The Testimony of Jacob Hollow

by Joe Joiner

Chapter 10

This Old House

Hell no! Troy pushed open the gates, which parted with a loud and grating metallic squeal, and in we went. As we passed under the iron arch I glanced up at the letters welded there. In old English script they read Graves End. We were stepping into the realm of the weird, of that I was certain.

Sparky had been waiting for us by the gate, and in his doggy way looked sheepish about his earlier behavior. I rubbed his ears as I walked past him. "So much for the valiant canine defender." He responded with a lolled tongue and a whuff. At least we were still friends. I grabbed his leash and passed it to her.

Nikki took the leash but held onto my hand. "Big scorpions would scare the bravery out of anything," she said in his defense. As if knowing he was the topic of conversation, Sparky nuzzled her leg.

"If I had four legs I would've beat him here."

She favored me with a small smile and a squeeze of my hand, and I melted like butter in the sun. Maybe we still had a chance after all this was over. That happy thought was banished as we passed between the iron gates and she let go of my hand.

Like everywhere else, the house was surrounded by an aura of dead silence. No birds or insect calls, and not a breath of wind. The stillness was absolute. The grass in the front yard was tall and brown for lack of watering and rain, and scattered across the expanse of the yard was a carpet of moldering leaves. If someone lived here, they didn't care one whit about the yard. Come to think about it, I probably wouldn't have either if I had lived there. Yet, the dead lawn kind of fit the atmosphere of the place. I usually can't stand the odor of rotting vegetation, but in this case I was able to put up with the smell since the thick layer of fallen foliage did a wonderful job of muffling our steps up the path to the doors. Just as it had been inside the forest, no sound other then our own footsteps intruded on the stillness. I'll never understand why I was the only one apparently bothered by this. Nobody else ever commented on it.

What I had initially thought of as concrete under our feet turned out to be a flagstone path. I stepped over a patch that was peering between the dead foliage. and saw the exposed red rock. The concrete mortar between the slabs was cracked and missing little chunks, more evidence of long term neglect. Nearer the house there was the remains of what had once been a large flowerbed, now disused and sprouting its own collection of dead fauna. The face of the house was covered with the brown and dry remains of what had been a climbing rosebush, the vines still covered with sharp thorns. From all appearances, nothing living had graced this property for many years. I'm sure rain fell here, and probably in good amounts, but nothing green had germinated on the grounds of the Olbaid manor.

Spooky.

Weird and spooky.

Surprisingly enough, we made it to the front doors without incident. No ghouls lurched out and no gigantic insects sprang at us from the shadows. I think that just made it worse. We were all jumpy; there was no doubt about that. Quiet has a way of working on your nerves to the point where you're desperate for a sound, any sound, to take away the horrid, flat humming that dead silence brings. I could hear the breathing of my companions and the muffled thuds of their footsteps, but little else besides the dull thud of my own heart.

Three steps and a wide stoop before the doors, which were tall, thick, and stained a black so deep it appeared liquid. They were covered with the most hideous carvings I'd ever laid eyes on. I can only describe the things carved on the wood as demons. Horned beings wielding swords and pitchforks, spearing hapless humans and lopping off heads in an orgy of eager bloodletting that was stomach turning. Other demons held down carved images of young women and defiled them in numerous vile and sickening ways. I turned away, swallowing nausea, and let my eyes roam over the rest of the house while Troy fiddled with the locks.

The doors were set inside an arched frame of cut marble blocks, probably a small fortunes worth back in the time the house was being built. The rest of the house may as well have been a mountain for all the stone used in its construction. Unlike the mortuary, where the stone had been beautifully carved and smooth, the stones placed together almost seamlessly; here they may as well have been piled on top of each other and then mortared together. Stepping back and peering skyward, I imagined that I would have no trouble scaling the front of the house and clambering up onto the roof thanks to the countless handholds jutting out every-where on the edifice. All I'd have to do was avoid the thorn-covered vines and I'd be home free. I wasn't an experienced free climber, but this would have been a breeze. Which was certainly food for thought. When chased, it's always good to have an unexpected avenue of escape. I doubted ghouls were possessed of sufficient balance to follow me up a wall. Heck, I'd already proven they couldn't even climb a chain link fence.

