The Darkest Lullaby Read online

  Dedication

  This one is for my amazing wife. Honey, you’ve been with me from the beginning, and have always believed in me. More importantly, you’ve been my true love, my best friend, and an incredible mother to our three children. Thank you for everything. I love you with all my heart.

  Acknowledgments

  There are several authors who influenced this book—authors that every lover of dark fiction should read. Ramsey Campbell, T.E.D. Klein, Charles L. Grant, Edgar Allan Poe, Joseph Payne Brennan, T.M. Wright, Thomas Tryon, and Algernon Blackwood all have a way of finding horror in both the natural world and in the nature of man. I am in their debt.

  I’d like to thank my editor, Don D’Auria, for his seemingly unending supply of kindness and patience. I’d also like to thank my agent, Louise Fury, for her enthusiasm, her expertise, and her tireless work ethic. Thanks to my three children, who love me more than I deserve, and thanks especially to my oldest, who begged me to read him excerpts of this book before bed. I couldn’t read him much of The Darkest Lullaby, but the parts he did hear, he loved. Either that, or he was just trying to stay up past his bedtime.

  “No one who, like me, conjures up the most evil of those half-tamed demons that inhabit the human beast, and seeks to wrestle with them, can expect to come through the struggle unscathed.”

  Sigmund Freud

  “I want to run with the children outside,” said the little boy. “But I don’t like the Night.”

  “I’ll introduce you to the Night,” said Dark. “And you’ll be friends.”

  Ray Bradbury

  Before

  October 14th, 1982

  Susan saw Brad signal a left turn and figured he was just making a joke in bad taste. But when the car actually started to slow, she said, “Not funny,” though a contraction reduced her words to a whisper. It was irritating enough that he’d chosen this circuitous route to Ravana, but the fact Brad was more interested in playing unfunny tricks than he was in getting his pregnant wife—hell, his delivering wife—to the hospital spoke volumes about his lack of maturity.

  Mom called it, she thought for the thousandth time. Knocking a girl up doesn’t make a boy fit for marriage.

  Susan compressed her lips. If only she hadn’t been so stubborn.

  The Mustang continued to decelerate.

  By the time she realized where they were, Brad was steering them toward the forest, the wheel ruts embracing their tires like a pair of obsessive lovers. She’d been reclining in her seat and concentrating on her breathing the way her YWCA classes had taught her, but now she sat up and glared at her husband in disbelief.

  “Where’re you taking me?”

  “Relax,” he said and gave her the lopsided smile, the one that used to make her stomach flutter but now only made her doubt his intelligence. “The big guy’ll take care of you.”

  At his words her windpipe constricted and the seat beneath her seemed to drop away. “What are you talking about?”

  He rolled his eyes and blew out a disgusted puff of air, like she was his probation officer and not his wife. “See, I knew you’d be that way, all woe-is-me and how-dare-you-do-this-Brad.” He shook his head and made a little whistling sound. “Jesus Christ, honey, it’s like you believe a third-rate hospital’s the only place people can have babies.”

  He continued on that way, and as he talked, a detached part of her was able to pull back and watch him—really watch him—for perhaps the first time. The brown mustache and sandy blond hair, a combination she once found irresistible, now made him look to her like one of those sleazy actors in the video he’d brought home the other day, an adult movie he’d shown her in the hope it would kickstart their sex life, and though she’d played along with his fantasy for a while, her back had started in hurting again, which of course was the reason she hadn’t been in the mood lately to start with. Being pregnant, she tried to tell him, was hard on a woman’s body. Brad couldn’t seem to grasp this.

  Her thoughts broke off as a nasty contraction dug in and knocked the wind out of her. She imagined a pair of sadistic hands in there seizing her uterus and kneading it with calloused fingers. The bitter taste of hot bile scalded her throat.

  Brad took in her tortured expression, said, “Now, aren’t you glad I brought you here? If we’d kept going we’d still be ten minutes from town.”

  Through clenched teeth, she said, “Turn around.”

