Dance For The Devil

DANCE FOR THE DEVIL

A NOVEL OF

HORROR AND SUSPENSE

Copyright 2013 by S. KODEJS

Books by S. Kodejs:

Dance For The Devil

Eternity (Eternity Series)

The Manitou, Book One

The Manitou, Book Two

The Spirit Seeker Society (The Spirit Seeker Series, Book One)

Better Off Dead (The Spirit Seeker Series, Book Two)

For Catherine Smith,

AKA: The Comma Queen

Thank you for your tireless editing skills

& wonderful sense of humo
r

xo

Prologue

It isn’t mentioned in the tourist guidebooks but on the night of a full moon, security guards are posted in the maternity wards of all greater Victoria hospitals.

This charming resort city, located at the southernmost tip of Vancouver Island, boasts the mildest climate in Canada and an authentic British atmosphere that rivals Buckingham Palace. Neatly manicured lawns border an ocean stretching to Japan. Gardens everywhere burst forth in a riot of color: roses, rhododendrons, azaleas and tulips are among an assortment of horticulture that leaves the rest of Canada green with envy.

The population largely consists of what the locals fondly refer to as the
‘newlywed and the nearly-dead’ –
a pleasant mix of geriatrics playing out their twilight days in an aura of civility and high tea
,
and a vibrant university community mixing higher learning with table waiting in trendy bistros and latte bars, their retro-hippy clothing as animated as their lively political debates and frenetic energy. A growing base of transients wander the quaint, downtown streets, drawn to the mild climate and booming economy. At a national time of recession and debt, Victoria’s businesses continue to bloom as happily as its rose gardens.

And living in the shadows, whispered and feared, alluded to but rarely seen, infiltrating and emanating from all walks of life, lurks the largest population of Satan worshipers in North America.

Children and favored pets don’t go missing here more frequently than the rest of Canada, but when they do, they aren’t as likely to be found. If they are found, those sad innocent bodies with tormented expressions frozen in eternal fear are not good candidates for open casket funerals.

Tonight was a blue m
oon – the rare astronomical calendar equinox that saw a second full moon rising in a single month. Tonight psychiatric wards would burst with new admissions. Sane people would feel slightly uncomfortable, eerie perhaps, jittery for sure. Tonight they would tightly lock their windows and triple-check their doors.

Sergeant Benny Carmichael would ensure his full force deployed tonight. Off-duty officers would report for duty without rancor – most had seen the destructive forces wrought by a full moon. Anyone who was slightly unbalanced would feel strong compulsions toward the bizarre: walki
ng along Government Street buck-naked to howl at the Parliament Buildings, or breaking into the Wax Museum to frolic amongst the lifeless figurines. Some would engage in lethal activities like leaping from the roof of the Empress Hotel, treating the patrons to a bird’s eye viewing of the bloody pulp below.

The criminally inclined would get itchy early afternoon. By sunset, every nerve in their brains would be screaming for action – for
release. As the blue moon began its slow ascent across the night sky, these miscreants would be looting, robbing and raping. So great their need, they might even turn their hunting to each other.

All this did not du
ly distress Sergeant Benny Carmichael. He could handle the schizoids, the drunks, the criminally insane. This unfortunate societal element was caught in a tidal wave of its own anxiety: no less able to control their actions than a hungry babe could ignore his mother’s swollen breast. Nature beckoned these unfortunates and they answered on a primal level. If the full moon was their beacon, the blue moon was a pulsating, thousand-watt neon sign that screamed their name.

It was the Devil worshipers that concerned Carmichael. Their actions were deliberate.
Meticulously planned. A full moon showcased their propensity towards evil: butchered sacrifices stretched on altars, pentagrams carved into flesh or drawn in blood. The Satanists chose their prey carefully. Animals sufficed in routine ceremonies: chickens, kittens, dogs, and on occasion, exotic animals imported expressly for this purpose. Other ceremonies, such as Black Mass required more appropriate offerings. Purity – considered a direct link to God – was the highest sacrifice. Virgins were prized, as were children. Children also held the appeal of being easy to obtain and overpower: a toddler’s resistance offers little deterrent. Occasionally, the worshiper’s own child provided adequate sacrifice.

