The Night is Long and Cold and Deep

by Terry M. West

  “What happened in here?” Masterson said.

  “She tried to seduce me,” Baker said, going to his bag. “Bring Nadia to the study in an hour. I am going there now to prepare for my investigation.”

  “Can I assist you?” Masterson offered.

  “No,” Baker said. “I’ll need time to set things up.”

  “So I’ll fetch her for you when you’re ready,” Masterson said. “Will you need anything else?”

  “Rope to bind the girl to a chair,” Baker said, bleakly. “Something evil lurks inside her and I fear it is going to get intense.”

  ***

  Baker hauled his bag into the study. The room was lit with several candles and oil lamps. He could see many of Jeremiah’s haunted items. They were proudly displayed in glass on the bookcases. Baker could feel the energy coming off of them.

  He cleared an area on the Victorian writing desk to place his things. The desk was an 1890 Maple and Company piece that Baker admired very much. It was quite elegant.

  He was convinced that the Servant of the Red Quill was the item responsible for the activity. Nadia had demonstrated proclivities that had belonged to the French author. But Baker did not suspect de Sade as the influence here. He wagered on an otherworldly force that had first plagued de Sade and was now twisting Jeremiah Simms’ daughter.

  Something demonic was definitely at work and he had brought the appropriate weapons. He pulled a vial of holy water that he was surprised had not yet evaporated. He put it on the desk and then he sat a bible and crucifix next to it. He placed the Servant of the Red Quill near to the items as well.

  Baker then took a piece of white chalk from the bag and he pulled the bear skin rug central to the room on the floor aside. He drew a pentagram, small enough to fit under the rug but large enough for him to stand in. Baker knew that the pentagram was a symbol that recurred in many religious belief systems. And whether its points symbolized the elements of nature or the wounds of Christ, Baker had learned that it was still a potent outline that acted as a talisman if utilized correctly.

  Of course, most people looked upon this circle as a thing of evil to draw demons up from hell. This is why Baker draped the bear skin rug back over the pentagram so it would not cause distress. If the ignorant knew the difference between a simple pentagram and the slightly altered Sigil of Baphomet, designed by French nobleman and occultist Stanislas de Guaita, they wouldn’t fret so.

  Masterson stuck his head into the study. “May I enter?”

  “Yes,” Baker said. He stood and brushed his slacks.

  Masterson walked over to the desk and looked at the items Baker had neatly organized. “I thought you were not a religious man.”

  “You thought correctly,” Baker said, joining Masterson.

  “Then, why do you wield the tools of a holy man?” Masterson asked.

  “I employ many religious artifacts when I deal with dark spirits,” Baker said. “I use bits of Paganism, Christianity, Catholicism- whatever works.”

  “Isn’t faith required for the application of these items?”

  “One needn’t understand the workings of a pistol to pull its trigger,” Baker replied.

  “But God’s very name is effective many times when called against these ghosts of yours. You are an intelligent man. You have to entertain the possibility of a God in heaven,” Masterson argued, and Baker could sense the man’s deep conviction to the Almighty.

  “I have a theory that the spirits which exist between the living and dead hold on to their superstitions,” Baker explained. “Masterson, I don’t deny the existence of a God. And I also don’t presume to know what lies beyond, and I am not threatened nor bothered by the mystery. I simply say that religion has a tendency to distract from the obligations of this life. And what if the only joy you ever know is found here?”

  “So what it is that you are going to do?” Masterson asked, looking again at the arsenal of holy items on the desk.

  Baker took a walnut Victorian parlor arm chair and pulled it to the foot of the rug. “We are going to place Nadia here. We will tie her hands to the arms and bind her feet to the legs of the chair. I have no doubt that a demon of some sort came out of de Sade’s book and it has wormed itself deep into Nadia. I have weapons at my disposal which will definitely drive the spirit out, but I have to make sure I do not kill Nadia in the process.”

  “Why do we have to tie the poor girl?” Masterson asked uncomfortably.

  “I am going to provoke the thing inside of her. When you deal with negative energy like this, you must be strong and combative. Since the girl will be bound, the spirit’s surest recourse against me will be to leave Nadia to attack me. Harsh things are going to occur in here, Masterson. If you are not able to handle it, then leave after we secure the girl.”

  “I have a strong constitution, sir,” Masterson assured Baker.

  “Good, because I will need you,” Baker admitted. “Go get the girl.”

  Masterson left the room and Baker used this small break to rally his courage and strength. He had not taken on a case or engaged with a spirit in years. Baker knew that he was weaker now and he felt that he was facing a force more dark and powerful than he had ever encountered before. Nothing had ever invaded his memories and though his vision of Madeline had been rather benign, he anticipated games far more cruel to come. He suddenly wanted a drink very badly.

  Masterson returned, steering a passive Nadia by her shoulders. She wore a faded sun dress and her hair had been brushed down. Her gray lips smiled at Baker as Masterson guided her to the chair. Lillian stepped into the room and lingered near Baker.

