The Devil's Touch (11 page)

"When do we go in?"

"Now," the voice said, then faded.

"Let's go," Patsy said. "I'm ready."

The heavy iron gates leading to the curving driveway opened as the young couple approached them. Neither Jon nor Patsy questioned how the gates opened, even though no one could be seen nearby. As they walked up the drive, they were conscious of red eyes watching them from the gloom on the wet hedges and shrubbery on both sides of the concrete. They were aware of a foul odor surrounding them, but somehow the odor never left the grounds of the estate. They did not know how that could be, but they did not question it.

They looked back only once, as the massive gates closed behind them. They heard the snick of a lock. It was as if they had entered another world, another time, another land, cut off from the outside. They could not see past the gates.

The huge oak and iron doors to the mansion swung open. Norman Giddon stood smiling at the boy and girl. The man was dressed in black robes.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome and enter the kingdom of the Prince of Darkness. Welcome and embrace your new life."

Jon and Patsy stepped inside.

The doors closed behind them.

Patsy clutched at his arm.

Jon felt his heart pound with fear at the dark, hooded shapes gathered in the candlelit room.

The dark shapes moved toward the young couple.

"How's your wife?" Sam asked.

"She's awake," Monty replied. "She apologizes for fainting; she really isn't the fainting type. But I think all this finally got to her. Let's get down to it, people. What in the hell are we going to do?"

"Interesting choice of words," Father Le Moyne muttered. "Very apt."

"Let's count down our options," Joe said. "Assuming all this is true, and I guess it is. One: if we call in help—even if we were believed and not put in the cuckoo house—what would these—people do?"

"Sit back and wait," Sam spoke without hesitation. He wondered how he knew that. But he had experienced message after message from higher powers before, and he had learned not to question, just obey.

"Why?" Monty asked.

This time it was Father Le Moyne who replied. "I think what Sam is saying is this: Those who practice the black arts are in no hurry. They can wait us out."

"And bear in mind this is a game to Satan," Nydia said.

"You reckon we could get the Raiders in here to give us a hand?" Joe tried a joke. When the obligatory smiles had faded, Joe said, "Two: Who do we trust?"

"No one," Sam said quickly and firmly. "Both Nydia and myself have had experience with these types of people, and we can tell you to trust no one. Be suspicious of everyone, but don't be overt with your suspicions. Let them think everything is all right. And keep this in mind: We are going to be far outnumbered.

Joe counted it down. "Three: What do we do?"

"I can't speak for anyone else," the priest said. "But I am going to contact all the ministers in this town. I won't mention what we know is happening, but I want to see if they have sensed it, or are a part of it." He crossed himself at the conclusion of that last remark.

Nydia said, "Look for sudden changes in personal appearance, like Joe mentioned, the way many people smell bad now. Many times coven members will forsake cleanliness, for Satan is known as the Prince of Filth, remember. Look for the numbers six-six-six. Look for a cross placed upside down. And few true Satan worshippers can bear to look at a cross. Other than that, there is little more I can tell you. Just be very careful."

"We'll know what to do after they make the first move," Sam said. "We can't do much until we see if this is going to be a war of nerves or of violence."

"A war," Monty said. "It sounds like we're planning a war."

"We are," Father Le Moyne said. "And more than our lives are at stake. We stand a good chance of losing our souls.'

Will Gibson stood in the darkness of his hardware store. He was so thirsty he was weak and trembling. He knew he had to appease his new thirst; knew his body would not be satisfied with anything other than the hot salty taste of human blood. But some inner communication with the forces of darkness warned him that he must not kill—not yet. It wasn't time. Will could not explain how he knew that. He just knew.

He watched as that rich bitch Xaviere Flaubert drove past. Looked like she came from the direction of the Giddon house. Will watched her fancy car fade into the misty night.

He stepped out of the darkened store and stood in the stoop, shrouded in night. He heard the tap-tapping of a woman's high-heeled boots coming down the sidewalk. His heart quickened, his pulse hammering in his throat. He stepped out of the shadows just before the woman reached the edge of his storefront showcase window. The woman stopped, jerked with fright, put a hand to her throat, and then grinned when she saw who it was.

