Hell House Part 29

Approaching footsteps.

She drew back automatically, eyes fixed on the altar. The footsteps were louder now. She was unconscious of Fischer's hand restraining her. She gaped at the altar. The sounds were getting louder every second. The floor began to shake. It was as though an unseen giant were approaching.

Edith whimpered, pulling constantly at Fischer's grip. The footsteps were almost deafening now. She tried to lift her hands to s.h.i.+eld her ears but could lift only one. The chapel seemed to shudder with the thundering noises coming closer, closer. She jerked back hard, her cry of panic engulfed by the t.i.tanic, cras.h.i.+ng footsteps. Closer; closer. We're going to die, she thought.

We're going to die!

She screamed as a violent explosion filled the chapel; closed her eyes involuntarily.

Deathly silence made her open them.

She lurched back, gasping. Fischer held her. "Don't be afraid." His voice was taut with excitement. "This is a special moment, Edith. No one's ever seen his nibs before; not unless they were about to die, that is. Take a good look, Edith. Meet Emeric Belasco. 'The Roaring Giant.'"

Edith gaped at the figure.

Belasco was enormous; dressed in black, his features broad and white, framed by a jet-black beard. His teeth, bared in a savage grin, were those of a carnivore. His green eyes glowed with inner light. Edith had never seen such a malignant face in her life. Deep within the frozen dread she felt, she wondered why they weren't being murdered at this very moment.

"Tell me something, Belasco," Fischer said. Edith didn't know whether to feel rea.s.surance or terror at the brazen insult in his tone. "Why didn't you ever go outside? Why did you 'eschew the sunlight,' as you put it? Didn't care for it?

"Or was it better hiding in the shadows?"

The figure started toward them. Released, Edith drew back quickly, horrified to see Fischer move forward.

"You walk with a labored tread, Belasco," Fischer said. "You dominate your movements at a cost, don't you?"

He shouted abruptly, fiercely, "Don't you, Belasco?"

Edith's mouth fell open.

Belasco had stopped moving. His features were ablaze with fury, but it seemed, somehow, a fury of frustration.

"Look at your lips, Belasco," Fischer said, still advancing. "Spastic pressure holds them together. Look at your hands. Spastic tension holds them fisted at your sides. Why is that, Belasco? Is it because you're a fraud?"

His mocking cackle rang out in the chapel. "Roaring Giant!" he shouted. "You? My a.s.s! You bulls.h.i.+t artist! You sawed-off little freak!"

Edith caught her breath. Belasco was retreating! She rubbed a shaking hand across her eyes. And it was true.

He did did look smaller. look smaller.

"Evil?" Fischer said. He moved at Belasco steadily, a look of ruthless animosity on his face. "You, you funny little b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

He stiffened as a cry of anguished rage burst from the lips of the dwindling figure in black. For a moment Fischer couldn't react. Then the grin returned. "Oh, no," he said. He started shaking his head. "Oh, no. You couldn't be that that small." small."

He started forward again. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d?" The figure drew back farther. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d? That disturbed you? Oh, Belasco. What a funny little man you really were. What a funny little crawling bug of a ghost. You weren't a genius. You were a nut, a creep, a deviate, a slob, a loser. disturbed you? Oh, Belasco. What a funny little man you really were. What a funny little crawling bug of a ghost. You weren't a genius. You were a nut, a creep, a deviate, a slob, a loser. And a sawed-off little b.a.s.t.a.r.d in the bargain! And a sawed-off little b.a.s.t.a.r.d in the bargain!

"BELASCO!" He howled. "Your mother was a wh.o.r.e, a s.l.u.t, a b.i.t.c.h! You were a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Emeric! A funny little driedup b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Do you hear me, Evil Emeric? A b.a.s.t.a.r.d, b.a.s.t.a.r.d b.a.s.t.a.r.d, b.a.s.t.a.r.d, b.a.s.t.a.r.d! b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Edith flung her hands across her ears to shut away the hideous wail that gorged the air. Fischer stumbled to a halt, his features washed of fury by the sound. He stared at the nebulous figure behind the altar-cowering, rat-faced, beaten-and it seemed as though he heard Florence's voice in his mind, whispering: Perfect love casteth out fear Perfect love casteth out fear. And suddenly despite everything, he felt a sickened pity for the figure standing there before him.

"G.o.d help you, Belasco," he said.

