by John Tigges
She reread one pact that had caught her attention. It seemed safe enough since it invoked God, his Son and the Holy Spirit to help bring the demon or Lucifer, the fallen angel, to the practitioner in case the demon was reluctant. There was no mention of the demons helping God or the angels or whoever was conjured up in the “good” incantations.
Pursing her lips, Nicole nodded. It seemed she would have the elements of both sides working for her if she followed the treatise’s directions and drew an inverted pentagram and summoned God to force Lucifer to do her bidding.
How would she make a pentagram? Where should she make it? She looked at the beige carpeting in the living room. That room was the largest in her apartment. It would have to be there, but how could she make a symbol? Her face brightening, she hurried to her bedroom, returning with a box of body powder. She began trailing a thin line of the white, perfumed dust, making a circle in the middle of the room after moving the coffee table to one side.
When the line closed on itself, she began tracing the outline of the inverted pentagram, starting with the horns of the goat. When it was finished, she picked up the book again and studied the words that were to be written in the points of the star and around the circumference of the circle. When they were finished, she drew another circle and enclosed the words, creating a border. Rummaging about the apartment, she found four candles and placed them at the proper locations.
After lighting the wicks, and with the book in hand, she stepped inside the double circle, turning to the page with the pact written on it. “Pact with Emperor Lucifer” was written across the middle of the page and something above it caught her attention. More instructions:
“To achieve the best magic possible, the practitioner should perform this and all rites in the nude.”
Nicole stepped out of the circle, careful not to smudge the powder lines. Quickly undressing, she re-entered the circle, holding the book. She strained her eyes to read the small print in the flickering candle light.
“O Emperor Lucifer,” she began in a soft whisper, “Chief of all the spirits which rebelled, I beg Thee to favor me in this conjuration, which I am about to perform to Thee and Thy Ministers. O Prince Beelzebub, I adjure thee to protect me in this work. O Earl Astorath, favor me, and permit me tonight to obtain the appearance of the Great One, Lucifer, in human shape and without any evil effluvium. And that he may allow me, in return for the pact which I will make with him, to achieve the desire I have and the wish I make in this circle.”
She repeated the incantation she had read earlier, inserting Myles’ name at the appropriate places. When she finished, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. It might work. It just might work.
“O, Great Lucifer,” she continued, her voice shaking just a bit, “I beg Thee to leave Thy throne, wherever it may be, and come to this place to speak with me. I have great need of Thy counsel. If Thou doest not do this, I will constrain Thee to appear, by the force of the Great Living God, His Son and His Spirit. Do my bidding at once, or Thou shalt be tormented forever by the force of the words of Power and the Great Wisdom of Solomon, which he used to compel revolted spirits to obey him and accept his contract.
“Appear, then, immediately, or I shall torture Thee with the force of these Words of Power from Solomon’s Key!
“Aglon. Tetragram. Vaycheon. Stimulama-tron. Exphares. Olyaram. Retragrammaton. Irion. Existion. Esytion. Eryona. Onera. Orasym. Mozm. Messias. Soter. Emanuel.
Sabaoth. Adonay. Te adoro. Et te invoco. Amen.”
Nicole stopped for an instant, glancing about the room, her eyes widening. Nothing. Nothing had happened. But then, she wasn’t finished.
“I conjure Thee, O Spirit. I summon Thee, O Lucifer, to appear within a minute by the power of the Great Adonai, by Elohim, by Ariel, Johavam, Agla, Membrot, Varvis, Pithona, Magots, Silphae, Rabost, Salaman-drae, Tabost, Gnomus, Terrae, Coelis, Godens, Aqua, Gingua, Janua, Etituamus, Zariatnot-mik.
“Palas aron azinomas. Bagahi Iaca Bacabe.
“Eheieh. Iod. Tetragrammaton Elohim. El. Elohim Gibor. Eloah Va-Daath. El Adonai Tzabaoth. Elohim Tzabaoth. Shaddai.”
She stopped.
What was that? That noise? That pounding? She held her breath. The apartment was quiet. No sound. Nothing at all.
But what was that pounding?
She could distinctly hear it. When she released her breath, she controlled the urge to laugh. It was the sound of her own pulse in her temples. Her own blood, crashing through her veins, reverberated in a rhythmic cadence that sounded not unlike a pounding surf on some desolate shore.
She waited. It was now that the book indicated that the summoned one should appear. She continued waiting. Where was he? Had she done something incorrectly in performing the rite?
Glancing at the book, she saw that one more sentence remained after the point where the demon should have appeared. She waited four long breaths before raising the book enough to allow her to finish the rite.
“I promise Thee, O great and mighty Lucifer, to reward Thee in whatever way Thou see fit, if my request for the love of Myles Lawrence is granted and given unto me this night.”
The clock on the shelf above the TV set struck three times. She waited.
Nothing.
It was all foolishness. It had to be. Why had she done it? She wondered about her own mental stability. Was the breakup with Myles affecting her to the point that she would try almost anything to win him back? Even black magic? Or making a pact with hell? She stepped out of the circle, kicking at the lines, spreading the dusty powder around before blowing out the candles.
