The Devil's Heart

by William W. Johnstone

"I know one thing for sure. No … make that two things."

  "And that is … ?"

  "She's got the hots for you, and if she tries to come on, I'll snatch her bald-headed."

  Sam nodded his head as he moved toward the door, remembering Nydia's right cross in the den. He opened the door cautiously, tensely, expecting anything to come leaping at him. But Linda stood there, looking pale and frightened and really, Sam thought, real pretty.

  "I read that!" Nydia projected.

  Damn! "Come in, Linda." He closed the door behind her.

  "Wow," she said. "What happened to your face?"

  "Little accident," Sam said, not really lying to her. "Tell you about it later."

  "I … uh … just wanted to be with you guys for a few minutes, that's all. Maybe have dinner with you all this evening, if that's okay?"

  "Of course," Nydia answered for the both of them, thinking, Where would you like to start eating—on Sam?

  "And I read that, honey."

  "You're going to read a lot more before this evening is over."

  "You guys went off somewhere this morning," Linda said. "I got a little panicky."

  Nydia was hammering mental thrusts at Linda, attempting to enter her mind. She could not. Her attitude softened a bit toward the young woman, as she detected truth in her statements. Still, there was something about her . . . some little vagueness Nydia could not pinpoint.

  "We went for a walk in the timber," Sam said.

  And got married, Nydia thought. So hands off, babe! And, she mentally tallied up the events of the past! twenty-four hours, where were you when I was getting raped by Falcon's baseball bat.

  "It's not that big," Sam projected.

  "It wasn't sticking in you, dear."

  "True. Thank God."

  Linda said, "I don't know what's been the matter with me lately.. I sleep so soundly … even when I lie down just to nap. I've never done that before . . . sleep so much, I mean."

  "It's the cold clean air," Sam suggested.

  Linda solemnly shook her head. "No, Sam. It's much more than that. And I think you two know it. This place is weird! No offense, Nydia, but it's true—it is. I'd like to go back to Carrington. Would one of you take me?"

  Sam sighed, cutting his eyes to Nydia. She shrugged. "Sit down, Linda," he said. "I guess we'd better talk."

  Jane Ann stood at her picture window, gazing out at the quiet street. It was ominously silent in Whitfield. For a time there had been the faint sounds of hammering. Now that was gone.

  Jane Ann looked down at her hands and was reminded of a TV commercial: Hands of a twenty year old, she smiled. But not for long. That hammering was meant for me. They wanted me to hear it. She again looked at her hands. It's going to hurt when they drive the nails.

  The mist that was Balon hovered silently, watching Jane Ann, knowing every thought in her mind and unable to help, for what she was thinking was true. And if a being from the Other Side could sigh, Balon did, knowing she would have to endure almost unbearable pain for a time … before he could step in to end it. She would be humiliated, sexually assaulted, tortured … tested. Only then could he end it. And after Balon did that, He would really end it, and Whitfield would be no more.

  Miles and Doris, Wade and Anita sat in the growing darkness of the living room, discussing the Bible. They knew they should turn on some lights, but they did not want to break the feeling of closeness they were sharing.

  "Let's pray for Jane Ann," Wade suggested.

  The Clay Man sat motionless on the porch steps, knowing his short time in a form resembling human conformation was ticking away. The golem knew degrees of the human emotion, picking them up from osmosis. He rather liked these humans he protected, but he had no desire to be like them. He did wonder what would happen to him when it was his time to return to the earth. Would he still be aware of his surroundings? He didn't know. Then, that thought was pushed from him with such swiftness the golem was not aware of ever possessing it.

  You are all things, he was told. And will always be such.

  And the Clay Man was at peace with himself, feeling new strength enter his form.

  Just outside of town, the Beasts had gathered to feast on the bodies of those who had died in Whitfield. They snarled and growled and ripped the dead meat from the bones, stuffing their fanged mouths as the drool dripped from their jaws, leaking in slimy ribbons to foul the ground. The males found a human female among the piles of bodies, a female who had only pretended to be dead, who was suffering from only minor injuries. And as was their custom, they dragged her screaming to the oldest male among them, the leader.

