Season of Passage, The (59 page)

serpent, and cal ed him a devil. Final y there was Jennifer's concept of original sin, Janier's betrayal, with Kratine as the tempter.

What made al these paral els so amazing to Terry was that Lauren had never taken Jennifer to church, or read the Bible to her. Of course, it was

possible Jennifer had read the Bible on her own - she always had had her nose in a book - but Terry doubted it. She had never mentioned the Bible

to him, and she almost always talked about what she was reading.

But now, after his second reading, he realized that was only the beginning of the story's mystery.

Terry owned a copy of a thick book cal ed Words and Their Roots. He was fond of taking old names and words and sprinkling them in his own

stories. But Words and Their Roots was a book he kept in the drawer of his desk. He was confident Jennifer had never browsed through it, or even

seen it. But Terry had reached for it immediately after reading Jennifer's story - once again, not sure why he did so. The names of her characters -

Chaneen and so forth -were not listed under any religious or mythological traditions. Yet the names of her two races, the Sastra and the Asurians,

were both in the book. They were Sanskrit words, the oldest language known to man. The definition of 'Sastra' was 'the Vedas - the holy books of

India.' 'Asurians' were 'the demons of Vedic literature.'

How had Jennifer stumbled upon such obscure words? But that wasn't al . Professor Ranoth had not told Jennifer where he had got her ring, except

to say he had found it while traveling. Of course, a famous archaeologist like James Ranoth had been around the world. Yet Terry remembered

Lauren commenting, a few months before they had left for Mars, that Ranoth had gone off to hike in the Himalayas. That fact by no means proved

that Ranoth had found the ring in India; nevertheless, it was a curious coincidence. Not knowing where Ranoth had obtained the ring, Jennifer had

instinctively used ancient Indian words in her story.

And Jenny said that the ring helped her write her story. The more he studied it, the more disturbing the coincidences in the story kept getting.

Jennifer had written of two lands at war eons ago, only revealing toward the end that Asure was actual y another world. In fact, it was only in the last

pages of her story that she explained how Asure was destroyed by Chaneen's mighty flame.

Another world. Burnt to a crisp. Burnt red.

Mars was red. According to most accepted theories, it had possessed an atmosphere as little as a mil ion years ago. But, the scientists believed, a

cosmic catastrophe blew it away. Just wasted the whole fucking planet, they said.

But Jenny might have known that. She could have worked it into her story. It doesn't mean anything. It's only a story!

The scientists didn't know what the catastrophe had been.

Had Jennifer known?

Terry returned to his word processor and made up a third list. It contained the characteristics Jennifer had given to her Asurians that matched with

the qualities on his first list, the one that described Lauren and Gary.

1. Lauren's long nails resembled the Asurian claws.

2. Their foul smel of decay appeared identical.

3. Jennifer repeatedly emphasized the power in Kratine's eyes.

4. Lauren even spoke like Kratine.

Jennifer had mentioned a number of other Asurian characteristics that did not appear, at first glance, to relate to Lauren and Gary. He typed those

down next.

1. Kratine could take on the il usion of humanity, his ancient form.

2. Chaneen swore that those possessed by Kratine would be burned by sunlight, that fresh waters would bind their steps, that they would always

thirst no matter what they drank.

3. The Asurians wished to live forever.

4. The Asurians feared fire.

5. The Asurians drank human blood.

6. Kratine said his curse would spread when those possessed by his spirit feasted upon the blood of their fel ow men, even as the latter slept.

Terry turned off his word processor. He was getting sick of his lists. They were beginning to describe vampires. He did not believe in vampires.

Major Thompson developing a sudden inexplicable al ergy to the sun did not mean there were goddamn vampires.

Of course, she had been a vampire on Hal oween. You remember that now, don't you, you old drunk? She had wanted to be a vampire. She liked

being one. Hal oween was just practice for things to come.

