Devil's Kiss by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Religion, Horror, Religious, occult, Horror fiction, Devil, Satan, undead, Coven, Cult, 1950s, Devil Worship, Whitfield
ISBN: 9780786010035
Publisher: Pinnacle
Published: 1980-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Sam drove to the rectory, pulling around to the rear of the building. He banged on the door. Father Dubois answered the pounding, looking at Sam without speaking; at the minister's bare chest, a pistol belted around his waist, his stained trousers, and the sack in his hand, dripping stinking crimson. The old priest nodded his understanding.

"Come in, Sam. I'll find you a shirt. It might be a bit snug, but it will cover you. Father Haskell's here with me. We've been waiting for your return."

In the priest's small living room, Sam spoke to the Episcopalian, then slipped into the shirt Dubois handed him. He was unable to button it over his massive chest, but was grateful for the warmth.

"Could I have a small glass of wine, Michael?"

The priest smiled. "How about a couple ounces of bourbon, Sam?"

Sam returned the slight smile. "Better. Thanks."

He knocked back the bourbon in two gulps, chasing the fire with a glass of water. The glow of the whiskey spread through him, warming him, calming him.

Haskell's nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell coming from the makeshift bag. "What's in the sack?" he asked, his face pale.

"Heads of the Beasts," Sam opened the bag, the heads rolling out, exposing the stench, the red staring eyes, the opened fanged mouths. Their awfulness drew gasps from Dubois and Haskell. The Episcopalian was suddenly, violently ill. He ran to the bathroom, the sounds of his vomiting drifting to the living room.

Haskell walked back into the room. "I—I'm sorry. I was not prepared for—that!" he pointed to the heads on the floor, shuddering as he looked at them.

"Don't touch them without some protection on your hands," Sam said. "They are highly infectious." He sat down, weariness overtaking him. He closed his eyes for a moment.

The minister opened his eyes when Dubois asked, "Where is Lucas?"

"What is left of him is dead," Sam answered. "Only God knows why he went—out there," he gestured with a big hand.

"Dead!" Father Haskell said numbly.

"He went because he said you'd go after— Them," Father Dubois poured himself and Haskell a glass of wine. "Lucas said he had to give you an edge—somehow. He said you had the courage of a gladiator, but you wouldn't stop to think things out before committing yourself. I guess he was right. How did he die?"

"When I found him," Sam's words were tinged with weariness, "those . .. things had been at him." He looked at the heads on the floor.

"Had they touched him?" Dubois asked.

"Clawed him and bitten him. He was bleeding badly." Sam looked at Dubois. "I think you know the rest."

"You killed him." It was a statement.

"Yes."

Haskell clasped his hands together and silently prayed.

Dubois poured Sam a short bourbon, then covered the heads with a towel from his kitchen. "Tell us what happened, Sam."

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