awful screaming ceased its echoing around the valley of The Digging.
The members of the Coven, hundreds, strong now, old and new, droned their chant in a tongue formulated in the depths of Hell. They danced around the blood-drenched cross. Dropping their robes, they pranced naked, one by one falling to the ground, to couple as animals; women with women; men with men; adults with children, engaging in every deviant sex act known to exist.
The disgusting, macabre celebration continued for hours, the lustful calling, screaming, grunting filling the night air. The howling of the Beasts, jaws leaking drool, the moaning of the Servants of Satan, all mingled with the glare of the torches jammed into the earth, casting leaping shadows about the valley of the circle, the valley of the tablet, the valley of The Digging.
At predawn, just as first light faintly tinted the eastern sky, the faraway sound of a cock crowing brought the night's abomination to an abrupt close. Black Wilder and Nydia looked about them, fear on their faces. The Beasts huddled together in fright. The devil lives for darkness, afraid of the light, and the devil and his servants are filled with dread at the sound of a crowing cock. Satan can do only quiet, unobtrusive evil in the light of God's sun. It is only in the darkness that the unholiness is nurtured, where it thrives and grows, where the evil is the personification of all that is vile and wicked.
A large owl, perched for hours during the night, beat its wings and hooted, suddenly flying away, its eyes unblinking and evil. It vanished in the dim light, its tiny brain receiving a message from its Master.
As roaches do when the light is clicked on, the members of the Coven scurried away in the dimness of predawn, the evil on their faces mixed with fear, for they know it is God's sun.
The altar had been washed clean. The cross removed and hidden. The body of Annie Brown was not to be seen. The Beasts were disappointed that she could not be used as a breeder, but they knew some things were beyond their grasp, so they accepted without question.
After selected older members of the Coven, those who, although they did not at this time know it, were well on their way to becoming the Undead, had sucked their portion of blood from Annie's still-warm body, the Beasts ate her. Growling, they stripped the flesh from her, snapping the bones to suck the marrow, as they had done with Tim Bennett, weeks back. As the full glory of God's day filled the valley of The Digging, the Beasts slipped into holes in the earth, making their way back to the caves at Tyson's Lake, past the chosen Sentinel.
Slim Wesson, the cowboy, who, until this moment, believed he had seen everything God meant for him to see, lay on the cool ground of the hill overlooking the valley, and wept unashamedly and openly, something he had not done since childhood. He felt soiled and threatened by what he had witnessed.
After a time, he rose to his feet and staggered down the hill to his horse, still waiting for him. Mounting, he rode off, speaking to the animal. 'Bullet, I think we'll get the hell out of this state—pronto!'
The owl soared high above him, watching, waiting.
Slim rode carefully, recalling what he'd seen during the night of sickness. Slim was no prude, but he was physically ill in his recall. He had seen his foreman, Lou Parker. He had seen the owner of Little River, Ray Zagone. He had watched the two men fondle each other, love each other, and then mate with the other's wife.
Slim shook his head. Sick, sick, sick!
And that awful crucifixion of the young girl. God! they cut out her heart.
Slim drew up, dismounted, and vomited on the ground. He did not see the owl swooping down toward him, long talons poised. The owl's charge knocked him down, blood pouring from Slim's ripped forehead. The owl arched in the sky, then made another pass, the talons ripping out Slim's eyes. The cowboy screamed in his sudden red- darkness of pain, falling back against his horse. The animal panicked at the smell of blood and the fear of man, kicking out with steel-shod hooves, catching Slim in the hip, breaking the big bone. He fell heavily to the ground. The owl dipped down, quickly sinking its talons into Slim's throat, ripping the flesh. The blood spurted.
The cowboy quickly bled to death. His horse throtted away, fear rolling its eyes white. It stepped on its reins, annoying the animal. The leather finally broke, and the animal trotted away. Late that afternoon, the horse would wander back to the ranch corral. The men there would look at each other, smile, and remove the saddle. They would rub the animal down, feed it, and stable it.
No one would mention Slim Wesson.
Herman Alario, Slim's best friend, was not present when the horse wandered back. When he asked about Slim, he was told Slim had drawn his pay, sold his horse to Little River, and pulled out. But Herman did not believe that. Slim wouldn't cut out without telling him goodbye. But he kept his suspicions to himself.
The next day, cowboys would ride out, find Slim's body, and take it to the Beasts.
The Beasts would feast.
Sam had driven slowly home after leaving Chester's. The streets were deserted. He did not see a dog or a cat. But he did feel the evil hanging over the town. His fingers touched the cross hanging around his neck.
He was thankful the parsonage was empty. He had some things he wanted to do, and he could not do them with Michelle there.
Turning on all the lights in the house, leaving each room blazing with light, Sam went up to the attic. A half- remembered phrase had come to his mind during the drive home; something from his days at the seminary. THE KISS OF LIFE AND DEATH. What was the rest of it? He had to find that old textbook. Yes, now he remembered. ONCE TOUCHED, FOREVER HIS. That was it! That secret sect of the devil. Unproven. Not mentioned in the Bible, so professors tended to scoff at it.
Sam prowled the attic, in the dim light from the one bulb hanging from its cord. He searched through the boxes, ripping open the tops with his powerful hands until he found the textbook he sought. A slim volume on Ancient Witchcraft and Devil Worship. He had not looked at this book in years, but he had never really forgotten it, such was its impact on him.
Sam looked at the dusty volume. 'Do you hold the secret to this mystery?'
The dust and the cobwebs of the attic clung to him; the attic boards creaked under his weight. A chill fell on him as summer winds blew against the frame house. Sam shivered.
'Don't get spooked, Sam,' he verbally reassured himself. 'Not this early in the game.'
He resisted an impulse to rush from the attic, then forced himself to move at a normal pace as he turned out the light, closing the door, just for a moment engulfed in darkness. But he breathed a bit easier when he was downstairs in the light.
A practiced speed-reader, Sam went through the slim volume in less than an hour, not wanting to read the words, but forcing himself to do so, liking none of it. The words were disgusting. Vile.
He read:
The lights in the den browned out for a moment. Sam looked around, exasperated. The lights brightened.
He read on:
Tablet? Sam pondered. What tablet?
A witch?
He read on:
