The Right Hand of Evil

CHAPTER 32

Janet stood back and eyed the mural critically. Maybe she shouldn't have tried to work tonight, but always before-back in the days when Ted was drinking-her painting had provided her with a refuge from the reality of her life. This evening, the magic hadn't worked, and she knew her lack of concentration showed in the results on the dining room wall. It was almost done-indeed, it might have been done tonight if she'd been able to stop thinking about Jared through the long afternoon and evening.

"Don't worry about him," Ted had advised her when she'd looked for Jared after the priests had left, and discovered he wasn't in the house. "He's pretty angry, and frankly, I don't blame him. If Father MacNeill had been accusing me, I think I might actually have thrown a punch at that sanctimonious bastard."

"Ted!"

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you think MacNeill had a right to come around here acting like-"

"It's irrelevant what I think about Father MacNeill-I'm not his mother. But I am Jared's mother, and it doesn't matter how angry he was. I won't have him talking like that to anyone! And I won't have him simply walking in and out of the house anytime he feels like it, either! Especially not tonight. I don't want him out on Halloween! If there's any trouble-any trouble at all-everyone will blame Jared. I know it!"

"But there's not going to be any trouble," Ted had argued.

So far, he'd been right. As dusk came on, Janet readied a bowl of candy for the trick-or-treaters, but even as she placed it on a table near the front door, she wondered how many of the town's children would come to their house.

And how many would throw eggs, or leave burning bags of dog dung on the porch?

When there'd been no knocks at the door by eight-thirty, she understood that none of the children would come, but she still kept going to the window and peering out into the darkness, her nerves on edge.

Between trips to the window, she tried to concentrate on the mural, but failed. And now, as she gazed at the trompe l'oeil she'd created on the wall, she knew she shouldn't have tried to work at all, for the scene depicted beyond the faux French doors no longer seemed quite as real as it had this morning. Yet she couldn't put her finger on what was wrong-the perspective was right, and so was the lighting from the not-quite-visible moon. Maybe something in the shadowy areas at the far side of the garden? The clock in the living room struck eleven, and realizing how late it was, Janet abandoned her paints and went into the library. Ted was working at his desk, studying the bids for the construction of a reception desk in the foyer. He looked up when she came in, his smile fading as he read the worry in her eyes.

"It's eleven o'clock," she said. "And Jared still isn't home." Ted stood up and came around the desk, slipping his arms around her.

"How about if I go have a look around and see if I can spot him?"

Janet looked anxiously into his eyes. "Will you? I keep thinking I ought to call the police, or the hospital."

"Not yet," Ted counseled. "It's Halloween, and I'll bet whatever he's doing, he's not planning to be back until midnight."

"Which is exactly why I want him home," Janet said. "Of all the nights for him to-"

"Tell you what," Ted broke in. "I'll go out and check the pizza parlor and the drive-in, and swing by Luke Roberts's house. If I don't find him, we'll call the hospital. In fact, I'll stop by there before I come home. But I'm sure he's okay. Try to take it easy, at least until I get back, okay?"

Janet slipped her arms around his neck and pressed herself close to him, but even the strength of his body did nothing to calm her edgy nerves. "I'll try," she agreed. "I don't think I'll be able to, but I'll try."

"And go to bed," Ted told her. "You've been working all afternoon and all evening, and you're exhausted. Just relax. I'll find him."

After Ted was gone, Janet returned to the dining room, looked once more at the mural, then cleaned her brushes, put away her palette, and started upstairs. She'd just come to the landing where the great staircase split when a wave of apprehension broke over her.

Something was wrong.

She held still, listening.

Silence.

Yet she still felt… what?

Stop it! she commanded herself. It's nothing but nerves because it's Halloween, and Jared's not here, and suddenly everything seems to be going wrong again. Yet before she continued up the stairs, she turned to gaze down into the great empty expanse of the entry hall. She'd turned most of the lights down, but now, as she peered down into the gloom below, she wished she hadn't. Somehow the cavernous room seemed to have grown even larger, its corners lost in shadowed darkness.

Unbidden, the memory of the night Kim had sworn she'd seen rats in the bathroom came to her, and Janet shuddered as she thought of what might be lurking in the dark corners of the house. There's nothing, she silently repeated. Nothing. But she hurried her step as she went up the short flight to the mezzanine.

As she came to Molly's door, she felt it.

