Anathema (24 page)

"There'll be time to mourn later,” Timothy said. Most of the color had returned to his face and his breathing had slowed, but the dark circles under his eyes remained. “Come on, we've work to do."

Jim set the timer on the last bomb, kneeled, and wedged it in place just outside the lair's entrance.

When it was safe to do so, the shape came out of the shadows. Its left foot had been hit by a falling rock, and the shape limped slightly as it walked. Fortunately, there were no broken bones.

It moved to the place the men had been, bowed its head, and prayed. It sensed their loss.

After a moment, the shape moved forward, hiding in the shadows as it continued to follow the men.

Chapter 34

An overpowering, almost unbearable stench assaulted them when they entered the master chamber. It stank of old sweat and feces, spoiled meat, and spent sex.

Jim and the others clapped a hand across their mouths and noses, trying to mask the sickening smell, but the awful stink seeped between their fingers and permeated the skin. It left a bitter taste in the mouth and burned their nostrils and lungs like liquid fire.

The chamber walls were as smooth and glossy as those of the corridor that led them there. An anemic, green glow emanated from the polished rock.

In the light, Jim saw images of bloodletting and drinking, sodomy and necrophilia, bestiality and torture. He was repulsed by these visions, yet strangely fascinated and drawn to them. Then, he realized the things he saw were his own thoughts. Dredged from the subterranean of his subconscious, they were projected before him in glorious living color like a movie in a theater.

"Ignore it. None of it is real,” Jarvis whispered in his ear, and Jim realized the others saw it too.

But what if it is, Jimbo?

Finally, Jim recognized the coarse, perverted voice of madness that haunted his mind.

It was his own.

This was the voice that belonged to all the images he saw before him. It was the lion sleeping with the lamb, patiently waiting for the right time to attack. It was the voice that spoke to the Ted Bundys, Richard Specks, and Jeffery Dahmers of the world.

"Because it's not,” Jim said, answering his other voice. “These things you show aren't like me."

The images began to fade until they were nothing but specks of dust twirling in the light.

They joined hands and circled the hole in the chamber's floor. The hole was still about eight inches in diameter. That, at least, had remained constant over the years. Jim leaned over and peered into the opening. It looked bottomless, yet a strange green light pulsed within it.

The ground shifted beneath them, and they braced themselves against each other to keep from falling. Small stones and dust rained on them in a gray cloud. Sinister laughter vibrated throughout the chamber. It came from everywhere and grated against their bones like nails on a chalkboard.

"It knows we are here,” Timothy shouted over the cackling. “Let us now begin."

The clergyman opened his cache and took out the leather-bound book with the gilded pages. On the cover of the book was a symbol that resembled a pair of lightning bolts piercing a multiple-sided, eight-pointed star. It was stamped into the leather in an ink that was the color of blood. Timothy opened the book, the binding crackled, and dust poofed from the ancient pages.

Jim looked over the pastor's shoulder. Even though the text was gibberish, riddled with unfamiliar and alien symbols, he was able to read it as simply as he read the morning newspaper:
To hold in bondage that which is forever.
This was going to be an exorcism.

Next, Timothy took out a small bottle of Holy Water and placed it in the book's crease. As soon as the glass touched the pages, the water glowed a brilliant amber.

Cal, Jarvis, Jim, and the preacher joined hands. Like an electric current, they immediately felt a surge of energy tingle through them as their life forces became one. Tendrils of wispy light weaved around their fingers until their hands were encased in a ball of brilliant blue.

Pastor Timothy began chanting, and the floodgates opened. The laughter turned to screams of agony. A gale wind howled within the chamber, bringing an icy touch. Clouds formed at the ceiling, and lightning flashed inside the billowy bodies.

Timothy raised his voice as the howl of the wind increased. Then, Timothy let go of Cal's hand.

Even though the chain was broken, the energy that flowed between them did not decrease.

Timothy picked up the vial of Holy Water, brought it to his mouth, and uncorked it with his teeth. He sprinkled a few drops of the water into the hole.

The cavern bellowed in agony. The floor quaked. Thick, black smoke boiled from the hole. A putrid stink filled the room.

The reverend spilled more water and chanted more of the text.

Shimmering like heat on black top, thousands of golden eyes peered at them from within the stone walls. Something dead and dry slithered across Jim's feet. Something else brushed across his cheek. Then came the ancient, papery smell of the three dead whores.

Two of them flanked Jim where Cal and Jarvis stood. The third was on her knees in front of him, toying with his zipper. Jim felt his will fade away. The light that surrounded him began to diminish.

"We can take you to your son,” they whispered into his ears. “Just come along with us."

"It's not real,” Jarvis shouted. “It's all an illusion! It's lying to you, trying to get you to break the chain!"

But Jim paid no attention to Jarvis's rants as the whores caressed his groin and made their promises. Oh, how sweet they were! Like lemonade on a hot day. Jim wanted to taste their nectar, to melt into them. He felt his mind reach out to them, searching for their sweet kisses—longing to see his son again.

Jim moaned and tossed his head back. His eyelids fluttered; a string of spittle hung from the corner of his mouth.

"Travis,” he croaked as the conscious world slipped away, fading like an old photograph. “Daddy's coming."

"Reverend!” Cal yelled. “We're losing Jim! He's slipping away!"

Without breaking chant, Timothy sprinkled Jim with Holy Water. Like finely honed knives, the water sliced the moldy, wrinkled gray skin of the whores. Black fungus boiled from the cuts. Yellow foam bubbled from their twisted mouths. Their bodies steamed, and they melted into the rock, becoming part of the cave once again.

Jarvis squeezed Jim's hand. “Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm back. Sorry.” His will returned, and he was again blanketed in the warmth of the aura.

Timothy hesitated. He reached the point in the ceremony that if the next phrase was mistranslated or misspoken, the ground would open, and they'd be swallowed up. That's what happened in the summer of eighty-three.

(Zamba, toit, izpac, allah, ichnow)

That's why the twins were taken. He would not make that mistake again.

Trembling, Timothy spoke the words: “
Zamba, toit, izpac, allah, ichknow.
"

A thunderclap cracked through the cave. Bright white light filled the lair.

Beginning at the rim of the hole, tiny fissures fingered outward. The cracks thickened, becoming wider at the base and tapering to jagged points. A look down at the hole revealed that it now resembled a sun as drawn by a child.

The ground rumbled again, and the pulsing light within the hole grew so bright the men had to turn away so their eyes wouldn't melt.

"When it shows itself, contain it with the Blessed Rope,” Pastor Timothy shouted above the bray of the banshee wind.

Cal nodded, reached for the burlap sack at his feet, and a look of panic spread over his face.

"It's gone,” Cal croaked. “I don't have it.” He paused. “I sat it down when we were in the stalactite room. Then came the rain of stones and I forgot all about it. It must still be in there."

"Oh, Merciful God,” Jarvis whispered. It was too late to retrieve it.

They stared into the glowing abyss. It was coming, and there was no way to stop it.

Darkness covered the town like a thick wool coat.

The raging fire scorched everything it touched. Main Street buckled from the intense heat. Water mains beneath it snapped like toothpicks, and geysers of water sprouted from the huge fissures in the black top. The ultra-heated air instantly turned the water into steam. Sidewalks melted and flowed in the gutters like lava. Black skeletons of burned buildings toppled like broken Tinker Toys.

People, bewildered, confused, and in all states of dress, abandoned their homes. While some found shelter elsewhere, flames consumed most, as the insatiable fire devoured the neighborhoods.

But the walking dead paid no attention to the inferno that burned around them. Their bellies full of meat, they shuffled down a broken and flooding Main Street, determined to reach the house on the hill.

They wound their way up the serpentine drive. Those that were unable to make it collapsed and were trampled to dust by the others.

The dead gathered on the front porch, stared straight ahead, and waited. A moment later, the door creaked open and they were welcomed inside by the mistress of the house.

The ground shook, the cave screamed, and the hole puckered.

"When that thing emerges, we have to get it away from here,” Jim said. “Otherwise, it'll just drop back into the hole once the bombs start exploding."

"What do you propose?” Timothy asked.

"That we use ourselves as bait. When it rears its ugly self, we run and get it to chase us. We'll draw it far enough away from here that it won't have enough time to retreat once the explosions start."

There was a flash of green light as a jagged lightning bolt stabbed from the clouds. Then, it came up from Hell.

Covered in a placenta-like slime, it forced it gelatinous body through the small opening like a newborn from the womb. It opened its slit of a mouth and displayed triple rows of triangular teeth in its rotten-apple head. Blind, it sensed the intruders by sniffing the air. Deaf, its body was keen to any unfamiliar vibrations.

Now, a dozen spiked tentacles clawed at the perimeter of the hole, making it large enough for the rest of its body. Then came the stink, a rancid mix of sour cream and sewage.

It was about twice the size of an average man, with a scaly, double-forked tail and leathery skin. The tail seemed to have a mind of its own as it swished from side to side. On its back were a pair of nubbins that, if unfolded, would become wings. It had no sex or feet, and moved by expanding and constricting the lower half of its body, slithering more like a snake than walking like a man. Inside the folds of its skin were the golden-eyed children—its children.

Sniffing the air, it parted its mouth and screamed. The screech rebounded off the chamber walls, shook the floor, and caused rock to fall from the ceiling. Timothy, Cal, Jarvis, and Jim felt the scream vibrate their bones.

"Run,” Jim whispered. “Now."

The men ran toward the chamber opening, but somehow, it was different.

"It's smaller,” Jim shouted. The opening was closing like a mouth; stalactites and stalagmites coming together like teeth.

Sensing movement and smelling the ripe warmth of blood, the creature lumbered forward.

Jarvis, Cal, and Timothy darted through the shrinking entrance, but Jim tripped over his feet and fell.

A spiked tentacle gripped his thigh, pierced his heavy blue jeans, and stabbed his flesh.

Jim screamed as searing pain tore through his leg. His pants turned black and sticky with gore.

The thing from the hole began to pull Jim back into the chamber.

Then, Bobby Stevens sprang from the shadows.

From the trek through the woods, twigs and burrs were entangled in his hair. The hospital jumpsuit was torn and bloody. An insane grin took up half his face. But there was victory in his eyes.

"Leave him alone, you motherfucker!” Stevens threw himself at the wrinkled and putrid face.

Startled by such an attack by the madman, the creature lost its grip on Jim.

Free, but with a leg that throbbed like a Saturday morning hangover, Jim crawled to the pair of arms that were shoved through the closing exit. Pale, terrified faces peered at him through the darkness.

"Hurry up!” Jarvis yelled. He tried to stretch his arms further, but found it impossible. “Move your ass, Jim!"

From behind, Jim heard Stevens grunt and groan as he battled the creature. Then came the breaking of bone, a yelp of pain, the wet sound of tearing flesh, and through it all, Jim heard Bobby mumble a single word over and over again:
Salvation
.

Jim reached the entrance, where a grappling of hands hooked under his arms and pulled him through the opening just before it closed.

"Can you walk?” Jarvis asked. Jim's leg had swollen to twice its size and infection already oozed from the wound.

"I don't think so.” Jim tried to massage the wound, but each time he did so, fresh blood seeped from the punctures. “You'll have to go on without me."

Jarvis shook his head. “No way. I'm not leaving you to die down here.” He stood on one side of Jim. “Cal, you wanna give me a hand?"

The two men lifted Jim to his feet and wedged a shoulder in each of his armpits. They brought their hands across his back and hooked their thumbs in his belt loops.

"Lead on, Reverend,” Cal said.

Jim lifted his injured leg an inch or two above the ground, and supported by Jarvis and Cal, shuffled across the stalactite room. Managing the navigation with little difficulty, they reached the beginning of the corridor, where a new challenge greeted them. They'd forgotten the narrow tunnel could only accommodate them if they walked single-file. By walking abreast, they were too wide.

"Shit,” Cal spat, staring into the dark maw. “We won't fit."

"We will if we go in sideways,” Jarvis replied.

"Yeah, might work. But it'll be slow going. You know what the footing's like in there."

"You guys go on,” Jim wheezed. “Just leave me here."

Jarvis was annoyed. “I said I wasn't going to leave you here and I meant it."