Devil's Kiss
( devil - 1 )
William W. Johnstone
As the years pass, Black Wilder is waiting for just the right moment to emerge from the shadows in the small prairie town. The time is now, the beasts are hungry, the Undead are awake, and the putrid stench of evil hangs in the area. The townspeople are about to be touched by the Devil's kiss.
NIGHT OF DOOM
The teenagers left the silver lake and walked slowly toward the dark timber.
"Larry? That strange smell is making me sick. I don't want to go in there."
"Aw, come on! Don't get all spooked-out," Larry replied, but admitted to himself that something was wrong, dreadfully wrong.
Suddenly they heard a low growl, and then a snarl from the timber, just a few yards away.
Joan grabbed his hand and shouted, "Come on, Larry. Run!"
Then a scream touched them, a howling. A shriek of such hideousness that the young couple ran blindly through the night.
"Oh my God!" Larry screamed as he pointed to the grotesque figures surrounding them,encircling them with eyes red and wild. The Beasts were large, long-legged, and clumsy—and they were hungry. They wanted raw meat, the sweet, hot, salty taste of blood. Not fearing the darkness they knew so well, they chased Larry and Joan—knowing that their appetite would soon be satisfied . . .
BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND
William W. Johnstone's Classic Horror Favorites:
CAT'S EYE
CAT'S CRADLE
THE DEVIL'S CAT
THE DEVIL'S KISS
THE DEVIL'S TOUCH
THE DEVIL'S HEART
Available now wherever books are sold.
BY WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
Pinnacle Books
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.pinnaclebooks.com
God and the devil are fighting there, and the battlefield is the heart of man.
—Dostoevski
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
Prologue
The minister slowed his car, then smiled with recognition at the man standing by the side of the road, beside his automobile. The minister pulled off the highway, cut his engine, and got out.
"You're a long way from home, old friend," the minister said. "Got car troubles?"
"No," the man replied, the sunlight of early spring sparkling off a strange-looking medallion hanging about his neck. "But you're a long way from home as well, Brother Hayes."
"Once a month to Waldron until they find a minister. But you know that."
"Yes. How did the services go?"
"Very well, thank you. But why are you out here? Not to be prying, of course." The Baptist minister cut his eyes as he detected movement in the rear seat of the automobile. His eyes widened with shock. "What... why, that's Reverend Balon's wife! What—?"
He had turned toward the car, not believing a deacon in his church would have another man's wife with him—not this far from Whitfield. Then he saw the other man. Dalton Revere, an elder in Balon's church. The minister moved toward the car, to get a better look at the couple seated in the rear.
He had heard talk, but had dismissed it as rumor. Now this.
Mrs. Balon, a very beautiful woman, sat close to Dalton, her hand resting on his leg in an intimate touch. Her hair was disheveled, lipstick smeared.
"Church business?" Hayes asked, acid disapproval in his tone.
"Sorry you had to find out like this," Dalton smiled. "But you weren't coming around to our way. You had to discover the truth someday soon.
"Our way?" Hayes's look was of confusion. "The truth?" His eyes touched the medallion each wore around their necks. Strange medallions.
"The only way," Mrs. Balon smiled. "The only truth."
"What are you talking about, Michelle?"
Something smashed into the back of the minister's head, dropping him to his knees, the front of his head striking the side of the car, bloodying his nose. He turned pain-filled eyes upward. "Otto, please. No!"
The tire iron beat him into unconsciousness, shattering the skull, sending bits of bone deep into his brain. One more blow from the iron bar, and the minister was dead, quivering on the gravel shoulder.
"Take his money," Dalton said, getting out of the car. "We'll make it look like robbery. Put his car over there," he pointed to a low hill, "with him in the trunk. Be careful not to leave any prints on anything. We're not in Fork—this will be investigated."
Otto held up the bloody tire iron.
"Put that in the trunk of our car. We'll dispose of it when we get back to Whitfield."
The minister's body was stuffed into the trunk of his car, the car hidden behind the low hill. The trio drove away.
"Now you can bring in your man, Farben," Dalton said. "He'll fill your pulpit and phase one will be complete."
"But there are others we have to worry about," Otto reminded him.
"Father Dubois and Lucas Monroe are old men. They will be no problem. Glen Haskell will have to be dealt with—soon. He could give us some trouble. But it's Sam I'm worried about. He glanced at Michelle. "Remember what the Master said."
"Don't worry about my husband," she smiled, and the parting and widening of her lips was evil. "When the time is right, I'll kill him."
"Then we're almost ready," Dalton's smile was nasty. "With that psalm-singing sheriff dead, Walter in office, all we have to do is get rid of John Benton, and the law is ours."
"How much longer do we have to wait?" Otto asked, his free hand busy between Michelle's legs.
"Not long," Dalton said, one hand touching the medallion about his neck, the other hand caressing Michelle's breasts. "Not long."
"Stop the car!" Michelle said. "Pull over there behind that hill. I want you both."
