But Gods could be hard to work with sometimes, often extracting oaths and other favors in exchange for their cooperation, and one of the most common of these requirements was mandatory secrecy. Consequently, The Order had created special exceptions to normal protocols, allowing mediums who made contact with Gods to keep the details of their communications secret, much like a lawyer or a doctor or a priest are allowed to maintain confidentiality in conventional society.
Malcolm didn’t think his encounter at Joe’s house would quite pass muster for the application of these special rules—an unplanned, unwitnessed interaction with an anonymous entity through the Ouija-Pad wasn’t nearly official enough.
But he thought perhaps he could pretend that it was.
It wouldn’t fool Enid, of course—she would almost certainly see through it instantly—but it would provide her with an excuse to give him a little rope. She liked him, trusted him, and she’d occasionally given him room to work things his own way in the past. If he made the pitch effectively enough, Malcolm thought she would probably be willing to assist in small ways without forcing him to give her the whole story.
Might as well try it, I suppose…
He reached into his pocket, took out his cell, dialed her number.
She picked up on the second ring. “Malcolm?! Why haven't you been answering your phone?”
“It's been an interesting day, Enid.”
“Did you find Joe?”
“Yes… In a manner of speaking.”
“What does that mean?”
“What if I told you I’m not allowed to explain what it means, at least not yet?”
“Then I would be forced to remind you about our relative positions in the chain of command.”
“Yes, well, that would normally be an important consideration, of course, but unfortunately, this situation is rather complicated. Certain forces have become involved…”
“Forces?”
“The kind of forces that dwell on the higher planes of existence; the all-knowing, possibly omnipotent, kind.”
It took her a moment to digest that, and before she could get around to speaking again, he continued. “There are things I'm not allowed to divulge, Enid. I've made agreements with an entity of great power. All in the best interests of The Order, I assure you. But to get this agreement, there were certain requirements—secrecy and that sort of thing.”
“How in the world did you come into contact with a God, Malcolm?”
“Through the use of a special Traveler device that I inherited from my father—a thing which allows for communication with the spirit world.”
Enid sighed. “You mean that little pad of yours?”
He hesitated a moment, a bit worried by the dismissiveness in her tone, then finally admitted that this was the case.
“Malcolm, don’t embarrass yourself. We both know that little thing is not made for talking to gods.”
“That's not entirely true. It's made for speaking to entities at all levels of existence. There are special pages near the back that are attuned to very high level frequencies. I have never received any communication on one of those pages until today, but I always knew it was possible.”
She said nothing.
“You have to trust me Enid. Have I ever lied to you before?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Okay, yes, I may have stretched the truth a bit—always for your own sake to avoid involving you in anything dodgy—but have I ever lied about anything really important? Have I ever told you a lie that got someone killed? Because I promise you, what’s happening right now is important. Lives are at stake, and I am not lying.”
“So you’re telling me that an actual deity contacted you on your little pad?”
“Well, I’m not so sure if these beings really qualify as gods, per se, not even after talking to one personally. But yes—a thing that would like people to believe it is a god, contacted me, and gave me certain information that relates directly to the situation with Joe. I can’t tell you much about the conversation we had, only that your suspicions about Joe’s activities weren’t entirely unfounded. In fact, his actions have caused a bit of a mess, and now I need the help of this entity to produce a good outcome, but the only way I can get that help is to keep the whole thing under wraps as much as possible. In fact, I probably wouldn’t even be talking to you at all right now if I didn’t have a desperate need of your assistance.”
“You do realize that this sounds exactly like something you would fabricate to cover up some blunder?”
“I disagree. It’s much too outlandish. If I had wanted to lie, I could very easily have come up with something far more believable.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you just make something up? It certainly would’ve made things simpler for me.”
“Does that mean you believe me?”
“I don’t know… Not all of it, certainly.”
“Which part do you think I’m lying about?”
“Just get on with it, Malcolm. Tell me what you want, but it better not be much.”
Chapter 5 - The Witch Sleeps
At dusk, the Witch Woman left her people and wandered off into the depths of the jungle.
The other villagers didn’t try to follow. They were afraid she might kill them, and they were right to be afraid.
Despite the darkness and the difficult terrain, she moved with great speed. All paths and easy ways of travel were known to her. The surrounding world was mapped onto her heart so that even with her eyes closed she always knew where to go and how to get there.
During her journey she found a pregnant leopard, sleeping in a tree.
She killed it with her bare hands, for amusement and to prove to herself that she could, and she peeled off most of its pelt and draped it over her naked shoulders, absorbing the warm blood through her skin—a special method of eating that she had recently discovered, which seemed to nurture her body in an interesting new way.
