The Devil's Cat Read online

  Rita bounced a hickory stick off his tête de mort and gave him a tremendous mal de tête of the headbone.

  For a fact, Becancour used to be lots of fun. A fais do do many times during the summer. Church picnics, lots of good times.

  But the townspeople had changed over the months. No one seemed to have much fun anymore. Oh, the regulars still came to Lula's Love-Inn and drank and played the jukebox and shot pool and got drunk. But it was . . . different somehow.

  People were more wary now. And for no good reason that anyone could explain.

  "Devil worship, Don?" Sonny almost whispered the question.

  "Old Man Musto's missing sheep, Sonny?"

  "Yeah. What about it?"

  "I found it this morning. Mutilated. I took pictures." He tossed several Polaroids on Sonny's desk. The chief looked at them, paled, and placed them back on his desk.

  "It was layin' in a circle. What the hell does that mean, Don?"

  "I don't know. Now, about those dogs your people found, Sonny?"

  "How do you know about them?" The question was sharply asked.

  "Come on, Sonny! It's a big parish but a small town. People talk. Hell, Sonny! You can't keep nothing secret among Cajuns. Or damn little."

  "Yeah, but it usually stays among us, Don."

  "I haven't said a word to the sheriff."

  "Pour de bon. OK, OK. It's kids, Don. Got to be kids. But why are they doing it?"

  "How do you know it's kids?"

  A sigh. "I don't. Don, I was with the Highway Patrol twenty years. Finally pulled the pin. Started out 'way to hell and gone up in Monroe. Ended up down in Lake Charles. I've seen everything anyone could throw at me. But I ain't never had a case of devil worship. Jesus Christ, I don't know anything about it."

  "I think we'd better learn, Sonny. Both of us."

  Sam, Nydia, Little Sam, and Dog pulled into Becancour at two o'clock that afternoon. It was early May, and already the temperature was in the nineties, with the humidity matching it.

  "You take pets?" Sam asked Frank at the check-in counter.

  "Mister," Frank said, "as long as it don't shit on the floor, you can have an ape in the room with you." He grinned at Sam. Just please don't say it's hot out! Frank thought. Please!

  "Sure is hot out," Sam said.

  Frank gritted his dentures. "Will you be staying long?" he managed to say.

  "Until we find a house to rent for the summer."

  Frank beamed. "I got a house!"

  "Hey, that's great," Sam said with a smile.

  "It's about five miles out of town." He pointed. "South. Right on the bayou. Two bedrooms, bath and a half, carpet throughout. It isn't nothing fancy, but it's clean. There's even a boat there ya'll can use."

  "Okay if we wait until tomorrow to look at it?" Sam asked.

  "Sure!" Frank handed Sam a key. "I'm givin' you and the missus the suite. Two rooms. It's Number 20. All the way down on this side. We'll drive out in the morning and look at the house."

  "That'll be fine," Sam said, taking the key.

  "Ya'll be sure and have supper with us in the cafe this evenin'," Frank told him. "We're servin' up red beans and rice."

  "Sounds … delicious," Sam replied, not having the foggiest notion what the man was talking about.

  Dog stood up and placed his front paws on the countertop, staring at Frank through those strange mismatched eyes set in the huge head. Frank took a step backward, momentarily startled.

  "Does he bite?" Frank asked.

  "He's never bitten me," Sam told him.

  Located just inside the city limits, on the southern edge of Becancour, on Dumaine Street, was the largest house in town. The old Dorgenois home. Back in the early 1800's, when Becancour was just a tiny village, Romy Dorgenois moved his family from New Orleans up to Becancour. Rumor had it they moved out of New Orleans under protest. Seems the Dorgenois' had gotten involved with black magic, voodoo … and Satanism.

  No one ever really knew; or if they did, over the years, they weren't talking. However … it was widely accepted throughout the community that the Dorgenois house was haunted. Most accepted it good-naturedly, as a joke, but there were those who took it much more seriously.

  With good reason.

  There had been some mysterious deaths over the years. And the people who died had been very vocal about the Dorgenois family. And although the priests involved would not talk about it, the incidents of exorcism, or attempted exorcisms, had increased ever since the Dorgenois' moved into Becancour.

