The Nosferatu Scroll (17 page)

For a few moments Angela stared at the objects inside the jar uncomprehendingly; then she recoiled with a gasp of disgust. What she had first assumed were some kind of vegetables—carrots, perhaps, or parsnips—were actually the severed joints of human fingers.

“Every time you refuse to do what we ask, we’ll remove a part of one of the fingers on your left hand,” the man continued. “You won’t bleed to death, because we will cauterize the wound with a soldering iron. One of my men particularly enjoys doing the amputations. He uses a pair of bolt croppers if he’s in a good mood. But if you annoy him, he’ll do it by clamping your finger between a couple of pieces of wood and using a hacksaw. That takes longer, and there’s a lot more blood, but he doesn’t seem to mind that.”

Angela tore her horrified gaze from the revolting contents of the jar and looked up into the man’s face. “You utter bastard,” she muttered.

The man shook his head. “Abuse won’t help you,” he said. “In fact, nothing can help you now. You’ve seen our
faces, and we simply can’t afford to let you tell anybody else what you’ve seen.”

For a few seconds Angela just sat there, numbly digesting the explicit threat. Because this was the point. She
had
seen their faces, and she knew with a terrifying sense of certainty that she would never be allowed to leave the island alive.

The man—whoever he was—had just casually delivered her death sentence.

The cellar door rumbled open, the light snapped off and the door closed sharply. Benedetta gave a little cry of shock and surprise.

Marietta shrank back onto the bed. It was the first time the light had been switched off since the morning after her arrival, and the action alarmed her.

For a few seconds the only sound in the cellar was the breathing of the two girls; then Benedetta gave a low moan. “What’s going to happen to us?” she murmured, her words barely audible. “I’m so frightened. Why has the light gone off?”

“I don’t know,” Marietta replied, a tremor in her own voice.

A few minutes later they heard the familiar rumbling sound as the stone door at the top of the spiral staircase was opened again.

“Somebody’s coming,” Marietta said. “They’ll put the light on before they come down.”

But she was wrong. They heard the sound of footsteps, several footsteps, descending the stairs, and saw a flickering glow that grew brighter with each passing moment. Then a figure walked into the cellar.

He was clad in a very dark robe, tied at the waist with a cord, a hood covering his head. It was a foul parody of a monk’s habit, but Marietta had no doubt his thoughts were anything but godly. The man held a lit candle in his right hand, and the flickering flame cast a fitful light over his features. Staring at him in horrified silence, Marietta made out a large, bulbous nose, a heavy jaw and dark, sunken eyes.

Then she looked behind the man and saw that he was simply the first in a procession of figures, perhaps a dozen in total, all dressed in the same dark hooded robes, and each carrying a large candle. The tiny, dancing yellow flames—the only illumination in the room—cast an eerie glow over that end of the cellar. The third man in the line was also carrying an ornamented wooden box, about the size of two shoe boxes, and apparently not very heavy.

From her doorless cell, Marietta had a good view of what they were doing. The line of men—and she was sure that they were all men—filed slowly from the staircase entrance over to one end of the cellar, where they formed a circle around the stone table positioned there. For a few seconds nothing happened; then the figure holding the box took a pace forward, lowered it carefully onto the table and stepped back again. The other figures stood in silence, waiting expectantly.

A familiar rumble echoed through the cellar. The door at the top of the stairs was closing. Then Marietta heard another sound, and literally shook with terror. The slithering noise coming from the spiral staircase could mean only one thing: the man who had so frightened both her and Benedetta was coming back into the chamber. Moments later, he appeared in the cellar, and a pungent odor suddenly filled the confined space.

The figure paused, looked over toward the cells where the two girls were imprisoned, then made his way toward the hooded men, who each bowed low as he passed.

The man took up his position at one end of the circle, looked around at his companions, then raised his left hand in a casual gesture toward the man who’d been carrying the small box. He, in turn, bowed low again, stepped forward to the table, and carefully lifted off the box’s lid.

