Hell House

Hell House Page 34

9:42 A.M.

Barrett opened his eyes, to find himself looking at Edith's sleeping face. He felt a twinge of worry. He hadn't meant to sleep.

Taking hold of his cane, he slipped his legs across the edge of the mattress and stood, wincing as he put his weight down. He winced again as he slipped his feet into shoes. Sitting on the other bed, he crossed his left leg over his right, and worked the lace out of the shoe, using the fingers of his left hand.

He set the foot down. That was some improvement. He did the same to his right shoe, then drew out his watch. It was getting close to ten. His expression grew alarmed. That couldn't be P.M., could it? In this damned, windowless hulk, there was no way to be certain.

He hated to wake Edith. She'd had so little sleep this week. Did he dare leave her, though? He stood irresolutely, staring at her. Had anything happened to them in their sleep? It was an aspect of the EMR he had not investigated, but it did seem that one had to be conscious in order to be affected by it. No, that wasn't true; she'd walked in her sleep.

He decided to leave the door open, go downstairs as rapidly as possible, make the call, and come right back. If anything happened, surely he'd be aware of it.

He limped across the room and into the corridor, setting his teeth against the pain in his thumb. Despite his having taken codeine, it still throbbed unrelentingly. God knew what it looked like by now; he had no intention of checking. It would undoubtedly require minor surgery when this was over; he might even lose partial use of it. Never mind, he thought. The price was acceptable.

He opened Fischer's door and looked inside the bedroom. Fischer hadn't stirred. Barrett hoped he'd remain asleep when they carried him out of here on a stretcher. He didn't belong here; never had. At least he was surviving once more.

Turning clumsily, he hobbled to Florence Tanner's room and looked inside. She was also immobile. Barrett gazed at her sympathetically. The poor woman had a lot to confront after she was out of here. What would it be like to face the lie of her past existence? Was she up to it? Most likely, she would slip back into pretension; it would be less difficult.

He turned from Florence's door and limped to the staircase. Well, it's been quite a week, all in all, he thought. He smiled involuntarily. That was, without a doubt, the understatement of his life. Still, all was well. Thank God Miss Tanner had been blinded by her rage. A few well-placed blows, and he would have been confronted by days, perhaps weeks, of work to put the Reversor into working condition. Everything would have been ruined. He shivered at the thought.

What would they all do after they had left the house? he wondered as he descended the staircase haltingly, his left hand on the banister rail. It was an interesting speculation. Would Miss Tanner return to her church? Could she return to it after this appalling insight into herself? What about Fischer? What would he do? With a hundred thousand dollars, he could do a great deal. As for Edith and himself, the future was relatively clear. He avoided thinking of their personal problems yet to solve.

That was for later.

At least they would all be out of Hell House. As the unofficial leader of the group, he felt some pride in that, although it was, perhaps, absurd for him to feel it. Still, the 1931 and 1940 groups had been virtually decimated. This time, four of them had entered Hell House, four would be safely out by tonight.

He wondered what to do with the Reversor after today. Should he have it delivered to his laboratory at the college? That seemed most likely. What a delivery that would be; tantamount, he thought, to displaying the capsule that had taken the first astronaut into space. Perhaps, someday, the Reversor would occupy a place of honor in the Smithsonian Institution. He smiled sardonically. And perhaps not. He was hardly deluding himself into thinking that the world of science would topple in submission before his accomplishment. No, there were still a good many years ahead before parapsychology was conceded its rightful place beside the other natural sciences.

He moved to the front doors and opened one. Daylight. He shut the door and hobbled to the telephone, picked up the receiver.

There was no answer. Barrett jiggled the cradle arm. A fine time for communication to be broken off. He waited, jiggled the cradle arm again. Come on, he thought. He couldn't possibly get Fischer and Miss Tanner out of here without help.

He was about to hang up when the receiver was lifted on the other end of the line. "Yes?" said Deutsch's man.

Barrett exhaled loudly with relief. "You had me worried there. This is Barrett. We need an ambulance."

Silence.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Will you have it sent out right away, then? Mr. Fischer and Miss Tanner require immediate hospitalization."

