Crowley's Window (Novella) (10 page)

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Truly I am…I just heard you scream and…”

The rest of his words were lost to Ingrid. She turned her back on the stranger. She didn’t care what the big man had to say or wonder why he was even here; all she could think about was the last of the poison puddling at her feet. Her clumsiness had wasted her last chance at an easy salvation. What was she going to do now?

Powerful hands grabbed Ingrid by the shoulders and turned her back around. The young man’s words finally broke through the veil of self-loathing she’d tried to cocoon herself within.

“…me what’s going on here? Where is everybody? Where’s Abby?”

“Abby? She’s… gone.”

“You’re not making any sense. Gone where?”

“Dead, of course. Same place I want to be.”

“What the hell are you saying? Where is she? Tell me dammit!”

Ingrid pulled free of the young man’s grasp and sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor. Tears started to flow down both her cheeks as she suddenly realized who this man must be.

“You’re the one, aren’t you? The young man who’s seeing my daughter? She seemed so happy yesterday.”

“Yes, that’s right. Now where is she?”

Ingrid looked into the young man’s eyes and started crying harder, unable to find the words to begin.

“Tell me,” he said. “Please.”

So Ingrid did. Everything.

* * *

Time passed, and with each passing minute Abby felt her fear growing but strangely, so too did her anger. Her mental powers were strong here, developing and changing and this untapped potential blossoming within her gave her courage and a determination that she’d never known existed. She needed to find a way to harness that raw power though; to channel it or it would be useless to her. Unfortunately, Abby had no idea how to do that. The psychic energy was all around her. She could sense it everywhere but it was especially strong coming from the glass jars, the stolen eyes radiating power like hundreds of miniature nuclear power plants. If only she could find a way to tap in before it was too late.

A door opened behind her. Abby immediately smelled the reek of Lavender and rotted meat and knew exactly who had entered the room. The tiny hairs on her arms stood on end and Abby struggled against her restrains but to no avail. She clearly wasn’t going anywhere unless someone released her from the straps so she settled down, lay still, and prepared for whatever might come next. Her heart was racing a million miles an hour.

Crowley ignored her for the most part, shuffling quietly around the room wearing a black hooded robe lighting dozens of candles strategically placed amongst the glass jars on the shelves. Once the room was sufficiently well lit, Crowley walked to Abby’s feet and finally turned to face her. “Can you feel the power in this room? Incredible, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered, lying. Since the moment she’d awakened, she’d felt this incredible surge of emotion washing over her, a cascading flow of energy filling her body and mind as if she’d been plugged into an electric turbine cranking at top speed.

Crowley smiled. “You can’t keep secrets from me, little girl. Not in this sacred place. I know your powers are stronger here, growing more potent by the minute I’m sure. It’s all part of the plan.”

“What plan? Whoever you are, I’m not part of your church or cult or whatever the hell you have going on. My parents might be, but I’m—”

“Hell is
exactly
what I have going on, child, and you are most definitely a part of this. The star of the show actually. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. In fact, my family has been waiting generations, but now you’re finally here.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Marcus Crowley. Reverend Crowley to my faithful flock, including your parents Jarrett and Ingrid.”

“Why did you murder my father?”

“I didn’t. He killed himself.”

“I know. I saw a vision of him drinking the poison juice, but it was you that gave it to him. Why?”

“Can you sense the glass jars all around us? Can you feel the eyes watching you? I’m sure you can. A mixture of honey and embalming fluid keeps the eyes from rotting. Over the years your father helped me collect all of those. Hundreds of them; mostly children and teenage runaways. He was a huge help to me, but once I determined you were ready, I really had no further use for him.”

“So you killed him?”

“No. I rewarded him for his services. Trust me; he’ll be well taken care of in the afterworld. He went to his death with a smile on his face.”

Abby couldn’t fathom that outrageous statement. “Has everyone in the world gone crazy all of a sudden? Who the fuck died and made you God?”

“Oh I don’t wanna be God. I’m only a messenger, Abby. Mock me all you want…but I’ll sit next to the throne once my master returns to reclaim his rightful place.”

“Satan? That’s what this is about? You’re killing innocent children to sacrifice to the Devil? You are crazy!”

“Far from it. And it’s not a devil I worship; although some people have called him that. This is all about family, if you really care to know. My great grandfather was Aleister Crowley. When he was alive, most of Europe considered him an evil monster. He was dubbed ‘The Wickedest Man in the World’, much to his delight. He was an open minded and experimental man who couldn’t swallow the pill the traditional Christian churches were trying to shove down everyone’s throat. He started his own movement eventually, spending the rest of his life writing about and exploring spirituality, sexuality, and all the other fun things hidden in the shadows that normal society didn’t have the guts to poke around in themselves.”

“At least that part makes sense to me now. Aleister Crowley was a nutcase and a sexual deviant. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, right?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, little girl. I have all my ancestor’s journals, passed on to me from my father, and what you and the rest of the naïve world never understood about Aleister was that he wasn’t crazy. He was a powerful mystic on a secret mission. He spent countless hours dabbling in black magic and perfecting astral projection and was convinced he’d found a doorway into the afterlife. He wrote dozens of unpublished journals about the ‘trips’ he’d taken beyond death’s door and swore that one day he’d come back through that door after tapping into the arcane powers on the other side. His time is now, Abby, and like it or not, you and I are going to help him.”

“Help him with what?”

“Coming back to life, naturally. It’s my life’s work…my destiny.
Our
destiny!”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Reverend, but I don’t have a clue what you are talking about. Doorways to the afterlife…arcane powers…astral projection…you’ve got the wrong girl. I just work at a second rate carnival and get the odd vision every now and—”

“Nonsense! You have no idea of your vast powers. Never have. Who do you think set you up at that traveling freakshow? Me, of course. I’ve been watching over you constantly. For good reason too. You’ve been astral projecting your soul for years now. Why else do you think these
visions
, as you call them, are so clear and precise? It’s because you’re actually there, sending a portion of your mind and soul out of your stationary body and traveling to the actual places you see. It’s not just a picture; it’s the actual place, with you transporting your soul through space and sometimes time. It’s incredible! It’s exactly what Aleister used to do, but even he wasn’t as powerful as you. You were developing so fast I had to slow down your progress or you would have been ready to fulfill your destiny much too soon. That’s why I took your eyes.”

“My eyes?” Abby said, her bravado fading, the memories of that awful experience still shrouded in mystery for her, thankfully, but bits and pieces of that night and the surrounding days were peeking through the dark curtain of her subconscious, ready and waiting for her to reach out and pull the veil aside. “What do my eyes have to do with any of this?”

“Everything. They say a person’s eyes are the windows to their soul, right? What they don’t understand is sometimes the soul can look back, even from beyond the walls of death. The eyes are the gateway, Abby, the doorway between worlds, and someone who has the ability to astral project can follow a departing soul across the membrane as they hold onto their last visions of life here on Earth. In Aleister’s journals, he explained how he’d been looking into the eyes of a lover while he strangled her. They were only playing a sexy game, but it went too far and my ancestor unintentionally killed the woman. When she died, Aleister was pulled into the woman through her eyes and he traveled with her departing soul across the line of life and death. He was terrified and quickly pulled back into his own body, but the spark for his life’s work had been lit.”

“What are you talking about? That’s crazy talk, man. He was insane for god’s sake. You have to see that?”

“No, it’s the truth. Aleister could do it. My father and grandfather could do it, and I can too. The problem is the gateway only stays open for a brief moment. Once the soul realizes it’s dead, he or she usually moves on fairly quickly to their eternal reward or damnation and the door closes shut again. I’ve traveled beyond death many times, Abby, and I’ve visited with Aleister time and time again. Trust me, this is no joke.”

“Look, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Just let—”

“It’s just like when you touch someone at the carnival during your shows. That ‘fingerprint’ you get off them guides your projection and you’re drawn toward your visions without having to know where you are traveling, right? It just takes you there. The same thing happens when someone dies that has been sacrificed in Aleister’s honor. There is connection there, a bond that is formed and their soul is drawn towards Aleister. It’s this psychic fingerprint I follow when the body has died. The dead person’s soul comes along for the ride too, of course. They lead me straight to where he waits, imprisoned since his death in 1947. Finding him the first time was tough, but since then it’s been simple. All I need is a new set of eyes each time.”

