The Devil's End

by D A Fowler

  And yet here she was, without light and all alone in what might turn out to be a place infinitely more dangerous than an old abandoned cemetery. Could it be that her mind perceived aliens as that much easier to deal with than dead people? Sometimes she just couldn’t figure herself out. Her duplicity, like her dependency, was unquestionably hereditary. But, of course, there was another major difference in the two experiences. She hadn’t heard any screams in the house. Not yet anyway.

  She groped along the wall for a light switch. She found one and flipped it, even though it didn’t seem a very smooth thing to do. A professional sleuth would never do it, that was for certain. A professional would have brought along a penlight with extra batteries. And a camera, and a tape recorder and a gun. Or at least a sharp knife.

  Maybe she wasn’t really doing this. Maybe she was only dreaming that she was. At this very moment her body could be lying peacefully under a pink comforter, her eyelids fluttering with REMs. Hopefully she wasn’t really this big a fool.

  But the room before her seemed real enough. The switch had turned on a single bulb near the ceiling. Its glow was dull; probably only forty watts, Lana thought. If that.

  It revealed in its subtle way something like a garbage museum. There were countless stacks of old newspapers, dismantled exercise equipment, threadbare tires, shelves crammed full of every type of junk imaginable. No wonder he painted the windows over, she thought; the place was a pit.

  No hovering aircraft, she noted.

  No pods. Unless…

  Her eyes were drawn to one of the far corners. There was a large green lump; something covered by a blanket. She wrapped her arms around herself and slowly shuffled toward it. The smell, the smell…

  It was getting stronger.

  Grocery garbage, that was it. But why would he have covered it with a blanket? He was throwing it away too? It looked perfectly good to her, at least, what she could see of it. (Could be a pod, looks about the right shape…) She was close now. Two more steps and the tips of her tennis shoes would touch the blanket’s border. Then all she would have to do was bend over, pick up the blanket, and look (and scream) at the sacks of putrid garbage. That’s all that was under there. She was sure of it. Sarah Sylvia Cynthia Snout had just not taken the garbage out. Shame on you, Sarah.

  Unable to stand the suspense any longer, she stepped forward and picked up the border of the blanket, but hadn’t raised it very high when her eyes fell on something that made her blood chill. She froze, her brain frantically attempting to absorb the impact.

  This was only a bad dream. Had to be. Two sets of shoes. Two sets of shoes attached to four white ankles attached to—

  “Well, good evening.”

  Lana felt like she’d just hit the ground after falling off a ten-story building. She spun around, her heart exploding with fear. She’d been caught!

  It was wearing a dark suit that Albert Montgomery had ordered from a discount catalog in 1967, its arms folded casually, its body leaned against the doorframe between the house and garage. There was an amused smile on its chalky, grotesque mouth, but all Lana could see were its eyes. They held her spellbound, unable to move or speak. Unable to scream.

  Blue flame. Burning, searing, searching…

  “You were close,” it said, its voice a distorted bass, as if it were speaking underwater. “You’re a very brave girl, coming here like this all alone, in the dead of night…Oh, speaking of dead, those feet you were looking at belong to Nancy Snell and Eliza Ober. Or should I say used to belong? I daresay they won’t have any further use for them. But I am being rude. Please, come with me into the house. It’s much more comfortable.”

  Lana no longer had any more control over her body than she did the 747 she could hear flying far overhead. Her brain had entered another state of consciousness altogether. Sometime when she hadn’t been paying attention, an invisible doctor had come up behind her with a hypodermic needle and injected her with a big dose of Demerol; it was just like the time she was being wheeled into surgery to have her broken arm set. Her fear had melted into blissful apathy. Montgomery could have been inviting her to her own execution and she couldn’t have cared any less.

  The demon Nephyrcai backed into the house, keeping her captive with its sparkling, magnetic eyes, and she complacently followed, fully aware of what was happening but unable to bring herself to react in any way.

