MOON FALL

by Tamara Thorne

"What?"

  "Do you hear that? In the distance?"

  He listened, heard the faint crash of water. ''Great. Just great. We're going toward Witch Falls."

  "At least we know we're heading east instead of south." Paul had always been the king of silver linings.

  "Okay, then we should go ... " John suddenly realized that he couldn't sense direction, even though the sound of the Falls gave him all the help he should have needed. On the rare momentary occasions he'd lost the sense previously, he'd felt an unaccountable but faint nausea, a trace of dizziness. Now those feelings nearly overwhelmed him. "Paul, which way is south?"

  "I don't know," came Paul's voice from the darkness.

  "I believe I do, gentlemen."

  John drew his pistol before his brain recognized Minerva Payne's voice. "Minerva," he said, reholstering the weapon. "What are you doing out here?''

  ''The same thing as you."

  He heard a snap, then a match flamed in front of Minerva's face. She looked at them. "You've brought a priest, John?"

  ''This is Paul Pricket. He was with us that night." John spoke quickly. "I remembered what happened."

  ''I know. You let me in. Do you know where the entrance to the old basement is?"

  "No. Not yet."

  The wooden match was burning down. ''Why have you brought a priest, John? No offense, young man," she added, then blew out the match before it burned her fingers.

  "Because of what you said. You said that every religion has its own demons. What better to fight Christian demons than a Christian holy man?"

  Minerva chuckled softly, sadly. "You have a point, John. Paul, why did you agree to come?''

  "When John called me, I agreed to visit. I've been having nightmares for years, just like him. And then, when I arrived today and he told me what happened in the chapel, I knew it was true. On some level, I've known it all along. I know it was behind my decision to become a priest."

  ''Well, do you think you can work with an old pagan, Father Paul?"

  "It would be an honor."

  ''Good. If you gentlemen will come with me, I believe I might be able to find the way. Stay close, now."

  One hundred-three

  The services were going well. Richard Dashwood had entered the back of the chapel to check on them several times, and the prayers, in twisted Latin, were being sung on schedule.

  He and Sister Regina had been very busy since the services started. First, began the preparation of Sister Bibiana to serve as the devil's bride. Although she knew a great honor was being bestowed upon her, she had protested rather violently until he had administered a dose of his paralysis drug and hypnotized her. Now she was in one of the examining rooms, being bathed and shaved, perfumed and made up by Regina.

  Once that process was begun, Dashwood had administered a mild tranquilizer to Mark Lawson, to make him docile so that when he was led from the basement vault to the chapel, to serve as part of the living altar, he would be fully awake for the experience. And for his own slow, very painful death.

  Dashwood had hoped to rip his heart, still beating, from his body, but Lucy insisted they use an overdose of the paralysis drug, as was usual when they had to return a body to be found. The drug, in high doses, not only paralyzed the voluntary muscles, but slowly seeped into the involuntary ones, slowing the heart and the respiration, so that the victim felt as if he were dying. It was an ancient concoction similar in nature to a modern drug that had been targeted for use on child molesters, then was withdrawn because it was considered too cruel. Dashwood's drug was superior: in small doses, it wore off without an antidote and when used to induce death, broke up in the bloodstream so quickly that it was impossible to identify. Dashwood smiled, thinking about the modem doctors, like Frank Cutter, who thought they knew everything: they had overlooked the old medicines, dismissing them as old wives' cures, and in doing so, had turned their backs on a world of knowledge.

  He had also tranquilized a twelve-year-old girl, Denise Somebody-or-other. Her name didn't matter and he didn't intend to use her; perhaps Sara Hawthorne was a lost cause, but he still intended to deliver Kelly Reed to the altar. That would redeem him with Lucy.

  He glanced at his Rolex. In an hour, he would have to join the services to do his duty as high priest and deflower the novice, Marybeth Tingler. It was a task he looked forward to, but first, he had other work to do.

  He left his office and went to his apartment, where the black cloth with its inverted pentagram was already laid out on the carpeting.

