As John gasped for air, the human hand clasped around his windpipe changed: the fingers extended ... the bones popped with a series of stomach-wrenching cracks, as they were dragged from their normal sockets and forced into new formations ... the knuckles hardened and calloused ... the skin wrinkled and scaled ... long claws burst through the hardening tips of each finger with a skin-tearing rip ... and the talons squeezed, tighter and tighter.
John’s blood trickled between its claws.
The creature’s eyes flamed red. In seconds, all sign of Brendan Babbitt was gone. In his place was a monster, an almost reptilian beast. Its entire body was covered in plated scales. Its shoulders were twice as wide as the largest man’s. It had two stubby legs with huge clawed feet; its prehensile tail hung where the leg Brendan had been dragging had been. Putrid pus, yellow as egg-yolk, oozed from under the scales on its body, as they clacked open and shut in unison with its breathing.
The sickening stench rising from yellow ichor hit John like a hammer. His eyes watered. If he had not been trapped and his breathing passages blocked he would surely have lost his breakfast in a second.
In the corner, K’chal rolled over, and sat up. He shook his head, fighting to clear the fog from his brain.
John grabbed at the beast’s claws, trying in vain to drag them away from his throat, gasping desperately for breath as they tightened. He was barely able to let one small groan escape before his windpipe was completely closed by the monster.
John’s painful cry drove K’chal to near superhuman effort. Somehow, he fought through the dizziness and confusion and staggered to his feet. He spotted a nearby chair and grabbed it. Then he strode – a little wobbly, but moving – to confront the Demon-Babbitt as it continued to strangle the life from his friend’s dangling body. Without hesitation K’chal drove the chair down on the Demon’s head with all the power he could muster.
The chair exploded into countless pieces that thumped harmlessly to the floor; the Demon-Babbitt was not distressed at all. Unaffected by the attack, the beast held John even higher, dangling him like a rag doll as it turned to examine K’chal with a set of cold, glittering, reptilian eyes.
A moment later, the creature shrugged – shrugged, as if K’chal was of no consequence at all – and turned back to John.
But John had used that short distraction to his advantage. Now he had his personal Sigil, the cross at his neck, clutched firmly in hand.
As the creature turned its attention back to him, John’s cross flared white. He held it out, thrust it towards the beast ....and white light streamed from it and swept over the Demon-Babbitt.
The beast cried out in pain, momentarily confused. It stumbled about thrashing the air wildly with it free arm, still holding tight to John’s throat with the other. The light persisted, blazing at the creature, choking it with its brilliance, until the beast was forced, finally, to drop the young Australian. He gasped like a drowning man finally reaching the air, even as he thudded to the floor and rolled away, still in pain.
John could do no more. He wasn’t as savvy in the use of the Sigil as Jennifer. He stared across the room at her prone body.
“Jen! Jen! I need help ... I can’t hold this thing!”
But Jennifer was unconscious. She couldn’t help. And without her touch, without her focused will … the light faded and was gone.
The Demon-Babbitt waited, tightly crouched, poised to attack again. Its tongue flicked nervously in and out of its mouth. The yellow pus dripped from plated skin, each drop sizzling like acid on the wooden floor.
The beast shuffled forward.
John did not back away. He bravely stood his ground, clutching the cross firmly in one hand, even though it was now dormant.
The beast shuffled another step forward … and then another. It could only be seconds before the monster charged at him and one more time attempted to rip out the Australian author’s throat.
John called out, but did not look away. “K’chal! I can’t hold this thing! Jennifer and Daniel are both unconscious. Can you help? Or can you at least get them out of here?”
For the briefest of seconds the native Australian couldn’t help but be impressed by his compatriot, who, completely out of his field of expertise, or even understanding, was willing to stand toe to toe with something out of ones wildest nightmare.
That instant quickly passed and he called back to John.
“I am not sure what I can do, John. But I shall try.”
Desperate now, John ran to Jennifer, kneeled by her, and shook her, trying frantically to wake her. “Jen! Wake up!”
But Jennifer was still out cold.
The beast lumbered forward, its claws up and curled, convinced now that John was no longer able to hurt it.
Nearby, momentarily ignored, K’chal began to chant a soft aboriginal dirge … and seconds later the room was filled with the moan of a didgeridoo. Its source unknown, the ancient Australian musical instrument accompanied him in the chant. It continued its deep-throated rumble, as K’chal crossed both arms across his chest, closed his eyes and fell into a trance.
The beast was yet again confused. It hesitated and glared wildly around, trying to understand where the sound was coming from. But K’chal had stopped all movement and the sound didn’t appear to be a threat. The Demon-Babbitt turned back to its main reason for being here: to kill John Jones.
It strode forward, claws outstretched.
At that moment, K’chal dropped his arms from his chest, straightened to full height and faced the Demon-Babbitt. His voice was strangely authoritative.
“That is far enough, Demon!”
Demon-Babbitt once more stopped its advance on John and turned to face K’chal. The beast was not frightened by the interruption; but was now angry that this tiny being would interfere. It sneered at the tall Australian. Its voice was so distorted there was no trace of the human Babbitt. “Leave while you can, boy,” it bellowed, its fetid breath filling the room.
But K’chal didn’t leave. Instead he stared at the Demon-Babbitt, his eyes locked with the beasts in a strange trancelike glare.
And he began to change.
His body was soon becoming something else entirely. An ancient, roaring power, with a voice like crackling dried leaves: K’chal/Karadji Master. “‘Boy?’’” it rattled, half-offended and half-amused.
The Demon-Babbitt was suddenly unsure.
Meanwhile, the young virile K’chal was in the midst of an astounding transformation, becoming the avatar of a force that was already ancient 40,000 years ago, long before the white man discovered the continent of Australia. The process began with K’chal encircled by swirling shards of light that sparkled brighter and brighter. His skin aged and wrinkled, stretched parchment-thin. His body shrank and stooped. The swirling shards became bright flashing colors that solidified into unique painted markings. A cloak, hand-woven from a dozen different indigenous Australia birds swirled around his shoulders. Above him, hovering like a glittering, angelic halo in the dingy grey/black air was the White Sigil.
Soon all sign of K’chal was gone. In his place stood the wizened Karadji John had seen in Sydney. The bone that could be human was now tightly clenched in his right hand.
John was stunned by this incredible transformation. He’d seen both K’chal and the Karadji in Sydney, in the archaic burial grotto, but he had not foreseen anything remotely like this.
The old Karadji pointed the bone directly at the Demon-Babbitt.
“Such ego,” the strange old Aboriginal sighed. “Still it is perhaps good that you do not realize who or what I am.”
The Demon-Babbitt prepared to attack, to rip this old man to pieces ... but it found it couldn't move. Some unseen power was holding it held firmly in its grip. “Let me go! And I will spare your feeble existence,” the creature that was once Babbitt growled. But the ancient Karadji Master was not swayed by this transparent attempt at subterfuge.
In desperation, the beast now struggled violen
tly against whatever had it in its grip, lifted a gnarled claw and motioned towards the newcomer.
John’s nose instantly wrinkled in complaint. “Oh, no!” he groaned. “Not fire and brimstone again.”
The living wall of fire whooped into existence, even larger than at the Rectory. Its intense sizzling swamped all nearby sound.
The Demon-Babbitt cackled now, sure it had the upper hand. But the old Karadji Man was totally unimpressed. With a movement that was almost nonchalant, he lifted the bone, pointed it at the flames that were racing straight at him, and made a wide sweeping arc in the air.
A living wall of water appeared directly in front of the hungry inferno: a tall, hovering wave that held its place for a moment … and another … and then pounded down on the fire. The flames were instantly extinguished, throwing a huge hissing pall of steam racing upward to the ceiling.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over. The water, the flames and the stench were gone, as if they had never been there.
Now the ancient Karadji Master called to John. “Young One. It is time!”
John never dreamt for a second the ancient visitor was talking to him. He stared about, confused, trying to comprehend.
But, as he spoke again, the wizened Shaman pointed at him, leaving no doubt who he was talking to. “You will need both power-totems.”
John was confused, totally at loss at what the Old Aboriginal meant. Then he spied Jennifer’s Sigil where it rested on the floor by her motionless body. Without truly understanding why, but somehow knowing it was the right thing to do, John reached down, grabbed Jennifer’s Sigil and snapped the silver chain. Then he straightened and faced the lumbering beast.
“Join the Totems, Light Warrior!” The ancient Kuradji Master called, as John stood for a beat, holding both Sigils, one in the palm of each hand.
Again not sure why he should do it, but instinctively knowing what he was being told to do was what must be done, he closed his palms together ... and the Sigils touched.
The joined Sigils began to emit a soft, warming hum that swelled in volume as a glowing white aura encircled this now Dual Sigil.
The Demon-Babbitt was abruptly free to move, but something about all this made it hesitate.
Taking advantage of this hesitation, the wizened Aboriginal called again: “Young One!” And he reached out to John with his free hand.
John had no choice but to comply. His body began to move forward before he even had the chance to resist. He would, of course, have done it anyway, but this time the choice was not left to him.
He took the wrinkled fingers in his own. His eyes suddenly closed and his head nodded forward onto his chest. He was now in a trance.
Tiny dots of light danced down the Karadji’s wrinkled arm, then cascaded up the length of John’s arm. The Dual Sigil flared in his clutched hands, and its light joined the wildly dancing fairy lights as they completely enveloped the two men. The joined glow expanded into a ball of Light so bright it was impossible to see anything else.
Demon-Babbitt turned. Its animal sense told it to get away … to run. But, though it struggled frantically, then wailed in agony, it again could not move.
When the intensity of the glow eased enough to make out the scene inside the glowing sphere, there was no sign of the old Kuradji. John now stood alone, his body, face, clothes, even his hair, a pure luminescent white:
He was The Light Warrior.
*******
At that this exact moment, Jennifer awoke. Although still stunned and fighting to clear the cobwebs from her mind, she instinctively reached for her Sigil … and found it gone. Then she saw what John had become. Astounded, she slumped back to the floor, too dazed to do much more than watch.
The Light Warrior now turned his attention to the Demon-Babbitt. His voice rang out filling the bizarre room, strangely authoritative, no hint of accent now.
“So, Dark One! The Fates have again destined our meeting.”
Demon-Babbitt faced this latest newcomer, puzzled, unsure; but it continued its bombastic stance. It sneered. It tried to laugh, but the sound was so discordant that it was anything but cheerful -- like chalk scraping down a blackboard.
“You dare to stand against me. I who have destroyed civilizations. I who was ancient before the birth of many stars. You are a puny human. Little more than the witches who fear you. You are no match for me. I am now finally free to once again rule this world.”
“I cannot let you do that,” The Light Warrior responded. There was no trace of arrogance in his tone; it was just a simple statement of fact.
“You will need more than witches light to stand against my unleashed power,” Demon-Babbitt responded. And although it couldn’t leave, it rose up to it full height, both gnarled limbs raised, claws extended, prepared for battle.
“Dark One! Do you not recognize your ancient vanquisher?” The Light Warrior asked.
“He who once subdued me is long dead,” the beast growled in answer.
“LOOK AGAIN! I have returned to once again drive you from the earth.”
Demon-Babbitt hesitated, its huge talons now clicking together nervously. Then, at last, it recognized the being standing in front of it: its ancient nemesis; the power wielder that had driven it from the earth eons ago. But its animal instincts now sensed something else: its old foe was not as strong as when they last met. There was something … unfinished about him. “Then you have miscalculated, Ancient One,” it hissed. “You are not your old self. Your power is weak. I shall once and for all rid the earth of you.”
