The Summoning

by Bentley Little

  Robert stood up, walked around his desk, took the videotape from her.

  "May I keep this and make a copy? I will return it to you."

  "Keep it," the woman said. "I never want to see it again.

  "Have you looked at it?"

  She shivered. "We looked at it."

  Robert nodded to Ted. "Take her statement." He turned to the woman.

  "Thank you again, Ms ?"

  "Singleton. Tracy Singleton."

  "Thank you, Ms. Singleton."

  Ted escorted the woman down the hall, and Robert. turned back toward the others. "We have a VCR in the conference room," he said. "Let's check it out."

  "Now we'll get to see him," Woods said. "A camera has no fear, no ideas, no thoughts, no biases. It just records what's there." ........

  "Maybe," Sue said. :

  They walked down the short paneled hallway to the conference room.

  Robert switched on the lights, then rolled the TV around to the head of the conference table as the rest of them took their seats. He plugged in the television, and the videotape recorder on the metal shelf beneath it, popping in the tape He looked around quiet room. "Ready?"

  They all nodded. "All right

  There was silence in the conference room as the eotape began. Robert found that he was holding breath, and he forced himself to let out the air and tinue breathing. On the screen there was a nighttime of the desert near the ranch, an off-center comp osi with too much sand and not enough sky. Then the can shifted, focused, zoomed, and in the center of the pict floating in the air, was a tall pale figure that caused bumps to ripple over his body, caused his pulse to with fear.

  The cup hugingsi.

  They gasped as they saw it in its true form for the time. All of them.

  Even Sue's grandmother drew in breath sharply. The reality was far worse than Robert feared. His imaginings had been horrible, but this st rous figure was beyond anything his mind had been to conjure. It was neither a dwarf nor a giant but was size of a tall man. Humanoid, it was extraordinarily almost skeletal, and naked, though it had no genitals. ] and bone junctures showed beneath the alabaster skh had a baby face---pudgy cheeks, small nose, char acre mouthmbut it was an old baby face. There were wrin where there should not have been, and the eyes were cient beyond reason, ancient and corrupt, filled with knowing evil that belied the innocence of the face's pl cal characteristics.

  Although the head was hairless, of unnaturally white and unbelievably long hair grew unexpected parts of the body, dripping down from upper forearms, from under the chest, from the kn The hair blew wildly in the chill desert wind.

  The creature smiled. There were no fangs, on!) overly large and toothy mouth.

  Competing with the images was the soundtrack. Tracy Singleton was narrating, but her voice and observations were entirely superfluous, describing a scene she thought she saw, not the reality actually recorded by the camera. Muffled, far, far in the background, were screams and the sound of shattering glass, the noise of car engines racing and tires peeling out. Overlying this, almost overpowering it, was a liquid whooshing that was somewhere between wind and river, a strange antinoise that made everything seem as if it were happening in a vacuum instead of the real world.

  The cup hugirngsi stared directly into the camera, an expression of pure malevolent hate on its twisted baby features. Then it sped away, turning from the camera and shrinking to a dot in the distance in less than a second.

  The tape ended, the black of night followed by the gray and black dots of videotape static on the screen. The hissing of the speaker, loud and obnoxious though it was, seemed almost soothing after that hellish sound scape

  "So that's what we're up against," Rossiter said. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by a tone of cowed humility.

  Steve crossed himself "We get should everyone into the churches. The whole town. Hole up there, right it out. Use 'em like forts."

  "Churches won't protect you," Rich said. "The vampire lives in a church." Robert got up, turned off the VCR, turned off the TV. Sue's grandmother said something in Cantonese.

  "Does anyone want to back out?" Sue translated. She looked around the room, at Robert, Rich, Rossiter, Woods, Buford, and the two policemen, her eyes searching each face. "That is what is living inside the church. It's hundreds maybe thousands of years old. It's killed more people than any of us can imagine. It will not be lying in a coffin.

