The “From” line in the heading. It automatically gave his e-mail address and his real full name, “Sean Wyndham,” because that was how he’d signed up for the account in the old days before he knew better. Idiot. No wonder Dad wanted to look over his shoulder whenever he got on the Internet.
“After you called, I looked over the Rev stuff,” Eddy said. “I noticed how your name was on the e-mail. So I Googled it and got your Facebook account. Off that I got the link to your dad’s Web site. His name’s right in the phone book, with your address.”
As easy as that, the Reverend could have tracked him down. “You think he’s been spying on me, found out I was doing the ritual?”
“He didn’t have to spy to know that. He knew it the minute you went to Geldman for the powders. And he knew that you’d think the ritual worked, because of the drugs Geldman put into them.”
Okay, Eddy was the real damn Sherlock Holmes. From now on, he’d stick to playing Watson. “What else?”
“The Reverend counted on the hallucinations scaring you. He let you stew over them for a while. Then he put on a monster suit and broke onto your porch.”
“It was a damn good monster suit. Like, movie quality.”
“You said you barely saw the thing, you took off so fast. Body paint, a rubber mask, and monster hands. Easy to get.”
“How about the slime and prints?”
“Geldman cooked up the slime. The Rev made the prints with, like, a giant rubber stamp. On a stick.”
“Well, maybe. But in that case, Horrocke sure isn’t the Reverend. He’s too old to climb onto the porch roof and move that fast.”
“Horrocke could have hired someone to play the monster.”
“I guess.” The costume and who might have been in it weren’t the biggest problems, anyhow. Sean’s empty stomach churned when he thought about the shredded cat, and Beo’s decapitated raccoon, and all the pets missing along the Pawtuxet, Sweetie Pie, too, a little girl’s dachshund. “But what about all the animals?”
“Which animals?”
“This cat and the animals by the river, that Joe-Jack thinks coyotes got.”
The way Eddy frowned, Sean knew she hadn’t factored the dead animals into her equation. She looked toward the porch. From their bench, they couldn’t see the cat corpse, but they knew it was there. “The animals don’t have to be connected with the hoax,” she said.
“Beo saw webbed prints by the coon. I told you that. And the cat’s covered with slime, same as on my pillows.”
Eddy bent over, elbows on knees. “Killing people’s pets is bad. I’m sorry. That’s even worse than slipping you drugs.”
“Hell, yes!”
“That makes the Reverend a sick bastard.”
“And why’s he coming after me? Like, what’s his motive?”
“He’s a crazy son of a bitch?” She chafed her forearms. “God, I’ve got goose bumps on me like hives.”
She did, too. Sean’s stomach churned harder: Eddy spooked meant the situation was serious. “Man, why can’t I just be fucked up?”
“Because we’re seeing the same things and I’m not fucked up.” Eddy paused. Then she asked, “What are you going to do?”
He was supposed to know? That was why he’d called her!
“Somebody broke into your house. This time you’ve got to call the police.”
“They’ll talk to Dad, and he’ll go ballistic.”
“Then try to reach the Reverend. Tell him to lay off.”
“Won’t that just egg him on?”
“Call him or call the police. That’s all I can think of, and I’m seriously recommending the cops.”
“How about the Reverend first, then the cops if he starts giving me any crap?”
“If you don’t mind wasting time, go for it.”
Sean sent the Reverend an urgent message from the computer in the family room. Then Eddy got the rest of the Polish lasagna out of the freezer and nuked it. She looked like she was only eating to encourage Sean to choke something down, the way Dad used to when the hospice lady would bring them casseroles. Usually the trick had worked—Sean would start off picking and end up wolfing. Well, little kids didn’t know enough to get the kind of gut-twist he felt now, waiting.
Sean was scraping his lasagna into the trash when Eddy yelled from the family room, “He’s on!”
