THIRTY-THREE
It felt so good to get out of Larry's room, with its almost overwhelmingly oppressive atmosphere, its air heavy with such stale fear. When Nichols stepped into his own room he motioned to turn on the light, an automatic reflex, but caught himself mid-action, deciding instead to stay in the gloom. There was more than enough light filtering through the closed curtains from the street outside for him to do what he needed to do in here, then it would be back into Larry room once more to face the consequences of actions taken what seemed like half a life time ago when he was back in the Vatican, plotting this impending meeting with the collector. This was what he had wanted, what he had lay awake at night dreaming of.
This is what he had wanted, isn't it? So then, it was time to step up and face it head on. There was no turning back now that the demon was here, even if he wanted to.
He stood in the near darkness for a moment meditating on his next move. He was sure Randall could have no idea what he was planning, and as such would be full of brash over confidence, ready to make a move against them and would soon make a move and enter the house to take what he had come for. Larry McCulloch and to hell with the collateral damage that would be Ania, Lewis and himself.
Unless. Unless this lunatic game plan of his actually worked. Nichols shook his head at the absurdity of it all. By rights they should have no hope of stopping the multitude of dark creations Randall had at his beck and call should he choose to unleash them. Assuming that he had something like the power Sofia had at her disposal that night a life time ago.
The image of that darkness dripping nightmare that had scared him so deeply inside and out came crawling unbidden and unwelcome into his mind’s eye. The memory made him physically shudder as he pictured it all too vividly creeping down the aisle towards him.
He had been nothing more than a spectator that night, and even though that was the reason he had survived, he was determined not to be one this time around. And to do that, to be a protagonist in this little vignette of horror he would have to keep his nerve and draw upon an, as yet, untapped reserve of courage he wasn't even sure he had.
Only one way to find out old man. Now was the time, to either curl up in a corner some place safe and hope against hope that the conflagration that was coming on the heels of hell left him untouched. Ashamed but alive. Or he could stand his ground and fight. And to hell with the consequences, if that was the right choice of words given his present circumstances.
He smiled at this, gallows humour. That was a good sign if nothing else. He took a deep breath as the bitter smile faded.
This was it. This was the nightmare scenario made flesh, the one he had secretly dreaded since first arriving here, the moment he had prayed would never come. But it came just the same. Proof positive that sometimes even priests, no matter how righteous or just their cause may seem, don't always have their prayers answered. A sobering thought and one, given that might very well, given time to fester, lead a lifelong religious man to the brink of atheism. But that was a theological debate for another day.
He thought of his cosy little life back at the Vatican, where he was securely buried away deep in the archives. Safe and snug for over twenty years in a world of theory and myth. Be careful what you wish for. Nichols had spent night after endless night down there cursing the place and dreaming of facing the darkness once more, stepping up to the mark, a man without fear.
He was a fool, and worse still a fool who had now got exactly what he had wanted. He was back in the real world with a real fight on his hands, and so far he had equipped himself far less than well. And this time his folly had dragged others into harm’s way. Good people, faithful and loyal to him (well, and McCulloch). People who had looked to him for guidance and who he, so far had let down so very badly. Tears of shame stung his eyes as he thought of Ania and Lewis but mostly the tears came for Jeff. So young, your early twenties was no age to die, not for someone so full of life.
“Jesus, protect me,” Nichols whispered and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Not an atheist yet then?” He said out loud and crossed purposefully over to his bed where he knelt down and reaching under it pulled out his suitcase. He gently lifted it up and placed it carefully onto the bed.
Such and ordinary case a little battered from his travels, but otherwise quite unremarkable. What it contained however was anything but ordinary.
His little theft from the Vatican. A small container no bigger than a shoe box, priceless in itself, but what it was made to contain was more remarkable still, and something that could save, or just as easily damn them all.
When the priest returned to the room carrying what looked to Larry for all the world like an ornate jewellery box, his first thought was that Nichols had finally taken leave of is senses and was going to spend the rest of this sorry siege wearing drag and dripping with Demonte diamonds. Whist also insisting everyone calls him Sister Mary of some such. The thought, despite the desperate situation he was up to his neck in actually brought the first real smile to Larry's face in what seemed like weeks.
