Dance For The Devil

by S. Kodejs

  Gil and Amy were behind her, and she heard Amy scream as Gil grabbed her. Lauren was to the right, so that left only one way to go, and that meant staying in the house. A doorway behind her sealed her fate, the stairwell leading downwards to the bowels of the house. “No-o,” she moaned. Not this, not back to the basement. Calm down, she instructed herself.

  A noise above forced her downwards and Charise took the stairs two at a time. She thought no further ahead than the next few instants. She would survive for those, then think about surviving the moments after. All she needed was somewhere to hide, a place where no one would find her.

  A pair of beady-red eyes followed her with shrewd calculation as she slid past. Charise ignored them. At one time, rats would have frightened the daylights out of her, but now, a mere rodent was the least of her problems. A person’s priorities had a funny way of changing.

  **

  Lauren took the easy way out, straight through the front door. She ran rigidly ahead, veering neither left not right, nor tried to avoid the yelling sentry posted at the far side of front yard. For the first time in many months she was free, and her long legs pumped steadily, propelling her forward without regard to consequences.

  Her brain had shut down months ago, allowing only fleeting images and flashes to penetrate. Her body had become automated, telling her when to eat, sleep and dispose of waste. External stimuli failed to rouse her, and as she continued her unvarying path, she ran through a patch of rose bushes, noticing neither their fragrant scent, nor their stinging thorns as they tore skin.

  Her arms and legs continued to pump as she whacked her way machinelike through the bushes, and she ignored the frantic hollering of the sentry, a young man in camouflage who was waving a rifle at her. Had she paid attention to him, Lauren may have changed her course slightly – which might have deflected the lunging dog, a third Pit Bull, who sank his jaws into her tender throat, clamping down with a crushing pressure more suitable to killing a deer.

  Lauren felt no pain as the dog’s sharp teeth ripped into her jugular, nor felt the warmth of blood as it coursed from her veins directly into the animal’s mouth. She never felt the sting of the bullet which slammed into her thigh as the horrified young sentry tried to shoot the dog off her. The dog jerked wildly as the second and third bullet penetrated its own body, and joined its victim in death, its powerful jaws still clamped vicelike upon her throat.

  “Christ,” the sentry said, bending over and retching. He looked at the bodies again, and feeling utterly helpless, pumped the rest of the bullets into the Pit Bull’s body.

  **

  Gil half-carried, half-dragged Amy to the altar and began to strip her. She fought savagely, gouging fingers into his eyes and raking his cheeks, drawing cherry-red rivers of blood. Gil grinned. He loved it when they fought back.

  “Revenge is sweet!” he shouted and the congregation fidgeted in anticipation. “Revenge is the Devil’s mandate. Revenge is mine! Children must pay for the sins of their fathers and whore-mothers, pay with their pallid flesh and their pathetic souls.”

  The crowd began to chant softly, and Gil turned his right palm out and downwards while maintaining his grip on Amy with his left. “Who among us will share with me the sweet taste of this maiden’s sin?”

  **

  “What’s happening?” Cari whispered, lying belly down under low hanging bushes. She flinched as the shots rang out.

  “Hard to tell in the darkness. What time is it?”

  “A little before midnight,” Bobby-Dean answered.

  “Damn, any action will be happening right now. We’d better move as quickly as possible.”

  “Look over there,” Bobby-Dean said. “There’s a hell of a commotion going on in those bushes. Some crazy guy is firing his gun into the roses and screaming like a maniac.”

  Cari craned her neck, but had a different vantage point. “Something’s happening on the far side, too. I can see flashing lights. Looks like the local police have arrived.”

  Bobby-Dean squinted. “And I can see a second guard waving a rifle at them. It’s a standoff. Can anyone hear what they’re saying?”

  The three remained quiet, straining to pick up pieces of the conversation. “Just a bunch of hollering,” Cari whispered finally.

  Jake glanced at the impressive Victorian house. He might have appreciated the magnificence of the estate had the circumstance been different. “I’m surprised no one from inside is investigating. There’s enough commotion out here to raise the dead.” He grimaced. “Sorry, lousy choice of words.”

