A Grimoire Dark

by D. S. Quinton

  The gloom of the day hid the marks on the floor, but his eyes were instantly drawn to a disturbance on the table. He lit a withering candle that sat there, and marveled at what he saw: fresh marks in the dust.

  Someone had recently been sitting in 113 Bayou Rd., very recently. They sat a folder or pile of papers on the dusty table and leafed through them. Frank could still see some straight lines in the dust as the paper-folder was pushed around, moving the dust.

  He suddenly felt his time was very short.

  Chapter 44

  Sister Eulalie paced her office in agitation. She had returned several hours ago from the field outing with the younger kids to see that wretched boy, Jimmy, lying on the floor again. His transference to the state mental hospital couldn’t happen soon enough as far as she was concerned. Some people just took up space, and the world was too crowded already. Besides, God had a way of thinning the herd; she was sure He had something in mind for that one.

  Her mind could barely focus on the task at hand—preparing for an evening funeral service. A member of the local parish had specifically asked for her to speak, so there was no way she could avoid it, but her rash was almost unbearable now. She thought she may need to see a doctor, but the thought repulsed her. Some degenerate, leering man looking at her private parts, putting his large dirty fingers all over her. She’d have to have several Sin Washings to get clean after that.

  Why did the men in her life—granted, there had only been her brothers and uncles, long before she entered the church—have to have large, dirty fingers? And her doctor as well? She couldn’t bear the thought of one more large, dirty finger touching her down there. That’s why the Sin Washings had to be handled with small, delicate hands; clean hands that weren’t contaminated, that could wash the sin away when the need arose.

  If God only had a way of thinning the herd of all the sinners, she thought. Not only would the world be a better place, she wouldn’t have such a need for all of the Sin Washing sessions. She felt as though something was about to happen; she felt as if all the sin in the world was being concentrated through her body and manifesting itself as this terrible rash. Maybe she had been chosen for this. Maybe this was a test, after all.

  She would bear the burden.

  She had a way of dispelling the sin that collected through her—not of her own doing, for it wasn’t her sin manifesting itself down there—and now realized what she must do. She must increase the Sin Washings, for she was helping God rid the world of this terrible plague.

  Several hours later, Sister Eulalie entered the St. Louis Cemetery #1 with a small congregation of mourners. The cemetery had to be lit with torches, as the electric had been out in this part of the city for several days. The dark clouds hung like a shroud over the entire city, but felt especially heavy over the cemetery, as if a burial shroud had been placed over every person there.

  Eddie suddenly shivered in ecstasy.

  He had vibrated slowly all day, as a constant stream of sin pulsed through him. This place was electric, he felt. He wasn’t aware that he felt this, as he no longer had the capacity for individual thought, but somehow it was right; he was a weathervane turning in the wind of humanity.

  He no longer knew where he was, or where he had ever been, although he had a faint memory—a feeling really—of an old barrel of apples, where the weight of everything pressed down on the apples below; all the detritus from the top, all the sweat that leached out of the skins, slipped and dripped and fell through the openings between the other apples, to settle at the bottom where the softer apples—already bruised or damaged—were subject to a greater weight from above. This caused them to falter even faster—from the inside out—and rot. The juice collected there was sweet for an instant, but quickly turned sour and putrid. It stank at the bottom of the barrel, and Eddie loved it.

  His sin-radio-antennae suddenly vibrated with a strong signal. It was difficult to determine who it was, due to all the weeping and moaning. Every mourner felt that they had done something wrong to the recently interred.

  Eddie’s mind quivered; a tuning fork vibrating at the perfect pitch. There was no outwardly obvious sign of his exaltation—to those in the cemetery, he was a grotesque and pompous addition to an oversized crypt—but there was excitement nonetheless, and to his master, he was a lightning rod. The electricity he collected was of the oldest kind; it collected in his calcifying head, ran down his spine, pulsed through his arms and legs and flowed into the unholy crypt he perched upon. From there, the electric sin flowed into granite stones and disappeared into an unholy channel. Somewhere on the other end of the channel, an abomination listened.

  Eulalie Agnus Washington. The name suddenly came to him through the din of sin.

  Sister Eulalie, you are a sinner, and you have an itch, Eddie vibrated. Suddenly years of events passed through his mind: thoughts, scenes, actions. The Sister who thought herself a saint.

  Sin Washing? Oh, how he vibrated. His master would be pleased. The apple had certainly rotted with this one. Suddenly another name flashed from Sister Eulalie and popped into his head:

  Del…

  Del… La…

  What is this name?

  Del.. Larue…

  Del Lavau…

  More images flashed through her head:

  Del, Jo, Del…

  Jo… Del, Del, Del…

  The wretched boy?

  The terrible, terrible, wretched boy?

  Eddie wanted to find his channel. He wanted to hear the song of the wretched boy. He sounded wonderful.

  As Eddie focused on collecting more information on the names, his thought-link with his master weakened. He was too excited to notice. He had to figure out who these other names belonged to. If they were prominent in the Sister’s mind, Eddie felt they were important. He concentrated.

  Jo. For some reason her song was slightly familiar to him, but he didn’t know why. He felt he had sensed her before.

  Del. He tingled again, but for a different reason. It wasn’t a sin signal he was picking up—at least not much compared to most—but he vibrated just the same. She had a beautiful song. Somehow, she was important.

  The wretched boy.

  Nothing.

  Eulalie Agnus Washington—Sister Eulalie—felt strongly about the wretched boy. He must be very bad, Eddie thought. Why doesn’t the name come to me?

  The wretched boy.

  Nothing.

  The pure boy?

  That couldn’t be possible.

  The cast of mourners were leaving and the signals were fading, but Eddie had already recorded the names. One of them went straight to the top.

  His master would be pleased.

  The strange man sat cross-legged on a mat of leaves. His old body swayed slightly, as if blown by an unfelt wind; a dark wind that only dark entities could feel. He had been like this for hours, conserving what energy he had; trancing when he could. He had to feed again soon; his energy was low. The regeneration process had sapped his energy stores. The sustenance from the two men in the swamp had been enough for him to come into existence—including Mr. Sandgrove—but the boy on the wharf had been all for the beast; for the breeding; for their family. And the family was always hungry.

  The beast, Mr. Sandgrove, swayed unconsciously, in sync with the strange man, for they were of the same essence.

  The beast stood up, done with its nursing session, and felt its teats stretched and pulled. The weasels were growing fast, and had become too heavy to lift out of the mud while they held on by their beaks. The weasels, true abominations, gnashed and mewled at the escaping dinner. The beast snapped back at its own offspring, clutching one in its powerful jaws and yanking it away from a teat with a slight ripping sound. The beast shook it several times in reprimand, then dropped it back into the nest. The motherly instinct had nearly left it.

  It walked over to a rapidly shrinking mound, sniffed around in the mud, then bit several toes off a small foot. The foot was much smaller than
it had been the day before, and would hardly satisfy the growing brood, but the beast tossed the toes into the middle of the nest as a distraction, and the gnashing began anew. It then climbed a tree, locked its long claws around a branch and swung around, upside down to sleep. Toth the mutant slowly slid down the long needle, only stopping on the flattened end that resembled a nail head. A low sound escaped its mouth as its stiff arms and legs stretched out from its sides, a sound that indicated a meager wave of life had been created by the static friction generated by sliding against the metal rod. “Ngyihng…”

  Chapter 45

  Josephine sat on the bench in the girls’ bathroom rubbing her earlobe. The Crow had cut a small gash in it when she’d grabbed her earlier in the day. Jo wanted to kill her then, but fortunately the Crow had left for someone’s funeral, and she’d had a few blessed hours of peace. Now that the Crow had returned, it only reminded Jo of how much she really hated her.

  Her face streamed with hot tears as she tried to remember all the bad things the Crow had done over the years. She wanted to remember so she wouldn’t lose her nerve; she wanted to remember because tonight was her night. She would trade the Crow to the strange man in the cemetery, completing her side of the bargain, and have Del forever.

  She had a partial plan worked out in her mind, but it felt rushed. However, the Crow’s time had come. No one else in the orphanage could do anything about her. Del had been the only one who the Crow didn’t have total dominance over. Why, she wasn’t sure, but Jo knew there was no love lost between those two.

  What had the strange man said to her?

  “But make sure you bring something to trade, Josephine. Don’t call me back without something to trade.”

  How could she bring the sister to the cemetery?

  Suddenly, she heard Jimmy hopping down the hallway towards the girls’ bathroom. She knew he was hopping because of the accompanying wibbit… wibbit… she heard with each large jump.

  She watched quietly as Jimmy hopped right past the door and down the hall. A thought tweaked her mind like the light of a distant lighthouse. It passed quickly and almost faded away, then swung back around and shined in her mind again, brighter the second time around.

  She would trick the Crow.

  She suddenly knew how to get the Crow to the cemetery; at least, she thought it might work. Her mind raced. Her time was short. Now that the idea struck her, she knew it had to be tonight. She couldn’t wait any longer.

  Josephine quickly walked down the hall after Jimmy. Turning a corner, she saw the Crow’s office light on behind a closed door. Perfect, she thought.

  “Jimmy, quiet down,” she said in fake reprimand. “Come here, I have something to ask you.”

  Jimmy turned around and hopped back to her.

  “Can you keep a secret?” she said, just loud enough to permeate the old frosted glass window in the Crow’s door. She watched it for any sign of movement.

  “Ah, secwet,” Jimmy said loudly. “Yeah, I can keep—”

  “Shhh,” Jo said as she caught a sign of movement. The Crow had moved close to the window behind her closed door, listening.

  “This is a big secret, Jimmy. So, don’t tell no one, OK?”

  “OK.”

  “I’m supposed to go see Del tonight.”

  “Deh? Can I see De—”

  “Shhh, I’m supposed to go meet her tonight, but it’s after hours and I don’t know how to get out.”

  Jo knew where Del’s last secret exit was, as she had just used it. But the Crow didn’t know, and it was eating her alive that Del still had a secret over her.

  “Do you know where Del’s secret door is?”

  Jimmy thought about the promise he had made to Del never to tell anyone about the window, and was trying to determine if the secret door was the same thing. He wasn’t sure if this would be breaking the promise or not, but before he could form his answer Jo responded, “You do? That’s great. And you’ll show me tonight?”

  Jimmy stood wondering how he had just given the secret away when he hadn’t said anything.

  “OK, that’s great. Thanks, Jimmy,” Jo said, watching the shadow behind the door. “I’ll wait until after bedtime, when everyone else is asleep, and you can tell me where it is, OK?”

  Jimmy was happy that Jo wasn’t mad at him any longer. She always seemed to be mad at him, but thought it was because he had knocked over her mop bucket more than a few times. Still, he wasn’t sure what he had said, if anything that—

  “OK, great. Thanks Jimmy. Come on, let’s get ready for bed,” Jo said as she quickly pulled him back up the hall.

  Jimmy’s face scrunched as a thought quickly passed him. He still couldn’t guess how he had let the secret slip, but was now looking forward to his pajamas, and let Jo lead him down the hall.

  Jo gave a silent prayer that this would work.

  An hour after the lights were turned out, the last nun finished her walkthrough of the open sleeping area where the smaller kids slept. Jo knew the timing by heart. She lay there thinking of Del and what their life would be like when they were finally together. Forever.

  Quietly, she slipped out of bed, pulled her sneakers on and threw on her jacket. She walked out of the smaller, more private sleeping area she shared with the older girls. There was only one other girl her age in the room, and she was snoring loudly.

  Jo moved like a mouse between shadows, and looked absently over her shoulder for effect. She couldn’t see the Crow, but felt that she was lurking somewhere. She slipped into the back coatroom, not risking a fake conversation with Jimmy—she hoped the Crow wouldn’t realize that—and quickly removed the old raincoats, slid open the window and slipped out into the night. She would wait outside for a sign that the Crow was following.

  In less than a minute, she heard the telltale squeak of a rusty hinge; someone had opened the front door of the orphanage.

  Jo quick-stepped up the alley, planning to leave fleeting sounds in the dark—just out of sight—for the Crow to follow. She turned left at the street, away from the orphanage, and didn’t risk a look back. She walked slowly, half in, half out of the shadows to make herself easier to follow. Her plan was working.

  Inside the orphanage, Jimmy peeked his head out of his covers and looked around. His long nap that day had left him full of energy, and the thought of seeing Del was exciting. He put on his Bugs Bunny house shoes and walked quietly to the coat closet. The coats had been moved to the side and the window was slightly open. He remembered to put on his yellow raincoat, then looked once more behind him. There was no one in the closet, so it was safe to go. With great effort, he raised the window, climbed onto the wooden bench, and stuck his legs out the window, just like Del had showed him. He dropped the few feet to the ground and was proud that he didn’t trip. He looked up and down the alley—which was scarier without Del—and thought how happy she would be to see him. Suddenly, he saw someone walk quickly across the front of the alley on the main street that ran in front of the orphanage.

  That must be Jo, he thought. He would follow her and surprise Del.

  Quiet da mouse, quiet da mouse, he thought as he followed the fleeting shadow. He giggled to himself at what a great mouse he made.

  Jo wound through the streets in a manner that she hoped would confuse and frustrate the Crow. She didn’t want to lose her, but wanted her to be good and mad by the time the strange man came. Hopefully he would think she was a decent trade.

  She turned the final corner and saw St. Louis Cemetery #1 looming before her. The mist seemed especially heavy there, even though she was already dripping with water. The front gate creaked with delight as she pushed past it, as if wanting to announce her arrival. She stole a look over her shoulder before she entered, but couldn’t tell if the Crow was behind her or not.

  The crypts of the cemetery seemed to lean precariously in all directions, mocking her tenuous sense of safety. She thought back to the last time she had been there—just a few days past reall
y—but couldn’t recognize any particular crypt as a marker. She turned left, then right, then left again, and suddenly had a sense that she was moving in the right direction. It felt colder suddenly; the mist felt heavier; she moved towards the back of the cemetery.

  As if understanding her needs and desires, the thick fog parted slightly, and she saw the outline of a double crypt looming against the back wall. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she had seen a man crouching on that crypt the last time she was there. It must have been her imagination. Now all she saw was an oversized gargoyle. The ugliest thing she had ever seen.

  Eddie vibrated in ecstasy.

  Jo walked to the old crypt, ascended the three wide stairs, and without hesitation knocked three times on the chamber door. Echoing… echoing... forevermore.

  She watched the mist swirl about the cemetery in increasingly thick clouds. First it moved slowly, sluggish in its power; winding the forces of the universe out of an ancient stasis. She heard the faint creak of a gate. Her time was near.

  Suddenly, a shadow appeared out of the fog; a hooded shadow, slightly hunched. The Crow had followed her.

  Jo stood still, not knowing what to do next. The Sister walked forward cautiously, looking from side to side. Her eyes seemed to glow in the deep gloom.

  “What are you doing out after hours?” The Sister scowled through the mist. “I knew you were just as bad as the other one. There will be punishment for this!”

  Jo inched back toward the shadow of the crypt. She hadn’t accounted for what to do if the strange man didn’t show up.

  Eddie was vibrating on high now. His mind was red hot with the pulse that radiated off the nun. This was the signal he had picked up earlier in the day. It was glorious.

  “Well? Speak up! What are you doing out here? Tell me where your little girlfriend is, you wretched girl!”