Malone appeared to scoff at the teen's voice, and his mane of grey hair bobbed along with his derisive chuckle. He held an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, and a tattered bible in the other. "Everyone wants to speak to me tonight, boy, even the dead."

Clark faced the obviously intoxicated priest, and noted a thick growth of white stubble on the man's face. He looked like he hadn't slept or washed in a few days. "Something's happening in Smallville, and I think you know what it is," he challenged. "You know about the church incident all those years ago, don't you?"

"I've been waiting for the aftermath of that night since I took over my grandfather's position here." The priest's voice sounded gruff, perhaps from too many years of drinking, or maybe because he'd had harsh words with someone recently. "I always knew they'd come for me one day…" He spun around so that his back was to Clark, and he stared at the nearest gravestone with a blank, guilt-ridden expression.

"You've seen them?" Clark couldn't hide his amazement that Malone had survived and was willingly speaking about it so openly. Again, maybe it was the whiskey talking. "If you know so much, how do we stop them?"

Malone laughed and put the bottle to his lips, draining the last dregs of alcohol. "You can't stop them, Sonny. Between midnight and one belongs to them, and they will have their retribution against those who conspired in the original crime!"

Clark exhaled in frustration. "But after all these years that means people will die simply because they're descendants of the original killers. How can that even be called revenge? They're innocent!" He edged a little closer to the priest, somehow sensing the drunken man knew more. "Why didn't they kill you? You know who they're going after, don't you?"

Malone stumbled on something below the thick emerald mist at his feet, but caught the edge of a tomb and managed not to fall. He turned back to Clark then and scowled in fear and anguish. "They came for me…but I told them…I told them who the real criminals were!"

Clark shook his head in miscomprehension, suddenly feeling chilly as he grew closer to the priest. "You gave them the names of the descendants?" The teen's eyes widened at what another human being would do to avoid death. "Is that why they spared you?"

"Most of the descendants are long dead, boy, or have moved away. Only I and your own family still reside in Smallville. How could I appease them with that?"

Clark's gaped, not just because his parents had been implicated, but because Malone had apparently given out names at random just to save his own hide. "Spooner and the others were attacked for nothing!"

The priest sneered and his bloodshot eyes seemed to mock the teenager before him. "They were no good wasters. The town will be better off without their kind." He looked up to the church, and ignoring Clark began to head towards it and into the ever-increasing mass hovering above the ground.

"Wait!" Clark began to give chase. "Who are the others? And why were you spared?" He faltered after several steps, suddenly feeling an all-too familiar burning in his veins. Still he pushed on after Malone, needing to have answers. "We might be able to save everyone if you just tell me!" He lurched forward, grabbing a gravestone and slithering helpless down its cold surface until he sat bathed in the unhealthy glowing fog.

Malone whirled around surprisingly deftly considering his unsteady gait minutes before. His temper was roused now at the boy who dared to judge him. "I wasn't spared because they gave me mercy." He threw out his left hand, pointing with the empty bottle. "Look around you, what do you see?"

Clark squinted, feeling nauseous. The fog wasn't tinted green before…the glow is coming from beneath it. He groaned, realizing that part of the church grounds had obviously taken a meteor hit. "The spirits can't cross the barrier the meteors create?" He shuddered, wondering if he could talk some sense into the priest before he passed out.

"I don't know how it works…" Malone's eyes narrowed as he noted at last that Clark had collapsed. "All I know is that I'm safe here!" He spat out the words.

"Who else did you implicate?" Clark was virtually croaking out his questions now.

The priest unexpectedly chuckled. "The Luthors have crippled this town as surely as Holbrook did all those years ago. They've deceived, lied, murdered even…" He sighed. "The others are less deserving of their fates, but that can't be helped…"

Clark tried to crawl forward tugging his weakened body until he was almost at Malone's feet. "The Luthors and who else?" He begged, panting.

"Your father was already implicated just by being a relative of Nathanial Kent. Then, I pointed them to the only other two families that were around back then." Malone shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The Smalls aren't even in town. Only Dan Weatherall is in any real danger, but that can't be helped."

Clark grew even more alarmed. Henry Small might not be in Smallville right now, but his daughter, Lana certainly was. The thought of the name she had spoken came back to him, and he wondered if the phantoms had already paid her a visit. The very idea gave him strength to fight the evil Kryptonite encumbering his body, and he lurched forward again one more time.

"You're a man of God. You can't stand idly by and let this happen all over again!" The teen yelped pleadingly at Malone. "Help me stop them. You've talked with them. Maybe they'd listen to you and not act first…"

"I'm not a man of God! I'm a coward!" The still drunken priest was becoming more and more irrational in his own fear. He tossed down the bible from his hand and fixed his eyes instead on the shimmering mist that now almost covered Clark.

"It doesn't have to be this way. I know there's part of you that still believes…"

Clark's last pleading yelp was too much. Malone had dreaded this day since he'd been old enough to understand what had happened back in 1880, and now to be told he could still have any kind of faith was like a slap in the face. He whirled around with the empty Jack Daniels bottle and tossed it as hard as he could at Clark. He had intended it to glance off the tombstone Clark had fallen onto earlier, but in his stupor the bottle flew wide to the left and actually caught Clark by the side of the head. It shattered on impact, but still pushed the hurting teen to the ground with its impetus.

