The part of his mind that still belonged to this world told him, You just killed two kids. You just killed two kids.

"No, I didn't," he answered himself in voice. "I just killed two monsters."

He racked another round into the chamber and stalked off back into the darkening forest.

Chapter 28.

Sooer, dooer, the dark voice groped. The black words seemed to drag her down, deeper, deeper into the strange, chanting labyrinth of the dream. the dark voice groped. The black words seemed to drag her down, deeper, deeper into the strange, chanting labyrinth of the dream.

Ann awoke in the terrible crimson vertigo, the knife- slup-slup-slup -sinking to its guard into her abdomen.

Slup-slup-slup, she heard, wincing. She brought a hand to her flat, sweat-moistened belly. She was naked in bed, drenched. The room was empty. She gasped when she saw the clock: 8:12 p.m. She'd slept the entire day away, and well into evening. she heard, wincing. She brought a hand to her flat, sweat-moistened belly. She was naked in bed, drenched. The room was empty. She gasped when she saw the clock: 8:12 p.m. She'd slept the entire day away, and well into evening.

She showered in a cold torrent, hoping the spray of water would revive her. She felt terrible, as if hung over or drugged. She shivered as she washed herself, her hand guiding the bar of soap felt like someone else's hand, like the fluttering hands of the nightmare, roving her, stroking her stretched belly.

G.o.d, was all she could think. She felt haunted; she didn't even feel real. Each movement as she dressed prodded the worst headache of her life. What was wrong with her? Something was terribly wrong; she could feel it. was all she could think. She felt haunted; she didn't even feel real. Each movement as she dressed prodded the worst headache of her life. What was wrong with her? Something was terribly wrong; she could feel it. Something wrong with...everything. Something wrong with...everything.

She must be sick-that was it. She must be coming down with flu; that's why she'd slept so late. She went downstairs for some juice and heard car doors closing.

Ann peeked out the sidelight sash of the front door. Her mother's Fleetwood was backing out the drive. It looked like there were several people in it.

She frowned. The car drove off. Dusk was settling. A bright, pinkened moon peered over the horizon. It was full.

Something shattered. Upstairs.

Ann spun around. She raced up the staircase. Something else shattered. It sounded like gla.s.s breaking.

The heart monitor's beep down the hall sounded slow, irregular. Ann's breath lodged in her chest when she spun into her father's room. Saline bottles lay shattered around the outer rim of the throw rug. The wheeled stands lay toppled over. Ann's vision rooted to the bed.

Her father lay sprawled, half over the convalescent rail. Blood dripped out of his arm from where the IV needles had torn out. He was convulsing, his mouth locked open. His eyes bulged as if lidless. Ann could only stare. His right arm, tremoring, began to lift. The crabbed hand unfurled.

His mouth jittered but no sound came out. He was pointing at her.

"Oh, Jesus... Dad..."

His hand fell to the bed. The slow beep-beep-beep beep-beep-beep of the Lifepak monitor stopped- of the Lifepak monitor stopped- -then flat-lined.

He'd been leaning over for something. Ann's wide gaze slowly lowered. The nightstand, she saw. The antique, enameled nightstand seemed to have something on the side facing the bed.

Writing? she thought. It looked like writing. she thought. It looked like writing.

She cast it aside. She quickly dragged him over, leaned down. She attempted CPR as she best knew how. Each downward push against his frail chest pumped a little more blood from the torn IV hole at the inside of his elbow. She craned his head back, pinched shut his nostrils, and blew.

Nothing.

The flat line droned on.

He's dead, she realized. she realized.

Her downward stare seemed drawn by something. She stared at the side of the drawered nightstand.

Her father had written something on it. He'd used his own blood:

Doefolmon Leave Melanie, Martin, Everything.

Get out while you still can.

"The Ardat-Lil was a succubus," Professor Fredrick explained. "Or I should say, the supreme succubus, the first lady of h.e.l.l."

"Succubus," Dr. Harold repeated the word.

