Night Things: A Novel of Supernatural Terror (28 page)

The words made another shiver pass up through Lauren’s spine. “And what do
you
think he was talking about? What are the terrible store-places?”

“Well, think about it,” the Master countered. “Enoch had just been shown a vision of the great war and had learned that the powers of light had won and expunged the forces of darkness from the earth. And immediately thereafter he was shown a series of places where something terrible is stored. I think what he was shown was where the losers of that great war were imprisoned. I think the terrible store-places were where the powers of darkness that had been defeated in that war were locked away.”

“But this house was only built in the nineteenth century. How could it be one of the terrible store-places?”

“Technically speaking, it’s not the house that is the store-place. It’s the window area, the dimensional weak spot that has existed in this region since time immemorial. The house is only the doorway, the porthole as it were, that has allowed this world to connect with that other.”

“But how did Sarah Balfram know how to design a house that would do that? And how did she go about building such a house? I mean, what did she say to the workmen who put this place together—‘Here’s a dimensional doorway; build me a house around it’?”

The Master shook his head wearily as if the answers to her questions were so manifest they almost weren’t worth the effort of a reply. “First of all, it’s obvious from the fact that she had visions as a child that something came to her and told her how to build the house. And as for how the house managed to punch through to the terrible store-place that existed here, I suspect it accomplished that feat by virtue of its shape.”

She looked at him perplexedly.

“There are many ancient systems that talk about the sacredness of geometry and how different shapes are supposed to change and alter the space within and around them. I think the house is the ultimate product of one of those ancient and sacred geometries, a mathematical lens that by virtue of the twistings and turnings of its architecture has managed to open up a doorway between dimensions. Indeed, I imagine that hole punched between dimensions—which no doubt lies hidden somewhere deep in the heart of the house—did not even exist until the house was completed. Like a lens constructed in piecemeal fashion, it was probably not able to perform its function as a focuser until it existed in its whole and proper shape.”

Lauren knew from what she had already discovered about the house that he was almost certainly correct. But that left one important question. “Why was Sarah Balfram instructed to build the house? What purpose does it serve now?”

The Master laced his fingers together as he paced through the room. “Now we come to the meat of the matter.”

Fugate shifted his weight excitedly, and the Master continued. “You are no doubt unaware of this fact, but to those of us who have recognized the beauty of evil, who have surrendered our hearts completely to the unutterable darkness, the house has a voice. It calls to us, beckons us, pulls us. Elton here has heard the house calling. I have heard it, felt its tugging, and that is why I am here.” A tremor passed through him as he suddenly pulsed with energy. “You see, throughout my life, my long, long life, I have wondered why I was here, why I was one of the few of my kind to survive only to be doomed to wander endlessly on this darkness-forsaken world of petty, chirping souls. I knew that part of my purpose was to teach, to pass on my wisdom to receptive students like Elton, but still I knew there had to be more. It wasn’t until I discovered this house and came to realize that it led to the terrible store-place that I comprehended what my destiny was. You see, I think it was the forces of darkness who came to Sarah Balfram and told her to build this house here. I think that by using her as an instrument they managed to place a kind of sword in the stone here, a Gordian knot to be stumbled upon by a warrior powerful enough for the cause. Then it is to be cleaved, to allow all those things imprisoned here to be released upon the world once again.”

His eyes were now glowing so fierily that Lauren and Garrett could scarcely bear to look him in the face.

“I think that is why the house as been drawing things evil to it lo these many years. It’s been searching for exactly the right leader to launch this new offensive, panning through the dross for the gold.” He raised his clenched hand to the ceiling. “Well, it has found its leader now. I can feel it, feel it in my bones. This house is my destiny. I know it. I am the one it has been searching for all along.”

Outside, the wind picked up, and the house creaked again.

“But if you figured that out a while ago, why didn’t you come into the house then? Why wait until we came?”

The Master looked at her archly. “I have not survived for so long by being a fool. I wanted you to test the waters first, make sure there were no preliminary pitfalls or booby traps.”

