Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

FIFTEEN

Manhattan

Dan finished tightening the last screw in the swivel plate. He flipped the latch back and forth, watching with inordinate satisfaction how easily its slot slipped over the swivel eye. He fitted the shackle of the brand new combination padlock through the eye.

“We’re in business, Carrie.”

She didn’t answer. She was busy inside the coal room with the Virgin. Or maybe busy wasn’t the right word. Carrie was engrossed, preoccupied, fascinated, enraptured with the Virgin.

The Virgin...Dan had heard Carrie refer to the body or statue or whatever it was so often as “the Virgin” that he’d begun thinking of it that way himself. Certainly easier than referring to it as the Whatever.

After an uneventful transatlantic trip, the Virgin had arrived in New York late last night. He and Carrie had been on the docks first thing this morning to pick her up. After passing through customs they spirited her crate through the front door to St. Joe’s basement, through the Loaves and Fishes kitchen, and down here to the subcellar. The old coal furnace that used to rule this nether realm had been dismantled and carted off when the diocese switched the church to gas heat. That left a wide open central space and a separate coal room that used to be fed by a chute from the alley. Carrie had chosen the old coal room as the perfect hiding place. It was ten by ten, the chute had been sealed up long ago, and it had a door, although the door had no lock. Until now.

Dan opened the door and stuck his face inside. He experienced an instant of disorientation, as if he were peering into the past, intruding upon an ancient scene from the Roman catacombs. A functioning light fixture was set in the ceiling, but it was off. Instead, flickering candlelight filled the old coal room, casting wavering shadows against the walls and ceiling. A couple of days ago Dan had lugged one of the folding tables from the mission down here and placed it where Carrie had directed, and that had been just about the last he’d seen of her until this morning. She’d spent every spare moment of the interval feverishly dusting, scrubbing, and dressing up the room, draping the table with a blanket, setting up wall sconces for the candles, appropriating flowers left behind in the church after weddings or funerals, making a veritable shrine out of the coal room.

A short while ago they’d opened the crate and he’d helped her place the Virgin’s board-stiff body on the table. Carrie had been fussing with her ever since.

“I said, the latch is in place, Carrie. Want to come see?”

She was bending over the body where it rested on the blanket-draped table, straightening her robe. She didn’t look up.

“That’s all right. I know you did a great job.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a great job.” Dan leaned back and surveyed his work. “Adequate is more like it. Won’t keep out anybody really determined to get in, but it should deter the idly curious.”

“That’s what we want,” she said, straightening. She turned toward him and held out her hand. “Come see.”

Dan moved to her side and laid an arm across her shoulders. A warm tingle spread over his skin as he felt her arm slip around his back. This was the closest they’d been since leaving Israel.

“Look at her. Isn’t she beautiful?”

Dan didn’t know how to answer that. He saw the waxy body of an old woman with wild hair and mandarin fingernails, surrounded by candles and wilting flowers. He knew Carrie was seeing something else. Her eyes were wide with wonder and devotion, like a young mother gazing at her newborn first child.

“You did a wonderful job with this place. No one would ever know it was once a coal room.”

“And no one should ever know otherwise. This is our little secret, right?”

“Right. Our little secret. Our big secret is us.” Dan turned and wrapped his other arm around her. “And speaking of us...”

Carrie slipped from his embrace. “No, Dan. Not now. Not here. Not with...her.”

Dan tried to hide his hurt. Just being in the same room with Carrie excited him. Touching her drove him crazy. Used to drive her crazy too. What was wrong?

“When then? Where? Is your brother—?”

“Let’s talk about it some other time, okay? Right now I’ve got a lot still left to do.”

“Like what?”

“I have to cut those nails, and fix her hair.”

“She’s not going on display, Carrie.”

“I know, but I want to take care of her.”

“She’s not a—” Dan bit off the rest of the sentence.

“Not a what?”

He’d been about to say Barbie Doll but had cut himself off in time.

“Nothing. She did fine in that cave with nobody fussing over her.”

“But she’s my responsibility now.”

