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Artwork: A Suburban Memory of Wolves by Will Jacques

The Route 17 Detour
Christopher Pender

And the cat's in the cradle,
and the silver spoon
Little boy blue,
and the man on the moon.
When you comin' home, Dad.
I don't know when, but we'll
get together then,
you know we'll have a good
time then,
- Cat's in the Cradle

1

The sound of the train was muffled in the car as it made its way through the south suburbs of Chicago. Harold's stop was at Millennium Station, which was about half an hour away. His stomach was a bit nervous, it had been over a year since the divorce and even longer since he'd seen his son Dean. Karen didn't make the process easy, she nearly had taken him for everything he had and used their son as a bargaining tool to gain the upper hand. Finally, the judge ordered a few weekend visits a month, not that it made things acceptable just less stressful. Harold was determined to give his son at least some respite from the recent hell that occurred.

Sure, Harold's life didn't turn out the way he wished. He was a straight A student and star athlete. He married his High School sweetheart. Got offered a full ride to Olivet Nazarene University, which of course he accepted with great pride. Graduated with a Liberal Arts degree and landed a position as a web designer for a new start up auction website, then a few months later his son was born. He truly believed the American dream was real and he was living it. In 2007 the economy collapsed. The website went under and Harold lost his job. The mortgage he and his wife signed became no longer affordable, forcing them to move. And the last straw was when Karen had to go back to work as a nurse at Rush University Medical Center.

BING! The train's intercom blasted. “Next Stop, Harvey.”

Harold looked out the window to see the crumbling buildings and empty office spaces with parking lots filled with weeds and litter. Harold did try though, he was so dead set on finding another good paying job that he developed a pretty nasty ulcer. It seemed to him, having a degree like his was as useful as having only a wooden nickel in a whorehouse. Karen became restless because she couldn't live the life she wanted anymore, the affair happened soon after. To Harold, it didn't matter. He couldn't stand the sight of her anymore, anyways. When he brought home the divorce papers, somehow it ignited some sort of spiteful fire inside his wife. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

BING! “Next Stop, Pullman 111th Street.”

Regretfully, he decided to move back to his parent's home in Kankakee. Really wasn't proud that at thirty three, he was living in his parent's basement. But again, they offered their undying support and love during a very rough time and are very excited to have Dean stay in their home every other weekend. The only downside was the distance between him and his son. Thank god for the electric line.

BING! “Next Stop, University of Chicago 59th Street.”

The train car was usually a very vocal area but today there wasn't much chatter. Down on the street, he could see several police cars swarm a white Nissan Altima. Crime was getting worse in the city, which was a hot point for the upcoming mayoral elections. Harold thought both candidates were crooks and personally wouldn't vote for either. Looking down at his phone, he thumbed through pictures of the life he had not so long ago. He wondered how it was even possible for life to change so drastically and quick. No matter, he had planned a fishing trip to Willow Slough with Dean and it was gonna be something Dean would remember years from now. Harold hoped at least.

BING! “Next Stop, McCormick Place.”

Slipping his head phones on, his favorite song “What it’s Like” by Everlast played. He gathered his things and readied himself for his final stop. Watching the people gather near the door he mouthed the words of the song to himself. “He asked the man for what he could spare with shame in his eyes, get a job you fucking slobs all he replied.” An elderly lady stared at him till he noticed. Smiling, embarrassed.

BING! “Last Stop, Millennium Station.”

2

Outside of the station was crowded with hundreds of people in the scorching July heat. Harold lit a cigarette and read the signs they were holding. “99%ers, fuck me,” he thought to himself as he tried to get to the taxi stand. “Burn wall street down!” one filthy kid yelled near Harold. “Excuse me I'm trying to just get over there,” he said trying to be calm. A few more began chanting “Fuck Bush” in unison. Slowly getting to the taxi area, Harold heard the aggressive yelling. He turned quickly and saw an elderly man being verbally assaulted by the self righteous idiots for wearing a US Army Veterans hat. “You like being a baby killer, bitch!” a female voice screamed. Then the fist flew right into the old man's face. Harold ran into the crowd pushing them out of the way. Finally reaching the elderly man, he lifts him off the ground and inspects his face. “You okay?” the man dusted his pants off. “Yeah, little bastards need to learn respect.” Harold smiled. “Where ya headed?” The old man adjusted his hat, “Well I was trying to get to the professional building on Paulina.” Harold shook his head knowing where he was going. “Come on, I'm headed there too. Wanna share a cab?” The elderly man nods and they push their way through the crowd, making it to a cab. The older man enters first followed by Harold. “Rush Professional Building on Paulina, please,” Harold states. “You got it,” replies the cabbie.

