Creed

by James Herbert

  He made a resigned gesture for her to continue.

  ‘There are all kinds of such beings – demons, devils, evil spirits, call them what you will. Some are nothing more than ethereal vapours, others are more powerful, more evident. And there are many, many divisions, but I won’t go into that – I know I’m straining credibility enough as far as you’re concerned. But I will say these divisions are based on the hierarchies of angels; or to be more specific, the hierarchies of the Fallen Angels.’

  It was at that point that Creed returned to his seat.

  ‘The mediaeval and Renaissance Europeans developed the conjuring of demons to a fine art – probably because they assumed the Church itself would bail them out if they got in too deep, or the powers they unleashed got beyond their control. Unfortunately, the Church of those times tended to be as corrupt as they were themselves and left them helpless; what followed was famine, pestilence, disease, wars. In a word, destruction.’

  The phone outside the room rang, but Creed made no move to answer it; another two rings, then the answerphone in the office downstairs picked it up.

  ‘Nicholas Mallik knew how to control those unearthly powers,’ Cally went on. ‘It was a secret that he revealed to Aleister Crowley in Paris in the 1920s.’

  At last Creed spoke. ‘Is that when they fell out?’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘I know they fell out.’

  ‘It was a little more than that. Crowley and Mallik took over a small hotel on the Left Bank for a weekend. They emptied a large room at the top of the building of furniture, ornaments, anything that could be moved, and locked themselves in. MacAleister, Crowley’s son and principal disciple, was with them, while the others of their cult remained downstairs, forbidden to enter the room until the following day, no matter what they heard.

  ‘They heard plenty, but obeyed their orders. When morning came, nobody in that room upstairs would answer their calls, so they were forced to break in. They found Crowley’s son dead, but with no external marks on his body, and Crowley himself a gibbering wreck lying naked on the floor. There was no sign of Nicholas Mallik.

  ‘Aleister Crowley spent four months in an asylum after that and he was never the same man again. And he always refused to speak of what had happened that night.’

  ‘And Mallik? What happened to him?’

  ‘He turned up in London a year later. He and Crowley never met again, and Mallik also declined to tell anyone what had happened in Paris.’

  The phone rang and once more Creed left it to the answerphone.

  ‘As you were aware of his association with Aleister Crowley, can I also assume you know something of Mallik’s activities in London?’

  ‘I know he and his happy little troupe murdered and dismembered people – mostly kids. I also know he was caught and hanged in 1939. But now you’re telling me different, you’re telling me he wasn’t hanged at all, that he’s still walking around as large as life and twice as ugly. What d’you take me for, Cally? A complete fool?’ He gave a snort of disgust. ‘Even if he did by some miracle escape the gallows and the newspapers at the time were persuaded to print lies, or had been duped themselves, even if the wrong man had been arrested – a double who didn’t even speak up with a noose around his neck – even if any of those things were true, Mallik would be too old to wipe his own arse by now, let alone commit indecent acts in cemeteries or run around parks in the dead of night. The man I saw wasn’t that old.’

  ‘Oh, but he is. And he had friends in high places in those days.’

  ‘High enough to prevent his execution? Even the king couldn’t have arranged the release of the Beast of Belgravia. You must think I’m stupid.’

  ‘You have to believe me – he and his kind have incredible powers.’

  ‘They’re great illusionists.’

  There, Creed’s own logic was already suggesting he hadn’t seen what he’d seen.

  ‘They’re much more than that. They can change shape, Joe. They can become grotesque things, they can grow in size, they can shrink themselves. They can create phantoms from menstrual blood, or from semen . . .’

  She appeared not to notice that Creed had suddenly paled (paled even more, that is).

  ‘. . . These people can sap your will, weaken your spirit, by drawing off your aura . . .’

  Breathing, Creed realized. Breathing his aura, weakening his spirit. That was what the woman, Laura, had been doing. Wait a minute! He was falling for it. Like some bloody simpleton he was being drawn in. But the room and the black nothingness that had been inside it . . . the wind that had torn through the doorway like a gale force, strong enough to lift a desk . . . the lift that had plummeted and stopped as though it had a mind of its own . . . Incredible, but it had happened. It had happened, hadn’t it?

