Dennis Wheatley - The Devil Rides Out

With a gasp of relief the straining Duke released his prisoners. ‘Now do you believe me?’ he muttered hoarsely, but there was no time for them to reply. The next attack developed almost instantly.

Simon was crouched in the middle of the circle. Marie Lou felt his body trembling against her thigh. She put her hand on his shoulder to steady him and found that he was shaking like an epileptic in a fit.

He began to gibber. Great shudders shook his frame from head to toe and suddenly he burst into heart-rending sobs.

‘What is it, Simon?’ She bent towards him quickly, but he took no notice of her and crouched there on all fours like a dog until, with a sudden jerk, he pulled himself upright and began to mutter :

‘I won’t — I won’t I say — I won’t. D’you hear–– You mustn’t make me—no—no––No!’ Then with a reeling drunken motion he staggered forward in the direction of the window.

But Marie Lou was too quick for him and flung both arms about his neck.

‘Simon darling—Simon,’ she panted. ‘You mustn’t leave us.’

For a moment he remained still, then, his body twisted violently as though his limbs were animated by some terrible inhuman force, and he flung her from him. The mild, good-natured smile had left his face and it seemed, in the faint light which still glowed from the cornice, that he had become an utterly changed personality—his mouth hung open showing the bared teeth in a snarl of ferocious rage—his eyes glinted hot and dangerous with the glare of insanity—a little dribble of saliva ran down his chin.

‘Quick, Richard,’ cried the Duke. ‘They’ve got him—for God’s sake pull him down!’

Richard had seen enough now to destroy his scepticism for life. He followed De Richleau’s lead, grappling frantically with Simon, and all three of them crashed struggling to the floor.

‘Oh, God,’ sobbed Marie Lou. ‘Oh, God, dear God!’

Simon’s breath came in great gasps as though his chest would burst. He fought and struggled like a maniac, but Richard, desperate now, kneed him in the stomach and between them they managed to hold him down. Then De Richleau, who, fearing such an attack, had had the forethought to provide himself with chords, succeeded in tying his wrists and ankles.

Richard rose panting from the struggle, smoothed back his dark hair, and huskily said to the Duke: ‘I take it all back. I’m sorry if I’ve been an extra nuisance to you.’

De Richleau patted him on the elbow. He could not smile for his eyes were flickering, even as Richard spoke, from corner to corner of that grim, darkened room, seeking, yet dreading, some new form in which the Adversary might attempt their undoing.

All three linked their arms together and stood, with Simon’s body squirming at their feet, jerking their heads from side to side in nervous expectancy. They had not long to wait. Indistinct at first, but certain after a moment, there was a stirring in the blackness near the door. Some new horror was forming out there in the shadows beyond the pointers of the pentacle—just on a level with their heads.

Their grip upon each other tightened as they fought desperately to recruit their courage. Marie Lou stood between the others, her eyes wide and distended, as she watched this fresh manifestation gradually take shape and gain solidity.

Her scalp began to prickle beneath her chestnut curls. The Thing was forming into a long, dark, beastlike face. Two tiny points of light appeared in it just above the level of her eyes. She felt the short hairs at the back of her skull lift of their own volition like the hackles of a dog.

The points of light grew in size and intensity. They were eyes. Round, protuberant and burning with a fiery glow, they bored into hers, watching her with a horrible unwinking stare.

She wanted desperately to break away and run, but her knees sagged beneath her. The head of the Beast merged into powerful shoulders and the blackness below solidified into strong thick legs.

‘It’s a horse!’ gasped Richard. ‘A riderless horse.’

De Richleau groaned. It was a horse indeed. A great black stallion and it had no rider that was visible to them, but he knew its terrible significance. Mocata, grown desperate by his failure to wrest Simon from their keeping had abandoned the attempt and in savage revenge, now sent the Angel of Death himself to claim them.

A saddle of crimson leather was strapped upon the stallion’s back, the pressure of invisible feet held the long stirrup leathers rigid to its flanks, and unseen hands held the reins taut a few inches above its withers. The Duke knew well enough that no human who has beheld that dread rider in all his sombre glory has ever lived to tell of it. If that dark Presence broke into the pentacle they would see him all too certainly, but at the price of death.

The sweat streaming down his face, Richard held his ground, staring with fascinated horror at the muzzle of the beast. The fleshy nose wrinkled, the lips drew back, baring two rows of yellowish teeth. It champed its silver bit. Flecks of foam, white and real, dripped from its loose mouth.

It snorted violently and its heated breath came like two clouds of steam from its quivering nostrils warm and damp on his face. He heard De Richleau praying, frantically, unceasingly, and tried to follow suit.

The stallion whinnied, tossed its head and backed into the bookcases drawn by the power of those unseen hands, its mighty hoofs ringing loud on the boards. Then, as though rowelled by knife-edged spurs, it launched upon them.

Marie Lou screamed and tried to tear herself from De Richleau’s grip, but his slim fingers were like a steel vice upon her arm. He remained there, ashen-faced but rigid, fronting the huge beast which seemed about to trample all three of them underfoot.

As it plunged forward the only thought which penetrated Richard’s brain was to protect Marie Lou. Instead of leaping back, he sprang in front of her with his automatic levelled and pressed the trigger.

The crash of the explosion sounded like a thunderclap in that confined space. Again—again—again, he fired while blinding flashes lit the room as though with streaks of lightning. For a succession of seconds the whole library was as bright as day and the gilded bookbacks stood out so clearly that De Richleau could even read the titles across the empty space where, so lately, the great horse had been.

The silence that descended on them when Richard ceased fire was so intense that they could hear each other breathing, and for the moment they were plunged in utter darkness.

After that glaring succession of flashes from his shots, the little rivers of light around the cornice seemed to have shrunk to the glimmer of nightlights coming beneath heavy curtains. They could no longer even see each other’s figures as they crouched together in the ring.

The thought of the servants flashed for a second into Richard’s mind. The shooting was bound to have fetched them out of bed. If they came down their presence might put an end to this ghastly business. But the minutes passed. No welcome sound of running feet came to break that horrid stillness that had closed in upon them once more. With damp hands he fingered his automatic and found that the magazine was empty. In his frantic terror he had loosed off every one of the eight shots.

How long they remained there, tense with horror, peering again into those awful shadows, they never knew, yet each became suddenly aware that the steed of the Dark Angel, who had been sent out from the underworld to bring about their destruction, was steadily re-forming.

The red eyes began to glow in the long dark face. The body lengthened. The stallion’s hoof-beats rang upon the floor as it stamped with impatience to be unleashed. The very smell of the stable was in the room. That gleaming harness stood out plain and clear. The reins rose sharply from its polished bit to bend uncannily in that invisible grip above its saddle bow. The black beast snorted, reared high into the air, and then the crouching humans faced that terrifying charge again.