by Conrad Jones
I shouldered the shotgun and aimed it towards them. There was a tense moment of silence as everyone weighed up the situation and then one of the men grabbed a second knife from the altar and pointed it towards me. It was an athame, a ritual dagger. One side of the blade was razor sharp and the other was jagged like a saw. The jagged edge would explain the wounds on the throats of Pauline Holmes and Caroline Stokes. They weren’t caused by bloodsucking monsters drinking blood. They were caused by these idiots with their demonic dagger purchased from the Internet. Naked, they didn’t seem scary to me at all, especially down the barrel of a pump-action shotgun.
‘Put the knife down,’ I said calmly. There was no way he could close the distance between us, but I was concerned that others might arrive.
‘Every police officer in the country is searching for you,’ he said, smiling. He stepped away from the altar and faced me square on. ‘What are you going to do, shoot us, too? Do you think she’s worth it?’ He moved a step closer.
I wasn’t there to mess around, so I squeezed the trigger. The man took the buckshot in the chest and the force knocked him backwards against the wall. He looked down at the holes in his chest in shock. Blood poured from them like red wine from a pepper pot. He left bloody smears on the wall as his legs sagged and he slid down into a sitting position. His legs began to twitch violently as shock spread over him. The other three men raised their hands in the air. I wasn’t sure what to do as I didn’t plan on taking any prisoners.
‘Untie her.’ I waved the gun towards Fabienne. None of them moved.
‘I knew you would come.’ Fabienne tried to look around, but she couldn’t. ‘Shoot these animals.’
‘You don’t understand what’s going on here,’ one of the men said quietly. ‘This is not what it looks like to an outsider.’
‘Shoot him, Conrad,’ Fabienne shouted.
‘Shut your face and untie her now,’ I aimed the gun at the speaker. ‘What’s your name?’
‘John,’ he replied, but his expression told me that he was lying.
‘Okay, John,’ I said, nervously. My hands were shaking. I didn’t care what his name was for now. ‘Untie her.’
‘Are you that stupid that you don’t understand what’s going on here? I’m not untying her.’ He laughed and reached for his clothes. ‘What are you going to do, take us prisoner or shoot us all?’
‘That’s really up to you.’
‘I don’t like either option.’ He looked at the others for support. ‘He can’t take all of us at once.’ That was a huge mistake.
I squeezed the trigger a second time and the shot hit him in the thigh. Arterial spray burst between his fingers as he grasped at the ragged wound. He screamed and turned to run for the door, but a second shot slammed into his lower back, ripping a huge chunk of muscle from his buttocks. The force launched him against the altar with a sickening thud. He rolled over, groaning in agony and his heels dug into the cellar floor as he tried to scramble away from me. I reloaded and walked closer to him. I glanced around to get my bearings. I was nervous of new arrivals sneaking up from behind me.
The room was empty apart from the altar. There was a screed floor; stains soiled it around the base of the altar. The walls were bare and newly painted. Apart from the bloodstains, the cellar was spotless. John was trying to crawl away. His blood was pooling around him. His friend was already dying; I could tell from his eyes. I felt nothing seeing death in their eyes. I walked over to the injured man and bent towards him. I grabbed his ankles and dragged him back towards the altar. He dug his fingernails into the concrete and groaned.
‘Shut up,’ I said. There was no sympathy left in me. There hadn’t been much there to begin with, but now there was only hate. ‘You untie her, or you’ll get the same as he got.’ One of the remaining men reached for the dagger and then thought better of it. He looked at me for permission. ‘Pick it up and cut her free.’ I pointed to the dagger.
He used the smooth side of the dagger to cut her bonds. ‘He’s telling you the truth,’ he said, throwing the blade onto the floor. ‘This is not what it seems.’ Fabienne ran and stood behind me.
‘I don’t care what it seems.’ I turned the gun on him again. ‘Throw me your clothes, all of them.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’ The two uninjured men exchanged concerned glances and gathered the four sets of clothes in their arms. ‘Get their trousers, Fabienne,’ I ordered. ‘Get their wallets and their mobile phones.’
