by David Pinner
Menacingly Dave pushed his quivering jaws closer to Paul; ‘So don’t you even think of going to the cops, Hopkins. ‘Cause if you do, we’ll tell ‘em that it was you, who helped Vince to light the fire in Gwynne’s place. Yeah, and, what’s more, Gwynne will be only too happy to back us up.’
‘I don’t need to go to the police, you little shits,’ Paul said, fixing them both with his glaring eyes. ‘But when you and your goons see me down on the beach tonight – as you assuredly will – then all I can say is; God help you all!’
Still clutching his electrified skull, Paul lurched away from them, and he broke into a decisive run out of Dave’s farm.
‘Yeah, but if you’re dumb enough to turn up on the beach tonight, Hopkins, then we’ll sacrifice you as well!’ Dave yelled at the retreating writer’s back as Paul wrenched open the farm-gate into the lane. ‘But I’m sure you won’t mind being burnt to death, Hopkins – ‘cause all you Christians like to be fucking martyrs, don’t you?’
*
Thirty minutes later, muffled in her pale-blue overcoat, Lulu stood in her garden, under her solitary oak-tree. The moon’s rays streamed through its branches, etching spider-like shadows on her upturned face.
I know I must act. But I’m no longer so sure how I should act, she pondered, stepping out from under the tree.
In the moonlight, Lulu knew that her eyes were glistening like aquamarine rockpools. Then she remembered the innumerable times that she had gazed into similar pools, in order to study the sea-anemones in their depths.
A light wind keened in the branches close to her. Behind her, she heard a crackling-bang in the heavens, followed by a prolonged, shushing sound. She turned to watch a rocket, exploding into hundreds of infinitesimal stars in the depths of the night sky. As the cascading droplets of fire began to fade, a dozen more rockets streamed up into the firmament to take their place.
It’s so good that everyone in Idlethorpe Village is getting into the joyous swing, and Idlethorpe is going to celebrate the Millennium in genuine festive-style, Lulu thought, with the beginnings of a smile.
At that moment, in her mind’s eye, she caught a glimpse of the children in Thorn Village, who were dressing themselves in animal-skins and grotesque headpieces. She watched them casting aside whatever they were wearing, in the hope of finding even more ‘scary’ costumes from amidst their parents’ collections. Then as Lulu observed the parents, who were competing with their kids, and trying on their own bizarre costumes, dolefully she shook her head. Now she was certain, that before the night was over, she would have to intervene in the villagers’ Millennium Ritual.
But there is still two-and-half hours to go before I have to do that, she thought. So I will spend the time in contemplation, and then perhaps I will rediscover my lost sense of purpose.
In the hope of a reassuring revelation, Lulu refocused on the moonlit-sky, where she was greeted with another barrage of sulpurous fireworks exploding in the heavens. Shrugging disconsolately, she went back into her cottage.
*
At the same moment, Paul was racing along the cliff under the moon as more clouds converged on its lunar radiance. In an attempt to dispel his anger with Davie Biggs and Bob White, the writer was running fast. And also he was trying to control his habitual desire to despoil Lulu, whom he blamed for his manic mood changes. But his pounding legs and his jarring feet weren’t helping him because they were making his volcanic headache even more agonising.
As the writer raced on, he felt as if his brain was on the point of erupting like Vesuvius, and that molten lava was about to spew out of his mouth. The inferno in his skull was further exacerbated by the banging and blinding firework-display over Idlethorpe Village, which was transforming the night sky into a veritable war-zone.
There is only one solution, he thought as he headed away from the clifftop, and then he ran down towards the village. ‘And the solution is Lulu!’ he panted.
Deliberately he raced on past his house as he headed for the only telephone booth, which was at the other end of the village. Four minutes later, he wrenched open the phone door, and he dialled Lulu’s number from memory.
*
‘I’m ready.’
‘So now, Paul, you are really prepared to face your demons.’
‘Yes, you see, my headache is truly excruciating!’
‘I will give you an hour-and-a-half of my time.’
