Once the two journalists had gotten into their rental car and watched the painter take off before them in a compact dark car, Stuart turned the key in the ignition.
A thought flickered through Mel’s head. “Oh great. How are we to follow him? He’s going to know if we’re after him.”
“For all we know, he might be going back to the bed and breakfast to get some sleep,” Stuart replied. “Besides, there are a couple other cars leaving too—we can blend in the crowd.”
“Until everyone leaves and it’s just him and us.”
“Relax, we’re going to be behind him. With the glare of the headlights, I don’t think he’ll be able to us out, even if he’s looking.”
There was one other car between them and the painter. Stuart kept a close eye on the cars and the road. After a few minutes, they turned out of the road leading into Derry Pond into a major road. Soon they turned again, onto Main Street. The car between them and the painter stayed on course. So were the cars behind them, Stuart noticed as he looked into the rearview mirror.
They headed out of the town and into the farmland. Mel stared out into the passing darkness, clutching her tote bag and feeling uneasiness creep through her. Stuart was right. This following business was her idea. What had she gotten them into? But still they were in the car and she felt a little measure of safety, no matter how flimsy it was. The dark fronds of wheat and corn were a furry dark blur—continuous and unrelenting. The only break was that of a familiar road with a silo. This was the intersection to the Grandbury Farm. But no, they weren’t going there. Stuart drove past there, not even aware of the landmarks. His eyes were firmly on the cars ahead of him.
“Well, we know for sure that he’s not going back to the bed and breakfast,” Mel finally remarked. “This is the wrong direction. And we’re going way too far north.”
“That’s for sure,” Stuart replied. “I wonder what’s all the way out here.”
“We just passed the Grandbury Farm, which would have been the next logical place.”
“Oh?”
“Mad Dog was staying there when he was here, remember? Apparently he visited Mad Dog at the farm if his relatives remembered him.”
“Yes, that’s right. So I suppose it is really odd that we’re still going north. All that I can think of is…”
“The abandoned mine,” said Mel immediately. “Oh hell, I hope we’re not going in that thing.”
“If that’s where he’s going, we won’t go in the mine. I’m crazy, but not that crazy.”
“Do you still have Mad Dog’s beads?”
“Yeah. They’re in my pocket. What do you want to do with them?”
“Remember that book we read in the library? We’re going to give them back to Laurent de Matheus.”
“Oh sure. So what are we going to do, go up to him and tell him nicely, ‘Oh, we’d like to give you back Mad Dog’s beads. He doesn’t need them any more because they’re cursed.’ Somehow, I don’t think he’d take kindly to that. Besides, he hasn’t exactly confessed that he gave anything to Mad Dog.”
“Of course he wouldn’t confess,” she said, “otherwise he would have pretty much confessed to putting Mad Dog in a coma—or worse, if we hadn’t gotten the beads off him in time. If he’s going off to that mine to do whatever he’s doing, we’re going to give him back the beads by planting them in his car. Then that thing…” She stopped. “No, the Horned One, would be after him and not us.”
“To be honest, Mel, I wouldn’t wish that thing on anyone.”
“Well, it was his fault. He should have to deal with the consequences.”
Stuart turned the car again. They were on the dirt track that led toward the horn silver mine, but other cars were also heading in the same direction as the painter’s car. “You don’t suppose there’s an entire group involved in this thing, do you?”
Mel looked at the mirror on her side and watched the long line of headlights follow them down the dirt track. “Gee, do you think so?”
Ahead, the headlights illuminated the office building to the mines that stood just off the road. The cars continued past the office building, down even further. The dirt road abruptly ended and paved road began. “Uh, Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“I hate to admit it, but I’m getting second thoughts. We’re heading into the middle of nowhere!”
“No we’re not,” she said calmly. “I figured where we’re going. We’re heading to the Gavot Cemetery. When the cars finally pull off the road, try to park a little bit away from the others.”
“The cemetery?”
“I sort of have a hunch why we’re going there, but who knows what’s going on. Knowing that perverted little painter, he might as well have arranged an orgy. Maybe he gets off on people doing it on top of tombstones.”
“Geez.”
