The Satanist

by Dennis Wheatley

  Mary just caught the sound of his receding footsteps on the soft carpet, then she felt Mr. X's finger-tips on her forehead and heard him say, 'I'm sorry you've been ill, Miss; but they say you're well enough to tell me what my prospects are, and the sort of trouble I ought to look out for. This thing means a lot to me, and I'd be very grateful if you could.'

  In accordance with her instructions, Mary silently counted two hundred then she fluttered her eyes open and looked up at Mr. X. He was a well-made, broad shouldered man, and she judged him to be about fifty-five. His hair was short, grey and wiry, his jowls were heavy and his reddish complexion suggested that he was a fairly heavy drinker; but his mouth was good and firm, and his brown eyes looked down into hers with compelling directness.

  Keeping her voice very low, she said: 'All will be well, if you act with caution.'

  'That's a good start,' he said, a smile spreading over his face. 'But I'd like a few practical details.'

  She counted fifty, then spoke again. 'Take no step of importance on Tuesdays. For the next . . .'

  'What's that?' He leaned forward over her. 'Speak a bit louder if you can, please. I can hardly hear you.'

  Without raising her voice, she repeated the warning about Tuesdays, and went on: 'For the next twelve days eat no meat, drink no alcohol and know no woman, so that greater power to influence others may flow into you.'

  'Twelve days,' he muttered. 'Yes, you've hit it. If I get through them I'll be all right. But what's this special danger I've to guard against that Emily Purbess couldn't quite make out?'

  Mary counted another hundred, as she had been told, then replied in a whisper. 'Beware of the man with the thick-rimmed glasses. Do not trust him. In secret he is working against you.'

  'What; Sir Hamish?' Mr. X burst out. 'You can't mean him! He's spent thousands pushing the boat in the right direction.'

  'I see clearly the man who menaces your success,' Mary went on. 'He has thick, dark hair, and dresses untidily. He is still under thirty but has a forceful, abrupt manner.'

  'By God, it is Sir Hamish!'

  'Be warned by me. I am the vehicle, of power beyond your understanding.'

  'Yes; yes.' Mr. X appeared greatly agitated. 'I don't get it; but I'll watch out.'

  His face was still within a foot of Mary's. Suddenly she threw the bedclothes from her, sat up, smiled at him, quickly put out her right hand, curling it round his neck, and said in a much stronger voice, 'In you the Lion finds a champion against the Bear. Heed my warning and a great future will be yours. Go now, and good fortune be with you.'

  For a moment his eyes showed amazement at her unexpected display of vigour. Then they dropped from her face to her body.

  He drew a deep breath, jerked his head away, stood upright and said, a trifle thickly:

  'Get back under the bedclothes.'

  She had carried out Abaddon's instructions to the letter and Mr. X's reaction to her prophesy had been just as expected. But how he would react when she exposed herself to him was the question that had been agitating her on and off for the past hour. The display of control with which he coupled his admonition brought her instant relief. Gladly she obeyed him, flopping back and grasping quickly with both hands at the sheets. As she pulled them up to her chin, he asked her in a puzzled voice:

  'Why haven't you got a night-dress on? If I hadn't been told that this was a sort of scientific clinic, and you a kind of vestal virgin, I'd think I'd got into a slap-up brothel.'

  She made no reply and, as though exhausted by the effort of prophesying, closed her eyes again. After a moment, he went on: 'I suppose when you prophesy you're not properly conscious of your surroundings, and sat up on a sudden impulse?'

  As she continued to ignore him, he shrugged and said: 'Well, it's not for me to complain, as you were good enough to see me while ill in bed. Your prophesy was a queer one, but I'll certainly heed the warning and keep away from the man you described to me.'

  He was still speaking when she heard footsteps, then Abaddon's voice. 'I trust, Sir, that you are satisfied?'

  'Yes,' Mr. X replied. 'She was aware of the date that is important to me, and has told me the quarter from which I can expect trouble. I must say it surprised me, but forewarned is forearmed.'

