The Summoning

by J. F. Gonzalez

  Calvin looked at him with a mystifying expression. “I wish I could, but you’re about forty years too late. The place burned down one night and is nothing but an empty field now.”

  Thus eliminating any chance for David to dig deeper into Justin’s life for the book, or the answers to the questions that were now gnawing at his mind.

  VIII

  Lancaster, Pennsylvania didn’t provide the clues David wanted now that his curiosity was piqued regarding the Watcher theory. He had drained all the information he could get out of Calvin Smyth and opted to make his next move: Seattle, Washington, home of rainy weather, stout beers, Ted Bundy, alternative-grunge music, and one deceased writer and a mystery that gnawed at David’s brain.

  He touched down at Sea-Tac airport five days later and checked into a hotel. Most of his material on Grave was on one large legal pad and five micro-cassettes of interviews with whatever former colleagues and friends in Lancaster he could find that were still alive; one tape was of his afternoon with Smyth.

  Once checked into his room he put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door and crashed. He slept for twelve hours.

  The following afternoon he drove a rental car to the house that was in the Nightshades business Rolodex. Justin Grave’s former residence before he bit-the-big-one was situated in a quiet tree-lined street at the foothills of green, rolling hills. Low clouds hung over the trees, shrouding them in fogs of intrigue. David parked in front of the ranch-style house and noted the FOR SALE sign erected on the lawn. The executor of Justin’s estate wasn’t wasting time in carrying things out.

  A pleasant looking middle-aged woman met him at the door. Her smile downplayed the age lines on her face. She was dressed immaculately and professionally in a snug, gray burgundy suit and knee length skirt with a white blouse and tan pumps. Her legs were shapely. Her once blonde hair was turning gray, yet her eyes still sparkled with a youthful boisterousness. She had a full hourglass figure that was attractive. The sign outside stated that the sale of the house was being handled by Geri Sheller Realtors. David smiled as he approached the door. “Hi. You must be Ms. Sheller?”

  “At your service.” She held out a hand in greeting and David took it. “Coming to take a look, or— ”

  “Actually, I’m a friend and associate of the former owner of the house,” David said. “I’ve just been named his literary executor and I came by in the hopes of extracting whatever manuscripts or private papers he might have left behind.”

  Geri nodded. She motioned for David to come inside. David followed her into the house, noting her figure. The woman looked almost old enough to be his mother but she hadn’t lost her attractiveness, or her sex appeal. She reminded David of an Ann Margaret or a Raquel Welch.

  “The moving crew took everything out last week,” she said as she led him to the kitchen. The interior was stripped of furniture and knick-knacks. “Mr. Grave’s attorney arranged for his personal belongings to be stored at A-1 Storage. I’ll give you the address.” She reached a table in the kitchen where she was headquartered and jotted down a number on a piece of stationary. She handed it to David, who made a mental note of it before putting it into his shirt pocket.

  David was just about to ask if he could have a look around the house, but was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and a hollow, “Hello?” Geri whirled. “Duty calls,” she said, moving to the living room to greet a potential buyer. David checked his watch; it was two o’clock, which gave him time to swing by Justin’s physician, as well as pay a visit to the storage area. He let himself out of the house, making a mental note to come back and try to get a feel for the place at a later time. Right now he had other matters to attend to.

  IX

  He exited Dr. William Johnson’s clinic an hour later, more puzzled and frightened than when he’d talked to Calvin Smyth five days ago. Johnson was very adamant about Calvin’s health up to the time of his death. At eight-nine years old, Justin was in better physical shape and health than most men half his age. His cholesterol level was normal, his blood pressure controlled by medication, his heart strong and fine. He had no respiratory problems, no back or joint ailments, and normal bowel movements. Well then, what had been the cause of his death? David asked.