Sure enough, the cars began pulling off from the road into a small grassy clearing surrounded by trees that had already mostly lost their foliage. Stuart parked the rental car away from the rest of the crowd and turned off the headlights. The journalists stayed inside the vehicle and watched as the rest of the cars pulled in and figures got out, heading toward a small pathway leading through the trees. There were ten other cars parked in the clearing. Finally, when the coast was clear, they got out of the car and quickly walked to the pathway.
The cobbled path was covered by a canopy of branches which ended as another clearing began. This clearing, however, was filled with stones and statues. The cemetery. At the very far end where they could make out the figures moving about, one of the tombstones rose higher than the rest. It wasn’t a tombstone at all. It was a statue. Since it was cloudy and the moon wasn’t out, all they could make out was a vaguely humanoid figure with horns. Some of the figures turned on flashlights and they could make out the faces of cemetery visitors. Some of the people weren’t familiar, but others were—the painter Laurent de Matheus, the mine owner Lloyd Fenster, and to the journalists’ surprise, Belinda Montgomery the city clerk.
Using the other tombstones as camouflage, Mel and Stuart slipped toward the group. They crouched behind a particularly large slab of granite and watched the proceedings.
This is a really bad idea, thought Mel. What if they catch us? We’re outnumbered.
Lloyd Fenster appeared to be the leader of the group. He began leading them into a chant, the words from a strange language.
“This is like straight out of a bad horror movie,” Stuart whispered in her ear. “Occult rituals and all. Too bad they’re not wearing cloaks or lighting candles or sacrificing naked slaves.”
“Stuart! This is no time to be funny,” she hissed. She peered over the edge of the tombstone and watched the group. Their hands were pointed to the statue of the Horned One, their eyes closed. “If they’re doing what I’m thinking they’re doing, funny should be the last thing on your mind.”
Suddenly, the group stopped chanting. There was a pregnant silence as the group waited and as the journalists held their breaths, wondering what was going to happen and why they were curious enough, or perhaps stupid enough to follow through.
Mel blinked. Was it just her befuddled mind, or did the statue just move? No, it wasn’t her mind playing tricks. There was an audible crack and then a black, formless smoke began issuing from the statues head. The group who called up the Horned One fell to their knees in a prayerful pose. Instead of feeling the rapture, Mel felt very cold. With one hand, she reached into her tote bag and gasped the handle of the cast iron skillet.
The smoke began to take shape into a familiar figure. It was the thing. It was the dark side of the Horned One with the red eyes, the antlers, the claws, and the gigantic maw that devoured souls. The thing turned and stared straight at the journalists’ hiding place.
Mel felt the hairs at the back of her neck rise. She was too frightened to move. She was too frightened to say anything, let alone scream. Beside her, she felt Stuart similarly tense. Oh, they were so doomed, she thought desperately.
Fenster stood up. “My Lord, what is it that you wish us to see?”
The thing simply lifted up a claw and pointed toward the tombstone that hid the journalists.
“Yes, my lord.” Fenster strolled toward the tombstone. As he got closer, Mel noticed that the expression on his face was a strange one, as if something had possessed him, something mad. She felt her paralyzed muscles thaw and she tightened her grip on her weapon.
But before the mine owner could reach their hiding place, Stuart rose to his feet. In his right hand, he held up the bag of horn silver beads which despite the darkness, glowed. Fenster stopped in his tracks. All eyes were on him.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” the reporter asked.
“Stuart? What do you think you’re doing? This is insane!”
“It’s him!” The cry was from the painter. “What are you doing here?” He turned toward the shadow thing. “My Lord! He’s the one you’ve been looking for…”
A low hiss emanated from the thing and the claws began to move.”
“Hey Fenster,” called out Stuart. “Catch!” He threw the bag of beads and automatically without thinking, the mine owner reached out and caught it. Immediately, the thing’s claw took a detour and took hold of Fenster’s neck. The man made an unnatural gurgling noise.
Although the rest of the group was frozen watching the demise of their ringleader and perhaps wondering what on earth was happening instead of what they expected of their ritual, only the painter responded, sprinting towards the reporter. “No! You’d pay for this…”
But before he could get his hands on Stuart, Mel jumped from her crouch and swung the skillet with a resounding thunk. The painter crumpled on the ground. “Run!” she shouted. She grabbed Stuart’s arm and pulled him along as they stumbled among the tombstones.
Before the other accomplices to the summoning of the Horned One could register the fact that they should also be running, the Devourer of Souls turned its attention on them.