There was no reply.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

The line was silent.

"Is something wrong?" Barrett asked.

The man drew in a sudden breath. "Oh, hell, this isn't fair to you," he said angrily.

"What isn't?"

The man hesitated.

" What isn't?"

Another hesitation. Then the man said quickly, "Old man Deutsch died this morning."

" Died? "

"He had terminal cancer. Took too many pills to dull the pain. Accidentally killed himself."

Barrett felt a numbing pressure on his skull. What difference does it make? he heard his mind inquiring; but he knew. "Why didn't you tell us?" he asked.

"I was ordered not to."

By the son, thought Barrett. "Well . . ." His voice was faint. "What about - ?"

"I was ordered to just - leave you stranded out there."

"And the money?" Barrett had to ask, even though he knew the answer.

"I don't know about that, but under the circumstances - " The man sighed. "Is there anything in writing?"

Barrett closed his eyes. "No."

"I see." The man's tone was flat. "Then that bastard son of his will doubtless - " He broke off. "Look, I apologize for not having called you, but my hands are tied. I have to go back to New York City right away. You have the car there. I suggest you all leave. There's a hospital here in Caribou Falls you can go to. I'll do what I can to . . ."

His voice faded, and he made a

sound of disgust. "Hell," he said. "I'll probably be out of a job myself. I can't stand that man. The father was bad enough, but - "

Barrett hung up as a wave of dark despair broke over him. No money, no provision for Edith, no retirement, no chance to rest. He leaned his forehead against the wall. "Oh, no," he murmured.

The tarn.

Barrett whirled with a gasp and looked around the entry hall. The words had leaped into his mind, unbidden. No, he thought.

He clenched his teeth together tightly. No, he told the house. He shook his head deliberately.

He started toward the great hall. "You don't win," he said. "I may not get that money, but you're not going to beat me; not you. I know your secret, and I'm going to destroy you." He had never felt such hatred in his life. He reached the archway and pointed at the Reversor with a look of triumph. "There!" he shouted. "There it stands! Your conqueror!" He had to lean against the archway wall. He felt exhausted, racked by pain. It doesn't matter, he told himself. Whatever pain he felt was secondary now. He'd worry later about Fischer and Miss Tanner, worry afterward about Edith and himself. There was only one thing that mattered at this moment: his defeat of Hell House and the victory of his work.

10:33 A.M.

She felt herself begin to rise from darkness. Daniel's voice cajoled her. You don't have to sleep, he said. She seemed to feel her veins and arteries compressing, tissues drawing in, her body forcing out the darkness. There was burning pressure in her kidneys. She tried to hold it back but was unable to. The pressure kept building. Go on, Daniel told her; let it go. Florence groaned. She couldn't stop herself. She felt the gushing from her loins, and cried aloud in shame.

Suddenly she was awake. She pushed aside the bedclothes and stood, looking groggily at the patch of wetness on the sheet.

He was so rooted in her, he controlled the very workings of her body now.

"Florence."

She jerked her head around and saw his face projected on the hanging silver lamp. "Please," he said.

She stared at him. He started smiling. "Please." His tone was mocking.

"Stop it."

"Please," he said.

" Stop it."

"Please." He bared his teeth in a derisive grin. " Please."

"Stop it, Daniel!"

"Please, please, please, please, please, please, pleasel"

Florence spun around and lurched for the bathroom. A cold hand grasped her ankle, and she toppled to the floor. Daniel's icy presence flooded over her, his voice, demoniac, howling in her ears: "Please, please, please, please!" She couldn't make a sound; his presence seemed to suck away her breath. "Please, please, please!" He began to laugh with wild sadistic pleasure.

Help me, God! she thought in agony. "Help me, God!" railed his voice. Deliver me! she pleaded. "Deliver me, deliver me!" his voice impersonated. Florence pressed both hands across her ears. " Help me, God! " she cried.

His presence vanished. Florence gasped in air convulsively. She struggled to her feet and started for the bathroom.

"Leaving?" said his voice. She set her mind against its blandishment. Stumbling into the bathroom, she ran cold water and splashed it on her face.

