The Conqueror Worm Page 3

  Father McGregor chose his words very carefully, sidestepping the woman and glancing back into the pit. “Those bodies... those bodies belong to your husband and son, don't they?”

  “Waste not, want not.” The woman gave an exaggerated sigh and lowered herself into the pit. Cuddling up to the body of her husband, she caressed his chest, licking her lips. “I had to find some way to feed myself and the boy. What other option did I have, father? And here you were rude enough to turn down my offer of a free meal.” Her hand traveled lower, till she cupped the cadaver's genitals. “These are prime cuts, not to be wasted. The offer's still on the table, if you're hungry. I know just what piece I'll feed you.” Chuckling, she squeezed the dead man's cock.

  “Unclean spirit,” began the priest, planting his torch in the soft soil. “You have brought ruin upon your family, invited the devil into your very body, ruined your son's health by feeding him his own flesh and blood.” He slowly unsheathed the sword. “Why? Why subject Cesare to this?”

  “Because his torment is nourishing,” barked the demon, beaming at him from the bottom of the pit. “I will break his soul by feeding him these delicacies night after night, and when he finally succumbs, his flesh will be flavored with the spice of despair.” She licked her teeth lasciviously.

  “I cannot allow this to stand.”

  Gianna sat up, gained her feet, chortling. “So, what will you do? Abandon your vows and murder me? I rather like that,” she growled.

  Freeing the sword fully from its scabbard, the priest held out the blade. “You're mistaken. To kill a man is a mortal sin, it is true. But to cut down a demon is God's work. I have been sent on a crusade by Rome, and have met others like you in my travels. Creatures that revel in the debasement of innocent life, strangers to holiness. I shall not suffer a demon to live in this world.”

  Twitching suddenly, Gianna's head jerked to the side, and from between her lips there slowly emerged a thick, black tentacle. Eyes widening like two chunks of coal, she threw out her bony hands and attempted to rake the priest with her grotty nails.

  Falling back a few paces, Ossian reared and swung his sword, catching the woman in the shoulder. The blade passed through her flesh with ease, shearing muscle till it struck bone. Gianna wailed, the tentacle in her mouth writhing, and she pulled away, drawing the sword out of her body. Holding the wound, which gushed and soaked the ground below in dark blood, she lashed out again, this time attempting to strike him with the black limb that protruded from between her lips. The appendage touched the gore-slick blade and immediately recoiled with a sizzle. Gianna lost her footing and fell backward, looking up at the priest in aggravated confusion. “What in the world is that sword made of?” she demanded, clutching her wounded flesh. “It burns.”

  The priest replied with a kick, burying the tip of his boot in the woman's chin. When she fell backward, dazed, he stomped on the tentacle with his other foot and held her to the ground, bringing the sword down to meet her cheek. He let the blade dwell there for a minute, till her pale flesh began to fry and break away. “The hilt and scabbard are made with Black Tourmaline, a stone whose properties repel creatures like you. It makes the weapon much heavier than I'd like, but I do enjoy the way it burns heathen flesh.” He pressed it harder against her cheek, piercing it till the tip of the sword was probing the inside of her mouth. Giving it a slow turn, he raked the blade against her teeth, breaking them free of the gums.

  Instantly the tentacle began to withdraw, and her voice returned to normal. Breaking into sobs, she looked up to the priest imploringly. “Please, no... father, I beg of you. Don't kill me. Think of my son. Who will take care of him? If I die, he'll have no one left. He has already suffered so much. He won't survive without his mother. Please, think of my son!”

  “The boy is no longer any of your concern.” Ossian dug his heel into her breast and buried the sword in her throat. Gianna thrashed beneath his sole, her limbs shooting out every which way and her hands clutching at the ground. When he was sure the windpipe was severed, the priest drew out the blade and dashed her through the neck, severing the head completely. For some minutes later the body continued to twitch.

