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The wildest part of Tennessee's Wolf River winds past an old maplewood shack in the backwoods near Somerville. Here, tall live oaks grew close together and their overlapping limbs formed caches of rain that drip down on the lower leaves like tears. The ground was still soggy from the spring floods and back in the underbrush, water moccasins were as thick as night crawlers. It was the kind of rustic little hideaway that Jack the Ripper or Hannibal Lecter would have adored, for the closest house was more than nine miles away and no amount of screaming could ever disturb the bullfrogs and catfish. |
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Inside the cabin, the Dark Man stood tall in the midst of his magical trappings. His hands were around the bald-headed man's throat as the man's feet scissored helplessly in the air a good foot above the floor. |
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"You told me he was not bitten!" the Dark Man howled. "You said there was no time." He shook his hapless servant until spittle flew. "Do you have any idea of what you've done? Do you?" |
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The bald-headed man croaked in reply. |
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"I'll tell you what you've done, you miserable slug, you misbegotten piece of pig dung. You bit him while you were in the spirit form and let him live!" The Dark Man squeezed until the bald man's eyes bulged. "With one careless snap of your jaws, you created a beast five timesten timesyes, maybe even a hundred times as powerful as you were. If that man ever realizes what he has become, and he has the time to explore his powers, we will become the hunted and he will be on our trail like all the hounds of hell." |
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The Dark Man relaxed his grip and the bald man fell painfully to the floor. |
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"Leave me. Go out into the swamp with the rest of the vermin and stay there until I summon you." |
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The bald man crawled like a whipped dog out into the sticky night. The thin man with the goatee stepped to his master's side. |
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"Do? We must kill them before the man's powers accrue. |
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