That was when I noticed the other gargoyles that had been placed at intervals along the roof the entire length of the house. There were thirteen of them, all carved in different poses, some with arms or wings spread wide, others squatting on their haunches and peered down at us poor hapless humans. In the sunlight they seemed like nothing more than they were, just plain ordinary sculptures that brought medieval castles to mind. But something told me that viewing them by moonlight was another matter entirely, and that was an experience I decided to avoid if at all possible.

Stone gargoyles can't fly. They can't walk, and they can't hurt you. It seemed so reasonable in my head, but I just couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that the sight of those things created. Not only that, but also something about the way they were carved, and their poses made me uncomfortable, as if it was familiar somehow and I should recognize it. Even from far below I could tell that the figures, while essentially the same type of creature; were radically different. On the far end, one gazed skyward with a goat's head, while the one next to it looked more like a cow. Nearer the center was one of the more disturbing; a two-headed gargoyle. I felt familiarity tickling the back of my mind, but I just couldn't grasp it.

I'd noticed one other thing in my assessment of the house. If climbing the walls became necessary, there was no chance of getting inside through a window. Every single one was boarded up, and from the inside. Either the new owner had not gotten around to removing them, or he just didn't like the light.

Now there was some food for thought.

Near the roof, rust stains from the gutters that still hung crookedly discolored the stones. From where I stood, the stains looked like blood dripping down the face of the house. I suppressed a shudder and looked back down even as Troy completed picking the lock. "Gotcha," he said, and pushed open one of the massive portals.

You know, I'm a guy that likes movies. I like just about all kinds, but my favorites have always been the horror and slasher films, because they're always good for a laugh. You see the people in the movie doing the dumbest stuff, like going into big houses that look like rejects from a Frankenstein novel. You just know somebody is going to get snuffed in some horrible and bloody way, and you shake your head and berate them silently for being so stupid, confidently telling yourself you would never do that. Ever.

Yeah, right.

I waited for Michael Meyers or Freddy Krueger to come jumping out from the shadows beyond the door, but of course, they didn't. My every instinct was screaming at me to not only run away from this house as fast as I could, but to also find a really big rock to crawl under.

Did I listen?

Of course not. If I had, this story might have a different ending.

Beyond the doors of the Olbaid manor was a large and elegant foyer, still furnished with turn of the century antique chairs and a coat rack. This I could see from outside. Stepping in behind Troy, I saw rich wood paneling that covered the walls under a blanket of dust and grime, and a dulled mirror hung on the wall opposite the doors, smoked along its edges and so fogged by time and dust that our reflections were barely visible. The foyer was the center of a long hallway that went to the right and the left and disappeared into darkness in both directions. Troy snapped on his flashlight, cueing the rest of us to follow suit, and we shone the lights around, illuminating dust and spider webs covering just about every surface. Long curtains of web hung from the ceiling, swaying gently as the warmer air from outside mingled with the cooler inside. I was glad we'd seen them before entering, or else I might have mistaken them for ghosts and really embarrassed myself.

Common sense should have made us close the doors and quickly, yet quietly, head back through the woods and across town to Ripley's, but instead we stepped inside and Troy closed the door behind us. Josh was behind me, and I heard him whisper, "Dude, I do not want to be here."

"Wait outside then," I suggested over my shoulder.

"Screw you," he sneered.

"I'm not that desperate, but thanks for the offer." He rolled his eyes. Lacking a better comeback and a gun he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Come on, boy," I heard Nikki say. She was tugging on Sparky's leash, but he was more than a little reluctant to step inside. No matter how hard she pulled, he dug in his feet and refused to move. Skinny and undernourished as he was, he still found the strength to resist her, and she couldn't get him to budge.

Smart dog.

Hank solved the problem. He lifted his foot and gave Sparky one good kick right on his furry butt. The dog slid past Nikki with an expression of utter surprise and amaze-ment. The floor under our feet was dirty with dust and dirt that had blown in under the doors, but it was still slick enough to keep the mutt from gaining a good grip with his paws, and as he zipped by Nikki, the leash brought him up short and he spun around on his haunches, coming to a stop with all four legs comically sprawled out around him. He slowly got to his feet and shot Hank a dirty look.

"That wasn't very nice," Nikki scolded Hank.

The big cowboy shrugged. "Dog was holdin' us up," he said, as if that was a reason enough for kicking any dog.

"It still wasn't nice," she said, but I could tell even she was amused.

"Better'n shootin' him," explained Hank, and I bit back a bray of laughter.

