Darkfall

by Dean R. Koontz

  Making desperate wordless sounds, Davey climbed into the front seat, between Rebecca and Penny.

  At the same moment, Rebecca felt something pushing at the floorboards under her feet. A second goblin was tearing its way into the car from that direction.

  If there were only two of the beasts, and if both of them were busily engaged in boring holes into the car, they might not immediately realize that their prey was making a run for the cathedral. It was at least something to hope for; not much, but something.

  At a signal from Rebecca, Penny flung open the door and went out, into the storm.

  Heart hammering, gasping in shock when the bitterly cold wind hit her, Penny scrambled out of the car, slipped on the snowy pavement, almost fell, windmilled her arms, and somehow kept her balance. She expected a goblin to rush out from beneath the car, expected to feel teeth sinking through one of her boots and into her ankle, but nothing like that happened. The streetlamps, shrouded and dimmed by the storm, cast an eerie light like that in a nightmare. Penny's distorted shadow preceded her as she clambered up the ridge of snow that had been formed by passing plows. She struggled all the way to the top, panting, using her hands and knees and feet, getting snow in her face and under her gloves and inside her boots, and then she jumped down to the sidewalk, which was buried under a smooth blanket of virgin snow, and she headed toward the cathedral, never looking back, never, afraid of what she might see behind her, pursued (at least in her imagination) by all the monsters she had seen in the foyer of that brownstone apartment house earlier tonight. The cathedral steps were hidden under deep snow, but Penny grabbed the brass handrail and used it as a guide, stomped all the way up the steps, suddenly wondering if the doors would be unlocked at this late hour. Wasn't a cathedral always open? If it was locked now, they were dead. She went to the center-most portal, gripped the handle, pulled, thought for a moment that it was locked, then realized it was just a very heavy door, seized the handle with both hands, pulled harder than before, opened the door, held it wide, turned, and finally looked back the way she'd come.

  Davey was two-thirds of the way up the steps, his breath puffing out of him in jets of frost-white steam. He looked so small and fragile. But he was going to make it.

  Rebecca came down off the ridge of snow at the curb, onto the sidewalk, stumbled, fell to her knees.

  Behind her, two goblins reached the top of the piledup snow.

  Penny screamed. “They're coming! Hurry!”

  When Rebecca fell to her knees, she heard Penny scream, and she got up at once, but she took only one step before the two goblins dashed past her, Jesus, as fast as the wind, a lizard-thing and a cat-thing, both of them screeching. They didn't attack her, didn't nip at her or hiss, didn't even pause. They weren't interested in her at all; they just wanted the kids.

  Davey was at the cathedral door now, standing with Penny, and both of them were shouting at Rebecca.

  The goblins reached the steps and climbed half of them in what seemed like a fraction of a second, but then they abruptly slowed down, as if they had realized they were rushing toward a holy place, although that realization didn't stop them altogether. They crept slowly and cautiously from step to step, sinking half out of sight m the snow.

  Rebecca yelled at Penny—”Get in the church and close the door!" — but Penny hesitated, apparently hoping that Rebecca would somehow make it past the goblins and get to safety herself (if the cathedral actually was safe), but even at their slower pace the goblins were almost to the top of the steps. Rebecca yelled again. And again Penny hesitated. Now, moving slower by the second, the goblins were within one step of the top, only a few feet away from Penny and Davey… and now they were at the top, and Rebecca was shouting frantically, and at last Penny pushed Davey into the cathedral. She followed her brother and stood just inside the door for a moment, holding it open, peering out. Moving slower still, but still moving, the goblins headed for the door. Rebecca wondered if maybe these creatures could enter a church when the door was held open for them, just as (according to legend) a vampire could enter a house only if invited or if someone held the door for him. It was probably crazy to think the same rules that supposedly governed mythical vampires would apply to these very real voodoo devils. Nevertheless, with new panic in her voice, Rebecca shouted at Penny again, and she ran halfway up the steps because she thought maybe the girl couldn't hear her above the wind, and she screamed at the top of her voice, “Don't worry about me! Close the door! Close the door!” And finally Penny closed it, although reluctantly, just as the goblins arrived at the threshold.

