by Pam Richter
Vincent Middleton was known affectionately as 'The Intrepid Vampire Hunter' by his students at Stanford University. He hated the nickname because vampires were figments of fertile and inaccurate imaginations. There were people who drank blood, but there were no real vampires. What he did believe in and study in an intrepid way was paranormal phenomena, and he had been all over the world, thanks to a rather unending trust fund from benign, wealthy and unreservedly besotted parents, now deceased.
Vincent had practically haunted castles himself in England, and had explored the catacombs in Rome. In Haiti he had witnessed an actual hexing and the resulting quiet, expected death. In Russia he had seen objects moved by sheer willpower. But his specialty was the phenomenon of black magic in witch cults.
Vincent cultivated a scholarly attitude, sucked on a pipe and wore the appropriate plaids, tweed with leather patches and shoes with fringe or tassels, unaware that the look was antiquated. He was a tough professor and it always surprised him that his classes were filled to capacity and that he was so popular with students. He certainly wasn't an attractive man. His smile was rather ruined by narrow, yellow buck teeth.
Since he somewhat resembled a rodent with the teeth, and was a small, unshapely and pudgy figure of a man who did not, on sight, demand respect, he used the ploy of taking a female student on his research jaunts. The student was inevitably bright and beautiful, which made up for his own lack of dash.
He attracted attention wherever he went. That it was due to speculation about why the beautiful-young-thing was with the small fat man did not daunt him in the least.
Vincent was foppish, pompous and boring, but he was quite a well known scientist. In a field which demanded little or no respect from the 'hard scientists' like those involved in physics and chemistry, and even from it's own parent discipline, psychology, Vincent was respected in his un-esteemed field of the paranormal. He had debunked many phony psychics and so-called mediums. A wonderful magician himself, he knew all the tricks, so he wasn't easily fooled by charlatans.
Vincent had come upon his exceptional interest in witches during his own college years when he had taken a course in the Psychology of Religion. The witches had been thrown in almost as a joke. But Vincent, a good mathematician, had became intrigued by the sheer numbers. The religion of witchcraft has over 200,000 adherents in the United States, alone. There are five times as many witches as there are Quakers; more witches than there are Unitarians or Buddhists. There are at least 5,000 covens in the United States. It was not a religion to be scoffed at when one contemplated the numbers.
Vincent's sense of humor was touched by the reason why people become adherents of the witchcraft movement. First, there was the sacramental experiencing of sex. Imagine making sex into a sacrament, Vincent had thought, intrigued. Of course Christianity was oppressively anti-sexual, and that fact had seemed like a good start to the young Vincent. Then, witchcraft was reputed to develop magical, psychic abilities along with its divine spiritual development. Who doesn't wish for potions or spells to make that unobtainable someone love you, or to render enemies helpless and impotent.
The religion was democratic and did not discriminate on the basis of gender, so it appealed to many women. To the witches, God was both male and female, father and mother of all things. And Vincent appreciated that fact that witches believed that the 'New Age Gurus' were money hungry frauds, exploiting the public. A strict 'witch's ethic' forbade Wiccans from accepting money for training or initiating anyone into their religion.
Vincent had been following one man for some time who seemed to shape black-magic paranormal events wherever he appeared. He embodied the pinnacle of secrets in the worldwide religion of witches. At least of those witches who practiced the art of black magic. Hence the trip to Oahu. Vincent didn't know if he was on the trail of the correct person, but the man definitely left a course of paranormal, gruesome events as a personal signature trail. The man he sought had been variously called a Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Conjurer or Necromancer.
Vincent felt a little guilty about using Suzanne as bait. He was a bit worried too, for he knew the reputation of the man he sought. He put his worries behind him, though, as they taxied down the runway. They deplaned into a twilight world smelling as sweet and wet as a damp, fragrant flower.
