Sandman Read online

  No one volunteered.

  Everyone sat silent for a time, carefully avoiding anyone else’s eyes.

  Father Gomez spoke up. “It isn’t that easy, anyway.” He looked at Stanford. “Is it, Inspector?”

  Stanford shook his head. “No.” The one word was very softly spoken. “It isn’t. You’d be fighting Mantine all the way, for one thing.”

  “What’s the other thing?” Sandry asked.

  “More than one thing,” the priest declared. “You’d all best plant it firmly in your minds that we’ll be fighting Satan. If this is truly the Devil’s son, his own demon-child, we’re in for one hell of a fight. No play on words intended. And, be assured, Satan’s minions will surely take a hand.”

  “Minions?” Belline asked.

  “The town of Tepehuanes probably contains a hundred or more lost souls. Ninety-nine percent of them unaware of it. But if Satan calls, they’ll answer.”

  “Jesus!” The word exploded from Clineman’s mouth.

  “I’ll take Michael,” Leo said.

  “Don’t blaspheme.” Gomez grinned at the man. “But in a fight, you’re right. Michael is God’s mercenary.”

  “I never heard a priest say anything like that before,” Sandry said.

  “I’m an unusual priest.” Gomez put his hands on the table. “What’s occurring here in Tepehuanes happens more often than any of you know. Or could imagine. Why do you think the demon-child is a child, and never an adult? Think about it. Over the centuries a hundred—a thousand—communities around the world have faced the same problem we are now confronting. In one way or another. The sand creatures are a joke—”

  “An ugly joke,” Mike broke in.

  “Wrong word choice,” the priest admitted. “The sand people are merely a distraction on the part of Mantine.” He looked at Stanford. “Do you agree?”

  The inspector nodded his head.

  Gomez went on. “The real danger is the boy, and what he is capable of doing. He converted the young punks who now follow him in only a matter of hours. That tells me that Satan picked this town a long time ago, and planted the seeds. Only God and Satan know what the boy is planning at this moment.”

  * * *

  “How’s your dad?” Melissa asked.

  “Asleep. Asleep real deep it looked to me.”

  “Paul?”

  “Still in his room. I wouldn’t go in there for a million bucks.”

  The girls sat in the den. The wide-screen TV was on, but they were paying no attention to it.

  Earlier, they had split up, Janis going one way, Melissa going the other, checking the windows and doors.

  All were securely closed and locked.

  It was only a minor comfort to the girls.

  A part of Janis wanted to believe what Paul had said, about not wanting too much heat, that nothing was going to happen this close to home.

  Wanted desperately to believe it.

  But she didn’t.

  Somewhere in the house, a door opened.

  Janis looked at Melissa. She had heard it as well.

  The girls listened for any following sound.

  Nothing.

  Something in the house creaked and both girls jumped.

  The sound was not repeated.

  Headlights swung into the drive, the lights reflecting off an inside wall.

  Janis went to the door and peeked out the side windows. The man was one of the cops who had stayed as guard with her mother and Paul and Chief Bambridge.

  She opened the door and stepped outside before he could ring the bell and alert Paul.

  “Where is your brother, Janis?” he asked, holding up the walkie-talkie.

  “In his room. That the one you’re going to lend me?”

  “Yes. It’s fully charged and easy to use.” Quickly, he added, “Use it only in an emergency, Janis. And don’t turn it on until you’re ready to call in. That saves the batteries.”

  She thanked him, and he drove off slowly.

  Then she quietly closed the door behind her, locked it. Looked up the hallway. Paul’s bedroom door was still closed.

  She showed Melissa the walkie-talkie.

  “Neat. You going to tell your mother about it?”

  Janis thought about that. “No. Not yet.”

  Melissa opened her mouth to protest.

  “Don’t ask me why not. I don’t know. I’ve just got a hunch, that’s all.”

  Janis hid the walkie-talkie in the linen closet, way in the back, under some sheets her mother never used. Connie swore that someday she’d tear the sheets up and use them for rags. But she never did.

  Janis didn’t want to keep it in her room because she knew that sometimes, when she was out of the house, Paul went through her things.

  Something else she’d never told her mother.

  The girls settled down back in the den, in front of the TV.

  There was a real good horror movie on Showtime. But neither Janis nor Melissa wanted to watch it.

  Both of them were wondering what Paul was going to do next.

  * * *

  The priest had been wrong, as had Stanford and several of the others, in thinking that Mantine was ever omniscient. And Paul had practically no seerlike powers. Though Mantine could slip between the veil, it was not as easy as snapping one’s fingers. Once in his human form, he was very vulnerable, so he and Nicole preferred to stay in the shadow-world of the netherland.

  Mantine had no idea at all what the doctors and the lawmen and the priest were talking about.

  And Paul did not know about his sister’s walkie-talkie.

  But Mantine and Paul could call out evil—at will.

  Against anybody.

  At any time.

  They could create illusions.

  But both preferred reality.

  It was so much more fun. It produced real panic in people.

  Neither of them had a grand plan to take over the world or the country or the county, or even the town of Tepehuanes. Nor did either of them have the power to accomplish such a thing. Or the inclination, for that matter.