3

The two new friends separate with a hand shake and Harold enters an elevator. Reaching floor three, he exits and walks towards Dr. Flagg's office. The doctor was renowned for his work with hormonal diseases, his specialty being Cushing's Syndrome, a disease in which the body produces too much of the stress hormone cortisol. Office twelve was his destination. Opening the door, he sees his son sitting in the waiting room. “Dad!” he leaps out of his chair and hugs his father. “Ready to go, bud?” Harold asks. “Yeah, but mom wants to talk to you first.” His face grows sullen. Harold walks to the reception desk. “Karen around?” The receptionist nods and leaves the desk. Karen walks to Harold in a fast pace. “I need him home Saturday night.” He angrily responds, “Absolutely not. Sunday at nine pm was the deal. You don't get to change the hours. Dean grab your stuff we're leaving.” He walks towards the door. “Damn it, Harold! I said Saturday.” Harold stares coldly back at her. “Yeah, and I said I don't give a flying fuck what you want.” Harold smiles at his new audaciousness. The father and son leave the office, he puts his arm around Dean's shoulder as they walk down the hall.

4

The pair walk across the parking lot of University Park Metra, towards Harold's Blue Ford Focus. Dean throws his stuff in the backseat of the car and climbs into the passenger side. Harold starts the car. “What kind of music do you want to listen to?” Dean smiles and says “Can we listen to the stuff Grandma listens to?” Harold reaches for his CD case and pulls out a disc marked Sixties. Sliding it into the player, a song begins. “What made you like this stuff?” Harold asks. “I just do,” is the response he gets. They pull the car out of the lot and drive home listening to grandma's music and possibly singing, but they'd never admit that to anyone. What happens in the Focus, stays in the Focus. “We gotta get out of this place, if it’s the last thing we ever do.... You'll be dead before your time is due.”

5

Storm clouds gather as they pull into the garage of his parents' house on Roosevelt Avenue. It was a decent house with white siding and red roof shingles. It had a fenced in yard with an above ground pool. The house itself was two stories,; the first was the basic living quarters. The upstairs was Raymond, Harold's father's, study and office. The basement was a finished basement with a TV room, bathroom with shower, a cooking nook and two bedrooms. Thunder boomed as Dean tossed his bag on his bed. Miley, Harold's mother, worked in the kitchen making a large dinner, Dean's favorite, Crescent Dogs with Macaroni and cheese, and a jello cake for desert.

Dean and his father work in the garage, gathering gear for their fishing excursion in the morning. “How many fish do you think you'll catch tomorrow?” Harold asked, trying to start a conversation. “Um, a couple I guess. Hopefully a big channel cat.” Dean answers with a half smile. Harold notices Dean’s not really himself. “Hey, what’s been going on bud? What’s on your mind?” The boy looks down and sees a slug sliming his way across the garage floor. “I just miss the way it was. I hate all of what happened.” Harold messes Dean's hair. “Sometimes, change is good. Just got to give it time. I think.” Dean quickly hugs his dad and quietly cries into Harold's waist. His father squeezes as hard as he can back.

A voice is heard, Grandma Miley's. “Dinner is served!” They unlock from each other and run to the kitchen to eat. The rain fall begins to pound the roof. Thunder blasts and lightning cracks, filling the kitchen with bluish white light. The whole family sits at the table. Dean loads his plate up with dogs and macaroni. Miley and Raymond watch with pride as their grandson devours his meal. Harold begins eating, but his stomach feels queasy; it’s the feeling you get when something bad is going to happen. Trying to ignore it, he continues to eat.

