Darla’s hands shook as she returned her wallet to her purse and proof of insurance back to the glove compartment. She had to pull herself together before she continued to drive home. Once back on the road, she began to think about the strange, and admittedly terrifying, events of the evening. How does a man disappear after being hit by a car? Unless he wasn’t really a man. And that police officer, she’d never seen him before. Yellville was not a big town, and though she might not know every single person in it, she knew quite a few of the officials because of her work at the library. Her children’s group had done tours of the police station in the past, and Darla could not ever remember seeing that man at the station. She glanced over at her phone that lay on the console and thought about the picture she’d taken. At least she would be able to clear up part of her mysterious evening. She’d just call the station and give them the police car number and find out who he was.
As she pushed the door open and stepped into her house, the smell of food assaulted her. Wayne was standing in the kitchen with several containers of food, leftovers from the night before.
“I heated us up dinner,” he told her and gave her a smile. “How was your day?”
Darla set her purse down on the counter and walked over to one of the containers that held mashed potatoes. She snatched up the spoon and stuffed a large bite in her mouth. The buttery flavor flooded her taste buds. It was comfort food, good ol’ Southern comfort food and just that one warm bite seemed to chase away some of the cold that had filled her insides.
“It was a normal day until this evening,” she said.
“What happened this evening?” Wayne asked as he began to make them plates of food.
Darla thought about it again. Both encounters had one thing in common: the presence of evil had been overwhelming. “I’m not exactly sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say the devil has come to Yellville.”
Chapter Ten
Dreaming of hermit crabs means that it’s time for you to come out of your shell. The time has come to leave your comfortable position and head out into the great unknown. But be wary. Dangers await you out in the wild blue yonder. Make sure your pinchers are sharpened.
Emma set her bag under her chair as she took her seat. The weekend had passed, uneventful aside from the night Dair had come over acting strange and Raphael had become a glow worm. The rest of the time had been quiet. It was her second week of school, and despite her desire to be with Darla, Wayne, Serenity, and Dair, she still felt there was a reason she was in this school at this time. God, or the Creator as Dair and Raphael referred to Him, wanted her here. She could feel it in her spirit.
Her mama used to tell her that when God wanted to use us to point people to Him, they would feel it in their gut. She said, ‘Your stomach will get tight, and until you start moving in the direction God wants you to go, there won’t be any easing of that feeling.’ That’s what Emma was feeling, and anytime she thought about leaving, that feeling would knot up her stomach again and only ease when she resolved herself to be exactly where she was.
“Hi, Emma,” Callie, the friend she’d made the first week of school, said, pulling Emma from her thoughts.
Emma turned to smile at the girl and felt her stomach tighten a bit. “Hey, Callie,” she said with genuine warmth in her voice. The girl had been on Emma’s mind continually since they’d met. Emma felt like their meeting was more than chance. At some point in the future, Emma was sure Callie would need a good friend, and Emma thought that friend was meant to be her.
“Did you have a good weekend?” Callie asked.
Emma shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it was bad, and I could say there were aspects of good. Mostly it was just two days that went by where I didn’t do a whole lot of anything.”
Callie’s brow drew together as she stared at Emma. After a few seconds, a smile spread across her face and she giggled. “You are a strange person, Emma Whitmore.”
Emma laughed too. “That’s not the first time I’ve been told that.”
Mrs. Sunders stood up at the front of the classroom, and the noise of talking died down as everyone turned to face her.
“I have some upsetting news,” she began. Her face was strained, and Emma could see dark circles under her eyes. “Joel McFadden has been missing for two days. He is in Mrs. Harris’ third grade class.” She paused and her eyes scanned over the room, meeting the eyes of the students. “I’m not telling you this to frighten you. I’m telling you so that you will be aware and take precautions. Do not walk outside alone. Don’t even be in your front yard alone. Do not talk to strangers, even if they ask for help and it seems urgent. You are to run in the opposite direction and get to someone you know. Please be safe.” She seemed like she wanted to say more, but after a few seconds she shook her head and picked up a book.
And so, Emma’s week began, with news of a child missing and warnings to guard against becoming the next victim. She doodled in her notebook as Mrs. Sunders began lecturing about American History. Emma was advanced well beyond her current grade level in History, like all of her other subjects, so she didn’t necessarily need to pay close attention. Her mind kept wandering to different things her mama, and even her daddy, had said to her in those last couple of days before they were killed. She didn’t understand why those days seemed to be stuck on repeat, replaying themselves in her mind. She felt as if someone was trying to tell her something but she was missing it.
“Are you alright?” Raphael asked as he knelt next to Emma’s desk. No one else could see or hear him, of course, so she had to be careful not to look at him or answer him out loud. She wrote a Y on her paper and tapped it for him to see her answer to his question. He gave a subtle nod and then stood back up and backed away until he was leaning against the wall at the back of the classroom. Emma wondered if he was bored. After all, his sole existence revolved around hanging out with an eight-year-old and going to school with her. She imagined that it was pretty un-majestic and mundane to an angelic being. She wondered if there was something more important he could be doing, like helping starving children in third world countries or fighting evil somewhere it would bring the most impact. Surely staying with her wasn’t near as important as other things he could be doing to serve the Creator.