  He stripped off his robe, then sat, naked and cross-legged, in the center of the pentagram. He drew a deep breath, exhaled, and repeated the process. Controlling the revenant would be grueling work alone, but it was worth it if it would lure Kelly Reed back to the fold.

  One hundred-four

  The cottage, so warm and cozy when Minerva was there, now seemed full of shadows and ghosts. Kelly knew that was stupid, but she couldn't help how she felt.

  She couldn't concentrate on the spells, either. They seemed as idiotic as her own growing fear. For her, being left behind in the supposed safety of the house was far more frightening than accompanying Minerva to St. Gertrude's. It was almost unbearable.

  "Kelly!"

  She jumped, whirling as someone knocked on the door.

  "Kelly! It's Mark. You have to help me. Minerva's hurt!"

  She pulled back the curtain and saw Mark staring at her. "Just a minute," she called. Grabbing a coat Minerva had lent her, she raced out the door as Mark turned and began to trot away. "Mark, wait!"

  "Hurry!" he called without turning around. "Follow me!"

  One hundred-five

  Hours had passed, and still the women and girls in their black hooded robes continued to chant. Sara's knees were killing her from kneeling on the hard wooden riser.

  She kept her cowl pulled past her cheeks and forehead so that the nuns on either side wouldn't recognize her, and she fortunately remembered some of the chants from her Latin classes a decade ago.

  The chant ended and the cowled figures rose as an ancient pipe organ wheezed to life. At first. she didn't recognize the music, but slowly it came to her: it was Mendelssohn's Wedding March, played in a minor key. Around her, the others turned to face the doors. Suddenly, they were thrown open, and the girl in red- Marybeth Tingler- began walking slowly down the aisle. Under the red cowl, her eyes shone with pleasure and her reddened lips smiled. Sara bent her neck slightly so the girl wouldn't see her face, then turned to face front as the others did, once she finished her walk.

  Marybeth stood in front of the altar, Mother Lucy behind it ''Tonight, our first order of business is to initiate our novice. This year, we have chosen an outstanding student, Marybeth Tingler. After the ceremony, she shall be known forevermore as Sister Mary Elmo."

  The chapel doors sounded as if they'd been blown open, but Sara couldn't turn to look, since the others didn't move; but a few seconds later, a tall, robed figure strode by- Dashwood. As he stepped up toward the altar, Marybeth Tingler stripped off her robe, revealing a pale, slim body, the tips of her small breasts painted an obscene red-black.

  Lucy moved out of the way as the girl climbed onto the altar, her legs facing the inverted cross, her head tilted back over the edge of the altar. For a brief instant. Marybeth's eyes locked on Sara's, and the girl smiled. Sara tensed, but the girl looked away without any other reaction, and Sara told herself she didn't recognize her.

  Dashwood walked around the altar and let his robe fall from his shoulders, revealing a thin, lightly muscled body and an enormous erection. ''Mary Elmo, do you desire to become a bride of Satan?"

  "I do," she answered in a husky voice.

  "Do you promise to obey His laws, to do whatever He asks of you, and never to question Him?"

  "I do."

  "Do you agree to die whensoever He wishes, be it tonight or centuries hence, and when you die, do you agree to become one of the guardians of the order as the sister you are replacin
g will do tonight?"

  "I do."

  "Then, in Lucifer's name, I take you as His bride."

  He plunged forward, and Marybeth 's eyes bulged in shock. She screamed once; then her eyes glazed with pain, then pleasure. as Dashwood continued to thrust.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sara thought she saw one of the black gargoyles move.

  One hundred-six

  Kelly had followed Mark into St Gertrude's forest, and nearly to the abbey grounds before she lost him. He'd never slowed, and she'd run blindly after him, mindless of the tree limbs and bushes that snagged and tore her clothing, not caring about the scrapes and bruises she endured on her frequent falls.

  ''Mark?" she called. ''Mark? Where are you?"

