The Almond People

By Joel Jurrens

What would you do for a miracle? Miracles are happening all over Calvin, Iowa. A strange cult known as The Almond People hands out magical blue necklaces, and within weeks the wearers of the talismans are healed of all their afflictions. The lame can walk; the blind can see. But there's a catch …

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613092873

Book preview

Part One

One

WHEN IT WAS FINISHED—AS finished as it ever could be—just two people remained alive who knew the secret, and Buck Hanson made them swear an oath not to tell anyone. It was the only way he could make sure it would never happen again, then he could die in peace and meet God. And he prayed there was a god, because he knew there was a devil. He had seen it in the back of a white Chevy pickup.

IN THE SUMMER OF 1965, upheaval flooded the country. Blacks marched for equal rights; college students protested the Vietnam War and America raced the Soviets to the moon. Buck Hanson didn’t care about any of it. His goal was to fish the river from one end of Iowa to the other while he still had time. Now, five miles from the Minnesota border, it looked as if he and Gary would make it, but Gary just barely—he’d be going to hospice soon.

Gary unhooked a catfish and held it in the glow of the white gas lantern.

That’s four over ten pounds in less than two hours. Gary said. Best fishing we’ve had in a while.

Buck nodded, although he guessed two of the fish had been closer to eight pounds than ten. Gary always exaggerated.

Gary walked to the water’s edge and released it into the fish-smelling river. He spat a stream of tobacco juice out of his toothless mouth. The last half inch of the stream hung on his gray chin stubble. He left it there and wiped his hands on the front of his blue overalls. They hadn’t been washed since they’d started the trip.

Buck hated Gary’s sloppiness. His clothes were filthy and his greasy gray hair hung over his ears like those damn Beatles Buck loathed. Buck had made a career in the Marines and survived two wars. It had made him rigid and disciplined. He shaved daily, showered regularly and kept his hair in a crisp military haircut that exaggerated the ugly face under it.

Gary stood five-six—a good foot shorter than Buck—and weighed a dollar and two bits tops. He hadn’t shaved since starting the trip, and the closest he’d come to bathing was when he rinsed his hands in the river. Sometimes while lying in the tent, the smell of him made Buck gag.

We’re out of bait, Gary said, holding up an empty minnow bucket.

Buck started to say something, but a coughing fit grabbed him and doubled him over. His body shook. When it passed, he spit and sucked in a few shrill breaths.

It had gotten worse. When they’d started the trip it had been a dry cough. Now he coughed up stuff and tasted blood. He was glad it was their last night on the river.

If we’re out of bait, we’ll have to hunt some frogs, Buck said.

Hunting frogs was easy. Just sneak into the woods with the lantern, and when you saw the frog’s eyes shining, you popped it with a stick to stun it.

In a few minutes, four frogs were hopping around in the minnow bucket. Gary moved in on a fifth when he slipped and went down with a squeal that could have belonged to a ten year-old girl.

Buck came up beside him. What happened?

Watch it. It’s slippery here, Gary yelled, flopping around on the ground like a fish.

The dirt gave under Buck’s feet, greasy and slippery like warm lard.

Buck grabbed Gary’s mud-covered hand and hoisted him to his feet. You okay?

I don’t think I broke nothing.

The back of Gary’s overalls were dark and shiny with mud. At least now he’d have to wash the overalls.

Buck straightened up and a flash of white caught his attention. Raising the lantern so the light would go farther into the darkness, he jumped with surprise.

Two men stood watching them from twenty feet away. The older one was about forty with a snowman’s face, round, white and cold. The younger one wore a smile, but not a friendly one. It looked like a dog’s snarl with the upper lip curled up exposing his teeth and gums. They wore identical black pullover shirts and black pants—not jeans or Chinos, but dress pants that went with a suit jacket.

Gary didn’t see them at first. When he finally did, he jumped, let out another little girl’s squeal and grabbed a tree branch to keep from falling again. Jeez, where’d you guys come from?

What are you doing here? the older one asked. He had a deep smooth voice like a TV evangelist.

We’re fishing, Gary said.

Do you have permission to be here?

We were told this is state ground, Buck said.

The younger one shook his head. It’s private property.

