by David Pinner
‘I’m coming, Sue!’ Gwynne called out to Sue through the window. ‘Yes, I’m coming to stay with you in your house until my cottage is sorted, like you asked me to. And, Sue, I can’t begin to tell you how kind you are. ‘Specially after what happened to your poor Vince.’
‘That’s the reason I want you to stay with me, Gwynne,’ Sue shouted back through the window. ‘See, it’s the very least I could do after my husband tried to…well, burn you to death.’
Now totally dispirited, Lulu hurried into the passageway, and she opened the front door. Adamantly Gwynne limped past her. Then on the doorstep, the witch hugged Sue, who fervently hugged her back.
‘Yeah, and you don’t belong here in Thorn, Lulu Crescent!’ Mary Rowbottom raged, pulling the frightened Bella away from Lulu’s cottage, and steering her towards the front gate. ‘So, Crescent, you should just piss off somewhere else!’
‘Yes,’ chorused Sue. ‘’Cause my Vince was a good man, Crescent, ‘till you turned his head. ‘Fact he and Jimmy wouldn’t be dead now but for you, you filthy whore. So if you know what’s good for you, you’d better get your tarty arse outta here before we celebrate our Millennium Ritual!’
Tearfully Scarlet pulled her hand free from her mother’s grasp. Sobbing the girl ran forward, and she threw her arms around Lulu’s waist; ‘My Daddy’s dead, Lulu, and now I feel so horribly alone. Help me. Please, help me, Lulu!’
With tears in her eyes, Lulu hugged the weeping child. Then after a brief struggle, Sue dragged her daughter away from Lulu’s comforting embrace as she yelled, ‘What’s more, you shitty succubus, if you’re still here on New Year’s Eve, you are gonna be our fucking sacrifice!’
23
It was early evening, the following day, Thursday, 30th December 1999.
In Paul Hopkins’ basement, the writer was pulling a book, with a scarlet cover, from the dilapidated bookshelf. After stroking the cover momentarily with his fingertips, the writer pulled out a much-thumbed bookmark from the middle of the book. With his lips muttering the words, he read the short chapter over again as he had done many times before. When he had finished the chapter, he closed the book. Then he stared at the book’s scarlet cover, and a moment later, his headache blazed inside his skull like a giant blow-torch.
Now blinded by the searing pain, his shaking hand thrust the volume back into the bookshelf. Then, within seconds, the screeching fires in his cranium erased everything that he had just read from his memory.
With the furnace still raging in his benighted brain, Paul crossed to a table, which was covered with a gold-bordered white cloth. On the table, there were two ornate candlesticks and a box of matches. Cursing the pains in his head, Paul reached down under the gold-bordered cloth, and he pulled out his short-handled whip from beneath the table.
‘I love you, Lulu, but I lust after you every bit as much as I love you,’ Paul cried out, while he raised the whip above his shoulder. ‘Indeed, I lust to have my vile way with you, you tantalising bitch, even more than I love you. So God help me, but I have got to possess you!’
As the whip’s leather-thongs bit into his wounded flesh like wolves’ fangs, he yelped.
If only I could whip these carnal temptations out of my blasphemous body, but it seems that I can’t, he thought as he lashed his back again, and again, and again.
After he had whipped himself six times, with his free hand, he massaged his forehead, and he laughed direfully.
Well, the lust is still there, he mused, But at least, temporarily, my headache has gone, and now all I’ve got is a bleeding and aching spine.
Still gasping and laughing, the writer threw his whip down onto the cellar’s flagstones. Then he snatched a hammer and a six-inch-nail from his tool-kit that was spread out on the seat of an upright chair. Frenziedly he pounded the nail into an exposed, eight-foot-long, wooden beam, which was protruding from under the legs of the gold-and-white-cloth-covered table.
In frustration, Paul discarded the hammer. Then he knelt down beside the wooden beam, and he whispered imploringly; ‘Oh Almighty God, I beg you, please have mercy on my impious soul. And, Lord Jesus, please give me a sign that I can still save me – from the abomination of myself!’
As he uttered his abject prayer, his infernal headache returned. And, once again, it raged inside his beleaguered skull like a molten furnace.
