The Damnation Revival

By Renna Olsen

In the late 1800s Oregon, Ben and Nina Truesdell and their three children struggle to make a life. Barely tolerated by the people of Riverside because of Nina and the children’s native blood but still sought after for their disabled youngest daughter, Holly Virginia’s miraculous healing touch, their insular world is shattered with the arrival of a smooth talking conman, Ezekiel Waterford. Selling salvation in a bottle and bringing hell with him, Ezekiel sees an opportunity to exploit Holly Virginia’s miraculous gift for his own financial gain and a chance at immortality. Setting his evil plan in motion, Ezekiel steals away Holly Virginia and her devoted sister Emma, leaving older brother Noble to embark on a perilous journey down the Pacific Coast to rescue his sisters. Along the way, he finds help in unusual places and a strength he never knew he possessed. He’ll need both if he is to help save his family from Ezekiel’s depraved vision of utopia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Renna Olsen
• Release date: Mar 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463422953

Renna Olsen

The Litzophreniacs3 is a trio of authors and family members collaboratively writing primarily science fiction, horror and paranormal thrillers. With mother Nancy, son Eric and daughter Anne, the Litzos as we like to call ourselves, have finished multiple books and are working on new projects. We write under the pen name Renna Olsen.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Holly, do you want a drink of water? her sister, Emma, asked. She paused for a moment and studied her younger sister’s face. Holly was eleven years old now and as beautiful and fragile as the cloud of butterflies that surrounded her. Emma loved the long dark pigtails that hung over the shoulders of her sister’s homespun frock. Here, baby girl, she coaxed.

Holly turned a pair of gorgeous hooded brown eyes toward Emma and smiled. Sometimes Emma wished so much that Holly could see that she felt an almost physical ache and her own eyes blurred with familiar tears. Emma sighed then filled a metal dipper from a bucket full of cool, clear spring water and gently touched her sister’s face so she would know it was being offered to her. Holly delicately sipped then smiled again to express her thanks.

Noble, Dad, come and get lunch, Emma called.

Noble, fifteen years old and still growing into a body that promised to be as tall and wide as their father’s, finished stacking the armload of fire wood he was loading onto the wooden sled. He wiped fresh chips from his shoulders and headed over to his sisters and the welcome shade of the trees. He paused for a moment to scratch Brownie, the mule, between her ears as she nibbled on the sweet grass.

His sister Emma was a beautiful girl, sixteen years old with dark brown hair and dark eyes. Folks always said how much she looked like her mother, Nina. She also had her mother’s worrying disposition and a tendency to mother her siblings. She fretted over everything; from if there were enough beans canned to get through the winter to whether or not the broody hens were going to keep on laying enough eggs to fill their larder.

Well, look-ee here, their father, Benjamin’s, voice carried across the field. He bent low and picked up something from the tall grass. He cupped his big calloused hands to his worn bib overalls and moved towards his family with his long, distance-eating strides.

I’ve got a friend for you, my little Holly girl. He knelt next to Holly and set a tiny jewel colored bird with a broken wing into her lap. The small creature tried to escape and desperately flapped its injured wing when Holly reached down to feel its small body. She smiled with pleasure at the touch of its smooth feathers and the feel of its rapidly beating heart. The bird quieted instantly then lay calmly in the young girl’s lap.

Noble, Emma and their father gathered about their sister as she carefully nestled the injured bird into her hands. She cupped them about the tiny creature, closed her eyes and then started to hum her special song. It was an odd little soulful tune, the only sounds that Holly had ever been able to utter. After humming for a minute or two, her head nodded forward and she slumped gently over, fast asleep.

The small avian raised both its wings as if testing them. Then, when it was sure that it was whole again, it lifted itself into the air. The bird made several orbits around the sleeping girl, chirping joyfully, and then it was gone.

Now you’ve done it, Dad, Emma said to her father. She’s going to sleep and miss her lunch.

I’m sorry, Benjamin gave a wide grin. But that girl has a precious gift given to her by the Almighty and it makes her so happy when she can use it. Besides, it was just a tiny little creature. She won’t sleep too long.