Gary spat tobacco juice at the ground. A guy told us it’s public land for a half-mile both ways from the cemetery.

He meant the Methodist Cemetery, the older one said and nodded toward the road. This is Burr Oak Cemetery.

You are five miles too far north, the younger one said with the same creepy grin on his face.

Buck had argued with Gary they’d gone too far north, but Gary wouldn’t listen. Gary never listened.

Sorry, Buck said. Honest mistake.

He had a funny feeling about this. The men didn’t have a flashlight, and the younger one kept glancing past them out into the darkness. Buck would have bet somebody else was out there.

Gary spat again. So who owns this place? You?

Buck grabbed Gary by his filthy overalls and pulled him away. It’s okay. We’ll pack up and leave right away.

Gary squirmed in Buck’s grasp. Not so fast. If they don’t own the place, they can’t tell us to leave.

We made a mistake, Buck said. We’ll leave right away.

Wait a minute ... Gary started, but Buck kept pulling him away from the two men.

What are you doing? Gary demanded when they were out of earshot of the two men. The fishing’s good here. I say we stay until the sheriff comes and runs us off.

No. There’s something going on here.

Something? Like what?

Buck shrugged. I don’t know, but I don’t want to get involved in it.

I think they’re guys fishing, Gary said. They’re just trying to run us off their spot.

They’re not dressed for fishing. You ever known someone to wear good clothes to go catfishing?

I don’t care what they’re wearing ... Gary stopped and looked out into the darkness. Did you hear something?

Over the course of two wars, guns and ordnance from combat had trashed Buck’s eardrums. He didn’t hear anything. What’d it sound like?

Something’s moving around out there. Gary’s voice had dialed down to a whisper. I think they’re following us.

Buck lifted the lantern as high as he could to cast the light farther into the darkness.

White faces by the dozens reflected back at them.

Gary gasped and did a slow 360-degree turn, stumbling as he never took his eyes off the faces. They were all around them, even across the river. Buck figured it to be a squad-sized group. He looked around again. Maybe company-sized.

They’re everywhere, Gary’s face had paled to the color of cloudy ice. Let’s get out of here.

Buck didn’t want to make a panicked flight to the truck—you run from a grizzly and the bear chases. It would be better to get his .45 pistol from under the front seat of his pickup.

We’ll go to the truck and get my gun, Buck whispered. We haven’t seen anything for them not to let us leave.

If they went to the sheriff’s office when they left, they had nothing to tell except people were running around in the dark by the river. No laws broken there. At most it would warrant a cursory visit to the area. But if someone found his pickup abandoned, or someone reported them missing, it would require a thorough, shoulder-to-shoulder search of the area.

After I have the pistol, we’ll come back and get the gear. He didn’t know what these people had in mind, but he’d feel better once he had the gun.

Buck set the lantern on the ground to extinguish it. Gary grabbed his arm.

Leave it on.

Buck shook his head. The lantern limited the distance they could see. Beyond the circle of light from the lantern was a solid black wall. The light made it easy for everyone to locate them from a hundred yards in any direction. They needed the darkness to hide them so they were harder to see and harder to find.

Buck turned off the hissing lantern. The sudden darkness left him blind. It was as if a shroud had been thrown over him. It’d take a few minutes to regain their night vision. They stumbled up the bank toward the truck.

When they reached the top, they could see again. Buck’s white Chevy truck stood by the gravel road across a mowed hayfield. Behind it stood the block and arched shapes of headstones in the cemetery.

As they crossed the open field, shadowy shapes moved along with them. They were being followed. Out front in the cemetery, more shapes moved among the headstones.

Gary gave a quick glance behind them. His body tensed and Buck grabbed his arm before he could bolt for the truck.

He tried to shake Buck’s hand loose and couldn’t. We’re surrounded. He sounded scared.

Buck patted his arm. Stay calm.

What do they want?

I don’t know, Buck said, still holding his arm. Keep walking.

When they made it to the truck, Buck fumbled with his keys and unlocked the driver’s door. The dome light blinded him as much as the darkness had. He squinted as if he had just woken from a deep sleep. He reached under the driver’s seat, stopped and held his right hand up in the light. It glistened with blood.