It was as if a cold hand had been laid on her back, stopping her short. The chill intensified, wrapping around her like a shawl knitted of ice.

It had to be nothing more than a draft. But the door was shut tight, and even the crack beneath it wasn't wide enough to permit the kind of cold she was feeling to seep through.

Janet reached out, her hand closing on the glass knob of the nursery door. It was like holding an ice crystal in her hand.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open. It creaked softly, and she heard Molly stir.

She stepped inside the room, and the chill lost its edge. Hurrying to the crib, she bent over and peered down at her sleeping child. Molly's eyes opened a crack, glinting in the soft moonlight that filled the room, then she went back to sleep. Tucking the child's blanket close around her, Janet bent lower, her lips brushing Molly's forehead.

Molly sighed contentedly, then curled on her side, her right thumb sliding into her mouth.

Satisfied that her youngest child was sleeping peacefully, Janet tiptoed out of the room.

The chill had vanished as quickly as it came.

In the master bedroom she undressed, put on a nightgown and robe, and slid into bed. Switching on the lamp on the bedside table, she picked up a magazine. Maybe reading would keep her worries about Jared at bay, she thought, at least until Ted came home.

And then she heard it.

A sobbing sound, muffled and indistinct.

At first she thought she'd imagined it, but then she heard it again.

Molly?

Throwing the light cover aside, Janet got out of bed and went to the door that joined the master bedroom to Molly's room. She listened, heard nothing, and opened the door a crack.

Silence.

She closed the door again, and went to the other door-the one that led to the mezzanine-and listened.

There it was again, but louder now.

Janet's pulse quickened, but she steeled herself and pulled the door open.

The sobbing increased, swelling into an anguished moan.

A knot of fear formed in her stomach, but she pulled the robe tight around her, tied the belt, and stepped out onto the mezzanine.

Then she heard the cry: "No!"

The single word died away as quickly as it had come, but in the instant it hung in the air, Janet recognized Kim's voice. Racing to the far end of the hall, she twisted the knob of Kim's door, threw it open, and flicked on the lights. She was blinded by the sudden glare for a second, then saw Kim huddled on her bed, sobbing. Her arms went around her daughter, pulling her close.

"It's all right, Kimmie," she whispered, using the nickname her older daughter had shed five years ago, on her tenth birthday. "It was only a bad dream. I'm here."

"It was Jared," Kim cried. "Mom, it was awful! He-He killed Scout!"

"No," Janet soothed. "It was just a dream, Kim. It didn't really happen."

"What's doing it, Mom?" Kim sobbed. "What's making me have these terrible dreams about Jared?"

"What dreams?'' Janet asked. Settling herself onto the bed next to Kim, she gently eased her daughter's head onto her lap. "Honey, what have you been dreaming?"

Kim hesitated, recalling images from her nightmares. Then, slowly, she began talking, telling her mother about the strange things she'd seen in her dreams, the terrible things she'd witnessed Jared doing. "But they weren't like real dreams at all, Mom," she finished. "They were so real, it seemed like it was all really happening! But it couldn't have happened, could it?"

"No, of course not," Janet soothed, stroking Kim's hair. "I know dreams can seem real, but they aren't. And you mustn't let them frighten you."

Sniffling, Kim sat up and wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown. "It's just that Jared's changed," she said. "He isn't anything like he used to be." She looked bleakly at her mother. "You know how I used to know what Jared was thinking? What he was feeling?"

Janet smiled. "The Twin Thing."

Kim nodded. "It was like that tonight. It was like I knew exactly what he was doing. I could see it as clearly as if I were standing right next to him. He-He had a knife, and Scout was lying on a table, and-" Her voice broke into a choking sob.

"But it wasn't real," Janet assured her once again. She got off the bed and gently pulled Kim to her feet. "Come on. "I'll show you. We'll go down to the kitchen and get Scout, and he can come up and sleep with you tonight. Okay?"

Nodding, Kim let Janet lead her out of her room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen.

"Scout?" Janet called out softly.

There was no welcoming thump of the big dog's tail banging against the wall as he wagged it. There was only silence.

Janet switched on the light.

Scout's bed was empty.

She frowned, trying to remember when she'd last seen the dog.

She wasn't sure. "He has to be here somewhere," she said. "Come on."

But fifteen minutes later, Janet and Kim both knew that Scout was gone. Nor did he come when they opened the back door and called him.

