by Warlock Conrad Robury, First Church of Satan
Every evening for three
weeks in the humid heat of dusk and early night, Karen would sit
by the window of her flat, fearful and afraid.
She loved to walk along the banks of the river, or sit in the
park, enjoying the freshness of the air, watching the swirling,
flowing water or the people who passed her by. But for three
weeks, her day at her work done, she had locked herself in her
flat and cried.
It was a new flat, in a small estate clustered by the river as
the river wound its way through the town. For years, she had
saved to buy it.
Across the road, she could see a man standing bare-chested by his
window and she knew he was looking toward her. He smiled, waved
and disappeared from sight, and she was not surprised when her
telephone rang. She ignored it, as she did every evening.
The humidity irked her and as she stared at the billowing, dark
clouds that rushed toward her sky-scape of town, she sensed it
would rain. Her expectation was soon fulfilled. The sudden
thunder was startling but she cbuld see no lightning. Then the
rain, powerful as it stormed down from the sky.
No reason moved her, only an exhilaration to be free and she ran
down her stairs to taste and feel the freedom of rain. She walked
slowly along the pavement to where a narrow path led down toward
the bank of the river, allowing the heavy rain to mold her thin
dress around her youthful body.
She wanted to remove her dress and feel the rain on her naked
flesh but knew the society in which she lived would never
understand her desire nor the innocent joy its fulfillment would
bring her. She walked only a few yards along the river path
before realizing she was being followed.
She did not run but quickened her pace to take another path to
lead her back to the road where she lived. She saw him as she
reached her door and fumbled with her keys. Then she was safe
inside, with her door locked and bolted. She could hear him
whistle tunelessly as he waited outside. Up the stairs that led
to her flat her telephone waited. But she would not use it to
bring help. Her pleas to the police the week before had brought
only kind words - "There's nothing we can do," someone
had said while she sensed they did not believe her.
Twilight and the end of the storm brought no relief. She kept
away from the window where she liked to sit and watch as darkness
slid slowly over her town. For the man in the flat across the
road was there, smiling while he waited, flexing his
well-muscled, tanned body as he preened himself in the light of
his room. Twice she saw him, as she hid by her curtains, leave,
and twice her telephone rang.
The storm seemed to have stolen the humid air, but sleep did not
come with its tender grace and Karen lay on her bed, increasingly
angry at this waste in her life. Shy and gentle by nature, she
was slow to make friends and her six months in her new town had
been lonely months. Only her solitary walks had pleased her.
It was past midnight when her telephone rang again. A vague
terror suffused her briefly before her anger returned. But her
anger was brief, and she sighed, as an old woman full of wisdom
might sigh, before walking across her bedroom to her small
bookcase of books.
The leather-bound volume had been a gift from her mother and she
caressed the leather before laying the book down by her bed. The
amber necklace, carefully wrapped in silk, brought a beautiful
radiance to her face and she felt happy to be wearing it again.
The elegant dress she selected seemed appropriate to the occasion
and she dressed herself slowly and carefully, mindful of the
impression she would make.
To calm herself, she read a few passages from the book, allowing
her hand to stroke the amber that encircled her neck. It would be
good, she felt, to walk in the moonlight toward the night-life in
the centre of the town.
At first, he did not believe it and rubbed his eyes. But she
really was leaving her flat. Her elegance and beauty surprised
him, and he watched with lascivious delight as she walked along
the pavement. It did not take him long to dress himself in black
and from his collection he selected a sharp knife.
Soon, in the stillness of the hour past midnight, he was stalking
her, his rubber-soled shoes noiseless as he deftly caressed the
pavement with his feet. A car, its headlights bright even in the
sodium light of the street, passed, but he crept down by a fence
and the car was soon ~gone.
She turned to take the road that led along the river toward the
weir and he quickened his step, his heart beating quick in
anticipation. Then she was only a few feet ahead. No one around,
only trees where the houses thinned, a large expanse of grass,
the growing sound from the weir.
His knife ready, he grabbed at her neck. She did not resist as he
held the knife to her throat and pushed her toward a tree. Then
he turned her round. Two large eyes stared back at him. They were
not human eyes, for they lay above a mass of small, swarming
tentacles. In an alien kiss of death, the tentacles suckered
themselves to his face.
Desperately, he slashed at them with his knife while something
warm and sticky splashed at his hands and eyes. Then he was free,
stumbling to the ground. Terror forced him to his feet and he ran
away toward the weir. He was being pursued and the horror behind
him seemed to be gaining on him. He stole a look but his eyes
were burning and in agony he ran for several yards, blind, before
clawing his own sockets with his hands.
He could not see the river, heavy with sediment and swollen by
storm rain, but he felt its coldness as he tripped and fell,
grasped by its waiting waves. Several times he raised his head
above the water, gulping desperately, but the currents were too
strong and, inexorably, he was sucked down where water waited to
change its place with the warm air within his lungs.
Half-asleep within her room, Karen sighed before laying the book
aside. A cold chaos of stars formed briefly in a corner of her
room and she smiled at it. Then it was gone.
It was a beautiful dawn and, refreshed from her sleep, Karen
walked down her stairs to unlock her door. The warm wind of the
night had dried the pavement of the rain and she walked deftly
toward the river. The river path was muddy, but she did not care.
The body of a man lay awkward and tangled in the drenched
branches of a leaning tree, the face a bloodied mask. Karen stood
above it and sighed. "I'm sorry," she said in a kindly
voice, "but you made me angry. I don't like being
angry."
She smiled at the water. A broken branch from a tree, swept down
by storm, was carried fast toward her but she did not look as it
broke the body free. The dawn light was enchanting and, like a
little girl, she skipped playfully along the path, wondering what
she could do with the power she had found. Her mother had never
understood the Dark Gods like she did.
Anger was her Gate, but gentleness her protection and as she
walked along by the river under the burgeoning warmth of the sun,
she resolved never to get angry again. Vaguely, she knew her
resolution might not last.¶