The Right Hand of Evil

  "What was what?" Kim asked.

  "Shhh!" Sandy hissed. "I heard something! Just listen!"

  Both girls were silent, then Sandy heard it again. A baby crying! "There!" she exclaimed. "Didn't you hear that?" Kim shook her head. "It was a baby! I heard a baby crying!"

  "Maybe it was Molly," Kim suggested.

  Relief made Sandy's knees go weak. Of course it was Molly! How stupid could she get? If she wasn't such a fraidy cat, she would have known right away that it had to be Kirn's baby sister crying. She followed Kim into the little room that adjoined the master bedroom, where a soft nightlight glowed next to Molly's crib. The two girls leaned over the crib and peered down at the sleeping child. Sandy started to speak, but Kim held her finger to her lips. "If she wakes up, she'll never go back to sleep," she whispered. They tiptoed back out, and Kim gently closed the door behind her. "Well, I guess whatever you heard wasn't Molly."

  A tendril of panic flicked out and tried to grasp Sandy, but this time she refused to let herself give in to it. "It probably wasn't anything. Let's go down and watch the movies we rented. Then at least I'll really have something to be scared about." As they started down the stairs, Sandy glanced once more at the closed door to the old nursery. No matter what Kim said, she'd heard something.

  She'd heard a baby, and the baby had been crying.

  And it had been in that room.

  Sandy wished she hadn't come over here at all.

  Janet Conway felt as if she'd somehow slipped into another world. A parallel world that looked, sounded, and felt so perfectly familiar that it was hard to believe it wasn't the same world in which she'd been living her entire life. In the two hours since she and Ted had arrived at the Engstroms' it seemed she'd skidded into the Twilight Zone as she listened to Marge's summary of the rumors flying through the town over the last few weeks—tales involving the killing of babies and the seduction and slaying of a servant girl. It wasn't as if she'd never heard the rumors before—in the few weeks since the first time they had been to the Engstroms' for dinner, she must have heard every one of them. But tonight, hearing all the threads woven together, they took on a surreal quality. Janet was barely able to believe people would repeat such things, let alone accept them as true.

  There had apparently even been whispers of Devil worship.

  Devil worship?

  In her family?

  "Where on earth could such stories be coming from?" she wanted to know, her voice shaking with outrage. She searched her mind for something to explain the terrible stories, but there was nothing. Nothing any of them had done. There'd been the problem with Jared being late getting back from lunch, but the school had dealt with that. Then she remembered a moment in the cemetery, at Aunt Cora's funeral, and she heard Ted saying, "I just don't hold with religion," despite her own silent wish that he would keep his opinion to himself. But he hadn't: "Never have. I don't mind my kids going to your school, but don't count on any of us showing up for church on Sundays."

  Father MacNeill? But could that brief conversation have been enough to make the priest try to drive them out of town?

  "Might just be," Phil Engstrom mused when she repeated the incident. "Father Mack don't take lightly to people not holdin' with his religion. Don't take lightly to it at all." His eyes shifted from Janet to Ted, then back to Janet. "Anything else happen that day? If we're gonna beat this opposition tomorrow night, I better know exactly what we're up agin'."

  Janet, about to shake her head, was stopped by another memory rising up like a cobra uncoiling. "Jake Cumberland," she said. "He was there, too. He just stood outside the fence, glowering at us." There had been something strange, even eerie, about the man, and Janet shuddered, recalling his mute, angry stare. Then she herself grew angry that their hope for a new life was threatened by something so trivial as rumors spread by an angry priest and the antipathy of a slightly deranged trapper who apparently held Ted responsible for something that might have happened to his mother forty years earlier.

  "There has to be something we can do," she said, still searching for a solution as the evening came to an end. "Maybe we should sue Father MacNeill, or—"

  "We're not going to sue anyone," Ted interrupted.

  Janet sighed. "But it just seems so unfair—"

  "It is unfair," Ted agreed. "But we'll get through it. We'll just have to go to the meeting tomorrow, and convince everyone that even if everything they've heard is true, it doesn't have anything to do with us. I'll just have to bring them around, that's all."

  As they were driving home later, Janet found herself looking at the houses they passed. On most of the porches, the jack-o'-lanterns were still flickering, as if winking mockingly at her. Hadn't she read somewhere about a movement to ban Halloween on the grounds that the celebration might have some connection to Satanism? A month or two ago, the notion would have struck her as ludicrous. Now, as she looked at the leering faces of the carved pumpkins, she found herself wondering how many of the people behind those jack-o'-lanterns had been listening to the rumors about Ted's family, believing them, and passing them on.

  Hypocrites! she thought bitterly. They're all a bunch of hypocrites.

  "Looks so peaceful, you'd never know what's going on, doesn't it?" Ted asked, seeming to read her mind.

  She reached over and slipped her hand into his. "Do you really think it will all blow over?"

  "Sure it will." Ted braked the car to a stop. "Maybe when people find out tomorrow that nothing terrible happened to Sandy when she spent the night at our place, things will start dying down." He grinned. "I mean, wouldn't you think if we were such monsters—or even if the house really is haunted—that something awful would happen to her?"

  "Don't say that," Janet protested, shuddering. "Don't even think it!"

  Yet the words were already spoken, hanging in the air. As she put her key in the lock of the front door, Janet had a terrible premonition about what she might find inside the house.

  She pushed the door open and stepped inside, Ted right behind her.

  The lights in the entry hall were off.

  The house was silent.

  Then she heard something.

  A door, creaking open.

  Her pulse quickened, and a chill passed through her.

  Then, as the unseen door creaked once more, the quiet of the house was shattered by a scream.

  "Kim?" Janet shouted, switching on the chandelier and flooding the entry hall with light. "KIM!"

  There was a silence—a terrifying silence that froze Janet's blood—until she heard her daughter's voice.

  "In the library!" Kim called out. "We're watching a movie."

  From behind her, Janet heard Ted snicker, and turned to glare at him. "Don't you tell her," she warned. "Not a single word."

  "Please?" Ted begged. "You looked so scared."

  "And you weren't?" Janet countered.

  Ted hesitated, then nodded. "Well, maybe just a little bit," he agreed. "Come on, let's go take a head count and make sure the right number of bodies are here."

  Together, they went into the library, where the two girls were stretched out on the floor watching a movie. On the screen, a masked figure held one of the nastiestlooking knives Janet had ever seen, about to plunge it into a terrified victim. "How can you watch that?" she asked. "I'd be scared out of my wits."

  "It's fun," Kim told her.

  "It's creepy," Sandy declared.

  Kim rolled her eyes at her friend's nervousness. "It's only a movie. We can shut it off anytime we want."

  Janet glanced pointedly at the clock. "Well, just make sure it's off by midnight, okay?"

  Ten minutes later Janet and Ted were in their room. Molly was still sound asleep in her crib, and there'd been no sign of Jared all evening. "See? I told you there was nothing to worry about," Ted said as he slid into bed. "Now, why don't you come join me?"

  "Ted! Kim and Sandy are right downstairs!"

  "They won't hear a thing," Ted assured her.
"Come here."

  As Ted wrapped his arms around her and began covering her with kisses, Janet felt the tension of the evening finally slipping away.

  "It'll be all right," Ted whispered in her ear. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll make it all right."

  Then his mouth covered hers, and she gratefully gave in to the pleasures of their bodies.

  CHAPTER 26

  The touch was as gentle on her skin as the caress of a summer breeze, so light that at first Sandy was hardly even aware of it. All she knew was that a slight thrill had run through her, disappearing so quickly that she wasn't quite sure she'd felt it.

  Yet something had happened.

  Something she wanted more of.

  She stretched her body languidly, but didn't open her eyes for fear of losing the last faint vestiges of the elusive pleasure.

  The touch came again, as soft and soothing as the fur of a kitten, but now she could hear something, too.