"It doesn't mean anything," Janet insisted as she and Kim climbed the stairs back up to the second floor. "He might have gone off with Jared this afternoon."

"He doesn't even like Jared anymore," Kim said, her voice wavering. "That's why he sleeps in the kitchen now!"

"Then maybe he went with your father," Janet said. But she'd watched Ted leave, and hadn't seen the dog go with him.

But there was something else that could have happened, something that she could see had already occurred to Kim: If Scout had vanished into the woods the same way Muffin had on the night they'd moved into the house, would he be found the same way the cat had?

Just the thought of it made Janet shudder, and as if by mutual consent, neither she nor Kim even mentioned that possibility.

The cabin lay dark and hushed beneath the pale silvery light of the moon. Jake Cumberland's hound was perfectly still, flattened against the ground beneath the cabin's floor. He'd neither moved nor made a single sound since he'd first scented the two figures stealing through the darkness toward the house. Had the chain not restrained him, he would have fled away through the covering darkness rather than slunk into the meager shelter provided by his master's house.

The night prowlers had gone silent; neither owls nor bats swooped and flitted in search of prey, for every creature they might have sought had vanished into burrows beneath the ground or hollows inside the trees.

No fish jumped in the lake, no frogs croaked along its bank; even the insects they hunted had ceased their nightly feeding and mating.

The quiet of death had fallen over the night. A dark cloud scudded over the moon as if to protect even it from bearing witness to the ceremony taking place within the cabin's walls, where five flickering candles on the table struggled to hold back the descending darkness.

Luke Roberts stood next to Jared Conway, his unblinking eyes fixed on the object that lay on the table in the center of the pentagram formed by the candles.

In his right hand, Jared held a knife-its cutting edge honed to razor sharpness by Jake Cumberland's own whetstone and strop. As he clutched its leather-bound haft, the instrument itself seemed to speak to him, whispering of the creatures it had disemboweled, the hides it had slit, the flesh it had slashed. Jared lowered the knife toward the offering on the table, but just before he drove the blade into the creature's breast, he gazed one last time into its eyes.

"Don't," he heard his sister's voice whisper inside his head. "Oh, God, Jared, please don't."

Jared hesitated as Kim's voice, only dimly heard, tugged at him, tried to restrain him. It was as if he stood on the edge of a dark and fathomless abyss, feeling inexorably drawn to it. Every fiber of his being wanted to step over the edge, to drop into the darkness below, plunge deep into whatever lay within the blackness that beckoned to him.

And only Kim's dimly heard voice held him back.

"Don't," her voice whispered again. "Please, Jared. Don't."

Jared's eyes moved from the body of the creature to its head.

Scout lay on his back, his legs splayed wide as if to expose his belly in submission to some far stronger creature than he. His head lolled to one side. His mouth lay open, his tongue hung out.

And one of his eyes-his soft, trusting brown eyes-seemed to gaze up at Jared, as if joining in Kim's whispered plea.

But it was already too late. He plunged the knife into the dog's heart and Scout's life ended with a silent spasm.

Now all that remained was to carry out the ceremony, to offer his pet to his new master.

Pulling the knife from the dog's corpse, he lowered its point until it just grazed the skin of Scout's belly.

Yet still he hesitated, looking one last time into Scout's eyes, hesitating as, fleetingly, a brief, flickering doubt entered his mind, as though something within was telling him to step back-step back from the edge of the abyss.

Too late. With Kim's pleading voice fading away, he felt himself slide into the darkness. As Luke watched, Jared slipped the point of the knife through the retriever's hide and ran its edge up the center of its belly and chest to its throat. Four more slits ran up each leg, and then he began peeling the skin away from the flesh below. He worked quickly, the blade seeming to guide his hands as if the knife itself had performed the work so often, it needed no aid from him.

Deftly, he sliced through the abdominal muscles, then cut away the creature's entrails.

He cut through the rib cage and laid open the animal's chest, exposing the lungs and heart.

Raising the knife high, Jared muttered a dedication of the blood offering he was about to make, then plunged the knife deep into the heart. Dropping the knife, he plunged his hands into the blood that oozed from the punctured heart into the chest cavity. With reddened fingers he anointed Luke's forehead.

