Hunting Angels (Box Set) (The great horror writers (Masterton, Saul, Herbert) and now Jones)

by Conrad Jones

  “Why?” Her use of the word “mundane” hadn’t gone amiss, although it didn’t register with Peter.

  “Power.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

  “The founder of the Angles left for America, where people are easier to find, if you know what I mean.”

  “Not really.”

  “They need followers to join their sinister and they need the mundane to sacrifice and feed on.”

  “The mundane being anyone not in the group, yes?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Do they worship Satan?” I asked. Some experts that said the Nine Angels were a Gnostic religion, not devil-worshippers, but their websites told me a different story.

  “Yes, they worship Satan, sex, violence and money. They believe humanity is heading for extinction on this planet and that their beliefs will make the shape-shifters and planet-jumpers take them with them. They have a different way of life,” Jennifer began.

  “Shape-shifters and planet-jumpers?” I looked at Peter briefly. He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. Satanic cults were difficult enough to believe, but planet-jumpers and shape-shifters were too far from his reality to entertain. “Let’s say Peter and I don’t accept that side of things. We need to know about what the human members are doing.”

  “Trying not to be human, basically,” she laughed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You must see how those spoilt little bitches go mad for the Twilight vampire and his nemesis the werewolf? Their panties are wet for them.” She made her fingers into a claw shape and laughed. “They want a real handsome bloodsucker to fuck them and change them into immortals, don’t they?”

  “I suppose they do, in a romantic way.”

  “These people have the same desire. They want to be more than human and they genuinely believe that they are, too. Some of them are.”

  “Tell us about it.” I sat back fascinated by her eyes and her voice. I didn’t know whether what she was saying was true. It didn’t matter to me. There was an underlying truth in her analysis of the human mind. “How will the things they do here save them?”

  “The Nine Angels believe civilization as we know it will end in a world war, centred in the Middle East.”

  “Like in the Book of Revelations?” I asked.

  “Yes. They think the world will go to war over oil and the West will grind to a halt. Anarchy will reign and only the organized will survive. That is what they do. They organize. They are building a global network so huge they will be able to rule when Armageddon comes. They will use the mundane as slaves and treat them like sheep waiting for the slaughter. The feeders think human blood will take them to another level and bring them closer to dharmakaya.”

  “What are feeders?” I repeated the question. I could understand the concept so far, but not that bit. I hadn’t heard the word before in any of my research. And I had no idea what dharmakaya was. I had to pick it apart one thing at a time.

  “Feeders are trusted by the nexion to which they belong. They have proven themselves to be trustworthy by embracing the sinister and living by its code. Sacrifice and blood enables them to be taken to the next level.”

  “What was that word you used, ‘dharmakaya’?” I pretended not to remember it properly to prompt an explanation.

  “It is the meaning of cosmic evil. As some believe in an almighty good, they believe in an evil which runs throughout the universe.”

  “And if they gain the trust of their nexion?”

  “They promise all the pleasures that society finds taboo. Sex with anyone you want, no matter what their age or if they are consensual. They practice indulgence, not abstinence. They give money and power in return for loyalty. They do not tolerate other cultures or religions, and they encourage the ultimate sin: murder. The feeders are the members they use to assassinate those who get in the way of their plans. They kill their victims and drain their blood. They do it for effect to frighten others. That’s how they maintain their secrecy.” She pressed her finger to her lips and made a gentle sshhh noise.

  “Do you believe that?” Peter asked.

  “Do you?” Jennifer snapped her reply.

  “Of course not!” Peter sounded flustered. This was not the type of interview that he was used to.

  “Are you a Christian, Sergeant?” She tilted her head and looked into his eyes.

  “Yes, sort of.”

  “Then you will know that the Lord God accepted human sacrifice from the Jews,” she smiled. “In the Old Testament, the Book of Judges, the Israelite warrior Jephthah is about to set off to make war on the Ammonites. In payment for victory, Jephthah promises God he will sacrifice the first ‘whatsoever’ that comes from his house to greet him upon his return. His daughter greeted him first!”

  “What has that got to do with anything?” Peter snorted.

  “I’m trying to explain to you that human sacrifice to whichever god you believe in is as old as the hills.”

  “So, do you believe that their sacrifices and rituals are acceptable?”

  “No, don’t be ridiculous,” she said sharply. “They’re perverts who justify their behaviour by saying that they believe. I’m giving it to you from their perspective. They farm us for their rituals.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. All of a sudden she was associating herself as a victim. I’d believed all along that she was innocent and now she gave me something to latch on to.

  “They groom us as children. They scour the care homes, correction facilities, special schools and hospitals for potential prey.” She made her fingers into claws and laughed. “They groom children to take to their little services. They groom the children for their orgies, and when they grow up they become like them.”

  “Did they groom you?” I felt sick inside. I can’t abide paedophiles. I would gladly put a bullet into the back of their head rather than release them from prison. “Were you involved in their rituals?”

  “Yes, from a very young age. They had some of my brothers and sisters too. We were all in care, you see,” she replied calmly. Her eyes reflected her sadness inside as she thought about her siblings. I wanted to hold her tight and keep her safe. “They are intelligent people with normal personas. They do not walk around with horns on their heads or tridents in their hands.”

