Dance For The Devil

by S. Kodejs

  So far, so good. Now, the tricky part.

  With a furtive glance over his shoulder, Jason walked quickly through the woods. He checked his compass often, and when he judged the distance to be far enough, at least a kilometre, he looked for an appropriate place.

  It didn’t take long. He hung the car seat from an overhanging bough, then splashed a vial of bleach around the base of the tree. “That should protect you from wild animals. At least, I hope it will.”

  He took a final glance at the sleeping infant and ran back to the church, making plans wildly. I’ll phone the cops and tell them about the baby, but it can’t be from home. The cell phone? No, no good, Dad gets a monthly statement of calls placed and received. How then? Sneak out and use a pay phone, but don’t talk too long or else the cops will trace it. Tell them where the baby is but insist no information be publicized or I’m toast. It was so much easier before they moved here – since then, his every move was scrutinized. Jason shivered. This act went beyond the occasional anonymous tip. In stealing the baby, he was betraying everyone he knew.

  The festivities were in full swing by the time he returned. He’d been gone for only twenty-five minutes. Enough time for anyone to notice his absence?

  He joined the hundreds of bodies, absorbing the energy. It felt good, safe. Somebody passed him a goblet and he drank from it greedily, not caring its contents. It would calm him, help him forget.

  He watched his father, vibrant and alive. Suzanne stood beside him, surrounded by disciples. Some were stroking her, fondling her. Beneath the altar, several members engaged in copulation. One man wore a symbolic horse-head.

  As he stared at his mother’s pointy breasts, Jason felt the familiar warmth spread and he vainly tried to push it away. Although his upbringing taught him that nothing was sinful, that pleasure should be obtained regardless of cost or orientation, he still felt ashamed to find himself aroused by his mother’s nudity.

  Gil placed his hands around Suzanne’s throat and the crowd went wild. Jason felt his stomach tighten... the signal.

  It was time to retrieve the baby. Jason backtracked to the car, lingered for a moment, then came running madly through the crowd. He didn’t need to fake his sense of panic – his heart felt as if it would burst from his chest.

  “It’s gone,” he shouted at Gil. “The baby’s missing.”

  “Missing?” Gil’s eyes seemed to penetrate Jason’s soul.

  “Gone, car seat and all. Someone must have grabbed her. We shouldn’t have left it unlocked.”

  Gil’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll speak to you later. For now, we need a sacrifice. Any ideas?”

  “Uh, no, not really.”

  Gil turned away abruptly and whispered something to Suzanne. She looked at him sharply, then at Jason, and then nodded. Jason watched as she wove her way through the throng, reaching beneath her cape. Acid, Jason thought, she’s going to drug someone with a hit of LSD.

  Bethany. Nineteen-year-old Bethany Wilkes, a new member to the Temple. Jason nodded slowly. Bethany was the perfect choice: single, no family, no one to protest, no one to miss her. Bethany came from somewhere down south, like Louisiana or Tennessee – she’d been vague about exactly where. Jason had talked to her on several occasions. She was quiet and sweet, running away from something she wouldn’t – or couldn’t – talk about. “I don’t believe in God,” she once told Jason. “God doesn’t exist for people like me. Maybe Satan will be better.” Then she’d laughed bitterly. “At least, he can’t be worse.”

  Wrong, Bethany. It was about to get a lot worse.

  **

  T-Bone studied Cari and Jake like a mortician taking measurements for a coffin. Six-foot-six, cadaver-thin with acne-riddled skin, T-Bone was no mother’s dream and every father’s nightmare.

  T-Bone’s phone number led them to a gun shop. Every type of weapon imaginable decorated the walls. Despite the late hour, T-Bone’s shop was doing a brisk business.

  “We’re new in town, and we’re looking for some serious action. We hear you might know what’s happening tonight, up north.” Jake said.

  T-Bone eyed Cari’s Satan Lives t-shirt and their general attire. “Where y’all from?” He had a voice like a gravel truck.

  “Back east.”

  “Who gave you my name?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Then get the fuck outta my store.”

