Right Hand of Evil (36 page)

It wasn't possible.
None of what she was seeing could possibly be happening.

Janet's last scream hung in the air, fading away, only to build once again, as if somehow the vast chamber into which she'd stumbled were amplifying it and reamplifying it.

Every muscle in her body had gone flaccid, and for a moment that went on forever, she thought she would collapse to the floor.

Her mind cast out in every direction, seeking something, anything, that would make sense of what she was experiencing.

A nightmare?

But she was awake! She knew she was awake.

An hallucination. That had to be it-everything she'd seen, the strange look to the house, the bizarre alterations to her trompe l'oeil, none of it could be anything but an hallucination.

Her eyes flicked over the impossible vision before her. Jared's room, that musty, black-walled chamber, had vanished. But what had taken its place couldn't exist. As the door had swung open, the piercing light from within blinded her for a second, but then her vision had cleared and she'd seen it: a space so vast it seemed to go on forever, its farthest reaches lost in shadows so black they devoured the harsh, cold light that seemed to come from everywhere-and nowhere. But what had made her scream-the image that had ripped an anguished howl of pure horror from her throat-was the altar that loomed in the distance, dominating the entire space, although it appeared so far away as to be unreachable.

Bones. The whole thing was made of human bones-thousands of them. The altar was covered with flickering candles from which the scent of burning flesh billowed into the thick, smoke-filled atmosphere. On the altar lay the desiccated remains of a hand.

A human hand.

A right hand.

Its nails split with age, its rotted skin falling away, its forefinger curled as if beckoning to her. She knew instinctively where it had come from: the desecrated tomb of George Conway. Even as its image burned into her mind, Janet forced herself to look away, only to be faced with something else. It, too, she recognized in a flash: the severed right forepaw of her son's pet, Scout. Next to it lay the foot of another animal, but that one, blessedly, she did not recognize.

Nauseated, she tore her eyes from the grisly objects, only to face an even more horrifying vision: above the altar, floating unsupported by anything she could see, was an inverted cross.

From the cross was suspended a figure, held to it with a single spike piercing both feet, its head dangling down. Two more spikes pierced the figure's wrists, pinning them to the transverse of the cross.

A great gash was torn in the figure's right side, and blood oozed from the wound. Blood, and something else as well.

A squirming, roiling mass of maggots, erupting from the great wound.

At last her eyes fastened on the figure's face, and her screams built until her own voice filled the vast space, then buffeted back at her, perverted into taunting laughter. For it was her own features she beheld above the altar, twisted in anguish, blood dripping down the planes of her face to mat her hair.

She felt the pain now. Her feet and wrists throbbed with agony, and the wound, churning with the ravenous maggots, burned unbearably in her side. She could feel the heat of blood streaming from the gash, and her nostrils filled with its coppery odor. She tried to take a step forward, collapsed to her knees and screamed again as her bloodied hands struck the floor.

Drugs!

That was it! Somehow, she had to have been drugged. But even that made no sense, for she could remember everything perfectly clearly, from the moment Ted came home last night.

Their lovemaking.

Falling asleep in his arms.

Waking up, filled with a sense of well-being and contentment.

She'd eaten nothing-drunk nothing.

Then how…? But the question was never completed, for even as it formed, two new figures appeared. Although their backs were toward her, she recognized them immediately.

Her husband.

And her son.

Together, they placed a bundle on the altar, something she couldn't quite see, for it was wrapped in some kind of animal skin.

A skin covered with golden fur.

Then, even before realizing what the skin must be, she knew with terrible certainty what was inside it.

"Molly!" she screamed.

Ignoring the agony in her feet and wrists, Janet raced toward the grotesque altar. From out of nowhere, a terrible peal of laughter rolled over her, and both Ted and Jared turned to gaze at her.

Ted raised his finger to point at her, and she felt a stab of heat lash into her, as if she'd been struck by a laser. Still she lurched toward the altar, her arms outstretched, her baby daughter's name shrieking from her lips. "Molly… Molly… Molly… Molly…"

The howls of mocking laughter swelled, and over and over again she felt the whiplike flick of the unseen force emanating from Ted's hand. Then, when she was still ten yards from the altar, Ted spoke.

"Stop her!"

Jared, a glittering dagger clutched in his right hand, started toward his mother.

Father MacNeill held Kim's hands in his and looked deep into her eyes. He could still see the terror that had taken root inside her, but now there was something else as well: a look of resolve was displacing the fear. As they stood in front of the house, the girl's determination was overcoming the paralyzing panic that had overpowered her in the biology lab at school. "You can do it, Kimberley," he said quietly. "Just remember, your aunt was right. The cross will protect you. You're going to see more frightening things than you can even imagine, but as long as you wear the cross, you will be safe. Do you understand that?"

Kim hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding.
Safe,
she whispered to herself. The word had become a mantra, which she kept silently repeating as her fingers constantly went to the cross suspended from her neck on the thin gold chain:
Safe… Safe… Safe…
But what if the chain broke? What if the cross fell away and-

"Kim… Kiiimmmmm…"

Jared's voice again! But it sounded weaker, as if he were sinking farther into the depths she'd seen in her dreams, sinking beyond her reach. "Now," she whispered, almost as much to herself as to the two priests who flanked her. Leaving them on the sidewalk, she started toward the house.

"We can't let her go in there by herself," Father Bernard said as she moved across the lawn.

Father MacNeill said nothing until Kim mounted the steps to the porch. Even from here he could feel the icy chill emanating from the structure, almost see the heavy aura of evil that hung over it. "We don't have a choice," he finally replied. "Neither you nor I could even cross the threshold. We don't have the strength."

As Kimberley Conway slowly opened the front door, stepped through it, then closed it behind her, the two priests began to pray.

As it echoed through the vast emptiness of the house, the sound of the door closing behind Kim had a terrible finality to it. She stood perfectly still. Everything about the house had changed; the icy chill was all-pervasive now, and Kim knew there was nothing she could do to protect herself from it. The air had taken on a heaviness that made it difficult to breathe, and every instinct within Kim told her to leave.

To leave now, before it was too late.

But even as her instincts tried to force her to turn away, she started toward the stairs.

A rat came out of nowhere, darting toward her. Kim reflexively flinched backward, a shriek of revulsion rising in her throat.

Not real!

The words rose in her mind as her right hand clutched the cross around her neck.

The rat vanished.

Vanished, or only veered away to disappear through the open doors of the dining room?

Steeling herself against the panic the rat's appearance had brought on, Kim continued toward the stairs. The atmosphere grew even heavier, and her feet seemed mired in quicksand, as if she were caught up in a terrible nightmare.

She came to the bottom of the stairs, but even as she set foot on the first tread, the staircase itself came alive with snakes. They were everywhere, writhing among themselves, then rising up, their heads swaying as their tongues flicked out at her.

Kim's fingers tightened on the cross, and she took a second step, then a third.

The serpents parted before her.

As she came to the landing, a high-pitched shriek rent the silence of the house, and Kim whirled around, but saw nothing.

Another shriek, once again behind her.

She spun around again, but again saw nothing. Now the shrieking built to a howl, and Kim covered her ears, bolting up the flight to the mezzanine. A moment later she stood in front of the door to her parents' room, and as she reached for the knob, she tried to prepare herself for whatever might wait within.

She turned the knob, pushed the door open.

The corpse, naked, hung from the chandelier, a thick rope knotted around its neck.

The mouth hung open, the tongue lolled out.

The empty, dead eyes fixed on Kim.

It was her mother.

Once again a scream boiled up in Kim's throat; once again the voice inside spoke as her fingers tightened on her cross:
Not real!

Her mother's lifeless arm came up; her finger pointed accusingly at her. "Your fault!" The words croaked from her mother's constricted throat, dribbled from lips grayed with death.

