The Devil's End

by D A Fowler

  Spiro jerked as though she’d slapped him. “Mama loves me.”

  “Well, she sure has a funny way of showin’ it, from what I seen. Did she burn you, Spiro? Did she burn your hand? ’Cause if she did—”

  At that moment Bruce strode up behind Lana and nodded amiably at Spiro. “How ya doin’?”

  Lana compulsively put her hand on Bruce’s skinny bicep before realizing she’d just slid into premature intimacy, but the action felt natural, and Bruce didn’t react with any surprise. “Look at his hand, Bruce. He won’t say, but…I think his mother might have done that to him on purpose. What do you think we should do?”

  Bruce leaned over, squinting, and inspected Spiro’s palm. Spiro bristled noticeably and shrank away, his expression returning to chiseled granite. An art study in primeval rage.

  Bruce had no idea the animosity was directed at him. “Wow, bummer. Why’d she do that?”

  Hoping that question wouldn’t be answered, Lana knelt in front of the folded human skyscraper. “If your mother did this to you, she oughta get in a lot of trouble for it, Spiro. That’s not right. That’s called child abuse, an’ there’s laws against that.” Even as she said it, the word child applied to the hideous giant before her seemed a ridiculous misnomer.

  The skyscraper began to unfold. Lana rose to her feet and took a few nervous steps backward. His height raised even more by standing on the last porch step, Spiro towered over the couple like a deadly Philistine. Bruce wondered stupidly why there wasn’t a slingshot in his hand. “Hey Lana, I think, uh, I think this dude would just like to be left alone, you know?” He started doing a little backward two-step in the direction of Lana’s driveway when the front door behind Spiro opened.

  Bertha Guenther heaved her tent-covered bulk across the threshold to stand behind her son, nostrils flaring, giving Lana the impression of a rhino getting ready to charge. “You little slut. You git away from here. Leave my boy alone,” the fat woman spat at Lana with a poisonous glare.

  Lana turned to Bruce for support, but he was already safely perched on her front porch making an intense study of the clouds.

  Several appropriate retaliatory remarks popped into Lana’s mind, but she managed to hold them in check. She didn’t want to get into a name-calling fight with the fat old witch, especially not in front of Bruce, in front of Spiro, and the whole neighborhood for that matter. The hell with throwing sticks and stones anyway. She brought out the heavy artillery. “I know what you did to Spiro, and I think maybe I’ll just give the police a call. I think they’d be interested!”

  Bertha’s mouth worked in furious twitches, a scathing rebuttal attempting to escape its chapped white confinement, but for all she knew, Spiro had already spilled his guts. She would deal with his treacherous mouth later. She hissed at him to get in the house and wait for her in his room.

  Spiro’s chin sank until it was nestled against his breast. He was no longer a thing to be feared; only pitied. He turned around slowly and waited for her to move away from the door so he could pass. He disappeared behind her, becoming a dissolving shadow in the room beyond.

  Bertha crossed flabby, tintless arms under huge sagging breasts and turned a woeful glance to the sky. “It’s been hard on me, raising a boy like that without no father. And what can I do? He can’t be smart and so he’ll never come to much of anything, so I figure the best I can do is make him good. That’s gotta count for something. Once I’m gone, he’ll be all on his own, and he’s gotta have at least one thing right with him.” She made her lower lip tremble, and willed some tears to the corners of her eyes.

  Lana wasn’t quite buying the performance—there was no way burning your kid’s hand as a punishment could be justified in her mind—but she did soften somewhat. “I don’t think you’re bein’ fair to him. I think he’s just a lot more naive than he is…well, I don’t wanna say dumb, but you know what I mean. But that’s not the point. You can’t do things like that to him, no matter what he’s done. An’ what he did wasn’t all that terrible, which, by the way, I sure had nothin’ to do with it, so you can watch who you’re callin’ a slut. But if you ever hurt him like that again, I will call the police, an’ that’s a promise.”

  Bertha’s eyes flashed with momentary anger, but then, as though she were seized with a pleasant idea, an ugly smile appeared on her lips. Her eyes became almost droopy. “You won’t have no reason to call the po-lice, missy,” she said, and went back into her house, closing the door softly behind her.

  Lana trudged over to her own porch, where Bruce stood smiling sheepishly. “I’m some knight in shining armor, huh? Sorry, but when I think Godzilla wants me the fuck out of his face, I book.”

  “That isn’t nice, Bruce. Callin’ him that,” Lana reproved.

  “I know, but did you see the way he was looking at me…?”

  She shuddered slightly. “I wish I hadn’t, but I think I know what his problem is. Not that I’ve encouraged it in any way, but he seems to have a…some sorta crush on me, I guess. So your presence wouldn’t exactly be appreciated.”

  “Well, that sure makes my day.” Bruce frowned. “That dude could pick me up and squish me like a bug. You don’t think he will, do ya? I kinda planned on being around here a lot. That is, if I’m wanted.”

  Lana patted his cheek. “’Course you’re wanted. An’ don’t worry, he’ll get over it. Please don’t make any change in your plans.”

  The moment seemed right for a kiss, but feeling suddenly awkward, Bruce didn’t pounce on the opportunity. Instead he rubbed his hands together with gleeful enthusiasm. “Okay, point me to the dog poop. I’m rarin’ to scoop.”

  They entered the house laughing.

  Albert Montgomery still labored for breath; his lungs had become burning coals which drew in mace and exhaled fire. Even under his medication, the pain was excruciating. His body convulsed with violent spasms, every organ twisting, shrinking, wrenching itself out of place. His skin was clammy and smelled of death. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he began to hallucinate.

  The white wall in front of him, as he watched it, moved ever so slowly away, until Albert was certain he was staring at it from a great distance. He wondered for a moment if his bed were actually being rolled back, but a painful glance over his shoulder revealed that no one was there. Only machines blinked around him, attached to tubes or wires that were affixed to various parts of his anatomy. A heart monitor beeped erratically, giving its uncertain testimony to life. The sound was driving him insane.

  Suddenly he saw a tiny figure standing against the wall, a figure in black, an upright cricket posed behind a concave lens. As it moved toward him, its features began to haze and spread out.

  Montgomery blinked; the thing did not disappear. It kept spreading in proportion as it drew nearer, the distorted features of a malevolent face coming vaguely into focus. A curved plastic tube had been forced into Albert’s throat and secured with tape around his mouth, feeding oxygen to the furnace in his chest. His hands had been strapped to keep him from pulling such things out of his tortured body. He couldn’t speak, or cry out in terror; he could only watch the abomination approach, and listen as the beep on the heart monitor became faster and more erratic.

  Then a door burst open and he was at once surrounded by angels in white with starched halos encircling their heads. One of them inserted a needle into his arm while another rolled a defibrillator forward, shouting for someone to page Dr. Prescott, alert Code Blue.

  Albert heard the long, even shrill of the heart monitor and felt a cold rush of air. He squeezed his eyes shut against the blackness encroaching on his soul.

  Ten

  Marla slammed the receiver down, causing her mother, who sat at the kitchen table playing a thoughtless game of solitaire, to jump. “Careful with the equipment, Marla. What’s the matter?”

  “That was Nancy,” Marla seethed. “She said she saw Denni
s at the park with some girl who just moved here from Texas, and he admitted he had her up at the overlook last night. A hick! That rat. I’d like to punch him right in the nose.”

  “You know how boys are,” Pamela said gently. “You’re too young to be getting so serious anyway. And you know Dennis won’t be following you to Princeton. Don’t upset yourself. It’s not worth it.”

  Marla gritted her teeth and sat down across from her mother. “I know, but…we aren’t officially broken up, you know. He has no right.”

  “You don’t own him, honey. One thing you’ll eventually have to learn is that men are not, by nature, monogamous animals. They’re biologically programmed to be just the opposite…it’s healthier for the species. Of course, we’ve structured a society in which such behavior is condemned, but we are what we are. They can’t help it, really.”