6

Morning comes and Dean is the first to rise. He walks outside in his pyjamas. The thick fog surrounds him, it’s a humid fog that feels like it sucks the air from you. Barely able to see in front of him, he walks through the yard. A dog barks in the distance. The hair on the back of his neck raises. The fog engulfs him, as if it was there on purpose. It was waiting for him, it needed him. A deep fear filled every inch of his body. He turns to run, but loses his bearings and can’t find his way back. Suddenly, he feels what reminds him of breath on his neck. A small voice whispers in his ear. “You shall not bow down to any god other than me, I am a jealous god, punishing the children for their father's sins until the last generation is done. I am the ancient one who will devour the weak and who will drink from the blood of purity until I am free once again. Free me Dean, sacrifice to me, so that I may reign again” is heard. A church's bell rings in the fog. Dean falls to his knees and screams for his father.

Harold awakens to the sounds of his son's screams. Leaping out of bed he runs outside and finds Dean in the fetal position on the ground. “Jesus, what happened bud? Another night terror? Your mom said you grew out of them.” He lifts him into his arms and carries him into the house. Miley is waiting inside for them. She takes Dean into her arms and soothes him. Ray watches in fear as he's never seen such terror in one boy’s eyes before. “Grandma's here, sweetheart. No one’s gonna hurt you, I promise,” coos Miley in a loving tone. Dean falls asleep again in her arms.

7

The morning sun burns the fog away as time passes. Dean sleeps soundly on the couch. Miley fixes breakfast, waffles with fresh blueberries and thick cut bacon. She turns to the record player in the kitchen and plays one of her records. “Hang on Sloopy” blares, waking up Dean. In a better mood and feeling extremely hungry he goes to the kitchen. He sees his grandmother dancing and it makes him happy. She turns to him and grabs him to dance with her. His smile widens as Harold and Raymond secretly watch. Dean's face is pure joy. “Your mom could always make the sun shine on the darkest days.” Raymond whispers to Harold. Grandmother and grandson begin giggling as Raymond and Harold begin to applaud their performance. Bashfully Dean sits down to eat his breakfast. The rest of the family joins him at the table.

“Hang on sloopy, sloopy hang on!” Raymond sings playfully teasing Dean. “You still up for the Slough today?” Harold asks Dean. The boy joyfully nods as he shovels a waffle into his mouth. Miley walks to a cabinet and pulls out a CD, handing it to Dean. “I think you may enjoy this while you’re fishing.” Dean takes it and reads the label: “Gram's Jams!” He laughs and puts it into his pocket.

After breakfast, Harold and Dean load up their gear into the car. Miley carries out two bagged lunches and kisses them both on the cheeks. Raymond waves from the window as the two climb into the car and hit the road. Dean slips the CD into the player: “A long long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance I could make those people dance.” Harold and Dean sang along to the music joyfully as they crossed into downtown Kankakee.

Harold regretted taking this road. He crossed Washington Avenue and prayed Dean didn't see them. The town had died a slow death, years back and as a result crime and deviant behavior rose. A deputy pulled into the market's parking lot and a lady of the night climbed into his cruiser. Harold saw it, but thankfully Dean didn't. He thought to himself, “Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie. Couldn't have been truer.”

8

Dean had fallen asleep when they hit the country roads. Reaching Aroma Park, Harold pulled off the road into a small gas station to stretch and have a smoke. The Proprietor came out and exchanged pleasantries. “Where ya headed, friend?” the owner asked. “Well, Willow Slough. Fishing day.” Harold replied. The man nodded “You taking 17 out there?” Harold butted his smoke. “Yep, that’s the plan.” The old man stretched his back “Sorry friend, but 17 has been re-routed. You’re gonna have to take Baker Street through Pembroke to get back on that direction.” Harold sighed. “Well, thanks sir. It just adds more time to the drive.” The man cleared his throat and spit. “Maybe only an hour or so, shorter if you drive fast, ha ha.” Harold laughed. Dean awoke and asked through the window if they're at the slough yet. “Nope, not yet bud. Not far though. You still excited?” Dean nodded. The old man bent down to the passenger window. “You know inside I have free candy and I think that may just be up your alley?” Dean perks up, “Can I go check it out Dad?” Harold smiles and nods. “Thanks sir, I'm Harold by the way,” shaking the old man's hand. “Name's Percy, nice to meet you. From around here?” Dean runs inside the small shop. “Kankakee, not too far.” The old man responds, “Place is a cesspool. You'd be smart to get out of there, before the sin corrupts you too. You seem like too much a good fella to have that happen.” This throws Harold off and gives him that uneasy feeling again. “Well, you’re probably right. Come on Dean, time to hit the road,” he yells and climbs into his car, as Dean runs and hops in. He starts the car and shifts into gear. “Ooh Eeh Ooh Ah Aah, Ting tang, Walla Walla, Bing Bang!” blasts through the speakers as they hit the highway again.