  It will not be sleeping. If the church is light tight and I think it is, chances are the cup hugirngsi will I awake and waiting for us. We may all be killed. If any. you don't want to go through with this, say it now." No one said a word.

  Sue looked at her grandmother.

  "Let's do it," Robert said.

  The wind began as they pulled out of the station parking lot, a cold, gritty gale that carried in tumbleweeds from the surrounding desert and filled the air with blowing sand, effectively cutting visibility to several yards.

  Rich stared out the window of Robert's car at the unending cloud of swirling dust. He didn't like this at all. The darkness of night could at least be penetrated by light, but there was no way to nullify the effects Of a dust StOITn.

  He wondered if the cup hugrngs/had somehow started the freakish wind.

  "We'll find them," Robert said gently. "They'll be okay."

  "What?"

  "Anna and Corrie."

  Rich nodded. "Yeah." He gave his brother a reassuring smile. He was fooling himself. He knew that. Despite what Sue's grandmother said, or what Sue said her grandmother said, he did not think Corrie and Anna were safe and in hiding. He knew, in his bones, that the cup hug/rngs/had found them in the church. And the monster did not take prisoners. It killed. Period.

  But though he knew this inside, Rich still kept pretending to others he believed his family was safe, half pretending to himself. It was easier this way. He didn't have time to deal with emotions right now.

  He could not allow him self to experience grief and pain and loss. That would come later. Right now he had a monster to destroy.

  He looked out the window, at the vague silhouettes of the few buildings that could be seen through the blowing sand.

  The dust storm, he thought, sounded almost like a terfall.

  They were lined up in the street outside the church, waiting. Weapons in hand.

  Wheeler's congregation.

  Robert rounded the corner and slammed on his brakes, the other patrol car nearly plowing into his rear end.

  The street was blocked. Scores of people--maybe a him dred, maybe more--stood in the center of the road. They were visible as little more than an army of shadows behind a curtain of sand, but it was obvious even through the swirling dust that they were clutching shovels and axes and pitchforks---implements that could double as weapons.

  The radio crackled, and Rossiter's dry voice came over the tiny speaker. "Welcoming committee."

  Several men in the front of the line were cradling rifles or shotguns in their arms, and before Robert even knew what had happened, the front and back windshields of the cruiser exploded in a shatter of Sand and safety glass, and a bullet buzzed past his head like a bee.

  Immediately, instinctively, he threw the car into reverse and swung back around the corner, nearly colliding with the other patrol car as he swerved out of the line of fire. "Get downl" he ordered. He braked to an abrupt halt just in front of the fire truck. He quickly picked up the mike, pressed down the speak button. "Stay inside," he said.

  "Don't get out."

  He grabbed his rifle from its overhead rack and used the butt to clear out the remaining glass in the windshield.

  The wind was dying down slightly, visibility improving, and he could see that the street was clear. The crowd had not followed him around the corner. The people were staying in front of the church. He looked over at Rich, next to him, at Sue and her grandmother, ducking down in the backseat. "Are you all right? Is anyone hurt?"

  "We're fine," Sue said.


  "Just a little shaken," Rich agreed.

  "This is going to be a little tougher than we anticipated," Robert said.

  "We have to get into the church," Sue told him. "We have to get in and out of there before dark."

  I "And we have to set up the hoses," Rich said.

  Robert picked up the mike again, spoke into it. "Agent

  Rossiter? Do you have any idea how we can disperse that crowd?"

  Rossiter's voice crackled over the speaker. "You have riot gear, don't you? Gas 'em."

  "Shit."

  "Would tear gas work?" Rich asked. "It doesn't cause any permanent damage, does it?"

  "In this wind? It wouldn't even get half of them. Be sides, we only have two canisters, and they're both back at the station."

  "Then what are we--"

  "Let me handle it." Robert opened the door, held tightly on to his rifle as he stepped out of the patrol car. Behind him, he heard the sound of the fire engine's front door slamming, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Rossiter and Buford step onto the sidewalk, the FBI agent holding a service revolver, Buford clutching his shotgun.

