Death Trance

Thirty

I had, however, misjudged Gilly. I was back at Quaker Lane Cottage, packing together a few shirts and sweaters in preparation for my move to old man Evelith's place, when the telephone rang. 'John? It's Gilly.'

'Gilly? I thought you were ignoring me, just like the rest of the Peabody archeological club.'

She laughed. 'I didn't want to upset them. Come on, John, I've been log-keeping for them for months now, they depend on me. But I think Edward's being very stuffy about this copper vessel you're supposed to bring up from the hold. I mean, if it really has anything to do with all these hauntings, then I think they should winch it up straight away.'

'You and me both,' I told her. 'But you heard what Edward's reaction to that was. And he was the guy who said he would always be my friend. I think I'd rather have Mictantecutli for a friend. At least with Mictantecutli, you know where you are.'

'Did Edward really promise you that he would bring up the copper vessel especially quickly?'

'He implied as much. As soon as humanly possible, that's what he said. I knew it couldn't be raised in two minutes flat, even when the wreck was located. But there was never any suggestion of years. It's too urgent for years. One way or another, that demon has to be brought up out of there, and quick.'

Gilly was silent for a while. Then she said, 'You're going over to Tewksbury tonight, aren't you?'

'That's right.'

'Well, if you can wait until nine or ten o'clock, I'll come over and see you. But I have to finish stock-taking first.'

'Nine or ten o'clock is fine. Make it as late as you like.'

I finished packing: then I took a look around the cottage. The bedrooms were empty and silent; and there was a strange closed atmosphere about them, as if they knew that I was leaving. I walked along the upstairs corridor to the bathroom, and collected my toothbrush, and stood for a moment and examined myself in the mirror over the basin. I looked very tired. There were purple smudges under my eyes, and my face looked oddly foxy, as if the decision I had made to free Mictantecutli had somehow affected me physically, like the portrait of Dorian Gray had been altered by the corrupt and profligate life he had led.

I took my suitcase and went downstairs. I made sure that the water was turned off, and the icebox left to defrost with the door open. Then I went into the sitting-room and checked that I hadn't left anything behind. I was even going to take the painting of the David Dark with me, in case there was anything in it which old man Evelith might have overlooked before he sold it.

I still wanted to go to stay with Duglass Evelith at Tewksbury, even though I had resigned from Edward's diving team. In fact, it was more critical than ever before that I should learn as much as I could about Mictantecutli and the David Dark, because I was now determined that if Edward was going to refuse to bring up the copper vessel, then I would have to bring it up myself. Regardless of my inexperience as a diver; and regardless of the laws of salvage and wrecks.

I made sure that the log fire was out, and then I switched off the sitting-room light, and prepared to leave. But I was just about to close the door when I heard that whispering again, that soft, obscene whispering. I hesitated, listening. Then I stared into the darkness of the sitting-room, trying to make out if there was anything or anybody there. The whispering went on: coaxing and lubricious, the whispering of a pederast or a voyeur, the whispering of a sexual killer. I looked towards the fireplace, and I was sure that I could see two dim scarlet glows amongst the logs, like the eyes of a devil.

I hesitated, then I switched on the light. There was nobody there. The fire was dead and cold; without cinders or sparks. I glanced around the room quickly, then I turned off the light again and closed the door. I knew then that as long as the cottage was haunted this way, I could never go back. There was too much evil here, too much cold commotion. I may not have been at any physical risk, but if I stayed here much longer I would very likely go mad.

I went through the hallway and picked up my suitcase. As I did so, a familiar voice said, 'John.'

I turned around. Jane was standing at the top of the stairs, her bare feet floating just a few inches above the second tread. She was still dressed in her white funeral robes, which silently fluttered as if they were being blown by an updraught. She was smiling at me, but there was something about her face which was even more skeletal than ever.

I turned away. I was determined not to look, not to listen. But Jane whispered, 'Don't forget me, John. Whatever you do, don't forget me.'

For a moment or two, I stood where I was, wondering whether I ought to speak to her: whether I ought to encourage her, or reassure her that I was going to save her, or whether I ought to tell her to go back to hell. But it probably wasn't her at all. It was probably nothing more than another of Mictantecutli's evil apparitions; and there was no point in speaking to that.