Buck pulled up the sleeve on his flannel shirt and checked for cuts. Nothing. Little pieces of dirt were mixed with the smeared blood. He’d used his right hand to help Gary to his feet when he slipped in the mud.

Gary, Buck whispered.

Gary opened the passenger’s door. His face was pale and scared. He glanced at Buck then over his shoulder back into the darkness. What?

Turn around.

What?

Turn around.

Gary looked puzzled, but turned around.

Dirt and dark coagulated blood covered his back where he had slipped and fallen on the ground.

What did we walk into? In God’s name, what did we walk into?

Now Buck knew why they’d followed them from the river. They couldn’t let them leave.

Two

Brady nudged Jake Barger in the ribs and motioned toward the front pew. Du-do you su-see the bu-blondes? His already bulging eyes were magnified by his thick glasses until they could have belonged to a giant fly. In elementary school the mean kids had called him Monkeyface, because his big ears stuck out to the side, and his buck teeth made his upper lip protrude. It was cruel, but it fit. It didn’t take much to imagine his face on a chimpanzee.

Jake nodded. Of course he saw the blondes. Every high school guy in the sanctuary had seen the blondes. They sat side by side in the front pew with their honey-blonde hair trailing down and disappearing behind the pew’s back. Blonde hair viewed from behind wasn’t much to go on, but when you’re a teenager, not much can make expectations bloom. By now they’d been given blue eyes, unblemished skin, narrow waists and long legs. When the blondes finally stood so they could be seen, everyone would be disappointed. An Ann Margaret lookalike couldn’t live up to the images that had been created.

Brady poked his ribs again. They must bu-be the pu-pastor’s du-daughters.

Jake nodded again.

Pastor Mantus had taken over at the First Christian Church of Calvin after Pastor Neuman left. He’d been preaching for a month, and his family hadn’t showed up yet. He’d told the congregation he had two daughters, but he never said they were blondes.

Ralph Sorenson finished reading the announcements in his burbling lisp. He stood on the pulpit shifting from one foot to the other for a moment before he took a seat in the pews.

Reverend Mantus stood and went up on the pulpit.

The reverend reminded Jake of Ichabod Crane from the Washington Irving short story. He was over six feet tall with long, lanky legs and arms with huge hands that could easily have palmed a basketball. His forever-squinting eyes looked out from a handsome face topped with curly sand-colored hair that stayed tight to the top of his head, displaying a high forehead.

Praise God on this wonderful day, Reverend Mantus said.

Praise God, some parishioners answered.

On this wonderful day my two families are finally together, Reverend Mantus continued. My church family. The reverend gestured out to the congregation. And the family God blessed me with. He smiled at the front pew. Julie, would you bring our family up here?

His wife walked up on the pulpit followed by the blondes. Julie Mantus was around her husband’s age, mid-forties. Her head came up to her husband’s chin. Her blonde hair brushed the shoulders of her simple green dress, and her blue eyes looked out from behind copper-colored cat’s-eye glasses. She was tentative and her smile looked nervous and forced.

Following behind the reverend’s wife were the two blondes. Jake’s heart leapt. The one was everything he had imagined—she could have given Ann Margret a run for her money. Taller than her mother but a bit shorter than her father, her hair hung halfway to her waist, and her heart-shaped face held beautiful blue eyes. He could see them sparkle from the back pew.

This is my wife, Julie. The pastor gave his wife a one-armed hug. And these are my daughters Tracy and Macy. He motioned toward the girls.

The other blonde looked something like the first. She stood as tall with the same thin body type, but she walked hunched over and limped on her right foot. Black horn-rimmed glasses covered the same blue eyes as her sister and sat on a face splattered with pimples. The right side of her mouth hung limp and partially open the way Grandma Martinak’s had after her first stroke.

I hope you will welcome my family as well as you’ve welcomed me, Reverend Mantus said. Julie will want to know which stores have the best bargains. And Tracy and Macy will be seniors in the fall, so any information you can give them about the school, I’m sure they would appreciate.

The girls were in the same grade and named Tracy and Macy. They had to be twins, but not identical twins. They didn’t look enough alike.

Reverend Mantus said something to his wife, and his family went back to the front pew, leaving the reverend standing alone on the pulpit.