Why had he blocked out her type of costume? He would have assumed his subconscious had been trying to spare

him if it hadn't brought up the memory of Hal oween in the first place. What the hel , he could remember that night now, and how it had ended. At the

last house on the last block they had gone to, they had knocked on the door. The lights had been out. No one had answered. They had been about

to walk away when Jennifer had noticed an unlit jack-o'-lantern sitting in the dark corner of the dusty porch. Natural y she had wanted to light the

candle, and when she had done so, they had turned to leave. Just then the front door had burst open and an old woman had started screaming at

them. She had looked like such a stereotypical movie hag that at first Terry thought she wearing a costume of her own.

But such was not the case. She was just ugly and mean. She had been upset that Jennifer was trying to burn down her house. Lauren had

interrupted quickly and pointed out that there was no need to be nasty, that Jennifer had simply relit a candle that the woman herself had set out

along with her pumpkin. Hearing that, the old woman had hissed angrily. Pointing a long bony finger at Jennifer, she had said: 'There is no candle in

that pumpkin.'

But the jack-o'-lantern had been grinning with fire between his teeth. A mystery, to say the least. Lauren had stepped across the porch and peeked

inside. Being a Hal oween vampire, she had a ton of white makeup on her face. Yet the instant she looked inside the pumpkin, she turned even

whiter. She didn't say a thing, though. She tried to blow out the light, and when it didn't go out right away, she grabbed Jennifer by the arm and

quickly led the three of them away.

Lauren never did tel him what she saw inside the pumpkin, nor did Jennifer explain. But Terry thought

he knew now what the jack-o'-lantern had been holding.

A flame burning without a wick. Without a candle. Al by itself.

'I see you brought the fire, the heart of the worlds.' Now he was getting down to the nitty gritty.

Did he believe that Jennifer's story was more than a story? That it was in fact an accurate account of events that had occurred mil ions of years

ago? That was the biggest question so far today. He would have congratulated himself for asking it if he had the answer to it.

It's al bul shit, it has to be. If it was true, Chaneen would be here. She promised to come back. If there's no Chaneen, there's no Kratine. I have to go

back to the drawing board. Lauren hates me because I couldn't give the multiple orgasms that Gary can. It al comes back to Freud.

He hoped.

What about an even bigger question?

What if Jennifer had been Chaneen?

Terry turned away from the empty screen of his computer and stared out the dark window. Jennifer had been an unusual child. Most people who

came near her were affected in a positive way. People were happy around her - he always had been. As Lauren had said in her letter, Jennifer was

like a bright light. She would walk into a crowded room and heads would automatical y turn. Often in her innocence she appeared younger than

other girls her age, yet, at the same time, she frequently gave the impression of deep wisdom. She was sensitive. She could fix someone with her

clear blue eyes and know exactly what they were thinking. Her physical beauty was extraordinary. Of course, she'd suffered from nightmares - a lot

of kids did. But even those nightmares had been unusual. They only came every couple of years.

Yeah, the more Terry thought about it, her nightmares had been as remarkable as her beautiful face. They came every two years...

Every time Earth came into conjunction with Mars.

Then there was her uncanny ability to hold her hands in the middle of a fire and not get burned. And her power to light the inside of pumpkins that

should never have been lit.

Stop it! She was just a little girl. She could get burned. She burned to death.

But Terry couldn't stop it. He felt as if he were on fire. The thoughts flared in his brain like the sparks coming off a pool of boiling lava. He couldn't

block out Jennifer's story. It was as if the tale resonated with his soul, and awoke a deeply buried primeval fear. Kratine had predicted that a time

would come when humans would come to his world, and be possessed. An uncannily accurate prediction in light of what Lauren had said in her

letter about the devils on Mars, and how she now looked and behaved.

You're talking about Lauren. You're not talking about the harlot who's supposed to give birth to the Anti-Christ. You can't talk about stuff like that to

anybody. You'l sound as bad as Herb. You don't want to end up like Herb, do you? Afraid of the dark.