  ‘. . . They’re old, Joe, and not so strong any more. Now you’ve roused them, and I think they’re suddenly enjoying themselves once again. After so much time, so many years, they’re starting to revive . . . But they’ll grow weary of it soon, and then perhaps frustration will make them even more dangerous.’

  ‘Was Lily Neverless one of them?’ Creed gripped the edge of the armchair. ‘Was she part of the cult? Is that what this is all about? Are they frightened I’m going to expose them as some satanic group who go about performing obscene ceremonies over the graves of their departed? If it hadn’t got out of hand, it would be laughable. You hear me, Cally? A bloody big fat joke!’ Something nagged at the back of his mind. ‘What are they? A hyped-up bunch of extremist Freemasons? Or are they really devil-worshippers who dance naked around fires in the dead of night, calling on Old Nick to do their dirty deeds for them? You know, you nearly had me . . . wait, what was it you said last night just before I crashed out?’ It came back to him in a rush. ‘You told me you were Lily’s granddaughter! Oh boy, that’s it, that’s the connection.’

  Her voice was steady, unlike his. ‘You mustn’t meddle any more.’

  The doorbell sounded and Cally quickly stood. ‘Who is it?’ she said.

  ‘How the hell should I know? Ignore it – they’ll soon go away.’

  Someone pounded on the door. The bell rang again. A familiar voice called Samuel’s name from the street below.

  ‘Oh no . . .’ said Creed.

  ‘Who is it?’ Cally repeated.

  Creed closed his eyes for a moment. ‘It’s my ex-wife, the hellhag. Sammy’s mother.’

  24

  Enter Evelyn.

  Creed’s plan was to stay quiet until his ex grew tired of ringing the bell and beating the knocker and stormed off to terrorize some other poor sap. But life is never that accommodating, is it?

  He heard a key turning in the latch downstairs, heard the door opening, footsteps inside. Then: ‘Saammuell!’

  The door slammed shut and those footsteps stomped the stairs.

  Creed clasped a hand to his eyes as though a migraine had struck. Evelyn had two spare keys, one she’d given to Sammy, the other she’d kept for herself – no, probably, she had half-a-dozen to hand out to friends and relations.

  Cally was alarmed.

  He pushed himself up and went to the door in time to meet Evelyn as she arrived at the top of the stairs. She looked harassed, a little strained around the eyes and the neck but, he had to admit to himself – and despite himself – she still looked pretty good. If it wasn’t for her acid tongue and sour nature she’d still be eminently humpable.

  ‘Where is he?’ she demanded without pausing to catch her breath.

  ‘Who?’ It was the best he could do.

  She raised her eyes heavenwards and pushed by him. She came to a halt when she saw Cally in the lounge; before turning back to Creed she gave her a cool, hard once-over. ‘Sorry to interrupt your bimbo-time, but I’ve come to take Samuel home. I don’t know what I was thinking of letting him come here in the first place. God knows what he’s seen going on.’ Her glare darted towards dark-blonde and denimed Cally as if she were a prime ex
ample of what had been going on.

  ‘Uh, Sammy’s not here.’ Creed half grinned and did his utmost to keep his gaze perfectly straight and entirely on Evelyn.

  ‘Why are you staring like a zombie? Are you on something? Good God, at this time of day. I knew I hadn’t come a moment too soon.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Ev—’

  ‘And who’s this?’ She flicked her head in Cally’s direction. ‘No, don’t tell me, I really don’t want to know. All I want is my son presented to me right here and now. Watch my lips, Joe – right here and now.’

  ‘I’ll let myself out,’ said Cally, moving towards the door.

  ‘No! I mean – no. We still have to talk.’ Creed blocked her path.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ Evelyn said ominously.

  The phone rang.

  ‘I gotta answer the phone.’ Creed made as if to leave the room.

  ‘Stay,’ Evelyn told him. ‘This is more important. One more time now before I really get cross: Where is Samuel?’

  The ringing was silenced by the answerphone.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Cally as she slid past Creed.

  ‘No, wait.’ He caught her by the arm.

