“Couldn’t say so. Why, what is it supposed to be?”
“That’s just what I want to know. Can you read it?”
Derek leafed through a few pages, pausing over
certain words for a moment, then shook his head and handed the book back to
Mike. “No, I can’t, but it’s in Latin. I’m sure of it, for what it’s worth. And
old. You’ll have to find someone who can read Latin.”
“Who in hell can read Latin around here?”
“Sometimes a priest or minister is trained to read
dead languages for their work. Do you have anyone like that living here?”
Parker broke into the discussion with a snort. “All
we’ve got out here is the preacher, and he can barely read English, much less
some fancy Latin stuff. He’s got an I.Q. a two-year-old can count. Forget him.”
Mike was getting irritated. “Who then, dammit?”
“What about Doctor Wittakin?” Ann suggested. She
smiled and shrugged meekly as the three men looked at her.
“She’s right, Mike,” Parker agreed. “Like I said
before; a loony wrote it, maybe one can read it.”
“He’s not a loony; he’s just a lonely old man,” Ann
said. “He used to be a professor at a college or something, and he wrote a
couple of books.”
“Did you ever read one?”
“No,” Ann sighed. “I tried to one time. It was about
history, and it was very deep. And very boring.”
Mike picked up the book and studied it, cradling it
in his hand as if it might suddenly open and tell him what he wanted to know.
He had too many questions and no answers, nothing but a lousy half of a book
that couldn’t be read and was probably an old cook book written by some nut.
What
the hell.
He sighed and stood up.
“Well, I guess I’ll take a run out there. Anyway, it
can’t hurt. Anybody want to come along for the ride?”
Parker accepted quickly, and when Derek said he would
go, Ann agreed to go, too. They gathered their coats, piled into Mike’s car,
Mike and Parker in front, Ann and Derek in back, and began the muddy drive.
* * *
Dr. Wittakin’s house was a one story brick dwelling
set a short distance from the road. Smoke drifted from the chimney, beat low by
the clouds and driving rain, and the smell of burning wood was thick in the
air. Mr. Wittakin answered the door at the second knock. Leaning heavily on a
wooden cane, he led them inside to the cheerfully burning fireplace.
“Sit, sit, sit.” Mr. Wittakin gestured toward the
couch and easy chairs crowding the fireplace. The old man’s voice was deep. Ann
helped the Doctor settle into his surprisingly overstuffed chair before she
joined them on the couch. Derek took the opportunity to glance around. It was
impressive.
The large room was dim and filled with dancing
shadows from the fire. Most of the furniture was mahogany, massive and carved.
Heavy drapes of a deep blood color hung at the windows. Two iron chandeliers
hung from thick beams stretching across the ceiling. There were books
everywhere.
Wittakin lit his pipe, fussing with it until it was
drawing to his satisfaction. He eased back in his chair, directing his
attention at Mike. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of the company of these
fine people and yourself, sheriff?”
“Well, you know the rest of us, and this is Derek
Hanen.” Derek nodded and Mike continued. “We’ve got a problem and thought that
you might be able to help.”
“By all means, continue, and we shall see.”
“You have heard about the deaths of the Tomalo boy
and Doctor Hillard?”
“Yes I have. And?”
“There are more people missing now, too.”
“I see. It might help if you tell me just how it is I
might be able to assist you.”
Mike gave him an account of the last few days, beginning
with Derek finding the boy’s body, though his own exploration of the Jarman
place. He told of finding the book, and their discussion of it, (leaving out,
of course, the questionable reference to Wittakin’s state of mental health),
and ended by handing the book to Witakin.
The old man wandered almost absently through the book
for the first few moments, then began examining certain passages with growing
interest. He asked Ann to get him a particular book from a crowded bookshelf,
then began comparing parts of the two.
“Can you read it?” Parker asked.
“No, dear merchant, merely looking at the pictures.”
Parker said no more.
Half an hour passed before Wittakin set the book
down, taking time to relight his pipe before releasing those around him of
their suspense.
