The Altar Read Free Page A

belong on the reservation anyway. He tells people the place is possessed by evil spirits, and talks about the dogs and cats that disappear there. Most of that’s just for show—even the Indians don’t worship evil spirits anymore. They have their own church. These woods are just a large stretch of oak forest. No more and no less.”
    Vickie laughed. “I know it’s silly, but the Indian scared me a little.”
    Mark laughed. “There are all kind of rumors in New England. Someone’s pet runs off and gets lost in the woods and the next thing you know the place is overrun with vampires. These woods aren’t any more evil than any other place on this earth.”
    “Lord knows, I’ve seen enough evil in the city,” Erik said, but he could tell that all of this talk made Vickie nervous.
    “Pastor, would you mind blessing our new home?” she asked. “I think we could all use as much of God’s presence as possible.”
    “I’d be happy to.”
    The family bowed their heads and Pastor Mark led them in prayer.

CHAPTER TWO
    -1-
    After the darkness came the pain. A blinding, burning pain of fire and brimstone, straight from Dante’s Inferno . The agonizing pain seared the nerves, choked the lungs, burned the tissues from the inside out. It tortured each and every cell—or the memory of each cell, for the actual, living cells had long ago ceased to carry on their biological functions of osmosis, respiration, and division.
    His was the awful pain of remembrance, the terrible pain of awakening after three centuries of sleep—of death.
    The first sacrifice, accidental, had awakened the pain and with it had come reluctant consciousness. Despite his resolve, he had questioned and protested. He had tried to close his nonexistent eyes and return to the emptiness of sleep, the nothingness of death.
    But the pain had invaded his peace, his stillness, rolling over him like endless waves of fire. With shock, he realized that he had no nerves, no lungs, no tissues or cells. Without a body, he should feel no pain. Yet the pain tortured him with its vivid and impossible reality.
    Time passed and he imagined himself in hell. Gradually, he became lucid and remembered, despite the pain. The agony never lessened; he merely grew accustomed to it, like a festering, cancerous growth that continued to burn and bloat.
    Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he learned that he could force the pain into the background while his thoughts flourished. Only then did the memories become more clear and his purpose more focused.
    The flames. The rancid black smoke. The awful scent of burned flesh—his own flesh—roasting away as the blood boiled within his veins. The memories returned in vivid, wrenching detail as he relived the moment over and over again.
    Then, like a film played in an endless loop, the pain and emotion of the memory faded somewhat, allowing him to recall his purpose.
    The curse had emerged from the flames, bright and bold as the phoenix. He would exact vengeance upon them and upon those who came after them. He could see it all clearly now, not only up until the time of his own death, but beyond. He saw the world move on, while he slept. And now the curse had pulled him back, had reawakened his purpose.
    Yes, the curse. They would pay with their own lives and their own pain, just as the first one had paid, restoring his power and bringing him back from beyond the very reaches of Hell. There would be more deaths, more suffering. Death and pain would restore him, make him whole, provide life and substance to his anger and hatred and hurt. It would quell his own agony as his consciousness reached out to claim what belonged to him. Fighting against the pain of remembrance, he flexed his power like a muscle and began to reach into this new and different world.
    -2-
    Todd had trouble sleeping that night, plagued by bad dreams of the old Indian man who had visited them earlier. Twice during the night he woke up crying and had to be comforted