Sean dropped the half slab into the basket, plate and all, and ran for the computer. Eddy surrendered the chair at the keyboard without a fight. In the blankness of the chat window swam Redemption Orne’s Hello, Sean. Okay. Should he rip the Reverend a new one right off? Or draw him out, see if he gave himself away? To buy time, Sean went with bland: Hey Reverend. Thanks for getting on.
I was hoping I’d hear from you soon, Sean. I take it from your e-mails about the Elder Sign that you’ve been working on the ritual I sent.
Yeah but why didn’t you answer?
I trusted you could solve the problem for yourself.
Talk about trusting the wrong guy. I think I screwed up, Sean typed. I used the Star instead of the Branch
A pause. So you have attempted the ritual?
Damn, he was sweating. Eddy prodded his shoulder. “Go on. He already knows, so just cop to it.”
Yeah, Sean typed.
Did the Servitor come?
Had Sean been hoping the Reverend would finally break character and start LOLing? Okay, so he’d been hoping. I don’t know. Some weird things have happened.
What things?
I got the powders from Geldman’s. I did the pentagram and the first incantation. I thought I saw something come out of my brazier.
Did you bind the Servitor to you?
I panicked. I ran.
You didn’t say the binding incantation?
No and when I came back nothing was there.
Pause. That’s not surprising. It’s the Branch that cages, not the Star.
At last Eddy succumbed: “Told you.”
Sean ignored her. I couldn’t find out, then it was the dark of the moon and I couldn’t wait.
“Okay,” Eddy said. “So you’ve confessed, and he’s playing along.”
“Playing along?”
“Still pretending it’s real. Don’t let him. Tell him you know he’s a fake.”
The next message came up, more “playing along.” It’s too bad you didn’t manage to bind the Servitor. However, the summoning is much the harder part of the ritual. I’m impressed you pulled it off, Sean. Congratulations.
Congratulations? The word hit him like a slap that wasn’t playing around anymore, one that hurt like hell. He typed: It’s not funny. Giving me drugs.
Drugs?
The powders. Geldman put drugs in them to give me hallucinations right?
I don’t understand.
He put angel dust or LSD in the powders so I’d see things. The thing in the brazier and that angel or devil guy the Black Man.
You saw the Black Man?
Because you drugged me. Thats serious ILLEGAL shit. So is breaking into my house. And killing pets.
Sean, I don’t understand what you mean about your house and about animals being killed. The ethereal Servitor is harmless.
Another slap. This one opened a wound that bled anger. There isn’t any Servitor. There’s you and Geldman. You’re hoaxing me.
You did summon the aether-newt, didn’t you?
God, Eddy had been so right about the Reverend. Sean pounded the keys until his sliced hand hurt again. Will you stop messing with me? Or we’ll call the police.
Sean, did you summon the AETHER-NEWT? It’s very important.
“He just won’t give up,” Eddy said.
I guess you want us to call the police, Sean typed. But he didn’t send that message. The Reverend’s last words drew his eyes: It’s very important.
“Hit it,” Eddy said.
Instead Sean erased his threat. He typed and sent: Not the newt. The other kind.
The material Servitor
, the blood-spawn?
Yes.
But I didn’t give you the incantation for that one.
The Black Man wrote it out in the air like fire letters.
A long pause. Then: Whom did you bleed to make this Servitor?
God, what he’d done seemed so gross now. The Reverend wasn’t the only sick one. Me.
You used your own blood?
Yes.
Pause. Time stretched out. Sean stared at the empty screen space beneath his last Yes. Eddy leaned over his chair. “Why are you playing along with him again?”
A good question. It’s very important grabbed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you finally freaked him out, looks like.”
Sean pushed back from the computer. “I don’t think the Reverend’s faking.”
“What?”
“He thinks I summoned a Servitor.”
“He’s so psycho he’s hoaxing himself, too?”
“Or else—” Sean felt like he was standing on a dock over black water. The posts holding it up were spindly, rotten. He could hear bugs inside the whitened wood, chewing it to pulp that wouldn’t support the dock much longer. The words on the screen, the Reverend’s words, they were the bugs.
