“The Brethren?” Fred said, interrupting. “What’s that all about?”
Doc shrugged.
“I don’t know. I’m guessing at some kind of esoteric secret society… the late part of the nineteenth century was rife with them. But that’s not the important thing. Listen.”
“I still cannot find the Gateway, and fear I will be too infirm, and too short of sufficient funding, to complete the task. I leave this journal in the hands of my sons, to do with what they will, in the hope that they will complete the task and raise this family back up to where it once was.”
Doc looked up again.
“There’s a twenty-year gap. In the early twenties, it’s taken up again, in a different hand, signed James Hopman. I believe he might be the father of the one Charlie calls Old Hopman. And it’s with him that the mumbo-jumbo starts in earnest.
“The book is full of what I would have called nonsense before now; magical symbols, details of rituals performed and discarded as not working, recipes for potions and instructions for binding demons; the sort of thing I thought we’d left behind in the Dark Ages. And once again, the writer’s tone is one of frustration, over the course of many years. This is from the forties.”
Just as she bent her head to read again, Fred heard a whisper, from the alcove above the stove.
We are with Fred. Fred is dead.
None of the others showed any signs of hearing it, and once again it was not repeated, but he now only had half his attention on what Doc was saying, and he kept his gaze on the shadowy corners, ready to move at the merest hint of attack.
“Twenty years we’ve dug. He’s stronger than ever, and it takes the Saamara Ritual to keep him out of my head. But I ain’t been able to get him to do my bidding. Sacrifice is what he demands, and I’ve given him chickens, pigs, even cattle. But it ain’t enough. He wants more… more than I am prepared to give him. He says it will all be different when we find the Gateway.”
Doc stopped.
“His father might have quailed at the demands. But Old Hopman wasn’t so squeamish. You might want to prepare yourself, Charlie. This will be rough on you. We arrive in the early seventies, and Old Hopman takes up the writing.”
“They found it last night. Fred made the breakthrough into the chamber, so it was only fitting that he was the first to be given enlightenment. Who knew a man had so much blood in him? The Old One was pleased though, and hungry. He took the other two, and then together we hid the way so that the morning shift would not find it. It’s mine now, and mine alone. He says it will not be long until he is strong enough to lift himself up, and that I will have to feed him. But I ain’t stupid. The Samaara Ritual keeps him down, and any food he gets will only be whatever I chose to dump down there. I aim to thrive, and I can only do that by using what he gives me, and keeping him in the pit. I ain’t about to go down in history as the man who brought hell on earth.”
Doc stopped.
“I think I know now what is going on here.”
“Auld Nick. That’s what’s going on here,” Bill said. “Demons and devils and bloody murder.”
“I’m not so sure,” Doc said. “Remember, I saw aliens, and Charlie saw VC. I think the Hopmans only saw demons and the devil because that’s what they wanted to see. And because they’ve been communicating with the thing for so long, it has become… imprinted, for want of a better word, with the pattern of their thoughts and desires.”
“Thing?” Charlie asked. “What kind of thing do you have in mind, Doc? I don’t remember seeing anything like this on the National Geographic channel. Do you?”
Doc smiled grimly.
“I believe it’s something new to science. Maybe something new in terms of the geological timeline. It’s an organism, of a kind, but it’ll take better minds than mine to fathom its secrets.”
“That’s all very well, Doc,” Fred said. “But what do we do about it? How do we get out of here?”
“I may have an idea about that,” Doc replied. At that precise instant, a voice spoke from the shadows.
Weemean.
Three figures stood in an alcove, wavering and flowing, the only steady facet of them being the red, staring eyes.
Charlie moved immediately; one second he was sitting next to Fred, the next he was on his feet, weapon pointed at the alcove, washing bands of light into the shadows. The demons melted back into the darkness.
“If you’ve got a plan, Doc, I suggest we get to it,” he said. “I’m getting proper squirrelly down here.”
Doc frowned.
“Loath as I am to say it, I think we should attempt a ritual.”
Big Bill was first to reply.
“I ain’t about to get involved in any of that satanic stuff, Janet. No way, no how. We’d be putting our souls at risk.”
“Then we die here,” Doc said quietly. “I don’t see another way.”
“We make a run for it,” Sarah replied. “We’ve got the guns and the light… and there’s all that gasoline outside. Surely we could do something with that?”
Charlie, who had started to pace the floor, went still, thinking.
Weemean.
This time the chant came from all around. Shadows crept in all the corners, danced in the alcoves. A dozen pairs of red eyes stared out of the dark.
“Get into the pentagram,” Doc shouted. “It’s our only hope.”
Charlie had other ideas. He grabbed Ellen Simmons’ hand and headed for the iron door. Fred looked at the diagram on the floor, and the shifting red figures that even now crept closer from the shadows. Doc had already stepped into the circle, and Fred saw that the sheriff was loath to leave.
“Come on, Bill. Charlie’s got a plan.”
The sheriff stood, halfway between the door and the pentagram, indecision freezing him to the spot. Fred was equally torn, between Bill, and Charlie, both of whom were the only two real friends he had in the world.
Sarah settled the matter for him. She tugged at his hand, dragging him towards the door.
“I ain’t staying here to be ate by no bears,” she said.
Fred gave in.
“Come with us,” he said as they passed the sheriff.
But Big Bill was still in the same spot as Fred and Sarah ran through the door. Fred hit it hard in passing and it swung shut behind him with a clang that sounded like a death knell.
25
“Bill, come here,” Janet said. “Into the protection.”
She stood in the circle, frantically trying to find a page in the journal. She’d seen it earlier, but had failed to note its position relative to other passages.
And now, when I need it, I can’t find it.
She sensed movement, looked up. Red eyes stared back at her from the alcoves and shadows. The neon light above flickered and dimmed, just slightly, but more than enough to allow the demons to creep farther into the chamber.
“Bill!” she shouted, more insistent this time. That got the sheriff moving, but still he refused to step into the circle, choosing instead to walk the perimeter, washing light into the dark places. It was obvious to Janet that he wouldn’t be able to do enough to keep the things at bay for long.
“Sheriff,” she shouted again. “Get your ass in here. I need you if we’re going to help the others escape.”
The appeal straight to his duty worked. Bill waved the light into the corners one final time, then stepped over the grooved outer circle to join Janet inside the pentagram.