A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Chet Williamson

  He feared the other images, the ones of the girl. If those were true, all of his anxieties would prove valid. If she was dragged away into some nothingness where he could not follow, he would fail, and the hope of atonement would be set back again. He would be forced to face another eternity of the nightmares and the laughter. He did not want to fail. For the girl's sake—and for his own.

  As the shadows began to overtake the trees, Terry began to rethink the wisdom of his decision. He wouldn't be able to get home before dark after all. He was beginning to think he might not even make it to Heaven's before dark. It was farther to walk than he'd expected. It had never seemed that far when they drove by in the car.

  The wind seemed to be picking up too, and he thought he heard thunder somewhere in the distance. Maybe that would explain why it was getting dark early. Bad storms could come up at any time.

  He was closer to Heaven's than to his own house now. Might as well head on, he decided. If Mom misses me I'll be in line for trouble anyway. I might as well make the most of it.

  If it did start storming he could just stay at Heaven's, and Mrs. Davis could call his mom so she wouldn't worry.

  As a new clap of thunder echoed, a little closer, he ducked through a hedge and took a shortcut through Jack Steadman's back yard. He wanted to get to Heaven's before the storm broke.

  Chapter 15

  On the fifteenth ring Gabrielle replaced the telephone and walked back to the window. The branches of the pines in the front yard were like baseball fans doing the wave.

  "I guess Tanner's on his way over," she said. "I hope he beats the storm. I wanted to leave him out of this, but now I'm thinking it would be nice if he were here."

  "He'll be along," Althea said. If they're interested, men always come sniffing around. Doesn't matter what you do, intentionally or unintentionally, to discourage them."

  “Is that from your psychology training?" Gab asked, walking toward the couch on which Althea was sitting.

  "No. My grandmother. She was smarter than the experts."

  "Do you like Tanner?"

  "As much as I like any man."

  "That's not that much, I take it?"

  Althea picked up her coffee cup, holding it between both hands. "Bad experiences," she said before taking a sip.

  "I've had a few myself," Gab said. "I don't know if Dave meant to be—a bad experience, I mean."

  "In there own minds, everyone is doing right, not doing bad things, just looking out for their own needs."

  " I guess I've got a few notches in my belt."

  "Feeling guilty?"

  Gab laughed. "Sometimes I think about it. When I was a kid I hadn't been dating that long, but I was going steady with this guy named Jimmy Anderson. He was a really nice guy. He worked at McDonald's so he'd have a little cash for us to go to movies and stuff. And he liked me a lot. You know, sixteen-year-old crush, adolescent emotion, and all."

  "Exactly," Althea said.

  "Then another boy, Matt Greer, asked me to go to a football game in Penn's Ferry. Jimmy had to work the night shift on Fridays, but I always went by the store and waited for him to get off. Then we'd get chocolate shakes and go riding in his old Chevy. Well, Matt was so cute and cool with this Firebird he drove, I told him I'd go, and I told Jimmy I couldn't come by the restaurant because my friend Susie wanted me to spend the night at henhouse. He knew Susie, so he bought it.

  "Well, I went to the football game, and I had a good time, and I figured everything would be fine. Jimmy would never know, and I'd had this boost to my self-esteem because of Matt's attention. He was eighteen, you know.

  "Problem was he drove fast, and there was kind of a caravan of kids heading back from the game. Everybody started passing each other, weaving in and out of traffic, and Matt ran into a pickup truck.

  “It wasn't that bad, but they called an ambulance to get us checked out, so the Clarion reported the accident in the next day's paper. Listed cars, drivers, and passengers. Jimmy never talked to me again after that. I can't say I blame him. Not when you consider how tender our feelings are at that age."

  "Yeah. Some people never outgrow that age," Althea said.

  "Textbook or personal observation?"

  "Both. There are a lot of damned Peter Pans out there. Men are interesting specimens," Althea said. "They never cease to come up with ways to screw things up."