However, even a toddler cannot
be considered completely pure. He already has had opportunity to exhibit disobedience: tantrums, hitting, lying and coveting toys. A child’s susceptibility for evil has already begun, so his sacrificial status is diminished. Infants haven’t yet been tainted by base human failings – infants are pure, the closest thing to Heaven. A healthy newborn, only hours or minutes old, is the ultimate sacrifice to Satan: the ultimate insult to God.

On this night, the night of the blue moon, the holiest of all the unholies, the ultimate sacrifice was required. Fea
ring this, Sergeant Benny assigned extra patrols to guard the city. He was battling against an evil so extreme and so vile: a coven of humans bonding together with the sole intention of worshipping the Devil.

CHAPTER ONE

Clink, clink. The ice cubes in his
scotch reverberated against the glass, the only sound in the semi-dark living room. Well, that and the ticking of the clock. It was twelve-thirteen, a quarter past midnight. Her curfew was eleven. He had been pacing this room for over an hour, listening to the clink-clink of his ice cubes and the tick-tock of the clock.

Where the hell was she?

His fury was a tangible thing now, matched only by his fear which grew exponentially with each passing minute. He took another sip of scotch, commanding his face to remain impassive, forcing his emotions to remain under control. Only Amy had the power to make him this angry.

Amy. His daughter. Fifteen-years-old of wilful disobedience, petulant stares and growing unhappiness.

Where the
hell
was she?

Jake Montclaire ran his hands through wild, dark hair and wondered for the thousandth time where exactly he went
wrong. How had the sweet, blond little girl who used to clamor over his knee and plant sticky kisses on his lips changed into this sullen, blank-eyed teenager with stringy hair and dirty clothes?

The clinking ice brought his attention to the churning ocean below. Although he couldn’t hear it, he knew waves crashed violently fifty-feet beneath him. This house was an architectural marvel, marrying high
-tech wizardry with glass and wood and steel. It stood high on stilts and clung to the rocky cliffside, to reign majestically over the wilderness of the landscape.

This amazing house, featured three times in national magazines and filled with everything a man could want – European appliances, impressive art, Italian leather furniture, games room, swimming pool, sauna... even its own
home-theater. All surrounded in an impressive blanket of West Coast cedar and glass. Oh yes, lots of glass. Enough glass that Jake could see the ocean from almost every room, including the master bath which held a Jacuzzi large enough for a crowd. A Jacuzzi, although he had lived here for six months, Jake had never used.

God, he hated this house.

Jake took another sip of his scotch, just a taste – he wanted to be totally lucid when Amy finally made an appearance. Just enough to wet his tongue. Just enough to give him something to do.

This house, purchased unseen when he relocated to Victoria from Toronto, was supposedly fire-proof, burglar-proof and earthquake-proof. Jake reserved judgment on all three – any fire, burglar or earthquake strong enough could shatter that illusion. Still, it was the
illusion
of safety that he bought. A safe place for a man and his two children to start over.

So why didn’t he feel safe?

Because his teenage daughter was God-knows-where with God-knows-who and he was powerless to do anything about it.

Clink-clink. Tick-tock. The clock now read twelve-forty. Almost two hours over curfew.
Where the hell was she?

A key turned in the lock and Jake’s feeling of impotence and fury blended with an overwhelming sense of relief.

“Amy.”

“Oh. Dad. Why are you standing in the dark?”

No apology. No explanation. Jake forced himself to remain calm and slowly took another sip of Johnny Walker. Clink-clink. “I was waiting for you. Have you any idea of what time it is?” He was sounding like his father and he hated himself for it.

“Dad! I’m fifteen. You hardly need to wait up for me. I’m
not
a child.”

Yes, you are. But let’s not open up that can of worms.
“You have a curfew. Eleven o’clock. You’re two hours late.”

Amy tossed back her stringy hair. “I couldn’t get back. I went to a rave and the other kids didn’t want to leave. They thought it was babyish of me to have a curfew. It’s totally
embarrassing.”

