can happen to you.
'Go on, Ches.'
'Well, they both packed a few things and walked out of the house. Faye was crying, Janey was crying, I was crying—it was a mess, Sam. Both of them said they were sick of our goody-goody ways. Sam, I'm not a prude! But I don't know what's going on in this town. My kids cursed me; called us all things I never expected to hear from a kid's mouth. Especially my kids.' He looked at the carpet. 'I thought we'd raised two good kids. I guess I was wrong.'
Faye and Jane Ann brought in coffee and sandwiches. The sandwiches looked good to Sam, as did the coffee.
Faye said, 'I've noticed—we've both noticed—that Jack sometimes growls in his sleep—like an animal. It's frightening, Sam. And it's disgusting!'
Sam swallowed a mouthful of ham sandwich. 'How long has this been going on?'
'About ten days,' Chester said, looking up. 'Maybe two weeks. I'll tell you something else, too, Sam. All their friends have changed. Boys and girls. Boys and girls, hell! Young men and women. They're—I don't know—different, somehow. Arrogant. No! They're more than that—they're smart alecks. I've noticed it at the store. And they're not clean, Sam. It's as if they don't bathe. They smell! And so do a lot of adults around town.' He pounded his fist on the coffee table. 'Damnit, Sam! What's happening?'
The memory of Michelle's room came rushing to the minister. He put down his sandwich, appetite gone.
Chester said, 'All this has taken place, I believed, in the past few weeks. But now, looking back, I can see where I missed some subtle changes in my kids, this town, everybody except for a few of us and—and the elderly of Whitfield. I tried to convince myself it was all my imagination, but I know now it wasn't that at all.'
'Why didn't you come to me with your suspicions, Ches?'
The man shook his head. 'And tell you what? You'd have thought me a fool.'
'No,' Sam shook his head. 'No, I wouldn't have.' He looked at Faye. 'Did either of you try to stop them from leaving this afternoon?'
'Yes, we did. They both warned us we'd better not stand in their way. I think we were too shocked to do anything.'
'Sam?' Chester asked. 'What's going on?'
'Something . . . very evil, I believe. And I don't know if we can stop it.' He told them where he had seen Jack and Ruby and three-quarters of the town earlier.
'But where were they going?' Jane Ann asked.
Sam hesitated for a few seconds. 'Let me think on this for a while.' He stood up. 'I'll get back to you all— soon.'
'Sam?' Chester rose, facing his minister. 'You said evil. Could you be wrong?'
'Perhaps. I pray God I'm wrong, but I don't believe I am.'
One by one, the men, women, and children repeated the odious pledge. 'I renounce God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.'
The Beasts growled their approval and those already of the Coven nodded and hummed their agreement.
'I renounce and deny my Creator, the Holy Virgin, the Saints, Baptism, Father, Mother, Relations, Heaven, Earth, all this world contains that is good, pure, and sacred.'
The stench of unwashed bodies filled the cooling air of this summer night on the prairie of Fork County. This Friday night.
'I give my body and mind to the Church of the Fifteen and to Lucifer. Praise be his name! He is my Master! Praise his Beasts! This I say to his agent, before whom I stand, as I pledge to reject every decent thought I ever possessed.'
The Beasts of the Coven howled their agreement, slobbering from fanged jaws, eyes wild with excitement. It would not be long, only days, and the hunt would begin; this they were promised by the Master.
Black Wilder looked over the members of the Coven. A very beautiful woman, her black hair shining, stood by his side. Nydia. The witches—those who had always been—wore their necklaces of feathers and bones, in praise of their Master. A few more days, Wilder thought—a week at the most—and the Coven would be complete. The timetable was on schedule. The Lord of Flies would be pleased.
Yet, Wilder frowned—and he knew Nydia picked up on his thoughts, for she stirred at his side—Balon was going to be trouble. The Christian minister would have to be dealt with—and soon. Yes, Balon would have to die. But, Wilder knew, from centuries of experience, killing him would not be easy.
'No, it won't,' Nydia muttered softly.
Wilder knew that, although Balon was not without sin, he was close to God. Balon was a warrior, and God liked His warriors. No, Balon would not be easy, for God could and would protect him—for a time.
The old French priest, Dubois, would be easy because of his advanced age. The Methodist, Lucas Monroe, would be easy, too. He was very old, and already dying. Haskell, of the Episcopal Church was, like Balon, young. But he was not nearly as tough as Balon. He could be dealt with easily enough.
But Balon . . .
'He can be handled,' Nydia said. 'When it is time.'
Wilder ignored her.
There were others, of course, Wilder mused, but he was not alarmed. Those he would have hunted down by the Beasts or the Undead when it was time. Those who chose to resist his Master's will would die—very unpleasantly. All of them. Then, with that done, his Master would have a home here on earth. By day, Whitfield would appear normal by this earth's standards and time. Just another sleepy little town. Visitors would be discouraged. New growth could be held to a minimum, and any new people could easily be swayed into accepting the Master.
Wilder smiled briefly. Mortals were such fools! Offer them what they cannot have, or what their religion forbids them, and ninety percent of them come scrambling to reach what is denied them by their God. Falling prey like rabbits to a trap.
Wilder's smile faded as he sighed in remembrance. How many times in the past centuries had he tried to set this up? Dozens? Hundreds? He had succeeded but a few times. Long by earth standards, but a mere blinking of the Master's eye.
Damn You, God! Wilder silently cursed. Damn You! This time, though, I believe I'll win, for You waited too long to act. You put too much faith in Your human subjects. I believe You forgot how weak they really are. Yes, this time, I'll beat You.
But he was weary of the game; tired of it all. Perhaps it was time for a younger man. Wilder did not know how old he was. As old as time; certainly as old as sin. His memory spanned centuries and more. The Flood. Sodom and Gomorrah. So much. So long. And he was tired.
Wilder, dressed in a dark robe, ceased his ruminations and picked up a huge black book. No mortal being could have held its weight, for the book contained the names of every human being who had adopted the Godless teachings of Satan and his followers. From the beginnings of time.
One by one, the new applicants to the Coven laid hands on the book, each one repeating after Wilder, 'I promise to use all my power to induce others into the worshipping, praising, and revering of the only true Master and his Church of the Fifteen. I am now his slave. Do with me as you will.'
The new members of the Coven then defiled themselves with words of filth and profanity, calling out to the Coven, describing in the most disgusting of detail what they would permit upon their persons and their minds. Stripped naked, they allowed the members of the Coven to physically possess their bodies, without regard to male or female gender, while the Beasts—the lowest in the order of Satan's disciples—howled and snarled, dancing around the couplings, the sodomy, the sucking, and the degradation.
Slim Wesson whoaed his horse and cocked an ear, listening to the sounds from just over the sand hills. This was Little River Range, only a fence separating it from Karl Sorenson's K/S spread. K/S or L-R, Slim had never heard
