Sheri ran out into the night, stopped, and turned around, deciding she could not leave her friend, Trixie, alone back there. Sheri picked up a two by four from a pile of scrap lumber and ran back into the enclosure, through the open kitchen door. She smashed the two by four onto a boy's head, hearing the skull pop like a small firecracker. She almost puked when she saw the boy's gray-looking brains as he hit the floor.
Swinging the lumber from side to side, Sheri cleared a path through the confusing mass; she smashed heads and shattered arms and hands and faces with the lumber. Mr. Janson was fighting with half a dozen boys near the front door, and doing a pretty good job of it, too. Mr. Janson told her once that young people often make a very bad mistake with a lot of older people, 'cause, Mr. Janson said, "Us old dudes don't fight fair."
But Sheri could tell he was losing simply because of sheer numbers.
Sheri smashed the two by four onto the back of the boy who was raping Trixie then, following through, she hit one of the boys holding her flush in the face with the lumber. The boy's mouth shattered in a gush of blood, several of his teeth flying out of his mouth. Sheri grabbed Trixie's hand and jerked her toward the kitchen just as Mr. Janson went down under a crushing mass of young men.
The girls ran out the back door into the night.
And with a roar of anger and hate and decades of pent-up evil, Bob Savoie pushed the last bit of earth from him and rose from the casket.
14
Elmer had seen the four people running up the street, but he was a long way from them and didn't really understand what was going on. Whatever it was, it sure had caused them all to shove it in overdrive.
But who was them two guys staggering up the street toward him? Elmer peered through the artificially lighted gloom of night. Why … goddamn! he thought. That looks like that young fellow works over at Dr. Livaudais's clinic. But what the hell was wrong with him—was he drunk?
The two men lurched closer. Elmer fought to keep the fried chicken he'd had for supper down. That other guy was tore all to hell and gone. Jesus Christ! half his face was missing.
The orderly and the torn man spotted Elmer. They stopped in the street.
Elmer willed his feet to move, please move, but they seemed rooted to the sidewalk. Elmer could see the orderly's face clearly now. Jesus God! what was wrong with the man's eyes?
The torn man opened his mouth, a low growling sound rolling from his throat. He held out his arms to Elmer, waggling his fingers, beckoning Elmer to come to him.
"Out of my way, you!" Elmer found his voice and the ability to move. He took off across the street at a flat lope. He could see the lights of Lula's Love-Inn. He'd never been in a honky-tonk in his life, but by God, he was goin' to one now.
Just as he pushed open the front door, he could hear Sister Alma squalling. Elmer stepped inside the foul smelling, dimly lit barroom and his eyes widened in shock.
Jobert had his rifle leveled at a crowd of men and women, holding them at bay, cursing in French and English and German. He'd told Elmer once that a lot of German used to be spoken in the Legion.
Sister Alma's clothing was half-ripped from her, her bare breasts exposed.
Brother Benny's mouth was bloody and there was a red mark on his cheek; looked like somebody had popped him pretty good.
For the first time in Elmer's memory, Brother Lester stood speechless, his mouth hanging open.
Elmer looked at the barroom full of men and women. He knew everybody there, grown up with nearly all of them. But there was something … different about them, now. They all, to a person, looked …
… evil.
"Now you're all ours," Elmer heard ol' Rich Manion say.
"That's your ass!" Jobert told him.
Sister Alma let out another shriek as a cat jumped on her, clawing the woman's face and neck. Elmer grabbed the cat and flung it across the room. The animal hit the wall, fell to the floor, and was still.
"What the hell is goin' on in this town?" Elmer yelled. One local good ol' boy jumped up and reared back to take a swing at Elmer. Jobert butt-stroked the good ol' boy with his rifle, the man dropped to the floor without making a sound.
"Stand real still," Jobert said, his voice calm and free of any traces of slurring. Jobert was stone cold sober.
"The next man or woman that moves gets shot." Brother Lester appeared to be in some sort of shock. "That dead orderly from the clinic is right outside the door," Elmer said. "Along with some fellow that's tore up too bad to live. They look like zombies."
"That's what they are," Jobert replied, without taking his eyes from the crowd of unwashed. "Guess what my daddy tole me was true. The dead are walking."
"Uh … uh … uh …" Brother Lester said.
"That makes about as much sense as anything you ever said," Jobert told the lay preacher.
Elmer silently agreed with the man.
Brother Benny didn't know what to say, what to do, or what to think.
Sister Alma was crying, making no attempt to cover her bare breasts.
"Cover yourself, woman!" Jobert said. " 'Fore someone decides to give you a feel."
Grunting sounds were heard just outside the barroom door.
"We have time to deal with you later," someone in the crowd said. "But not now. We're being called."
And on some silent signal, the barroom emptied, the men and women and teenagers exiting out the back door.
The grunting outside the door faded as lurching footsteps sounded on the sidewalk.
"What the hell? …" Elmer said, looking around the empty, still foul-smelling barroom.
"Anybody know where the Christians are gathering?" Jobert asked.
"What?" Brother Lester finally found his voice.
"Satan is among us," Jobert said. "The dead are walking. There's gonna be a noir messe somewheres close. Bet on it."
"A what?" Lester said.
"Black mass," Brother Benny said.
"Ridiculous!" Brother Lester spat out the word."The poor wretched souls in this den of evil were just drunk, that's all. As dark as it is in here, they've probably been watching filthy movies. It's proven that those types of things can cause strange behavior."
"Gets a feller excited, that's for sure," Jobert said. "First few times you watch one. After that, it's boring."
"It's sinful!" Brother Lester shouted.
"Lester, I ain't got time to mess with a fool like you," Jobert replied. "I repeat: does anybody know where the Christians are gathering?"
"What do you think we are?" Brother Lester shouted. "We're Christians!"
Jobert shook his head. Time was wastin'. "No, Lester, you're not. What you are is a hypocrite. And if I have to explain that to you, well, then you're a bigger fool than I think you are."
"The Dorgenois house," Elmer said, before Brother Lester could get cranked up and start preaching.
"Which one?" Jobert asked.
"Missus Colter's house."
"And the clinic," Brother Benny said.
"Then that's where we'll go," Jobert told them. "Let's do 'er, boys and girls."
"I will not!" Brother Lester said. "I shall return to my own home where my good wife is waiting."
"Uh, Brother Lester," Elmer said.
"What?"
"She ain't gonna be there."
"I beg your pardon!"
"I seen her about half an hour ago. She was with Co Wilson and that Cuvier boy. Her drawers was tied to the radio antenna. They was headin' thataway." He pointed.
Brother Lester stepped toward Elmer, his hands balled into fists.
"Don't do it, Cliff," Elmer warned, his voice low. " 'Cause I'll sure whup your ass if you try it."
Brother Lester backed off. "My Lucille is a good woman, Elmer. Don't bad-mouth her."
"I ain't bad-mouthin' her, Cliff. I'm just tellin' you what I seen. And I did see it. Ugly as your wife is, there ain't no way I could be mistooken."
Jobert laughed. "For a fact, Lucille could hire her face out
to frighten little children." He looked at Cliff Lester. "Your other woman, now, Cliff, that's a different story, isn't it?"
Brother Lester's face turned beet red in the darkened barroom. He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.
'Like I said, Cliff … you're a hypocrite. I'm headin' for Colter's place. Anybody goin' with me?"
Elmer and Benny stepped forward. Sister Alma looked at Brother Lester with tears in her eyes. "Is it true, Brother Lester? Do you have another woman?"
"The flesh is weak, Sister," Cliff managed to say.
She slapped him.
The celebration of the Black Mass takes many forms, and is used for many things. It may be called to celebrate the absence of Satan; to simply worship the Dark One; to offer up a sacrifice … or to call for Satan's appearance.
The Black Mass is, however, a perversion of the Roman Catholic Mass. It starts with the same ceremony as practiced in the Roman Church … but is said backward. The officiating priest can be anybody, but often is an unfrocked priest or a person who has rejected the teachings of the Church. The location can be anywhere, but the time is always at night. The altar must be black-draped. Those attending must stand with their backs to the altar and to the inverted cross and to six black candles.