Vincent was used to the most sumptuous and luxurious of accommodations. He had booked rooms overlooking the ocean at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. The hotel had a long and illustrious career as one of the venerable hotels, which had not changed much in the decades since Hawaii had transformed from a rural and tropical paradise into the gaudy expensive tourist attraction it had become. It had been built by Matson Navigation Company in 1927, and was opened by a grand ball that the rich and famous came on luxury liners to attend. Called the 'Pink Palace of the Pacific,' it had been turned over to American servicemen during World War 11. Unlike the monoliths that now march side by side along the beach, it was only a few stories tall, and the outside was simple stucco, molded and painted a pale pink.
Vincent enjoyed showing Suzanne the beautiful old gardens with tall palms, and they passed ponds with large and colorful imported Koi fish on the way to their rooms.
The first thing Vincent did when he arrived in his own room was to unpack his Witches' Almanac. Witches believe that the dark phase of the moon and the full moon are sacred periods. They hold rituals during those times. He found that a full moon was due in a few days.
Then Vincent sent for a telephone directory. He had hunted for witches in many countries and was an expert in simplicity. Under the Occult heading in the yellow pages he found what he was looking for, but he was distracted for a moment by Suzanne. She had come across the adjoining balcony to his room and was tapping on the window.
"Let's go swim," Suzanne mouthed through the glass, pointing out at the beach.
Vincent sat on the edge of the bed looking at her for a moment, thinking abstractly that she was absolutely perfect for his purposes, now that he could see her in all her young and nubile glory in a bathing suit with a scanty shirt covering. She was so young she still had a layer of baby fat, which was distributed nicely, Vincent noticed in a detached and clinical manner, but she was also firm and he could imagine the flesh would be resilient, even springy under finger touch. He could see nothing that sagged through his trifocals.
Vincent shook his head and made a go-ahead flipping movement with his hand. Suzanne made a come-along gesture, but he shook his head. She must have expected his negative reply because when he looked up a moment later she was gone. Probably already prancing on the beach. The thought of exposing his own pale, hairless and puggy flesh on a public beach did not occur to him as a viable option of behavior.
His scholarly owlish eyes peered at the advertisements listed under the Occult heading in the telephone book. There was the Magical Marketplace, the Psychic Eye Book Store, the Sorcerer's Shop and the House of Hermetic. At least one of those places would have information about the local witch covens on the island of Oahu. He would do his scouting alone and then have a discussion with Suzanne about her possible role in unearthing the warlock.
Vincent again became a little uneasy when he contemplated using a student in this matter, but he could think of no viable alternative. Anyway, Suzanne was getting a free vacation with her professor. She didn't have to actually go through the actual ritual, with sexual intercourse, to become a witch. She just had to appear willing and help him flush out the man.
Vincent did not believe in black magic.
CHAPTER 3
Michelle tossed and turned in bed, upset about the embarrassing episode at the Ilikai Hotel with her new neighbor, Omar. When she finally did drift off in the early morning hours, it was to dream of the horrible event that had happened three years ago.
She couldn't make the nightmare stop, as she was helplessly sleep-trapped. Sleep paralysis prevented her from thrashing around. Release would only come when her mind relieved itself of the burdensome memory
.
In the dream, she was again awakening to total darkness in that hotel room in Las Vegas, knowing she had left the bathroom light on as a kind of night light so she wouldn't trip if she had to get up in an unfamiliar room. She felt chilled. The air-conditioning was still on, or had turned itself on during the night, and she supposed that was what caused gooseflesh. Until she heard a slight noise. The sound of breathing in close proximity to the bed. It numbed her to hear the alien sound because it was sneaky and covert. No one should be in her locked hotel room. But there were tiny noises, scrapes and whispers against the thick carpet which sent shock waves through her body. Below the stealthy moving sounds were strange, inhuman snuffles, so soft it might have been the whispering of the wind outside the room.