Emma shook her head in mild reproach at her father then said, Well, you better eat up, ‘cause we need to get this done and head back down the hill. I should be home helping Mama in the garden instead of here, wasting time. She looked over at Holly dozing under the tree and smiled. Oh well, it does make Holly happy to be out here in the middle of nature along with the two of you.

Benjamin looked at his three children with deep satisfaction. Emma was his practical, down-to-earth child while Noble was his fun-loving, teasing, hard-working one. But his Holly was in a category all her own.

When Holly was born, Benjamin and Nina were devastated. Their poor baby’s tiny spine was twisted and the half-drunk country doctor who attended the birth advised them to just let her die. Benjamin had been tempted to thrash the drunkard within an inch of his life but had settled on merely ejecting him forcefully out of the house.

But his wife, Nina, kept a calmer head; she gathered their tiny daughter to her breast and studied her for a moment. Then she said, This child is destined to be special. I can feel it. She bent and kissed her new baby on the forehead.

Benjamin said, I want her to be named after my grandmother, Holly Virginia Truesdell. She was a sweet, gentle person and more than a little fey. She could tell the future.

Nina nodded her head in agreement. This child will bring us great joy.

Nina was right, Benjamin thought. Holly Virginia was special.

Chapter 2

The slightly built man was exceedingly grateful to finally get off his bony nag of a horse and find a decent place for a hot meal. He was tired of begging food from the country rubes that grubbed out a living in this muddy backwater that called itself Morton County. The flaming array of saddle sores speckling his ass only added to his deep misery. He dismounted carefully, then moved slowly and stiffly to hand his horse’s reins over to the hostler at the stables.

Sam Ratty Blakely stepped outside the stable and surveyed his surroundings. This bustling small town, only one of a string of unremarkable and forgettable burgs he’d been through, was situated right on the Columbia River. He took special note of the new stone courthouse and jail dominating the town’s cobblestoned main street. Further along the waterfront, there was a fancy looking establishment, a combination restaurant, saloon, and hotel. A sign hanging above the door identified it as ‘The Safe Harbor’.

That looks like a likely place, he thought. I’m dry as hell.

He studied the sailing ships tied up at the docks and the roughhewn sailors and workmen unloading and loading timber and other goods. He made particular note of which watering holes the sailors gravitated towards. As usual, his instincts were correct; the great majority of them made a beeline for the Safe Harbor.

Dusting his pants off and grasping his tattered carpet bag, Ratty swaggered down the wooden sidewalk, tipping his hat and winking at what appeared to be a few ladies of the evening plying their trade in the light of day, until he reached the hotel. He pushed open the large front doors and entered an opulent lobby, occupied by a mustachioed man stationed behind an elaborately hand carved wooden check-in desk.

Got a room? he asked. Somethin’ that ain’t gonna cost me an arm and a leg.

The fussy looking clerk looked Ratty over carefully, taking note of the skinny man in his rumpled, slightly grimy, but still presentable suit, a dusty bowler hat and his pointed nose and weak chin.

Ratty earned his moniker honestly as he really did resemble a rodent. He had prominent deeply yellowed buck teeth and a grease stiffened mustache that resembled nothing so much as whiskers. Adding to the overall effect, he carried a wary and sly look about him, all further complemented by a slouching gait enabling him blend into any crowd at the first hint of danger.

"Of course, uhmm, Sir, the concierge replied. We have a very nice single up on the third floor. For a minimal fee you can have hot water delivered to your room, or, he sniffed, there’s a public bathhouse up on Second Street."

Just gimme the goddamned key, Ratty snarled back.

Ratty passed over his money and signed the guest book in return for a heavy iron key, then checked out the two doors on either side of the lobby, one that appeared to lead into a restaurant area and the other into a crowded bar. For the time being, he passed on both and headed up the central staircase to his room up on the third floor. He knew Ezekiel was going to be sorely pissed at him for spending the money on this posh place when he could have stayed in a cheaper flophouse further from the river. But, he reasoned, this was where he needed to be in order to be most effective in carrying out his appointed duties.

