by J. Thorn
Johnny pulled on a pair of black jeans and a black hoodie.
He took a pair of binoculars but left his phone and wallet on the coffee table. He did not want to risk dropping anything identifiable at the scene should it come to that. Johnny didn’t think he’d be confronted in the act of spying on her, but no person in the middle of a nefarious act ever thinks they’ll get caught. He would have to keep both his head and his cock in check until the time was right.
Sonya lived alone in a large turn-of-the-century colonial in the heart of Cleveland Heights, a short walk to the trendy strip of shops known as Coventry. The house sat back off the street with three oaks towering above it, keeping the old place cool during the summer. The brown trim had been painted recently and the slate roof was as meticulous as the lawn and shrubbery.
Bitch likes to look nice.
Johnny maneuvered down the neighbor’s driveway until he was standing in Sonya’s backyard next to a tool shed. He removed the binoculars from his pocket and aimed them at the room to his left, the only one with a light on. He could see the blue pastel walls with framed pictures on them. The sheer curtain fluttered in the warm August night. It disguised the fine details of the occupant, but not entirely. Johnny’s breath hitched as he saw her pass through the lenses. He ducked down, adjusted the focus and licked his lips.
Sonya stood in front of a mirror, her profile facing the window. Her long blonde hair was piled on top of her head and she wore a black lace bra and panties. She appeared to be scrubbing her face with a towel which she tossed to the side. Johnny felt the bulge in his pants push against the zipper.
Sonya reached behind her back to unfasten the bra, letting it drop to the ground. Johnny zoomed in on her shapely, full breasts and stared without blinking. The sheer curtains made it appear as though she was cloaked in smoke. She turned to look at her back in the mirror giving Johnny a straight-on view of her chest. The window sill in the old house sat low, exposing Sonya from the knees up. When she shimmied free of her panties, Johnny realized he would have to be careful. She was not a street whore, not some piece of white trash. Dr. Sonya Lisander was a wealthy, educated doctor who happened to be incredibly gorgeous. Johnny imagined his black cock sliding into her and he had to put the binoculars down. Sonya stepped away from the window and the light went out. He turned, unzipped his pants and masturbated into the bushes so he would be able to think straight again.
Chapter 19
One Month Later (September 26, 2014)
“We need to talk.”
Fred looked up from the lawn to the porch where Hank stood, the setting sun behind him creating a halo. The late-September air brought a hint of apples and frost as the summer melted in the distance. Fred shook the grass clippings into a lawn refuse bag.
“I’m almost done. Hopefully this is the last cut of the season.”
“You can use the mower to mulch the leaves, too,” Hank said.
Fred waved at him and shook his head.
“I’m fine with a rake. Been doing it that way for a long time.”
Hank stepped off the porch and sat on the first step, looking out into the neighborhood. It looked like a scene from a made-for-TV movie about an all-American family. Massive, old trees hovered over the sidewalks protecting pedestrians from the sun and giving the squirrels a place to play. Folks waved at passing cars as they raked the front yard while children pounced on the pile, scattering leaves and laughter.
Hank watched the fall festivities while thinking about everything that happened over the last month. He decided to wait and think through all of the possible outcomes before talking to anyone about what happened in Cleveland Heights. Hank liked to apply his professional knowledge to his private life. He never raced into an equation or pushed an article to publication before it was ready.
This involved his son and his son’s therapist and although Hank was tempted to storm into Singleton’s office, he restrained himself. Something beyond the normal universe opened in the observatory that night and Hank felt it. At the same time, he didn’t sense any immediate danger to himself or Corey, so he decided to wait. But even Hank had his limits. He couldn’t be certain, but Hank believed the magnetic pull of Lake View Cemetery was increasing. Hank decided he needed to know, and it was time to confront Fred with some direct questions.
“What happened at the abandoned observatory?”
Fred wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the top of his forearm. He winced as if Hank punched him in the arm.
“Not out here. Let’s talk inside.”
Hank stood up and turned while Fred pushed the lawn mower down the driveway and left it alongside the house. By the time he came in through the kitchen door, Hank was sitting on the couch with an iced tea in one hand. Martha and Corey left hours earlier to buy Corey new school clothes. Martha believed in waiting until after the school year began to get the best deals.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Hank said.
Fred walked through the living room and into the kitchen where he poured himself an iced tea. He carried the pitcher in one hand and his glass in the other.
“Refill?”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t know where to begin,” Fred said.
Hank waited.
“This is bigger than you, than Corey.”
“I deserve to know if this involves my wife and my son. And me. I deserve to know what is going on here.”
“You do,” Fred said. “And I’m going to oblige you. But there are some things I can’t explain because I don’t understand them either.”
“Fair enough,” Hank said. “Go on.”
“I don’t know when Martha and Corey will be—”
“They’re going to grab dinner and a movie after shopping. They won’t be home until later tonight.”
Fred exhaled the air in his lungs, along with his last excuse for avoiding the conversation.
“You’re in danger. So is Corey.”
Hank’s eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“You’re both in jeopardy. Singleton and the other scientists think it's a statistical probability. A likely one.”
