MOON FALL (45 page)

Sara awoke in darkness, her head throbbing, her mouth tasting
of earth. Slowly she lifted her head and spat dirt from her
mouth. ''Oh, God," she muttered. ''What the hell happened?"

She shivered and pressed her hands against the dank soil,
pushing herself up into a sitting position. ''What happened?"
Faintly, she heard a voice calling, "Let me out, let me out,"
over and over.

Where am I?
There wasn't a speck of light, only darkness
so thick she felt as if she were choking on it.
Dashwood. The
garage.
Images flooded her. She'd come to the abbey to resign,
to get her things and Kelly, too. Her mind cleared further, and
suddenly she recognized the voice in the distance.

"Mark!" she screamed, as loud as she could. She pushed
herself to her feet.

There was momentary silence, then, "Let me out!" louder
than ever.

"Mark! It's Sara," she called. "Where are you?"

"I don't know. In the dark!
Get me out of here!"

"Help is on the way," she yelled, wondering who else could
hear her and the boy. "You don't have to yell anymore. Just
wait."

Silence answered her. Slowly, she felt her way around the
low-ceilinged room
.
The earthen floor was damp in places,
muddy in others, and the stone walls were cold and slick. She
finally found a set of stairs. There were only six, but at the top
was a heavy wooden door with only a handle. She pulled, then
pushed, and knew she couldn't open it.

She got down on her hands and knees and pushed the caked,
muddy soil away from the threshold, squinting when she saw
dim light coming in from beyond the door. She couldn't see
anything but a small square of brick floor outside, but when
she pushed her fingers between the door and the threshold, her
hand came back with a small chunk of rotten wood.

Please stay quiet, Mark.
She dug out more wood, until a
faint beam of light illuminated her torn, filthy hands. It wasn't
much, but at least she could explore the cellar and try to find
a way out.

Night lay heavily over Moonfall and the silence of his empty
house lay equally heavy over John Lawson. He'd come home
to catch a few hours of sleep before relieving Deputy Thurman
around two in the morning. He'd been the only officer on duty
and John knew he was exhausted.

Mark, where are you?
He fought back anger first, then tears,
as he made a grilled cheese sandwich and zapped a bowl of
tomato soup in the microwave.

He took the food to the table and stared at it, unable to eat.
He'd spent too long nosing around the abbey and hadn't made
it to Minerva's. He'd driven past her shop in the twilight, but
it was closed, and he just didn't want to make the trek into the
woods to see her. Not with those
nightflyers
screeching all over
the forest
.
Tomorrow morning would be time enough, he told
himself. Surely, if Sara or Mark had turned up at her house,
the old lady would have come to tell him or brought them out.
She, at least, wasn't worried about traveling the dark path from
her c
ottage to the road. Or at least
she didn't let on, if she
was.

He left his soup congealing on the table and went into his
office. Digging through his files, he found a Christmas card
list from last year and read down to the address of Paul Pricket's
parish
, then called information and got the number for the
rectory.

The phone was ans
w
ered on the third ring. "Hello, St. Florian's.
Father Pricket speaking."

''Paul," John said. Though the voice was deeper, Paul Pricket
still sounded like himself. "This is John Lawson, up in Moonfall.
How are you?"

"John?" Paul hesitated. "I'm fine. I was just thinking about
you. You've been on my mind, though I don't know why."

''Gus is dead, Paul."

"I'm sorry
-
"

"He was murdered, just like my father was, and I can't find
the bastard who killed him."

"I'm sorry
-
"

''Please, Paul, just listen. Mark is missing. I think he was
taken by the people at St. Gertrude's, but I'm not sure. I've
been all over the place. I know it sounds ridiculous to tell you
a bunch of nuns kidnapped my son."

"John," Paul said softly. "They're not Catholic. There's no
record of them in our files."

"When did you check?"

"A couple days ago. I've been having nightmares. I always
do around Halloween, about, you know ... "

''Greg. You can say it, Paul. I have them, too. So does
Winky
Addams."

''Beano?"

"He's closed himself off from us, but I wouldn't be surprised.
Paul, do you ever wonder if we went to St. Gertrude's the night
Greg died?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "I've prayed over it, I've
meditated, I've done everything I can think of, but I can't
remember." He paused. "But Beano was sure we didn't go.
Remember?"

''Yes. Paul, before he died, Gus told me he overheard the
five of us talking, right after Greg drowned. He said that we
had gone. And I've been talking to Minerva Payne."

"Who?"

"The old witch in the woods."

''Really? Why?"

''She seems to know more than anyone. She says the sisters
used to be called the Order of Lilith."

T
here was silence on the other end of the line. Finally Paul
cleared his throat. "Lilith was a night demon, John. She's
mentioned in Isaiah
.
"

''That makes sense, considering what these women are like."
He briefly told Paul about Sara's ghostly rape. "What do you
make of that?"

''Well, it fits in with the Lilith stuff. Lilith was the original
succubus-
a spirit that uses men at night. Rapes them." He
chuckled lightly. ''Personally, I always thought that was nothing
more than an excuse for nocturnal emissions among the celibate."

"Is there a male spirit that rapes women?"

''Yes," Paul said, serious again. ''It's an incubus. But
succubi
and incubi are the same spirit in different fo
rm
s."

''Minerva believes it's a revenant," John said, and explained.

''That makes sense, I suppose. Are you sure this really happened?"

''One hundred percent."

''Well, if those nuns are a group of Satanists and they know
what they're doing, maybe they've figured out how to do things
like that. There are many powers we don't understand."

W
hile John told him everything of the events of the past
weeks, Paul listened in silence.

"It's a fantastic story, John."

"The thing is, I'm beginning to remember things. I've been
in that chapel at the abbey before, Paul. I recognized it. They
had Greg laid out on the altar, and there were a bunch of people
in black cowled robes. I watched.
You
watched, Paul. We all
did, and we couldn't do anything to stop it. Do you have any
recollection of a man named Dashwood?"

"No, not offhand."

''Do you ever dream about eyes?"

"Yes, I dream I'm being sucked into them."

''Those are
Dashwood
's eyes. And you
were
sucked into
them. We all were."

"How can you be so sure?"

''I feel it. And Minerva Payne told me. Well, she called him
a sorcerer. I'd call him a man with a vast knowledge of hypnosis
and hypnotics."

Another long silence. "What can I do to help, John?"

"You've already helped." He forced himself to chuckle. "I
understand now what all these people see in confessing to
priests." He hesitated. ''Paul, can you come up tomorrow?"
"To Moonfall?"

"Yes. If what Minerva tells us is correct, the nuns' big
celebration will occur then. I have to save my boy, Paul. And
Sara, and a girl who's a student there who's evidently slated
for sacrifice, too. I could use some backup, Paul."

"But if this Minerva has the powers you say she does-"

"I know she can do things, but I don't pretend to know or
understand how far she can go. But
she
was the one who pointed
out that to be a Satanist, you must first fear the Christian God.
Paul, even if Minerva could spin that abbey into outer space,
I think it would be a good idea to have you here with your
own kind of magic."

"Essentially, you're talking about exorcism. The church
probably won't allow it."

"Don't tell them. Come to see an old friend. Me."

The silence lasted so long that John began to think Paul had
hung up. Then the priest spoke. "I'll be there sometime after
noon tomorrow. Is that okay?"

"It's great, Paul. Thanks."

"When do you think they'll go away?" Kelly asked Minerva
as they sat by the blazing fireplace. The clock had just struck
midnight; it was the first minute of Halloween.

''I don't know, child. By morning, I suspect." Minerva hoped
she was right. The trip back to the cottage had been harrowing
only for a few moments; then the
nightflyers
had disappeared.
Minerva had hoped the attack was over, but an hour later they'd
returned, their power even greater.

She and Kelly had been outside, picking vegetables to go
with the chicken frying in the kitchen, when they'd returned,
swooping in over the clearing as if there were no spells protecting
the property. The women had had to run into the house
for cover.

No doubt Lucy and Dashwood had added their sorcery to
the
nightflyers
'. She looked at Kelly. "We're safe here."

"But if they can break into the clearing, can't they get into
the house?"

''If they could have, they already would have."

"Why are they doing this?"

Though the girl was terrified. Minerva could see that she
was fighting her fear with her questions, and that, she thought,
was a very good sign. “
They are doing it because I killed one
of them, and because they don't want me interfering with the
ceremonies to
night."

"And because I'm here."

Minerva nodded slowly. "Yes, because you're here."

"What can we do? We have to help Sara and Mark."

''That is for John Lawson to do, but we can help him. You
can do your part by reciting the protection spells I taught you.
I am going to try to help John find his memories." She rose.

"You're not leaving?" Kelly jumped to her feet.

"No. I'm just going into the kitchen. I need to be by myself
for this. It's quite difficult." She walked across the threshold
"I'll be back in a little while."

John, let me in.

John, dozing in his chair, turned uneasily. He heard Minerva's
voice in his mind, knew the dream was coming and that he
could still make himself wake up before it took him.

He'd already remembered some of Halloween, 1972, on his
own, but if Minerva was right about his being able to remember
how to get into the basement at the abbey, then he couldn't
just wait for his memories to kick in. He needed to let the
dream come
.
But he was afraid.

Remember for Mark. Let me in.

Hearing those words, he let himself fall into the dream. He
spiraled down into the locked room and saw that blood was
already seeping in under the door and drizzling down the keyhole
in the black iron latch
plate.

You know how, John. Open the door.

He grasped the knob and turned it with all his might.

That's it, don't stop! You can do anything, John. It's your
dream.

The knob began to tu
rn
, but just barely. Minerva's words
echoed in his ears and he applied them with new strength.
Abruptly the knob turned and he began pulling it. The door
groaned as the hinges began to give; then suddenly, it flew
open. A wave of blood followed, filling the room, drowning
him as it flowed into his lungs. He choked.

It's a dream, only a dream. Do what you must
.

He began to swim for the door but ran into one wall, then
another. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see through the red fog.
And then he found the doorway and swam out of the room.

Into utter darkness.

The blood was gone and he was sitting on a hard wooden
bench. He was paralyzed, and as candles flickered to life around
him, he tried to call to Minerva, but his vocal cords wouldn't
work. All he could do was sit, unblinking, and stare at the black
altar within the candles. He felt others sitting, unmoving, next
to him and though he couldn't turn his head, he knew that Paul,
Winky, Beano, and Doug surrounded him.

Figures draped in black walked into view, each carrying a
black candle. They filed around the wide altar to stand in a half
circle
behind it. A tall figure
-
Dashwood, he knew
-
walked up
to the altar and laid out Greg's small, pale body.

Next, a girl of thirteen or fourteen walked in. Dressed in
white, she was supported between two cowled figures. She let
herself be guided up onto the altar and placidly laid down next
to Greg. Two more black figures dragged a grown woman in.
Unlike the girl, she was unconscious. As the others began a
low chant, two dark figures stepped forward and helped the
other two bring the woman around the altar and hoist her up
so that she lay crosswise across Greg and the girl. As they
positioned her, her arms, then head, then breasts came into
John's view. She was made up in colors so bright that he could
see them in the near darkness. Her lips and nipples were red
black,
and her eyes
, open and staring,
were rimmed
with dark blue
.
Her cheeks were bruised with blush.

The chanting continued, growing louder, more ominous, until
the air turned frigid and thick. Behind him, he heard the doors
blow open and a gust of foul wind filled the room. Something
was coming, something large and horrible, and he knew what
it would do to the young woman.

The same thing will happen to Sara. And Mark will be the
living altar, as Greg was. And then, like your brother, your
son will die. You must find the basement.

I can't!
He was stuck in his own fourteen-year-old body, as
paralyzed as he'd been that night. He struggled, hearing the
Beast coming down the aisle, smelling it as it filled his nostrils
with the pungent odor of death. No matter what he did, he
couldn't make his body move, and he needed no reminder of
what was to come next. He remembered in full detail, first the
rape of the woman by something inhuman, something he could
only think of as a devil. It tore the woman apart, and she had
been awake the whole time, unmoving, paralyzed, though her
eyes, leaking silent tears, conveyed all her pain and horror. He
remembered how, as the Beast reached orgasm, blood had
spurted from her mouth, coating her unblinking eyes, filling
her nose. He had seen the life drain from her, had seen her
eyes go blank. As awful as it was, it was a relief when she
died.

He remembered the demon tossing her aside and tearing the
white dress from the girl, the virgin. She was waking up and
begun to scream as it nearly tore one of her legs from its
s
ocket
in its desire to take her. Greg had awakened, too, and begun
to scream with her. The demon paid him no mind and no one
stepped forward as the little boy rolled off the altar and tried
to crawl away.

He saw me. He was crying for me.
The truth hit John in a
jolting flash. Greg had crawled to him, had begged him to look
at him, to talk to him. He'd felt Greg's tears falling on his
deadened hands, and he could do nothing.

It's a dream.
Minerva's voice ripped into the vision.
You
aren't tied to the body. Leave the body there and find the prison
in the basement. Find it for Mark! Find it now!

The chanting deafened him as the demon attacked the young
woman and he remembered how he'd escaped the dream's
bloody room.
I can do anything. I can fly.

Suddenly, he found himself in the air, high above the chapel,
his ears filled with the cries of nightflyers. One swooped at
him and he escaped, jumping down into darkness, spiraling
down.

He opened his eyes and saw his living room.
Am I awake?
The Regulator chimed half past midnight, Halloween. He
blinked and then Sara was standing before him, luminously
nude in the darkness.

John, I need you.

"Sara?"

She stepped closer.
Make love to me, John. I want you.

He stared at her, thinking he had to be dreaming, but it
seemed too real. He lifted one hand and pinched the back of
the other. It hurt like hell. "I'm awake," he said.

I know.
Sara was nearly on top of him now, her lips moist,
her eyes sparkling.

"Sara, my God, Sara. How did you get here?'' He stood up
and put his arms out to her, closed them.

They closed on icy cold air, nothing more, and then he felt
her slide into him, felt his bones begin to chill, his heart to
stutter. Blindly he reached under his shirt and pulled out the
amulet. "Get away!"

Instantly, the coldness left him and Sara was standing before
him, a sad smile on her face.
We never got to make love when
I was alive. Can't we now?

"You're not Sara. Get out of my house!"

Sara's image shifted and flowed before him, losing color,
the body disappearing and the face elongating until it was an
amorphous white head nearly as tall as he. The eyes were
burning black pits.
This is what raped Sara.

Laughter filled his mind, shrill and maniacal, and the mouth
yawned open, revealing short, sharklike teeth. The phantom
rotated until it was sideways; then suddenly it rushed him and
he felt the teeth dig into his chest and back, biting into his flesh
like hundreds of short, sharp knives.

Begone, spirit!

In the back of his mind, he heard Minerva's voice, and then
he caught a glimpse of her at the edge of his vision, translucent,
glowing amber in the darkness.

Begone!

Slowly, the pressure on his body dissipated, the sharp pain
stopped, and then he stood alone in the darkened room.

Breathing hard, trembling, he turned on a lamp and looked
down at himself. He couldn't comprehend what he saw. His
shirt was tom and bloodstained, and he realized he was in pain.
He ran down the hall to the bathroom and turned on the light,
tore off his shirt, and stared at himself in the full-length mirror.

Blood seeped from a neat half-circle of razorlike cuts running
from his left side to three-quarters of the way across his chest.
Turning, he saw the same marks on his back. Dumbfounded,
he did nothing for a long moment; then he forced himself to
move, turning on the shower, stripping, and climbing in. He
scrubbed himself for twenty minutes, not caring that the wounds
still dripped blood.

Finally, he turned off the water and dried, keeping the towel
wrapped around himself until he knew the bleeding had stopped.
He let the towel drop and took a tube of Neosporin from the
medicine cabinet and used the whole tube on the cuts. Bruises
were already purpling around them.

He was practically running on automatic as he entered his
bedroom and took a T-shirt from his drawer and slipped it on,
wincing at the pain the movement caused He pulled on fresh
socks and underwear, then a new pair of dark brown Levi's,
and laced his shoes up.

The clock chimed once as he left for the station. The first
hour of Halloween was over. He would have a long night alone,
and with a little luck, maybe he would remember on his own
where the entrance to the basement was. He realized he was
praying he would, and was very nearly amused, but he knew
that if he let himself laugh, he wouldn't be able to stop.