A rave. He wasn’t sure what that was and was afraid to ask. “I thought you were going to a movie.”

“Plans changed. Look, I’m tired, mind if we save this interrogation for morning?”

“Amy, I was worried sick. Why didn’t you call home? Why couldn’t you get a cab? What kids were you with? Why were you driving with someone else? You know the rules!” He couldn’t help it but his voice had risen.

“Look, Dad,” Amy said, her voice dripping contempt. “There was no phone and we were in a dead zone, no one was getting any bars. Cell service in this town
sucks
, not like back home where it was reliable. I
was
going to see a movie but it sold it out and everything else was totally lame, so I went to McDonalds instead. I saw some kids from school and they let me hang out. I thought you wanted me to make friends. Elise heard about this rave and we decided to go. I didn’t think you’d mind because Jason Vandercamp was driving, and since he
is
your boss’s son, I figured I was in safe hands. You
know
Jason and you
like
Jason.” Her voice was becoming agitated and when Jake opened his mouth to comment, she pushed past him and continued, her hands waving through the air to punctuate her speech.

“We get there and its okay, but I knew it was getting late. I couldn’t take a taxi because
you
didn’t give me enough money. I could’ve thumbed but I know you hate me hitchhiking. Finally, Jason said he’d give me a ride home. So, here I am. What do you care that I’m late?
You’re
never here – you’re always working. You don’t even know I exist.” She had worked herself into a nice little hysteria.

“I do care, Amy.”

“No you don’t. Nobody does. Nobody would even care if I was dead. I wish I was
dead.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say, Amy, horrible and stupid. Don’t ever say it again.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever. Now, can I go to bed or is the Spanish Inquisition going to last all night?”

“I think we need to discuss this.”

Amy started to cry. “I don’t want to discuss it with you. I want Mom. If Mom was here everything would be different.”

Jake suddenly felt exhausted. He turned away and walked out of the room. “Fine, go to bed, Amy. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

But he knew they wouldn’t. He’d go to work and she’d go to school, and by tomorrow evening they would be entrenched in some other disaster.

Their lives were falling into a predictable pattern. Their lives were falling apart.

**

The alarm rang at seven-thirty and Amy rolled over with a groan and slapped it off. It was too early. She was definitely too tired to get up but she forced herself out of bed. Today was Friday and that meant Mr. Groom’s English class for first period, and she wasn’t going to be late for his class again. Mr. Groom made a production of punctuality and embarrassed tardy students unmercifully. It happened to Amy only once and she wasn’t likely to let it happen again. She still remembered how hotly her cheeks burned and how the other kids laughed. Bunch of jerks. She knew then that she’d never fit into St. Agnes High.

Amy rubbed her eyes as she swung her feet over the edge of her bed, willing herself to fully awaken. She really should have come home earlier but she had been having such a good time. For the first time since she’d moved to Victoria she’d felt like she fit in. The kids had been really nice – especially Jason Vandercamp.

Amy had met Jason b
efore, of course. At Dad’s boss’s house. Jason had always been friendly but she felt that he’d had to. Last night she discovered Jason was being nice to her because he wanted to.

He even kissed her.

Not the heavy, groping kissing the other kids were engaged in, but a single, sweet kiss which proved he liked her and was interested in her.

Jason was sixteen, one year older. He was gorgeous, definitely the best looking guy she’d ever seen, almost like a movie star. Long blond hair, sleepy green eyes, perfect skin and the beginnings of a muscular body. He even had a goatee. Well, the start of one, anyway. He was so cool.

Thinking about Jason left Amy feeling warm and definitely awake. Maybe she should have a quick shower – it was ages since she’d washed her hair. There wouldn’t be enough time to dry it properly unless she skipped breakfast, but what was more important: a full stomach or good-looking hair?

Suddenly
, it was imperative that her hair look good. She might see Jason at school. Besides, Amy thought, her scalp had been getting kind of itchy lately.

By the time Amy came downstairs, Carmen had knocked on her door three times. The housekeeper looked in astonishment as Amy sauntered into the kitchen. Even Skeeter looked at her in surprise.