  The lizard-thing threw itself at the door, rebounded from it, and rolled onto its feet again.

  The cat-thing wailed angrily.

  Both creatures scratched at the portal, but neither of them showed any determination, as if they knew that, for them, this was too great a task. Opening a cathedral door — opening the door to any holy place — required far greater power than they possessed.

  Frustrated, they turned away from the door. Looked at Rebecca. Their fiery eyes seemed brighter than the eyes of the other creatures she had seen at the Jamisons' and in the foyer of that brownstone apartment house.

  She backed down one step.

  The goblins started toward her.

  She descended all the other steps, stopping only when she reached the sidewalk.

  The lizard-thing and the cat-thing stood at the top of the steps, glaring at her.

  Torrents of wind and snow raced along Fifth Avenue, and the snow was falling so heavily that it almost seemed she would drown in it as surely as she would have drowned in an onrushing flood.

  The goblins descended one step.

  Rebecca backed up until she encountered the ridge of snow at the curb.

  The goblins descended a second step, a third.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I

  The bath of purification lasted only two minutes. Jack dried himself on three small, soft, highly absorbent towels which had strange runes embroidered in the corners; they were of a material not quite like anything he had ever seen before.

  When he had dressed, he followed Carver Hampton into the living room and, at the Houngon's direction, stood in the center of the room, where the light was brightest.

  Hampton began a long chant, holding an asson over Jack's head, then slowly moving it down the front of him, then around behind him and up along his spine to the top of his head once more.

  Hampton had explained that the asson—a gourd rattle made from a calabash plucked from a liana of a calebassier courant tree — was the symbol of office of the Houngon. The gourd's natural shape provided a convenient handle. Once hollowed out, the bulbous end was filled with eight stones in eight colors because that number represented the concept of eternity and life everlasting. The vertebrae of snakes were included with the stones, for they were symbolic of the bones of ancient ancestors who, now in the spirit world, might be called upon for help. The asson was also ringed with brightly colored porcelain beads. The beads, stones, and snake vertebrae produced an unusual but not unpleasant sound.

  Hampton shook the rattle over Jack's head, then in front of his face. For almost a minute, singing hypnotically in some long-dead African language, he shook the asson over Jack's heart. He used it to draw figures in the air over each of Jack's hands and over each of his feet.

  Gradually, Jack became aware of numerous appealing odors. First, he detected the scent of lemons. Then chrysanthemums. Magnolia blossoms. Each fragrance commanded his attention for a few seconds, until the air currents brought him a new odor. Oranges. Roses. Cinnamon. The scents grew more intense by the second. They blended together in a wonderfully harmonious fashion. Strawberries. Chocolate. Hampton hadn't lit any sticks of incense; he hadn't opened any bottles of perfume or essences. The fragrances seemed to occur spontaneously, without source, without reason. Black walnuts. Lilacs.

  When Hampton finished chanting, when he put down the asson, Jack said, “Those terrific
smells — where are they coming from?”

  “They're the olfactory equivalents of visual apparitions,” Hampton said.

  Jack blinked at him, not sure he understood. “Apparitions? You mean… ghosts?”

  “Yes. Spirits. Benign spirits.”

  “But I don't see them.”

  “You're not meant to see them. As I told you, they haven't materialized visually. They've manifested themselves as fragrances, which isn't an unheard of phenomenon.”

  Mint.

  Nutmeg.

  “Benign spirits,” Hampton repeated, smiling. “The room is filled with them, and that's a very good sign. They're messengers of the Rada. Their arrival here, at this time, indicates that the benevolent gods support you in your battle against Lavelle.”

  “Then I'll find Lavelle and stop him?” Jack asked. “Is that what this means — that I'll win out in the end? Is it all predetermined?”