9

Just as predicted, Route 17 was detoured through Baker Street. The roads made Harold cringe as they almost all were gravel and the sound of it hitting the under carriage only brought on thoughts of having to get a new paint job done, which he could neither afford nor wanted. Dean thumbed through his Dad's CDs and hit next on the player until he found a song he liked. “We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out, Because I love you too much baby.” Smiles fill both faces in the car as they belt out the King's song. Finally the road gives way to asphalt and they pass though the entrance of the town of Pembroke. Harold notices something strange, no one’s outside on this beautiful day. It’s as if the town was abandoned. Houses, parks, restaurants, mechanic shops, no one around as far as the eye can see. They reach the outskirts of the town. An old Catholic church stands in the distance. Exit 123 is ahead, which would lead them to Willow Slough. Harold flicks his turn signal on. As he turns, a dog-like shape runs in front of him. In a panic Harold swerves to miss the canine. The car flies into the ditch next to the road. Smoke pours out of the engine as he tries to gather himself and check Dean to see if he's alright. “You okay? Damn dog ran right in front of me.” Dean shocked but okay nods. Harold undoes both seat belts. “Come on, there's a church ahead. Maybe they have a phone so we can call AAA. I forgot my cell at Grandma's.” They both gingerly climb out of the car. Harold inspects Dean more carefully and sees no injuries. He takes the boy's hand and walks down the road.

Several dogs howl nearby. This spooks Dean and he holds his father's hand tighter. “Probably just coyotes, harmless,” Harold states as he sees the shine of several eyes in the wooded area nearby. He stops in his tracks, startled and protective of his son. “You know, maybe it would be better just to wait in the car. Somebody will come by soon I bet.” Dean looks at his father befuddled, as the church is only a few meters away at this point. “But we're almost...” Harold yanks the boy's hand back and retraces his steps, carefully keeping an eye on those eyes in the overgrowth. Another howl is heard, sending goosebumps up Harold's spine.

Finally reaching the car, Harold sees the first of the coyotes leaving the shadows of overgrowth, it stares at him. “Get into the car bud, hurry up,” the father demands. Dean complies as his dad does the same. Harold watches the canine with intensity. Within seconds, more coyotes appear. In less than five minutes over a dozen have appeared and they begin to cautiously, yet aggressively stalk a path to the Focus. “Roll up your window,” Harold demands. The boy does as ordered. In seconds a few coyotes are only a foot or so from the car. Harold could see every muscle in the dogs' body tense and flex. They let out repeated howls. A brave dog climbs on top of the car's hood and stares curiously at Dean and his father. The coyote tilts its head, studying the pair. A loud bark escapes its throat.

10

Several hours have passed, the coyotes haven't left their post and the mid July sun makes the heat inside the car unbearable. “Can I crack the window a little, Dad?” Harold looks around and nods yes. Dean hits the window button and it opens a few inches. Just then a dog plants his front paws on the passenger door staring at Dean. “Jesus Christ!” Harold exclaims. “It’s odd,” he thought, “they’re here but not acting aggressive. What are they doing?” he thought to himself. “I'm hungry!” Dean declares in his child voice. “Eat your lunch bud. Somebody has to be coming soon. They just have to be.”

Night falls, casting unearthly shadows over the area. Sweat drips from the bodies of father and son. Dean fell into a restless sleep and Harold looks around to see if the dogs have left yet, so he can get help. They hadn't. Suddenly, bright headlights glare from the darkness. A pick up truck is heading their way. Harold quickly hits his emergency light button, hoping they'd still work. The man in the pick up truck notices and pulls to the shoulder near the accident. A familiar face climbs out of the pick up cab. Percy, the old man from the gas station earlier, walks towards them. The sounds of his feet crushing the gravel beneath alerts the pack of coyotes and they all leap to their feet, growling. Percy stops in his tracks. The dogs pad instinctively towards him, baring teeth and louder growls. The old man smiles as if he knows something the father and son don't. The pack circle the old man, their actions seem more like a warning than an act of aggression. Harold watches intently, deciding on what to do next. The old man talks softly to the pack, with words Harold can't hear. “I know you smell me, you can't do anything to protect them this time. This time they're ours.” The dogs pounce with a ferocity, knocking the old man to the ground. They claw and rip at his throat, splashing blood on their brown fur and the road. The old man laughs. The whole pack join in on the assault, tearing the flesh from his bones. Harold looks away in disgust, but before he does, he could have sworn the old man's eye lit up in a neon green.

