Graham Masterton - Mirror

'Werewolves?' asked Martin cautiously. He didn't want to hurt Father Quinlan's feelings, but really -

Father Quinlan said, 'I'm afraid I'm getting ahead of myself, Mr Williams. You can mock me if you like. But the historical records concerning the appearance of werewolves are quite clear. And so are the records concerning the extraordinary properties of mirrors.'

He paused, and sipped his wine, and watched Martin - do you know anything at all - closely. Then he said, 'Your mirror all about it?'

Martin shrugged. 'I'm not sure that it's a good idea to tell you.'

'Where did you get it?'

'I bought it from a woman up on Hillrise Avenue, near the Reservoir.'

'And was she the original owner?'

Martin shook his head.

Father Quinlan waited for a moment in the hope that Martin was going to tell him who the original owner was, but when Martin stayed silent, he said, 'Let me give you some background, Martin. Then perhaps you and I can come to some arrangement and do what we can to deal with this situation.'

'I'm listening,' Martin told him.

'These claws,' said Father Quinlan, picking up one of the black hooked nails that was laid out on the table. 'These are the claws of Satan himself, do you understand what I'm saying? The real claws of Satan himself, in the dragon manifestation that was clearly predicted in the Book of Revelation.'

He went across to his desk and picked up one of his Bibles. 'Here it is. "And I saw another beast coming up out of the earth; and he spoke as a dragon. And there was given to him to give breath to the image of the beast, that the image of the beast might even speak and cause as many who do not worship the image of the beast to be killed."'1

Father Quinlan was silent for a moment, and then he read, '"Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast; and his number is six hundred and sixty-six." '

He closed the Bible. 'The legend, Mr Williams, is that Satan was cast out of heaven by the angel Michael, and fell, and was shattered, so that the pieces of his body were strewn all over the earth. A claw here, a horn there, a hoof beyond the horizon.

'But the legend also says that — seconds before he struck the earth - his image was momentarily reflected in a river, and that the image in the river became the spirit of Satan, although he had no body in the real material world. His real body was spread around everywhere . .. rather like the body of somebody who has died in an air disaster, except that Satan had fallen not from 23,000 feet, but from the vaults of heaven itself.

'For thousands of years, Satan was trapped inside the reflected world. Behind glass, behind mirrors, in rivers and lakes. He was able to influence the events of the real world. He was able to enter it, in a limited way, by possessing the souls of children and gullible people who were prepared to give him admission. But he was never able to escape. To escape, he required his material body to be reassembled. He needed somebody else to put back together again the jigsaw of his shattered body. Hence these claws, Mr Williams; hence this scalp. Whoever used to own these was undoubtedly the agent of Satan — trying to reincarnate the devil himself in the modern world. In the second deposit box, you will probably find more pieces; and you may even find another key, which will lead you on to yet more pieces.'

Martin said, 'Satan. I can't believe it. You mean the real genuine Satan?'

Father Quinlan nodded. 'The real genuine Satan, from the Bible.'

'But if he ever gets back together again, what will he do?'

Father Quinlan gave a tight smile. 'He has only one purpose in life, and that is to tear apart whatever God has created. That means us. He wants to bring the world to a spectacular and grisly end.'

Martin was silent for a moment. Then he said, 'Two weeks ago, I wouldn't have believed any of this stuff. I wouldn't have wasted my time.'

'But now?'

'Well - maybe it's a little different. I've seen enough to understand that what you're trying to say is true. Well, partly true; or mostly true. These bits of Satan, these claws and stuff — they were used by devil worshippers in Hollywood in the late 1930s. They used to meet once a month at the Hollywood Divine, and hold a what-d'you-call-it, don't tell me, Sabbath.'

Father Quinlan smiled in admiration. 'You know about the Hollywood Divine?'

Martin said, 'Yes. That's where we found these relics.'

'Well,' said Father Quinlan, 'I congratulate you. I've been looking for them for years. It never occurred to me that they might still be there.'

'In the basement,' Martin told him, 'in the safe-deposit boxes.'

Father Quinlan was silent for a moment; then he said, 'As far as I can discover, it all started in the winter of 1935. There were so many stars in Hollywood who felt insecure. The studio system was tyrannical. One minute you were adored; the next minute you were sliding into oblivion. It was all alcohol and drugs and fast cars and promiscuity. You see those actors smiling and waving: my God, they lived on the very edge of their nerves. If there was any group of people who were ready for the promises of Satan, it was them.'

'What happened?' asked Martin.

Father Quinlan tapped the side of his nose with his finger. 'Father Lucas may have Coke-bottle eyeglasses, my friend, but he isn't blind and he isn't stupid. He saw all those pictures of Boofuls on your wall; and he found out that you've been trying to sell a musical of Boofuls for the past six months.'

'Oh he did, did he?' said Martin.

'You're offended?' asked Father Quinlan.

'I don't know, a little.'

'How can you be offended? Don't you realize how serious this is? Don't you realize how dangerous it is? Oh, we're talking about Satan, are we? What a laugh! But my God, my friend, we're talking about the very antithesis of peace and happiness; we're talking about plague and war and famine and destruction. My dear Mr Williams, we're talking about the world torn from pole to pole!'

He stopped for a moment, breathing deeply, and then he said, 'And why do we face such an appalling Apocalypse? Let me tell you why, Mr Williams. Because of the vanity of a handful of poor insecure actors who lived in Hollywood in the 1930s. Those glamorous people of the silver screen, Joan Craw-ford, Errol Flynn, John Barrymore, those people we used to idolize! They weren't glamorous at all, they were obsessed with the fear of failure. They were little and frightened, and terrified of the adoration that was showered on them. So they sought encouragement. They sought reassurance. And when one small boy came among them and said that they could be successful and happy forever, how do you think they reacted?'

Martin said nothing, but finished his wine and set down his empty glass next to the black-tissue package.

Father Quinlan said, 'I've been through St Patrick's files for the late 1930s. You wouldn't believe it, but we were given anonymous tip-offs year after year that somebody, somewhere in LA, was holding Black Sabbaths on a monumental scale. Phone calls, scrawled letters; one or two photographs. The Hollywood Divine was mentioned several times. But almost all of those tip-offs were ignored - even though one of the letters specifically warned that "they have the relics"?

'But what were these actors actually trying to do?' asked Martin.

Father Quinlan ran his hand through his wild white hair. 'They were trying to do nothing more than bring back Satan. The real, reincarnated Satan, in the flesh. It was a pretty straightforward arrangement. In return for bringing him back, Satan would give them youth and glamor and eternal popularity.'

Martin said nothing, but lowered his head in silent acknowledgement. He had seen too much in the past few days to be a disbeliever.