe his time in that cave has something to do with the tunnel system and the giant hole I discovered later. In September 1523, Loyola reached the Holy Land with hopes of settling there, but was sent back to Europe by the Franciscans. Between  1524  and  1537,  Ignatius  studied  theology and Latin in the University of Alcalá and then in Paris. In 1534, he arrived in the latter city during the same period of anti-Protestant turmoil which forced John Calvin to flee France. Ignatius and a few followers bound themselves by vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. In 1539, they formed the Society of Jesus, approved in 1540 by Pope Paul III, as well as his Spiritual Exercises approved in 1548. Loyola also composed the Constitutions of the Society. Ignatius was said to disappear for days, and each time he came back, he looked a little older.  He was often compared to Moses, after he’d visited the Mount. People closest to him claimed he appeared to be dying right before their very eyes. But he was in perfect health; every doctor he saw, raved about his strong heart and lungs. He died in July 1556, but his body disappeared before he could be officially buried.  Comparisons with the resurrection of Christ abounded, leading to his beatification by Pope Paul V in 1609.  He was then canonized by Pope Gregory XV in 1622, and declared
patron of all spiritual retreats by Pope Pius XI in 1922. They also created the Ignatius feast day in his honor; it is celebrated on July 31.

I give all this background on Ignatius, because I believe I actually saw him once. I know how this might sound, and at first, I thought I was going crazy myself. Living and working in the town and in the church, I saw numerous portraits as well as sculptures of the man, so let me assure you that the person I saw was either Ignatius himself or an exact look alike. Initially, I believed it was the latter, but there were too many strange circumstances surrounding my happening upon the great Saint.

December 19th, 2000

It was the coldest winter on record for our great state, so my going on a hunt in the Hiawatha National Forrest might not have been my brightest idea to date. Still, I loved the outdoors, and the thought of hunting the vast woodlands there greatly appealed to my sense of manliness. You’re probably thinking it a little weird for a priest to go hunting and actually kill a living, breathing animal, but if you lived in the Upper Peninsula of my state, you’d change your mind. Besides, God gave us the animals to use for food and clothing, not to treat better than other humans. This probably isn’t the right time or place, but I feel the need to rant about animal lovers putting their cats and dogs above their fellow brothers and sisters. How did we get so off track from what God intended? Sorry for my digression.

“I like this man already.” George Jent said. “Of course, I’ve never been much of an animal lover. I think we need to send our dog lovers and their pets to China for a year, so they can see how mutts should be treated.”

“Are you finished?” Ruth Jent asked. George flushed and nodded his head. Russell continued reading.

I  made  it  into  the  woods at around five in the
morning, walked for a good hour and took up position just to the right of a clearing surrounded by four perfectly placed pines. Things were silent for a spell, but it wasn’t long before I began hearing movement about fifty yards to my front. Thinking it my prize kill, I pulled up my shotgun and waited for it to come into view. You’ll have to forgive my sloppy penmanship from this point on, because of what I saw this morning. Father Joseph, a priest from another church in the area was walking with a man whom I didn’t immediately recognize. Putting my gun aside, I came out of my hiding spot and went over to speak with the two men. I made it within fifteen feet, when Father Joseph suddenly disappeared. He simple vanished. The other man appeared to be looking down, so I jogged over to his side, and tried to find the missing priest.

It took Russell a few seconds to decipher the next few sentences, because they were pretty jumbled and almost indiscernible.

When the man’s eyes locked upon mine, I was shocked to see the face of St. Ignatius staring back at me. In my current state, I almost fell headfirst into the black hole that I was somehow standing at the brink of. Slowly, my mind began to understand what had become of Father Joseph, but I was still having a hard time with Ignatius. Finding my tongue, I asked him what was going on, and who he was, but he didn’t bother responding to either of my questions. He simply stepped forward and dropped into the same hole. I was terrified by this time, and everything within me screamed run. But it wasn’t until that hole began to close up that I actually found my feet. I ran without looking back, until I made it to the safety of my car. Needless to say, I have no plans to ever go hunting again, nor a shotgun to do so—mine is still somewhere out in that Forrest.

December 21st 2000
, 2 Days After I Happened Upon

The Hole & The First Day of Winter

I haven’t left my home since my little hunting excursion and the things I saw there.  As I sit here drinking my coffee, reading the morning paper...Oh no!