  A massive heart attack, was Dr. Johnson’s reply. It was as if a hand reached into his ribcage and squeezed the muscle until it burst. The news was shocking, but what bounced off David’s mind even more were Johnson’s final words. You should have seen the look on his face when the coroner brought him in. He had such a horrified look on him that you would have sworn he’d just seen something…that defines fear as we know it, before he passed on.

  X

  The clerk at the storage area unlocked the rental space for David and then let him get down to business. The rental space was the size of a one-car garage. It was crammed to the hilt with furniture, framed pictures, boxes, and two large spring mattresses. David maneuvered around the stuff until he came upon some boxes. Then he set to work in locating some of Justin Grave’s manuscripts, memorabilia, and anything else that he could use for the biography.

  And he was also keeping his eye peeled for anything that looked out of the ordinary.

  His search yielded two boxes of manuscripts consisting of Justin Grave’s published work from 1975 onward. Short stories, essays, and novels. All forty-one of them. Justin had proven to be extremely prolific in the eighties, at one point twelve of his novels seeing print as paperback originals in a two-year period alone. Most of them bore stupid cover art that was foil embossed, with evil skeletons or children; in short, the covers usually had nothing to do with the contents of the book. Once the books started selling on the basis of their actual content, rather than the stupid covers his publishers chose to adorn them with, the cover artwork actually improved.

  He put those findings aside. They would be dealt with later.

  Rummaging further, he turned up five of Justin’s notebooks with story ideas. He flipped through them eagerly and scanned the pages. Story ideas, dream synopses, and general observations and notes. Nothing about Watcher, or the horrors the story alleged.

  Two hours later he stumbled on something in a crumpled, dusty box in the rear of the storage space. He sneezed as dust swirled around. He pulled the box to the center of the room where the light was better. He opened it and gasped down at the contents.

  The big leather-bound book was old. Musty and cracked, it looked as old as God. It was bound in a pinkish gray leather that resembled skin. The spine was bound by two large steel clasps bolted into the leather. David opened the cover and glanced at the title page: Necronomicon.

  The idea that it was a fake flashed through his mind. But how does one fake a disheveled, musty, old appearance? The Necronomicon looked ready to fall apart.

  Beneath the book was another notebook, this one more frayed and weathered. He opened it. The spidery handwriting was unfamiliar, but the contents were shocking. David drew a sharp intake of breath as he read a few paragraphs.

  Five minutes later he was racing out of the storage area grounds with the Necronomicon and the notebook under his arm.

  XI

  He decided to spin by Justin Grave’s former residence on a whim. The daylight was fading fast, and in another thirty minutes it would be dark. The house was on his way to the hotel in downtown Seattle. David hit interstate 5 and zoomed toward the house.

  The notebook and the ancient book were the proof he wanted but never thought he would get. David’s heart raced with excitement as the realization of what he had just discovered thumped through his head. Occult scholars had long debated the existence of an accursed book as described by Lovecraft and others, but now David had the proof.

  David hadn’t read much of the notebook, but what he’d perused was enough to convince him that something weird had been happening for decades, perhaps even centuries. The notebook was most likely written by a deranged cult follower. The author describes the unholy power the book has over him, an
d his own weakness to the pleasures that the Watcher showers upon him. My very will has evaporated since the discovery of that cursed book. I no longer have control over myself. Every time the Watcher visits me, I am compelled to commit unspeakable acts all in the name of my pleasure, and his demand that I bow down to him upon my relief. Another line farther down: With each victim he grows stronger, more physical in his strength. His thirst for blood is unstoppable! And farther down: Oh God, why did I even research this? My curiosity for the writings of James Long has proven to be disastrous! The man had discovered what had been sleeping for centuries: the demon of the undead himself!

  David had flipped ahead to the rear of the notebook and found the last entry. His heart raced madly in his chest as he remembered the passage. I can no longer contain myself; these horrible murders must stop. The only way I can warn others is to make this story public and step out of the shadows I have sprung from. I now know the true reason behind Long’s death, and the tragic lives of his later contemporaries. It is good that those who came after Long and have tried to emulate him have never discovered the true secret—

  But wait! The damp odor of rot invades my nostrils. They’ve found out what my plans are! I don’t know how, but they’ve found—

  It is there that the journal ends.

