The Hallowed Ones (25 page)

Every horizontal surface was cluttered with bits of wood, paper, paint, a T-square, rulers, and old brass compasses. I saw the petals of a hex sign beginning to unfold from a sketch on a perfectly
sanded piece of wood, a jar full of blackberry ink. A fly buzzed past me, and I swatted at it. I didn’t want to imagine the chaos in the kitchen.

The old man stumped to a worn rocking chair and sat down. “What can I do for you, Katie?”

“I wanted . . . to thank you for the
Himmelsbrief
. . .” I began. I perched uncomfortably on a stool at his feet.

His eyes narrowed. “Have you had to use it?”

I lowered my head. “Yes, Herr Stoltz. It saved my life.”

“The Darkness has come.” He leaned back in his chair, letting it creak against the scarred floor as he rocked. He looked up into space, at a cobweb in the corner.

“What do you know about the Darkness?” I asked timidly.

He rocked vigorously in his chair as he spoke. “The Darkness has always been a part of mankind. I have never seen it myself, mind you. Only heard stories about it from the Hexenmeister before me.”

I laced my hands together in my lap. “What did he say?”

“Not all Plain folk came to America solely for reasons of political and religious persecution. Europe had become crowded. It was difficult to buy any land of one’s own and not swear fealty to some minor land baron. Our little group of Plain folk could not have truly sacred land. Land that was immune to the Darkness.”

“The Darkness . . . existed back then? In the eighteenth century?” My brow furrowed. I knew the stories of our ancestors being forced to worship in secret, at night, in secluded forests and caves. I now wondered if there was more reason than persecution for that.

“In those days, people were wiser to the true nature of evil. We were different than other Plain folk in that regard. We knew about the Darkness, and we fought it with the tools we had available to us: the hex signs, the
Himmelsbrief
. . . and in other ways. We would sever the heads of the dead, stuff their mouths with garlic, burn them with fire. It was ugly . . . but it worked.”

I could not imagine desecrating a corpse like that. “And they were able to contain this contagion?”

“Then, yes. Remember that this was a long time ago. Fewer people. When we saw the glint of evil, we would destroy it before it grew too large to control. Now”—he waved a hand around the room—“we have forgotten. Become complacent. People saw no Darkness and no need to teach the means to stop it to recent generations. Now it festers.”

“As it festers here,” I whispered.

The Hexenmeister stared at me under bushy eyebrows. “You’ve seen them.”

“
Ja.
I have seen them. They only come out at night, with their teeth and their claws.” I rolled up my sleeve to show the Hexenmeister my scratch. “The Outsiders call these creatures vampires . . .”

Herr Stoltz frowned at the scratch, muttered: “Outsiders.”

“You heard it. The Elders have decided that the Outsider woman is crazy,” I said. I shied away from the topic of Alex.

The old man’s eyes darkened. “They are fools. The Outsiders are no more or less pure than we are. We simply have . . . we have the knowledge to stop the Darkness.”

I leaned forward on the stool. “
You
have the knowledge. You have the power to make
Himmelsbriefen.
And the hex signs.” My hand swept around to indicate his workshop. “You can keep us safe.”

The Hexenmeister snorted. “They would have to believe that I could help them, believe that the Darkness is here.” He gestured to me with his chin. “That was why I gave you the
Himmelsbrief.
You would believe. You had seen it.”

My mind froze in its tracks. “How did you know?”

A thin smile curled over his lips. “Few things escape the observation of a crazy old man with no supervision. I saw you leave the other day, saw you go over the gate with your bicycle.”

I stared down at the floor. I’d been caught. I was finished.

“And I know that you are hiding the Outsider man.”

I shut my eyes. Alex and I were both finished.

“I went back to the field after the Elders had left to look for the man myself.” The Hexenmeister’s chair creaked rhythmically against the floor. “I wanted to see what he was, to see if he had any Darkness in him. If he did, I brought my saw to take his head.”

I shuddered.

“If not”—he shrugged—“I probably would have done the same as you did. But he was not there when I returned.”

“How did . . . how did you know that it was my doing?”

