Scott Nicholson Library Vol 1

by Scott Nicholson

  Not that Aleister Crowley attributed his power to Satan. No, that would have deflected some glory from Crowley himself, who petulantly demanded to be called the Great Beast. So yet another false prophet inflicted the world with his self-aggrandizing beliefs, the magick so precious that an extra letter had to be added. Scariest of all was Crowley’s espousal of blood as life energy, with sex as a source of power and magic. Naturally, the most potent “spiritual working” came from the fluids of the innocent: the children.

  So Crowley basically built himself a religious system that excused the molestation of children, and in fact encouraged it. The idea of the fat, drugged-out satyr abusing a child made her want to vomit. Crowley’s first law was “Do what thou wilt.” Was there a hell hot enough to deliver the punishment someone such as that deserved?

  “Joolia.”

  The call rode in on the whisper of breeze in the eaves or the rustle of a curtain. She looked around the empty room.

  She pushed herself away from her desk and paced rapidly, trying not to hyperventilate. The darkness outside the house pressed against the doors and windows, searching for an invasion point. Her house was weak and shook with the shadowy wind.

  She ran to the bathroom, turned on the tap at the sink, and splashed cold water on her face. When she looked into the mirror, she scarcely recognized herself. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery, her hair stringy from sweat. Her skin was pallid, that of a walking corpse.

  It was all her fault. If she hadn’t kept sticking her nose in the past, if she didn’t have to explore, if she didn’t have to know, she wouldn’t be freaking out over skull rings and Black Masses and false prophets and ritual abuse. If she were normal, she might have a happy future waiting.

  She wouldn’t be isolated in Elkwood, alone with the Creeps who were closing in with their devil masks. But she wouldn’t have Dr. Forrest, either. Dr. Forrest was her light in the world of darkness, the one who led her through the tunnels of the past to the true Julia Stone that she knew she could become. The whole, healed Julia Stone, the one who would stand in light.

  If only she were that person already, instead of this limp, weak Julia who was nibbled by shadows, gnashed between the teeth of invisible monsters.

  As she leaned into the corner of the bathroom and slid down onto the cold tile, the walls of the world collapsed. The scars on her stomach throbbed, and the air smelled of mildew and rot. The temperature seemed to rise twenty degrees, and the room became as steamy as a swamp. Yet still her teeth chattered, her bones clacked against the tiles like a wind-blown skeleton on a string.

  She was sliding into that inky ocean. This time the wave had swept its mighty arm over her, crushed her spirit, drenched her with doom. All that remained was to slip beneath the surface for the final time. This was the antechamber to hell, the waiting room to the rest of her life.

  Had this been what she was born for, to end up shattered and mad, to go down without even a cry for help?

  Dr. Forrest won’t like this. She won’t like this at ALL.

  Because this isn’t only YOUR failure, Julia. It’s HERS.

  Did she really want to disappoint the one person who had faith in her? Was this the proper repayment for someone to whom she owed so much?

  She struggled for breath, her chest bound by hot bands of steel. She closed her mind off to the dark reaching fingers, the sinuous memories, the negative thoughts that were her jailkeeps. She thought of the light, of Dr. Forrest’s calm voice.

  “We can make it, Julia.”

  As if the therapist were right in the room with her. Julia grabbed a pained lungful of stale air.

  “We’ll go through it together,” came the voice of assurance. “Let me take you back, and then lead you forward.”

  Yes. Dr. Forrest could save her.

  Julia exhaled, breathed again, trying to gain a rhythm. She ignored her pounding heart, afraid that its beat might be erratic. Sweat crawled over her flesh like slimy insects.

  Dr. Forrest’s words came to her again, like a voice in the wilderness.

  “I’m here for you, Julia. I’ll always be here. I’ll save you.”

  And Julia shifted her focus onto the therapist’s face, built her photograph to fill her mental field of vision. And Dr. Forrest smiled.

  Julia smiled, too. Someone did love her. Someone did care enough to save her.

  She lay against the tiles, aspirating easily until her dizziness passed. The shadows slid back to their odd lairs of hibernation, the panic drifted away like mist across a morning lake, the walls of fear turned to powder and crumbled.

  Soon, seconds or minutes or hours later, she could stand. She wiped her face on the towel that hung on the back of the door, avoiding her reflection. She didn’t want to see herself this way.

  This wasn’t how Dr. Forrest wanted Julia to see herself.

  She went to the bedroom, holding onto the wall for support. The room still held that expectant air, fouled by The Creep’s stealthy invasion. He had stood on this carpet, had breathed this air, had rummaged through her intimate things—

  No. He was just a Creep. He would pay for his crimes and maybe taint Mitchell in the process. And he was out of her life, all of them were out of her life, Mitchell, her father, the bad people, everyone who had ever tried to hurt her.

  All she needed was Dr. Forrest.

  She made sure the curtains were tight, resisting an impulse to check the sash lock again. She thought of the bat and wondered if she should return it to its place under the bed. No, she was brave now, she gained strength through Dr. Forrest. Tomorrow she would tell the doctor all about this strange day, and by the end of the session, she might even be able to laugh about it.

  For now, she needed to sleep, because the exhaustion had settled upon her flesh as soon as the panic had abandoned it.

  She went to the closet to get a nightgown.

  When she opened the door, she saw the yellowed paper pinned to a dress sleeve.

  The drawing was done in red crayon, of a crude star shape in a lopsided circle, similar to the image carved on the wooden ring box.

  Underneath the pentagram, written in a childish hand, was: HELLO JOOOLIA.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Who do you think left the note?” Dr. Forrest asked.

  Julia held her hands in her lap, fingers fidgeting, palms moist. The paneled walls of Dr. Forrest’s office had always provided comfort, but today they seemed closer than usual, more oppressive. The smell from the coffee maker crowded the air. Julia’s chair squeaked, the noise magnified by the long pause.

  Julia couldn’t meet the therapist’s eyes. But Dr. Forrest was kind, was Julia’s savior, was her tour guide through the house of her head. Dr. Forrest wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

  “Come now, Julia,” the therapist said gently. “You can trust me, remember?”

  “I don’t know,” Julia said, breath catching. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, her knees trembled beneath her slacks.

  “You don’t know who left it?”

  “No.”

  “The man was arrested for breaking into your house.”

  “Except Walter said the window was already open.”

  “This Walter . . . do you trust him?”

  Julia looked outside. Dr. Forrest usually kept the shades drawn during their sessions, but today was so glorious that it invited cheerful thoughts. The sun splashing the red and golden trees, the sky a soft shade of blue, the clouds spread thin and wispy above the mountains. A day for hoping, a day full of optimism, the promise of coming winter’s decay carefully hidden beneath the vibrant splendor.

  “I don’t know him very well,” she finally said.

  “Stay away from him. He’s not conducive to your healing.”

  “But he was nice to me. Besides you, he’s the only one that hasn’t hurt me.”

  “It’s only natural for you to feel vulnerable. After what happened with Mitchell—”

  “You said we didn’t have to talk
about that anymore.”

  “Of course. We’ll have to deal with it eventually, but today, let’s work on the note.”

  “It’s from one of the bad people,” Julia said decisively. “They’re back. They followed me here.”

  “Now, Julia, just because you found out that this Snead person moved to Elkwood is no indication of a conspiracy. The past is real, the abuse occurred, and you suffered tremendously. But we need to realize that the past is over, or we’ll never heal.”

  Julia squeezed her eyes shut. “You’re the one who says that I need to bring the past alive.”

  Dr. Forrest stood and walked to the window. “Why are you angry with me, Julia?”

  “Angry?”

  “Is it because I wasn’t there when you needed me? That you’ve made these discoveries of self and suffered the panic attacks without my being able to help you?”

  Julia gnawed at the end of her thumb, a new habit. “No, that’s not it at all.”

  “Are you blaming me, Julia?”

  Julia fought the urge to rise, to go to Dr. Forrest and kneel, to beg forgiveness. “It’s not your fault. None of it. If I didn’t have you—”

  Dr. Forrest turned, a smile dying on her lips. The therapist was trying so hard to be pleasant even though Julia was acting like a spoiled child. Julia was being unfair, and she knew it. Yet she couldn’t help herself. Sometimes Julia thought Dr. Forrest carried more of her emotional baggage than she herself did.

