“She is unwillingly—for the most part—a pawn of Satan. I don’t know which side she’ll eventually take.”
Sam stared as Shawn Cosgrave entered the café. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“I hope not,” Father Debeau said.
32
Judy Gipson answered the front doorbell. She smiled and waved Jeanne inside. “Jeanne! How good to see you. Is something the matter?”
Jeanne stepped inside and returned her friend’s smile. “Not really,” she said, as the door closed behind her. “I’ve just come to kill you, that’s all.”
Judy looked startled for a second and then laughed. “Darling, your sense of humor is positively morbid. So early in the morning, too.”
“Where is Matt?”
“Sleeping like a baby. Come on, let’s have some coffee and you can tell me why you’re out and about so early.”
“The kids still away at their grandmother’s?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s good.” Then she picked up a vase and smashed it over her friend’s head, knocking the woman to the floor.
Stunned, Judy crawled and wriggled her way across the floor. She pulled herself up and stood leaning against the wall, blood running down her face from the cut on the top of her head.
Jeanne hit her with her fist, knocking her to the floor. Judy’s lips were mashed against her teeth as the blood dripped. She opened her mouth to scream and Jeanne kicked her in the stomach. Judy’s mouth opened and closed in silent agony. Jeanne kicked her again, this time in the head, knocking the woman unconscious.
Jeanne went into the kitchen in search of a butcher knife. When she returned, the long knife in her hand, Judy was staggering to her feet.
She ran into the den. She was so frightened she was unable to scream, could only make little mewing sounds of fear.
Jeanne began slashing with the butcher knife. Blood splattered the floor and walls of the den as the sharp blade cut through the flesh of Judy’s arms and shoulders and chest. One swipe of the heavy blade ripped Judy’s lower face, slicing through her tongue. As Judy slipped from painful reality to unconsciousness, Jeanne stood over her, stabbing her again and again.
Satisfied with her work, Jeanne tossed the bloody knife beside the body of her friend and went into a spare bedroom, stripping off her clothes and taking a quick shower. She walked naked through the house, up the stairs to the master bedroom. She slipped into bed beside Matt and began fondling him.
Matt came wide awake with a startled look on his face. “Jesus Christ!” he said, looking at Jeanne’s nakedness.
“Relax,” she told him, feeling him harden under her stroking fingers. “Didn’t you tell me at last year’s club party you wanted to make love to me?”
“Well, yes. But good God, woman, Judy . . .”
“Judy is . . . out,” Jeanne said. “She won’t be back any time soon. You don’t think I’d be here if there was any chance we’d be discovered, do you?”
Matt laughed hoarsely as his fingers caressed Jeanne’s flesh. “I suppose not.” He groaned as Jeanne continued her ministrations. “Where’d she go?”
“For a ride.”
“You’re some baby!”
“Yeah, Matt, that’s me, all right.”
Matt panted and groaned and hunched. For at least three minutes. He rolled from Jeanne to lie by her side, his chest heaving from his exertions. “Was it good for you, baby?” he asked.
“Outstanding, Matt. You’re a real tiger.”
Matt didn’t quite know how to take that remark. Now that the sex act was over, he was becoming very nervous. Now that it was over, he was wondering how and why it had happened.
“Uh . . . Jeanne?”
She rolled from his side and stood up.
“What’s the matter, Jeanne?”
“I think I heard a car pull into the drive.”
Matt jumped out of bed, showing more acrobatics in that one move than during the entire three-minute exercise in climactic futility. “Oh no!” he yelled. He ran around the room, not accomplishing anything except making Jeanne laugh.
“You think this is funny?” he shouted at her.
“Yeah, sort of,” she said. “Oh, by the way, Matt. What is all that blood in the den?”
“I don’t hear any car. Blood! What blood?”
“That’s what I asked you. The den is splattered with blood.”
“Oh my God!” Matt ran to the top of the stairs. Jeanne gave him a little help going down the stairs. She pushed him. Matt crashed down the stairs and lay at the foot of the staircase, one leg twisted under him. The whiteness of bone stuck out, glistening amid the spurting blood of a severed artery. He groaned once and then passed out.
