The Devil's Touch (8 page)

"I know the feeling."

"You going to report this to Sheriff Jenkins, Chief?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Joe. Not yet. Tell me what's on your mind."

"There have been sightings, from time to time, of— well, monsters in this area—"

Monty sighed. "Joe—"

"No, let me finish, Chief. I moved here with my folks in '43. I was just a kid. I told you that. I was a man grown 'fore I ever heard the stories 'bout the Giddon House and Fox Estate. You know what a coven is, Chief?"

"A Devil's coven?"

"That's the one. Norman Giddon's great-grandfather was supposed to have made a deal with the Devil. In return for riches, the Giddon children were all to be handed over to the Devil. You ever been inside the Giddon place, Chief?"

"No."

"Neither have I. Rumor has it the place is filled with—well, Satan stuff. Pictures of orgies and sacrifices and crap like that. And most of the sightings of monsters have been around his estate, Fox Estate, and lands he owns out in the country. Several sightings have been reported from near the old orchard, out next to the Balon house."

That got Monty's attention. "What? Whose house?"

"That young couple goes to college over at Nelson. The Balon couple."

"Before I make up my mind on what to do about Will Gibson—for some reason I'm even leary of calling this in—let's take a run over to the Balon house."

"You're driving."

Will Gibson crawled from the hole in the orchard. He looked the same as when he entered, with the exception of muddy clothing. He rubbed his hand on his neck. His neck hurt. There were two tiny puncture wounds on the side of his neck. And his head felt … odd. And he found his walk peculiar; more a lurch than a step.

He stopped and looked back toward he hole. Very well, he had found Judith and she was content. So be it. Now Will had things of his own to take care of, matters to attend to. The voices in his head told him that. He shielded his eyes from the sunlight as he lurched from the orchard. He remembered he had left sunglasses in Judith's bedroom. He entered the house, found his dark glasses, and put them on. He felt better then. He smiled and looked at his image in a mirror. His tongue and teeth felt strange. His tongue was swollen and bright red; his cuspids had grown pointed, into fangs. Everything was normal.

He willed his teeth to return to normal shape and size and watched as they did so. Fascinating.

His lurch was beginning to resemble a normal step as he walked to his car. But somehow he knew he would always walk rather oddly. No matter. He could hardly wait for darkness. There was something important he had to do and do it only by night. He didn't know what. Not yet. But he knew it would come to him.

Jon did not want to startle the lovely young woman sitting by the river, reading, so he deliberately back-tracked several hundred yards and then returned, whistling as he walked.

Patsy looked up from her Bible. She smiled as she recognized Jon. Jon was a nice Christian boy—even if he was Catholic. Jon didn't try to hit on her all the time like most of the other boys.

Patsy was a petite brunette with an hourglass figure. And she was a Christian girl without being overbearing and/or obnoxious about it. Patsy did not preach to others about her feelings toward Christ. She just went her own way, within her own small circle of friends— but lately that circle had grown much smaller, and she couldn't understand why—and carefully avoided those whom she felt were not subscribers of the teachings of Jesus Christ.

Jon smiled at her. "Hi, Patsy. If I'm disturbing you, I'll leave." The hell I will.

"Not at all, Jon. I'm glad to see you. Would you like to sit down?" She patted the ground beside him.

I'd like to play with your titties. "Sure." Jon sat beside her just as that heady hot feeling he had experienced back in his room once more swept over him. He looked at her Bible and felt a feeling of revulsion looking at it. How could anyone read that shit? What a fool he had been all those past years.

She closed her Bible and laid it aside. "It's so beautiful this time of the year. This is my very favorite season."

"Mine, too," Jon lied. He didn't have a favorite season. He just wanted some pussy.

Three months before, that word could not be found in his thoughts, much less in his vocabulary. Now it seemed a natural part of him.

She studied his face. "Is something troubling you, Jon? Would you like to discuss it with me?"

I'm going to discuss it with you. I'm going to stick some meat to you. "I know why you're here," he blurted.

"Oh?" She smiled at him.

"Yeah. So what are we waiting for?"

"Jon—are you all right?"