We grouped closer. Troy kept looking around, and I guessed he was trying to get a feel for the place, hoping his own instincts would give him an idea where to go. Apparently it failed him, so he turned to Jenny, shining his light low to keep it out of her eyes. Doing so inadvertently lit up her chest. It was a nice view, and I heard Josh chuckle behind me. I rapped his ribs with my elbow and he shut up. Jenny hadn't noticed. "This place hasn't been lived in for a long time," he said. No echo followed. The house seemed to suck all sound away, because his voice was unusually flat, almost monotone. Even the click of Sparky's nails on the wood floor sounded dulled.

"It shouldn't look like this. The new owner was going to hire a crew to come clean the place up," she replied, but you could tell she knew it was a weak argument. "I don't know why it's so dirty. Uncle Rob told me the guy moved in months ago. Everybody in town had been told he was going to restore the place. I guess he never got around to it before things went bad." She let her eyes roam away from us and down the hallway. "He's probably dead somewhere in the house."

"I wouldn't count on that," Troy said, grabbing everyone's attention.

"And why would you believe that, Mr. Williams?" Holcroft had a strange expression on his face. Curiosity perhaps, but there was a touch of eagerness there as well, as if he'd been waiting for just such a revelation from Troy. It made my skin tingle.

"Gerhard isn't dead, but I don't think he's here either."

Jenny did shine her light on his face, making him blink. "You know this guy?" Suspicion bloomed on her fair features, and behind it her temper was working its way out.

"I know of him." His chin dropped and he sighed. "Okay, confession time," he said. "Gerhard is who I came to town to find. My employer believes that he's a wanted criminal that came here under a false name to avoid capture and took up residence somewhere in town. I didn't know he lived here until I saw the mailbox." He glanced around the foyer quickly. "This is his type of place for sure."

"But he's not here?" Nikki asked. "How can you be sure?"

Troy shrugged. "Just a feeling, nothing more. I'm getting the idea that the house was just a front, an excuse to give the townspeople for his presence in Castle Bay. He may have come here a few times to keep up the pretense, but I think he may have taken up permanent residence elsewhere."

I had a bad feeling. "And where would that be?" I asked him, and I knew the answer before he said it.

He confirmed what I was thinking with one word. "Biocyte."

A collective intake of breath from everyone but Winston, and Troy didn't fail to note that. His light went from Jenny's bosom to Holcroft's face. "Talk," he ordered.

To give Winston credit, he almost managed to pull off looking affronted. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I know you've been jerking our chains for the last few days. You know more than you've let on, and maybe the time for truth has arrived. You worked at Biocyte."

For a moment I thought that maybe Holcroft would argue, protest his innocence, do anything other than admit he might have had anything to do with the death of an entire town. He kept his gaze firmly on Troy's eyes, but a nervous tic twitched at the corner of his mouth. If the door hadn't been shut behind us, I believe the man would have bolted. I have to give him some credit; he faced whatever was coming with dignity. "Fine, I was employed there. What of it? Many people in town were in some fashion."

"Not you," Troy said. "You stand out like a sore thumb. You're too haughty for New England, too full of yourself and your education. You're an import. I can tell that from your accent alone. They brought you here, and I want to know why."

So did I.

Winston gestured to the small area where we were occupying. "Do you really think this is the best place for a lengthy discourse of my résumé, Mr. Williams?"

Troy didn't answer right away, and his eyes never wavered from Winston's face. I hoped he would never have reason to give me the dead stare he was currently using on Holcroft. I probably wouldn't survive it, and right now it didn't seem like Winston would either. Still, he faced Troy with more courage than I would have been able to muster if I'd been in his place. Hell, I would most likely have pissed myself by now.

Finally Troy relented, looking away, and Winston's shoulders sagged with obvious relief. He may not have had a problem threatening to blow my brains out, but when it came to facing a hardened army veteran it was another matter entirely. "Alright," Troy said, "let's look around and see what we can find while we're here. If I'm right and Gerhard isn't using this place, we should have it all to ourselves for at least a while."

"Well, I'm glad that's over," Hank breathed. "I hate arguments."

Troy shook his head and turned his stare back to Winston. "It's not over," he said, "just delayed."

"We splitting up again?" Hank asked. "If you ask me, in this place it might be a bad idea."

"Agreed," Troy said. "We stay together for now."

That was fine with me. The last thing I wanted to do was wander around the manor saddled with Winston or Josh as would-be guardians. A box of animal crackers and a squirt gun would be better protection.

"Jenny, do you know anything about this place?" This from Hank, who was shining his flashlight down the hallway to our left.

She gave a slight nod. "The house always had a reputation in town for being haunted. The usual stuff. Strange lights, noises, shadows moving on the property. As kids, my friends and I would sometimes dare each other to sneak in here. You had to get something from the top floor and bring it out. It was a really stupid game. This place is so huge, we could have easily gotten lost and never been found. Somehow, we always managed to get out."

"What about your souvenirs?"

She crossed her arms, cradling her rifle while staring at the floor. "We never kept them," she said. "We'd leave them on the porch when we left. We were too scared to actual take anything off the property. They were always gone the next time we came back. The house keeps its own."

"Ridiculous," Winston muttered. "Transient thievery. Would-be vandals removed the knick-knacks, Miss Hopper, not ghosts."

You'd have thought that by now Jenny's temper was something that Holcroft would have known to avoid sparking. After all, they'd clashed wills before. For all of his supposed superior intelligence and common sense, he was a remarkably stupid man.

Jenny's eyes narrowed and her lips were tight as she spoke. "Kiss my ass, Holcroft. Even the bums have always avoided this place, even in bad weather. Only dumb kids dared to play here, and maybe that was just because children are watched over by a higher power that the evil in this place doesn't dare to tangle with. When I was ten I took a crystal music box from the study on the fourth floor. I would have loved to keep it because it was a beautiful piece, probably worth a few hundred dollars at that time. I left it by the doors we just came through. When I went into that same room two years later, that music box was in the same place I took it from. Something put it back."

I shuddered as a goose walked over my grave.

A moment of silence passed. Jenny and Winston stared at each other, not hiding the animosity. As he opened his mouth to speak she cut him off by lifting her hand. "It happened more than once, and not just to me, so just shut up already." She turned to Troy. "If your man Gerhard wasn't a fool, he didn't dare sleep here." Her gaze swept over the rest of us. "People may not live here, but something does."

As if to emphasize her words, somewhere in the house a door slammed.

I wasn't the only one who jumped. We all did, and Sparky whined and pressed up against Nikki's leg. I wanted to do the same thing. Every weapon was pointed somewhere, but since we really couldn't tell where the sound had come from, it was kind of ridiculous to point a weapon anywhere. Didn't stop me, though.

The sound of the slammed door reverberated through the house like a struck gong, filling the emptiness of the myriad rooms and hallways with its wooden resonance.

"Wind?" Josh offered weakly. His eyes were darting from side to side, another rabbit about to dash.

My back was crawling with tingles, and every hair on the back of neck was standing straight up, a sure sign that things were about to get terrifying. I had learned years ago not to disregard my own telltale sign of danger, and would turn my boat back to safe harbor, usually arriving only minutes before a big squall hit at sea. My grandfather had named it Poseidon's blessing. Whatever it was, it was doing a tap dance across my shoulder blades. "All the windows are boarded up," I said. "It couldn't have been."

Josh pushed past me and grabbed Troy's arm. "Can we leave now?" he pleaded. "You heard what she said, this place is haunted, man. Guns won't kill a ghost." He looked around for help and found none. I would have been only too happy to bug out, but on the other side of the door was a forest full of giant insects and a town overrun with the walking dead. If there was a ghost here, I was willing to face it.

Right

Troy shrugged off the kid's arm. His eyes wandered around the foyer for a few seconds, then settled on us. "Look, I came here to find this man, so I need to check this place out to see if I can get inside his head, figure out how I can track him down so I can make the arrest. The rest of you can head back to town. Better yet, get back to Ripley's until I can rejoin you. This isn't your job."

Jenny's countenance could have been carved from granite. "Like hell," she growled. "We stick together. You need us as much as we need you."

I agreed, but kept my mouth shut. This wasn't about me.

Holcroft cleared his throat. "I know that at this time none of you have the slightest reason to trust me, and I can accept that. I have to place my support behind Miss Hopper's statement. As a group we can certainly accomplish more than as individuals. That includes you, Mr. Williams."

Troy mulled over what Winston had said, gave each of us a thoughtful glance, then smiled. "Well, if we're in this together, I suppose I should at least offer to share the bounty."

"How much?" Josh asked, a greedy expression flowering on his pimpled features. I can't blame him, the same thought had crossed my mind as well. I just wasn't rude enough to say it out loud.

