The Devil's Apostles - Preface

July 19th, 2010

The clouds had darkened hours before; the wind had picked up speed and even the smallest of field mice could feel the rise and fall in the air. It had been a dry summer in Iowa, and the earth needed a good soaking; but the clouds were heavy and menacing. It would be no ordinary rain; it would be a storm to remember.
It was the lightning that reared its ugly head first, illuminating the darkness in the distance. Thunder rumbled soon after, and everyone in Boone County was glued to their tv screens, awaiting warning instructions.
Bill Bagley sat in his rusty Ford parked at the end of Beecher Farm’s long dirt driveway. He muttered a few choice words as he wiped the fog from his windshield.
“Damned weather,” he said. Fifteen minutes ago he had been in pitch darkness, now every single light in the old farm house was on. He could see the bits of brightness shining through the cracks of the shutters that had recently been closed by the rather portly lady inside. Four windows, he thought. Two upstairs, two downstairs, and I imagine another set on the other side just like ‘em.
He wrote it down.
That is a very important fact, he thought. He had only seen evidence of a man and a woman present in the house, no children seemed to be running around. Just a woman and her old man, he wrote…and a dog! Roof! Roof! The sound of its throaty bark gave him chills. I fucking hate dogs.
A door opened on the side of the house and he saw the illuminated sihllouettes of the pair step out into the yard; followed by a flea ridden mongrel. The rain tapped on his windshield, lightly at first, then intensifying. A large streak of lightning lit up the sky and the two people and their pest were visible. The woman was a bit beyond portly, the rain quickly soaking her dressing gown. Her husband was a tiny slip of a man in his underwear; his head covered by a straw hat that he held ever so tightly. The two of them were quite a sight, running as fast as they could in their bare feet towards the storm doors. The man fiddled with his keys, once again lit up by the lightning; and it was then that Bill noticed the woman was standing still, staring straight ahead.
Bill froze. His hands shook on the steering wheel.
“Is she looking at me sir?” He whispered. The woman continued her gaze while the mutt at her feet yapped in his direction. “Why yes I do think she is.”
He waited, smiling. Part of him wanted to run out there and get this whole charade over with, but a part of him was enjoying the idea of being caught.
“Patience,” he could just hear his boss whispering in his ear. “Not yet.”
“Not yet. Not yet.”
His boss was right, it was too soon. There was no need to rush into these things. It was only a few seconds and the man was grabbing his woman by the arm to lead her down the hatch. Tornado sirens wailed and the two people disappeared from sight. The dog hesitated, eventually succumbing and following his masters down the hole. The storm doors closed and once again Bill was alone.
He stepped out of the truck, into the rain, and made his way to the side door. The wind was swirling around him, howling and rattling the shutters. The storm door shook and slammed in its hinges, barely being held together by the latch. The barn doors swung open with a loud bang, tossed aside easily by the wind. Bill watched as corn stalks in the field bent in half, snapping from the force of the atmosphere. Dust from the ground kicked up and obscured the distance. Bill’s attention was drawn to the rather large tree that stood on the other side of the driveway. It was an odd tree, much bigger than any other tree in the area. He didn’t know why but somehow he felt the urge to touch it.
Leave it be, he thought. As the words entered his mind he heard a loud crash erupt from the sky. Bill grabbed his ears, the noise sending shots of pain from one ear to the next. An intense white streak reached from the clouds to the top branch of the peculealar tree and exploded in sparks and flames. Bill fell off the side of the steps and landed on his backside, shrieking as his tail hit the hard cement.
His ears were ringing from the thunder. His hands had been cold from the rain, now burned as hot liquid poured from his right ear. His shrieks didn’t stop, but they changed. At first they were screams of terror, now they were laughter.
“You washed up old codger!” He roared. He picked himself off the ground and wiped the dirt from his face. “You must think I’m the dumbest asshole out here. Well fuck you!”
Time to go in, he thought.