  The voices faded as the two men left the room. Mary opened her eyes and lay still for a few minutes, then Honorius came in to her. The Priestess now had her coif drawn forward hiding her pale gold hair. Evidently she had adjusted it for Mr. X's visit, to give the impression that she was nursing Mary, as from her flowing white robes anyone would have taken her for a nun. Readjusting the coif on the back of her head, she said:

  'Abaddon tells me that you played your part excellently. He is very pleased with you.'

  With a pale smile, Mary sat up. 'I'm glad about that. I can dress now, then, and get ready to go home.'

  'No, not yet.' Honorius checked her with a gesture as she was about to get out of bed. 'Abaddon is seeing our visitor downstairs; but he will be back in a moment and wants to talk to you again.'

  Fear leapt into Mary's blue eyes, but the Priestess saw it and quickly sought to dispel her terror by saying: 'There is no need to be alarmed, my dear. He is not often subject to such fits, and you may be certain that he will not be seized by another tonight.'

  At that moment Abaddon appeared in the doorway. Quickly Mary lay back and covered herself again up to the chin. Holding the door open for Honorius, he said quietly, 'You may leave us now,' and, when she had walked past him, he closed it behind her.

  Her statement had done little to reassure Mary. With his bald head, smiling eyes, smooth cheeks, and dressed in his neat dark grey suit, the High Priest still looked like a benevolent Bishop yet, less than half an hour before, he had calmly admitted to her that he was a strangler. And he was the Master in this den of murderers. His word was law there and Honorius, like the rest of them, was sworn to obey him. He might have told her to still his intended victim's fears and keep her in bed till his return, so that she would be less able to defend herself. Now that she had served her purpose, even if she screamed Honorius might not come to her rescue again, but leave her at the mercy of this elderly maniac.

  Mary's heart was beating like a sledge hammer. Perspiration again broke out on her forehead. Her throat had suddenly gone dry and her tongue felt like thick leather in her mouth. As Abaddon moved away from the door, her eyes fixed themselves on his beautiful hands. In another few moments those strong, slender fingers might be choking the life out of her body. Half sitting up, she thrust out an arm as if to fend him off, and gasped:

  'Stay where you are! Stay where you are! Don't . . . don't come any nearer!'

  His smile became sad, and he said: 'My child, I understand how you must be feeling. Naturally you are afraid that I may give way to another of my little lapses; but you have no need to be.'

  As he continued to approach the bed, she did not believe him. Cowering back among the pillows, she repeated hoarsely: 'Don't come any nearer! I'll claw your eyes out if you touch me!'

  He halted then and shook his head. 'Calm yourself, I beg. My having so unfortunately, er . . . forgotten myself, must have been a great shock to you. After having your nerve so badly shaken it does you all the more credit that you should have passed your test with flying colours. I come only to tell you of the special favour I intend to grant you as a reward for going through with the task set you in spite of what had gone before.'

  She continued to regard him with nervous doubt, but his eyes showed no sign of abnormality. With an effort, she stopped the trembling of her hands, and asked in a low voice, 'What is it?'

  'That's better,' he nodded. 'Lie back, my child, and relax. I give you my word that I will not lay a finger on you.'

  Uneasily, she wriggled down a little, and again covered herself up to the shoulders, as he asked, 'Have you yet decided on your Satanic name? Is it to be Circe, or some other?'

  She was about to reply that to her it was a matter of complete ind
ifference, but remembered in time that to him she was a neophyte who, having successfully passed her test, should now be looking forward eagerly to her initiation as a Sister of the Ram. His question suggested that the favour he meant to do her was in connection with it - perhaps the fixing of an early date - and that he was about to tell her of certain things she must do to prepare herself for the ceremony. She was still in their power and, if she was to get out of it in the next half-hour, she must continue to avoid arousing their suspicions by showing delight at her prospect of becoming one of them. Seeking now to please him, she said in a steadier voice:

  'I like the name, but you are the Master here. If there is one you prefer for me I will willingly take it.'

  He beamed at her. 'I like it too; so Circe let it be. Now, tell me: what do you know of our Satanic festivals?'