I went out, closed the door behind me, and locked it. Then I walked away from Quaker Lane Cottage with as much determination as I could; promising myself that I wouldn't go back there until Mictantecutli had been raised from the harbour, and fulfilled for me its side of-the bargain we had made.

But I couldn't resist one last look at the blind and shuttered face of the house that had once been our home, Jane's and mine. It looked so derelict and abandoned, as if the malevolence that now infested it had begun to rot the very structure of the roof-beams, the very substance of the plaster and the brick. I turned on the car engine, engaged drive, and drove off down Quaker Lane, my wheels bouncing in the pot-holes and ruts.

I was only halfway down the lane when I saw Keith Reed, beating at the bushes along the left-hand side of the lane with a walking-cane. I drew up beside him, and put down my window.

'Keith? How are you doing?'

Keith glanced at me, and carried on thrashing at the bushes. 'I thought you wasn't speaking to me,' he said, crossly.

'I forgave you,' I told him. 'Did you lose something?'

'Lose something? Haven't you heard?'

'Heard what? I've been in and out of Granitehead like a monkey on a stick.'

Keith came over to the car, and leaned on the roof. He looked as tired and as anxious as I did, and his nose was running. I passed him a Kleenex from the glove-box, and he noisily blew. Then he said, 'We lost George.'

'You lost George? What do you mean, you lost George?'

'Just that. We lost him. He went out yesterday afternoon; said he was off to see his brother Wilf. Well, that's crazy, of course, because Wilf is dead. But we ain't seen George since then, and everybody's out searching for him.'

I sat behind the wheel of my car, and thoughtfully bit my lip. So Mictantecutli had claimed George Markham as well. I knew it. And although I wasn't going to tell Keith as much, because I didn't want to discourage him from searching, I knew in my heart of hearts that George was already dead, in the same way that Mrs Edgar Simons was dead, and Charlie Manzi, too.

‘I’ll keep my eyes open,' I said. ‘I’m going over to Tewksbury for a while, but I'll be back.'

'Okay,' said Keith; and as I drove away he went back across to the hedgerow, and carried on beating at the branches in his attempt to find his old stud-poker partner, dead or alive. I felt deeply depressed as I reached the highway, and turned south on to West Shore Drive. The power of the demon was hanging over Granitehead like an Atlantic thunderstorm; dark and threatening, a power so great that it could make the dead come to life and the sky turn black.

It was dark by the time I reached Tewksbury, and drew up outside the wrought-iron gates of old man Evelith's house. I rang the bell and waited for Quamus to open up for me, watched as before by the ever-attentive Doberman Pinscher. If I've ever seen a dog with a relish for human flesh, that dog was it. I could hear its claws clicking on the shingle driveway in carnivorous impatience.

As it was, it was Enid Lynch who called the dog off and came to open the gates for me. She was wearing an ankle-length satin dressing-gown in electric blue, with a white boa collar. Her hair was pinned back and fastened with diamante combs. She looked like Jean Harlow in Dinner At Eight. The only trouble was, I didn't feel very much like Wallace Beery.

'You decided to take Mr Evelith up on his offer?' she said, lifting one of her thinly-plucked eyebrows, and locking the gates behind me.

'Are you surprised?'

'I'm not sure. I would have thought you were the kind of man who would have preferred to stay at a Howard Johnson's.'

I followed her up the steps to the front door. 'I'm not sure whether I ought to take that as a compliment or not.'

She showed me upstairs to my suite of rooms. There was a large drawing-room, furnished with comfortable but stuffy old sofas and chairs, and carpeted in dark brown. On the walls were oil paintings of the Dracut County forests and the Miskatonic River; and next to the fireplace there were shelves packed with leather-bound books on geology and physics. There was a decent-sized bedroom, with a brass bed, and a huge gilt-framed mirror on the wall; and next to the bedroom there was an old-fashioned bathroom, with a shower that had obviously been dripping steadily for years, judging by the green stain on the tiles.

'I will tell Mr Evelith that you have arrived when he has finished his afternoon sleep.'

'It's evening already. Does he usually sleep this long?'

'It depends on his dreams. Sometimes he will fall asleep during the afternoon, and not wake up until early the following morning. He says he does as much work in dreams as he does when he is awake.'

'I see,' I said, setting down my suitcase.

Enid said, 'You may call me if there is anything that you need.'

'I'm fine for the moment. There's just one thing, though: a friend of mine is visiting me later this evening. Miss Gilly McCormick. I hope that's going to be all right.'