Dropping his bag on the hardwood floor in his room, he quickly slicked back his hair with water from the pitcher on the room’s dressing table. Then he bent and grabbed a dab of wax from the almost empty can he had stashed in an outside pocket of his carpet bag, and quickly waxed his mustache. After thinking for a moment, he reached into his carpetbag again and pulled out a bottle of slightly murky liquid with an overpowering musky scent and splashed it around his neck. A strong scent was necessary to mask his powerful body odor, which remained unpleasant even after bathing.

Blakely was a born huckster, always selling a line of bullshit, and he had determined long ago that presentation was everything.

The skinny man headed down the stairs and was torn for a moment as to which door he should take - the restaurant for an over-due hot meal or the bar for a long anticipated drink. He would have just drunk his sample bottle of elixir but he had too much of a healthy respect for his boss, Ezekiel Waterford, to risk his wrath.

He reached into his pocket and fingered the few coins left there. He’d spent a bit more of his ‘up front’ money than he had planned to, on his way from the last little town they’d hustled, so he had to make a careful choice. He did a quick bit of mental calculations then ducked into the saloon.

The first thing that Ratty observed was the long mahogany bar running across one side of the room and the nearly as long elaborately gilded mirror hanging above it. The next two things that caught his eye were the roulette wheel and blackjack table on the other side. He forced himself to look away and headed over to the bar.

What’s your pleasure, Sir? the bartender asked.

Ratty answered, "Whaddya have for a nice inexpensive whiskey?"

The Safe Harbor catered to all types of gentlemen and some who weren’t gentlemen at all. The barman looked Ratty over for a moment and, deciding he wasn’t hardy enough to warrant, much less survive, The Safe Harbor’s Shanghai brew, thumped a shot glass onto the bar and filled it with a dark amber whiskey.

This should do ya, he told Ratty.

An old man, hunched up over his drink and dressed in a crisply pressed and tailored suit, was sitting at the end of the bar. Ratty, sensing the man’s potential affluence from the quality of his duds, picked up his glass and sidled down the bar towards the old coot.

Howdy, Ratty said, My name is Sam, nice to meet you. He held out his hand with its broken nails, rimmed underneath with some unknown black substance.

The old man, eyes yellowed in their sockets and jaundiced skin to match, looked askance at Ratty’s dirty hand but he still reached out with his own shaky paw and grasped it anyways. Most folks one met these days didn’t seem to be too concerned with personal hygiene.

The name’s John Howard. The withered old man nodded toward the bartender. Set us up with a couple more, would you please, Emmitt.

Ratty was thrilled. He hadn’t been on the search for more than five minutes and he’d already scored a free drink. Thank ya, Ratty said, then quickly downed his first drink and grabbed a hold of the second before someone could change their mind.

What brings you to these parts, fella? John asked.

Things just kept getting better and better for Ratty. Oh, I’m just traveling through here, going about the countryside on a trip I thought I’d never be able to make. Ratty slid easily into his glib confidence game. You wouldn’t believe this, but not six months ago I was right on death’s door and let me tell you sir, the grim reaper was holding that door open wide for yours truly.

Sensing the old man’s interest, Ratty kept up a head of steam. May the good Lord strike me down right here before you if I’m telling a word of a lie. He paused a moment for the effect then carried on, Yes, I had the cancer. Doc told me I didn’t have more than six months to live. I’d just about given up and made my peace when a man came into our town, a man who brought with him a miracle cure. He swore it could cure anything that ailed a man, and he was right. I bought some of that elixir of the angels and within two weeks I could feel myself getting stronger. Another two weeks and I was once again the man you see before you now.

The old drunk studied Ratty for a moment then asked in a voice mangled by decades of alcohol and nicotine, And just what would this ‘elixir of the angels’ be called?