Kim's heart thudded, her legs went weak. Hysteria threatened to overwhelm her. But then, from somewhere deep within, she heard her aunt's voice whispering. "It will protect you. The cross will protect you." Forcing back the hysteria that threatened to paralyze her, Kim turned away from the specter hanging from the chandelier, and went to the small dresser on which her mother's jewelry box sat. Opening the lid, she began searching, hunting for the second cross. The top tray was filled with a tangle of necklaces and a few inexpensive rings, but there was no sign of the cross. Kim lifted out the tray. Beneath it was another compartment, in which lay three boxes. The first one contained a single strand of pearls; the second an ornately carved jade pendant Kim hadn't seen since her grandmother had died a dozen years earlier. Attached to the pendant's chain was a small tag, with a message written in her grandmother's shaky hand:

For Kim on her 21st birthday.
She clutched the pendant for a moment, then put it back and opened the third box.

The second gold cross glittered brightly. As Kim lifted it out of the box, a scream of agony erupted behind her. She whirled around to see her mother's corpse twitching at the end of the rope; both hands were now stretched toward Kim as greedy fingers tried to snatch away the cross.

"No!" Kim breathed. "Never!"

The specter screamed again, the dead features of the face contorting with rage. The arms stretched toward her until the fingers almost touched Kim's flesh.

Her courage teetered as her heart pounded. But she didn't flinch away.

With one final howl of enraged frustration, the terrible specter of her mother's corpse dropped away.

The chain wrapped around Kim's fingers, the cross itself clutched tightly in her left hand, she returned to the bedroom door and paused, listening. Through the door's thick panels she could hear something-something that sounded faintly familiar, but that she couldn't quite put a name to.

She opened the door a crack, and instantly the sound threatened to deafen her.

Wasps!

Millions of them, swirling in a cloud so thick she almost couldn't see across to the opposite side of the hall. All her instincts told her to slam the door closed again, to cower in the safety of the bedroom until the stinging horde was gone. But once again she forced her instincts aside and threw the door wide.

The wasps swirled around her head.

Steadily, Kim began walking toward the head of the stairs, her skin crawling with the anticipation of millions of tiny feet clinging to her, thousands of stingers plunging into her body. She broke into a run, pounded down the stairs, then through the doors into the dining room. She slammed the dining room doors closed. Instantly, the droning of the insects died away.

As she moved toward the door to the basement stairs, she tried not to even glance at her mother's mural, terrified of what she might now see there. But her eyes were drawn to it, and her breath caught in her throat as she gazed into a blazing inferno beyond the French doors she had watched her mother draw. Flames were everywhere; the trees bore limbs of fire, and clouds of smoke hung in the sky. Burning figures whirled and spun across the fiery lawn. The cacophonic moans of a thousand tortured souls rolled out of the scene, and Kim felt an unbearable hopelessness pervade her.

Then a longing seized her-a terrible longing to banish the cold that had enveloped her the moment she'd entered the house by stepping into the blaze. Abruptly, the French doors were no longer painted on the wall, and she knew all she had to do was step through them and she would be warmed by the fires.

The fires of Hell.

She took a step toward the doors; they opened of their own volition, as if to welcome her.

Another step.

Then another.

Only one more, and-

Seizing control of herself, Kim turned away from the flaming eternity beyond the doors and moved instead to the door that led to the basement.

A door that slammed behind her, plunging her into inky blackness.

The cross clutched in her hand, she began descending the stairs.

Janet felt the tip of the dagger at her throat, but even the threat of its plunging deep into her neck would not have stopped her had she been able to force her body to obey her will. But instead of responding to the commands of her mind, everything below her neck had gone numb. It was as if some alien force had wrested control from her, compelling her to stand where she was and watch.

Ted had by now opened the skin of the dog, unwrapping Molly, who now lay naked upon the altar.

Molly, too, seemed in the grip of the same force that had paralyzed Janet, for she made no move to escape. But she was crying, and Janet could hear her terror.

Ted had lain the child on her back, and she looked utterly helpless in the candlelight. Her eyes were fastened on the image on the cross-Janet's own image-and Janet was certain Molly thought that what she was seeing was real.

"Stop," she begged Ted. "For the love of God, Ted! What are you doing?"

Ted turned to face her. Though she still recognized him, his handsome features were bloated, his skin blotched and mottled. Sores and pustules were erupting on every part of him that she could see, and as he turned to her, his robe fell open.