After taking her discarded clothing to her bedroom, she slipped into a robe and brought a small vacuum cleaner to the living room. In seconds, the quiet machine sucked up the telltale body powder, and all signs of her bizarre ritual were gone. At least it was Friday and she wouldn’t have to go to work the next day. What time? Friday? The small chiming clock indicated three ten. It was actually Saturday and she could sleep until she awoke.
She picked up the book that had fascinated her for the last several hours and chuckled. Returning it to the shelf, she made one last, quick visual check of the living room and turned out the light.
Seconds later, she collapsed on the bed, the sheet half-covering her nakedness. Her breasts rose and fell in an even rhythm. Sound asleep, she failed to notice the drop in the room temperature and little jets of steam puffed from her nostrils. The only sound in the room was her steady, even breathing—and the sound of scratching in the ceiling over her bed.
PART TWO
The Gifts
Tuesday, September 23, 1986 to
Friday, November 7, 1986
4
Tuesday, September 23, 1986 10:33 A.M.
Nicole stared through the plate glass window at the people hurrying past the art store. Aware of the fact that she had been preoccupied most of the time while at work, she accepted her mental wanderings as an opiate for her troubled mind. Myles had left several weeks before, and ever since, she had found a foreign sense of melancholy invading her waking moments more and more as each day passed.
Sighing heavily, she turned away, aware that she had to do something, and do something soon, or she’d wither up and simply blow away with the next breeze. She felt lonely—as if she were the last human on earth. All those bodies walking by the shop were figments of her imagination—memories of when she had been a live, contributing member of society. But people simply did not count for anything anymore. The only person she had communicated with to any degree over the last few weeks had been Phil Overstreet. And most of those conversations had been about business and buying additional stock and supplies. Nothing related to her as a person, as a human being, as a wounded entity.
Someplace, far off in the distance, she heard a bell ring and felt a wash of cool September air flow over her. Snapping out of her revery, she focused her attention on the front of the store to see a man entering. A customer. She’d have to wait on him since Phil h
ad left to go for coffee.
“May I help you, sir?” she asked absently, approaching him.
“I need some wide-tipped felt markers,” he said.
She looked up to find him studying her. Somehow, he looked familiar.
“Didn’t you attend college here?” he asked.
She nodded. “I graduated in ‘84.”
“So did I,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Nicole Kilton? Right?”
Scrutinizing her customer, Nicole seemed to place him, but only as a face in a classroom somewhere in her past. Had he been one of her teachers? He appeared too young. “I’m sorry,” she said lamely. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
The man, not much taller than she, wore glasses that seemed to dominate his face, emphasizing his narrowly set eyes. She looked away while he stared at her, his face imprinted on her memory. If she had attended class with him, she had made no conscious or unconscious effort to remember him. He reminded her of a little animal, one that might drop to all fours and scurry away from her at any moment.
“Rob Lanstrom.” He smiled kindly. “Psychology one and two. You sat in front of me.”
She forced a smile, faking a look of recognition. “Of course. Doctor Hammerand’s classes. That brings back a lot of memories.”
“What are you doing, working here?” he asked, gesturing around the art shop. “Or do you own it?”
“Hardly,” she said, relaxing just a bit. What did one say next? She felt at a loss when it came to carrying on a conversation. Had it been that long?
“Didn’t you major in psych?” He studied her in an intense way that made Nicole feel not unlike a laboratory specimen being examined under a microscope.
“As a matter of fact, I did. How come you remember so much about me?”
He smiled shyly. “Back then, I had a crush on you like you wouldn’t believe. I really did.”
Nicole smiled graciously. “Out of curiosity, why didn’t you ever speak to me? If you did, I’m sorry, but I don’t remember.”
“Are you kidding?” he said, laughing. “I would have been scared to death.”
Nicole snickered. “What brought about the big change? How come you can talk about it now?”
“I guess that’s what married life does to a person.”
Nicole nodded. “How long have you been married, Rob?” It seemed to Nicole as though everyone except her had someone—even this mousy guy.
“Six months now. But tell me, Nicole, what are you doing working in here? This doesn’t seem conducive to exploiting a college education.”
She looked away. “I’m saving money so I can go back to school and get my Masters in psychology. I’d like to be an assistant to a psychiatrist.”
“How long before you go back to school?”
Suddenly, Nicole wondered about this man confronting her. Why was he so nosy? Why had he remembered her out of all the people who had been in his classes? What business was it of his to know about her plans? The next thing he might suggest a liaison of some sort to satisfy his suppressed longing from college. She shook her head. If he was married for only six months, he probably wouldn’t try something like that.
She shrugged. “At this point, I don’t really know. Why?”
“Because I might be able to help you,” he said, pausing dramatically for effect.
“I … I don’t understand.”
“I’m employed at the Cascade Psychiatric Clinic. I’m assistant to the chief psychologist and have several other assistants more or less under my direction. At any rate, have you ever done any publicity or public relations work?”
Nicole shook her head. “Not really, why?”