The lights in the kitchen were off. The interior wasn’t pitch black, a bit of light glowed from a clock on the microwave and the living room lamp that had been left off in their hasty retreat. He sat down at the chair on the far end of the table, facing the door. Nice, sturdy chairs, he thought. Quite comfortable. The kitchen was clean save for the dirt and rain he had tracked in and the dog bowl in the corner. Little filthy beasts, he thought. There were droppings of food bits all around the floor and small chunks of meal in the water dish. His stomach churned and though empty, the bile threatened to come up. He slapped himself in the face.
Hold your shit together, Bill thought.
He listened to the wind and rain and it calmed him. He counted the lightning flashes and the booms of thunder as he sat in the dark. The sirens had quit blaring for a second time and by the sound of the thunder he knew it would be over soon. Storms like this blew through hot and fast; they were dangerous but they never lasted long enough to his liking. Despite the waning of the storm, he felt the electricity of the lightning, still energizing the air. His hands shook a bit, like a child restraining himself from a dangling candy bar.
Patience, he reminded himself. He tried to remember the number of lightning flashes, to jot it down when he returned to his truck. He started counting minutes. After a great deal of counting, the rain stopped and he knew it was time to go to work.
Shall I sit at the table? Shall I wait behind the door? No, I think the table will be just fine. The phone was on the wall behind him, so he knew that wouldn’t be a problem. He allowed his mind to wander about the possible scenarios that could play out, all of which resulted in his damnation of the Mr. and Mrs. into oblivion. He could practically taste the fear they would have. His mouth watered, his hands tremored. The slam of the cellar door brought him to attention.
This is it, he thought. Easy does it. He listened to the sound of small rocks shifting under footsteps.
“Jesus Harry, look at that tree!” Her loud voice was clear as glass through the thin wooden door. He heard the dog bark, as if in agreement. He’d have to recalculate for the dog, but the mangy beast wouldn’t derail his plan.
“Baby I’ll fix it up in the morning. I’ll clean it up after we get sleep,” her old man replied. More rocks crunched under their approaching feet and Bill waited in the silent dark. His palms quivered as he heard the heavy boots land on each of the steps.
I should be behind the door, he thought. Shit, shit shit shit shit! He stood up to move, but was halted as the knob turned on the door. He wouldn’t have a chance to move, stuck where he was. The door swung open and he saw the portly woman, face to face. At her feet, the four-legged flea bag became a wild-eyed monster; opening his yap and letting out everything he had. The woman sucked in air in an audible raspy gasp. Her face was worn, the work of far, life had aged her. Her eyes were slightly sunken as if the earth they stood on had drained her life force. Bill thought about that, then smiled to himself at the irony and ridiculousness of it. She had plenty of life in her, he could feel it. Behind her, the old man approached the top step and hurried to find out what his dog was making a fuss over.
Bill Bagley jumped over the table and punted the dog as hard as he could to the left. The beast made a small yelp before smacking into the cabinet door, slumping to the ground. He was proud of his direct hit, but knew he didn’t have time to revel in his victory. The woman let out a scream and her husband was roaring about a gun.
Bill grabbed her face, his massive palms covering everything from eyeballs to lower lip. The air pulsed around them, as it often did for him. He didn’t understand it, but it was an intense feeling. He felt her heartbeat through the air. He saw particles rotating around them, shifting and shimmering and swirling. That was her life energies. The boss had said it would be that way and it was. His own heart raced, matching her beat.
The light started from her eyes and his fingertips. It was a curious shade of purple. The lines of light from her eyes and the ones from his fingers joined together, and his body shook; he felt her life draining from her, feeding him. It was exhilarating.
It felt as though it lasted a bit of forever, but in reality it was only seconds. The light left her eyes and she slumped to the floor and Bill knew she was dead. They were always dead. He lifted his eyes to the old man who was standing, frozen in terror.
“You’re next, farmer.” Bill smiled with crooked teeth before lunging at the old man.