"Oh, of course I do," he said quickly, and then added, "if by that you mean people who practice witchcraft."
She was puzzled. "'Tis one and the same, is it not?"
"Yes, but I wish to make this very clear. There are indeed people who believe that they have magical powers, and these people are called witches. But that does not mean, of course, that they actually do have such powers. Such beliefs are holdovers from a different age, an age of credulity and ignorance, superstition and fear. Such beliefs are atavisms, like, oh, like a tail on a newborn baby."
"I see," she said easily. "And so when I say to you that I am a witch, and that my master, the Devil, has given me powers in exchange for my worship, you say this is untrue?'
Eisenmann laughed. "Miss Jenkins, I do not wish to offend you, but of course it is untrue! You seem to expect people to hold unscientific beliefs in a scientific age!" He leaned forward and said earnestly, "Listen to me, miss. Beliefs in magic and sorcery and devils and demons and all of that arose in human civilization because people in prescientific societies could not understand the processes of nature, could not manipulate nature as we can today by the uses of technology—which is, of course, merely applied science and they thus sought for explanations of things which they could not understand. This is the origin of the belief in supernatural powers."
"Hmmm." She smiled, pretending to consider his point. "And so there have never been true magicians or true wizards or witches? The tales are untrue that are told of Merlin, and Thomas the Rhymer, and old Tam Lin?"
"Well, of course, there was a thirteenth-century Scottish poet named Thomas the Rhymer, but the nonsense about him running off with the queen of the elves?—Untrue, of course. As for Merlin, merely a late medieval addition to the Arthurian legends, without basis in fact. And Tam Lin is just an old story." He paused for a moment, and then added, "Of course, there were people like the alchemists and the astrologers who, without realizing it, were beginning to discover some natural laws back in the Dark Ages. Such people may have been popularly regarded as sorcerers, may even have thought of themselves as sorcerers. But that was because of the time, not because of any magical powers." He laughed and turned to the audience. "For example, I'm sure that most of us here today know how to drive an automobile. But imagine what would be the reaction in, say, ninth-century Ireland if an automobile came driving down the road." Laughter from the audience. "You see? This is where superstition begins, with people trying to explain things which they do not understand."
"Do you believe in God?" Gwendolyn asked.
"I believe that there is a creative intelligence to the universe," Eisenmann replied, "but I am not wed to any particular religious perspective. I believe that all of man's faiths hold elements of truth which point beyond to an even greater truth which we as yet cannot understand."
"But how then can you believe in God and not believe in the Devil?" she asked. "And if you believe that God has power to answer prayer, how can you not believe that Satan has power to answer prayer?"
He giggled nervously. "Excuse me, miss, but I think you are deliberately misunderstanding me. I do not believe in the orthodox Jewish, Christian, Moslem idea of the heavenly patriarch. I am much more attracted to the Hindu or Buddhist concept of deity as universal mind. I do not believe in prayer, to anyone or anything!"
She nodded understandingly. "I see, I see. So you are saying that my belief in Satan differs not from someone else's belief in Christ, correct? Both are mere superstitions, correct?"
Eisenmann coughed uneasily, and Simon thought, Good, Gwen, good! Get him to equate Satanism with Christianity, and we've scored a point against him!
But before Eisenmann could reply, Gwendolyn said, "But enough. 'Tis of no importance."
NO, Simon shouted inwardly, NO! LET HIM ANSWER THE QUESTION!
"I merely wish to make certain that you are quite secure in your beliefs," she went on. "You are absolutely certain that there are no such things as real magical powers? The spells which are cast upon people by witches, these too are superstitions?"
"Well," Eisenmann said, grateful for a change of subject, "if you believe that you have powers, and I believe that you have powers, and you then cast a spell on me, the spell might work in that I convince myself that it is working." Eisenmann fiddled with his bow tie and turned to Percy Campbell. "For example, the Australian aborigines believe that you can sing a man to death by pointing a hollow tube at him and singing a death song through the tube. There is at least one recorded, documented instance of this actually happening, but of course it was the man's belief that he could be killed in this manner which caused him to die."
