Seth

By Christy Aldridge

In the winter of 1966, a small southern town becomes entangled in a horror they never anticipated. With birds attacking the townfolk, the people only have one person to turn to; a five year old boy who proclaims to be prophet. He makes his claims of being sent by God to rid them of their sins. Everyone is falling for this little boy and his judgments.

But one boy knows differently. He's seen what this little boy is doing and he's determined to stop him. He's determined to make sure no one else knows the pain he's known.

As things begin to grow colder and the little boy's influence only grows stronger, everyone begins to wonder:

Who is Seth? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christy Aldridge
• Release date: Nov 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393651253

Book preview

Chapter One

In the fall of 1965 , a new family moved into Rawhead, Alabama. Although it would be irrelevant in most places, towns like Rawhead never got anything new. New stores didn’t come and go. New philosophies weren’t taught. New books weren’t introduced. And new families didn’t move to Rawhead without a reason.

Everyone had a reason. Reason or roots. You didn’t move to Rawhead for the blooming job opportunities or great schooling. Rawhead was a small town that wasn’t accustomed to change. The grocery store didn’t change their layout. Christmas plays and recitals were the same every year. You moved to Rawhead because you came from there. You moved to Rawhead because you had family there.

But the new family didn’t have that. You could see how it made the people in town squirm. Gossip began to run amuck before they even put the key in the front door.

Were they related to someone? Did they have business there? Were they here to cause trouble? People wanted to know whether they would be friend or foe, with most people leaning toward foe. Anyone that was a stranger in Rawhead had to be here for nefarious reasons.

They moved in next door, and though I didn’t see much of them, my parents and sister did. I overheard them talking about our new neighbors as they were moving in. I wasn’t curious enough to watch myself.

They look nice enough, my mother commented over dinner the night they moved in. They have very fine taste in furniture.

Good furniture determines someone’s niceness, mom? I asked with a crooked grin. I deserved the frown she shot my way, but also the snicker I heard come from my dad.

Yes, son. The state of someone’s chaise lounge determines their worth, he answered.

I guess that means we’re a mess, my mother answered.

A little worn in.

My sister, Miranda, mentioned they had a son. He was in the same grade as her. She told me he was weird. Coming from her, it didn’t mean anything. She thought everyone was weird.

But the family that moved into Rawhead that fall didn’t seem worth noting. You didn’t stare at them and think something weird was going on behind closed doors. You didn’t look at the kid and think something was wrong with him.

I didn't see them at all. Some of that was my blindness to anything other than my girlfriend.

They were normal people. They didn’t make waves. They tried to mold into our small town as if they had been there forever.

Their only downfall was that they were new. New blood. Strangers in a foreign land. The Bible might say to love your neighbor, but the idea wasn’t fully implemented into everyone’s mind.

What if they’re Satanists? Betty Martin said in a conversation with my mom at the grocery store. They haven’t been to church.

They’ve only been in town for a week, my mother said with a laugh. I’m sure they’ll start attending church as soon as they find which one is a good fit.

You live next door to them. Have you seen any sign of them worshipping the devil? You’re laughing at me, but I saw it on the news. These cults are everywhere. You can’t be too sure who's saved and who is dabbling in the occult anymore, Betty said.

I wanted to believe she was joking, but that was the thing about Rawhead. Those fears were very prevalent, like they were in most small towns.

Rawhead was, and is, small. Small minded as well, as small towns tend to be. Until 1990, it wasn’t even a census designated place. That’s how small Rawhead was.

There was a general store, the type of place where you get your usual household items. Things like dish soap and toilet paper. The woman that ran the store, Mrs. Baker, was a stern, but kind old lady. She would yell to stay quiet but would also tell you to grab a Coca Cola from the icebox on the way out. She wouldn’t ask for the quarter she charged for them. Sometimes, she’d hand you a box of tomatoes that she’d grow from her own garden. She’d tell you that you were doing her a favor by taking them off her hands.

I could tell she enjoyed giving things away when she could.

We had a diner, though it wasn't bigger than my own dining room and kitchen. No one liked to stay to eat. If you were going to the diner, you were a working man. Kids would stop by and get an ice cream on weekends, but they’d eat it on their bikes. Sometimes, you’d take a date to the diner, but only as a last resort. You always tried for something out of town if driving was an option.

As with any self-respecting southern town, there were more churches than stores. There were three churches within the city limits. We had an Assembly of God, a Southern Baptist, and a Pentecostal church. The latter belonged to my girlfriend’s father.

