Pray for the Devil

Part 1: The Strange Brains-3

By now a cone of charcoal briquettes blazed in the charred, partly rusted grill and the other three had unwrapped several hamburger patties and placed them on a small tray nearby. They seemed to be waiting for the Rabbi to join them. As if sensing this, he turned. "Well, we have plenty of time before sleep. Let us eat first."

Farley followed him and together they formed a circle. Without prompting, the four of them lowered their heads, and on realizing what was to come Farley joined them. "Almighty God," the Rabbi intoned, "We thank you for leading us safely through another day and for the food which you have placed before us to nourish our bodies. We ask that you keep us safe through the night, so that we may venture out in your service tomorrow. Amen."

There's that word 'safe' again, Farley thought. Who are these people?

As the burgers sizzled, they passed around a bag of potato chips and a jar of dill pickles. A gentle breeze had begun to rustle the pine needles above them and the resultant hiss sounded like rain. Melanie rose quickly to fetch her sweatshirt, while the others ate in silence. Two of them sat on folding canvas chairs and the other two on scratched plastic milk crates. Farley had returned to his car and rested against the hood. "If you stay with us," Matt said, "we'll have to find you a seat." The Rabbi began to nod his head rhythmically and hum a tune that Farley did not recognize.

Suddenly, the side door of the Winnebago opened and Melanie stepped through it, her arm stretched behind her as if helping someone forward. Finally, the fifth member of the party revealed herself, although very reluctantly. She was a pretty, dark skinned African-American, very thin, almost gaunt, early twenties, maybe younger, short curly hair - and very withdrawn. On second look, withdrawn did not accurately describe her demeanor. She was paranoid to the point of catatonia.

At the sight of the four men the young woman pulled away from Melanie and backed into the dark interior. The auburn haired beauty looked at the three sitting closest to her and shrugged. Again, Melanie tried to lighten their mood with a wistful smile, but no one returned it. At that moment Farley noticed the deep fatigue on their faces, which told him they had not slept soundly for days.

Finally, Matt scooped the burgers off the grill with a short-handled spatula and slipped each one onto a cold bun and then a single paper plate. "Come and get it," he said without enthusiasm. They rose simultaneously and approached the fire, comforted by its warmth as the temperature was now falling with the sun.

They ate in silence. Melanie took a plate inside the camper and soon returned empty-handed. That seemed to be a good sign, although her expression read nothing.

"So, where to tomorrow?" Matt aimed his question at Jeff, which surprised Farley. He was sure either the Rabbi or Melanie ran this show.

"Northeast, from the looks of it. The wind has been blowing in that direction pretty consistently," the smaller man muttered with his mouth full.

"Do you have any beer?" Farley's question drew their eyes.

"Boy, I wish we did," Matt said with a smile that seemed genuine this time. "We've got some generic cream soda and small bottles of spring water."

"That mini-mart had a Budweiser sign in the window. It's not my favorite, but beer is beer."

"Beer is beer," Matt echoed. Even Jeff nodded.

Farley pushed the last bite of hamburger into his mouth and rose. "How about if I make a run..."

The Rabbi interrupted, "I think it's best we not drink anything tonight. It inhibits sleep and it could be..."

Farley finished the sentence, "Dangerous?" The Rabbi lowered his eyes and nodded. "All right," the newcomer declared, fed up now, "What exactly is going on here. Separating is dangerous. Drinking a few beers is dangerous. If you're in so much freakin' danger, why aren't you armed - or are you? And if you're in danger, I'm in danger too, right? So why shouldn't I pack up and split for safety's sake? Tell me what this is about - now!"

They exchanged glances. Finally, the Rabbi nodded again, this time to Jeff. "Let him hear it," he said. Jeff hesitated long enough to make his point. He clearly did not want Farley involved, and once again shot the newcomer a look of contempt. He rose abruptly and strode to the pick-up, from which he produced a portable CD player. Once he brought it into the middle of the circle he summoned Farley to move forward. "Give a listen to this, big shot, and tell us what you think." He pressed the start button and they all waited. Melanie pressed her eyes shut and covered her mouth with both hands as if she were preparing for that first drop on a giant roller coaster. The Rabbi and Matt also stiffened, but stared ahead resolutely. Farley shook his head and finally decided to take leave of these people.

Suddenly, the little machine emitted a sound like radio static. Occasionally, a distant voice could be heard, then a scratchy rendition of an old Beach Boys song.

"You can get more than I could on my car radio today," Farley offered. "All I heard was some psycho preacher."

"You mean Rev. Morty?" Matt asked, "Yeah, we heard him, too. Charming."

"Shh!" the Rabbi interrupted, "Here it comes."

And then it began - a horrifying cacophony of sounds. Was that a baby crying? a man screaming? a cow mooing? It was all of this and more, and underneath, a basso profundo moaning in an indistinguishable dialect. Suddenly, it transformed into a high pitched screech, then leveled off into an agonized wail, then more of the same sounds with others added, as if some kind of insane conversation were taking place, or that one sound was literally eating others.

Farley who had to this point not noticed the cold, shivered uncontrollably. It was Melanie who cried out, "Turn it off!" Immediately, Jeff obeyed.