  “Maybe nobody’s home?” suggested Bobby-Dean.

  “Or maybe we’re too late.” His chest ached at the possibility.

  “No,” Cari said, feeling the pain of a hundred souls. “Something’s happening inside – I sense it.”

  Jake squinted, checking the grounds again. “Let’s make our move. The guards appear distracted, at least momentarily, and the darkness will work in our favor.”

  “Yeah,” Bobby-Dean agreed, watching the guard thrashing in the bushes, struggling to pull something out. “Their dance cards are full. So, how should we do this? Singly or as a team?”

  “I vote we go together, but keep low to the ground in case they start firing.”

  Bobby-Dean’s mouth twitched. “They’re gonna start shooting at us?”

  Jake nodded solemnly. “Distinct possibility. Listen, Bobby-Dean, we appreciate your help, but no one will think less if you bow out now. After all, this isn’t exactly your fight.”

  Bobby-Dean spit on the ground. “Never met a fight that wasn’t mine.”

  “Cari?”

  “I’m with you a hundred percent.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Okay, on a count of three. One...”

  “...Two,” Bobby-Dean grunted.

  “...Three,” Cari finished, already starting her sprint.

  **

  Gina heard the distant shots, and despite the growing pain in her belly, kept moving. Her breath came in heavy, spastic gulps. Two years of inactivity, combined with her recent pregnancy had left Gina’s young muscles soft and ineffective.

  The forest around her was full of ominous sounds. Eyes seemed to be watching her, taunting her, and she was certain someone was pursuing her. She stumbled once, falling abruptly and opening her knee on a sharp stone.

  The kitchen knife, she thought. Where did I drop the knife? She fumbled around in the darkness, palms down, desperately trying to locate it. It was her only hope.

  A crash in the bushes behind her. Someone was following her, and he was close enough for Gina to hear his heavy breathing. She forgot about the knife and struggled to get up. “Please God,” she whispered. “Please help me. I know I’ve never talked to you before, and I know I said I didn’t believe in you, but please, don’t let him get me again.”

  **

  “We made it,” Bobby-Dean gasped, gulping for air.

  Jake closed the front door behind them. “About time we had a little luck. I guess no one expected the security to be breached from inside the fence.”

  “Or it could be the protective spell I put around us,” Cari stated matter-of-factly.

  Bobby-Dean cocked his head to one side. “Or it could be we’re just too late.”

  Jake looked at him grimly. “That’s not an option we care to entertain.”

  “Sorry. You two talk an awful lot about spells.”

  Jake was already scoping the place. “Confusing, huh? I promise a full explanation over a cup of coffee when we get out of this mess.”

  “Make it a beer and you’re on.”

  “I’ll make it a dozen. Cari, which way should we go?”

  She was standing in the foyer with her eyes shut, concentrating. “This way,” she pointed, and a shard of fear tore through her. Her energy drained completely, making her limbs feel like overcooked spaghetti. She became more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. The danger was overpowering and she understood intuitively her wit
chcraft would fail to protect her. It was no match for this shroud of evil.

  “Cari?” Jake asked, glancing at her white face. “You okay, honey?”

  “Fine,” she whispered, then tucked her arm into his. How could she tell him?

  From the look of his face, she didn’t need to. He felt the same way.

  **

  As Gil prepared to tether Amy’s limbs to the altar, Suzanne abruptly decided she’d had enough. She was deliriously tired, and suddenly couldn’t bear to watch another ounce of bloodshed. The frantic appeal in Amy’s eyes unsettled her. Before, she had been able to shut out the images of the tortured victims, justifying it as part of her religion. Sacrifices, sometimes human, were needed to appease Seth. The ritual abuse upped the ante, making the sacrifice more worthy. And if the victims suffered unduly, well, that couldn’t be helped.

  Suzanne knew she was unable to prevent Gil from sacrificing this girl, but she could help Amy preserve her dignity by hastening the act. Gil was a showman: he thrived on audience participation. Without the congregation to witness his abuse, his need for ceremony would be diminished. Without adulation there would be little point in prolonging the torture.

