Ash Return of the Beast

CHAPTER 59



Ravenwood recognized portions of the writhing, grotesquely distorted bodies of the Offspring. They bore uncanny resemblances to the configurations of their sigils. She thought she had prepared well for this moment but the reality of it nearly severed the tenuous thread connecting her to her higher self. She knew that thread was struggling against the unbearable weight of impending insanity.

The Offspring were just behind the veil. They threw themselves at it with wild abandon, screaming, screeching, howling, lunging against it, pressing into the resilient, invisible barrier, the impressions of their forms briefly appearing as if molded into it, then springing back again. The veil stretched, pulled, barely resisting the chaotic assault. Hell was bursting at the seams.

***

Cowl’s hand twitched as the empty, silent cavern of his subconscious was suddenly shaken by the angry growl of Crowley’s voice.

“Damn it to hell,” the voice cursed.

Cowl was confused. “What is it?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“What?”

“A disturbance in the order of things. I can feel it.”

“What kind of disturbance? What things? I don’t understand––”

“That’s right,” came Crowley’s retort. His tone was irate and condescending. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand. But I feel it. God damn it to hell, I can feel it.”

***

Ravenwood stood frozen as she watched the frenzied, unrelenting attack upon the Gate. It seemed ready to give way to the assault at any moment. Was she the cause of this? Had she gone too far? Dear God, what have I done? Any moment now, the veil would be ripped open, torn to shreds by the mad forces of a Hell gone berserk. She braced for the onslaught. There was no escape. It was as good as over and the world she’d hoped to save was about to suffer a horror beyond all comprehension.

Helpless and alone, she could feel her consciousness fading, drifting. As the darkness slowly crept into her soul, squeezing out the last remnants of light, a series of images passed through her mind: Tocho… Man, I don’t know. I mean, you’d be risking your life. I don’t think you know what you’d be getting yourself into. The Owl Man… Journeying to the Underworld is something few have done. Some have not returned. That is, they returned but as an empty shell, their consciousness trapped in a void from which it can never escape. Lieutenant Kane… What about you? Got any kids? The drawings of the sigils… Kutulu is special among the offspring. He is the most powerful of all the offspring because he holds within him all the magick and power that the other offspring can use against the humans here in the world of the living.

That final thought ignited a tiny spark.

She remembered.

Kutulu.

These demons can’t escape their captivity without the ninth member, the sleeping demon, Kutulu.

She remembered, only a magician in possession of The Keys Of The Gatekeeper could awaken and summon the sleeping demon.

The spark grew brighter.

Cowl may, indeed, have somehow acquired the mysterious book but if he’s still in a coma then he hasn’t used it yet. Besides, she reasoned, if he had used it, the demons would already be free. Clearly, they’re not. The Gate still holds. There’s still a chance to finish this.

As the inner light of her consciousness returned, the frantic activity of the demons suddenly subsided to a din of dull grumblings, confused cacklings, their contorted faces twisting into mystified expressions. They seemed confounded, bewildered by her sudden lack of fear.

With a sudden jolt of confidence, Ravenwood turned away from the Gate and retreated back into the tunnel of light, leaving the hideous things behind, stewing in their state of confusion.

She knew, now, it was all real. Not a shred of doubt remained. Now she could do what had to be done: Rye Cowl had to be destroyed.

***

On the floor of Tlacatecolotl’s hut, Ravenwood squirmed, her eyes fluttered open. Her voice was weak. “Tocho? Am I––?”

Tocho knelt beside her. “Ro! You’re all right! Man, I was… Ro?”

Ravenwood’s eyelids fluttered again and slowly closed.

Tocho grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Ro?” She didn’t respond. He shook her again. Still nothing. He cast a worried look at the shaman.

Tlacatecolotl nodded. “I have seen this happen before with those who have attempted to reach the lowest levels of the Underworld.”

He told Tocho it was a kind of comatose state caused by the vibrational differences between this world and the other dimensions but also from the body’s reaction to the special formula that she ingested––at her own request, he was quick to add.

“Jesus Christ. You should have warned us this could happen.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, my friend. She will be all right, but...” He left the sentence hanging.

“But…?”

“But you might be here a bit longer than you planned.”

“What do you mean a bit longer? How long?”

“I have seen this last for several days. A week at most.”

Tocho’s eyes grew wide. “A week? But we’ve only got two days. We’ve all only got two days!”

***

Pastor Pete sat slumped in his wheelchair, a gray woolen blanket draped over his lap. Its sagging folds mimicked the drooping skin under the old pastor’s tired eyes. They were moist, empty, staring at nothing. In his wrinkled hands an unopened Bible was slowly––almost imperceptibly––slipping from his trembling grasp. There were no more prayers to be prayed. Hope ceased to exist.

The Bible dropped to the carpet with a muffled thump. It tumbled open to the book of Revelation. It was nearly over.

The Devil was coming.