Her eyes searched a blackness that was almost uncanny, feeling her eyes open unnaturally wide in her horror. She knew positively that she had left the bathroom light on. Now she couldn't even see the hand she moved with terrified slowness and held in front of her face. Gradually, her eyes started adjusting to the faint light coming from the crack in the drapes. She could see some greyness emerging gradually, shapes coming out of the darkness, as she listened to the garbled exhales of something alive. From across the room, the chest of drawers with a mirror above it was gradually materializing out of the blackness.
The snuffles, she wished was some nice animal, like maybe a friendly dog which had slunk unnoticed into the room, went on and on quietly. But she knew it was not something friendly at all. The reality was that she was in a strange dark hotel room, she was not alone, and she was absolutely petrified.
The sound of movement came from the right side of the bed, in the direction of the door, so that pathway of exit was gone, but there wasn't any other way out of the room. Except the window. That was out because she was on the fifteenth floor. She would have to run past the thing on the floor, possibly step on it because it sounded large, to get to the door and out into the hallway. She thought she had better move fast. There were more slight sounds that she picked up from her ears, which were pricked sharply, like an animal in the night awaiting a predator.A feeling of unreality swept through her. She was on a working vacation in Las Vegas, checking out some property that her corporation might buy.
The scuffling noises were a little louder now, like something was crawling on hands and knees toward the bed. She was afraid if she moved her hand to the lamp-switch beside her it would pounce, grab her hand and drag her to the floor. Or bite it off. It was like the terror of the Thing-Under-The-Bed when she was little, but that had been exciting and fun as well as thrillingly frightening. This was so scary she was incapacitated.
She contemplated screaming, but in these plush rooms the soundproofing would muffle any noise she might make. No one could come and rescue her now.
A kaleidoscope of the three previous days at this hotel flashed through her mind. She had not noticed anyone, or any event, which would have precipitated this dangerous situation. She had not seen anyone who looked the least bit dangerous or had even glanced at her with lechery, because now she felt that she would probably be assaulted, raped, and possibly murdered if she did nothing. Her brain, in frantic expeditious over-gear saw mind pictures; the valet who had carried her bags to this room, the waiters in the dining room, the guests at the swimming pool, the people in the bar, and those in the business meetings she had attended.
She couldn't come up with any face that seemed unwholesome, dangerous, or even the least bit threatening. No twisted visages. She hadn't felt overt anger or lust or hostility directed at her. Oh well, maybe a little lust, she was young and relatively attractive, but there had been nothing unnatural or unwholesome. Just normal male interest.
Michelle felt her eyes jerking around the room as though searching independently for some safe place, and that was when she saw the silhouette emerging in the mirror across from her bed. She watched as the dark shape started rising to an inhumanly tall presence right at the side of the bed. The side she thought of as her side, nearest the door and close to the lamp. She was afraid to move her head in the actual direction of the thing, but the real presence she saw in the mirror panicked her into sliding on her back, like an up-side-down crab, to the other side of the bed.
She thought it might leave if she saw it, if it was observed, and it took all of her will power to reach up and grab the lamp. She grappled with it for a second, her ring hitting its base and making an unnaturally loud metallic clash. Finally she found the little knob and twisted it.
The sudden light blinded her for a second. Then she twisted around toward the side of the bed where the monster had risen and saw...nothing.
She swivelled and looked into the mirror, as if that was where the thing had gone, but found herself staring at her own terrified reflection and nothing more. She had the horrible thought that maybe it was lying beside the bed where she couldn't see it and got scared again, until she nerved herself to scramble on hands and knees across the king sized bed, and look. She expected to be grabbed at any moment by the neck and pulled to the floor when she peeped over the edge of the bed, but nothing was there.
I am going nuts. She said it aloud. But she knew she had been awake. It hadn't been a nightmare.
Michelle got up and went to her purse, which was lying on a chair across the room and looked inside for something lethal. It still might be in the bathroom or closet or under the bed. Maybe it had moved while she was skittering across the bed and hidden itself.