I'll be fine in about two minutes. "Look, Patsy, let's just get comfortable and get down to business."

"What?"

He reached for her, grabbing her roughly, one hand fumbling at her breasts. She fought away his hands and slapped him across the face.

Jon returned the slap, only much harder. The force of his blow stunned her. She fell limply into his arms.

"I knew you were just playacting," Jon said. His eyes were wild and hot with lust.

He tore her jacket from her and jerked off her shirt. He licked his lips at the sight of bare female flesh. She regained her senses and tried to fight him, but her struggles seemed only to give him more strength. He savagely tore her bra from her. The sight of her bare breasts was almost more than Jon could cope with. His growing erection was painful confined within his jeans.

He confused her by saying, "Stop pretending with me, Patsy!"

"Jon! Don't do this to me!" She fought his hands and again slapped him.

He hit her twice, rocking her head, addling her, her long hair whipping around her heart-shaped face. She felt the coldness of earth on her bare back.

Jon removed his leather belt and secured her wrists, binding them tightly. He tied the other end around a small sapling. "I've read about girls like you," he panted the words, lust making the words almost incomprehensible to her. "You bitches like it rough. Bondage. That's the word. That's the way you like it, huh—O.K., then that's the way it's gonna be."

She finally opened her mouth to scream and Jon slapped a hand over her lips and painfully wound the fingers of his other hand in her hair. His mouth close to her face, his breath hot on her cheek, he said, "If you want to live, don't scream. I don't know why you're doing this; don't know why you pretend you don't want to fuck me, but if you scream, I'll kill you. Do you understand that?"

Her eyes wide and frightened, she nodded her head.

Jon removed his hand from her mouth. "If you scream, Patsy, I'll make the hurt last a long time before you die. You'd better understand that."

"I believe you," she said softly.

He bent his head and sucked at her breasts and nipples while he worked off his jeans and underwear. He seemed oblivious to the cool air from the river. She felt his erection flop hot and heavy on her leg. She offered no resistance as he quickly undressed her and parted her legs. He tried to force his length inside her, but he was large and she was dry. He worked a finger inside her, then two. Finally moisture began to dampen her virgin tightness.

He tried again to force the head of his penis inside her. But he was so large and swollen all he accomplished was pain for both of them.

"Goddamn you!" he swore at her.

"It isn't my fault!" she returned the shout.

He slapped her. "I told you not to yell!" he hissed at the girl.

She turned her face away and wept. Her wrists ached from the leather bindings and her genital area hurt from Jon's attempted rape.

She opened her eyes and looked at his swollen maleness. The … thing seemed abnormal to her. It was. She pulled her eyes to his face. She could see evil written plainly there. "The Lord is my shepherd," she began praying. "I shall not—"

Jon slapped her. "Oh, shut up with that crap. You don't believe that shit any more than I do."

"I do!" she cried.

Black evil colored the boy's eyes. "Tell me you don't," he urged her. "Say it and it'll be easier for you."

"You won't hurt me?"

"I'll try to be easy with you. Come on, Patsy, say it. Say it." He slapped her again and again, bruising her face.

She spoke the damning words, over and over until he stopped slapping her. She repeated them.

A hot wind began blowing over youthful flesh. Something clouded Patsy's mind. The words came easier to her, and for the first time in her young life, she truly blasphemed.

Jon lay between her legs and began licking at her. Patsy tried to feel shame and revulsion at the oral act but found she could not. She felt his tongue enter her and she twisted and moaned. She was not aware of the hot wind matching her moaning and thrashing. She became wet and wanting. Jon worked fingers inside her, spreading her. He removed the leather belt.

He positioned himself and pushed. It hurt her, but still she felt something else over the pain. She laughed hoarsely and kissed him as his manhood tore through maidenhead.

Both of the young people were so involved in the heat of the act they did not notice the dark laughter rising from the river like an invisible mist.

"Oh, goddamn, that feels good!" Jon whispered.

She pulled his mouth to hers and rammed her tongue between his lips.

As he drove deeper with each thrust, filth began rolling from the mouths of the young couple in dark rivers of blasphemy. They were unaware of the black mist that covered them and the area in which they rolled and hunched and lunged at each other. The girl experienced shattering climax after building climax, finally shivering as the young man filled her with hot fluid.

