Sinister - 1. Chapter 1

“‘When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory: and before him shall be gathered all nations: and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats.’”

The pastor thundered on. Sam sat with his father and mother and sisters on one of the hard wooden pews in the unadorned church. It was usually during the sermon that he noticed how uncomfortable the pews were. It wasn’t as if the church couldn’t afford to have comfortable seating. They had spent thousands on office equipment worthy of a corporate headquarters.

“‘And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.’”

Sam winced at this verse from Matthew 25 every time. It was one of Reverend Cooper’s favorites.

“‘Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.’”

Sam started folding the single-sheet order of service into a plane. Or a bird. Or Superman. His father reached his right hand over and held Sam’s hand to stop him.

“‘Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels: and these shall go away into everlasting punishment: but the righteous into life eternal.’”

Every Sunday, Sam got the same feeling that he couldn’t breathe.

“Now, there are plenty of people out there in secular America who say we don’t need to pay any attention to some old book like the Gospel of Matthew. Plenty of people out there in the modern world outside our town of Hillcrest who will tell you that we don’t need the Word of God. That we don’t need the Word of God.” Reverend Cooper paused to let that outrageous notion settle in.

“But I know, I know, my faith tells me, that I can not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God. Every word. So when God says the right hand is good, and the left hand is cursed, are we going to believe Him? Or are we just going to make up rules as we go along?”

There was a lot more. Sam got through it by focusing on the shoes in the room. Sometimes he focused on the backs of the congregation’s heads. Playing “Spot the Dye Job” provided some relief from listening. Of course dyeing one’s hair was forbidden in the New Damascus Road Church. It was a sign of vanity. That didn’t mean no one did it. It just wasn't discussed.

A lot of things weren't discussed in the New Damascus Road Church. The whole town of Hillcrest attended, and it kept tight control over information of any kind. There were no televisions, no radios, no movie theater, no Internet access, no cell phone reception. Only a few newspapers and magazines were approved. Only in such a remote mountain location could the church pull this off. That was a big part of the appeal of the town's location.

Sam roused himself to stand for the closing hymn with its promise of freedom. He hoped his parents wouldn’t want to stay long. Hope faded with the approach of Mrs. Donnelly.

“Sarah!” she greeted Sam’s mother. “Isn’t it a lovely day today? And oh my, Samuel, look how big you’ve gotten!”

“Yes, Mrs. Donnelly.”

“You must be in middle school now.”

“I’m a freshman in high school, Mrs. Donnelly.”

“Oh, I have lost track.” Mrs. Donnelly pulled Sam’s mother aside to discuss sewing and charities and other things whose appeal Sam could never grasp.

Sam’s father reached his arms to his children and guided them outside. “Judy! Lydia! Come on, don’t wander off. Sam, you too. And Sam, I think you’re old enough now not to be making paper airplanes in church.”

“Sorry, Pa.”

“Don’t do it again, OK? It’s time to be done with that sort of thing.”

“Yes, Pa.”

Just outside, Glen Meadows caught Sam’s eye. “Hey, Sam! My mom made caramels. They’re really good. Catch!” He threw a waxed-paper-wrapped candy at Sam. Sam blocked it, knocking it to the ground, then hesitated before picking it up with his right hand.

Sam’s father frowned. “Sam’s mother doesn’t like him eating a lot of sweets, Glen.”

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Swift.”

“Just one is all right, I guess.” Sam’s father turned his attention to his daughters.

Glen lowered his voice. “Hey, Sam, you should come to Science Club tomorrow.”

Sam pocketed the caramel. “Science isn’t really my thing, Glen.”

“Come on. Try it. You might be surprised. I bet you’d find it really interesting.”

What did Glen mean by that? Sam had a rigid rule of survival: Trust No One. Invitations were seldom what they seemed. The natural cruelty of children had sharpened in middle school. Innocence of childhood, ha! Children are sharks. When they smell blood, they circle for the kill. And of course it’s not something you can tell your parents, not something you can ask for help with. That would make it worse.

Sam settled for a mumbled “Maybe.”

“All right. Cool.” Glen waved and joined his parents, who were talking to Reverend Cooper.

Sam’s mother managed to break free of Mrs. Donnelly. If they got home soon, Sam might have two hours to get some work done before he got dragged into helping one of his sisters with schoolwork, then dinner, then something, always something. And then it would be time to get ready to endure another week of high school. Classes weren’t the problem. Classes were islands of safety in a sea of halls mined with taunts and body-blocks.

As soon as the Swifts walked in their front door, everyone else seemed to have plans for Sam. His mother wanted the yard cleaned up; his father wanted help while he tinkered with the car; Lydia wanted him to listen to a poem she had written; Judy wanted to play him something on the piano. Sam acquiesced to his parents' demands, then told his disappointed sisters that he had to work on his art project.

At last he had hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign and locked and bolted the door to his room. He was alone. He drew the shade. He listened for footsteps. Hearing none, he cautiously laid out his paper and water color set. With one last nervous glance at the door, he picked up the brush with his left hand and began to paint.