The Devil's Touch

by William W. Johnstone

  Sam stepped into the room.

  "Hi, Sam," Janet said, smiling sweetly.

  BOOK TWO

  And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

  Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.

  —Poe

  ONE

  "You lookin' a sight better," Joe said to his wife. "How you feelin'?"

  "I feel better than I have in months, Joe," she replied with a smile.

  Something about his wife had changed. Joe recalled the words he'd heard back at the chiefs house: "Trust no one. Be suspicious of everyone. But don't be overt with your suspicions. Let them think everything is all right. We're outnumbered."

  But Nellie? Joe couldn't believe she would be a part of such horror.

  Joe tried to pretend that nothing about her had changed. But it was no good. She had changed. When he'd left the house, she had been pale and listless, her hair containing no body or life. Now, just a few hours later, Nellie appeared to be a new person. Eyes shining with health, color to her face. And what was that smell? Smelled like … Jesus! It was the odor of sulphur.

  Joe sighed. Was any of this true? Was the Devil in Logandale? Aw, shit… he didn't know what to think or believe.

  Nellie smiled at him and walked toward him, holding out her arms.

  The phone rang.

  Joe jerked it up, suddenly very much relieved for the interruption. "Yeah?"

  Mille LaMeade down at the station. "Joe? Jim Peters didn't show for his shift. Who you want me to call in?"

  Joe lifted his eyes, once more looking at his wife. Something was all out of whack here. He could feel it. Her eyes were so … strange. Is it my imagination? Am I letting my suspicions get all out of hand? Yeah … maybe. He didn't know.

  "Joe? You there?" Mille asked.

  "What! Oh, yeah. Ah—Mille, better let me come on down and check on that—problem. Sounds like we might have trouble. I'll be there in a second, O.K.?"

  Joe turned and was startled to see Nellie standing right next to him. He had not heard her walk across the room. She licked her lips and he could see her tongue was no longer that sickly color he had grown accustomed to. And he knew—he knew—this was not the same woman he had loved and married. Knew she had somehow changed into … hell, he didn't know what she was, had become. It was … it looked like she was healthy. She was too healthy. No way, Joe thought, no way she could have been healed.

  But maybe the Good Lord had healed her. Joe's thoughts went winging back more than forty years, back to that little country church in Kentucky, back to the words and actions of that visiting preacher who practiced the laying on of hands. Joe had damn sure seen a miracle that night; watched that old crippled woman throw away her crutches and walk, by God. Could that be it? Did God intervene here in some mysterious way, His wonders to perform?

  Maybe. Maybe so. "We got to talk some, Nellie," Joe said. "We got to sit down and really talk some things out. We'll do that when I get back, O.K.?"

  "Do you really have to go, Joe? It's so late, and—well, I kind of had plans for us, you know?"

  Joe could not believe his ears. Did she really want to have sex? Nellie? She had not craved sex for more than a year. Maybe longer than that. No. No, this was definitely not the work of the Almighty.

  Something shifted in Nellie's eyes as she looked at her husband. There is no love there, Joe thought, meeting her eyes. That's pure hate. But why? That was the question that vexed the police officer. Vex, he thought. Rhymes with hex. He again went winging back in time, back to the mountains of his youth, to the superstitions of the older mountain people, sayings and feelings he could still recite and experience chapter and verse. Joe felt cold fear wash over him. He grew uncomfortable under her hot gaze.

  "Gotta go," Joe muttered. He felt a tingle in the small of his back as he walked out the door. He was sweating in the damp coolness of night. He was relieved as he got in his car. Glad to be out of that house. He looked back at the house. Nellie was framed in the light pouring from the picture window. He could see her face, dark with hate. Her eyes seemed to burn through the night. Joe pulled away. He did not think he ever wanted to go back there. He corrected that. He was never going back inside that house. Not if he could help it.

  He pulled into the police parking area and went inside. Logandale's lone female police officer was sitting behind the desk. She looked up as he entered.