  Steve and Ben came out of the other patrol car, guns drawn.

  "Hand me that bullhorn," Robert said, and Rich gave it to his brother.

  "Testing!" Robert said. His voice was loud enough to be heard from at least a block away, even with the wind. He looked toward Rossiter, Buford, Steve, and Ben. "Let's go," he said. "But be careful." He looked back toward Rich. "Make sure everyone else stays in the cars.

  If you hear any shots, get down."

  Rich nodded :

  The wind had subsided, but sand was still swirling in the air, and Robert wished he had worn sunglasses or goggles He blinked, trying to protect his eyes against the flying grains that hit his face as he walked forward.

  He peeked around the empty office building at the corner.

  They were still there, in the middle of the street. Wheeler was standing in front of them.

  He stared through the dust at the preacher, standing with his congregation, and found himseffwondering what he would do if Wheeler asked to see a search warrant.

  Could this all be a big mistake?

  Could May Ling just be a superstitious old woman? He looked at the huge group of armed people standing in the center of the road in front of the black church. No. There was no mistake. As much as he might like to talk himself out of it, this was real.

  He placed the bullhorn to his lips, pressed down on the amplification button. "This is the police!" he said. His voice carried clearly over the dying wind, sounded like the voice of a movie cop, not his own. "Put down your weapons!"

  "We don't want you!" someone yelled. "We want the chinks!"

  "Put down your weapons!" Robert repeated.

  "We'll take you out, too, if we have to!"

  The twenty or so men and women standing in a single line in front of the rest of the crowd wore uniforms of underwear, Robert saw, dyed black. He recognized a few of them--Sophocles Johnson holding an ax;

  Merle Law with what looked like a gas-powered chain sawBbut most of the faces were unfamiliar to him.

  From behind the people on the street, from the roof of the church, absurdly, came the sounds of hammering, muffled by the wind, as volunteers continued with their construction work, oblivious to the goings-on below.

  Robert moved to the center of the intersection. He stood, legs spread, holding the rifle. He'd expected his stance to be at least somewhat threatening, but even the young women in the massive crowd before him did not seem to be cowed.

  "Begone!" Wheeler screamed. "Before somebody drops a house on you Robert cleared his throat. He needn't have worried about the preacher asking rational questions about search warrants. He placed the bullhorn to his mouth. "Please dispersel"

  "You will never set foot on this sacred land! As Jesus said, "You are of your father, the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires." You shall not set foot in the house of the Lord!" Wheeler glared at Robert, then turned, walked back through the crowd toward the church

  What the fuck was that?" Buford asked.

  Robert shrugged. He again cleared his throat, ad dressed the congregation through the bullhorn. "By the order of the Rio Verde Police Department, you are hereby ordered to disperse! Put down your weapons and move out of the street!

  No one in the crowd moved.

  "If you do not vacate the premises, you will be placed under arrestl"

  A shot was fired over his head.

  "What do we do?" Steve called out nervously.

  Buford backed up. "Do we shoot? We can't shoot 'em, can we?"

  "Fire on them if they attack," Rossiter said. "Get the ones with the rifles."

  Robert turned around, looked back at the cars. Rich, Sue, and Sue's grandmother had gotten out of the patrol car. The grandmother was walking toward the corner.

  "What are you doing?" he demanded. Rich, grab

  "Leave her aloneI" Sue said. The grandmother reached the corner, walked out from behind the office building into the intersection.

  The crowd went crazy. They stormed forward as one, screaming wildly, weapons raised.

  "Get ready to fir et Rossiter said.

  And Sue's grandmother started chanting.

  He could not hear the words above the noise of the onrushing attackers and his own panicked instructions to his men, but he could see her lips moving, her mouth opening and closing, her almond eyes trained fearlessly on the angry congregation before her. She stood alone, unafraid, a frail, wrinkled old lady who looked like a turtle. He wanted to scream at her, but there was such authority in her stance, such a confident sureness in her gaze, that he allowed himself to hope, to believe, that she knew what she was doing.

