The Darkest Lullaby

by Jonathan Janz

  “Please,” she said, wrapping her fingers around his shaft.

  He put his hand on hers, winced. “The clearing,” he said, his voice louder. “We need it to happen in the clearing.”

  A gust of frustrated rage swept through her. “Why do we—”

  “It has to be there,” he said, pushing to his feet. “It’s the only way.”

  Katherine watched him extend a hand. All thoughts of Ellie had vanished, and in their wake was only a pulsing, aching desire for Chris’s body. Ellie had gotten to make love with Chris for years, and dammit, Katherine deserved him now.

  She sighed, her whole body quivering.

  Then, lips thin, she accepted his hand. Once on her feet she felt better. Together they waded through the creek, scaled the bank. On the other side she saw a path leading eastward. Dimly, Katherine wondered why she hadn’t seen the path before, it was so wide and clear.

  But the beauty of the trees, the thrumming sound of the cicadas and the chirping of crickets drove the question from her mind.

  Side by side, she and Chris moved through the forest.

  Part Five

  Demonic

  Chapter One

  Two bodies, Ellie’s mind repeated. Two bodies.

  She tried to focus on chapter five, “Unification and the Demonic,” because she knew it was somehow crucial, yet that idiot mantra—two bodies, two bodies—wouldn’t release its dogged hold on her.

  This section was even more cryptically worded than the chapters preceding it, but there were a few points that stuck with her:

  During unification the temporary carrier of the host’s essence shall succumb. However, the appearance of the carrier shall remain accessible.

  Two bodies, Ellie thought. One was clearly the demonic figure—Gerald Destragis, for instance. But the other…? If the man in the basement was Destragis’s “disincorporated” self—and Ellie had a hell of a hard time thinking of the man who had chased her up the stairs as a disincorporated being—who was his corporeal self?

  Not Chris, else there wouldn’t be a suicide note.

  Unless, a voice suggested, the old Chris will be absorbed into the new Destragis, in which case a suicide note would make perfect sense.

  No, it wouldn’t, she argued. If the text were to be believed—“However, the appearance of the carrier shall remain accessible”—Destragis would don Chris’s appearance whenever suitable, but when exactly would it be suitable to resemble a man who’d taken his own life? Ellie doubted impersonating the dead would help an immortal maintain a low profile.

  Further, if Destragis didn’t look like Chris when he came back, he’d presumably look like himself, and that wouldn’t do either. People around here would recognize him.

  Wouldn’t they?

  Maybe not, she realized with dawning fear. He’d been in his eighties when he died, so the vast majority of Ravana wouldn’t recognize him as a younger man. If, of course, that was how he came back to life.

  What guise would he choose?

  She drummed her fingers on the open book, considering.

  He could come back as a man in his twenties or thirties. Or he could go even younger. A teenager or…

  Her eyes opened wide and her hands went to her belly.

  No, she thought. Not that. The idea that she was carrying the creature that had orchestrated this macabre drama was too much to bear.

  No. The child growing inside her was normal and healthy, and she refused to believe otherwise. If that wasn’t true, nothing else mattered.

  Still, the fear would not abate.

  Troubled, Ellie glanced down at the book. As she continued to read, her sense of disquiet was replaced by a faint flicker of hope.

  The reversal of the unification process can only be achieved when the distilled life is consumed in the furnace of desire.

  She read it over again, her hope fading. Just what the hell was the “distilled life”? And how could it be “consumed in the furnace of desire”? She bared her teeth in frustration. Even if she did solve the riddles in the book, what toll would that take on her and the baby? The evil presence that monitored her whereabouts—that had nearly killed her baby on several occasions—might be delayed, but did she really believe she could stop it? What if she defeated it but lost her child in the process?

  That’s fear talking.

  She closed her eyes against the voice, but she knew it was correct. She realized with wry surprise that the voice had belonged to Kat.

  She remembered what her sister had asked before leaving: Is that what you think you’re having? A little girl?