  “No, no,” Hampton said. “Not at all. This means only that you've got the support of the Rada. But Lavelle has the support of the dark gods. The two of you are instruments of higher forces. One will win, and one will lose; that's all that's predetermined.”

  In the corners of the room, the candle flames shrank until they were only tiny sparks at the tips of the wicks. Shadows sprang up and writhed as if they were alive. The windows vibrated, and the building shook in the grip of a sudden, tremendous wind. A score of books flew off the shelves and crashed to the floor.

  “We have evil spirits with us, as well,” Hampton said.

  In addition to the pleasant fragrances that filled the room, a new odor assaulted Jack. It was the stench of corruption, rot, decay, death.

  II

  The goblins had descended all but the last two of the cathedral steps. They were within only a dozen feet of Rebecca.

  She turned and bolted away from them.

  They shrieked with what might have been anger or glee or both — or neither. A cold, alien cry.

  Without looking back, she knew they were coming after her.

  She ran along the sidewalk, the cathedral at her right side, heading toward the corner, as if she intended to flee to the next block, but that was only a ruse. After she'd gone ten yards, she made a sharp right turn, toward the cathedral, and mounted the steps in a snowkicking frenzy.

  The goblins squealed.

  She was halfway up the steps when the lizard-thing snared her left leg and sank claws through her jeans, into her right calf. The pain was excruciating.

  She screamed, stumbled, fell on the steps. But she continued upward, crawling on her belly, with the lizard hanging on her leg.

  The cat-thing leaped onto her back. Clawed at her heavy coat. Moved quickly to her neck. Tried to nip her throat. It soothly a mouthful of coat collar and knitted scarf.

  She was at the top of the steps.

  Whimpering, she grabbed the cat-thing and tore it loose.

  It bit her hand.

  She pitched it away.

  The lizard was still on her leg. It bit her thigh a couple of inches above her knee.

  She reached down, clutched it, was bitten on the other hand. But she ripped the lizard loose and pitched it down the steps.

  Eyes shining silver-white, the cat-form goblin was already coming back at her, squalling, a windmill of teeth and claws.

  Energized by desperation, Rebecca gripped the brass handrail and lurched to her feet in time to kick out at the cat. Fortunately, the kick connected solidly, and the goblin tumbled end over end through the snow.

  The lizard rushed toward her again.

  There was no end to it. She couldn't possibly keep both of them at bay. She was tired, weak, dizzy, and wracked with pain from her wounds.

  She turned and, trying hard to ignore the pain that flashed like an electric current through her leg, she flung herself toward the door through which Penny and Davey had entered the cathedral.

  The lizard-thing caught the bottom of her coat, climbed up, around her side, onto the front of the coat, clearly intending to go for her face this time.

  The catlike goblin was back, too, grabbing at her foot, squirming up her leg.

  She reached the door, put her back to it.

  She was at the end of her resources, heaving each breath in and out as if it were an iron ingot.

  This close to the cathedral, right up against the wall of it, the goblins became sluggish, as she had hoped they would, just as they had done when pursuing Penny and Davey. The-lizard, its claws hooked in the front of her coat, let go with one deformed hand and swiped at her face. But the creature was no longer too fast for her.

  She jerked her head back in time and felt the claws trace only light scratches on the underside of her chin. She was able to pull the lizard off without being bitten; she threw it as hard as she could, out toward the street. She pried the cat-thing off her leg, too, and pitched it away from her.

  Turning quickly, she yanked open the door, slipped inside St. Patrick's Cathedral, and pushed the door shut after her.

  The goblins thumped against the other side of it, once, and then were silent.

  She was safe. Amazingly, thankfully safe.

