Bone House_ A Novel - Betsy Tobin [12]
“Of demons and the like,” said my mother, after a moment’s hesitation. He turned to me again, his eyes narrowing slightly, and I perceived that his interest in me had suddenly heightened, as if I were no longer the same girl who sat before him moments before.
“And these demons, what sort of appearance do they take?” he asked intently. This time my mother was unable to reply, for I had never spoken to her in any detail of my dreams, and indeed, did not always remember them myself in the morning. Often I recalled only fragments, hung like pictures in my mind. It was true enough that my sleep was haunted by demons. These were always in the shape of men, some I knew and some I didn’t, whose natural appearance had been somehow altered in my dreams. Sometimes they were taller, sometimes shorter, sometimes with horns, sometimes with extra limbs and such. Reverend Wickley himself had appeared on more than one occasion, once with teeth so large they hung below his lips. I hesitated a moment, unsure how to reply.
“They are a little like yourself, sir,” I said at last.
He exchanged a look of surprise with my mother. “Are you saying that your demons appear with my likeness?” His voice had risen slightly and his eyes flashed with anger. My mother looked from me to him and back at me again, her eyes imploring.
“No, sir,” I stammered. “It is only to say . . . that they are male. Like you. That is all.”
The reverend instantly relaxed, the anger ebbing from his face, and leaned back. “I see,” he said after a moment. I lowered my head and listened to my mother’s labored breathing. “Do they . . . harm you in any way?” he said slowly.
“They . . . hold my ankles,” I replied.
He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Your ankles? That is all?”
“Sometimes they pull on my head. From above,” I continued. My mother looked at me with a puzzled expression.
“They pull at you from both ends?” he asked, a note of alarm creeping into his voice.
“No, sir. Just one end. Or the other.”
“And then?” he asked.
“And then I wake,” I said. “And they are gone.”
“I see,” he said flatly, leaning back in his chair. In truth I could not help but feel I’d somehow disappointed him. My mother seemed relieved, however, and gave a loud sigh, and then there was silence in the room. The sun broke through the clouds just then, and a beam of light came through the window, lighting up the wooden floor beneath my feet. My leather shoes glowed momentarily, then just as quickly the light vanished, and they looked dull and of no consequence.
“God has many tools available to him for our chastisement,” said the Reverend finally. “Visions are just one of them,” he continued. “Illness is another. You are very fortunate that in your case he has chosen the former and not the latter.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, keeping my head well down.
“Praise the Lord,” murmured my mother.
“Praise Him indeed,” said the reverend sternly. “For He is worthy, and He has given you fair warning of His power.” He turned to my mother, who nodded her assent, then looked back at me. “I recommend that you increase your attendance at holy service. And in addition, that you read and dwell upon the Holy Scriptures.”
I raised my head and looked quickly at my mother, who blinked several times and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She hesitated, then spoke haltingly.
“If you please, Reverend, we have not the learning for such things.”
“My lady at the Great House would be delighted to assist,” he said. “She reads Scripture daily to the maids and other folk under her service, and I have no doubt that she would be happy to number you among them.” He looked from me to my mother, who nodded.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “And our thanks be with you.”
“The Lord forgives,” he said, turning his iron gaze upon me, and for a split second I felt sure he knew of my deceit, and that he had willed me into some conspiracy of silence. Our eyes locked together and in an