The Darkest Lullaby Page 19

  “Look behind you,” Wolf said.

  Chris heard Campbell suck in a startled breath. He faced the inner part of the cave and saw why Campbell was so aghast. He also understood where the smell had been coming from.

  A thick strip of leather had been affixed to the ceiling of the cave. From it hung the corpse of a Rottweiler, its fur crawling with maggots. The belly had been torn open.

  Chris had a sudden memory of Petey’s bloody muzzle and suppressed an urge to vomit.

  “You’re a real tough guy,” Wolf said to Chris. “Bringing your buddy out here to admire your butchery.”

  Chris could scarcely breathe. “What?”

  But instead of answering him, Wolf marched forward, seized him by the shirt and shoved him backward into the darkness. Chris lost his balance, fell, and when he looked up, he saw the animal dangling directly overhead. Gagging, he averted his eyes. When he gazed up at Wolf, the man’s teeth were clenched in a feral snarl. “Lenny,” he said viciously. “That’s yours, right?”

  He followed Wolf’s pointing finger and saw that the dog had been strangled with a belt. The buckle had bitten into the animal’s fur, and though part of it was obscured by a ragged flap of skin and the rest of it was painted a squalid red with the Rottweiler’s blood, he could plainly make out the word LENNY on the buckle.

  “Should’ve known,” Wolf was muttering. “Should’ve guessed you were just like that old witch.”

  Chris realized with silent alarm that the shotgun was lowering toward him. Campbell cowered against the wall, edged slowly toward the exit.

  “I told my brother,” Daniel said. “I told him it was all true, that stuff they used to practice out here.” He gestured with the shotgun at Campbell. “You send that harpy to my house the other night? The one stood outside my window and told me to follow her into the woods?”

  Campbell’s eyes shot toward Chris, but Chris barely noticed. He kept staring at Daniel Wolf’s trigger finger, which was white from the pressure of the man’s grip. At any moment…

  Campbell’s voice shook. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Daniel.”

  “The hell you don’t!” Wolf shouted.

  Something plopped in Chris’s hair, and when he shook it free and beheld the maggot wriggling on the cave floor, he gasped and scrambled away.

  “Don’t move, Mister—” Wolf began, but Chris had to get out of there, had to get into the daylight again. He turned and saw the shotgun’s stock swinging toward him and just had time to flinch before pain exploded in the base of his skull. He stumbled and saw, though his vision swam, Campbell clambering down the verge, away from the cave. Wolf stepped forward, aimed and before Chris could cry out, the shotgun erupted.

  Campbell jolted, then tumbled down the hill, the top of his head a glistening soup of blood and brains. His body somersaulted several times, and when it came to rest Campbell lay glassy-eyed on his back. Chris watched nervelessly as the pinkish-gray contents of the man’s skull oozed over the decaying leaves.

  Wolf spun, his eyes huge, and raised the shotgun. Chris instinctively threw his hands up, but just before the shot exploded, he heard a beastly roar. The ceiling of the cave burst as the shell rebounded, a puff of dust sprinkling Chris’s arms. Then he watched in shock as Petey drove the man down, his fearsome jaws clamped in a death grip on the man’s throat. Blood began to drizzle from the puncture wounds. Wolf thrashed beneath Petey, the shotgun slipping from his flailing hands. Wolf grasped a jagged rock and thrust it at Petey’s head, but Chris dove forward, caught Wolf’s arm. Petey let go of the man’s throat and started in on Wolf’s heaving chest, the teeth grinding the man’s flesh, the sharp claws digging the blue work shirt to ribbons.

  But still Wolf’s free hand scrabbled toward the shotgun, his eyes blazing at Chris. Without thinking, Chris leaped forward, seized the gun. Straddling Wolf, he raised the shotgun and swung it down at the man’s face. The handle bashed Wolf’s jaw, dislocating it and sending the man into a flurry of convulsions. Chris lifted the shotgun and brought it down again, even harder this time, and the man’s nasal cavity imploded. A gout of syrupy blood splashed over Chris’s legs. He smashed the face again and again while Petey stood witness, teeth bared in a crimson snarl.