“What the hell is that?” He asked with a smirk, nodding to the box. “Is there something you want to get off your chest Padre?”
“Is that what I think it is?” Peroni asked with nothing short of reverence.
Nichols placed the box on a table avoiding her gaze.
The tone of Peroni's voice set Larry's teeth on edge. More religious bullshit. “What are you gonna do?” He wanted to know. “Bribe him?”
“Is it?” Peroni asked again her eyes like saucers. The naked awe in her voice unnerved Larry almost as much as that lurking bastard outside in the street.
“If you two are gonna play dressing up or whatever.” Larry said. “Peroni, give me your fucking gun. I'm gonna shoot myself and save us all the trouble.”
“Another great idea,” came Lewis inevitable response from outside.
Peroni looked at Larry with annoyance. “It's not a jewellery box,” she said and returned her gaze to the gaudy box as if it were drawn there magnetically. “It's the one thing that could keep us all alive.”
“Perhaps,” Nichols said a little too quickly.
“Well?” Larry said testily. “What the hell is it?” He got to his feet with a grunt and approached the table, but Nichols stepped between him and the box. “Hey!” He protested as Nichols put his hand on Larry's chest to keep him back.
“Don't touch it!” Nichols snapped. Then lamely added, “It's old.”
“I thought they never let those out of the Vatican archives?” Peroni said still so transfix by the box that Larry half expected her to fall to her knees and prostrate herself in front of the thing.
“They don't,” Nichols replied. “I... I...” His voice fell away.
“You fucking stole it!” Larry said with delight. “Well Father, I must say I'm impressed.”
“It's not like that,” Nichols objected his face flushing.
“Sure,” Larry replied sarcastically. “So, apart from being gaudy as hell. What is it?”
“It's not the box,” Peroni said. “It's what's inside.”
Larry waited for the big reveal but neither Peroni or Nichols made to speak. “Well?” He said impatiently.
“Mynor's poem.” Nichols said softly.
“Mynor's what?” It was Lewis, who was standing in the doorway poking his head into the room, who took the words right out of Larry's mouth.
Larry nodded in agreement, he was expecting the holy hand grenade from Monty Python at least or something a little more substantial than some dusty old poem.
“You must have heard of it.” Peroni said.
“It's a myth isn't it?” Lewis replied.
“No,” Peroni insisted. “I saw one once, well a box like this, when I was training, on a visit to the archives. That was where I first met Father Nichols.”
“Always asking questions,” Nichols said smiling at the memory. “Couldn't shut her up.”
“Yeah,” Peroni said blushing. “But Father, how did you get it out of the Vatican?”
“We've already had this discussion.” Larry said and turned to Lewis. “And aren't you supposed to be watching the front door?”
“Shut up, Larry,” Lewis retorted not taking is eyes off the box, but unlike Peroni he was frowning. “It's not real, is it?”
“Lewis,” Nichols interrupted. “Larry's right, please go back outside, keep an eye on the stairs.”
Lewis glanced across at Peroni. “It's a myth.” He said and ducked back outside.
“It's real,” she called after him. “This changes everything,” she said excitedly to Nichols who was sweating profusely now.
“Alright, alright!” Nichols said, it came out harsher than he'd intended and made Peroni start in shock. But he just couldn't keep his growing frustration out of his voice. “Please, just calm down Ania. It's not that simple.”
“But you do know how to use it?” Peroni asked with a hint of fear in her voice.
“Yes, of course... I've studied it you years... It's, it's just not that simple.” He said again.
“This is great news!” She added before Nichols could continue.
“Okay, okay,” Larry cut in. “When you've all finished debating. Can one of you lot tell me what's so special about that fancy box? Huh? And what the hell is Mynor's poem when it's at home?” He waited but neither Peroni or Nichols moved to answer. “Well?”
“Nobody really knows that much about it,” Nichols tried to explain, he was already regretting revealing the box. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “From what we have been able to piece together over the years. Records show that Mynor was a sixteen century alchemist who lived in France, although we cannot actually find any, it is said that he wrote book after book about the existence of evil or what he called the demons that walk among us, the bringers of chaos and misery. We are pretty sure he was talking about collectors. Some say he actively fought them. Other clam he may actually have been a collector himself, but one who have rebelled against the darkness. The devil if you will.”
“Oh, come on,” Larry said rolling his eyes. “Spare me the history lesson, Father,” he gestured to the box. “Cut to the part where that thing can save my arse.”
It was Peroni who spoke next, seeing Nichols hesitate to continue. “That box. If Father Nichols is correct, contains one of Mynor's poems. He was supposedly, somehow able to create this...” She stopped, her English failing her for a moment as she searched for the right word, one that didn't sound too 'fantastical' considering her audience, but could only come up with one. “Spell, I guess you would call it.”
“Spell! Christ on a bike!” Larry grimaced.
She shrugged apologetically but it really was the only word she could think of that summed up what it was. “From what I’ve heard, it's a scroll, with a short but powerful incantation written on it, by Mynor himself.” She was struggling now and glanced desperately at Nichols for validation.
It took him an age but he finally nodded. “That exactly what it is, Ania. Well done. Go on, you're doing great.”
She beamed, the perfect pupil. “Yes, thanks, well, anyway, if you recite the poem correctly...”
“And in the presence of evil,” Nichols added.
“Yes, in the presence of evil, then it is supposed to create a type of... Energy I guess you'd call it?” She turned to Nichols once again who knew much more about this than she ever could. After all she had only ever seen one of the boxes from a distance during her time at the Vatican, and that was in a bullet proof glass case.
“I’ve heard it called the poem of the cleansing fire,” Nichols explained. “In theory, once it is recited in the presence of anything born of darkness, a collector, it burns the creature out of existence, with a flame greater than the fires of hell itself.”
“So, you've studied this thing for a while?” Larry asked.
“Decades,” Nichols answered.
“So, have you tried it?”
The priest shifted nervously from foot to foot, much to Larry's amusement. “No one has, not for centuries, there hasn't been a recorded case since they started keeping records, and that's a long time. I've studied one of the poems, spoken it many times, I know most of it backwards... But,” he faltered. “But obviously never in the presence of evil.”
Without thinking, Nichols covered the box with a nearby towel as if suddenly embarrassed by it.
“Obviously,” Larry said sarcastically. “Convenient, wouldn't you say? The thing won't work unless in the presence of evil. So no bugger knows if it actually works.”
“It will work,” Peroni said defiantly.
“But you don't know. More blind faith?” He goaded.
She was about to answer when Nichols cut her off. “Listen, I honestly don't know if it will work,” he eyed the box. “Let's just hope we never have to find out.”
“Then what's the fucking point?” Larry shouted with growing frustration. “Why steal the thing anyway? You don't sound very convinced, Father. Sounds like more religious bullshit to me,” he added bitterly.
THIRTY-FOUR
The sound of screaming metal, hot on the heels of shattering glass from below them ended the argument in an instant. For a heartbeat everyone froze, it was Lewis outside who reacted first.
“That's the living room window!” He shouted.
“Oh, no,” Peroni rushed to the door. “See anything?”
“No, not yet.” Lewis replied, his voice surprisingly calm given the circumstances. “But I'll sure as shit let you know when I do.”
Despite everything Peroni paused. More bad language, she was about to say something, when reality kicked in, with all that was going on, did that really matter? She shook her head at the madness of it all. She knew it was a running joke behind her back that she didn't like Lewis or poor Jeff swearing. Such nonsense now, Peroni let out a little laugh at herself.
“Ania?”
She turned to Nichols, still smiling as the demolition of their defences continued downstairs. “So much for the metal shutters,” she said.
Suddenly the whole side of the house seemed to shake as something huge slammed against a wall downstairs. Peroni looked up to see the light fitting above her head swaying.