She straightened up and stared at her reflection. Her face was pallid, marked by dark scabbed scratches and discolored bruises. What she could see of her neck and upper chest was scored by jagged lacerations. Leaning forward, she saw that her breasts looked inflamed, the teeth marks almost black now.

She stiffened as the door swung shut, then saw the full reflection of her body in the mirror fastened to the door. She started to resist, but something cold snaked up her spine. She gasped; eyes opening wide.

In a moment she began to smile. She leaned back, eyes half-closing. Daniel was behind her. She could feel his hardened organ sliding deep into her rectum. His hands were clutched around her breasts, kneading them. Florence leaned back as Edith slipped into the bathroom, falling to her knees in front of Florence, darting her extended tongue to Florence's vagina. Florence's tongue lolled out. She bucked against Daniel eagerly. This was what she wanted, what she was.

She twitched as though electric current surged through her. Suddenly she saw herself, half-crouched before the mirror, face slack with vacuous abandonment, the fingers of her right hand thrust into her body. With a sickened noise she jerked the fingers free. A harsh laugh rasped behind her, and she whirled. The bathroom was empty. I was watching, his voice spoke in her mind.

She flung open the door and ran into the bedroom, Daniel's laughter following. She bent to pick her robe up. Something jerked it from her grasp and flung it away. She moved after it. The robe kept flapping from her. Florence stopped. No use, she thought, despairing. "No use," parodied his voice. The robe flew up and fell across her head. She jerked it off and pulled it on her body, buttoning it hastily. He's playing with me, she thought; making me do everything that's most abhorrent to me.

" - most abhorrent to me," his voice parroted, mockingly falsetto. He giggled like a girl. "Most abhorrent to me, most abhorrent to me."

Florence fell on her knees beside the bed and, resting both arms on the mattress edge, pressed her forehead to her tightly clasping hands. "Dear God, please help me; Red Cloud, help me; spirit doctors, help me; I have been possessed. Let the fire of the Holy Spirit burn this sickness from my mind and body. Let the strength of God rush through me, let his might instill me with the power to resist.

"Let his God cock sink into my mouth," she said. "Let me drink his holy, burning jism. Let me - "

A wail of torment jerked back her lips. She drove the knuckle of a fisted hand into her mouth and bit until the pain had filled her mind. Daniel vanished. After several moments she withdrew the still-clenched fist and looked at it. Her teeth had broken the skin; blood was trickling on the back of her hand.

She looked around uncertainly. It seemed as though the flare of pain had cleared her mind, driving him away. She pushed down on the mattress, standing. Now, she thought, the chapel. That was where the answer lay.

She ran across the room and jerked open the door. Hurrying into the hall, he turned toward the staircase. I'll reach it, she thought. He can't possess me every moment. If I keep on going, no matter what happens, I can get there.

She stopped, her heartbeat jolting. A figure blocked her way: a gaunt man dressed in ragged, filthy clothes; bones showing through his skin; long hair shaggy; face malformed by sickness; tiny, glowing eyes buried in dark-rimmed sockets; mouth distended, filled with thick, discolored teeth. Florence stared at him. It was one of Belasco's victims, she knew. He'd looked like this before he died.

The figure disappeared. Florence began descending the stairs. The acid coldness started up her spine again. She felt the gray defilement in her blood and fought it off, biting on her hand until the pain had driven it away. Pain was the answer! Whenever Daniel tried to take control, she'd drive him off with pain, because it filled her mind and left no room for him!

She stopped, hitched back. Two figures sprawled across the steps below, a man and woman. The man was plunging a knife into the woman's throat. He started sawing at the jagged wound, blood spouting, splashing on his twisted, gleeful face. He was cutting off the woman's head. Florence jammed her fist into her mouth and bit down, stiffening at the burst of pain. The man and woman vanished. She descended farther, wondering where the others were: Fischer, Edith, Barrett. It didn't matter; they couldn't help.

As she crossed the entry hall, she caught sight of Barrett in the great hall, working on his machine. Fool, she thought. It wasn't going to work. He was full of shit, the stupid -

No! She ground her teeth into her hand again, eyes wide and staring. Let her bite her fingers to the bone before succumbing to Daniel's sway again. She wished she had a knife. She'd thrust it far enough into her flesh to keep the pain there constantly.