The lights went out and remained off. Nevertheless, the room was illuminated by the powerful green beams of the Master’s eyes.

“But once you knew that, why did you then go through the charade of pretending to be a reporter? Why not just barge in and overpower us to begin with?”

The Master snorted. “Because I had hoped to gain your assistance in helping me find the doorway and avoiding the traps without your knowing my real purpose. I felt it was the easiest route to take.” He looked at Garrett. “Besides, I had reason to believe that at least one of you had been sworn to secrecy about the house, and as it turns out my suspicions were quite correct.”

Lauren looked confusedly at Garrett and then back at the Master. “What do you mean?”

The Master took a step closer to Garrett, training his glowing eyes on him. “You may be interested to know, Mrs. Ransom, that there’s a Watcher Angel somewhere in this house. You may be even more interested to learn that it has been keeping company with your son here, using your son to help it get the information it needs.”

She looked at Garrett with alarm. “Is this true, Garrett?” He squirmed nervously.

“But what does it want? Why is it here?”

The Master smiled, but his eyes narrowed. “That’s the problem. None of us seems to know.”

Garrett looked up at the Master with surprise and spoke for the first time. “
You
don’t know?”

The Master’s eyes became mere slits. “No, I don’t.” He looked up with irritation at the house. “Oh, I’ve sensed its presence here. I sense it even now. I’m not quite sure where it is, but I can feel that it’s somewhere in the labyrinth of the house. Lurking. Waiting for something. But its energy is too ambivalent for me to tell whether it’s good or evil. I can sense that it was once evil, extraordinarily evil. But it also has yearnings toward the good.” He shook his head. “But I have no idea which side of it is the strongest. They are too evenly mixed for me to tell. I think that’s why it’s here. It’s the wild card in all of this. It may be that its purpose is to assist in the opening of the doorway, or to ensure that only the most suitable candidate succeeds in unleashing the store-place. Or it may have been placed here by the forces of light to protect the store-place, to do battle with anyone who tries to release its contents. I don’t know.”

His expression filled with venom. “But one thing I do know: the time for talk has ended. Now it’s time for action.” He nodded at Fugate, and Fugate moved closer to Lauren, the straight razor poised in his hand.

As he did so, the Master went and jerked Garrett over to his side. “Now, boy, you’re going to tell me where that doorway is.”

Garrett looked at him aghast. “But I don’t know!”

The Master loomed closer to him. “No! There’ll be no more excuses. If you don’t tell me I’m going to have Elton here cut off all your mother’s fingers.” He tossed Fugate a smile. “He’ll start with her little finger.”

Reaching behind the chair, Fugate untied Lauren’s hands, and then he forced her to place her right hand on the arm of the chair and held the straight razor over her little finger. “One by one,” the Master repeated calmly.

Garrett started to cry as he searched the Master’s face beseechingly. “But I don’t know! Really I don’t!”

The Master remained unmoved. “Okay, Elton, cut off her pinky.”

As Fugate started to lower the straight razor over her little finger, Lauren shut her eyes. She knew that Garrett didn’t know the location of the doorway.
She
knew. But she knew also that no matter what they did to her she could never be a party to the releasing of what was inside.

She felt the straight razor cut through the top layer of her skin, and Garrett started to scream.

“No, please! Please! I don’t know! Don’t hurt my mother!” Lauren’s every instinct was to pull her hand away, but she knew it was no use. She was tied to the chair. If she jerked away she would only be prolonging the ordeal. With a cool, oddly painless tingle she felt the surgically sharp razor slice into her skin.

Garrett went wild and tried to wrench away from the Master’s viselike grip. “
I don’t know! I don’t know!
”

“Wait a minute, Elton,” the Master said placidly.

With great reluctance Fugate stopped, but Lauren was too terrified to open her eyes and see how deeply her finger had been sliced. Finally, she mustered the courage to look and saw that although her hand was bleeding profusely, the cut did not seem to have done any irreparable damage. She twitched her pinky and was relieved that she could still move it.