  ‘Joseph!’ Evelyn all but stamped her foot.

  ‘I’ll do what I can and call you later.’ Cally slipped from his grasp and disappeared down the stairs.

  ‘Cally!’ Creed moved to go after her, but now his own arm was caught. Evelyn’s fingers were like a vice.

  ‘I’m losing patience,’ she warned in an even but deadly voice.

  Cally had reached the front door and she glanced back up at him before opening it. ‘Stay by the phone,’ she said, and then she was gone, the door closing quietly behind her.

  Creed opened his mouth to call her back, but clamped it shut when he felt his own arm squeezed even harder. He looked deep into his ex-wife’s dark, blazing, harridan eyes and realised he had two choices: he could either faint or tell lies. Fainting, he decided, would only provide brief respite and ultimately would dump him in stormier waters anyway – what made you faint, what have you done, what’s happened to Samuel? No, telling lies was much easier.

  ‘Sammy’s gone on a school trip,’ he said.

  That stymied her. Momentarily, that is. She released his arm. ‘A school trip,’ she repeated slowly. ‘But he’s not at school. He’s here with you.’

  ‘Ah, no. Not that school, not his school.’ Oh shit shit shit, why the hell had he said that? ‘Uh, let’s sit down? Would you like a cup of tea? You’ve had a long journey, Evelyn, you must be dry. How about a G and T? Bet you could use one.’

  ‘Cut the crap. What are you talking about, a school trip?’

  ‘Boy, I’m bushed, y’know? Looking after a ten-year-old takes it out of you.’

  ‘What would you know about it? You’ve only had a couple of days. So what school did he go with and what time is he getting back?’

  ‘Well, not tonight,’ he said quickly. ‘Oh no, not tonight. Overnight stay, y’see. He was really looking forward to it.’

  ‘Samuel? Looking forward to something like that? I don’t believe you.’

  ‘You’d be surprised how he’s changed the last coupla days. You know, come out of himself. Let’s sit down, eh?’

  She allowed herself to be led back into the lounge where Creed almost pushed her into the armchair. ‘Frankly, you look as if you need to sit down,’ she said. ‘What on earth have you been up to? No, please, I don’t want to hear about your life. I made that clear years ago.’

  He lowered himself on to the sofa. Evelyn’s long deep-red hair framed a face that was once pretty, but which had now matured to handsome, if somewhat shrewish. Permanent tenseness had also withered her neck slightly, creating ridges that no cream would ever erase. The long coat and skirt she wore were of a sombre maroon, as were her knee-length boots. Either her breasts had shrunk, he thought, or she had taken to wearing bras that restrained rather than uplifted; her beige blouse hardly swelled at the appropriate places. He swiftly got his mind back on the problem at hand.

  ‘Well, you’re looking—’

  ‘I told you, cut the crap. What school?’

  ‘It’s, uh, not actually a school. I mean, it’s a scout troop from a local school. The Boy Scouts.’

  ‘The Boy Scouts.’ It came as a drone. ‘Samuel has joined the Boy Scouts? My Samuel?’

  ‘Not actually joined. I thought he might like to try it, just for one day. Er, one night too. Camping, and all that. Maybe a few days and nights depending on how he gets on.’

  ‘And he agreed?’

  ‘Couldn’t wait.’

  She regarded him suspiciously. ‘What the hell do you know about Boy Scouts and local schools?’

  ‘Oh no, the Scouts from the school are round here all the time, collecting jumble for charity, odd jobs for a few bob. Nice bunch of kids.’

  ‘And exactly what did Samuel wear for this great outdoor adventure? Surely to God you didn’t send him off in his school uniform.’

  ‘Are you kidding? And let him catch his death of cold? No way. I bought him a whole new outfit – boots, thick corduroys, woollen shirt, anorak. He looked the part, I can tell you.’ Creed gave a shake of his head and smiled at the centre of the room as though his son were standing there all togged up and raring to go. ‘I’ve never seen him so keen.’

  ‘Samuel?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah. I thought some time in the open air and getting physical might do him good.’