She paused momentarily before approaching them. She snatched the trousers roughly from them. ‘Here,’ she said. She held them out to me like a mother giving her child a birthday present.
‘I knew you would come,’ Fabienne said. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she turned to face me. ‘They were going to rape me again.’ She sobbed uncontrollably.
‘Are you okay?’ I turned to look at her. Her eyes were darker than ever, and despite her tears they seemed to sparkle. She didn’t look scared at all. She just looked sad. I rummaged through the pockets and collected their personal belongings. I resisted the urge to look through them; getting distracted now would be a fatal mistake. I stuffed their keys, wallets, and phones into my haversack alongside my pipe bombs. ‘This lot will open a few eyes when it lands on the superintendent’s desk.’
‘Thank you for coming for me.’ Her lips quivered as she spoke. ‘I’m okay, but they were going to hurt me again. Kill him, Conrad,’ she nodded to the injured man. He cried out and tried to crawl away again, but a swift kick in his ribs from Fabienne stopped him. He curled up in the foetal position gasping for breath.
‘No, Fabienne, don’t let him kill me.’ He begged. ‘Tell him the truth. Tell him the truth.’
‘You snivelling little shit.’ She kicked him again as she spoke. He flipped over onto his back.
‘You brought her here to rape her and now you want her to help you?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he tried to speak, but she kicked him again.
I shouldered the gun and aimed at his groin. ‘Is there anyone else coming here tonight?’
‘No. Please listen to me,’ he said.
‘Kill him,’ Fabienne shouted.
‘Why is nobody else coming?’ I didn’t believe him.
‘Kill him!’ she screamed. Her voice resounded in my head. ‘Kill him, kill him, kill him.’
‘No one comes anymore because of you.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I asked.
‘Listen to me, please,’ he tried to explain again. I thought that he might be telling the truth. They were lying low because of the fuss I had caused on the Internet. They daren’t meet while the focus was on them. ‘I can explain this.’ He babbled. ‘Don’t listen to a word that bitch says.’
‘Kill him,’ she screamed again. Her voice was piercing. Spittle flew from her lips. ‘They raped me, Conrad. They raped my brothers and sisters. Don’t let them do it to me again.’
‘Fabienne, calm down.’ I turned on her. She was becoming hysterical and her voice was grating on my mind. I was confused. ‘Please, stop shouting.’
‘Okay,’ she said, nodding.
‘Have you seen a young girl called Constance?’ I asked. ‘I think they’ve taken her.’
‘They have taken her.’ Fabienne’s eyes lit up. ‘Ask him where she is. That pervert there.’ She pointed to the man who had cut her free.
‘I don’t know what she’s talking about.’ His lip quivered. ‘I don’t know anything about any young girls.’ His voice was well-educated, and I thought that I recognised it from Knowles’s recordings.
‘He’s lying, Conrad,’ Fabienne snarled. ‘She’s been here for days.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Up there.’ She pointed to a small cupboard door that I hadn’t noticed. It was built into the wall at the top of the staircase. ‘They keep them in there until it’s playtime. Don’t you, you bastards?’ Her voice reached a deafening pitch. ‘God knows what they’ve done to her alr
eady.’
I looked at the door and I could see that it was padlocked. I had a conundrum. Two of the men were badly wounded, one was nearly dead. The other two were unhurt and dangerous.
‘Who has the keys to that door?’ I asked the two men. One of them had dyed his hair black, which didn’t match his grey eyebrows, and the other had a comb-over that Bobby Charlton would have cringed at.
‘I don’t know.’ Comb-Over shrugged nervously.
‘He does.’ Hair Dye pointed to the man who was bleeding to death against the wall. I walked over to him and kicked his feet. He opened his eyes for a second and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
‘Where’s the key to that door?’
‘He has it,’ he gasped, pointing back to Comb-Over.
