Strange Conflict

by Dennis Wheatley

  Once again he waited for a moment. When there was no response, he added: ‘Since you still refuse, I must drag you back by force.’

  Turning to the chest, he took from another drawer a little snakeskin bag. Opening its neck, he poured the contents on to a six-sided table and de Richleau saw that they were a collection of small bones.

  The Doctor arranged the bones in a certain pattern and began to chant over them in a low voice. Almost instantly the Duke felt his astral jerk forward and downward towards the head of the corpse.

  Metaphorically, de Richleau “dug his heels in” and resisted the pull, with all the strength of his will. For minutes on end it seemed as though the back of his astral was breaking under the strain; everything went black before his astral sight and the monotonous chanting beat like thunder against his mind so that it excluded all else from his astral hearing; but somehow he managed to resist the terrific pull upon him. At last the Satanist ceased chanting and the tug on the Duke’s astral stopped.

  Making a gesture of annoyance, the Mulatto scooped the bones back into the bag and threw it into the chest.

  For several moments he remained staring down at the body, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. Then he said: ‘I think I know why the bones failed to exert the necessary pressure on you just now. As a European you would naturally not be subject to Negro magic to the same extent as if you were a coloured man. However, as I have both White and Black blood in my veins, you need not flatter yourself that you can elude me. The Ancient European magic will certainly break down your resistance. I don’t think you will face for long the terror inspired by the Great God Pan.’

  Going to the chest again, he selected a great variety of items and with some of them carefully erected a pentacle for his own protection. When the defence was completed he placed in its centre a small cauldron, under which he piled wood of three kinds and, with the aid of a pair of bellows, swiftly got the fire going. He then poured seven different liquids into the iron pot and waited patiently while they heated up. As soon as the mixture was brought to the boil he began to mutter an invocation, and every few minutes, after bowing to the North, to the East, to the South and to the West he cast into the bubbling froth one of the horrid things which he had taken from the chest.

  As the ceremony proceeded the Duke became conscious of a terrible coldness that was now affecting him upon the astral plane, and he knew that one of the great evil entities of the Outer Circle was approaching. Very faintly at first, gradually growing lounder, he heard the sound of a flute; then quite suddenly the horned god appeared beside him.

  De Richleau closed his astral eyes; he dared not look upon that face, for the sight of it in its evil beauty is said to drive men mad and to poison their spirits.

  He felt his hand taken in an icy clasp and there was a gentle whispering in his ear. In vain he tried to shut his mind against it; in spite of all his efforts he felt himself being led away and carried swiftly to another sphere.

  The cold decreased, the temperature became pleasantly warm again and, for some reason that he could not explain, he suddenly lost all sense of fear. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was in a woodland glade and that seated beside him on a tussock of grass was a good-looking young man with humorous, kindly eyes.

  The young man smiled and said: ‘You were terribly frightened, weren’t you? But I’m not surprised. People have the most extraordinary ideas about me which aren’t true at all. They think of Pan as the most terrifying person; but you can see for yourself that I’m nothing of the kind. Of course, I can understand their fear of me in a way; it’s entirely owing to all the slanderous lies which have been told about me by the priests of the Christian God. He’s a dreary fellow, and it always amazes me that in recent centuries so many people should have chosen to follow him instead of me.’

  De Richleau sat there, spellbound and quite fascinated, as the young man went on: ‘It was an extraordinary piece of luck for you that the Mulatto decided to call on me. He’s no mean antagonist, mind you, but he made a fatal mistake in thinking that his powers extended outside such help as he can secure from his own Voodoo gods. Naturally, as a European deity, I’m on your side—not his; so you needn’t worry any more—everything’s going to be quite all right.’