“This, basically, is a grimoire.” Wittakin smiled at
the blank looks. “A grimoire is a black book, a book of the sorcerers. There
have been many famous ones, such as the Grimorium Verum, the Grimoire of
Honorius, the Fourth Book of Agrippa… All of which I have copies. This is
one-half of one that I am unfamiliar with, unfortunately. It appears to have
been written between five and six hundred years ago, probably in England, by person or persons unknown. It deals with the subjects of magic, sorcery, and
necromancy. Very interesting. It contains some information and statements that
I have never seen before.”
Mike’s face flooded with disgust. “You mean devil
worship and voodoo and all that? That stuff is a bunch of horse shit. Parker
was right, that book was written by a nut!”
“That is a matter of opinion. The many unfortunate
victims selected for sacrifice, or hunted down and burned alive because of
their beliefs since the dawn of history, and before, found the matter to be
very real indeed. Nine-tenths of humanity believes in god, demons, and things
that go bump in the dark. Agnostics are the minority. Even though man’s beliefs
may change, two things he has been consistent about are the destruction of his
fellow man, and the worship of his gods and demons, in one form or another. It
is as inseparable from man’s being as his heart is from his body.”
It was Parker’s turn to be disgusted. “You mean, you
buy in all that stuff?”
“Many intelligent people believe in god. If one is to
believe in one supernatural being, he can’t deny the possibility of others.”
Wattakin smiled. “Please don’t misunderstand me when I speak of the
supernatural as a fact. It is still a matter of opinion. I have never held up a
test-tube and said ‘there, if you look closely, you will see a supernatural
being’, nor have I ever been given absolute proof of their existence. There are
books filled with documented cases of possession, poltergeists, necromancy,
ghosts, and almost everything related to them. Many of them can be explained
away as hoaxes, but there is always a small percentage that cannot.
“It has been man’s belief throughout history that
death is not ‘the end’, but merely a transitory state between this life and the
next. Many of the ‘demons’ and ‘evil spirits’ were believed to be mortal men of
sufficient power to continue their evil deeds even after death, and that their
life-force, or spirits, call them what you will, continue on indefinitely.”
“But how could something without a body have any
effect on anything?” Ann asked. “And what do you mean by ‘power’?”
“According to classical literature, the spirits would
often take over the bodies of a living form, such as a human, and do what it
will. It is not difficult to imagine, considering the powers locked in the
human brain. I have seen people move physical objects with nothing more than
their minds. I have seen people who could see through solid material, or read
other people’s minds, or tell you what will happen tomorrow.
“Under the name of witchcraft or the occult, men and
women for thousands of years have been building up charges of emotional power
that can kill or heal. They channel those forces at the ones they chose, and it
works, unless the subject resists and has the power and knowledge to fight
back.
“The same is true in cases of possession. Emotional
power is built up in the mind of the exorcist, then released into the possessed
through religious symbolism and ritual, driving out the offending demon.”
“Okay, okay.” Mike’s patience was dwindling rapidly.
“To get back to the problem, do you think there might be a connection between
what’s been going on and this book? Maybe some maniac is out sacrificing people
to the great spirit toad on a pedestal, or something.”
“As far as the book itself goes, it means little. I
have several much like it myself, and I assure you, I’m not merrily dashing
about, removing people’s hearts. But if I were to tell you that there might be
some supernatural cause for your trouble, would you believe me?”
“In a pig’s butt!”
“You have a mind like a steel trap, sheriff,” the old
man smiled. “Always ready to spring shut. But, then again, I will not blame you
in this matter.”
“If there was something like that out there, how
could anyone get rid of it?” Ann asked.
“That, I don’t know. No ‘civilized’ man does. Man
knows nothing about the universe he lives in, yet he considers himself
ultimately intelligent. A power equal or greater than their own would be
necessary, and without understanding them…”
“How about importing a witch-doctor?” Parker laughed.
“That, believe it or not, is the best suggestion yet.
My congratulations, Parker.”
