14 September 1918PORTIONS OF THE DAMAGED DIARY OF JOANNA WOZNIAK, AS RECOVERED BY THE POLICE DEPARTMENT OF ERIE, PA, ON THE EVENING OF MAY 28, 1974.Yester-day, Jeremiah had some conflict with a child at school and, in his rage, screamed at the other child. There are conflicting reports on exactly what happened next, but somehow the other child was thrown across the schoolyard and broke his arm. I could not help but remember the first time Abe met Rev. Halzberg and accidentally gave him the same injury. I don't need to know whether or not he touched the boy to understand what happened. I can now be certain he has his father's power. I apologized for his behavior, promised to address it, and we left in a hurry.
I spent some time praying at home before we went to the river. I sat on the bank and told Abe all that had happened, and begged him to return and help me. I don't know how to raise a child who can do the things he can do. I don't know how to help him. I don't even know where we can live without fear of condemnation. The river did not stir. No answers came, though we fell asleep on the shore waiting for them. The other families are avoiding us. I feared this day would come. There had already been rumors, thanks to a few times I was caught talking to the river, but now the people have made decisions about us. We must move, if we are to be safe. I've learned that much. But I cannot leave the river, not yet. We have packed our essentials and my books into the car and I identified a small town further downstream that I hope will be far enough to have not heard about us. I've explained the situation to Jeremiah. He's so bright, that boy, he seemed to understand implicitly and agreed to be more careful in future. I will go back to the river, tell Abe where he can find us before we set out. Lord, please let him respond this time.
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27 May 2005The sunset had not changed in human memory. A constant red sky, with a warm and welcoming sun blazing directly opposite the coastline, hovered over a wine-dark sea. Waves beat loudly against an unchanging cliff face, keeping a steady rhythm that gave structure to the sirens singing on the rocks at the base of the cliff. Rocky crags and cave openings dotted the cliff face, each decorated with nests made from the remains of ships spanning centuries and cultures and inhabited by water spirits and things that almost resembled sea birds; at a distance one could nearly mistake them for albatross and pelicans, but up close they had a form best described as assorted sea birds drawn by an alien armed with third-hand references and an unhealthy exposure to the works of Boris Groh and the book of Ezekiel. The creatures of the sea scattered from a portion of the coast as the water began to swirl and rise, forming a column that stretched nearly ten feet above the top of the cliff and licked against the grass at the very edge. Jeremiah stepped out from within the tower, adjusting his dry suit jacket as he walked over to a shuddering imp and the water collapsed into the sea.
"You're late," Jeremiah said, stopping in front of the two-foot-tall creature. The imp huffed and put its fists to its hips in an attempt to look defiant. A manilla folder was tucked under its arm. "Well, I had to walk. The things here hunt anything in the sky or sea, you know." "You poor thing." "Perhaps if you want speedy favors, you should come to the office next time." "Perhaps your boss should send creatures that know when to stop next time." Jeremiah held out his hand as the imp snorted. "Is that for me?" "Yes," the imp replied, jamming the folder into his hand, "but you hardly seem like you deserve it." Jeremiah took the folder and opened it, flipping absently through. "Your behavior is hardly the sort of professional air I would expect from someone in your position. Your disrespect will be noted." "And what are you gonna do about it, mortal? You think walking on our side overrides the fact that you're just animated meat?" Jeremiah glared at the imp over the paperwork, then pulled out a copy of John Matteson's birth certificate and began looking it over. "This folder has everything on the target?" "That's right. Known addresses, associates, travel history, the whole deal." Jeremiah nodded. "Now, are we done? Or are you gonna ask us to handle this human for you?" the imp asked, sneering. "No. This is a family affair." The column of water rose again over the edge of the cliff as Jeremiah continued to read. The imp waved his hand dismissively and turned to leave, when the top of the column formed into a massive hand and reached forward. It grabbed the imp and, in one swift movement, dragged it back to the edge of the cliff and threw it over. Jeremiah ignored the sounds of screeching, screams, and tearing as he flipped through the pages. When the air again returned to its normal sound, he took a deep breath and pulled out a driver's license picture of John. "Now. Let's look into what kind of a man Henry managed to raise." 27 February 2005Six bodies lay strewn about the room. Two of them were barely recognizable as human, just dry husks whose shriveled faces were frozen into screams. The others had died of stabbing or slashing wounds, the room covered with splatters of blood and bullet holes. In the center of the room stood a man with hair that was just barely starting to gray on the edges of his sharp, light bronzed face. He waved his hand slowly over a knife, and the blood on it rose from the blade to follow. "I did warn you," he said, flicking his wrist so the floating blood flew into the face of a dead man in a suit. "I told you it was dangerous to get in my way, that pushing me would not end well for you." He straightened his posture and tucked the knife into a holster in his jacket. "Really, you've no one to blame but yourself. Pity you had to take your associates with you." He turned to walk out when a woman's scream ripped through the room. He turned suddenly, raising his hand in the same posture as it had been over the knife, and found the ghost of a young woman. Her hair was blonde and drifted through the air as if it was in water. "Matteson!" She yelled, floating toward him. "Who are you? What business do you have with me?" "I smell him! Where is Matteson?!" "I am Jeremiah Matteson," he said, lowering his hand, "and I would appreciate some answers." She stopped just in front of him, her toes danging a foot off the ground so her eyes could be level with his. "Where is John Matteson?" "John? I don't...wait, Henry. Did Henry have a son? A son who draws the attention of ghosts?" She took a deep sniff of him, then scowled. "You share blood with him, but you have nothing more of value to me." She began to float away from him. "Wait! What do you know about John Matteson?" "You are not him." With that, she vanished. Jeremiah stood for a moment, then smiled. "It's been a long time, Henry. Perhaps too long." He turned and, with a wave of his hand, vanished. 