“Amy! You look beautiful,” Carmen exclaimed. “Your hair looks like sunshine.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Amy mumbled, feeling embarrassed. She hadn’t spent all this time fixing her hair to impress her brother and the housekeeper. “Everyone ready? I’ve got Doom-Gloom for first class and I can’t be late.”

“But your breakfast –”

“No time. I’ll grab something at school.”

“Dibs on the front seat,” cried Skeeter, grabbing his pack.

Amy rolled her eyes. Little brothers were such a pain.

**

“Anything else, Jake? More coffee?”

Jake studied his secretary. She was buzzing around the office like a mother hen, watering plants and poking her nose into everything. “No thanks, Lisa. I’ve already had three cups and it’s not yet nine o’clock.”

“You
need
the caffeine with the hours you put in,” Lisa remarked dryly. “I’ll be at my desk if you want me.”

“Thanks.” Jake tried to focus on his work but Lisa’s casual r
emark struck home. She was right, he did work too much. He spent way too much time here and not enough time at home with his children.

When Gil Vandercamp offered Jake this job it seemed too good to be true. Excellent salary, constant stimulation and challenge, and more importantly, a chance to start over. In the beginning, Jake had doubts, of course. It seemed
too
easy. But after listening to Gil and analyzing his options, even Jake had to agree it was the perfect solution.

“I need someone with your qualifications, Jake,” explained Gil. “You’ve been designing computer progr
ams from the very beginning – you’re practically a pioneer.”

Jake though back to the early days. It h
ad been so exciting. Working in an industry that changed and grew so rapidly it seemed boundless. He’d been instrumental in implementing some dynamic systems, too, but during the past few years his heart wasn’t in it. The work had gone stale. It wasn’t that the computer field wasn’t still growing rapidly – it was, more than ever, but Jake wasn’t into the game anymore. In the old days it had been fun and wild. Knowing everyone in the field, pulling all-nighters, living on cold pizza and warm beer... if he remembered to eat at all. Safe and cocooned, he supposed. Living in his fantasy world.

Now the computer field was such a
n... industry. Thousands of pimple-faced kids fresh from school, kids with brilliant ideas and endless energy.

He was too damn old – a dinosaur. Pushing forty might be a long way from retirement but it
’s ancient history in the computer business. Like modelling and athletics, the age of forty is twenty years past prime.

The
truth, Jake realized, was the fun had gone out of it. Too old to continually come up with cutting-edge ideas and too proud to rehash the existing stuff into saleable programs.

That was pro
blem number one. Problem number two was that his life had gone to hell in a hand basket, sometime when he wasn’t paying attention. Probably during one of those late night brain and pizza fests, trying to conquer cyberspace.

Jake had been rolling along, blissfully unaware of trouble, when his wife Elizabeth decided family life didn’t suit her anymore. It wasn’t just Jake that she was tired of; it was the whole enchilada
: motherhood and PTA meetings, baking cupcakes and driving kids to swim lessons. Years of being basically a single parent while Jake grabbed all the glory. Poor Elizabeth suffered a tearful breakdown, which landed her in the hospital for several weeks. When she stopped crying, Elizabeth decided it was her turn to shine.

She checked herself out, wrote long letters to her children and a shorter one to Jake, cleaned out half their bank account and moved to Los Angeles. Elizabeth wanted to be an actress. She had shown promise in high school, and while certainly not young nor pretty enough to play the ingénue, perhaps she could get some character parts.

Elizabeth changed her last name to Avignon (it sounded classy and French, and she thought being at the beginning of the alphabet was a sound choice: that way she’d get first billing and be on top of the pile for casting lists). She colored her hair red (too many blonds in Hollywood already) and lastly, Elizabeth changed her sexual preference. Years of pretending to enjoy sex with Jake had honed her acting skills but taken its toll – now she would see what the other side had to offer.

While Jake appreciated Elizabeth’s need for self-fulfillment, and was surprised to find he didn’t miss her (perhaps part of the reason he’d spent so many hours away from home was a result of a soured marriage), Jake found it hard to forgive the devastation she caused their children.