Page 53 of Brimstone Hollow

I find the last can and set it on the stump. When I look up, my dad is aiming down his barrel. Right at me. I freeze, my heart racing, my mind trying to catch up.

“Dad—” I start, but then he’s laughing. Throwing his head back like this is nothing more than a big joke.

“Annie-Girl,” he chuckles, gesturing with the gun. “Come on now, move out of the way.”

I run from the stump, off to the side at first, and then make a large arc before returning to stand beside him, my heart still thundering, a cold sweat freezing my clothes to my body.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The world goes dark. Silent.

And then I hear the singing. The voice like an angel. Clear and loud and beautiful.

It is powerful. Magical. Undeniable.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood

Shall never lose its power,

Till all the ransomed ones of God

Be saved, to sin no more…

There is no obvious source of the voice. It’s a song without a singer. It’s as if the words, resonant as bells, are rising up from the earth itself. Tears come to my eyes, burning and unstoppable.

Be saved, to sin no more;

Till all the ransomed ones of God,

Be saved, to sin no more.

And then I see him standing before me. At first, I think it’s my dad. Then I realize this man is too tall, too thin, too clean cut.

The man steps through a curtain of rain and now I can see his face. This is Ezra King. His mouth moves as if he’s speaking but no words come out. A rain of blood falls on us both, slides down our faces, mixes with tears.

Split splat. Split splat.

“Ezra?” I say.

He leans forward, grabs me by the shoulders, opens his mouth to scream. But instead of words, snakes slide out from within him, floodingfrom his mouth like a river. Hundreds of them. Thousands. They thud heavily against my skin, rattle and writhe when they hit the blood-soaked ground.

A huge disembodied hand appears above Ezra’s head, fingers outstretched, glowing with golden light. And then, the snakes—all around me—hiss,The king has been judged. His kingdom is no more.

I gasp, wake with a start, panting. I’m covered in sweat. I wrestle free of the covers, go to the bathroom, splash water on my face, and take a long drink of water. When I return, I look at the clock. It’s almost twoAM.

My heart rate isn’t as frantic as it was moments before but, already, I know there’s no way I’m getting back to sleep now. Instead, I cram my laptop back in my bag, pull a fresh set of nitrile gloves from my duffel, and grab the Bronco keys. Fifteen minutes later, I’m rolling through Brimstone Hollow.

The sulfur smell fills my nose and burns my lungs. I ease off the gas as I near the twisted gap in the guardrail where Honey’d gone through.

I stop, staring at the black skid marks Honey’s wheels left behind. In the dark forest beyond, a pair of yellow eyes glimmers, the height of a man. They stare at me, unblinking.

Whooooo!

An owl, I realize.

Whoooo!

I let out a long breath and continue through and, eventually, out of Brimstone Hollow.