Abby’s head was spinning, not understanding much of what was being said. Was Crowley serious about all this, or just driven so crazy from all the killing he’d gone completely over the edge into utter madness? She knew enough about psychic powers and real magic through firsthand experience that she couldn’t outright dismiss what he was claiming, but how could it possibly be true? It was lunacy, wasn’t it?”

“I still don’t know what this has to do with me. Just let me go and leave me out of this. It’s got nothing to do with me!”

“Oh, but it does, my sweet. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. My great grandfather and I were taught black arts and learned our witchcraft as we grew up, but not you. You were born with it, pure undiluted magic in your blood. Aleister even tried with several different women to conceive a baby just like you, but you can’t manufacture pure magic. No one can. That was why I was so excited to hear about you being born with the flesh cowl over your face. It was a sign that you were special, and I knew someday you’d grow up being the one we needed.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Like I said, the eyes of the dead only give me a few moments beyond the grave, but you won’t have that problem. Can you see these?” Crowley held up a glass jar with a set of jade-colored eyes inside. Abby could see them and the dark clothed man holding them before her as clear as anything she’d ever seen in any vision, but didn’t say a word. She was too horrified to speak. “Look familiar? They should, they’re yours. The beautiful eyes I cut from you six years ago while you were near death from fever and shock. I did you a favor that night. Doubt you remember but you were screaming about being able to see into the depths of Hell. Your mother thought it was gibberish, but I knew better. You really could, Abby. You were seeing things no living person had any right to, breaking the natural laws of the universe. You were using your raw, untrained powers to astral project away from this realm to beyond the abyss and you didn’t need to follow anyone else’s soul to do it. You did it all on your own. Today, you’re going to do it again.”

“Let me go. Please. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’ll—”

“You’ll do as I command, woman. Don’t be afraid. What do you have to lose…except your soul. I’ve even got a couple parting gifts for you. I’ve had your eyes long enough; it’s time I gave them back. They’ve already shown you the path to Hell once. I’m sure you can find your way back again.”

Crowley leaned over her, smiling at how clever he was, his overpowering stench of flowers and spoiled meat nearly making Abby gag, but just as it seemed he might try kissing her a loud
BANG
from outside interrupted the moment and had Crowley running for the door. Even Abby recognized the noise as a gunshot, and when another shot was fired, hope started to build within her.

David
, she thought.
It has to be him. Somehow he’s found me.

“I’m in here, David!” She screamed as loud as she could. “Help me!”

Crowley raced back into the room, slamming the door and locking it behind him. “Shut up, woman,” he yelled, clearly angry but still in control. “You’re boyfriend is here but my followers will deal with him. He’s too late to do you any good.”

Crowley moved like a cat towards her, smooth and strong, holding Abby’s head still with one big hand and cruelly plucking out her cosmetic glass eyes with the other. He tossed them to the floor and even though Abby tried to shut off her mental pictures, she couldn’t help but see him reach into the honey-filled jar and take out her naturally embalmed eyeballs with one quick scoop. He pressed the soft orbs into her flesh and Abby was sure he’d easily crush the delicate organs but both of them slid into her orbital sockets like a form-fitting ice cube, freezing her nerve endings and sending electric shockwaves all over her shackled body…

…Through a sticky yellow haze Abby watched as a circular hole opened above her, expanding across the entire ceiling and she felt her body rising up off the table. No, not her body; it was still strapped to the hard surface below. It was her soul rising up, drifting away from her flesh and bones just as Crowley had said. Abby tried to scream but she’d lost her voice. She heard another gunshot ring out somewhere nearby, but the room in the abandoned church was behind her now, gone, left behind as her soul rocketed skyward and into the dark void on the other side of death’s door. She had no idea which direction she was headed, but could definitely feel herself being drawn and pulled toward a powerful force that refused to be denied. She tried to fight, to alter her course, but it did no good. Like steel to a magnet, or more appropriately, a moth to a flame, Abby astral projected toward the gates of Hell—and beyond.