  If only I had your strength.

  “You’re the only thing that’s kept me from going off the deep end,” Julia finished.

  Dr. Forrest returned to her chair and scooted it close to Julia’s. She held her patient’s hand. “Let’s stop this talk of going crazy, Julia. You are not crazy. Your scars are not the product of your imagination. Mitchell’s attack wasn’t a dream. The man peeping through your window wasn’t made up. The note is a fact, it exists, it’s real.”

  Julia looked at her purse where the paper was carefully folded. She should have taken it to the police. But the thought of meeting Snead, or having him assigned to the case, frightened her more than a thousand creepy notes. This mythic Snead was gaining power in her mind. Soon he would be twelve feet tall, sprouting horns and breathing fire.

  The wooden box containing the ring was also in her purse, next to the note. She didn’t like carrying it around, and its proximity filled her with worry. Yet she didn’t want to leave the box at the house which seemed so easy to invade. And its proximity provided a perverse comfort, an anchor to an insubstantial past.

  “It’s all real, Julia.” Dr. Forrest continued. “And you know what else is real, don’t you?”

  Julia nodded. “The bad people. The ritual. The abuse.”

  “The memory lives in your body, doesn’t it?”

  Her scars throbbed. A sharp pain raced between her legs.

  “They did it to you, didn’t they?”

  Julia shrank back in her chair, tossed her hair from side to side.

  “Don’t deny it, Julia. We’ve gone this far. You’re ready to take the last step.”

  “No,” Julia moaned.

  “We can heal these new injuries. But the key is to beat this old one first. We have to bring it out. It’s the only thing holding you back, the only thing keeping you from becoming the new Julia Stone.”

  Silence. A truck passed on the road outside.

  “You know who left the note, don’t you?” Dr. Forrest said, voice lower.

  The panic scrambled in from the corners of the room, on quick black legs. Why was Dr. Forrest doing this?

  “You know, Julia. Share with me.”

  She didn’t know. She twisted in her chair but had nowhere to run. Blind alleys in every direction, the nightmare edges of cliffs, the cold walls of deep cellars.

  “The same one who held the knife.” Dr. Forrest rubbed Julia’s fingers.

  “You—you said it was all in the past.”

  Dr. Forrest leaned close, her voice smooth, as seductive as that of Eden’s serpent. “But the past informs the present, Julia. We are who they have made us.”

  Julia didn’t understand, and her thoughts were racing too much to concentrate. The panic swirled, its black talons tickling paths across her skin. Why didn’t Dr. Forrest help her?

  “It’s coming,” Julia gasped. “Can we do a relaxation?”

  “Soon, Julia. First, we need to approach this. We need to uncover the entire memory. Because part of it is still buried, and we can’t go forward until we’ve completely exposed the past.”

  Dr. Forrest’s hand clasped Julia’s, squeezing reassuringly. The doctor continued, her breath on Julia’s cheek. “Don’t hold it back, Julia. Or should I say, ‘Jooolia’?”

  Julia tensed, her spine as brittle as chalk, her muscles aching.

  “Who held the knife, Julia?”

  The panic had its hands around her throat, constricting her windpipe. Blood pooled in her head, she felt faint and dizzy, but there was nowhere to fall.

  “Who did it, Julia?”

  “He did,” she whispered.

  “He gave you away, didn’t he? He betrayed you.”

  Julia gave a frantic nod.

  “Say it, Julia.”

  She wanted to tear her hair out, to rip her eyes from their sockets, to slice her flesh with sharp blades. Anything but to deal with this. Anything besides facing the most terrible Creep of all.

  “Say it, Julia,” Dr. Forrest commanded, clamping Julia’s hand so tightly that it hurt.

  Julia sought escape in the rooms of her head, scrambled for the attic. Dr. Forrest was inside the house with her, slowly climbing up the stairs. No locks could keep the doctor out.

  Just as no locks could keep out the truth.