"Hi, Mr. Gibson," she said. "You really scared me for a second."

"I'm sorry," Will said, returning the smile. His teeth flashed very white in the gloom of the damp night. "I didn't mean to startle you, Judy."

Judy Parish, oldest daughter of Deputy Vernon Parish, looked up at the man. Her yellow hair caught the mist and bounced back shards of light. Judy had graduated high school that year and now was employed as a cashier in a local supermarket. Lovely young thing, with blue eyes and fair skin. She had that month moved away from her abusive father into a small apartment of her own.

The cold rain suddenly picked up in intensity and Judy ducked into the stoop, standing close to the man.

"You can't walk all the way to your apartment in this weather," Will said. "It's turning colder and you'll catch your death. Let me give you a lift."

She hesitated, looking at the man. Then she made her decision. Will Gibson was known as a good church-going man. A member of the Logandale Baptist Church. Sang in the choir. It was rumored that he and Miss Judith Mayberry were to be married. So it would be safe to accept a ride from Mr. Gibson.

"I hate to be a bother, Mr. Gibson."

"No bother," he said, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. He took her arm. Felt nice under his hand. "Come on. The car is unlocked." Typical small town.

They pulled away into the downpour. No one saw her leave with the man.

"I'm sorry about Miss Mayberry," Judy said. "I just heard about it this afternoon. Have you any word on what might have happened to her?"

Will had to fight to keep from laughing at the absurdity of her question. The near hysteria of the question and its truthful answer struck him hard. He controlled his black mirth before opening his mouth.

"No word, Judy." Never will be any further word from her mouth. Hairy bitch just squats and grunts, now.

"She'll turn up," Judy replied, with the eternal optimism of the young. "I bet she's all right."

He turned on the road leading out of town and Judy glanced sharply at him.

"This isn't the way to my apartment, Mr. Gibson."

"I know."

"Then—" She let the question dangle in the closed air of the car. It was then she noticed Mr. Gibson sure needed a bath. He smelled bad.

Will looked at her and smiled. In the dim light from the dash, she saw his teeth. His blood red swollen tongue. She noticed his very pale lips.

She felt panic rise up strong within her as he reached for her arm. She tried to pull away, but his grip was as powerful as a man three times his size.

"Please, Mr. Gibson!"

"We're going to have some fun," he told her. "Just the two of us."

"I want to go home!"

He clamped down with his new strength, bruising her flesh. She screamed in pain.

"Please take me home!"

"No more talk of home, girl. You just sit quietly and don't start any trouble. I'm not going to hurt you." Not much, that is, he thought.

She opened her mouth to protest and he slapped her, bloodying her lips. The sight of her blood filled him with the strange new hunger. Glancing in the mirror, he saw the road was clear behind him. He pulled over and turned down a seldom used country road, then turned off that onto an old logging road, now grown over with brush.

Judy began crying and begging.

Will cut the engine and turned off the lights. He pulled the frightened crying girl to him. To her disgust and horror, he began licking the blood from her lips while his free hand roamed her body. His breath was foul-smelling, sickening her almost as much as his tongue licking at her lips and face.

She began screaming and fighting him as he ripped the clothes from her. The rain grew heavy, drumming on the roof of the car parked in the woods. Her screaming could not be heard more than twenty yards away.

She fought him harder, but it was a useless gesture, for his strength came from the supernatural. He hit her with his fist and banged her head against the door, stunning her. When she came to her senses, rising out of a red painful mist, she was naked and Will was positioned between her legs. She could feel his throbbing hardness pushing at her.

She screamed as he took her, penetrating her with one hard shove.

She could not understand why he was biting her on the neck.

Jon and Patsy stood away from the circle of men and women in the huge room. After recovering from their initial fright at seeing black-robed men and women and a dark-haired woman, lying naked on a black-draped altar, the strange sights and sounds and smells began to intrigue the young couple. Norman Giddon had apologized for thrusting them too quickly into the scheme of things that evening. Said he could understand their fright. He had escorted them into a smaller room and given them refreshments. The drinks were very cold and very sweet. One seemed to call for another, and then another of the cold sweet beverage. Soon fear of the unknown had vanished as the drugged drinks began soaring through the systems of Jon and Patsy.