‘I don’t!’ Comb-Over shouted in fear. ‘He’s lying.’
‘Kill him.’ Fabienne was cowering against the wall, covering her eyes with her arms. ‘Kill him.’ Her screams were driving me to distraction.
‘Calm down, Fabienne,’ I shouted. ‘Last time, where is the key to that door?’
‘She’s not in there, you fool.’ The injured man near the altar laughed.
‘Where is she?’ I pointed the gun at him.
‘You’re an idiot.’ He spluttered. ‘You have no idea what you’re getting involved in. Your daughter is already dead and that’s your fault. Either call the police or get out of here.’
‘She’s already dead?’ I asked.
‘Yes. And she suffered.’
I’d had enough. I pointed the gun at his face and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked and his face disintegrated beneath the force of the blast. Flesh and blood splattered the two unhurt men. Comb-Over frantically wiped the viscera from his face and he made a strange mewing noise.
‘Where’s the key?’ I asked again. They stopped smearing the bloody mess from their bodies and looked at each other. I shouldered the Remington and aimed at Hair Dye. ‘Three seconds, two, one.’
‘Wait, I’ll check his clothes.’ Hair Dye held up his hands and reached for the pile of clothes. ‘He keeps it under his belt.’
‘They raped me last night,’ Fabienne spoke calmly this time. ‘They were going to rape both of us again.’ She nodded towards the locked door. ‘Constance is in there.’
‘What do you mean, ‘both of us again’?’ I asked the two men. Fabienne started screaming again and it was driving me to frenzy. I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. ‘Have you touched Constance?’ I felt spittle spraying as I spoke. I felt the blood pounding through my brains, and I slammed more shells into the gun.
‘Don’t listen to her.’ Comb-Over tried to scramble backwards, away from the altar. ‘She’s lying. We haven’t raped your daughter.’
‘How the hell do you know that she’s my daughter then?’
‘It’s all over the newspapers.’
‘He said she was already dead.’ I was losing it.
‘She probably is, but she isn’t here.’
‘Kill him!’ Fabienne was screaming repeatedly.
‘Did you rape her?’ I was steaming. Anger was taking control and Fabienne was adding fuel to the flames.
‘It isn’t like that,’ he tried to explain. ‘It isn’t like that; she insists that we do this; she demands that we come here and do this.’
‘Who does?’
‘Her,’ he said, pointing at Fabienne.
‘Don’t listen to him,’ Fabienne said. ‘Shoot him.’
‘She’s lying to you.’
‘Kill him or he’ll never stop.’ Her voice became a sickening wail. ‘He’s the one who tells them what to do. He told them to take Constance. I heard them talking.’
‘Don’t listen to her,’ the man shouted. ‘She’s the cause of all this. She’ll get us all killed in the end.’
‘They did terrible things to her,’ Fabienne said. ‘I heard him bragging.’
‘Don’t listen to a word she says,’ he said, panicking.
‘Kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him,’ she screamed as I reloaded the gun. She was frantic; the men were terrified. Something inside me took control and it was as if someone else was guiding me. I raised the barrel and fired two shots. His legs buckled while I reloaded and turned to the others. Nine shots later the men were dead. The walls were covered in blood and brains, and the smell of urine and excrement pervaded the cellar. The corpulent odour filled my senses and clung to me. I fought the urge to puke.
I looked at Fabienne as sweat mingled with my tears. They ran down my cheeks in warm rivulets. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. I thought she was going into a fit. She grinned like a mad woman and she smiled at me as I bent to touch her hands.
‘I knew you would come. I knew that you would come for me,’ she shouted, but her tone was odd.
‘I thought you were dead,’ I said, confused. ‘I came to the hospital and the doctor told me you were dead.’
‘Thank you, Conrad.’ She smiled as her hands became free. She stood up and flung her arms around my neck. Her mouth moved towards mine. As I looked into her eyes, I felt my strength waning. The need to unlock the door and search for Constance was replaced by a far more urgent desire. She pulled my head down and put her mouth over mine. She forced her tongue between my lips and gripped the back of my head as she probed my mouth. Her tongue felt hot and swollen. It filled my mouth, almost choking me, but it felt so good. I kissed her and waited for her to pull away, but she didn’t. She pushed her tongue further into my mouth, withdrawing it to her lips before forcing it back again.
Unfamiliar lights and sounds filled my mind as she tore my clothes from my body. She literally ripped them apart and I shook them free as we writhed against each other. She pulled back, her mouth exploring my face.
‘You killed them for me,’ she gasped. Her breath was tainted with something rancid. I felt her teeth nipping and biting my ears and neck. Her nails scratched my back and chest, drawing blood where she raked deeply. She placed her mouth over my nipple and bit down hard as she took me to the floor. Her strength was incredible. I didn’t fight her because I wanted her. Her body was lean and muscular, and she smelled musky. Images began to fill my mind, images of sex and of blood. As she lowered her body onto mine, I heard her howl with pleasure.
She howled like a dog, but the sound seemed to be so far away. I could feel her body grinding against mine. I could smell her sweat mingling with my own. The musky smell of her filled my nostrils and there was an uncontrollable urge to bite her hard and draw blood. Her body was becoming tense, hard, and taut. The muscles and sinews in her neck were protruding and they pulsed as she bit my face and neck. A deep growling came from her throat as her movement became more desperate. ‘You’re a killer, just like me,’ she whispered.
I felt her nails ripping the flesh on my back and her teeth bit into the skin on my throat. I felt her tear a nick of flesh from my neck and a trickle of warm blood ran from the wound over my collarbone and onto my chest. And the pain increased. I tried to push her off, but she was too powerful. I felt that she would suffocate me. Part of me welcomed the pain. Part of me desired the intensity and the violence. She was right. I was a killer. I stopped struggling, opened my mind and let her take me away with her. I felt her in my mind again, leading me by the hand. I was scared now but I couldn’t fight her.
The place she took me to was vile. It was like walking into a dream so real you cannot tell the difference between fantasy and reality. I’ve never tried drugs, but I can only imagine it’s like tripping. I was suddenly aware that we were no longer alone. I saw images in my mind. They were terrible images. The cellar was full of people. The floor was a writhing, stinking mass of people dying in the vilest and most perverted ways imaginable. Men, women, animals, and demons were present at this orgy of violence. Many of the participants were bound and gagged, unwilling victims of the insatiable crowd. I heard women screaming and men crying. Men groaned in agony. Their screams haunt me to this day.
‘Join us,�
� they screamed.
‘Join us, Conrad. Be with me. Your heart is as evil as mine. You’re a killer,’ I heard her whispering in my ear. Men cried out in pain and animals howled. I heard Fabienne howling; I heard myself howling like a wolf and then there was nothing but pain.
I opened my eyes and looked for her, but she was gone. She was on the altar at the head of the room and the evil in the room seemed to magnetise towards her like smoke through an open window. She was the centre of the violence and the focus of their energy. Fabienne Wilder wasn’t their victim, she was their princess. I could hear chanting. The frantic screams of the consensual and non-consensual were reaching a fever pitch. I heard them chanting ‘Baphomet, Baphomet, Baphomet’. I remembered that Baphomet is a sinister entity and is depicted in their scriptures as a beautiful, mature woman, naked from the waist up, who holds in her hand the bloodied severed head of a man.
I watched as she walked across the altar to a spot where a man was being strangled by another dressed in a goatskin jacket. He was wearing horns on his head. The receiver was bound and the expression on his face told me that he wasn’t consensual. Fabienne swung her arm once and a boleen flashed in the candlelight. As she raised the severed head in the air, the man in the goatskin laughed. I suddenly knew much more than I ever had.
Fabienne Wilder is the dark, violent goddess to whom human sacrifices were made. She ritualistically washed in a basin full of the blood. She wasn’t a victim; she was the centre of their worship. She was their vampire princess; their goddess.