Dan repressed a sigh. “Okay. But not your only responsibility. We’ve still got meals to serve upstairs. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to let the guests down.”

“You go ahead. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“Good.” Dan wanted out of here. The low ceiling, the dead flowers...the atmosphere was suddenly oppressive. “You remember the lock combination?” “Twelve, thirty-six, fourteen.”

“Right. See you upstairs.”

He watched Carrie, waiting for her to look his way, but she had eyes only for the Virgin.

Shaking his head, Dan turned away. This wouldn’t last, he told himself. Carrie would come around soon. Once it seeped into her devotion-fogged brain that her Virgin was merely an inert lump, she’d return to her old self.

But there was going to be an aching void in his life until she did.

‡

Carrie listened to Dan’s shoes scuff up the stone steps as she pulled the zip-lock bag from her pocket and removed the scissors from it.

Poor Dan, she thought, looking down at the Virgin. He doesn’t understand.

Neither did she, really. All she knew was that everything had changed for her. She could look back on her fourteen years in the order—fully half of her life—and understand for the first time what had brought her to the convent, what had prompted her to take a vow of chastity and then willfully break it.

“It was you, Mother,” she whispered to the Virgin as she began to trim the ragged ends of dry gray hair that protruded from under the wimple. “I came to the order because of you. You are the Eternal Virgin and I wanted to be like you. Yet I could never be like you because my virginity was already gone...stolen from me. But you already know the story.”

She’d spoken to the Blessed Virgin countless times in her prayers, trying to explain herself. She’d always felt that Mother Mary would understand. Now that they were face to face, she was compelled to tell her once more, out loud, just to be sure she knew.

“I wanted a new start, Mother. I wanted to be born anew with that vow. I wanted to be a spiritual virgin from that day forward. But I couldn’t be. No matter how many showers I took and scrubbed myself raw, no matter how many novenas I made and plenary indulgences I received, I still felt dirty.”

She slipped the hair trimmings into the plastic bag. These cuttings could not be tossed into a dumpster or even flushed away. They were sacred. They had to remain here with the Virgin.

“I hope you can understand the way I felt, Mother, because I can’t imagine you ever feeling dirty or unworthy. But the dirtiness was not the real problem. It was the hopelessness that came with it—the inescapable certainty that I could never be clean again. That’s what did me in, Mother. I knew what your Son promised, that we have but to believe and ask forgiveness and we shall be cleansed. I knew the words, I understood them in my brain, but in my heart was the conviction that His forgiveness was meant for everyone but Carolyn Ferris. Because Carolyn Ferris had be involved in the unspeakable, the unthinkable, the unpardonable.”

She kept cutting, tucking the loose trimmed ends back under the Virgin’s wimple.

“I’ve been to enough seminars and read enough self-help books to know that I was sabotaging myself—I didn’t feel worthy of being a good nun, so I made damn sure I never could be one. I regret that. Terribly. And even more, I regret dragging Dan down with me. He’s a good man and a good priest, but because of me he broke his own vow, and now he’s a sinning priest.”

Carrie felt tears welling in her eyes. Damn, I’ve got a lot to answer for.

“But all that’s changed now,” she said, blinking and sniffing. “Finding you is a sign, isn’t it? It means I’m not a hopeless case. It means He thinks I can hold to my vows and make myself worthy to guard you and care for you. And if He thinks it, then it must be so.”

She trimmed away the last vagrant strands of hair, then sealed them in the zip-lock bag.

“There.” She stepped back and smiled. “You look better already.”

She glanced down at the Virgin’s long, curved fingernails. They were going to need a lot of work, more work than she had time for now.

“I’ve got to go now. Got to do my part for the least of His children, but I’ll be back. I’ll be back every day. And every day you’ll see a new and better me. I’m going to be worthy of you, Mother. That is a promise—one I’ll keep.”

She just had to find the right way to tell Dan that the old Carrie was gone and he couldn’t have the new one. He was a good man. The best. She knew he’d understand and accept the new her...eventually. But she had to find a way to tell him without hurting him.

She placed the bag of clippings under the table that constituted the Virgin’s bier, then kissed her wimple and blew out the candles. She snapped the combination lock closed and hurried upstairs to help with lunch.