Malone didn't even see what he had done. He had already turned his back on Clark and was stumbling back to the safety of his church. The ghosts couldn't touch him there- no one could. As he walked, the fog grew denser, but the souls trapped within could not escape to deliver revenge because of the strange green rocks that littered the grounds.

Lois tapped the dashboard of the truck impatiently and looked at her watch at least every thirty seconds. "Come on, Smallville," she murmured and then glanced out towards the church.

There was no sign of Clark, or the elusive priest they had come to visit. There was, however, an ever-growing abundance of fog gathering around the roadway's edges. Lois shuddered and powered up her window, wishing the action would stop the mist should it try and enter the vehicle. Right, Lane. You've seen enough movies to know it will creep in through every orifice in this crate!

The sound of the engine ticking over did little to placate her, so she turned up the radio even louder.

This is Dan Weatherall, your D.J for tonight over at Smallville's very own KROW. Tonight, folks we have a special treat for all you fans of the bizarre and spooky! After the break, we'll be talking to Smallville High's self appointed mystery solver, Chloe Sullivan. So, stay tuned for some really weird theories…

Lois had to smile at the D.J. and his description of her cousin. Right now I wish I was safe and warm in a radio station instead of out here feeling like an extra in some John Carpenter movie! She gulped and shot another glance out of the window.

"Okay, farmboy, I've just had enough of waiting out here!" Lois contemplated taking the keys from the ignition, but a nagging thought in her mind kept saying the truck would never start again if she did. So, taking a risk, she left the keys in and the engine running. "You better not be in there stuffing in coffee and biscuits, Kent!" She grumbled as she climbed out and slammed the Dodge's heavy door, but a sinking feeling in her stomach told her things weren't that rosy.

Lois pushed through the gate where Clark had entered and grimaced at the shrill sound of metal on metal. She tried not to shiver and carried on in the direction she'd seen her friend take.

"Clark! Clark!"

The spiralling haze around her feet seemed almost taunting, and Lois took her gaze from it and tried to fix her eyes on the church instead. It was obviously not the building, or even the same designed structure that had burned down all those years ago. In fact, from what she and Clark had discovered it wasn't even built on the same land. It's still creeping me out!

Lois felt something touch her boot and stopped dead. Whatever it was had felt soft and a little too inviting. Kinda like touching flesh…Lois backed up but instead of looking down closed her eyes and muttered, "It's just a coat or bag or something. It's not another burned body, not a body…"

After two deep breaths, she finally glanced down and her heart skipped a beat. Just visible over the top of the now green shimmering vapour was a mammoth sized tan boot that Lois recognized.

Suddenly, the level-headed Miss. Lane felt sick to her stomach. Even though she chided and teased him, she would never wish any harm to Clark. Most people saw them as total opposites, and in many ways that was true, and yet…and yet there was something about the plaid wearing farm boy that she liked. To think now that he might lie dead and disfigured like Steadman or Gates was simply unthinkable. I should have come with him!

Guilt wracked her conscience, but Lois was still afraid to kneel down and check on Clark. It would be too much to bear if…if…

"Clark!" This time the anguish was easily apparent in her raised tone, and she forced herself to her knees to find out what had become of him.

Clark was face down in the earth, and as Lois shook his shoulder gently he groaned and rolled over. It was still difficult to see beneath the mist, but to Lois it looked like she saw blood. He's alive, though! "Come on, Clark. It look's like I've got to save your butt again," she tried to rouse him and pull him into a sitting position with his back against the gravestone. "First cornfields, and now church yards. You really do have to stop making a habit of this!" She smiled, but her expression showed the teen she was tending she was truly concerned.

"Hey, at least I have my clothes on this time." Clark tried to ease her worry with his quip, but until he could get away from the Kryptonite he was in no real condition to talk. "Can you give me a hand back to the truck?"

Lois noted how drowsy he appeared, but put it down to the bump he'd obviously taken to his head. She tugged out a tissue from her jeans pocket and wiped away some of the congealed blood from his brow. "Maybe you should wait a few minutes until you're a little steadier. You might have a concussion there, Sma…Clark." She smiled again, this time relieved that he wasn't going to be joining Steadman or Gates anytime soon.

Clark shook his head even though he was dizzy, and touched the cut beneath his hair tentatively with his hand. Ouch! "No time to waste. Whatever is in the fog is probably going to go after Lana, or my dad!" He struggled to stand, but was getting nowhere until Lois gave in and took his weight. "Do you know a Dan Weatherall?" he asked, feeling helpless as Lois all but dragged him through the debilitating emerald mist.

Lois shook her head at first, but then stopped so violently Clark almost fell to his knees. "What is it?" He asked groggily.

"I heard that name tonight on the radio. Clark, he's the D.J. hosting the late show over at KROW with Chloe!"

TBC...