  She limped away from the door, out of the dimly lighted vestibule in which she found herself, past the marble holy water fonts, into the vast, vaulted, massively-columned nave with its rows and rows of polished pews. The towering stained-glass windows were dark and somber with only night beyond them, except in a few places where an errant beam from a streetlamp outside managed to find and pierce a cobalt blue or brilliant red piece of glass. Everything here was big and solid-looking — the huge pipe organ with its thousands of brass pipes soaring up like the spires of a smaller cathedral, the great choir loft above the front portals, the stone steps leading up to the high pulpit and the brass canopy above it — and that massiveness contributed to the feeling of safety and peace that settled over Rebecca.

  Penny and Davey were in the nave, a third of the way down the center aisle, talking excitedly to a young and baffled priest. Penny saw Rebecca first, shouted, and ran toward her. Davey followed, crying with relief and happiness at the sight of her, and the cassocked priest came, too.

  They were the only four in the immense chamber, but that was all right. They didn't need an army. The cathedral was an inviolable fortress. Nothing could harm them there. Nothing. The cathedral was safe. It had to be safe, for it was their last refuge.

  III

  In the car in front of Carver Hampton's shop, Jack pumped the accelerator and raced the engine, warming it.

  He looked sideways at Hampton and said, “You sure you really want to come along?”

  “It's the last thing I want to do,” the big man said. “I don't share your immunity to Lavelle's powers. I'd much rather stay up there in the apartment, with all the lights on and the candles burning.”

  “Then stay. I don't believe you're hiding anything from me. I really believe you've done everything you can. You don't owe me anything more.”

  “I owe me. Going with you, helping you if I canthat's the right thing to do. I owe it to myself not to make another wrong choice.”

  “All right then.” Jack put the car in gear but kept his foot on the brake pedal. “I'm still not sure I understand how I'm going to find Lavelle.”

  “You'll simply know what streets to follow, what turns to make,” Hampton said. “Because of the purification bath and the other rituals we performed, you're now being guided by a higher power.”

  “Sounds better than a Three-A map, I guess. Only… I sure don't feel anything guiding me.”

  “You will, Lieutenant. But first, we've got to stop at a Catholic church and fill these jars"-he held up two small, empty jars that would hold about eight ounces each—“with holy water. There's a church straight ahead, about five blocks from here.”

  “Fine,” Jack said. “But one thing.”

  “What's that?”

  “Will you drop the formality, stop calling me Lieutenant? My name's Jack.”
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  “You can call me Carver, if you like.”

  “I'd like.”

  They smiled at each other, and Jack took his foot off the brake, switched on the windshield wipers, and pulled out into the street.

  They entered the church together.

  The vestibule was dark. In the deserted nave there were a few dim lights burning, plus three or four votive candles flickering in a wrought iron rack that stood on this side of the communion railing and to the left of the chancel. The place smelled of incense and furniture polish that had evidently been used recently on the well-worn pews. Above the altar, a large crucifix rose high into the shadows.

  Carver genuflected and crossed himself. Although Jack wasn't a practicing Catholic, he felt a sudden strong compulsion to follow the black man's example, arid he realized that, as a representative of the Rada on this special night, it was incumbent upon him to pay obeisance to all the gods of good and light, whether it was the Jewish god of the old testament, Christ, Buddha, Mohammed, or any other deity. Perhaps this was the first indication of the “guidance” of which Carver had spoken.

  The marble font, just this side of the narthex, contained only a small puddle of holy water, insufficient for their needs.

  “We won't even be able to fill one jar,” Jack said.

  “Don't be so sure,” Carver said, unscrewing the lid from one of the containers. He handed the open jar to Jack. “Try it.”

  Jack dipped the jar into the font, scraped it along the marble, scooped up some water, didn't think he'd gotten more than two ounces, and blinked in surprise when he held the jar up and saw that it was full. He was even more surprised to see just as much water left in the font as had been there before he'd filled the jar.

  He looked at Carver.

  The black man smiled and winked. He screwed the lid on the jar and put it in his coat pocket. He opened the second jar and handed it to Jack.

  Again, Jack was able to fill the container, and again the small puddle of water in the font appeared untouched.