Holy Terror

by Graham Masterton

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her. ‘Is something wrong? Did I come over too soon? Did I interrupt something?’

  ‘You sure did,’ said a muffled voice; and out from behind the door stepped a grotesque figure, like the Invisible Man. His head was helmeted with a white surgical pressure-bandage, with holes cut for his reddened eyes. He wore a fawn raincoat and his hands were bandaged, too.

  ‘Hello, O’Neil. Don’t you recognize me?’

  Conor stared at him in horror. ‘Drew? Drew, is that you?’

  ‘It’s what’s left of me, O’Neil. I suggest you come inside. I have one or two bones I want to pick with you.’

  ‘Jesus, Drew. I thought you were dead.’

  ‘I thought I was dead, too. You’d better come inside.’

  ‘Drew, listen – this whole business is over. I’m going to be able to prove that I didn’t have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you can, O’Neil. I’m sure you can. I guess I always knew that you weren’t really involved. It just gave me an excuse to get my revenge for the Forty-Ninth Street Golf Club.’

  Conor stepped into the apartment and Drew Slyman closed the door behind him. He snatched the flowers from Conor’s hand. ‘For me?’ he said bitterly. ‘How thoughtful.’ He threw them onto the coffee table and said, ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Drew, it’s true. I’ll have sworn affidavits that I wasn’t involved. And Darrell Bussman’s come out of his coma. If he can remember being hypnotized—’

  Drew Slyman leaned over him. The skin around his eyes was raw, like thin orange-peelings. ‘You listen to me, O’Neil. I was found in that hotel with third-degree bums all over my face and my chest and my hands. That was your fault. That’s what you did to me. Even my goddamned dick was burned. Ever since I’ve been out of hospital I’ve had my friends wiretapping this number and all I ever hoped for was that one day you’d call it. And now you have, and here we are.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Drew. But what can I do about it now?’

  Slyman was silent for a long, long time. Then he said, ‘Do you know something? I believe you. You always were a moral man, weren’t you, a man of your word? You never bent, you never gave in. I admired you for it and then I hated you for it because I could never aspire to be as moral as you.

  ‘You never compromised, did you? Not once.’

  He stuffed his bandaged hand into his raincoat pocket and produced a Colt .45 automatic, took off the safety, and cocked it.

  ‘No—!’ said Conor, shielding Lacey with his arm. ‘Come on, Drew, we can work something out. Some way of helping you.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Slyman. ‘There comes a time when revenge is just about the only answer.’

  He lifted the pistol and pointed it directly at Conor’s chest. For a long moment, his arm was unwavering. Nobody spoke.

  ‘I don’t know whether God will ever forgive me for this,’ said Slyman. At that instant the doorbell rang.

  ‘You expecting somebody?’ asked Slyman.

  ‘No,’ said Lacey. But Conor said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘What is it, no or yes?’

  ‘It’s yes,’ said Conor. ‘I arranged for somebody to meet me here.’

  ‘Go on, then, answer it.’

  Conor went to the door with Slyman close behind him. He tried to turn around once, but Slyman prodded him in the shoulder-blade with the muzzle of his gun. ‘Just answer it, will you?’

  He opened the door and it was Magda.

  ‘Conor?’ she said, attempting a smile.

  ‘You brought it?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes, I brought it. Can I come in?’

  ‘It’s kind of inconvenient right now.’

  She stared at him warily with those pitch-black eyes. He stared back at her. He didn’t say a word, but he tried to communicate with his mind that something was badly wrong.

  ‘Can’t I come in?’ she said. ‘I really need to use your bathroom.’

  ‘Magda, I’m sorry, but it really isn’t—’

  ‘Come on, now, Conor, you’re being ridiculous.’

  She pushed past him and immediately confronted Drew Slyman. ‘My God,’ she said. ‘What’s happening here?’

  Slyman prodded Conor away from the door and closed it. ‘A little private party,’ he said. ‘A shooting party, as a matter of fact, courtesy of Drew Slyman, official avenger of disloyalty and injustice.’

  ‘What?’ asked Magda, in alarm.

  ‘I’m just settling a couple of accounts with Captain O’Neil here. Pity you insisted on coming in. Anybody who comes in … well, I can’t let them out alive, can I? Can’t have witnesses. I’m not that hard to identify, after all.’

  Magda said, ‘You must be that officer who was caught in the fire.’

  ‘Give the lady a cigar. Now, sit down, will you, and keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘You must be feeling such pain.’

  ‘Pain? Let me tell you something, until you’ve been burned alive, you don’t know the meaning of the word pain. Now, do what I tell you and sit down. This won’t take long.’

  ‘I have a wonderful cure for pain.’

