The Darkening Dream by Andy Gavin Read Free Book Online Page A

my boot.”
    Despite the nasty words, the man’s voice was smooth and calm, soft, like the ringing of small, deep bells. For the first time today, Emily was scared.
    Pastor Parris’ brown leather shoes took two steps closer to the boots.
    “This is no papist palace. Be gone! Before I tumble you back into the pit.”
    The man made the cat noise again. Emily thought it might even be a laugh. Then she heard his voice again, but it couldn’t be said to come from any particular place in the church, instead echoing all around her. Come to me, John Parris. I have crossed the great water with a message for you. I have braved sea, sun, and rats to set you to this task .
    It was all Emily could do to remain on the floor. She had the strongest, most senseless urge to crawl into the aisle and run to the dark stranger. The pastor’s movement stopped her, his brown leather shoes advancing on the funny black boots.
    Come to me, the voice that wasn’t exactly a voice repeated.
    The shoes edged even closer.
    Come.
    The stranger called the pastor across the small space that still separated them like a man coaxing a kitten.
    Then everything got weirder.
    The pastor’s feet shuffled like a carnival performer’s. He shouted something in Latin. Emily heard a whoosh and a bright light flashed from the direction of the two men. Even though the wooden pews sheltered her, it left searing colored dots across her vision like she’d been staring into the sun. The high-heeled boots vanished, and a hideous shrieking cry rang out, accompanied by the leathery flapping she’d heard earlier.
    The pastor’s shoes stepped backward, and he continued his Latin chant. Emily wondered what had become of the stranger, but she didn’t dare move. When the pastor came back he was preceded by flickering shadows and light — he must have brought a candle.
    The terrible noises stopped, and the funny boots stepped down onto the floor, as if descending from a set of invisible stairs. Emily reminded herself to breathe. The boots stood much further back now, at the far end of the altar from the pastor.
    The bell-tone voice spoke again. Not the funny everywhere voice but the regular odd one.
    “So my employer sent me to the right man.”
    “Who do you serve?” the pastor said. “What does he want from me?”
    “I’m no one’s servant, fleeting one,” the strange voice said. “But the Painted Man and I are partners when it serves our interests. I’ve brought his Eye, so that he may see and know you.”
    Emily risked a peek.
    With a rustling metallic rattle, something sailed through the air toward the pastor, who caught the object with a little wooden rod. It settled and dangled on a golden chain. She couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like a blue and gold necklace. She lowered herself carefully back to the floor.
    “What do I do with this?” the pastor said.
    “Keep it. He wants to keep an eye on you,”
    “And this task?” Pastor Parris said. “Why would I even consider any bargain with your sort?”
    “We’ll speak of the details another night. Perhaps when there’s not a child lying between your pews.”
    Emily had to bite her hand to stop herself from gasping. She was in big trouble now.
    “Do try to keep your… vices under control,” the pastor said. “I have a parish to keep clean, so kindly refrain from making a mess.”
    The boots turned away. “Why would I ever want to do that?” their owner said.
    He walked down the aisle toward the door as briskly as he’d entered. Emily cowered as he passed then continued out into the full darkness of the night.
    The pastor followed him to the door and latched it shut.
    “Emily, my pet?” He turned. “Is that you on the floor?”

Nine:
    The Willows
    Salem, Massachusetts, Thursday evening, October 23, 1913
    A FTER SUPPER ON T HURSDAY, Sarah walked the quarter-mile to the Williamses’ house. The Indian summer was bound to turn soon, but for now it lent the evening air a sultry thickness.