"Something about drawing," Clinton said.

"No, drawn here." Rory read further.

I have staked a claim here near the cabin. Those in town think I am a fool, that there is no gold to be found on this side of the lake. After hiking around this forbidden spot of land, I have to agree. But since mining is not why I am here, it is of no matter. But I must find out why this place is important, why it has drawn me. I know the lake will protect me; the waters will keep danger at bay, even though I am not sure why this is.

"The writing fades out." Rory turned the page. "Here we go."

Completed the cabin. It is st.u.r.dy and should stand up well in the winter, if I am here that long. In town they...

"Can't make that out," Rory said. He squinted at the light ink, then continued.

The rumor persists that I have found gold. That is fine with me, as it keeps me from having to explain my true purpose here, one that I am uncertain of myself. But with each pa.s.sing day, as autumn approaches, I am discerning more. The voices...

"Look, Rory." Myrtle's own voice trembled. "He was hearing things, too?"

"What do you mean, 'too'? Who else has heard voices?" Clinton piped up. Rory explained how he'd heard what he thought was someone talking to him in the cabin. Clinton wagged his head. "This gets weirder every minute." A collective nod went around the table.

Rory turned pages. The middle part of the journal, being more protected, was more intact and the writing was more legible.

A light storm blew through the valley yesterday, coating everything in a brilliant white blanket. The beauty of it rivals the autumn foliage of my beloved New England. But I miss the city. Each day is colder than the last. I had hoped to leave, at least for the winter, but something keeps me here.

I have been told that the winters are extreme up here, so I have stocked the cabin with plenty of supplies. Henry Calhoun, who owns the general store, has tried to talk me into going down into Boulder for the winter, but I cannot bring myself to do that. Maybe the rough winters are hard for such a thin one as him. He's like a sapling that would blow away in a slight breeze, but I prefer to think I am capable of handling the elements. Besides, the cabin haunts me, like spirits have inhabited it. I must find its secrets.

"Shoot. The rest of the paragraph is unreadable." Rory flipped the page, but it also was too smudged to read. "A few sc.r.a.ps of words: talking, storm, howling," he squinted at the page, "wind."

"Skip a few more pages," Clinton said.

He complied, but only after ascertaining that there were no large, clear pa.s.sages on the skipped pages.

...storm is the worst yet. Snowed at least four feet. Drifts cover everything around the cabin. Had to dig a path to the outhouse and well. The lake has disappeared under a white cover. I am a prisoner in this place. Isolated and lonely. Made it across the lake once for supplies. Henry looked at me like I'm crazy. The voices spoke again, calling me. Some are evil, I can tell. But another warns me...

"He went across the lake once," Anna said, poking Myrtle. "That's a piece of the story you've always told."

Myrtle nodded. "Sure, everyone thought he'd lost his mind. Or so the legend goes."

"I can't make out much," Rory said. "He keeps talking about voices. Here's the word 'crazy' again. And 'not sure'. And 'What does it mean?'" He continued reading silently, turning pages. Nothing but bits and pieces of the miner's dialogue about the winter and the harsh conditions.

A clock on the wall clicked loudly into the silence. Myrtle's head bobbed forward on her chest. Anna yawned. Rory kept turning pages.

"Hey, listen to this." He cleared his throat and began reading out loud again: Spring has arrived and the snow continues to melt. I am going across the lake. I know my enemy and the time has come to face them. I don't know how, but I must...

"Who's his enemy, and how did he know?" Anna looked more alert now.

"I don't know. But listen to the next entry," Rory said excitedly.

They are already at work in the Crossing, coming in the heat of the day, then holing up in the darkness, as if to rest. They become stronger with each sunrise. A battle goes on within me, one for my very soul. I must prepare against this evil, pray against it, like the chronicle says.

"What chronicle?" Clinton interrupted.

Rory shrugged and kept on reading: A pall has fallen over the town. Henry is gone, and so is Ennis Slade. His blacksmith tools were lying around as if he was interrupted during the middle of his work. I can't find the preacher, or the sheriff. Others are leaving. I tried to get someone to help me, but they look at me like I have lost my mind, or might hurt them. I will have to face the...

"I can't make out the next part." He turned the page. "Okay, this is another entry."

...sons of G.o.d made them, and they are powerful. They have called up their blood from a past age, bringing it from the dust, watching for a time to gather together and take over. I found one in the woods, took it by surprise. But it escaped when I killed it, fleeing into the nether regions. There is a genesis of evil that is taking over the town...

"It's unreadable." Rory frowned.

"What's that mean about the blood from a past age? And who are the sons of G.o.d?" Clinton fired the questions out.

"It's in the Bible," Myrtle said.

"Yes. It's in Genesis." Anna got up and retrieved her Bible from the living room. She sat back down and opened it. "Let me find it." They waited while she flipped back and forth between pages. "Here it is. Genesis 6, starting in verse 1." She began reading: When men began to increase in number on the earth and daughters were born to them, the sons of G.o.d saw that the daughters of men were beautiful, and they married any of them they chose. Then the LORD said, "My Spirit will not contend with man forever, for he is mortal; his days will be a hundred and twenty years." The Nephilim were on the earth in those days and also afterward when the sons of G.o.d went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown. The LORD saw how great man's wickedness on the earth had become, and that every inclination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil all the time. The LORD was grieved that he had made man on the earth, and his heart was filled with pain. So the LORD said, "I will wipe mankind, whom I have created, from the face of the earth men and animals, and creatures that move along the ground, and birds of the air for I am grieved that I have made them."

"Just like Barton said, a genesis of evil," Myrtle said when Anna had finished.

"Some scholars think the sons of G.o.d might have been fallen angels." Anna sat back in her chair, musing. "Which would make the Nephilim half man, half fallen angels."

"That's who Barton was fighting?" Clinton was incredulous.

"It looks that way," Rory said.

"What do we do?" Anna asked. "I don't know anything about Nephilim, just what I told you. I wish Dad was here. He'd know about them."

"I've read a bit on them," Myrtle said. She explained what she'd told Rory about the book of Enoch, about Nephilim interactions with humans, and their mystical, magical powers.

"We have to find out more about them," Rory said. "And what they want with us."

"How?" Clinton looked at him.

"We don't have Internet access," Anna said, sighing.

"I don't know how reliable that would be anyway," Rory said.

Clinton looked at the clock. "It's almost three o'clock." Myrtle had been nodding off again, and she startled awake. He tipped his head in her direction. "We should go to bed, at least get a few hours of sleep. We can figure out what to do in the morning."

"Are you sure?" Anna protested. "Maybe we should be doing something more."

"Like what? It's pitch black out there. Besides, if we're exhausted, what good are we?" Clinton got up and stretched his tall frame.

"These old bones need their rest," Myrtle said. As if to punctuate her point, a joint popped loudly as she pushed herself out of her chair. "You don't have to ask me twice."

"I'll sleep in front of the bedroom door," Clinton told the women.

"I'll stay up for a while," Rory said. "Just in case."

"You sure?" Clinton eyed him carefully. "You look tired."

"Yeah. I'll see what else I can find in here." He pointed to the journal.

The others nodded and went quietly out of the kitchen. Rory heard water running in the bathroom, and a m.u.f.fled conversation, then gradually, all went quiet. He turned pages, making out bits and pieces of writing. On one page he found a list of names, most likely people Barton knew from town. He jotted down the ones he could decipher.

The void of sound was like a drug. A tingling started at the base of his neck. Soon his eyelids began to droop. He focused on the journal, trying to piece together Barton's story amidst all the smudges and torn pages. But exhaustion tugged at him, and he soon dozed off, dreaming about spirits turning into ugly men with bulky wings protruding from their backs, who were preying on the town.

PART III.

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against princ.i.p.alities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

- Ephesians 6:12, New King James Version.

CHAPTER 56.

As the sunrise reddened the eastern sky into a b.l.o.o.d.y canvas, Ed and the other spirits stirred. Ed stood. The one who preaches, the one who knows the law, and the chronicler remained. Then his gathering would be complete and they could begin the release.

Ed's spirit festered within him. His very being recoiled from the violation that he knew had befallen this place sometime in his absence. The one who chronicles had been here, carrying with him a dangerous force that threatened the very ceremony itself. The chronicler was wily, with the ability to choose his course. That made his power so necessary in the ceremony, but lethal if he turned away. This must not happen again.

An overpowering smell permeated the room. Ed was unaware of it, or that it emanated richly from him. He knew of only one thing. Enlightenment would soon come. He would gather the rest today, the blood in the dust returning.

Then he spied Gino, the one with the air. He had returned yesterday without the preacher. Like the chronicler so long ago, the one who preaches had chosen a different path, killing himself rather than a.s.suming his role. Someone, or something, had helped them. An intrusion, that different spirit, turned them from their calling.

They needed the one who preaches, needed his words. But he was gone. Ed stared at Gino with coal black darts. He had failed.

But they had an alternative. The one who preaches had offspring. Ed knew that the offspring had the words as well.

They would use her.

The spirit, however, sensed another force at work. The Adversary was out there, working against him. It threatened everything he was doing, all the preparation, just as it had done here in the century past. That One had caused him to have to wait, unfulfilled for so long.

Ed's eyelids drooped, but within, the spirit raged. The chronicler would not succeed again. Of this the spirit was sure.

The furnace-like heat of the day intensified, and Ed led the group to the ceremonial site. The final preparations began in earnest. Ed sent some hosts to the east, to stop any of the necessary ones from leaving town.

While the others stood in apathy, waiting for instruction, Ed stood off by himself, focusing. Energy from the depths filtered from him into the clearing, then beyond to the woods. Ed's spirit sensed intrusions on the ethereal plane, ones that told him that the last role players were still in the town. The spirit knew that things were finally ready to proceed. They would gather the rest and then they could begin.

And then that Other Force laid upon the spirit still stronger. Ed's body stiffened visibly as the spirit within him sensed more interference. The Other Force was trying to protect the chronicler. But it would not succeed. The ceremony would take place, and after a bitter eternity, the spirit knew it would find enlightenment.

CHAPTER 57.

They had all headed from Anna's cabin into town. Heat waves danced around them like specters as they walked somber as a funeral procession, fearful of what might be lurking around them. They saw no one. Now the group huddled on the front porch of the general store. A couple of cars were parked along the lakesh.o.r.e, waiting for owners who likely wouldn't return. No one milled about the stores, the cafe, or the general store.

"It's spooky," Nicholas said.

"Like a ghost town," Anna said in awe.

It did feel dead, Rory thought. Like every last soul had left. Or been taken.

They had decided to come into town to see what had happened since yesterday. They'd find anyone they could, and try and convince them to leave town. At this point in the conversation, an argument erupted. Rory and Clinton wanted Anna, Myrtle and Nicholas to leave. Anna fought against this, and in the end, it was decided that they would wait at the general store for Rory and Clinton to return, then leave with whoever remained in town. Rory and Clinton would stay behind and try to eradicate the Nephilim.

As they stood on the porch, surveying the barren street, Anna wished she could chase away the growing dread that clutched at her. She looked at the faces of the others. They couldn't hide their anxiety either.

"Hey. There's the guy from the antique store. Travis." Nicholas was on the edge of the porch, and he pointed up the empty road. Sure enough, Travis Velario was rushing toward them.

He hollered as he approached. "I'm glad someone's around," he said, coming up the steps. He bent over to catch his breath, his gut heaving.

"What's the matter?" Myrtle asked as she petted Boo, who had seemed agitated since he'd awoken that morning.

"This place." He slumped against the railing, his shoulders hunched. "Everybody's disappearing. There's no one around. I haven't seen Pamela, or Douggie. No one except you guys."

"We know," Clinton said.

"What's going on?" Travis scrutinized them.

"We'll explain later," Rory said.

"Explain what?" Travis looked baffled.

"Not now, Travis," Anna chided him while the others ignored him.

"It's getting worse," Myrtle breathed into the dreadful silence.

A shock settled over them.

"You think anyone's left?" Anna asked.

Rory shrugged. "If there are, they should be here with us."

"I better go take a look," Clinton said. He looked at Rory. "I'll see if I can see any signs of, well, them..." He glanced at Travis.

"I'll go, too," Rory said.

Clinton glanced at the others. "No, stay with them. Just in case."