  “They befriended you first?” I asked the obvious, but I wanted every detail.

  “Yes, of course,” Jennifer frowned. “Do you think we would have let them abuse us just because they wanted to?”

  “No,” I stammered, embarrassed by my clumsy question. “Who were these people, Jennifer?”

  “I don’t know their real names.”

  “Where are they, then?” I wanted them locked up. “Tell us where they are.”

  Peter kicked me under the table. He was investigating Jennifer on suspicion of murder and I was trying to find out who had allegedly abused her. She could have been making it all up, but I doubted it. He wanted me to steer the conversation back to the murder.

  “You said the feeders killed Caroline Stokes,” Peter asked impatiently. He was annoyed. She had hypnotized me to the point that I had forgotten he was there.

  “They did.” A tear ran from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

  “How do you know?” Peter pressed.

  “They wanted me to become a feeder because I see things, but I refused.” She tried to wipe her eye but the straps held her. I took a tissue from a box on the table and leant over. As I wiped her eye, she smiled. She was no killer. I could see a little lost girl in there behind the mask. “They have controlled me all my life, but I refused to join them completely and so they killed her.”

  “They killed Caroline as a warning to you?” I asked.

  “No, she was sport.” She turned to Peter defiantly. “I saw the mark on her. She was cut with the culling mark wasn’t she?”

  Peter didn’t answer her question. “Are you telling me that this cult, the Nine Angels, murdered Caroline Stokes as
a warning to you?”

  “No, you idiot!”

  “Then who did they kill as a warning and why?” Peter asked angrily.

  “They didn’t want me to runaway and follow her,” she sounded like a little girl. A tear ran from her eye and trickled down her cheek.

  “Follow who?” I asked.

  “Pauline Holmes,” she sobbed, and her voice broke. Peter looked at me and raised his eyes to the ceiling as if he didn’t believe her. Then she dropped a bombshell: “Pauline Holmes was my younger sister.”

  Chapter 11

  The Order of Nine Angels

  When I left the asylum, I headed home in a state of shock. Jennifer had remained rational throughout the interview and the information she gave us was mind-blowing. If it was true, then organized evil really did exist on our doorstep. I wasn’t sure back then how much credence I should give to the Niners, but now I have no doubt in my mind that they are powerful and dangerous. I listened to Jennifer with an open mind, knowing she may be delusional but not believing that she was a killer. After speaking to her and listening to her story, I was convinced that she was both innocent and sane.

  Peter followed me home and we arrived at the same time as my partner. She’d finished a long day at the office and seemed surprised to see Peter. They’d worked together at McDonald’s many years before, when I was their area manger. She looked smart in her business attire, both professional and attractive. Her long dark hair was pulled back from her face and fastened in a bobble at the back. All the reasons that I married her flooded back to me in a wave of emotions, tinged with sadness because I hadn’t tried as hard as I should have to keep the marriage alive. I had taken her for granted for far too long.

  “Hello Peter,” she smiled. “Is he in trouble again?” she added, eyeing me coolly. My night in the cells had not been explained away yet and she wanted answers.

  “No, it was all a misunderstanding.” Peter patted my back again and I winced with pain. “Conrad is helping me with a case. It’s all above board, honestly. He gets to follow an investigation and I get to pick his brains.”

  “I see.” She walked in through the side gate without saying a word to me. “You’d better be careful what you pick from his brains because I don’t know what’s been going on in there lately.”

  Peter looked at me and grimaced at the dig, which had been aimed at me. “Look, if you’re going to have a domestic, I’ll leave it until tomorrow if you like. Do you need some time alone?”

  “She’ll be fine,” I whispered, so that she couldn’t hear me. If the truth be known, I thought that his presence would avert any fireworks, for a while anyway. We followed her into the house and I closed both front doors behind us, ensuring that Evie Jones didn’t bolt for the park in all the excitement. She didn’t know who to say hello to first, running from one person to the other, her claws skidding on the laminate, trying to find purchase.

  “Are you setting up your laptop?” she shouted from the kitchen.

  “Yes, we’ll be in the dining room if that’s okay,” I replied, making a fuss of the Staffie. “Come through here.” I invited Peter into the back room.

  Peter followed me into the dining room, which led off the hallway. It was a through room which led into the kitchen. A large picture window looked out onto the backyard, and the long oak dining-room table, which we never dined on, took up the centre space and doubled as a desk. We used to eat there in the early years of marriage and share our tales of the day at work over a bottle of wine. It had been a long time since we had done that, and a twinge of guilt gripped me. I spent too long in the pub nowadays.

  “Do you want a beer while you work?” she called.

  “Yes please.”

  She walked in and plonked two bottles of Bud on the table. “I’m going to have a shower and clear some e-mails upstairs,” she half smiled at me. “I presume you’ll be sleeping at home tonight or are you planning on assaulting anyone else?”