The assault ended as quickly as it started and the pack returned to its post, leaving the shredded carcass behind on the road. Harold reached into the back seat for the tire iron, just in case they got into murder mode again. Trying to sleep, Harold leaned his head back onto the head rest and closed his eyes.

11

Morning came quickly as Harold had unintentionally slept all night. Dean was still asleep. His father thought maybe something was wrong, but didn't want to get that thought rolling in his head. He looked around and saw the pack was still vigilant at their new post around his car. He sat quietly thinking of what the next move would be; he needed to get him and his son out of the car before the heat got them both. The dogs in all honesty were a secondary concern of his. Harold felt Dean's forehead. “He's burning up,” he said to himself in a whisper. If something happened to the boy, Karen would make his life even more of a living hell than it already was. He hated himself for that thought. He did an experiment. Harold rolled the window all the way down. A coyote noticed and barked, but did not attack. Dean woke up from the sound. Harold, being slightly braver opened his door and slipped a leg out. They did nothing but form a semi circle around his side of the car. “Okay,” he thought. Harold climbed out. The coyotes wagged their tails and pulled the circle tighter.” What in god's name is happening?” he said aloud. He looked the pack over, and even reached down to pet one. Not a single hint of aggression in any one of the dogs. A younger dog, perhaps a puppy, jumped on his hind legs and licked Harold's face. He smiled and laughed.

Suddenly a church van speeds to the scene and a man with a heavy duty shotgun, steps out and begins blasting the pack one by one. Their blood splatters on Harold and Dean begins screaming. “No, stop, they’re friendly!” BOOM! The puppy gets ripped in half by the blast. BOOM! Several more fall from the shots, leaving massive holes and tears in their bodies. A few try to attack the man, but get shot down quickly. “Damned nuisances! They're everywhere out here. Ain't no such thing as a friendly coyote, mister,” declared the church van shooter. The man reaches out a hand to shake Harold's, but is rejected. “Now, I don't know where’s y’all are from, but in these parts it’s damned impolite to deny a man a hand shake.” Harold turned away and checked on Dean. Tears ran down the boy's face. He reaches for his son and pulls him from the car. “I thank you, but I think we can handle it from here,” Harold responds as they begin to walk towards town. The shooter just stands there staring at them.

The duo reach Baker Street as Harold hears the sounds of a car horn honking. Speeding up to them is the church van, not showing any signs of slowing down. Harold sprints to the sidewalk to get out of the way. The van jumps the curb and follows them. Harold runs as fast as he can, but one rarely out-speeds a moving vehicle. He tosses his son onto a shrub just in time to see the van smash into himself. Dean screams out in terror.

12

Harold wakes up in agony. The surface he's lying on is hard, and he can already tell that his legs are broken and most likely so is his hip. The room he's in is large but completely dark. The smell of antiquity and dust fill his nostrils. “Dean, where's Dean?” he yells for his son over and over again. He hears a quivering voice in the darkness. “Daddy?” Harold panicked, he hadn't called him daddy in years. “Where are you?” he yells as loud as he can. “I...I don't know, but it's really dark and I want to go home to momma.” Harold crawled as carefully as he could to not cause pain to himself. “Your gonna bud, I promise.” He yelled back to the boy.

Suddenly, bright lights are turned on and the huge oak doors open. A man steps through. “Welcome to Our Lady of the Harvest Catholic Church,” the man basically yells as he walks toward Harold, who lies on the altar. The man is short in stature, older, but not elderly. His head had long ago lost its hair, his face bespectacled with thick coke bottle glasses. His suit was very well tailored. “Although, let's just be honest. If you believe this is a Catholic church, well then you deserve what’s going to happen to you tonight,” states the man with a chuckle. “Name’s Ted Charles, pleasure to meet you. Harold, is it?” Harold tries to sit up and address the man, but the pain is too great. “Where's my boy?” he screeches through his teeth. Ted raises a hand as if to dismiss him. “Your son is fine, I can see that your pain is fairly intense. Let me get you something for that.” He turns to the door. “Linda! If you may get something for this poor man's pain. Please.” A large woman bursts through the door, her waist the width of the doors, and walks up the aisle carrying a needle and vial. “Dilaudid coming right up,” she answers Charles with a chipper voice. Harold watches her fill the syringe with the liquid from the vial. “I don't want any of that shit,” he screams at the two. “Now, we can't have you being miserable for tonight's excitement, can we?” Charles smiles at Harold, as Linda forcefully holds him down and shoves the needle into his arm. After her duty is done, Linda retreats to the back.

