Demon's Door

By R. Christopher Tait

From an encounter with the succubus Hecate came the gift of the Ouija board. Carlo hoped that the board would bring changes to his life, and it did, taking things from bad to worse. He was a man without a set of values to guide him through the behavioral maze of social interface, so he cast his lot with demons and the unclean beasts of a metaphysical world that he did not understand. His soul was sold and the mark of the beast was upon him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spero Publishing
• Release date: Apr 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781944956578

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Demon’s Door

By R. Christopher Tait

Demon’s Door

By: R. Christopher Tait

Siento Sordida


A division of Caliburn Press, LLC.


P.O. Box 8747


Madison, WI 53714


http://caliburnpress.com/

Digital ISBN: 978-1-944956-57-8

Print ISBN: 978-1-944956-56-1

Cover art by: Dawné Dominique

Copyright 2017 R. Christopher Tait

Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights

Worldwide English Language Print Rights

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

This work is dedicated to the human soul. Billions of souls like the atoms of a giant molecule are a building block of the cosmos like the stars and moons of endless galaxies. The Big bang theory is hard to dispute but it is my belief that it was the powerful right hand of a righteous God that commanded the eruption of the dense matter that stood at the center of space giving birth to the universe. The temperatures were so high that the random motions of particles and antiparticles caused collisions that continuously created and destroyed particles and then there was the cooling that followed which annihilated protons and neutrons and later protons and positrons in astronomical proportions. If energy cannot be created or destroyed only transformed where did this energy go? I believe that the trillions upon trillions of joules of energy rocketing through space at the speed of light were part of the master plan of the universe. As determined by God some of that energy became an eternal occupant of our bodies, the immortal essence which gives us life, the human soul. From Plato’s perspective, the soul had three parts, the Logos dealing with the mind, the Thymos dealing with emotions, and Eros dealing with appetites and desires. If there is any truth to ancient and revered philosopher’s theory it is easy to see how open our minds, emotions and desires could be to the temptations of the flesh.

If you believe in God, angels, and the glories of heaven, you have to believe in counterforce of evil, Satan and his demon servants. Be advised that they are there behind the veil of time and space waiting for a weak moment to corrupt. They are there whispering in the darkness, tempting and taunting, breaking down your will to resist. As the shepherd tends his flock so the wolf waits steal a lamb. With his belly full of flesh and his face stained with virgin blood, the gluttony of the beast makes him wait to steal another. As Christ sat at the table with his disciples celebrating the death, rebirth, and the legacy of the Lamb of God so does Satan dine with his demons raising cups of evil broth to toast their victories over the souls of mortal men. Thus the struggle continues in everlasting ecstasy for the powers of good and evil. Those who resist the temptations of the dark veil are delivered from the struggle through death, rebirth and the rapture of the heavens. Those who embrace the beast fuel the fires of hell with their immortal souls.

Acknowledgements

To my friend Vicki who always offered help and encouragement. Without her brutally honest feedback I might have been satisfied with less. She wields the truth like a razor-sharp sword and that is something that deserves deep respect.

Sandburg alludes to fog on little cat feet,

The illusion is more like clouds as ships in a ghost grey fleet.

Mounds of mist that make light dim,

And feed the fear at twilight’s rim.

All that’s evil, ebon, eerie, deeds so dismal, dark and dreary.

Sired in the depths of a shadowed soul,

That throws writhing bodies in a shallow hole.

Afraid to walk the streets at night,

Knowing what fog does to light?

Are we products of this age,

Adjusting to each other’s rage?

Fear no walk through nature’s misted face,

Relax, enjoy her endless space?

On your knees poor fool to pray,

There is no escape from man’s decay.

Deny that you are Satan’s whore

And greet the demon at the door.