  Her shrieks as they tore the clothing from her changed to wails of pure terror as the big male pushed her to her bare knees and mounted her under the cool moonlight of western fall. When the oldest male had finished, the other males, according to age and rank in the pecking order of things, took their turn with the woman, each biting her on the neck as they lunged deep within her.

  Within hours her body would be covered with thick, course hair, her face would change, the jaw enlarging, and she would be as them. She would be able only to mumble and snarl and growl, and the Beasts would understand her, and she them. She would not remember worshiping of the God she thought she was deceiving as she prayed and lied.

  And she would be happy in her new form.

  In another part of Fork County, Jake rubbed his crotch and thought of Jane Ann. Jean had told him, since he was largest of the men, in one particular department, certainly not mentally, he could have Jane Ann first—in any fashion Jake chose. Just make the prissy little bitch holler. Jake grinned. He figured he could damn sure do that, all right.

  Jean came to him in the night, opening her shirt so he could fondle her breasts, pinch the nipples in play-pain.

  "You want me to suck you off, Jake?"

  "Yeah," he dropped his filth-encrusted jeans to the ground, around his boots. "Yeah, you do that."

  And she kneeled between his naked legs.

  Nothing came close to Whitfield; no cars or trucks traveled the single ribbon of highway to or from the small damned community. There were no birds, except for the scavenger and carrion type, which wheeled and circled and called. Any animal that could leave the area, had left, a precognition in their tiny brains telling them to stay would mean death.

  It was as if the physical elements that made up the town of Whitfield: the brick, the stone, the mortar, the timber, had but one single thought: they were going to be destroyed.

  Soon.

  MONDAY NIGHT

  "Black magic? Devil worship? Roma and Mr. Falcon are witch and warlock?" Linda looked first at Sam, then Nydia. "Vampires? You're both putting me on—right?"

  "No," Sam insisted. "It's all true."

  "Your … real father left you a letter? You've been in communication with the … spirit world?"

  "That is correct, Linda," Nydia said. "I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. Believe it."

  She looked at the pair for a long moment. Finally a slow smile began pulling at her mouth. "Now I get it! Oh, boy … you two had me going for a minute. It's all a big joke, isn't it? Yeah. There's gonna be some sort of … costume party here, right? Spooks and monsters and things like that. Okay, I won't spoil it for you guys."

  "Linda," Nydia leaned forward, taking the young woman's hands into her own, "it isn't a joke. It's deadly serious. I was raped last night—by Falcon. In a casket! Sam was beaten after my own mother—Roma—seduced Sam. Judy is one of them."

  "Lana?" the question was asked in a soft voice.

  "Most definitely."

  "Then … everyone here is … one of those people?"

  "Except for the young girls the new members brought with them. We're alone," Sam said. "In human form that is.

  "And I don't trust you," Nydia said, still holding Linda's hands. The young woman tried to pull back, away, but Nydia's grip was strong.

  "What … what do you mean: you don't trust me?"
r />   "Nydia," Sam cautioned her. "I …"

  "No, Sam! Let's get it in the open." She gave the entrapped young woman a dark look. "You're one of them yourself, Linda."

  "No!"

  "The pentagram on your chest."

  "That's a birthmark, Nydia. I swear before God it is. You've got to believe me."

  Somewhere in the house, a wailing began, containing a familiar note of pain and terror.

  "What in God's name is that?" Linda asked.

  "You've never heard it before?" Sam asked. "You don't know?"

  "No, Sam—I swear it."

  "That's one of the young girls brought in—kidnapped from God knows where. She's being raped … from both ends, probably; passed around among some pretty heavy-hung guys. She's not enjoying it very much, is she?"

  Tears sprang into the blue of the girl's eyes. "I don't want that done to me. Ever! Oh, God, believe me, both of you, I'm a Christian. I go to church every Sunday. I worship God, not the Devil. Please, help me, believe me."