“You'll feel that working soon, I'm sure. Now to your son, Harold. You see, he's a very important player tonight. In fact, we couldn't do this without him.” Harold spits into the face of Ted Charles. He removes his glasses and wipes them off with his hanker chief. Charles climbs up onto the stage near the altar. “I didn't appreciate that Harold. I think maybe you need some respect for the coming salvation. As far as I know, there's only one way to teach that.” Charles lowers a 2x4 hung by a thick rope near Harold's head. “They've been doing this for millennia and I'm sure it will work for you too.” Ted reaches into the podium and pulls out railroad spikes and a hammer. Harold begins to feel light headed and weak. The medicine is kicking in. Charles walks over to Harold and adjusts the board to where it’s underneath Harold's shoulder blades. He stretches each arm out to the length of the board tying both hands to each ends of the board. Harold's too drugged to fight the man off. Ted Charles places the spikes in the palms of the father’s hands, raising the hammer high, driving each deep through bone and wood. Blood pours from Harold's hands as he passes out from pain. Ted pulls the rope, lifting Harold high above the baptism pool. The weeping of a little boy can be heard coming from the confessional. A Lone coyote's howl is faintly heard in the distance.

13

Night fell at an unearthly pace. Dean stopped crying in the time that passed. He heard the shuffling of feet inside the sanctuary. Peeking through the mesh cloth of the confessional, he could see that people were gathering. Terror seeped through him as he saw his father crucified above the baptismal. Panic began to creep through him. He felt that familiar breath on his neck and heard the voice, “Rejoice for it is at hand.” He covered his ears to mute the sound of the voice. Sweat grew on his brow. He had to do something.

The newly formed congregation took their seats as Ted Charles stood at the podium. “Our family has suffered for decades under the rule of deviants and sinners. We patiently waited for the hope of salvation to show us the way. Our little community fell under the oppression of false prophets and bureaucrats, telling us how to live our lives.” “Amen,” echoed the congregation. “Tonight the truth is here to reveal its wonderment and glory.” Again, “Amen.” “Tonight we will be freed from the shackles of this world. Tonight we reach out and embrace our destiny. Tonight He returns to wave his true justice in the face of this world's injustice.” “Amen!” says the flock.

Harold awakens in great agony as the spikes press against bone and sinew. Dazed but conscious, he looks over the congregation. “How many?” he thought. “Fifty, sixty?” his mind raced. Looking down he sees the baptismal covered in a tarp. His breath is becoming harder, sharper even. He felt the energy in the room and it gave him goosebumps. Weakly turning his head, he could peer out the window to see the winds picking up, whipping the trees around. “You'll all burn in hell for this, you fucks!” Harold screamed at them. Ted Charles looked up and smiled. “You see how this man behaves in a house of our god. His justice will wipe out those who desecrate and abuse us,” Charles says to his congregation, with his back turned. “Amen” is followed in unison. Harold looks at Charles and sees his eyes begin to glow a faint green color. Thunder strikes hard. It echoes through the church.

“Let us begin!” Ted Charles demands. The congregation stands and approaches the altar. A chant begins, “Slugosh Rise! Slugosh Rise! Slugosh Rise!” Ted Charles pulls the tarp from the pool. Harold looks down and sees what seems to be worms in the baptismal, no, slugs. The chant becomes more powerful, “SLUGOSH RISE! SLUGOSH RISE! SLUGOSH RISE!” A tremor shakes the church on its foundation. The people of the church lower the lighting and light the candles of prayer. The chant continues and the tremors strengthen, causing the walls to crack and creak. Lightning strikes the cross adorned on the steeple of the building. “Lower the offering!” Charles yells.