CHAPTER 37

Russell paused and picked up the story at the next entry.

December 22nd

It took me awhile to recover yesterday, after seeing the face of Father Joseph plastered on the front page of our local paper.  The caption read: Body of Local Priest Found in Hiawatha National Forrest. I’m not sure what’s going on around here, but dead priests and resurrected ones aren’t exactly something I want to be a part of.  I’m afraid to leave, terrified at the thought of seeing Ignatius again.  I saw Father Joseph disappear into that hole, and two days later, his body magically appears in that same forest? Am I losing my mind? Did I kill him?  Why?  Nothing is making any sense.

December 24th Christmas Eve

Went back into work today.  Everything’s back to business as usual, but I’m finding it hard to minister after everything I’ve seen as of late. I’ve been haunted by horrible nightmares, sleep is no longer a friend of mine. St. Ignatius’s body, dead and decaying keeps chasing me to the brink of that same hole.  It always ends the same: I fall helplessly into the darkness,
never to return. I yell out, but no one’s around to hear my cries.  I fear my God has forsaken me, by allowing me to see this evil. I admit my naiveté’ in thinking such things were of times past, never to be seen or heard of again.  I was wrong, dead wrong.

May 15th, 2002

It has been nearly two years since my last entry, and my  prayers  that  this  thing  was  finally  behind  me have gone unanswered.  Either that or what I just witnessed is my answer.  I was performing my normal Friday afternoon confessional duties, when the individual next to me started talking.  She led off with the required Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, which honestly is offensive even to me.  I’ve slowly come to realize that I have no power to forgive sins, only God can do so. Still, ten years of schooling and brainwashing is enough to convince anyone that they’re on equal terms with the Creator.  This realization only dawned on me as of late, and it has made me rethink my current line of work, as well as my faith in general. More digression—sorry. The woman went on to tell me that she started hearing a strange humming sound about a month prior, but thought nothing of it until it began to consume her days and nights.  She said extreme headaches soon followed, as well as a desire to kill.  At that point, I knew I had to intervene right away.  I did something we priests are never supposed to do—I pulled back the curtain and looked at the woman’s face. She was shocked by my actions, but agreed to speak with me in my private chambers. After an exhausting four hours of talking with her, I learned that she had indeed killed someone.  She’d lured a local Senator’s son from the area into her home and murdered him.  It was major news in our area, and I knew the police were still looking for the killer. Every instinct within me screamed, kick her out and call the cops
immediately, but I could tell the woman hadn’t acted of her own accord. She kept telling me that the hum made her kill the man, and I initially thought her mad. I was sitting in my small office with a crazy woman, and my heart went out to her. She needed help, my help. She came to me seeking not only repentance, but a means to help rid her of the headaches and relentless hum inside her head. I eventually talked her into allowing me to call the authorities, by telling her that they could help stop the humming sound inside her head.

The Day After Christmas

I received a call today from the police, stating that the woman committed suicide inside the temporary holding facility they’d placed her in.  I’m devastated inside.  What have I done? What is going on here?

Two Days Later

Senator Holden announced today that he won’t be running for a fourth term in office.  He cited the loss of his son, and lack of time spent with his wife and daughter as his reasoning for leaving office.  I’m left with more questions, none of which I understand.

July 4th, 2003

I’d like to say everything ceased and I’m back to normal again, but the arrival of a certain stranger to our town has once again sent my life into flux. Aaron Rosario was by all accounts your average young man.  He stood around five foot eight, was of medium build, and had brown hair, blue eyes.  But I could tell right away there was something wrong with him. He looked old for his age, worn.  His blue eyes looked sad, haunted almost. He’d moved into my apartment building the year prior, and regularly sought my advice for the goings
on in his life. He said he was from a small town called Taos, in New Mexico, and that he felt led to this area. With the woman from my confessional that committed suicide also being from that same place, I was naturally drawn to Aaron.  It took a few months, but I eventually learned that he left his hometown because he was accused of killing a tourist there when he was only sixteen. Like the woman the year prior, he claimed to hear a strange humming sound and experienced nose bleeds and migraines. He went on to say he hadn’t dealt with any of the above mentioned things since arriving in St. Ignace. Warning bells rang through my head day in and day out, but once again I felt compelled to be there for the man.

It all blew up in my face two days ago, when Aaron lost it and killed a family vacationing at Kewadin Casino Lakefront Inn here in town.  I was left in shock and with a feeling of being duped by the man.