Time passed and more thoughts bombarded her mind as she went through the motions of school. By the time lunch came around she had a headache.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Callie asked Emma.
Emma looked at her unopened lunch and noticed she was the only one who hadn’t begun eating. She pulled out her sandwich, courtesy of her personal angel, and unwrapped it. When she’d had asked how he got the food, he only shrugged and said ‘I’m sure your mama told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth.’ He’d been right, her mama had said that.
“A little, I guess,” she answered Callie.
“I can’t believe another kid is gone,” Callie said around the bite of sandwich she’d taken.
“What do you mean, another?” Emma asked.
“There’ve been more. I’m not sure how many but at least a couple per month since Halloween.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “Two a month? They haven’t found any of them?”
Callie shook her head.
They sat there in silence, eating their lunch and thinking. Or, at least Emma was thinking. She wasn’t sure what Callie had going on inside her mind.
“I wish we didn’t have to do creative writing this afternoon. I’m not really good at writing,” Callie said, answering Emma’s question about what was going on in her mind. Apparently, she was done talking and thinking about the missing children.
“I can help you,” Emma offered.
“Do you like writing?”
Emma smiled. “I like anything that has to do with learning and school.”
Callie shook her head and a small smile appeared. “See, strange, just like I said.”
“Strange can be good,” Emma countered.
&nb
sp; Callie thought about it and then nodded. “Yes, you’re right, strange can be good. Giraffes are strange and cute. That’s good.”
This made Emma laugh. She was being compared to the oddity of a giraffe. She guessed it could be worse. Callie could compare her to the bald rear-end of an orangutan, which was also strange.
They spent the rest of lunch making small talk. Raphael was around, mostly on the edge of the cafeteria. She assumed he was giving her space so she could make friends. She couldn’t really sit and talk to him or the other students might begin to question her mental stability. Emma didn’t want to draw attention to herself or her situation, at least not yet.
As she and Raphael walked back to Mr. Jones’ house, she was quiet. Her mind was still wrestling with her parents’ words.
“Might I ask what has you so sidetracked?” Raphael said.
She thought about how to answer him. It took a minute for her thoughts to form a coherent sentence. “My parents said several things to me in the last couple of days before they died. At the time, it just seemed like their usual pearls of wisdom.”
“And now?” he prompted when she stopped.
“And now I feel like they were trying to tell me something. But I don’t know if they realized they were trying to tell me something.” She shook her head. “That didn’t make sense. What I mean is, maybe they felt led to tell me these things for a reason they did not know or understand.”
Raphael nodded but didn’t say anything, so she continued to speak her thoughts out loud instead of wrestling with them in her mind.
“My daddy told me, two days before the day they died, ‘Emma Jean, do you understand that evil exists in the world?’ I told him, yes, I did understand that. Then he asked, ‘Do you understand why?’.”
“What did you respond?” Raphael asked, his eyes shining with interest.
“At first I was going to say yes, but then I thought about it and I said, ‘Are we supposed to understand?’ My daddy looked at me much like you’re looking at me right now,” she said with a chuckle. “So I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. ‘Isn’t it enough to understand that God is good? Isn’t that something that is better to grasp onto, rather than the understanding of evil or its purpose?’”
Raphael frowned and started to say something, but Emma held up her hand. “I’m beginning to see that he wanted me to dig deeper than that, and I am.” She tapped her temple. “This right up here is turning his question over and over, and I’m doing what Mama used to do. She’d stand in the kitchen washing dishes talking out loud to God. She did that all the time. She’d say things like, ‘I don’t get what you’re doing, Lord, but you do. So that will have to be enough.’ Or she’d say, ‘Explain it to me, God. Just make it plain as day so I can obey.’ I’m asking God to make it plain as day.”
“The Creator always has a purpose,” Raphael said. “And sometimes it is not for us to know or understand.”
Emma nodded. “I agree, but there’s no harm in asking, and maybe he’s waiting to tell me but wants me to come and ask for that knowledge instead of just giving it to me.”
They were both quiet after that, and when they reached Mr. Jones’ house they stood on the cracked, run-down sidewalk and just stared at the hovel. Emma didn’t want to go inside. She didn’t want to be around Mr. Jones at all. Sleeping outside sounded more appealing to her than being in that house. But, this was where she was. To what end, she didn’t know. So she took a step toward the front porch and another and another until she was up on the rickety wood by the door. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for what she would be faced with when she went inside. It might be just emptiness, or it might be a man wrapped in darkness and depravity. Whatever it was, she would face it as her mama taught her. ‘Emma Jean, everywhere you go, you go knowing that God goes with you.’ She latched onto that truth and pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The usual darkness of the house settled over her, but there was something more there this time. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was different. Emma went to her closet to drop off her backpack. Then she would figure out if Mr. Jones was in the house. She liked to be aware of where he was so he couldn’t sneak up on her.
