Manchester House (38 page)

The beast opened up its wings, attacking the group below.

With the wrath Night had only seen once before during the Berlin bombings of the Allied Forces of WWII, the tentacles of the demon drove themselves into the ground around the four of them with the force of exploding bombs. All four scattered out of the foxhole, doing their best not to get hit.

“Jonathon!” Night yelled, avoiding six tentacles which were attacking him. “You have to do this! You know that I’m speaking the truth.” Night paused, pointing the way he intended to attack. “You must follow me. Now!”

Holzer, dodging several tentacles attacking him, looked up at the beast and saw the anger, evil, and intent to kill in all six of its eyes. Sharp teeth snapped down at him, and the air was full of the foulness of the monster’s breath. A huge leathery wing breezed past him only feet away from his head and had no intention of stopping its work. Night was correct about one thing: he was now their only hope of ever getting back home.

With agonizing awareness, Holzer moved forward, following Night, as both of them continued to gain ground, heading toward the attacking beast.

“Professor?” Miranda shouted. Her forehead had a bleeding wound across it. She had become victim of one of the demon’s tentacles.

“Stay where you are!” Holzer ordered. “Ingrid and I will tell you when it will be time to move.”

“Have courage, dear lady,” Night said, his hand waving down at the lot of them.

The SOURCE team members looked helplessly up at their two leaders as they continued to inch toward the three heads of the beast. Either ignoring them or not aware of their advancement, the beast did nothing. He only attacked using his tentacles.

Night was hit by one of the tentacles, knocking him down. The old man’s face buried itself in the mound of dirt supporting the beast and he appeared out for the count. However, within seconds Night shook back to life, spitting chunks of graveyard dirt out of his mouth and continuing his trek up the hill. Holzer noticed, keeping his nerves in check, that his friend barely missed seven hungry tentacles landing square in the middle of his back.

“We are almost there, Jonathon!” Night shouted, smacking tentacles away from his head. “Be ready.”

Holzer, himself trying his best to dodge the tentacles, felt a familiar sensation in his lower inner thigh. Looking down, the college professor saw a tentacle attached again to him, sucking out a great amount of blood. Holzer’s pants were dripping with the substance.

“Ingrid!” Holzer pleaded.

Night turned to look. He noticed the new horror his friend was going through.

“No time, Jonathon!” Night waved a caring hand. “Just prepare to throw the stone.”

Holzer, his eyes losing their focus, shook his head with the greatest of concentration. He could feel the urge to throw up, but he knew it would be a useless gesture-he hadn’t eaten in quite a while.

Night approached the three heads. They were all throwing themselves about, chanting, laughing, and talking amongst themselves. So close was the tall old man that it would have been very easy for one of the heads to just simply snatch him up, swallowing him as nothing more than a juicy morsel.

“Asmodeus!” Night yelled, throwing his fists in the air, challenging the monster.

Upon hearing its earthly name, the beast stopped its attack, yelling out in a great cry of anger. All three heads darted down to study Night, as if to ask the silent question, “What mortal man speaks our name?”

From behind his cloak, Night pulled out the two crossbows he had been using and fired both at the faces of the creature. One stream hit the bull-like creature in the eye, the other landed in the mouth of the man-like head, causing that head to bleed, shake, and collapse.

“Ahh!” Night laughed. “A good hit, Jonathon!”

“What do I do now, Ingrid?” Holzer could feel the influence of the beast attacking his senses.

:Kill him! He is nothing to you! I am here always. I will love and protect you. You and I are one. We have desires in common. Together we will learn the secrets of God. KILL HIM&.NOW!:

Holzer felt his right hand grabbing hold of a stone at his feet. His eyes turned to the back of Ingrid Night’s head. Incredible hate had entered him and he could not explain why. He suddenly remembered all the irritating times Night had proven him wrong or questioned his own logic. And for one brief evil second, Jonathon Holzer wanted the old man to die.

“Throw the stone, Jonathon!” Night ordered. “Throw it now.”

Night turned to face his friend and was horrified to see the college professor approaching him with the desire to commit murder. At that moment, Ingrid Night started to show his age. He attacked Holzer’s actions with the only strategy he could think of, for he knew it was not his friend pulling the strings.