3 January 1907PORTIONS OF THE DAMAGED DIARY OF JOANNA WOZNIAK, AS RECOVERED BY THE POLICE DEPARTMENT OF ERIE, PA, ON THE EVENING OF MAY 28, 1974.It has been two months since the weight of rejection and hatred in Allegheny forced me to take Jeremiah and move downstream. The people further west have not concerned themselves with the affairs of my home city, and had no reason to turn away a widow and her infant. It is difficult, allowing them to call me a widow, but it has been easier than the risk of telling them the truth. The fact that Jeremiah bears Indian features and dark skin has hindered our welcome, but not as bad as it could be. Even Marilyn asked us to leave, in the end. Brandon was attacked and she feared it was due to their affiliation with me. She cried when she turned me away, but I cannot allow that to to obscure the fact that she turned us away. I have gone to the river every day and spoken to Abe. I don't know if he hears me. He has certainly never replied. I have tried to keep him informed of our situation, where to find us, how quickly our son grows. His extended absence has made me worry. I threatened gods and spirits when he was taken from me, and if he is not returning and I am to continue going to the river, I must prepare for the possibility that I may be called on these words. I found a small, discrete bookseller in the next town, and have been able to secure a couple books on the occult with promises of more to come. I do not mean to dabble in witchcraft, but I must be prepared. I must know what will come for us, if anything, and how to defend against it. Lord grant that I never have to use this knowledge. 11 September 1906PORTIONS OF THE DAMAGED DIARY OF JOANNA WOZNIAK, AS RECOVERED BY THE POLICE DEPARTMENT OF ERIE, PA, ON THE EVENING OF MAY 28, 1974.Today I bore a son. I have named him Jeremiah Bazyli Matteson, he is strong and healthy and feeds well. I can see so much of his father in him, it almost hurts. 12 September, 1906The reverend had his hands full ever since taking over for the late Rev. Liam Halzberg. With the people of Allegheny fighting against Pittsburgh's attempts to annex the city, the fall of the Wozniak estate and its associated drama, and the usual issues of taking over a church in the wake of a beloved leader's death, he felt like he was always in the middle of some mess or another. He didn't particularly want to add the birth of the Matteson boy to his plate, but with pressure from his congregation that had been building for the past three months he felt it was in his best interest to do something. He was welcomed in by the doctor and led to Joanna's room, where he was warned that the child had recently fallen asleep and asked not to disturb him. The reverend agreed, then softly entered. He made his way to an armchair in the room and sat down. "Good morning, Ms. Matteson," he said, just loud enough for her to hear, while removing his hat. "I don't believe we've formally met." "I know who you are, Reverend, and a little of your opinion of me. The city does love to talk." "My congregation has told me about the circumstances surrounding your marriage, yes." "I can imagine how kind they were about it, seeing how they've treated my parents." He sighed, lowering his gaze and brushing some imaginary dust off his hat. "I have tried, of course. But I don't yet have the respect to really stop them. I doubt it will be an issue much longer, I'm told they're leaving the city." "And does that suit you, Reverend? To see them leave in disgrace and poor fortune, so long as you don't have to deal with it anymore?" "That is not-" "Why have you come?" He looked back at her and was met with a firm gaze. He swallowed hard, then attempted to meet her stare and brace himself against it. "The child." She turned, smiling as she placed her hand on the edge of Jeremiah's basket. "I'm sure it's not what you see, but he's beautiful, isn't he?" "I think we both know, ma'am, that he isn't...human." "He's human enough. I should know." "Joanna, his father-" Her face snapped back to the reverend, and he flinched as her gaze borrowed into his skull. "His father is gone, maybe forever, because of this mindset. This hatred for what you don't understand, this rejection of people who need your help but don't see the world how you do. Are you like them, Reverend? Are you here to condemn a lost man and his son whose only sin was being born? Is that all your collar is good for?" He glanced to Jeremiah, who stirred a bit at her tone. "Joanna, I-" "Look me in the eye and say what you've come to say." He turned his face to her, straightened his back and hardened his voice. "There is no place in this community for that demon-spawn, and there never will be. Your desire to carry it to term is admirable, if misguided, but now you must choose whether to turn it aside and return to the people who care about your soul, or commit fully to this godless path you've been walking." They stared at each other for a long moment. "I will raise my son, Reverend." Her voice was cold and steady. "With or without you, with or without his father. I will not abandon my own flesh and blood to appease those who have already rejected me. Good day, sir." "Ms. Matteson, you must consider-" "I said good day." She turned to soothe Jeremiah, who was beginning to fuss in his sleep. The reverend stood, put his hat back on, and straightened his shirt. His eyes narrowed at he looked at the child, then he turned and left the room. |
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