  Gianna's body was added to the pit where her son and husband lay, along with all the twigs and dead leaves he could find. He carefully set the tinder ablaze and watched as the three bodies were engulfed, the air fouled by the smell of burning flesh. Once the bodies were well and consumed by the fire, the priest started back towards the house. He turned, whipping the blood off of his dripping blade with a flick of the wrist, only to halt.

  Someone had been standing behind him.

  It was the boy, Cesare. Dressed only in a shirt and thin pants, the emaciated youth wore his mother's blood on his face, along with a trail of hot tears. Eyes wide and mouth fallen open in shock, he emptied his bladder where he stood.

  “Cesare,” uttered the priest, setting down his sword and taking the boy by the shoulders. “Cesare, what are you...”

  Breaking into convulsions, the boy's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed in the priest's arms.

  4

  The boy didn't regain consciousness till the next evening. The first thing he caught upon waking was an eyeful of the priest, who'd been stationed by his side.

  Like a captured animal, Cesare's first instinct was fear. His sickly frame spasmed in terror and he edged away from the priest, bumping his head on the floor. Clawing his way out of his covers, he crawled a few feet across the room and turned to stare at the houseguest in the white collar. “W-who... who...” Try as he might, he couldn't seem to catch his breath, or to recall the name of this familiar face.

  And then it must've struck him all at once, because his pale brow was furrowed and his feeble fists were balled.

  Holding up his hands to show his peaceful intentions, Ossian managed a smile. “Sorry to have frightened you, child. I'm Father McGregor. Do you remember me? We met yesterday.”

  Breathing hard, mouth empty of saliva, the youth bared his teeth. “I remember. You're the fucker who killed my mother.”

  The priest massaged his jaw, shaking his head. “Quite the mouth on you.” Standing, he wiped his hands on his cassock. Since the events of the prior night, he'd been considering how best to broach the subject of Gianna's execution. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to come up with any way to sugarcoat it. “Listen, Cesare, I know that it might be hard for you to understand, but I did that in order to protect you. Your mother... she wasn't well. In many ways she wasn't even your mother anymore. The world has changed, and in these dark days sometimes good people succumb to the shadows. In your mother's case...”

  Cesare didn't seem able to accept this. Grabbing onto the hearth and clumsily gaining his feet, he stared up at the priest and barked, “That doesn't change the fact that you're a murderer!” Pointing a jagged finger at the man, he continued, “You murdered her! She never hurt you, never hurt anyone! She... she just wanted to take care of me!”

  The argument might have been more easily resolved had the priest simply taken the little whelp out back and shown him the pit in which his mother had kept the boy's father and sibling, feeding on them like a buzzard. But even as his patience waned, the priest took a step back and motioned to the newly-arranged mess of covers on the floor. “Please, we can discuss that more later. For now, I'd like to have a look at you. You seem to have regained some strength, but you're still very ill, Cesare. Allow me to examine you.”

  “Don't... don't touch me. Don't you ever touch me. Got that?” spat the child. “If you come near me again, I... I...” His jaundiced gaze traveled across the floor, settling on the imposing sword. He studied the weapon in its black sheath and then glanced back up at the priest. “If you do, I'll kill you.”

  Stifling a chuckle, Ossian nodded. “As you wish. I was concerned after your health, but I can see that you're more than capable of taking care of yourself.” He took up his blade and satchel and walked to the door. “Peace be with you
, Cesare. And do be careful,” said the priest, pausing at the threshold. “Night is coming.”

  The boy would be dead within days. Within hours if some vandal came by.

  It's none of your business. Let it be.

  Ossian did his best to dispel thoughts of the youth, to leave the village and continue on his way, however as he reached what appeared to be a major road, he hesitated. The mission was calling and his goals concerned far more than the life of a single mouthy teenager. And yet he couldn't wipe the sight of the emaciated lad from his mind. He feared for the youth's safety, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself, and wondered if it wasn't his duty to turn back and protect him. There were cruel things in the world, and already Cesare had been preyed upon by one―his very own mother.