“Why?” Fugate groused.

“Because I think Garrett here might be telling us the truth.” With lightning speed he pushed Garrett stomach-down on the couch and pinned him against the cushions. “Let’s cut off his fingers and see what Mrs. Ransom has to tell us.”

As Fugate let go of her and started toward Garrett, she felt a sinking feeling, for she knew that she did not have the willpower to sit by and allow them to harm her child. No matter how terrible the consequences she knew she had to tell the Master where the door was located.

“No, wait!” she said just as Fugate was lowering the straight razor over Garrett’s hand. “I’ll tell you where it is.”

“Ohhh,” Fugate groaned.

But the Master smiled. “Very impressive, Mrs. Ransom. You withstood all that pain just to keep your secret from me? You are a woman of much more substance than I suspected. Untie her, Elton.”

Fugate did as he was told. “Next time I’m going to be quicker,” he grumbled as he cut the twine away from her ankles.

Garrett ran to his mother’s side.

“All right,” the Master continued. “Now, before we begin, I wonder if there is a large silver serving tray in the house. It must be round and it must be made of silver.”

Recalling the large collection of Georgian silver in the butler’s pantry, she nodded. “But why on earth—?”

“Just show us where it is,” the Master said, stopping her in midsentence.

She took them to the butler’s pantry and searched through the cupboards until she found a tray that fit his specifications.

“Yes, this will do nicely,” he said, admiring the heavy silver tray. The lights blinked several times in succession.

“If there are any flashlights within reaching distance you might want to get those also,” he added.

She retrieved several flashlights from a closet just outside the butler’s pantry, and after taking one for herself and giving both Garrett and Fugate one, she offered the Master one.

He smiled at her patronizingly. “You forget, I see quite well in the dark without such things. Just lead on.”

She took them back through the drawing room and up the stairs. Then she led them through the series of ever more treacherously distorted rooms and corridors and into the forgotten hallway. When they reached it she felt another surge of guilt and horror at the consequences of what she was doing, but she could not endure seeing Garrett tortured, and knew she had no choice.

She opened the twisted door at the end of the forgotten hallway and showed the Master the passage leading to the store-place. “In there,” she said.

“You first,” he countered.

She stepped inside, and when they reached the massive and heavily bolted door the Master seemed almost in ecstasy.

The house creaked and rattled around them.

“So long,” he murmured, raising both his skeletal hands as if in prayer. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

He leaned the silver tray up against the wall and then turned to Fugate. “Give me the razor.”

Lauren went rigid as Fugate obliged, fearing some fiendish sacrifice was about to take place.

But instead of harming them he reached out and drew the blade quickly across Fugate’s arm, cutting deep.

Fugate let out a yelp. “Why did you do that?” he roared.

“Shut up!” the Master returned. “You’ll be all right. It’s blood for the cause.” He pulled Fugate’s bleeding arm closer to him and collected a palmful of the trickling blood. He handed the straight razor back to Fugate. “Now tie something around that and keep an eye on them.”

Next the Master knelt in front of the silver tray and, using his finger as a paintbrush, quickly sketched a series of cryptic symbols around its surface; and as soon as he finished the last one a sudden strange calm fell over the house. It did not stop creaking. The sense of awesome and foreboding power that pervaded the large and heavily reinforced hallway did not vanish. But something changed. The quality or aura of the house was different. Quieter.

“What’s happened?” Lauren asked nervously.

“I’ve just done something that has nullified the power of our friend the Watcher,” the Master replied. “Now it no longer has any power to move or operate anywhere in the house.”

“Where did you learn to do that?” she gasped.

He looked at her tiredly. “I’m old, Mrs. Ransom. I’ve got powers you’ve never dreamed of.”

And then he turned away from her.

“Hold them back there,” he instructed, wafting his hand at Fugate.

He stepped forward and slowly opened the door. The wind and the distant howling swept through the corridor, and for several rapt moments the Master just stood at the precipice of darkness and waited.