The Pariah

by Graham Masterton

  ‘It’s a simple enough thing to do if you have the power,’ she said, but she wasn’t smiling.

  ‘But the spirits are in the house now, and they feel unsettled.’

  ‘Is there anything you can do?’

  ‘I can dismiss them for now; just for one night. That’s if the Fleshless One hasn’t increased his influence very much more than usual.’

  ‘In that case, please dismiss them. It’ll be a change to get a night’s sleep that isn’t disturbed by walking apparitions.’

  Anne stood up. ‘Do you have any candles?’ she asked me. ‘I shall also want a bowl of water.’

  ‘Surely,’ I said, and went into the kitchen to fetch what she wanted. As I crossed the hallway, I was conscious of the coldness and the restlessness of unhallowed spirits, and even the clock seemed to be ticking differently, almost as if it were ticking backwards.

  There was a dim flickering light under the library door, but the last thing in the world I was going to do was open it.

  I brought Anne back two heavy brass candlesticks, complete with bright blue candles, and a copper mixing-bowl half-filled with water. She set them down in front of the fire, one candle on each side and the bowl in between. She made a sign over each of them, not the sign of the cross, but some other, more complicated sign, like a pentacle. She bent her head and whispered a lengthy chant, of which I could hear almost nothing except the repeated chorus.

  ‘Dream not, wake not, say not, hear not; Weep not, walk not, speak not, fear not.’

  After the chant was finished, she remained with her head bent for three or four minutes, praying or chanting in silence. Then she turned to me abruptly and said, ‘I shall have to be naked. You don’t mind that, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not. I mean, no, why not? Go ahead.’

  She tugged off her black sweater, revealing thin arms, a narrow chest, and small dark-nippled breasts. Then she unbuckled her belt and stepped out of her black corduroy jeans. She was very slim, very boyish; her dark hair swung right down to the middle of her back, and when she turned around and faced me I saw that her sex was shaved completely bare. A beautiful but very strange girl. There were silver bands around her ankles and silver rings on every toe. She raised her arms, completely composed and unembarrassed, and said, ‘Now we shall see who has the greater power. Those poor lost spirits, or me.’

  She knelt down in front of the candles and the bowl of water, and lit the candles with a sputtering piece of kindling from the fire. ‘I can’t use matches: there mustn’t be any sulphur in the flame.’ I watched in fascination as she bent forward and stared at her own reflection in the bowl of water, holding her hair back with her hands.

  ‘All you who seek to penetrate the mirror here, turn back,’ she said, in a sing-song tone.

  ‘All you who try to cross again the borders of the region of the dead, go back. Tonight you must rest. Tonight you must sleep. There will be other times, other places; but tonight you must think on what you are, and turn away from the mirror which leads to the life you knew.’

  The cottage became quiet, as quiet as it had last night. All I could hear was that odd backward-sounding ticking of the long-case clock, and the fizzing sound of the candles as they burned into their bright blue wax.

  Anne stayed where she was, bent over, her breasts pressed against her thighs, staring into the copper bowl. She wasn’t saying anything, but she gave no indication that the working of this particular wonder was over yet; nor that it was going to be successful.

  To my amazement, the water in the bowl began to bubble a little, and steam, and then to boil. Anne sat up straight, her arms crossed over her chest, and closed her eyes. ‘Go back,’ she whispered. ‘Do not try to penetrate the mirror tonight. Go back, and rest.’

  The water in the bowl boiled even more noisily, and I stared at it in disbelief. Anne knelt where she was, her eyes tight closed, and I could see tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead, and on her upper lip. Whatever she was doing, it obviously needed enormous effort and intense concentration.

  ‘Go … back,’ she whispered, as if it was a struggle to get the words out. ‘Do not cross

  … do not cross …’

  It was then that I began to get the feeling that she was involved in a struggle with something or someone, and that she was losing. I watched her anxiously as she began to quiver and shake, and the sweat ran down her cheeks and runnelled between her breasts. Her thighs quaked as if she was being prodded with an electric goad, and she started to give little involuntary spasms and jumps.