  How many exorcisms had been successful?

  No one knew.

  Or they weren't talking.

  The last two generations of Dorgenoises had refused to live in the huge mansion set on twenty acres of land. And their explanations for not doing so were vague.

  House was just too large, said Grandfather R. M. Dorgenois and his wife, Colter.

  Maybe.

  We prefer the more modern type of home, said the grandson, Romy Dorgenois, and his wife, Julie.

  Sure.

  So the Dorgenois family began renting out the lovely mansion.

  A lot.

  Back in the 1930s, when the house was first rented out, a young boy fell to his death, tumbling down the long, spiralling stairs. Damn shame, was the consensus of the townspeople. He was sure a cute little altar boy, too.

  The sheriff said a cat had tripped the boy. The father shot the cat. About a month later the father drowned in the sluggish bayou behind the house.

  And some of the older townspeople still insist that goddamned cat reappeared.

  Of course, no one believed that.

  And then the house was rented to a New York City couple name of Franklin. They had two kids, a boy and a girl. The family was devout Catholics. And they didn't much care for cats. It seemed that the house came with a built-in population of rat catchers. Couple of dozen of them. All different colors.

  One day the family went on a fishing trip back in the dark bayous. The family, along with the two local guides, never came back, and their bodies were never found.

  The Dorgenois house stayed empty for several years after that. Then a young couple from up in Little Rock rented the place for a honeymoon. Three weeks into the month the couple had a bad quarrel and the young bride ran out into the warm night, crying. Sheriff said it looked like she tripped on some vines and hit her head on one of the fountain walls. Busted her head wide open. She died a couple of days later, in Old Doctor Livaudais' clinic right there in Becancour.

  Then in the 1950s some local kids broke into the house one Halloween night. No one ever did figure that one out. That young Claverie girl went slap-dab crazy. Took a half dozen men to restrain her. Took her to the nut house. Still there. The young Savoie boy was found dead in the musty study of the old mansion. Not a mark on him. Just sitting on the floor, stone dead. The Rogers girl come out of it all right, the townspeople reckoned, and turned into a beautiful woman, but Jesus Cod, she turned … well, strange. Yeah, that was the word.

  Bonnie Rogers was weird. Dave Porter was …

  Oh … 'fore I forget, that Savoie boy? His parents wouldn't let the funeral parlor people do anything with him. Just stuck him in a box and shoveled the dirt over him. Turned cold that day the boy was planted. Mean, bone-chilling cold for that time of the year and for that part of the country. The wind was howling and whistling and the drizzle that fell from the sky was cold.

  Dave Porter? Well, he seemed all right. Got out of high school and went off to college and then the Army and come back and married Margie Gremillion. Started him up an insurance agency and done all right for himself. Margie says her husband gets a little bit flaky at times … especially around Halloween. And sometimes when the moon is full, too. Likes to sit out in the yard and look up at the moon. Seems like maybe he could see something up there that nobody else could see.

  And who knows? Maybe he can.

  Anyway, there was, let's see, two or three more families tried to vacation i
n the Dorgenois house.

  One family paid a whole summer's rent, then up and pulled out after just a week there. Didn't leave no forwarding address or nothin'. Just hauled ass in the middle of the night. Another family come down from way up north, Michigan, it was. They left one of their own down here in Louisiana, in the Becancour graveyard. No one ever figured out just how the young man died, but one of his friends who come down with him found him. Boy like to have gone stark ravin' nuts.

  He claimed a bunch of cats was eatin' on his friend's dead body.

  Now … no one really believed that. But … come to think of it, that boy had a closed-casket funeral. And Old Mister Authement at the funeral parlor—his boy Art runs it now—never would talk about the boy.

  Was there anyone else who come down to rent the Dorgenois house? Yeah … them people who have been livin' in it for the past, oh, maybe fifteen months.

  Now, you talk about weird! Them folks take the cake for odd.

  Whole passel of 'em. One guy who wanders around the grounds like a zombie. Jimmy something-or-another. One kid who couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen at the most. Jon Le Moyne. A real cute girl called Janet. There's about ten or twelve people live in that ol' house.