  In spite of his first fears and suspicions de Richleau could not help feeling himself warm towards this candid and sympathetic young man. After all, when one thought about it a little it was perfectly clear that Doctor Saturday had indeed committed a most stupid blunder. The Duke, although nominally a Christian, was—apart from his unshakable belief in the Old Wisdom which teaches that each man carries God within himself—a pagan at heart. Pan was, therefore, the last entity that a Voodoo Witch Doctor should have called upon to assist him in coercing a cultured European who admired and respected the civilisation of the ancient Greeks.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re beginning to see things again in their proper perspective,’ Pan remarked, evidently reading the Duke’s thoughts. ‘You’ve been through an extraordinarily wearing time with this Witch Doctor, but the fool has hoisted himself with his own petard now. You know quite a bit about sorcery yourself, so it’s hardly necessary for me to remind you of the immutable law. If anyone summons an entity to do his bidding, and fails to control it, that entity is bound to turn upon the person who has called it up. I haven’t the least intention of doing as the Mulatto demands and forcing you back into your body, though I could quite easily do so if I wished. Instead, I shall appear in one of my grimmer aspects to Doctor Saturday and settle his business for good and all. You will then have nothing more to fear, and when you wake up in your body you’ll find the Doctor is dead.’

  ‘What about my friends?’ asked the Duke slowly.

  ‘Oh, you needn’t worry yourself about them,’ replied the young-old god. ‘On the Doctor’s death their spirits will automatically be released.’

  De Richleau sighed. ‘If you really mean that you will do this I shall owe you a great debt.’

  ‘Consider it as already paid,’ smiled Pan. ‘After all, I owe you something for having been, at heart, one of my followers for many incarnations past. Then there’s another side to it. I know the reasons for your visit to Haiti, and, although I have many other aspects which are far more ancient, on earth I’m best known as a Greek; so we’re allies you see and I’m every bit as much for putting these trouble-making humourless Dictators in their places as you are.’

  ‘Of course,’ smiled de Richleau. ‘I little thought when the night began that I’d find a Greek god for an ally; but naturally you must feel that way. You were always the patron of laughter and dancing and love-making—the very antithesis of war and the dreary regimentation of young and old for which the Totalitarian leaders stand.’

  At last the Duke was able to relax and take in the full beauty of the Attic scene. Blissfully he let his eyes rove over the stunted oaks, mossy banks and clearings starred with crocuses and scillas. It was a fundamental tenet of his faith that in the end the Powers of Light always trap the powers of Darkness causing them to become undone through their own evil actions; and that was what had happened to his enemy.

  The ordeal had, after all, been less terrible than he had anticipated, and help had been sent to him much earlier than he could have hoped. In what had seemed his darkest hour he had been called upon to face the great god Pan, but Pan had turned out to be a friend. Doctor Saturday’s fate was now sealed and a splendid victory had been won by the Powers of Light.

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Pan; ‘let’s get back to Haiti and put an end to your unscrupulous enemy.’ And in a flick of time they were both back in the sanctuary of the Hounfort.

  The Witch Doctor was still mumbling over his cauldron and he could neither see nor hear Pan and the Duke as they arrived beside the corpse.

  ‘Get back to your body,’ Pan ordered, ‘then I’ll teach this impudent creature a lesson for daring to summon a European deity. When I appear to him he’ll die of heart spasm—and that�
�s a nasty, painful death.’

  ‘Hadn’t you better give him the heart attack first?’ suggested the Duke.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Pan; ‘that would never do. I should then appear to you as I appear to him, and you too would be utterly blasted with uncontrollable terror. It would affect your astral and cripple it for centuries to come; whereas if you’re back in your physical body and keep your eyes shut, you won’t be able to see me; so all will be well.’

  De Richleau saw the incontestable sense of this, so he hesitated no longer. Thanking Pan, he slipped back into his body but remained utterly still, showing no signs of life.

  Directly he had arrived he felt the stiff blood in his veins begin to uncongeal, giving him awful cramp pains; then, in spite of all his efforts to prevent it, his injured right foot twitched.

