Succubi Part 32

Moon. Pink, she thought. Did he mean the equinox she'd been hearing about on the news? A special lunar position which caused the moon's light to appear pink at certain times during the night. She looked out the small ground-level window. Beyond the forest, the full moon hung low. she thought. Did he mean the equinox she'd been hearing about on the news? A special lunar position which caused the moon's light to appear pink at certain times during the night. She looked out the small ground-level window. Beyond the forest, the full moon hung low.

It was pink.

But something else nagged at her. What? What? she thought. Then her eyes thinned. The poem's t.i.tle, "Doefolmon." she thought. Then her eyes thinned. The poem's t.i.tle, "Doefolmon." Doefolmon, Doefolmon, she repeated. A word that made no sense. she repeated. A word that made no sense.

But- Doefolmon. Before her father had died, in his delirium, hadn't that been one of the words he'd written? Before her father had died, in his delirium, hadn't that been one of the words he'd written?

This cruxed her. Perhaps she was wrong-yes, she must be. Dr. Heyd had said that ma.s.sive-stroke victims frequently wrote things with no memory of alphabet sequence. How could Martin possibly have used the word days before her father had written it?

Impossible, she agreed. she agreed.

Most of the rest of the pad seemed filled with one long poem. She remembered Martin mentioning it the other day, a magnum opus of over a hundred stanzas. This must be it. "Millennium," it was ent.i.tled.

She didn't read the whole thing, just bits and pieces. Throughout she noticed more strange words. Wifmunuc, Fulluht-Loc, wihan, cirice. Wifmunuc, Fulluht-Loc, wihan, cirice. What did these words mean? The metered poem seemed to deal with some kind of reverence, of wors.h.i.+p, but it was alien to her. What did these words mean? The metered poem seemed to deal with some kind of reverence, of wors.h.i.+p, but it was alien to her.

She turned to the last stanza, the end.

In her holy blood now we are blessed.Sweet deity of eons in darkness dressed.Through fallen heaven, so swiftly she soars."Dooer" enchants the wifmunuc."Come into our world from yours."

Ann felt turned to granite as she stared at the bizarre verse. Again, she thought, Impossible, Impossible, but for another reason. but for another reason. Dooer, Dooer, Martin had written, the same word spoken by the figure in her nightmare. Martin had written, the same word spoken by the figure in her nightmare.

Dooer, she thought. she thought.

There could be no explanation. She'd never repeated any of the nightmare's details to Martin. Had she spoken the word aloud in her sleep? But if so, why would Martin use it in a poem?

Now her confusion ganged up on her. She s.h.i.+vered as she replaced the notebook, a sense beneath her skin like dread. Then she noticed the alb.u.ms. Photo alb.u.ms.

Ann had seen her mother and her friends looking through them several times. She picked one up, opened it- What the... She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe it.

It was p.o.r.nography.

Lurid snapshots glared up at her. Ann could not imagine anything so explicit, and so absolutely obscene. obscene. Each picture depicted a different s.e.x act. Oral s.e.x. Group s.e.x. Lesbianism. Sodomy. Women grinned in raw light as blank-faced men penetrated them in every plausible way, and some implausible. Each picture depicted a different s.e.x act. Oral s.e.x. Group s.e.x. Lesbianism. Sodomy. Women grinned in raw light as blank-faced men penetrated them in every plausible way, and some implausible. This is crazy, This is crazy, Ann thought. Why would her mother have this Ann thought. Why would her mother have this s.m.u.t? s.m.u.t?

She was too shocked to contemplate the issue more deeply. Each page showed her a new, greater obscenity. But as she flipped further through the wretched alb.u.m, that cold tingling, like dread, came back to her. Some of the figures in the photos looked awfully familiar.

By the fifth page she was picking faces out of the orgies.

Here was Milly on her hands and knees, fellating one man while another penetrated her from behind. Next, Mrs. Gargan squatting atop someone's hips. The Trotters swapping marriage companions. And Milly's daughter, Rena, with her knees pushed back to her face as some young man mounted her. And next- My G.o.d.

The next showed Ann's own mother having intercourse with Dr. Heyd. And next her own father...sodomizing a man as her mother and several other women looked on, grinning.

Ann was shaking. She thought she'd be sick. Then she turned the page and stared.

A pretty teenage girl was sitting on another girl's face. The girl on top was Melanie.

A vacant-eyed man was sodomizing a woman with her b.u.t.tocks propped up. The woman was Maedeen.

The man was Martin.

Ann felt dead standing up.

The second alb.u.m beggared description.