  "Get the Bible, Sam," Nydia said. "Let's see."

  The Bible was placed next to Linda. Nydia released her hands. Linda grabbed up the Holy Book and clutched it to her, her tears dropping onto the leather of the Book. "As is my witness," she said. "I love only Him. I swear it."

  "Holy water," Nydia said, still not convinced of Linda's sincerity.

  Sam put a few drops of holy water on the young woman's forehead. Nothing happened.

  Nydia leaned back in her chair, nodding her acceptance.. "All right, Linda. I guess you're telling the truth."

  The young woman fell to the floor and began weeping uncontrollably. Sam glanced at Nydia and shook his head, silently projecting: "I told you so."

  Her reply was a shrug. She said, "Linda, move your things into my room; stay close to us. We'll make it out of this … mess."

  Linda stayed on her knees, on the floor, for several moments, alternately weeping and praying. Finally, she rose to her feet, wiped her eyes, and apologized for her behavior.

  "It's understandable, Nydia said, warming more and more toward her. "It's gotten next to both of us, several times. Go on," she gave her a gentle push, "get your things and come right back."

  After she had left, Sam said, "But she could still be one of them. Roma told me the Holy Water only affects a witch, warlock, or the undead."

  "What a performance." The burning words seared into the girl's head. "You almost had me weeping over your dilemma. But water and I don't mix very well. Such a pity it wasn't Oscar night."

  "Thank vou," was her reply

  "Well done." The voice cut into her brain. "Spoken without being gushy. You're learning quickly. I'll be in touch."

  "Yes, Master."

  And the evil force was gone from the room.

  "Your mother must bear me the demon," the hot words penetrated into Black's brain. "She must be taken care of with the utmost of delicacy. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "You had better understand, young man. I will not tolerate any further backbiting from you. No more plotting against the female who birthed you. She soon will have served her purpose on earth and will be called home ... to me."

  "I understand, Master. Falcon?"

  "Oh, you are a schemer, aren't you? Not a drop of loyalty in you."

  "Only to you, Prince."

  "Bah! Only to me because you are afraid of me. You shit your pants each time we communicate. Do you really believe, young man, that you can best your mentor?"

  "Sir, Falcon is not my mentor. Falcon is an idiot."

  "Perhaps he is that, to a point. But he has loyalty, and that is something you do not possess."

  "What can I do to prove my love for you?"

  "Obey orders, for one thing." The voice had a tinge of dryness to it. "Have patience, young schemer, for you are but a child in the order of darkness. You have this life to live before anything of any significance is placed into your greedy hands."

  Black was pouty. "I should have been born a true demon."

  "Yes, but you weren't, and there is nothing even I can do about that. Have patience, those are my orders, and I expect to have them obeyed."

  "I will obey you, Master. But now you hear me, …"

  "Oh? Perhaps there is some hope for you after all. I detect—for the first time, I must add—a touch of courage in your usually whiny voice."

  "I will rule this Coven, Master. Perhaps not today, or tomorrow, but someday. And if Falcon gets in my way … I will kill him."

  The Prince of Darkness was silent for a moment. "Very well, young man, you have made your desires known. Fine. I admire and respect courage. Perhaps there is more of Balon in your blood than even I suspected. We shall see. I will tell you this much: should Falcon fail, and should you have the opportunity and skill to destroy him … well, that would be points in your favor."

  Black wanted to ask more of the Prince, but with a rush of stinking winds, the Master of the Profane was gone, and Black knew better than to push the issue. But, the man smiled, the King of Terror had not rejected his words or chastized him for them. So there was a glimmer of hope.

  Ruler of the Coven. Black rather liked the sound of that.

  ONE HOUR BEFORE DAWN TUESDAY

  "He has spoken," Falcon said. "We will attempt to call out the forces this evening."

  Roma lay on her bed. She did not feel well, for the demon within her was growing as a cancer in her womb, and she was in pain much of the time. "I wish you a great deal of luck, Falcon," she whispered. "But I must add this note of warning: watch Black, for his plottings now include you. The Master has warned him that I must be protected, but you have no such assurances from the Prince. Be careful."