When a walk through the house didn’t reveal him, she assumed he must be out. That was fine with her. She prepared herself a snack from some peanut butter and crackers she found in the cabinet. When she was done eating, she didn’t know what to do with herself.
“What should I do?” she asked Raphael.
“What do you want to do?”
She thought about it. What would she have normally done after school when she lived with her parents? Come home, talk to her mom about her day, play in her room, or watch a show on TV. But Emma was on her own now. And Raphael had been with her all day, so he knew how her day was. Watching TV wasn’t appealing because she didn’t want to be in the living room when Mr. Jones showed up again. So, finally, she answered him. “I guess go to my hovel under the stairs.”
“Very good, Mr. Potter,” Raphael teased, understanding her reference.
“Emma?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been wondering, why is it that you aren’t in some sort special classes for kids who have above average intelligence?”
“I was when I lived in Memphis. But when I transferred, they never said anything to me about it and I never brought it up.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Emma considered how to explain what she felt and not sound as if she was giving up. “Being in those classes would have reminded me too much of my mama. It’s not that I didn’t want to keep living or doing my best, not really. It was just so fresh, the pain, I mean. We spent so much time reading books together and doing homework together, I wasn’t ready to have to do that on my own.”
Raphael was quiet for a minute but then finally spoke. “There is no shame in taking time to heal, Emma. Nor is there an allotted time for how long it takes. Everyone heals in their own time.”
They sat in the closet quietly for a long time. Emma had her notebook in her lap and was jotting down thoughts that kept popping into her head. Raphael was silent, as he often was, just a calming presence. Later she would look back and realize that this moment had been the calm before the storm.
“I should go check on Serenity,” Raphael said quietly as Emma sat in the floor of her closet. “Dair was not himself when he was here last, and Serenity is not getting better. I will be back quickly. It’s quiet right now. Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine, Raph. Serenity needs help. Go help her. Reginald isn’t here,” Emma told him, hoping he would go. She didn’t want Serenity to be going through something so hard by herself. From what Dair had said, she was having horrible nightmares full of demons. Emma wouldn’t want to have to endure such an ordeal on her own, and she didn’t want her friend to have to either.
Raphael gave her one last look before he was gone. The quietness in the closet was heavy. Usually, when Emma was alone, she didn’t feel so oppressed. But in that moment, she felt as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. That strange feeling she’d had when she’d entered the house was back and growing. She felt as though something dark and sticky was covering her skin and a black hole was opening up inside her, swallowing any light that might shine in her heart.
Her hands broke out into a sweat, and her heart was pounding painfully in her chest. She tried to bring her mother’s words to her mind, tried to hear the words she’d often spoken about the Creator, but there was nothing, only silence. She forced herself to take a deep breath, but the air felt as thick as tar and none would fill her lungs.
She squeezed her eyes closed and bit the inside of her lip. What was happening? Some evil must be attacking her, but what? As she attempted to force air into her lungs, Emma heard the front door open and close. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no, no.” Her frantic plea reverberated off the walls in the small space. Her heart began to beat even hard
er, and she was sure that Reginald would be able to hear it.
“Little pet.” She heard him croon and felt the bile rise in her throat. He’d never called her anything other than girl. For the most part, he avoided her. The voice that had spoken those words did not sound like Reginald. The food she’d eaten for a snack was going to come up. That was inevitable. It was just a question of when.
“Come out, little pet, I can hear your breathing. You can’t hide from me.”
Emma clamped her hand over her mouth and tried to bring her breathing under control. Her shoulders shook as she fought the sobs that were threatening to burst forth. She knew what was going to happen. She knew it in her gut, but she didn’t know how to stop it. Her heart was beating painfully fast, and every muscle in her body was tense, ready to flee but with nowhere to go.
His footsteps were getting closer, and with each step, a little more hope seeped out of her. She was alone. There was no one to rescue her. Her mind reached out for God, and she wondered where He was. Her mama had said He was always there; He was always listening. Was He listening now? Did He hear the crazed voice of Reginald Jones? Did He feel the evil that radiated through the house, threatening to drag her to the very pits of hell that she’d heard about in church? Where are you? Emma thought as the closet door swung open and the eager eyes of Reginald met her fear-filled ones.
The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke enveloped her, and she gagged. The smile he showed her was full of dead yellow and black teeth, and his face was covered in a few days’ growth of rough hair. His shirt, which had once been white, was dingy and almost grey, covered in undiscernible stains. None of that is what plunged Emma into a tidal wave of panic. It wasn’t until her eyes dropped below the shirt and she saw the belt on his pants unclasped, the button undone, and the zipper down that she lost it.