"A female s.e.x-demon. Many variations exist throughout world mythology, and it's interesting how many ancient religious modes reflect a reverence to identical G.o.ds and anti-G.o.ds. The Ardat-Lil is no exception. The Scottish Bheur, the German Brechta, the Scandinavian Agaberte, the Teutonic Alrune, the Egyptian Aldinoch-they're all names for the same thing. They're all the Ardat-Lil."

Succubus, Dr. Harold thought. The word even sounded evil. It seemed to walk across his groin like a tarantula. Dr. Harold thought. The word even sounded evil. It seemed to walk across his groin like a tarantula.

Professor Fredrick lit a pipe with a face on it, puffing sweet smoke into the air. "The Ardat-Lil has a very racy history. The Ur-locs believed that when the earth was made, half of heaven's angels were banished. Sound familiar? On the first day of his banishment, Lucifer decided to take a stroll around the earth, which he found, to his complete dissatisfaction, to be inhabited by peace-loving humans who were completely bereft of sin. They all rejected him immediately, and Lucifer, mind you, doesn't take kindly to rejection. Therefore, he decided to corrupt the human race, by tricking them into turning away from G.o.d. This may sound familiar too. Anyway, Lucifer searched for the most beautiful virgin in the world and after six days he found her-a young woman named Ardat. Lucifer promised to make her his queen if she turned away from G.o.d, and Ardat, as you've probably already guessed, agreed. They sealed the agreement by having intercourse. Ardat became pregnant, and after only six days, gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. This baby eventually bloomed into a woman even more beautiful than her mother, so beautiful that Lucifer deemed any name unworthy of her beauty. She was known simply as the Daughter."

"Or the Ardat-Lil," Dr. Harold supposed.

"No, not quite. The Daughter was so beautiful that Lucifer, notorious for his hormones, couldn't resist. She was beautiful, but she wasn't evil, and Lucifer wanted an evil evil little girl. So he changed himself into an anonymous man, whom the Daughter fell in love with. It was all a ploy. The Daughter married the man, had intercourse with him, and then little girl. So he changed himself into an anonymous man, whom the Daughter fell in love with. It was all a ploy. The Daughter married the man, had intercourse with him, and then she she became pregnant. In other words-" became pregnant. In other words-"

"Lucifer seduced his own daughter."

"Exactly," Professor Fredrick said. "The Daughter Daughter then gave birth to an even more beautiful baby girl, and she turned out to be heinously evil. She was known as the Daughter of the Daughter, or the Ardat-Lil. That's what this repeated term in Tharp's sketches refers to." Professor Fredrick pointed to one. then gave birth to an even more beautiful baby girl, and she turned out to be heinously evil. She was known as the Daughter of the Daughter, or the Ardat-Lil. That's what this repeated term in Tharp's sketches refers to." Professor Fredrick pointed to one.

Dr. Harold read, beneath a drawing of a woman giving birth on a dolmen, the words Dother fo Dother. Dother fo Dother.

"The dohtor, or in the Chilternese form, the Dother fo Dother, was half human, half devil, the worst of both parts, and she was therefore condemned by G.o.d to eternity in h.e.l.l. However, like many demons, she was born with the power of incarnation, and it is the bounden duty of all demons to perpetuate evil. Through time, the Ardat-Lil gained followers on earth, human followers, who were granted sub subcarnate powers in return for their worship. A coven formed-"

"The Ur-locs," Dr. Harold conjectured.

"Right, whose existence revolved solely around the worship of the Ardat-Lil. They served her in many ways, by ritual, by sacrifice and cannibalism, and by eliminating all men from the bloodline, or bludcynn-another word which Tharp refers to quite frequently. The Ur-locs, according to legend, turned men into slaves via something called the s.e.xespelle; it has always been thought that intercourse with a succubus functioned as a pact with the devil. All coven members-wifhands-had the power to become succubi for short periods, during which they seduced men and hence enslaved them. They'd trick men into thinking they were dreaming, have intercourse with them, and that was that. Any man who had s.e.x with a wifhand in the succubi state was lost forever to the coven's will."