Playing the old man like the proverbial fish on a line, Ratty let him take the bait then set the hook. It’s called ‘Mason Safe Kidney and Liver Cure’. Ratty told him. I couldn’t believe my luck. I bought an extra bottle or two, just to be on the safe side. I don’t ever plan to be without it again.

John, whom Ratty accurately judged to be a drunk in the late stages of alcoholism, continued to question him. So where can a body get this miracle that comes in a bottle?

Well, I got mine from a truly singular fellow. He’s a medical doctor, and a preacher, I might add, who came through my little home town. He told me that he had discovered the formula for the cure-all from a Hindoo holy man in the far mountains of Tibet. It was pure blind luck that I happened upon him as he was selling that medicine right out of his traveling wagon. Ratty paused for a moment, especially since he could sense that several others in the bar were listening to him. Now, I had heard that he was headed in this direction. Might be he’ll come right through here. Wouldn’t that be something? If he does, you can bet I’ll be stocking up again.

The old man’s rheumy eyes seemed to take on a gleam that might be interpreted as hope, the hope of a person who knows his days are numbered. Ratty sensed the hook was lodged deep in the old codger’s gullet so he took the opportunity to size up the rest of the patrons.

Ratty raised his nasally voice a bit more so that he could to be sure the other patrons could hear and continued his discourse, Yes, siree, that elixir saved my life and I’m not the only one, either. There were other folks in my town who were cured of everything from the reumatiz to palsy and weak hearts. I don’t have the slightest idea what’s in that medicine but I surely do know that it will cure what ails ya.

Ratty was expert at working a crowd and he sensed that his groundwork had been successfully laid. It was time to move on to other venues and to hook more marks. He’d be back here again tonight, but in the meantime he wanted to find a cheaper place to eat, a jug of even cheaper whiskey and most importantly, a new crop of suckers so he could continue to spread the gospel of Mason Safe Liver and Kidney Cure and the man who was selling it.

Chapter 3

Ezekiel threw back the ragged quilts covering him and sat up on the built-in bunk. The interior of his traveling wagon was so dark he couldn’t tell if dawn had arrived or if it was still the middle of the night. The one thing he knew for sure was that his bladder was full to bursting. He had done his best to ignore its painful signals for the last hour but now it was telling him that the sun was most likely up.

He learned long ago to always sleep in his clothes because life on the road could be uncertain. Before he got his wagon with its locking door, he had been rudely awakened on more than one occasion in the dead of night by a boot or shotgun barrel to the ribs. Only fast talking and legging it at the first opportunity kept his skin intact up until now.

Usually when they were traveling, his minion, Ratty, slept wrapped up tight in his tarpaulin under the wagon every night. The little man was better than a watch dog when it came to alerting his master to potential danger from things or people. But, unlike his usual habit, Ratty hadn’t reported in for more than five days.

Ezekiel wasn’t sure if his absence was a good thing or a bad thing. It might be that Ratty had found some easy marks in town and was softening them up for Ezekiel’s hype or it might be that his henchman had found someone else to tie his fortune to and had left Ezekiel high and dry. One thing for sure, if Ratty had run out on him, he’d hunt the little bastard down and make him pay. If he betrayed his master, it would be much worse than his usual lesson of a good hefty punch or two. Instead the rat would get a beating so bad that he would be crippled or worse.

Feeling his way along in the dark and familiar confines of the wagon, he reached the door at the back, picked up his loaded shotgun, threw the simple wooden lock aside, and carefully eased the door open for a quick scan of the area. Just because he hadn’t heard anything didn’t mean it was safe out there.

Bright early morning sunshine, diluted by a low ground fog, made him squint. He took a good look around his camp, then checked his horses where they were hobbled and tied next to the wagon to assure himself that there was probably no danger lurking nearby. Waterford jumped down and went around the far side of the wagon and let loose what felt like a never ending stream of steaming piss. He shook himself dry, buttoned up his pants, then went over to kick the fire and see if any coals had survived the night. Lucky for him, they had, so he added a little tinder along with some dry moss and quickly had the fire crackling within its ring of stones.