We had a school, but classes were far smaller than most places. Some subjects were taught by the same teacher, even in high school. Classes were mostly the same children each year.

Everyone knew everyone. Everyone knew your business. Sometimes, people knew what was going on in your life before you did.

No one ever stayed in town long enough to matter. Businesses tended to run out of funds quicker than they had gained them. The people that owned the businesses moved as soon as the funds did.

No one wanted to be there, but you were stuck. Parents either pushed their children to leave as soon as they could or encouraged them to be as stuck as they were. Most people stayed. Or they came back. Towns like Rawhead were safer, and that’s what made them so dangerous.

Towns like my childhood home had a way of pretending to be wholesome. They were places of extended family that spent Christmas at your house. Places where you spoke to your neighbors, no matter how weird you thought they were. You smiled when you passed someone. Rawhead had a reputation to uphold.

And like any small town, Rawhead kept its darkness out of sight.

The one thing that made Rawhead special at all were the legends. Especially those that surrounded the Moor.

The Moor was a lake. It was a lake shaped like a crescent moon and enclosed most of Rawhead. The waters were dark and murky, and though people would use them at times, it was always with caution. There were too many tales of unexplained drownings and the things that lived in the Moor.

That was the thing about a Rawheader, as most people in town referred to themselves as. You took your superstitions seriously. Superstition and intuition were the same for most people.

And new people that weren’t going to church were too weird to go unnoticed.

I was a teenager then. I was barely past seventeen when they moved into town in early November. My mother went next door to offer pies that were ‘left over’. I knew she had baked extra, so she had an excuse to be neighborly. When I say neighborly, I mean nosy.

When she came back home, I heard all about the nice family that lived next door. The one I heard the most about was the kid. My mother gushed on and on about how cute and sweet he was. To hear her, you would have thought she had met an angel.

I also learned from my mother that the father was a doctor. He worked in the hospital that was in the town next to us. His wife didn’t need to work, but she was a schoolteacher. My mother was a schoolteacher, too. Our neighbor was going to be a substitute teacher. She would begin teaching when school started back the week after Christmas.

Sure, it seemed weird that I had yet to meet any of them. I had yet to even see one of them. Other things were occupying my time. Those other things being one: my girlfriend, Ellie. I didn’t care that I didn’t know anything about the neighbors other than second-hand gossip. It didn’t matter if I ever met them, but fate had other plans.

Meeting Seth was by fate’s design.

Chapter Two

Iwas hanging out with my girlfriend when I first met the kid. We were in my backyard. She was sitting in the tire swing my dad put up for my little sister, but she wasn’t swinging. That tire swing was nothing more than a place for her to sit while I did my best to turn her on.

Ellie and I were going steady for about six months by then. We spent the entire summer together, hanging out at the river, driving around. I even started attending her father’s church, which was one of the worst experiences of my life.

I was crazy about the girl. She was beautiful, sweet, and smart, though she often hid how smart she was.

Yet, Ellie Preston’s legs were squeezed together so tightly, air couldn’t make its way between them.

I guess it was because she had a strict father and a snob for a mother. My mom used to say that if it rained, Sarah Preston would drown. My dad always laughed at that joke, but it had taken me a while to grasp it. It wasn’t until Mrs. Preston turned her nose up at me that I understood what my mama was talking about.

Her dad was no better. In fact, he was worse. He was the Preacher of our Pentecostal church. His preaching was nothing short of condemning and judging. He indulged in the practice that was snake handling to prove how anointed by God he was. I knew he was far from anointed. Each sermon felt as if he were going to summon the hell fire and brimstone himself. I was for certain that I would be the first one to go to Hell if he had the chance to condemn me. I wouldn’t doubt Jeremiah Preston making it his personal prayer to the Lord that I keep my hands off his daughter.

The truth was, I loved Ellie. Who she was when she was with me and who she was with them were two different people. She wasn’t outgoing, but she wasn’t the uptight snob that she tended to be around her parents. Anytime we ate dinner with them or went to church, I felt like I was gum on the bottom of their shoe. Even with Ellie beside me, it never made me feel welcomed.

I was sure she felt the same about my family. My mom went to church every Sunday, but she went to a Baptist church instead. My dad would make regular appearances, but he would always come home and crack open a cold one. His philosophy was that he put in the time, now he had to put in the crime. Otherwise, he’d have nothing to pray forgiveness for on Sunday. My mom would often smile when he said it, rolling her eyes at his jokes to pretend she didn’t think he was funny. My sister and I would laugh, though little Miranda didn’t understand. Ellie would sit beside me without saying a word. In her head, I knew she was probably judging them.