"What are these words here?" Dr. Harold asked, pointing to further sketch pages. "Are they all all relative to this system of worship?" relative to this system of worship?"

"Oh, yes," Professor Fredrick answered. "aelmesse, "aelmesse, alms; alms; lof, lof, praise in ceremony; praise in ceremony; cirice, cirice, church. church. Thane, helot, Thane, helot, and and peow peow all mean the same as all mean the same as wreccan: wreccan: male slave-one who has fallen to the succubi. male slave-one who has fallen to the succubi. Wihan Wihan means to make holy. The Ur-locs believed that the only way to make a man holy was to kill him-and often means to make holy. The Ur-locs believed that the only way to make a man holy was to kill him-and often eat him- eat him-in homage to the Dother fo Dother."

"And these? Wifford? Wifmunuc?"

"A wifford to the Ur-locs was their version of a verger or a seminarian, a religious hierarch. The wifford was second-in-command of the coven, and in constant training to replace the coven leader upon her death. The leader was called the wifmunuc, the one closest to the deity."

Dr. Harold grimly stroked his white mustache. He considered this, and what the old professor had said earlier. What a ghastly vision...

"Not a pretty topic, I a.s.sure you. Despite their obscurity, the Ur-locs proved one of the most savage societies to ever exist." Professor Fredrick then emptied the smoking guts of his pipe, tap-tap-tapping tap-tap-tapping them into an obsidian ashtray that once served as an a.s.syrian blood tap. "There's a summation, though, in an ultimate respect, I mean." them into an obsidian ashtray that once served as an a.s.syrian blood tap. "There's a summation, though, in an ultimate respect, I mean."

"I'm sorry?" Dr. Harold said.

"There's a point to all of this. I don't believe for a minute that an Ur-loc cult could actually have survived all this time, nor do I believe in the occult. However, I do have an observation to make, which you should find exceedingly uncanny." Fredrick released a roughened chuckle. "Would you like to hear it?"

The dying pipe smoke sifted up. From the bookshelves, and from odd perches all about the office, the stone likenesses of demons persisted in their frozen stares. And splayed across the desk lay Tharp's drawing of the Ardat-Lil, shimmering in its obscene beauty...

"Yes," Dr. Harold said. "I'd like to hear it very much."

Chapter 29.

Ann fled down the hall, then slowed. Then she stopped. What was she thinking? Her father was dead. With his own blood he'd written a warning. But what did that really mean? Ann stood still in the paneled hall, blinking.

He'd suffered a ma.s.sive stroke. He was delirious. He didn't know what he was doing.

There.

She let reality catch up to her. As usual, no one was in the house. What do I do now? What do I do now? It was a good question. What do you do when someone dies? Call an ambulance? A funeral home? Mustn't a doctor declare him dead first? Ann felt disconnected. It was her father who lay dead in the next room, not some stranger. Oddly, even guiltily, she felt relief. It was a good question. What do you do when someone dies? Call an ambulance? A funeral home? Mustn't a doctor declare him dead first? Ann felt disconnected. It was her father who lay dead in the next room, not some stranger. Oddly, even guiltily, she felt relief.

His torment's over, she realized. This was a good thing. What must it have been like for him, immobile and brain-damaged? In death, her father had found the peace that his illness had robbed him of. Now Ann understood why people always said "It's a blessing" at funerals. Her father's death she realized. This was a good thing. What must it have been like for him, immobile and brain-damaged? In death, her father had found the peace that his illness had robbed him of. Now Ann understood why people always said "It's a blessing" at funerals. Her father's death was was a blessing. a blessing.

The acknowledgment made her feel better. She went downstairs and sat on the bottom step, chin in hand. The total lack of sound made the house seem even more empty. How would Melanie take her grandfather's death? And what would her mother say? But in a moment Ann realized she was reaching for distractions. Above all, what continued to gnaw at her was the same thing that had been gnawing at her for months.

The nightmare.

