The Old Sawmill

The Old Sawmill was a rotting cathedral of industry on the edge of town. The main cutting floor was a massive, open space filled with rusted machinery and piles of damp sawdust. The roof had holes in it, allowing the rain to fall through in gray curtains.

Miller parked his cruiser and drew his gun. He moved slowly, his flashlight cutting through the gloom.

"Kyle!" Miller shouted. "I know you're in here! Come out, son! We can talk about this!"

"Don't call me son," a voice echoed from the rafters. It wasn't Kyle’s voice. It was deeper, raspy, layered with the sound of grinding gears. "You took my son away from me. You put me in a cage."

Miller spun around, aiming his light.

Kyle dropped from the overhead gantry. He landed with a heavy thud, twenty feet away. He wasn't holding a gun. He was holding a massive, rusted pipe wrench.

"Elias," Miller whispered.

Kyle smiled. His eyes were wrong. The pupils were blown wide, black holes swallowing the irises. His movements were jerky, disjointed, as if the body didn't fit the driver.

"Sheriff Miller," the entity said. "The man who follows the evidence. Did you ever find the bodies, Miller? Or did you just assume I did it?"

"We found the blood," Miller said, his hand shaking.

"You found what I wanted you to find."

Kyle lunged.

He moved with supernatural speed. Miller fired twice—*BANG, BANG*—but the bullets seemed to miss, or Kyle moved around them.

Kyle swung the wrench. It smashed into Miller’s arm, snapping the radius. Miller screamed and dropped his gun.

Kyle kicked him in the chest, sending him flying backward. Miller landed hard on the rough wooden floorboards.

He tried to crawl away, but Kyle was on top of him. He pinned Miller’s chest with his knee. He raised the wrench high above his head.

Miller looked up. He saw the vision Cassie had described. The wrench. The floor. The end.

"Justice," the entity hissed.

"NO!"

Cassie stood in the doorway of the mill. She was soaking wet, shivering, illuminated by the lightning that flashed outside.

Kyle froze. He turned his head 180 degrees, owl-like, to look at her.

"The witness," Kyle snarled. "The little girl who sees."

"I see you, Elias," Cassie shouted, stepping into the room. She didn't have a weapon. She only had the truth. "I see you hiding in there. You're a parasite."

"I am vengeance!"

"You're a murderer!" Cassie walked closer, ignoring every instinct that told her to run. "Look at him! Look at your son! You're destroying him!"

"He gave himself to me!"

"He wanted a father!" Cassie screamed. "Not a monster!"

She stopped five feet away. She locked eyes with the thing wearing Kyle’s face. She engaged the Sight. She pushed it outward, not looking for the future, but looking at the *now*.

She saw the overlay. She saw the spectral, rotting form of Elias Vane wrapped around Kyle’s soul like a constrictor snake.

"Kyle!" Cassie shouted, her voice cutting through the psychic noise. "Look at me! Look at what he’s making you do!"

The entity roared, raising the wrench to strike Miller.

Cassie grabbed a shard of broken mirror from a pile of debris on the floor. She lunged forward and thrust it in front of Kyle’s face.

"LOOK!"

Kyle saw his reflection. But he didn't see himself. He saw the rotting dead man.

The shock broke the trance. Kyle screamed—a sound of pure human agony. He dropped the wrench. It hit the floorboards inches from Miller’s head, smashing through the wood.

Kyle grabbed his own head, clawing at his face. "Get out! Get out of me!"

Miller, despite his broken arm, saw the opening. He swept his legs, knocking Kyle over. He rolled on top of him, pinning him down.

"Cassie, run!" Miller shouted.

"No," Cassie said. She placed her hand on Kyle’s forehead. "Leave him."

She channeled all the pain, all the death she had seen for years, and pushed it into the connection.

With a wail that shattered the mill’s windows, the shadow was ripped from Kyle’s body. It swirled into the rain, a cloud of black smoke, and dissipated into the storm.

Kyle went limp, unconscious.