the Four Corners (north, east, south, and west) and the four seasons. Weren't things supposed to happen in threes? Whatever a person sent out came back to them threefold. And why settle for four? Why not five? Why did it even matter?
Truth be told, it really didn't matter, and she knew it.
Zoey turned and looked back at the bedroom. She knelt beside the lantern, turning it off, and she watched the flame inside rapidly dim, flicker out, and then saw the glow of the wick inside gradually fade until it was going, going, and finally gone. Satisfied that it was extinguished, she then got up and began to make her way downstairs, unscrewing the cap on the side of the lamp, tilting it sideways, and shaking kerosene out of the lantern's fuel tank while quickly walking through the house. Saltwater may have been good for neutralizing negativity, but combustible fuels worked better for positive ignitions.
She dropped the emptied lamp as she made her way into the kitchen, reached inside of her jacket pocket, and found her disposable cigarette lighter. She hesitated for a moment after thumbing the striker and causing a flame to spring into life, watching it dance quietly as the butane hissed out of the lighter. Such a tiny little thing, that flame, yet it could do so much harm … and so much healing. She knelt, touched the flame near the floor where she had last splashed the kerosene, and she watched as the fuel caught with a soft woof sound. A trailing flame that started out as blue and flickered upward into yellow tips began to snake its way along the floor into the dining room and living room, where she had splashed it randomly upon the walls. The flames seemed to catch and spread with increasing swiftness until they had completely ignited the scattered kerosene. Zoey stood and watched for a moment before thoughtlessly reaching into her jacket and taking out a cigarette, lighting it as well before tossing the lighter and the remaining pack of cigarettes at the blossoming garden of flames. She had no logical or emotional reason for this, except … why not?
She turned and took a single step toward the kitchen doorway. She paused in mid-step, her foot hovering in mid-air as she looked down and saw that the door was once again no longer laying over the hole in the floor. She took her foot back and paused for a few moments, taking another drag from her cigarette. The door hadn't simply disappeared this time; it had replaced itself back in the door frame, exactly as it had been when she and her friends had first arrived. She stared at it for a few moments, thinking, pondering, smoking … and then it clicked. And she felt a strange smile beginning to curve her lips.
“Consecration isn't just about blessing something,” she reminded herself as she recalled something that she had read. “It's a way of preparing a tool for sacred use.” She looked up at the hole in the ceiling, then turned around to face the growing flames in the other room. “This house is a tool.” She carefully stepped over the hole in the floor, grabbing the doorknob and clinging to it to stop herself from falling over backward into the cellar. “Every tool has a purpose. Some tools are for doing. Others are for understanding.”
She took one last look back over her shoulder, watching the flames curl and peel away the layers of antique wallpaper while darkening the chipped, flaking white paint of the trim. Zoey smiled, taking one last drag upon her cigarette before flicking it into the room full of fire that had begun to creep into the kitchen.
“And now I understand what I need to do.”
She closed her eyes, she inhaled deeply – toxic, acrid smoke filled her lungs, yet it somehow did not burn – and she turned the doorknob while pulling upon the door. Her breath came out in a huff as she felt the door open with a sort of whoosh that blasted a sudden rush of fresh air over her from outside. Behind her eyelids, she saw a sudden brightness flare into being, the crackle and roar of the flames behind her was instantly hushed, and the blessings of all her full senses and emotions were somehow restored. She opened her eyes as she took that first step outside onto the porch.
“Whoa!”
She found herself suddenly facing Chad. It was daylight. Behind him stood Gina, stowing her roll of toilet paper back into her canvas bag, and Mike, still lugging a big cooler full of ice and beverages. Chad was clearly surprised to see her standing in front of him, glancing back over his shoulder a couple of times and looking to Zoey with a confused expression.
“How … wait … what?” he stammered. “How did you get in there? I thought you were back there a second ago…?”
Zoey somehow managed not to let her own surprise show upon her face. The smile she gave him was one of immeasurable relief, yet there was no way he could have known the true cause for her smile.
“I took another path.”
“Oh.” He stood there for a moment, shrugging that off. “So, umm … are we going in?”
Zoey brushed past Chad, closing the door behind herself. She felt it lock behind her as her fingertips lingered upon the doorknob. She looked at Gina with a smile she couldn't lose, and then to Mike, shaking her head.
“Nah,” she said. “We don't have any business being in there.”
“What do you mean? I thought that was the whole reason we came out here in the first place?” Gina asked, looking and sounding disappointed. “Y'know, to see if this place really is haunted and to set the bad vibes straight…?”
Zoey shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair, finding it to be perfectly dry, as were her clothes. Her ankle felt perfectly fine as she walked away from the door and descended the steps.
“Yeah, well … I guess I realized that sort of thing is way out of my league.” She kicked aside a loose piece of wood that had once been a part of a handrail for the steps. “Besides, this place is in worse shape than I thought. I don't want anyone to get hurt.”
“But … I thought you said you needed a feeling of closure?”
“I came, I saw, and now I understand.” She glanced back at him with a smile. “It's all good.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah. Just like that.”
“You mean you poked your head in there for just a minute, and now we're already leaving?” Mike complained. “I carried this stupid thing all the way over here for nothing, and now I've gotta carry it right back?”
“Jeez! Instead of whining, maybe just try asking for help,” Gina said, taking hold of one of the cooler's handles with a jerk.
“My, what strong arms you have, my dear,” Mike joked as he followed her back down the stairs of the porch.
“All the better to beat your ass with,” she giggled. Turning to Zoey as they walked ahead, Gina asked, “So, what's the deal? You chickened out already?”
“I had a little epiphany, that's all,” she replied with a shrug, taking Chad's hand and walking toward the Explorer.
“An epiphany? When?”
“Just a little while ago.”
“Oh? What was it?”
“Instead of trying to tinker with something that I don't even remotely understand, I'm probably better off just leaving it well enough alone,” she explained. Zoey shrugged. “Some things aren't even meant to be understood in the first place, anyway.”
Soon, they were back on the road, heading for the cemetary in Plains, Kansas where her brother had been buried. They had a bit of a makeshift picnic next to his grave, and Zoey poured a shot of whiskey over her brother's grave before they departed for Dodge City to seek out a movie to watch that night. She later learned that the entire farm house and the remains of its surrounding buildings had burned to the ground during an unexplained fire approximately a month later. Not long after that, the property was cleared entirely of the debris and trees, bulldozed flat, and it became nothing more than another portion of the wheat fields that surrounded the entire area. For the rest of her years, she never spoke a single word to anyone about what she had experienced. She didn't need to. Whether or not she had succeeded with consecrating the land, she certainly had at least succeeded in clearing one thing: her conscience.
###
****~~~~****
About the author:
Born in the Midwe
st and an avid writer since the age of 13, David M. Bachman's works of fiction span over 25 years. His first published work, "When Raindrops Come Crashing," marked the start of his foray into publishing in December 2000. Since then, he has written a number of other fiction novels and short stories, including a carefully-crafted, nine-volume vampire series and many short stories and other novels. He currently resides in the East Valley area of Phoenix, AZ, where many of his recent stories are based.
****~~~~****
“Little Miss Mute”
“Belladonna”
“The Darkest Colors”
“The Darkest Colors: Exsanguinations”
“The Darkest Colors: Children of Asmodeus”
“Kat & Katarina”
“Grace of Smoke”
“Beautiful Reaper”
“Consecration”
“Swatted”
“The Rider of Los Muertos”
“For the Wicked”
“Mortal Consumption”
“Immortal Debts”
****~~~~****
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends