His first impulse was to follow the line of traffic, but some inner warning stopped his hand as he reached for the ignition key. He waited, unseen in the stand of timber, the sun to his back.
Obviously, he thought, this has been going on for some time. If so, why haven't I noticed it before?
Because I wasn't looking for it, he answered his own question.
After all the cars and trucks were past, and he guessed there would be no more, he cranked his pickup and pulled swiftly away, without lights for the first few hundred yards. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into Chester's driveway.
The male protector welled up in him as Sam first thought he would not tell Faye or Jane Ann what he had just seen. He would speak to Chester alone. But he quickly rejected that idea. The Stokes were not just strong people, they were strong Christian people, as was, Sam knew, Jane Ann.
When Sam walked into the house, he could feel the tension in the room. Faye had been crying, her eyes red. Chester stood in the center of the den, fists balled in anger. Jane Ann's face was pale.
"What's wrong?" Sam asked.
"Something awfully funny is going on in this damned town!" Chester said harshly. "First time my kids ever pulled anything like this, but they did a good job of it."
Faye began crying. Jane Ann went to sit by the older woman's side, putting an arm around her shoulders, comforting her.
"Where are your kids?" Sam asked, knowing perfectly well where they were, but wanting to find out just how much Chester knew, or suspected.
"Both of them left the house after—after I caught them in Jack's room. They were fondling each other. My own kids!"
Jack was seventeen, Ruby fourteen.
Faye shuddered once, then stood up, pulling her tattered emotions under control. "I'll get you some coffee, Sam. And a sandwich. No, don't argue. I know you probably haven't eaten. Come along, Jane Ann."
Chester sighed, then walked to a cabinet, taking out a bottle of bourbon. He poured a shot glass brimful. Smiling ruefully, he said, "Bottle of this stuff usually lasts me a whole year." He glanced at Sam. "I'm not much of a drinker. Hope you don't mind me taking a belt?"
"Go right ahead, Ches. As a matter of fact, you can pour me a knock, if you will."
After a quick, startled glance at his minister, Chester poured a second shot glass full. "How long's it been since you had a drink, Sam?"
"Of hard stuff? Years. I like a beer every now and then, though. It helps me to relax."
The sports store owner and the preacher clinked glasses, then downed the amber liquid. Sam puffed out his lips. "Whew! Well, I used to like the stuff."
Chester capped the bottle, replacing it in the cabinet, closing the doors.
"You want to tell me what happened, Ches?"
He motioned for them to sit down. "I should have seen all this coming, Brother Balon. I guess I did see it, but just wouldn't admit it was happening. I suppose I have to say it's my fault."
Sam wanted to tell the man it most certainly was not his fault, but he kept silent. He couldn't, as yet, tell him where he had just seen his kids—and most of Whitfield
"I knew Jack and Ruby had been cutting church services for weeks. They've been behaving—well, strangely, I guess, for some time. I almost told you at the church this afternoon. Anyway, after I came home, I puttered around the house for a while, then checked my weapons and the locks on the doors and windows. Faye and Jane Ann were in the back yard, working in the flower garden. I passed Jack's room and he and Ruby were . . . moaning. You know, sexually. I listened for a moment, then blew my top. Practically tore down the door. I caught them both naked—uh—fondling each other on the bed. They were—uh—pretty close to actually—doing it." The man paused, tears in his eyes.
"My own kids, Sam! I was so ashamed. But there's more. I tried to punish Jack—took my belt to his bare ass. I marked him several times before he got up. He's a big boy, seventeen. He hit me. Knocked me down on the floor. Oh, Sam, I could have beaten him half to death. I was a champion boxer in the amateur ranks in this state and Regimental Champ in the Corps. I'm in good shape. But I was so shocked at what had happened, I just lay on the floor looking up at him. I wasn't hurt physically, but I was so disgusted and sick at my stomach. And, Ruby, Sam—oh, Lord. She jumped around, yelling for him to kick me, smash my face, kill me. KILL ME, Sam! My own daughter!" He shook his head. "You read about it happening in the papers, you hear about it on the news, but you never think it can happen to you.
"Go on, Ches."
"Well, they both packed a few things and walked out of the house. Faye was crying, Janey was crying, I was crying—it was a mess, Sam. Both of them said they were sick of our goody-goody ways. Sam, I'm not a prude! But I don't know what's going on in this town. My kids cursed me; called us all things I never expected to hear from a kid's mouth. Especially my kids." He looked at the carpet. "I thought we'd raised two good kids. I guess I was wrong."
Faye and Jane Ann brought in coffee and sandwiches. The sandwiches looked good to Sam, as did the coffee.
Faye said, "I've noticed—we've both noticed—that Jack sometimes growls in his sleep—like an animal. It's frightening, Sam. And it's disgusting!"
Sam swallowed a mouthful of ham sandwich. "How long has this been going on?"
"About ten days," Chester said, looking up. "Maybe two weeks. I'll tell you something else, too, Sam. All their friends have changed. Boys and girls. Boys and girls, hell! Young men and women. They're—I don't know—different, somehow. Arrogant. No! They're more than that—they're smart alecks. I've noticed it at the store. And they're not clean, Sam. It's as if they don't bathe. They smell! And so do a lot of adults around town." He pounded his fist on the coffee table. "Damnit, Sam! What's happening?"
The memory of Michelle's room came rushing to the minister. He put down his sandwich, appetite gone.
Chester said, "All this has taken place, I believed, in the past few weeks. But now, looking back, I can see where I missed some subtle changes in my kids, this town, everybody except for a few of us and—and the elderly of Whitfield. I tried to convince myself it was all my imagination, but I know now it wasn't that at all."
"Why didn't you come to me with your suspicions, Ches?"
The man shook his head. "And tell you what? You'd have thought me a fool."
"No," Sam shook his head. "No, I wouldn't have." He looked at Faye. "Did either of you try to stop them from leaving this afternoon?"
"Yes, we did. They both warned us we'd better not stand in their way. I think we were too shocked to do anything."
"Sam?" Chester asked. "What's going on?"
"Something . . . very evil, I believe. And I don't know if we can stop it." He told them where he had seen Jack and Ruby and three-quarters of the town earlier.
"But where were they going?" Jane Ann asked.
Sam hesitated for a few seconds. "Let me think on this for a while." He stood up. "I'll get back to you all—soon."
"Sam?" Chester rose, facing his minister. "You said evil. Could you be wrong?"
"Perhaps. I pray God I'm wrong, but I don't believe I am."
Eight
One by one, the men, women, and children repeated the odious pledge. "I renounce God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost."
The Beasts growled their approval and those already of the Coven nodded and hummed their agreement.
"I renounce and deny my Creator, the Holy Virgin, the Saints, Baptism, Father, Mother, Relations, Heaven, Earth, all this world contains that is good, pure, and sacred."
The stench of unwashed bodies filled the cooling air of this summer night on the prairie of Fork County. This Friday night.
"I give my body and mind to the Church of the Fifteen and to Lucifer. Praise be his name! He is my Master! Praise his Beasts! This I say to his agent, before whom I stand, as I pledge to reject every decent thought I ever possessed."
The Beasts of the Coven howled their agreement, slobbering from fanged jaws, eyes wi
ld with excitement. It would not be long, only days, and the hunt would begin; this they were promised by the Master.
Black Wilder looked over the members of the Coven. A very beautiful woman, her black hair shining, stood by his side. Nydia. The witches—those who had always been—wore their necklaces of feathers and bones, in praise of their Master. A few more days, Wilder thought—a week at the most—and the Coven would be complete. The timetable was on schedule. The Lord of Flies would be pleased.
Yet, Wilder frowned—and he knew Nydia picked up on his thoughts, for she stirred at his side—Balon was going to be trouble. The Christian minister would have to be dealt with—and soon. Yes, Balon would have to die. But, Wilder knew, from centuries of experience, killing him would not be easy.
"No, it won't," Nydia muttered softly.
Wilder knew that, although Balon was not without sin, he was close to God. Balon was a warrior, and God liked His warriors. No, Balon would not be easy, for God could and would protect him—for a time.
The old French priest, Dubois, would be easy because of his advanced age. The Methodist, Lucas Monroe, would be easy, too. He was very old, and already dying. Haskell, of the Episcopal Church was, like Balon, young. But he was not nearly as tough as Balon. He could be dealt with easily enough.
But Balon . . .
"He can be handled," Nydia said. "When it is time."
Wilder ignored her.
There were others, of course, Wilder mused, but he was not alarmed. Those he would have hunted down by the Beasts or the Undead when it was time. Those who chose to resist his Master's will would die—very unpleasantly. All of them. Then, with that done, his Master would have a home here on earth. By day, Whitfield would appear normal by this earth's standards and time. Just another sleepy little town. Visitors would be discouraged. New growth could be held to a minimum, and any new people could easily be swayed into accepting the Master.
Wilder smiled briefly. Mortals were such fools! Offer them what they cannot have, or what their religion forbids them, and ninety percent of them come scrambling to reach what is denied them by their God. Falling prey like rabbits to a trap.
Wilder's smile faded as he sighed in remembrance. How many times in the past centuries had he tried to set this up? Dozens? Hundreds? He had succeeded but a few times. Long by earth standards, but a mere blinking of the Master's eye.
Damn You, God! Wilder silently cursed. Damn You! This time, though, I believe I'll win, for You waited too long to act. You put too much faith in Your human subjects. I believe You forgot how weak they really are. Yes, this time, I'll beat You.
But he was weary of the game; tired of it all. Perhaps it was time for a younger man. Wilder did not know how old he was. As old as time; certainly as old as sin. His memory spanned centuries and more. The Flood. Sodom and Gomorrah. So much. So long. And he was tired.
Wilder, dressed in a dark robe, ceased his ruminations and picked up a huge black book. No mortal being could have held its weight, for the book contained the names of every human being who had adopted the Godless teachings of Satan and his followers. From the beginnings of time.
One by one, the new applicants to the Coven laid hands on the book, each one repeating after Wilder, "I promise to use all my power to induce others into the worshipping, praising, and revering of the only true Master and his Church of the Fifteen. I am now his slave. Do with me as you will."
The new members of the Coven then defiled themselves with words of filth and profanity, calling out to the Coven, describing in the most disgusting of detail what they would permit upon their persons and their minds. Stripped naked, they allowed the members of the Coven to physically possess their bodies, without regard to male or female gender, while the Beasts—the lowest in the order of Satan's disciples—howled and snarled, dancing around the couplings, the sodomy, the sucking, and the degradation.
Slim Wesson whoaed his horse and cocked an ear, listening to the sounds from just over the sand hills. This was Little River Range, only a fence separating it from Karl Sorenson's K/S spread. K/S or L-R, Slim had never heard anything like this droning sound—never in his life. Whatever in the hell it was—and he could not know how apt his choice of adjective—it wasn't supposed to be on this range.
"Bunch of damned beatniks!" he mumbled. "Havin' a party. Dope fiends, I bet. I told Herman something was wrong around these parts."
Herman had agreed with Slim, that something was wrong, but he didn't know what it was. Slim wished Herman were here, now, for he suddenly felt uneasy, like when he was a little boy, walking past a graveyard. He could whistle then, but something warned him he'd better not whistle now.
Slim dismounted, ground-reined his horse, and slipped quietly up the hill. He'd been riding fence all day, repairing it when broken, and he was tired. He'd missed evening grub because his horse had tossed a shoe, and fixing that had taken some time. But more than tired, Slim was still pissed-off at the attitude of most of the guys he worked with at L-R. He was thinking of handing in his notice and walking. Loading up his pickup and maybe heading north, up into Wyoming. He'd heard there were good jobs up there for cowboys who still gave a day's work for a day's pay. Yep, that's what he'd do, by God, he'd drift up north.
The guys at L-R, he couldn't figure them out. They kept tryin' to get him to join some kind of club. Diable, or something like that. Well, piss on them! Ole Slim wasn't about to join no damn club that meant the devil. He wasn't no fool! Some kind of silly college-boy club, more than likely. Now his friends wouldn't even speak to him. They were crowding him out; laughing at him behind his back. Well, okay, but he'd still do his job and then draw this pay. Then he'd drift up north.
Slim climbed the fence to K/S range, trudging up another hill, the noise growing louder. He was tired, but all weariness left him as he gazed upon the sight in front of him, illuminated by torchlight.
"Good God Almighty!" he whispered, dropping to his hands and knees, crawling to the crest of the hill. "Look at all them naked people!"
Slim had never seen an orgy before—which was what he presumed this to be—nothing more. But he'd read of them. After his eyes became adjusted to the small, torchlit valley, he soon realized this was far more than an orgy.
He picked up the shape of Sheriff Addison, buggering the mayor, Carl Warner. "Queers!" Slim whispered hoarsely. "I got friends who voted for that bastard, too. Wait'll I tell them!"
Squinting his eyes, he found the naked shape of that psalm-singin' do-gooder, Dalton Revere. "My God! That's the preacher's wife. Oh, no!" he watched Michelle Balon pull a naked woman to her. Locked in each other's embrace, the two women and the man slid to the ground, mouths and fingers busy.
Slim wanted to puke.
He also had a slight hard-on.
Soon, the participants lay recovering and defiled on the ground. Slim wanted to run, wanted very much to leave this place, but he felt frozen to the ground.
Coven women went among the sprawled members just beginning their initiation with the Devil. They cut off a piece of each woman's hair, giving that to the Devil's agent, Black Wilder. He placed a few strands of hair in the huge book, beside each name.
Just as I have done for so many hundreds of years, he reminisced. Beginning with the people who lived in the caves.
At midnight, Wilder waved his hand and all became silent. The Beasts stood placidly, jaws lolling saliva, red eyes unblinking, the torches glittering from them.
Slim almost shit his pants when he saw the Beasts up close to the light. If he was not frozen to the earth before, he was now—with fear.
A young girl, in her teens, was led to the altar by her stepparents. She was naked, and offered no resistance. She had been inspected and found to be a true virgin. She was placed on the altar, a crude stone structure. The girl had been beaten into submission, her young body carrying the marks of the whip. She was spread-eagled on the stone, arms and legs tied down. A huge wooden cross, driven upside down into the earth, stood starkly behind the
altar. The crowd began to hum as Wilder, now naked, his manhood huge, crawled upon the stone, between the legs of the girl.
The men and women of the Coven began to dance while the Beasts howled and whined and slobbered. Their dancing was a grotesque, obscene hunching, a filthy expression of perversion of body and soul. As they danced, they chanted, "Prince of Darkness! King of the Night! Monarch of all that is Evil! Lord of the Flies and Beasts! Take this unworthy one!"
And Nydia said, "She could not be convinced to join us. She refused to accept the pleasure of the Master. Take her!"
The young girl screamed as Wilder lunged, his erection driving inside her, impaling her, splitting her. "It's cold—it's cold!" she shrieked.
Other young people stood off to one side, away from the adults of the Coven. They watched, waiting for the signal that would officially begin their night's orgy. Some of them held torches, the flickering flames brightening the site of the altar and the defiling—just begun—of Annie Brown. They smiled. They hummed. They awaited their pleasure, for the only true Master had promised them all the fleshy pleasures of this earth and the next world for them. They had only to serve him. Such a small price to pay for eternal debauchery.
The adults droned their chant, dancing about the altar as Wilder hunched on the teenager, each lunge bringing screams of pain from her throat. He shuddered his finish, and withdrew, as a woman rushed forward to catch his semen in a bowl.
Wilder stepped from the altar, his grotesque maleness swinging between his thighs. He urinated in the bowl, then slipped into his dark robe.
While the mixture was being stirred, the young girl was removed from the altar and a crown of thorns jammed brutally upon her head, the barbs ripping her flesh. She was carried, screaming, to the huge cross, and crucified, spikes driven into her hands, sides, and feet. She was left there, hanging upside down, wailing out her pain. Her blood-filled eyes watched in horror as the Devil's Ceremony continued.
Each new teenager and adult to be introduced into the Coven was brought forward for the final pledge. A tiny portion of the evil mixture from the bowl was smeared on their lips. They knelt, en masse, naked, in front of Wilder.
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