Free Midnight Grinding by Ronald Kelly

possibly possess the soul of an innocent, nine-year-old boy.
    “Hey, mister!” it thundered, the tone hitting highs and lows virtually impossible for the human voice to manage. “Where do you think you’re going? Come back, will ya? Do you hear me? I said…COME BACK!”
    Jud Simmons almost turned around and, if he had, would have surely been lost right then and there. He stood stone still for an endless moment, acutely aware of something coming down the rise toward him. Something very big , something very evil . A fetid heat prickled the nape of his neck and the sulfurous stench of brimstone and burnt flesh assaulted his nostrils. Jud knew that if he turned to face the thing, its appearance, perhaps even its very presence, would surely drive him insane. Resisting the overwhelming urge to commit mental suicide, Jud began to run as fast as possible up the cluttered avenue of Main Street for the town square and his car.
    A hoarse roar shook the air around him, nearly shattering his eardrums. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MISTER? DON’T YOU WANNA GO BACK TO THE FAIR? EVERYONE’S WAITING FOR YOU…CAN’T YOU HEAR THEM?”
    Yes, he could hear the sounds coming from over the rise, but it was no longer the toot of the calliope or the excited voices of the crowd. The awful screams of tormented souls drilled through the night air, enhanced by the crackling flames and explosive dishevel of wholesale Armageddon. It was the sound of an agonizing hell on earth.
    As he ran past the battered shops and stores, a strange thing happened. The town began to shift. Brief flashes of normality replaced the devastation. Ben Flanders was giving Charlie Walsh a haircut in the big window of the barber shop, the elderly Stokes brothers were playing checkers outside the hardware store, and a teenager in a Future Farmers jacket was selling Grit papers in front of the post office. Then, just as swiftly as it had appeared, the deceptive camouflage returned to death and destruction. The clever and well-maintained illusion that had been conjured for the benefit of those outsiders who happened to visit Jackson Ridge from day to day abruptly bled back into grim reality.
    Jud cut across the eastern side of the square for his car. God, oh dear God in heaven, let me make it! But what if he did make it to the Lexus? Would it make any difference?
    He now saw the rusted wreck of Joe Bob’s 4x4 pickup truck where it hadn’t been before, hanging on the lip of the square, its front bumper stuck in the split stone of the cistern. It looked as though the windshield imploded from some terrible force. Jud suddenly knew that his car would be no protection whatsoever from the thing that pursued him.
    “COME ON BACK, MISTER! YOU SAID YOU’D TREAT ME TO THE FAIR. YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD!” The horrid voice was strangely infantile, yet as old as time itself. And there was an underlying evil, a gleeful cruelty in every syllable it spoke. Whatever dark realm the demon had originated from, its very presence exuded a foul sense of utter depravity that made Satan’s threat seem pale in comparison.
    The thing was gaining on him. He could hear its approach, like a thousand pounding feet in hot pursuit, growing ever nearer. It’s going to catch me, Jud thought wildly. It’s going to grab hold of me and…what? What in heaven’s name will it do to me then?
    He could sense the thing’s vast bulk as it shifted to his right. It was heading toward the car, trying to cut him off! Jud’s legs felt like rubber. He knew he couldn’t possibly beat it to the car. Abruptly, a crazy idea crossed his desperate mind and he acted on it. He veered sharply to the left, past the historical marker, and squeezed through the gaping crack in the lid of the cistern.
    Cool darkness met him, as well as empty air. He fell for what seemed to be an eternity, before hitting the smooth hardness of the reservoir floor. The breath knocked from his lungs, Jud lay there for a long, silent moment. Even after