A powerful howl is heard behind the large oak doors of the building. “Ignore them. Now is our time! They cannot interfere any more” Charles proclaims. Harold begins to descend towards the pool. A major tremor cracks a large opening on the roof, allowing the rain to pool in. Unbeknownst to the people, the hinges on the doors are weakening. Several hard thuds hit the doors, joined by snarls and howls.

“Bring out the servant!” Charles demands as his flock walks to the confessional, and frees Dean, dragging him to the altar. “Watch us as we free you from your father's sins,” a voice yelled in the flock. Harold yelled out as his toes sank into the horde of slugs. Cries of his pain followed. Dean stood there watching with tears in his eyes as the white mass of slime became crimson with his father's blood. The slugs began eating him immediately. The sounds of his screams will never be forgotten by Dean. Harold was submerged up to his knees, when the chanting started again. Repeated tremors shook the church again and again, weakening the building's frame every time.

The howls outside became more and more aggressive as the chants grew louder. The thuds on the door became harder, then suddenly...SNAP! The door gives way. Dozens of coyotes swarm the church, leaping onto worshippers and tearing chunks of flesh free from the human bodies. One pounce resulted in the knocking over of the holy candles, starting a blaze. Dean broke free from their grasp and ran to his father. “Daddy, come on, let’s get out of here.” Harold coughed up blood. He didn't recognize his son, he just stared blankly into his eyes. Dean pulled out the Swiss army knife his grandpa had given him for Christmas and cut the rope that was holding his father up. Harold sank quickly into the pool of slugs, being quickly devoured. “I...love...you...Dad.”

“You can't stop us this time, for it has already begun!” screamed Charles as three canines leapt onto him, gnawing at his face, pulling an eye ball loose from its socket. Ted Charles writhed a little, then submitted to his final rest. A huge tremor rocked the whole church, foundation and all. Dean heard the floor boards of the stage crack. He knew he had to run, but the floor gave way. He fell several feet into what seemed like a tunnel. A coyote fell along with him; he took safety in that.

14

Dean had to feel his way through the darkness of the tunnel. He could hear the sounds of the dog sniffing its way too. He walked for what seemed like hours before he heard the coyote's growl. It was a low growl, like maybe the canine was afraid. Dean heard the sound of shifting dirt and smelled something putrid. The dog barked, it echoed loudly. SSSSSSssssssss..... He didn't recognize that noise. It was almost a wet slurpy sound. He felt the coyote back up. “If he's backing up, I probably should too,” he thought. Dean heard the coyote retreat the opposite way, so he ran that way as well. The sound seemed to be gaining on them, getting closer each second. The tunnel system was long. Dean had no idea where he was going. Ahead he thought he saw a shimmer of light. He ran as fast as he could towards it. The sound was nearly on top of him now. YELP! The coyote was gone in a split second, taken by the thing behind him. Dean was getting very tired and the light never seemed to get any closer. He had to stop; he couldn't go any further. He turned and came face to face with it. Its gray eyes stared at him,. It had the sharpest teeth Dean ever saw. Its slug-like body glistened in the little bit of light down there, The beast remained as still as Dean. His mind raced, “What can I do?” One thing came to mind, “SLUGOSH!” he yelled from the tops of his lungs. The creature screeched and bit down on Dean's arm, dragging him into the darkness.

15

Dean woke up bloody and caked in mud. The creek he was lying in had flowing fresh water. He bent over and drank till his belly was full. The sun shone bright and he could hear the sound of a road nearby. Picking himself up, he walked through the brush and weeds to the highway. Dean begins walking, when an old ratty van pulls up near him. “You lost little buddy? Seems like you've been through hell. Can I take you home?” the van man asks. Dean smiles, “Yes please, I just want to go home.” The van man opens his passenger door. “Climb in, my name’s Bryan. But really, people usually call me by my nickname, Smithy! Feel free to do so as well.” Dean climbs in. “Alright, I'm Dean.” The van man puts it into gear and drives down the road. “Oh and in back there is my dog, Elvis.” The dog barks incessantly at Dean. “Don't mind him, he thinks everyone is evil or something. Stupid dog!” Bryan quips. Dean lets out a small laugh and looks into the rear view mirror at the dog. Dean's eyes are glowing a soft neon green. Dean smiles hugely. Bryan switches on the radio and turns it up loud. “Strange, life is strange, life strange, oh life is strange!”

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