  The living-room door opened again, just a fraction; and again that coldness began to course through the room. The fire cowered down amongst its ashes, and the candles guttered and blew. In the bowl, the water went off the boil, and as suddenly as it had bubbled, began to form on its surface a thin skin of ice.

  ‘Anne,’ I said, urgently. ‘Anne, what’s happening? Anne!’

  But Anne could not reply. She had lost control of whatever mental wrestling-match she was involved in; yet obviously she didn’t dare to break her concentration or release her hold, in case she would suddenly free the beast with which she was struggling. She was still sweating and shivering, and every now and then she let out a little gasp of strain.

  The living-room door opened wider. There, in her funeral robes, stood Jane. Her face was different now, ghastlier, as if decay had begun to set in. Her eyes were wide and staring, and her teeth were drawn back in a grisly grin.

  ‘Jane!’ I shouted. ‘Jane, leave her alone, for God’s sake! I’ll do what you want! You know that I’ll do what you want! But leave her alone!’

  Jane didn’t seem to hear me. She came gliding into the room, her white funeral robes swayed by the chilly wind, and stood only a few feet away from us, her eyes still staring, her grin just as skeletal and horrifying. I prayed to God that she wouldn’t do to Anne Putnam what she had done to Constance, her own mother.

  ‘Jane, listen,’ I said, trying to sound reasonable. ‘Please, Jane. Just leave her alone and I’ll get her out of here. She was only trying to help me. You know that I’ll do what you want. I promise you, Jane. But leave her alone, please.’

  Jane lifted both her arms. As she did so, Anne was lifted up, so that she was standing, her knees slightly bent, her eyes still closed, shaking and trembling as she tried to break free of the influence that gripped her. She looked as if she were being held up by two invisible helpers.

  ‘Leave her, Jane,’ I begged. ‘Jane, for God’s sake, don’t hurt her.’

  Jane made a circling motion with her hand. Without a sound, Anne rotated in the air until she was upside-down, her feet nearly touching the ceiling, her dark hair spread out on the carpet beneath. I watched in frightened silence. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop whatever was going to happen now. Jane was proving to be a fatally jealous bride; a bride who would take her revenge on any woman who came near me.

  The cold wind blew up more ashes from the fire. Jane stretched out her arms, and, in response, Anne’s legs were opened wide, so wide that I heard the tendons crack, and her naked sex was exposed. She was suspended there in front of me, in inverted splits, her body slippery with sweat, her eyes tight closed, her teeth grimly clamped together.

  Jane stretched out her arms again, and Anne’s arms stretched out, too. There were two inches of clear space between the top of Anne’s head and the floor, although because of the length of the hair, it looked as if she were somehow balancing supernaturally on her braids.

  ‘Jane, please,’ I said, but Jane didn’t even turn and look at me.

  Slowly, Jane described a curve in the air with her hands; and equally slowly, Anne’s body was bent back in midair. Anne grunted with effort and pain, struggling as hard as she could to resist the force that was attempting to snap her spine, but I could tell that it was no use. The power of the Fleshless One was comparatively weak, but it was strong enough to overwhelm one of its own witches.

  I heard another crack, a
s a cartilage broke in Anne’s left knee. She said, ‘Aaahf and grimaced, but she was reserving all her energy for fighting against her demonic master.

  ‘Jane!’ I shouted. I got to my feet, but instantly I was hurled back by a force as powerful as a truck. I hit my head against the side of the chair, and stumbled over the clashing fire-irons; but then I scrambled up to my feet again and yelled, ‘Jane!’

  Jane ignored me. In utter helplessness, I saw Anne’s back being bent over as if she were being forced over a barrel, or the back of a chair. The veins stood out on her narrow hips, and her neck tendons were swollen with effort.

  ‘God, you’re going to kill her!’ I screamed. ‘Mictantecutli! Stop it! Mictantecutli!

  There was a strange shimmering sound, like the blade of a saw being wobbled. Jane raised her eyes and stared at me; and her face wasn’t Jane’s face at all, it was the skeletal face of an ancient demon, the fleshless creature which David Dark had stolen from the Aztec magicians. Mictantecutli, the lord of Mictlampa, the prince of the region of the dead.