Chapter One

Carlo LeMadre felt secure within the cold, grey, steel walls of the ship's cabin. He was kin to the inanimate and everything inside that dingy eight by ten foot cube supported that theory like a positive sample of DNA. A thin mattress bunk hung from steel chains bolted high on the cabin wall, as if not shackled like a bond servant; the bed might try to escape from the dark and dingy dungeon. The sheets were dirty, stained and reeked of human sweat. Newspapers and porn magazines were tangled in a sea of dirty clothes and garbage making it impossible to tell the true texture of the floor. Except for a small mirror over the sink, the walls were bare. No pictures, no memorabilia, nothing to remind him of a better life.

Just to the right of the hatch door was a small table and chair crammed into the corner of the small room. This was the center of Carlo's universe. To say that conditions were Spartan might mislead, as that term implies not only the bare necessity, but also to order and discipline. In the dark, damp bowels of the ship, his cabin was the fecal mass.

The center of his universe was a deadly dark star with a spiritual mass so dense that no human energy could escape its gravitational pull. Attesting to the skill of ancient artisans, the table was crafted in the ornate with spectacular detail. The legs were six in number, thick and strong. Gorgons with ruby red eyes, wings of gold and the long, curved fangs of a serpent glared from the table hips. Perched at the knees were feral dragons with a tortured soul in the grasp of each clawed foot. And in the expanse of the table leg from the foot to the hip were snakes of various sizes and dispositions slithering through the wood. The table top was six inches thick and its four corners were carved into the image of black cobras with their jaws spread wide and their long, venomous fangs exposed. All voices heard, the table was a masterpiece of mystery and intrigue. But for all its outward signs of mystic, cryptic beauty, it was the locked drawer of the table where the true enigma existed. Preying on the frailty of human heart, a force of spiritual evil emanated from the dark mass of teak that easily sucked Carlo into its orbit and refused to let him go.

A whistle screamed through the darkness, ricocheting off the steel walls like a bullet. It quickly brought the drowsy sailor to his senses.

Son of a bitch, I hate that fucking thing, he mumbled

Carlo despised that damn whistle and the rude arousals it provoked. In the idle time of a sailor's mind, he thought of a thousand different deaths for that intercom system. His immediate thought was to ignore it just out of spite but in the end, he knew that if he didn't report, a knock on the door would signal a visit from one of the ship's officers and an invasion of his much guarded privacy.

Carlo pulled the chain to his sixty watt bulb and rubbed the night’s sleep from his eyes. He reacted to the glow as though he were caught in a spotlight. In reality, that amount of illumination did nothing more than help him negotiate the rubble on the floor of his foul abode. The low level light somehow added even more gloom to the room. He drew his fingers down his face and stumbled toward the sink. The water from the tap came straight from the deep, cold waters of Lake Superior that surrounded the ship. He splashed the bone chilling water on his face and ran wet fingers through his long greasy hair to complete the ritual of his rude awakening.

Three minutes to report to work. For insulation against bone chilling, November wind Carlo applied several layers of thick, dirty clothes before pulling a wool cap down over his ears. The filth and stench of his clothing provided the finishing touches to what was the downward spiral of his personal hygiene. He was ready to go to work.

The intercom again lashed out at him, LeMadre your watch begins in five minutes.

I'm coming you lousy bastards, he shouted back against the injustice, I hate that fucking thing!

Carlo slid the chair from beneath the table and reached down for his boots. It felt good to ease into the throne of power and sit before the ancient altar but this was not the time for devotion, he must serve the gods of the living world first. He pulled his boots on to his feet and bolted out the door.

He forced his tired body up four flights of stairs and took a place in line with twelve other sailors on the deck of the ship. Despite the bitter cold and howling, those downwind of Carlo knew that he was there before he answered the roll call. A foul odor oozed from every seam of his soiled clothes.

All present for the second watch, the captain shouted against the wind, get about your business." The Captain turned and climbed the ladder to the bridge as the crew dispersed to their duties. That speech was typical of the old man. Conrad Lang’s personality was as acidic as the hard liquor that he consumed to help him deal with the loneliness of a lifetime spent prowling the Great Lakes. He probably had a lot of great stories to tell but no one to tell them too. It seemed like Lang was more a part of the ship itself than a member of its crew.