  He didn't reply, and suddenly she began trembling very hard. It wasn't Mark. Until now, she hadn't had time to think, just to run after him, but now she realized that he had been easy to see, despite the dark. The nuns had used him to lure her here.

  But she was alone. If he hadn't disappeared, she probably would have followed him straight into the church, or Lucy's office, or wherever else he wanted. But he had. She could hear chanting, and though she felt a little turned around, she followed the voices and soon saw the dark outline of the chapel and the faint flicker of candlelight behind the stained-glass windows.

  Now what? She wondered where Minerva and Mark were. Should she try to get to town and find the sheriff? Somehow, she didn't think they'd let her make it.

  Minerva had told her the sisters wanted to sacrifice her, and that frightened her now, but not too much. She'd spent so much time successfully evading them over the past months that she knew they weren't omniscient. She decided to hide in the bushes near the chapel door for a few minutes and try to figure out what to do next.

  One hundred-seven

  ''Get up, boy."

  Mark Lawson squinted into the beam of a flashlight. His limbs felt heavy, his mind muddled, and he remembered a man holding him still while a nun gave him a shot. The room had spun, and then, nothing.

  ''You drugged me," he tried to say, but his tongue tripped over itself, and his lips felt rubbery and thick.

  ''Unless you get up right now, you'll get more of the same."

  Mark pushed himself up off the chill floor, his hand against a wall to steady himself. There was a single nun standing between him and the open door, and he thought he could get past her, but the minute he took a step, his knees buckled and he fell. The woman's cold hand closed on his upper arm and yanked him to his feet; then she dragged him to the door and out, following the flashlight's beam across a fathomless room to a flight of stairs. She pushed him ahead of her and forced him to crawl up the staircase.

  Dizzily he looked around and saw that he was in a room that was sort of like Dr. Cutter's examination room. A girl in a white gown stared at him blearily from a chair, and he figured she'd been drugged, too. Her wrists were bound together and attached to a leg of the exam table next to the chair.

  ''Take off all your clothes and put this on." The nun held out a white robe like the girl's.

  ''Why?"

  "Do it, or I'll do it for you."

  "I'm not gonna undress in front of a girl."

  "Yes, you are- that, or you get another shot."

  "I have to go to the bathroom."

  The woman pursed her lips and stared at him a long moment. ''This way," she said, roughly pushing him out of the room, and about ten feet down the hall to another door. She opened it to reveal a small, neat restroom. A tiny, dark window over the toilet promised freedom. The nun pushed him inside and stepped in after him. "Do your business," she ordered. He felt his head clearing and realized he should hide it. He looked at her, keeping his eyes unfocused, his body limp. ''I can't with you watching," he slurred.

  "If you have to go, you will."

  ''I think it's diarrhea. Please, just wait outside- please?"

  She glared at him, and he put his arms across his belly and stumbled against the sink. At that, she made a disgusted sound and walked out. "Be quick. If you try anything, you'll be very, very sorry." She closed the door and he could hear her tapping her foot just outside.

  Groaning, he carefully climbed on top of the toilet seat and saw that the window had a crank. He groaned again, then made a gross sputtering sound with his mouth as he tried the crank. It turned, and cold air hit his face.

  "Hurry up."

  "I am," he moaned, then made more wet sputtering noises as he shakily stepped onto the tank top and pushed his head out.

  The window was in an alcove, half below ground, and he quickly slithered out, turned, and moaned and sputtered once more before climbing unsteadily out of the alcove, then crawling on his hands and knees behind a row of bushes against the building. He was still shaky and his limbs wouldn't obey as well as they should, but he was at least twenty feet away when he heard the nun shriek, "You'll pay for this, you little shit!"

  He almost laughed, but caught himself. Peeking out from behind the bushes, he saw no one, so he pushed through them and half-ran, half-staggered toward the end of the building.

  One hundred-eight

  Even with Minerva leading, two more hours passed before they found the front gate of St. Gertrude's. In the distance, John heard chanting, and as be looked up at the twin gargoyles on the gateposts, memories suddenly flooded his mind. Memories of Halloween night, 1972.