  'Mr. Ratnadatta told me that your weekly meetings on Saturdays are called Esbats, and that four times a year you hold a Sabat - a great feast at which you sacrifice a ram.'

  'That is so; and it is through the blood of the ram that we receive our first degree of power. The central act in an initiation ceremony is the baptism of the neophyte with it. Only so can one become a member of the Brotherhood.'

  'I see,' she said, pretending keen interest. 'And as there are only four Sabats a year, that is why a neophyte sometimes has to wait quite a long time before receiving initiation. Mr. Ratnadatta warned me that I should have to be patient.'

  'Yes, usually we arrange matters so that three weeks or a month elapse between each stage. You were fortunate that an occasion happened to arise for us to give you your test after only a fortnight.'

  Mary was now feeling enough at ease with him again to play her part convincingly. With just a suggestion of peevishness, she murmured, 'And now I suppose it will be the other way. I'll have to wait weeks and weeks before I can enjoy the power that initiation will give me.'

  'No, my child.' His smile was seraphic. 'As resident Master of this Lodge, I have authority to ignore normal procedure when I wish, and I intend to treat your case as an exception. That is the way in which I propose to make amends for giving you such a fright.'

  'Do you mean that there is a Sabat quite soon, and that you'll let me come to it? If so, that's very kind.'

  He looked at her in surprise. 'Do you not know what today is?'

  Puzzled, she thought a moment, then replied, 'Yes, it's the 30th April.'

  'And Walpurgis Night,' he added quickly, 'the greatest Satanic feast in the whole year.'

  Starting up, she stared at him. 'You don't mean . . .'

  'I mean that, normally, your initiation would not take place until the end of July. But I am granting you a dispensation which will spare you that long wait and enable you to be received as an initiate tonight.'

  'Tonight!' she gasped, her face a picture of dismay.

  'Yes. You will be one of five who are to be initiated; two other women and two men. But what has come over you?' he frowned. 'Instead of being delighted, you appear distressed.'

  She knew herself to be walking a razor's edge. Desperately she strove to compose her features. Then she faltered: 'It's only . . . only that I've had no chance to prepare myself for it. And I'm tired. Tired out by what I've been through this evening already.'

  'You feel so now, perhaps. But it will pass. You have the best part of an hour in which to rest. By then, and after another glass of our Delphic wine, you will feel quite restored and be eager to take your place among us.'

  'No! No!' she cried, panic getting the better of her. 'I couldn't face it tonight. Even if I have to wait three months, I'd rather. Let me go home! Let me go home!'

  'Now you are being foolish,' he admonished her. 'Of course you are tired and a little overwrought. But tomorrow you would bitterly regret having allowed a temporary weakness to deprive you of this chance to achieve your desires without further delay.'

  'I've not the strength to go through with this tonight. I really haven't. I swear I haven't. I'll bungle everything and disgrace you.'

  'I am confident that you will not. You took your oaths and made your profession of faith when you were accepted as a neophyte. No further demands of that kind will be made upon you. The ceremony consists only of a little blood being drawn from your arm so that you may sign a pact in it with our Lord Satan, then your baptism with the blood of the sacrificed ram and the tying of the black garter below your knee.'

  'But . . .' she stammered '. . . but Ratnadatta told me . . . he said I'd have to serve the Temple.'

  'Oh, that!' Abaddon shrugged. 'Yes, you will do so later. But you are not a virgin, so you will both give and receive pleasure by the act. After we have feasted and the dancing begins, you will be filled with desire and eager to make love.'

  'Not tonight! Not tonight!' she pleaded. 'I don't feel like feasting and dancing. I'm too tired, I tell you. I want to go home! Please let me go home!'

  Suddenly his voice became sharp. 'You silly child! Pull yourself together! Show the same spirit you displayed earlier this evening. I'll not let you rob yourself of the reward I intended for you. I shall leave you now to give orders for your reception with the other four who are to become initiates. As you are the protegé of Sásín - or Ratnadatta, to use his ordinary name - he will come for you when we assemble in the Temple and bring you down to us.'