  God will work it out. If the boy is worth saving, God will see to it. It's no business of mine. I killed the demon. What happens to him now is not my concern.

  Night came quickly, and still Ossian idled near the village limits, munching on a foraged white mushroom. He considered walking back to the house, checking on the boy once more before setting off to Bologna. It was doubtful that Cesare would be willing to forgive him for killing his mother, but perhaps some time and loneliness would see his harsh feelings thaw. Had Ossian let Gianna live, the boy's suffering would have been increased a hundred-fold, and would have continued till the demon saw it fit to let him die. The priest felt, in some small way, that he owed the youth a better explanation, and that his intercession the previous night required him to take some responsibility for the new orphan he'd made.

  If God intends to save the boy, then perhaps He intends to use me to do it. The priest looked up into the dark sky and sighed. Send me an answer, Lord. What am I to do? Shall I leave the little ingrate to die, or should I turn back?

  There was only silence, though in it Ossian discovered much. “Damn it.” Kicking the tires of an old Volkswagen, he looked back at the shadowed village. His conscience had won out.

  He'd been a few hours gone from the house, and had some trouble finding his way back in the darkness. Retracing his route proved a difficult thing, and more than once he found himself standing in a dead-end, or walking in circles. Eventually however, he zeroed in on Gianna's house and made a beeline for its front door.

  Which sat ajar.

  The youth was in no state for traveling, and so that left only one reason in the priest's mind for the door to be sitting open at such an hour. There's been an intruder. Pausing in the moonlight, Ossian set his satchel within the confines of an overgrown fern and yanked his sword free of its sheath. Studying the ground, he discovered a number of prints in the muddy road leading up to the house; handprints and footprints. Whatever had come up to the abode had done so on all-fours.

  Damn it, am I too late? Who could have approached the house at this late hour if not for a--

  While he stood outside, studying the prints and listening to the howl of the breeze, another noise cut in and sent him running for the house.

  Cesare screamed.

  Barreling through the door and arriving in the living room, bathed in shadow for the lack of a fire, Ossian discovered the boy in a crumpled heap, hands on his face.

  And there was someone else in the house with him, besides.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The moonlight drifting in from the doorway and window helped him along so that, in the hallway between the kitchen and living room, he could make out the shifting, aberrant form of an intruder. It was humanoid in shape, but sat close to the floor on its hands and feet, like an animal. Its white, cloudy eyes made contact with the priest's, and its mouth fell open to reveal a black maw.

  “Who are you?” asked Ossian, sword held firmly in both hands. “Answer!”

  The figure only gave a quiet hiss in reply.

  “Come here,” ordered the priest, reaching out and taking the boy's hand. “Stay close. Are you hurt?”

  Unable to speak, Cesare simply shook his head.

  The figure stalked back and forth, sniffing the air and appraising the priest narrowly. A mane of shaggy hair festooned both sides of its pasty white face, and its hands were bunched up into fists so that they met the floor like chunky, makeshift paws. A curious noise welled up in its throat. It did not appear capable of speech. Overall it gave the impression not of a man, but of a wild animal. Its feral movements and appearance bespoke a harsh existence in the wilderness, and of a kinship with those foul elements that now ran rampant throughout the world.

  “A demon,” muttered the priest.

  Something infernal had taken up residence in this unsightly creature. Like Gianna, the intruder's soul had long been ruined, destined for the hellfire. It was not merely a case of possession; demon and host were one organism, perfectly bound up in one another. The only antidote was death.

  Raising his sword, Ossian gave a mighty swing, managing only to bury his blade in the wall. The intruder backed away quickly, limbs clattering against the pots and pans on the floor. A black tendril began to emerge from the thing's mouth and slithered across the ground like a snake. It was tasting the air, waiting for the priest to make a move so that it could strike from below. Its rear limbs twitched as it prepared to pounce at the slightest provocation.