  Part Four

  Duality

  Chapter One

  It took Chris until midnight to bury the bodies.

  Now he stood naked at the pond’s edge and gazed down at his silhouette, clearly limned by the half-moon overhead. Seeing himself that way, faceless, a figure only, it was easier to believe he had slain someone earlier that evening. Self-defense or not, he had to think this thing through to make sure he wasn’t caught.

  He didn’t think anyone had seen him at Campbell’s earlier that day, but there was no way of knowing for sure. It was possible some nosy octogenarian had looked away from her crocheting long enough to identify him, and if that was the case, he was pretty well fucked. He could explain how everything had gone down—sans the part about the Lenny belt and the Rottweiler; he hadn’t the first clue how to explain that—but he doubted Troy Bruder would buy it. The sheriff would blame both murders on Chris—all three if you counted the dog—and he’d lose everything: Ellie, the baby, Petey, even the estate.

  The estate most of all.

  He breathed deeply of the air, the dank, fecund pond-smell mingling with the sweeter scents of lilac and jasmine. His hands were cracked and bleeding from digging the holes. He’d seen plenty of crime shows in which buried bodies had been found by well-trained police dogs, but deep down he suspected any search of these woods would prove fruitless.

  The land would make sure of it.

  That the forest was a sentient thing he’d long suspected. This place was alive, had perhaps always been so, had only needed the right person to coax it fully awake. And now he could drink it all in: the water, the moonlight, the fragrant air.

  Chris crouched, leapt outward, arms extended in a tight V, and felt the water surround him. The pond was frigid, but after the exertion of the burials, the chill was welcome. He rolled over and began a leisurely backstroke.

  He thought of his wife and how skittish she was. Nothing like that other woman, the one who’d come to him in the woods, that gorgeous, knowing, incredible woman, her touch like the kiss of the water, the sensation of her sex enveloping him unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

  As if summoned by his thoughts, he saw, coming slowly toward him through the water, the top of the woman’s head. He could see the hair flattened against her scalp, the subtle underwater stirrings like secret promises, portents of the transcendent experience to come. He treaded water, waiting for her, and his body was already responding, his erection blazing, and in moments she would wrap those supple, creamy legs around him, the eyes lingering on his as she impaled herself on him. She’d read his thoughts, understood his need for her. Soon the memories of the blood and the burials would be lost in a sea of rapture. Only five feet away now. He readied for her.

  A face rose out of the water, a horrible demon face, the eyes glowing white, the fanged maw stretched wide in a ghastly leer.

  He screamed, thrashed away from the monster, but its talons closed over his bare heel, yanked, and he felt himself jerked backward with appalling force. He ventured to push away, but when his fingers brushed the icy, moist skin a galvanic shock made him recoil, a silent shriek twisting his face.

  Then he was paddling for dear life, slapping the water and kicking, sure at any moment she’d haul him back again, and this time there’d be no escape, the demon ripping him apart while it chortled with pleasure. The pond seemed to have no end. Chris wearied, the creature somehow sapping his strength. God, he could hear it back there, its breathing heightened not from exertion but from hunger.

  His hands scraped mud. He realized he was near the edge, the shallows leading him to safety. If he could only reach dry land he’d—

  He glanced back and bellowed with horror. The monstrous creature, its skin agle
am with beading water, had risen above the surface, was floating nearer, nearer, Jesus Christ, defying gravity, its fangs glistening with slaver. He stumbled through the pond scum. Whimpering, he reached the shore and bolted across the meadow toward the rise. He’d never run so fast, yet he’d never felt so helpless. Any moment the creature would lift him from the ground, his legs still pumping, and bear him toward its forest lair.

  He risked a look back, sure he was already caught, but there was nothing behind him but waving grasses. Somehow this was worse than before, the creature vanishing into thin air. Hell, she could be anywhere, in the water, underground, anywhere.

  Get moving!

  He did. He set off, finding a pace he could sustain. He ascended the hill and felt very little strain in his legs. He was in better shape than he’d been since college. The thing he’d seen in the pond might not have been real, might just have been his guilt and emotional turmoil geysering up in one unsettling psychic blast.

