Tucker’s Grove
“Inside the canvas revival tent, the blasphemous thing emerged from the teenaged boy’s nostrils and throat like poisonous smoke mixed with a swarm of bees: crackling, buzzing, and writhing. Demonic whispers built to a scream. A trickle of blood followed the thing as it slid and tore its way out of the possessed boy. The demon had no choice but to obey. Jerome had commanded it with the compulsion of God Himself.He had lost count over the weeks, but he had summoned and trapped at least a hundred demons on the slow wagon trek through the farmlands of Illinois, across muddy and rutted roads to the wilderness and new homesteads of Wisconsin Territory. In this barely settled land, there were many secrets, many buried shadows of times past. So many demons had been cast out in Biblical times, the evil had to have gone somewhere. What better place to seek refuge than among the heathen in the New World? It made perfect sense. Inside the large tent crowded with farmers, their wives, their childre...n, and a few shopkeepers from Bartonville (the closest thing that could have been called a town), Jerome raised his hands.MoreLess
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