To the Devil, a Daughter

by Dennis Wheatley

‘Hard luck, Mother,’ John muttered, but they did not stop to argue with her. Every moment was now vital, and having brought her with them had already cost them most of the gain they might have made on the Satanists through having nothing to carry.

  Below the terrace they struck another path, which Number Two told them was a smugglers’ track, centuries old, leading in a dead straight line over the mountains to a point on the Rhine only forty kilometres from Strasbourg. John asked him then if he could tell them anything about the interior of the cave, and he replied: ‘Yes; I went down into it once as a boy. When one is older one has no stomach for such places, but youngsters have no fear of them. The air in it is good; so those who made it must have provided some system of ventilation, and it is always bone dry in there. As far as I recall it, from the entrance there is a sheer drop of about six metres. At the bottom one finds a flat space and a few shallow steps; then comes a steep slope downwards for some fifty metres. Where it ends there are three passages. Two of them are culs-de-sac, but I cannot remember which. The third is roughly ninety metres long and runs back under the hill here. At its end is what is called the sacrificial chamber.’

  Still panting and stumbling, they advanced among the rocks until they were within forty feet of the pyramid. No one was on guard near it, and after the constant rustling made by their feet their coming to a halt brought a sudden eerie silence. They could see now by the moonlight that it was built with small uneven pieces of stone fitted skilfully together, and must originally have been about twenty feet in height; but its point and uppermost six feet of stones had been broken away, leaving it truncated, with its top an irregular platform. Its base was about thirty feet square and the side they were facing curved slightly inward to disappear into a black, gaping hole.

  ‘Here, Messieurs, we will leave you,’ said Number One. ‘It remains only for us to wish you good fortune.’

  ‘Come with us,’ said Beddows in his atrocious French. ‘I’ll make it well worth your while. I’ll pay you a hundred thousand francs apiece to come in with us.’

  ‘I would not for a million, Monsieur,’ replied Number One quickly; while Number Two shook his head, crossed himself and muttered, ‘We have only our suspicions of what has led thirteen people to go down there together tonight; but that is enough. I wish to die shriven; not of a fit from coming face to face with the Devil.’

  Seeing that it would be useless to attempt to persuade them to change their minds John said, ‘Then pray for us, please.’

  ‘We will, Monsieur! We will!’ they answered readily. Then both of them swung about and hastened away, taking a much more precipitous route across rocks between which no path could be seen.

  Within a few moments John and Beddows reached the pyramid. Beside it lay the two stretchers. At its base yawned the big hole, about ten feet in length, four feet across and roughly oval in shape. Dug firmly into its nearest lip were two strong steel hooks, and, suspended from them, the upper few feet of a rope ladder could be faintly discerned. Below that lay impenetrable darkness.

  John shone his torch, and they could then see the bottom of the ladder trailing loose on a rough floor of stone twenty feet down. He was about to get on his knees when Beddows pushed him aside and said gruffly: ‘You keep your torch on. I got the girl into this; so I’m going first. Pray God we’ll be in time, and that we manage to get her out.’

  All day he had walked with a stoop, and shown signs of the new feebleness that had descended on him; but he seemed to have managed the climb up the hill without suffering the exhaustion one might have expected, and now both his voice and movements gave evidence of a sudden return of rugged strength.

  Swinging himself over the edge, he got his feet on one of the rungs of the ladder and began to descend. John held the torch steady and took a quick look at his watch. Having been handicapped by Molly, the two-mile climb had taken them a full three-quarters of an hour. The margin left them was now reduced to a bare thirteen minutes. His heart began to hammer wildly.

  The instant Beddows reached the floor of the shaft John followed him down. Each holding his truncheon in his right hand and torch in his left they went forward. There were five shallow steps, then came the long steep slope leading into the bowels of the earth. As they slithered down it both were thinking of the countless gruesome companies of priests and victims which must have preceded them along it. For perhaps as much as ten thousand years, to mark the changing seasons, youths and maidens selected for their strength and beauty had been dragged down that slope by brutal witchdoctors and demon-ridden magicians; so that, by the infliction of a horrible death, their blood might appease Satan in the form of many monstrous, evil gods.

