'But … will they believe in it?'
'Oh, yes. Be assured of that.'
'God must have a sense of humor.'
'He created humans, didn't He?'
And the clock in the hall chimed its message: it was Friday. The horror was about to begin.
Sam awakened with his arms full of soft, warm nakedness and his heart pounding. But he did not awaken with a start. He wondered why his heart was hammering so violently in his chest? He opened his eyes, looking around the dimly lit room. He saw the trays of food on the dresser and remembered bringing them in. Nothing else was disturbed. He listened but could hear nothing. He glanced at his watch on the nightstand and knew then what had awakened him. It was just past midnight. Friday. But what was so special about that? Friday? The day Satan is worshiped, of course.
He gently brought Nydia out of sleep.
'I love you,' she whispered. 'And I don't think it is wrong.' She smiled. 'And I must look awful.'
'No, you're beautiful.' He picked up his watch. 'Look at the time.'
'Oh, God! No wonder no one checked on us.'
'What do you mean?'
'It's Friday. They would all probably be at the circle of stones, behind the house. I used to ask them what they did out there, but I would get such silly answers I finally quit asking. Something about star-gazing was what they finally settled on. I never did believe it.'
'Nydia? You're holding something back from me.'
'Yes.'
'Tell me?'
'It … isn't time, Sam. I will. I promise.'
He thought of her statement in the four-wheel about knowing a lot about him. He shrugged it off. 'You mentioned something about that circle of stones this afternoon while we were eating at the park. It triggered something in me then; the same thing happened now. There is something about a circle that is whispered about back in Whitfield—used to be, anyway.' He paused. 'Sure. Now I remember. Kids used to say that was where the Devil lived. That must be where Dad met the Devil. Oh, damn, Nydia! How much of this is real and how much is not? What in God's name are we supposed to believe and do? I don't know. I do know this: I want to see this circle of stones. We'll go out there tomorrow.'
'Are you out of your mind?'
He ignored that, for he believed he just might be … for a number of reasons. 'Can we see it from the house?'
'Faintly. From that window.' She pointed. 'But you can't see it at night.'
He slipped from her warmth and blew out the small lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He opened the drapes. 'Nydia,' he called. 'We can see it.'
'What do you mean?' She crawled from the big bed and came to his side, pressing against him. She gasped at the sight in the small clearing behind the mansion.
It was torch-lit.
'I've never seen that before,' she said.
'It's begun,' Sam said flatly, without fear. And Nydia picked up on the firmness in his voice. 'The nine days have begun.'
'Sam, what are you talking about? What nine days?'
He looked at her in the darkness of the room. 'Nine days, honey. We have … they have, nine days. Don't ask me how I know. I just know. And I'll tell you something else: my knowing scares the shit out of me!'
In Whitfield, around the circle of stones, as behind Falcon House, the pledge was being chanted: 'I renounce God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.'
And in both places, the Beasts growled their approval.
'I renounce and deny my Creator, the Holy Virgin, the Saints, Baptism, Father, Mother, Relations, Heaven, Earth, and all this world contains that is good, pure, and sacred.'
They lifted their arms straight out in front of them and screamed: 'Praise the power of the Prince of Darkness. For only he is the true Master.
'I give my body and mind to Satan. Praise be his name. My Master. None other than him. This I swear by all that is unholy.'
And the Beasts of Satan howled their agreement, their eyes wild, jaws leaking drool. The Beasts began dancing: an obscene hunching and howling, dancing to the beat of music they alone could hear.
'Is there a gun room in this house?' Sam asked as they dressed. The drapes were closed, the room lighted. Somehow they both felt much more comfortable with the lights on.
'Yes. Falcon enjoys shooting.' She grimaced a sudden distaste.
'What's wrong?'
'He likes to see animals suffer. He's an expert shot, but I've overheard servants talking—down through the years—that he'll deliberately shoot an animal where it will take it the longest to die. He likes to listen to a wounded animal scream.'