"Let's just say that if we get Gerhard and get out of town alive, there's a hundred thousand for each of you."

I heard the boy swallow. "Dollars?"

"Very generous of you, Mr. Williams." Even Winston was astonished. I do hope that leaves you enough to live on.

"More than," Troy chuckled. "Okay, let's get to the business at hand. There's someone here with us, and we need to find them. I don't think it's Gerhard, but I'm not thrilled with the idea of always having to watch my back while we're inside this funhouse. Everybody keep their eyes open, but don't shoot until I tell you to. Clear?"

Muttered acknowledgements. We knew who was still in charge. I don't know about everybody else, but the wheels in my head were still churning. If Troy was offering that much to help him, then what would be left over for himself had to be even more substantial. I suspected that the capture of the elusive Gerhard was probably worth millions. Now, don't get me wrong. Not for one second did I even consider beginning a career as a bounty hunter so that I could snatch up the whole amount. I lacked Troy's training and skills, and besides, one hundred thousand dollars was enough for me. With that much money I could buy enough shares of Coastal Pride stock to keep me fairly comfortable and fed for years to come. If Nikki agreed to come with me and I could get her to invest hers as well... Foolish thoughts, and I pushed them away. However, deep-down inside I absolutely knew that I was never going to see a dime of that cash. Not because Troy was dishonest or had no intention of keeping his word, but because either we were going to die in this town, or go mad. Insane or dead, all the riches in the world won't mean a thing.

So far we'd spent less than ten minutes huddled in the foyer of Graves End, but it seemed like an hour had passed while we conversed. I wasn't the only one looking around expectantly, nervously waiting for something to jump out any and say, "Boo!" before tearing our heads off.

Yeah, you can always count on me for the cheerful thoughts.

Jenny led us down the corridor to the left, past a series of doors she identified as small closets, and after about twenty paces we went through a set of large double doors and entered a much larger room that was filled almost entirely by a staircase.

Now, I've seen pictures of the Grand Staircase on the Titanic, and it was beautiful. From what I could tell, this set of steps could have been a twin to those on the lost ship. Having been built about the same time in the early part of the century, it wasn't that farfetched. Wide enough at the first step for us to stand apart, spread our arms and just barely touch our fingertips together, the stairs were utterly magnificent. The dust that covered every other surface in the house didn't seem to want to cling to the banisters or the part of the steps that were not covered, and the patina almost gleamed in the low illumination from our flashlights.

My first conclusion: old man Olbaid had been swimming in cash to have been able to afford a house so large and one that could fit this incredible piece of craftsman-ship. At first we were all awed by what we beheld, except Jenny; who'd seen it before. I don't know if I was the first to notice or not, but it didn't take long for me to discover the imp on one of the posts. It was so realistically carved that at first I mistook it for a living creature, but shining my light on it dispelled the flash of fear that had swept over me.

It was a hideous little monster, all ears and long nose, and it leered in our direction as if deciding how to kill us in the slowest and most painful way. The fact that it was only two feet high didn't matter, it was still disconcerting to feel its wooden eyes on me. I told myself that it was just a carving, just a carving.

It didn't help.

"Ugly little creep, ain't it?" Hank was shining his light on the imp as he moved beside me. "I was wondering what caught your eye."

"You've got to be some kind of nut to want that thing in your house." I tried to tear my eyes from its wooden gaze but couldn't. "The thing gives me the willies."

Hank leaned closer. "It's got friends," he said, his breath redolent of cheap whiskey and a breath mint; and shone his light further up the stairs. Every seventh baluster another of the miniature devils gripped a post and cast its gaze down the steps, as if they were guarding the way into the upper floors. I made a quick count. Seven on each side made fourteen of the creepy little buggers. I shivered, "Holy crap."

"Kinda makes you not want to go up there, eh?" Hank was grinning, but there was no humor in his voice. He wasn't thrilled about walking past them any more than I was.

"I think that was the idea," Troy added, directing his light and finding each of the imps, "and they aren't just on the steps. Check this out," he said, sweeping his light into the corners of the room.

