John Saul - The Right Hand of Evil

After their evening prayers, the two priests had retired to Monsignor Devlin's small room, where Father MacNeill had searched the entire Bible one more time, carefully turning each page. He could almost feel the missing leaves. So certain was he that he would find them that it wasn't until he'd turned the very last page and even carefully examined the binding itself that he made himself admit they weren't there. Sighing heavily, he pushed the Bible away, as if to distance himself from the source of his disappointment. As the book slid across the table, there was a crash as the small box behind it fell to the floor.

His disappointment giving way to regret, he reached down and picked up the music box. "I'm so sorry," he said. "How could I have been so clumsy?"

"It's all right," Monsignor Devlin assured him. "It doesn't work anyway."

Frowning, Father MacNeill opened the lid of the music box. There was a faint click as the mechanism engaged, but no music played.

"When I bought it, it played a truly frightening rendition of Ave Maria." Devlin chuckled. "I suspect Cora broke it deliberately."

"Cora?" MacNeill echoed. "Cora Conway?" When Devlin nodded, Father MacNeill turned the box over and examined its bottom. A winding key protruded through a brass plate held in place by four small screws. His pulse quickening, the priest hurried downstairs, returning a few minutes later with a battered metal tool box. Sorting through the jumble inside, he finally came up with a screwdriver small enough to fit the screws on the music box.

A minute later he carefully lifted the brass plate. And there, carefully folded, were the missing pages. His hands trembling, he unfolded them, smoothed them on the table, and began reading Loretta Villiers Conway's perfect script…

October 31, 1875 -

It is my wedding day.

I had not expected ever to have a wedding, so ill have I been, and even today I am not certain it would not have been better for me to have died. But I know I must marry Monsignor Melchior Conway, or suffer eternal damnation, for that is what both my father and the Monsignor have told me.

The Monsignor came from Philadelphia three months ago. Our own priest asked him to come, so certain was he that I was possessed of the Devil I do not remember the Monsignor's arrival, for it was during the time when I was confined to my bedroom, of which I remember very little. What I do remember I now record here.

I was in the cellar of our little house when I noticed a strange mist rising from a hole in the earthen floor. As I b reathed the mist, everything in the basement changed.

All because golden, and images appeared before me-beautiful images. A being appeared, and touched me in a way I should not have permitted.

I became ill the next day, and cannot bring myself to write the things they say I have done. They say I have been a wanton, and committed mortal sins, which is why the Monsignor came from Philadelphia.

At our first meeting-of which I have no clear memory-I took the Monsignor to the place where my illness began. I do not know how long we prayed in the cellar that night, but it cannot have been long enough, for the Monsignor insisted we go back the next night, and the night after that.

The silence in the little room on the second floor of the rectory was complete as Father MacNeill finished reading the pages that Cora Conway had cut from the Bible and hidden in the music box. But why these pages?

My illness soon began to retreat in response to the Monsignor's prayers, but I am told that my health now depends on him. He will give up his religious vocation to marry me, which Father says I must do, though to marry a priest seems to me the gravest of blasphemies.

There was an inch of space in which nothing had been written, and then Loretta Villiers Conway's hand began again:

It is done.

I am married to the Monsignor by his own authority, for neither he nor Father were able to prevail upon our priest to marry us. Sister Mary Anthony came to our house after supper, and though she would not set foot indoors, she gave me a gift of two small crosses made of pure gold, which she said could protect me, and one of my children as well. Then she begged God to forgive me my sins.

I suspect that He will not.

Nor will He forgive Monsignor Melchior, for I believe I know the truth of what lies in our cellar. It is Evil itself that resides deep within that hole, and I fear the Monsignor has become its Servant.

I have this day married the right hand of Evil.

The Monsignor has ceded himself-and the eldest son of all the generations to come-to the Evil that dwells beneath this house, and I know we shall prosper on this Earth, but I know also that we are damned- d amned for all Eternity.

Why hadn't Cora cut from the Bible all the pages detailing the sins of the Conways? Even as he posed the question in his mind, he knew the answer: In Cora's mind, it was only this darkest secret that must be kept; all the rest might have been attributed to madness, but these first entries-the ones she'd hidden-proved the damnation of all the Conways' souls.

It was finally Monsignor Devlin who spoke. His voice quavered, as if the burdens of his years had suddenly grown heavier. "An exorcism," he breathed. "So that's how it started-an exorcism."

"A failed exorcism," Father MacNeill corrected. "He came to banish Satan, but gave up his soul instead."

Through the open window, the bells of St. Ignatius began to toll the darkest hour. Both priests shivered. An evil had been unleashed on St. Albans on a Halloween more than a century earlier. Now, on this Halloween midnight, had it spread over the town once more?

"Kimmie? Kimmie, come on!"

It was Jared's voice calling her name, and at first she didn't see him. Then she spotted him, fifty yards ahead of her, beckoning to her. They were in a meadow, and he was running toward a lake, and in a few seconds they would both plunge into the cool water, popping through the surface a moment later, laughing and splashing. She broke into a run, doing her best to keep up with him, but Jared was faster than she, and plunged into the lake before she could even get to the shore. She stopped at the edge of the water, watching to see where he'd come up, her eyes looking first one way, then another.

But he didn't come up.

"Jared!" she called out. Then again: "Jared?" When her brother still didn't appear, she ran a few yards along the lake's edge, first in one direction, then in the other.

"Mommy!" she called out. "Mommy, help! Jared's gone!"

But when she looked around, her mother was nowhere to be seen.

Then, as clearly as if she'd heard him shouting the words, Jared called to her again.

"Help me, Kimmie! Help me!"

With no thought but to save her brother, Kim dove into the water, plunging deep as she searched for her drowning twin. At first she saw nothing except sunlight filtering through the clear water, but as she plunged deeper and the light faded, she caught a glimpse of him.

He was far below, looking up at her, his hand extended as if reaching out to her. But as she watched, he sank deeper into the watery darkness, until she could hardly see him. She tried to dive faster, kicking as hard as she could, but no matter how fast she swam downward, Jared was always just a little beyond her reach. The water seemed to be turning to jelly around her now, and she struggled against it, straining to reach her brother before he disappeared completely. Then, for one fleeting moment, the tips of her fingers touched his. She tried to clutch at his hand, but he fell away into the blackness, disappearing.