“You left a canning jar beside the fence, half-f of water. Of all the people who saw that man, you were the only one who had any sympathy for him.” He smiled. “I took your jar and roughed up the tracks in the grass you left with your sledge. I hoped that the Elders would think that he had recovered and walked away. Or that animals had taken him.”

My throat tightened. “He’s not a vampire. I have seen him in daylight.”

Herr Stoltz chuckled. “I know, child. If he were, you would be dead.” He leaned forward to cup my face in his hands. “You merely have a large heart. And a rebellious spirit.” He tapped my nose with his index finger.

“Will you . . . will you tell the Elders?” I squeaked.

“No. There would be no good purpose achieved by that.”

“Will you make a
Himmelsbrief
for everyone?” I asked.

“I will try.” His mouth creased. “But they must believe in the Darkness first. They must believe that they are in danger, that evil has fallen upon us . . .”

A knock sounded at the front door, startling me. The Hexenmeister’s runny eyes turned to the door. “Huh. I’ve had more visitors today than in the past year.” He rose, stumped to the door.

One of the congregation members I dimly recognized was there. I’d seen him yesterday, with the gathering in my yard. He was the one who’d asked about the cattle, who had seemed most dubious of the Elders’ explanation. He was out of breath, his beard shaking, hands braced on his knees.

“Herr Stoltz, come quick,” he panted.

“What is the matter?”

“There’s been murder . . . not just murder . . . a slaughter.” He shook his head, as if to clear it, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Where?” The Hexenmeister reached for his hat.

“The Hersberger house.”

***

There had never been a murder in our community.

Never. Not in all the time that I had lived there. Not in all the time that my parents had lived here, or my grandparents. Not ever.

We were simply not capable of it.

I rode in the back of a buggy with the Hexenmeister and the man who’d raised the alarm in front, driving. He refused to speak of what he’d seen, despite our prodding. He just sat and sweated.

I saw Herr Stoltz slip a parchment envelope into his jacket pocket.

I asked him: “Is that—?”

He nodded and whispered, “This old man won’t go anywhere unarmed these days.”

I grasped his sleeve. I was glad that the Hexenmeister was protecting himself. He could be our only hope.

The buggy stopped in front of the Hersberger house and I climbed out with trepidation. There were already a half-dozen people whispering in the yard. The Elders had not yet arrived.

The crowd parted for the Hexenmeister. It seemed as if, in their fear, they recognized some of his ancient authority. He stumped up the porch, paused before the door. His hand pressed to his chest, he recited the Lord’s Prayer.

I shied away, stepping down to stay with the rest of the Plain folk.

Herr Stoltz grasped my arm. “No, Katie. You come with me. I will need your help.”

I nodded, my mouth dry.

He pushed open the door.

I smelled blood, immediately, and my stomach churned. Bile filled the back of my throat, and I vomited on the front step.

The Hexenmeister waited patiently for me, motioned for me to cross the threshold behind him.

“Gott in Himmel,”
he whispered.

I did not know that the human body could hold so much blood. I suppose that I must have had some concept of it. I helped on those weekends when pigs and cows were butchered in the spring and fall, watched as the blood drained from them into buckets. But that was outdoors, not in a confined space. And we only butchered one or two at a time.

Not a whole family.

Lurid red blood smeared the walls and the overturned table and chairs. A body lay just over the threshold. I knew it was female, judging by the nightdress and the long blond hair. The Hexenmeister prodded the corpse with his cane, turned it over.

It was Ruth. Her face was blank, rubbery, the eyes staring into nothingness. Her nightdress had been ripped open from neck to hem, and she was soaked in blood.

I jammed my fist in my mouth. Some small part of me, in the deepest, darkest part of my mind, had wanted her gone. Maybe even dead. But not like this.

“That one,” the Hexenmeister said, “that one let the Darkness into the house.”

I thought back to the seductive call I’d heard in the moonlight. I shivered.

Herr Stoltz stumped forward. The second body, the father, and the third, the oldest brother, were sprawled on the kitchen floor. Their heads were merely bloody pulp. A hunting rifle lay in the grip of the father. The Hexenmeister leaned on his cane. “I expect these two heard the commotion, came running . . .” His gaze slid upstairs, to the bedrooms.

My eyes widened. Ruth had a mother and four sisters.