  Cari stepped forward. “Relax, Gil Vandercamp said to look him up if we ever made it to town. Only problem is, he’s gone into hiding.”

  T-Bone nodded. “Yeah, I heard that. How do you know Gil?”

  Jake answered, “We go back to college days. Look, a thousand dollars says you can help us.”

  T-Bone’s watery-grey eyes narrowed. “A G-note, eh? Okay, who’s Anton LaVey?”

  Cari looked surprised but answered quickly. “Anton LaVey founded the Church of Satan in San Francisco in the Sixties.”

  “Huh. Well, anyone could know that. Let’s trying something a little harder. What’s allotriophagy?”

  “The vomiting of strange objects, like pins or bugs or live mice. And, no, I’m not planning to demonstrate.”

  “Funny. Necromancy?”

  “The ritual of conjuring up the dead so you can either get information from them or bring them back to life. I tried it with my dead husband to find out where he hid the safety deposit key but it didn’t work. Selfish bastard’s as obstinate in death as he was in life – felt like killing him all over again.”

  T-Bone smiled, showing perfectly white teeth that were at odds with the rest of his appearance. “Okay, you’re cool, now let’s check the dude out. To Jake, he said, “Tell me about Black Shuck.”

  Cari opened her mouth but Jake was already answering. “Black Shuck,” he said, “is a black demon-dog, an omen of death. Lucifer himself sometimes appears as Black Shuck, and if you waste anymore of our fucking time, I’ll invite him here myself.”

  “Okay,” T-Bone chuckled coarsely, the sound akin to a chisel grating cement. “You guys seem legit, so I’ll take your money.” He reached a bone-thin hand forward and plucked the bills from Jake. “Here’s the deal: special sermon going down tonight, hear there might be a live sacrifice. It’s taking place in a burned-out church in Goldstream Provincial Park, but the trail’s pretty hard to find.” He reached for some paper and began to draw a map. “Probably too late to find anything,” he added, his voice rasping. “These things usually wrap up after midnight. By the way, I would have taken less than a grand.”

  “Really? We would’ve paid more.”

  T-Bone considered this. “Y’all need weapons? I give church members a ten percent discount.”

  “Thanks, but not this time.”

  Outside, the huge moon was in danger of being covered by a single cloud, and a thin sheen of frost covered the ground. Cari shivered. The temperature had dropped considerably and her breath came out in torrid puffs. “How did you know about Black Shuck?”

  “I guess the library research paid off. I’m glad it was good for something, other than giving me nightmares.” He kept hearing T-Bone’s words, ‘live sacrifice’. Please, God, not Amy. He’d been praying so much he had a feeling God was getting tired of hearing from him.

  “Think we have any chance of finding the meeting before its too late?” Cari asked.

  “Not a hope in hell, but let’s try anyway. We might find something useful, something to lead us to Amy.”

  “Jake?” Are you still wearing your protection amulet?”

  He nodded and she said, “Good. I have a feeling we’ll need all the protection we can get.”

  **

  Skeeter wasn’t sure exactly when he began to feel afraid. Anxiety crept slowly, metamorphosing seamlessly into the first shards of real fear. His intuition told him something was wrong. He swallowed slowly, considering his options. “Uh, Rat? I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “Why is that?”

  Skeeter was silent.

  �
�Don’t tell me you’re chickening out? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Well, the thing is, I’m getting kinda tired.”

  “Ah, the night is young. Not even midnight.”

  “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

  “Why?” Rat asked, smiling, his yellow teeth glinting in the darkened automobile. They were hurling forward at tremendous speed. Way faster than his dad drove, and Skeeter fought to remain calm. Rat swerved suddenly and the car made a little bump. “Whoa! Feel that? A ‘coon. Almost missed the little bugger.” Rat was laughing gleefully.

  “Please take me home,” Skeeter whispered, starting to cry.

  “What’s that? I can’t heee-arrr you.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “Geez. Are you crying? How pathetic is that? What a baby. Hey baby, let me give you something real to cry about.”