Gwendolyn smiled. "And you, of course, hold no such belief."
"Of course not!" he laughed.
"So that were I to cast a spell upon you, it would be without effect?"
Eisenmann laughed again. "Really, Miss Jenkins. I am quite certain that so attractive a young woman as yourself can cast many effective spells upon members of the male sex." A few laughs from the audience.
Gwendolyn nodded her appreciation at the compliment and then said, "I am quite serious, good sir. Are your convictions so firmly founded that you could be subjected to a spell, a death spell, say, and not be made nervous by it?"
"Of course," he replied jovially. "I have no superstitions."
She leaned back in her seat. "Then let us conduct an experiment, Professor Eisenmann, right here and right now. I shall cast a spell upon you, and we shall see what happens. Is this agreeable to you? And to you, Mr. Campbell?"
Percy Campbell was attempting to repress a grin. What a great segment this is gonna make! he was thinking. "It's fine with me, if it's okay with you, Professor."
Eisenmann smiled and waved his hand as if to dispel any doubt. "Feel free to do your worst, Miss Jenkins."
The time element, Simon was thinking. Don't forget to say that the spell will take a while to work. As Gwendolyn reached down for the black leather bag and seemed to have forgotten this important point, Simon decided to remind her obliquely. "The spell you shall cast, my dear," he intoned ominously. "How long will it take before the effects become evident?"
She looked up at him with amusement as she opened the bag. She knew exactly why he had asked that, and she knew exactly what he expected her to say. "The effects," she said, grinning at him, "will be immediate."
Simon stared at her numbly, unable to believe what he had just heard. "What did—? I mean, the effects—the effects will take a few—"
She stood up. "The effects will be immediate, my dear Simon." She turned from his astounded and infuriated face and said to Campbell, "May I use your desk, Mr. Campbell? And may I ask that the lamps be dimmed?"
"Oh, yes, certainly," Percy Campbell said, standing and moving away from his desk. "Jake, you wanna cut the houselights?" he called out.
I don't believe this, Rowena thought glumly as she watched the woman on the stage begin to draw materials out of the leather bag. Did Daddy know she was gonna do something this stupid? Good grief!
Jeremy leaned over and whispered, "Isn't this wild?"
"This is sick," she whispered back. "That woman is nuts! At least Daddy knows that all of this stuff is just make-believe." She shook her head. "She's crazy!"
Gwendolyn Jenkins took a small candle from the bag and placed it upon the desk top. Then she took a small vial of thick, brown liquid and set it beside the candle. She looked at Simon and said, "A flame, please?"
Simon rose from his seat and took a pack of matches from his pocket. He struck a match and as he applied it to the wick he leaned close to Gwendolyn and whispered, so low that the boom mike could not pick it up, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"Hush, my love," she said calmly. "Sit, and behold." He had no choice but to resume his seat and hope that he was not watching the beginning of the end of his career. I knew I shouldn't have come back on this show, he thought. I just knew it! Whatever possessed me to think that I could make up for the last
time this way? Simon sighed and shook his head.
Gwendolyn continued her preparations. The houselights dimmed but did not go fully dark. This was apparently sufficient for Gwendolyn's purposes, for she made no comment on it. She took a small, vicious-looking dagger from the bag, and then a small cloth doll. She turned to Eisenmann and said, "May I please have an article of your clothing? A handkerchief, perhaps, or your tie?"
Eisenmann laughed once more and began to untie the bow about his neck. "Really, Miss Jenkins—!"
"This will not take long, good sir," she said amicably. He handed her his tie, and she wrapped it around the torso of the cloth doll. She looked out at the audience and began to speak. There was total silence in the studio. The flickering candle flame sent shadows dancing upon her white face, and the flame reflected as pinpoints of light in each of her green eyes.
"This is a simple poppet," she said quietly, holding the doll aloft and then placing it down upon the desk. "And in this vial is a potion made according to ancient ritual and laws. I shall drink a portion of the liquid, sprinkle a few drops on the good professor, and pour the rest upon the poppet. This will create a mystical bond among the three of us, and after the appropriate words have been spoken, what is done to the poppet will in fact be done to the man."