  With a deft movement, Suzanne motioned for the congregation to begin drinking their cocktails. The throng obediently lifted the poisoned beverage to their mouths. Suzanne thought of Jason one last time, held her own cup to her throat, and guzzled it down.

  For a moment nothing happened. Then, as she turned her back on her husband, the spasm hit her. Against her will, her mouth began convulsing as she struggled for oxygen. Her throat swelled a million-fold, choking out the fresh air and holding in the vomit which hurled upwards from her stomach like an acid-bomb. The room began to spin like an evil tilt-a-whirl, and she collapsed, sprawling, arms and legs twitching bizarrely amid the other sufferers, oblivious to the tangle of agony around her.

  Her last coherent thought before pain ripped through her skull with the force of a hurricane was: This is a most undignified way to die.

  **

  Gina struggled as she felt strong hands grip her ankles. “No,” she screamed, kicking ferally, but her pursuer held tight. She wiggled her torso, trying to dislodge her capturer, then shuddered as she saw the tall, foreboding man standing above her. His bone-thin torso was at odds with his height, topped by a balding head and a stern, unyielding face. The giant’s lankiness belied his physical strength: he held her firmly and easily.

  Gina’s eyes flashed to the weapon peeking up behind his shoulder. A powerful-looking rifle, the kind used by hunters was strapped to his back.

  “Hold still,” he ordered roughly, raising his arm. Gina flinched and covered her face, waiting for the blow.

  **

  The scene was surreal: bodies upon bodies, mostly dead, although a few still thrashed in the terrible throes of dying. “Dear God,” Jake whispered.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cari caught movement. “There,” she said, pointing to the front of the room. “I think someone disappeared through the wall, and he was carrying someone. A girl.”

  “The wall?” Jake was already moving, picking his way through bodies, trying not to step on anyone. In some places, they’d fallen three-deep, lying interlocked like a macabre jigsaw puzzle. With a heavy heart, Jake glanced at the victims, searching for his daughter, grimacing as he recognized several faces from Marvelworks. Harris Bentall. Cynthia Blake. Lisa Tandy, his ex-secretary. A few of the teens from the arcade, their young lives snuffed out before they had a chance to begin. The bile rose in his throat as he tallied the incredible loss.

  Then, near the front, her face oddly serene amongst the twisted, tortured expressions of her colleagues, lay Suzanne Vandercamp. Her perfectly-coiffed hair and exquisitely made-up face stared lewdly at Jake like a ruined Barbie doll.

  “Jesus,” Bobby-Dean muttered. “That one looks like she’s smiling.”

  The altar held no evidence of an exit. “You saw someone leave through here?” questioned Jake.

  “I’m certain of it,” said Cari, concentrating. As a witch, she was more sensitive to the human pathos than others, and the suffering in this room threatened to overload her. She fought the bleak darkness that gripped her soul.

  “Was it Vandercamp?”

  She took a deep breath, trying to center herself. “I didn’t see a face, just a flash, but I believe it was him. I’m sensing his power – it reeks overpoweringly like the stench of filth and decay. Can’t you smell it?”

  Both men shook their heads. “Must be a secret exit,” Jake said with frustration, running his hands along the back wall. The others joined in, searching for clues.

  “We’re wasting time, let’s search the house,” Bobby-Dean muttered after several precious minutes evaporated.

  Cari agreed. “We shouldn’t spend too much time here – Vandercamp could be leaving the property.”

  Jake pounded the wall viciously. To come so close.... He struggled to remain calm and focused. He thought about Gil, concentrating on his persona. “No,” he said slowly. “Vandercamp’s still here. He’ll want to finish the job in style. We interrupted him, and one thing I know about Gil Vandercamp is that he’s not a quitter.” He thought about their competitive racquetball games. “Gil hates to lose.”

  “It’s your call,” Cari said quietly. “We’ll follow your lead.”

  He nodded, pushing aside nagging doubts. What if he was wrong? What if Cari was mistaken about seeing someone flee through the wall? What if Gil was somewhere else, making his escape, taking his children with him? What if he was somewhere in this house, killing them this very minute?

