The 13th Black Candle

by Bob Goodwin

‘I’ll bring him a couple of Panadol. Just wait on.’

  ‘Damn you,’ cursed Kym, as she hastily placed a bottle of pills back in its pigeonhole, not noticing as it toppled to one side. Eddy’s rattling keys could be heard at the door. She pressed the plastic top down firmly on another small glass medication bottle. The medication door lock clicked, and the handle swung down with a thump to the open position. With the pressure from her thumb, the small bottle slipped against the smooth laminated surface and shot out onto the floor. The door swung open. The bottle shattered. Without looking up, Kym dropped to her knees and began collecting all the small yellow pills. A few continued rolling and came to rest between Eddy’s brown, slip-on leather shoes.

  ‘While you’re down there, Kymmy?’

  ‘In your dreams, pencil-penis,’ she replied without hesitation.

  ‘Oh dear, that’s a very nasty and hurtful thing to say,’ said Eddy sarcastically. ‘Now, a good psych nurse would not inflict such an enormous emotional scar on a colleague.’ Kym raised her middle finger, and then gathered up the last of the yellow tablets and dropped them into the pocket of her blouse. ‘Do I see the nurse pilfering hospital medication?’

  ‘No. You see the nurse picking up her own vitamins. I was just about to take my morning dose. And, if you hadn’t deliberately set out to frighten me, I would not have dropped them in the first place.’

  ‘I see, I see. This is all my fault. I’m so ashamed.’ Eddy extended his hand limply forward and slapped his own wrist. Kym gritted her teeth, pushed herself roughly past the unwelcome obstruction in front of the door, and left.

  The glass cabinet to the right of the individualised compartments contained most of the ‘everyday’ medicines such as analgesics, cough mixtures, creams, and the like. After popping two Panadol from the foil, Eddy replaced the packet on the upper shelf. The tipped bottle in pigeonhole number eight caught his attention. After turning the bottle upright, he replaced all the loose antidepressant medication — except for one. Dropping onto all fours, he groped around the floor for a couple of minutes, looking around the base of the oxygen cylinder, feeling near the wheels of the stainless-steel trolley, running his fingers down the narrow gap between the vinyl tiles and the edge of the cupboard, and finally lifting the plastic pedal waste bin. There it was, one lonely yellow pill. Eddy stood and placed it next to the antidepressant tablet retrieved from Stacey’s medicine compartment.

  ‘Exactly the same,’ he whispered with intrigue. ‘Vitamins my arse.’

  Chapter 22

  The Madhouse

  ‘J. C., good morning. I’ve been expecting you. What’s your interest in this fellow? Seems like an uncomplicated suicide. It’s not the first in this madhouse, and it won’t be the last.’ Senior Constable Martin Joseph Blake and his colleague from the local station had been waiting for John Cochran. They had completed some preliminary enquiries and a partial inspection of the scene. After being advised of the inspector’s concern and curiosity, they had suspended further investigation pending his arrival.

  ‘This so-called suicide is just too convenient for my liking,’ said Cochran gruffly. He crouched beside the low-set bed, lifted the pyjama jacket with two fingers, and ran his eyes up and down the blotchy body of George Hartley. ‘What can you tell me, Snake?’

  ‘He was found like this by two male nurses, at seven thirty this morning, but with the sheet and quilt over his head. He has been in solitary since going ape-shit on Sunday afternoon. The night staff record sheet has him as sleeping soundly all night. What a joke! How he got that plastic bag is a bit of a mystery; they’re supposed to be banned from the ward.’

  ‘What are these?’ Cochran stood, displaying two large white pills in the palm of his hand.

  ‘Chlorpromazine, or so they tell me. He was prescribed one every night. It has been suggested that he wasn’t swallowing them. And that he may have got together a bit of a stockpile.’

  ‘The cheeks of his arse look like a pincushion. What the hell have they been pumping into him?

  ‘Other tranquillisers. They’re all written down on his medication order form to be given as necessary,’ replied Blake.

  ‘Was that chessboard like that when you came in?’

  ‘Certainly was. The old fella liked playing the game, but that’s no position I’ve ever seen before.’

  ‘What do you make of it, Johnson?’

  Cathy had been standing quietly near the door, absorbing the details of the tragic scene. The chessboard sat in one corner of the room, neatly aligned with the two walls. All the black pieces formed a circle extending to the edges of the board. A row of white pawns bisected the circle. The other white chessmen lay on their sides forming two lines that crossed the line of pawns.

  ‘It’s unusual,’ remarked Cathy quietly.

  ‘Well, well! That’s a bloody breakthrough. It’s unusual,’ announced Cochran in his usual loud offhand manner. ‘I guess that’s it then. Case closed!’

  ‘There’s no need to go on like that. Give me a moment,’ insisted Johnson. Blake raised his eyebrows in surprise at her backchat. ‘It seems to have the basic shape of a crucifix,’ she continued. ‘Except with an extra cross piece at the bottom and two additional angular struts at the top. I would guess it has some religious significance.’

  ‘Thank you, Johnson. Now you’re thinking. Take a photo of it will you?’

  * * *

  The feeling in Stacey’s tongue had increased. He rolled it round in his mouth with difficulty. It felt awkward and heavy, as if it was swollen and partially paralysed. A tightness was forming in the muscles of his jaw and neck, causing his head to tilt uncontrollably to the left. He wondered initially whether this was some strange neurotic reaction to the news about the demise of his old companion. Then he thought back to his breakfast and the terrible taste of that cup of tea.

  ‘Po…pois…poishun!’ he mumbled almost incoherently. His speech was failing fast. The terrifying sensations were spreading quickly. His eyes wanted to roll up and look inside his own head, while his body arched to the left, making him look like a human coat hanger. Hurrying through the door with shortened stride, he presented himself, snorting and hissing, in front of the nurses’ station.

  Eddy, noticing the unusual sound, casually looked up. He slowly placed his novel to one side after carefully folding one corner of the page to mark his spot.

  ‘What have we here?’ He rose from his chair and stretched out his arms as if waking from a deep sleep. ‘Stacey, it’s very rude to interrupt. The very least you could do is say excuse me.’

  Simon was unable to focus his vision or even force his eyes to look at his nemesis. Eddy’s attitude only served to reinforce his fears of being poisoned.

  ‘If you wait there like a good fellow, I’ll get a special injection for you. Would you like that?’ Eddy paused momentarily, waiting for a response which he knew only too well would not be forthcoming. ‘The cat got your tongue, or is there a frog in your throat?’

  Stacey’s heart pounded even harder as the male nurse made a move towards the medication room. The bastard’s going to finish me off for good. He turned to move away but caught his feet around the legs of a chair and toppled headlong across a table. Jigsaw pieces went in all directions. Simon lay writhing on the floor amongst the upturned furniture and pieces of the puzzle. The podgy adolescent sat looking down at her shattered dreams. She held a single piece of jigsaw between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, the last two pieces to complete the picture. Her meaty cheeks vibrated as her trembling became intense. A loud, high-pitched shrill filled the air. She stood, took a few steps forward, and began repeatedly kicking into Simon’s stomach and chest. He could do little but wave his arms as if shooing flies. There had been many times when he had contemplated death, but the thought of dying by being kicked to death by a frenzied, obese, brain-damaged, teenage girl was never one of them.

  Any loud noise in Ward 21 was guaranteed to attract staff like bees to a honey pot. Eddy, despit
e being the only eyewitness, was not first to restrain the young girl. He allowed her to persist with the corporal punishment until two other male staff, making a hasty exit from the conference room, took hold of her arms. Only then did he assist in dragging her, screaming and kicking, into the nearest seclusion room.

  With the hastily convened meeting to discuss the morning’s distressing events now disrupted, plenty of persons were available to help with the more immediate problem. Kym was the first to lend assistance to the snorting and squirming Stacey.

  ‘I know you’re frightened, but you’re going to be okay,’ said Kym with confidence. ‘This is a reaction to the injection you had last night, it happens sometimes. If we give you another needle you’ll be back to normal within a few minutes. I promise. You are going to be fine.’

  Kym sat on the floor next to Simon’s head, held his hand, and continued to offer words of support. His only possible response was to lightly squeeze her fingers. Another nurse was quick to arrive with the syringe and swab. She stepped over the contorted body, pulled down his pyjama pants, rubbed the site, and plunged the needle in to the hilt.

  The events had not gone unnoticed by John Cochran, who was peering intently through the narrow opening of Hartley’s bedroom door.

  ‘Bloody Stacey. Always up to something. I suppose I’ve got Buckley’s chance of getting an interview now,’ cursed the inspector.

  ‘From what I could to see, I don’t think it was all theatrics. He’s going to be pretty sore and sorry for himself later,’ commented Cathy. She had been trying to get a peek at the action, but Cochran’s oversized torso had obstructed her vision. Brief glimpses under his arms and over his shoulders were sufficient for her to assimilate what had happened.

  ‘I don’t like this, don’t like it at all. That bastard has either gone completely troppo or he’s playing us for fools. In any case, he knows enough to get himself or someone else in even more trouble. I want him out of here, and the sooner the better. He’s going to the Wacol Security Patient’s Hospital. I’ll be making recommendations as soon as we get out of this madhouse.’

  * * *

  It was 10.30 and morning tea was being served. Apart from the dead George Hartley lying in a locked room and a plain-clothed policeman sitting at the door, the ward was pretty much back to normal. Stacey was asleep on his bed, the adolescent girl was secluded and sedated, and the other police had left. The courtyard was open, and patients were quietly helping themselves to tea and coffee from the stainless-steel trolley. Kym was mixing amongst the quiet group, passing out biscuits from a plastic bowl, while Eddy sat near the courtyard door having a cigarette. He felt the breast pocket of his short-sleeve sky-blue shirt. With his finger, he detected the small tablet he had located on the medication room floor. He looked at Kym; she was heading in his direction with the biscuits.

  ‘Kymmy, how about a bicky for your favourite nurse?’

  She stood in front of him and tipped up the bowl. A few crumbs fell onto his jeans.

  ‘Hard luck. Looks like you dip out. What a shame.’

  ‘What about this then?’ Eddy displayed the small yellow tablet.

  ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’

  ‘Well it’s not a bloody vitamin pill, is it?’ smiled Eddy.

  ‘Isn’t it. So what?’ Kym was trying hard to sound unconcerned.

  ‘It’s more like an antidepressant. You were flogging some medicine. If you’re depressed, I could help you out with some of Eddy’s special therapy.’

  Kym was quiet for a moment. She held her hands tightly and swallowed deeply.

  ‘Okay, it’s an antidepressant and I was pinching it, but everyone helps themselves to a bit of stuff here and there.’

  ‘Sure they do,’ admitted Eddy. ‘But most don’t lie about it when they’re caught red-handed.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I guess I’ve been a bit upset. They are for my aunty. She’s been really sick and I’m worried about her,’ replied Kym hesitantly.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Can I have that pill back? I’ll put it with the rest.’ She sat down and extended her hand. Eddy raised his eyebrows, looked at her, and then at the tablet held gently between his fingers.

  ‘There’s plenty more in the drug room. Help yourself.’

  ‘You have no need for that one. Just pass it over please,’ insisted Kym.

  ‘It must be made of gold. I think I’ll keep it.’ With that Eddy dropped it into his pocket, stood, and began to walk away.

  ‘You prick!’

  ‘Go to hell,’ he replied promptly.

  Eddy walked up to the trolley and started stacking the cups. Kym glared and clenched her teeth. After a moment she relaxed, nodded slowly, and smiled.

  ‘You’ll go to hell, you bastard. And maybe sooner than you realise,’ she whispered.

  Chapter 23

  Robes and Rituals

  The nine thick, black candles shimmered in the breeze that found its way through the small holes and cracks of the old timber building. Several large, knotted, and almost straight tree trunks were strategically placed to support the dilapidated construction. For the moment, all seemed peaceful. The wind whistled lightly, a branch scratched against the corrugated iron roof, and occasionally the drone of a distant vehicle could be heard. The dusty room, about the size of a tennis court, had a raised wooden platform area at one end, similar to a low-set stage. The remainder of the flooring was simply dirt, sawdust, and wood chips.

  Each of the nine candles sat firmly in its shallow earthenware holder on a long, heavy wooden bench mounted on the platform. This rustic piece of furniture, roughly assembled from heavy lumber, appeared to be the focal point for whatever business the weather-beaten haunt endorsed. Carved into the centre of the bench were two interlocking, red-stained triangles, forming a six-pointed star. Of the nine naked flames, one sat on each point, and three others on intersecting lines of the symbol.

  Two other items added to the decor of the area. On the right of the bench, a solid wooden bucket bound by two rusty metal hoops, and to the left, leaning at forty-five degrees to the rear wall, a full-size timber crucifix. To the long end was attached a chain which ascended to a ceiling beam, through a pulley, and down to a hand-operated winch, the use of which would suspend the crucifix upside down. Secured to both cross pieces were numerous strands of barbed wire of a suitable length to be tied around the arms and legs of any hapless martyr.

  To the front of the elevated area, lying flat on the dusty floor was a large, black diagram etched on a sheet of canvas. Two concentric circles, the area between equally divided into thirteen sections, formed a large ring extending to the edges of the tent cloth. In each division was written a name, only just visible in the candlelight. At the top, nearest the altar, LUCIFER — and clockwise the names: BELZEBUB, ASTAROT, LUCIFUGE, SATANACHIA, AGALIAREPT, FLEURETY, SARGATANAS, NEBIROS, EURYNOME, HAKELDAMA, BELPHEGOR, and BAAL.

  Inside this circle of malevolent nomenclature was a further curious formation — a central ring with six other interlocking circles of equal size, resembling a flower with six round petals. Lying crossed in the centre were two highly polished daggers with curved, dark handles fashioned artistically into the shape of a serpent.

  The wind began to gust, causing a piece of roofing iron to vibrate into a monotonous tapping rhythm. A rush of air through a crack near the rear paling door whipped up a small cloud of sawdust and deposited it on the opposite side of the room. The beams from an approaching light caused the shadows to become alive. The nine flames flickered a little more vigorously, as if heralding the arrival.

  The paling door rattled and opened. In single file, they entered. There were seven of them, all clad in black, hooded robes. The last two carried a canvas and pole stretcher containing an eighth person — a naked, unconscious man. The leader switched off the torch on entering the old barn, reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette lighter, and lit the candle passed to him from the second in line. The troop proceeded quiet
ly toward the canvas sheet. The candle bearer stopped with the daggers at his feet and sat down cross-legged. His right foot protruded from under his robe revealing the underside of his shoe — the thick rubber sole, with a multitude of V-shaped protrusions, had little wear. Four of his followers positioned themselves likewise, each in the centre of a circular petal. One other wore sports shoes. The rest had bare feet.

  The other two of the party proceeded to the left of the altar, lowered the stretcher to the ground, and without hesitation or a spoken word took hold of the sleeping man. One grabbed his arms, the other his legs and lifted. The man’s head jerked backward and his buttocks sagged awkwardly, but the lift achieved its purpose, and the naked body descended onto the crucifix. Now closer to the candlelight, his body showed a mass of bruising, particularly on the chest and the unshaven face. His eyelids were swollen, lips dry and cracked, and both wrists carried red weeping wounds. The two anonymous performers now secured the barbed straps. Three to each arm and four around the legs. The man stirred. He shook his head several times and groaned loudly as the restraints were tightened and the twists of metal cut into his flesh. Trickles of blood ran over his limbs. Some flowed freely onto the cross and then dripped onto the already stained floor.

  The two disciples re-joined the others and assumed their positions in the remaining two circles. All faced inward towards the holder of the black candle. The circle of worshippers chanted in unison to their leader, who held the daggers crossed above his head.

  Romoli, it is you who will lead us.

  Romoli, it is you that have the power.

  Romoli, it is through you we will contact the King.

  Lucifer, we remain your loyal servants,

  Now and forever - Amen.

  ‘Is all in readiness for Friday’s celebrations?’ spoke the central figure. His speech was solemn and insistent. One cloaked head lifted and looked at the leader. The black hood slid back, revealing a head of long, black, shiny hair.