Amityville Horror Now

by John G. Jones

  It’s tryin’ to find a particular shape. The thought came to John unbidden, but it made as much sense as anything else at this moment.

  He stood waiting – for what, he wasn’t sure.

  Then, as he stared intently through the bizarre shimmering veil, something changed. Everything still appeared ghost-like, but he could finally make out one small area, like a tightly focused point of view camera. At least everything stayed fixed in place. Actually it was just a face … Jennifer’s face. She was asleep. The shimmering haze lifted somewhat and he realized it was the passenger section of a plane mid-flight.

  A few seats away sat Daniel. The New Yorker didn’t appear to see him, but as John stared at him Daniel stiffened, sensing something. He frowned, and then swept the area, checking out everything; but he couldn’t decide what it was that was bothering him. He sat back in his seat, but he was far from relaxed. In fact, he appeared poised, waiting for something he was sure was about to happen and just as sure wasn’t likely to be pleasant.

  It probably should have shocked John, as he turned away and saw himself, sleeping next to Jennifer. At any other time it would have, but not now. For some reason it didn’t seem abnormal at all.

  As time oozed past him freakishly slow, more and more came into view. Finally he could make out most of the eerie tableau. He was a reluctant voyeur of a ghostly version of the First Class passenger cabin of the BOAC 747 flight to London they had boarded in Los Angeles. The same passengers, the same crew, they were all there. They were all awake now, except for Jennifer and John. They were all seated; even the hostesses and the wine steward. And they were all staring blankly straight ahead. It was as if they were hypnotized, or fixated on the same unseen point floating just below the ceiling of the cabin.

  John tried to see what they were staring at, but there didn’t appear to be anything there. Even the grotesque flying tadpole-things were gone now.

  Suddenly everyone but Jennifer, Daniel and the other sleeping John – the passengers, the hostesses, even the male wine steward – were on their feet. They just stood there for the longest time. Then, as if on some unheard signal, they turned as one, in a slow motion, and stared at John, eyes blank, unblinking, void of feeling.

  But they weren’t staring at the sleeping John. Their eyes were glued on the voyeur John, as if they could all see him.

  He barely had time to wonder how they could see him behind the strange veil, when the entire group in the First-Class cabin, en masse, lifted their arms, pointed straight at him, and begin to moan. A single moan made from many voices escalated to a wail … then the wail became a scream … and the scream grew into a mind-numbing screech … and finally the screech shifted into a loud, single, tearing note that rose in pitch higher ... and higher ... and higher ...

  In the cabin, Daniel was in trouble, under attack. He sat with his hands gripping the armrests so tightly the veins in his neck were bulging. He tried to get to his feet, but couldn’t move. His eyes reflected intense pain, but he still fought against whatever had him in its grip. His attempt to break free was so intense that blood trickled from his nose. A moment later it also began seeping from both ears.

  John called to him, but Daniel couldn’t hear.

  John was trapped in the shimmering world, helpless, unable to do anything. He was so worried about Daniel he was caught completely unawares when the attack somehow crossed the barrier between the solid and the ephemeral world and slammed at him. He staggered back. The screeching wail was now an actual physical assault. His eyes watered. He raised his arms in a vain attempt to protect himself. He was forced to clap his hands over his ears. He hunched over, fighting to survive, eyes screwed tightly closed, as the sound became a physical weight pounding at his body and mind.

  In desperation he called out: “Jen … help me! HELP ME!”

  And just like that she was there, with him in that other dimension. Actually, she was mostly there. He could make out her image, although it drifted like the waves on a gently undulating sea. For a beat it almost disappeared, but then it was back. She reached out a hand to him, but when he tried to take it, his fingers passed through it. Her entire ghostly being began to sparkle, and then an aura of light formed around her. The aura grew stronger and stronger, but she was still non-corporeal. She attempted to move forward, but instead she drifted further away, her hand still outstretched to him.

  When her words finally reached him they were phasing like a shortwave radio signal. “I’m here John … but I can’t reach you.”

  John called back. “What can I do?”

  Jennifer didn’t appear to be able to hear him, although he could hear her. Her eyes were looking off to his left. She could no longer see him, but she continued speaking to him, “I’ll try to send what help I can, but I’m afraid you’ll have to face this one on your own.”

  “How do I do that?” John cried out, desperate. “I’m not you. I don’t have your abilities.”

  “I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry.” Jennifer didn’t hear his plea, but her words reflected her pain and helplessness. “But you are stronger than you realize. Draw on that strength.” Her image fluttered. “You can do it! You can–” Then she warped out of shape and was gone.

  The second Jennifer’s image faded away, the mind-shattering shriek rose again. John’s brain felt as if it were expanding inside his skull, pulsing stronger and stronger, growing larger and larger with each pulse. His cerebral cortex trembled and thudded in his head. It could only be a matter of seconds until his entire brain burst free of his skull and exploded into a thousand bloody pieces.

  For the barest instant, John thought of giving in to the pain; of letting it rip him apart. At least it would stop the noise, end the excruciating pain.

