Hell House Part 24

She felt herself begin to rise from darkness. Daniel's voice cajoled her. You don't have to sleep You don't have to sleep, he said. She seemed to feel her veins and arteries compressing, tissues drawing in, her body forcing out the darkness. There was burning pressure in her kidneys. She tried to hold it back but was unable to. The pressure kept building. Go on Go on, Daniel told her; let it go let it go. Florence groaned. She couldn't stop herself. She felt the gushing from her loins, and cried aloud in shame.

Suddenly she was awake. She pushed aside the bedclothes and stood, looking groggily at the patch of wetness on the sheet. He was so rooted in her, he controlled the very workings of her body now.

"Florence."

She jerked her head around and saw his face projected on the hanging silver lamp. "Please," he said.

She stared at him. He started smiling. "Please." His tone was mocking.

"Stop it."

"Please," he said.

"Stop it." it."

"Please." He bared his teeth in a derisive grin. "Please."

"Stop it, Daniel!"

"Please, please, please, please, please, please, please!"

Florence spun around and lurched for the bathroom. A cold hand grasped her ankle, and she toppled to the floor. Daniel's icy presence flooded over her, his voice, demoniac, howling in her ears: "Please, please, please, please!" She couldn't make a sound; his presence seemed to suck away her breath. "Please, please, please!" He began to laugh with wild s.a.d.i.s.tic pleasure. Help me, G.o.d! she thought in agony. "Help me, G.o.d!" railed his voice. Deliver me! Deliver me! she pleaded. "Deliver me, deliver me!" his voice impersonated. Florence pressed both hands across her ears. " she pleaded. "Deliver me, deliver me!" his voice impersonated. Florence pressed both hands across her ears. "Help me, G.o.d!" she cried.

His presence vanished. Florence gasped in air convulsively. She struggled to her feet and started for the bathroom. "Leaving?" said his voice. She set her mind against its blandishment. Stumbling into the bathroom, she ran cold water and splashed it on her face.

She straightened up and stared at her reflection. Her face was pallid, marked by dark scabbed scratches and discolored bruises. What she could see of her neck and upper chest was scored by jagged lacerations. Leaning forward, she saw that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s looked inflamed, the teeth marks almost black now.

She stiffened as the door swung shut, then saw the full reflection of her body in the mirror fastened to the door. She started to resist, but something cold snaked up her spine. She gasped; eyes opening wide.

In a moment she began to smile. She leaned back, eyes half-closing. Daniel was behind her. She could feel his hardened organ sliding deep into her r.e.c.t.u.m. His hands were clutched around her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, kneading them. Florence leaned back as Edith slipped into the bathroom, falling to her knees in front of Florence, darting her extended tongue to Florence's v.a.g.i.n.a. Florence's tongue lolled out. She bucked against Daniel eagerly. This was what she wanted, what she was.

She twitched as though electric current surged through her. Suddenly she saw herself, half-crouched before the mirror, face slack with vacuous abandonment, the fingers of her right hand thrust into her body. With a sickened noise she jerked the fingers free. A harsh laugh rasped behind her, and she whirled. The bathroom was empty. I was watching, his voice spoke in her mind.

She flung open the door and ran into the bedroom, Daniel's laughter following. She bent to pick her robe up. Something jerked it from her grasp and flung it away. She moved after it. The robe kept flapping from her. Florence stopped. No use, she thought, despairing. "No use," parodied his voice. The robe flew up and fell across her head. She jerked it off and pulled it on her body, b.u.t.toning it hastily. He's playing playing with me, she thought; making me do everything that's most abhorrent to me. with me, she thought; making me do everything that's most abhorrent to me.

"-most abhorrent to me," his voice parroted, mockingly falsetto. He giggled like a girl. "Most abhorrent to me, most abhorrent to me."

Florence fell on her knees beside the bed and, resting both arms on the mattress edge, pressed her forehead to her tightly clasping hands. "Dear G.o.d, please help me; Red Cloud, help me; spirit doctors, help me; I have been possessed. Let the fire of the Holy Spirit burn this sickness from my mind and body. Let the strength of G.o.d rush through me, let his might instill me with the power to resist.

"Let his G.o.d c.o.c.k sink into my mouth," she said. "Let me drink his holy, burning j.i.s.m. Let me-"

A wail of torment jerked back her lips. She drove the knuckle of a fisted hand into her mouth and bit until the pain had filled her mind. Daniel vanished. After several moments she withdrew the still-clenched fist and looked at it. Her teeth had broken the skin; blood was trickling on the back of her hand.