“Back,” Eddy said sharply.
The Reverend’s new message raised the hairs on Sean’s nape—it was as if the guy had overhead them just now. Sean, do you believe I’m Redemption Orne, a wizard?
“Say no,” Eddy said. But Sean typed, Sort of. It was the truth. It was more the truth every minute.
If you’ve seen the blood-spawn, you should believe it. Has it come to you?
Something broke into my house last night. I didn’t see it real clear. Was it you screwing around?
Did it look like a man?
The truth again: No.
The Servitor will seek you. You’re its summoner, though you didn’t bind it. Also it was born from your blood, and it craves what first gave it substance in this world.
It wants to eat me?
It may not harm the summoner. But the drive to serve and the drive to devour will war in it. I wrote you that to summon the blood-spawn, you must use the blood of an enemy.
You didnt say WHY.
I didn’t plan for you to summon the blood-spawn. I didn’t give you the means to do it.
Sean typed like a madman: I just wanted the aether-newt but then the Black Man wrote out the incantation for the blood-spawn and I changed my mind and cut myself. I dont even know why. Theres drugs in the powders right? You can tell me. I wont get you in trouble.
During the summoning you were excited? Keener in your senses? Even aroused in body?
Yes, he had to type, even though Eddy was breathing in his ear, reading. She must not have gotten what the Reverend meant by “aroused” because she didn’t jump back from Sean’s pervy self.
There are no hallucinogens in Zeph and Aghar, the Reverend sent. What you felt came from you, from your own nature.
Because Sean was a pervert? What do you mean?
Yours was the response of a magician absorbing powerful magical energy. While you were doing the ritual, you felt as if the world was laid naked and passive before you, to be remade by your hand. You were strong enough. The stars were close above you. You knew something lay beyond them. It was not only wishing or faith. You KNEW, and the Lord Azathoth graced you by sending his Messenger.
“Oh my freaking God,” Eddy said. “There’s no use talking to this guy. He keeps getting crazier.”
“It’s true,” Sean whispered.
“What?”
He typed: Yes it was like that.
“Sean, Jesus!”
“I’m not going to lie.”
You have a powerful affinity for magic, Sean. You need to be taught.
“I don’t believe it,” Eddy said. “He’s still trying to recruit you.”
Sean’s fingers were shaking—he typed a mess of nonsense words, then deleted them and groped for the right keys: All I want is you to leave me alone.
I can’t do that now. You must dismiss the Servitor. It’s too hazardous a familiar.
The Reverend couldn’t hypnotize him over the Internet, could he? Because Sean believed him, as simple as that.
He typed more gibberish, deleted, retyped: How do I dismiss it?
There’s another ritual for that.
Can you send it?
A moment. Don’t sign off please.
“Crap,” Eddy said.
A dismissing ritual. Maybe you just called an interdimensional FedEx. Yeah, Sean could see it, the truck pulling up to the Center of All Being, and Nyarlathotep signing for a box with tentacles snaking out the airholes and slime dripping from the seams.
He let out a strangled laugh, which brought Eddy down on him. “What’s funny? Why’d you ask him to send another ritual?”
The Reverend was taking a long time answering. Was that a good thing? Did it mean he was typing up the dismissing instructions on the spot? “It couldn’t hurt.”
“Yes, it could! Once he wouldn’t own up to the hoax, you should’ve just said you were calling the cops.”
“But he knew, Eddy. He knew exactly how I felt when I did the ritual.”
“No, he knew exactly how Geldman’s drugs would make you feel.”
“He said there weren’t any drugs.”
“Oh, he can’t lie? Come on, Sean.”
“Leave me alone a minute, will you?”
“Fine. I’m getting a drink if we have to wait all day for this freak.”
Eddy brought them cans of iced tea. Sean downed his in three gulps. Eddy took her usual baby sips, but even so, she had drained her can before the Reverend returned. His message was shockingly short: I’m sorry, Sean. I can’t give you the dismissing ritual.
The hell? Why not?