Those who worked below deck of the massive freighter were afforded some protection against the storms that raged on the great lake. Carlo was not that fortunate. His seniority, like his shipmates opinion of him was bedrock and it was very lonely at the bottom of the barrel. So, the foul and filthy little sailor began his shift by securing himself with a lanyard and shuffling along the ship's deck with wind and wave crashing across her bow. His first task was to make sure that hold doors were secure. It was vital to the ship's survival that no water penetrated her hull as she rose and fell on the thirty foot waves. It took thirty minutes to fully open a hatch door in a safe and secure berth in port so there was no way on earth those hatch doors could open on their own accord. Feeling like bhisti in a Kipling ballad, Carlo the Expendable cursed the entire time he was on the deck. A northwest wind meant bitter cold and restless water that was never satisfied. As he gripped the ice coated rope with thick gloves and began the treacherous journey toward the aft holds, Carlo spewed a tirade of living, breathing, hateful cursing that ultimately froze and died against the wind. He was infuriated by the pointless procedure that forced him to risk his life to check the heavily chained doors in high seas. Even if some schizophrenic crewman bent on suicidal subterfuge wanted to sink the ship in this manner it would require a conspiracy because under these conditions it could not be done alone.

It was early November in Northern Minnesota and winter already had a death grip on the great lake. The 730 foot behemoth groaned as she rose and fell in the swell of the churning lake. Carlo’s face burned as the spray from crashing waves frosted his beard and raked his skin raw. He never wore a life jacket because he knew it offered no real protection. If wind or wave were to take him down the protective equipment would only prolong his agony. The question that played over and over in LeMadre's mind was would he freeze to death before he drowned or would he dangle at the end of his life line while the waves beat him to death.

Between the wind, the spray, and the blowing snow there was zero visibility. The seaman was forced to brace himself with his right foot and lift the chain with his left foot. This allowed him to determine if the lock was intact. Hatch one secure. He tightened his grip on the lanyard and began the perilous two hundred foot journey to the next hold. The storm was extreme but he had seen worse, jaw clenching, chest pounding worse, but for now, this gale had his complete and undivided attention.

Forty minutes of agonizing hell passed before Carlo finished his inspection of the cargo holds. He stood before the hatch door at the stern tower, damn glad to be leaving the November gale in his wake. Before returning to the safety of the ship's inner structure, he looked back over his shoulder toward the bow. An eerie howl echoed across the ship's deck. Was it the wind? Maybe the groan of the ship as the powerful forces of nature attempted to contort her massive steel hull? Or was it one of the ethereal beings that pass ships in the night? Carlo, well aware of the evil that lurked within his table drawer, feared that it was the latter.

Once inside the ship's tower, the frozen sailor beat his hands against his body to shed the layers of ice that formed on his clothes. The remainder of his twelve hour shift would be spent below the main deck doing physically demanding and emotionally demeaning jobs. That was the kind of work they saved for Carlo LeMadre. He didn’t care. For now, at least he was out of the elements.

The smell of fresh, hot coffee was seductive. It led him through the corridors like a mistress whispering a promise of passion. He thought only about caressing the round, firm cup, feeling its warmth, savoring its scent and tasting the secretions that lay inside. With Carlo's limited exposure to consensual human sexuality, even his lust seemed to stray toward the inanimate. The aroma of that coffee could have led him stone blind to the door of the ship's mess.

What do you want, LeMadre? the cook growled.

Carlo returned the cook's contemptuous glare with one of his own. Raw meat from a dog's ass, isn't that what you usually serve?

Listen you dirty, greasy little son of a bitch, you may scare those other guys with your bullshit but I'm not putting up with it. I'll hit you with so many rights, you'll beg me for a left.

Just don't hit me with your purse, faggot, Carlo said with a sinister grin.

The two men glared at one another across the stainless steel counter. A mutual feeling of hateful disgust was exchanged through their eyes. Even though both of the sailors were ready to go, neither one made a move, they understood the repercussions of such a serious breach of discipline and did not want to risk the wrath of their drunken captain.