  Next second he heard a silvery, derisive laugh. It did not come from the Doctor, but from Pan, and was cold, cruel, mocking. To his utter horror he realised that he had been tricked. He knew then that never for an instant should he have listened to Pan’s subtle reasoning and fair promises. The deadly chill of the astral of the god’s first approach should have been sufficient warning. Like a flash of light he slipped out of his body again.

  Pan was still there. A frown darkened his handsome face. ‘Why have you come out?’ he snapped. ‘Go back at once!’

  De Richleau mentally shuddered, and cried: ‘I refuse— I refuse!’

  In a flick of time Pan’s aspect changed. He had became great and terrible. The Duke strove to cover his astral sight, but could not. In desperate fear he called upon the Powers of Light to aid him.

  In the instant preceding that at which de Richleau had slipped out of his body the Witch Doctor had seen the slight jerk of the foot. His face lighting up with evil triumph, he suddenly started forward. As he did so the empty eye-socket of one of the skulls dangling from his waist caught on a projection of the cauldron. The iron pot was not set quite evenly above the fire. Tipping up, it crashed over, spilling it contents upon the ground.

  The Satanist gave a howl of rage. Before Pan’s new aspect had reached its full degree of terror the form in which he was presenting himself suddenly quivered and disappeared. The spilling of the evil brew had broken the spell and de Richleau knew that his call for help had been answered.

  For several moments the Doctor stamped, blasphemed and swore. At the very moment when victory was in his grasp his clumsiness had ruined the whole ceremony, and both he and the Duke were well aware that no man may summon Pan twice during the same night.

  His astral still sweating with terror from his recent hairbreadth escape, de Richleau wondered what fresh ordeals he would have to undergo, but it seemed that for the time being the Satanist had exerted all the powers of which he was capable while still remaining on the physical plane.

  When he had recovered his breath from cursing he addressed the Duke again. ‘It was sheer luck that you escaped me that time. But you needn’t think that you’re going to get away. I have plenty of ways of subduing you directly I reach the astral.’

  Having mopped up the spilt hell-broth he sprinkled some liquid upon the fire, which immediately caused it to go out, then sat down on a Witch Doctor’s throne which occupied one end of the sanctuary. The back of the throne was formed from two large elephant-tusks, with their points up and curving inward, which had doubtless been imported from Africa; and the rest of it was constructed from other animal, reptile and human remains, mainly bones, teeth and skin. Two human skulls at the forward ends of the arms formed hand-rests, and although the Doctor was no longer wearing his mask and head-dress he looked a formidable figure seated there staring straight before him.

  A first the Duke braced himself, believing that his enemy was about to throw himself into a trance and immediately launch an astral attack; but after a little he decided that for the time being no further call would have to be made on his powers of resistance. He was not sufficiently advanced to get right into the Satanist’s mind and learn what he was thinking, but he could to some extent sense his enemy’s mental condition and gradually he became aware of a thing that heartened him as nothing else had yet done—the Black Magician was worried.

  Could it be, the Duke wondered, that the Satanist, knowing that all his spells had so far failed and that he must now give battle on the astral, was afraid? De Richleau hardly dared to hope that it might be so; yet what other reason could there be for his opponent’s shirking an immediate settlement of the issue?

  The minutes drifted by and still the Mulatto showed no sign whatever of attempting to throw himself into a self-induced trance. Instead, he presently stood up and began to walk uneasily up and down.

  For over half an hour he padded back and forth like some caged animal. At last he sat down again, but only a few minutes. Then evidently having come to a decision, he put on his mask and head-dress, went outside and stood watching the wild dance of his followers which was still in progress.

  Heartened still further, yet wary of some trap, de Richleau pondered upon the Doctor’s actions and sought to fathom why he should apparently have abandoned the struggle, temporarily at least; but when there suddenly formed in the Duke’s mind a theory that would explain his enemy’s conduct it filled him with fresh perturbation.