Plunging his hands again into the gore within the slaughtered dog, he moved away from the table and began tracing patterns on the cabin's wall, intricate designs that rose out of some hidden place in his subconscious, flowing from his bloodied fingertips onto the ancient wood. And as he etched the design in blood, muttered imprecations-unintelligible curses condemning the man who had lived his entire life within the cabin's shelter-flowed from his lips.

Jake Cumberland's eyes flicked open in the darkness of his cell. He felt disoriented for a moment, but slowly his mind cleared and he remembered where he was. And why.

He wasn't going to get out of jail-he already knew that. His mama had explained it to him when he was small: "Don't ever do nothin' that'll let 'em put you in jail," she'd told him. "'Cause once they gets you in, they ain't gonna be lettin' you out again. Not around here. Onliest way they ever gonna let you out is at the end of a rope. That's what they did to my daddy, Jake, when I was no bigger'n you. They came for him one night, and took him down and tied a rope around his neck, and after that I didn't have a daddy no more. So you watch yourself, hear?"

Now, in the blackness of the Halloween midnight, he heard another voice. An evil voice, whispering inside his head.

Do it yourself, Jake, the voice said. Don't wait, Jake. Don't wait for morning. Do it now.

At first Jake tried to ignore the voice, but it wouldn't be put off, and as the seconds ticked by and turned into minutes, it grew stronger, more insistent.

Do it, Jake. You know you want to. Come on, Jake. Now, Jake. Now!

The voice took on a mesmerizing rhythm. Without thinking about it, Jake rose from the cot on which he lay and took off his pants. He began ripping at the denim, tearing the legs into strips.

You know what to do, Jake, the voice whispered. Just do it. Do it now.

Jake began braiding the strips of denim together, his fingers working the material as easily as they knotted together the twine for his snares. Soon he was done.

The rope was nearly six feet long, plenty long enough to do what had to be done.

Now, Jake, the voice whispered. Do it now.

Jake tied one end of the braided rope around his neck, then stood on the cot and reached up to the sprinkler pipe that ran across the cell's width.

He tied the free end of the rope around it and tested the knot. It was solid; it would hold.

Die! the voice commanded. Die right now!

Without another thought, Jake Cumberland stepped off the edge of the cot. He dropped a foot, and then the rope jerked tight.

His neck did not break, but the loop around his neck dug deep, closing his windpipe.

His body twitched, his feet kicked out.

Then, in the darkness, he saw his mama. She was at the end of a tunnel, and her hand was held out to him. As Jake began hurrying through the darkness toward his mother, the voice faded away. Jake Cumberland was dead.

His incantations done, the inscriptions on the walls complete, Jared Conway severed the dog's head from the carcass and placed it inside the trunk where the night before he had hidden the head of the cat.

He cleaned the hide of the last remnants of flesh, rolled it tight, and slipped it into a plastic sack. As Luke carried the flesh, bones, and entrails outside, Jared blew the candles out, one by one. As the last candle flickered out, the room plunged into utter blackness.

Taking the skin of the slaughtered dog with him, Jared left the cabin, and as he and Luke disappeared into the darkness, the life of the night began again.

A trout broke the surface of the lake, snapping at a water bug.

An owl swept down from the trees, its talons closing on a mouse that had only a moment ago ventured forth from its burrow.

Bats flitted through the night sky, feeding on the gnats and mosquitoes that rose into the air from their hidden shelters in the grass and leaves.

And Jake Cumberland's hound crept out from beneath the cabin, sniffed at the pile of entrails left at the foot of the steps, and began devouring the unexpected feast.

Ted Conway slumped behind the wheel of the Toyota, waiting in the darkness. After leaving the house, he'd done exactly as he'd promised Janet he would-he'd driven past the Roberts' house. It was dark and quiet.

He cruised around the square, slowing as he passed the pizza parlor but barely glancing through its brightly lit windows, certain the boys would not be there.

Then he came back, parking the car in the darkness well away from the house, waiting.

He heard the night fall silent, saw the cloud slide over the moon. Still he waited, knowing that soon his vigil would end.

Finally the sky cleared and the night sounds picked up again. Ted straightened in the seat, his senses sharpening, his eyes scanning the edge of the forest that lay beyond the grounds. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Still he waited, until his patience was rewarded by a flicker of movement within the shadows. Two figures emerged from the trees and slipped as silently as phantoms across the grounds toward the house. Starting the engine of the Toyota, Ted shifted it into gear, switched on, the headlights, and drove down the street to the driveway. He pulled close to the carriage house, then shut off the engine, got out, and slammed the car door behind him. Entering the house through the back door, he paused at the door to the basement, listening.