The figure vanished. For a long time they could hear a screaming, as of someone falling down into a bottomless pit, the sound fading slowly, until the chapel was still.

Fischer moved behind the altar and looked at the section of wall revealed by the torn wallpaper.

He smiled. She'd shown him this too; if only he had known.

Leaning over, he pushed at the wall. It opened with a grating rumble.

A short staircase declined in front of him. He turned to Edith and extended his hand. She didn't speak. Moving across the chapel, she circled the altar and took his hand.

They descended the staircase. At the bottom was a heavy door. Fischer shouldered it open.

They stood in the doorway, looking at the mummified figure sitting upright on a large wooden armchair.

"They never found him because he was here," Fischer said.

They entered the small, dim-lit chamber and crossed to the chair. Despite the feeling Edith had that everything was over, she couldn't help cringing from the sight of Emeric Belasco's dark eyes glaring at them from death.

"Look." Fischer picked up a jug.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure but-" Fischer ran his palms across the surface of the jug. The impressions came immediately. "Belasco set it down beside himself and made himself die of thirst," he told her. "It was his final achievement of will. In life, that is."

Edith averted her face from the eyes. She looked down, leaning forward suddenly. The chamber was so gloomy that she hadn't noticed before. "His legs," she said.

Fischer didn't speak. He set down the jug and knelt in front of Belasco's corpse. She saw his hands moving in the shadows; made a tiny sound of shock as he stood up with a leg in his hands.

"'If thy right eye offend thee,'" he said. "'Extremities.' She was giving us the answer, you see." He ran a hand over the artificial leg. "He so despised his shortness that he had his legs surgically removed and wore these instead, to give him height. That's why he chose to die in here-so no one would ever know. He had to be the Roaring Giant or nothing. There simply wasn't enough stature inside him to compensate for his shortness-or his b.a.s.t.a.r.dy." his b.a.s.t.a.r.dy."

He turned abruptly and looked around. Setting down the leg, he crossed the floor and put his hands against the wall. "My G.o.d," he said.

"What is it?"

"Maybe he was a genius, after all." He walked around the chamber, touching all the walls, examining the ceiling and the door. "The final mystery solved," he said. "It wasn't that his power was so great that he could resist the Reversor." His tone was almost awed. "He must have known, more than forty years ago, about the connection between electromagnetic radiation and survival after death.

"The walls, door, and ceiling are sheathed with lead."

12/24 9:12 P.M.

The two walked slowly down the steps, Edith carrying her suitcase, Fischer carrying Barrett's suitcase and his duffel bag.

"How does it feel?" she asked.

"What?"

"To be the one who conquered h.e.l.l House."

"I didn't conquer it," he said. "It took all of us."

Edith tried not to smile. She knew it was true, but wanted him to say it.

"Your husband's efforts weakened Belasco's power. Florence's efforts led us to the final answer. I just polished it off, that's all-and even that would have been impossible if you hadn't saved my life.

"It had to be that way, I guess," he said. "Your husband's mentality helped, but wasn't enough by itself. Florence's spirituality helped, but wasn't enough by itself. It took one more element, which I provided-a willingness to face Belasco on his own terms, defeat him with his own weaknesses."

He made a scoffing noise. "Then again, Belasco may have beaten himself, I suspect that's part of it, too. After all, he'd been waiting thirty years for more guests. Maybe he was so eager to utilize his power again that he overextended himself, made the first mistakes of his existence in this house."

He stopped at the door, and both of them turned. For a long time they stood quietly. Edith thought about returning to Manhattan and to life without Lionel. She couldn't visualize it, but for now a kind of inexplicable peace had taken hold of her. She had the remnants of his ma.n.u.script with her. She'd see to its publication, see to it that people in his field learned what he'd accomplished. After that she'd worry about herself.

Fischer looked around, extending tendrils of unconscious thought. As he did, he wondered, consciously, what lay ahead for him. Not that it mattered. Whatever it was, he had a chance to face it now. It was bizarre that, in this house, where his horror had first begun, he should feel the returning stir of self-a.s.surance.

He turned and smiled at Edith. "She isn't here," he said. "She just stayed long enough to help."

They took a final look around. Then, without another word, they went outside and moved into the mist. Fischer grunted, mumbled something.

"What?" she asked.

"Merry Christmas," he repeated softly.

The End