She looked around uncertainly. It seemed as though the flare of pain had cleared her mind, driving him away. She pushed down on the mattress, standing. Now, she thought, the chapel. That was where the answer lay.

She ran across the room and jerked open the door. Hurrying into the hall, he turned toward the staircase. I'll reach it, she thought. He can't possess me every moment. If I keep on going, no matter what happens, I can get there.

She stopped, her heartbeat jolting. A figure blocked her way: a gaunt man dressed in ragged, filthy clothes; bones showing through his skin; long hair s.h.a.ggy; face malformed by sickness; tiny, glowing eyes buried in dark-rimmed sockets; mouth distended, filled with thick, discolored teeth. Florence stared at him. It was one of Belasco's victims, she knew. He'd looked like this before he died.

The figure disappeared. Florence began descending the stairs. The acid coldness started up her spine again. She felt the gray defilement in her blood and fought it off, biting on her hand until the pain had driven it away. Pain was the answer! Whenever Daniel tried to take control, she'd drive him off with pain, because it filled her mind and left no room for him!

She stopped, hitched back. Two figures sprawled across the steps below, a man and woman. The man was plunging a knife into the woman's throat. He started sawing at the jagged wound, blood spouting, splashing on his twisted, gleeful face. He was cutting off the woman's head. Florence jammed her fist into her mouth and bit down, stiffening at the burst of pain. The man and woman vanished. She descended farther, wondering where the others were: Fischer, Edith, Barrett. It didn't matter; they couldn't help.

As she crossed the entry hall, she caught sight of Barrett in the great hall, working on his machine. Fool, she thought. It wasn't going to work. He was full of s.h.i.t, the stupid- No! She ground her teeth into her hand again, eyes wide and staring. Let her bite her fingers to the bone before succ.u.mbing to Daniel's sway again. She wished she had a knife. She'd thrust it far enough into her flesh to keep the pain there constantly. It was the answer: agony that blocked his contaminated soul from hers.

She started down the corridor. A wild-eyed man was hunched across a naked woman's back. She was dead, a sash cord pulled around her neck, her face purplish, eyes bulging from their sockets. Florence sank her teeth into her hand. Blood was running down her lips now, dripping onto her throat. The figures vanished as she reached the chapel door. A man was crouched in front of it. His face was white, his expression drugged. He held a severed human hand to his lips, sucking on one of the fingers. She bit into her hand. The figure vanished. Florence fell against the door and pushed it in.

She stood wavering at the head of the center aisle. A maelstrom of power filled the air. This was the nucleus, the core. She started down the aisle, then jerked back with a gasp as she saw the cat lying in the puddle of blood. It had been cut in two.

She shook her head. She mustn't stop now. She was almost to the answer. She had beaten Daniel; she would beat the house now. She stepped across the cat, advancing on the altar. Dear G.o.d, the power was incredible! It radiated through her, pulsing, driving. Darkness flickered in her mind. She thrust her aching hand into her mouth again and bit. The darkness cleared a little, and she moved against the power. It was like a living wall before her. She was almost to the altar now. Her eyes were staring, fixed. She'd win her battle yet. With G.o.d's help, she would- Sudden weakness turned her limbs to stone. She fell against the altar heavily. The power was too strong! She looked up dumbly at the crucifix. It seemed to move. She stared at it in horror. It was moving toward her. No, she thought. She tried to back off, but she couldn't budge, rooted to the spot as though by some gigantic magnet. No! No! The crucifix was falling. It was going to hit her! The crucifix was falling. It was going to hit her!

Florence cried out as it struck her head and chest and knocked her backward violently. She crashed to the floor, the ma.s.sive cross and figure crushing down on her, knocking out her breath. The serpentine chill went lashing up her spine. She tried to scream but couldn't. Darkness flooded through her.

The possession ended instantly.

Florence's eyes bulged, her face distorted by a look of agony. She couldn't breathe, the pain was so intense. She tried to push the crucifix away, but it wouldn't move. The pain of trying made her gag. She lay immobile, groaning at the endless waves of agony that filled her. Once again she tried to push the crucifix. It moved a little, but the movement nearly made her faint. Her face was gray, dewed with cold sweat.

It took fifteen minutes to do. She almost fainted seven times before she'd finished, holding on to consciousness only with the most intense exertion of will. Finally she pushed aside the heavy crucifix and tried to sit up, gasping at the agony of the attempt. Slowly, ashen lips pressed together, she struggled to her knees. Blood started running down her thighs.

