The walls within the chapel were carved from some rock, and the effect as of a cave that had been transformed into a small church.
Great stained glass windows were lit brilliantly with the candlelight within, and the flashes of distant lightning from without, the saints and the Virgin and the crucifixion and much martyrdom, all arranged in beautiful colors. It was not that much different than the main section of Our Lady, Star of the Sea had been, only on a smaller scale.
Stony saw a lamb, its throat cut, on the great stone slab of the altar.
The candles were tall and thin, and Stony had never seen so many in one place. When he looked at all of them, thrust along the stone wall, among the stained glass windows, on small holders at each of the pews, something about the candles themselves seemed to tell him something.
(But they were tall and white and old-fashioned, you only know one person who makes them like that.)
The chapel was full of people, some of whom he recognized as he passed, others he did not know. Martha Wight was there, and Tamara Curry, her breasts bulging under a low-cut dress, a fat gold cross hanging atop her mounds; Father Jim nodded to him, a half smile on his face, his hand held out as if for a handshake, which Stony declined; Butch Railsback, the butcher, and Fiona McAllister from the library sat side by side; others, too, and then strangers, all dressed as if for church in their Sunday best, suits, ties, some of the women wore hats, a few of the older women wore white gloves as well.
Stony laughed when he saw his friend Jack Ridley, his best friend growing up, the friend who had shared all his secrets, so Stony thought. Jack winked. “I knew you’d understand—” Jack said, somewhat nervously. “It was all ordained from—”
“Fuck you, traitor” Stony said, shaking his head. He reached into his belt, drawing the knife out.
Stony held the hunting knife up vaguely threatening in case anyone tried anything, but they just sat quietly watching him. Not as much fear in their eyes as he’d been hoping. Not as much fear as he was beginning to feel all over again.
Alan Fairclough stayed behind him until he reached the foot of the altar. Then he went around Stony, beckoning with his hand.
Stony shivered now, knowing that no matter what happened to him, the knife would not defend him if these insane people leapt up and attacked him.
As he approached the altar, the dead animal across it, he remembered Nora’s story about coming here. About being shown this.
About seeing the thing in the long metal box.
And there it was.
* * *
2
* * *
A dark metal box, jewels embedded along its lid. The outline of what looked like a Renaissance angel crudely battered along it, a round halo surrounding its flowing hair. It was the size of a small coffin, with slat-like windows in its sides and a reddish glow as of burning metal from within.
Alan Fairclough went and stood behind the altar.
“You have something trapped inside there?” Stony whispered, unsure what he was feeling.
“Not trapped. It contains the divine fire.”
“What is it?”
Then, Alan Fairclough brought Stony’s hand to the top of the box. It was warm. “It is she. Your mother.”
“How?” Stony trembled.
“Let her out, you can. You alone, her son, can let her out.”
“But...I don’t understand...I don’t...”
“She is the Great Mother who searches the world for her children,” Fairclough said, and his words took on a quality of chanting, “She is the Eternal Mother, she lost her Daughter to the Underworld, Her son, Her Son is Come Among Us.”
“Her son has come among us,” the people in the congregation whispered.
“Come among us to bring new light to a dying earth,” Fairclough intoned.
“To bring new light to a dying earth,” the people whispered.
Then Alan Fairclough opened the cage, and Stony saw the dazzling light that was like a blue and yellow fire in the shape of a body, and wings—
An angel?
She’s an angel?
Her eyes were large and warm
And full of some pity
As if a terrible sorrow had overtaken her
As if she looked upon him with knowledge of loss to come
She reached her burning arms out to him, and they dissipated into thousands of points of light spinning in the air, surrounding him, covering him like fireflies, they were hot and his body erupted with sweat, but she didn’t hurt—
MOONFIRE!
He felt her embracing him, all over, within the light, within the warmth that was her fire—
And words from another language whispered in his ears,
Words he understood as if it were the language of his dreams—
Others saw Jesus, or a great white-bearded figure, or a cosmic kaleidoscope, and the congregation rose up as one and began singing hymns, speaking in tongues, shouting hallelujahs to the creature that surrounded Stony.
* * *
3
* * *
“My son,” she said. “I love you so much, I love you so much, and I weep for you.”
But who are you?
What are you?
The light that encompassed him shimmered, and thickened so that he could see nothing but light, and within the light—
What are you? Are you an angel? A god?
And then the laughter began, not the laughter of the sweet mother’s voice he’d heard but something terrifying like hearing the growl of a wolf in the dark or—
Other, the voice came back, a deep growl. Just say that I’m Other than you. That I’m something who has been held in stone, something that once walked freely, and these...these humans...centuries ago—
And the light became pictures, moving, and Stony saw:
Perhaps fifty young children screaming tied together with thick ropes, while several men pushed an enormous rock over the mouth of a cave. With the ensuing darkness, a buzzing sound, and then a light, and then thousands of black flies flew from among the rocks, into the children’s faces, into their mouths, their eyes, eating at their skin while they screamed—
“I have been called the Lord of Flies,” the voice said.