  He laughed softly. “Honey, you aren’t thinking—”

  “Now, dammit.”

  For a moment, he stared back at her, his face stricken. Then the arrogant porn star grin bled into his features again, the expression that said she was just a hysterical woman, what the hell did she know anyway? He threw the Mustang into park and killed the engine.

  “Come on,” he said, opening his door. She turned and stared at the horrid black house, its windows lit up like some scorched and sinister jack-o’-lantern. She shot a desperate glance at the ignition, but he’d snatched the keys on the way out of the car. Another contraction ripped through her, and she moaned at the pain. Her door swung open and Brad’s handsome, vacant face swam toward her. Though he was still grinning, there was a tightness in it, a Don’t you screw this up for me kind of quality that made her yearn to slap him, to ask Who the heck matters right now? Aren’t your wife and baby as important as your cult friends?

  He clenched her arm and muscled her out of the car. The cloying odor of pine needles enshrouded her. The ancient trees reefing the yard beckoned her forward, forward, like ushers at some blasphemous wedding. Making her halting way toward the house, she recalled the time she’d accompanied him here, the ghastly things she’d witnessed. Most of all she remembered the man and woman who lived in this place.

  The big guy’ll take care of you, Brad had said.

  A shudder plaited down Susan’s back at the thought of him. His large, powerful frame. The broad, tan forehead and the mad eyes that made her think of drowning. She glimpsed someone stepping onto the front porch to welcome them, and she thought, No, please let it be someone else.

  But it wasn’t.

  Gerald Destragis smiled and spread his arms. “I’m so glad you’ve decided to experience this moment with us.”

  Susan jerked her arm free of Brad’s grip. “I didn’t decide to,” she said, glaring at her husband. “Brad brought me here.”

  The man’s huge hands folded before him. “How far apart are your contractions, dear?”

  Susan searched the man’s blue eyes, the face that by all accounts was sixty-some years old but remained attractive and virile nonetheless. She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe he could bring her child into this world without harm. Yet…she’d heard so many terrible things. And the night she spent in the clearing with Destragis’s people… Had she really seen what she thought she had, or had that been the mescaline at work?

  She doubled over as the worst contraction yet crawled through her, sent blazing spears of pain shooting through her body. Her knees buckled, but strong, gentle hands took hold of her. Panting, the cold sweat dripping from her nose, she leaned against Destragis, who’d somehow caught her before she fell.

  “We don’t have much time, dear,” Destragis said in his deep, resonant voice. “I could drive you to town, but I suspect we’d be too late.”

  As if confirming this, her stomach clenched again, and before she knew what was happening, Destragis had swept her into his arms and was striding across the porch with her. A man Susan recognized as a custodian from Ravana High School opened the door for them as they passed. She sensed Brad behind them, trailing along like a scrap of toilet paper. Then Destragis was easing her onto a mattress someone had arranged in the middle of the living room. The sheet on which she lay was whi
te and rubbery, and next to her sat a bucket of water, several folded towels. Half a dozen tall lamps tossed hot yellow gazes down at the mattress.

  She glanced at Brad, who’d knelt beside her. “You planned this?”

  “That’s crazy,” he answered, throwing uneasy glances at the people who had appeared out of nowhere. Susan spotted Mike McClure and Juliet Joel, two kids from their graduating class. Beside them, the Anthony twins, cheerleaders who still attended Ravana High. There were older people, as well, but none of these were familiar.

  Then the crowd opened up and she saw the tall woman.

  “I want to leave,” Susan said, but her voice came out a dry croak. “Please,” she whispered to Brad as the woman’s face loomed closer. The scent of the tall woman’s perfume drowsed over her, the placid expression on the still-beautiful face somehow tranquilizing Susan, assuring her that she and her baby would be just fine.