  Including one of the most beautiful women anybody around Becancour had ever laid eyes on.

  Xaviere Flaubert.

  3

  "He has arrived, Princess," Xaviere was informed. "Yes, I know," the woman said. She rose from her chair and walked across the room to a window, gazing out. She was tall, with rich brown hair that tumbled down her back. A magnificent figure, with full breasts and tiny waist. She was tall, her complexion flawless. Pale eyes and full lips.

  She was also the daughter of Satan. She was the Princess of Darkness.

  She was also Sam Balon's daughter.

  Her mother, the witch Roma, had died giving birth to the monster. With that action, Roma had left her various earth-lifes to forever join her master, The Dark One. The birth had not been a natural one, the monster that would undergo a rapid metamorphosis had burst from the womb in a shower of blood and mangled flesh. The Mother witch had only a quick glimpse of the monster before dying; but that one look was enough.

  Already, just moments from the womb, the girl-baby begun changing, growing quickly. In a year's time she would be a mature young woman.

  For Satan is impatient.

  Xaviere turned away from the darkly stained window—all the windows in the house were stained dark, for light hurt Xaviere's eyes—and looked at Janet. "They have an animal with them?"

  "A big dog."

  "He is much more than a dog, Janet. Believe that. He was placed here to protect my half-brother, Little Sam."

  "Can he be killed?"

  "I don't know," the Princess of Darkness replied truthfully.

  "God …" Janet wrinkled up her face at the mention of His name. "… sent the dog?"

  "Doubtful. Probably that meddling Michael. God's mercenary!"

  Janet remained silent. Around her feet, a half dozen cats slinked and slithered, rubbing against her ankles.

  "How is your child?" the Princess asked.

  "Beautiful. Our Master slowed her growth. She is perfect."

  "Sam Balon's daughter and Little Sam's half-sister. Is she ready?"

  "Yes."

  "We will not hurry. There is no need to rush matters. We have all the time in the world." Xaviere leaned down and picked up a cat. She stroked the fur of the animal and listened to it purr in satisfaction.

  The purr contained a dark, evil sound.

  Xaviere said, "It promises to be a good summer, Janet."

  "Yes, Princess," the young woman replied, her lips pulling back in an ugly smile. "Very interesting, indeed."

  The cats in the room began purring.

  "Well, there she is, folks," Frank said, pointing to the the house on the bayou. "What do you think of it?"

  "It's lovely," Nydia said, slapping at a mosquito and missing.

  "They'll be sprayin' around here in a few days," Frank assured her. "Then them things won't be so bad."

  "Good," she muttered. She brushed back a lock of black hair and once more looked at the house. She was conscious of Frank gazing at her. Not in an ugly way, but in a man's very appreciative way of looking at a very beautiful woman.

  "We'll take it," Sam said.

  The men shook hands on the deal and it was set.

  "That big mansion we passed on the way out here," Nydia said. "It's very old, isn't it?"

  "Oh, yes'um. 'Bout a hundred and fifty years old. 'Course it's been done over a time or two. Rajeunir, you know?"

  Nydia smiled. "Oui, monsieur. I understand perfectly."

  "Ohh," Frank said with a grin. "You gonna get on all right down here, ma'am."

  "We hope to," Nydia replied. "Well, let's see about getting settled in, Sam."

  A car drove past and the driver tooted its horn. Frank waved and said, "That's Dr. Tony Livaudais. His daddy was a doctor here, like his daddy 'fore him. Fine man."

  "Anyone live in that old house?" Sam asked.

  "Huh? Oh! The Dorgenois house. Oh, yeah. Some folks been livin' there for, I guess … over a year, now.'

  "I was just curious," Sam said. "We like to tour old homes. Would it be possible?"

  "Ahhh … I kinda doubt it. Them folks that live there are … well, odd. Hardly ever see none of them people. They just don't come out much."

  Sam smiled. "Well, I guess that lets that out."

  But Frank had a bit more to say about the Dorgenois house. "Place is haunted."

  "The mansion?" Sam questioned.

  "Yes, sir. Been haunted ever since it was built. I 'member my granddaddy talkin' about that place. He wouldn't go near it."