Another trial has been proposed. You must find the dismissing ritual yourself.
“See?” Eddy said. “More bull crap.”
Sean would give a million bucks if he could believe her. Instead he had to try talking the damned Reverend around. I couldn’t even find out which Elder Sign was right, where would I look?
About that, I’m allowed to give you one hint. The dismissing ritual, like the summoning, is in the Necronomicon at Miskatonic University. But both summoning and dismissing are in a very dark place indeed.
Dark place, what does that
The Reverend went off-line before Sean could finish typing. He gaped for a few seconds. Then he pushed the keyboard away. “I don’t believe this!”
The keyboard hit the base of the monitor, which Eddy grabbed before it could topple over. “Let me sit down,” she said.
“I don’t believe it!”
“Sean, let me print out the conversation.”
He got out of the chair, out of her way, but he didn’t know where to go from there. Fear and frustration felt like bands around his chest, pressing in on his uselessly racing heart. “I can’t believe he wouldn’t send the dismissing ritual.”
“The only thing we’ve got to dismiss is the Reverend. Right? Tell me he hasn’t talked you into believing in Servitors.”
Sean flung himself onto the window seat in the bay. The windows were up—Eddy must have opened them for air. Not that much was stirring, just enough of a breeze to carry in the cotton-candy scent of the butterfly bushes and the whoosh of the lawn sprinklers next door. If you didn’t wander out into the backyard where the torn screen and dead cat were, you’d think everything was okay around the house. The garbage bag. That was out there, too, with the slimed pillows in it. Geldman could have made the slime, though. Why not? The metal and sulfur smells of the powders were part of its stink.
Eddy pulled paper out of the printer. “Done.”
“What do we do now?”
“Same as we were going to do before. Call the police.”
“Oh man. I don’t want to. They’ll think I’m a lunatic.”
“Then wait for your dad to come home, and he can c
all them.”
“Then I’d have to tell him about all the shit that’s gone down since he left.”
She slapped the printout on her palm, not looking any happier than he felt. “I think you’ve got to tell him. The Reverend and Geldman could be real trouble.”
The Reverend and Geldman could be real-live wizards, too, but Sean was too worn-out to think that possibility through. It was hard enough to wrap his brain around telling Dad. “He’ll kill me.”
“He won’t. Your dad’s cool.”
“Wrong. Besides, no dad is cool enough for this.”
Eddy got up. “Here’s what we’ll do. You can’t stay here alone.”
“Hell, no.”
“So bike back with me and stay at your aunt’s. Go get ready.”
Sean headed up to his bedroom to fix the jammed window. Next he locked up the whole house, checked the carriage house locks, and covered the dead cat with an overturned garbage can.
What got him was when Eddy suggested they put bricks on the can. “In case something wants to screw with the body,” she said when he gave her a look.
Like the body could get more screwed up. “Let’s just go, okay?”
They wheeled down the driveway while it was still bright afternoon, while Sean could still look back at his house without the dread he knew would find him once dark came, wherever he was.
10
With any luck, lost plane tickets or tornadoes would have stranded Dad in Georgia, but Sean’s luck had gone to hell. Sunday afternoon, right on time, Dad called from the airport. He sounded surprised that Sean was at Celeste and Gus’s. Surprised, then smug, as if he’d known all along Sean wouldn’t like staying alone for two weeks.
If only Sean had been alone.
When he said he was going to wait out on the porch, Celeste smiled too brightly, and so he lurked, with his back to the wall, next to the screen door. Sure enough, as soon as the door finished its slow swing shut she hit the kitchen phone. Seconds later, she said, “Hey, Jere, how’d it go?”
Strike one, no Dad delay. Strike two, Celeste swinging into Concerned-Aunt mode.
“Three new commissions? That’s fantastic. You’ll have to have dinner soon and tell us about them. But I wanted to talk to you before you picked Sean up.”
What did Eddy say whenever the Hell Pug chewed something to shit or pissed on the floor? Et tu, Brute. Exactly.
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