The sound of discordant music boiled up the stairs and filtered through the door.

Satisfied, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and went into the master bedroom where his wife and older daughter waited.

"Found him," he said, smiling at the relief that came into Janet's face. "He was at the pizza parlor with Luke. I dropped Luke off at his house and had a long talk with Jared on the way home."

"I think maybe I'll have a talk with him myself," Janet said, starting to get out of bed.

"And I think maybe you should just stay where you are," Ted told her, gently pushing her back into the bed. "Believe me, he's stinging bad enough after what I had to say to him. Anything you want to add can wait until morning." He shifted his attention to Kim. "And tomorrow's a school day. You should be in bed, too."

"What about Scout?" Kim asked. "Was he with Jared?"

Ted's eyes clouded. "I don't think so. Isn't he here?"

Kim shook her head.

"Well, if he's not back by morning, I'll go look for him, too. He's probably just out doing what dogs do."

"But after what happened to Muffin-" Kim began, but her father didn't let her finish.

"It's not the same thing," he assured her. "But Scout will be back-I guarantee it. And now it's time for you to go to bed."

Kissing his daughter good night, Ted watched her circle around the landing and disappear back into her room. When her door was closed, he went back into the bedroom, undressed, and got into bed next to Janet.

"You okay now?" he whispered, taking her in his arms and nuzzling at her ear.

Janet pulled away from him. Should she tell him about the terrible cold that had come over her in front of Molly's room? Or would he just laugh at her, and accuse her of listening to the ghost stories people told about the house? And what about Kim's nightmares?

Feeling the tension in her body, Ted propped himself up on one elbow. "Something's wrong," he said. "Tell me about it."

Still Janet hesitated, not sure where to begin. Ted gently turned her face so she was looking into his eyes.

"Tell me," he whispered. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It was when I was coming up the stairs," Janet began. But as she was about to describe the chill she'd felt, she realized how foolish it would sound. In fact, now that he was back and caressing her cheek, it seemed that nothing unusual had occurred.

She'd felt a draft, which she exaggerated in her own mind simply because of the vastness of the house and the lateness of the hour.

Kim had had a nightmare.

And Scout, like any normal dog, had taken off into the night.

The important thing was that Jared was safely back home, and so was Ted. She turned to face him, snuggling close. "It's all right," she murmured. "Nothing happened at all."

Then, as Ted's fingers crept beneath her nightgown and began tracing patterns on her naked skin, the last of the fears she'd felt that night drained away.

It was nearing midnight, but neither Monsignor Devlin nor Father MacNeill was ready to give up their vigil.

"It's Halloween," Father MacNeill had said as they'd eaten their supper earlier. "And something's going to happen. I can feel it."

"Perhaps you're wrong," the older priest had cautioned. "Perhaps we're both wrong." He rested a bony hand on the old Bible that Cora Conway had entrusted to him the day she died. "Perhaps none of this means anything. Perhaps it's nothing more than the ramblings of unhappy women."

"You know that isn't true," Father MacNeill replied. "And we haven't read it all. If we could find the missing pages-"

"They're gone," Devlin sighed. "I've already examined every page of the Bible twice. They simply aren't there."

After their evening prayers, the two priests had retired to Monsignor Devlin's small room, where Father MacNeill had searched the entire Bible one more time, carefully turning each page. He could almost feel the missing leaves. So certain was he that he would find them that it wasn't until he'd turned the very last page and even carefully examined the binding itself that he made himself admit they weren't there. Sighing heavily, he pushed the Bible away, as if to distance himself from the source of his disappointment. As the book slid across the table, there was a crash as the small box behind it fell to the floor.

His disappointment giving way to regret, he reached down and picked up the music box. "I'm so sorry," he said. "How could I have been so clumsy?"

"It's all right," Monsignor Devlin assured him. "It doesn't work anyway."

Frowning, Father MacNeill opened the lid of the music box. There was a faint click as the mechanism engaged, but no music played.

"When I bought it, it played a truly frightening rendition of Ave Maria." Devlin chuckled. "I suspect Cora broke it deliberately."

