The Hollow Ones(23)

“I have sat with that boy,” said the pastor. “I have tried to see inside his heart. There’s an evil here. The Lord says, When the devil comes, he comes to the best of us. Vernon, bless him, he was the best of us.”

Solomon said, “And the doctors haven’t been able to do anything for him…?”

“She had Doc Jeffries over early on. Got kicked and barked at—curses too—until he left, said there weren’t nothing he could do for him save give the directions to the nearest sanatorium.”

Solomon nodded. He was thinking about the small footprint under the lynching branch. “Do you know how long he’s been chained up?”

Pastor Eppert asked Coleman. “Day or two or three.” Then, in a whisper, “They were worried what he might do to the others in their sleep.”

Solomon returned the whisper. “Why do you think some of your parishioners think Vernon’s illness is related to the lynching?”

The pastor shook his head. Up close, the silver blaze in his hair was bright, the follicles thicker and coarser than the rest. “I would say they see the devil’s hand in this. Have you accepted the Lord as your savior, son?”

“I have,” answered Solomon, and left it at that. He shook the pastor’s hand and took two steps toward the door before turning back.

“Do you know, or have you ever heard of, a man named Hugo Blackwood?”

Pastor Eppert looked to the ceiling for the answer. “Can’t say I rightly do,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

Solomon shook his head. “No reason.” He left.





2019. Newark, New Jersey.



Obediah could barely contain its excitement.

Being the last one of the Hollow Ones to have been born made it often more impulsive, more prone to rush decisions. It had made mistakes. Many of them.

But this time it was resolved to do things differently. This time it had a plan.

It had jumped out of the body of the heavyset man—Leppo—and for a moment it contemplated taking the body of the young girl it had just wounded. But it had felt her bone give and crack, felt her clavicle disengage.

No. It could not occupy that body and do what it needed to do.

Still, the temptation was great. It had savored the confusion and the pain in the female agent—shooting her own partner first—and then, it now imagined, she would need to shoot the very girl she was meant to save.

How delightful. Delicious.

Obediah missed the chance. It hesitated just moments too long—and then the room was filled with EMTs and local police. The female agent left the room, and instead of following, Obediah hovered above the bodies of the humans until a young EMT, approximately thirty years old and in excellent condition, presented himself.

It entered the body quickly, expertly extending its will over the young man’s soul and rewiring the body so rapidly that the EMT faltered only a moment.

“Are you all right, Reese?” his partner asked.

Obediah nodded.

“Give me a hand with her,” the partner said.

Obediah knew what an EMT would do and how he would do it. Through the centuries it had tried every profession, every science, every art. It couldn’t claim to have mastered many of them, but it knew enough so it could stay undetected for long enough if it felt the result would be worth the effort. It could stay hidden in the flesh of its host—so long as his or her work and immediate family permitted selective isolation. Recently, within the past half century or so, most of its violent acts attracted a similar sort of professional—a paramedic, police officer, or firefighter—and therefore most of its interim jumps were well-meaning first responders.

Obediah had intended to enter the female agent, to continue this spree, but instead found something inside the EMT it liked. He was married, with a baby he was eager to get home to. This would be fun.

The couple lived in a modest apartment with thin walls, so Obediah had to lie in wait until the neighbors left for work.

In the kitchen, the woman had been preparing a meager repast. Obediah selected a meat cleaver from a cheap QVC kitchen knife set: stainless steel, six inches. Not great quality but solid enough.

And just for fun, it decided to do a double.

A double was difficult to control, but enormously satisfying: Obediah hacked the woman in the ribs, twice, and then jumped inside her and forced her to stab the husband. Not mortally, but with enough force to crack a rib and perforate a lung. Then it jumped again and had the husband get her, smack in the middle of the head. The cleaver got stuck—her skull wouldn’t release it.

Then it dialed 911, explained the scene at length, and went to work on the fallen woman’s body.

By the time the cops showed up—plenty of them—the EMT was parceling the wife’s body into pieces roughly the size of a beer can.

The baby was crying in its crib. Obediah jumped into the baby—and was retrieved by a Hispanic officer.

The other officer ordered the EMT to drop the hatchet. Upon failure to comply, he shot the EMT a few times.

The Hispanic officer covered the baby’s eyes protectively. It was delicious for Obediah to then overtake the Hispanic officer and walk him past the bleeding EMT and the hacked-apart woman to the open window.

Obediah threw the baby right out the window. Five floors. Watched it explode on the pavement. Heard the screams of passersby rise up.