'Perfectly. Quamus will let her in.'

'Quamus isn't here right now?'

Enid stared at me oddly, as if the question wasn't even worth a reply. I snapped open the latches of my case, and tried to look as if I was engrossed in taking out my slippers. Enid said, 'We usually eat at nine o'clock. You like beef?'

'Certainly. That'll be marvelous.'

'Good. In the meantime, please make yourself at home. Mr Evelith said you were to have free access to the library.'

'Thank you. I'll, uh… see you later.'

I unpacked my shirts and my underwear and put them away in the deep sour-smelling drawers of the bureau in my bedroom. Then I wandered around my rooms, picking up books and statuettes, and peering out of the windows. My drawing-room had a view of the back garden, which was almost a forest in itself. It was too dark to see it properly, but I could make out the distant shapes of hundred-foot pines, and, closer to the house, a huge Os-age orange. There was no television in the room, and I made a mental note to myself to bring in a portable set tomorrow.;

Just as the clock on my mantelpiece chimed eight-thirty, ' and I was sitting with my feet up on one of the sofas trying to get myself engrossed in Stresses In The Mohorovicic Discontinuity, my door opened and old man Evelith walked in. He was fully dressed for dinner in a tuxedo and black tie, and his thinning gray hair was combed back with what smelled like lavender oil. He came up to me, and shook my hand, and then sat down next to me, smiling rather distantly, and turned over the cover of my book with his long chalk-nailed finger, to see what it was I was reading. 'Mmh,' he said. 'Do you know anything at all about Moho?'

'Moho?'

'Geological slang. If you did know anything about Moho, you'd know what it was. Still, I suppose we all have to start our studies somewhere. You could have picked a better place. That book Understanding Geology is probably more up your street.'

Thank you,' I said. ‘I’ll… dip into it.'

Duglass Evelith looked at me fixedly. Then he said, 'I wasn't sure that you would come. Well, not entirely sure. I told Enid that it would depend on how violently your dead wife has been haunting you.'

'Why should it have depended on that?'

'Let me put it this way,' said Duglass Evelith. 'You're not involved in this search for the David Dark for archaeological motives; neither are you involved in it for profit. You have been haunted by your dead wife, as many people in Granitehead have been haunted before you; and you want to get to the cause of that haunting, and root it out.'

'That's right,' I nodded. 'My sole interest in the David Dark begins and ends with Mictantecutli.'

Duglass Evelith took off his half-glasses and folded them up, tucking them into the breast pocket of his tuxedo. 'Because of that, Mr Trenton, you and I have an interest in common. Oh, of course I'm fascinated by the archaeological possibilities of the David Dark. It's going to be one of the most important finds in American maritime history. But the copper vessel that lies within its hold is a hundred times more important to me than the rotten wood which surrounds it. It is Mictantecutli that I want.'

'Any special reason?' I asked him. I knew it could be an impertinent question, but if our interests in the raising of the David Dark were so closely aligned, then I believed that it was important for me to know why he wanted to lay his hands on Mictantecutli. It might also give me some idea of what Evelith intended to do with the demon once he'd gotten hold of it, and how I could possibly set it free.

'The reason is simple to explain but difficult to believe,' said old man Evelith. 'During the Salem witch-trials, it was my ancestor Joseph Evelith who was among the most fervent of all the jurors; and it was he who alone believed that the witches were truly possessed, even after the hysteria was over, and the David Dark had been sent away from Salem and sunk. After the trials, Joseph attempted in vain to have all the remaining suspects executed, pleading with everybody in Salem that the witch-trials had not been a mistake; that in fact they had helped to purge Salem of a terrible evil, and to save the souls who had been hung of a fate far worse than the gallows. The only person who really believed him, of course, was Esau Hasket, and Hasket tried to help him leave Massachusetts to escape the anger of those who had once been his friends and co-prosecutors. But a party of burghers caught him as he was leaving Salem on the Swampscott Road, dressed as a woman, and he was imprisoned. His fate was to be secret and terrible. He was to be taken to the forest and there given as a sacrifice to the Naumkeag Indians, who for some years had been suffering poor harvests and blighted crops. A Naumkeag wonder-worker gave Joseph Evelith to the Spirit of the Future, a servant of Mictantecutli who in Aztec society was called Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror. My ancestor did not «die» at the hands of Tezcatlipoca, in the accepted sense of the word. He became its slave for all eternity, suffering agonies of humiliation and torture. Tezcatlipoca is thoroughly evil: it wears a snake's-head dangling from one nostril, so the Aztecs say, and its conjuring wand is the amputated arm of a woman who died in childbirth.'