  “Daddy...”

  Jake’s imagination, or the thin wail of Amy’s voice, far below the surface of the floor? “You two go,” he ordered suddenly. “Check the rest of the house, I’ll keep searching here.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  With an expression of grim satisfaction, Gil retied Amy’s hands. “Not to worry, little one,” he admonished, grinning seductively at her anguished cries. “We’ll still have time to complete our mission. Death takes but an instance, yet eternity stretches forever.”

  “You’re a filthy disgusting pervert and my father will kill you for this.”

  “Tsk, tsk,” Gil answered, shoving an oily rag in her mouth. “Is that anyway to talk to your benefactor?” He stroked her hair gently, watching her squirm. “We really needed more time together, Amy Montclaire. You’re so young and pure, like your mother. Well, actually, your mother wasn’t exactly pure... no, she was as horny as they come.” He chuckled at his pun and allowed his hand to drop to Amy’s backside, caressing her buttocks. Aside from her filthy, torn pink panties and stained t-shirt, Amy was naked and shivering.

  “We need more time,” he added thoughtfully. “More time for me to teach you the intricacies of sexual fornication, the total gratification of pain and pleasure, the giving and the taking.” Gil looked up at a sudden banging on the ceiling. “Ah, the natives are getting restless. We’d better commence.”

  Nude from the waist up, Gil stepped out of his tight leather breeches, allowing the fabric to fall in a stiff heap on the floor. His nudity caused Amy to cringe and close her eyes, but not before she witnessed the enormity of his throbbing erection. Odd symbols were tattooed on his body, and his toenails were painted black. When he spoke, his voice was soft, hypnotic. “Don’t be afraid of nudity, my dear, nor of death. Both are natural forces in life, yet society condemns us to fear what we should embrace. Sex is a celebration, not a sin, and the same holds true for death.

  “I’ve given it much thought, Amy, daughter-of-mine-enemy. Your death must be symbolic. It was to be performed in front of my congregation until my darling demented wife jumped the gun and spoiled it. So I’ll just have to ad-lib, and given the time constraint, I believe I’ll tear your heart out with my bare hands while I rape you.” He licked his lips in anticipation as Amy’s eyes flew open in alarm. “Poetic, yes? My Dark Lord will adore it.

  �
�Then,” he continued, moving to stand over her, one strong leg forcing hers apart, “I shall drink my special elixir and join my family on the other side. When your darling father finds you, he’ll find my penis shoved up your cunt and your warm heart dripping from my hands, and there will be nothing he can do about it. The final revenge. Prepare, Amy Montclaire, daughter of self-righteous, pitiful-Jake and the whore-Elizabeth, prepare to meet my maker.”

  The door swung open and Bobby-Dean crashed through the portal, Cari still several paces behind him. Gil glared at the interruption, then smiled with satisfaction as a dozen spikes swung from the ceiling and impaled the intruder. The force skewered Bobby-Dean Jensen clean through, sending him staggering back with a morbid whoosh as the air leaked from his punctured lungs. He was dead before he hit the floor, one eye staring blankly upwards, unseeing of the spike which entered the tender space between the eyeball and the bridge of Bobby-Dean’s nose.

  Cari gasped, then raised fierce green eyes to Gil. He raised his hands and hissed.

  “It’s over,” Cari said, staggering slightly as she passed over the horror of Bobby-Dean’s body.

  “It’ll never be over,” Gil taunted. “I’m aiming for eternity.”

  “You are aiming for an insane asylum. You are a very deranged man.”

  “I am a visionary. History will applaud my efforts.”

  “You’re delusional. You won’t get away with this.”

  Gil laughed. “I already have. You disappoint me, my dear. I know what you are and our religions share many parallels. You’re not as different from me as you’d like to admit.”

  She snorted in disgust. “We’re as different as black and white. My religion stands for light and purity, for embracing the positive side of energy and employing it for good.”

  “Mundane,” he yawned. “That’s precisely why you remain weak and ineffectual while I have attained greatness. Join me in my triumph,” he suggested suddenly. “There is still time.”