Cursing his inability to free himself from his obsession with Lulu, and bemoaning his failure to be a true Christian, Paul ran up the cellar steps, and across the hall. Then he mounted the stairs to his bathroom.
When I’ve showered all this pointless spilt-blood off my back, I’ll run over to Lulu’s cottage, and then I’ll confront the bitch. She has to help me get rid of this godforsaken headache, or I’ll make her pay in kind, for everything that she has done to me.
*
‘Paul, this is the last time I will do this for you.’
‘You’ve only done this for me once before, Lulu. And that was exactly two months ago on the 30th of October.’
‘As you remember the date so vividly, Paul, I’m sure you will also remember what I asked you to do, on that evening – because, you see, it is the only way that you will gain some temporary respite from the raging inferno inside your skull.’
‘Yes, I remember very well what you persuaded me to do, Lulu,’ Paul nodded, pushing back his upright chair, and scratching the underside of his beard. ‘You made me con-jure up the full-fucking-moon in my mind’s eye, didn’t you? But that’s not what I want from you now,’ he insisted, standing up and facing her.
Dismissively Lulu moved away from him. With her ash-blonde hair lit by the rising moon, she stood by her cottage window, while she addressed him over her shoulder.
‘Paul, when I let you into my cottage a few moments ago, you told me you had only come round here, so that I could dispel your headache. What’s more, you promised me that you wouldn’t try to…’
‘I know what I promised!’ he interjected, joining her by the window.
His eyes flickered over her bosom, before resting on her fulsome lower lip, while he continued to flex his fingers.
‘But like I keep telling you, darling Lulu,’ he whispered, ‘I love you, for pity’s sake.’
Lulu shook her head emphatically. Then she crossed to the half-open door.
‘Paul, I should never have agreed to you coming here, so I want you to leave now,’ she insisted, with her hand on the doorknob.
With imploring eyes, Paul edged towards her.
‘Why won’t you let me make love to you? Please. Just once…’ he whispered, opening his arms tentatively.
She halted him with an upraised finger.
‘The time is imminent, Paul, when you will have no option but to confront your inner demons,’ she said ominously.
‘I don’t have any sodding inner demons! Well, how the hell could I? I’m a devout Christian, for Christ’s sake!’
‘And so speaks Christ’s devoted handmaiden,’ Lulu concurred, with a critical smile. ‘But then, Paul, of course, I’m sure that your messiah approves of you constantly taking his name in vain.’
‘At least I’m not a fucking lunar-goddess-worshipper!’ ranted the writer, gesturing at the moon, which was framed in the top of the front window.
‘To my certain knowledge, the Goddess has never been fornicated by anyone. Least of all by an errant mortal, like yourself. Whatever size his phallus,’ Lulu observed.
‘Lulu, do you have to make sick jokes about absolutely everything?’
‘I never makes jokes about the incessant inferno in your demonised skull, Paul,’ Lulu countered, transfixing him with her indicting gaze. ‘Furthermore, I promise you, that if you agree to face your demons; and if you survive the confrontation – which, indeed, is very doubtful – then, in return, Paul, I will allow you to briefly possess the Moon Goddess’ favourite acolyte,’ she said, allowing her tongue to moisten her upper lip. Although her mind was telling her that she was making a great mista
ke.
‘You…mean that?’ Paul asked dubiously.
‘Yes,’ said Lulu, trying to sound as if she meant it.
‘So if I do exactly what you say, then you will truly let me possess you, Lulu?’ he asked, still with disbelief darkening his eyes.
‘Yes,’ she affirmed. ‘But the ultimate truth of what is involved in your “possessing” me, Paul, may be infinitely more demanding than either of us have bargained for.’
‘What the devil does all that mean when it’s at home?’ Paul demanded, nonplussed by her abstruse reply.
‘It means that until you face your demons, we will not be certain what it means.’
Still perplexed by her answer, Paul’s fingers probed his aching temples as his headache re-intensified.
‘So, Lulu, how will I know when I’m ready to face my…well, my so-called demons?’
‘How severe is your headache now?’