Naked figures seemed smeared with something dark. It looked like blood. More figures drank from a cup, all nude, all with weird pale pendants suspended between their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Ann felt all the breath go out of her when she turned the page.

A female corpse hung upside down against a bare-wood wall, headless. Blood poured into a big pot. Next, a male corpse was being gutted by a man with a thin, sharp knife. The man was Ann's father. Dr. Heyd was tr.i.m.m.i.n.g fat away from what appeared to be a liver. Martin was stuffing offal into a big plastic bag. Still more photos showed more men stoking an enclosed pit fire, tossing things in. A black cauldron bubbled. Large roundish objects lay deeper in the embers. Ann knew they were human heads.

I must be dreaming again, Ann sickly tried to convince herself. None of this could be real. Ann sickly tried to convince herself. None of this could be real.

Then she turned the next page and saw: Milly lying upon the slab, naked, drenched in sweat. Her legs were propped up and widely parted. She was pregnant.

Naked women stood about her, gazing down in reverence. But betwixt Milly's spread legs stood a cloaked figure, with hands out as if to accept something. And next: The hands holding up a glistening newborn child.

And next: Ann screamed.

It was the same. Everything. Milly giving birth was identical to the scenario of Ann's nightmare. And then the final photo, the symbol. The odd double circle looked like a flat slab of stone hanging against a dark wall, but its shape was- The same, she realized. she realized.

It was exactly the same.

"Does it all seem familiar?" queried a cragged voice.

Ann screamed again and dropped the alb.u.m. She stepped back and stumbled, glaring up in terror.

A figure stepped out of the back of the bas.e.m.e.nt. He'd been there the entire time, watching her from the dark.

The figure took another step: a young man with bizarre short white hair, in jeans, sneakers, and jeans jacket. His face looked extant, lean in some crushed prevalence. He was holding a shotgun.

"Ann Slavik," he said. He looked at her, as if curious. "My name is Erik Tharp. Though the people around here call me brygorwreccan."

The shredded voice left no doubt. The same voice that had called her, had warned her on the phone not to come here.

"They're subcarnates," he told her. "They're monsters, all of them. And your mother is their leader."

Ann tried to speak but her terror damped her voice.

"They enslave men with her power, they sacrifice to pay her homage. They've existed for thousands of years, Ann, solely to wors.h.i.+p her."

"H-her? Who?"

Erik Tharp gave her a broken smile. "Of course, you don't know about it. You weren't supposed to. You're part of a bloodline that wors.h.i.+ps a devil."

Ann's head reeled...

"Does it sound impossible?" Erik Tharp continued. "What do you think all that stuff is in those alb.u.ms? Do you dream, Ann? What do you think those dreams are about? They're not really dreams, they're visions-visions of the past to reflect the future."

Visions of the past, she thought. But what could Melanie's birth have to do with the future? she thought. But what could Melanie's birth have to do with the future?

"Have you seen any male children in this town? Have you?"

"No," she said, still staring up. "I looked at the town birth records. It said that all the male children ever born here were put up for adoption."

"Of course that's what it said. Heyd has to cover himself."

"What?"

"The records are falsified, by Heyd. Those kids weren't put up for adoption. They were sacrificed."

The word seemed to eddy in her head and grow like a bloodstain.

"Males are not allowed in their bloodline. Any sect member who gives birth to a male must hand it over for immediate sacrifice, to appease her. her. I ought to know, Ann. I'm the one who used to bury the bodies." I ought to know, Ann. I'm the one who used to bury the bodies."

Ann still couldn't think right. How could she believe this madness? Erik Tharp was an escaped mental patient. He was certifiably insane. But then she remembered the photo alb.u.ms...

"I came back to stop this, Ann. I came back to get you and your daughter away from here. That's the only way."

"What are you talking about!" Ann finally screamed.

He looked down at her. It seemed painful for him just to talk. "For the last millennium they've been breeding themselves for this event, Ann. You and your daughter are part of that event."

"What event?"

"The Fulluht-Loc," he answered. "The doefolmon."

Chapter 30.

"Doefolmon," Professor Fredrick said.

Dr. Harold squinted back. "Yes, another of the words that Tharp makes frequent reference to in his sketches. What does it mean?"

Fredrick relit the big pipe. Its carven face depicted vacant agony. "It means, roughly, 'moon of the devil,' and it's another term that proves how thoroughly Tharp researched the Ur-locs before his delusion overtook him. The doefolmon was considered a portent, like a biblical sign, and a precursor to their holiest rite-the Fulluht-Loc."

Harold's nose crinkled against the cloying fetor of the tobacco. That, and the queer face on the pipe, hara.s.sed his attention.

"It was their incarnation rite," Professor Fredrick said.