‡

Carrie was adding a double handful of sliced carrots to the last pot of soup when she heard someone calling her name from the Big Room. She walked to the front to see what it was.

Augusta, a stooped, reed-thin, wrinkled volunteer who worked the serving line three days a week, stood at the near end of the counter with Pilgrim.

“He says he’s got a complaint,” Augusta said, looking annoyed and defensive.

The guests often complained about Augusta, saying she was stingy with the portions she doled out. Which was true. She treated the soup and bread as if it were her own. Carrie and Dan had been over this with her again and again: The idea here was to serve everything they made, then make more for the next meal. But they couldn’t very well tell her she wasn’t welcome behind the counter anymore—they needed every helping hand they could find.

Carrie glanced around for Dan, hoping he could field this, but he was standing by the front door, deep in conversation with Dr. Joe.

“Preacher don’t want me to say nothin’, Sister,” Pilgrim said, “but he found this in his mouth while he was eating his soup and I think you should know about it.”

He held out his hand and in the center of his dirty palm lay a three-inch hair.

“I’m Preacher’s eyes, you know.”

“I know that,” Carrie said.

Everybody knew that. Mainly because Pilgrim told anyone who would listen whenever he had a chance. Preacher was blind and Pilgrim was his devoted disciple, leading him from park to stoop to street corner, wherever he could find a small gathering that might listen to his message of imminent Armageddon.

“I’m usually pretty good but this one slipped by me. I kinda feel like I let him down.”

“Oh, I’m sure Preach doesn’t feel that way,” Carrie said, plucking the hair from his palm. “But I do apologize for this, and tell him I’ll do my best to see that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Oh, no!” Pilgrim said, agitatedly waving his hands in front of her. “You got me wrong. It ain’t your fault.” He pointed a finger at Augusta. “It’s hers. Look at that gray hair straggling all over the place, and that’s a gray hair Preacher found. She’s supposed to be wearing a net. I know ‘cause I useta work in a diner and we all hadda wear hair nets.”

“He has no right to say that, Sister,” Augusta snapped.

Just then the basement phone began ringing in the far corner of the kitchen. Hilda Larsen went to get it.

“It’s for you, Sister,” Hilda called from inside. “Your brother.”

Uh-oh, Carrie thought as she hurried back into the kitchen and took the receiver. Brad never called her at Loaves and Fishes. This could only mean that his American Express bill had arrived.

“Hi, Brad. I can explain all those charges.” Well, most of them, anyway.

“What charges?”

“On the card. You see—”

“I didn’t get the bill yet, Car. And whatever it is, don’t give it a second thought.”

“I went a bit overboard, Brad.”

“Carrie, I’ve got more money than I know what to do with and no one to spend it on. So let’s not mention AmEx charges again. That’s not why I called. It’s about Dad.”

Carrie felt all the residual warmth from her hours with the Virgin this morning empty out of her like water down a drain.

“What about him?”

She asked only because it was expected of her. She didn’t care a thing about that man. Couldn’t. The mere mention of him froze all her emotions into suspended animation.

“He passed out. They had to move him to the hospital. They say it’s his heart acting up again.”

Carrie said nothing as Brad paused, waiting for her reaction. When the wait stretched to an uncomfortable length, he cleared his throat.

“He’s asking for you.”

“He’s always asking for me.”

“Yeah, but this time—”

“This time will be just like the last time. He’ll get you all worked up thinking he’s going to die, get you and me going at each other, then he’ll come out of it and go back to the nursing home.”

“He’s changed, Carrie.”

“He’ll always be Walter Ferris. He can’t change that.”

Brad sighed. “You know, I wish you’d take one tiny bit of the care and compassion you heap upon those nobodies down there and transfer it to your own father. Just once.”

“These nobodies never did to me what that man did. It’s because of him that I’m down here with these nobodies. We can both thank him for where we are.”

“I’ve managed to do okay.”

“Have you?”

Now it was Brad’s turn for silence.