“What is, Fred? What are you talking about?”
“A summoning. They think you’ll do it.”
“Summon who?” Hank asked, although the answer was already lodged in his heart.
Fred sighed, the words he had to speak becoming heavy in his heart.
“Nineteen seventy-one. It feels like so long ago, but I can remember some things like we’re still there. You deserve to know everything.”
Hank leaned his head back. He took a deep breath and looked at Fred.
“Okay. Tell me.”
“Martha was pregnant with Michelle. I wasn’t making much on a janitor’s salary. That’s what they called us back then. We weren’t the ‘maintenance staff.’ We were janitors. The baby was due in about three months and we moved into this house right after we got married. It was more than I could afford but I was banking on steady raises so we took the chance.
“That job is where I got to know Singleton. He was a grad student at the time and a sharp one. He studied law in undergraduate school and spent most of his spare time researching the occult. The guy was odd. Is odd. We’d pass each other in the hallways. We were about the same age but our trajectories looked different. I was a high school dropout, married with a kid on the way and Singleton was an intellectual genius, trying to decide whether he was going to be a doctor or an attorney. Either way, I’d be mopping the floor in his office.
“For the record, I never liked the guy. I found him to be smug and insincere, but we had a connection. Astronomy. I was an amateur and back in those days, the urban sprawl wasn’t so bad and streetlights weren’t blazing on every corner. From our tiny backyard, I could see planets, galaxies and more. I don’t remember how we started talking about it, but within a week, Singleton was standing in my backyard with me at three in the morning in a foot of snow, gawking at the belt of Orio
n through a frozen lens.”
“Bizarre,” Hank said. “Not the typical hangout for guys in Cleveland.”
“Martha thought he was strange and I didn’t disagree. Most of my friends were more interested in the Browns or how the Indians would fare next season. I wanted to talk about star clusters and distant nebulae and Singleton indulged me. We developed an odd friendship and he eventually told me about his studies.
“As I said, he was a law student during the day but an occultist at night. He studied everything from the ancients to the moderns. He read Apollonius of Tyana, Pythagoras, Zoroaster and Heraclitus in classical occultism. Singleton collected works by Albertus Magnus, Nicolas Flamel and Nostradamus. And he studied the modern master, Aleister Crowley. It was not a great leap to go from an interest in astronomy to astrology and the unseen world. You have to remember, I was a working-class kid in blue-collar Cleveland. This was a new world and it fed my curiosity about the unknown.
“It wasn’t just astrology. Singleton had another passion in the dark arts. Necromancy.”
Hank sighed and scratched at his chin.
“Stick with me. This will all make sense in the end. Singleton was fascinated with the idea of raising the dead. Ever since he read that scene in Homer’s Odyssey, he was convinced it was not only possible but routine for some individuals in history. Singleton thought the idea arose from early shamans, tribal priests who would evoke the spirits of their ancestors. He found references in ancient Babylon and Egypt and later in Greece where the term ‘necromancer’ developed. It meant ‘diviner by the dead’ and the practice supposedly became widespread in Persia. In fact, some of the civilizations near the Fertile Crescent, like the Sabians, were called ‘star worshippers.’ The connection to necromancy and the stars is something you need to remember. I know this seems like a lot, but you’re the professor and I’m the janitor, so I’m sure you can keep up.”
Hank smiled.
“There are all kinds of accounts of necromantic practices involving ceremonies that would make you sick,” Fred said. “Of course, you had magic circles, talismans and incantations, but also necromancers mutilating and eating corpses in order to help summon the deceased. These rituals could go on for days or even weeks. One particular necromancer in Rome was also an astronomer. He figured out a way to use the alignment of the constellations to aid in summoning. We’ll come back to that as well.
“In all of the ancient texts and throughout the recorded history of necromancy, the element of time is critical. From the Persian shamans all the way up through the twentieth century masters, twelve months was recognized as the cosmic barrier. You could summon the deceased in physical form up to one year after their death, the anniversary being one of the most potent days to do so. Beyond twelve months, it was almost impossible to summon anything but their spirit.
“Of course all of the world’s major religions forbid such activity, even though they all had stories of summoning. Ever heard of Easter?”
Hank sighed.
“Still, necromancers from antiquity until now have worked in seclusion and that’s made it difficult to document specific practices. There’s even a story in the Bible about necromancy. Pretty sure it's in Leviticus. King Saul convinced the Witch of Endor to raise Samuel from the dead in order to help him plan a battle against an enemy. The stories are there if you know where to look. The Christians denounced necromancy. They didn’t believe anyone but God could summon the dead, so anything summoned must have been from Hell and therefore a demon. Two things to remember about what we discovered during that late-night research: A quadrant of sky within the Orion constellation was opening and something was escaping from it. And an ancient necromancer, a Roman, found the connection between the position of the constellations and the ability to summon the dead.
