This Present Darkness (64 page)

Fear, anger, and prayer increased. Something terrible was happening to the town, and they all knew it vividly, but what could be done in a town with deaf authorities, in a county whose offices were closed for the weekend?

The phone lines continued to hum, both in the town and going out across the country to relatives and friends, all of whom dropped to their knees to intercede and called their own authorities and legislators.

Alf Brummel stayed away from his office, avoiding any distraught Christians with sermons to deliver about their pastor’s constitutional rights, or an official’s duty to the will of the people, or anything else. He remained in Langstrat’s apartment, pacing the floor, worrying, sweating, waiting for 2 o’clock on Sunday afternoon.

Grandma Duster kept praying and reassuring everyone that God had everything under control. She reminded them of what the angels had told her, and then many recalled what they had dreamed, or heard in their mind while praying, or seen in a vision, or felt in their spirits. And they continued to pray for the town.

And everywhere, from every direction, new visitors continued to
arrive in the town of Ashton, riding in on passing hay trucks, hitchhiking in like summer backpackers, gliding in through the cornfields and then through the back streets, roaring in like wild bikers, bussing in like high schoolers, hiding in the trunks and under the bellies of every vehicle that traveled through on Highway 27.

And steadily the nooks, crannies, unused rooms, and countless other hiding places all over the town became alive with still, silent figures, their burly hands upon their swords, their golden eyes piercing and alert, their ears tuned to one particular sound from one particular trumpet.

Above the town, concealed in the trees, Tal could still look out across the wide valley and see Rafar in the big dead tree, overseeing the activities of his demons.

Captain Tal continued to watch and wait.

IN THE REMOTE
valley, a rapidly growing cloud of demon spirits churned for a radius of two miles all around the ranch, towering as high as the mountaintops. Their numbers were beyond counting, their density such that the cloud totally obscured anything within it. The spirits danced and wailed like drunken brawlers, waving their swords, raving and drooling, their eyes wild with madness. Myriads of them paired off, jousting, sparring, testing one another’s skills.

In the darkened center of the cloud, in the big stone house, the Strongman sat with narrowed eyes and a crooked smirk that deepened the folds of his sagging face. In the company of his generals, he took time to gloat over the news he had just received from Ashton.

“Prince Rafar has satisfied my wishes, he has fulfilled his mission,” the Strongman said, and then bared his ivory fangs with a drooling smile. “I will like that little town. In my hands, it will grow like a tree and fill the countryside.”

He savored the next thought: “I may never have to stir myself from that place. What do you think? Shall we have our home at last?”

The tall and loathsome generals all muttered affirmatively. The Strongman rose from his seat, and the others snapped to a stiff and upright stance of attention.

“Our Mr. Kaseph has been calling me for some time now. Prepare
the ranks. We will leave immediately.”

The generals shot out through the roof of the house into the cloud, shrieking their orders, assembling their troops.

The Strongman unfolded his wings in a regal manner, then floated like a monstrous, overweight vulture into the basement room where Alexander Kaseph, sitting cross-legged on a large cushion, chanted the Strongman’s name again and again. The Strongman alighted right in front of Kaseph and observed him for a moment, drinking in Kaseph’s worship and spiritual groveling. Then, with a swift movement, the Strongman stepped forward and let his huge frame dissolve into Kaseph’s body as Kaseph twitched and writhed grotesquely. In a moment the possession was complete, and Alexander Kaseph awakened from his meditation.

“The time has come!” he said, with the Strongman’s look in his eyes.

SUSAN TURNED THE
rented car into the little gravel parking area behind the
Ashton Clarion.
It was 5 in the morning, and just beginning to get light outside. Somehow, as far as they knew, they had not been seen by any of the police. The town seemed quiet, and the day promised to be pleasant and sunny.

Bernice went to a special hiding place behind a pair of dented garbage cans and found the key to the back door. In a quick and silent moment, all three were inside.

“Don’t turn any lights on, make any noise, or go near any windows,” Bernice cautioned them. “The darkroom’s in here. Everybody come in before I turn on the light.”

All three squeezed into the little darkroom. Bernice closed the door and then found the light switch.

She prepared her chemicals, double-checked the film, then got the little developing tank ready. She switched off the light, and they stood in total blackness.

“Freaky,” Kevin said.

“This will only take a few minutes. Boy, I haven’t the slightest idea of what’s happening to Marshall, but I don’t dare try to find out.”

“What about your answering machine? There might be some messages on it.”