It was the answer: agony that blocked his contaminated soul from hers.

She started down the corridor. A wild-eyed man was hunched across a naked woman's back. She was dead, a sash cord pulled around her neck, her face purplish, eyes bulging from their sockets. Florence sank her teeth into her hand. Blood was running down her lips now, dripping onto her throat. The figures vanished as she reached the chapel door. A man was crouched in front of it. His face was white, his expression drugged. He held a severed human hand to his lips, sucking on one of the fingers. She bit into her hand. The figure vanished. Florence fell against the door and pushed it in.

She stood wavering at the head of the center aisle. A maelstrom of power filled the air. This was the nucleus, the core. She started down the aisle, then jerked back with a gasp as she saw the cat lying in the puddle of blood. It had been cut in two.

She shook her head. She mustn't stop now. She was almost to the answer. She had beaten Daniel; she would beat the house now. She stepped across the cat, advancing on the altar. Dear God, the power was incredible! It radiated through her, pulsing, driving. Darkness flickered in her mind. She thrust her aching hand into her mouth again and bit. The darkness cleared a little, and she moved against the power. It was like a living wall before her. She was almost to the altar now. Her eyes were staring, fixed. She'd win her battle yet. With God's help, she would -

Sudden weakness turned her limbs to stone. She fell against the altar heavily. The power was too strong! She looked up dumbly at the crucifix. It seemed to move. She stared at it in horror. It was moving toward her. No, she thought. She tried to back off, but she couldn't budge, rooted to the spot as though by some gigantic magnet. No! The crucifix was falling. It was going to hit her!

Florence cried out as it struck her head and chest and knocked her backward violently. She crashed to the floor, the massive cross and figure crushing down on her, knocking out her breath. The serpentine chill went lashing up her spine. She tried to scream but couldn't. Darkness flooded through her.

The possession ended instantly.

Florence's eyes bulged, her face distorted by a look of agony. She couldn't breathe, the pain was so intense. She tried to push the crucifix away, but it wouldn't move. The pain of trying made her gag. She lay immobile, groaning at the endless waves of agony that filled her. Once again she tried to push the crucifix. It moved a little, but the movement nearly made her faint. Her face was gray, dewed with cold sweat.

It took fifteen minutes to do. She almost fainted seven times before she'd finished, holding on to consciousness only with the most intense exertion of will. Finally she pushed aside the heavy crucifix and tried to sit up, gasping at the agony of the attempt. Slowly, ashen lips pressed together, she struggled to her knees. Blood tarted running down her thighs.

The sight of the phallus made her vomit. Hunching over, she expelled the contents of her stomach on the floor, eyes glazed with pain. He'd tricked her. There was no answer here. He'd only wanted to commit this final profanation on her mind and body. Florence rubbed a palsied hand across her lips. No more, she thought. She looked around and saw the huge nail sticking from the crucifix's back; it had been pulled out from the wall. She dragged herself across the floor until she'd reached the nail. Hovering above it, she began to saw the insides of her wrists across its point, hissing at the pain. She began to sob.

"No more," she said. " No more."

She slumped back. Blood was flowing from her wrists like water. She closed her eyes. He can't do anything more to me, she thought. Even if my soul is held in bondage in this house forever, I won't be his living puppet anymore.

She felt life draining from her. She was escaping. Daniel couldn't hurt her now. Feeling had begun to leave; pain was fading.

God would forgive her self-destruction. It was what she had to do. Her lips drew back in a surrendering smile.

He would understand.

Her eyes fluttered open. Were those footsteps? She tried to turn her head but couldn't. The floor seemed to tremble. She tried to see. Was that a figure standing by her, looking down? She couldn't focus her eyes.

Suddenly it struck her. Horrified, she tried to push up, but was too weak. She had to let them know! Florence struggled fitfully to rise. Clouds of darkness were enveloping her. Everything felt numb. She turned her head and saw her blood running on the floorboards. Help me, God! she pleaded. She had to let them know!

Slowly, agonizingly, she reached out to shape the moving scarlet ribbons.