  “Please get her clothes for me,” a voice said, and Susan turned to see Destragis standing shirtless beside her. He was sliding on a pair of rubber gloves, the sinews of his arms jumping like eager serpents. Susan felt her maternity shorts unbuttoned, the uncomfortable denim slithering down her legs. The woman’s hair, Susan noticed, was mostly auburn with wisps of gray at the temples. It was drawn back with tortoise shell barrettes. Susan focused on the amber and black whorls as the woman’s slender fingers hooked beneath the waistband of her underwear, then removed them. A distant part of her felt embarrassed to be half naked before all these strangers, but the pain had diminished, and she was too grateful for that to worry about modesty.

  “Fully dilated,” Destragis said, and Susan lifted her head to see him between her legs, his muscular shoulders flexing in the lamplight.

  “Is it a boy?” Brad asked. No one bothered answering.

  Destragis said to the woman. “Is she comfortable?”

  Susan saw the woman nod and smile down at her. The smile warmed her, so unlike the feral intensity Susan had witnessed that awful night in the clearing. She remembered these two—the strong man and the tall woman—stripping naked, caressing each another. The woman’s eyes rolling white, some fell spirit seeming to seize hold of her, the still-firm body trembling in ecstasy, the pale skin appearing to grow younger as she drank from the silver chalice. The crimson fluid dripping from the corners of her mouth, her shark-white teeth gleaming…

  “It’s coming,” Destragis said.

  The woman’s smile broadened, and she bent over Susan, took both her hands and whispered words of comfort. Dimly, Susan felt an urge to push, which she did, and eventually there was screaming and a lovely, newborn wail. Susan raised her head to see Destragis cradling her baby, the pinkish-yellow umbilical cord glistening with blood.

  The woman moved toward Destragis, who was beaming down at the baby in his arms. It was a boy, Susan now saw, the penis sheathed in some whitish substance. A sudden urge to hold her son gusted through her, and without speaking she reached for him, the dull ache between her legs as nothing next to her desire to hold her child.

  “Hold still, dear,” the woman said. Brad held Susan’s shoulders as the woman’s slender fingers opened a pair of what looked like sewing shears and severed the cord. Rather than staunching the flow of liquid spilling from the raw umbilicus, Destragis only rocked the screaming child and whispered soothing words. Susan reached for her baby, but the woman stilled her with a glance. “Soon, dear,” she said, but something in the woman’s face disquieted her. Destragis’s muscled chest was stippled with drops of blood and afterbirth, but it was the man’s eyes that transformed her uneasiness to dread. He stared down at the baby with an unnatural fervor, his avid blue gaze predatory.

  “Give him to me,” Susan said, but Destragis was rising, her baby nestled firmly in the crook of one great arm. The woman rose too, and to Susan’s infinite alarm they passed her by and moved toward the door.

  “No!” Susan screamed and wrenched her shoulders free of Brad’s grasp. He grunted in surprise and attempted to pin her to the mattress. She lashed out, raked his face, her nails leaving bloody contrails in their wake. Though her legs were weak, she pushed to her feet and staggered after the man and woman, who were now gliding through the front door and descending the porch steps. A voice shouted at her to stop, but she paid it no notice. She was possessed, hellbent on taking back her boy, on stopping those fiends from stealing him. If what she’d heard was true, if the rumors really were fact… Oh, Jesus—

  She uttered a choked sob as she slammed open the screen door and dashed down the steps. She spotted them immediately as they passed the Mustang, moving toward an opening in the woods.

  “Give him back!” she screamed, but neither of them turned. She set off across the yard to catch them but something struck her in the middle of the back, and she was driven face first to the grass. She shot an elbow at whomever had tackled her, but they were on her now, too many of them, their hands pawing at her, dragging her back to the house.

  The last thing she saw before the couple disappeared into the woods was one of her baby’s feet. Then the tiny pink toes were devoured by the forest.

  Part One

  Purification

  Chapter One

  Ellie’s attitude had been reasonably positive, it really had, before they made the turn onto the eerie forest lane. But from that moment forward her thoughts were an ungenerous maelstrom of resentment and anger, her body worsening matters by staging an open revolt. She’d heard about motion sickness before—her older sister Katherine used to suffer from it on long family trips—but Ellie had never actually experienced it until now. It was almost as if a primitive part of her sensed a wrongness with this place and was reacting to it.