  She remembered Kat’s smile as well. A genuine, loving smile, not the expression of someone who meant her harm. Kat had been forced into doing what she’d done with Chris, or at the very least influenced into doing it. Hell, maybe Chris had too.

  Now Ellie was the only one who could save them all. She’d either succeed or die in the attempt.

  But where to go, dammit? What to do?

  She bit her lip, scanned the wall distractedly.

  It came to her.

  There was only one place in this house she hadn’t explored, and she hadn’t explored it because she’d convinced herself it didn’t exist.

  But what if it did?

  It had been nearly pitch black in the basement the night she and Chris had ventured down there, and since that time she’d avoided the place with a superstitious dread, all the while telling herself there was nothing to discover.

  But what if there was? What if they’d missed the doorway or not found it because it had been concealed?

  Ellie rose from the chair and raced down the stairs. In moments she’d made it out to the garage. She found the lantern. The other object was lying atop the workbench.

  Then, the lantern in one hand and the sledgehammer in the other, Ellie headed down to the basement.

  Chapter Two

  Take it easy, she told herself. Just take it easy. Don’t overdo it and hurt the baby.

  Ellie leaned on the handle of the sledgehammer, doubled over and panting.

  Her hands were a nightmare of blisters and aches, but she gritted her teeth and forced her fingers to close around the handle anyway. She broadened her stance, reared back, and swung. The flat edge of the hammer smacked the cinderblock a solid blow and smashed through the outer shell to expose the hollow area within. She was eager to begin destroying the inner layer of cement, but she wanted to create an aperture wide enough to climb through first.

  Patience, she told herself. Patience.

  But Kat’s voice protested: Fuck patience, Ellie! Patience won’t save me from Chris!

  And though Ellie didn’t believe in telepathy, she was sure Chris had gotten Kat by now, perhaps even had sex with her, whether she wanted to or not. The “Unification” chapter in Destragis’s book had mentioned coupling several times, and she seriously doubted Chris intended to couple with anyone but Kat now.

  Quit stalling.

  “All right,” she said and swung again. Despite the awful reverberation brought on by the impact, she felt a surge of satisfaction as a football-sized segment of cinderblock imploded.

  Another strike, and she thought she’d made a hole wide enough. She caught a whiff of some chemical, sulphur maybe. She clenched her jaw against the braying nerves of her palms and swung again.

  The rusty sledgehammer crashed through the wall.

  Hurriedly, Ellie wrestled the rectangular head out of the hole and dropped the sledge. The sulphur smell invaded her mouth, the flavor vile and eggy. She hooked her fingers through the wire handle of the lantern and raised it to the hole. At first all she could see was swirling dust.

  Then, bringing the lantern right up to her cheek, she made out the workbench, the many shapes resting on its wooden surface.

  I knew I wasn’t crazy! she thought triumphantly. She gazed into the room and made out some of the objects: a saw, a number of glass beakers and vials, what looked like a long plastic tube suspended between two
steel braces.

  Yes, this was the place. If there was any hope for them, she’d find the answers here. Her heart thundering in her chest, she set the lantern out of the way and hefted the sledgehammer again. She reared back, ready to punch out a big enough hole to stick her head through.

  The sledgehammer wouldn’t move.

  Slowly, Ellie turned and saw the large knuckles grasping the head of the sledge. Above that, the viciously grinning face.

  “Naughty girl,” her husband said.

  Chapter Three

  When Ellie opened her eyes, she knew where he’d taken her even before she saw the gently stirring grass.

  The clearing.

  Overhead, the night was absolutely clear, the deep blue sky alive with glittering stars. The moon was merely a pallid sliver.

  She sat up, glanced to her left and saw the starlight reflected on a pond about twenty yards away. A pulsing luminescence to her right caused her to turn and gaze up the rise. Though it was difficult to see from this distance, the tall grass blocking a good deal of her vision, she could make out multiple fires ringing the crest of the hill.

  A single figure stood within the ring.

  Her husband.