July 6th, 2003

Just learned that the family Aaron killed two days ago was that of a prominent Protestant Minister, Carl McGammon. I’m fearful of what might come next.

Marking his place in the journal, Russell excitedly said, “I remember that murder. If I wasn’t working on the Stalker Case, I would’ve gotten it.  This thing is getting scarier by the minute.  Resurrected Catholic Saints, sacrificial priests, and one murder after another.”

“I don’t get it.  Didn’t Mr. Roseburg say this had something to do with the Catholics trying to regain power? This sounds more like they’re trying to get rid of religion altogether.” Sam said perplexed.

“Surely the Catholic Church knows the hurdles they will run into, if they’re attempting to take over as the supreme religion around the country? There are numerous sects throughout each state, let alone the entire country.”

“It’s not as daunting a task, if you remove the obstacles in your way.”  Russell said, realization dawning on him as to what was going on around them.

“If that’s the case, then how do we stop it?” George

Jent asked.

A loud crash put an immediate halt to their conversation. Russell jumped up and ran to the window to see what the commotion was all about. He kept his shotgun at the ready position, prepared for the worst. Outside, he saw a big blue Ford F250 pickup truck backing away from his cruiser. The damage was hard to look at—the trunk was now part of the back seat, and the front end of his car looked like it was hugging the large oak tree in front of it.

The driver hopped out, and to Russell’s surprise, it wasn’t Kevin Black. Sheriff Bowman’s sun beaten body began making his way towards the front porch.  He was carrying a sawed-off pump shotgun, and Russell realized too late that he was planning on using it.  The Sheriff sighted in on the front door and sent it flying inward into itself.  It somehow managed to hold onto its hinges, but the damage was irreparable.

As he pulled away from the window, Russell thought he heard another door close on the vehicle that had just assaulted his prized cruiser, but he couldn’t be sure.  Running back to where his family lay huddled together on the floor, he quickly got them moving towards the basement.

The door to his bedroom suddenly flew open and a scared little boy and girl threw themselves around his legs. “We’ve got to get down to the basement,” he yelled over more shotgun blasts. “Move it! Go, go!”

Russell returned fire with his own shotgun, not

bothering to take aim.

“I know you’re in there, Sheriff Jent. Look, I don’t want to harm your family. If you’ll just come with me, I’ll leave them alone.”

For a brief second, Russell entertained the idea. It was Sam’s hard yank on his arm and the stern look on her face that talked him out of it.

The basement door stood ajar at the far end of the hallway, taking Russell off-guard. He never left it open, because he truthfully didn’t like the idea of all the heat from upstairs heading in that direction. Even though it wasn’t a large area, the extra square footage would still put a strain on his heat pump over time.

When Kevin Black stepped out from behind the door and sent a burst spraying into his father’s abdomen, Russell knew right away that Kevin was the passenger that he’d heard exit the vehicle shortly after Sheriff Bowman. He quickly brought up his own weapon and pulled the trigger. When the smoke and dust cleared, Mr. Black had somehow managed to evade his return fire.

The feeling of hot led slamming into his back and legs sent Russell to the floor, clutching his wounds. He watched helplessly as his precious family was pelted with the same spray. He thought he saw his sweet baby boy being lifted off the floor and…everything went black.

Smoke filled his lungs, threatening to smother him to death. Russell woke up screaming and flailing. He quickly found that he couldn’t move his arms or his feet. Looking around the smoke-filled room, he noticed that they’d tied him to his own bed and set his place on fire.
Sam! The kids!
He had to do something. He had to find them, save them. He pulled against the duct tape holding him hostage, but it wouldn’t give enough for him to slip his wrists free. Exhaustion and a lack of oxygen had him on the brink of passing out, when an idea suddenly occurred to him.
Kick the wooden footboard and see if you can break the bed!

The bed collapsed to the floor after five consecutive

blows from the heels of his hiking boots. Using his strong abdominal muscles, Russell then kicked his legs back and over to his right side, managing to rip the tape from them.

Russell took a few minutes to gather what little breath he could, and then he jumped upward and threw his legs underneath him. In theory, he would now be able to use his legs and arms together to rip his wrists free from the tape. Five, six, seven unsuccessful attempts and he was once again left an exhausted mess on the bed.

“Russ? Russ? Where are you?”