  Before Skeeter could react, Rat leaned over and backhanded him across the face. It caught Skeeter unaware, and his lip tore against his teeth, swelling and filling his mouth with the taste of blood.

  “Hey, now that was fun,” Rat crowed. The car swerved alarmingly. “Damn, missed that one. Okay, Squirt, here’s the new rules: you’re going to keep quiet and cooperate, and that means no more blubbering. Got that?”

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  Rat looked at him straight in the eye. “Kill you, of course, and that’s gonna be real fun.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gil Vandercamp was in a foul mood. Last night’s ceremony was a debacle with its eleventh-hour sacrificial substitution. The drug didn’t have the desired effect, and instead of being an obedient, willing sacrifice, Bethany Wilkes was dragged to the altar screaming, kicking and punching. Gil’s black-eye was a testament to her reluctant behavior.

  The congregation loved it, of course. Very melodramatic, but hardly spiritual. Gil knew some came for the bloodlust, but like himself, most came for the religious significance. Satan was their God and they’d do anything to appease him.

  He sighed, and looked again at The Province newspaper, frowning at the headlines: Satanic-Trio Kill Convenience Store Clerks in Night of Terror. For the love of Seth, it was just what he needed – more heat. Gil scanned the text. Three drug-addled youths knocked-off a 7-Eleven, gleefully killing two female employees in the process. When caught, the idiots claimed they were sent by Satan on a killing spree. The act was random, they wanted to kill someone... anyone.

  They also stole three cases of Coca-cola and several dozen chocolate bars, eighty-seven dollars from the till, and all the scratch-lottery tickets they could find. The police followed a trail of candy wrappers to a park three blocks away and found the dimwits getting high on junk food and two-dollar winning tickets.

  Now, people like that gave Satanism a bad name.

  Unorganized, undisciplined, and unintelligent enough to get caught. Gil sighed and pushed the paper away. Sensationalism like that invariably spelled trouble for legitimate devil worshippers.

  He left his study and went looking for Jason. When he couldn’t find him, he cornered Suzanne. “Where the hell is Jason?”

  “Think he went rollerblading, dear.”

  Gil had a fairly good idea where Jason was, but played along. “Blading? Why?”

  She sipped her coffee. “I imagine he wanted the exercise. Seen the paper yet?”

  “About the 7-Eleven murders? Terrible.”

  Suzanne nodded. She knew he meant Terrible they blamed Satanists, not Terrible they killed someone. “Shame those boys got caught. The press will be out for blood. So, what are your plans for today? I thought I might go to the Home and Garden Show and check out the new kitchens.”

  “Wear a wig, cops will be looking for you.”

  A door slammed. “Jason?” Gil called.

  Jason entered the kitchen, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, skin ashen. Guilt was clearly plastered all over.

  “Jason,” Gil said, smiling thinly. “Son, it’s time we had a little talk.”

  **

  “Sergeant? I just got the strangest call. Sounded like a kid, said we’d find a newborn baby in Goldstream Park. He rescued it from a cult sacrifice then hung it in a tree.”

  “He hung the baby?”

  “No, I mean he put the infant in a car seat and hung that from a tree, so it’d be safe from animals.”

  Benny Carmichael looked thoughtful. “I heard about some cult activity in that area last night, blue moon and all. I sent some officers but, of course, they came up empty handed. Once again, too little, too late. We haven’t had any reports of missing infants, have we?”

  “No, that’s the strange thing. The kid said this baby was specifically conceived for sacrifice. Cold, huh? Anyway, he gave me directions on where to find it. Think it’s a hoax?”

  “Maybe, but I’ll send a team to check it out. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, he insisted we keep it out of the press, at least the part of being an informant. Just said to say some hikers found it. Said he’d be in danger, and if we cooperate, he’d give us future tips.”

  Carmichael didn’t hesitate. “Then do it.”

  **

  “Bit cold for blading, Son.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I didn’t stay out long.”

  Gil licked his lips. “Actually, I’m surprised you’re up this early. Thought after last night you’d be zonked ‘til noon.”