  ‘So where were they off to? In which wilderness have they pitched their tents? Not too far out of town, I hope.’

  ‘Where? Where? Epping Forest. Not far at all.’

  ‘What’s the school?’

  ‘You know the one. Two blocks away.’ Oh shit, he’d passed it enough times. ‘St . . . St Andrew’s. I’m pretty pleased with the idea, actually.’

  She studied him for a full thirty seconds before saying anything more. Then: ‘Well, I suppose I could take his other clothes home and give them a scrub. Get them for me, will you, Joe?’

  ‘Uh. Uh, all taken care of. Took them off to the cleaners this morning on my way back from dropping him off. He made me promise to give you a call, incidentally, tell you how much fun he’s having. Misses you, of course.’

  ‘Maybe I should go out and see him at the campsite; he probably thinks I’m still mad at him. I could get a taxi easily enough, or perhaps you’d care to drive me. It’s been a long time since we took a drive together.’

  For one brief, but not very compelling moment, Creed was tempted to make a clean breast of everything, to confess that their son had been kidnapped by crazies who worshipped demons and who could hypnotize you so you saw impossible things and who could frighten you so much your heart hurt your throat when you swallowed; he could have told Evelyn the truth, but that would have meant – leaving aside his own castration – hysterics, accusations, the police, and probably the worst for their son. It wasn’t worth the risk; nor the pain.

  ‘I don’t think that’d be a good idea. Imagine how he’d feel in front of the other kids if Mummy and Daddy showed up to see how their little precious was coping. He’d die.’ Creed regretted adding the last remark.

  She thought on it. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she reluctantly agreed. ‘I’d hate the other boys to think he was a sissy. I’ve missed him so much, though. I didn’t intend to, I thought a few days without him would give me a break – God knows I needed one. But he’s my son and he’s all I’ve got.’

  At that moment she looked so forlorn and lonely that Creed was almost tempted to hug her, almost tempted to pat her back sympathetically, almost tempted to bed her right there and then. She was still a good-looking woman, slack-breasted or not.

  Evelyn caught his look and said, ‘Don’t even think about it.’ She rose from the armchair, brisk and bitch-faced once more. ‘I want Samuel home by tomorrow evening, Boy Scouts or not. Camping in cold weather like this will bring on his bronchitis and I don’t relish the prospect o
f waiting hand and foot on an invalid for the next few weeks. It was a bad move letting him come here in the first place – God only knows what bad habits he’s already picked up.’

  ‘You sent him here, Evelyn.’

  ‘Yes, you’re absolutely right – it was the last place he wanted to come to. I suppose I’m allowed one mistake though. Pick him up tomorrow and bring him straight home.’

  If he’s still . . . all right. It was a thought he didn’t care to voice.

  ‘Are you okay? You just swayed as if you were about to faint.’ Her expression was one of curiosity, not concern.

  ‘Tired, that’s all. Too many late hours standing on cold pavements.’

  ‘You look as if someone you snapped gave you more than you bargained for. What happened – you get thrown through a window? And that bruise on your forehead!’ She seemed annoyed more than anything else. ‘Isn’t it time you considered a change in career? Something more adult, maybe? To be frank, you’re not wearing too well.’

  ‘Yeah, I think about it every day. It’d be nice to be an accountant. Or I could sell double-glazing, how ’bout that? You always wanted something respectable for me, didn’t you, Evelyn?’

  ‘I wanted you to assume some responsibility, that was all. The trouble was – and still is – you could never think beyond what was good for Joseph Creed.’

  ‘That isn’t true.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Where were all the sacrifices you’re supposed to make for your kid? Ask yourself when you ever let Samuel’s wellbeing – or mine, for that matter – interfere with your lifestyle.’

  ‘I brought home the bread.’

  She laughed, but she might as well have slapped his face. ‘You really think that that was all there was to it? My God, no wonder we didn’t last long. Did you ever take Samuel to the park to play, or to show him the ducks when he was a toddler? When did you ever sit down with him and read him stories? When did you ever wipe his little bottom, for Christ’s sake? That’s what being a father is about – those small things, some unpleasant, but mostly delightful. Tiny little moments that show you care.’