  Their sole function for existing was very basic, very simple: evil.

  To create evil one must enlist and recruit, and Paul was doing that.

  With kids.

  Adults had such a lazy evil in them.

  Kids were much more inventive.

  Mantine’s role had been fulfilled. He had found and cultivated the demon-child. Now Paul could be left on his own, and Mantine and Nicole were tree to go, to return to the islands to walk free upon the earth.

  But Paul fascinated the devil-couple. Neither Mantine nor Nicole had ever seen a child with so much unleashed power, or with so much evil in him.

  It was awesome.

  And entertaining.

  Mantine and Nicole had decided to stick around. It would be risky for them; they were vulnerable here. But they decided they might be able to help whenever either felt it necessary.

  But mainly they stayed to watch the fun.

  Paul had progressed so rapidly, falling back into his true role with ease.

  As he had done, so the Master had informed them, several times over the rolling ages.

  It had been a difficult birth for Paul’s mother. For a time, she had come close to death.

  And why she didn’t die was a mystery to Mantine until the Master explained.

  Interference from . . .

  Up There.

  Mantine had shuddered with undisguised disgust at just the thought of ...

  Up There.

  It had almost made his flesh crawl.

  If he’d been in his human form, it certainly would have.

  Paul would be difficult to kill now. It was possible, but highly unlikely.

  For Paul to truly die, the demon alter form would have to be killed along with him.

  And that would take some doing.

  No, Paul was safe, Mantine felt.

  A scant seventy-two hours before, Mantine would
not have believed that. He would have said no small form such as Paul could contain such pure evil.

  Now he would willingly admit to being wrong.

  But he was certainly not going to tell the boy, for a couple of reasons: Impetuousness was the brother to carelessness, and carelessness was trouble.

  Paul could have a lot of fun in this town. But he would need a bit of guidance for a while longer.

  Mantine knew he was taking a chance; nevertheless he’d stick around for a time.

  It was all going to be such fun!

  * * *

  “You mentioned other communities, Father Gomez,” Dr. Belline said, “so you obviously have some knowledge of how they handled the situation. Would you share that knowledge with us?”

  Gomez looked at his empty coffee cup for a moment. Then he sighed. “Somebody usually volunteers to destroy the demon child.”

  No one seemed overly surprised at that. In their hearts, they’d been expecting it.

  But no one volunteered to do the deed.

  The group waited for a time, Belline finally urging, “And ... ? One doesn’t just kill a human being without attracting some attention, somewhere along the line. How is that handled?”

  Gomez lifted his eyes. “I’ll correct part of that. We are not dealing with a human being. We are dealing with a demon in human form.” He waved that off. “But I see your point. When it . . . happens, the child is listed with the law enforcement people as missing. More often than not, the police are directly involved. If it is an adult, he or she has been kidnapped, or has just left home. Sometimes there’s a horrible, never-to-be-solved murder. Occasionally a priest is called in. But usually, by that time, people have waited too long; it’s far too late. All we can do is suggest options.”

  The group digested that bit of information.

  “Have you ever killed a demon, Father Gomez?” Dr. Thomas asked.

  The priest stirred uncomfortably in his chair. “I cannot reveal any part I might have played in such a situation. I would be breaking a sacred oath. Please understand my position.”

  “I killed one,” Stanford said, his voice very low, and very emotion charged. “It was the most bloody awful deed I have ever done.”

  Leo glanced at him, knowing he was about to fit together the final part of the puzzle surrounding the inspector. “Who, Stanford?”

  In a voice filled with memories, choked with long-suppressed anger and hate and love and revenge, Stanford said, “My wife.”

  TEN

  The girls both jumped about a foot off the couch at the crashing sound just behind the house.

  It was followed by an animal-like grunting.

  Janis and Melissa suddenly got real close on the sectional.

  A shadow flitted across the windows facing the vastness and darkness of the back yard. The back yard faced the desert, which stretched, seemingly endlessly, toward the faraway mountains.

  Both girls could clearly hear the strange gruntings and shufflings coming from the back yard.

  And something brushed up against the house.

  “Paul lied!” Melissa whispered hoarsely.

  “What else is new?” Janis replied.

  She slipped from the couch and walked to the row of light switches by the back door. Clicked on the outside flood lights.

  The area was filled with harsh light.

  Melissa started screaming and pointing.

  Janis turned. Stared in disbelief.

  It was her father. Mark was standing, stark naked, in the back yard. He held an axe in his hands.

  He moved to the windows. Pressed his face against the glass. Grinned at the girls. Slobber leaked from his wet lips, staining the glass. His breath, a pant, fogged the pane.

  Mark stepped back, lifted the axe, and smashed the glass. Wild grunting sounds ripped from his mouth. He screamed obscenities at the girls.

  Crouched naked on the sill, drool dripping from his lips, he directed sexual threats at them.

  Then he climbed in, moving like an ape, springing to the den floor, broken glass slashing his legs and feet.

  But he paid no attention to the cuts or to the blood that flowed from the wounds.

  He lifted the axe above his head, and slowly advanced toward the girls. He was grinning.