"It's like voodoo, right?" Campbell asked. He had seated himself beside Simon in the chair which Gwendolyn had vacated.
"It is witchcraft," she replied simply. "I know it by no other name." She uncorked the vial.
"It is known technically as sympathetic magic," Eisenmann said. "The belief was that powers could be bent to the will of the practitioner by transference of action from a symbol to an object."
"Oh," Campbell said, not understanding what he had just heard.
Gwendolyn said, "Shhh!" sternly. There was silence on the stage. She lifted the vial upward as if in parody of the elevation of the elements in a Christian sacrament, and then sipped delicately of the liquid. She brought the vial down to the level of her waist, and tipped it slightly. A small amount of the thick brown potion oozed out into her palm, and then she placed the vial down upon the desk. She dipped her fingers into the liquid by clenching her fist once or twice, and then turned and tossed a few droplets at Eisenmann. He blinked as one of the drops struck his cheek, and he wiped it off with his hand. He brought his hand to his nose and sniffed at it, grimacing. The smell was putrid, vile.
Gwendolyn took the small bottle and poured the remaining liquid over the small cloth doll which lay upon the desk. Then she took the dagger in one hand, placing the vial down upon the desk top with the other, and raised her arms high above her head. She looked up at the ceiling and stood as if frozen for a few moments. Then she began to pray.
"Hear me, Satanas! Hear me! Hear me, Master of the world, hear me! Hear me, lord of the flies, hear me! Hear me, father of lies, hear me!" The silence in the studio was so profound that even her increasingly rapid and labored breathing was clearly audible. "I am come to bring death, Satanas, hear my prayer! I am come to destroy, my Master, hear my prayer! I am come to visit destruction upon the sons of men in accordance with thy commandment, thou harbinger of death! Hear my prayer! Hear my prayer!" A slight chuckle escaped from Eisenmann's lips, but she either ignored it or was too deeply involved in her prayer to hear it. "Give me the power to slay without touching! Give me the power to kill without touching! Give me the power to destroy without touching! I am thine instrument, open to thee! Flow thou through my limbs and visit death upon mine enemy!" She stood for a long moment as immobile as a statue, and then moved her arms together above her head and grasped the dagger with both hands. She seemed to freeze once more. Then with all of her might she brought the dagger down and plunged it into the doll.
Eisenmann screamed.
Gwendolyn held the doll down with one hand while pulling out the dagger with the other, and then plunged it once more into the center of the cloth form.
Eisenmann jumped from his seat and began to clutch madly at his chest, screaming and stumbling of the dais, falling upon his back in the center of the stage, his body wracked with tremors.
Gwendolyn continued to stab the doll, over and over again.
Percy Campbell leapt to his feet and ran over to Eisenmann, who was staring in shock at the ceiling as his blue tongue began to protrude from his quivering mouth. "Get the lights!" Campbell shouted. "Get a doctor! Hurry!" He pulled open Eisenmann's shirt and then just knelt there, not knowing what he was doing, not knowing what to do.
The dagger plunged downward into the doll, again and again.
People in the audience began to scream as the realization struck them that this was not an act, not a skit, not a rehearsed falsity. People began to rise to their feet, some to come down to the stage, others to flee from the studio. Rowena Proctor sat in the front row, staring in dumb shock at the sight before her. Jeremy was speaking to her, but she did not hear a word that he said. She was staring at the poor man lying upon his back, staring at the look of utter bewilderment on the face of her father, staring at the insane green eyes which seemed to be blazing with delight and fury.
"I—I think he's dead," Percy Campbell stammered as people from the audience and the studio crew encircled him and Eisenmann. "I can't find—I can't find a pulse. I think he's dead!"