The ceiling was at least twenty feet over our heads, and in each of the four corners was a tall column that stood half as high. Perched at the apex of each was a larger version of the imps on the stairs. They had the same big ears, long nose, squat but muscular bodies, and long fingers and toes that gripped the edges of their roosts. Whoever had carved these monsters had even added scratches and gouges into the columns as if to suggest these things were alive and restlessly digging their talons into the marble. What made these worse than the smaller ones, besides being bigger; was the wings they sported. They weren't spread, but they weren't folded against the body either. They had been made to look as if they were poised on the edge of flight. These things weren't just larger gremlins, they were full-fledged demons. The only good thing I could find about them was that they had been carved with their eyes closed. Still, the imps on the stairs were no longer my biggest concern. "Jesus," I breathed," this place is right out of Better Homes and Dungeons."

Hank snickered and Troy actually let out a little laugh. "I can always count on you to make me laugh when things get grim, Jake" he said. "Keep it up." Then he noticed that Jenny was staring at each of the imps and then the larger ones in turn, and the frown on her face got deeper each time she moved the beam from one to the next. She saw us watching her. "I don't remember these things from before," she said. At her words, the atmosphere in the room suddenly grew heavier, the air thicker and harder to breathe.

The three of us looked at each other. "That's not a good thing," I said.

Troy went to stand by her. Not just to hear her better in the repressive setting, but also to offer protection, whether she wanted it or not. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You were what, twelve, the last time you were here?"

Jenny's expression grew more and more worried. "I can remember it like it was yesterday. This room, those steps, everything. These things were not here then."

I shivered, and not just from her words. I'd been hit by a wave of cold that lashed me like a whip. My breath plumed before my face, and the double doors we had passed through just moments before swung shut with enough force to rattle my teeth. The echo from the two big doors slamming together vibrated with enough force to make me feel as if I was standing inside a big bass drum. "Ah, shit," I whispered as the echo faded. A furtive sound of movement behind me, and I whirled around to shine my light on the nearest demon. My heart skipped.

The eyes were no longer closed.

They stared down at me like two red coals, burning with an inner fire fueled by evil, and filled with a hatred and loathing for me and all things human. One finger twitched, lifting and then dropping back to the column.

"Impossible," Hank said behind me. "This ain't happening."

"Damn it!" Troy swore, and much as I didn't want to look away from the beast, I glanced over. He was standing with Jenny at the foot of the stairs, both of them lighting up the steps and revealing that all of the imps were gone. "Where did they go?" he wondered aloud. Oh yeah, things were getting worse by the minute.

"Troy," I said to get his attention. "We've got bigger problems."

He didn't even look my way. He was too busy spinning in place trying to locate the missing imps. "Like what?"

"Like him," I answered, my light never wavering from the hideous countenance of the demon.

Another spot of light joined mine, then another, until all seven of us were lighting up old ugly, and this time the thing winced. It's wings shook, and a cascade of dust billowed into the air. I waited for it to sneeze, but it continued to just sit there and stare at us the way a dog might regard a flea. As for the dog with us, he was backing away with his tail curled up under his belly and every hackle raised. Head lowered, he was whining in the most pitiful way I'd ever heard a dog make.

"Stairs, now," Troy ordered.

"Up?" This from Josh, who was eyeing the way we'd come in.

Troy grabbed the kid and pushed him toward the doors. "If you think you can open that, then go for it! I've got a feeling you won't find it easy. We're going this way." Without waiting to see what Josh would do, he bounded across the room, took Jenny and Nikki by the hands, and practically dragged them up the steps.

Granted, I didn't want to go there any more than Josh did, but neither did I want to stay in a room where old statues seemed to be coming to life. Hank was still staring at the demon that had moved first, and they seemed to be locked into some kind of staring contest. The demon had now leaned forward enough that it's warty chin was hanging between it's feet. The mouth had opened a bit, revealing rows of sharp pointed teeth, and a line of drool was slowing falling to the floor. It let out a soft growl and the claws bit into the marble with enough force to break off several small pieces. That was when I realized Hank wasn't bravely facing the creature, he was hypnotized, frozen in place by the baleful stare. With his will denied, he would make easy prey. I lifted my rifle, took careful aim and pulled the trigger.

The report was surprisingly loud, and for once, my aim was right on. The bullet hit dead center between the demon's eyes, and it jerked back, breaking the stare. It glared at me and snarled. Hank shook his head and stumbled back two paces. "Move your ass, Dupree!" I shouted. He looked up and realized how close he was standing to death. The shotgun swung up and he let the demon have both barrels just as it made a grab for him.