  ‘Don’t kill her,’ I said. I could feel the sweat chilling under my armpits. ‘She was only trying to protect me, that’s all .’

  ‘She is my servant. I shall do whatever I wish with her.’

  ‘I’m asking you not to kill her.’

  There was a long pause. Jane looked at Anne’s naked suspended body, and then reached out with her palm facing downwards. Anne slowly sank to the floor, and lay on the carpet shaking and panting, and holding her hand to her back in an attempt to ease the pain.

  I started to kneel down beside her, but Jane said, ‘Stay where you are. I offer you no guarantees of my handmaiden’s life. First, you must promise that you will serve me; and that you will accept the bargain which I proposed to you. Help your friends to raise me from the waters, and then set me free. Your wife and son will be returned to you, and your wife’s mother, too; and you shall remain invulnerable from harm. ‘

  ‘How can I be sure that I can trust you?’

  ‘You can never be sure. It is a risk that you will have to accept. ‘

  ‘Supposing I say no?’

  ‘Then I will break this girl’s back.’

  I glanced down at Anne. She was lying flat on her back now, her hands held over her face as she tried to contain the agony she was feeling in her back and her thighs.

  The point was, I had already been considering the possibility of letting Mictantecutli free; I had already been tempted by the offer of having Jane restored to me, so what difference would it make if I actually said yes? It would save Anne; it would bring back all the people I loved; and who knew, the consequences might not really be so bad. If Mictantecutli had reigned unchecked before the days of David Dark and Esau Hasket, what difference would it make if it reigned again now? As Mictantecutli itself had told me yesterday, it was part of the order of the universe, just as the sun was, and the planets, and God Himself.

  Anne whispered, ‘John … don’t agree to anything. Please.’

  Instantly, her arm was twisted right around behind her back, so violently that her wrist was snapped. She screamed out in pain, but the demonic force wouldn’t release her, and deliberately pressed her body down so that her own shoulder-blade rubbed against her fractured bones. She screamed and screamed, writhing and thrashing, but Mictantecutli wouldn’t let her go.

  ‘Stop!’ I yelled at Jane. ‘Stop, I’ll do it!’

  Gradually, the pressure on Anne’s body was relieved. I knelt down and helped her to ease her arm out from under her back, and rest it gently on her stomach. Her wrist was swollen and misshapen, and I could hear the broken bones grating against each other under the skin. Jane watched over us, smiling malevolently.

  ‘You have made a binding promise,’ she told me, in her own voice. ‘You must keep your promise faithfully, or believe me, you will be cursed forever; and all your heirs will be cursed forever; and anyone who ever knew you will regret the day they first saw you.

  You will be blighted for all time; you will never know peace. I have my mark on you now; you have freely bargained with me; and whatever rewards and punishments are due, you will surely receive them in the fullest measure.’

  I got to my feet. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. ‘Mictantecutli, I want you to go now. Leave us in peace. I’ve agreed to do what you want, now just get out of here.’

  Jane smiled, and began to fade. I looked down to make sure that Anne was all right, and when I looked back, Jane had disappeared altogether. The door, however, remained open; and the draught that blew through it was as cold and unrelenting as ever.

  Anne said, ‘You shouldn’t have done that. It would have been better for me to die.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I said. ‘Here, I’ll help you up on to the sofa, then I’ll call the doctor.’

  ‘God, my wrist,’ she winced.

  ‘God?’ I said, wearily. ‘God doesn’t seem to be helping us much.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Next day, the wind dropped and the sun came out, and I changed my mind about accompanying Edward and Forrest and Jimmy on their search for the wreck of the David Dark. We left Pickering Wharf Marina a little after eight-thirty in the morning, on a rather smarter launch than the Alexis which Forrest had persuaded a lawyer friend of his to lend us for the day. Her name was Diogenes, which considering she belonged to a lawyer was pretty ironic.

  It was cold but calm out in the harbour. I wore a quilted anorak and a peaked denim cap and a pair of orange-tinted sunglasses. Gilly wore a thick red knitted jacket and matching ski-hat, with tight stretch designer jeans, and I think she looked sexier then than at any time since I had met her; and I told her so.