  “Yes, I’ll be sleeping here.” I smiled back, although another spike of guilt stabbed me. I’ve been a fighter all my life, and I will be the first to admit there have been occasions where I’ve used my fists first and ended up in trouble. She hated that side of me. The truth hurts sometimes. “I’ll explain everything later as best as I can.”

  “You better had.” She left and I could hear her padding up the stairs with the Staffie bouncing along behind her.

  “Sounds like you’re in trouble,” Peter winked.

  “I’m always in trouble,” I replied, swigging half the Bud in one go. “It’s the secret of a good marriage.”

  I fired up the laptop and began searching for information. We talked in hushed voices as my partner worked upstairs. I didn’t want her frightened by what had happened over the last forty-eight hours. We found page after page of satanic blurb and I tried to explain their mindset to Peter in the space of a few hours.

  “Here, listen to this.” I pointed to the screen. “They call themselves the Drecc, followers of sinister and occult rules and laws. They live by their own laws and we, the mundane, are nothing more than the cattle they prey on. Our belongings are theirs to take and our lives are theirs to extinguish any time they please.” We looked at each other and I could tell from his expression that he thought it was nonsense. One site explained the history of the Nine Angels and it was just as I’d explained it to Peter earlier. I let him read it and digest the information.

  “You can see from this that the Nine Angels is the most important British, neo-Nazi, satanic order currently still communicating on the Internet. I say British because there are thousands of foreign sects with similar methodologies, but their sites are based here. I can tell from the English that they are here in this country.”

  “How can you tell the difference?”

  “Look how they spell ‘colour’. The Americans spell it ‘c o l o r’.”

  “I get it.”

  “Look here. It says that the ‘Angles’ formed as a fusion of three other satanic orders: Camlad, the Noctulians and the Temple of the Sun. The order presents satanism as a path of self-overcoming in a chaotic, amoral universe. The satanists must break through their own mortal limitations through acts considered illegal and evil, including murder, to expose them to the ‘acausal’.” I looked at Peter to see if he was following me.

  “What’s the ‘acausal’?” He obviously wasn’t.

  “The acausal are the sinister magical forces which give unknown strength and power to the achievers.”

  “Sounds like crystal meth,” he joked.

  “Here’s the hierarchy. There are seven degrees of rank: Neophyte, Initiate, External, Internal, Master of the Temple, Magus and Immortal. Now, Anton LaVey was a Magus because he founded the Church of Satan. Obviously an Immortal is the next step up the ladder.”

  “What, like Highlander?” Peter scoffed. He was taking the piss because he didn’t understand or didn’t want to understand. But the facts were there to see. The information backed up everything Jennifer had told us and more. Google those right now if you don’t believe me and you will be amazed at what these crazies think. The problem is, they are not wrinkled old crones dancing around a boiling cauldron, making up spells. They are intelligent, articulate people. They are lawyers, bankers, judges, police officers, soldiers, doctors and nurses. They are everywhere you go and they are in the millions, watching and waiting, killing and feeding, but always in the shadows.

  “See here how they encourage their members to act independently and to use society’s frailties to cover their activities.” I pointed to a chapter ahead of where he was. “Do you know how many people go missing every year? Well, so do they, and what if they use that fact to select prey?”

  “I don’t follow you.” Peter took a mouthful of beer and shook his head.

  “Read this,” I said, taking a slurp of cold beer. I read it out to him so that I could be sure that he understood the magnitude of the issue. “In 1988 the British press began to carry allegations tha
t children were being sexually abused and murdered by secret organisations during rituals variously known as black magic, witchcraft or Satanism. At an international conference the founder of a British children’s charity expressed her belief that up to 4000 children a year were being sacrificed in Great Britain alone. British psychiatrist, Norman Vaughton, was reported as saying that there were over 10,000 cases a year in the United States. The Adam Walsh centre in the US claimed that there were over 10,000 children involved in demonic cult activities and over 200 unsolved murders attributed to satanic cults. The Times (Gledhill 1990) asserted that there was proof of an international conspiracy involving thousands of similar cults.”

  “Fucking hell!” Peter frowned and shook his head in disbelief. I Googled the original reports and the links that came up were endless. “I can’t get my head around this.”

  “Is it really that surprising?” I asked. “We both know that thousands of normal people go missing every month, right?”

  “Right,” Peter shrugged. “Our missing person teams are deluged with cases. You’re not going to tell me that the Nine Angels are taking them all, are you?”

  “No, but where do they all go?” I looked at him and smiled. “Are they all living in cardboard boxes under the railway arches or pushing shopping trolleys around, pissed out of their skulls?”

  “No, I didn’t say that.” Peter sounded offended. “Some people just choose to drop off the radar.”

  “What, all of them?” I asked incredulously. “I’ve done a lot of research into the number of missing people every year and they can’t all just disappear. Maybe they’re cattle. Picked and slaughtered by the dark ones, the feeders.” It was my turn to make my hands into claw shapes and I pulled my lips back to expose my incisors. “Seriously though, hundreds of them must wind up dead. Where else can all those people be?”

  “This is crazy,” Peter said, reading some of the information we had found. “How the hell do they get away with posting this stuff?”