by Lex Sinclair
The door opened to a dim interior.
Invisible spider legs crawled up Joyce’s spine, raising the hairs on the nape of her neck. For some reason the ambience from the interior seemed to be filled with something sinister. The sensation was as tangible as the aroma of her sweet perfume.
Frowning, the experienced officer stepped past Joyce and stepped over the threshold. And in spite of not saying so aloud, he too could feel the unnerving unfathomable ambience hitting him like the pungent scent of cigarettes. Furthermore, a chill colder than the four degree Celsius temperature outside caused him to shiver. This unnerved him more than anything else because he was wearing thermals underneath. He glanced back over his shoulder and noticed Joyce’s arms were speckled with goose bumps.
In the short hallway leading to the living room/bedroom area he saw a light switch. He flicked it, up, down, up, down. Nothing.
Nervously, (although he couldn’t say why he was nervous) he crept forward, peering into the darkness. He reached the end of the hallway and craned his head around the corner and saw the shape hovering, arms and legs spread out, directly above the bed. Urine dribbled down his legs as he whirled, whimpering like a timid schoolgirl, and sprinted for the door, slamming it closed behind him. He ripped the key out of Joyce’s palm. Checking the door was locked the experienced officer grabbed Joyce by the arm in a taut grip, fingers digging into her flabby flesh and dragged her down the stairs. He shot past his partner and darted straight outside and didn’t stop until he reached the front gates down the path.
The younger officer followed in pursuit, alarmed at the pallid hue on his partner’s face as he’d ran right past him. He reached the fellow officer and an anxious looking Joyce Laymon and asked, ‘What did you see?’
‘Don’t go up there whatever you do!’ the experienced officer barked.
‘Why?’ Joyce asked.
‘Yeah,’ the young officer said. ‘Is she... you know? D -’ He glanced at Joyce and opted not to say the word he was about to.
‘She was levitating, like she was possessed...’
19.
Consciousness flooded back to him along with the acrid smell of burning.
The crackling of wood splitting as the fire devoured the layers, spitting red hot sparks onto his naked feet forced the eldest monk to blink open his eyes. Disorientated for a moment, the sagacious believer in God scanned the environing woods. Seconds later it all returned to him where he was and why he was in the forest, which smelled of pines, spruces and fir trees. It smelled like Christmas. Or rather it would have done if not for the smoke billowing upwards into his face. His eyes stung. He tried to move but discovered that it was impossible. His ankles had been crossed over. They felt numb, as did his wrists on either side of him at head height. Easing his eyes open, the eldest monk whimpered at the sight of the rusty nails protruding from the bloodied wounds.
Through the dense smoke that filled his lungs, he saw four robed figures step out from the shadows of the woods. Breathing became arduous. He wheezed like an old man with a chesty cough. He found it nigh on impossible to get some fresh air into his lungs. Nevertheless, in spite of the discomfort it induced, that was the least of his concerns right now.
The four figures standing motionless before him in the same black robes bearing the pentacle watched intently as the flames rose from the fire they’d created of broken pieces of timber. The raging bonfire now licked the long sturdy vertical beam of the cross. The eldest monk was spared this sight by the rising smoke rushing into his face, causing hot tears to escape and roll down his cheeks.
In spite of being blinded and groggy from being unconscious for how long he had no idea, the monk who’d been sent with his fellow brothers on this mission to find the hidden lair and report back Vatican, understood his inescapable situation. He could actually see his heart walloping the chest walls through the robe he wore. And, regardless the amount of times he’d reiterated how to fear no evil, he still couldn’t help the panic overwhelming everything else. His bowels weakened. He clenched his butt cheeks together to save himself humiliation - but the shit insisted. Sobs racked his entire anatomy as the shit ran down his leg like hot mud. It instantly melted to a brown liquid where the flames gradually engulfed the flesh underfoot.
He cried out. He heard the sound of sinister sniggering through the splendidly hot flames. A rage that would have matched the ravenous flames boiled inside him. He gritted his teeth, snarling. Then he proceeded to recite the Lord’s Prayer.
‘Our Father who art in heaven, hallow be thy name...’
The raucous laughter from the robed figures drowned out his words. Nevertheless, the monk ignored them.
‘He thinks God’s gonna save him,’ one of them said, laughing hard.
‘I know,’ another said, doubling over.
‘... give us our daily bread...’
Another wail of uncontrollable laughter ensued.
‘I-I-I c-can’t t-take any more of this. Now he needs God to buy him some bread. It’s only forty pence in Tesco’s.’
The smallest of the robed figures was clutching their quaking ribs, hurting with this amount of amusement.
‘... as we forgive those who trespass against us -’
‘Much obliged,’ said one of the robed figures. The other robed figures hooted laughter.
‘... lead us not to temptation -’
‘Only cos you can’t afford it,’ another robed figure said.
‘... deliver us from evil -’
‘Don’t tell me your mate’s giving you a lift home.’ More braying laughter.
‘... forever and ever Amen.’
After another minute of laughter, the robed figures dried their eyes and stood erect.