  In his present state he was definitely not dead. The fact that he had been able to enter his corpse and reanimate it, if only for a few seconds, proved that conclusively. Therefore, sooner or later the natural law would compel him to return to it whether he wanted to or not, and quite independently of the Black Magician’s desire that he should do so.

  His present situation was similiar to that which he had been on the last night on which he had gone out to keep watch on the Atlantic convoy. On that occasion, knowing that he could remain asleep only for a certain time, he had arranged for Simon and Marie Lou to relieve him. But now there could be no question of reliefs. When he had reached the uttermost limits of his power to remain asleep he must return; and not, this time, to a healthy body lying in the safety of a pentacle at Cardinals Folly but to the cataleptic corpse that lay below him in the sanctuary of the Voodoo Temple.

  That, then, was the Satanist’s new plan. He probably did not fear a conflict on the astral but simply preferred to avoid it. All he had to do was to stay awake longer than the Duke could remain in trance-sleep and the Duke would then have to answer the call which must result in his becoming a Zombie.

  Swiftly and anxiously the Duke began to work out times. It comforted him immensely to be able to recall at once that from the moment he had left his bed in Miami he had slept no more than those bare six hours during which Simon had engaged the enemy. He had been awake for a stretch of thirty-nine hours previously to Simon’s arrival, and again from half-past three the following morning until about two o’clock that afternoon—another ten and a half hours. It was now just after two a.m. so he had been in a state which must be counted as sleep for about twelve hours, but altogether he had had only some eighteen hours’ sleep out of the total of sixty-seven.

  Had he been called upon to face another long waking vigil his state would have been none too good, but the opposite applied now that his safety depended upon the length of time during which he could remain on the astral.

  He then began to speculate upon his enemy’s situation. If the Doctor had not slept since the night before the fire, he had already been awake continuously for forty-three hours. The Duke very much doubted if the Satanist had been able to get any sleep on the previous night, but the odds were that he had managed to snatch a short siesta that afternoon; yet such a respite could not have lasted more than three hours at the most. It looked as if the Doctor’s position was considerabjy more serious than that of the Duke and that, however great his own powers as a magician, Nature could compel him to sleep before it forced the Duke back into his body.

  Reassurred that the chances were at least even, de Richleau set himself to wait while he continued to watch his enemy’s every move.

>   That night was still, warm and breathless. As a faint undertone to the Voodoo drums there came the beating of the surf on the coral strand below the nearby cliff. In the great compound, black, brown and coffee-coloured figures mingled in the ferocious dance, jerking their bodies obscenely and at times pairing to give way to unbridled licence.

  The Satanist remained out there for over two hours; sometimes standing silent, sometimes urging his followers to new excesses. But by half-past three most of the devil-worshippers had satiated their lust and many, after having made obeisance to their leader, were departing to snatch a few hours’ sleep before they would have to wake to face the labours of the day. By four o’clock the very last of them had gone, and the High Priest of Evil was left standing alone in the empty clearing.

  For a few moments he walked to and fro, deep in thought; then he went in to stare again at the Duke’s body. Having removed his mask he blinked his eyes once or twice and passed his hand over them in a weary gesture. On seeing those signs of tiredness de Richleau became still more confident that at the game they were now playing he could outlast his enemy; but his new elation was short-lived. With a sudden resolution the Satanist strode to his throne, sat down on it and again addressed him.

  ‘You have defied my spells and by accident escaped the compulsion of Pan. If I had slept last night I would wait until Nature forced you back to obey my call; but why should I further weary myself here, when by passing to another plane I shall instantly be as fresh as a sleeper who wakes? Without the least conception of what you will be called upon to face you have asked for battle. Very well, then; you shall have it; I will come and get you.’

  Throwing his head back, he raised his eyeballs until only the whites were showing, then closed his eyes. He remained like that for barely a minute, then a wisp of black smoke issued from his mouth.