"Cora?" MacNeill echoed. "Cora Conway?" When Devlin nodded, Father MacNeill turned the box over and examined its bottom. A winding key protruded through a brass plate held in place by four small screws. His pulse quickening, the priest hurried downstairs, returning a few minutes later with a battered metal tool box. Sorting through the jumble inside, he finally came up with a screwdriver small enough to fit the screws on the music box.

A minute later he carefully lifted the brass plate. And there, carefully folded, were the missing pages. His hands trembling, he unfolded them, smoothed them on the table, and began reading Loretta Villiers Conway's perfect script…

October 31, 1875-

It is my wedding day.

I had not expected ever to have a wedding, so ill have I been, and even today I am not certain it would not have been better for me to have died. But I know I must marry Monsignor Melchior Conway, or suffer eternal damnation, for that is what both my father and the Monsignor have told me.

The Monsignor came from Philadelphia three months ago. Our own priest asked him to come, so certain was he that I was possessed of the Devil I do not remember the Monsignor's arrival, for it was during the time when I was confined to my bedroom, of which I remember very little. What I do remember I now record here.

I was in the cellar of our little house when I noticed a strange mist rising from a hole in the earthen floor. As I b reathed the mist, everything in the basement changed.

All because golden, and images appeared before me-beautiful images. A being appeared, and touched me in a way I should not have permitted.

I became ill the next day, and cannot bring myself to write the things they say I have done. They say I have been a wanton, and committed mortal sins, which is why the Monsignor came from Philadelphia.

At our first meeting-of which I have no clear memory-I took the Monsignor to the place where my illness began. I do not know how long we prayed in the cellar that night, but it cannot have been long enough, for the Monsignor insisted we go back the next night, and the night after that.

The silence in the little room on the second floor of the rectory was complete as Father MacNeill finished reading the pages that Cora Conway had cut from the Bible and hidden in the music box. But why these pages?

My illness soon began to retreat in response to the Monsignor's prayers, but I am told that my health now depends on him. He will give up his religious vocation to marry me, which Father says I must do, though to marry a priest seems to me the gravest of blasphemies.

There was an inch of space in which nothing had been written, and then Loretta Villiers Conway's hand began again:

It is done.

I am married to the Monsignor by his own authority, for neither he nor Father were able to prevail upon our priest to marry us. Sister Mary Anthony came to our house after supper, and though she would not set foot indoors, she gave me a gift of two small crosses made of pure gold, which she said could protect me, and one of my children as well. Then she begged God to forgive me my sins.

I suspect that He will not.

Nor will He forgive Monsignor Melchior, for I believe I know the truth of what lies in our cellar. It is Evil itself that resides deep within that hole, and I fear the Monsignor has become its Servant.

I have this day married the right hand of Evil.

The Monsignor has ceded himself-and the eldest son of all the generations to come-to the Evil that dwells beneath this house, and I know we shall prosper on this Earth, but I know also that we are damned-damned for all Eternity.

Why hadn't Cora cut from the Bible all the pages detailing the sins of the Conways? Even as he posed the question in his mind, he knew the answer: In Cora's mind, it was only this darkest secret that must be kept; all the rest might have been attributed to madness, but these first entries-the ones she'd hidden-proved the damnation of all the Conways' souls.

It was finally Monsignor Devlin who spoke. His voice quavered, as if the burdens of his years had suddenly grown heavier. "An exorcism," he breathed. "So that's how it started-an exorcism."

"A failed exorcism," Father MacNeill corrected. "He came to banish Satan, but gave up his soul instead."

Through the open window, the bells of St. Ignatius began to toll the darkest hour. Both priests shivered. An evil had been unleashed on St. Albans on a Halloween more than a century earlier. Now, on this Halloween midnight, had it spread over the town once more?

"Kimmie? Kimmie, come on!"

It was Jared's voice calling her name, and at first she didn't see him. Then she spotted him, fifty yards ahead of her, beckoning to her. They were in a meadow, and he was running toward a lake, and in a few seconds they would both plunge into the cool water, popping through the surface a moment later, laughing and splashing. She broke into a run, doing her best to keep up with him, but Jared was faster than she, and plunged into the lake before she could even get to the shore. She stopped at the edge of the water, watching to see where he'd come up, her eyes looking first one way, then another.

But he didn't come up.

"Jared!" she called out. Then again: "Jared?" When her brother still didn't appear, she ran a few yards along the lake's edge, first in one direction, then in the other.

"Mommy!" she called out. "Mommy, help! Jared's gone!"