That action seemed to act as a catalyst for another of the men, who left the circle and walked behind his companions, lighting another half dozen or so large candles mounted in freestanding candlesticks, each about five feet tall, illuminating the table, and allowing Marietta to see more clearly. His task completed, the figure returned to his place in the circle. Then four of the other figures moved, each removing what looked like a length of rope from his robe, and stepped forward to thread it through one of the holes driven through the four corners of the table. Then they too moved back into position.

Marietta found the silence that had accompanied these
actions unnerving. Clearly, the men were following a well-rehearsed and predetermined sequence of actions. No orders or instructions needed to be given, because every man knew his place and what his function was.

The man who had carried the box down the stairs now reached into it and extracted what looked almost like a deep soup bowl, which he placed on the table in front of him. He then took out a short object with a rounded end and placed that inside the bowl. As he did so, Marietta heard the characteristic sound of stone striking stone and, rather to her surprise, realized that what she was looking at was a mortar and pestle.

The figure closest to the box raised both his arms high above his head, and Marietta could sense the anticipation from the other men around the table.

Slowly, he lowered his hands, put them inside the box, and took out a small, round object, brownish in color. This he lifted high above his head, holding it aloft for a few seconds, then replaced it on the table directly in front of him.

Suddenly Marietta saw exactly what it was. The vacant pits of the eye sockets, the twin vertical lines marking the position of the nose, and the white line of the teeth were unmistakable. The object they appeared to be worshipping was a human skull.

What happened next was even stranger. The man holding the skull took a pair of pliers from the pocket of his robe and used them to snap off a small piece of bone, which he lifted up and showed to the assembled group.
Then he placed it in the mortar and began to grind it up, the noise of the operation echoing around the room.

After a few minutes he removed the pestle and handed it and the pliers to the man standing beside him. Then he picked up the mortar with both hands and lifted it high above his head, and as he did so the other men around the table bowed their heads. Next, he walked round the circle to the man who’d been the last to arrive, the apparent leader, bowed low and showed him the mortar. The man looked closely at its contents and inclined his head, whereupon the man holding the mortar bowed again, walked slowly back to his original position and placed the object on the small stone table behind him, a table that Marietta had noticed when she’d first entered the cellar.

Now the atmosphere changed, and an almost palpable thrill of excitement, of anticipation, seemed to emanate from the silent figures. The hooded ringleader bowed his head briefly and stepped back from his position. All of the other men bowed in turn, and stepped back, away from the table. Then the hooded man hissed a single instruction, which Marietta heard clearly: “Bring the first girl.”

Two of the men bowed, left the group and walked toward the cells where Marietta and Benedetta were being held. Marietta retreated as far as she could and gripped the wooden head of the bed firmly with both hands, determined not to give up too easily. But the men ignored her and entered Benedetta’s cell.

The other girl howled in fear, her scream echoing around the cellar. Marietta half expected to hear the
crackle of the Taser, but the two men simply manhandled the girl out of her cell. As they dragged her, wriggling and screaming, past the open entrance of Marietta’s cell, Benedetta stared with terrified eyes at her fellow captive, begging her to come to her rescue. But Marietta could do nothing for her.

The two men stopped at the table, holding Benedetta firmly by her wrists and upper arms. Two other men stepped forward, one in front of the girl and the other behind her, and seized hold of the white robe she was wearing. Simultaneously, each man tugged the material, and the two halves of the garment parted, leaving Benedetta completely naked.

There was a sudden collective intake of breath from the men surrounding the table as they saw Benedetta’s naked body for the first time. She was, Marietta saw immediately, very beautiful.

Trembling, Marietta felt the seams of the robe she was wearing. They were thick and bulky, and when she pulled at one, it emitted a characteristic ripping sound. She realized that the seams were made from Velcro, precisely so that the robe could be torn apart in this fashion.