  "Something funny going on in this town, Joe," Mille said. "And I mean I can feel it right down to my toes."

  "Tell me," Joe muttered. He cleared his throat. "Mille, what's wrong with Jim?"

  Mille stood up and Joe appraised her. It was not the first time he had viewed her charms. Mille LaMeade had the dark complexion and snapping dark eyes that came with many of the people of French-Canadian ancestry. A small woman, almost petite, but oh Lord, was she stacked up proper.

  "Well, first it was his wife on the phone," Mille said. "But there was a lot of music and laughing going on in the background. A party going on. I could hear Jim's voice. He was telling dirty jokes and cussing. Still his wife called him in sick."

  "Cussing? But Jim don't cuss. He don't smoke, he don't drink, he don't do nothin'. Jim Peters is about the dullest potato I've ever met."

  "You should have heard it tonight."

  "Come on. Ride with me. We'll just take us a little run out to his house. See what's goin' on."

  Joe let Mille lead the way to the patrol car. Nice ass on her, too, he thought.

  He looked up in surprise as the Flaubert girl drove past the station. Late for her to be out.

  "It is time for the greeting dance," Norman Giddon announced. He walked into the center of the circle, holding out his arms. The circle of men and women fell silent. "It is time for us to welcome our new guests, show them all the pleasures the Prince can offer. Let it begin."

  In the darkness of a shrouded corner of the mansion, a drum began beating slowly, pounding out its throbbing message. A flute joined in, the notes playing solemnly. The inner circle, made up of black-robed women, began moving counterclockwise; the outer circle, consisting of black-robed men, began moving in a clockwise direction.

  "Come," May spoke to Patsy, taking her hand. "Let's join in. It's time for our initiation."

  Patsy did not protest, mentally or physically. The wine had been cold and sweet and very strong, and it contained a very powerful aphrodisiac. The potion was working within the young people as they formed the third circle, holding hands. Sonny Bunche, a senior at Logandale High, held onto Patsy's hand. He grinned at her, the message contained within the grin very plain. Patsy looked around for Jon but could not locate him. The aphrodisiac pounded within her body. She looked up at Sonny.

  "Later," she said to the young man.

  "I heard that, baby," Sonny replied.

  The circles moved in their dance.

  Movement by the altar caught Patsy's eyes. She looked up and saw Jon standing naked beside the black-draped altar, his manhood hanging heavy and limp. But Patsy knew only too well the first sight was deceiving. Jon's eyes appeared glazed. She dropped her eyes and concentrated on the dance, moving with the circles. It seemed the more physical exertion she engaged in the more sexually charged she became. Soon she was caught up in the heat and passion of the dance, humming along with the others.

  Outside, the Beasts howled and danced and pranced, flinging their hairy arms upward and strutting about, their cloven hooves making no imprint in the soft damp earth. They spat at the heavens and hissed their contempt at their Master's enemy.

  As midnight came straight up, Norman Giddon, upon receiving the signal from the coven leader, held up a hand for silence. The drum and flute ceased. Only the panting from the men and women in the circles could be heard.

  "Let the young people come forward. Make way for our Master's new servants, so they may be received into his kingdom and enjoy all the fruits of his worship."

  The circles opened, the young people marc
hed forward, Patsy among them. Sometime during the dancing, her blouse had opened and she had discarded it. She could not remember doing so. But it didn't matter. Some of the others had torn off and thrown away most of their clothing, to stand almost naked in the circle of Satan worshippers.

  The coven leader, Frank Gilbert, began his series of questions, the young people responding with the correct answers.

  "Renounce all ye have been taught before this night. All Christian teachings and virtues. Do ye do so?"

  "Aye!" the young people shouted in one voice. "All praise the Dark One."

  Patsy did not understand how she knew what to say; she only accepted and did as her mind instructed.

  Gilbert waved his hand and smoke erupted from behind the altar. "Puellas and Puers, do ye swear your hearts to the Prince of Darkness?"