Then, in the grip of a wicked impulse, she dug into the leopard’s belly, and found three unborn cubs there. She ate them, every part, including the soft little bones, and especially the organs. And afterward she felt very good—full of newness, like her own life was starting all over again. It was as if she had taken into herself some measure of the innocence and freshness of the cubs.
Maybe that’s why The Serpent likes to eat our children, she thought.
Perhaps she should try killing some human children herself. Just to see how it felt. It would be a distasteful experiment, of course, but pushing beyond ordinary boundaries was a necessary part of her education. The gifts of The Serpent were still new to her, and she had many things left to discover.
Unfortunately, the others of her tribe didn’t seem to understand this. Their restrictive attitude, and especially their constant suspicion, was becoming an intolerable burden. Which was why she had recently decided it was time for her to be in charge of everything.
After tomorrow, assuming her plans tonight went off without any surprises, it would all become much easier.
- - -
The Witch Woman moved with great speed for the remainder of her journey, reaching her destination around midnight.
For someone with ordinary senses the area wouldn’t have seemed particularly special. It was just a flat stretch of land along the banks of the river. But for the Witch, the place was alive with power; there was a palpable awareness of strange energies all around her, like a smell.
This was one of her secret places, one of the places where she went to commune with The Great Serpent; a place where the boundary between the worlds was thin and easily pierced. And everything here was afflicted with the magic that came from the strange realm of The Serpent; a wild and dangerous magic that seeped into solid objects, and made them less real than they would be in other places, more changeable in accordance with the desires of a strong mind, which made it very easy for her to use some of her
more unusual abilities.
She went to the edge of the water, and knelt, and sent her mind out to The Serpent, to let it know she was here, but it was far away, in one of the great seas that covered its own world. Too far to come and greet her in the flesh, which was disappointing.
So she stayed in its mind for a while, just enjoying the sensation of being connected to it. There was an emptiness there, and her body grew cold.
She felt loved.
Then she drew back into herself, and gathered a big handful of dark mud from the riverbank, dipped it into the water to moisten it.
She used the glands in her throat to make venom to mix with her spit, and spat on the mud several times, kneading the soil as she did so, forming it into a neat little ball.
The venom gave her a powerful connection to the mud, which made it possible for her to feel the magic in it. And the energy of fire that lived in the venom soon brought the mud to life, causing steam to rise from it.
She put her face down, very close to the mud, and whispered to it, told it what she wanted it to become.
Within seconds, little veins in a spiderweb pattern appeared on the surface, running with fresh blood. She carried the pulsing ball up onto the bank where there was a fallen tree that made for a comfortable sitting spot, and then sat down, placing the object on the ground in front of her.
She watched it, and thought very hard about how she wanted it to change.
Sometimes mosquitoes bit her, and then they fell over dead, and she brushed them away. Most of them didn’t bother her, as if they could smell that she wasn’t safe to feed on.
She continued to focus on the ball, which soon started to grow, and flopped around like a fish as it gradually formed itself into the rough shape of a man. Then it developed the beginnings of a face, like a child’s, with fresh new skin that showed veins underneath and eyes that stared in shocked horror.
The creature was obviously in terrible pain, and the first thing it did when its mouth finished forming was open it wide, over toothless black gums, and scream.
It would take a few hours for her creation to finish maturing, so she left it to howl in anguish, and went down to the river’s edge to gather more mud.
It was already midnight and she hoped to make about 20 of them to bring with her when she returned to the village tomorrow, a number which should be more than sufficient to kill or subdue all the men of fighting age.
Then she could force the old chief to marry her, more to humiliate him than anything else, and kill all his other wives.
And then maybe murder their children too…
Not because she needed to, but just to see how it would make her feel… Just to see what they tasted like… Maybe she would learn something interesting about herself.
Chapter 6 - The Witch Wakes
Simone opened her eyes, gasping, heart racing, terror coursing through her.
She was in her bedroom, lying completely naked on top of the bedspread. She didn’t sleep naked as a rule, except for occasionally after sex, and she was pretty sure she hadn’t been having any sex, so this was quite alarming.
How the hell did I get here?
She searched her memory. It was all pretty fuzzy, and some of the stuff that came to her didn't seem all that believable—the whole thing with her dad's ghost, for instance. She remembered him popping up on the TV screen, and hiding a little note for her in the bathroom. It was obviously crazy, but her recollection was vivid. It didn't feel like a dream at all...
I went to the bathroom, found the letter… And then… And then…
“And then that bitch drugged me,” she murmured, as the memory suddenly popped into her head.
In her mind's eye, she could still see Myra standing over her, smiling sadly, like she felt really sorry that Simone had forced her to take such drastic action.
After that everything faded away for a while; everything until the fucked up dream, with the river, and the leopard fetuses, and the little mud-man who came to life; and even that was fading fast. All that remained now was a jumble of weird images with no real context or meaning.