The monk who was no older than sixty-two screamed as the flames engulfed his feet, devouring the flesh. His skin blistered and boiled. It turned black and started to flake. The fire ascended with alacrity, as though it adored the taste of the old man’s flesh.
‘AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!’ he bellowed, scaring all the wildlife away.
The monk’s head arched back. He stared at the clouded sky overhead and screamed, ‘GOD! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?’
‘Because I don’t like you,’ one of the robed figures replied in deep voice. Evidently this was followed by another bout of laughter that had them falling over, paralytic.
Dark-grey clouds formed in the sky directly overhead. Only the monk could see it. The looming clouds that shunned all previous daylight intertwined. Then under the monstrous baggage burst open into torrential rain.
The unexpected storm cut the laughter of the devil worshippers off abruptly. Sheets of golf-sized raindrops pelted the earth, soaking the trees and the forest floor decorated in pine needles and acorns strewn everywhere in sight amidst the innumerable twigs, broken branches and foliage and underbrush.
The monk silently thanked the one he believed in. He opened his mouth wide and tasted the wonderful rain wetting his dry, cracked lips and dousing the conflagration that had burned his feet and ankles to bone.
‘I don’t fuckin’ believe this!’ one of the robed figures barked.
The robed figures (who the monk could now see because there was no smoke) glowered at the old man, nailed to the cross they’d stuck in the ground, who wore a Cheshire cat grin across his weathered visage.
‘You think this is the end of it, old man?’ The robed figure strode forwards, hands clenched into taut fists, gritting his teeth, hissing the words. ‘This isn’t the end. This is the beginning of the end. You can’t stop what’s already been written in stone, you fool! You live in fear of something that doesn’t exist. This isn’t God’s doing. I bet that’s what you think this is, huh?’
The old monk could barely hear him over the inexorable deluge.
‘That’s what you Bible bashers always think,
right. Some stroke of luck means that the big guy wants to such your cock for being a good boy. Good boy for kneeling at the altar every Sunday, wasting an hour of your life when ya could’ve been doing somethin’ useful instead. And now ya think this is your reward.’
The old monk opted not to speak. Silence would wind this imprudent man up and vex him more than if he spoke.
‘Once this rain stops we’ll just do it again. This’ll be even worse for you. This is prolonging the pain. This isn’t God’s work. This is Satan’s.’
‘Actually,’ the voice of an older robed figure said, stepping forward, ‘that was the only wood we could find, and it’s soaked. It won’t be any good now for burning. May as well just leave the old fart here and get back to the car. He’s not going anywhere. He’ll die of starvation and lack of fluid before anyone comes to his rescue... I dunno ‘bout you but that sounds a much better plan than standing out here waiting to catch pneumonia.’
‘FUCK!’ The younger man who’d lost his temper sneered at his adversary with malice. Then he rushed forward and rammed a fist into the monk’s groin. He spat out half a shot glass full of thick blood onto the man’s face just as he arched his head and looked at him.
The spillage splashed into the eyes of Reverend Ward. He stumbled backwards off the pyre. Feverishly, he wiped blood out his eyes, temporarily blinded by the scarlet mess masking his features.
Fortunately, for Reverend Ward the unstoppable deluge washed most of the blood away. He glowered at the monk, wincing in agony from the blow he’d received and pointed an index finger at him. ‘You’re gonna die cold, wet and lonely. And the last thought before you hit the snooze button is, “I shit myself like the pussy I’ve always am and always will be”.’
Taking one long last look at the monk who writhed in agony but had been spared an excruciating demise, the quartet reluctantly turned their backs. The headed into the firs, stepping out of the open into the shadows that enveloped them.
The old monk realised that what the devil worshipper had said about him dying out here in the wilderness, cold and wet would soon befall him. But at least he would be able to die with some dignity. He had been spared the death contrived by men doing the beast’s work and would instead die on God’s land.
In the early hours of the morning, the eldest monk that had led his brothers on a suicide mission to the hidden lair out in the woods in Vastmanland, Sweden sensed the presence of angels. His last thought before he lost consciousness evermore was the pines, spruces and fir trees smelled like Christmas.
Raul Jimenez desperately needed to get to Sofie Lackberg. She was in the process of transforming into something else entirely. Soon (if she hadn’t already) Sofie would lose control of both mind and body, entirely. Her wellbeing - and more imperatively the foetus inside her - was in peril. The full circle was almost at its conclusion. Sofie had exhausted all the possibilities of escape, thwarted their previous attempts to capture her. And thanks to asinine decisions and unexpected tragedies, the cult still found themselves in very nearly the same position as they first started out. Contriving something as complex as they had in mind at first seemed to be falling into place far easier than anyone anticipated.
Then Sofie managed to kill Margaret and get away.
The tall, elegantly dressed man with steel-blue eyes paced his room to and fro. He was waiting anxiously for the phone in his room to ring for an update. That’s all he needed on top of everything else was for Rodney Ward to call him and say he had botched their plan up in Vastmanland as well.
The abrupt shrill noise halted Raul instantly. He snatched the receiver up.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s me, Rodney.’
Raul was neither pleased nor displeased at the familiar sound of Rodney’s voice on the other end.