  ‘What? What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Just what I said. I have a wonderful cure for pain. It’s simple and it’s quick, and you will never feel pain again, ever.’

  Slyman hesitated, and stared at her with his bloodshot eyes. ‘So what is it, this cure?’

  ‘Do you want your skin to feel cool again?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Do you want your skin to feel supple again – to wriggle your fingers – to move your toes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Slyman nodded.

  ‘Do you want to sleep soundly at night, with no burning sensation to wake you up?’

  Slyman nodded again.

  Magda went on and on, one repetitive question after another. Her voice was so hypnotic that even Conor found himself shaking his head to keep his concentration, and Lacey’s eyelids were drooping.

  ‘You’re ready for your cure now, aren’t you?’ said Magda. ‘Nod if you’re ready.’

  Slyman nodded. His shoulders had sagged and his eyes were totally unfocused.

  ‘Lift your gun and put it in your mouth. That’s right. Right inside, pointing upward.’

  ‘No!’ said Lacey. ‘You can’t!’

  ‘Lacey, there’s no other way,’ Magda said, quietly. ‘If I don’t do this, he will kill all of us, and himself as well. He’s quite ready to do this. He came in here expecting to die. I’m not asking him to do anything that he doesn’t want to do already.’

  Slyman stood in the middle of the room with the muzzle of his gun in his mouth. Lacey watched him in horrified fascination, gripping the cushions.

  Now Magda’s voice was even more soothing. ‘All you have to do is pull the trigger, and you won’t ever feel pain any more. When I say “goodbye, Drew”, you’ll pull the trigger, do you understand that?’

  Slyman nodded.

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Lacey; and Conor braced himself. The longest moment in the world went by.

  ‘Goodbye, Drew.’

  There was a deafening bang and Slyman’s bandaged head turned into a muslin bag full of crushed strawberries.

  Conor tried to grab him as he fell, even though there was no point to it. But Slyman rolled out of his arms and lay on the floor with his arms outspread, as if he were crucified, or flying. Lacey sat on the couch with her hand clamped over her mouth, shocked into silence.

  Magda waited for a moment and then she came and stood close to Conor. She opened her black crocodile purse and took out two envelopes. Conor stood up, and took them.

  ‘The blue one, that’s the affidavit,’ said Magda. ‘It looks like you’re going to need it sooner rather than later, doesn’t it?’

  Conor tore open the second envelope with hands that were still trembling with shock, and looked inside. It contained a banker’s draft for $750,000.

  ‘That’s what we agreed?’ asked Magda.

  ‘Yes, th
at’s what we agreed.’

  She smiled at him. ‘The very first time I saw you, Conor O’Neil, I thought you were the kind of man who was looking for something more out of life. Righteousness, it’s all very well, isn’t it? But I think you’ve learned that you never get what you want by being righteous.’

  She reached out with a long black-painted fingernail and absent-mindedly stroked his shoulder. Lacey saw her and looked anxiously at Conor to see what he would do.

  ‘Now, of course, you can have anything your heart desires, can’t you?’ said Magda. ‘Anything.’

  She left the apartment silently and closed the door behind her. Conor could hear sirens in the distance. He sat down and looked at Lacey but he couldn’t find the words to tell her what he was going to do next.

  THE END

  All of the hypnotic induction techniques described in this book are genuine and most of them are based on transcriptions of real case histories. It is strongly recommended that you do not attempt to duplicate them without professional guidance.

  A Note on the Author

  Graham Masterton (born 1946, Edinburgh) is a British horror author. Originally editor of Mayfair and the British edition of Penthouse, Graham Masterton’s first novel The Manitou was published in 1976 and adapted for the film in 1978.

  Further works garnered critical acclaim, including a Special Edgar award by the Mystery Writers of America for Charnel House and a Silver Medal by the West Coast Review of Books for Mirror. He is also the only non-French winner of the prestigious Prix Julia Verlanger for his novel Family Portrait, an imaginative reworking of the Oscar Wilde novel The Picture of Dorian Gray.

  Masterton’s novels often contain visceral sex and horror. In addition to his novels, Masterton has written a number of sex instruction books, including How to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed and Wild Sex for New Lovers.

  Discover books by Graham Masterton published by Bloomsbury Reader at

  www.bloomsbury.com/GrahamMasterton

  Burial

  Corroboree

  Feelings of Fear

  Holy Terror

  This electronic edition published in 2012 by Bloomsbury Reader

  Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, LondonWC1B 3DP

  First published in Great Britain 2004, Severn House Publishers Ltd.

  Copyright ©2004 Graham Masterton

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  The moral right of the author is asserted.

  eISBN: 9781448210299

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