  Solitary, rising atop the majestic hill, he looked like some kind of god fallen to earth. His shoulders were broader than she remembered, the V shape of his back more pronounced. Face upturned, he paced the ring, the lurid red firelight flickering on his face. He was naked, his bare buttocks sculpted and powerful. His leg muscles flexed as he walked, his long fingers limp at his sides.

  She remembered those fingers closing around her throat in the basement, squeezing, her hands first swiping at his eyes and then scrabbling to pry loose his fingers. Then his grinning face followed her into darkness, his teeth alabaster within the shadowy nest of beard.

  But you didn’t kill me, did you? she thought. Why not? Because you wanted me to witness what you were about to do? Because you wanted to visit upon me this one final degradation—watching my husband make love to my sister—before the blasphemous transformation takes place and my baby and I get killed?

  Unless, a voice whispered, your baby is Lillith or Destragis.

  No!

  She got to her feet, listing drunkenly, and started toward the rise. She kept waiting for the stomach pain, for the cruel dagger to split her belly and prevent her from intervening, but she was being allowed to move freely.

  Its attention is diverted, she thought, and continued toward the hill. As she climbed, she watched her husband wheel slowly in her direction. He didn’t see her though, was too immersed in his thoughts, too eager to complete the process to notice her approach.

  She became aware of a dull ache in her right hand, and when she discovered the ragged flaps of skin crossing her palm she remembered the last thing he’d done to her before hoisting her up and bearing her out of the basement: the knife embedding in her open hand, the flesh parting as the blade ripped through it.

  Halfway up the hill.

  She kept expecting to see Kat join him and begin their erotic rite, but so far he remained alone, his magnificent body one moment black, the next a blazing orange. His face, too, was alternately glorious and ghastly.

  Ellie closed in, most of her haziness burned away by the sepulchral scene awaiting her.

  As her head rose even with the hilltop, she finally spotted her sister. Kat lay in the middle of the circle, writhing in sexual desire. Ellie watched sickly as her sister’s fingers slid over her jutting nipples, massaged her thighs, her hips upthrust as if in offering to the stars. Woodsmoke stung Ellie’s eyes, but she couldn’t look away.

  Kat turned and saw her.

  At first there was no recognition in her expression. Then a look of utter loathing twisted her pretty features.

  When Kat spoke, it was in Lillith’s voice. “So you’ve come, Eleanor.”

  And the pain exploded in Ellie’s midsection, worse than it had ever been. She fell forward and narrowly avoided landing on her stomach. Groaning, her breathing thin and tortured, she saw Chris approach her sister. Kat got to her knees, the hatred in her face nearly as awful as the waves of pain ripping through Ellie’s body. Kat faced Ellie on all fours, and for the briefest of moments Ellie thought the woman might lunge at her like an animal. In a way, Ellie thought dimly, it would be a welcome respite from this soul-destroying agony. Chris reached down and touched Kat’s shoulder, obviously meaning for her to roll over so he could make love to her.

  But rather than facing him, Kat lowered her head and arched her lower back so her buttocks raised higher, offering herself to him.

  Grinning wickedly, Chris got on his knees, reached down and inserted himself inside Kat, and then they were pulsing together like animals, Kat’s breasts quivering each time his hips met her buttocks. Ellie bit her lip. The heat within the ring was unbearable, the taste of smoke mean and withering. The naked, undulating bodies shimmered in the firelight. Ellie moaned, held the small lump in her belly, and waited for it all to be over. She’d failed her baby, failed herself. Neither of them would escape this unholy place, this ceremony in which demons would be born.

  Through the awful, blazing pain Ellie saw her sister gazing at her, and though the lovemaking continued, harder and faster now, Kat’s expression had again become her own, and she was staring at Ellie with heartbreaking guilt. Kat’s eyes twitched to the right, over Ellie’s shoulder.

  Though the pain was raging worse than ever, Ellie was just able to swivel her head and follow Kat’s gaze. At first she saw nothing, just the silent forest framing the clearing.