  Marla gasped. “Has Daddy…?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Pamela said casually, as if adultery were no more serious an infraction than cheating at a game of solitaire, which she proceeded to do by shuffling the remaining cards in her hand. “Now, I’m not saying that he has, I just don’t worry about it. Why should I? I can’t follow him everywhere he goes. If he wants to cheat, he’ll cheat. What am I supposed to do about it? Scream and throw things, give him ultimatums? I’d probably wind up in divorce court.” She looked around appreciatively at her sparkling pastel-green kitchen filled with every modern convenience, none of the appliances over five years old. The oak cabinets were supplied with the most expensive cookware money could buy. “I’d rather not. I have a comfortable life. Why rock the boat?”

  “I don’t think I could live that way,” Marla said, picturing Dennis with a broken nose. “If that’s the way it is, I don’t think I’ll ever get married.”

  “Some men have a little more self-control than others,” her mother offered consolingly. “Just choose carefully. There are some faithful ones around, I suppose.”

  Marla nestled her chin against the palms of her hands, elbows on the table. Her troubled expression deepened. “I wonder why Nancy didn’t call and tell me they were going to the park today. She’s been acting kind of weird lately, but she keeps insisting nothing’s wrong. But ever since—”

  “Ever since what?”

  “Oh, never mind.” Marla forced a smile to conceal the fact she was trying to hide something. Her mother absolutely hated to be in the dark about any detail of Marla’s life. They were supposed to be “friends” more than mother and daughter, “good buddies” who didn’t keep secrets from each other. How very strange her mother was. One would think she was refusing to recognize her age. “I guess she didn’t call because of, you know, Gramma and all. Do I have to go to school at all tomorrow?”

  Pamela, again defeated in her game despite her cheating, swept the cards together in a pile. “No, of course not. I’ll excuse you for a couple of days, unless you feel like going back earlier. You might not want to get that far behind.”

  “I couldn’t care less about school right now.” Marla glanced toward the living room at the various flower arrangements on the coffee table, sent as consolations by friends and relatives. As a means of comfort they were totally inadequate. If anything, they increased the sorrow. The largest one, a tall white basket bursting with Easter lilies, had been sent by the Snells, the card signed by Roger and Beth. The absence of Nancy’s loopy scrawl seemed terribly conspicuous.

  “Mom, is Gramma in Heaven?” Marla’s fear of death was a child of the possibility that such places as Heaven and Hell did exist, and how did one really know for certain one would end up in the right place? As for herself, she knew if she should die the next day—or today, or within the next five minutes—her bad points would almost surely outweigh her good.

  A tear trickled down Pamela’s cheek. “I’m sure she is, honey. Your grandmother was a very good woman. You know that.”

  Marla nodded. “I’m sure going to miss her.” She was thinking of the old days.

  Pamela was too. “So will I, honey. We all will.”

  After hanging up the phone, Nancy rejoined Jay on the bed, a malicious glint in her eye. “Dennis is in for it now.”

  “Why won’t you let me see it?” he asked testily, reverting back to their previous argument. “You afraid I’m going to steal your secret or something?”

  “I’m telling you all you need to know about it,” she said, standing firm on her resolve to keep the ledger Eyes Only. “But if you keep bugging me about it, I won’t tell you anything.”

  “All right,” he sighed. “Go on.”

  “Like I said, somehow they knew they were going to get caught and hanged, so Myrantha wrote everything down for Morganna about what they were going to do, and why; she didn’t tell her beforehand because she was afraid she’d want to go with them, and someone they could trust had to stay behind. Myrantha was going to die anyway, but she didn’t want to be separated from Nathaniel. He agreed to make a pact between themselves and the Devil, that would allow them to return from the dead to possess new bodies.”

  “Why couldn’t Myrantha just get rid of her cancer?”