But now The White Light Warrior began a soft descant of his own, one whose roots were lost in time.
The Beast tried again to move forward, to rip this bizarre glowing human to shreds; but it couldn’t.
And now the voice of The Light Warrior doubled, then doubled again; a host of voices speaking through this defender of the light. “Dark Angel! You are a blight on all things. You bring only death and cannot be allowed to exist in this realm of the living.”
Light Warrior John again chanted the ancient dirge, along with the host of non-corporeal voices. This chorus grew louder and louder, filling the room. It was joined by The Tri-Tone John had heard during his Cleansing in London ... and they were joined by whispers floating on the wind, whispers that swelled to become the thousand voices of A Choir of the Dead.
The aura encircling Light Warrior John now grew into a huge ball of the purest White-Light ... the Chorus swelled to drown out everything else. The Ball of Light pulsed ... a heartbeat ... an eye-searing circle of white that expanded with each pulse ...
... until, soon immense, everything was swallowed up by it, The Demon-Babbitt, Jennifer, Daniel, K’chal, the entire room, all lost from sight in its intense blaze.
The combined trio of Tri-Tone, The Chant and The Chorus Of The Dead reached ear-splitting levels ... then was abruptly gone ... it echoed away, leaving behind silence.
The White-Light flared one last time, blotting out the entire scene … then faded and was gone.
*******
John woke, blinked and quickly glanced around. He was stretched out on the floor in the sitting room of St. John's Church Rectory. His three companions were also on the floor, in varying different poses.
Jennifer was slumped against the far wall. She pushed herself up on one elbow, passing her hand over her eyes, still recovering.
Nearby, Daniel groaned and sat up. K'chal was propped against the bookcase, still groggy, not quite awake.
John half-crawled to his side and gently shook him.
“K’chal! Are you okay?”
K’chal opened his eyes, but he didn’t move. He was obviously confused.
“John! Where are we? How did we get here? What ... what happened?”
It was John’s turn to be surprised. “You don’t know?”
K’chal pushed himself up and looked around. “The last thing I remember, you were in trouble.” Suddenly anxious, he peered around. “Is Jennifer all right?
”
“I think she’s okay.”
“And Daniel?”
“Oh, I’m just peachy,” Daniel called out to them, his sarcasm back to full steam. “Lovely. Just great. Thanks for asking ... finally.”
“Oh, shut up, you idiot.” Jennifer joked. Then she called to John. “We will live. We are fine.”
“What exactly did happen, John?” K’chal asked, fighting to clear his head.
“I’m… not entirely sure, meself,” John answered, trying very hard to remember, but not able to.
“I remember seeing the old dude from one a me visions … and he was really pissed-off. I guess he must a somehow saved our arses.”
Jennifer flashed a quizzical stare at John, but he was too busy trying to clear the fog from his memories to notice.
K’chal still appeared at a loss as John helped him to his feet.
As they stood, they heard another groan and turned and stared at its source. Across the room Brendan Babbitt was curled in the fetal position, weeping like a baby.
Unsteady but determined, K’chal and John staggered over and stood looking down at this pitiful excuse for a man. Coiled on the floor, whimpering, there was no doubt this was the human Babbitt. Any sign of the demon-parasite was long gone.
John was shocked. He knew just how warped the demonic creature was and the mayhem it planned for all of them – and who knew how many others? “How come he’s not dead?” he asked.
“The Old Ones do not destroy life unless it is absolutely necessary. Not even a wasted life like this,” K’chal told him.
Daniel and Jennifer joined them. Together, they stared down at the pathetic heap that had tried to kill them all just a short time ago.
“So what do we do with him?” Daniel asked. “We sure as hell can’t just let him wander around willy-nilly.”
“Let’s leave that t’ the authorities,” John said. “It’s their call now.”
Jennifer smiled. “I think that is what the reverend would want us to do.”
Amityville Horror Now Page 24