  A strange sound, not quite a voice, but not quite music. The sound reached deep within her, resonating inside her.

  The touch was stronger now, like gentle fingers against her skin, and once more she stretched her body, as if reaching out to the source of the caress.

  The sound—the odd not-quite-music—was forming into a whispered voice, drawing each syllable of her name into a sigh of longing: "Saann ... deee..."

  Then again: "Saann ... deee..."

  "Yes," Sandy whispered. "Oh, yes..."

  Now, lying in the darkness, the soothing sounds washing over her, she felt soft lips touch her own, and the gentle touch grew more bold.

  Hands slipped beneath her blouse, and the nipples on her breasts hardened while at the same time a great lassitude spread over her.

  She wanted nothing more than to lie where she was, surrounded by the protective darkness, thrilling to the touch, yet calmed by the soothing sounds.

  She shivered with pleasure, straining closer to the touch.

  And in the instant she responded to it, it vanished.

  Sandy's breath caught, and she felt a terrible sense of disappointment.

  Of loss.

  "Nooo," she whimpered so softly the word was barely spoken. "Noooo..."

  She reached out, searching in the darkness for the source of the touch, silently pleading for its return.

  And in the darkness she felt something. Her fingers closed on a strong hand, and a moment later she felt herself being drawn to her feet.

  "Come," a whispered voice instructed. "Come with me...."

  Sandy let herself be led through the darkness, afraid to open her eyes lest the magical touch and voice prove to be as ephemeral as a dream, vanishing as she came wide-awake.

  She had no sense of where she might be going, where the pleasure might lead her, but it didn't matter. All she wanted was to follow.

  Slowly the darkness around her began to change. Her whole being felt suffused with a growing light, and the hands that guided her now lay her gently on a surface so soft it felt as if it must be nothing more than a cloud. Sighing in contentment, Sandy let herself sink into the softness.

  The suffusing light brightened into a golden glow swirling with a rainbow of colors, and once again she heard the strange sounds—not quite voices, but not quite music—pulsing in her head, wrapping her whole body in its throbbing rhythms. Then, from somewhere just beneath her consciousness, a voice whispered to her.

  "Open your eyes, Sandy. Don't just feel me and hear me. See me, too...."

  Obeying the voice, Sandy slowly opened her eyes. She was blinded by the golden luminescence and flow of color, but then an image began to take form.

  A face—the most beautiful face she'd ever seen—loomed a few inches above her own. Eyes the color of sapphires gazed into her own; full lips hovered close to hers, smiling. The jaw was strong, the chin slightly cleft. The cheekbones and forehead were high, and framed by waves of chestnut hair.

  It was exactly the face that until now she'd seen only in her fantasies, coming to her during the daydreams in which she imagined the man who would someday sweep her into his arms and carry her away.

  As if in answer to every craving she'd ever felt, the face above her came closer. She felt the lips brush her own. She tried to raise her arms, to pull herself closer to the object of her dreams, but somehow her limbs refused to obey.

  She lay helpless in the vision's thrall, craving every touch, moaning softly.

  She felt the tip of a tongue prod gently at her lips, and opened her mouth to accept it. Then, once again, she felt the caressing fingers stroking her body.

  The buttons of her blouse opened; her jeans slid down her hips.

  The fingers were everywhere now—hundreds of them—tracing intricate patterns on her skin, brushing over her breasts and hips, stroking her thighs.

  Her legs spread, and her breath turned ragged as the electricity of the vision's touch streamed through her.

  The rhythms of the music intensified; the throbbing grew more urgent.

  Sandy felt herself writhing now, straining upward against the bonds that seemed to bind her to the cloud, every nerve in her responding to the magical touch. Her skin felt damp with sweat, and then she felt a tongue—no, dozens of tongues—licking it all away. Her own moans mixed with the pulsing rhythms and she felt as if she might pass out as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

  "Yes..." she whispered once again. "Oh, God, yes..."

  Then, as she gave herself over completely to the sensations of her body, another sound broke through the unearthly music in her head.