His skin was rippling strangely, and then Janet saw the source of the rippling as swarms of maggots began to break through his skin, wriggling free, dropping off him to creep across the floor toward her.

She sobbed, and with every cry that emerged from her throat, a hideous peal of cruel laughter boiled from her husband's mouth.

His glittering eyes flicked toward her as the knife in Jared's hand moved. Janet felt the point slip through her skin.

"Wait!" Ted commanded.

Jared froze. The knife stayed, quivering, its point still in her flesh.

"Molly," Ted whispered. "Molly first, and then your mother."

"No," Janet whispered. It was a nightmare-it had to be! And yet, despite its impossibility, Janet knew it wasn't a dream. "Oh, please…" she moaned, her voice breaking.

The point of the knife withdrew as Jared moved away from her, leaving a bead of blood on her neck. But still Janet was held in the thrall of the unseen force, and could do nothing to save her youngest child. As she watched helplessly, Jared approached the altar until he stood above Molly, the dagger poised above her naked belly.

"Do it, Jared," Ted's menacing voice whispered. "You know you have to, Jared. You know you want to! Serve your master, Jared! Serve him as I promised you would!"

An explosion of pure rage erupted from Janet. "What!" she demanded. What master? What did you promise? "Tell me what you did!"

Ted's glittering eyes fixed on her. "I did what I had to do," he spat. "I did what I needed to do for me, and for you, too!"

Janet gazed bleakly at him, her mind reeling, trying to grasp what he was saying. But nothing made any sense. Everything she was seeing, everything she was hearing-all of it was impossible. Yet deep inside, she knew it wasn't impossible. Deep inside-in some way she would never be able to fathom-she knew what Ted had done.

He had given up his soul.

And his son's soul, too.

Not
his
son!
Their
son! "No," she screamed. "You can't do it. You can't give Jared away! He's not yours, Ted!"

"Isn't he?" Ted taunted. "Watch him! Just watch him. He'll do exactly as he's told." He turned away from Janet to face the altar, and raised his arms.

Before her the inverted cross-and the agonized image of Janet herself-disappeared. In its place a visage of pure evil materialized, a face with features torn from a nightmare. The eyes, sunk deep within suppurating sockets, glittered in the hard, cold light. They were fixed on Janet, and she could feel them boring into her, searching deep within her, looking for-what?

Weakness!

What do you want?
Though the question was spoken silently, Janet could hear the menacing-yet somehow seductive-voice as clearly as if it had spoken directly into her ear.
You can have it. You can have anything you want.

Now the image began to change, the vile face softening until she was looking at Ted.

But not Ted the way he was.

Ted the way he'd been, many years ago.

Except even that wasn't true. The Ted she now beheld hovering above the altar wasn't Ted as he'd ever been; he was the Ted she'd always dreamed of.

Perfect in every way, his features handsome and even, his eyes clear.

Everything about him idealized.

The image of Ted smiled at her. It spoke again with Ted's voice, caressing her, soothing her.

Promising her.

"Anything, Janet. You can have anything you want. Your life can be as perfect as you've ever dreamed…" The voice went on, whispering, murmuring, reaching deep within.

"No," she whispered, but this time it was more a plea than a command, and as the voice continued its siren song, the image's perfect eyes fixed on her. She felt the deep pull of temptation. "Please," she begged. "Don't do this to me… please don't do this…"

But now she was feeling Ted, too, feeling his hands on her body, his warm fingers exploring every part of her, touching her, stroking her. She felt a surge of warmth grow in her groin and begin spreading through her, and her words turned to soft moans of ecstasy.

"You want it, Janet," the voice purred. "You know you want it. Anything and everything. Just give yourself to me, Janet. Open yourself. Let me in. Let me possess you. Let me-"

Suddenly, a single word resounded through the vast cathedral, shattering the seduction. "NOOOooo…!"

For a moment Janet had no idea where the sound had come from, but then she heard it again, from behind her. Tearing her eyes loose from the perfect image of Ted that hung suspended above the candlelit altar, she twisted around.