For minutes they sat in silence, visibly shaken. With the onset of darkness Matt bolted to his feet. "We need some lights. Jeff, build a campfire. Charcoal's still hot. It should start easily." The smaller man skirted the edge of the camp gathering twigs and brush. "Don't go far!" Matt added hurriedly.

The Rabbi seemed the least affected, but he remained silent for several more minutes.

"Where the hell did you hear that?!" Farley demanded. "What in the hell makes that sound?"

"We think you have actually answered the question, Mr. Farley," the Rabbi said finally. "Mr. Krucek, Jeff, recorded that early this morning."

"Where...?"

"Off the satellite dish... or the directional receiver, if you prefer."

"You mean that sound came from outer space?"

"Unfortunately, no. It came from an as yet undetermined source about thirty miles north of here."

"You mean it's like an atmospheric disturbance?! You're tornado hunters?" He immediately thought of the movie Twister.

"Again, you're closer than you might think."

"OK, out with it!" They all froze at his angry tone.

The Rabbi breathed deeply and plunged on with the truth." We believe what you just heard is the first ever recording of a disembodied spiritual entity, also known as a demon."

"Yeah, you got hell and the atmospheric disturbance part right away. That was really good," Matt added, sincerely.

"You people are crazy! I'm leaving." Farley made for his car door.

It was Melanie who spoke next, rushing forward, "No, Andrew! Please don't leave. Hear us out." She caught up with him and grabbed his arm.

Fighting anger, he shook free of her grasp. "From the start there was something weird about you all. I only tagged along out of curiosity. Now I think you're the ones who are dangerous."

"Please, Andrew, just stay the night. Please?" She was crying freely now.

"Forget it, Mother Mary," Krucek hissed, "Let him go."

"Maybe it's best to let him go, Mother Mary," Matthew assented quietly. "You can't expect a total stranger to buy in to our story. It took us months to get to this point."

"Why do you call her Mother Mary?" Farley pressed.

The Rabbi, who had been watching the scene without visible emotion, spoke in a calming voice, "You'll have to stay with us to find out."

Farley gazed into the gorgeous tear-filled, pleading eyes of Melanie/Mother Mary. He sighed deeply and said, "I'm going to get some beer. I'll decide on the way whether I'm coming back."

"Whether you choose to go or stay, make it quick, Dude," Matthew said resignedly.

"I know, I know," Farley answered impatiently, "It's dangerous."

3Curiosity and a wariness bordering on paranoia warred within Andrew Farley as he slammed Blue Volvo's driver's side door and stepped up to the entrance of the Quik Fix Mini-Mart, the same place where he had purchased gas twice already that day. Twilight had fallen, casting a foreboding gloom over the Even Better Western Inn from which no light shown. He guessed the lobby must be on the far side, because a flickering pink and blue neon sign read "Open - Vacancies." It struck him how lonely the place seemed, how little traffic for an Interstate 80 gas and lodging stop. Well, it was early yet, by his standards at least. He rarely checked into a room before nine o'clock, and that was an hour away.

When he stepped into the convenience store the sole clerk, a thin, twenty-something man with brown hair tied in a pony tail, greeted him pleasantly, which Farley returned with equal good will. He headed straight for the refrigeration case and lifted a twelve pack of Budweiser cans from behind a glass door nearly covered in duck tape. On his way back to the counter, he grabbed a two pound bag of pretzels, which to his surprise had not yet outlasted its freshness date.

"Always this quiet?" Farley asked as he set his items on a counter crowded with candy bars and TV Guides.

"Oh, hell no," the clerk, whose name tag read Tom, answered with a short laugh. "I haven't seen it like this in a year. Next month you won't be able to get a room after six o'clock. You stayin' at the BW?"

Farley tilted his head questioningly.

"The Better Western right out there." He pointed to the dark place beyond.

"Nah, I think I'm gonna put another hundred miles on my buggy before turning in."

"Well, Buddy, if that's your plan," Tom continued, "Here's a word of advice - call it the voice of experience. If you're thinkin' to drink any of these beers on the road, you'd best know that if one of our stalwart state troopers stops you for so much as a five mile an hour speed violation - and they have been known to do that, trust me - and they detect so much as the aroma of Purex wafting from your interior, they will order you from your vehicle, and if they find so much as a single empty beer can on the floor, you are in for a long stay in the local detention center, aka jail. Drinking and driving in these parts is a zero tolerance offense."

Tom's delivery seemed almost rehearsed, as if he were part owner of the Even Better Western Inn, and was trying to drum up business on a head scratchingly slow night. Still, his tone carried the ring of truth, and Farley had planned to have one or two before stopping. He paid his bill, pocketed his change and said, "Thanks, Tom."

"Stop by again," the clerk answered half-heartedly, knowing full well he'd never lay eyes on this particular human being ever again, either.

Farley breathed deeply the chilly evening air - and he thought about her, the pleading look, the haunting green eyes brimming with tears. Boy, you are good Melanie, or Mother Mary or whatever your name is. Barely an hour of face to face exposure and she had already hooked him like an experienced angler. For the first time in many months, he tilted his head back and whispered a prayer. He gazed up the lonely Interstate as far as he could see and then Route 631, now almost completely awash in darkness.