One
They were kids, teenagers, out on a date. A couple of hours spent at the local teen hangout—the only one in town—followed by a few bottles of beer, then some necking and petting in the cab of the boy's pickup truck, borrowed from his father. Early spring in Fork County, the cab of the truck steaming and fogging up from the heavy breathing, most of that coming from the young man.
"No!" the girl said firmly. "And I mean NO!"
"Aw, come on, Joan. You gotta do something. I'm hurting!"
"Larry, NO!" she wriggled from his damp clutches. "Come on, let's stop." She buttoned her blouse. "I'm sorry, Larry. I really am. I told you, I didn't want to come out here and go through all this."
A heavy sigh of resignation from Larry. He was whipped; he knew it. But he didn't feel all that bad. At least he had tried.
"How 'bout a walk, Joan? Clear our heads some."
"My head is perfectly clear, Larry," she said, attempting a primness in her voice. She fought to hide a smile, then giggled.
"Yeah," the boy said disgustedly. "Real funny, Joan. Come on."
They walked, hand in hand, strolling through the cool night. For Larry, it was to be his last walk.
Larry whistled an off-key version of a popular song. "You still listen to the radio station, Joan?"
"No. Not anymore. It—I don't know—I got kind of nervous listening to it, you know?"
"No. I mean, I don't listen to it anymore, either. But I know what you mean about the nervous bit, though. Me, too. Are the rest of the kids acting, you know, kind of funny to you?"
"Yes, they are, most of them. I don't want to hang around with them anymore. They're kind of way-out to me."
"I know what you mean, I think. The kids around this part of Fork used to be cool. Now—I don't know. Seems like all they want to do is—strange stuff.
"I know. Even my folks are acting funny. Daddy
looks at me kind of—ugly, I guess is the word."
"I'm sorry about—back there, Joan."
"It's okay. Forget it. I just didn't want things to get out of hand."
"Yeah." I'll probably have to take mine in hand when I get home.
The thought of beating off didn't appeal to Larry; he always felt guilty afterward. Maybe he'd go talk to Father Haskell about it; see what the Priest had to say.
He had tried, back in the truck, to guide Joan's hand to his erection. But she wouldn't cooperate. She would let him feel her breasts, but only through her brassiere, not under it. Well, he had tried. Everybody said that Joan was the original Ice Queen. No way you'll get the pants off her, boy. She won't even let you feel "down there." And Larry would have liked to have felt "down there." He had never felt any girl's "down there."
He never would.
They walked further in the night, further from the truck, deeper into the unknown that stretched in front of them—waiting. Two young people, full of life, kidding each other, laughing, talking of the summer ahead of them. A summer neither of them would know.
"You will go out with me, won't you, Joan? I mean, again? You're not going to let—you know, what happened tonight—I mean, you're not mad at me?"
"Of course not, Larry. Sure I'll go out with you. You're nice—I like you. You're not like the others; what they've become lately. Just ask when you want to go out."
They walked into the night, stopping at a tall fence. No trespassing signs bolted onto the chain-link.
"This is Tyson's Lake, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah. Supposed to be deep caves in there. You wanna see them?"
She hesitated for just a moment. "Sure! Let's go."
They climbed the tall fence, Larry helping her get unstuck when her jeans snagged on a piece of wire, ripping off a small piece of denim. They walked up a small hill, stopping at the crest to catch their breath. Below them, a small lake glistened in the night. A pearl in a cup of blackness.
"It's beautiful," she whispered. "I've never seen anything like it." She tugged at his hand. "Come on, I want to go down there."
Larry pulled her back. "I don't know, Joan. People say funny things happen around here. Nobody ever goes down there."
She laughed at him, not meaning to hurt his pride. Not knowing she was bringing out the boyish macho in him. "Oh, come on! You don't believe all that old gossip, do you?"
He laughed. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go."
They walked down the hill to the lake. Two young people, unafraid, unaware of the silent evil watching them. Unaware of the heavy breathing and the dripping of hot, stinking saliva from yellowed fangs. "What is that smell?" she asked. "Yuck! It's gruesome."
The odor wrinkled Larry's nose. "Something dead, I guess. Maybe a cow."
"Come on."
They ran toward the lake. Suddenly, the night seemed to grow darker around them, engulfing them. The young people sensed evil around them. Sensed it, but could not put it into words. They were still full of innocence, still too young, and they would not grow much older.
The moment of evil-sensing passed. A spirit of adventure filled them as they looked at the dark stand of timber a few hundred yards from them.
"Where's all the caves that's supposed to be around here?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I don't know. I just always heard they were here. I've never seen them. I've never been out here before," he admitted.
"This place is not as big as I thought it was."
"Yeah. Maybe a hundred and fifty acres, I guess. 'Bout that. But it musta cost old man Sorenson a bundle to put up a chain-link fence around this much land."
"How much?"
"I don't know, Joan."
Small red eyes watched them from the timber. Huge hairy arms hung down, clawed fingers working in anticipation. One of the intruders was female, they sensed that. A breeder, perhaps. The other they would eat.
The Beasts knew only survival. They must survive, for He was near. He would soon loose them.
Come closer, the Beasts willed.
The teenagers left the silver lake. They walked slowly toward the dark timber.
"Larry? That smell is making me sick. I don't want to go in there. I want to go home."
"Aw, come on! Don't get all spooked-out. Nothing to be scared of. I'm here." Maybe this is the way, he thought. Maybe if something happened, then I could protect her from—whatever.
He fantasized himself saving her from—it.
Outlaws, maybe. He would beat them up. Then Joan would kiss him and maybe give him some. He got a slight erection just thinking about it.
She stopped their movement and his erotic thoughts with an arm across his chest. "You hear something?"
They listened. Whatever Joan had heard—if anything—was silent. Then a low growl reached them.
"Yeah," Larry said. "A dog, I think."
A twig snapped behind them, spinning them around, hearts beating heavily in their chests. They could see nothing. But the smell—it was awful.
"Smells like someone who hasn't bathed in a long time," she said. "Or maybe never."
Larry forced a laugh. "Aw, come on, Joan. You've been seeing too many monster movies. Maybe it's The Thing?"
"You jumped, too," she reminded him. Her breath was ragged.
Her heart was beating too fast. "Don't talk about monsters, Larry. Not out here. Okay?"
"Okay, I'm sorry. But I just jumped 'cause you did, that's all."
"How far back to the truck?"
"'Bout a mile and a half, I guess." Shit! she wants to go home. I'll never get any. I'll be a virgin all my life.
"I want to go home, Larry. Right now!" Edges of panic in her voice.
A snarl from the timber, just a few yards in front of them. A snap of heavy jaws.
She grabbed his hand. "Come on, Larry—Run!"
A scream touched them, a howling. A shriek of such hideousness it forced all thoughts of sex from Larry's mind. Together, the young couple ran blindly through the night.
A snarl in front of them, a thing looming up from the night. It roared at them, reaching for them, its breath fouling the air. They changed directions, running toward the timber. Branches whipped at them, cutting flesh as they ran, panic driving them deeper into the dark timber.
Larry screamed, jerking the girl to a stop. "Oh, my God!" he pointed.
Grotesque figures surrounded them, encircling them, eyes red and wild. Fanged jaws dripped stinking drool. The creatures reached for the young people. Larry peed his shorts.
Joan wailed her terror as the creatures pawed at her, touching her private places. She was too numb to run. This one, they knew was a breeder. They ripped the clothing from her, leaving her naked. The creatures moved about the teenagers, touching them, prodding them with sharp-clawed fingers. Breeding could wait for a time; they were hungry.
One of the creatures moved, swiftly sinking its teeth into Larry's neck, severing the jugular, loving the taste of blood.
Joan whirled around, running out of the timber, two snarling, snapping Beasts after her. She ran naked past the small lake, terror making her strong. She ran faster than she ever imagined she could.
She stumbled, falling over a root, bruising her knees. The Beasts were on her, trying to drag her back. She screamed, rolled to her feet, and raced into the night.
The Beasts were large, longer-legged, but they were clumsy, and Joan was driven by blind fear, the adrenalin pumping through her. She gained on them as she raced up the hill, out-distancing them as she ran down the other side. She scrambled over the fence, cutting her legs, then dropped to the other side, running for her life, never looking back.
The Beasts had stopped at the fence, watching the female run into the night. There was disappointment in their low growls. They could not venture past this fence—not yet. To pursue her, they knew, meant the chance of meeting man on the dirt road less than two miles away, and they had been forbidden to leave this area.
The B
easts loped back to the timber, hoping the others had left them some meat. They had not been awake long, only a few weeks, and they had been asleep for a long, long time. Years. He had awakened them, and the Beasts were tired of eating fish and berries. They wanted raw meat, and the sweet, hot, salty taste of blood.
In the timber, they found only scraps of meat, and they were angry. The pair snarled over the scraps and bones, fighting for a moment before realizing the Master would not like them to quarrel. They quieted, then shared what was left, snapping the bones, sucking the marrow.
When they had finished, they dragged the bloody clothing of the boy and the girl to a hole in the ground, deep in the timber. The Beasts slipped into the opening of the deep cave, traveling far into the earth. They did not fear the darkness—they knew it well. They had lived here for a long time. Thousands of years. They had walked this earth long before what is now called man came to this place. But when man came, both before and after the flood, he had hunted them. The Beasts had been hunted with everything from stone axes to guns. But they had—thousands of years before—joined forces with the Master, and He protected them, awakening them from time to time. Now, He had awakened them again.
The Beasts passed one of the ever-awake sentries, growling a greeting, then slipped deeper into the bowels of the earth.
Joan managed to start the truck, killing the engine several times in her hysteria. She was cold, and there was not even a jacket in the truck to cover her nakedness. Her hysteria moved into shock as she bounced down the rough dirt road, driving too fast. She cried with relief when she spotted the sheriff's patrol.
The deputy licked his lips as his eyes traveled over her naked body. He patted her on the shoulder, covered her trembling body with his jacket, and led her to his car. She slid in next to his partner, very conscious of the short jacket and her body. The seat was cold on her bare rump.
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