The sight of the phallus made her vomit. Hunching over, she expelled the contents of her stomach on the floor, eyes glazed with pain. He'd tricked her He'd tricked her. There was no answer here. He'd only wanted to commit this final profanation on her mind and body. Florence rubbed a palsied hand across her lips. No more, she thought. She looked around and saw the huge nail sticking from the crucifix's back; it had been pulled out from the wall. She dragged herself across the floor until she'd reached the nail. Hovering above it, she began to saw the insides of her wrists across its point, hissing at the pain. She began to sob. "No more," she said. "No more."

She slumped back. Blood was flowing from her wrists like water. She closed her eyes. He can't do anything more to me, she thought. Even if my soul is held in bondage in this house forever, I won't be his living puppet anymore.

She felt life draining from her. She was escaping. Daniel couldn't hurt her now. Feeling had begun to leave; pain was fading. G.o.d would forgive her self-destruction. It was what she had to do. Her lips drew back in a surrendering smile.

He would understand.

Her eyes fluttered open. Were those footsteps? She tried to turn her head but couldn't. The floor seemed to tremble. She tried to see. Was that a figure standing by her, looking down? She couldn't focus her eyes.

Suddenly it struck her. Horrified, she tried to push up, but was too weak. She had to let them know! Florence struggled fitfully to rise. Clouds of darkness were enveloping her. Everything felt numb. She turned her head and saw her blood running on the floorboards. Help me, G.o.d! she pleaded. She had to let them know! She had to let them know!

Slowly, agonizingly, she reached out to shape the moving scarlet ribbons.

12/24 11:08 A.M.

Fischer jarred up, heartbeat pounding, and looked around in dread. His head was throbbing violently. He wanted to fall back on the pillow, but something kept him from it.

He dropped his legs across the mattress edge and stood. He began to reel, and pressed both hands against his head, eyes closed, body rocking back and forth. He groaned, remembering that Barrett had given him pills. d.a.m.n fool! he thought. How long had he been unconscious?

He started for the door, moving like a drunken man, trying to maintain his balance. He moved unevenly into the corridor and started toward Florence's room. He entered and stopped. She wasn't in bed. His gaze jumped to the bathroom. Its door was open; there was no one there. He turned and stumbled back into the corridor. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with Barrett, anyway? He tried to move faster, but the impact inside his head was too painful. He stopped and leaned against the wall, a billowing of nausea in his stomach. He blinked and shook his head. The pain grew worse. To h.e.l.l with it! he thought. He staggered forward willfully. He had to find her, get her out of here.

He glanced into the Barretts' room in pa.s.sing, jarred to a halt. He moved inside and looked around incredulously. Barrett wasn't there; he'd left his wife alone! Fischer clenched his teeth in fury. What the h.e.l.l was going on? What the h.e.l.l was going on? He moved across the room as quickly as he could and dropped his hand on Edith's shoulder. He moved across the room as quickly as he could and dropped his hand on Edith's shoulder.

She jerked back from his touch, eyes open suddenly, gaping at him.

"Where's your husband?" Fischer asked.

She looked around in shock. "He isn't here?"

He watched dazedly as she stood. From the look on her face, he saw that she was taken aback by his appearance. "Never mind," he mumbled, heading for the corridor. Edith didn't speak. She brushed past him, calling, "Lionel!"

She was halfway down the stairs before he'd reached the landing. "Don't go alone!" he cried. She paid no attention. Fischer tried to hurry down the steps but had to stagger to a halt, clinging to the rail as pain drove spikes into his skull. He leaned against the banister, trembling. "Lionel!" he heard her calling as she ran across the entry hall. He heard an answering call below and opened his eyes. Where else? he thought bitterly. Barrett was so anxious to prove his point, he was leaving his wife alone now, ignoring Florence. Stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d!

Fischer hobbled down the stairs and walked across the entry hall, teeth set against the jolting pain. Entering the great hall, he saw Barrett and Edith standing by the Reversor. "Where is she?" he demanded.

Barrett looked at him blankly.

"Well?"

"She's not in her room?"

"Would I ask if she was?" snarled Fischer.

Barrett started limping toward him, joined by Edith. From the look on her face, Fischer could tell she was upset with Barrett too. "But I listened," Barrett said; "I checked you awhile ago. And the pills I gave her-"

"To h.e.l.l with your pills!" Fischer cut him off. "You think possession can be stopped with pills?"

"I don't believe-"

"Screw what you believe!" Fischer's head was pounding so hard now that he could barely see. "She's gone, that's all that matters!"

