"I know that the creature of which I spoke earlier has visited you today," he said. "I know that she has tried to warn you about me, probably instructed you to get rid of me. But I am still here. I hope you will listen to me and I hope you will think carefully about what I have to say."
The pickup reached the end of the street and turned around again.
Alana said, "I'm gonna go stand in front of the damned thing."
"Didn't do any good before," Will said.
"I won't move. I'll jump on the hood if I have to."
"I suppose you want it on tape."
"Of course. What good is it if we don’t get it on tape?" She stepped off the sidewalk and into the street.
Pastor Quillerman lifted his foot off the accelerator and the pickup slowed to a stop. He stared at the woman standing before the pickup as he continued to talk into the microphone.
"Come out, please. Come out and talk with me. Let's all talk together. I think if you listened to one another, if you simply looked at one another, you would realize what's been happening around you. You would realize what this woman – this creature – has done to your neighbors, and to you. So please come out here and let's talk together."
The reporter shouted, "I’d like to talk to you, Pastor.”
"You have my word that I am not here to proselytize or preach," he went on, ignoring her. "I am not here to recruit members for my church. I am only here to help people who I know are in trouble. You are all in trouble here, and I beg you to make it stop. Please come out here, all of you, and talk. Please."
The reporter waved her cameraman over and he stood before the pickup while she went to Pastor Quillerman's window. She rapped her knuckles on the glass and said. "What woman are you talking about? What has she done?"
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't talk right now."
Her shoulders sagged with frustration and she stared at him.
Pastor Quillerman lifted the microphone again, opened his mouth, but said nothing because -
– there was an odd rumbling sound coming from the darkness to the left. The woman heard it, too, and turned, as Quillerman did, in the direction of the sound.
Quillerman could see nothing yet, but the sound grew louder. He started to roll down the window so he could hear better, but -
– the man standing in front of the pickup shouted, “Oh, fuck!” and ran to Quillerman's right, into the darkness, hugging his camera to his chest, as -
– an enormous malamute ran into the glow of the headlights and faced the pickup, black lips pulled back over long glistening fangs, crouched low and ready to pounce. But the sound the creature made was not the sound of a mere dog. It was a much bigger, deeper sound than that of any dog Quillerman had ever encountered, and -
– its eyes glowed.
It snapped at the air, clacking its fangs together.
The reporter standing beside the pickup screamed and slammed herself against the door.
The dog inched closer to the pickup as its entire body shuddered. Two long black bonelike limbs suddenly shot upward from its shoulders, spread and unfolded into broad, bat-like wings. With one sudden movement of the wings, the creature was on the hood of the pickup, its face little more than an inch from the windshield. Its growl grew louder as its lips pulled back even farther… and farther… until they peeled away to reveal black, ripply skin beneath.
Pastor Quillerman lifted the microphone to his mouth and shouted, "In the name of god the father and his son Jesus Christ and all that is holy, I command you to leave this place!"
The creature rose up on its hind legs, swept its wings madly up and down and released a cry that made Quillerman's eyes tear up and his bowels tremble. When it dropped back down on all fours, any resemblance to a dog was gone. Its body trembled and a thick white foam dribbled from its stubby black snout. It snapped at the windshield and its fangs nicked the glass, then it looked Quillerman in the eyes and its glistening black lips curled into a grotesque mutation of a grin.
"Whatsamatter, Quillerman?" the creature asked in a gleeful, retching voice that was neither male nor female. "Don'tcha wanna join your wife and sons? Don'tcha wanna join your wife, the dyke, and your cocksucking sons?"
Quillerman's face twisted in horror and he clenched his eyes shut, trying to block the flood of memories that he had avoided for years. The last time he'd seen his family they were all dead by his oldest son's hand – his wife on the bed, his boys lying in a hideous, bloody embrace with their eyes open and their skin the color of dirty snow, and -
– Quiller man whispered to himself, "No, no, that's over, it's behind me and -" He lifted the microphone to his mouth. " – and I command you to leave this place in the name of Jesus Christ!"
Two things happened at once: the creature vomited explosively, shooting a thick black substance on the windshield, and it shot backward off the hood of the pickup, shrieking. It landed in a clumsy heap on the pavement, several feet in front of the pickup.
“In the name of -" Quiller man began again, but the creature flapped its wings and rose from the ground, hovering for a moment as it stared straight into Quillerman’s eyes, then released a cry so full of hatred it made Quillerman briefly nauseated.
It was gone in seconds.
Quillerman couldn't move for a while. One hand clutched the steering wheel, the other clutched the microphone and all his knuckles were white and fingers were numb. Suddenly, as if a spell had been broken, his hands and arms relaxed and he looked out the window to his left. At first, he thought the reporter had gone, but then he saw the top of her head rising slowly. She had ducked down beside the pickup. Her eyes were wide, face pale, and she stared at him as if she didn't know where she was.
Quillerman got out of the pickup and asked, "Are you all right, Miss?"
"What… the fuck… was that?" she asked, but there was more amazement in her voice than fear. Quillerman was quite amazed to see that she seemed about to burst into a grin.
Before Quillerman could reply, the cameraman staggered around the pickup and joined them. The woman grabbed his lapels and shook him, saying, "Did you see that? I mean, did you see that? Did you get it? Oh, please, Will, tell me you got that on tape, tell me you got it!"
He stared at her a moment, then said in a barely level voice that rose as he spoke, "I didn't get it on tape because I was too busy shitting my pants! Now do you believe me? Now can we leave?”
"You go right ahead if you want, Will, but if you put a hook in my tongue you couldn't drag me away from this story. Just leave your camera."
"I think he's right," Quillerman said. "You'd better go. It wouldn't be a good idea to stay here any -"
Something caught his eye and he looked up the street.
Flashlight beams were cutting through the darkness on both sides of the street.
People were coming out of their houses and walking slowly toward the pickup. First, a man and woman. Then a child. Two teenagers with a woman. And there were others. Their steps were uneven and some were limping, but they were coming. Quillerman whispered, "Good. Good." He stepped around the reporter and went to meet them.
Jen gripped George's arm and said, "Daddy, what's happened to Mom? Why won't you tell me?"