‘Well, how’d it go? Were they there? Are they dead?’
‘They were. And they are,’ Rodney said, sounding proud of himself.
‘Whad’ya want? A medal for not fuckin’ it up. Bravo.’
Rodney fell silent for a moment. Then he added, ‘They found the lair. They must’ve been down there for at least an hour, probably closer to two. We planted the explosives. You were right. The ground was unstable. We could hear the rocks crashing down on ‘em. Sounded like an earthquake. One old guy got to the top. We were gonna burn him. But we left him there burnt, wounded, in the middle of the woods, waiting to die.’
Raul breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Good job. Get on your flight and get back here, pronto. You-know-who saw Sofie getting back onto the university campus.’
‘Oh, shit!’
‘That’s not the worst of it, you-know-who said she saw an ambulance this morning and a patrol car. Something’s happened. Sofie is at risk. We’re gonna send one of our guys to take a butcher’s at here, if we can.’
‘Not if she’s back in the hospital,’ Rodney said.
‘Sofie wasn’t the one going into the ambulance. You-know-who said she didn’t see her leaving the campus all night or this morning. She’s still in her room. But the two officers and some old biddy were spotted running fro their lives towards the main gates. Even you can deduce that it’s got something to do with Sofie. Get your arse back here!’ With that said, Raul Jimenez terminated the call.
Joyce Laymon and the two officers had tentatively returned to the on-campus dormitory, ashen-faced. The middle-aged woman couldn’t quite fathom what the hell had transpired this morning that seemed to be something from a Tales From the Darkside episode. Her rotund cheeks prickled with heat flushing her face a bright red hue. She saw her reflection in the glass panel of the entrance door to the dormitory and thought she looked liked she’d spent too long on the sun bed and got herself a nasty rash for her troubles.
‘Whatcha mean “levitating”?’ she blurted out.
The older of the two officers hadn’t spoken since he’d uttered that word.
‘Exactly what I said. I didn’t stick around to examine the situation.’
‘We need to take a look at what we’re dealin’ with before we call it in to dispatch,’ the young officer said, not realising he was stating the obvious.
‘You didn’t see what I saw, son,’ his partner said.
‘Perhaps I should go up by myself,’ Joyce said. ‘I m-m-m-mean she knows m-me.’
The experienced officer took the weight off both his knees and lowered himself on the bottom step, still breathing laboriously. ‘I don’t think I can take another look. I’ll lose my mind if I do. Probably won’t sleep for another couple of months just seeing what I did, anyway.’
‘Gimme the key then,’ the young officer said. ‘I’ll make sure she is as you say she is.’
In spite of trembling from head to toe, Joyce added, ‘I will, too.’
The young officer regarded her. ‘How come you didn’t see the first time you went up there?’
Joyce explained that she had been behind the other officer who craned his head around the wall and then leapt back, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her out of the room as quick as a flash.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘This time, you call her name. If she recognises your voice it’ll calm her.’
Joyce nodded, concurring.
She followed the young officer up the flight of stairs. He unlocked the door and eased it open.
The experienced officer didn’t listen to the headmistress calling out her student’s name but heard it nonetheless. His heart jolted causing him a sharp pain from the left side of his chest at the bloodcurdling scream of the headmistress moments later. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest when he heard scurrying footfalls race each other to the top of the stairs.
‘Don’t forget to lock the door,’ he told his partner.
The young officer halted halfway down the steps behind Joyce who kept on running out of the building towards the pa
rking area outside. He pivoted. He climbed two steps on legs as stable as water then tripped on the top step, landing with a thud on the first floor. He got up and made his way to the room belonging to Sofie Lackberg, and was on the verge of pulling the door closed when from the other side a force yanked it out of his sweaty grasp. He stumbled forward and hit the deck knees first. The officer grimaced. Then gazed up from his kneeling position at the monstrosity in the size and shape of what used to be a beautiful young woman. He reached up mercifully, crying at the top of his lungs. Sofie took his head in her hands and gave it one sharp twist, hearing the crunch, and letting the floppy head fall to the side as the torso toppled to the right.
Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and bulged from the sockets.
The experienced officer who now stood on the last step of the staircase looked on in complete and utter shock and devastation. A force from within turned his trembling into convulsions. The hand gripping the rail started to slip. Then, seeing his young, eager partner, sprawled out, his head lying limp at an impossible angle, killed his terror which metamorphosed into an undeniable fury.
‘Fuckin’ bitch!’ he yelled, charging her.
Sofie nonchalantly sidestepped him just as his fingertips were about to tear into her nightdress. The policeman went crashing into the door and walloped his head on the doorknob on his way down.
Guffawing like a maniacal witch, Sofie hurried over to where he lay and stomped on the back of his head every time he attempted to raise it. The policeman’s head thumped the floor three times before he chose to crawl further into the dim interior, having no idea where he was headed or what he had in mind. He was stopped when Sofie’s bare foot connected with his genitals between his parted legs. He groaned aloud. Then felt a steady flow of warm liquid spraying on the back of his head. When he rolled over to see what was being poured onto him he stared incredulous.