  He reached the hilltop and chanced another look behind.

  Nothing.

  He started down the slope to the forest, and from there it would be twenty minutes before he reached home. He’d be able to come up with a good reason why he’d gone back to the forest tonight. Why he was naked and sweaty…

  Damn. Just what the hell would he say? I felt like skinny-dipping, El. I always like to go for a nice nude swim after I kill an Amish man.

  Chris ran faster.

  Safe for pregnant or nursing mothers, the label read. Ellie wasn’t sure about that, but she knew if she didn’t sleep soon, she’d be worthless again tomorrow, and feeling that way couldn’t be good for the baby. With a shaky sigh, she shook out two of the sleeping pills and plucked the glass from the edge of the sink. She popped the little blue pills in her mouth and tossed back half the water at a gulp. She stared at herself in the mirror and thought, You’ve aged ten years since coming here.

  She switched off the light, shaking her head ruefully at Doris’s insane story. Gerald Destragis, demonic evolution. It was all so ridiculous. She’d scoured Chris’s books for the phrase—everything from The Dictionary of Theology to Man, Myth & Magic—and come up empty every time. She shook her head and climbed on top of the covers, the lace of the peach-colored nightgown rasping unpleasantly against her skin.

  The ironic thing about the Realtor’s claims were how poorly researched they’d been. Even if such things as demons and vampires really did exist, all the occult literature Ellie had pored through disproved the link between them. Vampires, according to legend, were spawned by bites from other vampires. Doris gave the impression that Lillith and Destragis had made a conscious decision to be reborn as vampires; there was never any mention of a transformative bite. Conversely, demons were wholly evil and had never been human beings. Yet Doris claimed that people, by enduring a protracted and bloody series of rituals, deaths and rebirths, could enter the demonic realm.

  She yawned. The pills were working already.

  Demonic realm, she thought and smiled. What a silly, childish phrase.

  By the time Chris caught his first glimpse of the garage’s peeling façade, he felt almost normal. Winded and sweat-soaked, perhaps. But safe.

  He passed the garage and gazed up at the house. The kitchen light glowed, but upstairs all was dark.

  Time to go in, he thought. Either Ellie’s sitting at the kitchen table laying for a fight, or she’s in bed asleep. Either way, you can’t stay here all night, not buck-naked.

  He shivered, took one last look at the forest, and headed up to the house. Taking care not to let the door slam, he padded quietly into the kitchen.

  The room was empty.

  He blew out pent-up breath, realizing for the first time how nervous he’d been. Not as terrified as he’d been in the pond—not even close—but nervous enough to understand he still valued Ellie’s favor a lot more than he’d been showing. Yes, she’d been irrational earlier, but according to her, pregnant women were often controlled by the many hormones gushing through their bodies.

  He wasn’t the least bit drowsy, but the right thing was to join his wife upstairs. Before he did, though, he’d have a cold glass of water. Goodness knew he needed it after the ordeal in the forest.

  He filled his glass and drank. As he did, he peered out the windowpane, thinking maybe he’d spot Petey out there.

  Chris froze. On the other side of the lane, against the backdrop of the forest, wasn’t there a paleness? A shape framed by the shadows?

  Heart pounding, he crossed to the light, switched it off and returned to the window.

  He swallowed. There, amidst the gently stirring leaves and branches…

  He peered deeper, his hands cupped against the pane. He focused on one particular spot. An oval, the curve of a chin. The delicate slant of a nose.

  Two white eyes shuttered open.

  He shoved away from the window and stood in the lightless kitchen, his heart a painful slamming, and watched in horror as the pale figure emerged from its place of concealment. The eyes never left his, the white ovals vast and triumphant. He backed away until his shoulder blades bumped the wall. Then he was swinging around the corner and scrambling up the stairs. His mind shouted a dim reminder that he’d forgotten to lock the back door, but there was no time now, no way to go back, she would be there waiting for him, leering, fangs dripping, demon eyes glinting with obscene need. He burst into the bedroom and saw right away that Ellie was asleep, and maybe that was best, maybe he could spare her this horror. Maybe if he locked the door, they’d both be spared. He bumped the foot of the bed with his rear end and nearly cried out. A hand over his mouth, he stared at the door, listening for footsteps on the stairs, listening for the demon as she approached.