  Then he screamed and charged them.

  The girls darted behind the sectional just as Mark brought the axe down, smashing a coffee table, wood and glass flying through the air.

  He paused for a moment, staring at them.

  They moved back as one.

  And he began to stalk them, his bloody feet leaving slick trails as he walked.

  His eyes were very bright and very wild and very insane.

  Janis and Melissa ran around the large den. Mark slopped through his own blood, following them, swinging the axe from side to side. His words had once more turned into gruntings. He slobbered and drooled and grinned insanely at the frightened girls.

  But it was clear to them what he intended to do.

  Before he killed them.

  They were only ten years old, but not stupid.

  “We gotta split up,” Melissa suggested. “That way one of us might make it.”

  Before she could reply, Janis caught movement out of the corner of her right eye. Paul, standing under the archway leading to the den.

  It’s all over now, she thought. Paul will finally get his wish. I’m finished. And Melissa along with me.

  That was only partly true. And not in the way Janis thought.

  “Father!” Paul yelled. “Stop this! Have you lost your mind?”

  Mark turned to face his son.

  Janis could not believe what she had just heard.

  What in the world was going on?”

  “Janis!” Paul called. “Get to the phone. Nine-one-one. Call the cops.”

  Paul moved to his left, his father turning slightly to keep the boy in full view, and hiding his eyes from his daughter and Melissa.

  Mark screamed at his son as Janis ran to the phone and punched out the numbers. She spoke quickly, her voice trembling, fear in it, but gave all the correct information.

  “Run, Janis!” Paul yelled from the other side of the huge den.

  Janis just got clear. Mark had charged her, swinging the axe, smashing the phone.

  Mark turned, his wild bright eyes now on Melissa. He grinned at her.

  She darted away.

  Paul shouted and jumped up and down, forcing his father to look at him.

  Screaming from mind-clouding rage, Mark charged his son, holding the axe high above his head. The boy ducked, the axe head knocking a huge chunk of paneling out of the wall.

  Mark worked the axe free and turned.

  Then Paul threw books, vases, ashtrays, and anything else he could put his hands on at the bloody, axe-wielding man.

  The girls quickly got into the act.

  Mark was battered backward.

  An ashtray struck him in the face, bloodying his nose and snapping his head back.

  He roared his rage as red and blue lights suddenly flashed outside.

  And he turned and jumped through a window, shattering it and pocking his already bloody body with still more cuts and slashes.

  But he held firm to the axe.

  Janis ran to unlock the front door before the cops shot the lock off as they do on TV and in the movies.

  Only on TV and in the movies.

  The foyer filled with uniforms.

  “It’s our father!” Paul shouted. He pointed toward the shattered windows. “He’s gone crazy. He tried to kill us all with an axe. He jumped out back, through that window. Be careful.”

  The cop who had delivered the walkie-talkie to Janis looked strangely at Paul, then cut his eyes to Janis.

  She shrugged.

  The policeman found the back door and ran out into the flood-lighted yard.

  It got real quiet in the bloody, wrecked, and littered den. Janis and Melissa stared at Paul.

  “How c
ome you suddenly got so concerned about our safety, Paul?” Janis asked.

  “Why, sister!” the boy exclaimed, wide-eyed, “what kind of brother would I be if I refused to come to your aid?”

  Chuckling, he walked to a chair and sat down, after brushing debris from it.

  “I love it!” Paul said.

  The girls stared at him.

  True, he had saved their lives.

  This time.

  But what was he saving them for?

  “Lost the crazy bastard!” A cop’s voice came through the broken windows.

  “He couldn’t have gone far. Keep looking. But be careful, he’s got an axe.”

  Paul sat in the chair and smiled.

  * * *

  Paul had gone directly to his room after being questioned by Chief Bambridge. He’d said he was emotionally exhausted and distraught about his father.

  At a signal from Mike, Leo and Stanford entered the house and sat down. Mike turned to Janis. “How much does she know?” He cut his eyes to Melissa.

  “Everything. So do Carol and Jean and Carla and Roy and Bing. They’re carrying knives now.”

  Mike questioned both the girls. Their stories were the same as Paul’s.

  “The boy is setting things up quite well for himself,” Stanford said. “No way on God’s earth could we convince anyone outside of our group that Paul is anything other than what he appears to be, a brave little boy who came to the rescue of his sister and her friend.”

  Father Gomez appeared in the doorway.

  The invisible impact stopped him there. Hit him in the face and chilled him.

  He knew without stepping closer that he was facing a power much stronger than he had ever faced before. He could sense the evil presence of the Lord of Darkness.

  He felt real fear.

  His collar was suddenly much too tight.

  Sweat popped out under his shirt.

  Satan was here. In this house. Very near.

  The average priest would never meet him.

  Many exorcists would never meet him.

  Those that did almost always died.

  But Father Gomez knew it was his time to meet God’s oldest enemy. Face to face.

  The Antichrist.

  He wondered if the boy knew it?

  He hoped not.

  Gomez fought his emotions under control, aware that all in the den were staring at him. Then he stepped through the door and into the foyer, went down the stone steps and into the den. On impulse, he turned to his left.