  Give it a chance, Ellie heard a voice say as they bounced down the lane. It might not be so bad.

  Behind her shut lids she imagined the nausea roiling like a hazy green fog in the back of her throat. A cold patina of sweat had formed on her forehead, her upper lip.

  “You okay over there?” Chris asked.

  Ellie opened her eyes and some of the carsickness dissipated. “Surviving.”

  “Something you ate?”

  “I had the same thing you did.”

  “But you’ve never been carsick—”

  “I know.”

  She could feel Chris’s eyes linger on her. “You need me to stop?” he asked.

  The Camry rocked as they trundled over a bridge.

  Ellie palmed sweat from her face. “You might slow down a little.”

  As Chris reduced their speed, the clanging in her skull grew louder, a maniacal backbeat to the clenching of her gorge.

  “Is it much longer?” she asked.

  “Almost there.”

  I hope so, she thought. Deep down she’d been dreading this moment all day, so perhaps it was a mercy she had the motion sickness to take her mind off it. This way Chris might not see the disappointment in her face when they arrived at the house.

  She clenched her teeth and thought, He deserves to see your disappointment. It’s his fault you’re here in the first place.

  Stop being a bitch! the voice in her head chided.

  Ellie nodded faintly, but the movement brought her closer to puking.

  Chris gestured toward the windshield. “What do you think of the woods?”

  Diplomacy, the voice reminded her, and this time she recognized it as Katherine’s. Though Ellie hadn’t seen her sister in years, she heard Katherine’s voice more and more often lately.

  Ellie took a steadying breath and said, “I think we’ll have plenty of privacy.”

  Chris smiled, and despite the nausea, despite all her misgivings about moving here, his good-natured grin cheered her.

  But when they rounded a curve and she saw the house, she said, “Is this it?”

  Chris’s grin faded. “I did say the siding had darkened some.”

  “It looks black.”

  “With age, Ellie. What’d you expect?”

  Three stories
high, like something out of a children’s cautionary tale, their new home rose like a gaunt specter among the forest trees.

  She grunted as the Camry dropped into twin wheel ruts and bottomed out. If she didn’t get out of the car now, take in some fresh air, she’d paint the dashboard with what little she’d eaten for supper.

  Chris angled toward an outbuilding to the left of the house. The car was stopped before she realized it was a garage.

  “It’s not attached?”

  He opened his door. “Most houses built in the 1800s didn’t have need for attached garages, honey.”

  He got out and came around to her side. Ellie blew out air and rummaged through her purse until she found her cell phone. She turned it on and stared with disgust at its glowing face. No bars, no coverage.

  “You ready?” he asked, bending toward her window. She caught the trepidation in his voice and felt herself thaw. A little.

  She shouldered her purse, opened her door, and gazed up at the woods. The enormous spruce boughs bordering the yard drooped like pilloried thieves. She climbed out and shivered. It was April, yet it was only, what? Thirty-five degrees outside? Forty? And the sun hadn’t even set.

  Ellie followed Chris toward the covered porch, which was a ruin of sinking cinderblocks and rotting two-by-fours. Chris mounted the steps and opened the door, but Ellie stood a moment and gazed up at the house.

  There were windows enough, she supposed, but despite the dull glimmers of glass, it was as though she faced an unbroken wall of darkness. She shivered again, and this time it had nothing to do with the chill of impending night.

  “You gonna stay out here?” he asked.

  “Is the inside as bad?”

  “All the rooms are painted black.”

  “Not funny.”

  He stepped down from the porch and took her hands. “I know you loved Malibu, but give it a chance.” He searched her face. “Just think—a couple days ago we were sharing walls with four different neighbors. Now you’ve got twenty-three hundred acres all to yourself. That’s damn near five miles square.”