  “Monstrous spirit, denizen of Hell―I cast you out of this house in the name of Christ!” Ossian lurched forward, delivering a forceful jab, but succeeded only in grazing the figure's hair. By the time his strike was completed, the bestial thing was hurriedly running up one of the walls, and was leaping towards him before he could regain his balance.

  Pulling the boy down onto the ground with him, Ossian narrowly avoided being struck by the creature. It landed instead on the edge of the hearth, allowing the tentacle to extend till it hooked the priest's right ankle and took hold of his leg.

  With the crushing force of a python, the tentacle squeezed Ossian's flesh and began to cut off the blood supply. At the same time, maw widening to a nightmarish degree, the creature began to drag the priest closer, as though it might swallow him whole.

  In his evasion, the Grand Inquisitor had fallen out of Ossian's reach. Try as he might to recover the blade, the pull of the black limb upon his leg dampened his range. Cesare was on his feet again, and stumbled into a corner, covering his eyes.

  “Boy!” shouted the priest. “My sword!” Trying to pull his leg free of the demon's grasp proved futile; the hold around his leg was beginning to cause numbness. “Cesare! Grab my sword!”

  The youth was overwhelmed. He reached out with one hand and tried to pick up the fallen blade, but the creature skittered to the left, putting such a scare in him that he fell onto his ass and cowered. Crawling away towards the kitchen, Cesare picked up an old frying pan and chucked it at the demon. “Let go of him! Let go!”

  The creature reared back on its haunches, lifting Ossian into the air and then sending him back onto the floor, hard.

  The priest saw stars. With his free leg, he attempted to kick the thing in the face, tried to crush the tentacle with his boot, however he lacked the leverage to deliver a solid blow. With his sword out of reach and no other alternative, he took hold of his scabbard. Pulling the sheath of black stone off of his belt, he raised it over his head and bashed the creature across the brow.

  The tentacle disengaged immediately, and the creature recoiled with a hiss. Its pale forehead had been split open, and the wound now sizzled audibly. The Black Tourmaline had done its job.

  “How do you like that?” asked Ossian, breaking away and leaning on the scabbard as he stood. “Want another?” The properties of Black Tourmaline were such that it could wound demonic entities with a single touch. Throughout history the stone had been used as a repellant against the forces of darkness, and it was for this reason that the artisans of 15th century Spain had utilized it in the hilt and sheath of the Grand Inquisitor. Sword in hand now, Ossian felt his foot transition from numbness to tingling. The blood was flowing and feeling was slowl
y returning.

  Rather than risk another wound, the creature began backing away, pawing now and then at the gash in its brow. Then, snarling, it slipped out the front door and took out across the moonlit road, dashing like a frightened cat into the safety of the dark woods.

  For a long while, neither Ossian nor the boy said anything.

  When minutes had passed and he'd finally put away his sword, the priest turned and nodded to the youth, who was still hiding in the kitchen. “You can come out. It's over. For now. The blasted thing ran off on me.”

  Cesare peeked out at him from around the corner and then crept into the living room. “W-what was that?” he asked.

  “A demon,” replied the priest flatly. “How did it get in here?”

  Cesare lowered himself onto the floor and pulled a blanket up around his shoulders. His eyes were moist and wide, and it would be a long while before the panic in his youthful face fully subsided. “I heard something at the door... a scratching. I... I thought it was a dog or something. I don't know why, but I opened it to check. That was when it came inside.”

  “You'd do well to secure the doors and windows of this place if you intend to stay here alone without any weapons.” Glaring out the window, Ossian looked for signs of the monstrosity, however the woods were punishingly dark and no matter how many times he returned to them, there was no pale face staring back at him from the treeline. “Are you hurt?” he asked again.

  “N-no,” replied the boy. Then, shuddering, he asked, “That thing... is that... is that what my mother was like?”

  Ossian nodded gravely.

  Cesare looked down at the floor, shaking, and tried not to burst into tears. “I see.”