Devil's Kiss

Winter - 1958

Jane Ann sat in the newly constructed home outside what was left of Whitfield, her hands folded over her swelling stomach. She watched the snow fall, covering the plains just as the governor and federal people had ordered the covering-up of what had really happened in Whitfield and this part of Fork County.

A cult killing, was what the press was told, followed by a massive fire that destroyed the town. The press was told that by the governor, by federal people, by senior members of the Highway Patrol, by senior members of the FBI, and, most importantly, by Wade Thomas, one of the survivors. For after all, Wade Thomas was a respected small-town editor: no reason for him to lie about it.

The cult members, several hundred strong, had put something in the water system of Whitfield. The people went berserk, killing crazy, burning the town.

No, it was not yet known what was put in the water. The government lab people were working on that right now.

Maybe the Russians had something to do with it? the question was asked.

Maybe, was the reply, but we have no proof.

The cold war was freezing the world: it was easy to blame the Russians.

The press was not told about the bodies that lay rotting under the sun, on the prairie. Bodies that had to be burned by special units of the military; units known for keeping their mouths shut. These units moved in quickly, securing the area, sealing it off, cleaning it up.

And no one would speak of the evil. Not for more than twenty-one years.

And the boy that would soon emerge from Jane Ann's womb—he would not be told of what happened or who he was. Not for almost twenty-two years.

Slowly, a few families were moving into the area: relatives were taking over the burned-out ranches. Whitfield would never be the same, but another town was being built by Army Engineers and Navy Seabees. They were ordered by the president to keep their mouths shut.

They did just that. The president was also a five star general.

A few buildings had gone up, many more would follow in the spring.

The town would need a doctor, so Tony stayed. Jane Ann married him. The town would need a paper, so Wade and Anita stayed. The town would need a department store, so Miles and Doris stayed.

"What happened?" their children asked.

"A tragedy," they were told.

Not a lie.

Less than fifty survivors crawled out of the rubble and picked up their lives, with the help of government psychiatrists. Including a teenage girl named Jean Zagone and several cowboys. None of the seven believed a word Jean or the cowboys said, but they kept their opinions to themselves.

"Someday," Wade said, "we'll have to kill them."

"Or he will," Jane Ann patted her swelling belly.

Whitfield would keep its dark secrets for a time.

Tons of explosives blasted the area in and around Tyson's Lake. The military believed they finally killed all the Beasts.

The surviving seven knew better.

The blasts drove the Beasts deeper into the earth, where their Master ordered them to sleep. Sleep, until he called them out. And after the military left, the Sentry surfaced, watching.

And the smashed, mashed, non-human thing that Jane Ann had driven over that first night of terror crawled from its sewer hiding place and into a dark, damp basement beneath the rubble of Whitfield. It healed itself, and then it slept. Waiting.

Around the county, there were other . . . creatures who slipped into hiding places. Satan closed their eyes, ordering them to sleep until he needed them.

They waited for his call.