The wu-one’s bu-beautiful, Brady said with a goofy look on his face as he struggled to get the words out and still keep it to a whisper. The other wu-one ... nu-not so mu-much.

Jake sighed. He’d bet Brady would do something stupid again. When it came to girls, he always did.

AFTER THE CLOSING HYMN, Reverend Mantus and his family lined up at the door to greet the parishioners as they left the sanctuary. There were two doors, and on most Sundays Jake scooted out the opposite door so he wouldn’t have to wait in line. Today Brady grabbed his arm.

Lu-let’s go mu-meet the bu-blondes.

I’d just as soon get home.

Lu-let’s go mu-meet the bu-blondes. This time he didn’t ask as he pushed Jake over to the parishioners lined up greeting the reverend’s family.

Jake moved Brady ahead of him in line. Brady stumbled and Jake had to catch him. Brady wore braces on his legs from the polio he had as a boy—he’d been vaccinated, but it had been a bad batch of vaccine.

In front of them in line were Agnes and Wendell Menssen. Wendell wore a blue suit with a gray tie. His bald head shone in the sanctuary lights with a glare a polished mirror would have envied. He stood bent at the waist with his hands shaking in constant tremors. Beside him was his wife Agnes. Her gray hair was thrown together in the same old lady’s style she’d worn for as long as Jake could remember. Huge gaudy earrings with black stones clung to her ears as tightly as if they had been stapled there.

Agnes and Roland Menssen were by far the biggest contributors to the church. Agnes felt it made her comparable to the church’s Pope. Nothing was done without Agnes’ approval. She was the reason Pastor Neuman preached in a small church in Wisconsin. God might forgive, but Agnes Menssen did not.

We’ll be seeing you and your family in an hour? Agnes asked as she shook the reverend’s hand.

Reverend Mantus smiled. As soon as Sunday School is over, we’ll be there.

We’re looking forward to it, Julie Mantus said, smiling. She had a tiny voice.

We’ll see you later.

The reverend turned to Brady and Jake who were next in line. He gave them a big smile and turned to his wife. Julie, this is Brady Thompson and... he paused.

Jake Barger, Jake said.

Of course. A slight blush colored the reverend’s face. There are so many new names to learn. It’ll take me time to get to know everyone. Julie this is Brady Thompson and Jake Barger.

Brady shook Mrs. Mantus’ hand. Nu-nice to mu-meet you. His face wrinkled up and his body shook as he forced out the words.

And it’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Mantus said in a slow, you-poor-little-retard voice.

Many people thought Brady was mentally handicapped when they first met him, but he did well in school—better than Jake anyway.

These are my daughters. Tracy. She motioned toward the blonde with glasses. And Macy. She motioned toward the gorgeous blonde.

Nu-nice to mu-meet you. He picked up Macy’s hand and shook it, holding on to it longer than he should have.

Jake here is the captain of the football team, Larry Henderson said. He stood in line behind Jake. He’d been a football player in his younger days. Now his physique hung over his belt.

He-he’s nu-not the cu-captain.

Jake nodded. That’s right. They don’t pick the captains until the season starts.

But he’s one fine quarterback, and I’m sure they’ll make him captain this year. Mr. Henderson grabbed Jake by the shoulders. He led us to the conference championship last year.

Jake felt his face flush. It took the whole team to win the championship.

But you were a big part. Henderson shook him a little. He turned to the girls. He also finished second in state in wrestling.

He-he almost got pu-pinned.

Second would be good enough for most people, but Jake considered it the biggest disappointment of his life. He’d lost with twenty-three seconds to go in the finals. Brady had been supportive afterward, but now girls were involved, so everything was fair game.

He’ll win it this year. Henderson shook Jake some more.

Jake shrugged.

Mu-maybe I can shu-show you the tu-town and s-cu-chool?

Macy nodded. That would be nice. In fact, maybe the two of you can show the two of us where things are?

A brief scowl hit Brady’s face, but in an instant transformed into a toothy grin. Gu-great.

We’ll talk later, Jake said. They were holding up the line. People were crowding them.

See you two later, Macy said as they walked away.

She gave them a smile that lit up the world. The other blonde gave them a blank stare.

As soon as they were away from the girls, Brady turned and faced Jake.