  At the bottom of the slope they came upon the big trunk in which Christina had been brought there, and the packing-case—now empty but for great masses of cotton-wool that had been used to protect the glass jar containing the homunculus. Beside them were several suitcases, a pile of cloaks and several soft hats. Quickly now, they ran down the nearest passage. It was only four feet wide and after about thirty paces they found that it ended in a blank wall. Hurrying back, they tried the next. Some eighty feet from its entrance it curved slightly and in the distance they suddenly saw a faint light. Beddows was still leading and again broke into a run. John tapped him sharply on the shoulder and whispered urgently: ‘For God’s sake go easy! Our only chance is to surprise them! Put out your torch, and make as little noise as possible.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Beddows whispered back, and he dropped into a swift padding trot.

  When they had covered another hundred feet, they could see a part of the chamber. It was lit only by a red glow from a brazier that was burning in its centre. Grotesque shadows were thrown up by people congregated round it. The murmur of voices reached them, and a thin discordant music, like a violin string being twanged at random, helped to cover the noise of their approach. On tip-toe now, they advanced another sixty feet. As they did so they were able to make out more clearly what was going on in the temple. Only its central section, framed in the four-feet-wide and six-feet-high doorway, was visible to them; but that was enough for them to see that the ritual had already started.

  The Canon was standing with his back to them, intoning Hebrew from a large book. On either side of him stood another man. One of them was making the discordant music on a stringed instrument; the other was swinging a censer to and fro, from which issued wisps of evil-smelling smoke. All three were clad in Satanic vestments in which they must have come to the cave, wearing over them the cast-off cloaks that had been left in the little chamber where the long slope ended. Facing them stood Christina.

  With the Canon practically blocking the line of vision it was difficult to catch more than glimpses of her from the passage; but John and Beddows could see that her eyes were closed and that she appeared to be fully dressed still. Turned towards her on either side, two women were holding her arms, but she looked as if she was standing without their support. Her hair was tousled, an ugly bruise disfigured one of her cheeks and she had a cut lip, from which a trickle of blood was running. The other members of this evil congregation were shut off from sight by the sides of the passage, as was also the jar containing the homunculus.

  Beddows now had less than forty feet to go to reach the doorway. He had taken four more swift, cautious paces when the Canon stopped intoning and closed his book. Christina opened her eyes. Over the Canon’s shoulder she saw her father, his face now lit by the glow from the brazier, advancing towards the entrance to the chamber. The mingled emotions of shock and hope proved too much for her. Unable to control herself, she let out a sudden scream.

  As though they had been waiting for some such signal, Beddows and John rushed in. Brandishing their cudgels, they raced down the last thirty feet of passage and fell upon the Satanists. Taken completely by surprise, the devilish crew were seized by panic and cowered into groups for mutual protection. Beddows cracked in the head of one, and John delivered a swipe which smashed the fac
e of another. Christina broke free from the two women, and threw the smaller of them to the floor.

  For a moment it looked as if the champions of Light were to be granted an easy triumph; but only for a moment. Beddows felled another man with a glancing blow, but a black-haired woman with feverish eyes threw herself upon him like a tiger cat. Burying her teeth in his chin, she flung her arms about him, rendering abortive his further attempts to strike out. John’s truncheon came whizzing down on a fourth man’s shoulder, causing him to reel away with a scream of pain; but next second his arm was seized and he was flung back against the wall.

  In two groups the remaining Satanists then hurled themselves on the intruders and bore them kicking to the ground. By then Christina had smashed her fist into the face of the second woman who had been holding her, and made a dash for the doorway; but there she was caught and dragged back by the Canon.

  After some few moments of confusion a semblance of order was restored. Two of the Devil’s congregation lay senseless and three others were groaning from their injuries; but eight remained unharmed, and between them they now held John, Beddows and Christina with their arms firmly grasped behind their backs. Still panting, and slobbering with rage, the Canon addressed his evil flock.