Ingrid Night simply smiled.

“Do not forget to pray,” Night whispered.

:KILL HIM! KILL HIM! Make his brains splatter nicely!:

Holzer closed his eyes, fighting the voice in his head.

Jonathon Holzer dropped the rock.

“Throw the stone, son,” Night calmly said. He looked down at the tentacle doing its work on Holzer and noticed that it was sucking him dry. If Night were to save everyone, Holzer had to act fast.

Holzer cleared his throat, weak. The college professor began to pray. “God is great. God is good. Let us thank him for this&food.”

Night opened his mouth in complete surprise. “At a moment like this, Jonathon, all you can think of is saying grace?”

Feeling like a complete ass, Holzer threw the tiny black stone into the mouth of the bull-like creature. It was so tiny and so innocent looking that the monster barely knew that it was even thrown. It swallowed the tiny thing with not so much as even a burp.

Asmodeus, the ancient Hebrew god of lust, screamed one last time, collapsing. The creature appeared dead.

Everyone froze.

“All right!” Sinclair was heard screaming. “We won!”

“Not just yet, Mr. Sinclair!” Night huffed, turning sadly.

Both Night and Holzer stared at each other. The tentacle holding onto Holzer’s thigh broke free, withering into a harmless pile of ash. The college professor was once more the master of his own fate.

“You called me&son.” Holzer’s eyes opened wide. His face looked as wondrous as a small child’s might upon discovering Santa Claus at the foot of his Christmas Tree.

“I have always loved you, Jonathon.” Night placed his hand upon the college professor’s shoulder. His eyes started to dart around the surroundings as if expecting something. “Always remember that.”

A thunderous echo filled the dark.

As if ripped open, a bright and gaping hole appeared no more than six feet away from Sinclair, Teresa, and Miranda. Through the hole all, including Holzer, could see the inside closet belonging to Manchester House.

It was a way home!

“Let’s go,” Holzer suggested to Night.

Night remained where he stood. In fact, the graveyard dirt around his feet grabbed hold of him with earthly hands, not letting him go. “Alas, Jonathon, I told you that there was a price for your safe return.” The old man paused, holding back the urge to cry. “I cannot go.”

“You cannot stay,” Holzer suggested, his voice dripping with hope.

“I will fight,” Night toughly asserted. “I will find a way.”

“Professor?” Miranda was heard yelling up at Holzer.

“Ingrid says that we now have a way home,” Holzer said, pointing at the rift. “I suggest you jump through it quickly.”

Without hesitation, all three jumped through the rift.

Safe.

Home.

“Go, Jonathon,” Night weakly ordered.

The college professor nodded his head in agreement. Silently he hugged his dear friend, his eyes filling with tears of respect. In turn Night returned the hug with a passion Holzer had always felt the old man incapable of. It was indeed the most heartbreaking moment of Jonathon Holzer’s life.

“I will be seeing you!” Night triumphantly yelled. The old man pointed to the rift, silently ordering Holzer to walk through it.

Holzer turned, walking toward the rift.

Ingrid Night was now completely alone.

While investigating the main hallway of Manchester House, Lt. Wells thought he heard the sound of a rather heavy thud. The disturbance reminded him of a moving trunk being suddenly dropped because it was just too heavy. In his hearing of the sound, Wells discovered that he wasn’t alone.

“Wells!” the captain yelled, entering the hall. A rather curious look was on his face. “Did you hear that?”

Wells nodded his head in confirmation.

The scuffling seemed to be coming from the closet under the staircase. Were those muffled voices Wells was hearing?

Wells silently pointed toward the closet’s door as if to inform his captain that they were not alone. There was someone in the closet.

The captain motioned several police officers to enter the hallway. Most had their guns aimed at the closed door.

“I’m too old for this shit,” Wells said as he slowly approached the closed door.

The police detective held his breath, placing his hand on the closet’s doorknob. Inside the tiny room, Wells thought he heard the sound of several people bickering. It was indeed a strange, if not amusing, sensation.