Jeanne found the bloody knife and slashed Matt’s throat, almost cutting off his head. She found jeans and shirt and dressed quickly. She wrapped the butcher knife in a towel and left the house, carefully locking the door.
“Did you have fun, mother?” Nora asked when she returned.
“I suppose so, dear,” Jeanne replied. She could not remember anything she had done. “But I am rather tired. I think I’ll lie down and take a nap.”
“That would be nice, mother. But first I want to show you something.”
“Oh? What’s that, dear?”
Nora grinned and pointed to the second floor of the house. Phil Jr. hung by his neck, the rope tied at the base of the railing. His face was dark and swollen, his tongue protruding from his mouth, his eyes wide and bugging out from the pressure of choking to death. Blood that had leaked from his torn throat was dried now and crusted on his lips and chin.
Jeanne looked at her son. But she was mentally dead. Her soul was no longer her own. She looked at her son with no more interest than if he were a side of beef.
“Well, now,” Jeanne said. “We’ll have to do something about that, I suppose.”
She climbed the steps and went to her bedroom, closing the door.
“You’re moving too fast,” Jane said. She had stepped out of the den.
Nora screwed her pretty little mouth into a pout. “I am not!”
“You’re too impatient for power. You could have had so much, but soon you will have nothing.”
“You can’t speak to me like that!” the child squalled her outrage.
“You’re a foolish little girl,” Jane told her. “You’re vain and much too sure of yourself. You should have waited. You . . .”
“Shut up!” Nora screamed. “Shutupshutupshut-up!”
“Ja, schweigen!” the jack-in-the-box screamed harshly from the top of the stairs.
“It’s not too late, Nora.” Jane refused to be silenced. “Listen to me. We can repair all the damage. We can back off, right now, and salvage so much. Listen to me, Nora, we . . .”
Nora looked at the woman. Her eyes glowed. Jane’s feet flew out from under her, toppling her to the floor. Nora began bobbing her head up and down. Jane’s head began beating against the floor, faster and faster, harder and harder. The sound of the woman’s skull popping was like gunshots. Still Nora kept the woman’s head hammering on the floor. Bone and blood and fluid and brains began leaking from the shattered skull. Nora laughed at the sight. The clown’s head bobbed and swayed, harsh laughter springing from the cruel mouth.
Nora’s eyes ceased glowing. Her laughter died away. The jack-in-the-box slowly sank into its wooden case, the lid closing with a click.
Nora climbed the steps to her bedroom and changed clothes, putting on her black SS uniform. She carefully hung the Nazi flag on the wall. She waited.
On the landing Phillip’s sister lay dead in a pool of blood, her face unrecognizable from the battering.
Phil slowly turned at his rope’s end, swaying gently.
Jeanne slept.
The big house sighed.
And time seemed to pause for a moment. The street grew silent.
Snow began to fall, the silent white hushing all things it touched and gently covered. All along
both sides of the street, people sat in their houses, fear gripping them. They did not know what was taking place, only that they did not dare interfere.
* * *
“Are you out of your mind?” the sheriff asked District Attorney Dean Ellis. “You want me to do what?”
“Sounds stupid, doesn’t it, sheriff?” Ellis said.
“Stupid is not the word for it. Dean, you’re a very bright young man. And you’re going to be one whale of a good lawyer. But you need some time off. You’ve been working too hard.”
“Everything I just told you is true, sheriff,” Dean hung on.
“All right, Dean. I’ll send some people out that way to check it out.”
“Don’t patronize me, sheriff,” Dean said.
“Is there anything else, Dean?”
Dean stood up. “I tried. God knows I tried.”
The sheriff sat behind his desk and stared at the man.
Dean shook his head and slowly walked out of the man’s office. He closed the door behind him. He knew that for some reason he had to head toward the state line. He couldn’t explain it, he just knew he had to go that way.