Carrie wanted to ask him why he hadn’t been able to sustain a relationship. It seemed every time he got close to a woman he backed off. Why? What was he afraid of? That he was like his father? That a little bit of that man hid within him? And that if he had children of his own he might do what his father did?

But she couldn’t say that to Brad. All she could say was, “I love you, brother.”

And she meant it.

“I love you too, Carrie.”

Suddenly she heard voices rising in the Big Room.

“I’ve got to go. Call me soon.”

“Will do.”

As Carrie turned away from the phone, she saw Augusta coming toward her.

“Honestly, Sister. That wasn’t my hair. Mine’s long and thick. That one Pilgrim gave you is short and fine.”

“It’s okay, Augusta.” She brushed past the old woman. “What’s going on in the Big Room?”

“Probably another fight. You know how they are.”

But it wasn’t a fight. The regulars—Rider, Dandy, Lefty, Dirty Harry, Poppy, Bigfoot, Indian, Stony, One-Thumb George—and a few of the newer ones were clustered around one of the long tables. She saw Dan standing on the far side of the circle as Dr. Joe bent over Preacher who sat ramrod straight, holding his hands before his face.

“A miracle!” Pilgrim was screeching, dancing and gyrating among the tables of the Big Room. “I always knew Preacher had the power, and now it’s come! It’s a miracle! A fucking miracle!”

Carrie pushed closer.

Preacher was staring at his hands, muttering. “I can see! Praise God, I can see!”

She stepped back and stared at the short strand of gray hair in her hand. It hadn’t come from Augusta. She recognized it now. It was the same length and color as the stray strands Carrie had been trimming from the Virgin a short while ago. It must have stuck to her sleeve downstairs and fallen into the soup as she was adding the ingredients.

A miracle...

She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to grab Pilgrim’s hands and join him in a whirling dervish.

Oh, Pilgrim, she thought as she hurried back through the kitchen and down to the subcellar. If only you knew how right you are!

Yes, it was a miracle. And Carrie had a feeling it would not be the last.

‡

“Preacher can really see again,” Dan said for the third or fourth time. Evening had come and they were cleaning up the Big Room after dinner. “Not well, mind you. He can recognize his hand in front of his face and not much more, but at least that’s something. He’s been totally blind for forty years.”

Carrie had decided to hold off telling Dan about the piece of the Virgin’s hair in the soup. He’d only go into his Doubting Thomas routine. She’d wait till she had more proof. But she couldn’t resist priming him for the final revelation.

She glanced around to make sure they were out of earshot of the volunteers in the kitchen.

“Do you think it’s a miracle?” she said softly.

Dan didn’t look up as he wiped one of the long tables. “You know what I think about miracles.”

“How do you explain it then?”

“José says it might have been hysterical blindness all along, and now he’s coming out of it. He’s scheduled him for a full eye exam tomorrow.”

“Well, far be it from me to disagree with Doctor Joe.”

Dan stopped in mid wipe and stared at her. “Aw, Carrie. Don’t tell me you think—”

“Yes!” she said in a fierce whisper. “I think a certain someone has announced her presence.”

“Come on, Carrie—”

“You and José believe in your hysterical blindness, if you wish. All I know is that Preacher began to see again within hours of a certain someone’s arrival.”

Dan opened his mouth, then closed it, paused, then shook his head. “Coincidence, Carrie.”

But he didn’t sound terribly convinced.

Carrie couldn’t repress a smile. “We’ll see.”

“We’ll see what?”

“How many ‘coincidences’ it takes to convince you.”

Fruitless Vigil in Tompkins Square

Approximately 1,000 people gathered last night for a candlelight prayer vigil in Tompkins Square Park. Surrounded by knots of curious homeless, many of whom call the park home, the predominantly female crowd prayed to the Virgin Mary in the hope that she would manifest herself in the park.

Sightings of a lone woman, described as “glowing faintly”, and identified as the Blessed Virgin, have been reported with steadily increasing frequency all over the Lower East Side during the past few weeks.

Despite many recitations of the Rosary, no manifestation occurred. Many members of the crowd remained undaunted, however, vowing to return next Sunday evening.

(The New York Post)