Phantoms

the top of the column, a face took shape in the oozing mass: chin and jaws like chiseled granite; a gash of a mouth with thin lips, crooked yellow teeth, viperous fangs; a nose like the snout of a pig; mad, crimson eyes, not remotely human, like the presumed eyes of a fly. Horns sprouted on the forehead, a concession to Christian myth- conceptions. The hair appeared to be worms; they glistened, fat and green-black, wreathing continuously in tangled knots.

The cruel mouth opened. The Devil said, “Do you believe?”

“Yes,” Tell said in adoration, “You are my lord.”

“Yes,” Kale said shakily, “I believe.” He scratched at his right calf, “I do believe.”

“Are you mine?” the apparition asked.

“Yes, always,” Teer said, and Kale agreed.

“Will you ever forsake me?” it asked.

“No.”

“Never.”

“Do you wish to please me?”

“Yes” Tell said, and Kale said, “Whatever you want.”

“I will be leaving soon,” the manifestation said, “It is not yet my time to rule. That day is coming. Soon. But there are conditions that must be met, prophesies to be fulfilled. Then I will come again, not merely to deliver a sign to all mankind, but to stay for a thousand years. Until then, I will leave you with the protection of my power, which is vast; no one will be able to harm or thwart you. I grant you life everlasting. I promise that, for you, Hell will be a place of great pleasure and immense rewards. In return, you must complete five tasks.”

He told them what He would have them do to prove themselves and please Him. As He spoke, He broke out in pustules, hives, and lesions that wept a thin yellow fluid.

Kale wondered what significance these sores might have, then realized Lucifer was the father of all disease. Perhaps this was a not-so-subtle reminder of the terrible plagues He could visit upon them if they were unwilling to undertake the five tasks.

The flesh foamed, dissolved. Gobs of it dropped to the floor; a few were flung against the walls as the figure heaved and writhed. The Devil's tail dropped from the main body and wriggled on the floor; in seconds, it was reduced to inanimate muck that stank of death.

When he finished telling them what He wanted of them, He said, “Do we have a bargain?”

“Yes,” Tell said, and Kale said, “Yes, a bargain.”

The face of Lucifer, covered with running sores, melted away. The horns and wings melted, too. Churning, seeping a puslike paste, the thing sank down into the floor, disappeared into the river below.

Strangely, the odorous dead tissue did not vanish. Ectoplasm was supposed to disappear when the supernatural presence had departed, but this stuff remained: foul, nauseating, glistening in the gaslight.

Gradually, Kale's rapture faded. He began to feel the cold radiating from the limestone, through the seat of his pants.

Gene Teer coughed. “Well… well now… wasn't that somethin'?” Kale scratched his itchy calf. Beneath the itchiness, there was now a dull little spot of pain, throbbing.

It had reached the end of its feeding period. In fact, it had overfed. It had intended to move toward The sea later today, through a series of caverns, subterranean channels, and underground watercourses. It had wanted to travel out beyond the edge of the continent, into the ocean trenches. Countless times before, it had passed its lethargic periods — sometimes lasting many years — in the cool, dark depths of the sea. Down there where the pressure was so enormous that few forms of life could survive, down there where absolute lightlessness and silence provided little stimulation, the ancient enemy was able to slow down its metabolic processes; down there, it could enter a much-desired dreamlike state, in which it could ruminate in perfect solitude.

But it would never reach the sea. Never again. It was dying.

The concept of its own death was so new that it had not yet adjusted to the grim reality. In the geological substructure of Snowtop Mountain, the shape-changer continued to slough off diseased portions of itself. It crept deeper, deeper, across the underworld river that flowed in Stygian darkness, deeper still, farther down into the infernal regions of the earth, into the chambers of Orcus, Hades, Osiris, Erebus, Minos, Loki, Satan. Each time that it believed itself free of the devouring microorganism, a peculiar tingling sensation arose at some point in the amorphous tissue, a wrongness, and then there came a pain quite unlike human pain, and it was forced to rid itself of even more infected flesh. It went deeper, down into jahanna, into Gehenna, into Sheol, Abbadon, into the Pit. Over the centuries it had eagerly assumed the role of satan and other evil figures, which men had attributed to it, had amused itself by catering to their superstitions. Now, it was condemned to a fate consistent with the mythology it had helped create. it was bitterly aware of the irony. It had been cast down. It had been damned. It would dwell in darkness and despair for the rest of its life — which could be measured in hours.

At least it had left behind two apostles. Kale and Tell. They would do its work even after it had ceased to exist. They would spread terror and take revenge. They were perfectly suited to the job.

Now, reduced to only a brain and minimal supporting tissue, the shape-changer cowered in a chthonian niche of densely packed rock and waited for the end. It spent its last minutes seething with hatred, raging at all mankind.

Kale rolled up his trousers and looked at the calf of his right leg. In the lantern light, he saw two small red spots; they were swollen, itchy, and very tender.

“Insect bites,” he said.

Gene Teer looked. “Ticks. They burrow under the skin. The itchin' won't stop until you get 'em out. Burn 'em out with a cigarette.”

“Got any?”

Teer grinned. “Couple joints of grass. They'll work just as well, man. And the ticks'll die happy.”

They smoked the joints, and Kale used the glowing tip of his to burn out the ticks. It didn't hurt much.

“In the woods,” Teer said, “keep your pants tucked in your boots.”

“They were tucked into my boots.”

“Yeah? Then how'd them ticks get underneath?”

“I don't know.”

After they had smoked more grass, Kale frowned and said, “He promised us no one could hurt or stop us. He said we'd be under His protection.”

“That's right, man. Invincible.”

“So how come I've got to put up with tick bites?” Kale asked.

“Hey, man, it's no big thing.”

“But if we're really protected—”

“Listen, maybe the tick bites are sort of like His way of sealing the bargain you made with Him. With a little blood. Get it?”

“Then why don't you have tick bites?”

Jeeter shrugged. “Ain't important, man. Besides, the fuckin' ticks bit you before you struck your bargain — didn't they?”

“Oh.” Kale nodded, fuzzy-headed from dope. “Yeah. That's right.”

They were silent for a while.

Then Kale said, “When do you think we can leave here?”

“They're probably still lookin' for you pretty hard.”

“But if they can't hurt me”

“No sense makin' the job harder for ourselves,” Teer said.

“I guess so.”

“We'll lay low for like a few days. Worst of the heat will be off by then.”

“Then we do the five like he wants. And after that?”

“Head on out, man. Move on. Make tracks.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere. He'll show us the way.” Teer was silent for a while. Then he said, “Tell me about it. About