  She did.

  A shot was fired. And another. But that was all. Neither bullet hit its mark, and before he, Rossiter, Buford, Steve, or Ben could fire even a single return shot, it was over. The people in the forefront of the crowd were slowing, stopping. The generic look of single-minded mania that had been imprinted on their faces was leaving, confusion emerging in its stead. Weapons were being lowered. One woman stopped running, stopped walking, sat down on the curb, and began to cry.

  "Kill the chinks!" someone in the back of the crowd yelled, but his order went unheeded. More people began to slow, stop, as Sue's grandmother continued chanting.

  Sue stepped beside Robert, and he turned to face her. "What's she saying?" he asked. - . She shook her head. "I don't know. All I know is that it's something that counteracts the influence of the cup hug/rngs/."

  "You don't know? What do you mean you don't know?"

  "It's not in Cantonese. I can't understand what she's saying."

  From the rear of the congregation, a man with a machete strode forward.

  He was old, sixty or seventy, and looked like a retired bureaucrat or businessman of some sort, but the bland features of his face had been distorted by hate and fury into something else. The old woman's chanting seemed to be having no effect on him. He moved past the first row of now silently milling people, then rushed forward, machete held high. "His will be done!" he shouted.

  Rossiter cut him down in midstride. Robert was still deciding whether to hit the man with the butt of his rifle or shoot him in the legs, when the FBI agent's bullet tore through the man's heart. The man fell, dropping the machete. A gushing pool of blood began spreading immediately out from under the body, grains of tan sand blowing onto the top of the sticky red liquid.

  "Let's go in," Rossiter said. The rest of the congregation was in disarray. There were a few others who had not succumbed to the chanting, who were still defiantly holding on to their weapons, but none with the concentrated fury of the fallen man.

  "Call an ambulance," Robert ordered Ben. His gaze moved on to Woods, now finally getting out of the other car. "Brad!" he called. "Get over here! We have a man downl"

  "He's dead," Rossiter said.

  The coroner ran up, knelt next
to the body, placed his fingers to the man's wrist and neck, nodded. "He's gone."

  "Get the irn-e truck," Robert said. "I don't know how much time we've got here, how long this is going to last, but we've got to get in there while we can." He turned back toward Ben, who was calling the ambulance from his patrol car. "Bring the weaponsl" he yelled. Ben nodded, started the car.

  Buford ran back to the fire engine, while the rest of them walked slowly along the sidewalk toward the church. Robert, Rossiter, and Steve kept their guns drawn and ready, but no one made a move toward them, no one even seemed to notice that they were there.

  A Jeep pulled behind the fire truck and patrol car as they turned the corner, and Robert saw Chief Simmons and Rand Black inside. The Jeep and truck pulled directly in front of the black church. All three men got out. Buford walked over to his fellow firemen, and they spoke for a moment, then started unrolling hose from the back of the fire engine.

  Sue's grandmother had finally stopped chanting, and despite the sounds of crying, the air seemed strangely dead with the cessation of that quiet voice; Robert turned toward Sue. "Can she stop like that? Are they going to revert? Or is that it? Did she cure them?"

  Sue translated, listened, translated back. "They will not attack us." of "Steve," them. Lock Robert them ordered, in the trunk." "pick up those weapons. All

  "What should we do with them?" He nodded toward the people milling about. "We can't arrest them all. We don't have enough room in the jail."

  "Call Cash. Let the state police handle it. It'll make them feel useful." They reached the steps of the church. He told Rich and Woods, Sue and her grandmother to remain with Ben at the foot of the steps, then walked down the sidewalk to where Buford was screwing the hose onto the side of the fire hydrant. Farther down the block,

  Simmons and Rand were hooking another hose up to the hydrant in front of the old Big A building. "How long's it going to take to set these up?" Robert asked.

  "Five minutes," Buford said. "If Compton comes through on the water.