The Devil's End by D. A. Fowler

Author:D. A. Fowler [Fowler, D. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Capricorn Literary
Published: 2019-09-12T18:30:00+00:00

Marla, having been excused from school for another day by her mother, drove over to Jane’s trailer house at 9:45 Tuesday morning.

A zombie answered her knock. Jane had hardly slept a wink the night before, and the few winks she did get were spent in a labyrinth of nightmares, horrid apparitions chasing her, catching her, locking her up in a cold, gray, smelly dungeon full of bones. In one heart-stopping scene the ground before her began to crumble upward, like a slowly erupting volcano, and bright, effervescent lava oozed up red through the cracks, black smoke billowing into a starless sky overhead. Then a head began to appear, a flaming crown under which eternal, evil eyes glittered, locked into hers, and destroyed her with a split-second’s contact. She had bolted upright in a silent scream, her gown soaked with sweat, not knowing at first if it had really happened or not. Then she’d heard Harry beside her, snoring contentedly, assuring her that she was still in the land of the living.

She couldn’t bring herself to close her eyes again. Not after that. To take her mind off the terrible visage, she had gotten out of bed and actually cleaned the trailer from top to bottom. It gleamed like a new penny.

Marla entered, nodding with approval though she thought the place a hovel. “This is cute. I don’t think I’d like to live in a trailer, though. Aren’t you afraid of tornadoes?”

“It usually looks like one’s been through here,” Jane admitted tiredly, not giving the question any serious thought. Twisters were the least of her present worries. God, how she wanted to sleep, escape into deep, black, dreamless paradise. She shuffled into the kitchen to pour her ninth cup of coffee. “Want some coffee? If not, I’ve got Pepsi and orange juice…” And plenty of beer, of course. Harry was never without a good supply of brew. But she didn’t think it appropriate to offer that, although the teen looked like she could use a double scotch.

Marla seated herself on the edge of the couch. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

Jane poured her coffee, left it black, and joined her nervous guest in the living area. They stared awkwardly at each other for several moments, both wondering how to start such a conversation. Finally Marla started at the beginning and told Jane about seeing the tomb door open, and the events that had transpired since. Jane listened with growing tension, her muscles tightening into rigid cables. By the time Marla was finished with her story, Jane’s jaws were aching from clenching her teeth. She hadn’t even been aware of doing it.

“I really, really don’t want to believe any of this, you know,” Jane said. “I’ve run from this kind of thing all my life, and I never expected it to catch up to me. What scares me the most is finding out…finding out it’s real. Because if witchcraft is real, then I’ve got the damn Devil and Hell and mortal sin to deal with, and I don’t want to deal with any of it.

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