Dennis Wheatley - The Devil Rides Out

THE ANCIENT SANCTUARY

Well we can’t stay here,’ Rex protested.

‘I know, and we’ve got to find some sanctuary where we can keep Simon safe until morning.’ ‘How about a church?’

‘Yes, if we could find one that is open. But they will all be locked up at this hour.’

‘Couldn’t we get some local parson out of bed?’ ‘If I knew one anywhere near here I’d chance it, but how can we possibly expect a stranger to believe the story that we should have to tell? He would think us madmen, or probably that it was a plot to rob his church. But wait a moment! By Jove, I’ve got it! We’ll take him to the oldest cathedral in Britain and one that is open to the skies.’ With a sudden chuckle of relief, De Richleau set the car in motion again and began to reverse it. ‘Surely you’re not going back?’ Rex asked anxiously. ‘Only three miles to the fork-roads at Weyhill, then down to Amesbury.’

‘Well, don’t you call that going back?’

‘Perhaps, but I mean to take him to Stonehenge. If we can reach it, we shall be in safety, even though it is no more than a dozen miles from Chilbury.’

Once more the car rocked along the road across those grassy, barren slopes, cleaving the silent darkness of the night with its great arced headlights.

Twenty minutes later they passed again through the twisting streets of Amesbury, now silent and shuttered while its inhabitants slept, not even dreaming of the terrible battle which was being fought out that night between the Power of Light and the Power of Darkness, so near to them in actuality and yet so remote to the teeming life of everyday modern England.

A mile outside the town, they ran up the slope to the wire fence which rings in the Neolithic monument, Stonehenge. The Duke drove the car into the deserted car park beside the road and there they left it. Rex carried Simon, wrapped in De Richleau’s great-coat and the car rug, while the Duke followed him through the wire with the suitcase containing his protective impedimenta.

As they staggered over the grass, the vast monoliths of the ancient place of worship stood out against the skyline—the timeless symbols of a forgotten cult that ruled Britain, before the Romans came to bring more decorative and more human gods.

They passed the outer circle of great stone uprights upon some of which the lintels forming them into a ring of arches still remain. Then De Richleau led the way between the mighty chunks of fallen masonry to where, beside the two great trilithons, the sandstone altar lies half buried beneath the remnants of the central arch.

At a gesture from the Duke, Rex laid Simon, still unconscious, upon it. Then he looked up doubtfully. ‘I suppose you know what you’re doing, but I’ve always heard that the Druids, who built this place, were a pretty grim lot. Didn’t they sacrifice virgins on this stone and practise all sorts of pagan rites? I should have thought this place would be more sacred to the Power of Evil than the Power of Good.’

‘Don’t worry, Rex,’ De Richleau smiled in the darkness. ‘It is true that the Druids performed sacrifices, but they were sun-worshippers. At the summer solstice, the sun rises over the hill-top there, shedding its first beam of light directly through the arch on to this altar stone. This place is one of the most hallowed spots in all Europe because countless thousands of long-dead men and women have worshipped here—calling upon the Power of Light to protect them from the evil things that go in darkness —and the vibrations of their souls are about us now making a sure buttress and protection until the coming of the dawn.’

With gentle hands, they set about a more careful examination of Simon. His body was still terribly cold but they found that, except for where Rex had clawed at his neck, he had suffered no physical injury.

‘What do you figure to do now?’ Rex asked as the Duke opened his suitcase.

‘Exorcise him in due form, in order to try and drive out any evil spirit by which he may be possessed.’

‘Like the Roman Catholic priests used to do in the Middle Ages.’

‘As they still do,’ De Richleau answered soberly.

‘What—in these days?’

‘Yes. Don’t you remember the case of Helene Poirier who died only in 1914. She suffered from such terrible demoniacal possession that many of the most learned priests in France, including Monseigneur Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans, and Monsieur Mallet, Superior of the Grand Seminary, had to be called in before, with God’s grace, she could be freed from the evil spirit which controlled her.’

‘I didn’t think the Church admitted the existence of such things as witchcraft and black magic’

‘Then you are very ignorant, my friend. I do not know the official views of others, but the Roman Church, whose authority comes unbroken over nineteen centuries from the time when Our Lord made St. Peter his vice-regent on earth, has ever admitted the existence of the evil power. Why else should they have issued so many ordinances against it, or at the present time so unhesitatingly condemn all spiritualistic practices which they regard as the modern counterparts of necromancy, by which Hell’s emissaries seek to lure weak, foolish and trusting people into their net.’

‘I can’t agree to that,’ Rex demurred. ‘I know a number of Spiritualists, men and women of the utmost rectitude.’

‘Perhaps.’ De Richleau was arranging Simon’s limp body. ‘They are entitled to their opinion and he who thinks rightly lives rightly. No doubt their high principles act as a protective barrier between them and the more dangerous entities of the spirit world. However, for the weak-minded and mentally frail such practices hold the gravest peril. Look at the Bavarian family of eleven people, all of who went out of their minds after a Spiritualistic seance in 1921. The case was fully reported by the Press at the time and I could give you a dozen similar examples, all attributable to Diabolic possession, of course. In fact, according to the Roman Church, there is no phenomenon of modern Spiritism which cannot be paralleled in the records of old witch trials.’

‘According to them, maybe, but Simon’s not a Catholic’

‘No matter, there is nothing to prevent a member of the Roman Church asking Divine aid for any man whatever his race or creed. Fortunately I was baptised a Catholic and, although I may not be a good one, I believe that with the grace of God, power will be granted to me this night to help our poor friend.

‘Kneel down now and pray silently, for all prayers are good if the heart is earnest and perhaps those of the Church of England more efficacious than others since we are now in the English countryside. It is for that reason I recite certain psalms from the book of Common Prayer. But be ready to hold him if he leaps up for, if he is possessed, the Demon within him will fight like a maniac.’

De Richleau took up the holy water and sprinkled a few drops on Simon’s forehead. They remained there a moment and then trickled slowly down his drawn, furrowed face. But he remained corpse-like and still.

‘May the Lord be praised,’ murmured the Duke.

‘What is it?’ breathed Rex.

‘He is not actually possessed. If he were the holy water would have scalded him like boiling oil, and at its touch the Demon would have screamed like a hell cat.’

‘What now then?’

‘He still reeks of evil so I must employ the banishing ritual to purge the atmosphere about him and do all things possible to protect him from Mocata’s influence. Then we will see if this coma shows any signs of lifting.’

The Duke produced a crutch of Rowan wood then proceeded to certain curious and complicated rites; consisting largely in stroking Simon’s limbs with a brushing motion towards the feet; the repetition of many Latin formulas with long intervals in which, led by the Duke, the two men knelt to pray beside their friend.