  "Maybe human beings just aren't meant to be together," Gab said. "If we're all alone we can't hurt each other."

  "I don't know what the answer is," Althea said. "I've been observing things for ages, and it just seems relationships get harder and harder."

  "Will you ever get involved with anyone again?"

  "I guess it would have to be someone very special."

  "Maybe when Heaven is safe and all this is over, Tanner and I will have some time," Gab said.

  "You haven't had much time to think about that, have you?"

  "Not much," Gab conceded. She checked her watch again. "I guess he's been scared off."

  "That's been known to happen too."

  Conversation masked the anxiety of waiting, of wondering if something more was going to go wrong. The minutes were ticking past. It was getting to be that time.

  Danube's flight touched down on time in New Orleans, but that left him with several hours to drive. It took almost a half-hour to go through the process that placed him behind the wheel of a rental. The stretch of road from the airport was narrow, and traffic was backed up. He had to creep behind a van which blocked his vision and made it impossible to determine what was wrong ahead.

  Finally they came upon the remains of the car wreck. One small vehicle jacked on a wrecker which was about to pull it away. Police cars and an ambulance sprayed the area with brightly colored lights, red and orange glistening off shattered fragments of windshield strewn on the ground. Finally a uniformed man waved Danube's car through the intersection.

  He was on the way, but he had distance to cover. Once clear of the police, he swerved around the car in front of him and pressed the gas pedal downward.

  Even as he watched the speedometer’s numbers rise, an uneasy knowledge gripped him, warning him that he would be too late.

  The downpour began about eight. Gab joined Althea at the living room window, watching heavy rain slash through streetlight glow.

  “This storm makes things worse," Gab said. "Like this is a horror movie."

  Before their eyes the street became eerily light again in the flare of a lightning bolt. Then it was dark once more, and a clap of thunder that was almost deafening followed.

  "It's just a storm," Althea said.

  "Who's to say what's tied to all this?" Gab asked. "What's natural and what's not? If it's real then it's part of the reality."

  "Maybe nothing will happen tonight," Althea said. "It's past the time when things usually occur."

  "That could mean it's going to be worse tonight," Gabrielle said.

  The lightning came again, another bright flare, another burst of thunder. They moved back into the living room. "I can't believe it's gone away," Gab said. "I'd better check on Heaven."

  As rain beat upon the roof, she moved down the hallway and looked through the bedroom door. Heaven was sleeping and appeared peaceful. Her head lay against the pillow, and the covers were pulled up to her shoulders.

  Gabrielle stepped softly across the carpet and touched her child's hair. It was so soft, and her skin was so smooth. Angelic. She hated anyone who could make Heaven suffer.

  Touching her daughter's cheek, she decided it felt a tad warm, but the house was a little stuffy—the air conditioner hadn't come on in a while—and Heaven seemed to be sleeping well. She found Althea in the kitchen, fixing some fresh coffee. "We're keeping Maxwell House in business," the psychologist said.

  When the coffee was ready, Althea poured each of them a cup, and they were about to return to the living room to continue their vigil when the rattle came at the kitchen door.

  They
looked at each other with frightened eyes. The door rattled again, and something pounded on it, jarring it in its frame.

  "The things haven't come from outside," Althea reminded her.

  Gab moved over to the window on the door and pulled the curtain bac. She saw no sign of anything, but then the pounding came again. She jumped back from the sound as if from an electrical shock.

  "Jesus that scared me."

  "What is it?"

  Gab pulled the curtain again and this time looked downward. Through the lower pane she could see Terry's soggy head. Grasping the knob and yanking the door open, she motioned him inside. "Come in out of that storm before you drown," she ordered.

  Terry sloshed into the house, his soaked clothing clinging to his body.

  "It's further from my house than I thought," he sputtered.

  “Your mother must be worried sick. We'll have to call her and let her know you're all right."

  "I snuck out. I wanted to see Heaven. Do you have to call my mom?"