“That’s a thought. I can check that as soon as I get this film all
loaded in here. I’m almost finished.” Then Bernice had another thought. “I wonder about Sandy Hogan, too. She pitched a lamp at her father and ran out of the house.”

“Yes, you were telling me about that.”

“I don’t know where she’d go, unless she’s decided to run off with that Shawn character.”

“With who?” Susan asked abruptly. “Who did you say?”

“Some guy named Shawn.”

“Shawn Ormsby?” Susan asked.

“Oh-oh, it sounds like you know him.”

“I’m afraid Sandy Hogan could be in real trouble! Shawn Ormsby appears quite a few times in your sister’s diary. He’s the one who got Pat involved in those parapsychology experiments. He encouraged her to continue them, and he’s the one who eventually introduced her to Thomas!”

The darkroom light clicked on. The developing tank was loaded and ready, but all Bernice could do was stare white-faced at Susan.

MADELINE WAS NOT
a beautiful, golden-haired, highly evolved, superhuman from a higher dimension. Madeline was a demon, a hideous, leather-skinned monster with sharp talons and a subtle, deceiving nature. For Madeline, Sandy Hogan had been a very easy and vulnerable prey. Sandy’s deep wounds concerning her father made her an ideal subject for the candy of illusionary love Madeline was able to dangle before her, and now it seemed that Sandy would follow whatever course Madeline said was right for her life, believing whatever Madeline said. Madeline loved it when she got people to that point.

Patricia Krueger, though, had been a challenge. Then, disguised as handsome, benevolent Thomas, this demon had quite a struggle getting Patricia to believe he was really there; it had taken some very heavy-handed hallucinations and well-timed coincidences, not to mention the very best of his psychic signs and wonders. It wasn’t enough to just bend keys and spoons; he had to carry out some very impressive materializations as well. Finally he had succeeded, though, and fulfilled Ba-al Lucius’s bidding. Pat had ceremonially done away with herself, and she would never know the love of God again.

But what of Sandy Hogan? What would the new Ba-al, Rafar, want done with her? The demon, now calling himself—or herself—Madeline, approached the great prince on his big dead tree.

“My lord,” said Madeline, bowing low with respect, “do I understand that Marshall Hogan is defeated and powerless?”

“He is,” said Rafar.

“And what would you wish for Sandy Hogan, his daughter?”

Rafar was about to answer, but then hesitated, giving the matter a little more thought. At length he said, “Do not destroy her, not yet. Our foe is as subtle as I, and I would like one more assurance against any success of this Marshall Hogan. The Strongman comes today. Hold her against that time.”

Rafar dispatched a messenger along with Madeline to visit Professor Langstrat.

SHAWN WAS AWAKENED
by an early morning phone call from the professor.

“Shawn,” said Langstrat, “I’ve heard from the masters. They want some extra assurances that Hogan will not be an obstacle to today’s business. Is Sandy still there with you?”

Shawn could look out from his bedroom into the living room of his small apartment. Sandy was still on the couch, still asleep.

“I still have her.”

“The meeting with the regents will take place in the Administration Building, the third-floor conference room. A room across the hall, 326, has been reserved for us and the other psychics. Bring Sandy with you. The masters want her there.”

“We’ll be there.”

AS LANGSTRAT HUNG
up the phone, she could hear Alf Brummel clattering about in the kitchen.

“Juleen,” he called, “where’s the coffee?”

“Don’t you think you’re nervous enough?” she asked him, leaving her bedroom and going into the kitchen.

“I’m just trying to wake up,” he muttered, shakily putting a pot of
water on the stove.

“Wake up! You haven’t even slept, Alf!”

“Have you?” he retorted.

“Quite well,” she said very mildly.

Langstrat, primly dressed, looked ready to leave for the college. Brummel was a wreck, his eyes sunken, his hair disheveled, still in a bathrobe.

He said, “I’ll just be glad when this day is over and everything quiets down. As chief of police, I think I’ve broken about every law in the books.”

She put her hand on his shoulder and said reassuringly, “All this new world growing around you will be your friend, Alf.
We
are the law now. You’ve helped to bring in the New Order, an ultimately good deed that deserves reward.”

“Well … we’d better make good and sure of that, that’s all I have to say.”

“You can help, Alf. Several of the prime leaders will be meeting just across the hall the same time as the closure meeting this afternoon. With our combined psychic energies, we can assure that nothing will stand in the way of complete success.”