Psycho Thrill--Unholy Night by Timothy Stahl

Author:Timothy Stahl [Stahl, Timothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-3-7325-0212-7
Publisher: Bastei Entertainment
Published: 2015-09-17T00:00:00+00:00

3

From Heaven Above …?

“So that's our Marie, then?” The old, robust farm woman — she must have been seventy, give or take — placed the flat of her hand on the wood of the stall's side door. Marie was still trapped inside.

Adrian looked at the woman, puzzled. “Then you know my wife and her mother?” He was almost glad to have asked it. Finally, a question that might have an answer.

“Erica and Marie,” the woman said softly, almost feebly. Then she turned her face from Adrian, her eyes wet.

“This here is the Schindlers’ farm,” she explained. “They lived here with us 'til they were gone one night, in the fog.”

“After Marie's father died,” Adrian added.

“She couldn't stand it, Erica, how we lived here.” The farmer shook her head at the ground. “I get that now. At the time, it broke my heart.”

Adrian sensed a second truth, one which clearly didn't match what Erica had told her daughter about what was happening in the village at that time. There seemed to be more to Erica's decision to leave, more than just not fitting in with the people or getting along with her deceased husband's in-laws.

“And now …” The woman turned her tear-filled gaze toward the barn door, where she rested her hand. “Now she's back, Marie. Because the curse drove her home.”

“Curse?” Adrian stepped in, the word puffing from his mouth like a small cloud. “What curse?”

Good God, he was almost ready to believe anything when it came to Marie's transformation.

“That's a long story …”

“Do you know what's going on with my wife?” Adrian stepped in front of Kathryn, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Why she's … become this way? Erica sent her here, but I don't know why.”

The woman's breath also steamed in the cold. Her hand fell from the door, as if it were too heavy to bear, her shoulders drooping with it.

“Tell me!” he snapped. “Can Marie be … helped here?”

The farmer woman took a breath, straightened herself, and placed her hand on Adrian's shoulder. “Come. We've got to go to the pastor. He'll know what to do. Hopefully.” She turned toward the village. “Anyway, it was he who baptized Marie, just like all the other Himmeltal kids — with that wretched blood.”

*

“In the water there,” the man with the hat gestured, “you will not find eternal life. Only death.”

It was a surreal and eerie scene that presented itself to Voigt as he slowly stood up. The men, silent now, stood motionless with their torches. Their spokesman, close to the edge of the rocky river bank, looked in the water as though it showed him things the others could never see.

The man was not only their voice. Over the days in which Voigt had observed the village from the woods, slowly building a picture of it, he learned that this was the man in charge. Always, and nearly everywhere, he was accompanied by the pastor, constantly on the go — as if the two owned no home and never needed to sleep.

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