by P. W. Child
Chapter 7
After the meeting, the council members retired to their respective residences and hotels. Because of the ripe hour, they elected to abandon their usual social interaction afterward. It was under unique circumstances that they were summoned to this gathering, and therefore considered one of emergency, rather than tradition.
One by one the black cars departed the facility as the dawn drew ever nearer. It was a strange, eerie night in Rotterdam, just by atmosphere. Kees Maas sat in the backseat of his Lexus, driven by Lars, his driver of fourteen years. The two of them elected to go to the meeting alone without employing any bodyguards, because it was not far from his residence in Zestienhoven and at this time of night there would scarcely be a reason to be protective. The council’s get-togethers were always so clandestine that usually not even their own secretaries at the office knew about the gatherings.
“Want to get something to eat first, sir? I know you like to snack at this time of night,” Lars smiled in the rearview mirror at his employer.
The old man smiled shyly, a little embarrassed for his bad eating habits being so well-known. His hands were folded over his briefcase, displaying his dirty, long nails. Lars was used to the old man’s warlock image, but normally those who had never met him found his elderly countenance and the dirty talons quite unsettling. Kees had been a council member since 2005, when he was 58 years of age. All his life he had served in the Order of the Black Sun, which won him the privilege of becoming a council member in his mature years.
He was adept at the dark arts and basic occult practices, although he never engaged in what he called, “those silly things like covens and festivals.” This in fact proved him to be more than another follower of occultist Aleister Crowley or versed in the dogma of LaVeyan Satanism. It proved him to be involved in something so much more perverse that it did not even surface among the covens of the world.
A sole practitioner of the occult-based works, Kees Maas always kept to himself, while writing philosophies and lecturing the members of the order in the truth behind Hitler’s intentions with the Vril and Thule societies. They were so much more than organizations founded to advance metaphysical sciences and pseudo-religious experimentation. These societies were placed there for the research of the links between ancient civilizations and extraterrestrial influences, and the barbaric practices of human sacrifice and cannibalism, among others.
Kees himself had never been one for regular cuisine, his eccentric appetite being something he had acquired while researching South American cannibal tribes firsthand. The cultures of the Amazon basin’s tribes, together with ancient practices and architecture of the Mayans, Incas, and Aztecs proved that gods far more dark and cruel once commanded humankind, unlike the benign god of the Christians. These gods, creatures of advanced intellect and abilities, were believed to reside in the heavens, and Kees believed much the same thing.
It was this very theory that got him involved with the Black Sun in the 1960s. Like Himmler and his consorts, Kees Maas needed to discover a way to punch a hole between dimensions and allow these old gods their passage, so that the world would be uncorrupted, unmade, and reborn by the laws of the ancient ones. He believed that this was the only way to undo the damage and lies brought on by the Roman Empire and its Christian myths for the sake of dominion over the masses.
All the members of the council, the Black Sun, and its parent societies of post-Second World War believed similarly, give or take some deviation here and there to accommodate more scientific laws, or others who held a more psychological point of view. Kees used his passion for the dark arts and his masters degree in quantum physics to work for the Black Sun, formulating not only recipes for time-space folding but also the esoteric side of its existence.
“Lars, let’s just go home tonight. It is too late and I’m too old for midnight hunting,” he jested. His driver nodded cordially and chuckled at the old man’s sense of humor. Lars was perhaps only too thankful that he would not have to endure helping Maas obtain the more exotic of dishes again. Even a hardened man like Lars could not stomach the laughter of street children suddenly mute to the evil old man’s culinary needs. Sometimes he wondered if the moral conundrum of his very soul was worth the exuberant salary he was paid by Maas.
On their way to the old man’s modest double-story house just off Terlet, Kees’ eye was caught by something that interested him beyond any resistance.
“Lars! Did you see her?” he shrieked in excitement from behind the disappointed chauffeur, who had wished the old man missed it. Along the road of the sparsely populated area, a girl was walking in the dark, her clothing dirty and her hair matted. She looked like one of the homeless children he normally found in the city’s downtown streets, begging for food.
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop! Pull over and offer her a ride,” Kees ordered. His face had suddenly changed from an esteemed old man to that of an ancient fiend, salivating at tender flesh. The car stopped just a few meters ahead of the fifteen-year-old blonde girl who was lost in the abandoned street this time of the night. Lars opened the passenger door for her, but she simply walked past them.
“Excuse me, miss!” Lars called after her. She ignored him, so he jumped from the car while Kees watched, positively exhilarated by her discovery. In the high beams of the Lexus he saw Lars smile and talk to the wayward teenager. A couple of times her big blue eyes looked in the direction of Kees, although she could not see past the bright headlights. He did not know what Lars told her, but she finally agreed to come with them.
“Hello,” the girl said to Kees when she saw him.
“Hello, dear. Are you cold?” he asked.
“Yes. It is very cold, and my brother took my jacket when he left tonight,” she explained.
Lars did not look at her as he drove to the Maas residence. He could not. It was a sore thing for him, what was to become of her, but he had his job and nothing other than the vehicle was any of his business.