  Nydia smiled at Frank. "Do you really believe it's haunted, Mr. Lovern?"

  "Well …" Frank drawled the word with a grin.

  Then he couldn't remember what they'd been talking about. He just drew up a blank.

  "Something wrong, Mr. Lovern?" Sam asked.

  "Huh? Oh! Why … no. I reckon not. Well, time for me to get back. Everything is turned on. I come out this morning and aired it out and then turned on the air conditioning. Ought to be nice and cool in there for ya'll. I'll see you around."

  He got in his car and left without looking back.

  Sam and Nydia exchanged glances. Nydia said, "Could you feel the Dark One's presence, Sam?"

  "Yes. But only slightly. I'm not sure I understand that."

  "Nor do I." She looked toward the sluggish bayou. "I wonder if there are alligators in there?"

  "Probably. And various types of snakes, including Cottonmouth moccasins."

  His wife smiled. "Are you concerned about Little Sam?"

  He returned the smile. "Nothing can happen to Little Sam. But you and I can be bitten. So be careful, Nydia."

  She took his big hard hand. "Come on. Mr. Lovern said the place had pots and pans and dishes."

  "So?"

  "We're going to wash them all, turn the mattresses, and vacuum the place."

  Grumbling good-naturedly, Sam allowed himself to be tugged along, Little Sam and Dog following.

  Only Dog spotted the cats slinking along the brush on the north and south borders of the property. His mismatched eyes narrowed and gleamed; but he neither barked nor growled. Just watched.

  "Did you run them?" Deputy Lenoir asked Chief Passon. "Yes," the chief replied. "The car is registered to Sam Balon. Checks out. Valid driver's license. No wants, no warrants."

  Don poured a cup of coffee; strong Cajun coffee. He sat down across from the chief of police and said, "I wonder why they came here?"

  Passon shrugged. "For a fact, they had to have had a reason. This place isn't even on a lot of maps."

  'Why do I get the feeling you're holding back from me, Sonny?"

  "I asked for his military records … if he has any, that is. I never got a reply on the teletype. But about ten minutes after I punched it in, the FBI calle
d me—or the guy said he was from the FBI. I don't think he was. He told me that Sam Balon served with honor in the Army Rangers." Sonny lifted his eyes to meet Don's. "Period That's it. You been a cop long enough to know the feeling that you're being had, right, Don?"

  "Sure. That's what you think?"

  "That's what I think."

  City Police Officer C. D. Capell walked into the office "Who are those folks just rented the Lovern house out on the bayou, Chief?"

  "We were just talking about them. They're from New York State."

  Capell looked pained. "Yes, sir. I see that plate on their car. But what else?"

  "Nothing," Don told him. "Sam Balon is clean."

  "Balon?" Capell said. "How come that name is familiar to me?"

  "Is it?" Passon asked. "I'm not familiar with it."

  Capell was thoughtful for a moment. The patrolman was widely read, particularly enjoying and subscribing to every magazine on unexplained phenomena. He said, "It'll come to me. I know that name."

  "You think of it, you tell me," Passon said.

  "Oh, I will, Chief. And I'll think of it. Bet on it."

  The morning passed very quickly for Sam and Nydia. The rented house was neat and well-kept, but Nydia insisted on washing all the silverware and every pot and pan ant dish. Sam vacuumed the floor and turned the mattresses, then went into town to buy several sets of sheets and pillowcases. As he passed the Dorgenois house, he cut his eyes.

  A young woman was sitting in the gazebo, playing with a small child. Sam knew the woman—Janet Sakall. Memories flooded him, memories of the night the young devil worshiper had drugged his drink and seduced him, in his own den.

  He wondered if the young child was his?

  He felt it probably was. And he wondered which side of the line separating Light and Dark the young child's loyalties might lie?

  He thought he knew that, too.

  He drove on into town and parked in front of a family department store. He got out of the car and stood for a moment, surveying the town.

  Sam Balon was several inches over six feet tall. He was muscular, with big shoulders and arms, thick wrists, a narrow waist. His hair was thick, dark brown. He was not of the pretty-boy handsomeness … he was rugged-looking, with a solid, square jaw.