  “The message doesn’t say,” Nancy snapped, impatient to get on with her story. What she was repeating to Jay had been written in the back pages of Myrantha Ober’s accounting ledger, and later additions had been made by Morganna Ober. The reason she’d taken so long getting back to Marla’s car was that once she began reading her discovery, she couldn’t stop. She’d gone into that place looking for souvenirs and clues to death’s secrets. What she found was more than she could ever have hoped for. The key to immortality. Every human being’s deepest hidden desire.

  “So when is this gonna happen?” Jay asked nervously, all skepticism destroyed by proof; he’d seen the blue flame erupt from solid stone, felt the hot, wet slap over his entire face, which was now as smooth as a rose petal.

  “Well, when Myrantha wrote her part, she didn’t know how long they were going to have to wait, because that decision wasn’t up to them. It was up to the baby.”

  Jay’s face screwed up in confusion. “Huh?”

  “For every breath he took after they stuck the dagger in him, they had to wait seven years. Myrantha told Morganna to look at their bodies after they were dead, and there would be marks indicating how many breaths the baby took.”

  “What kind of marks?”

  “Puncture wounds. Teeth marks.”

  Jay turned a little green, requiring no elaboration. “Oh. So…how many…were there?”

  At this Nancy smiled widely. “Morganna wrote that there were ten. She couldn’t believe there were that many, that the baby could’ve lived that long, but there were exactly ten on both bodies, down by their thighs. Ten times seven is seventy, Jay. You know what that means?”

  “Seventy…” Jay’s eyes grew wide. “This year?”

  “Halloween night.”

  “Where? How?”

  “In the place up on the hill where they were hanged, on the stone slab they sacrificed the baby on. I’m pretty sure they’re talking about Digger’s Bonestone. Myrantha called it the Gate. Morganna was supposed to get two people up there, a male and a female, for Myrantha and Nathaniel to enter when the Gate is opened. According to Morganna, the men who hanged the Obers said it was between nine-thirty and ten when they did the lynching, so on next Halloween night, between nine-thirty and ten, they’ll return.”

  “And you want us to go watch?” Jay asked, terrified.

  “Watch?” Nancy laughed. “We’ll do a lot more than that, Jay-Jay. The Obers probably never dreamed they would have to wait so long, until their daughter was too old to play her role, or even dead. But Morganna knew, and that’s why she put the ledger in the tomb, so the right person would find it and do what had to be done.”

  “She said that?”

  “Well, no, but what other explanation could there
be? She was twelve when it happened, so she’d be eighty-two now if she’s still alive. How would she manage to get two young people up there?”

  “How did she know anyone would find it?” Jay countered, not certain at all he wanted to be a part of this.

  “If there’s anything Myrantha made very clear to her daughter,” Nancy said patiently, “it’s that if the Devil agrees to a bargain, he always keeps his end of it. Look at the way things have turned out. I’m sure Morganna wasn’t worried about it.”

  “So you’re actually going to get two people to go up there…”

  “You’d better believe it,” Nancy declared. “I want to know everything the Obers know. If I help them, they’ll give me what I want in return.”

  “You sure of that? After spending seventy years in Hell, maybe they’re not in such a good mood. Don’t you know enough?” He couldn’t believe they were actually having this conversation, even though, after what he had witnessed Saturday night, primarily the flaming acceptance of their sacrifice, his mind had quickly learned to accept the impossible, the incredible, with surprising ease, like a dry sponge in water. And now they were planning to involve themselves in what was surely ultimate evil. Wasn’t that begging for eternal damnation?

  Nancy’s eyes narrowed, her jaw set with determination. “I’m going to do it, Jay, with or without you. But I’d much prefer with, and after what I did for you, I don’t see how you could refuse.”

  He remembered his first glance in the mirror that morning, and then his elation, nullifying the terrors and regrets of the night before.

  “I don’t know nearly enough,” Nancy went on, perceiving his acknowledgment of indebtedness. “All I’ve got is that thing Myrantha wrote at the end of her instructions, that incantation. I didn’t have the slightest idea what would happen when I said it, but luckily I got exactly what I wanted both times. There wasn’t anything in there about using those symbols I found on the back wall of the tomb, by the way…I thought of that myself.” She beamed proudly.