  "Then Black is a fool. He underestimates me, Roma."

  "Grossly."

  "I may be forced to kill him, or have him killed."

  "He should have died at birth," the mother said, turned her head away, and bit her lips as waves of pain struck her, cramping her.

  Falcon watched her twist on the sheets. "Is there nothing I can do?"

  "Only tell me that Nydia is in the same agony."

  "I am afraid she is not."

  "That does not mean she is undergoing a normal gestation period. The sperm may be in combat within her. It could be days, even weeks—before the matter is decided. It is entirely possible it will not be decided until the moment of birth, or even weeks afterward. It depends upon who is present; if one of our kind is there, and has the power from the Prince, it could even take months … years. I know of such cases. In any event, I will not know the outcome for some time."

  "Why, Roma?"

  "Because I will be gone."

  "Roma?" He walked to the bed of Devil-induced pain, "What of the demon?"

  "If it is a true demon—and believe me, I know that it is—it will need very little assistance after birthing. Only a week or so of suckling. Then the metamorphosis is so rapid it is not only unbelievable, it is also utterly terrifying in its majesty."

  "If …" Falcon struggled for words.

  "Go, Falcon, you have much to do and I do not wish you to witness my suffering. Go."

  He moved away from the bed, walking to the door. He paused. "I will tell you how things went this night, Roma.

  She laughed, and her laughter chilled him. "If you live through it, darling. Many of those called will be rabid from the pits."

  TUESDAY MORNING

  They had slept unusually late. Sam awakened the young ladies roughly, no gentleness to his touch. He spoke the same message to each young woman: "Get up. Get dressed. Boots, jeans, heavy shirt. Keep a jacket close by. It's only a matter of hours before we have to run for our lives."

  "What's happened, Sam?" Nydia asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  "I … think we're about to witness the most awesome event to ever occur on the face of this earth.'' He smiled. "Other than that fellow who was born in Bethlehem, that is." He sobered again. "Remember what the voice told us: the cal
ling out of the forces of darkness? It's going to happen tonight."

  "He came to you? He told you?"

  "No. I just know." Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Nydia—maybe he did come to me in my sleep. I have no recall of any conversation between us. I just woke up and knew it was going to happen."

  "I am scared half out of my mind," Linda said.

  "That makes it a club of three," Sam replied.

  In the lush timber behind the great house, a shadowy figure drifted in and out of the tall trees. While movements seemed vague and uncertain, the tall warrior was actually deep in thought, his musings troubled and sometimes dark with fury. Of all things that held sway outside of the firmament, the warrior hated Satan with a passion that borderlined on disobedience to the teachings of God the Father. Indeed, the warrior had come close to admonition from Him on more than one occasion for his passionate hatred of Satan. The warrior had pleaded with Him for millennia to destroy the Beast once and for all. Have done with the Filthy One. End it. Call His people home.

  But the Master of All Things would merely shake His head and say, "Not yet."

  And the warrior knew that "not yet" would apply to this blinking in the span of all things, as well. He was not afraid of the od forces; he knew no fear of the demons and the other grotesque creatures that would soon be called to appear. He had destroyed their kind many times in the past, and would this time. No … what troubled the old warrior was the mystery in the great house of the Evil One, and should he alert the young Christian offspring of Balon to that mystery?

  No, he finally decided. No, I can do only so much without overstepping the boundaries. Really, he concluded, I have probably interfered too much as it is.

  He stopped by the filthy, sin-encrusted circle of dark stones and looked toward the mansion. No, young warrior, you must cope with that mystery by yourself. I will help in other matters, but in this, your strength must be all powerful; your faith all-believing and never wavering; and your cunning at its zenith.

  God be with you.

  TUESDAY NOON

  The wailing had stopped. The great house was silent. It seemed to the trio seated close together in Sam's room as if they were alone: the only ones left in the mansion.