But when she looked around, her mother was nowhere to be seen.

Then, as clearly as if she'd heard him shouting the words, Jared called to her again.

"Help me, Kimmie! Help me!"

With no thought but to save her brother, Kim dove into the water, plunging deep as she searched for her drowning twin. At first she saw nothing except sunlight filtering through the clear water, but as she plunged deeper and the light faded, she caught a glimpse of him.

He was far below, looking up at her, his hand extended as if reaching out to her. But as she watched, he sank deeper into the watery darkness, until she could hardly see him. She tried to dive faster, kicking as hard as she could, but no matter how fast she swam downward, Jared was always just a little beyond her reach. The water seemed to be turning to jelly around her now, and she struggled against it, straining to reach her brother before he disappeared completely. Then, for one fleeting moment, the tips of her fingers touched his. She tried to clutch at his hand, but he fell away into the blackness, disappearing.

Kim stopped swimming and let herself drift in the darkness. A great emptiness-as dark as the water surrounding her-yawned within her, and as she slowly let herself sink into it, the pain of not having been able to save her brother began to ease.

The darkness deepened.

Then, somewhere in the darkness, a point of light appeared. As Kim watched it, it slowly grew brighter. At first she thought she must be floating back toward the lake's surface. But when she finally opened her eyes, the water was gone.

She was back in the great cathedral-like chamber, which had somehow grown even vaster than before. Tonight there was no trace of the shimmering light she'd first seen here; tonight she felt as if she were utterly lost in the shadows that filled the huge space. Then, far ahead of her, she once again beheld the inverted cross, suspended in the shadowy light as if by some unseen force. Mesmerized, Kim moved toward it. As she did, the candles spread on the altar beneath the cross burst into flame. As the light grew, Kim saw the eviscerated body of an animal on the altar, a dagger plunged through its heart, its blood dripping into a silver chalice.

Two robed and hooded figures appeared at either end of the altar. They moved closer together, and for a moment her view of the altar-and the cross-was blocked. The two figures bent over, and a terrible feeling of apprehension came over Kim.

She tried to back away, but some unseen force held her in place.

Then the two hooded figures stepped aside and she once again beheld the cross.

A tiny figure, its face contorted in pain, was affixed to it.

Silver spikes had been driven through each wrist.

A third punctured the child's feet.

Blood dripped from a wound in the child's chest, oozing down the neck and face to mat into the already reddish hair.

Molly!

Kim screamed out loud, and in an instant that seared itself into her mind, the two robed figures whirled around.

Her father and her brother stood glowering at her, their faces contorted with hatred.

She screamed again, and jerked awake.

For a moment her head swam with the dying remnants of the dream. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it, and her skin was clammy with sweat.

A dream! she told herself. It was only a dream!

She eased herself back down onto the pillow and tried to erase the last fragments of the dream from her memory, but the faces of her father and brother kept looming up in the darkness, leering at her, almost taunting her.

She turned over in bed, but still the dream stayed with her, only now it was the twisted face of her baby sister she saw, hanging upside down from the inverted cross, impaled by the nails, her life slowly ebbing away.

Then the earlier dream came back to haunt her, the dream in which she'd seen Jared killing Scout.

She had convinced herself that it, too, had been just a dream. But when they'd gone to find Scout, he'd vanished from the house.

As the first faint light of dawn etched the sky with silver, Kim got up from her bed and tiptoed out onto the landing. The great house lay silent around her, and as she made her way around to Molly's room, she had the eerie feeling of unseen eyes following her.

She paused before the door, shivering in a sudden chill that seemed to come out of nowhere.

Finally, her hand trembling, she reached for the knob, twisted it, and slowly pushed the door open.

The chill reached deeper into her, touching her soul.

She stepped into the room, straining to catch a glimpse of her sister in the gray light of dawn, but all she saw was a mass of rumpled bedding.

"Molly?" she whispered, edging closer to the child's crib. "Molly? Are you okay?"

There was no movement at all from the crib. Kim, standing by its side, looked down at the tangle of sheets and blankets. Please, she prayed silently. Please let her be all right.

She reached out, took the edge of the blanket, and pulled it aside.

And there lay Molly, sound asleep, her thumb tucked in her mouth.

Choking back a sob of relief, Kim bent down, gently kissed the sleeping child, and tucked the blanket back around her.

All Soul's Day