  A minute went by. Two.

  He felt an uneasy smile begin to curl the edges of his mouth.

  Then he heard it. The sound began as a low, subtle creaking but soon clarified, growing, and he realized the door was bulging, some force from the other side crowding into it with irresistible force.

  He felt a chill on his bare ankles. He looked down and saw the mist swirling around his feet. He followed the mist and saw, under the door, how it was rolling in, a writhing white cloud.

  And now the cloud was curving, coalescing into human form.

  No. Not quite human.

  Moaning, he backed along the edge of the bed, climbed into it, unable to peel his eyes away from the fair skin reflecting the moonlight, and the long arms were reaching for him.

  The shape swam over him. He lay flat on his back to escape it, but it swirled closer, a pressure forming on his chest, stealing his breath, and the worst part about it wasn’t the suffocating weight of the creature or the jagged tendrils of pain as its claws razed the flesh of his arms, it was the way his body responded to its insatiable lust, his erection, molten and dirty and ringed with slippery heat. She was using him, the revoltingly cold tissue of her sex tickling his genitals like a million tiny tongues. He whipped his head sideways to escape her foul, sweet breath, but also to see if Ellie had awakened, was witnessing this befoulment, and this much at least he’d been spared, his wife asleep during his betrayal.

  As the creature’s gripping hot vagina slid up and down his member, he experienced an arousal he’d not thought possible, and the debasement of being raped was somehow, oh God, making it all better. He thrashed, moaned, willed Ellie to stay asleep, and not just to prevent her from seeing, but to prolong this sweet, excruciating pleasure as well.

  He glanced up at the white eyes, the sensual line of nose, and as he did a black tongue, slimy and cold, slid over his lips, back and forth, plunged into his moaning mouth. An atavistic revulsion rippled through him at its sluglike touch, the taste of it like decomposing fruit. Below, the glistening hips continued their pumping, massaging him, roasting his erection with microscopic embers.

  The creature began to chortle, its pumping accelerating. He was nearing the most powerful climax of his life, the tongue circling h
is, one slender black finger slipping inside his anus and penetrating him, deeper, the hips slamming down on his pelvis.

  Ellie, he thought as the demon riding him clenched in a long, satisfied orgasm, I’m so sorry, Ellie.

  Chris let loose, too, his seed spurting into the foulness. The demon’s face loomed closer, the white eyes slitted in blissful release. It clotted his vision, its stench unbearable. Then the darkness swallowed him.

  Chapter Two

  He awoke and knew immediately he was going to vomit. Mouth slightly open, he drew the sheets aside and made his way across the bedroom, moving with a panicky haste.

  He reached the toilet, but the nasty tide of puke splurted out before he could kneel and aim properly. A good third of it splattered on the rim of the bowl and slapped the linoleum between the toilet and the bathtub. His body clenched again and another tide of vomit sprayed from his mouth. The room filled with the odor of spoiled meat, and that too made Chris puke.

  After what seemed an eternity, he rested his forehead on the cool bowl and waited for the shaking to stop. As he did, he became aware of the many aches in his body. The skin of his torso burned, and a downward glance explained why. Nasty red wounds striped his chest and upper abdominal muscles where the flesh had been harrowed. He noted with revulsion that his pubic hair and inner thighs were coated with a dark, viscous substance that reminded him of cranberry sauce. Worse, there were chafe marks on his shriveled penis. Yet that was nothing compared to the humiliating ache issuing from his rectum.

  Real. It had all been real.

  The room listing wildly, Chris staggered to the bedroom door and stared at his sleeping wife.

  I’m so sorry, he thought. I’ve let you down and done things I’d never dreamed I’d do, but that’s over now. From this moment on, I’m different.

  He stood and watched her uncertainly. What could he do to make it up to her? What could he do