They lay on the piles of clothing. "We'll rest for a time," he told her. "Then we'll do it again."

"Fucking right," Patsy said.

"Logandale one," the call came through.

"Go ahead," Monty replied.

"How'd the search go, Chief?"

"We—" Monty hesitated. "We didn't find a thing."

"I just wondered. I just seen Will Gibson getting out of his car at the hardware and he looked kind of grim. Clothes all muddy. Walked kind of funny, too. O.K., Chief, ten-fifty and out."

Joe sighed and Monty was speechless.

The cops pulled into the drive at the Balon house, parking behind Father Le Moyne's car.

"Uh-huh," Joe said.

"What does that mean, Joe?"

"Means the shit is about to hit the fan. Look over there." He pointed to the old orchard.

Sam, Nydia, and Father Le Moyne were standing in the center of the old orchard, the three of them looking at the cop car. Nydia held Little Sam in her arms.

The men got out and Monty called, "Hold up, folks." The cops walked briskly across the now rocky field.

Monty spoke to all and Sam said, "What's up, Chief?"

For the first time, Monty noticed the big .41 mag belted at Sam's waist. "You got a permit for that hand cannon, Sam?"

"It's registered," Sam told him.

"That's not what I asked, but I'll let it slide for now. But I am curious why you think you have reason for wearing a gun."

Monty felt Nydia's dark gypsy eyes searching his face. He felt she was picking his mind and was uncomfortable under her silent scrutiny. He could not hide his shock when she said, "He knows, Sam. Or suspects. And something awful other than Marie has happened. That's why they are here."

Joe grunted and visibly paled. The pull of the superstitious mountains was still strong within him, not fading with the passage of time.

"I was not aware you could read minds, Mrs. Balon," Monty said, with a touch of irritation.

"It's something I picked up from my mother's side of the family," she told him.

"Your mother must have been a very interesting woman," Monty spoke dryly.

Nydia smiled. "She was a witch. She was the daughter of Satan."

"Bitch,'itch" Little Sam said.

Father Le Moyne crossed himself. Joe muttered a softly spoken prayer. Monty experienced a giddy feeling sweep over him, muddling his thoughts.

"It's all true," Father Le Moyne said. "Chief, Joe, there are many of them in this community, and very few of us. I suggest we go to the house and talk."

"Them?" Monty questioned.

"Satan worshippers," Le Moyne told him.

"I told my daddy we ought not to leave Kentucky," Joe said, a mournful expression on his face.

Monty experienced cold fear as Sam suddenly jerked the .41 from leather, pointed the muzzle in Monty's direction, and jacked back the hammer.

"No!" Monty screamed.

Jon did not remember loosening the belt from Patsy's wrists, but the leather was gone, tossed to one side. She sat with her jacket around her bare shoulders. The young man seemed impervious to the cool late fall air. He sat naked on his jeans.

Patsy had become somewhat lucid, and could not believe the things she had done and had allowed to be done to her. "When are you going to let me go home?" she asked.

"As soon as we fuck again."

"I'm sore. You hurt me." She was careful not to mention anything about going to the police, but she was thinking it.

"You'll enjoy it more the second time. And put all thoughts of the police out of your mind."

"How did you know I was thinking of the police?"

His grin was pure black evil. "I know many things I didn't used to know. I'll teach them to you. For I know you want to learn."

"How do you know that?" A faint odor came to her, a rather pleasant odor. She inhaled it and it seemed to calm her mind.

"You cummed when I ate you."

Her blush covered her from nose to toes. But she laughed, that odor affecting her perspective. "I guess you're right. But what makes you think I won't go to the police?"

"Because it's too late for that. I just know. It's all been arranged by forces much more powerful than mere mortals." He did not know how he knew that; he just did. "I have accepted another—plan," he struggled for the word. "And so will you. I think the police are on our side."

"Our side?"

"Yours and mine. Yes. It's so easy and simple once you relax your guard." He stretched out beside her. His flaccid penis large even in softness. "And why not?" he questioned her. "There is nothing wrong in feeling good."