“Jesus!” Larry shouted, his eyes wide with terror, he back away until he hit the far wall and would have gone further if physics would have allowed him to. “Nichols, for Christ sake, use that thing now!” He pointed to the box on the table, suddenly a believer.
Whatever had torn through the shudders could be heard now shifting it considerable weight around the living room downstairs. It sounded massive.
Out on the landing, Lewis edged closer towards the top of the stairs and leaned out over the bannister for a better look.
“Stay here Father,” Peroni instructed. She had the over whelming desire to go over and touch the box for luck before he moved out to join Lewis, but resisted. She caught a worried look on Nichols' face as he too looked at the box. She frowned, even with all that was going on he was clearly hesitant to use the poem’s power. Perhaps he feared it wouldn't work. Or perhaps the exact opposite. After all no one knew what would happen once you unleashed the cleansing fire. It could very well engulf them all, innocent or not along with the collector and his corrupted creations. Perhaps the entire street of innocents would be lost too.
Not wanting to dwell on that scenario she gladly ran out on the landing and joined Lewis' side. He nudged her shoulder in welcome. “See anything?” She asked and peered over the bannister to the hallway below.
“Not yet, boss. But listen to the thing.”
Out here she could clearly hear the creature now, moving around in the living room. Slowly shifting its bulk over to the doorway, which would lead it out into the hall and into view. Steeling herself to what she might see, Peroni aimed her pistol at the point just beyond the living room doorway, where the thing should appear any second.
“Guess, you are a believer now,” she whispered impishly to Lewis.
“Ha! Something like that...” He replied and was about to add something when the breath caught in his throat.
A long spindly shadow fell over the doorway down stairs and at first Peroni thought it was cast by the thing inside the living room, so she braced herself for the grand entrance, she rested her elbow on the bannister to steady her aim and silently wished she could do the same for her racing heartbeat. But doing so she immediately realised her error. What she had first thought to be the shadow of the thing was actually the long spindly limb of the creature itself, which came stretching out into the hallway uncurling a full six feet in length but only two inches or so in width. It was followed by another limb, then another as the thing began to force its way through the doorway. It put Peroni in mind of the legs of a hermit crab emerging from its shell, it seemed to be made of shadow itself.
“Mother of God,” she uttered as it squeezed itself through and almost fell into the hallway. Although the hall light was on down there, the form of the creature refused to give the observer anything but the merest fixed detail of its texture, it was a mess of geometry and Peroni struggled to make out even the most rudimentary form within its bulk.
The thing was a mass of swirling smoke and shadow somehow bound into the vaguest of forms that could, with some imagination, lay claim to being its body, but the only truly recognisable elements to the beast where its legs, which unfolded from its 'body' much as the legs of a spider might as it emerged from the darkest recesses of its web, to slowly crawl along towards some poor trapped and struggling insect.
As Peroni watched it creep down the hallway and over to the foot of the stairs, she thanked God she couldn't make out anything but the slightest detail in the dark and undulating mass that was is body, because she knew for certain if she could, it would send her screaming off in blind panic. As it was the growing horror welling in her stomach was threatening to overwhelm her, so she focused on the barrel of her pistol so the thing was just an out of focus blur beyond, but still her eyes refused to be misdirected.
The thing slowly began to crawl up the stairs now like something ripped from a sick child's arachnophobic fever dream.
“Fuck this,” Lewis spat, breaking the creatures hypnotic hold on Peroni and he opened fire, five shots in rapid succession into the things body, but as Peroni watched the bullets simply passed through its body as if it was indeed just made of smoke, and ripped into the stairs sending up a shower of splinters into the air. The monster didn't so much as shudder as the bullets passed through its form, nor did the assault slow its ascension. Step by terrifying step it just kept coming.
“Jesus!” It was Larry from the room behind. “What the fuck is going on out there?”
Peroni chanced a glance over her shoulder to see Larry and Father Nichols were at the door, wide eyed and pale faced. Larry said something else but the thunder of her heat beat in her ears drown it out