Hell Spring by Isaac Thorne

Author:Isaac Thorne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror, novel, fiction, supernatural, shape-shifter, flood, storms, sin, guilt, shame
Publisher: Isaac Thorne
Published: 2022-09-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Well, shit!” an angry feminine voice shouted through the darkness. “Jerry! Find the emergency candles. I forgot to grab them before it got dark outside.”

Eli heard, or rather intuited, Jerry’s departure from his side as the young man divined his way through the blackened void that enveloped everything. He reckoned that a bolt of lightning must’ve hit a pole somewhere and exploded a transformer. That, or it struck a tree that fell onto a line.

Mr. Blalock often complained about Lost Hollow’s lackluster maintenance of the overhanging tree branches that lined the roads throughout this area of Hollow County.

“We’d spend a lot less time in the got-damned dark if they’d just cut the got-damned trees back every got-damned August like they’re supposed to,” he’d moan whenever the farmhouse lost power. Meanwhile, Mrs. Blalock would chide him for taking the Lord’s name while she gathered up any nearby emergency candles and ignited their wicks with a match from the box she kept in her apron pocket at all times. Ever-prepared, that woman was.

Eli occasionally wondered if the old lady had a secret smoking habit. It would’ve been her only vice if she had, at least as far as she was concerned. Well, unless she had a log she could flog.

But that wasn’t a vice anymore, was it? The more Eli considered what Jerry had explained to him about jacking off, the more enraged he became over how the woman of the farmhouse had shamed him. He’d been lied to. There were layers of injury because of it. First was her assumption that he was doing it at all, let alone in inappropriate places. He was doing it but, as it turns out, that’s none of her business. Did she want to know when and where he was taking a shit, too? How much different was shooting a load than squeezing a turd, anyway? At least in terms of privacy. Shitting was a release, too, although it didn’t cause quite the same tingle of electricity in his nerve endings that flogging did.

“Shitting is something everyone has to do,” the quavering, sharp-edged voice of Georgia Blalock cut through the darkness. It sounded like she was standing right in front of him, close enough for him to feel her breath on his skin. Eli let out a loud yelp and took a single step backward, thrusting his fists out in a defensive stance as he did.

“Everybody shits,” the voice continued. “Because everybody eats. It’s what God intended. But God did not intend for you to go around always playing the fiddle on your diddle, especially not in my house!”

Eli squinted. Jerry had yet to return with the candles. Even so, Eli’s eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. He could discern the outline of Georgia Blalock standing a few inches in front of him. She wasn’t a giant this time. Not yet. She was shorter than the Marilyn woman, stooped with age and the wear and tear of life as the farmer’s wife.

“Nuh-uh,” Eli retorted.

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