  But that thought was gone almost before it began. It was replaced with anger – intense, brooding anger. He was tired of being pushed around; tired of having his senses beaten up by something or someone he didn’t even know. He had no idea why he was being attacked, although he was sure he’d never consciously done anything to justify the series of assaults he’d been forced to endure since he began writing the book about Amityville.

  His anger grew stronger and stronger. It rushed past fear. It hurled aside self-loathing. It became a palpable force. He’d finally had enough. He slammed his hands to his side, straightened to his full height ... and shouted out:

  “Enoooouuuugh! Enough of this shit!”

  All sound abruptly ceased.

  Through the eerie portal John could see that everyone and almost everything was frozen in place, like some bizarre still-life tableau.

  The exception: a roiling, filthy, parasitic cloud that hovered near the ceiling above the middle-aisle. And the tadpole-like flying grotesques were back. They appeared from outside the walls of the plane, dissolving through them. Once inside they would each circle the cabin and then drive themselves into the parasitic cloud; melding with it …becoming it. With each addition the cloud grew larger, more substantive, growing huge thick fleshy tentacles that thrashed wildly about. Soon it rippled and bulged with power. Then, as it did in St. John’s church, the black cloud-thing attempted to resolve itself into a shape – a singular, rounded, twisted shape ... the Dark Sigil.

  But John didn’t wait for it to gain full form. Instead, he faced it and bellowed an order – an absolute command.

  “Not this time, you rotten bastard”

  What happened next was purely instinct. John never really thought about it, or decided it might be a good idea. In fact, when he tried later to remember how he’d instigated it, he was totally at a loss. It just … happened. He raised one hand palm out, facing the monstrosity, staring at it through the shimmering veil that separated them. Then he reached up with the other hand and tightly clutched the silver cross at his neck. Finally, he released every ounce of his pent-up anger at the disgusting creature that was slowly taking shape.

  The cross blazed with pure white light; the light swept over John’s body. For an insta
nt he was a glowing beacon … then the full force of light and rage surged, and a shockwave of power gushed from John’s open palm. It streaked forward, through the shimmering veil – blasted it out of existence with an enormous flash – then crackled as it crossed the distance separating them and slammed into the foul, parasitic attacker.

  The blazing light swarmed over the dark thing, engulfing it. The foul entity, still only partly formed, cried out in pain. Its wounded screech filled the cabin. The light insisted and the creature wobbled about in the air like a wounded bird. The light-beam drove it back, further and further, until it was pinned against the low ceiling of the cabin.

  It made one last vain attempt to resist … and failed. Then, driven upward, it literally dissolved through the ceiling of the 747, surging out into the frigid air racing by the international flight at almost 600 miles an hour.

  The screech faded away as the thing was left far behind. The light flared one last time and …

  … John woke with a start. He sat bolt upright and turned towards Jennifer. She was already sitting up, wide awake. Without a word she reached out for him, and although it was not easy in the confined space the pair hugged each other close and tight.

  “Damn!” John finally said. “Jen! Yer not gonna believe the dream I just had.”

  Jennifer’s mouth was close enough to John’s ear that she was able to whisper to him without anyone else hearing. “It wasn’t a dream, John.”

  “What!” He didn’t think to whisper. He was too shocked by her words. “I ... I don’t–”

  “I’m afraid we are passed the dream stage. I cannot exactly explain what it was you just went through, but I saw it all.”

  “That’s impossible …” He hesitated. “Isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid not, mate,” Daniel said. He was crouched in the aisle next to John and Jennifer. “I felt it coming, but it hit me before I could do anything. Sorry I wasn’t able to help this time. But at least the connection between you and Jennifer let her do what she could.”

  “So you did that?” John actually relaxed a touch. The idea that Jennifer was responsible for what happened, for what he seemed to do, made at least some kind of sense.

  “Actually, John, no ... I didn’t. I tried, but there was some kind of barrier between us and I couldn’t breech it.”

  “But, then who did it? How did it happen?”

  Daniel grinned at Jennifer, some of his normal playfulness back. Then he smiled at John. “Like Sherlock Holmes said, and I’m paraphrasing here: when you’ve exhausted all other possibilities, then what remains must be the truth.” His eyes never left John as he waited for his words to sink in.

  “Wait a minute.” John’s astonishment was all too evident. “Ya think I did that?”

  Daniel and Jennifer now both smiled at him, not bothering to answer his question.

  John sat back in his seat and tried to understand what they were telling him. He was sure they were wrong, but from both of their grins he was just as sure he wasn’t going to be able to convince them. So he said nothing.

  The rest of the flight to London was uneventful, but John had five more cups of coffee. He wasn’t taking any changes. He didn’t dare to fall asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “I must say, dear boy, it is good to see you.”

  The Reverend Medhurst was propped up in an adjustable hospital bed that filled one entire corner of the rectory sitting room of St. John’s Church in London, England. He wore a heavy dressing gown; a thick blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. His voice was clearly weak and he looked frail, but he struggled not to let that fact show – at least, not too much.

  Jennifer, John and Daniel all sat at the nearby table. The fourth chair was currently vacant. Jennifer poured tea for the reverend, Daniel and herself, playing host because the old cleric couldn’t.

  John nursed a large mug of coffee. He sipped at it from time to time, fighting to keep the shock he felt from showing on his face. It wasn’t an easy task. He’d known the reverend was sick, but he hadn’t been prepared for the difference in his old friend’s physical appearance. The Reverend Medhurst was pale and haggard. He’d lost a serious amount of weight. And no matter how hard the old cleric might try to hide it, his weakened state was not only obvious, but worrying.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Reverend.” John’s greeting was heartfelt. Despite the bizarre events of his last trip, he felt they had forged a unique bond – a special kind of connection. In truth, he and the reverend had only spent a short time together, but in many ways John thought of him as more of a father figure than his own dad, who left when he was only four years old. He tried to hide his concern, but barely succeeded. “Are ya sure yer well enough to be out of the hospital?”

  The reverend shifted his position. Even that small effort caused him to groan and wince, though he tried to cover it with a blustering response. “I have a private nurse who pesters me to no end,” he said with mock outrage. “But I can’t stand hospitals, and it was the only way they would agree to let me out.”

  John looked about, not seeing anyone else but Jennifer and Daniel. “A nurse?”

  There was a momentary twinkle in the old cleric’s eyes. He smiled, and then winked openly at John. “I sent her off for an hour. Told her this was a spiritual meeting and that we needed privacy.” He thought on this for a beat, and then added: “Actually, while it wasn’t precisely accurate ... it may have been closer to the mark than I initially thought.”

  John flashed a look at Jennifer, and then turned his attention back to the reverend. “So, my feeling that there was some ulterior motive for this get-together was right?”

  The reverend was evasive, though he tried to cover it with a light cough. “Well … somewhat ... but ...”

  At that moment the door opened and the stranger John had chased into the ancient grotto in Sydney, Australia, strode in and walked over to join the assembled group. He was a tall, handsome, Australian aboriginal in his mid-thirties. He wore an impeccably tailored pair of slacks and an equally expensive sports shirt, and carried an air of power that was hard to put into words.

  Daniel nodded to the newcomer and grinned. “It took you long enough; the reverend’s been vamping like a musician whose run out of material to play.”

  The newcomer straightened his carefully knotted tie, further adding to his impeccable look. But when he spoke the image was shattered. His words were coarse, loud, his twang the epitome of a sheep man from the Outback, the heart of Australia. He seemed very serious. “I thought about not comin’ at all, y’know. But I couldn’ ‘elp meself, cobber.” He sounded rough and ominous at the same time.

  “Is that right?” Daniel asked.

  “Oh, no! I sensed a great distu-u-rbrance in the Force. And you know what? I ‘ad no choice, mate. I ‘ad to come.”

  John stared at the newcomer, not sure what the heck was going on; stunned into silence.

  For a long beat, Jennifer, Daniel and Reverend Medhurst just stared at each other, not moving. Then they all broke into laughter. It was a huge effort for the reverend and he burst into a short bout of coughing, but he still couldn’t help himself.

  Daniel grinned from ear to ear. “God help us, Crocodile Dundee lives!”

  Jennifer smiled at the newcomer. “You’re a nut case. You know that?”

  At this the newcomer abruptly dropped the act and smiled, his entire demeanor instantly softening. When he spoke again, his accent was pure Oxford University English. “Please excuse me; I couldn’t resist. I’ve always wanted to do that ... and the opportunity was just too perfect for words.”

  Reverend Medhurst was no longer laughing. “Thank heaven the last member of our intrepid band has finally arrived.”

  John stared at the newcomer in disbelief, groaned, and then unconsciously touched the silver streak in his hair.

  The reverend waved the stranger to the empty chair and turned to John.

  “I hope you will forgive this subterf
uge, John. But I felt it necessary for you all to finally meet.” The reverend motioned to the newcomer. “This is K’chal. At least that’s his given name in your home country. Here, at Oxford, he’s known as Charles.”

  K’chal sat in the waiting chair and reached across the table, in open and obvious friendship. “It is good to finally meet you, John.”

  John briefly hesitated ... then he shook K’chal’s hand. “Maybe, ‘it’s nice to meet again,’ would be more appropriate.”

  K’chal frowned, clearly not understanding. “I beg your pardon?”

  John waited. He figured he deserved an explanation, and now was as good a time as any. When K’chal failed to respond in any way, he sighed, resigned to yet another round of disappointment. “I don’t suppose yer gonna explain what that was all about in Sydney?”

  The imposing native Australian looked John squarely in the eye. “I am sorry, John; but to my knowledge this is our first meeting.”

  “What!” John couldn’t hide his obvious skepticism at this statement. “Yer kiddin’me.”

  K’chal showed no sign that he was offended by John’s words, or the inference that he was somehow lying. “Perhaps when we have a moment, you could explain what you are talking about,” he said the sincerity clear in his voice.

  John stared at him long and hard. And, as had happened quite often to him since he was a young boy – it was happening more and more lately – his intuition spoke to him loud and clear. His entire manner changed. “Ya really don’t know what I’m talking about, do ya?”