  Twenty-Five

  The sun rose with its usual laziness on the morning of October 31.

  Birds everywhere chirped their usual songs, debating in treetop committee meetings which southern location they would go to this fall. Alarm clocks went off, eyes blinked, bodies stretched.

  From an airplane that morning Sharon Valley would have looked like a big bowl of gray soup. A cloud had settled into it like a hen upon her nest, blocking out the sun, making visibility less than five yards. Driving was next to impossible. Standing outside was like being in a cold sauna.

  Faces peeked out of windows, mouths opened in surprise. It was not unusual for fog to settle in the valley, but it wasn’t often so thick. In cases such as this, the town was virtually paralyzed. The workers would have to wait until the sun burned it off before business could proceed as usual. Many climbed gratefully back into still-warm beds. Those who worked graveyard shifts moaned in despair, knowing their replacements wouldn’t be able to come in.

  Carol opened her eyes, the depression she’d gone to sleep with returning full force with consciousness. The events of the previous evening, recorded on mental videotape, began the day’s schedule of reruns. The cheap little affair she’d had was believable; the way she’d taken her anger out on Lana and Bruce was not. How could she have been such a bitch? Lana might never forgive her—and with good cause—but Carol had to at least acknowledge what a monster she’d been, perhaps even make a confession about the situation that had triggered such behavior.

  And let that be a lesson to you!

  But she knew she could never bring herself to ever tell anyone about it; she had been humiliated enough. Damn her Victorian upbringing. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and grudgingly sat up. Her room, she noticed, was unusually dark for that time of the morning. Had to be cloudy outside.

  After putting on her robe and slippers, she finger-combed her blond wedge and went to beg her daughter’s forgiveness. It’s all your father’s fault, you see. I never acted that way before the divorce, did I? No, because I was a human being then, with a real sense of self-worth and everything, and a husband to sleep with every night. Just like Barbie and Ken, who lived happily ever after in their Mattel Dream House.

  But Lana’s room was empty. Cold fingers of fear crept up Carol’s spine. Lana was just up early, that was all. She was probably in the kitchen eating a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats. She was here somewhere. She wouldn’t have ran…away.

  But Lana was not in the kitchen either, or in the garage or bathroom or any other part of the house. And if she was outside, she would be invisible. Carol couldn’t believe the view through the living room window; solid white. She’d never seen such a fog in her life.

  It increased her panic a hundredfold. If Lana had run off, it would be impossible to even try to look for her. To tell her that Bruce was welcome anytime, hell…he could spend the night if he wanted to. Why not? Why should the tradition of prudery and inhibition be carried on? Just please, please come home…

  Her first course of action should be to call Bruce’s house, naturally. Lana was probably there, unless he was also gone, and God only knew where the two of them would have gone together. There was only one problem with taking that first course of action. Carol didn’t even know Bruce’s last name.

  Fighting to stay as calm as possible, she went to wake her son. Luke was a militant sleeper. Carol had always claimed that a bomb could go off in the room where he was sleeping and he wouldn’t know it. It took her several minutes
to bring him around to the cold, cruel world of reality. He pouted, rubbing his eyes. “I’m still sleepy.”

  “It’s not time for you to get up yet,” Carol said shakily, “I just need to ask you somethin’, darlin’, then you can go back to sleep for a while. Do you know Bruce’s last name?”

  He frowned with irritation and kicked under the blanket. “No. Now lemme alone, I was havin’ a good dream.”

  Carol patted her son on the thigh before tiptoeing out, now fully overcome with dread and a fresh supply of guilt. She’d been so wrapped up in self-pity that she hadn’t even bothered to learn Lana’s boyfriend’s last name. That was pretty rotten.

