Sustained
By the time Clara finished retching up the last of the belladonna and undergoing something called “gastric wash,” dawn had already broken; by the time Edward was stitched, packed with gauze, and transferred to a proper ward, the sun was high; and by the time two uniformed officers from the York County Sheriff’s Department requested statements, the hospital smelled strongly of carbolic acid and burnt coffee.
The day was busy by the time Clara was called into the makeshift interrogation space.
Sitting in the small exam room, her freshly bandaged arm lay in her lap. Thick layers of gauze encircled her forearm and wrist, iodine staining the edges a dull yellow. The sigil carved beneath throbbed in rhythm with her pulse, but it was fading.
Across from her sat Deputy Horace Kline, a heavy-set man with thinning blond hair and a mild limp, and Officer Samuel Burke, younger, dark-haired, clean-shaven, and stiff as a fencepost in his ill-fitting uniform. A stenographer’s pad was open on the desk between them, though neither seemed enthusiastic about what they were writing.
Burke cleared his throat.
“Miss Waterson… You’re absolutely certain this is the statement you want on record?”
Clara folded her hands, calm despite the ache that shot up her elbow. “I am.”
Kline shifted uncomfortably, causing the chair to creak under his weight. “You understand it sounds… well, frankly, unbelievable. A monster in the woods. Wings. Horns. Missing cattle. Your brother attacked. And…” His gaze flicked toward her bandages. “Self-inflicted ritualistic injuries.”
Clara inhaled slowly. In response, the room seemed to darken around the edges, fading toward a tone more like graphite.
She had learned how to listen.
More importantly, she had learned how to lean into a world that existed between space and time.
There, several conversations transpired.
After what felt like ages to her and mere seconds to the policemen, she lifted her eyes.
“I understand how it sounds,” she murmured, “But I also understand the message I received.”
Burke blinked. “Message? What message?”
“In life, he was Dr. Hensley – his wife died in childbirth in 1892. He wore a silver watch from his father. He was shot in the leg during the war of ’98 but survived. He hated morphine. Said it clouded his thinking.”
Kline’s pen froze mid-air.
Clara leaned in, her voice soft as silk. “And that’s just one of many on the other side I can speak to. Deputy Kline… You’ve never told anyone your father died of infection because they treated him with too much laudanum, have you? Weakened the body, you said. Your father said you were right. He sends love to you and your sister, and he said he approves of your wife.”
The older man went pale.
Burke turned toward him sharply. “Horace… God. Is that true?”
Kline swallowed hard. “I only ever talked to my mother about that.”
Clara’s eyes flicked to the other man. “Officer Burke. You know who’s coming through for you?”
His eyes widened as he shifted to face the medium. He tried his jaw before he managed, “Is it my grandfather?”
Clara pursed her lips before she said, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid it’s a little boy – John? Do you know a John William?”
Burke choked and averted his eyes. The trio sat in silence before he managed, “My cousin. Like a brother to me. Scarlet fever.”
Clara smiled sympathetically. “He calls you his brother. He’s a nice boy. Said he likes your uniform and is proud of you.” When the officer bent over the table and sobbed, she gave him a moment before she said, “You gentlemen now see how very real this is, in terms of my ability, at least. I need you to believe me, to some degree. Whatever you do, if you have to send men into those woods, don’t send them at night. If you do and something lunges, aim low. The heart isn’t in its chest. It’s lower. Right side of the abdomen. Strike there and it will fall back and crawl away to heal. It’s the only way to hurt it.”
Burke stared at her, eyes wide and bright with fear. “Miss Waterson,” he breathed, “I… don’t know what the hell to write in this report.”
Kline rubbed his jaw and leaned back. “I say we write the truth. And pray nobody goes into those woods.” He closed the notebook. “We’ll release you, Miss Waterson. You haven’t broken any laws. But when we find, ah, what’s left of the others, we might be in touch again.”
“I understand,” Clara said. “Thank you.”
Kline stood, tipping his hat slightly. “For what it’s worth… I believe you.”
Burke nodded, shakily. “God help us all if you’re right.”
“I am,” she said confidently. “But the creature is bound to the forest again. As long as nobody disturbs the remaining gates, he won’t be able to harm anyone unless they venture into its domain.”