When we were alone was when her guard would let down. Over the summer, I had learned that she had a passion for art. She could explain every piece of art we came across. I would drag her somewhere with a museum so she could explain it to me. I had no interest in the paintings or sculptures, but I did fall in love with her a little more each time her face lit up. Watching her mouth move as she explained each line and color. Conveying to me what emotions the artist must have been feeling when they created each piece. It was my way of falling for Ellie Preston.

She never said what we talked about around her parents. I had a feeling they wouldn’t approve of such things.

Her father was the worst kind of religious person. Both Sarah and Ellie treated him like he was superior to them. He programmed the law into them long before I came along. Though she never said it, Ellie thought men were superior to women. It was why she acted so demure around me.

My dad taught me it was better to respect a woman rather than repress one. Though he teased my mom about making him a sandwich, I always knew he was coming from a place of humor. Not one of dominance. I always believed my parents had the ideal marriage.

I wanted that with Ellie. I didn’t know it at the time. On that day in December, all I wanted was to turn her on. I even think I was doing a decent job until he spoke over the fence.

Well, aren’t you a naughty boy? he said. For a split second, I wondered if God Himself had come down here to stop me.

It wasn’t God speaking to us. It was a kid, but he was wearing a brown paper bag over his head with two circular holes for his eyes. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen, and I had a five-year-old sister. He wore denim jeans and a puffy red coat, a red coat that I swear he never took off for the entire time he was in Rawhead.

He was a kid. A kid spying on my girlfriend and I as we made out. I never had a chance of liking him. He started off on the wrong foot before I met him, and it didn’t change once I had.

Hey, kid? Didn’t your mama ever teach you about spying? I asked him.

Ellie was moving like a mad woman beside me, trying to get out of the tire swing and compose herself. If I weren’t annoyed at the kid for interrupting my time with her, I would have laughed at her struggles to get free. It didn’t help that her foot caught in the tire and she fell flat on her behind.

She landed with an oomph against the grass. I knelt beside her to help her to her feet, but I could hear the kid laughing.

Your bush is showing, he said with the sort of indignance I’d expect from a snot-nosed brat.

Ellie’s face was red. I reckon it was from embarrassment more than anger, but I knew if she wasn’t mad, she was coming close.

Why don’t you shut up, you brat? I asked, trying to keep Ellie from getting too upset. I was worried about my girlfriend, but there was also a part of me that wanted the view the kid had. Despite trying to feel my way between her legs, I had yet to see between them at all.

You have a huge wet spot in your panties. Daddy says that virgins always get wet fast, he told her.

My calm girlfriend snapped her murderous gaze to this child. You have a very dirty mouth for a little boy, she told him, straightening out her dress. I was getting the cold shoulder as the boy received a stern glare. It was a glare that reminded me of my mother.

I’m not the one creaming my panties like a nasty cunt, he answered back.

I was at a complete loss of words. I watched the exchange and did nothing. I don’t know whether it stunned me at what this kid was saying or the reaction I was getting from my frigid girlfriend. It was bittersweet to know I had been doing a fantastic job just for this kid to come along and ruin it all.

Either way, I didn’t do anything to stop Ellie from storming off. I knew firsthand not to try to talk to a woman when she was that angry. You had to let her cool down and collect herself. Otherwise, you would be on the receiving end of that anger.

I didn’t seem to come back to reality until the kid spoke to me again.

Looks like I pissed your girlfriend off, he told me.

Get back into your own yard and shut up, why don’t you?

I am in my yard, he said, a sort of annoying sing-song tone in his voice.

He didn’t move. He was in his yard, staring through our gate door. The move was like what my sister would do with my room. She’d stand at the door, taunting me, and then when I’d tell her to leave, she’d remind me that she wasn’t in my room. It was as if that gave her an excuse to be an annoying child.

So, I treated this kid like I did my sister. I walked up to the gate and shut it. We protected our yard with a wooden privacy fence. The gate was only about a foot or two taller than his own head. I could see him over the door when I closed it.

He looked up at me, his eyes peering through the circular holes in the bag to glare. He had brown eyes, deep brown eyes. I didn’t like the way they looked at me, even when concealed behind a brown paper bag. They were too old for his body. Too mature.

You’re a cocksucker. You know that? the kid said.

