Johnny Dovecrest knew exactly where he was going. Although he knew his gun was useless against what he expected to find, he carried the rifle and the semiautomatic pistol, just in case the scream turned out to be the result of an animal attack, or something equally mundane. While these woods might be just a few miles from the city as the crow flies, they might as well be a million miles away. Dovecrest knew for a fact that a couple of bears had claimed this area as their own, though if he told anyone they’d surely come and shoot the bears. And moose had been spotted here on more than one occasion. He was happy to leave the animals alone, since the land was rightfully theirs and man was the real intruder.
Deep in his heart, though, he knew it was happening again. He had waited for this moment for so many years, hoping against hope that it was over forever, but knowing for certain that it wasn’t. No. It was only a matter of time. That was the way it was, and he had prepared himself for the time when it would happen again. This time he would be ready. Or at least he had thought he would be ready.
But now that it was beginning all over again, he doubted his own ability. How ready was he, really? Had he let himself go weak? The years were certainly beginning to tell on him. He didn’t feel the confidence and invincibility he had when he was young. And this world, this modern world-it had changed so very much and would present problems of its own. He’d have trouble recruiting allies. No one believed any more. Not even the preachers. Even they discounted such things-regardless of the fact that their own holy book spoke about devils and demons.
This new world thought that science could explain everything, that it could fix anything that might happen, solve any problem, defeat any enemy. He laughed. Science couldn’t even solve the problems that it had created, terrible problems like pollution, overpopulation, and extinctions. How could it be expected to deal with problems that were far beyond its comprehension.
These thoughts rolled around in Dovecrest’s mind as he entered the woods. He immediately felt the influence of the stone exerting its force to try and turn him away. Its power turned people away from it. It created a vague, hazy feeling, something the scientists wouldn’t have accepted or understood, but very, very real, all the same. It was a feeling of dread and gloom and disgust that spoke in a soft, innocuous voice that did not register on the conscious level. If it could have been translated into words, the feeling would be telling him to turn back.
“Not that way,” it whispered to the unconscious mind, speaking softly in a soothing monotone that touched the nerves and emotions rather than the mind. “You don’t want to go that way. There’s nothing there for you.”
And along with the voice came the sudden feeling-no, the certainty-that if you did go that way it would be most unpleasant. Not dangerous, really. Just unpleasant. Like falling into a vat of rotten tomatoes swarming with maggots and fruit flies. Or swimming in a pool of fresh, pungent vomit.
The feeling was extremely obtuse and subtle, and only the rare individual would recognize it. Most men would simply follow its directive, without further thought or question.
But to Dovecrest, it spoke with the brilliance of a neon billboard. It told a fearful, terrible tale, a tale that he had heard before, so very long ago, and had waited for once again. That which he had feared and for which he had been prepared, had returned.