Yu-you’re going to cu-call them, Brady ordered. Tu-time to get over Du-darla.

Jake nodded.

Brady gave him a stern look. Bu-but Macy is mu-mine.

Brady was that way with girls. He’d ask out the best-looking ones like Zoey Kilpatrick and Linda Watson—even though Linda had been going with Derek Smith for two years. He always got turned down, but he kept after it like a house cat trying to drag down a moose.

Sure, Jake said. They could be friends, but Jake had already written both girls off as anything more. The good-looking one would probably end up going with some college guy, and he wasn’t ready to move on from Darla yet.

After church there were cookies and coffee in the church basement—fellowship time, they called it. Jake called it happy hour. Often he skipped the cookies, but today he went to the basement. Since the pastor’s daughters had arrived, the place would be overflowing with gossip. Jake was curious what the other guys thought about the pastor’s daughters.

At the church’s double entrance doors, Jake took a hard right and went down the narrow steps into the church basement. The church had been built before the turn of the century. A narrow stairway with wood handrails on each side ran down to the basement. It constricted movement like going down the gullet of some beast. Two people going up and down couldn’t pass each other on the stairs. One had to wait halfway where the landing widened a little and the stairs made a sharp turn.

The steps landed in a small entryway with coat racks and restrooms to the right. To the left, a door led into an expansive fellowship hall which played host to wedding receptions and funeral lunches. The damp, musty scent of the basement competed with the fresh coffee smell floating out from the kitchen. Back in the years when the church had been heated by coal, it had been stored in a room in the rear. The hall had been painted several times, but a thin film of gray dust still clung to the beige walls.

Eric Henshaw walked across the room carrying two cookies. He joined Jake.

Eric was short with dark eyes and hair with a little curl hanging down over his forehead. His pigeon-toed feet hadn’t prevented him from setting the conference records in both the one hundred and two-twenty yard dashes.

Did you get a look at the one blonde? Eric asked.

Everyone saw her, Jake said. If you’re thinking about asking her out, Brady already called dibs. Jake motioned toward Brady, who he thought was behind him, but he was gone. Where’d he go?

Eric motioned across the room. He’s talking to one of the Almond People.

Brady stood by the entrance to the fellowship hall with a tall handsome man who wore a black suit and tie. The man did the talking with Brady nodding.

I wonder what they’re talking about, Jake said.

Eric shrugged. Who knows? Anyway, about the blondes—

Their names are Tracy and Macy. Jake had a feeling they’d get in trouble if they kept calling them the blondes.

Whatever. Did you talk to the good-looking one?

I said hi when we went through the line. He didn’t mention the plans to show the girls around, because he didn’t see it happening.

The one’s nice, huh? Good-looking and friendly. You don’t find that often. The other one ... Eric stopped and thought for a moment. For an ugly girl she sure seems stuck up.

I wouldn’t call her ugly, Jake said. Although he probably would have.

She wouldn’t even shake my hand.

Really?

Eric nodded. I held it out for almost a minute. You’d have thought I’d offered her a dead fish. She never did shake it.

Whu-what’s gu-going on? Brady asked, coming up from behind them.

Talking about Macy and Tracy, Eric said.

The pu-pretty one’s mu-mine.

What were you and the Almond guy talking about? Jake asked.

Brady rolled his eyes. Mu-miracles. He gu-gave me a good luck chu-charm.

He held up a silver chain with a blue stone hanging from it. The stone was as big as a walnut and looked as if it might be glass or a crystal.

Since they arrived a few weeks ago, the Almond People had been giving out necklaces—cheap, homemade stuff like Brady’s necklace with the stone attached to the chain with glue.

It looks kind of girlie, Eric said grinning.

I lu-like it. Brady slipped the necklace over his head. What do you thu-think?

Jake thought it looked girlie, too. It looks good. Any idea what kind of stone it is?

Brady shrugged.

I think it’s obsidian, Eric said.

Ob-obsi-de-dian?

Volcanic glass, Eric said. My brother had a geology class at college. He has a piece in his rock collection. The stuff he has is black, but it looks the same.

They must have a big stash somewhere, Jake said, because they’ve been giving out a bunch of them.

Three

When Jake decided to leave, he started up the stairs and met the minister’s good-looking daughter halfway to the