The men outside the cavern, dressed in little other than animal skins, covering their ears while the children screamed—
And then the Holy Sisters inside the cavern, blessing and consecrating the cavern and the creature that moved beneath them in a dark pit—
“I have been called the Eternal Enemy,” the voice whispered in Stony’s ear.
You’re the devil? Stony tried to speak but his mouth wouldn’t open.
“No, I am none of these names, I am the Mother of all Life and I am its taker, I am the Father of Dreams and Nightmares, and I am the source of all that breathes—” and the voice was like lions roaring in his ears. “I was in the Garden when man and woman were created, not in flesh, but as bacteria and fungi, a flesh born of decay which must return to it. I was superior to all that lives in the flesh then. I still am. And you are my son.”
Are you God?
Again, the laughter, only now it seemed like the laughter of a thousand children.
I am that I am, the voice said. And you are my son.
Then, she stood before him, and the awe he felt made his entire being shudder.
It at first seemed to be the statue of the Virgin from Our Lady, Star of the Sea, but its flesh burned with life, and her eyes were warm with red blood.
“Good and evil are within my glance,” she whispered, red tears flowing from her eyes. “Do not judge either, for life is made up of All. Men and children shall live and die, but my power—our power—comes from the source of all creation.”
And within this vision, he saw others:
A demon from hell with a great wingspan like a dragon’s
A creature with a human face but with stag’s antlers on his thick-haired scalp and deer’s legs—
A
beautiful woman with hair piled high, naked, three rows of breasts along her torso—
Another woman in her place with many arms and legs moving swiftly, a necklace of skulls around her neck, a curved blade in her hand—
A lovely man wearing flowing white robes and great swan-like wings settling behind his golden hair—
I am the image of all that men have worshipped, but I am unknown to man—
The Virgin Mary stood before him, in blue robes, her eyes doe-like, her lips full and gently curved upwards—
Then this split into infinitesimal bits of light
“Do not be afraid of what you have within you, my son. They fear it, because they fear death, but you need never fear death.”
“What about others?”
“Others?” the being asked, the light wavering.
“Those we love?”
Again the laughter. “I gave birth to you my son so that you would raise a generation against those who have kept your mother prisoner for so long.”
“How do they keep you?”
“With the metal, the rock from the caverns, with rituals passed from ancient sorcerers, with what little magic men have.”
“But if you’re all-powerful—” Stony said.
The light flashed red and then a deep blue.
Then, Stony whispered almost to himself. “You’re not a god. You’re just some creature. You’re something...something that doesn’t belong here. Something that should never have existed.”
Again, the Virgin stood before him, her tears of blood coursing down her beautiful face. She reached her arm out, her palm upturned, to him. “I am and have always been. As you too shall be.”
And then Stony felt a swift pull on his flesh, as if a giant vacuum sucked at his pores, and the light whooshed by him in the wind, shooting upwards and then down again.
And there at the chapel, in the candlelight, Alan Fairclough stood beside him.
The creature of burning light, the shape of the beautiful woman, leaned over the dead sheep and began licking the blood from its neck.
* * *
4
* * *
Alan Fairclough reached his arms out to him. “Stony, we did this for all of mankind.”
“It’s a monster,” Stony spat. “And you—you and the Crowns have been feeding it.”
“No,” Fairclough said. “It’s a goddess. It’s the Mother Goddess. It’s an Angel from Heaven.”
The creature licked its flaming lips as it wolfed down parts of the sheep’s throat.
“Don’t you see what it’s doing?” Stony said.
Fairclough nodded, smiling. “I see the Divine Fire accepting our sacrifice.”
“It’s some kind of monster and you’re breeding it for god’s sake, you made me part of it! All of you!” Stony turned toward the congregation, and without wanting to felt that surge of energy, of some inner fire that he could no longer hold back. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “You used me to make a son, you used Johnny Miracle to make this cave-dwelling monster breed! You’re bringing it into the flesh when it’s just been a vision, a fire, it’s an element not God— you damn evil—”
And then he saw her, at the back of the chapel.
Nora, standing behind the last pew.
“Oh shit,” he gasped. “Not you, Nora. You aren’t one of these—”
He walked slowly, carefully down the middle aisle between the pews, as the faithful turned to watch.
* * *
5
* * *
“You’re not one of them,” he said coldly, as he approached her. “Tell me you’re not one of them.”
Nora was silent.
He held her face in his hand, raising her chin slightly so that he was looking down into the milky white of her eyes.
“They brought the devil with them. I told you,” she whispered softly. “But I’ve always hoped it was an angel from God.”