“Haunted houses,” Sheriff Collins said. “Devilkids and hobgoblins. Nonsense!”
At the truck stop, Dean saw he was the last of the group to gather in the restaurant. He sat down at the large table and ordered coffee. He told the others about his session with the sheriff.
“That wasn’t such a bad idea,” Archie said. “You’re on record, in a manner of speaking, requesting help.”
Dean shook his head. “Weird weather,” he said. “It’s snowing like crazy just a few miles from here.”
They all looked outside. The sun was shining brightly.
“Are you serious?” Shawn asked.
“I sure am. It’s like a blizzard.”
“Morgan’s funeral is tomorrow,” Sheela said.
“Might be a lot of funerals tomorrow,” Steve Blassingham added. “They’re still burying those kids.”
“We’re all stalling,” Sam said.
Sheela gasped. Everyone at the table looked at her. Her face was very pale and her eyes were wide and staring.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.
“Phillip Baxter,” she finally found her voice. “He. . . he was standing right there in the front door. Motioning at me. It . . . it seemed like he was trying to tell me something.” She turned to the priest. “Joe. It wasn’t my imagination. I saw Phillip Baxter.”
“I know you did, Sheela. So did Sam. I, well, felt his presence about a half hour ago. What do you think he was trying to tell you?”
“He was holding up six fingers. Six fingers. What does that mean?”
No one knew.
Then it came to Sam. “The tapes,” he said. “Nora must not be allowed to reach her twelfth birthday. Monday is her birthday. The sixth of January.”
Lieutenant Blassingham looked at his men. At Mark Hopper. “We’ll go in first. We can’t all just bust in. I’ve been reading about . . . devil possession since this first came up. There is a theory that the person possessed can be weakened, the powers diminished by constant use. So we’ll save the special troops, so to speak, for last. Me and Mark go in first. Then Shawn and Charlie. Archie and Dean go next.” He looked at Bob Turner and Ed Weiskopf. “I can’t give you guys orders. It’s your decision to make.”
“We’ll go in next,” the lawyers said.
“This might wipe out the firm,” Sam said with a smile he did not feel.
Father Debeau looked at Sam. “You know you have to confront her alone, don’t you, Sam?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “The Lone Ranger. You’ll go in with Sheela?”
“Yes, Sam.”
“A half hour apart sound all right to you people?” Sam asked.
“I feel like a fool,” Dean said. “All these grown men and women up against two kids.”
“No, young man,” Debeau warned. “Against the Devil.”
Dean did his best to suppress a shudder.
Shawn waved the waitress over.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you have any Bibles in the gift shop?” he asked.
“Oh yes, sir,” she said. “A very wide selection.”
Sam handed her a wad of bills. “Bring us a dozen of them, please.”
The waitress looked shocked at the hundred-dollar bills he had pressed in her hand. “Do you want them gift-wrapped, sir?”
“No,” Sam said. “Keep the change. I don’t suppose you’d have the Old Testament alone?”
Debeau handed Sam a copy of the Old Testament. “I thought you might want this,” the priest said.
“I’d rather you gave me the phone number of Samson, Joe,” Sam fell back into character. He hefted the Bible. “But this feels pretty good.”
Sheela touched Sam’s hand. “I love you, Sam.” She said it simply and sincerely.
Sam grinned. “Hell of a time for romance, babe.”
33
“Where’s all the snow the DA talked about?” Mark asked.
“That must be it just up ahead,” Steve said. He shuddered. “You feel something . . . well, odd?”
“Yeah, and it’s gettin’ stronger, too. What is it?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll bet you it isn’t anything good.”
“You believe in time warps, Steve?”
“Mark, after all that’s happened, I’m about ready to believe in anything.”
“Nothing is moving, Steve,” Mark pointed out. “No dogs, cats, people, nothing.”
“I see it.” He turned on Maplewood Drive. The Baxter house loomed up before them.