  “SAY IT.”

  “Daddy,” she tried to say, though she didn’t think any air passed over her larynx.

  “Say it, Julia. Bring him out. Don’t protect him. You don’t owe him any loyalty, not after what he did to you.”

  “Daddy,” she whispered.

  “He gave you away, didn’t he, Julia? He’s one of them. He loved them more than he loved you. He loved Satan more than he loved you.”

  She had reached the mental attic, was cradled by its dusty corners. If only there were a window from which she could jump. Behind her came Dr. Forrest’s footsteps on the stairs, and the soft, insistent voice.

  “Go back to that night, Julia.”

  No. Not that night. Not ever again.

  “Go back.”

  And she was suddenly years away, without hypnosis, without undergoing the slow countdown. As if yesterday and today were really not separate things. The rooms of the past resided in the same house as the rooms of the present, always only a door away.

  And Julia stood frozen in the doorway, four years old and scared.

  The bad people in the hoods gathered around Daddy. They were yelling at him. They were going to hurt him.

  Daddy looked over at her, standing in her pajamas, Chester Bear dangling by her side. Why was Daddy crying?

  Then the bad people saw her.

  “She belongs to him, not to you,” said one of the bad people, the tall one. He held his fist near Daddy’s face. “All things belong to him. The money and the flesh.”

  Daddy shook his head. He was wearing a dark robe, just like the others. Except his hood was down. She couldn’t see the faces of the other bad people. She was so afraid she almost wet her pajamas, and she hadn’t done that in a long time. She was Daddy’s good girl who made him proud.

  “You can’t have her, Lucius,” Daddy said to the bad man.

  “It’s not for me,” he said, shaking his fist, his voice growing deeper, scarier. “The Master has ordered it.”

  “No,” Daddy said. “I’m done with it. I want out.”

  “No one gets out,” the bad man said. “You signed in blood. He owns you now, just as he owns this whore Judas Stone.”

  The other people in hoods moved closer to Dad
dy.

  “Daddy!” Julia shrieked.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Daddy said. Then he pulled his hood over his head. She couldn’t see his face, and his eyes glowed like the glass eyes of a stuffed animal.

  Daddy held out his hands, the sleeves of the robe drooping, full of shadows. “We won’t hurt you. I’ll take care of you.”

  She hesitated, afraid to leave her room. Darkness behind her like a long curtain.

  “Come on, Jooolia,” he cooed, just as he did at play, happy times of crayons and the blue pool in the yard and dolls making dinner and cars and trucks and wooden blocks on the living room floor. Just like normal.

  She took a small step forward. Why was Daddy wearing the hood? Didn’t he know how scary he looked?

  “It’s just a little game we play,” Daddy said, coming toward her, his hands out. Like he wanted to hug her.

  “What’s he doing?” came Dr. Forrest’s voice, as if from behind a wall. Dr. Forrest didn’t belong here. Dr. Forrest belonged back there.

  But Dr. Forrest was her friend. Dr. Forrest wanted to help her. Dr. Forrest wouldn’t let the bad people get her.

  “It’s just a little game we play,” Julia said.

  “And he’s holding your hand, taking you with the bad people,” Dr. Forrest said. “What’s happening?”

  “Daddy’s carrying me. It’s nighttime because it’s dark and I see stars and it’s cold and I’m scared. I dropped Chester Bear somewhere. I smell the wet grass.”

  “You’re in the barn, aren’t you?” asked Dr. Forrest. Such a nice lady.

  “There are more bad people here, and some smoke that smells funny. Stuff is burning in little pots. There’s a big gray rock on the dirt. I can’t see the stars anymore.”

  “Daddy puts you on the rock, doesn’t he?”

  Julia nodded, confused. She was supposed to be remembering, but she didn’t want to.

  Because this isn’t happening. If you close your eyes, it goes away.

  “Don’t shut the door, Julia,” came Dr. Forrest’s voice again. “You’re close.”

  Close. The bad man’s breath is on her skin. Somebody takes her pajamas, and she’s naked and cold. She tries to move, but she can’t. The rock is hard under her back.