The Hanging Hill

104

“Let’s do this thing!” Grimes barked at Hakeem. “Now!”

“No, Holiness. The portal will not be fully open until the moon is fully risen.”

“Blasted curse!”

“Patience, Eminence. Patience. Come with me.” Hakeem led Grimes around to the rear of the statue. “See how even now the shroud between this world and the next grows thin?” He pointed to that section of floor squared off by the rotted pillars of the old gallows. The concrete had become translucent and resembled a rippling sheet of wax paper. Grimes could see a whole horde of demons writhing like a bucket of slimy worms beneath his feet.

“Hear me, my people, and listen well! Soon will I lead you all across the threshold of death and restore you to life!”

“Is the boy ready?” snarled a voice from down below. “Will he say the words?”

“What?” Grimes cried imperiously.

“Remember, Reginald,” the unknown voice rumbled on, “the boy child must willingly recite the Latin script or Moloch will be displeased.”

“Bah!” said Grimes. “Which of you demons dares question me?”

“One who knows whereof he speaks,” answered Hakeem. “Your grandfather. Professor Nicholas Nicodemus.”