Pieces of the nightmare kept sifting in her head, and that terrible scarlet vertigo. How could anything be so obsessive? Her own father had just died, yet the preoccupation with the dream remained. Slup-slup-slup, Slup-slup-slup, she could still hear the sound, and the voice of the sinister birth attendant: "Dooer, dooer." she could still hear the sound, and the voice of the sinister birth attendant: "Dooer, dooer."

Ann struggled to escape the awful imagery. There were things that needed to be done. Get off it! Get off it! she screamed to herself. She must call Dr. Heyd at once, tell him that her father had finally pa.s.sed away. But- she screamed to herself. She must call Dr. Heyd at once, tell him that her father had finally pa.s.sed away. But- Slup-slup-slup, she could still hear in her mind. she could still hear in her mind.

Dooer dooer.

Rising, she winced. But when she went to the phone, something caused her to glance down the stairwell which led to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Even in the dim light, she could plainly see that the door, which her mother kept locked, stood open.

What am I doing? Call Dr Heyd! she ordered herself. Next thing she knew, however, she was descending the stairs. she ordered herself. Next thing she knew, however, she was descending the stairs.

Then she knew, or she thought she did. The bas.e.m.e.nt was where Melanie had been born; it was the setting of the nightmare. That was the lure-the grim curiosity which urged her down the steps. Suddenly, the room seemed forbidden; it enticed her. Ann hadn't seen the bas.e.m.e.nt in seventeen years.

But she was determined to see it now.

The old wood of the steps creaked as she continued down. The door opened in dead silence. Ann still couldn't imagine why her mother always kept it locked. It was just a fruit cellar, a bas.e.m.e.nt.

It seemed warmer the instant she stepped in. A single nude light bulb hung from the ceiling. There was an old washing bin, some old furniture, and an ironing board. Shelves of jarred fruit and pickled vegetables lined one entire wall.

She looked blankly ahead. Something wasn't right. A few more seconds ticked by when she realized her disappointment.

She'd hoped that seeing the bas.e.m.e.nt might shake loose a memory that would solve the nightmare and free her of it. The nightmare was of Melanie's birth. Melanie was born here. Therefore- The misconception bloomed.

This isn't the room in the nightmare.

It was all wrong. The room in the nightmare was longer, the ceiling higher. The entire shape of this room was different.

Yes, Ann felt disappointed. The room showed her nothing that her subconscious might be hanging on to. Why had the dream placed Melanie's birth elsewhere?

Time. Memory, she considered. She'd misconstrued it all. The past seventeen years had obscured her memory totally. Her dream had therefore built its own room. she considered. She'd misconstrued it all. The past seventeen years had obscured her memory totally. Her dream had therefore built its own room.

But why?

It scarcely mattered. She turned to go back up and noticed several file cabinets. One thing she never never noticed, though, was the reason the door had been open. It hadn't been left open, it had been noticed, though, was the reason the door had been open. It hadn't been left open, it had been broken broken open, the bolt prized out of the frame. open, the bolt prized out of the frame.

The file cabinets looked rooted through. One was filled with old newspapers and books, its drawer tilting out. Ann closed it and looked through the second drawer: some manila folders apparently out of order. And a spiral pad. Looks like Martin's pad. Looks like Martin's pad.

She picked it up and stared. It was was Martin's pad. The cramped hastened scrawl left no doubt. Martin's pad. The cramped hastened scrawl left no doubt.

Why would Martin keep his poetry drafts down here?

She flipped through some random pages.

"Wreccan," one poem was called, but what on earth did that mean? It was dated several days ago. Ann squinted, reading.

Flawed worlds die quickly as the dreams of men:a pointless parody.Yet nightly we arise, her song in our heads,wreccans of the descending herald.We are her birds of prey.We'll come to see you someday.

What an odd poem. Ann didn't understand it all, and it didn't seem like Martin's style one bit. He usually wrote in meter and a Keatsian rhyme pattern. She turned to the next poem: "Doefolmon."

O wondrous moon,of your truth I drink.Upon the herald's caress,in wondrous pink!

This one bothered her. Like the first she didn't know what it meant, and it didn't seem like the kind of thing Martin would write.