Eric didn’t think he cared to hear the noise these “corn creeps” made when they mated. He was fairly certain that it was one of those sounds he could go his entire life without hearing and not be left feeling remotely unfulfilled. But that might be a rude thing to say aloud. Father Billy seemed genuinely proud of his knowledge of corn creep mating practices.
He turned away from the door, happy to be moving away from the nauseating sound of tearing, cannibalized flesh, and found a chair to sit in. “So am I stuck here until nightfall, then?”
“Maybe. Just depends how long they stay. Sometimes they can be stubborn. Linger right up until twilight. Other times, they’ll get bored and head home early. But by the time the sun’s fully set they’ll be long gone and you can get back on your way.”
“Wonderful.” Eric didn’t care for the idea of completing the rest of his journey after dark. It was already creepy enough out here without adding the ambiance of nightfall.
Father Billy peeked out one last time at the corn creeps and then slid the panel closed. “Look at the bright side,” he said, turning to face him. “It’ll give you time to consider what you’re really doing.” He turned and walked toward the corner, where several cardboard boxes were stacked. “There’s still time to give up this suicide mission.”
“And then what? Go back home and have the same damn dream every night?”
“Right. The dream. Forgot about the dream… I hear it’ll drive you mad if you don’t do what it wants.”
“Seems that way. Feels so desperate, like I have to go. I jump out of bed every night in a blind rush. I just want it over with.”
Withdrawing a small, plastic container from the topmost box, Father Billy said, “It’ll be over all right. I’m telling you, you won’t live through the night.”
“You seem awful sure of that.”
“I am.” He tossed the plastic container to Eric. “First aid kit. You should really patch up that arm.”
“Thanks.” Eric looked down at his shoulder and saw that the makeshift bandage he’d made from the scraps of Altrusk’s bathroom towel had slipped off the wound at some point during his flight from the corn creeps. It probably happened when he went tumbling down that steep hill. Fresh blood had spilled down the entire length of his arm.
“That looks pretty bad.”
“I know.”
Father Billy sighed and sat down in another chair, facing him.
“You know,” said Eric as he removed the useless towel and began to clean the cuts in his shoulder, “everyone I’ve met today seems to know a hell of a lot about what’s happening to me.”
“I’m sure they do.”
“But nobody seems to want to tell me why I’m here or even what it is I’m supposed to be looking for. All anybody will tell me is that I have to go to the cathedral.”
Father Billy ran a hand through his long hair as if uncomfortable. Then he said, “The old folks aren’t what they appear to be. That’s the first I’m going to tell you and the first thing you really need to know.”
The old folks. Those could only be Annette, Grant and Taylor. It had been pretty obvious that they were not simply random senior citizens he was happening across. They all had been expecting him. They all knew about his dreams. And they all had advice for the difficult road ahead. Though Annette had been considerably less helpful than the other two.
“The next thing you need to know is that there’s nothing but death waiting for anyone who goes inside the cathedral. I don’t know what you think makes you any different, but I promise you you’ll die just as easily as everyone else.”
Eric unrolled some gauze and laid it over the gouges left by the resort monster’s wicked claws as he considered these words. He had no less reason to doubt this man than he did Grant Stolyen and Taylor Parlorn. The fact of the matter was that this was the first anyone had said about the cathedral other than telling him that it was his destination. He’d simply assumed that he would find an answer to all his troubles there. But if Father Billy was right, all he’d find waiting there were the cold, open arms of death.
In his pocket, Eric’s phone jumped to life, buzzing against his hip. Surprised, he pulled it out. “Didn’t know I had any reception here.”
“You don’t,” said Father Billy, staring at the phone. “Or you shouldn’t. We’re pretty deep inside the fissure.”
No number was displayed on the screen. Neither was there an “UNKNOWN NUMBER” or “TOLL FREE CALL” or any of those other messages that always really meant “WE’RE NOT TELLING YOU WHO WE ARE BECAUSE WE KNOW YOU WON’T ANSWER IF WE DO.” (Stupid survey takers and telemarketers.) The screen simply remained as it looked when no one was calling. Yet the phone continued to vibrate in his hand.
He pressed the call button and held it to his ear. “Hello?”
He thought he heard his name spoken to him, but it was too garbled with static to be certain. “…out…use…old you a…kay…elp…”
“Hello? Who is this?”
But the line was dead again.
Eric returned it to his pocket. “That was weird.”
“Must’ve been some kind of freak interference or something.”
He took a roll of tape from the first aid kit and began securing the bandages. This was a poor substitute for stitches, but it was the best he was going to get. It was much better than a torn hand towel, at least. “I guess so.”
“Maybe that happens sometimes. I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a cell phone.”
“I’d give you mine if I could,” Eric grumbled. “I hate these things. Wife makes me carry it.”
“Way I hear it, they can come in handy out here.”
“Works like a compass. I know. If I lose the signal, it means I’ve wandered into the fissure.” Not that it did him any good when he had to run for his life from a pack of voracious corn creeps.
“Well, I see the old pricks didn’t send you in completely clueless.”
“First one did, actually. The other two were a little better.”
“But they didn’t tell you what was waiting for you.”
“No. They didn’t tell me anything about the cathedral.”
Father Billy nodded knowingly and leaned back in his chair.
Eric stared back at him. “And what about you? How do you know about all this stuff?”
Again, Father Billy ran a hand through his hair. His eyes wandered across the room. “You learn a few things out here. That’s all.”
“No. That’s not all. You’re sitting there, telling me what an idiot I am for even being here, reminding me that the only people I’ve had to trust this whole time won’t even tell me the whole story…and you’re keeping secrets from me right now.”
Father Billy stared at him for a moment. It was hard to tell whether he was considering what he’d just heard or simply thinking about backhanding him. Then his brow furrowed as he seemed to realize something. “Does it seem quiet to you?”
Eric didn’t notice anything. It had seemed pretty quiet to him all along.
“I don’t hear the corn creeps anymore.” He stood up, concerned, and walked to the door. Eric watched him slide the wooden panel over and peer out. Immediately, he jumped back, as if startled, and then pressed his face to the opening again for a better look. “Who the fuck is that?”
Eric jumped up from his seat, tossed aside the first aid kit and moved to join him at the door. When Father Billy stepped aside, he peered out and saw that all the corn creeps were gone. The three dead ones remained on the steps, half-devoured, but the rest had fled. And it was no mystery what spooked them. Standing there in the middle of the yard, looking back at him, was the black shape of a man who appeared to be half-concealed in a dense fog.
Except there was no fog.