‘Severe enough,’ he replied while he continued to massage his aching frontal lobes.
‘Then are you ready for me to prise open your soul at this moment? So I can reveal your demons to you. And once I have prised open your soul; hopefully I can exorcise your demons,’ she said, moving towards him, with her unwavering gaze.
‘No, I can never let you “prise open my soul”! That would be a totally pagan thing to do. See, my soul belongs to Christ.’
‘Then, Paul, obviously you are not ready for your demon-hunt yet. But for all our sakes, I pray that you will be ready very soon,’ she urged, returning to the door.
‘But if I do agree to you…well, to you prising open my soul, Lulu, then…?’ he whispered, moving closer to her.
‘Then, as I promised you; if you survive the consequences of all the satanic revelations – and if the Goddess gives me the strength – I will do my very best to keep my end of the bargain,’ she said, opening the door for him. ‘Yes…and now it has come to me,’ she nodded as she peered into the darkness in his eyes.
‘What has “come” to you?’ he asked, aching to touch her, but still restraining himself.
‘It has come to me that your exorcism must take place in your house.’
‘Oh, that’s just wonderful.’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ she said dejectedly, while she continued to probe his eyes with hers. ‘And my reason is this; you see, now I realise that we need to be in your house, in order to open Pandora’s Box – because Pandora’s Box is inside your tormented head and your heart.’
‘This is not another of your sick jokes, is it, Lulu?’ he rasped. ‘I mean…are you saying that you really are planning to come round to my house?’
‘Yes. It’s the only way I can be certain that I will be able to bring you face to face with the stygian-darkness in your inner self.’
‘Right. Then I’ll let you know when I’m prepared for all your “revelations”,’ he said, not wanting to leave.
‘Good. But as you are obviously not ready to face your demons now, Paul, I have to go,’ she riposted, turning her back on him, and walking rapidly into the hallway.
‘Where?’ he asked, still not moving. ‘Lulu, where the hell are you going now?’
‘To my meeting,’ she said from the hallway.
‘With whom?’ he demanded, joining her in the hallway.
‘I have just been summoned,’ she murmured, with a spectral smile as she picked up her key-ring from the hall table.
‘How have you been “summoned”?’
‘Telepathically. So - Paul, when you are ready to confront your demons; just “Whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad,” in your inner sanctum,’ Lulu said, opening the front door, and going out of the house with her keys.
Nonplussed Paul followed her.
‘Oh c’mon, Lulu, where the devil are you really going?’
After she had locked her front door, briefly she smiled at him again. Then she hurried through her garden gate, and she crossed to her Citroen, which was parked on the grassy patch in front of the cottage. Still smiling, she climbed into her car.
‘Lulu, wherever you are going, I’m bloody coming with you,’ Paul shouted, sprinting around the Citroen, with the intention of climbing into the passenger seat.
As he reached out to open the car door, Lulu drove off rapidly, leaving Paul with the night wind gusting dust and shredded leaves into his cursing mouth. When he had wiped the debris from his lips with the back of his hand, he ran off in the direction of the village, where he surmised Lulu’s Citroen was heading.
*
Five minutes later, Lulu climbed out of her Citroen. After she had closed the car door, she noted that the curtains were drawn in Sue Townley’s front room. As she walked up the garden path, a wind-torn cloud covered the moon.
When she rang Sue’s doorbell, there was no answer. She pressed the button again. Eventually the fuming figure of Sue opened the door. Lulu brushed past her, and she made her way into the hallway, with Sue in vociferous pursuit.
‘Where the fuck d’you think you’re going, you murderous cow?’ Sue screeched, banging the door behind her.
Ignoring her pursuer, Lulu strode into the front room, where she was confronted by a dozen glowering faces. Behind them was the gnarled figure of Gwynne Spark, who was sitting by the window, nursing her glass of red wine.
With one accord, Mary Rowbottom, Tina Biggs and Rachel White surged forward towards Lulu, gesticulating and shouting abuse at her. Before they could reach her, Lulu crossed to the drinks’ table, and calmly she poured herself a glass of white wine. Furiously Sue confronted Lulu, waving her arms at the intruder.