‘Only an hour-and-a-half?’
‘You will find that it will prove to be more than enough.’
‘So now you will go straight to my house – like you said you would?’
‘Paulo, is that where you are calling from?’
‘No.’
‘Where are you, then?’
‘Out and about. So, Lulu, now I want you to go to my house as you promised me you would.’
‘Yes, but if you are not in your house, then how will I get in?’
‘The back door is unlocked.’
‘Why is it unlocked?’
‘Because I sensed that tonight was going to be the night. So go to my house, and make yourself at home.’
‘I will do what is necessary.’
‘Good. And when I join you, Lulu – once you have opened the gates of my mind, and I have confronted my demons – then my reward of possessing you…well, my reward is still absolutely assured, right?’
‘If you are still up to it by then.’
‘I will be more than “up to it”, Lulu. You can rely on that!’
‘I never rely on anything. Or anyone.’
‘Not even on yourself?’
‘Not lately. But I will wait for you in your house.’
Click.
*
In Sue’s house, Gwynne was half-encircled by the women from the village. In an attempt to reignite the fire in the hearth, the witch prodded the poker deeper into the glimmering coals as she murmured; ‘It is about happen.’
‘We know it’s about to happen,’ Mary replied, glancing at herself in the mirror above the fireplace, in order to refurbish her lipstick. ‘’Cause in two hours’ time, it’ll be midnight.’
‘I was not talking about the Ritual,’ interjected Gwynne, flexing her arthritic knuckles.
‘What else is gonna happen?’ Rachel White demanded, with a perplexed look.
‘In the next hour and a half, something drastic is about to occur that could change everything – for everyone,’ Gwynne said, prodding the fire again.
Sadly Sue glanced back at her radiant wedding-photograph. Then after coursing her fingers through her hair, she refocused on Gwynne.
‘Why d’you keep prodding the coals like that, Gwynne, when we’re going out soon?’
‘I’m unlocking the fire’s secrets,’ whispered Gwynne, peering down into the flames in the grate as they finally responded to her jabbing poker.
Then, in the heart of the fire, the witch observed the minute, translucent image of a woman, who seemed to be dancing among the winnowing flames. But no one else, other than Gwynne, could see the spectre of the woman in the glowing hearth.
‘And very soon, ladies, the fire will reveal all,’ Gwynne whispered, while she continued to gaze at the woman’s irridescent form in the flames. ‘And this is why we worship the fire. Especially if the fire is blazing under the Millennium moon, as our sacrificial bonfire will tonight, when its flames are fuelled with animal – and human – flesh. And then - with your men, and the seething seas, and our Dark God - together, we will celebrate our sacred Millennium Ritual.’
25
There was silence in Paul’s shadow-cloaked basement, and the basement door was covered by a black curtain.
Footsteps could be heard echoing down the stone steps. A moment later, the basement door creaked open behind the black curtain.
After pushing her way through the black curtain, Lulu flicked the light-switch on the wall. Now lit by a solitary 60-watt-bulb, she stood immobile in her sky-blue coat. With a curt nod, she pulled the curtain back o
ver the door, and she surveyed the basement. Then she crossed the stone floor, and as she approached a long table by the far wall, the shadows in the basement shrouded her expression.
On the table, she saw that there was a box of matches, and two tall candles in ornate candlesticks. In smiling response, Lulu picked up the box, struck a match, and lit the candles. Then she returned to the door, and switched off the electric light.
When she looked back to the table, she noted that it was covered with a gold-bordered, white cloth, and now the candlelight seemed to have transformed the illuminated table into an altar. Facing the ‘altar’, there was a grey rug and four black upright chairs. Momentarily the chairs made Lulu feel as if she was standing in a gaunt chapel. And at odds with the chapel-image, there was a rickety bookshelf, filled with old books and antique tomes.
With her candle-lit hair glistering on her shoulders, Lulu moved behind the ‘altar’. Swiftly she lifted up the hem of the white cloth, and she began to forage underneath the cloth, where her fingers encountered the heads of several nails, which had been hammered into two large, wooden crossbeams. Then she realised that the beams had been deliberately hidden under the table, and as she stroked the nails’ heads, Lulu’s sea-green eyes widened with concern.