Ezekiel always tried to make his camp comfortable while he waited well outside the towns for Ratty to prime the pump. He shook the kettle hanging on a tripod over the fire and was pleased to hear some leftover coffee sloshing about. Nothing to do now but feed and water his horses and continue waiting for Ratty’s delayed return. His patience was wearing thin, though, and he was considering breaking camp and going ahead into town. He wasn’t making any money fleecing the yokels hiding out here and, besides, he was developing a thirst for whiskey and an equally powerful desire for a woman to relieve the tight pressure in his loins.

And, truth to tell, he was getting tired of being on the road. He knew he couldn’t live this way forever and was starting to get a bit desperate. That desperation was beginning to cause him some serious problems. He was taking risks that he would never have taken in the past and some of the consequences had been rather serious.

Several weeks ago, back in Montana, he had tried to seduce the young daughter of a wealthy man, hoping to actually marry her and help her father spend his money. Unfortunately for him, he also impregnated the family’s young housemaid while waiting for the daughter to surrender her virtue.

When the maid confessed to Ezekiel that she was carrying his child, already fueled by a night of drinking, he had instantly flown into a blind fury and attacked her physically. He punched her viciously in the stomach to rid himself of the bothersome fetus.

The poor girl’s shrieking brought her employer and his two huge sons running to her defense. They nearly beat Ezekiel to death and were getting ready to hang him from a big oak behind their house when Ratty intervened. His partner held off the enraged men with a sawed off scatter gun long enough to load his battered body into the wagon and hightail it out of town. He just barely survived and, even after nearly a month, he was still stiff and sore where his ribs had been bruised just shy of breaking.

The thing that disturbed him the most was the possibility that his handsome face had been disfigured from the beating. He had ordered Ratty to straighten his nose and threatened him with dire consequences to make damn sure his proboscis remained perfectly straight. Waterford had passed clean out when the small man manipulated it back into position. He unconsciously ran his fingers up and down his nose, reassuring himself that its elegant slope hadn’t been compromised.

This last run-in with the straight world convinced him that it was time for one final scam that would set him up for life. Then he’d never have to spend another night on the hard wooden bunk of that dammed wagon, dodging vengeful men.

His horses snorted and began to get restless. He went on high alert and soon he could make out the sound of hoof beats echoing through the fog. Ezekiel reached for the shotgun he always kept handy, from where he had propped it against a wagon wheel. Then he slipped out of the campsite and crouched in the brush nearby to wait.

A horse and rider appeared through the mist and pulled up on the outside ring of the camp. Ezekiel, it’s me, Ratty. Don’t shoot me, I’m alone. Ratty sat patiently on his horse, waiting to be acknowledged.

Finally, Ezekiel emerged from the bush and signaled to his diminutive partner that it was safe to dismount. He waved towards the fire and the hanging pot. Grab some coffee, then tell me about Riverside. How’re the prospects there? They better be mighty damn good ‘cause you sure as hell been gone a long time.

Ratty got down with a groan and immediately started a rambling justification for his long absence. He knew that Ezekiel didn’t have any tolerance or patience for anyone but himself.

I know, I know, Boss. But I needed the time to set things up for ya. And, I gotta tell ya, this place is ripe for the pickin’. Everyone is hopin’ you’ll show up with that elixir to cure their ills. And, even better than that, their preacher died off a ways back. I think this place is good and ready for an old timey tent revival. He knew his last bit of news would please his partner, an inveterate egomaniac and cocks-man. Ratty gave a knowing leer and reported, Lotta pretty women there, too.

Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed and his face grew still while he processed Ratty’s news. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the big score he was waiting for.

Ratty interrupted his musings, And there’s another thing.

What would that be?

There’s this fancy hotel and saloon there called the Safe Harbor. The word is that the guy who owns it, Maurice Dumonde, is one mean son a bitch. He pretty much runs all the rackets in the area. We’ll want to keep an eye out for him. You know, not step on his toes or anything.

Duly noted, Ezekiel said. He looked about his camp and made a quick decision. All right, let’s break camp and head into town.