‘How dare barge your way into my house, and pour yourself a glass of my bloody wine, you sick maniac?’
Raising her arm imperiously, Lulu brought Sue to a flailing standstill. Then she silenced the other women, who were also berating her, with a stentorian command; ‘Enough, ladies! That’s more than enough baying. Especially as I’ve come here tonight to save you from yourselves.’
‘How the hell did you know you’d find us all here, anyway?’ Tina Biggs demanded, her bulbous bosom jiggling with indignation.
‘Telepathy,’ Lulu countered, glancing briefly at the purse-lipped Gwynne, who was still by the window, clutching a wineglass in her arthritic hands.
‘Get out of my house, you murdering whore!’ ordered Sue, waving her fists at Lulu, while still maintaining her distance.
Gwynne rose to her feet, gesturing with her wineglass at Sue.
‘Lulu didn’t murder your Vincent,’ Gwynne exclaimed. ‘No, you see, Sue, the truth is, it was your husband, who tried to kill me by setting my house on fire. And then when Vince fled for his life, from the inferno, which he had created, accidentally your husband stabbed himself to death with his glass-cutter.’
‘I know how he died, Gwynne,’ Sue hissed, pointing at Lulu, who was sipping her wine impassively. ‘But you said that this bitch was responsible for making Vince start the fire in the first place.’
‘It’s true, Sue, I did say that to you,’ Gwynne nodded contritely. ‘But now I realise that I was being very unjust to Lulu.’
‘In what way were you being unjust to that filthy tart?’ Mary intervened, moving to support Sue, who was staring at Gwynne in puzzled consternation.
‘Vincent was mentally ill, Mary,’ Gwynne went on. ‘So he was living in a crazy world. And while he was in the grip of his mania - if Lulu hadn’t rushed over to my cottage and rescued me, like she did – then your Vincent would have burnt me to death,’ Gwynne said, gesturing with her wineglass at Lulu. ‘So, Sue, the very least we can do is let Lulu finish her wine. Then if she knows what’s good for her,’ the witch continued, pointedly glancing at Lulu. ‘She will not only vacate your house, but she will leave Thorn tonight, and she will never come back here.’
‘But I still don’t understand why she saved you, Gwynne. When we all know that the bitch hates your guts,’ Sue hissed.
‘Yes, and anyway, Gwynne, why didn’t you tell us about Crescent saving yo
ur life before now?’ Rachel White demanded, joining the other women, who were still encircling Lulu, and glaring at her.
Raising her glass, Lulu intervened.
‘Gwynne didn’t tell you the truth about me rescuing her until this moment, folks, because, until now, she wanted you all to go on hating me,’ Lulu responded, gesturing at Gwynne. ‘But now, finally, Gwynne has realised that if I hadn’t rescued her, then she wouldn’t be alive today. So, somewhat belatedly, she has listened to her conscience. And this is Gwynne’s way of showing all of you – and me – how grateful she is that I saved her life. But that’s not what matters now, ’ Lulu went on, with a ringing voice. ‘No, my friends, what matters now, is that all of you are planning a real crime, which you are proposing to execute – and I use the word advisedly – tomorrow, at midnight, when you bring in the Millennium.’
‘What we do in this village at the Millennium, it’s got nothing to do with you,’ screamed several women from the back of the room.
‘That’s where you are all so wrong, ladies. Furthermore, if you go through with your sadistic ritual tomorrow night, you will pervert your own children, and you will pollute their innocent minds. Yes, and your Millenium Ritual will scar them for the rest of their lives,’ Lulu exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at her protesting audience. ‘That’s why I will do everything in my power to prevent your children from taking part in your horrific Rite. You see, I simply cannot bear to think of your children’s hearts, and their precious souls, being perpetually damaged by your collective barbarism.’
As if in answer to Lulu’s direful warning, directly above her head, there was the joyous sound of children’s laughter, followed by rhythmical banging on the bedroom floor. Instantly Lulu registered that two of the voices belonged to Scarlet and Bella.
‘So much for your prophetic nonsense, Lulu,’ Gwynne riposted, pointing up in the direction of the children’s laughter, which was resonating through the ceiling.