“Just for the sake of argument,” Mike said, “Is there
anything in that book that says how to send those monsters back to where they
came from? Assuming that it really was Halloween?”
“Not that I found. If there were at all, I would
venture to say that it would be in the other half of the book that we do not
possess. And, if you do happen to find the other half, I would very much like
to see it.”
Mike stood up wearily, making it obvious that he
considered the conversation to be at its end. “Thank you for your time, but I
don’t think we’re going to be needing any witch-doctor. I don’t know what’s
going on, but I’m sure it isn’t something from the black beyond.”
“Tell me, sheriff…” Wittakin asked as the group asked
the group was preparing to leave. “When you brought the book here this evening,
just what were you expecting it to be?”
“I really don’t know what I expected. But I was
hoping that whatever it was, it might help save somebody’s life.”
* * *
They drove towards town for several minutes before
Parker broke the silence.
“See? I told you he was off his rocker, talking about
spooks and goblins. Next he’s gonna say he’s got a real live vampire sleeping
in a coffin in his cellar.”
“I don’t think he’s crazy. I think he’s very
intelligent, and very lonely,” Ann said.
“You don’t mean
you
believe that stuff?”
Ann hesitated. “No, but then he didn’t say he
believed in it either. After all, we took the book to him, he didn’t bring it
to us. We asked, and he just told us what he knew about it.”
“And we sure picked a good night for it,” Derek
added. “This weather is bad enough to make you believe anything, even ghost
stories. By the way, has anybody heard a weather report lately?”
Mike answered by turning on the car radio. It hummed
and crackled senselessly as he spun through the dial twice. He shut it off.
“I’ve listened for it several times; all I ever get
is static. There’s not a radio or television in town that brings in anything
but this crap. It must be from this lightning and stuff.”
“It’s odd that this storm could cause so much interference…”
“Don’t say it has something to do with the
supernatural,” Mike said wryly. “If that’s what I thought, I’d go home and sit
in a tub full of holy water clutching a cross with a bible over my head. No,
thanks.”
They laughed, finishing the drive into town in
lighter spirits. Mike let Derek and Ann off at the hotel, and he and Parker
drove away, mud splashing from the tires.
The lobby of the hotel was empty and quiet. Ann
sighed, pulling her coat tighter around her, and went to the open door to watch
the brooding darkness outside. Derek lit a cigarette and studied her for a
moment.
“Worried?”
“What? Oh, yeah, I guess so.” Derek stood beside her,
and she leaned her head against his shoulder, still watching the pouring rain.
“I wish I could hear from my folks.”
“I know. They’re probably worried about you, too.”
Ann looked at her watch. It was almost ten-thirty.
“Are you tired, Derek?”
“No, not really. Why?”
“I’m feeling sort of restless, and I was wondering if
you would drive out to my place with me. I was out there this afternoon, but I
was in such a hurry I forgot to do a couple of things. I really don’t want to
go out there alone while it’s dark.”
“Sure, I’d be glad to. And I don’t blame you for
wanting company.”
* * *
Ann drove the car slowly but expertly, skirting
around most of the small rivers the rain had cut in the road. It was obvious
that another day or two of rain would leave most of the local roads impassable.
The headlights made foggy, wavering tunnels in the darkness.
“Derek, now that those two aren’t around to make
jokes, what do you really think? About what Dr. Wittakin said, I mean.”
Ann’s tone was serious, and Derek was slow to answer.
“I think he believed what he was saying, and a lot of it made sense. I’d hate
to think he was right, but it would explain some things.”
Ann shivered, despite the car’s warm interior. “It
gives me the creeps just thinking about it!”
She turned the car into the short driveway and parked
as close as possible to the front of the house. A yellow anti-bug light glowed
on the porch, throwing long wet shadows behind the bushes and posts.
“I’m glad you came with me,” Ann said, gesturing
toward the house. “I’d have taken one look at those shadows over there and gone
straight back to the hotel. Well, let’s go. There isn’t too much to do.”