Shaking her head grimly, she looked up because now she felt compelled to cross over to the bookshelf, from which, intuitively, she pulled out a book, with a scarlet cover. Noting that there was a bookmark in the middle of the book, avidly she started reading the book-marked short chapter. Then while she was finishing the chapter, directly above her, she heard the distinctive thump of a door being slammed on the ground floor. As she was deeply-disturbed by what she had just read, swiftly Lulu shoved the volume, with its scarlet cover, back into its allotted place in the bookcase.
Then there was the sound of feet running down the basement steps.
With a contrived, but serene look on her face, Lulu sat in the nearest chair, with her back to the black curtain that was covering the door.
A moment later, the basement door creaked open. After swishing past the curtain, Paul surged into the basement in his mud-stained jogging-gear, and he banged the door behind him. Then as Lulu made no attempt to greet him, in fuming disbelief, the writer glowered at the back of her head. Agitatedly scratching his itching beard above his Adam’s apple, Paul wrenched the curtain over the basement door.
He advanced on Lulu, who remained motionless in her chair, and still with her back to him.
‘I did say make yourself at home, Lulu. But not down here in my basement!’
‘Your basement is where you live, Paul, so it is where I had to come,’ she insisted, while she appraised the haloed candles on the gold-bordered, white cloth.
‘This is not where I live,’ he protested, gesturing at the table, with its candles; ‘You see, that is the…the…’
Paul trailed off as Lulu turned her chair towards him. With a tired smile, she waved her free hand at the candle-lit table, murmuring, ‘Yes, Paul, and I know exactly what “that” is.’
Again the writer scratched the underside of his beard furiously. Then he stooped to retie the muddy lace of his left trainer, and said, ‘But I still didn’t give you permission , Lulu, to come down into my basement.’
‘When you called me fifteen minutes ago, Paul, you told me you were ready to confront your demons. So let us begin to do just that.’
‘Yes, but why the hell are you snooping around down here in my basement?’ Paul shouted, fervently raking his fingers through his itching beard.
Shaking her head, Lulu observed ironically; ‘Yes, beards and eczema don’t make good bed-fellows, do they? So, if by some remote chance, you do manage to survive your demons, you had better shave your beard off before you scratch yourself to death.’
Paul stopped scratching. Then despairingly he started to jog up and down on the spot like an over-wound-up marionette, while he massaged his throbbing, frontal lobes.
‘Lulu, why are you always so merciless?’
‘It is too late for anything else. And, anyway, Paul, if your head wasn’t about to explode because of the perpetual inferno inside your skull, I wouldn’t need to be here, would I? So now cease this absurd jogging, and I will prise open the door to your demons.’
Cursing under his breath, Paul stopped jogging, and he crossed to the curtained door.
‘OK. But we’ll do it upstairs, Lulu.’
‘You will confront your demons down here, Paul.’
‘No!’ the writer thundered.
Pointedly he started jogging close by the door as Lulu levelled her forefinger at his thudding feet.
‘We have to do it down here, Paul. And, what’s more, you know that we have to do it down here,’ she insisted, rising from her chair, and indicating that he should sit on the chair.
Paul shook his head vehemently, and he went on jogging, muttering; ‘Look, I can’t sit there with my back to…’
‘…Your altar?’ Lulu asked, pointing at the white-clothed, candlelit table.
‘It’s not mine,’ he raged, despairingly closing his eyes. ‘It’s His!’
‘So sit over here, then,’ Lulu responded, moving her chair several feet away from the altar. ‘You might find it to be marginally less profane.’
Paul increased his hectic jogging as he panted; ‘You’ll pay for this.’
‘No, Paul, you are the one, who is perpetually paying, with your interminable headaches,’ Lulu interjected, tapping her own forehead to remind him of the source of his distress. ‘Furthermore, if I don’t succeed in exorcising your demons, then I fear that many others in this village will pay a terrible price for your habitual suffering.’