  Jason shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Jason. I know you took that baby, your face is an open book, as always. What’d’ya do, leave it in the woods to die of exposure or animal attack? Or perhaps you had an accomplice?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it, I swear.”

  “Then why did you beg me not to kill it?”

  “I felt sorry for it, that’s all, but after listening to you, I realized you were right, that its life is the highest gift it could give to Satan.”

  “And this morning you got up early to go rollerblading, and nothing more?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s easy enough to check, isn’t it?” Gil walked to the phone and punched in a number. “Officer? I’m afraid my son and his friends were playing a naughty prank. Did anyone report an infant being left in Goldstream Provincial Park? I see... Yes, it’s all a mistake. No, they’ll be punished severely. Yes, I understand and I’m very sorry. Thank you.” He turned to face Jason, whose face blanched ghostly white.

  “Nothing to say for yourself?” Gil goaded, before grabbing Jason roughly by the scruff of his neck. “Time for punishment, my boy, and I promise you, this you’re not going to like.”

  **

  Jake knocked on Cari’s bedroom door. “Wake up! We’ve got a serious problem.”

  She struggled awake and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Come in,” she called, but he was already there, flinging open the curtains and rummaging through the closet. She held the bedcovers up to her bare skin, her blond hair tumbling wildly into her eyes. “Where’s the fire?”

  “It’s Skeeter – he’s missing.”

  “What?”

  “I phoned Darren’s house, thinking I’d pick up Skeeter early and take him out for breakfast. With all the stuff that’s been happening, the poor kid’s not getting his fair share of attention, so I figured we’d grab some pancakes at Denny’s, then kick a soccer ball around, spend a little one-on-one.” He tossed some jeans on her bed and held up a random blouse. “This shirt okay?”

  She nodded, still dazed. “Okay, I got that – pancakes, soccer, bonding.”

  “Only problem is, Skeeter’s not at Darren’s house, never stayed the night. In fact, the boys are barely talking to each other. Had an argument after school, according to Darren.”

  She was already out of bed, grabbing the clothes and slipping into the adjoining bathroom. “Does Darren know where he is?” she called through the door.

  “Nope, although Darren did say Skeet was hanging around after school, waiti
ng for someone.”

  “Did he know who?”

  “Nope.” He hesitated, and when he continued, his voice was anguished. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Cari.”

  She emerged, dressed, hair pulled back into a ponytail, face devoid of makeup. She looked, as always, supremely beautiful.

  Jake’s face was twisted with fear. “It just keeps getting worse. The nightmare won’t end.”

  “It will when we get to the bottom of it.” She put her hand into his. “At least he has his amulet. That’ll help keep him safe.”

  Jake fumbled in his pocket. “No, look. I found it on his dresser. He doesn’t even have that.”

  “Well, he still has the protective spell I put on him. He can’t take that off, or wash it off, or leave it behind.”

  Jake wrapped her in his arms. “I hope it’s enough.” Then he asked the question that had been burning his mind. “Why, Cari? Am I such a bad person, such a lousy parent that I deserve to have both of my children taken?”

  **

  Gil dragged Jason into the basement, flinging him into Amy’s cell. The girl was sleeping, but sat up quickly as they entered, holding a blanket to her neck.

  Jason realized at once his father’s plan. “Dad, no,” he screamed. “Don’t take it out on Amy. It’s my fault, I did it. I took the baby and I called the cops. Punish me.”

  “That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

  Jason was crying. “Please don’t hurt her, she’s been hurt enough.” When Gil wouldn’t listen, Jason flung himself at the older man, pounding him with his fists. Jason’s teenaged muscles were no match for the well-developed adult, and Gil flung him effortlessly in the corner, leaving the boy stunned.

  “You just made it worse for your little friend,” Gil snarled. “Haven’t you learned anything, boy? Cross me, and your friends pay.” Gil began to unbuckle his belt. At first, Jason thought he would only beat Amy, but as his pants lowered, the horror of Gil’s intentions became clear.

  “No,” he moaned. “Please, Dad, not that.”