They hitched up the horses to the wagon, packed up, and in less than an hour they were ready to go. You know what to do, Ezekiel told Ratty, Head on out and don’t let anyone see us together. This place better be as good as you say, he threatened. We’re runnin’ out of money.

Ratty trotted his horse out of the clearing, while Ezekiel followed at a more leisurely pace. As was their usual habit, Ratty took a more circuitous and roundabout way into town while Ezekiel took the most direct route - it wouldn’t be wise to expose his shill by close association.

As Waterford traveled the dirt road, he listened to the uneven tune generated by the clink of his crates full of elixir bottles in the back of his wagon and the clopping of his horses’ hooves as they pulled it along. This horse-drawn wooden covered van had been his home for more than a few years now.

The large double trussed bundle balanced on top of the wagon was his real money maker. It was an oft mended canvas awning, used for tent revivals. He and Ratty would break it out when they sensed the locals were in need of some religion. Ezekiel would preach while Ratty worked the crowd, picking pockets if he sensed they might contain something worthwhile. Waterford’s slight minion worked hard at promoting the revivals since a packed house made it easier to bump into some unsuspecting female and cop a feel before she even knew what was going on. And besides, there were always plenty of women who were willing to part their legs in the service of the Lord.

Yessiree, it’s time for a revival, Waterford thought. He needed a healthy infusion of funds to keep himself and Ratty going. Maybe this time we’ll play it a little different.

Never one to miss an opportunity, he stopped at every farm and household he passed on the rutted road into town. He put on a winning smile and wheedled in his smoothest patter, hawking the merits of his miracle cure. Ezekiel’s glib tongue encouraged all and sundry citizens to come to his revival and fill themselves with the spirit of Christ. Bored and lonely housewives were not only good customers but excellent sources of gossip, too. As luck would have it, Ratty was correct. Riverside hadn’t had a resident preacher for quite some time.

Perhaps this would be a good place to set down roots for a while.

The rambling cart track led him through forest and alongside creeks. He knew he was getting closer to town when the road widened and people traveling by horseback and buggy started to pass him with more regularity. On the way, he passed through a valley with prosperous looking farms lining both sides of the road. Since he’d taken more time than planned to travel along, he decided that these would be the folks he would save for another day and a longer scam.

After all, he planned on hanging his hat here for a long time.

Chapter 4

Nina leaned her hoe against a fence post then shaded her eyes and peered down the long lane to observe a small frantic boy running her way.

Trouble coming, she said to herself.

As the boy got closer, she recognized Cliff Shoemacher. He was from a family that lived about three miles away, and he looked like he was about to collapse. Cliff was around eight years old and belonged to a hard scrabble farm family. He was barefoot and his ragged clothes were dirty. Nina stepped out of the vegetable garden to greet him.

The boy pressed in on his ribs to ease the stitch in his side, sucked in his breath like a bellows then dropped to the ground at her feet.

Take your time, son, and catch your breath. Then tell me what the trouble is.

No time, he said through desperate gasps for air. Sarah is right sick. Mama sent me to get Holly. She don’t think Sarah is going to make it, otherwise.

Now, Cliff, you know Holly can’t help anyone.

That’s what Mama told me you’d say. She said to tell you that she wouldn’t tell nobody, not never, if you’ll let Holly come. Please, please help Sarah.

Nina hardened her heart. She wasn’t going to risk her own child to save another. No, Cliff, I’m mighty sorry but she just can’t help.

The boy burst into tears as Nina heard a sound behind her. She quickly turned to see that Emma had wheeled Holly to the door of their farmhouse. Holly was stretching out her hands toward her mother and Cliff. She clapped them together then reached out again.

Emma gave her mother a stern look to cut off Nina’s admonitions before she could even start. She already heard, Mama. You know how she is when she senses something or someone needs help. She just gets more and more upset until you give in to her.

We can’t, Nina said, one of these days she’ll go to sleep after she sings and she’ll never wake up.

Holly waved her arms about and started an agitated humming. This tune let everyone know she was