<< Back 7/3/02 Destructive souls pursue righteous vengeance in Nicholson’s dark thriller By Gary Carden Remember Abraham from the Old Testament? When God asked him to kill his beloved son Isaac? Do you think Isaac was the one who had sin to pay for? Of course not. Abraham was the one that needed to suffer a little, who needed to prove his faith. The Red Church, p. 157 The Red Church by Scott Nicholson. New York: Pinnacle Books, 2002. $5.99 (paperback) — 352 pp. Somewhere up near Grandfather Mountain, in an isolated community called Whispering Pines — a place inhabited by the God-haunted descendants of what is called “the old families” — a singular structure, the red church, perches on the crest of the hill like a sentinel. It has been there since the 1860’s and although many families yearn to see it destroyed, it has survived — perhaps because it inspires fear ... and a grudging respect. Some of the old stories suggest that something lives in the belfry of the red church ... something evil. According to the local folklore, Wendell McFall, the church’s first minister, became obsessed with apocalyptic visions and began to preach a strange perversion of traditional religious doctrine: the Second Coming was at hand, proclaimed McFall, but it would be heralded not by Christ but by the “Second Son” who was Christ’s antithesis, and his reign would begin with judgment, vengeance and great travail. Redemption required blood sacrifice and for McFall, the ancient story of Abraham and Isaac had acquired a new and terrible meaning. One night, the minister conducted a ritual, a bloody “consecration,” that horrified and enraged his flock. McFall’s congregation hanged him with the bell rope and left him dangling from the great dogwood that grew in the churchyard. In later years, the abandoned church became a part of the region’s folklore and people talked of the bell that tolled — tolled without a rope. During a midnight visit to the church by a group of rowdy juveniles on Halloween in 1972, a young boy, Samuel Littlefield, was killed, adding yet another chapter to the annals of the red church. As for the creature in the belfry, it acquired terrifying, tangible qualities — “wings, claws and liver for eyes,” they said. But now, Archer McFall, the great-great-grandson of Wendell has come home. A successful charismatic minister, Archer has allegedly abandoned a thriving television ministry in California to come home. Yes, there are unsavory rumors of dark deeds in California, of mysterious disappearances of McFall’s disciples and, yes, even stories of Archer’s death, but, no, here he is residing at the local Holiday Inn near Whispering Pines while he completes his plans to buy the red church (it is being used by a local farmer to store hay), refurbish it and launch his new ministry — the Church of the Two Suns. It is also time for “the reckoning” — a kind of divine retribution for the untimely death of Wendell McFall — a debt that must be paid by the descendants of “the old families.” Then, the deaths begin — a series of hideous mutilations and each a member of an “old family.” Sheriff Frank Littlefield (brother of the boy who died on Halloween night, 1972) and his new assistant Shelia Storie have differing ideas about how to conduct the investigation. An advocate of modern technology, Shelia performs with professional detachment, whereas Frank, a lifelong resident of Whispering Pines responds to each new atrocity with an intuitive sense of personal danger. He is, after all, a descendant of one of the “old families” himself. The Red Church contains a remarkable diversity of characters. Linda Day, a former member of Archer’s California cult, has viewed Archer’s return as her salvation. Linda is eager to yield to Archer’s physical charms, and if need be, she is prepared to give Archer her ultimate sacrifice — the lives of her two sons, Ronnie and Tim. David, her husband, knows only one solution to his wife’s obsession and he has taken to carrying a loaded rifle with him. Then, there is Momma Bet McFall, Archer’s decidedly bizarre mother who has “a grudge against God” and lives in expectation of Archer’s “new kingdom” in which she will be both exalted and vindicated. Scott Nicholson certainly pulls all the stops in The Red Church. This gory yarn is packed with shape-changing demons, supernatural apparitions, graveyard specters, omens, portents and ghastly rituals. The narrative contains an abundance of the stock devices that are a part of trendy horror flicks — the nocturnal knock at the door, grasping hands, dark woods filled with flitting shadows and the current favorite, the face of a friend that suddenly “morphs” into a horror beyond imagining. Indeed, a minor quibble might be that the book suffers from an excess of demonic variations. The Red Church has a notable lack of sympathetic characters. With the exception of Sheriff Littlefield, a genuinely human and guilt-ridden character, the majority of the inhabitants of Whispering Pines seemed to be petty, embittered, apathetic, venal, snickering hicks who seem to suffer existence rather than enjoy it. (Readers may actually find themselves eagerly anticipating their bloody demise.) Although there are occasional references to prosperous and active folks living in condos and visiting Wal-Marts in nearby towns, the benighted residence of Whispering Pines seem doomed to trudge through life without joy or vitality. Certainly, they fornicate, drink and fight, but even these activities are carried out with a kind of surly indifference. Although they farm, this livelihood is decidedly grim (Some of the farmers breed, raise and slaughter cows for a living — a practice that seems bizarre since most mountain people milk cows and slaughter “beeves” or males.) Much in the tradition of Stephen King and Clive Barker, Nicholson is adept at creating a kind of supernatural evil that is all-powerful. Certainly, the characters in The Red Church are incapable of defending themselves against it. Archer McFall seems indestructible since he can either rend your flesh, cloud your mind or feed on your secret fears. Men are filled with indecision and women are suddenly eager to please. The people who are drawn to the red church and Archer McFall are people who yearn for apocalypse. A cleansing fire or a Day of Atonement is preferable to their actual existence. It may — or may not — be that Scott Nicolson’s intention is to provide a judgment on Whispering Pines that is far worse than a Day of Wrath. Perhaps the worst possible result is ... a reprieve. Their lives will go on as before. (Gary Carden is a writer, storyteller and lecturer whose book, Mason Jars in the Flood, was recently named Book of the Year by the Appalachian Writers Association. He can be reached at gcarden498@aol.com.)