thundered. The clouds bumped into each other like koi in a crowded pond. The mailbox people tore at the stitches in their mouths, trying to say something to him, but all he could hear was their moaning.
“Now, go get the key, son,” the nice man said gently.
Do you know where you are?
Christopher gripped the dull, silver blade. He looked at the hissing lady fighting to drag her shattered bones to the lawn. He saw the rope burns around her neck. The chemical burns on her skin.
“But she was a baby once. Where did she come from?” Christopher asked.
“She was born here.”
“I don’t think she was. Look at her.”
Christopher pointed to the hissing lady again. Her eyes seemed filled with agony. Not rage. Not madness. She crawled desperately over the street. Trying to get to the lawn. And for some reason Christopher couldn’t understand, no one would help her. No mailbox people. No deer. They seemed frozen in the light of the fire.
“Christopher, I know you feel sorry for her. But don’t be fooled. She tortured me for centuries, just like she tortured David. Just like she would have hurt you and your mother. But you stopped her. Only you.”
Christopher looked at the nice man, smiling through his broken teeth. His skin and clothes torn apart from centuries of torment. There was something so kind about him. Something that reminded Christopher of his dad. Maybe it was the tobacco smell on his shirt. Christopher didn’t remember the nice man ever smoking, but it was there nonetheless.
“We can’t let her get off the street until she’s burnt completely. Come on, son. You need to get that key,” the nice man said, putting his hand on Christopher’s head.
The nice man’s hand felt so comfortable to Christopher. Like the cold side of the pillow. All of the screams around them fell away, and the air became fresh and clean. It didn’t smell like the nightmares anymore. It smelled like the forest in winter. It smelled like…like…
Like Heaven.
The nice man smiled and led Christopher across the street. The hissing lady stretched her fingers to the lawn. Christopher knelt down, blocking her path. She groped at him wildly, her scarred fingers coarse against his skin.
“STOP HELPING HIM!” the hissing lady screamed at the nice man.
“Don’t let her leave the street, Christopher,” the nice man said calmly.
“She’s still too strong. I need your help.”
“No, son. It has to be you. Only you. You’re God here.”
Christopher held the silver blade. The hissing lady burned, her eyes wild with fear. She tried to crawl around him, but her body crumpled. Christopher knew she would never make it to the lawn.
The hissing lady was going to die.
“You saved us, Christopher,” the nice man said. “Your father would have been very proud of you. Now, get the key, son.”
Christopher felt the nice man’s hands on his shoulders. Rubbing them. Christopher smiled. He moved the silver blade to her throat. He was just about to carve the key out of her scarred, burnt skin when something caught the corner of his eye.
A shadow figure.
Walking out of the woods.
It shuffled its feet through the field, dazed and delirious. Its hands and legs shaking. Christopher looked as the shadow figure stepped into the streetlight.
It was David Olson.
He was ashen. Christopher could see the scratches on his neck. The gash across his cheek. The blood pouring out of his nose. The bruises on his arms.
“David!” Christopher screamed in triumph. “It’s over! You’re safe! You’re free! Look!”
Christopher pointed to the hissing lady burning on the street. David opened his mouth and unrolled his serpent tongue. What followed was a cry of such anguish that it made Christopher shudder. David ran to the hissing lady. He took one of her hands and desperately tried to drag her off the street with his battered body.
“David? What are you doing?” Christopher asked.
David pulled with all of his strength, but he was too weak. Christopher looked into the hissing lady’s eyes, illuminated by the streetlight. For the first time, he realized her eyes were filled with tears.
“Stop helping him,” she pleaded.
Christopher suddenly realized that the hissing lady wasn’t talking to the nice man.
She was talking to him.
Christopher felt the nice man’s hands on his shoulders. Rubbing. His ears went flush. His heart began to pound. He turned around. The nice man was in a grey suit. He looked flawless. Not a mark on his skin. Not a scar on his body. He smiled a kind smile, his teeth perfectly intact.