I said nothing: I had seen enough hideous magic to believe that what Duglass Evelith was telling me was wholly or partly true. Hadn't the wreck of the David Dark been located, just where he had said it was?

He went on, 'Tezcatlipoca has run riot since Mictantecutli has been lying powerless on the bed of the ocean. It is the devil of disease and pestilence; and you can lay every major epidemic that has swept the United States squarely at its door. Legionnaire's disease, cancer, every type of influenza, and its latest little joke, herpes.'

Evelith was silent for a while. Then he said, 'With f Enid's help — Enid and Anne Putnam and the rest of the wonder-workers who are descended from the original I witches of Salem — with their help, I have been able to communicate with Joseph Evelith through séances and I signs. Until I can release him from Tezcatlipoca's service, I my family will remain outcast and doomed, forever I shadowed by disease and ruin. My own wife… and both my children… all of them were taken by hepatitis. I myself have been sick with angina for years.'

'So where does Mictantecutli come into this?' I asked him. 'Surely another demon is only going to make things worse.'

He shook his head. Tezcatlipoca is Mictantecutli's servant, and must obey it. If I can bring Mictantecutli here, and keep it imprisoned with the same magical bonds that the Narragansett wonder-worker used in the days of David Dark, then I can command it to tell Tezcatlipoca to let my ancestor go. The blight will be lifted.'

'Why can't you use the magical bonds on Tezcatlipoca? If it's a servant of Mictantecutli, then surely it's far less powerful.'

'It is. But only the spells that bound Mictantecutli have survived through history. Nothing relating to Tezcatlipoca has been passed down at all. Quamus and I have tried many different chants and incantations, and scores of different rituals. Some of them have succeeded in raising the most terrifying spirits you can imagine. That is what caused all the noise and the lights that the local people have been complaining about. But none have succeeded in trapping or taming Tezcatlipoca.'

I stood up, and walked around the sofa. Somehow I felt uncomfortable, sitting so close to old man Evelith. There was something dry and unreal about him, as if his tuxedo and his evening trousers were nothing more than propped-up, empty clothes. I said, 'What guarantee do you have that Mictantecutli will do what you ask?'

'No guarantee at all, except that it will believe that releasing my ancestor will be the only way in which it will be given its freedom.'

'You'd release it?'

Duglass Evelith shook his head. 'I'd tempt it with the prospect of release. But can you imagine what would happen if a demon like that actually got loose? It has greater power than a ten-megaton bomb. It can influence the weather, the course of history, the very turning of the earth. It can raise corpses from their graves, and cut the most grisly swathe through the living population that you could ever imagine.'

'Are you sure of that?'

'How sure does anybody need to be? Mictantecutli has been lying under Salem Harbour for 300 years, and so there is no recent history to support what I say. But come down to my library, and I will show you indisputable evidence that Mictantecutli was responsible for the extinction of the entire Toltec people in Mexico; that his European manifestation was responsible for each of the Black Death pandemics, which killed twenty-five million people in Europe alone, up until the end of the 17th century, when Esau Hasket at last imprisoned it. I will show you evidence, some strong, some admittedly circumstantial, that Mictantecutli was involved in most of the bloodiest wars and the cruelest human deeds in history. Pliny said that Caligula, who was the bloodiest and most licentious of all Roman emperors, had been possessed after only eight months of his reign by a spirit which he called the Man of Bones.'

I said cautiously, 'You don't think that Mictantecutli would find it difficult to survive in a skeptical world like we have today? I mean, some of a demon's strength must come from how strongly people believe in it, surely?'

'Demons are not fairies from Peter Pan,' said old man Evelith, turning around to stare at me. 'They don't acquire more strength because a million people throughout the world say, "We do believe in demons!" '

'Still,' I said. 'I can't see a giant skeleton being able to make much impact on a society that's learned to live with the bomb, and the automobile, and put up buildings only just short of a mile high. Can you? Really?'