“If you can stand Rose Tunic, you could probably qualify. They’re looking for someone to train on the job. It’s a nonexistent position right now because there hasn’t been anyone doing the work. But things being what they are, the board of directors wants to acquire a higher profile for the clinic and has decided to hire someone for P.R. work.”
“Who’s this Rose Tunic?” she asked tentatively. The way he had said her name sounded almost ominous, as though he might be warning her of something.
“Oh, Rose is an old bitch who thinks she’s running the place. She doesn’t have anything other than her job to occupy her mind, and she can be pretty obnoxious at times.”
“Why do you keep her on, then?”
“I don’t think the doctors are aware of what it is she’s doing. If they are, they’re probably trying to ignore the fact.”
“And if they’re not,” Nicole broke in, “it might prove to be difficult to sell to the public, psychiatrists who don’t recognize a problem in their own office.”
“Touché,” Rob said laughingly. “Seriously, why don’t you consider trying. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
Her brow puckered up in thought for a split second. At least, if she did get the job, she’d be more closely associated with her chosen field than here in the art store. “I think I will.”
Rob dug in his jacket pocket and produced a card. “This is the address. Why don’t you stop in anytime today or tomorrow. The employment agencies aren’t going to be notified until next week. Tell them I suggested that you stop in.”
Taking the card, she said, “Thanks a bunch, Rob. It really helps. I’ve been sort of down recently but I won’t burden you with my problems. Just know that I owe you. All right?”
“Right,” he said, reaching out to grab her shoulder when she turned away. “My marker pens. I still need them.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, motioning for him to follow her to the counter along the far wall.
Saturday, September 27, 1986 9:45 A.M.
Nicole blinked, then blinked again. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There was her name in the newspaper. Nicole Kilton. And behind her name, the amount of eleven hundred dollars. She had won! She had actually won a prize in the state lottery. She had been buying several tickets each week for the last two years but never had even won so much as five dollars in the instant lottery portion of the contest. The amount dazzled her. Eleven hundred dollars! She wasn’t alone in her good fortune. There were forty-one other winners, each winning various amounts. Her portion was one thousand, one hundred dollars.
Maybe things were beginning to turn her way again. Rob Lanstrom had offered her a job in public relations four days ago, and after having been interviewed the past Thursday, she had given Phil her two weeks’ notice. Now, with this windfall of money, she’d feel a step closer to going back to school. She hadn’t felt this good since before Myles had left, and now she was more determined than ever to make her life successful and win back his love. Could it have been her working at a nothing job, such as the art store, that had been an influence on Myles? No matter. She was on her way.
Dropping the paper on the table, she picked up her coffee cup to drain it. Then she heard the noise—the scratching sound from the walls. Mice? That was it. She didn’t have to live in a rodent infested apartment. She could move out and get a better place to live. She had been hearing the sounds for the past few days, doing her best to ignore them. But her new turn of luck gave her confidence. She’d complain to the manager and insist that something be done. Wondering if anyone else in the building might be suffering from the same problem, she went to the telephone and dialed the manager’s number.
“Hello,” the manager’s wife whined into the phone.
“Is your husband there, Mrs. Astin? This is Nicole Kilton in apartment 3-49C. I’ve got to talk to him. I’ve got a bit of a problem.”
“He’s out working in the complex someplace. In fact, I think he said something about going to your building. I’ll tell him you called.”
Before Nicole could say anything else, the dial tone buzzed in her ear. “Damn!” she said aloud, biting her lip.
When the phone had been replaced in the cradle, she could hear the sounds from the wall once more. She’d have to find the manager and bring him up here to listen.
Slipp
ing into her coat, she strode to the front door. She opened it, barely able to keep from gasping in surprise. The manager stood outside her door, ready to knock.
“You’re just the man I’m looking for,” she said quickly, reaching out to grab his arm.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “What’s up?”
Nicole stopped when he withdrew from her grasp, mentally scolding herself for having acted so hastily. She didn’t even like Fred Astin. In fact, he gave her the creeps. Shortly after she had moved in, he had made some suggestive statement that indicated he’d give her special attention or anything she needed, if she reciprocated and gave him special attention in another way. She had given him no encouragement whatsoever, and soon the relationship was nothing more than that of manager/tenant. Now, she actually had tried to drag him into her apartment.
“I’ve got mice,” she said loudly.
“Sh-h-h,” he hissed. “Christ! Don’t tell the other neighbors. Where? Where have you got mice?”
“In my walls. In the ceiling, I think. Probably all over the place,” she said, motioning for him to come inside.
He stepped in, closing the hallway door. “Show me,” he said simply.
A confident smile on her face, Nicole went into the kitchen, pointing to the wall where she had just heard mice scampering about.
Astin stood next to the wall, pressing his ear against it. After a few minutes, during which time the only sound was the hum of the electric kitchen clock and the purring of the refrigerator, he said, “I don’t hear nothing.”
“But … but I just heard them … just seconds ago. Tap on the wall. Maybe they’re sleeping or something,” she said.
Pulling a screw driver from his tool belt, Astin tapped on the wall with the handle, first in one spot, then in another. But no sounds new or different to the kitchen could be heard.