  "Now, I am going to bind you, dear. So you don't hurt yourself," Masterson said softly, taking twine from his jacket pocket.

  "What's the meaning of this?" Lillian demanded, growing alarmed very quickly.

  "It's for her own protection," Masterson assured, kneeling down and wrapping the twine around Nadia's left wrist and chair arm.

  "Mr. Simms would never agree to this," Lillian protested. "That's his daughter."

  "Your employer trusts me to do what needs to be done to help your daughter. You need to leave the study, Miss Thorne," Baker said. "There is nothing but misery for you here. Let us tend to Nadia. Please do not return until we tell you to."

  Lillian looked to Nadia, who grinned like an insane prisoner.

  The housekeeper then turned back to Baker. "She is my only child," she confessed in a hushed voice. Then she left, reluctantly closing the large study doors behind her.

  Masterson finished with Nadia's hands and knelt further to tie her legs.

  "While you are down there, Masterson," Nadia teased. "Just pretend I am a choirboy."

  The attorney ignored her and stood when finished with her restraints. "That should hold her."

  "A word in private, Masterson," Baker said, motioning to the far corner of the study.

  Masterson followed, and Baker spoke quietly to the man once they settled.

  "Demons are extraordinarily efficient conmen. It will try to hurt and confuse you. It will twist your secrets around your neck like a noose. You must ignore it. It's all a trick. The thing slipped into my dreams earlier. It has the power to cloud minds. Guard yourself."

  Masterson nodded grimly. "Have you dealt with demons before?"

  "Yes," Baker replied. "The first one when I was only seventeen and assisting my uncle. It damn near killed me. Let's go to work, then," Baker said, picking up the vial of holy water and the bible.

  They paced back to the girl and Baker stood upon his hidden pentagram. Masterson positioned himself to Baker's side and the attorney was unaware that he stood in the protective circle.

  "I wish to address the creature that currently inhabits Nadia Simms," Baker said to the leering, pale face that sat before him. "Speak to me, demon, and make your intentions known."

  "I merely came in to warm myself," Nadia spoke, in a deep, cold voice that seemed to thicken with every word. "But the girl and I got
on so well that I think I will stay."

  Baker uncapped the holy water and splashed it on Nadia's grey face. The demon shirked back and a shrill howl came from its cracked lips. But it was a tease that the thing didn't perform for long. It smiled and laughed in amusement.

  "Mr. Johnson," the spirit inside Nadia said. "You have made me so wet, my dear man. You certainly have a way with whores."

  "In God's name, I cast you from this place, abomination," Baker said, handing the Bible to Masterson. There were several bookmarkers in its creases. Each had a clear ink number written upon it. "Open it at the spot marked one and read the underlined passage, Masterson."

  Masterson reluctantly cracked the book open. "Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."

  "The next," Baker instructed, studying the shifting and darkening expression on Nadia's face as Masterson read. "They are marked, in the order I need you to read them. Recite the next, Masterson."

  Masterson quickly found the next. "When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none."

  Nadia's face twisted further as the demon inside of her pulled on the restraints and a chorus of inhuman wails came from her throat. The study grew noticeably colder.

  Masterson watched in frightened fascination and Baker had to implore him twice to read the third verse. "And unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell down before him, and cried, saying, 'Thou art the Son of God'."

  The room shook and books flew from the library shelves. Baker and Masterson were both struck by the flying tomes. They fell to the rug and shielded themselves. The attack stopped and the demon cackled.

  "You aren't the only one who can hurt with words," it said.

  "Are you injured?" Baker asked.

  "Bruised but unbroken," Masterson replied.

  "This thing is more powerful than I thought," Baker admitted, and worry charmed his face for a second.

  "The bible," Masterson said. It had fallen from his hand and rested near the rug.

  The attorney reached for it, and the book suddenly slid away on its own. Masterson started to follow it but Baker grabbed the man's arm. "Leave it," he advised Masterson. "Don't step off of this rug."

  Masterson obeyed without question. Baker rubbed his right shoulder, which had taken a hard blow. He turned his attention back to the demon. Baker started to speak but it interrupted him. It grinned knowingly at Masterson and gibberish came from its lips.

  Masterson shifted his stunned eyes from the demon to Baker and back again. "Shut your filthy mouth," Masterson warned the bound girl.

  Baker put his hand on the attorney's tense shoulder. "It isn't speaking to you, Masterson. It is an illusion. It is turning your thoughts against you. It's a parlor trick they all know."

  But the demon continued to taunt Masterson, and the old man grew visibly shaken and angry. "That isn't true you liar!" Masterson shouted.

  The attorney leapt off the rug and attacked the girl. He wrapped his hands around Nadia's throat and he began to squeeze the life from her. Baker rushed up and pulled the man off of Nadia. He wrestled Masterson to the ground. The man twisted hatefully under Baker's weight and cursed at the demon still.

  Baker finally slapped the man soundly. It did the trick. Masterson's shocked eyes cleared and softened.