  "Unless you want her to worry herself sick," Gabrielle said.

  "I guess not," he said reluctantly.

  Gab had just picked up the phone when Heaven began calling from the bedroom.

  Danube pressed harder on the gas as he passed through the small town of Krotz Springs. He saw a string of gas stations and quick stops, and ignored them. A few miles past the town was the turn which would take him up U.S. 71 toward Alexandria. The girl at the McDonald's outside Baton Rouge had told him that from there it was about two hours from Aimsley.

  Before reaching Alexandria, he would veer off onto the state highway which would carry him northwest into Riverland Parish. If he could keep the speed above sixty he might be able to shave off some time, and that would be essential.

  As the car rushed forward, he came upon the taillights of another vehicle, its chrome bumper reflecting his own headlight beams back at him.

  Swerving into the other lane, he urged his vehicle forward, cursing, his palms tingling with anticipation created by the sense of evil that was gnawing away at his nerve endings. When he thought of Heaven, vibrations almost shattered his mind.

  Before he could return to the proper lane—headlights bearing toward him. Truck headlights. He jerked hard right, sliding into the lane on a diagonal that put him in front of the car he was passing by a fraction of an inch. By less than that fraction the truck sped past.

  Ignoring the horns, Danube sped onward along the black road. Thunder was rumbling, and he knew he would be heading into the same storm which had been plaguing him in one form or another since New York. That was to be accepted, part of the battle.

  Dark forces were at play here, forces that would manipulate anything at their disposal to make his task more difficult, even impossible. He did not know yet what they were, not exactly. They were all different, had special powers, special tasks.

  Some he had encountered before, some he had heard about, but others, those that lurked about now, those preparing their assault, were unknown. They could possess sinister powers like none he had ever seen, and if someone had succeeded in opening some ancient gate then the powers might be unknown to anyone.

  The results of that were beyond speculation. The only reality was his growing fear that something he could not combat, something he could not contain, might be waiting when he returned to Aimsley.

  Far ahead of him, he spotted a running streak of lightning—heat lightning—which seared its way through the night clouds in a flaming flare.

  He did not like the sight. It was odd, unusual, and again symbolic of all he feared. Different, strange, an omen..

  His temples throbbed. He was hit with memories, with anger. This trip was futile, hopeless. He would never reach the house in time. Perhaps they had known that all along, those who had ordered him to this task; perhaps in their mystical knowledge they had understood this was a battle too great and had dispatched him so that he could fail and meet the eternal condemnation that had followed him all his days.

  Perhaps all the things he had done were only vain stabs at correcting the evils of his past. They had said his father's act had been necessary for the order of the universe; yet even so, it had not been done out of a pure motive, and thus it had become his greatest shame.

  If his task was hopeless, he would resign himself to failure, but he would press on, do everything he could to reach the girl before whatever awaited could befall her. He would drive with all the speed the car would allow, and he would be prepared for confrontation. He would not look back. He would not surrender.

  He would fail, but they would know that he had failed while fighting, still seeking redemption, still seeking to correct the impurity of his father's soul. He would seek to serve the angels, and if they offered him damnation he would bow and accept it without complaint.

  He forced the gas pedal to the floor.

  Simon faced the silver-haired man concealed by shadows. The older man wore a dark gray suit and sat in a velvet-covered chair, his hands resting at his sides, the ring Simon had provided sparkling on his right ring finger. Black stone in an ornate gold setting.

  "You're sure you don't need to be there?"

  Simon shook his head. "Not tonight. It would not be wise to be too close."

  "These little bastards will do the trick?"

  "They have been set free, they are gaining power. They will taunt and torment."

  The man nodded, accepting Simon's prognosis. "We will be able to watch?"

  "As I promised," Simon said, a bit impatiently. He did not expect his competence to be placed in question, not even offhandedly.

  "How soon?"

  Simon extracted a golden pocket watch from his dark blue suit, and flipped open the cover. "Shortly," he said.