Kline walked to the door and opened it, nodding his goodbye as Clara stepped out into the bright lights of the hospital waiting room.
The hallway faintly buzzed with nurses’ clipped footsteps and the metallic clatter of a rolling cart. The windows were open to let out disinfectant fumes, so sun-warmed air spilled in, stirring the faded curtains.
Harry waited on the bench outside, elbows on his knees, looking every bit a man who hadn’t slept in a day and a half. When he saw her, he stood quickly.
“They’re letting me go.” She offered a faint smile. “They believe us. I corroborated everyone’s statements and gave them each messages from the other side to add some validity to my skills. We can call it a day and head out.”
Harry huffed out a short laugh, full of disbelief. “I’m not sure whether that makes them wise or insane.”
He fished out his ignition switch key and nodded toward the entrance.
She hesitated. “Where’d Ruth go?”
“Home. Said she wanted space. Time to mourn her husband properly.” His voice softened. “Can’t blame her. I can’t imagine how I’d feel right now if you hadn’t made it.”
They started walking, slowly and lazily. Clara shot one last look down the hall toward where her brother was recovering. The doctors had said he might carry a scar, but they wanted to monitor him after so much blood loss. He’d dozed off while the police were talking to Harry, and Clara was relieved to see he was comfortable enough to relax.
She couldn’t wait to have that opportunity herself.
Clara and Harry stepped out into the sunlight together, blinking at its brightness. The warmth felt unreal after several days full of darkness.
When they reached his car, Harry opened the passenger door for her. She sank into the seat with a sigh.
After he settled in beside her, she said quietly, “I’m going to have to tell the carnival about Walter. Helen and Alice… They’re… Well, they don’t exactly blend in.” She tucked her bandaged arm closer to her body. “Without Walter, I doubt the carnival will go on. I don’t know what will become of my friends.”
Harry rested a hand on her knee. “Carnivals aren’t going anywhere, doll. Folks always need wonder. Distraction. And Helen and Alice? They’re family to you, so if they don’t find a new gig and need a place… I’ve got room. A created, chosen family’s worth more than anything, you know.”
Clara looked at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. She remembered the stories he’d told her – how Nellie Bly had feared that newspapers would twist her child into a scandal, how he’d been sent to live quietly with an aunt who gave him structure and affection rather than headlines and judgement. Still, despite that, his cousins had never accepted him as a brother.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Harry. Blood or not, family is family. I love that you’re someone who cherishes that.”
He started the car, and they started their trek back to the inn in sweet and fragile silence. After a few minutes of quiet, Harry cleared his throat.
“You know, we did have a deal. Ten percent of the family fortune is yours if you help me find it. You still interested?”
A little smile tugged at her mouth. “I told you, I met my mother on the other side. I learned how to listen. So, yes, I’ll help you find it.”
He nodded, then shot a side-eyed glance at her. “Got it. And… Are we still…” He gestured vaguely between them. “You and I. Whatever this is becoming. Are we going to explore that?”
She turned her head toward him fully, smiling as the sunlight warmed her cheek. “I mean, you got me out of those woods, like you said. I think you said that the next step was acts of service until I agreed to go home with you.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “Good. Because next time I visit Eloise, I’d rather introduce her to my future wife than have her predict it.”
Her face flushed a deep, startled pink before she laughed softly. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Harry.”
“I prefer to think I’m being efficient.”
Both grinning ear to ear, they rolled down the quiet road past neat rows of houses and telephone poles gleaming in the early afternoon sun. The sky was impossibly blue. The town felt peaceful.
Optimistic.
Alive.
An entire future of possibility stretched ahead of them, and they were confident in the promise of a better tomorrow.
However, far away from the hospital walls, from the murmured promises and warm sunlight, the woods crouched in ancient stillness.
Deep beneath the canopy in a thicket of thorns and dirt, the creature coiled itself in a nest of roots. It lay curled around its wound, black blood congealing in its palm, breath rattling like embers dying in a furnace.
The sun above burned too bright for it now.
So it hid.
Waited.
For now, it was sustained. It had consumed six lives – four humans, two cattle – that were warm and sweet. Enough to sustain it a century or more, if needed.
Until another human wandered in.
Until one of the five remaining Gates rotted away and naturally broke the seal.
The demon closed its eyes and waited.