by Paul Magrs
I didn’t know what he was on about. My great aunt was still smiling, as if she’d had all her dreams come true at once. As if, indeed, the whole of the invisible universe was rushing into her skull and expanding there, for her benign delectation.
The Grand Master shook with laughter.
‘What do you mean, “ding dong”?’ I asked him savagely.
‘It’s thirteen o’clock!’ he sobbed hysterically. ‘Too late! Too late!’
We all looked down at my Great Aunt Helen. Then, with exquisite timing, her skull flipped open and the top of her head fell off, onto the slab. Just like a big bloody boiled egg.
Here we are again, my dear.
Here we sit in the calm, protected space of my study. Only here inside this ring of salt are we safe from the spirits and demons that roam abroad, in the wider world.
So. You return to hear what became of my much younger, much less experienced self and his divine bride-to-be on the evening of what was meant to be her initiation. What is more, you seek to know what became of my poor Great Aunt Helen, after the top of her head was lifted off so cleanly by that evil device. By an act of my own hand I had revealed – to all our astonished eyes – her pale and pulsing blueish green brain itself.
The look on her face was a sight to see. She still bore that dazed, ecstatic expression, but she was frozen solid, as if someone had snapped a photograph of her.
The orgiastic crowd were subdued. The Grand Master was chuckling. He seemed to have lost possession of himself. And so it was then that my one-time professor, the bluff and learnt Cleavis decided to leap into action.
Somehow I had known that there was more to it, and he hadn’t really become a Satanist. Old Cleavis the Godbotherer was there for other reasons. He came up to us at a run, flapping his robes like a big black crow. ‘Soames old man! This has gone far enough! We should have stopped this nonsense well before now!’
I was shaking. Still staring at my poor aunt. I couldn’t fix on what he was saying to me.
‘You’ve killed her!’ my dear Magda started to shriek. ‘You’ve knocked her bloody block off!’
Quick as a flash, Cleavis whipped up the silken braids that had been meant for restraining my darling during her initiation. Without an ounce of squeamishness he set himself to the task of binding up Great Aunt Helen’s head, popping the lid of her skull back in place and then knotting the whole thing tight under her pointed chin. Then he was struggling to lift her off the stone bier. ‘Fox! Help me, man. We have to get her out …’
Just as I shook myself out of my stupor and into action, the Grand Master came back to his senses and he was snarling.
‘You will not take her from me.’ His clawed hands reached out to grab her withered, helpless form. His cultists were moaning, unsure of how to proceed. People like them are generally weak and easily led. They get into these hellish affairs for cheap and vicarious thrills. They simply don’t expect to face real danger or nastiness.
Cleavis had stiffened with resolve. His face went puce and he thundered back: ‘You can’t stop us, you charlatan. You are messing around with forces that you can’t possibly understand.’
I must say that I flinched when I saw the sheer, brutish insanity of the Grand Master’s face just then. ‘I understand all too well, Professor Cleavis. I understand exactly why you are here. You and your impotent Oxford cronies, dabbling and interfering yet again in our business.’
‘Your business?’ I broke in, sensing a revelation in the offing.
‘Absolute domination,’ the Grand Master snarled. ‘The coming again of the Lord of This World.’
While this was going on we were each holding one of my aunt’s limbs and we were all tugging at her. Her flesh at our fingers was slack and white.
‘The same old story,’ Cleavis gasped. ‘And we are still here to stop you.’
The Grand Master cackled. ‘We shall see. What this young fool has done this evening has released enough psychic energy from this old hag’s mind to …’
‘Oh, Fox,’ Magda wailed. ‘You idiot.’
‘To do what?’ Cleavis demanded.
‘To summon us up some help. To put an end to our enemies.’ With that, the Grand Master let go of Aunt Helen’s foot and started to utter a strange, guttural incantation.
The atmosphere in that cellar was starting to turn very odd. ‘Oh dear,’ said Cleavis, turning to me. ‘I think he’s calling up one of his demons.’
Here was a manifestation for us to contend with. Full scale, as the parapsychologists would have it, though I have no time for their awful pseudo-scientific jargon. As you know, Fox Soames is a man of action and his word, and he calls a spade a spade. And this was a great, unholy, seven foot tall apparition that popped up at the behest of the Grand Master. There was a rush of blue, incandescent, broiling flame and a hellish reek of sulphur and, oddly enough, roasted fowl.
At first it seemed that a gigantic peacock had come strutting and bristling into our midst: a gorgeous, lambent, sapphire blue. The flames licked at its dazzling plumes, and haughtily the creature gazed down at us all with its unblinking, jewel-like eyes. I suddenly knew and understood that this creature represented an evil of many thousands of years’ standing. As we watched, appalled, it drew up its colossal fantail and spread those feathers commandingly, so that a whole sheath of wicked, evil eyes fixed us beneath their opulent glare.
The Grand Master was shouting: ‘You do us great honour with your presence …’
Its beak was silver and dagger sharp. I felt Magda grip my forearm, as if in fear that it would reach down and pluck out our hearts. ‘It’s a bloody big bird!’ she hissed. ‘That’s their great god? What’s it going to do? Show us fear in a handful of birdseed?’
I was astonished she could find the nerve to even speak in such dire circumstances. But I was to find that Magda was much braver than I in the face of such things.
The Grand Master intoned: ‘We call you here to protect your flock …’
It was as if the demon was paying him no attention whatsoever. As we watched, its form was shifting within those stinking flames. No longer did it seem so solid. Its form was starting to liquefy and blur. That smooth swan neck was becoming the torso and breasts of a very tall, very beautiful woman. I rubbed at my eyes, attempting to focus, and at last she resolved herself into the image of a blue-skinned naked goddess and her eyes were so very cruel.
When she spoke her voice was commanding and sensual. I had no doubt that her words were issuing to us from the very antechambers of the underworld itself. She first addressed herself to the Grand Master.
‘You have let pettiness and human ambition intrude upon our plans.’
‘But, mistress, how … ?’
‘By allowing this woman to be killed at the hand of her doltish nephew. For your own profit and amusement you have permitted her to die.’
The Grand Master’s face was twisted in fear. ‘But … of course. Do what thou wilt be the whole of …’
The goddess snapped: ‘You will do only what I wilt.’
The Grand Master quailed.
The goddess went on. ‘What the dead woman knew is worth much more to us and our plans than anything you or these pathetic initiates could ever contribute …’
I wasn’t surprised she said this. The Satanic cult was a pitiful sight by this point. At the first glimpse of a real demon they had prostrated themselves – Arabs and Nazis and all – and now they were squirming and moaning on the insalubrious cellar floor.
‘She was as important as all that?’ the Grand Master looked annoyed – and very worried.
‘Of course she is,’ the gorgeous apparition sighed. ‘That brain of hers – which you have so inelegantly endangered – contains the accumulated wisdom of countless generations of Soamses. Her mind – clouded and crazed though it undoubtedly is – represents the crucible in which a rich brew of arcane wisdom has been distilled. At all costs it must be salvaged.’
‘But … how?’
I heard Professor Cleavis clear his throat, as if he were to commence a lecture. He was glaring up at the cerulean goddess defiantly. He looked smaller and less impressive than ever. ‘You shouldn’t be here, you know,’ he said, very mildly. ‘Creatures like you have no place on this Earth now. You should stay where you have been put and stop interfering in the lives of men.’
She smiled at him. It was a terrible smile. ‘You are such a pious little man.’
‘Really!’ he fumed.
‘That is how history will remember you, too,’ she told him. ‘Not for all your daring escapades and your secretive attempts to rid the world of Satanic cults and covens. Nor even as a distinguished scholar, fingering texts that no one cares about anymore. But as the author of a series of children’s books. About plucky little children running about in magical lands with talking animals. You haven’t even written them yet, but I can tell you now: they are awful. Feeble Christian parables that people will jeer at.’
‘Oh,’ said Cleavis dully.
She could see the future. She could look into the bookshelves of the future. Suddenly I needed to ask her about it. My throat was parched and sticky, but I couldn’t help myself. ‘What about me?’ I burst out. ‘What will I be known for?’
Magda was appalled at this. ‘Fox! How could you be so selfish?’
I shushed her brusquely. ‘Tell me, goddess. Will I live my dream? Will I write?’
The burning blue woman sneered at me. ‘Is that all you care for? You have killed your only living relative this evening and you stand with these others in the utmost peril, and all you care for is knowing whether you end up being the revered millionaire bestseller you dream of becoming?’
I nodded firmly. ‘I do.’ Wedding words, I realised. I was marrying myself to this self-loving future me. God forgive me, I didn’t feel at all ashamed.
The demon woman seemed gratified by this simple answer. ‘My master will enjoy your hubris,’ she smiled. ‘You are a worthy voice-piece for the Lord of This World.’
I gritted my teeth. ‘I intend to be no such thing. On the contrary, I shall warn the whole world of what you are up to. All of you.’ I glared about wildly at the nightmarish room.
The woman shrugged. ‘We shall see.’
So preoccupied had we been in this talk of my coming career, none of us had noticed that the Grand Master – now gone quite feral – had darted forwards and onto the stone bier. He was kneeling astride my poor, uncomplaining Great Aunt Helen.
‘Fox!’ Magda screamed. ‘Look!’
When I looked it was all too plain to see. Nimbly he untied the cords that Cleavis had fastened. He flipped open her head (with a nasty sucking sound) and, before we could stop him, the monstrous wretch had thrust a bony fist into her brain cavity.
An awful moan of protest from everyone observing covered most of the sickening noises he made as he rooted around. For a moment I was motionless in shock: an intense wave of nausea went rolling through me.
Cleavis barked: ‘What the devil is he doing?’
‘Stop him!’ This was Magda.
The Grand Master had handfuls of my Great Aunt’s brains all mashed up in his palms. Greasy gobbets of them were dribbling between his fingers. I was fixed on those vile details as I lumbered towards him. I was weirdly fascinated by his ghoulish pleasure: his grinning face as he brought that sample of matter up to his mouth.
‘If he eats them,’ the goddess warned, ‘he will inherit everything your great aunt knew. That should be you, Fox Soames. That is only for you.’
I had no intention of letting him eat her brains. The old dear had suffered enough.
So I dealt with the Grand Master. I still had hold of that pastry-cutting device. I aimed it straight at his jugular.
It proved effective enough. My very first cold-blooded murder. I won’t go into details. But the Grand Master was dead. Sprawled at the foot of his new altar. I remember thinking that I still hadn’t discovered which publishing firm he ran.
As I crouched there, gathering up the messy remnants of my great aunt’s brains, I was aware of a general exodus from the place. And of the goddess’s rasping voice in my ear. She was telling me that I knew what I should do with what remained of Helen’s mind. That it was my right and my duty. That it was an important business, where brains ended up. And I needed to do it if I wanted to go into the future I desired.
Then we watched that bejewelled goddess crackle and disappear. Her last words struck me, at the time, as very odd: ‘One day, Fox Soames, you will have to protect your own brains, and see that they survive. They will go to a girl called Karla. She will be a goddess. She will look just like this form I have adopted tonight. Watch out for her. Make sure she receives your knowledge. This is vital. Don’t let your mind go to anyone else …’
Then she was gone. Back to damned hell, or wherever she had come from. And I knew it wasn’t the last I’d see of such apparitions. In that quiet instant, I knew that both Magda and I were bound for a life together of madness and black magic.
I’m afraid my memory becomes somewhat hazy at this point.
I passed out, I think, under the nervous strain. I was aware that I was with my darling Magda and the redoubtable Cleavis. I knew that all the Satanists had fled the building. They had not been expecting a night like this.
And I recall the next morning.
Early, damp, beautiful, golden dawn over the manor. We realised that this place now belonged wholly to us. The sun was brilliant in dewy cobwebs through the grass. The long line of evergreens down the drive were like sentinels. All was peaceful.
Magda and Cleavis were quiet and careful. They were treating me as if I were a victim of shellshock. All three of us moved like mice around that kitchen, knowing that, beneath out feet, under the stone flagstones and down in the cellar, the desecrated body of my Great Aunt Helen awaited decent human burial.
No servants turned up that morning. We were undisturbed. I think they had been warned to stay away, the day after all the revels. We talked gently about what to do next. Whether to report the death. About going to Oxford with Cleavis, to report to the other Smudgelings on what had occurred. At last, it seemed, I had penetrated the secret centre of their writers’ circle: the real reason for their existence. Again I was in the middle of things. We anticipated a long drive across the country. It would take us weeks to recuperate after this adventure.
But in the meantime we had breakfast.
Magda ground coffee beans. Cleavis hefted down a great big, blackened skillet and fried up bacon and sausages and eggs. Distractedly I watched them frazzle in the spitting, soupy fat. When they were done, I quietly asked him to place the pan back onto the heat.
‘Still hungry, old man?’ he chuckled.
I shrugged. Then I took out the parcel I hadn’t been able to put down all night, since the apparition had vanished. I opened the square of altar fabric quickly and dumped the slimy contents into the hissing hot lard.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Cleavis.
I ignored his qualms, and my own.
We stared at the pulpy, wormy mass as it fried in the bacon fat and slowly started to brown. The smell was rather rich, and good.
‘I am going to come into my inheritance,’ I told Cleavis and Magda determinedly. ‘I am going to inherit and I am going into the future.’
They were staring at me. I turned to set out a fresh plate and a knife and a fork for myself.
I was actually starting to feel very hungry.
This is where the tale of the first part of my life ends. Thank you for listening to an old, old man.
Good night, my dears. Good night!
PART FOUR
The Devil Finds Work
ONE
It seemed that Effie had a new friend. That hadn’t happened for a long time. She had kept the same store of familiar faces and eked them out, supposing that she wouldn’t really need to add new ones. She thought that you got to a certain age and you don’t go needing to know new peopl
e. There’s nothing they can bring you now.
She was, she thought, old enough and ugly enough to regard the whole thing with a certain amount of suspicion. But, when Karla rang her home on Saturday morning she was flattered. She was suspicious and cautious and thinking Karla was mad, but she was flattered as well. She had been picked out as a likely-looking friend. And, from what Karla had said last night in the bar of the Prince Albert, it looked like she was needing new friends in Manchester.
Effie wasn’t used to being picked out as friendly.
And, Saturday mornings, she wasn’t used to the phone ringing. It made a strange, shrill noise in her living room. She hovered in her housecoat and slippers and stared at it. She wavered over picking it up. Probably it was someone from one of those call centres. Wanting to harass her. They’d got hold of her name and number somehow. She knew these people were often situated on the subcontinent and it seemed bizarre to her, that people all that distance away cared a jot what kind of insurance she took out, or whether she wanted her windows replacing. And, often their English was atrocious. She would try to get rid of them as swiftly as possible, even though she knew it wasn’t her bill they were rocketing up by ringing from India. But these people lingered and lingered and they kept you hanging on.
She hesitated, sighed, and plucked up the receiver.
‘Darling Effie,’ came the half-familiar voice, and she was both offended by the familiarity and jolted with a weird excitement.
‘Who is it, please?’
‘It’s me. Karla. We met yesterday evening. In the bar.’
Effie could feel herself colouring. This woman was making it sound as if she spent her every Friday night loitering around such places.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Effie and started wondering how Karla had got hold of her number. During the conversation last night Effie hadn’t actually said very much. She had kept out of it. She had stood to one side and then sat quietly, when the three of them repaired to a table by the picture window. Effie hadn’t liked to interfere. Sally and Karla were apparently acquaintances from way back and they had a lot to say to each other. Effie had done her usual thing, nursing her gin and lime, listening, and trying to blend into the wallpaper.