“Singleton loaned me books and soon I was reading these as well. It took me a long time, so I’d always have a book on me at work, snatching ten minutes here or twenty minutes there. Most of my lunch hour from March to November was spent on a bench down on Euclid Avenue. Reading. I’d make book covers out of brown paper sacks like a school kid. I didn’t want people to see what I was reading. This ain’t the Bible Belt but the Rust Belt is conservative, too. A pentagram would scare the pants off of people.”
“Best to keep it hidden,” Hank said.
Fred nodded.
“So all of this was taking place in the latter half of 1970 and into 1971. By the time it happened, I was deep into my studies and Singleton took on the role of mentor. The two of us continued to apply what we learned in the old books to what we were seeing in the sky. I had a good eye and I started to notice patterns of star clusters within the constellation of Orion. The clusters seemed to be moving at a rate that couldn’t be explained by the laws of physics. I won’t bore you with the details, but I kept a notebook full of measurements and it became clear something was happening. Some thing, or some power, was at work inside that winter constellation and when I showed it to Singleton, he knew we were on to something.
“The problem was we reached our limits with my backyard telescope. We couldn’t get to a level of detail that would provide answers. Singleton suggested using his connections at the university to get us a block of time at the observatory. I was thrilled.
“The Warner and Swasey Observatory belonged to Case Western Reserve University. They had several telescopes at the facility and it was there for decades. I don’t know the exact history of it but I’m sure you can Google it. Singleton made friends in the department of applied sciences and he got us time. I can’t explain how excited I was. It was as though the owner of the Cleveland Browns invited you to stand on the sidelines during a game. I saw things through the lens at Warner Swasey I never would have seen from my backyard. We had three nights booked and it was sometime during the second when I saw it.”
“Saw what?” Hank asked.
Fred held up a finger and continued.
“Singleton didn’t believe me at first. It wasn’t until the motion repeated with Singleton in the chair that he finally acknowledged my observation. I don’t know exactly how to explain this to you, but the sky opened. Not the clouds, like they do during a storm where you get that lonely shaft of sunshine between two thunderheads. This was different. Those motions within the constellation of Orion revealed an opening. A portal. Space peeled back like an orange rind and light came out. It's really hard to explain and I’m not doing a great job with it. This light wasn’t like our light and it wasn’t like the ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ people see when they’re approaching Heaven. The light we saw was more like a vehicle. It was odd and colorless and yet we could see it. This light delivered something to Earth, to our plane of existence. We didn’t know what it was, but we would soon.
“While all of this was happening, Singleton was dating a fine young woman by the name of Mary Kiltin. Mary had curves in all the right places, not like those stickboard women you guys chase today. I’m not sure why Mary was attracted to George because he wasn’t necessarily handsome or charming, but something was definitely magnetic about him. I’m proof of that. So George and Mary are getting close this whole time. He’s courting her in the way men used to. Singleton and I are making progress on our observations. He’s getting hot and heavy with Mary, and Martha is carrying our baby, who is due in a few months. This is in January of nineteen seventy-one. January twenty-sixth to be exact. That was the night that changed everything.
“Mary Kiltin was walking down Euclid Avenue on her way home from work at Jerry’s Bakery on East 110th Street. It was a typical winter night in Cleveland. The snow was swirling and the sun completely disappeared by five o’clock. Mary was wearing a white wool coat and the police say that may have been a contributing factor. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let’s just say Mary never made it home. She was run over by a hit-and-run driver and she died at the Cleveland Clinic three hours later. The police never found the driver and her death threw Singleton into a downward spiral.
“I don’t know if they had set a date, but Singleton proposed on Christmas Eve, less than a month before the accident. It was the first time since we met that I began to see the human beneath his odd, strange exterior. He started to laugh more and he even began coming to the bar after class to drink with me and a few of the other guys on staff. Well, that all ended on January twenty-sixth. Her death changed him in ways that can’t be undone.
“After the funeral, I rode with George to Lake View Cemetery where she was to be buried. I stood by his side as the caretaker shoveled clumps of frozen snow and mud on top of her casket. He didn’t have much family and because his fellow grad students found him too eccentric, I wanted to help him through. As much as I wanted to dislike George, I couldn’t. We weren’t great friends, but he opened a new world to me and I felt a kinship. It was three days after the funeral when he came to me with the idea. I immediately knew what he was planning and that it would be impossible to stop him.”
Fred continued, explaining Singleton’s discovery of the death map and how drawing it in the observatory would open a portal, allowing the dead to return. He slowed the pace of his story when he came to the night of the summoning. Fred’s voice dropped low and he spoke as if he had sand in his throat.
“Singleton gets out of the car as we’re coming down the sidewalk. The lights are on in the observatory but no other cars are around. I figure he’s somehow cleared the place. He reserved it for the night, but he also managed to get everyone else out. He nods at me and smiles at Martha and then turns to walk toward the front door. We followed. Just as I was about to enter, I looked up and saw him.”
“Who?” Hank asked.
“The hunter constellation. Orion. He stood above the observatory as if he was on guard duty, waiting for us. That was when we would be forever known as Orion’s Order.
“Once Singleton shut the door and locked it, there was no going back. I remember everything else as though I was standing there right now.”