  And it was that which sent David racing to his car, the ancient book and journal in hand. His mind pieced together the events by pure speculation. Justin moved into the house outside of Lancaster in January of 1939, two months after the former resident suddenly disappeared. Was it possible he’d moved into the home of a curious researcher delving into the dark secrets of the Necronomicon, a researcher who’d gotten too close to the truth and was silenced, only to discover the same ancient book and become possessed by the Watcher himself?

  It was this thought that rose in his mind as he drove through town. Justin obviously intended The Watcher from the Grave to be a warning, and his enlisting in the armed services was most likely an attempt at escaping the horrors in that rambling farmhouse. Likewise, his moving around the country, his degeneration into alcoholism, were all a result of the plans he now knew the Watcher had in store for earth. Dr. Johnson’s words rang in his mind. Was it possible that upon his death Justin had received some sort of revelation? Could it have been that which sent his heart into complete arrest?

  He parked in front of Justin Grave’s former home. A single light glowed from the porch, along with a light from the kitchen. A tan BMW was parked in the driveway; it looked like the real estate agent was still there.

  David strode up to the front door, his mind already formulating a story to pitch to Geri about his sudden return. The door opened immediately after he knocked, and Geri’s face smiled up at him. “Hi! Surprised to see you back in this neck of the woods.”

  David stepped hesitantly inside. “I was just wondering if I could take a look around the place,” he said. “Get a feel for where Justin lived…you know.”

  Geri nodded. “I understand. Help yourself.”

  David nodded, relieved that she wasn’t putting up resistance. He moved into the barren living room with its large stone fireplace as Geri retreated to the kitchen. He could feel the cold mist of the night seeking its way inside the comfiness of the house. David stood and closed his eyes briefly, trying to get a feel for the room. He took a deep breath. He could imagine Justin living out his last days in this house, harboring the dark secrets that had plummeted him to depression and alcoholism, hiding the secrets that held the very fabric of sanity together. David exhaled and opened his eyes, taking a step toward the oak-paneled study off the living room. The room gave off a warm vibe, expelling the weird thoughts that had just clouded his mind. The hominess settled into his system, beckoning him to relax.

  The sound of clicking heels on the bare floor caught his attention and he whirled around. Geri stood in the threshold of the study, a smoky silhouette that gained form and substance as she stepped into the room. “I was kind of hoping you’d come back,” she said, stepping into the room. David forced out a smile as she stepped into the light of the waning moon filtering through the trees outside and shining through the large French windows of the study. The top two buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned, exposing the creamy top of her luscious cleavage. Her lips were moist and slightly parted, her eyes holding a feral secret. She stood in front of him, smiling wanfully.

  “Yeah, well, I’m kinda glad I came back, too,” David said. He thought that maybe after he checked the house out he would ask her to dinner or something, but she beat him to it.

  She stepped closer to him, her hands reaching up to touch his chest lightly. “I was attracted to you the minute I saw you,” she whispered. David’s adrenaline surged, the breathing space in his jeans becoming uncomfortably tight. His mind fumbled for something else to say, like well, I think you’re attractive, too. Why don’t we split and have a drink, when his thoughts were obliterated by her kiss. He returned the kiss in surprise as her body melted into his. Before he knew it, her hands were roaming all over his body and his mind screamed for something rational to say.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “It’s okay baby, nobody will disturb us.” Her fingers fumbled on the buttons of his cotton shirt as her lips kissed his chest. David was filled with an insane feeling that was beginning to make him feel a little stupid. Don’t you think we’d have the patience and maturity to wait till we get to her place, or my hotel room, before we commence the bone dance? But proper sexual etiquette seemed the furthest thing from Geri’s mind as she undid his jeans and took him hungrily in her mouth.