And you’re a little twat.

I couldn’t see the kid’s face, but I knew he was smiling. Of course, he had to be smiling beneath that bag. That was what all little kids did when someone said naughty words. They either smiled and giggled, or they ran and told your parents. That was my sister’s favorite thing to do, but not this kid. He’d rather smile at a dirty word because it gave him an excuse to use one of his own.

You’ll never screw her, ya know? You’d have better luck sticking your dick in a meat grinder, he said, then turned to walk back to his own yard. He looked back for only a moment.

He took off the paper bag. He was a cute kid. I didn’t expect for his smile to be so disarming and his face to look more angelic than demonic. When he smiled at me, dimples formed in his cheeks. I like you. I don’t think I’ll kill you, he said.

It was a strange thing to say, even for someone who had said ugly things to Ellie and me. It was creepy and weird, like the kid who said it.

He gave me another smile, the one that I was sure he had been wearing the entire time we spoke. Though mischievous, I had to admit that it was also cute. He was a cute kid, even if he was a brat.

I waited until the kid was in his own house before I went inside. Ellie was in the bathroom, but I only knew this because my sister pointed me in that direction.

She locked the door, so I knocked on it. I could hear Ellie on the other side, but she didn’t speak to me. I knew she was crying.

Ellie? I said, trying to be as gentle as I could with my words.

Please go away. I want some time to myself, she said.

I leaned against the door. Look, about what that kid said-

Please go away! she yelled at me.

I jerked back, surprised at the hostility in her voice. That was the thing about Ellie. She was never angry. She never raised her voice. She was always cool and collected but that kid had gotten under her skin.

I went back down the hall and into the living room. Miranda was sitting on the couch watching TV and eating a bowl of cereal. She regarded me when I walked in, but then turned her attention back to the TV. I sat down beside her and slumped against the cushions.

So, what did you do?

Excuse me?

You heard me. What did you do to make her cry?

I didn’t do anything, twerp, I told her. You know you’re not allowed to eat in the living room, right?

Mom said I could before she left, she said. Now what did you do to hurt Ellie?

I sighed in aggravation. I didn’t do anything. That stupid kid next door-

I don’t like him.

Yeah, well, no one asked you.

I’m telling mom you’re being mean again, she said.

I rolled my eyes. There must be a manual given to little sisters when they’re born so they know how to annoy their big brothers. Either that, or it came programmed into their DNA or brain cells.

He’s a kid, Miranda. A little boy with a dirty mouth that needs a whooping, kind of like you, I replied.

The only one in this house that’s going to get a whooping is you. When mom gets home and sees Ellie crying, I’m going to tell her how you were being mean to me again, she replied.

Do it, and I’ll tell her about the dollar you stole the other day so you could get an ice cream from Joe’s, I countered.

You can’t prove that.

No, but I’m sure Joe can prove you stopped by, and I bet mom would love to know how you managed to afford such a thing.

Miranda twisted her mouth into a sneer. At five, she was still adorable when she did it, and it was hard to stay serious, but I did.

Fine. But you better make Ellie happy again before mom gets home, she replied.

I tried. She told me to leave.

That means you should have stayed. Even I know that, Miranda said with a roll of her eyes.

I looked down the hall again.

And how would you know that? I asked.

She shrugged. That’s what mom does to dad sometimes. She says that he knows that she wants him to stay when she says leave, she replied.

That’s so confusing though!

I don’t make the rules, Dilly Dally.

You know I hate it when you call me that, I told her. Of course, she didn’t care, and the truth was, I didn’t really mind it. She had been calling me Dilly Dally since she was able to talk. Likely because the one thing my mom liked to tell us both was not to dilly dally around when we were cleaning our rooms. It had stuck in Miranda’s head.

Despite not wanting to believe my sister, I went back to the bathroom door. I didn’t hear her on the other side, so I knocked again.

Ellie?

I want to be alone, she answered.

I licked my lips, the ones that felt dry and were even afraid to say anything. I took in a deep breath. I wanted to make sure you were okay, I told her.

There was silence. I thought for sure that Miranda was off her rocker by sending me to my angry girlfriend, but then the door came open. Ellie was staring at me from the other side. Her cheeks were red, and her lips were swollen from crying so much. All I wanted to do was hold her, but she was sending me signals that she still wasn’t ready for me to hold her yet.

I’m sorry for snapping, she told me.

It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pushed.

I shouldn’t have acted so irrationally. That kid got under my skin, she told me, and her