  So what now? Call the police? They wouldn’t be able to look for Lana, any more than she could. With the thin hope that maybe, just maybe, Lana had gone for a little walk and would come back through the front door any minute—if she could find it—Carol went to the kitchen for an aspirin and to start a strong pot of coffee. It was when she reached into the cabinet next to the refrigerator for the Extra Strength Excedrin that she noticed her extra car keys were missing from the pegboard.

  Hugh’s voice sounded gratingly cheerful. “Carol! Say, if you’re callin’ about the check, I swear I mailed it two days ago…”

  Carol clutched the phone, stifling a sob. “It’s Lana, Hugh.”

  The cheerfulness vanished. “What about her? She’s all right, isn’t she? Carol?”

  “I think…I think she may have run away. I came down pretty hard on her last night…”

  “Damn it! Have you called the police?”

  “It wouldn’t do any good. It’s pea soup outside. I can’t even see the posts on the front porch. If she’s out tryin’ to drive in this—”

  “She took your car?”

  “I think so. The extra keys are missing—” Carol bit her lower lip, trying to stop the flow of tears, but they gushed out in spite of her. She began to sob openly. “I’m sorry, I had…had to talk to somebody, but there’s nothin’ you can do. I don’t know what to do. Hugh, I’m scared.”

  “Do you want me to fly up?”

  Carol came close to shooting back, Would you be bringin’ your damn little bimbo along with you? but she answered calmly instead, “Well, ah…that’s very thoughtful of you, thank you. I don’t know. We should probably wait. Maybe she’ll come home after the fog clears up.”

  “You don’t have any idea where she could be?”

  “Well, maybe, but…” But I don’t know the kid’s damn last name! See what you’ve done to me, you bastard! “…but their phone is busy. I’ll call you back as soon as I know anything.”

  “I’ll be here most of the day. If you call and I’m gone, leave a message with my secretary. She’ll know where to find me.”

  Carol thanked him again and hung up, thinking, Yeah, I’ll just bet she will.

  Her wrists and ankles hurt, and it took Lana a few moments to figure out why. Each limb was tightly secured by a piece of rope that was also attached to each of the four posts of the bed on which she lay. In the cool dimness she could see a doily-covered dresser with a cracked mirror, a wicker fan chair with a stained blue pillow on the seat, a small bookshelf full of dusty books, an ancient Singer, and two darkly-stained doors standing catty-corner on the opposite side of the room. One of them began to open. She shrank back when the shape of a man appeared in the doorway.

  “Ah, I see you’re awake. You slept well, I hope?”

  “What are you gonna do to me?” she asked numbly, flexing her fingers. She tried not to look at the hideous face, but she couldn’t help herself. The eyes willed her to look, to submit, to drop all defenses, to relax. They were impossible to resist. The terror she’d awakened with quickly faded away. She watched calmly as the malevolent creature entered the room.

  “Your body will serve as the new temple for a High Priestess.”

  Lana languidly turned her head from side to side. “My body? Are you saying I’m gonna die?”

  Nephyrcai moved closer to the bed, its reeking flesh fouling the already-stale air of the infrequently-used room, its inhuman gaze sinking more deeply into Lana’s mind. “Die? No, not really. You will continue to exist. Consider yourself lucky, my dear. Your departure will be easy compared to those that follow. You see, the High Priestess Myrantha’s wish to return gave us an irresistible opportunity to do the same. I’m sure you can understand. Our deepest wish is to destroy the usurpers of our world, destroy the Light. And we will. Then I suppose we will throw a little party. Join us, my dear. I think you could learn to appreciate our ways.”

  Now she knew. They weren’t aliens. They were demons. She accepted the fact without emotion.

  Before she could reply to the invitation invading her mind—Join us, yes, just think of the pleasure—another shape appeared in the doorway; Lana could see it from the corner of her eye. Only when it moved up next to the bed could she tell that it was Jay Gorman. Or what used to be Jay Gorman’s body. Something else was using it now.

  Its pitted flesh was crawling with maggots; only the eyes, the fiery blue orbs, remained untouched above the collarbone. When it opened its lips in a smile, a dozen or so ivory worms fell out.