She glanced around nervously while feeling in the handbag. She took out a nail file. It was metal, the best thing she had, and she carried it with her to the phone. She tried to think of what to say to the front desk people at three in the morning. Finally, when confronted by a sleepy clerk on the phone, she demanded more towels. She insisted that she needed them immediately. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, shaking and careful not to dangle her feet.
Michelle was thrilled with relief when a bell-hop came with the towels, the housekeeping staff being long gone. It didn't matter that he was so young he still had pimples and that his muscles were undeveloped as a rubber-band. She didn't care that he hadn't lost his gawky adolescent awkwardness.
Michelle told him she had heard a cricket and asked him to check the room. She told him truthfully that she was scared of insects. It was a phobia. She blathered on and on about phobias and watched him search. She could tell he didn't mind. She could tell he loved being in a hotel room searching for bugs with a gorgeous older woman. He was dazzled by her fear and felt wonderful and powerful, perhaps for the first time in his life, the way he was acting. She kept him with her as long as she could manage and promised solemnly to call and ask for him if she heard the cricket again. He left with his manhood inflated and Michelle thought that maybe she could sleep.
She decided she must have been asleep and dreaming when she saw the phantom in the mirror. She searched the room again by herself after the boy left. She clicked the lock on the door and secured the chain. It had seemed so real. The enormous shape hunching over the bed.
If she thought about it she would just upset herself again, so she got back into the bed. She tried the television for a couple of minutes, flipping channels, and wondered if she had been under too much stress lately. Finally she turned off the light and closed her eyes. She had an eight o'clock meeting and needed to sleep.
Instantly, two things happened simultaneously. The thing was upon her and she tried to scream, but only a whimper escaped her mouth. At the same time the phone started ringing.
It was like being out of control inside a whirlwind, her body was being manipulated so easily, as though her thrashing was totally ineffective against the strength of a giant with supernatural power. This time she really was blinded because she had just turned off the light, so she could see nothing, just feel the enormous presence that was maneuvering her body as though she were a tiny doll. At the same time she was aware of the ringing phone in a surreal way, as though the large presence had caused it
.
Michelle was dragged onto the floor by her legs. She tried to hold on and only managed to take a pillow and some bedclothes with her. Her bottom hit the floor hard. It happened so fast she cracked her head against the end table as she was pulled down. She could feel one hand on her neck, absolutely taking her breath away because the hand encircled her neck. It was impossible that a hand could reach all the way around her neck, but she could feel it. It was squeezing and she couldn't breath. She knew she would pass out in seconds; lights were sparkling in front of her eyes. It let go.
Michelle hit and kicked, but the hand was now pressing her down on the carpet, on her chest. One of his knees painfully pressed down on her thigh. Although her fists connected with something large and solid it didn't seem to have an effect. It held her down and seemed to be waiting as she flailed with arms and legs. She must have struggled for several minutes, although it seemed like hours, and it just held her with one hand pressing down on her chest until she was so exhausted she could hardly raise an arm or leg again in self defense. Finally she lay still, gasping. It hadn't done anything but drag her to the floor. Then she thought that maybe it was waiting until she was so helplessly fatigued she couldn't fight back.
Michelle could see it was a man now, not a monster, but she couldn't see his features. It was too dark, and in her position, lying on her back, he was merely a large black shape above her. She could make out the shape of the head and shoulders.
Panic overwhelmed her again, adrenaline pumping physical strength back into her body, and she started the nightmare struggle again. The man just pressed down on her chest with one hand and seemed to pretty well keep out of the way of her kicking legs. He let the punches she made with her arms hit him directly and didn't show any resistance, as though her blows were too puny to bother to duck away from. She knew she hit him in the face and tried for his eyes, but he turned his head away. That was the extent his resistance. She was hitting him hard on the arms, chest and sometimes his face, but he didn't seem to feel it. Her ineffectual attempts to twist and struggle out of his grasp just caused him to pin her against the floor with more strength, until she thought her ribs would break or her lungs would collapse.