  ‘Brothers and Sisters in Satan! Do not for one moment allow this interruption to our ceremony to lessen your faith in the protection of our Master. That some of our number should have been injured is most regrettable; but Prince Lucifer must have willed it so. I know these men. One is the girl Ellen’s father and the other her would-be lover. Take notice that they come here alone, unsupported by the slaves of the Christian Law. They have been sent here and given into our hands for a purpose. Beyond doubt it is the Proud One’s intention that they should witness the sacrifice, and be made fully aware of His greatness by also witnessing the miracle which will follow from it. Afterwards they too shall know the coldness of the altar slab upon their bare backs and feel the sharpness of the sacrificial knife as it cuts through their throats. But we have not a moment to lose. Temporarily we must ignore the hurts of our brethren. The fateful hour approaches. We must allow nothing to prevent us from completing the ritual while the woman’s birth star is at the zenith. The time has come to strip her.’

  At this clarion call new heart entered into the Satanists. The men had nothing handy with which to bind John and Beddows; so they forced them to their knees and held them there. The women fell upon Christina like a pack of furies. She struggled wildly, until one of them hit her a savage blow under the chin, rendering her half unconscious. But, even then, instead of removing her clothes garment by garment they tore them from her body shred by shred, till she stood swaying among them stark naked except for her shoes and stockings.

  Beddows was giving vent to an unending flow of curses. John ground his teeth in silent agony. He knew now that their hope of saving Christina was gone. They had made their last desperate bid and failed. He tried to pray, but the words would not come.

  Christina, still struggling, was forced back against the altar and stretched out upon it. John could see her long, silk-stockinged legs dangling over the right-hand end of the altar, her well-rounded thighs and flat belly; but he could not see the upper half of her body or her face, as they were hidden from him by one of the acolytes. The Canon again began to recite, this time in Latin, saying the Mass backwards. Parodying the motions of a priest, he bobbed and gestured to his assistants, who from time to time made hoarse responses to his muttering. A chalice was produced and Copely-Syle urinated in it, then stood it on Christina’s stomach. Again he muttered feverishly and genuflected several times while breaking Holy wafers, stolen from some church, into it. Then he picked it up and carried it to each member of the congregation in turn, for them to sup up some of the horrid, sodden mess.

  As he reached the men who were holding Beddows, they relaxed their grip on him slightly, and he strove desperately to knock the chalice from Copely-Syle’s hands; but the Canon managed to protect his vile sacrament and enable Beddows’ captors to partake of it. When all the members of his coven, except the two who were still unconscious, had done so, he carried it back to the altar, held it above Christina and swallowed what remained himself.

  Setting the chalice down, he took from one of his assistants a small metal box that appeared to contain soot, and dipping his finger in it began to draw black symbols on each of Christina’s limbs. As he did so he chanted unintelligible words in a high, excited voice. The sweat was now pouring down his flabby face and, as he proceeded with this new ritual, a frenzy seized upon his congregation. They gave vent to hideous animal noises, and those who were free to do so pulled up their robes, exposing themselves.

  With distended eyes John stared at the frightful spectacle being enacted before him. Already he had become vaguely conscious that some of the faces about him were familiar. Suddenly he realised where he had seen them before. Ten of them were those of the party who had flown out with him from Northolt that morning. Before leaving England the previous afternoon the Canon must have sent an S.O.S to ten of the leading Satanists of Britain to join him in Nice for the ceremony. The mention of a wedding he had overheard must have been a covert reference to the spiritual union of Christina with the homunculus. He could only guess that the two others, making up the coven of thirteen, were French Satanists who had selected the Cave of the Bats as an appropriate setting for this unholy marriage.