  “She’s lovely,” Nephyrcai commented smilingly to its decomposing comrade, reaching out to pull down the blanket with which Lana was covered. For the first time she realized that she was naked.

  Azrahoth reached out to stroke her left breast. “She is indeed. And how sporting of her to come to us; I’m hardly presentable in public these days.”

  “What about the other? The boy?”

  “He can’t be found. An alternate selection has been made.”

  “Very good.”

  “I suppose it would be a shame not to take advantage of this flesh while I still have it.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing…”

  “After you.”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “Well, if you insist.” Leprous hands pulled down the zipper of Jay Gorman’s faded jeans, then reached in and extracted a large flaccid penis covered with open sores, the tip oozing a thick yellow mucus. In an instant it became rigid as an arrow, its weeping eye pointed between Lana’s outspread legs.

  Her eyes widened. Think of the pleasure…

  She heard the words echoing darkly in her mind, and an unexpected rush of heat flooded her body. Something deep within her cried against this outrage, this abomination of which she was about to become a part, but her flesh was burning; her body said yes.

  Remember those three orgasms you had with Greg in the hayloft?

  Lana smiled dreamily.

  Well, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

  Suddenly there was a flash of blue flame at the four bedposts and the ropes holding Lana’s hands and feet were severed. A moment later her body slowly began to levitate off the mattress, her legs forced farther apart. She was dimly aware of muscle pain in her upper thighs, but there was a far more demanding ache between them. Its name was lust, and she had never experienced it this strongly before. It was like being in the grip of a powerful drug, and at the moment nothing mattered more than its satisfaction. Absolutely nothing.

  She stopped rising when she became level with the jutting, diseased penis aimed at her from the foot of the bed. A leering smile crossed the demon’s cracked lips, and a few more maggots tumbled out.

  Then Lana was hurled forward, becoming impaled on the fetid erection. She subconsciously released a scream of ecstasy, and the demons began to laugh.

  Twenty-Six

  There was a tapping sound at the window. At first he thought it was part of his dream, but the persistence of the sound wakened him and he continued to hear it. Muttering “What the fuck?” under his breath, Dennis crawled out of bed for the second time that morning and stumbled toward the curtains covering his window. He parted them with both hands and stared at the face in th
e mist.

  “What the hell are you doing out there?” He unlocked the window and raised it, allowing tendrils of the fog to creep into his bedroom. Clad only in his briefs, he shivered, waiting for her response.

  “I need you to come with me, Dennis. Get dressed.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly that seemed an unacceptable thing to do. He should do just as she asked. He got dressed and quietly climbed out the window.

  She seemed certain of her step, even though he could barely see his feet. He followed like a trusting sheep being led to the slaughter, his hand locked in hers, his body feeling strangely warm although the air around him was quite cool. Half the time he walked with his eyes closed, and in those moments dreamed that he was being pulled through the outer stratosphere toward the sun. He was not afraid.

  When they were about ten blocks away from his house, Vikael began to speak. “You’re a real bastard, you know that? You think you’re the center of the universe. The only reason you refuse to accept the supernatural is because such power threatens your ‘supremacy.’ You are the Controller, the User, the Manipulator; there simply cannot be anything in Heaven or Earth that can dictate to you. You’re such a stupid fool. But a very pretty one, I’ll grant you that. I used to be quite beautiful myself.”

  He felt no reason to argue. He opened his eyes and watched the palpable white mass roll past him; for all he knew, he was walking on another planet, or simply in the sky, over and through clouds, and the journey would last forever and ever. It was possible. He didn’t care.

  Vikael laughed maliciously. “Finding that dead rabbit sure gave you a run for your money, didn’t it? You nearly shit your pants. I’m amazed that you got it under control; but then, your pride wouldn’t allow for anything else. We understand pride; it goeth before a fall, they say.”