  She kissed me on the tip of my cold nose. ‘Just for that, you can take me out for dinner tonight,’ she told me. Edward watched us balefully from the other side of the launch.

  ‘You’re not scared of ghostly retribution?’ I asked her.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe I let my emotions run away with me. Anyway, a ghost is hardly likely to attack us for eating together, is it?’

  ‘That’s all you’ve got in mind?’

  ‘Sure,’ she grinned. ‘What have you got in mind?’

  The advantage of borrowing the Diogenes was that she was fitted with a Decca navigation system; and so Dan Bass was able to steer us right on to the spot that Duglass Evelith had pinpointed as the place where the David Dark’s sole survivor had found himself swimming in the ocean.

  Dan said, ‘It’s more than likely that there was quite a time-lapse in between the moment when the ship sank and the moment when the sailor was able to assess his position; so let’s assume that the wreck is probably upwind of here; or upwind in relation to the wind that must have been blowing at the time. We’ll drop a buoy here, to use as a datum point, but I think we should search in a box towards the north-east, maybe a half-mile square.’

  So we began the long and tedious business of a parallel search. Dan and Edward had put together an impressive partnership of sonar scanners, similar to the equipment that had been used to locate the wreck of the Mary Rose. There was a side-scanner, housed in a torpedo-shaped drogue, which could simultaneously search the surface of the sea-bed for 500 feet both to port and to starboard; and a very powerful and high-quality echo-sounder which not only mapped the ocean floor but the underlying layers of sediment beneath it.

  Once you knew roughly where to look, this combination of scanners was remarkably effective. In 1967, a namesake of Dan’s, Dr George Bass, had found in two mornings a visible Roman wreck which nobody had been able to locate before, not even after a whole month of searching with underwater television cameras. Even when they were searching for the Mary Rose in the muddy depths of the Solent, Alexander McKee and his companions had located the wreck after only four days of scanning.

  Edward came up and stood beside me as the drogue was trailed overboard. ‘Any luck with your father-in-law?’ he asked me.

  ‘I haven’t s
poken to him since the weekend,’ I said.

  ‘We’re going to need some money urgently once we locate this wreck.’

  ‘Can’t we just bring up the copper vessel?’ I asked him. ‘Surely that wouldn’t be too expensive.’

  ‘The copper vessel is only part of it,’ said Edward. ‘Do you realize what’s down there? A late 17th-century ship, most of it intact, if the Mary Rose experience is anything to go by. It’s not just the copper vessel we want, it’s the whole thing, the whole environment.

  There could be all kinds of artifacts down there that will tell us how they intended to dispose of Mictantecutli, and who was on board the ship, and how they managed to keep the demon incarcerated. If we bring up the copper vessel and nothing else, we’ll only get a quarter of the story; and, besides, I’m afraid that once the location of the wreck becomes public knowledge, there’s a high risk of it being pillaged by souvenir-hunters. But, we’ll get Mictantecutli up just as quickly as we possibly can.’

  He was right about the souvenir-hunters, of course. Even while we were doing nothing more than burbling gently up and down, two or three boats approached us and asked us what we were looking for. ‘Any treasure down there?’ one of the boat-men shouted; and he wasn’t joking. Amateur divers would risk their lives to bring up a piece of carving from a sunken schooner; or a rusty fowling-piece; or a few roughly-minted coins. Dan Bass cal ed back that we were looking for a friend’s powerboat, which had accidentally flooded and sunk. The boat waited around for a while, until the owners decided that we weren’t doing anything particularly interesting, and roared off.

  We ate a picnic lunch of spiced chicken and fish enchiladas out on deck, washed down with a couple of bottles of California wine. Then we resumed the search, cruising up and down in 100-foot swathes; up to the line of the datum buoy, and then back again. The wind began to rise a little, and the Diogenes began to dip and rise in a way which played unsettling games with my lunch. Gilly-said, ‘This could take days. The bottom of the sea is flat as a pancake around here.’