“Just a wild guess, and here’s another stab in the dark, I reckon you knew most of the fellas you saw in the house didn’t you?” They both nodded back. “Well it don’t matter a damn who the hell they were but it makes it a whole lot more dangerous because there’s more of them. They’ve obviously been doing this kinda thing for a long time and not been found out, so they are organised and not stupid. We need to be very careful now.”
“That’s for damn sure,” answered George, “so what do we do now?”
“Stick to the plan, take Josh over to John’s place then meet up with the others in the hills. I doubt all of this outfit will go up there but I reckon at least a few will and I’m betting the ringleader will be out in front. You all still in?” They all nodded affirmatively.
“I want to go home!” pleaded Josh. “I want to see my mom!”
“You will Josh, I promise”, said Ed, “but I need you to be really brave for just a little longer. We can’t go back to your house as that’s maybe the first place those men will look, and we want to keep you safe. Stay with John’s wife for just a little while and I’ll bring your mother to you, then you can go home together, deal?” The boy didn’t look convinced; he put his head down but eventually gave the slightest of nods. “Well done son, I knew you were made of strong stuff, let’s go!” They jumped back in the truck and headed for John’s house.
At the ranch they had just left, the time was five off twelve and the gathering was pulling up their hoods and walking to the front door. They were in a single line, keeping to the hierarchy of their coven. The man dressed all in white lead the procession, followed by the crimson-clad member, then a string of burgundy-robed men. The white-robed man flicked on a switch that bathed the outside in bright white light, then opened the front door and began to walk out with the rest following close behind, heads lowered.
“Argh shoot!” He stopped dead, causing the others behind to bump into each other like a fast braking train. They all looked up and stared at the door, now well lit by the lights from the hall. The red paint was still dripping down in places. The lead man pulled his hood all the way back. Sheriff Rosen’s skeletal face showed absolute fury. He reached forward and touched the paint. His fingers came away red and sticky. He smelt the liquid. The others had gathered around behind him. They could all read the words ‘WE WILL BE AVENGED’ and see the piece of ribbon thumb-tacked above it.
“Is it blood?” somebody behind him asked worriedly. “It’s got to be blood!”
“No, it’s paint, just paint.” He growled through clenched teeth.
“It can’t be them… can it?” the same winy voice asked.
Rosen turned to look at the gathering. “Of course not numbnuts! Ghosts don’t use paint as far as I know, I reckon it’s that salesman who’s been snoppin’ around and that stuck-up bitch from the library, jeez, she’s stuck up higher than a light pole! Well, we’ll sort them out soon enough, but let’s go do what needs to be done to her dimwit kid.”
There were some nodding heads but some of the faces weren’t convinced.
“How would they know?” asked the rotund motel manager, “there is only one place they could have got that ribbon, I recognise it, we all do.” He voiced what some of the group were thinking and murmurs of agreement came from other individuals.
The crimson-robed man pulled back his hood so he could look into the eyes of those gathered. The murmurs drizzled away to silence as Maurice Willets, Mayor of Ludlow took in the faces of the worried crowd. The haggard face of the octogenarian showed limited patience, all of them there being very aware of his infamous short temper. He raised a nicotine-stained hand up to the group in a pacifying way.
“Now look here,” his deep, raspy voice boomed out, “we have had many times when we have come under scrutiny, and never have we succumbed to panic, and we have always prevailed, even if it meant taking drastic and sometimes unsavoury action.” He paused for effect. “This time is no different, if we keep our heads, this small dilemma we have here will resolve itself I have no doubt, they are just a nuisance, an itch on our collective backsides, nothing more. Come now my friends, let us continue with the service, then we will rid ourselves of this minor irritation.” The short speech from the ageing statesman seemed to calm the more nervous of the group. After checking amongst them for any sign of doubt, he nodded to himself, replaced his hood then signalled to the Sheriff. “Brother Rosen, please let us continue.”
The group replaced their hoods and continued in a single file towards the large barn, but more than one of them gave a wary glance at the message and ribbon as they passed across the threshold of the house. The procession kicked up a fine cloud of dust as they made their way to the barn, Rosen, in particular, looking around the front yard for unwelcome visitors, his right hand hidden deep within the folds of the robe gripped the butt of his 38 Police Special.
As Rosen stepped through the small door to the barn, he flicked several light switches on a board near the opening. Most of the barn remained in semi-darkness but the sacrificial alter became flooded in circles of light from lamps placed way up in the roof beams, giving the raised area a theatrical look. The procession continued towards the furthest end of the barn at a stately speed, heads lowered. The last two men in the group peeled off towards the stall that held the boy. They looked down to find the rusty hoe, a ball of scrunched-up tape and shredded rope that had bound the boy. The pair, the youngest and newest of the group looked at each other, both visibly palling at the significance of their discovery. The rest of the group had fanned out into a semicircle around the altar except for Rosen and Mayor Willets who had taken up position behind the sacrificial stone. Sheepishly, the last two came forward; their hoods now pulled back, any sense of ritual now gone.
Rosen and Willets looked up expectantly as the two members came closer, the expression on their faces changing from docile patience to anger within a split second.
“Where’s the goddamn boy, where is he?!” hollered Rosen.
“Gone, he cut his self loose.” replied one of the men, a frayed piece of limp rope held out as evidence. Rosen jumped down from the altar and rushed to the empty stall.
“Aaarrrgh!” he kicked the hoe, breaking the wooden handle. He tore the robe over his head and threw it on the dusty floor, revealing a red-cheque shirt and faded jeans held up with a black leather police utility belt. He looked around at the group, who had now congregated around the stall.
“Gone? How can he be gone, the kids practically brain dead? Jesus H Christ!” He turned to look directly at Ryan. “I told you to tie him up real good; you are so damn stupid I bet you think Dunkin Donuts is a basketball team. Get outside, now! Find him, he couldn’t have got far. Move!” He screamed.
The congregation rushed for the door and out into the night, followed by Rosen and Willets. A few went to their cars and picked up flashlights, a couple more reached into their pick-ups for rifles. Rosen stood outside the barn, hands on hips. Through his fury, something nagged at him, a memory, a faint memory. He looked around his yard, scanning, searching. He wandered around the side of the house. His black, soulless gaze came upon a space in the old barbed-wire fence where years ago an intruder had run from the group’s bullets. The night old man Mourn got his leg broken. He quickly ran to the fence, there was little light around back but he could see that it had been stretched. He looked up and down, peering into the woods, hoping to see a movement of some kind. Nothing. As he turned to walk away he noticed a piece of cloth snagged to the fence. He picked it off and saw that it was a piece of pale yellow cotton from a man’s shirt. He’d watched as Sam Ryan had bundled the boy into the barn, the kid had been wearing PJs but they hadn’t been yellow that was for sure. “So’m bitch!” he mumbled. “Hey!” he hollered to the rest of the group, “Git your asses over here!” He was quickly joined by most of the group. “Git those robes off, you ain’t gonna be needin’ em for a while. You two,” he said, pointing to two of them, “get a couple o’ rifles and work your way through here as far as the track, see what you can find, then haul ass back to the house, but be careful, the kid had help.” The two younger members who had found the boy missing from the barn ran to find weapons. The rest looked expectantly at Rosen for direction.