The door suddenly burst open, knocking Wells to the ground. A horribly foul wind swept through the mansion’s main hallway, causing a few younger officers to become just as sick as their fellow missing man from hours before.

Exploding from the confines of the closet, Wells saw four people come falling out of a room. It was the missing investigation team they had been looking for. Wells clearly saw Professor Jonathon Holzer at the bottom of the pile of people, who all looked as if they hadn’t eaten a good meal in days. Weak, dirty, and bleeding badly, Holzer looked around him and smiled, laughing joyfully.

“We’re back!” Holzer said, rubbing what appeared to be mud off his forehead.

Two women who were a part of the team silently asked Wells to help them get Holzer to his feet. Holzer did not look good. In fact, his face was rather pale.

“Who says that there never is a cop around when you need one?” the youngest of the men said. Later, Wells would learn that this man was the team’s cameraman.

With a grunt of pain, Holzer made it to his feet.

“Professor Holzer?” Wells said, holding back his relief. “Where have you been?”

“That’s a question, sir, which will quite possibly take the rest of my life to find an answer to.” Holzer looked at Wells, blinking his eyes tightly. “Are you by chance Lt. Albert Wells?”

Wells nodded his head in confirmation.

“Thank you for not giving up on us.”

The captain stepped forward, lighting another cigar. “Wells! What the hell is all of this? What’s with the tea party?”

Wells cleared his throat.

Holzer shut up.

Both realized that authority had just entered the picture.

“Captain, this is Professor Holzer and his crew.” Wells paused. “These were the team members I informed you about. However&” Wells paused, giving Holzer a curious look. “I count four. I thought you said&”

“Two did not make it back,” Holzer explained.

There was an awkward silence in the hallway for a moment.

* * *

Ingrid Night looked up at Asmodeus through the brim of his hat. He couldn’t explain it, but he found himself smiling. He was happy. Alone in a dimensional shift facing a hellish demon with little or no hope of ever smelling the fresh air of earth again, and he was happy. Night always found great amusement in Holzer’s assumption that he was insane, but this time the old man seemed to be agreeing with his dear friend.

The beast roared to life, moving forward, dwarfing Night as he stood looking up at him with triumph.

Chanting a spell he had learned from a voodoo priest in Haiti, Night surrounded himself with a glowing symbol of protection. He reached into his conjure kit, pulling out a red polished rock quite similar to the one he had Holzer use-it was his one and only gamble.

“Death is but a memory,” Night started to chant. “Life is but a lie, in the middle we have the moment, that is where you will find&I.”

Upon hearing Night’s words, the two remaining heads of the creature lowered and glared into the old man’s eyes. The dead bull-like head appeared to be rotting on its stump, already bloating with flies and maggots. The stench was hellish, and Night was doing all that he could not to show the monster that its sickly-sweet smell was roiling his stomach to no end.

“Get down with it, motherfucker!” Night yelled. He took out his crossbows, throwing one to the ground, maintaining the other in his left hand. In his right hand, he held the blessed red stone. He would only need a moment. One precious instant of weakness from the beast.

Night’s foot kicked something. Something metallic.

Looking down, Night spotted the flashlight device Miranda had created earlier and realized that he had another weapon he could use. Never taking his eyes off the two heads, Night reached down, picking the device up.

The beast attacked, knocking Night to the ground with one of its cock-like paws. One of its three claws tore at the skin of his chest, opening a great wound. Blood poured out. Ingrid Night screamed.

Night leaped at the creature. Asmodeus screamed in terror.

The old man had the moment he had been praying for. He knew that he was going to win the day.

* * *

“Captain, the ambulance is on its way,” a young police officer stated, sticking his head into the main hallway of Manchester House.

“Good.” The captain ordered, “Go out on the main road and direct the thing in. These people need to see a doctor.”

Before anyone else could move or react, a terrible explosion hit Manchester House, rocking its entire foundation. This was not the kind of explosion associated with demolition, but a sonic radiance of expanded energy.

“Jesus! What the hell was that?” Sinclair asked, holding Miranda’s hand tightly. Since coming back though the rift, both he and Miranda were becoming inseparable.

Holzer opened his eyes, smiling. “That, Mr. Sinclair, was Ingrid Night.”