  He clicked the watch closed with a snap. "If you wish, we can proceed."

  "Yes.

  Simon rose, and together they walked to the opposite end of the room, where a spiral stairway led downward. Their steps echoed off the steps as they descended.

  In the shadows, Simon had set up the cauldron, and in the open fireplace beneath it coals and embers glowed bright orange. Their glow offered the only illumination to the room which had once been a basement. The shadows projected on the dark walls looked like the ghostly figures gathered for a coven sabbat.

  The older man kept glancing around, as if he were making sure they were alone as he walked up the steps of the platform which had been built of sturdy polished wood and iron to provide a working area over the makeshift fireplace. A huge black vent with a draw fan had been fashioned above it, but the room still reeked of smoke.

  Simon carefully peered over the edge of the dark iron pot, the surface of the gleaming liquid smooth and still in spite of the heat. For a moment he was looking at his own reflection in a dark mirror. As the man eased around beside him, however, he raised his thin white hand slowly across the opening of the pot.

  From somewhere within its depth, the liquid began to glow, silver at first and then golden, a blazing yellow fire growing within the liquid. For a moment the man turned his face away, but Simon continued to stare into the light, ignoring the glare that seared retinas.

  Softly he whispered the memorized incantation, and the glow subsided slightly, flickering until images began to become visible. The gray haze swirling inside the liquid began to part, revealing the scene at Heaven's bedside. Gabrielle knelt there, one hand holding her child's hand, the other on Heaven's forehead as if testing her temperature. Beside them, Althea looked on nervously.

  “They don't know what's happening?" the man said.

  One corner of Simon's mouth twitched up in a grim smile. “Our friends are trying something different tonight."

  "What are they doing?"

  " It's in their hands."

  "You can't ask them?"

  "Not at this point. They're doing some conjuring of their own." He swept a hand across the liquid's surface, eliciting small blue pulses which flickered through the clouds.


  "Those are signs of their magic," he said.

  "What if they're out of control? Can you rein them in?"

  "They function on their own, but they are created beings, Martin. Their power is limited. They are kesilim and lezim, fooling spirits and jesters, mischievous spirits who have killed only at my request. They have no reason to harm the child."

  "Unless it amuses them?"

  "No need to worry. They're acting to bring about what we wanted. They're tormenting Gabrielle. Tonight they're just varying their routine. They know she's grown used to their regular assaults."

  "What's wrong with the little girl? Have they made her sick?"

  "We can only wait and see," the sorcerer said.

  Althea carefully placed the thermometer under Heaven's tongue as Gabrielle whispered softly to the child, urging her to keep it in place.

  "Hot," Heaven managed to mumble.

  "I know you are, baby," Gab whispered. "We're trying to make it better." She placed a hand against Heaven's forehead, and found it so warm she was frightened. She couldn't remember her feeling this hot even when she’d had fever as a baby.

  She recalled those moments now, the times with Dave, the fear, wondering if Heaven was seriously ill or just suffering from some childhood virus. They'd been up hours, taking turns monitoring her temperature and offering her doses of the medicine prescribed by the pediatrician.

  Where was Dave now? He couldn't be responsible for this crisis, not with his own memories of pulling Heaven through those early days. Nothing could make someone turn that cruel. She patted Heaven's hand as Althea eased the thin thermometer from the child's lips and held it to the light.

  "Hundred and three."

  "We’ve got to get it down somehow."

  "Let's try some aspirin first. She could just be reacting to the stress. There's been enough to upset her system."

  “You think so?"

  Althea bit her lower lip. "Let's hope that's what it is."

  Gab found the small bottle of baby aspirin in the medicine cabinet. That brought memories too. Heaven, barely old enough to talk, taking the soft, sweet tablet between her lips and repeating the warnings which had been drilled into her by both parents. "Just take one," she'd said. "Make Heaven sick—sick—to take more."