  "Aye!" came the shout.

  Gilbert waved his hand and a woman walked to the altar, kneeling in front of Jon. She stroked him and orally brought him to hardness. The boy crawled between the legs of the naked woman and positioned himself. Sweat bathed the woman. Putting her hand on his stiffness, she guided him.

  "We invoke the powers of the old gods!" Gilbert called, his voice firm. "We call upon them to give their blessings to this gathering."

  The odor of burning sulphur permeated the room.

  The adults began to hum and sway back and forth.

  Gilbert shouted, "So mote it be!"

  Jon shoved, taking the woman with one stroke. She cried out in a strange language and wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him firm within her.

  "Show your contempt for the Christian God!" Gilbert screamed the words.

  The boys and girls, men and women, began cursing the Lord God Almighty, heaping verbal filth upon His head in a hideous outpouring of blasphemy. Bibles were produced, the pages torn from them and burned and spat upon. The gathering coven urinated on pictures and paintings of Christ. The odor of sulphur became a thin haze that lingered over the worshippers of the Prince of Darkness. Filth rolled from the tongues of those who were now entering the gates of Satan's domain, rejecting the teachings of God Almighty for the fleshy earthy pleasures of Satan.

  And thus it would always be so. For these coven members, there would be and could be no turning back, for God Almighty is a vengeful God. He will tolerate no other Gods before Him. And the punishment is death.

  The floor of the huge room became a tangle of naked men and women, boys and girls, men with men, women with women, as they consummated the pact between themselves and the Prince of Darkness. Patsy felt her clothing pulled from her. Hands on her body, squeezing and entering. She was pushed to the floor. Her legs spread, she felt hot hardness entering her. She was sore but groaned her pleasure. She opened her eyes and looked into the grinning face of her father.

  "All praise the Dark One," her father panted, as he violated his daughter.

  "All praise the Dark One," Patsy dammed herself. She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him.

  Outside, the wind blew hot and stinking.

  Sam was too keyed up to sleep, but he did not find it odd that Nydia went on to bed after drinking her customary glass of juice. Janet sat in the den, watching Saturday Night Live on TV. Sam sat with her; Janet on the couch, Sam in his easy chair.

  Janet looked over at Sam and smiled shyly. He returned the smile, asking, "What are you grinning about, Janet?"

  "Promise you won't get mad?"

  "I promise," he said with a quiet laugh. Sam was experiencing a mild sort of euphoria. He could not understand the heady feelings, since he knew only too well what lay ahead of him, but he was grateful for the emotions; anything to take his mind off what faced him at dawn.

  He did not realize he was facing it now.

  "Well—you and Nydia usually stay out later than you did tonight. And I—uh—usually watch the—ah— that other channel."

  Sam grinned. He knew what channel she was talking about. So she had discovered the porn channel and the decoder that brought it in. "Well, I could say that I objected, Janet, but I really don't. I would have watched the thing at my house when I was your age, if we'd had it. Besides, I imagine you already know most of what goes on there, right?"

  "Well, yeah," she admitted. "But it's tough being caught between a girl and a woman. You know, all kinds of feelings and no one to ask questions and no one to explain a lot of things. It's tough."

  "Don't your parents talk to you about—things?"

  "Oh, no! My mom and dad get so uptight about those types of conversations. They get tongue-tied and end up confusing me more than ever."

  And despite himself, Sam found his tongue saying, "What is it you want to know, Janet?"

  "Well," she said softly and shyly, "you know—I mean—I was raped back at Falcon House, but that isn't something I like to think about. I mean, really, I've pretty well managed to put all that out of my mind. Talking with the doctors afterward really helped me. And that was—the rape, anything but fun. I mean, Jesus!" Sam did not notice her slight grimace of disgust at the mention of His name. "How can you enjoy being forced to do something?"

  "I understand. Go on."