Incarnation. Harold considered the word, and its implications. Harold considered the word, and its implications. To To make flesh. make flesh.

"Fulluht is another weird meld of Old Saxon, Old Frisian, and some older Chilternese const.i.tuents; it means essentially 'baptism' or 'baptismal,' and loc, as I've said, is a reference to-" another weird meld of Old Saxon, Old Frisian, and some older Chilternese const.i.tuents; it means essentially 'baptism' or 'baptismal,' and loc, as I've said, is a reference to-"

"A female demon," Harold recalled. "A succubus."

"Yes. Hence, Fulluht-Loc Fulluht-Loc can be translated as 'baptism of the succubus.' It's the ritual that their entire system of belief revolved around. It's what they lived for." can be translated as 'baptism of the succubus.' It's the ritual that their entire system of belief revolved around. It's what they lived for."

The window framed full dark now; Dr. Harold had been here all day scarcely without realizing it. He could glimpse the moon through the high trees of the campus quadrangle. It seemed pink.

"The basis of their entire religion was offertory," the old professor went on. "The zeal with which they sacrificed innocents was intensively devout. Everything they did was an offering. s.e.x. Murder. Cannibalism. They'd even anoint initiates with the blood of sacrifice victims. They'd paint trees with the blood, to mark the territory of the succubus, to make it blessed. The Druids did the same thing centuries later, which might cause you to wonder about the nature of religious influence."

But Dr. Harold was wondering about a lot more than that. So many questions itched at him now, like st.i.tches healing. "But what you mentioned earlier," he said. "The ultimate point?"

Fredrick's ancient face looked grimly amused. "The Fulluht-Loc. The incarnation. According to the legend, this can only occur during the doefolmon, and supposedly the Ur-locs succeeded at it once."

"The incarnation, you mean?"

"Correct. From what could be translated from their ma.n.u.scripts, the Ur-locs claimed that a successful incarnation occurred a thousand years ago, just before their race disappeared."

Dr. Harold contemplated the supposition. No, like Fredrick, he didn't believe in demons, but...what was he thinking? "I don't quite follow you. How did this incarnation supposedly come about?"

"Remember what I said before," Fredrick replied. "Everything the Ur-locs did was an offering. They were devoted to the notion of the bludcynn, or the sanct.i.ty of their bloodline. What they offered to the Ardat-Lil, ultimately, was themselves."

"I still don't quite-"

"The element of offering, offering, Doctor. Sacrifice. Blood. Faith. Doctor. Sacrifice. Blood. Faith. Everything. Everything. The Fulluht-Loc was an The Fulluht-Loc was an offering offering of of one of their own, a physical gift of one of their own, a physical gift of subst.i.tution. What I'm saying is that, on the doefolmon, one of subst.i.tution. What I'm saying is that, on the doefolmon, one of the Ur-locs' own bludcynn would the Ur-locs' own bludcynn would become become the Ardat-Lil. This was foreseen, mind you, years beforehand, upon the birth of the subst.i.tuted body." the Ardat-Lil. This was foreseen, mind you, years beforehand, upon the birth of the subst.i.tuted body."

"Foreseen by who?"

"By the wifmunuc, the leader. They were supposedly clairvoyant. The doefolmon was considered the holiest time, much like Christians would consider the Second Coming. This was essentially the same thing, the return of their G.o.d onto the earth." Professor Fredrick's time-worn hand tapped out the pipe again. Behind him, in the office window, the moon was rising. "But what you should find most curious of all," he amusedly went on, "is the timing."

"The timing?" Dr. Harold queried.

"The doefolmon. Astronomers have recently identified it-a peculiar astronomical configuration. You've probably been hearing about it on the news lately."

Had he? The equinox, The equinox, he thought. "I've heard something on the weather channels about the equinox." he thought. "I've heard something on the weather channels about the equinox."

"Yes, yes. That's what the doefolmon really is. Of course, astronomers don't call it the doefolmon-" Fredrick cragged another chuckle. "They call it a tangental lunar apogee. You've probably noticed over the past week or so that the moon appears pink. It's what's known as a straticulate refraction, the moonlight s.h.i.+ning through the upper atmosphere at an anomalous angle. It's very, very rare, and quite precise-a vernal equinox that occurs at the exact same moment as the moon becomes full."

Dr. Harold's eyes narrowed.

"And that's the curious part," Fredrick went on. "Even an old, skeptical atheist such as myself must admit. The last time this happened was exactly a thousand years ago, and exactly a thousand years ago was when the Ur-locs supposedly succeeded in incarnating the Ardat-Lil."

Chapter 31.