“Where did he go?” Kees questioned her.
“He says he works, but I know that he is selling drugs,” she replied casually. The two men remained quiet. When they arrived at the affluent old man’s home she gasped in awe. She did not ask them any questions, but it was obvious that she was absolutely taken with the place. The posh car glided into the third garage port slightly elevated over the wide driveway, where barefaced marble statues lined the way from the gate to the house. The girl was fascinated by them. Some were satyrs, others minotaurs, alongside demonesses with large breasts and cloven hooves. All the statues had smug smirks on their empty, pasty faces, which made them look utterly vindictive.
Lars nodded goodbye when they exited the car.
“Are those statues of Greek gods or something?” she asked Kees. He had to chuckle at the base comparison such an uneducated mind drew at the sight of the effigies of hell’s high council.
“Yes, my dear. Do you have a favorite?” he asked, taking a moment before entering the house.
“I like the woman with the sharp wings,” she remarked.
“Her name is Lilith,” Kees replied proudly, too happy to educate someone so young in the knowledge of his faith. It was a shame that she would never grow up to follow in his footsteps.
“Lilith,” she repeated.
“Adam’s first wife,” he mentioned in admiration of the unholy deity, tapping his long nails on his case.
“Like in the Bible?” the girl asked.
Kees sneered, amused, as his old eyes shimmered with sheer thrill, “No. Not like that at all.”
He took her by the hand and led her through the door into the house. It was dark, but the hallway lamps were burning. She could hear the timely ticking of a large clock somewhere in a room to her left, but it was pitch dark and she could not see inside.
“Are you hungry?” Kees asked her.
“Very. Are you?” she smiled, eager to see what such a rich man would have to choose from in his fridge.
�
�Famished,” the old council member smiled.
They went into the spacious kitchen where he directed her to sit down at the table while he orchestrated his wicked plan. On the clock above the doorway the pointers indicated that it was shortly before 4:30am.
“Do you eat meat?” he asked her.
“Of course. It’s my favorite,’ she smiled, looking about the place, wondering where her host’s wife was.
“I like you already,” Kees laughed.
“Where are your wife and your children?” the girl asked with her head lolled to one side.
“Oh, my dear, I am too old to still have my children living here. And my wife died years ago. I live alone. My driver lives out toward Holy Zuid, so he drives home every night,” he explained, while slamming an oven pan with beef roast on the table.
She shifted uncomfortably, “So . . . so, we are alone, you and I?”
“Yes, just you and I, having dinner together,” he answered, sounding as harmless as he could. He went to get a carving knife, adjusting his grip on it, because he would not be using it to carve the roast.
Kees turned and there she stood right in front of him. All he felt was the prick of the needle and the subsequent coursing of its contents filling his veins. Within moments Kees fell to his knees, his limbs heavy, and his motor skills compromised. He was paralyzed when she started carving the roast. The girl propped him up against the kitchen cupboard while she cut the meat into large cubes, occasionally slipping a chunk into her mouth.
“Hmm, my compliments to your cook, Meester Maas!” she praised. Her voice was less innocent now, lower in tone and sounding much older. Now that she annunciated differently Kees realized that she could be much older than he judged . . . and she was. When she was done she brought the delicious dish with her and crouched next to him on the floor. She pried open his mouth and started stuffing him with chunks of meat. Kees could still barely chew and swallow, but she kept feeding him. His throat was swollen from the coarse meat lodged in his windpipe as his eyes grew wider in horror. The old witch could not cough or struggle while his oxygen eluded him from the obstruction in his throat. His chest burned, unable to expand and fill his lungs with air.
“You and your peers, meester, your days are numbered. You are no better than the evil horde you bred in your racist regime of psychos,” she said. “Lilith is a Hebrew myth, you fucking imbecile! What a Nazi joke you are, sporting a Jewish figure in your garden!”
The girl laughed with no small amount of ridicule and mockery at the council chief, hardly paying attention to his discoloration as his tongue began to protrude.
She got up and walked to the window, pulling a cell phone from her raggedy pocket and dialing a number.
“This is Unit 8. Kees Maas—exterminated.”
She ended the call, and walked out of the house into the meager light of dawn where the horizon bled red to announce the rising of the sun.
Chapter 8
After Nina signed the papers for her new house, Gretchen opened a bottle of wine for them to celebrate as the evening neared. They had not yet explored the place and since the rain did not show any signs of subsiding anytime soon, the two had made a soaking-wet, short trip to the local supermarket for food and decided to spend the night there before returning to Edinburgh to start arranging for the movers to haul Nina’s possessions to Oban.
It was good to be in the country setting of the small tourist destination where she grew up, but Nina could not help but feel that something was amiss in the town. It was not as if she knew anyone there anymore, but those who had seen her at the house treated her differently without a doubt.
“You are imagining it, Nina,” Gretchen said as she poured the wine. The dark red liquid bubbled as it tumbled into the crystal like an unruly tide coming in.
“I am not. They are still out there, staring at the house. Gives me the fucking creeps,” Nina complained. She felt very uneasy seeing a few people stopping in their tracks and watching the front door.