  John’s distraught glance switched to the homunculus. He had been given a description of it by C.B., but had never seen it. The big glass jar that contained it had been placed by the left-hand end of a low altar, hewn from the living rock, at the far end of the small chamber. In the jar the squat, repulsive travesty of a female figure undulated gently, its arms and legs moving with the same apparent aimlessness as the tentacles of an octopus. Slowly the red-rimmed eyes swivelled from side to side, while the mouth opened and shut with a fish-like motion. As John gazed at it his flesh began to creep, and he felt that for sheer unadulterated filthiness the reality utterly beggared the description.

  Suddenly the ritual of the symbols ended. The acolytes threw themselves on Christina, hauled her, now only half conscious, from the altar and stood her upright. One of the women near her produced a sack-like robe with strange designs upon it. The garment was thrown over her and her arms were then pulled through slits in its sides. Another of the witches put a pointed fool’s cap on her head and tied it there by a ribbon beneath her chin. Into John’s mind came a picture of heretics on their way to the stake, to be burnt at the order of the Spanish Inquisition. The costume was evidently designed with the same intent, but had the symbols of the Devil instead of those of Christ figured upon it. A third witch tied Christina’s hands in front of her with a strip from her torn dress. Next moment the three of them had flung her down again on her back along the altar. Her head now rested on the top of the jar that held the homunculus. The black-haired witch removed its big round stopper. Sick with horror, John closed his eyes and again strove to pray.

  When he opened them the Canon had begun another incantation. In a frenzy of excitement he mouthed and postured, while the witches held Christina down. The congregation screamed responses. Beddows shouted and cursed, and strove to break away; but he could not get up from his knees or shake off the men who held him. The Canon drew a long curved knife from his girdle and waved it aloft. Breaking into English he shrieked in a high falsetto: ‘The hour has come! The great hour has come! I, Augustus Copely-Syle, Prince of the Bats and High Priest of the Lord Satan, by this act give a soul to my creation.’

  ‘Stop!’ John’s yell cut through the hideous din. ‘Stop, I say! Your ceremony is useless. She is no longer a virgin! I took her virginity that night we were together on the Ile de Port Cros.’

  A sudden deathly silence descended on the vaulted chamber. The Canon swung upon him, his face livid with ungovernable fury.

  ‘It is not true!’ he gasped. ‘It cannot be true.’

  ‘It i
s! I swear it!’ cried John desperately.

  Copely-Syle’s eyes bulged, and he groaned. For a moment he remained silent and motionless, then he muttered, ‘Oh, I feared it! I feared it from the moment I saw you with her in the Casino!’

  Again, for the space of a dozen heart-beats, he stood glaring but seemingly paralysed. It was Beddows who broke the spell by suddenly emitting a harsh, unnatural laugh.

  It seemed to electrify the Canon. With blazing eyes he leapt towards John, brandishing the knife on high and screaming, ‘My life-work is ruined. I will cut out your heart. I will cut out your heart!’

  The knife cleaved the air with a swish. It was aimed at John’s neck above the collar-bone. Another second and it would have cleaved his jugular vein. Of the two men holding him on his knees one was the tall, gaunt-faced individual who had come from Scotland. At the penultimate instant he struck the blade aside and cried: ‘No, Prince of the Bats, no! You cannot sully the sacred knife dedicated to the sacrifice of offerings on the altar. Do your will upon him, but not in blind anger. We are not here to witness common murder. I demand that he be sacrificed in due form, so that his blood may mingle with hers and the altar be deprived of neither.’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ chorused the others, and the squint-eyed witch who had also come from Scotland screamed above the rest, ‘But the woman first. She is ready for you, and we are waiting.’

  Slowly Copely-Syle turned about. His anger seemed suddenly to have drained from him, and he muttered to himself, ‘The incantation may yet work. It is her birth hour and she is twenty-one.’

  Again he approached the altar, and this time raised his knife with quiet deliberation. John felt as if his heart was about to burst from impotence and distress. For a moment hope had sprung wildly in his breast, but now he knew that final defeat was rushing upon him. Only seconds of life remained to Christina.

  Suddenly, on an unbidden impulse, he found himself shouting with all the power of his lungs, ‘Christina, darling! I love you! I love you!’