Marietta looked back at the scene in front of her. Benedetta was screaming even louder now, the sudden shock of being stripped naked adding immeasurably to her terror. But the other participants in the ritual were proceeding in silence, their movements measured and organized, despite the girl’s yells and struggles. Benedetta was forced forward until she was standing at the end of
the table. Then the men turned her round until her buttocks were pressing against the stone. Two other men stepped forward and grabbed her ankles, and then she was lifted bodily and deposited in the center of the table and held there, squirming helplessly.

Then the reason for the ropes on the table—which Marietta could now see were actually leather belts—became obvious. Working with practiced ease, the men holding Benedetta in place swiftly lashed the belts around her ankles and wrists. In seconds, the girl was strapped down on the table, spread-eagled across it, as helplessly as a butterfly pinned to a display board. But still she writhed and screamed, tugging helplessly at her bonds.

The dark-robed figures standing around the table gave no sign that they could even hear her. They just looked down at her struggling naked body, the flickering light from the candles they still held giving their features a demonic cast.

Another two men stepped forward and stopped one on either side of Benedetta’s head, which Marietta suddenly realized was resting on the small stone extension, the extension that she’d noticed when she’d first seen the table. And suddenly the purpose of the table was all too clear. One of the men held Benedetta’s head still while the other strapped a leather belt around both her forehead and the stone, and then cinched it tight to prevent her from moving.

Yet another man approached the table, a funnel and a small bottle held in his hands. He walked across to Benedetta’s
head, placed one hand on her chin to force her mouth open, and pushed the funnel between her teeth. Then he removed the stopper from the bottle and poured a white liquid into the funnel.

Benedetta coughed and choked, but only when the bottle was empty did the man remove the funnel and step back.

Immediately, the girl started to scream again, spitting out some of the white liquid. But then the man who’d tightened the belt around her head produced a pad of white material, positioned it over her mouth and secured it in place with adhesive tape.

Terrified and nauseous, Marietta simply couldn’t take her eyes off the scene in front of her: the wriggling, helpless figure of a girl she barely knew, and the cold and haughty appearance of the men—and she’d now counted thirteen of them—who surrounded her. Men who were about to do something unspeakable to their innocent victim, and Marietta feared that she, too, would have to endure the same fate within minutes.

With Benedetta’s cries now reduced to little more than a whimper, the silent figures drew closer, so close that any of them could have reached out and touched her body. But clearly rape was not their objective, Marietta thought. That, at least, was a small mercy. Then even that assumption was shattered when the hooded man issued another quiet instruction
to the man on his right, and he, in turn, pointed at two of the silent, robed men.

One of them bowed in response, handed his candle to the man next to him, then stepped out of the circle and pulled his robe over his head. Underneath it, he was naked apart from his sandals, and Marietta could see immediately that he was completely prepared for the act he was about to perform. He folded his robe to form a pad, placed it between Benedetta’s legs as a cushion for his own knees, pulled on a condom, climbed onto the stone table, lay on top of the girl and thrust himself into her.

Then the second man removed his robe as well, opened a small packet and took out a condom, clearly waiting for his turn on the table with the girl.

Marietta could hear Benedetta’s muffled howl even through the gag, but then her attention switched to the hooded man, who had moved for the first time since he’d joined the others at the table, and watched him walk over to the girl’s head. Behind him, another man followed, carrying what looked like a large white ceramic bowl. Marietta noticed that the attention of all the men around the table was not on the girl, but instead on what their leader was about to do.

She strained to see what was happening, but the old man bent down and his body completely blocked her view. What he did next provoked another agonized moan from Benedetta.

There was almost complete silence in the cellar, just the rhythmic pounding of the naked man riding Benedetta on the stone table, and her muffled cries of pain.
Then Marietta heard a new sound, a kind of sucking noise.

And then, as the hooded man moved to one side and half turned toward Marietta, she recoiled in shock. Even in the gloom of the cellar, illuminated only by the flickering light of the candle flames, she could clearly see the long pointed canine teeth gleaming white in his open mouth. They had to be false, inserted in his mouth for the ceremony; they just had to be. Marietta’s brain wouldn’t accept any other explanation.