  "Those people on that channel," she said, pointing to the TV set. "They look like they really like it when they—you know, do it. They look like it's fun. And it looks like fun to me."

  Sam knew how he should—as an adult—respond to that. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he could not find the words to put the topic to rest. He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs that had gathered, clouding his ability to reason. He startled himself when the words rolled from his mouth.

  "Ask me anything you like, Janet. I'll try to explain it as best I can." And show you if you want it that way, the thought jumped into his mind. And this time his mind offered no objection.

  The teenager left her place on the couch and sat in front of Sam, on the ottoman. She sat very close to him. Sam felt her presence very strongly. She was wearing some sort of strange-smelling perfume, and he found it appealing. She began asking questions—very personal questions, questions that he would have normally found very embarrassing. But on this night, he answered them frankly.

  When had she opened her blouse? Sam wondered, as he fought to keep his eyes from her full young breasts. Jesus! She wasn't wearing a bra. And her nipples were aroused ... and arousing him.

  What the hell is the matter with me? Sam questioned. Something is very wrong here.

  But the thought slipped away from him as quickly as it came.

  He looked at the small table by his chair. A bourbon and water was there. He didn't remember fixing it, or asking Janet to fix it. Oh, well, he thought, must be the tension of the day coming out. He picked up the drink and sipped it. Exactly right.

  He did not know it was his fourth drink.

  You would like to watch the porn channel together, the words came to him. "Why don't we watch the porn channel together?" he suggested. "Might be fun."

  "All right!" Janet said.. "I'd like that. We'll keep the volume down low so we won't wake up Nydia or Little Sam."

  "They won't wake up," Sam said. "Nydia could sleep through a hurricane and Little Sam takes after her in that respect."

  Sam could not remember Janet's getting in the chair with him, but there she was. And Sam did not object even a little. And when did her blouse get unbuttoned all the way down and pulled out of her jeans?

  Who knows and who cares? he thought. Sam fondled her breasts, feeling the nipples harden under his fingers. She sighed and arched her back, pushing her breasts up to his mouth. Sam obliged the body request.

  The scenes on the Four XXXX channel, as Sam and Nydia called it, were vivid, with nothing left out. Sam felt himself gaining a slight erection. It was odd, for he and Nydia never took this channel seriously, watching it more for laughs than for stimulation.

  "I'd like to do that," Janet murmured, stirring in his arms. "I'd really like to do that with you."

  The screen showed a woman m
asturbating a man.

  Sam did not reply, nor did he object when Janet's fingers touched his crotch, lingering there. She ran her fingers down the length of his growing erection.

  And then she was gripping him in her small hand, stroking him while her breath came hot on his cheek. Janet kissed him—anything but a sisterly kiss. Her tongue was in his mouth and she was masturbating him to rock hardness.

  A moment of lucidity reached him, and he wavered. Then a cloud covered his mental functionings. Janet was naked in his arms and straddling him. He tried to push her away, but the attempt was weak and he felt himself penetrating into the hot tightness of the girl.

  Afterward, the scenes would be blurred in recall. But one would be vivid. He pushed the girl from him at the moment of ejaculation, his semen spilling on the chair and floor.

  "This is wrong!" Sam said.

  "Oh, Sam!" Janet said, quickly dressing as Sam was pulling up his trousers and buckling his belt. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

  "Forget it," Sam said. "It won't happen again."

  Wanna bet? she thought. She thought she might have trapped some of the life-giving seed of Balon within her. She was almost certain of it.

  The phone rang. The abrupt shrillness seemed to jar Sam out of what remained of his drug-induced state.

  "Sam? Joe Bennett here. Sorry to trouble you this late, but I think we got a problem with the Logandale P.D. A big problem."

  Nydia literally stumbled into the den. Her eyes looked dazed and her walk was uncertain.

  "Nydia!" Janet cried, running to her. She helped the woman to a chair. "What's the matter?"

  "I don't know," she replied haltingly. "I—think it was a nightmare. I awakened—frightened."