The boom was deafening. The pellets hit the demon square in the chest with enough force to drive it back against the wall and the ceiling and leaving a smoking pattern of small holes across the wide chest. It roared, but whether in pain or anger I couldn't tell. I didn't much care either way. Hank took the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat, joining me at the foot of the staircase. Without a glance behind we took the steps two at a time.

Troy and the rest had already reached the first landing. I counted twenty-five steps, and then we were standing where two hallways intersected, one straight ahead, and the other running parallel to the lower hallway at the entrance. Below, the demon had left his perch and was snarling at us from the bottom step. As we watched it climbed three, waiting to see what we would do.

I raised my rifle knowing it was useless. My lucky first shot hadn't seemed to bother it too much, and Hank's close range blast had only scratched it. If the thing was flesh and blood it should have at least bled a little, but hewn from wood it was going to take more firepower than we had to knock it down. Even as I thought that I saw that the skin of the monster was changing color. No longer did it have the texture of wood, but had instead turned a scaly gray. The thing was transforming in front of us, becoming real, in a sense. It lifted one hand and pointed a long finger at Hank, but it's eyes were on me. The mouth moved and it spoke.

I can't duplicate the words that came out it's mouth, but Winston's jaw dropped as it spoke. "Ancient Latin," he said.

"What did it say?" Hank asked, his shotgun ready to fire again.

"Deny me not my prey."

Hank's mouth was a thin line. "Oh yeah? Well, bite my ass, ya big chicken!" He fired again.

The demon roared in frustration as the pellets sprayed across it's face, and one red eye winked out. It covered the wound with its hand, shook its head and started slowly up the stairs. "Way to go, Hank," I said. "You just pissed him off."

Hank shrugged and breached the shotgun, the expended shells dropping to the faded carpet. He reloaded and snapped it shut. "That thing is getting vulnerable," he said. "It's bleeding now."

True enough. Small drops of black blood now fell from the ruined eye, and there was a hesitation in the way it stalked up the stairs. We backed up slowly, not daring to take our eyes off the thing. Just inside my peripheral zone I could see Winston digging furiously through his pockets. I hoped he was carrying a small nuclear weapon.

I heard Troy curse again and then the sounds of many small feet. I didn't have to look to see that the little ones had returned. This was getting ridiculous. Someone fired and something squealed in pain. The big one halted and glared at us with undisguised fury. "He doesn't like you guys beating up on his little brothers," I said loudly.

I looked for Nikki as her shotgun blasted, making my eardrums pound and sending an imp back to hell in countless pieces. "Screw him," she said. Those around the unlucky one scattered. The little uglies circled, moving quickly to avoid becoming targets, even climbing the walls in an attempt to stay out of range. When I looked back, Big Ugly resumed his slow climb of the stairs, but his three buddies had now joined him. Not only did they look mad, now they looked hungry.

"Any ideas, Troy?" I yelled, hoping he knew what to do.

"Fresh out!" he replied, shooting and just missing one that scampered out of the way of the bullet. Damn, these things were fast. More shots rang out as Jenny and Nikki tried to even the odds, but the imps suffered few losses.

Nikki gasped as one rushed in ,slicing her leg with it's claws, and Jenny and Troy were both subject to cuts and bruises as the persistent creatures hounded them. Even Sparky was not immune to the onslaught. I heard him yelp and then he was spinning in a circle trying to unseat the imp that sat astride his back riding him like a bronco and grinning ear to pointed ear, all the while slicing the poor mutt's ears to ribbons.

Something slashed the back of my leg and I felt a warm trickle down my leg and into my boot. Hank gasped and stumbled away from me, his face pale, and I saw that his back had been gashed from shoulders to belt. Three long cuts had been opened in his skin, and blood flowed freely. Any second I knew I was going to be eviscerated, and I would never see it coming. They were just too fast.

Winston let out an exclamation of, "Aha!" He dashed in front of me and Hank, holding something aloft that I couldn't quit see in the dimness. I'll never forget what he said, and when he spoke his voice resonated with power. "E domini patri, spiritum Jesua dieus!" Blinding white light filled the entire room, and the demons below us hissed in rage as they were driven back by some unseen force. Winston's voice seemed to echo not just through the room, but through the entire house. I could feel his words with my skin as he shouted, "Unclean beasts, I command you to depart this plane!"