Steve was driving slowly and carefully, the street slippery from the crush of new-fallen snow. He stopped several hundred feet from the Baxter’s driveway. The men sat for a moment, looking at the house, feeling the evil coming from it. The invisible force seemed to be directed straight at them.
Steve held out his hand. “Good luck, buddy.”
Mark gripped the offered hand. “Luck, buddy.” He smiled. “Let’s go give it hell!”
“Wonderful choice of words,” Steve laughed. He opened the door. He looked back at Mark. “Do you have any idea at all how we’re going to fight this she-devil?”
“Nope. Nothing.” He looked toward the second floor. “There she is.”
The cops walked toward the evil, silent, staring house.
The music began to play, drifting to them through the thick-falling snow.
* * *
I’m number six, Sam thought, waving away the offer of another cup of coffee. Six. I wonder what that means? If anything. The sixth team to enter that house.
Shawn and Charles had already left the truck stop, heading for Maplewood Drive.
“What are you thinking, Sam?” Ed asked. “You’re very quiet.”
“You guys shouldn’t be in on this,” Sam hedged the question. “You got no business here. You should head on back. Right now.” all
“The more the merrier,” Bob said. “Come on, Sam. We were pulled here, just like all the rest.”
“Messages from On High?” Sam said, much more sarcastically than he intended.
“Yes,” Ed said solemnly. “I believe that. Don’t you, Sam?”
“I guess so. Sorry I snapped at you.” Something caused him to look around. He stared in disbelief.
The truck stop was empty. They were the only customers present. With one exception.
Phillip Baxter sat alone, at the table across the room.
Sam stood up abruptly, in his haste knocking the chair over. He looked straight at Phillip, not knowing if the others at the table could see him. Phillip smiled at him and held up one finger, pointing the finger first at Sam, then at himself.
“You and me?” Sam whispered.
Phillip nodded.
“All right,” Sam said.
Phillip vanished.
Sam turned around and looked at the others. To a person they were staring in shock at the now-empty
table where Sam had seen Phillip.
“So now you all believe, huh?” Sam said in a low voice.
They all nodded. “He indicated he was going to help you,” Sheela said.
“Yes. But I don’t know how he’s going to do that.”
“With God’s help,” Debeau said. “God is intervening. We have a chance.”
“Why doesn’t God just . . . well, wave His hand and put a stop to all of this?” Dean asked. “He could do that.”
“God can do anything,” the priest answered. “Michael is probably going into a rage watching all this. He would be eager to join the fight. But God won’t let him. You all must understand that this is a human problem; we—all of us—brought it on, now we must combat it. Alone, for the most part.”
“How did we bring it on?” Bob asked.
Debeau smiled, only then noticing that the big truck stop was empty of all other customers. He did not act surprised. “How many times has your law firm defended, successfully, pornographers, child abusers, pimps, whores, thieves, murderers, and all other kinds of human filth? Eh?” He looked at Archie. “How many times have you practiced selective law enforcement, detective? A double standard, if you will? Allowing your friends and the monied people in your community to break the law while arresting another, less-affluent person for doing the same thing? Turning your back when one of your buddies drives drunk, but arresting a stranger for doing the same thing? Eh?”
He laughed bitterly. “Oh, we’re all guilty of that. Sins on top of sins. Everything foul and ugly that has visited this earth can be directly attributed to us. Everything of a human nature, that is. But we all pay for it, people. In one way or the other. Just as we are doing now.”
* * *
“Good Jesus Christ!” Steven said, entering the house.
Jane’s blood had leaked from the floor to the foyer, drenching the carpet with a dark crimson. One hand, pale and dirty in death, stretched out, balled into a fist at that last moment of painful life as death touched her.
The cops shifted their eyes up, toward the second-floor landing. They saw young Phil’s body, swaying at the end of the rope. The boy’s face was horribly swollen and dark.
Nora appeared at the head of the stairs. Evil seemed to spring from the child. Steve’s mouth tightened at the sight of her. He knew that uniform. World War Two Nazi SS. She held a wooden box in her hands.
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