  Before she could plead with him further, he turned on his heel, walked quickly from the room and peevishly slammed the door behind him.

  So far Mary had restrained her tears, but now she gave way to them. Her terror of Abaddon had played havoc with her nerves and sapped away her reserves of courage. During these last few minutes, as soon as she had got over her fear that he might again attempt to strangle her, she had once more had high hopes that she would be allowed to dress and leave this devil-ridden mansion. To her utter consternation, they had been shattered. With what seemed the most cruel injustice, the very fact that he had attacked her was now the reason for her being ordered to remain there and face yet another ordeal.

  That it would prove one for her was beyond doubt. His glib assurance that the ceremony required no effort might be true; but what of afterwards? He, of course, naturally assumed that, as a voluntary disciple of the Devil, she would willingly perform her 'service to the Temple', and afterwards thoroughly enjoy participating in the wild revels of his Satanic congregation. With tears oozing from the corners of her eyes, she shuddered at the thought and cursed herself anew for her temerity in having let Ratnadatta bring her again to the Temple.

  For some five minutes she gave way to despair, then her sobbing eased and she began again to contemplate an attempt to escape. Abaddon had said that she had nearly an hour before her in which she could rest, so presumably she would be left alone during that time. She should, anyway, be able to get dressed without interference. But what then?

  A long corridor, two flights of stairs and the hall lay between her and the front door. Could she possibly hope to reach it without being intercepted? And down in the hall there were the two negro footmen. It seemed unlikely that they would have been ordered to keep a look-out for her and stop her if she tried to leave the house; and, as they were semi-Zombies, they might not have the wit to do so on their own initiative.

  As against that, the hour of the meeting was approaching and, since tonight was one of the great Satanic festivals, it was certain to be a bumper gathering. Between now and ten o'clock at least thirty people, and perhaps even double that number would be arriving. They would be coming in nearly every minute, so she was certain to run into some of them, and there seemed a big risk that, thinking it strange that anyone should be going out at that hour, they would question her. If so, would she be able to satisfy them without their referring the matter to Abaddon?

  From that thought another arose. The numbers arriving would be greater after than before half-past nine, so the sooner she made the attempt, the better chance she would have of avoiding them and getting away. Again she considered the risks involved, r
ecalling Honorius's terrifying threats of what Abaddon might do to her if she had refused to obey his order to expose herself to Mr. X. But, surely, this was quite a different matter? No work for Satan depended on her compliance. She would only be declining a favour he intended to do her. She had already told him in no uncertain terms that she did not feel up to facing initiation that night. If she was caught and stopped she could plead that her nerve had given way and impelled her to flight. As he must consider himself to blame that she should be reduced to such a state, he could hardly decree some awful punishment for her. He might compel her to stay; but he might even relent and let her go.

  For another few moments she lay there, a prey to alternate hopes and fears. But time was ticking by and she became increasingly aware that it was a case of now or never. Suddenly resolving to challenge fate, she threw back the bedclothes, got out of bed and walked over to the wardrobe.

  As she approached it she caught sight of herself in the long mirror. When she had returned from her walk over Wimbledon Common and encountered Ratnadatta in the hall, she had been wearing the elaborate make-up which she had always used since turning herself into Margot Mauriac. Her recent tears had played havoc with it, and the mascara eye-shadow now ran in streaks down her cheeks. Realizing that if she met anyone in the corridor or on the stairs it was important that she should appear calm and normal, she turned away from the wardrobe and went into the bathroom. There she quickly bathed her eyes and removed the ravages to her face. It was as well that she had done so before starting to dress, otherwise she would have been caught red-handed getting into her clothes; for, as she stepped back into the bedroom, its other door opened, and Honorius came in.

  Over her arm she had a star-spangled mantle of transparent veiling; in one hand she carried a pair of silver sandals and a mask and, in the other, a wine-glass half full of yellow liquid. Thankful for her narrow escape, Mary slipped back into bed, while the Priestess draped the mantle across the back of a chair, set down the mask and sandals and came over to her. Holding out the glass to her, she said: