F

This piece is original, found on a disk and cleaned up, but not M.S., though disability in that the main character is a double amputee. Not a feel-good story, but a horror piece that grew out of a nightmare and I felt compelled to write it.

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Vengeance

F. Alexander Brejcha

Was it real?

I wonder sometimes. Whenever I try to remember my life before that winter it's like trying to look through the icy lace that frosts a winter-time pane of glass. The world beyond becomes an unreal fantasy.

Blood on the snow becomes a pretty pink haze... No! Not those memories again!

I leaned back and turned the wheelchair away from the wall-mounted mirror. My eyes were burning and the small room blurred.

The phone rang once.

Then I heard my own voice kick in with an aggravatingly calm and normal-sounding voice that recited the usual stupid crap about my not being home and would the caller please leave a message.

"Mitch?" the familiar voice on the other end asked, sounding irritated. I didn't move. The last time I had heard the voice I had been lying in a hospital bed in agony. What the voice had told me meant that my life was over.

"Come on Mitch! I know you're there. You never go out. Pick up the damn phone. I know what happened. You were right, in a way." The admission sounded reluctant.

The rest of the room disappeared and only the phone was real. I found myself moving towards it and picking up the receiver which seemed to weigh a ton.

"I'm here." My voice was flat; the voice of a dead man, but I didn't care. That's how I felt.

"Thank God." Thompson sounded relieved. "Listen, Mitch. I know you've been through a wringer and that we didn't believe you when it happened ‑‑"

"So, what changed your mind?" I smelled excuses coming and didn't feel like listening to them. Dan could hear my impatience and changed directions immediately.

"It's happened again. A young couple out camping with their kids. The oldest son -- he's twelve -- managed to hide and get away. The local police called us in when they found the bodies of the rest of the family. We took custody of the boy and after almost a week of intensive therapy, he was finally able to tell us what happened. He told us a story similar to yours."

Dan's words wavered a moment as I thought about the time. Winter... December... my eyes looked over at the calendar hanging on the wall until I realized I probably hadn't turned up a page for months. Outside the sun was shining as furiously as ever. Southern Texas was hot. No snow. No winters... not really. That's why I had moved here.

"What day is it... what month is it?" The question sounded stupid, even to me.

There was a long moment of silence touched with static until Dan's voice came back. "It's January--"

"When did it happen!" I cut him off rudely, but I didn't care.

"December 31st," came the reluctant answer. "Two years since what happened to you. To the day--"

"To the hour, I'll bet." Reality wavered as I interrupted him again. Not now! Please God, not now! I hadn't flashed back on it for months now. I'd numbed myself too much. I kept trying to remember the good times and block out what happened on that New Year's Eve, but it was no good. The only memories that were ever clear were those that hurt the most. Called up by the slightest association sometimes.

Like looking in the mirror.

So I had shut myself away. I would have been preserved in alcohol by now except that would have meant going out to get the booze. So I just stayed glued to the TV. Night and day, dozing when I couldn't keep my eyes open. The disability checks went straight to the bank and the corner grocery store delivered my food and whatever else I needed. The delivery boy took a check for payment so I really didn't need to go out, for anything. When I remembered, I did laundry. I had machines in the apartment. And trash went into a chute in a utility closet on the floor. So I was in a safe self-contained world.

I really was. I had had conversion work done in the apartment so I could use the bathroom and kitchen with ease despite having lost both legs. My injuries were all healed. A doctor came to the apartment every couple of months to check on me -- he had come every two weeks the first year -- after calling the day before. I always cleaned up myself and the apartment as soon as I knew he was coming. So he was happy and never stayed long. He only cared that I was healing well and that he got paid extra for the house-call.

I was a happy vegetable in other words. Most of the time.

I forced myself to concentrate on Dan's words.

"...they made a mistake this time, though, and the police were able to track them down. We'd like you to come back to Colorado with us. The police would like to see if you can identify them, the boy's testimony isn't reliable. So they would like to go over what happened again and use you as a witness. The records from before are a little weak ‑‑"

"Because you didn't believe me and didn't take very good notes," I cut him off sharply. I could almost see him nod, forcing a look of chagrin on his face.

"You're right," he conceded. "We made a mistake and thought it was all a hoax. You can't blame us for not believing you. There was no evidence to corroborate your story. Then. But now we know you were telling the truth -- as far as you know it. And we need your help."

That must have been hard to say, I thought to myself, a small spark of life flickering. A chance for revenge? A new thought pushed forward in my mind. Revenge against... that...? My mind shied away from the memories that had been haunting me for too long.

"I asked: will you help?" I realized Dan was patiently repeating the question. I nodded, my mouth dry, and then realized he couldn't see me.

"Okay," I finally managed to spit out.

"Great," Dan said. "We'll have someone down there to pick you up by the end of the day. Don't bother packing."

A dial tone took over.

As I hung up it hit me what he meant. I was going back. Back to Colorado... back to where it happened. This time I couldn't stop it and I felt myself spiraling back to that New Year's Eve... back to Uncle Bob's cabin near Boulder...

Kathy and I were using it for a little second honeymoon because our flight had been canceled due to weather conditions. Uncle Bob was always in California during the winter and the cabin was shut up, but he had told us where he had the key hidden and there were plenty of canned foods in the pantry. It was a heavensent opportunity because of the bizarre weather. Denver and the area to the East of it was in the middle of a major snow-storm and Stapleton airport was totally socked in, but the Boulder area was totally clear; only a couple of inches on the ground. So staying in a nice cozy cabin in the woods seemed a hell of a lot more appealing than a crowded hotel in a snowbound city. Since I had already missed my appointment in New York, we had decided to spend a few days snuggling next to an open fire, instead.

So, there we were, tucked away in peaceful isolation, about to ring in the New Year in front of a roaring fireplace; the aroma of fresh pine branches and burning wood perfuming the cabin with their heady natural scents. The rest of the world and all its problems had seemed so far away...

Deeper and deeper spirals, more and more involved... dragging me down to memories I fight so hard to stay away from...

"Mitch, don't tell me you forgot the champagne. It's New Year's Eve." Kathy looked over at me with her 'Look #32' that said 'darling befuddled and absentminded husband mine, you did it again'. It was a look that always reminded me of a mother's patience with a loved, but hopeless child. It was guaranteed to make me feel like burying my head in the sand. I'd never seen her lose her temper, not once. Which was good. I was never able to lose my own. The one time I had, because I had been worried about her not wanting to give up her smoking, she had just sat back and waited till I finished ranting and then smiled. How can you fight that, I ask?

So, as usual, I just shrugged and backed away from where I had been adding wood to the fire. "I'm sorry, darling."

She smiled and reached deep into her back pack that had been lying behind the couch and pulled out a pregnant-looking bottle. "It's only Paul Masson, but it's quite good. Why don't you stick it in the refrigerator. We still have several hours till midnight."

I stared at her. "You brought a bottle?"

"I know you, darling, and I know how busy you were the last few days before we left; what with getting the other partners to cover your clients and finishing up the Deevers deposition. So, I figured you might forget ‑‑"

"Oh, yeah?" I bent down and laid a finger on her lips gently, silencing her. Then I leaned down and silenced her a bit more effectively with my own lips, drawing the moment out sweetly.

When she was finally able to come up for air, her lips were curved in a satisfied smile. "Yeah. But you do have a nice way of shutting me up, dear." She leaned back and cocked her head, studying me.

The flickering light from the fireplace raised shifting glints of light in her long auburn hair and my mouth went dry as I looked at her reclining there dressed only in a high-necked long flannel nightgown she jokingly called her chastity belt. I kept telling her she should have asked for a refund ages ago, but she always just laughed and hung onto it.

The smile was suddenly seductive and her brown eyes were burning as she looked at me. The tip of her tongue crept out to flick lightly across her lips. Her voice was a soft velvet caress when she finally spoke. "As I said, there are still several hours left till midnight..." She held out her hands to me...

It always started that way. Seductively pleasant, the peace of that evening, before...

The door crashed open and three cloaked figures entered. They wore long robes of rough burlap dyed in intricate colored patterns, cinched at the waist with red ropes whose tasseled ends hung down almost to the floor. Their heads were concealed almost like a Klu Klux clansman's, but the hoods were of the same material and garish patterning as their robes. Each of the three carried a long staff made of metal that was crowned by an intricate carving of a ram's head, and they all wore large medallions with the classic pentagram.

In any other setting I would almost have been tempted to laugh at the sight. The idea of Satanic worshippers in the Colorado mountains seemed so incongruous. In California, perhaps. Or down in the bayous of Louisiana or in grimy back-alleys of New York City. But here in the pristine winter mountains, they didn't fit.

But any temptation to ridicule died a quick death as the leader, a tall figure well over six foot six, raised his staff and brought it around in a vicious blurring slash that decapitated the handmade lamp I had helped Uncle Bob to turn on the lathe in the wood-shed out back fifteen years before. The solid oak center-post was nearly three inches thick where the staff smashed into it and I realized the upper two feet of the staff was a razor-sharp blade. It was more a sword than anything else.

The sharp crack of the impact and the drop in light as the lamp died froze me and Kathy grabbed onto my arm with a hiss of fear. I couldn't blame her. I was suddenly deathly afraid myself.

What were they up to? No one had said a word to that point. They were just looking around. But then the leader finally spoke.

"Is anyone else here?" The voice was a deep and cultured baritone, with a faint British accent, that seemed to fill the room.

I shook my head. "No. We're alone here ‑‑"

"Who are you?" he interrupted me. The other two had fanned out and were standing silently about five feet to either side of the leader.

I explained who we were and why we were here, afraid to ask the obvious question: 'Who the devil are you?' He cut me off when I got to the reasons for us staying in the cabin instead of in Boulder or in Denver.

"Unfortunate for you," was his simple comment. Something in his tone terrified me and I felt Kathy's fingers dig into my arm as he explained. "We use this cabin when your uncle is away ‑‑"

"Which he doesn't know, I presume." I don't know what made me interrupt him, and for a moment I was afraid I had made a fatal mistake when I saw the hand holding the lethal staff waver briefly and tense. But the hand steadied quickly and a deep chuckle filled the room.

"No, he doesn't know, needless to say," was his answer after a moment. "We always clean everything up and make sure everything is exactly as he left it. Your uncle is a meticulous housekeeper, which makes things easy."

He stepped closer and I felt Kathy twisting on the couch to keep behind me. Her other arm was on my shoulder and I could feel her warm body press close to my back. For some reason I had the feeling she was being watched very closely. More than I was.

The antiseptic and utilitarian sameness of the hotels around the airport suddenly seemed incredibly inviting.

As the tall leader approached, his voice almost purred his next words. "Your presence here is a fortunate coincidence, though." He seemed to be enjoying our fear. There was no denying that his attention was on Kathy now. I could see his eyes through the eye holes, and their icy green stare was fixed on her, totally ignoring me. "Would you like to know what we do here?" He finally asked me, briefly turning away from Kathy.

Not in the least! was my only thought. But all I could manage was a shake of the head. I was getting too angry to trust myself to speak. The fear had evaporated when I realized Kathy was in danger. I was eyeing the staff surreptitiously. Trying to gauge my chances of getting it away from him.

He moved the staff closer, gaze shifting to me. "Care to try?" he teased. "Go ahead. Try me!"

His voice was an ice-cold challenge, the eyes narrowing under the hood and I saw the corded muscles of his hand and wrist tense. Wrists thicker than my arm, almost. I didn't move, hating myself even as I realized I didn't stand a chance. Kathy must have felt me tensing and realized what I had been thinking about, too, because she leaned close and I heard her whisper "don't" urgently in my ear, her breath hot.

"Listen to her," was the large Satanist's comment. He must have seen me relax because he did, too. "We meet here," he answered himself, "once a year when the year changes, to pray to our Master." I relaxed a little. Maybe I was overreacting? "And offer sacrifice," he finished, looking directly at Kathy.

I lost it and tore free from Kathy and jumped him.

When I woke up, I was gagged, bound hand and foot and

unceremoniously dumped on the floor by the fireplace. The ropes they had tied me up with were tight, digging into my flesh and cutting off my circulation. I could feel the heat of the flames reach out and lick the left side of my face while my right felt chilled by the draft that crept in from the door that wasn't entirely closed.

I couldn't see Kathy anywhere and a desperate fear came over me. Where was she? The back of my head throbbed and I realized I had been knocked out. How long had I been unconscious? I couldn't read my watch; the way it was turned and my hands bound, the watch face was hidden from me.

Then I remembered: there was a clock over the fire-place. I rolled onto my side and twisted until I could see the wall over the fire. It was 9:45. I'd been unconscious for over three hours! But my rapid shift in position was making my head swim and the clock blurred and faded.

I found myself staring up at the clock some time later, the hands a blur for a minute. But the pain from my back helped me concentrate and I was able to focus. It was almost eleven! I must have blacked out again.

Where was Kathy? I wondered with growing fear. Then I remembered the tall Satanist's words about a "sacrifice" and felt suddenly ill. I was confused, though. I always thought the sacrifices in these rituals were supposed to be virgins. But then, all I knew about Devil worship and black magic were from movies and books.

From outside I heard a low rhythmic chanting. It had probably been there all along, but the ringing in my ears had masked it. Now that I was feeling a little better -- aside from a splitting headache -- I could hear the crackling of a large fire outside, mingling with the low sing-song words of several dozen male and female voices. There was a spicy smell in the air, too. A mixture of exotic woods and oils mingling in a smoky union. It was a strong, almost intoxicating odor combined with the regular drone of incomprehensible words...

I realized I had drifted off again for a moment, still woozy from the blow and lulled by the chanting outside. I looked up at the clock with a surge of fear.

It was 11:10.

My eyes shot desperately around the room, trying to think where there might be something I could use to try to free myself. They had tied my hands in front of me. A mistake. If I could find a knife, I'd be able to free my legs.

The kitchen.

I looked across the polished plank floor and winced. A distance that seemed so trifling when walking, was suddenly a monumental obstacle when viewed from the worm's-eye viewpoint. I aimed myself and started rolling, periodically doubling up and twisting to avoid various furnishing obstacles. Table legs, chairs, bookcases; they were all very inconveniently placed for someone in my position.

But I reached the kitchen quicker than I thought and looked around. I tried to think of what I could use to free myself. On top of the island counter in the middle of the large kitchen, I saw the knife stand. Half a dozen razor sharp kitchen knives of various sizes -- but totally beyond reach.

Outside, the chanting picked up its pace and volume. I glanced around for a clock. Then I saw one on the wall-mounted range. It was 11:20.

I don't know why I was sure midnight was it. Movies' and books' mentions of the witching hour? It had never been said. But somehow I knew Kathy would not make it past twelve o'clock.

I looked back up at the counter desperately trying to figure out how to reach the knives. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the half-open pantry door -- and through it: the broom leaning against the wall. I did my best snake imitation to try to get over to it and managed to nudge open the door with my chin. How to get the broom? Teeth. I stretched out my neck and clamped down with my teeth on the broom handle near the bristles, tasting dust and peeling paint in my mouth.

Then it was time for the trip back across the floor to the counter that held the knives. The broom-handle kept swaying and banging into counters and the range, each impact jarring my teeth and setting up sympathetic pains in the back of my head where I had been knocked unconscious. With each impact, I cast a panicked glance at the door and listened carefully for any change in the chanting that might signal an awareness of my actions.

Bit by bit I was able to move into position and brace myself so I could reach the knives. Wincing in pain, I started probing with the broom. My neck was killing me from the awkward angle I had to keep it at, and my jaw was screaming in agony from keeping the weight of the long broom in my grip as I fished around trying to knock down the knife-rack onto the floor. Finally I connected with one awkward swing and the rack toppled over to land on the floor on the other side of the counter.

I let go of the broom gratefully, spitting out flakes of paint and splinters of dry wood as I wormed my way around the counter and saw the knives spread out across the floor, looking for a good one to use.

The nearest one was a razor-sharp paring knife that was perfect and I wiggled over to it and grabbed it my numb hands, twisting into a sitting position with my back against the counter. I glanced back at the clock and moaned. It was 11:30.

Leaning forward, I sawed rapidly at the ropes tying together my feet. Suddenly the knife didn't seem so sharp any more as strand after strand reluctantly parted and seemed to be replaced immediately by new ones. And then, as I twisted a bit to get better leverage, I suddenly found myself staring at the bottom of a colorful burlap robe and looked up, trying not to cry in frustration. It was the tall leader of the Satanists.

"Very resourceful," was his simple comment. "But I'm afraid it was a wasted effort. Your presence is required for the final ceremony. I think you'll find it very interesting. You might even join us." He laughed. It was an evil, cold sound.

"By the way, my name is Asmodeus," he went on. "At least in this time and place. We take the name of figures we admire in demonology."

Then he reached down and grabbed me by the front of my shirt and with a swift and effortless thrust brought me to my feet, my eyes level with the bottom of his cowl. I resisted an animal urge to grab for his throat with my teeth, rage and anxiety over Kathy mounting with the increasing volume of the voices outside. An unholy counterpoint had been added to the numbing repetitive chanting. A single clear woman's soprano whose unintelligible words rang out clearly, accenting each syllable of the deeper voices. There was an electric charge to the air -- literally, I realized as I saw the hairs on my arm standing out clearly on my forearm. What was going on? I wondered. This was more than a group of dangerous nuts!

I found myself urged out into the night, the freezing air slamming into my lungs as soon as I took my first breath. But I forgot all about the cold as I saw what confronted me.

On the large lawn of the front yard, which had been a pristine field of new snow when we came to the cabin, an oval of robed people stood. They surrounded a large bonfire whose flames leaped and danced with a strangely greenish glow; an unholy blaze that was contained in a giant metal bowl of some sort. At one end of the living oval was a strange altar of sorts on which lay Kathy's nude and motionless figure.

Asmodeus saw my agonized look and his iron grip locked me in place. "She's alive. And in case you believe the nonsense about virgins and such, forget it. Purity is vital. And we have ways of sensing such you wouldn't understand. But purity and virginity are two different things. There are many a virgin whose soul would make Satan himself flush with joy over her kinship with Him. And even the occasional harlot whose purity of spirit would admit her even to the heaven our Master was cast out of. Your wife is neither a virgin or a harlot, but she is a pure woman. And thus a fitting offering to our Master."

I was numb. The futility of fighting this had hit home and I felt totally limp. I was glad Kathy was unconscious. God, can't you make them take me instead? I cried mentally.

Asmodeus seemed to read my mind. "No, you can't take her place." He saw my look of surprise. "You're not the first to make such a wish," he explained. "With a woman like her as your wife, the desire is natural."

How long ‑‑"

"Ten years," Asmodeus again seemed to read my mind. Or my face. "For ten years we have made sacrifice here. There are points on this earth where the boundaries between dimensions thin and the Master may more easily extend his influence into this realm. We usually bring our sacrifices here from outside so local authorities won't be alarmed by disappearances. But this year there was a problem. Our intended offering took her own life. One of the Sisters guarding her did not pay proper attention to her duties. We were going to seek a new offering in town, until we found you two. We waited until you were settled in to prevent the possibility of escape -- by whatever means." He paused and forced me forward, towards the altar. A gap opened automatically in the chanting oval. They didn't falter for a moment. As the gap closed behind us, I felt suddenly weak. In body and mind. The proximity of the fire and the suddenly overpowering strength of the heady perfumed flames combined to warm me, and weaken me. I had to force myself to keep to my feet. Asmodeus was unaffected and his iron grip forced me closer to Kathy. As we approached her, Asmodeus pulled out a huge knife from somewhere and freed my hands with a quick slash. He stuck the knife into his belt where it picked up the reflections of the fire, tempting me. He saw the direction of my look and laughed. "Try it," he dared me again. I saw he was ready and I slumped. He laughed and pushed me towards Kathy. I fell onto her body and cradled her in my arms, trying to rouse her.

I heard an icy chuckle behind me and saw the tall Satanist wave his hand in an intricate pattern. I felt Kathy's body shiver in response and her eyes opened.

She fought me for a moment until she saw who was holding me and then she grabbed me convulsively. "Mitch, what's happening? I don't remember anything after you were knocked out."

I explained the little I knew and held her close. The feel of her in my arms did as much to calm me as I did for her. We clung to each other as Asmodeus withdrew and took a place in the surrounding circle of anonymous figures.

The heat of the fire had melted away the snow that had covered the field, and it seemed to be trying to do the same to us. I felt totally unable to move away from the altar. I tried several times to step away from it, but the moment I even tried, my strength ebbed so badly I nearly collapsed. We were trapped somehow by Asmodeus.

The tall man finally spoke up after seeing me try for the fourth time. "It's no use." Then he looked at Kathy. "Your husband is doomed. Face that fact. He will never leave this place alive." He paused, and there was an echoing finality to his words that somehow left no doubt about what he had just said. I felt Kathy's arms dig in numbingly as he went on. "You, however have a choice."

I didn't like the sound of that, as I answered for her, "what choice?" My mouth was dry, but I wanted to hear how she might be spared.

"It's very simple." He ignored me and spoke to her as if I was already dead. "Your soul, or your life. Many try to sell their souls to the Devil for some favor or other, but most who think along that path are wasting time, because their souls are lost anyway. But you are pure in spirit and the corruption of your soul would be of value. And if not, you will make a splendid sacrifice." He held up his hands and shrugged his massive shoulders. "It's that simple." I could almost imagine him smiling under the hood. "It's a no-lose situation for the Master."

I turned to Kathy and grabbed her chin to aim her face up at mine, hissing softly to her, "tell him yes. I still don't think this is quite for real. We might be hypnotized or something. God knows what's in that smoke. If giving him what he wants will save your life, do it!" I hoped he couldn't hear me over the chanting and the crackling of the fire.