“It’s not the devil. It’s no angel either.”
Nora attempted a grin, but it grew faint. “I could never fight them, Stony. I tried. But I could not. From the moment you were born—”
“No more lies, Nora. No more spins. No more tales.”
“Please forgive me, baby. Please forgive me. I should have told you before, but you weren’t ready. You weren’t strong...even now I’m not sure. You’re so young.”
He cupped his hand against her cheek, her tears dampening his fingers. “I can give you something now. You know that.”
“Don’t,” she said.
“I can do it. I can feel it now. I guess I could’ve done it before, but it—”
“Hadn’t been awakened,” she finished the sentence for him. “I know. Some things are not meant to be awakened within us. Don’t—”
Then, he pressed his thumbs lightly against her eyes, barely touching her eyeballs.
“No,” she murmured, “If that part of you wakes up—”
But it was too late.
It felt like he held a rose, a small rose, a rosebud so tiny and pink in his hand that when it broke open, he felt the warmth of creation—
She looked up at him, cinnamon flecks in her brown eyes.
“The blind shall see,” he said, remembering a line from Sunday school.
* * *
6
* * *
“Stony,” she whispered, seeing him for the first time, seeing the boy she had loved like her own child all the while he’d been growing.
She reached over and touched the edges of his face.
* * *
7
* * *
He felt a prickle of heat run along his skin; then a series of sparks where her fingers touched him.
Her eyes grew wide with terror, as if the first thing she could see after all these years was a horror greater than anyone would want to see.
A rushing sound filled his ears, as of the beating of thousands of wings—
“You’ve let it out,” she gasped, drawing back from him as if from a fire. “It’s the light of creation. You can’t let it—”
Her body slammed back against the wall, her arms splayed as if some great invisible pressure forced her into that position. “You let it out! Stony!” she cried, but the wind that had pressed her like an insect to the wall, stopped up her breath. “That’s why it gave birth to you! That’s why! It had to travel through you!”
“NO!” he shouted, but the very force that grew from him held him back. “NORA! NO!”
“It was waiting for you to do this! It needs your miracles! You let it out! Stony! No! You have to put it back—” she screamed, and then the tears from her newly-born eyes turned to fire, running like lava down her face, devouring her features in its wake.
Nora’s face steamed with the growing heat, and he knew just looking at her that she was trying to be brave, maybe for him, maybe for those who watched. Trying to fight back the pain.
Oh please let me take it back, he prayed. Please.
And then, she was a fountain of blood.
* * *
8
* * *
Where she had stood moments ago, a mass of pulp and blood and bone. He couldn’t look at it anymore, nor could he weep, nor could he think clearly. Was he shivering still? He couldn’t tell. The world shivered. Covered in her blood, he turned towards the congregation.
“A miracle!” Tamara Curry shouted, pointing back towards the altar. “The Angel of God has given us a sign!”
At the altar, the creature of light had shifted, and had become a handsome angel, wearing a great white robe, with a wingspan that covered most of the altar. The golden light burst from it like the dawn.
Stony held his hands up as he stepped forward up the aisle. His eyes were dark, the blood matted in his hair.
Alan Fairclough cried out, “The miracles of the Living God! Praise his Name!”
“His name is Glorious!” the congregation shouted.
“You’re worshipping a monster!” Stony shouted.
&nb
sp; The angel of light shifted again, and the Mother Goddess stood at the steps of the stone altar, a crescent moon upon her golden hair, a blue robe covering her pale skin. Her hand was raised in a gesture of supplication.
But Stony saw the blood on her lips.
And the lamb on the altar—something was wrong—he couldn’t see it well—his eyes went in and out of focus.
It was no lamb at all.
It was his brother Van’s body, laid down, eviscerated, opened, fed upon.
The monster had already eaten the eyes from their sockets, and his nose had been gnawed upon. His throat was a bright red gash.
But they can’t see it, he thought. They can’t see what it’s done. All they see is a goddess or an angel. All they see is the energy they give it.
They probably didn’t even see Nora’s body when it burst. They don’t know what It has done.
* * *
9
* * *
He feels a wind go through him, a wind of light, a wind of darkness, and he’s running, running towards the very thing that will kill him, the very thing that brought him into this world, but he doesn’t care, for he thinks of Lourdes and his unborn child and all the fools who have been destroyed and distracted putting their faith into such as this—
* * *
10
* * *
“You bitch!” he shouted as he approached the creature. “You fucking breeding bitch with your magic and your light.”
As he reached her, he slammed his hand into her—
And his hand swarmed with the thousands of fireflies.
“They keep you in a box because they own you,” he whispered. “They raped you to have children. You aren’t powerful. You’re just energy. You’re just—”
Halloween Chillers: A Box Set of Three Books of Horror & Suspense Page 28