  "You've let it in your head! Get out of here, you fool! You are of no use to me now!" Baker shouted, hauling Masterson to his feet and shoving him toward the door.

  Masterson quickly left the study. His face was colored with shame.

  "He was an easy one to provoke. The guilty always fall apart so much sooner if they've any remorse in their souls," the demon observed. "So now it is just you and I, Mr. Johnson. How cozy."

  Baker took his place back on the rug.

  "Going back to your little circle?" the demon said, slyly. "I may not be able to harm you directly, but you do know that I could simply bring this room down on you?"

  Baker closed his eyes for a moment, and he muttered an invocation from the Carmina Gadelica, Volume 1, by Alexander Carmicheal. It was merely a folk poem from the Western Isles of Scotland, but it had proven an effective recitation in other investigations. It also calmed and steadied him when he spoke it. "God, bless the world and all that is therein. God, bless my spouse and my children. God, bless the eye that is in my head..."

  "Father?"

  Baker paused, and his eyes opened slowly. Ramona occupied a small sick bed where Nadia had been positioned. The child regarded her father, weakly. She was drenched in sweat and she held on to life with her fingertips. She began to cry, sensing her own demise, and Baker immediately covered his mouth and his eyes warmed and clouded.

  "Help me, father," Ramona begged.

  She was a younger image of her mother and Baker had never seen a trace of himself on his daughter. Not in her physical attributes, at least. She had inherited his intellect, and Baker watched as his only child died with a whimper. And his plans and hopes and dreams for his twelve year-old daughter caught and froze somewhere in Baker's soul and at that same moment, God died as well; or perhaps, never was to begin with.

  Baker gritted his teeth and closed his slick eyes again. He realized that his own mind had been coerced into producing this vision by the demon. Baker took a deep breath and pushed the pain down.

  He opened his eyes and regarded the evil spirit. "I have learned how to cope with the anguish. You'll have to do better. My wife and child have been used against me in these types of battles before. It is rather predictable. The scar over this particular wound is a tough one," Baker said.

  The demon pondered silently for a second, and then it spoke again. "It's funny, don't you think? The way you ignored your family in life and they now ignore you in death? Some are aware of how your uncle gave his cursed baubles of the black room away. But none know of how you followed suit, in your own grief and anger. How many did you hurt this way? How many lives did you darken or end?"

  Baker knew that this was his own mind talking, and that the demon was merely stirring his thoughts with its magic. But still he decided to account; even if it was only really to himself.

  "Sending those haunted items back into the world was a grave mistake," Baker confessed. "I was in a very dark place. I need to atone for it, now. I see that. There is no practical way to reclaim my dark collection, but I can try to make amends by preventing creatures like you from spreading your foul misery."

  "Go back to your whores and brandy," the demon said. "You are hollow, sir. You are a faithless, immoral drunkard. The world deserves a better champion- one who is not at such odds with the people he defends. You are weak and your soul is as black as mine. You are suited better for the cold shadows. We are cousins, Baker Johnson. Close ones."

  "If we are as close as you say, then tell me your purpose with Nadia Simms," Baker said. "She is special. I can sense that. Why do you need her?"

  "I possessed this girl to author another book- and she is to write the grandest and greatest document ever," the demon bragged. "It was my duty, you see, to create paths for my brethren when I managed to pierce through and inhabit the girl. I unbolt doors and crack windows for the others. We gain our entry through murky magic and incantations that only the dark, wounded and foolish would recite to the innocent air. And missing are any notions of consequences. They are just words, it is thought. But let me show you what my words are capable of."

  The demon spoke in a tongue that Baker didn't comprehend. Suddenly, the Servant of the Red Quill opened itself. A dark cloud rose from the book and filled the air. It swung around the room like a wild creature freed from its cage. It bumped into things. Small objects were sucked up into the whirlwind. It danced close to Baker and his hair whipped from the wind coming off of it. Red eyes suddenly formed in its center and wet fangs gnashed from maws manifesting in the storm. Baker held to his circle, afraid to move even an inch.

  The demon laughed at Baker's uneasiness and it said a f
ew words that sent the creature away. The demonic cloud screeched and quickly dissipated in the air.

  "Nadia Simms is an extraordinary necromancer and she will unleash us upon your world and we will drown it with our shadows," the demon informed Baker. "You will all be plagued. You will carry us and think us no more than your own sinful thoughts. We will take root and grow slowly and claim all of the flesh as our own."

  "No, your kind is incapable of such subtlety," Baker corrected the demon. "You are far too prideful and arrogant not to reveal yourself. That has always been your weakness- you want credit and recognition. If you didn't, the void you come from would be tolerable. You so want the world to know your name but its very power can thwart you. What a predicament."

  Suddenly, the study doors opened. Jeremiah Simms slowly pushed his wheelchair into the room. He looked to his daughter, and his face warped in fear and anger. Baker was shocked that the frail old man had managed to make his way to the study.