'What do you want me to say?' asked old man Evelith. 'Mictantecutli is the most vengeful and powerful being that ever was, excluding the Lord our God. I don't think it would be very impressed by H-bombs, or Chevrolets, or the Sears building. No, sir.'

At that moment, there was a brief knock at the door, and Quamus came in. 'Mr Evelith, sir, excuse me. There's a visitor for Mr Trenton. Miss McCormick.'

Duglass Evelith stood up. 'Show her in, Quamus. Perhaps she'd like to stay for dinner, Mr Trenton?'

'If it won't be any trouble.'

'Not at all. This house hasn't seen any guests for years; I think I shall enjoy having some company.'

Gilly came in, and I introduced her to Duglass Evelith. She smiled and nodded, obviously a little overawed by the gates and the dog and the old-fashioned gloom of the halls and the corridors. When Duglass Evelith had gone, she came over and gave me a kiss, and squeezed me affectionately. She wore a natural-coloured cotton dress with ties at the shoulders and pockets, and it made her look fresh and young and pretty.

This is like Castle Dracula,' she said. 'Have you checked to see if Mr Evelith's face actually appears in any of the mirrors?'

'Too late if it doesn't,' I smiled. 'Sit down. I think I can even offer you a drink. Would you like to stay for dinner?'

Td adore it. This place is so creepy.'

I poured us two small glasses of whisky from the half-bottle I had brought with me in my suitcase. 'How's Edward?' I asked her. 'Did he say anything after I'd gone?'

'Edward's funny. You mustn't think too badly of him. He's been searching for this wreck for so long, and now that he's found it I think that he's almost frightened of bringing it up. He's one of these archaeologists who love to explore the unknown, but once they've found out what it is, they don't know what to do with it.'

'I think I follow you. But why is he being so pernickety about bringing up the wreck so slowly, and so scrupulously? He knows how dangerous this demon could be.'

'He's afraid of making a mistake, that's all,' Gilly told me. 'If he makes a mess of this wreck, then everybody at the Peabody is going to treat him like a blundering amateur. Apart from that, he's up against a credibility problem, too, just like you are. Nobody believes in demons; not even me. Well, you believe in demons, but you're an exception. And the whole point is that if he chops his way into the wreck, and damages it, and then finds out that there's nothing in there, or that the copper vessel doesn't contain anything dangerous after all… how's he going to explain it? "I smashed up this valuable historical monument because I thought there was a devil inside it"? Jesus, John, he'd lose his job. He's on the verge of losing it anyway, because of all the time he's been taking off.'

'My heart bleeds,' I said, unsympathetically. 'Meanwhile, scores of people in Granitehead are being plagued by terrifying apparitions. Do you know that one of my neighbours went missing tonight? He said he was going to meet his dead brother, and now they can't find him. I can tell you, Gilly: I've a good mind to dive down to that wreck and bring that copper vessel up by myself.'

'You'll have to hurry if you're thinking of doing that. Edward's going to register the wreck tomorrow as belonging to the Wardwell-Brough Maritime Archaeological Trust, or some such fancy title. He's also going to arrange to have the wreck marked with an official coastguard buoy and protected around the clock by an official coastguard patrol. He'll be making an announcement to the newspapers and the television, too.'

'I thought he was going to keep it quiet for a while.'

'He was. But now you've quit, and taken your father-in-law's money with you, he needs all the donations he can get. Mind you, he was thinking of going to your father-in-law behind your back, to see if he's still interested.'

'Oh, was he?' I demanded. I felt angry and upset. If there's anything worse than having a bitter row with somebody you hate, it's having a bitter row with somebody you like. I liked Edward, very much; but I knew now that the David Dark had broken up our friendship forever. I was going to have to salvage that copper vessel, no matter how much damage I did to the ship's historic hull, and I was going to have to do it quickly. Tomorrow morning, if possible. I would have to talk to Duglass Evelith about it. Maybe he could help.

Gilly said, 'No ghosts around here?'

'Not one,' I told her.

'Would Mr Evelith object too much if I stayed the night?'

I looked at her narrowly. 'I don't think so. He seems to be an understanding old buffer.'

'And you?' she asked. 'Would you object?'

'I wouldn't object. Object? Why would I possibly object?'

She shrugged, and then she came up closer and kissed me. 'Some men don't like to be pounced on.'

I kissed her back, and felt her breast through her cotton dress. 'Some men are crazy,' I told her.