  David groaned and a moment later they were both nude on the floor. Geri straddled him, riding him furiously. David cupped and kneaded her large breasts as he moved inside her, not caring about what was proper anymore, just going with the natural flow of sexual adrenaline. Geri moaned and bucked more frantically, impaling herself on him as they raced toward climax, spurring his orgasm on until sweet release came.

  She collapsed on top of him in a heap, her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder. He held her, still inside her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The sudden coolness of the night air pricked his skin, raising it to gooseflesh. The sudden change in the atmosphere raised a warning of awareness as Geri kissed his neck and raised herself up.

  There were shadows materializing in the study.

  David lifted his head at the sudden intrusion, an icy stab of fear penetrating his gut as Geri pushed him down, the expression on her face changed to an icy, cold mask. The shadowy shapes moved forward and David’s eyes grew wide with fright as he saw what entered the room.

  Most of them were living, breathing human beings. But they were silent, unemotional and rigid. They stood staring down at him as a lone figure stepped forward from the circle. David’s mind reeled as recognition set in. His throat locked in a sudden scream.

  Justin Grave’s rotting visage peered down at him with a leering grin. Twin orbs of blazing light from beyond the stars shone from the hollow eye sockets of his skull. The black suit he had been buried in was dirt-ridden and crusty with mold and white squirming things. He smelled of ripe, rotting flesh. A silent hiss escaped from his parted jaws. David’s mind reeled as his body tried to scramble to his feet. Geri slipped off him and pinned him down with her knees as two others moved in to assist her. A rag was stuffed in his mouth and David writhed and kicked at his attackers. The rotting remnants of Justin Grave hunkered down before him.

  “The same thing almost happened to Justin fifty years ago,” Geri said, her voice dead to emotion. “Lucky for him, he chose to later embrace us rather than expose us. James Long wasn’t so lucky.”

  David squirmed in his captor’s grip as the rest of the congregation moved forward. Geri’s regal features hovered over David, a grinning parody of evil. “When you become one with us, you become immortal. All it takes is the willingness to serve the Master.”

  David squirmed more frantically as Geri moved aside to allow Justin G
rave’s rotting corpse to shamble over him. It lowered its pasty, stinking bulk over him, its lichen gray hands grasping David firmly. David’s skin recoiled from their damp, sticky touch. His stomach lurched like a Tilt-A-Whirl, threatening to upheave its contents.

  “And now,” Geri whispered, standing nude with the others who formed a rough semi-circle around David’s prostrate body struggling on the ground, “Justin Grave will make his sacrifice that will throw open the gates from beyond the spheres.”

  Another muffled scream was launched out of David’s parched throat as Justin lowered his head to David’s throat. But it wasn’t Justin’s gaping jaws that made him scream; rather it was the sudden sense of recognition that flooded his senses. For the insane light that burned in the hollows of Justin Grave’s eye sockets had been described in The Watcher from the Grave and they were the livid, burning evil of the Watcher himself!

  The last thing David felt was Justin sinking his rotting, yellow teeth into the tender meat of his throat as he began to feed.

  About The Author

  J. F. Gonzalez is the author of over a dozen novels of horror and dark suspense including Hero (with Wrath James White), Bully, The Beloved, Clickers (with Mark Williams), Clickers II: The Next Wave (with Brian Keene), Clickers III: Dagon Rising (with Brian Keene) and Primitive. His short fiction appears regularly in various magazines and anthologies and is most recently collected in When the Darkness Falls. His work is occasionally optioned for film, but nothing ever gets made. He's also a screenwriter and a web designer. He lives with his family in Pennsylvania. He is currently at work on his next novel.

  INNOVATING HORROR FICTION

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  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Opening the Way: An Introduction

  Tattoos

  Going Home

  The Revenge of Cthulhu

  Holes