Suddenly the lamp on Terry's desk went off.

He leaned over and tried to turn it back on.

It wouldn't go on.

The light must have burned out.

He sat alone in the dark, listening to his heart.

And he thought of Lauren trying to blow out the jack-o'-lantern. The vampire trying to extinguish the fire and being unable to. He thought of the

vampire kissing him later that night, loving him, with her fangs sitting on the nightstand beside them, just waiting for the day she would put them back

in her mouth, and bite him.

Al these things, he thought in the dark.

The phone on his desk began to ring.

He went to pick it up. Then he hesitated.

'Do you want me to tel her that you cal ed?' ¦ Just the thought of the vampire.

It was enough to bring the madness.

The barrage of images came out of the ceiling and down through the crown of his skul . They soaked his brain with purple vapors. They came

without warning. They overwhelmed. They were as bad as before. They were as good. What was wrong with him? Didn't he know a good thing

when it crawled up his leg and chewed on his dick? So there was a little pinch, a little pain. In the end it would al be sweet. The blood would flow

down his leg. It would drip on the floor, and the serpents could lick it up. Pick up the phone and let me lick you. It's Hal oween, Terry.

He reached for the phone. Sure, he tried not to. He resisted with every cel in his body. But not too hard. You see, he wanted to talk to her. He

wanted her treats, even her tricks, in the worst way.

He picked up the phone and pressed it close to his ear.

'Hel o?' he said.

No one spoke. She didn't have to. He knew she was there, and she knew everything else. Stil , it might just be the phone company cal ing to say

hel o.

'Hel o?' he repeated.

Hints of breathing. Thick heavy hints. That were more gusts of stinking wind in his face than obscene pants.

'Lauren?' he said. 'Is that you?'

Then it started, a deep husky laugh. It climbed swiftly in volume until it roared in his head, and al he could think of was a roaring red river, pouring

out from the bowels of the Earth, and into the black of deep space, a river of blood draining the last life out of every living creature on Earth. It

was not good as he had been promised. It was real y very bad.

But it made a believer out of him.

'Chaneen!' Terry cried.

The laughter ceased, the spel broke. Terry slammed down the phone and ran for the door. Behind him, almost immediately, the phone began to

ring again. Terry kept running. He ran until he reached the street. Only then did he let out a loud scream of horror.

THIRTY-NINE

When Terry was a kid it had not been unusual for him to sit in the library until nine o'clock at night with a book in hands. Nine o'clock was when the

lights would begin to flicker overhead, indicating it was time to go home. Even as a kid he had known the only thing he wanted to do with his life was

write stories to be put on the shelf with al the other stories. He had thought that would be the most wonderful of al things. The library had always

seemed to him a holy place.

The lights were flickering as Terry finished scanning the occult section of Houston's largest community library. He had already selected a pile of

books; he could have easily selected another dozen. Esoteric literature was in vogue; the occult section took up two aisles. Carrying his books,

Terry walked to the front desk.

A plump teenager with a terrible case of acne regarded his selection with a look of contempt: The Search for Dracula, The Golden Bough, History

of Vampires, German Folk Tales, The Succubus, Monster of Dusseldorf, Werewolf, A Case History of Possession, Astrology and the Red Planet.

'How can you read stuff like this?' she asked, taking his library card. 'Doesn't it give you nightmares?'

'Sometimes,' Terry said.

'My minister said books like these should be destroyed.' She began to stamp the return dates on the inside sleeves.

'Real y?'

'Are you born again?' the girl asked.

'Huh?' Terry glanced toward the exit. Almost everyone had already left. He didn't want to walk to his car alone.

'Are you a Christian?' the girl asked. 'A Christian shouldn't be reading books like these.'

'I'm a Catholic'

'You study this.' The girl slipped a pamphlet inside his copy of The Succubus. 'A Catholic can become a Christian.'