The Altar. James Arthur Anderson
there. He reached his mind out to it, probing for direction.
For over a year now he’d sensed its presence, ever since that first dream in June. He shuddered at the memory. So full of pain. Yet so damned intriguing.
That dream had initiated a chain of events that had resulted in a path of bloodshed that ran through some 15 states and which had made him the High Priest of his very own church. He laughed out loud at the thought of it. “Church” was probably a misnomer for the ragtag collection of followers he had assembled. But they were his followers. All his, and they would follow him wherever he led, even to the death. Even with his eyes closed he could see the half-dozen trailers surrounding him in the campground, each containing one male and one female.
Yes, they were his. He had fucked them all, both men and women, singly and in groups. Yet deep down inside, he was incomplete, unfinished, and that was what had brought him here to these woods of ancient evil.
The power touched him again, stronger this time, and more insistent. He fed it images of tortured, bleeding teenage girls, images taken from his fondest memories, from places with strange names like Paradise Valley, Winnebago, and Zoar. And, of course, a place called Wonderland California, where it had all begun.
Yet the rituals, while gratifying for the moment, had not satisfied him. During each orgy of blood—and orgy of sex that followed—he had been fulfilled. But it hadn’t lasted. The following morning, the emptiness always returned, stronger than ever, leaving him hollow, as if some vital part of him were missing.
Now, as he felt the presence deep within the forest of Chepachet, Rhode Island, he knew that he was about to discover his destiny. He sighed deeply and opened his eyes. Then, slowly, he walked out of the campground and into the forest.
-4-
Johnny Dovecrest looked up from the page he was reading and frowned. The gray hairs on his arms tingled as he gently closed the book and walked across the room to stare out the window into the darkness. He could see nothing, of course. Yet he could see everything. And he knew that unless he acted soon—within the next few days, at most—he would be powerless to prevent it from happening all over again.
It might already be too late, he thought, and chided himself for not acting sooner. He had grown too comfortable in his soft, easy life. He had forgotten the lessons he had been taught.
Rubbing his forehead, he turned away from the window and wondered what to do next. He could feel the nebulous, indistinct forces of evil coming together. One force was powerful, so very powerful. The other was weak, a slave to be used, consumed, and then thrown away. But Dovecrest remembered and he knew just how much damage that slave could inflict before it was stopped.
Destroying the weaker one would be easy. But it would solve nothing. Now that the evil had been disturbed it wouldn’t rest until it was destroyed again—and destroyed wasn’t even the correct word. Imprisoned, sent back to hell, was probably more accurate, since the thing couldn’t be destroyed. No, destroying the slave would only delay the inevitable. It would just find a replacement. And in the modern world, such hosts were more plentiful than ever.
It had been much easier in the olden times. He’d had the support and understanding of others, of the tribe and even of the white man. They had worked together. This time he was on his own. Even his own tribesmen no longer believed. It was entirely up to him. Unless he could get help from the new people, the ones whose boy had nearly fallen victim.
The boy would understand. But what help was a ten-year-old boy? And the parents? He didn’t think so. They’d think he was crazy. Maybe he was after all these years. The boy would be the only one. And Dovecrest didn’t expect him to be much help at all. Better to just leave it alone and do it himself.
Dovecrest sat back down and looked toward the window, trying to imagine what was happening out there. He knew better than to interfere. It would do no good. And, besides, he couldn’t kill the weaker one, even if it would help. He’d just be arrested and thrown in jail, and that would be that. He would really be useless trying to work from a prison cell. The law was the law, and he’d be the one punished under this warped system of justice.
No. Better to let tonight happen. Then later, when the time was right, he would strike. He’d need a plan and a time of his own choosing. He was not ready to fight just yet.
Still, he knew he would get no sleep that night.
-5-
Erik searched the entire yard, the house, the SUV and the car, and even the basement, but Faith was nowhere to be found. He stood at the edge of the woods and looked into the pitch darkness towards the narrow trail that had lured Todd in. He called for the cat, but with no luck. Not even the smell of a freshly baked chicken could tempt her back.
He could almost hear a voice calling him, beckoning him into the darkness.
“Erik,” Vickie called from the patio. “You’re not going into the woods to look for that cat are you?”
“I guess not.... I just can’t imagine where she might be.”
“Well, you might as well come back inside. There isn’t much we can do tonight. And I wouldn’t even go into those woods alone in the daylight.”
“Maybe I can get Johnny Dovecrest to help me look for her tomorrow,” he said, turning back toward the house. “I sure hope she’s all right.”
“So do I,” Vickie said.
-6-
Seti stood beside the huge stone altar and marveled that he could see, even in the dark. He didn’t know how—and he didn’t care—but he did know that this presence, perhaps it was even Satan himself, inhabited this ancient place of blood and sacrifice.
He had seen this place before in his dreams. And in his nightmares. It was a place of power. A place where miracles could happen.
Tentatively, he reached his hand out and touched the highly-polished stone. Its surface was ice-cold to the touch and he wondered how many souls had perished on its smooth surface. Then, with a smile, he thought of how he would be adding to its history.
“Master, I have come,” he whispered. “I have answered your call and have traveled many miles to be with you.”
And the presence, which had shared his mind all along, seemed to come awake and find him, as if opening its eyes for the first time.
“Yes, you have,” it said in words that were not sounds, but patterns in his own mind. For a brief instant he wondered if he were going mad and carrying on an internal dialogue in his own brain. The outside world already considered him crazy. That idiot talk show host had actually called him a nut case on the air.
Then the presence began to show him things, things he could not possibly know, but which were true. He watched and he believed.
The mental slide show may have lasted for hours, or it may have flashed past in a matter of seconds. He had no way of knowing for sure.
But now he understood. For the first time in his miserable, tormented life, he truly understood. He accepted this presence as his god. If it were not Satan, it was the closest thing to him. And this master promised him rewards beyond his wildest dreams.
He dropped to his knees beside the magic stone altar and knew that this was real, that this was a god of power, a god that would take the world for its own, destroying the weak as if stepping on a worm. This god would give pleasure, not deny it. This god would take what it wanted, when it wanted, and he, Seti, would reap the rewards.
“I will serve you,” he said, still touching the stone. “Show me how.”
And, as the presence responded with unspoken instructions, Seti realized that his purpose in life was now fulfilled. He had found his home at last, had found meaning in his life. He would feed his next victim to his new god, to bring it strength, to help it resume its place in the world.
Now that he had met his god, the world would learn to fear his name.
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