The Crossroads

“Smash the galdern windows, too!”

Judy had used candles to set the altar cloth on fire. She had thrown a dozen votives to the floor to start the carpet burning. Now the chapel was filling with toxic fumes, but Davy was right: There was still time to shatter the stained-glass windows and destroy a few more statues.

“This will weaken him?”

“You bet, Mrs. J. Ol’ Clint Eberhart’s probably clutchin’ his gut right now and wonderin’ why he feels so galdern weak!”

Zipper tore apart the velvet cushion in the front pew with his teeth: It still had Spratling’s scent on it.

Judy slammed a statue through a stained-glass window. “You ever do any work, Davy?”

“Can’t, I reckon. But I’m full of good ideas, ain’t I?” A bell chimed in the distance. “They want me back, Mrs. J.”

“Tell me what I need to do.”

“Can’t do that, neither.”

“Really? Who writes all these rules?”

“Folks upstairs. Frustratin’, ain’t it?”

Zipper snarled.

“What do you two think you’re doing in here?”

Clint Eberhart grasped a marble pedestal and struggled to keep standing.

Judy looked at the statue in her hand. Looked at Eberhart. She slammed the statue against the hard edge of a pew.

“Hey! Lady! Easy!”

She banged it again. The blows struck Clint as if she were wielding a plaster voodoo doll.

“Put that thing down! Come on. Cut me some slack, doll.”

Judy turned to Davy. “Is he a ghost, too?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Judy swung the statue she was holding like a baseball bat at the knees of another statue. Eberhart crumpled to the floor.

“Stop! Ouch! That hurts!”

Judy hacked a cough. She was inhaling too much smoke. Currently, Judy and Zipper were the only two creatures in the room who actually needed to breathe. Therefore, they also needed to leave.

“Davy?” Judy peered through the haze. It stung her eyes. “We need to get out. Now.”

Davy didn’t answer.

He’d disappeared.

It was just Judy, the dog, and the demon squirming on the floor.

She stood over him. Raised her statue high.

“Where’s Zack?”

“Where you’ll never find him!”

“Where?”

Eberhart moaned.

“Come on, Mrs. J.!” It was Davy. Somehow, he had transported himself out of the chapel and into the library at the other end of the secret passageway. “You best get out before the fire gets you!”

Eberhart struggled to his feet. “Where’s your son?” he snarled. “On his way to hell!”

Judy turned. “Which way, Davy?”

The boy was gone. Again.

“Come on, Zipper! Run!”

They had at best a ten-step lead.

And no one left to help them.