Hell’s Coming
Epigraph
Memories of East Texas And Gilmer, county seat of Upshur Looking back and asking myself What the hell’d you let them break your spirit for? -- “Memories of East Texas,” Michelle Shocked
Hell’s Coming
“Do you remember me, Mr Gilmer?”
Gilmer examined the young woman. He did not approve. Her clothing, though black, was somehow quite the opposite of somber. Too, she was wearing more make-up than a Godly young woman ought to. Who was this painted woman? No one he knew.
“You are mistaken, Miss. We don’t know each other.”
“We do,” she answered. The next words came out with an East Texas twang. “A’ know you from way back, Gilmer. Tin years ago yew tole the town yew knew all about me.”
That voice… He looked again at her face, looking for the teenager it might have been years ago.
“Holly?” He stepped back. “Holly Keating?”
“That was my name.”
“I know this story! You went to college, and you’re back, and now you think you’re better than this town.”
“No, Gilmer—”
“Young lady, you will address me as Reverend Gilmer”
“I will not. You can kisss my asss, Gilmer,” she hissed.
He raised his right hand to slap her face.
“Hold,” she said quietly.
His hand stopped in mid swing as if held by an iron bar.
“Release me, witch!”
She made a gesture. “You may lower your hand. Don’t try that again.”
His right arm relaxed. It was the only part of him that did. He glared at her, tense with fury.
“Think, Gilmer. We’re on a public street. A dozen people can see us. If you beat me in public you hurt yourself more than you hurt me.”
He looked around. She had chosen well where to confront him. There were streets in town where if he slapped an insolent young lady, his neighbors would assume she deserved it. This was not one of them.
But he need not stay to listen to her profane speech. He turned to walk away.
Again the quiet command, “Hold,” stopped him.
How was she doing that?
“How am I doing that?” she read his mind. “You said it yourself, Gilmer. You called me a witch.”
“It is true, then? You have given your body to the evil one?”
“Your mind would go there! An evil man sees himself wherever he looks.”
“I have not given myself to Satan!”
“Have you not? You are so sure that the Father of Lies cannot deceive you? You hide nothing?”
“I hide nothing.”
“You are lying, Gilmer.”
He blinked, and his eyes shifted away from hers.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Gilmer. Your parishioners now know you have a secret. They don’t know what it is, but they know you are ashamed of something. Watch them in the days and weeks to come. Watch how they fail to meet your eyes. Watch how they doubt you. You will see it!”
“Get thee gone, witch!”
“So nice to catch up with you, Reverend Gilmer! I will be staying in town for a month or so to take care of some old business. I’m sure we will run into each other again!” she said brightly, a devilish smile on her face.
Next Sunday she was there, in the back of the church, wearing that same bright evil grin. After the service, he stood outside the door as usual to greet the departing worshippers. She shook his hand with both of hers and smiled brightly at him, her two dark eyes seeking his. His did not meet hers.
The faces of some of his parishioners looked false to him. He had never noticed that before. He noticed it especially in the older folks. Older men looked at him with a kind of complicity as if they shared a guilty secret. Older women looked as if they wouldn’t trust him farther than they could throw him.
She returned the next Sunday, chatting gaily with other churchgoers after the service. Were they looking his way as they talked? What was she telling them?
On the third Sunday it was unmistakable. “He knows—she knows what I did,” he thought to himself with every conversation. Some were severe, some seemed to offer sympathy, and some—these were the worst—seemed to welcome him into a fraternity of sinners.
And they were deserting him. He thought there were fewer than ever in the pews. Except for her. He could not lose her—she was there each Sunday, sitting in the back, smiling as if sharing a private joke with the devil.
On the fourth Sunday, Reverend Gilmer did not appear for the scheduled service. The Church Board went to the parsonage looking for him, accompanied by that new young lady.
As they entered they noticed fresh ash in the chimney. This was not usual for a summer day in Texas. The remains of a stack of books lay in the ashes. All were now destroyed.
The next room was Rev Gilmer’s bedroom. They found him there, or what was left of him. He was hanging from a rope suspended from a ceiling light fixture. He had jumped from a chair. The medical examiner determined that he had been dead some days.
Afterword
This story was inspired by two songs, “Hell’s Comin’s With Me,” by Poor Man’s Poision, and “Memories of East Texas,” by Michelle Shocked. (Sadly, because of copyright disputes, “Memories of East Texas” is not available to stream.)
The cover is a cycle graph of the cyclic group Z12, meant here to stand for the twelve people on the streets during the first conversation. The colors are based on a phase portrait of a complex function and have no particular meaning, other than the aesthetic.
You do a really nice job of creating tension right off the jump and maintaining it throughout the story.
Very tragic and heartbreaking tale. 💔