A sudden stunned silence descended upon the studio. The people stood and looked impotently on as Campbell muttered, "This can't be happening! This can't be happening!" They turned as they heard Gwendolyn's low, throaty laugh start very softly and then quickly build to a frenzied pitch. Her eyes were wide and mad, and her laughter overwhelming and dreadful. She raised her arms above her and began to cry out. "AVE SATANAS! AVE SATANAS! AVE SATANAS!"
Chapter Twelve
November 23, continued
"Damn it, Lukie, will you stop pacing like that?" Karyn snapped. "You're driving me nuts!"
Lucas Proctor sat down on the edge of the motel bed and started biting his nails. "I wish Dad'd get here. I'm dying to find out what's happening."
"What's happening!" Karyn exclaimed. "They're probably both under arrest, that's what's happening!" She shook her head in amazement. "Did you see that? I mean, my God! That guy is lying there dead, and she's screaming like a goddamn maniac!"
"It was an accident," he muttered. "You can't kill people with spells. That's all bullshit. The cops have gotta realize that."
"Oh, it's all bullshit? This coming from a guy who tried to bring back the spirits of the dead last Halloween?"
"I was just fuckin' around, babe, you know that," he said. "I never really thought that anything was gonna happen." He sighed. "Jeeze, I hope Dad's okay."
Karyn looked over at him and felt suddenly very sorry for him, and regretful that she had been snapping at him all day. She was lying on the far side of the large motel bed, and she slid over and gave him a hug. "He'll be okay, Lukie, honest he will. Don't worry about him. He didn't do anything, really. It's Gwendolyn who's up the creek without—"
She stopped speaking when she heard the sound of voices and footsteps coming down the motel corridor toward the room. Lucas jumped up and ran to the door, throwing it open anxiously and looking out. "Hey, it's Row and Jeremy!" he said happily as he walked out into the corridor. "Where's Dad, Row? What's going on?"
Rowena pushed past him and went into the motel room. "He's down at the police station. He told us to wait for him here."
"How'd you get here?" Lucas asked. The rooms which Simon had reserved for his children, their friends (one each for Rowena and Jeremy, of course), and the two women and himself were in a motel on Northern Boulevard in Queens, quite distant from the mid-Manhattan police precinct where he and Gwendolyn, followed anxiously by Rowena and Jeremy, had been taken after the death of Ludwig Eisenmann. Lucas had an almost pathological fear of police stations, a result no doubt of the drugs he always carried with him, so he and Karyn had gone straight to the motel by subway, and there waited anxiously for the others to return. Lucas knew that
Rowena hated the subways and steadfastly refused to ride them on those rare occasions when she was in New York, and this fact had prompted his question.
"Mr. Schroeder drove us over," she said. "He was going home to—I don't know, someplace, and he said he would be passing by here anyway, so he dropped us off."
"So?" Lucas asked.
"So what?"
"So what's going on at the police station?"
Rowena just shook her head and sat down on the edge of the bed. As she pulled off her shoes and began to massage her tired feet, Jeremy removed his jacket and said, "They're interrogating all of them—the band, Adrienne—all of them."
"Yeah," Rowena said. "Adrienne is in bad shape. They had to call in a doctor to give her a shot and calm her down. I have never seen an anxiety attack like that before. I thought she was going to have a stroke or something."
"No shit!" Karyn said. "The poor thing. But it's understandable. I mean, seeing that guy die like that."
Rowena shook her head. "That wasn't it at all. She was acting just like always—you know, quiet, withdrawn, like that. But when Simon told her that they had to go with the cops to be questioned, she went nuts! She started screaming and crying, she fell on the floor in a panic and they had to drag her out into the police car. I mean it, Karyn, I've never seen anything like it in my life."
Lucas shrugged. "Makes sense to me."
"Yes, I'm sure it does," Rowena said bitterly, "but Adrienne isn't a walking drug store like you are!"
"Yeah, yeah," he said impatiently. "But what about Dad? What's gonna happen?"
She lay back upon the bed, exhausted from the ordeal. "I don't know, I don't know," she sighed. "I think they're doing an autopsy on the professor right now." She shook her head "God, I hope that damned nut didn't poison him or anything!"
Candlemas Eve Page 22