Frozen in the light, the creatures shuddered. "Return to the darkness that spawned you, foul spirits!" Holcroft shouted, and in that moment I was in awe of the man and the power he wielded. If possible, the light from his hand grew even brighter. Miraculously, we felt no heat. In fact, the touch of the light was pleasant, and I basked in it, the pain from my wound fading as I soaked in the illumination.

What it did to our foes was a different story. As we watched, the skin of all the demons; big and small, began to smoke. What appeared to be boils erupted all over them and they began to howl in anger and pain. No longer interested in us, they sought only to escape, but found the way blocked. They scratched and pounded on the thick doors, but the portal remained firmly shut. The imps raced past us and threw themselves over the railing and down the stairs, plunging for shadows beneath what little furniture could be found and finding no shelter there. Wherever they went the light found them, and one by one, they puffed into dust.

The larger demons backed against the far wall by the boarded up windows, shielding their eyes from the small sun that Winston held. He advanced on them down the stairs, speaking in a strange language, his voice shaking plaster from the ceiling overhead. The demons shrank away, cowering and mewling pitifully. One by one, they burst into flame, burning only a moment before falling into piles of ash.

Almost at once, the power Winston held winked out. He fell to his knees. Hank and I glanced at each other, then ran back down to the lower level. Holcroft may have been a skunk and a liar, but he had just saved our collective bacon. We owed him that.

As it turned out, old Mr. Mysterious was fine, if a bit tired. Hank pulled him to his feet but kept hold of his arm. Probably a good thing he did, as Winston's knees were more than a little wobbly. "Thank you, Mr. Dupree," he said weakly.

"I don't know what you just did, son, but my hat would be off to you if I had one to tip."

I slung my rifle over my shoulder and lent the other one to supporting Winston. He leaned on us gratefully. "I'm rather tired," he said.

We started back up the stairs to where the others were waiting and watching, their eyes full of newfound respect for Holcroft, and also a little fear. I understood that. If he could do what he had just done to demons, what could he do to us if we crossed him? I figured I had better talk to Troy and suggest he play things easy with Winston. If he grilled him to hard, he might end up crisping like the demons had done.

Holcroft had regained some of his strength by the time we reached the landing, so much so that he let go of us and leaned against the nearest wall, supporting himself with one outstretched arm. "I did not think that was going to work," he admitted, "but I'm rather pleased that it did."

"What was that you were holding up?" Nikki asked him.

He held out his hand and slowly opened it, revealing a small silver crucifix that barely covered his palm. "A symbol for white magic," he said.

"I thought you didn't believe in this stuff," Troy remarked.

The question scored a mark, which was evident by the way Winston glanced away from Troy. "Deep down inside all of us is a belief in the supernatural," he said. "Call it a holdover from the times when a belief in pagan gods and minions of evil were common. I accept that there is great evil in this world, and therefore I must also believe in the good in the world as well. As I've explained before, if we can see and believe in the creatures that have taken over this town, it makes it that much easier to accept that there is also a power to counter their presence."

Troy's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information without really understanding it. "So if black magic exists to raise the dead and summon demons, then white magic has to present as well. Is that what you're saying?"

"Exactly, Mr. Williams, exactly. All one has to do is know the right words and possess a small amount of faith in himself to cast the spell."

Nikki crossed herself, the first outward expression of faith I'd seen her make. She gently touched the crucifix with trembling fingers. "The light of God," she whispered. "It touched us all." She looked at Winston, yearning in her eyes, and I understood.

Redemption.

She had despaired of survival because it seemed that God had turned a blind eye to Castle Bay, thus allowing evil to flourish. Now here was hope, found in the hands of a man none of the rest of us trusted.

Winston opened his mouth to debate the difference between white magic and otherworldly father figures, but Troy shook his head in warning. He wisely refrained from speaking.

Nikki was correct in one thing, though. We had been touched, and in a way that was scary and wonderful at the same time. Our injuries had healed. Pulling up my pant leg revealed no cut and no blood. My wound had healed as if it had never been, but the cut in the denim was clear indication that I hadn't imagined it. I wasn't the only one either. Hank's back was also healed, but both shirt and undershirt were losses. The others grinned like chimps when they discovered that they had also been mended.

Looking back on those few minutes, when we were drawn together in the warm afterglow of a powerful and wonderful magic, finding hope in the darkest of places, it was the last peaceful time we shared together. For the first time we'd found hope, a chance that we could get out of Castle Bay alive, and we reveled in it.

If we had known that within the hour the first of us was going to die, we wouldn't have been quite so cheerful.

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