  Then a pale figure started to materialize.

  A second one appeared beside it. Another. The humanoid shapes were crawling like maggots, their wasted legs squirming behind them, the obsidian hollows of their eyes sparking with the fires’ reflections.

  Ellie realized there were several more dragging themselves out of the forest, and to her left she spied a single pale arm poking out of the earth. Another arm joined it, and then the figure was wriggling out of the ground, its glistening white face already fixed in a rictus of deepest hunger.

  The first figures she’d spotted were crawling better now, their legs working more efficiently, and Ellie realized she was watching newborn vampires, remembered the chapter titled “Second Birth.”

  She now understood why Chris had taken the time to slice open her palm. Though she could see the black, idiot eyes of some of the creatures, many of them appeared sightless, a milky translucent membrane keeping them, at least momentarily, blind. It was these creatures whose snouts twitched and bobbed, sniffing for food, and one by one she watched these creatures freeze in recognition as they picked up the scent.

  Ellie counted at least twenty pale, gleaming bodies squirming their way up the hill.

  They were crawling toward her.

  Instinctively, Ellie scrambled to her knees and started to clamber away from the pale figures, but a gust of pain so powerful it turned her limbs to rubber dropped her facedown in the grass. She howled in agony. She flopped onto her back and thrashed her head from side to side and thought, The baby can’t survive this—even if I somehow make it through this torture, there’s no way a fetus can withstand this punishment.

  With what energy she had, she clawed herself forward, toward the center of the ring. She didn’t want to be nearer the couple making frenzied love only ten yards away, but anything was preferable to the obscenities that were rising on unsteady legs and staggering toward her. Not only had their movements grown more refined, but she saw with deepening horror that their awareness of their surroundings had as well. At least a dozen of the creatures were leering at her with ravenous need now, their dripping incisors bared in anticipation.

  The first vampire had nearly reached the crest of the hill.

  Ellie crawled forward, and as she did, she noted that Kat’s head hung low and was swaying eerily from side to side, like some tribal shaman in the throes of a magical trance. Chris was squeezing Kat’s
hips with animalistic greed, his expression primal and sadistic as he slammed into her harder and harder. Kat’s limp body juddered with each impact. Ellie felt a cold mist of dread drowse over her.

  Kat was changing.

  Transforming, she saw, into another woman. It shouldn’t have surprised her—the sight of the dusky skin paling, the arms and legs elongating, the black hair threading into shimmering red curls—yet it did. All at once, the body Chris was making love to seemed to tense, the fingers splayed wide in the grass, the sinuous shoulder muscles bunching.

  Lillith’s face swung up and grinned at Ellie.

  Ellie tumbled back, brought a hand to her throat, but the blazing eyes refused to release her. The fury and raw lust in those eyes were unspeakable, endowed with the power of countless centuries. Lillith, a demon in human form, watched Ellie with a look of such utter contempt that for a moment Ellie forgot all about the vampires who were now surely right behind her. Then she turned to see that they’d indeed closed the distance, were nearly within arm’s reach, and there were too many of them, half of the ring clotted with their mud-smeared bodies, and they were slavering for Ellie’s blood, for the tender flesh of her innocent baby. The white creatures stank of decayed soil and old blood.

  She closed her eyes and waited for the end.

  A second went by, then two more. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes and saw the vulpine faces upturned and staring fixedly at something beyond her. She too turned and watched Lillith rising, her back curving like a serpent’s, her arms reaching up, contorting to close around the back of Chris’s neck.

  No, Ellie thought desperately. Don’t hurt him.

  Chris continued his feverish pumping. Ellie saw the signs of impending climax in his body—the straining jaw, the tendons in his neck jumping and tightening, the eyes closed in desire.

  Had they been open they would have seen Lillith’s beautiful face becoming hideous, the cheekbones stretching, the eyes slitting vertically like some ancient reptile’s, the teeth tapering to voracious points as the open maw leaned toward his exposed throat.