If the devil is asked to appear, in whatever form, and the choice is solely the decision of the Dark One, a sexual offering must be made, and a human being sacrificed; then the blood and semen are mixed in a silver chalice and either sprinkled onto the heads of the followers gathered … or drunk by those in attendance.
After the praising of the Dark One, the sign of the cross is made by all, on the ground, with the left foot.
And then Satan will appear.
The field behind the old Dorgenois mansion was now filled with black-clothed believers in the Dark Arts. The young people from the drive-in had dragged the badly beaten and barely conscious Janson out of a pickup truck and dumped him on the ground, in front of the altar. In front of where the naked and spread-eagled Sadie Wesson was tied.
The low, babbling murmur of voices, the yowling of cats, and the growling of Beasts suddenly ceased as a dozen black-robed people appeared at the edge of the field.
Xaviere Flaubert was at the head of the small procession, followed closely by Janet, Jon Le Moyne, and the others of her personal entourage. Jimmy Perkins brought up the rear, shuffling along, his dead eyes shining through the darkness.
Sadie Wesson's fear was so great she was almost mindless as she struggled against the ropes that bound her to the altar. She had screamed so much her voice was nearly gone, her throat raw and painful. But her eyes watched as Jon Le Moyne took his preassigned place at the base of the altar and removed his robe, standing naked in the hot night air.
Janson moaned in his dark pain and tried to crawl toward the altar to help the girl. A teenage girl stepped out of the near darkness with a knife in her hand. Bending down, she sliced the man's ankle tendons and cut through the upper muscles in both his arms, leaving Janson helpless on the ground. He looked up at the girl through pain-filled eyes. He knew her. Had known her all her life.
"Are you a Christian?" the girl asked him.
"Yes," Janson managed to say. "I am, and proud to be one."
The girl turned to the crowd. "What to do with this one?" she shouted.
Xaviere stood apart, letting the girl handle the show in her own way.
"Give him to the cats!" several voices called out from the dark throng.
Janson was dragged to the edge of the clearing and left there. In seconds, his naked body was covered with cats. They tore at his flesh while the crowd enjoyed the man's horrible screaming.
Across the clearing, the Beasts stirred and looked at each other, anger clear in their eyes. The man should have been tossed to them, not the cats.
Hate bubbled from their throats, a low, menacing sound in the night.
And it did not go unnoticed by Xaviere.
But at this stage of affairs, there was nothing she could do except continue. Matters could not be halted now.
"Let it begin!" Xaviere called out.
Jon Le Moyne crawled onto the altar, positioning himself between Sadie's legs. He looked at the Princess.
She nodded her head.
Jon lunged forward, impaling the girl. Her hoarse screaming shattered the night as her virginity was torn from her.
As Jon hunched upon her naked flesh, the girl began praying. The praying amused those watching and listening. They began hooting and calling out profane insults.
Jon's buttocks tightened seconds before ejaculation. He shuddered as his semen flowed from him, mixing with the girl's blood. He carefully withdrew his massive and now softening organ and several followers of the Dark Side rushed forward with dirty silver chalices, to gather up the mixture leaking out of the nearly unconscious girl. That done, they stepped back and waited.
Jon donned his black robe and withdrew into the gloom of sultry night.
Xaviere stepped up to the altar, a dagger in her hand. She began drawing hideous designs in the girl's living flesh. The blood oozed and spurted and poured from the cuts, and was quickly gathered in cups and bowls by the faithful followers who hovered close by.
Mercifully, Sadie dropped into unconsciousness long before the ceremony was concluded. Sadie's body lay chalk-white in death on the bloody altar.
The semen and the blood was mixed, and all gathered were allowed to sip from the chalices. That done, on silent signal, the throng turned their backs to the altar as a wooden cross was driven into the ground, inverted. The candles were lighted.
Xaviere stepped out of her robe, to stand naked in the candle- and torch-lit night. "Belzebuth," she called into the flickering gloom. "Hear me, Supreme Head of the Infernal Empire, founder of the Order of the Fly."