Kathy's eyes were wide and she shook her head urgently. "No!" she whispered, keeping me between her and Asmodeus so he shouldn't read her lips. "They're going to kill ‑‑"

"We can't change that," I whispered back. "But if you can get away, maybe you can give the police something they can use to track these guys ‑‑"

"Foolish children!" A deep sarcastic voice interrupted from behind. "You don't believe. Well, that's normal. But I'm afraid there's no time to consider." We turned to him helplessly. Something seemed to have reached into me and forced me physically to face him. I felt Kathy shivering slightly, but not out of fear. I knew the sign. She might fear for herself sometimes, though not easily, but threaten someone she cares about and look out! I had forgotten the one time I had seen her this furious before. It was when a hit-and-run motorist had run over this beautiful Labrador retriever who had frozen from the headlights of his car. Instead of stopping and checking on the dog, he had just calmly driven on.

She had been shivering in rage then, too. She had calmly turned the car around -- we had been on the way home from a concert -- and followed him for thirty miles till he got home, telling me to jot down the license number and description of the car. I had already used my cell phone to call an animal hospital in the area with a 24-hour emergency service -- I knew the vet and trusted him to pick up the dog, But that had not been enough for Kathy. After following the hit and run driver home, she pulled up behind him and waited for him to step out before very calmly getting out of the car to give him a round-house punch that would have made Mike Tyson proud.

She had damned near knocked him out, too. Five foot four inches never had so much fury packed into one small fist. Then she had come back to the car and asked me to drive home. Turned out she had broken four bones in her hand, but she had never made a sound all the way to the hospital. Her white face and clenched jaw had told me what had happened, though, and I had made the necessary detour.

Now she was in the same rage and I felt myself respond, my feelings for her so strong I could hardly speak.

Asmodeus continued to ignore me. "It's time my dear. Join us and surrender your soul or you die alongside him."

"And what do I have to do to prove my... allegiance to your master?" Kathy almost spat the words.

"Why, kill your husband, of course." He held out the large knife he had freed me with. "If that doesn't damn your soul and prove your faith, what else would?" Asmodeus started laughing with a loud braying sound.

Kathy was staring at him in disbelief. "Forget it!" she finally managed to get out.

"Then you'll die, too," was the instant, flat answer. He raised his arms high, the sleeves dropping back to the elbow to reveal massively muscled forearms decorated with vividly colored tattoos of snakes that sinuously embraced his flesh. As the arms reached up, the chanting changed and I glanced at my watch to see that it was only seconds before midnight.

As the surrounding voices sped up and changed cadence, the air took on an electric charge that I could feel through my whole body. I saw Kathy's smooth skin roughen as goosebumps spread over her body and the almost invisibly fine hair on it stood on end.

Asmodeus began chanting words in a bizarre Latin-sounding language -- backwards Latin? As he did, Kathy stiffened and shoved me away with an incredible strength that sent me tumbling to the ground, sliding on the wet grass. She was standing proudly, her arms and body straining upwards. The flickering flames lent an incredibly sensuous beauty to her taut body and the breath caught in my throat. Asmodeus approached and I almost growled as he got near her. He ran his hands up her thighs familiarly, dipping in to her waist and slowly up to cup her breasts, thumbs caressing her nipples. All the while he was looking at me and I could sense his amusement as I tried to rise and run to him. I wanted to kill him!

"She is a beautiful creature, isn't she," he asked, voice teasing me as I struggled to get up. "I can understand your devotion. But let's test it a bit, shall we?" He let go of Kathy and pulled out his knife again. He held it out to Kathy, who took it. I could see her eyes narrowing with effort. I had the feeling she would have happily sliced his throat if she would have been able to.

And the nightmare began.

Her body changed as she stood there. Thickening, and hunching over. Her beautiful face twisted and grew ugly as her brow and jaw thrust forward. The satin-smooth skin turned coarse and pitted and her perfect breasts dried up and hung flaccidly on her chest. Her mouth dropped open to reveal jagged and rotting stumps as she growled in deep bass rumble. But the worst were her eyes -- deep-set and burning with an unholy fire -- as they glared out at me with no hint of recognition. She stalked towards me, knife held high.

Asmodeus laughed and held up a twin to the knife he had given Kathy. "Here," he laughed. "For you. You better use it. She'll kill you. She's not in control of her body right now... of course, you already guessed that, didn't you?" He tossed the knife towards me and it landed inches in front of me, point buried in the ground and the haft quivering.

I was able to move again!

I reached down and grabbed the knife, weighing it in my hand. It was a massive blade, gleaming in the firelight. I turned towards Asmodeus but suddenly found myself frozen again.

"Ah ah," he chided me. "Naughty boy. You can't use it against me, or any of my flock."

I heard ragged breathing nearby and smelled a rank rotting odor as I spun to confront the misshapen form that had been Kathy just minutes ago. The knife was held high, arm ready to strike. Then the figure stopped, shivering as if fighting with itself. I felt a surge of hope. The knife drooped and her eyes cleared, familiar but tortured orbs looking out at me.

"Save yourself! Kill me before I kill you, I can't fight..." the harsh croak was cut off and the eyes once again shone red. The knife arm went up.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Asmodeus standing there, and I hear him chuckle softly. Her momentary return hadn't bothered him. He wants me to kill her, I realized. To kill her to save myself. The same deal he offered Kathy.

I dropped my knife, bracing myself. I didn't doubt the reality of what was happening, of course. Not anymore. I was not going to risk my soul anymore than Kathy had. Assuming I had such a thing and that it was of value to anyone... anything, I corrected myself. But I was not about to kill the woman I loved!

Seeing my surrender, the attacking figure fell on me with a triumphant growl, knife stabbing down. But at the last moment, the growl changed into a familiar, clear voice that cried out a denial and the thrust was pulled back. Except it was too late. There was too much energy in the slash and the knife ripped into my left leg instead, the wide, razor sharp blade slicing open my thigh and then burying itself to the hilt in my right leg. I screamed in pain.

And cried.

I saw the figure shaking itself, muttering "no! No, I won't," even as it swung the knife in broad directionless jabs. Several times more I felt the blade bite into my body and I grabbed for her. This was my wife damn it! I hugged her close, trying to ignore the rank stench that oozed from the rough skin. She struggled at first and over her shoulder I saw Asmodeus' fists clenching as he muttered angrily.

"Damn fools! Give it up... Kill! Damn you, kill!"

"NO!" we both shouted. I saw the hideous shell covering her shimmer and found myself holding Kathy again. She threw away the knife and grabbed me, sobbing. She was soaked with blood... my blood, and hers. I saw cuts on her body, too. But she was back! I grabbed her tight, tears pouring down my face, too. I didn't even feel the pain anymore; just weakness. The world wavered around me and I saw Kathy's face twist in horror as she looked down and saw what she had done while controlled by... whatever. Behind her I saw Asmodeus approach, A knife held high, the knife Kathy had thrown away. I tried to warn her but I couldn't speak. Kathy saw my look of fear and twisted towards him, letting go of me as she rose to face him... just as he swept the knife down and across her throat in a vicious sweep that slit it open wide, blood spraying out from the severed jugular to paint lines across the remaining snow beyond the circle. I screamed and lunged for him but collapsed over her limp body staring out at the snow further away from the fire that was streaked with a tracery of blood...

Rivers and traceries of blood... My eyes... in the mirror. They're blood-shot from lack of sleep. The veins against the white of the eyeball trace crooked paths of red against a white field. Under hair as dark as a night sky over the field of snow where Kathy died... where Dan was taking me back... I had to clean up, to get ready. I was staring back in the mirror.

How long had I been sitting here? My body ached in memory of the pain I had lived for months after the police had come and taken me to the hospital. They had never quite understood what had happened. Had I killed my wife? The knife had been found in my hand and I had been lying right by her body. The other knife was in her hand. Had she attacked me and had I killed her to defend myself? The questions had come hard and fast as soon as I had been conscious.

I had tried to tell the incredulous officers what had actually happened and they had promptly called in Dan and other psychiatrists to try to find out the reason for this incredible fantasy tale I was trying to pass off on them.

No one had ever believed anything I had told them, of couse. There had been no trace of a fire, or any of the events I had described. The storm that had socked in Denver had spread to the West and new snow had wiped out the melted area I had described. I had been found and rescued, at the point of death, because of a coincidental search for a crashed private plane in the area. The search teams had spotted our car, the wide-open cabin and our bodies out in the open.

Had they really found Asmodeus?

Had it been real? I had almost started to believe the psychiatrists' assertions that I had Killed Kathy after a fight. Only my injuries, the intensity of my flashbacks and the inconsistencies in the autopsy findings had spared my sanity -- and given me my freedom.

The coroner had insisted that the degree of my injuries at the time Kathy had been killed had been too severe for me to have been able to inflict such a strong slash at her at the angle that the cut had been made. All findings were consistent with her having been standing up at the time of death and I obviously could not have killed her in such a position. Both my legs had been too severely cut to allow me to stand. Also, my blood loss would have weakened me too much. The coroner's finding, reluctantly accepted, had been that an unknown third party had inflicted all the injuries and had made it seem as if we had attacked each other.

A small comfort, but not an insignificant one. I wouldn't have been able to stand it if her family would have thought there was a strong chance that I had actually killed her myself.

But now all I could do was to try to remember. To remember the good times. The love. I knew that had been real and I needed to keep that in my mind when I feared for my sanity. But too often, the only memories that came were of how I had lost her.

The loss of my legs would have been a small price to pay, though, if I could only have kept her.

The trauma, frostbite, and vascular damage that I had suffered had assured that both legs had had to come off. The cold had actually helped though in terms of slowing circulation and freezing off some bleeding.

Suddenly the doorbell rang and I dropped my razor, startled by the unfamiliar sound. The only visitor I ever had was the grocery boy. My ride already? I looked at my watch lying by the sink and realized how late it was. I cursed myself and went to get the door. Whoever Dan had sent would just have to wait till I was ready.

The next day I found myself in the dark behind a one-way mirror. Under bright lights along a wall in the other room were five massive figures. Next to me a patient police detective was explaining that I would have to try and identify the suspect from what I did remember.

"As Dr. Thompson told you, a hysterical young boy was found by some campers in the mountains near your uncle's cabin. Actually, it's now empty, your uncle doesn't use it anymore. But from what they were able to get out of the boy, his parents had been killed. The local police found them, dead, in front of the cabin. Both dead of extensive stab wounds. The boy had babbled something about magical spells and stuff and that his parents had stabbed each other. Also some nonsense about his mother turning into a monster. Obviously drugs and brainwashing of some sort was involved." The detective gave me a sympathetic smile. "That explains your fixation with the rituals you claim you were a part of. But we got lucky in this case. Physical evidence on the scene led us to a suspect. He refuses to answer any questions or to identify any of his followers. But we have corroborating evidence that he is a Satanist, both from material found at his home and from other sources."

I studied the line-up carefully. Standing there in street clothes I had a hard time imagining any of them in the garish robes and hoods that Asmodeus and his followers had worn. Then I jotted down some words on a piece of paper and held it out to the detective.

"Have them read this, one by one, please," I asked him. He nodded and left the room.

A minute later, the first person in the line-up stepped forward and read the words, "why, kill your husband, of course. If that doesn't damn your soul and prove your faith, what else would?"

The look of confusion on his face said enough, and besides, the voice was all wrong. None of the other men in the lineup reacted with anything else but confusion, either. But one by one, they stepped up and read the words. Not one of the voices had the cultured bass rumble of Asmodeus. Nor the clipped, almost British accent. I looked over at the expectant officer and shook my head numbly. He wasn't there.

I was confused.

The lack of tattoos hadn't fazed me. They could have been painted on. But the voice, even disguised, I was sure I would have been able to recognize it. And besides, the incredibly powerful arms I had seen revealed that night had been real, and none of the men in the lineup had had that type of powerful muscles.

I turned and looked at Dan who had been sitting there expectantly. He looked at me in surprise.

"None of them?" he asked.

I shook my head again. "No. Believe me. I'd recognize him." I explained why and he nodded dubiously as I followed him out in the hall. "Okay, Mitch. We'll have you flown back home," he promised. "I'm sorry to have dragged you out here.

Then we saw one of the men from the lineup come walking down the hall next to a neatly dressed man who was obviously his lawyer. The police detective trailed behind him, looking totally pissed.

"If he had an alibi all along, why the hell did you let us go through all this hassle," the detective complained.

"Because of the potential compromising implications that could tarnish my client's reputation if he should be associated with such a horrible act," the lawyer explained. "My client's religious beliefs are a little unorthodox and unpopular, and this way he is fully vindicated."

The detective looked ill, and I shared his feelings.

And while the lawyer and detective spoke, the man who had been in the line-up had approached me, and he drew me a bit away from the others with a polite comment of "I hope we didn't cause you any distress," spoken in a loud voice. Then, softly, and with a smile hidden from the others, he continued: "And by the way, Asmodeus sends his regards. He figures that in time, hunting him down, you'll belong to our Master, anyway. Sooner or later." Then he patted me on the shoulder and turned back to the others with an unctuous look of sympathy on his face. "Terrible thing, that. Totally against what my associates and I practice."

He left me staring numbly at the wall. A set-up! He had been there! And Asmodeus had left evidence to lead the police to a person with a perfect alibi, just to drag me out here and rub my face in it!

A slowly building fury began burning deep down inside and I looked up at Dan, afraid to think what must have shown on my face because when he looked at me he almost dropped his briefcase.

"Dan," I began. "I think I'm going to stay here. I have a good bit of money saved and I still get disability checks. I'm going to take over my uncle's cabin and have it converted for handicap use. It won't take much. I have to face what happened to Kathy and go on with my life." Dan looked confused as I went on: "And I even think I might take up hunting."