"We'll find her," Barrett said; but there was no a.s.surance in his voice. He looked around uneasily. "We'll try the cellar first. She might-"

He stopped as Fischer clutched his head, his face distended by a look of agony. "You'd better sit," he said.

"Shut up!" Fischer shouted hoa.r.s.ely. He hunched over, making retching noises.

"Fischer-" Barrett started forward.

Fischer stumbled to a chair and dropped down heavily. Barrett approached as fast as he could, followed by Edith. They stopped as Fischer jerked down his hands and looked at them in shock.

"What?" asked Barrett.

Fischer began to shiver.

"What is it?" Barrett's voice rose involuntarily. Fischer's look unnerved him.

"The chapel."

Edith's scream of horror pierced the air. She spun away and stumbled to the wall.

"Oh, my dear G.o.d," Barrett murmured.

Fischer walked unsteadily to the body and stared at it. Her eyes were open, looking upward, her face the hue of pale wax. His gaze shifted to her genitals. They were caked with blood, the outer tissues shredded.

He twitched as Barrett stopped beside him. "What happened happened to her?" the older man whispered. to her?" the older man whispered.

"She was killed," said Fischer venomously. "Murdered by this house." He tensed, expecting Barrett's contradiction, but there was none. "I don't see how she could have gotten up with all that sedative inside her," was all Barrett said, his tone one of guilt.

He saw that Fischer had turned to look at the crucifix lying nearby and did the same. Seeing the blood on its wooden phallus, he felt his stomach walls contract. "My G.o.d," he said.

"Not here," Fischer muttered. He shouted suddenly, as if he'd gone berserk: "There's no G.o.d in this f.u.c.king house!"

Across the chapel, Edith jerked around to look at Fischer startledly. Barrett started to speak, then held it back. He drew in a trembling breath. The chapel smelled of gore. "We'd better get her out of here."

"I'll do it," Fischer said.

"You'll need some help."

"I'll do it."

Barrett shivered at the look on Fischer's face. "Very well."

Fischer crouched beside the body. Darkness pulsed before him, and he had to put down both hands to support himself he felt them pressing into her blood. After a while his vision cleared, and he looked at her face. She tried so hard She tried so hard, he thought. Reaching out, he closed her eyes as gently as he could.

"What's that?" Barrett asked.

Fischer glanced up, wincing at the pain the movement caused. Barrett was staring at the floor near Florence. He looked down. It was too gloomy to see. He heard Barrett fumble in his pockets, then the scratching of a match end on a striking surface. The flare of light made his eyes contract painfully.

She'd drawn a symbol on the floor, using a finger dipped in her blood. It was a crude circle with something scrawled inside it. Fischer looked at it intently, trying to decipher it. Abruptly he saw what it was. Barrett spoke at the same moment.

"It looks like the letter 'B.'"

12/24 11:47 A.M.

They stood in the doorway, watching Fischer's slowly moving form until it vanished in the mist. Then Barrett turned.

"All right," he said.

She followed him into the great hall. Barrett hobbled quickly to the Reversor, and she stopped to watch him, trying not to think of Florence. Barrett made a final check on the Reversor, then turned to look at her.

"It's ready," he said.

She wished, for his sake, she could experience the emotion he obviously felt. "I know this moment is important to you," she said.

"Important to science." He turned to the Reversor, set its timer, turned several k.n.o.bs, then, after hesitating for a moment, threw the switch.

For several seconds Edith thought that nothing was happening. Then she heard a resonant hum rise to audibility inside the giant structure and began to feel a throbbing in the floor.

She stared at the Reversor. The hum was rising in pitch and volume, the vibration in the floor increasing; she could feel it running up her legs, into her body. Power Power, she thought-the only thing that could oppose the house. She didn't understand it, but feeling its heavy throb in her body, its reverberation starting to hurt her ears, she almost believed.

She started as, behind the Reversor's grillwork, tubes began to glow with an intense phosph.o.r.escence. Barrett backed off slowly. His fingers trembled as he drew out his pocket watch. Exactly noon. Fittingly precise, he thought. He pushed the watch into his pocket and turned to Edith. "We have to go."

Their coats were on the table by the front door; Barrett had brought them down earlier. Hastily he helped her on with hers. As she a.s.sisted him, she glanced toward the great hall. The noise of the Reversor was painful even here now. She could feel its pulsing in the floor beneath her, hear the rattling of a vase nearby. "Quickly," Barrett said.