The Hexenmeister sighed, trod heavily toward the steps. I followed him upstairs, clutching the oak railing. I could see on the wall that there were faint streaks of blood, as if someone had let their fingers trail along the wall. I shuddered, imagining the pale vampires slipping up the steps in the dark, knowing that their terrified victims were trapped on the second floor with nowhere to run. Cornered.

The Hexenmeister turned to the first bedroom. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open with his cane.

This was the parents’ bedroom. Ruth’s mother was impaled on the nearest bedpost of the four-poster bed. She seemed to be suspended in space, her back turned at an impossible angle and her chest torn out. I could see the white fingers of her ribs reaching toward the ceiling. Blood had poured down the bedpost, making a puddle on the floor. Where her arms were splayed out, I could see chew marks on her wrists.

I covered my mouth with my hand.

Herr Stoltz crossed the hall, to the girls’ room. I crept behind in his shadow, terrified to look. But I knew that he would not shield me from the sight of violence. The door was open, and I glanced over his shoulder.

The ceiling was red. Red and dripping and turning brown.

I gasped and turned away, shaking.

The Hexenmeister heard that hitch in my voice. He turned to me, gripping my shoulder with the ironlike claw of his hand.

“Katie,” he hissed. “You must be strong. There is hard work to do.”

I blinked at him stupidly.

“Katie. We must stop the spread of the Darkness, keep this family from rising as Dark.”

“How?”

“In my grandfather’s days, they would have stuffed the mouths of the dead with garlic, cut off their heads, staked their hearts.”

I recoiled in horror, but that brutality seemed tame in light of what I’d just seen.

The old man’s gaze scraped the red ceiling in the room beyond. “But, in this case, fire might be best.”

“Fire?” I echoed.

“Get some of the men hanging around outside. Tell them to bring me kerosene and matches.” He peered into the red room, made a noise. “Lots of kerosene.”

I was only too grateful to have the opportunity to flee. I rushed down the stairs to the front door, lurched into fresh air. I was surrounded by dark skirts and legs as I heaved what remained of my breakfast into the grass.

“Kerosene,” I panted. “And matches. Herr Stoltz needs kerosene.”

But no one moved away to gather them. The throng parted, murmuring, as the Elders flew through the yard. In spite of myself, I shrank back from them.

“There will be no kerosene,” the Bishop said, loud enough for all to hear. “There will be no fire.”

The Hexenmeister stood in the doorway. His milky eyes seethed. “The Darkness is here. It must not spread. We must burn the bodies.”

The Elders climbed the porch, sidestepping my vomit.

“You spread the hysteria of the Outside world. You know better,” the Bishop growled at him.

The Hexenmeister stepped back, waved his arm to usher him into the house. “Then come see for yourself.” He looked out over the crowd. “All of you. Come see.”

No one in the crowd moved. The Bishop’s eyes narrowed, and he marched past the old man. The other Elders flocked after him. I saw one cross the threshold, then stop. He did not progress farther.

“They are here. Vampires,” the Hexenmeister announced.

The throng chattered among themselves.

“But we are protected!” someone shouted.

The Hexenmeister shook his head. “Not any longer. We must protect ourselves.”

The Bishop stalked out of the house. I noticed that he was pale, very pale. But he and the other Elders did a better job of controlling their breakfast than I did. One still remained on the threshold, frozen, with his back turned to the crowd. The Bishop pushed past him.

“This is a terrible loss,” the Bishop shouted at the simmering crowd. “But it is a result of human evil. Human violence. Not vampires or some ephemeral Darkness . . .”

“You must burn them,” the Hexenmeister insisted, jabbing a bony finger at him. “They are contaminated, and it will spread. You and your pious sensibilities are damning us to death.”

“No,”
the Bishop thundered. Spittle flecked his trembling lip. “They will be granted a decent burial, not burned like . . . like cattle. We are not animals. We have been chosen by God to survive. And we will not disintegrate into savages and fall into the fantasies of the Outside.”

The Bishop glowered at the Hexenmeister. “There will be a funeral. Tomorrow, at noon.”

He turned his glare on the crowd. “And
you
shall do as the Lord has instructed you to do for funerals. The men here shall wash and prepare the men, and the women shall attend to the women.”