  First, the five of them, John, Winky, Paul, Doug and Beano, boldly walking through the gate, then skulking along the shadowy bushes toward the school building. Suddenly, a scream- Greg's scream- pierced the night. They halted in their tracks at the base of the steps and, shocked, glanced at one another, then, as one, turned and ran across the lawn toward the gate, toward Greg.

  But the gate was blocked by a half-dozen black-cowled figures. The tallest held Greg's limp body in his arms.

  John ran at the tall one, intent on tackling him and rescuing his brother, but the other figures stepped forward, blocking his way. The man had laughed in a deep, rich voice as strong hands clamped onto John's arms. The figures grabbed the other boys, too, harshly ordering them to be quiet. They spoke in feminine voices and John remembered wondering how normal women could be so powerful. Then a silver needle flashed in the moonlight, and be felt a sharp pain in his arm. His knees buckled and the world spun away.

  He and the others woke in a dark, dankly cold room. They were all there, including Greg. John felt his way to his brother, following the sound of his moans. Groggy himself, he tried to revive Greg, but he wouldn't do more than groan feebly. One by one, the other boys began to talk, then move, exploring the room with their hands. He remembered hearing Doug Buckman call out in a slurry voice that he'd found a door, but that it was locked.

  A few minutes later, the door was unlocked and the tall man stepped in, the revolver in his band fanning across the boys. Flanking him were the robed women, one holding a bright lantern that cast swinging shadows on the stone walls.

  "Take the young one and prepare him for the ceremony," the man said, as two of the women stepped forward and pulled Greg from John's weak grasp. The leader locked his dark eyes on John's. "It will hurt you more, I think, if we allow you to live." He'd laughed again and disappeared from the room, his followers behind him. Again they were locked away in darkness.

  Time passed slowly, but finally, three of the women, one holding the gun, returned and took Winky out of the room. They came again and again until John, the last, was finally led across a vast chamber and up a flight of stairs, into a doctor's examination room. Winky, Paul, Beano and Doug were there, sitting on straight-backed chairs, staring straight ahead as if they weren't even aware be was there.

  The women restrained him and the man gave him another injection. That was when he thought he had died ... but he hadn't. And while he struggled in vain to move, even to breathe, as he felt his heart slow down, the man stared into their eyes and told them the story of their camping trip to Witch Falls. He told them that Greg had fall
en into the water and drowned.

  ''My God," he whispered, turning to face Minerva and Paul. ''It was Dashwood."

  "What?" Paul asked, without taking his eyes from the gatepost gargoyles.

  ''I know how to find the basement."

  Minerva stared at the sky. "It's late. They may have already moved your son. John, check the basement, but be careful. And quick. Paul and I will go to the chapel and prepare for what will come at midnight. Meet us on the north side as soon as you can."

  He nodded, then drew his pistol and ran toward the school building.

  One hundred-nine

  His duty as bridegroom-in-effigy long completed, Richard Dashwood had gone into a small anteroom located behind the chancel of the chapel, to prepare himself for the midnight ceremony. In the chapel, the women continued to build power through the sacred chants, power that would be channeled through him at midnight, when be called the Beast into this world.

  His timing had been off in regard to Kelly Reed. When he was forced to break off the revenant contact to initiate the novice, he had known Kelly was near the abbey, but now he had neither the time nor the energy to search her out. The other girl would serve in her stead, and after the ceremonies, he would track the Reed girl down and dispose of her. He smiled to himself. He would bring her to Lucy and they would take their time killing her; that would give the Mother Superior great pleasure.

  He sipped brandy from a snifter and closed his eyes, reliving the taking of the novice; then someone rapped urgently on the door. He looked around, but before he could ask who it was, the door opened and Sister Regina peered in, her face a pale mask of worry.

  ''What is it, Sister?"

  "Doctor, it's the boy."

  ''Come in and shut the door." He set the snifter down and gazed at her as she stood before him. ''What about the boy?"