Tucker’s Grove Read Online Free PDF Page B

strong and protected from evil. I will make it so. We w ill make it so. We will be a community, a bastion against darkness.”
    He turned to the altar and touched the demon jar. “ You have seen me cast out demons. The most powerful and most dange r ous of those evil fallen angels are here, trapped inside this urn.” H e brushed the surface of the vessel. “ They are locked there by the grace of God, by the holy symbols… and by the gift of blood.”
    Jerome extended his thumb toward the congregation. “ Today, we make one grand final summoning to draw out all the evils and ills that permeate this land, that permeate our hearts. We will draw away the pain and darkness, so that Tucker ’ s Grove can be a perfect place, a shining example for mankind.”
    The people in the church shouted their Amens. Some stood from the pews.
    “ A drop of b lood,” Jerome said, “ from me, from you — from all of you, and this town will lock away those evil spirits fore v er.” With a flick of his knife, he sliced open his thumb once more, this time a little more extravagantly than he ’ d expected. The blood flowed, and he touched it to the Cross symbol so that the ancient, mysterious urn drank the scarlet liquid. He held up the knife. “ Who will be the first to join me?”
    The people in the front pew nearly fell over themselves to come to the altar. Each took up the knife, drew blood, and touched red thumbprints or fingerprints to the pale ivory curves of the ancient vessel.
    The second row came forward, jostling and pushing one a n other. Some wept with joy, while others closed their eyes and prayed as they made their offerin g. This was not like a somber Communion ceremony: They were an army laying siege to the evil things that had troubled their lives.
    With Jerome ’ s command, a great wind of shadows, dark thoughts, evil deeds, frightening memories — the very manifest a tion of si n — swept up the hills and blew like a quiet winter wind into the church. The congregation could sense how much more darkness the demon jar was drinking, but their blood maintained the seal, trapped the bad things forever.
    Jerome felt his heart swell with lo ve for these people, his pe o ple. Mollie stood looking preoccupied, maybe a bit worried. He slipped his arm around his wife ’ s waist. “ Why are you so quiet, my dear? This is our finest, most perfect hour.”
    Mollie bit her lower lip and shook her head, afraid to answer at first. Finally, she said, “ All that blood… Instead of trapping the demons, what if it ’ s feeding them?”
    With a great outcry, the last of the parishioners stumbled back from the urn. The incredibly old Egyptian — or Sumerian, or A s syrian — vessel had begun to glow a faint orange, like fire within an eggshell. The embellished clay walls pulsed in a heartbeat, as if the demons inside were fighting and struggling to break free.
    Jerome took a deep breath, but could find no words. He had gathered numerous demons from across the countryside on his travels up to Wisconsin, collected them from suffering people over the course of his journey. Victims had come to him from far and wide, and he had torn out the demons and imprisoned them in the vessel, carried th e m here to his new town.
    And they were all furious.
    Cracks appeared in the ivory ceramic, then fire belched out of the fissures. The demon jar exploded with a thunderstorm whir l wind of black screaming voices, buzzing flies. Howling anger and dripping venge ance, they roared out with enough force to snuff a tornado.
    Parishioners ducked, throwing themselves onto the pews, onto the floor. The unleashed demons filled the church and swirled around; some streaked through the open front door. A black smoky jet sma shed through the stained-glass window, sending jewel-toned shards flying in every direction.
    The evil blackness whistled around Jerome and Mollie. He grabbed his wife, tried to protect her, but he didn ’ t know how. A murky, miasmic