‘You think you know everything, don’t you?’ he barked while he continued to bounce up and down like a demented tennis-ball. ‘But let me tell you, Lulu…I still know a hell of a lot more…about you…than you think.’
‘Fine. But the only thing that matters now, Mister Fitness-Freak, is - are you prepared to face your demons this instant? Or aren’t you?’ she demanded as she headed towards the door. ‘And if you are not up to facing your demons, then I shall be on my way.’
‘No, no, don’t go,’ he pleaded, stopping his jogging. ‘See, my headache is so bad, Lulu, I’ve no choice but to do what you ask.’ Then with a sepulchral smile, he added; ‘Mind, now I’m glad that you’ve decided to do it in my basement.’
‘Good.’
‘But, Lulu, you may not be so enthusiastic before we’re through.’ Paul riposted as he returned to his frenetic jogging close to the altar.
‘I have always taken all my chances, Paul. But if you don’t stop dancing in front of the Lord Thy God this instant, and sit down,’ Lulu ordered, gesturing at the altar and his jigging figure, ‘Then I shall leave you in Hell – which is where you are now,’ she said, gripping the curtain that covered the basement door. ‘And, instead, I will go and sort out the rest of this goddess-forsaken-village before it turns the Millennium into a tragic nightmare.’
After shaking his head submissively, Paul stopped jogging.
‘No, no, please don’t go, Lulu! Listen, I promise you, I’ll do just what you want me to do,’ he acquiesced as he crossed over to the chair, which she had selected for him. ‘The truth is…’ he whispered, bowing his head in the direction of the altar, ‘There are many ways to honour the Almighty, and one of my ways is to try to keep myself super-fit for His Purpose.’ Then the writer slumped down onto the chair, while he gazed at her balefully. ‘See, The Lord of Hosts told me that in your case, Lulu, the end can truly justify whatever the means.’
‘Since when has Karl Marx been your pillow-companion?’ Lulu asked sardonically, moving away from the door.
‘Is nothing sacred to you, Lulu? With your crass Bolshi-jokes. But then the Lord God told me that you are even worse than the Whore of Babylon. And, Christ help me, He is right!’ Paul shouted, knocking his chair over.
Then he lunged towards her, with his fists clenched. With he
r raised hand, Lulu kept him at bay.
‘If you as much as touch me, Paul, I’m out of here. Now this is your very last chance,’ Lulu exclaimed as she pointed at the glistering candles on the altar. ‘But first, let us be abundantly clear about one thing. It wasn’t your Lord of Hosts that called me “The Whore of Babylon”. They are your words, Paul. Not His.’
‘But you are the Whore of Babylon,’ Paul boomed. ‘And most of the reasons that I am in Hell now, is because of you. SeeLulu, you come to me every night in my dreams, but you never ever let me possess you! So if I am in thrall to some satanic succubus, then – as sure as there is Hell and damnation – that satanic succubus is you, Lulu.’
‘That’s what I mean, Paul,’ Lulu nodded, picking up the over-turned chair, and pushing it towards him. ‘One of the many reasons that you are perpetually in Hell is because you only want to “possess and violate” women. You never want to love them. And, of course, women sense that. And that is why you are perpetually alone.’
‘I’m not alone! How can I be? When I love and worship Him!’ Paul protested, turning to the altar. ‘And to love God is more than any man needs. And it should be enough for any woman, too. Including you, Lulu. See, we have to believe in the Lord Our God, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and They are our only hope, to help us survive in this cesspit of a world.’
‘But according to you, Paul, it was your dubious Dynamic Duo, who created this “cesspit of a world”.’
‘No, we humans created this cesspit. Whereas the Lord Our God gave us Free Will – and, wilfully, we have turned His World into a cesspit!’
‘There was – and always is – another Way, Paul,’ Lulu argued. ‘But like so many others before you; ever since your childhood, you have deviated from the Way and the Light of the Moon.’