Dark clouds swept the skies.
"Hear me, Satan, my beloved Prince."
The clouds moved closer to earth, their gray darkness fouling the night with a filthy stench.
"Come to us, Eurynome, you Prince of Death of the Grand Cross of the Order of the Fly."
The black-clothed throng began stamping their feet in rhythm.
"Moloch, Prince of Tears. Come!" Xaviere called into the night.
The earth shook with the stamping of feet.
"Pluton, Prince of Fire, Governor General of the Blazing Land. Come!
"Lilith, Prince of the Succubi. Come!"
The cats were sitting in rows, their heads moving in time with the rhythm of the stamping feet.
The Beasts were stamping their hooved feet and swaying back and forth, growling and snapping their jaws.
"Leonard, Grand Master and Knight of the Fly," Xaviere called. "Come!
"Baalberith, Grand Pontiff and Master of Alliances. Come to us with the others. We are calling you.
"Oh, Goddess Proserpine, you beautiful Arch-Demoness and Princess of Mischievous Spirits—come!"
Savage lightning licked the skies, searing the odious clouds. Vague, ill-defined shapes began appearing, seeming to gather shape as the rainless storm intensified.
"Adrameleck of the Order of the Fly, come to earth once more. Astaroth of the monies, come. Nergar of the Secret Police, come with them. Baal of the Armies of Darkness, come. Belphegor to Martinet, come, come to us. From Verdelet to Antechrist … come, come, come at my calling."
Xaviere paused for breath, then invoked the call that was the most dangerous of them all.
"I, the Princess of Satan, Daughter of the Prince of Darkness, do conjure thee all named in the name of The Master of Darkness to appear before me. If you fail to do so, Saint Michael the invisible, the Archangel, will cast thee into the deepest of all the pits of Hell. Come thou, then, all named, come thou, come and do my will."
Excrement fell from the dark, foul-smelling clouds. Urine fell as rain on the heads of those gathered in the field.
With dripping excrement falling all around her, yellow rain soaking her flesh, Xaviere raised her a
rms high above her head and screamed in victory.
The cats broke their ranks and raced about in frenzied circles of madness, yowling and hissing and spitting.
The Beasts danced and pranced and thumped their great hairy chests. They leaped high into the air, spinning and snarling in happiness.
"Now!" Xaviere screamed. "You are here!"
The face of Satan appeared.
15
Rita began screaming, the frightened sounds coming from the rear of the mansion. Trooper Norris jerked out his .357 and ran through the house, to the source of the squalling.
If he had thought the stinking storm that had appeared out of nowhere and just as quickly vanished was awesome and unthinkable, the thing that stood grinning at him from the backyard was mind-boggling.
"Dear God in Heaven!" James whispered.
"That's Mr. Authement!" Rita practically screamed the words, pointing at the sightless man on the back steps.
Sam and Father Javotte had joined them on the back porch.
Art opened his mouth and hissed at the gathering. All noticed that his tongue was blood-red, almost glowing in the night. And his teeth were pointed, needle-sharp.
He moved toward Rita and the trooper leveled his .357 and began squeezing the trigger, putting all five rounds into Art's chest.
The owner and director of the funeral home was knocked back by the slugs, but not down. He shook his head for a moment, and then grinned at the men and woman.
J. A. Norris looked at his pistol in total disbelief.
Father Javotte reached into his pocket and removed a small vial of liquid. Muttering a short but very sincere prayer, he shoved his way past the still-astonished trooper and threw the liquid onto the nonhuman creature.
Art screamed and hissed and spat like a big cat in terrible pain. Wherever the liquid had landed, smoking holes appeared in his flesh. Howling in pain, Art ran off into the hot, murky night and disappeared into the timber behind the expensive home.
"I shot that fucker five times with hollow-noses," Norris said. "Five times, all in or around the heart area from a distance of not more than five yards, max. Didn't even knock him down." He looked at Javotte. "And you throw some sort of liquid on him and he acts like it was dynamite. What was that stuff?"
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