  It was the sound of laughter—laughter that mocked her.

  For an instant she tried to pull away, tried to extricate herself from the maelstrom of pleasure in which she wallowed, but it was far too late.

  Moaning one last time, she submitted herself to the pleasure.

  And the laughter grew.

  No! Not again! Don't let it be happening again!

  But instead of instantly passing, leaving her with the eerie feeling that she'd just reexperienced something that had happened before, the deja vu only deepened its grip on Kim.

  It was happening all over again.

  Once again she was lost in the house, racing through an endless maze of corridors that branched off, then branched again and again, forcing her to make a choice at every juncture.

  Once more she could sense some unseen menace closing in on her, toying with her, circling her, never quite visible, but always drawing closer and closer.

  When she came to the top of the flight of stairs with the barely visible pinpoint of light at the bottom, she wanted to turn back, knowing what she would find when she finally came to the bottom of the stairs and entered the light.

  Jared.

  But not Jared.

  Someone else, someone who looked like Jared but wasn't.

  She tried to turn away from the stairs, but now she could hear the music, too, faintly throbbing rhythms that, though barely audible, insinuated themselves inside her like tentacles wrapping around every nerve in her body, taking over control so that she had no choice but to take that first step down into the abyss.

  Kim's heart pounded with terrible anticipation as she descended the endless staircase, and when she finally came to the bottom, it felt as if all the energy had been drained from her body, and along with her energy, her will to resist had been sapped as well.

  The music was louder now, and its hold on her stronger. The point of light stood in the darkness like a beacon, and despite her exhaustion, Kim moved toward it. After what seemed an eternity, she stood before the final door.

  Don't, she told herself. Don't go through the door.

  But even as the thought formed in her mind, her hand went to the knob, turned it, and slowly pushed the door open. It swung silently inward on its hinges, moving as easily as if it were floating weightlessly in the air. And as it opened, the strange cathedral appeared before her, its roof soaring so high it was all but invisible. Candles—millions of t
hem—flickered everywhere, suffusing the vast chamber with a shadowless glow, and filling it with a sweet pungency that made Kim feel lightheaded. Straight ahead of her the altar was all but lost in the swirling smoke of the candles, but even from the doors she could see that something—something familiar—lay at the foot of the inverted cross that hung above the altar itself.

  As the doors slammed shut behind her, the light of the candles faded into a stark white glare punctuated by pools of darkness, a darkness so black that Kim shivered with visions of the terrors those shadows might hide.

  She wanted to turn, wanted to flee, but her will was not her own.

  Slowly, inexorably, she began to walk down the aisle.

  Like a bride. The manic thought seemed to come out of nowhere. That thought was followed by another: If I'm a bride, where is my groom?

  And suddenly she saw him.

  A tall figure, clad in a flowing robe of scarlet—the only splash of color in the surreal scene—appeared in front of the altar, facing her, one hand outstretched. As she moved down the cathedral's broad aisle, the face of the waiting figure came into focus. His features were strong and even; his eyes seemed to hold her own, drawing her toward him like a moth to a beacon of light.

  Then she recognized him.

  The figure was Jared.

  Jared? she thought. It can't be Jared—you can't marry your own brother.

  The figure drew closer.

  No, not Jared. It couldn't be Jared. It had to be someone who looked just like him. Had to be!

  The music, a cacophony of discordant shrieking, battered at Kim's ears as she approached the altar. The red-robed figure reached for her hand, and Kim watched helplessly as her own hand seemed to rise against her will to slip into his. Just as their fingers were about to touch, the face before her changed.

  The skin, smooth and milky white only a moment before, turned scaly.

  Pustules erupted from the suddenly sunken cheeks.

  The clear eyes began to run with cloudy mucus, and the mouth opened to reveal a long, sharply pointed tongue that darted toward her, splitting in two, with each of the two points morphing into the twin heads of a pair of serpents whose mouths gaped open as they hung before her, their fangs dripping with venom, their forked tongues lashing out at her.