Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [71]
The demon didn’t answer. Instead, he led Richie east into the big trees beyond the pavilion toward the slope that ran down to the little creek. The air was hot and still beneath the canopy of branches, and the mosquitoes were beginning to come out in swarms. Richie slapped at them irritably.
“Hate these things,” he muttered. When the demon failed to respond, he said, “You said this would pay pretty well and I might have a chance to catch on with the city? That right?”
“Right as rain,” the demon replied, not bothering to look at him.
“Well, all right, that’s great, just great!” Richie sounded enthused. “I mean, I don’t know if that damn strike is ever gonna get settled, and I need me something secure.”
They descended the slope to the creek, crossed the wooden bridge, and began to climb the opposite embankment toward the deep woods. In the distance, the bayou was as flat and gray as hammered tin. Richie continued to mutter about the mosquitoes and the heat, and the demon continued to ignore him. They crested the rise, following the path that Nest and Pick had taken earlier, and moments later they were standing in front of the big oak. The demon glanced about cautiously, but there was no sign of anyone except the feeders, who had followed them every step of the way and crouched now at the edge of the clearing, their eyes glimmering watchfully.
“Whoa, will you look at that!” Richie exclaimed, staring up at the sickened tree. “That guy looks like a goner!”
“That’s what we’re here to determine,” the demon explained, his bland face expressionless.
Richie nodded eagerly. “All right. Just tell me what to do.”
The demon dropped the canvas sack and took a new grip on the metal-tipped stick. He put his free hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Just walk over here to the trunk with me for a moment,” he said softly.
The shadows were deep and pervasive as they moved forward, the demon keeping his hand on Richie Stoudt’s shoulder. When they were right next to the massive trunk, the demon took his hand away.
“Look up into the branches,” he said.
Richie did so, peering intently into the shadows. “I can’t see anything. Not in this light.”
“Step a little closer. Put your face right up against the trunk.”
Richie glanced at him uncertainly, then did as he was told, pressing his cheek against the rough bark, staring up into the branches. “I still can’t...”
The demon drove the pointed end of his stick through Richie’s neck with a furious lunge. Richie gasped in shock and pain as his windpipe and larynx shattered. He tried to cry out, but his voice box was gone and the blood pouring down his throat was choking him. His fingers clawed at the tree as if to tear the bark away, and his eyes bulged. He thrashed wildly, trying to break free, but the demon pressed firmly on the wooden shaft, keeping Richie pinned, watching the dark blood spurt from his ruptured throat.
Feeders raced from among the trees and began throwing themselves on Richie, tearing at his convulsed body, beating past his futile efforts to protect himself, anxious to taste his pain and fear.
Then the bark of the tree, wet with Richie’s blood, began to split apart in long, ragged fissures, and parts of Richie were drawn into the cracks. His hands and knees went first, pressing into the trunk as if into soft mud as he struggled to escape. His scream of horror came out a strangled cough, and then more of him was sucked slowly, relentlessly from view. When his head was swallowed, all sound ceased. The demon yanked free his pointed stick and stood watching as Richie’s back bucked and heaved in a last futile effort to break free.
A moment later, Richie Stoudt was gone completely. The feeders melted back into the night.
The demon waited for a time, watching as the tree began to ooze what it didn’t want of Richie, the bark splitting further and deeper as the blood offering did its work. Within its prison, the maentwrog was feasting, gaining the strength it needed to break free, readying itself for the demon’s summons.
The demon looked down. One of Richie’s work boots lay