How long was I out?
Late afternoon sunlight still poured in through the windows, which suggested that very little time had passed. But, she realized, it could also mean that a whole lot of time had passed—24 hours or more.
Both options were potentially valid, but Simone decided to assume it was the former; the latter was just too upsetting to consider, and in truth, she really didn't feel like she'd been out for very long.
Her body was drenched in sweat. She could see the moisture gleaming on her skin, as if someone had emptied a bucket of water over her.
Just like this morning.
She raised up and the bedspread clung to her back; she had to peel it off, and as she reached behind herself to smooth out the wrinkles, she could actually see a dark wet stain on the light-colored fabric in the shape of her body.
Then she noticed that the pyramid, her new good luck charm, was resting on her bedside table, positioned right next to the lamp. It glistened with moisture (just like me) and a puddle of black condensation had formed around it.
Myra put that there, she thought.
Simone had no memory of seeing this happen, but she was absolutely sure it was true, and the realization brought something else to her awareness—something that seemed obvious in retrospect.
Myra was the one who had actually sent the pyramid—she had to be.
Hell, I might not really have a cousin named Miranda at all…
The names were even similar: Miranda-Myra. Probably not a coincidence.
Simone stared at the pyramid with a growing sense of distrust.
Yes… The thing was a trick. It was bad.
The fox hiding in the box…
Maybe it was even the root cause of everything happening to her.
I gotta get rid of it. I want it out of my fucking house.
She started to grab it, then stopped short. She didn’t even want to touch it.
She rose from the bed. The clothes she’d been wearing before Myra drugged her weren’t anywhere in sight. Why did that pervy bitch undress me anyway? The more she thought about it, the more it pissed her off. She felt violated.
Then she remembered that there was another reason she needed those clothes: the letter from her dad, if it was real, had been in those pants. She still remembered what it said, of course, but being able to put her hands on it, having some way to confirm it existed, was important to her.
I’ll have to look for my jeans after I get rid of that fucking pyramid.
She walked over to her chest-of-drawers, and—after overcoming another overwhelming wave of distaste at the idea of covering her body with any sort of clothing—put on a pair of black sweat-pants and a dark gray wife-beater, not bothering with a bra or panties.
She hurried down the stairs.
The house seemed to be empty—no sign of Myra.
Is she gone?
Simone considered investigating further, but then decided to deal with the pyramid first.
In the kitchen, she found her mother’s yellow rubber cleaning gloves and slipped them on, then grabbed a black garbage bag and returned to her bedroom.
She went over to the bedside table and picked up the pyramid.
The reek of lemons rose from the thing; that same sour, eye-burning aroma that seemed to be following her everywhere today. The air had been full of that odor when she spat the black stuff at Chance. And she had noticed, fleetingly, a subtle lemony scent coming from Myra, just underneath the smell of the woman’s perfume.
It was further evidence that the pyramid was at the heart of her problem, that she needed to get rid of it as soon as possible.
But despite this, she couldn’t quite bring herself to put it in the bag, because there was something different about it now—the symbols and drawings on its surface had changed…
Are they moving?
She held it closer, squinting her eyes.
It almost seemed that the surface was a blur.
Interesting, she thought. Like staring into the sky at night, only the stars are awake, The stars are dancing. A tiny flock of glowing birds, dancing in the sky. Yes, I like looking at this… Maybe I could get naked again, and then I could lay down, and use it to cool myself off, because it’s so cool and so wet, so slippery. I could rub myself with it… All over… And then-
“No!” she hissed.
Hell no. She wasn’t gonna masturbate with the goddamn pyramid.
No matter how much she wanted to.
She quickly dropped the thing into the garbage bag while she still had enough self control to make herself do it, and tied it up tight so she wouldn’t have to see it or smell it. Then she hurried downstairs to the front door, jerked it open, walked out onto the porch.
One of the soldiers was out there, sitting in the old wicker rocking chair. He was compact and muscular, short cropped dark hair, clean shaven. Unlike the others she’d seen, he wasn’t carrying a rifle; his only visible weapon was a black pistol on his hip.
Doesn’t want to look conspicuous to people that drive by, I guess.
She turned away from him without saying anything, walked over to the big rusted garbage pail in the far left corner, and dropped the bag in on top of the other trash, making sure to put the lid back on afterward.
When she turned back around, the soldier was standing. He nodded in her direction, and his eyes strayed down to her tits for a second, then went back up to her face again. “You need anything?” he asked.
She ignored him, and walked back to the doorway. Then a question occurred to her, and she paused at the threshold. “Is Myra here?” she asked.
“No. She left, went into town to pick a few things up, said she’d be back shortly.”
The DARK Trilogy: Titan's Song Chronicles Volume 1 (Books 1 - 3) Page 14