Norman Giddon stroked the arm of Patsy and said, "My, you certainly did enjoy your initiation into sex this afternoon, didn't you, my dear?"

She looked at the middle-aged man. The drinks had loosened her tongue as well as her inhibitions. "Yeah, once he got it in it felt good."

"I suppose it was a bit on the rough side, dear, but you have laid in your bed many nights and—how do I say this?" He giggled. "Let your fingers do the walking, so to speak. Correct, my child?"

She did not blush. Those days were past and would not return. Not only for Patsy, but for the majority of the residents of Logandale. "How do you know these things, Mr. Giddon?"

"That is something that will be explained in time, my dear. For now, just be content that you are one of us."

Good attempted to override its counterpart. "I am a Christian, Mr. Giddon."

"No, you are not, dear." He met her gaze. "You have mouthed the words since childhood, but your inner thoughts have betrayed your true feelings many times. You see, dear, my, or I should say,
our
God," he waved his hand toward the gathering of the coven, "finds none of what you have thought offensive. Our Master encourages the hedonistic life rather than discouraging it. While you did not realize it, for the past several months, you have been ever so slowly but surely edging toward us, and away from the God you profess to worship."

Patsy drank another cup of the sweet drink and thought about his remarks. She realized he was telling the truth, although he was twisting the words all out of context. "Perhaps you're right," she said. She looked at the altar. "Is that woman dead, or what?"

Norman smiled. "She is very much alive. And she is there of her own volition."

"Why?"

"She is a part (of the proceeding this evening. You shall see."

Patsy nodded her head in agreement. "All right. It won't hurt to stay here for a little while, I guess. Just to see what's going on. I can always leave whenever I choose."

The black-robed man smiled again. The battle was won, and he knew it.

"Will you tell me the truth if I ask you something, Mr. Giddon?"

"Call me Norman. Certainly, my dear. We have nothing to hide."

"You worship Satan?"

"Yes, we do, dear."

"And you really believe in what you're doing? I mean, this is not just a game to you people?"

"My dear, it is not a game to us. I can be quite adamant on that."

"And if I stay for a time, find I don't like it here—I can leave? Your people won't try to stop me?"

"You may leave anytime you wish, darling."

"All right," she said. She drank the rest of her cup of sweet juice. She looked at the cup. It had been refilled—somehow. "I'll stay for a little while. Then I really must be getting back home."

"Of course, you do. Well, you just wander about a bit; get acquainted. As you can see, there are many more like you and Jon here this evening. Many of your own age group. Socialize—just think of this as a club meeting." He licked his lips at the sight of her young breasts, pushing against the fabric of the blouse. Soon, dear, he thought. Very soon.

At Balon's house, Janet had put Little Sam to bed an hour before and had busied herself preparing a potion and a lust perfume. The potion would be given to Nydia; Janet would wear the perfume. The potion would not kill Nydia—under the rules of the game she could not be killed—but it would knock her out for a time. Long enough for Janet to carry through her plan. The potion would kill a pure mortal, but Nydia was half witch—even if she did reject that side of her—and the dark side of her would throw off the deadly effects.

For her heady perfume, Janet mixed carefully measured portions of lavender, aloeswood, jasmine. She added patchouli oil and allowed that to rest for a few moments. Then she added musk, civet, ambergris, and clove.

She found Sam's hairbrush and carefully removed a few of his hairs. She cut them into tiny pieces and mixed them into the perfume, along with a strand of her own hair.

She added three drops of her own blood.

She recited the Devil's chant as she waited for the perfume to ferment.

I come from the place of my Master,
The Prince Of Darkness.
He lives in the northernmost corner
That is void of light.
I am but a traveler in his Service.
I am his child of Darkness, and
I seek his wisdom and cunning to
Aid me in my endeavor.
For it is all in his behalf.
Oh, Prince of Darkness,
Help me.