“Look,” Gretchen passed Nina her glass, “you are alone in a strange village . . . ”
“You mean, unlike living in a vast anthill like Edinburgh?” Nina retorted.
“You are being paranoid. I bet you the house has a reputation for being haunted or something that represents some local urban legend and nobody can believe that someone actually moved in here. I’ve seen it a million times before with small towns. People are superstitious,” Gretchen theorized, ignoring her friend’s sarcasm.
Nina swallowed half of her helping in one gulp. Through the living room’s bay window she watched the dark shapes come and go, their figures stretching and morphing as the raindrops slid down the glass she looked out from. Some would reluctantly leave because of the stormy weather, but soon they would be substituted by others. At one time she counted fourteen figures standing on the pavement in front of the house.
“Look at that. Explain that,” Nina insisted, pointing back at the window, but Gretchen decided to dismiss the matter and get drunk.
“Have you been through the whole house yet?” she asked Nina.
“Briefly, but not every room,” Nina replied, her mind elsewhere. She played with her fingertip on the rim of the wine glass, suddenly wondering what had become of Sam. Vividly she imagined his face, his naughty dark eyes and his dimples, and what snide remark he would have if he knew she owned an old house. Her chest and tummy filled with warmth for a moment, recalling his touch and the closeness they once had.
“Hey!” Gretchen’s voice jerked Nina back to reality. “It’s going to be night soon. Let’s go check out your castle, my queen.”
Nina nodded. In truth she was quite surprised that she was not feeling as excited about her property as she initially thought she would be. Was she afraid of something? No, she figured, she just missed her familiar life in Edinburgh. She missed Sam, much as she hated him now, and Purdue . . .
“They’re gone. See?” Gretchen said, peeling back the drapes and looking to the street. “Weather finally got the better of them. Freaks.”
Nina looked around for her phone. She had no idea what she would find and she wanted her cell on hand if anyone was looking for her while she was upstairs or in the basement—anyone . . . like Sam.
The house smelled musty, as expected. But there was an underlying odor that bothered her senses. It smelled like stagnant water, or the green obscurity of a garden pond. With this salty, damp weather it was to be expected that the place would smell unless it was aired out and it had been standing shut for some time before she liberated it from its purgatory. The house was built from old rock and mortar, like a lot of the castles and fortresses in the Highlands. Nina was just grateful that the previous owners did not spoil it with paint.
Gretchen was like a child in a candy store.
“Look at this! It looks like a shrine!” she exclaimed from one of the rooms ahead of Nina in the corridor.
“I’m not sure that that is something I want to hear, Gretch,” she replied, glass in one hand and phone in the other.
She entered the first guest room. Like the others, it was void of any furniture, but had curtains hung on the windows. The wooden floors were a bit battered, but it was nothing a little TLC and a restoration crew could not fix. Gretch stood in front of a magnificent piece of wrought iron work as tall as the ceiling.
“Wow!” she whispered at the sight of it. Shaped like a grid, it was bolted to the stone wall of the room. It consisted of six vertical bars reaching from the top of the frame to the bottom, with two horizontal bars crossing it diagonally. The edges of the grid ended in ornate curls and Gothic arrow points, asymmetrical and crude. It appeared as if the artisan just welded the lot together to give it a sense of disorder, like the vines of a creeper.
“Reminds me of the head of Medusa,” Gretchen grinned, running her hands over the network of beautiful twists and points. Her hand suddenly jerked back and she winced in pain.
“Ouch! Jesus, what is on this thing?” she w
hined loudly. Her finger was bleeding. Nina was intrigued.
“Don’t touch the pointy things,” Nina advised, but on examination she noticed that the entire piece’s iron bars consisted of tiny protruding slivers that made up its texture. Like tiny thorns on a rose’s stem they faced upward so that any downward movement of one’s hand would result in injury.
“My God, what a savage work of art!” Gretchen remarked through her teeth as she sucked on her wounded finger. “It is kind of cool, though. Don’t you think?”
“Aye,” Nina smiled, “if you have a mean streak.”
“There’s a waxy substance on some of the curly bits, see?” Gretchen said, pointing it out to Nina without touching anything again. Nina stood on her toes to see.
“Oh!” she smiled, looking enlightened. “I think this was intended to be a giant chandelier, Gretch! Look, the waxy stuff is candle wax and some burnt wick residue caught in the white bits.”
“It must look amazing filled with candles,” Nina’s mildly inebriated friend agreed. “Then it will really look like a shrine.”
Nina gave her a stern look that made them giggle, and they continued on to the rest of the house. It was a beautiful old place with few rooms, yet each room was large and presented a pleasant view, in all directions. The kitchen boasted an antique black coal stove and a modern AGA cooker on the other wall. In the middle of the room stood a heavy oak table that had seen decades of cooking, peeling, and clearly even painting, but it was sturdy and large.
“Look how they damaged this table,” Gretchen said, shaking her head. “They did some art here too, I’m sure. Paint stains and some hardened clay embedded in the cracks. I think the previous guy was an artist, eh?”