The Devils of D-Day by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online

like a good man and true.’
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER TWO
    F ather
Anton carefully poured me a glass of Malmsey and brought it across his study at
arm’s length, as if it was a medical specimen. I took it unsteadily, and said,
‘Thank you, father. That’s very kind.’
    He waved his hand as if to say not at all, not at all; and
then sat his baggy ancient body in an armchair opposite, and opened up his snuff
box.
    ‘So you went to hear the voices,’ he said, taking a pinch of
ground tobacco.
    I nodded.
    ‘You look, forgive me for saying so, as if they alarmed
you.’
    ‘Not them. It.’
    Father Anton snorted, sneezed, and blew his nose like the
Trump of Doom. Then he said: ‘Demons can be either. One demon can be them, or
it, or whatever they please.
    A demon is a host of evils.’
    I reached across to the small cherrywood sidetable and picked up my tape-recorder.
    ‘Whatever it is, father, it’s here, on tape, and it’s an it . One infernal it.’
    ‘You recorded it? You mean , you did
actually hear it?’
    The old priest’s expression, which had been one of patient
but not altogether unkind indulgence, subtly darkened and changed. He knew the
voice or voices were real, because he had been to the tank himself and heard
them. But for me to come along and tell him that I’d heard them, too – a
perfect stranger without any kind of religious knowledge at all – well, that
obviously disturbed him. Priests, I guess, are used to demons. They work, after
all, in the spiritual front line, and they expect to be tempted and harassed by
demonic manifestations. But when those manifestations are so evil and so
powerful that they make themselves felt in the world of ordinary men, when the
bad vibes are picked up by farmers and cartographer then I
reckon that most priests get to panic.
    ‘I didn’t come around last night because I was too sick,’ I
told Father Anton. ‘I wanted to, but I couldn’t.’
    ‘The tank brought on your sickness? Is that it?’
    I nodded, and my throat still tightened at the thought of
what had poured out of my mouth.
    ‘Whatever it is inside that tank, it made me vomit worms and
bile. It took me half a dozen whiskys and a handful
of paracetamol to get me over it.’
    Father Anton touched the ecclesiastical ring on his finger.
‘You were alone?’ he asked me quietly.
    ‘I went with Madeleine Passerelle . The daughter of Jacques Passerelle .’
    Father Anton said gravely: ‘Yes. I know that the Passerelles have been troubled by the tank for a long
time.’
    ‘Unfortunately, Madeleine didn’t hear the voice firsthand.
She stayed in the car because it was cold. But she’s heard the recording, and
she saw for herself how sick I was. The Passerelles let me stay the night at the farm.’
    Father Anton indicated the tape-recorder. ‘You’re going to
play it for me?’
    ‘If you want to listen.’
    Father Anton regarded me with a soft, almost sad look on his
face. ‘It has been a long time, monsieur ,
since anyone has come to me for help and guidance as you have. In my day, I was
an exorcist and something of a specialist in demons and fallen angels. I will
do everything I can to assist you. If what you have heard is a true demon, then
we are facing great danger, because it is evidently powerful and vicious; but
beguiling as well.’
    He looked towards the empty fireplace. Outside, it was
snowing again, but Father Anton obviously believed it was more spiritual to sit
in the freezing cold than to light a fire. I must say that I personally
preferred to toast my feet and worry about the spirituality of it later.
    Father Anton began. ‘One thing I learned as an exorcist was
that it is essential correctly to identify the demon with whom you are dealing.
Some demons are easy to dispose of. You can say “The Father, the Son and the
Holy Ghost, boo!” and they vanish back to hell. But others are more difficult. Adramelech