One day LeMadre, the cook said, I'll catch you off this ship and when I do, I'll make you my little bitch.

Carlo's eyes flashed. Suddenly, his jet black pupils became channels to something evil from somewhere beyond this world. The intensity of his piercing glare caused the heavy framed cook to break his stare and look away.

I am the alpha male, Carlo snarled. The words said enough but it was the low, guttural pitch that made the hair stand up on the arms and neck of the man behind the counter. It was a deep, low growl like that of an animal. It seemed that the cook's bitch comment had awakened a sleeping beast inside LeMadre.

The cook backed up against the wall, looking to escape the situation with at least a little of his man pride intact. Take what you want LeMadre, the frightened cook mumbled, I gotta go to the head.

The flash of temper quickly passed and Carlo ceased growling through his throat and snarling through his yellowed teeth. For that short moment in time, he appeared to be more or maybe less than a man. There was a change in his essence that defied all rules of logic and genetics. But as quickly as he turned, he turned back to the dirty, smelly, little seaman who began the argument with his insults and attitude.

An evil grin slowly broke across Carlo’s face as he piled his plate high with bacon, scrambled eggs, and sausage. Biscuits and bread were added to the top of the heap so that he could sop up every bit of grease and discharge from the carnage that was about to take place. There was enough food on his plate for a pack of wolves. Like the jackal feeding on the carcass of the vanquished prey this would be a ritual in celebration of his powerful intimidation of the cook. He was the alpha male and gluttony was one of the seven deadly sins that he enjoyed most. He would eat and drink in tribute to his dominance.

Pork and poultry flew as Carlo gorged himself with his dirty, greased stained hands. Yolk dripped from his chin and chunks of biscuit dropped around him. His nostrils flared as he sucked in air between gulping swallows. Anyone observing the carnage of this feast and his earlier evolutionary change would know that he was feeding the beast that had reared its ugly head. Carlo had returned from that place, that dark place in his soul where the animal lived. It was obvious that the beast was ravenous and it took only a few minutes to level the mountain of greasy fodder. He stood up from the chair and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. It was an even exchange, his face giving up some egg and picking up more grease and dirt from his sleeve. Now he was ready to complete the duties of his watch.

Below deck routine began with Carlo removing the trash from the ship's mess. Next, he would clean the heads. During this period, his mind could wander. He could go places where no one could see him even though he remained in clear view.

There was not much pertinent history to the man, at least none prior to the event. The event being the night he obtained the table. Before that he was just your typical overbearing, under achieving inner city kid with little ambition. His long term goal was to stay out of jail and his short term goals changed from minute to minute. Carlo was born into a Roman Catholic family one generation out of Spain. A clash of cultural influences may explain some of his confusion. Christian and Moslem, Basque nationalists and terrorists, all in an uneasy coexistence on the Iberian Peninsula produced a great deal of fear and insecurity within his family. Although Carlo was born in the good old USA, his parents brought a lot of baggage with them and it wasn't all packed in boxes. Despite the cultural oddities displayed by his parents and the influence it had on his life, most of his problems were his own. Let's just say that in those rugged areas of the suggestive, he was quite susceptible to the elements of the occult that had since barged into his life. In school he was detached. He majored in larceny and minored in deceit. And on the street, he was known as the consummate lone wolf, never appearing in a pack or even with a mate. He was not a rebel because that would imply that there was some conscious means to judge and then reject. Prior to the event, Carlo LeMadre was not just a loner but a man with no alliances and nothing inside to make him want any. He was just floating through life in search of some lower purpose.

That purpose was revealed on a foggy May night in the port city of Zadar on the Adriatic Sea. Carlo had gotten into some trouble back in New Orleans and decided that the best way to avoid certain conviction on a rape charge was to go to sea and see the world. For him the change of venue was a welcomed one, being accustomed to the lonely life and all. The life change for the beaten, broken, brutalized woman that he raped was as unwelcome as it was permanent. None of that mattered because he had left all that behind and moved on. In a town like the Big Easy, going to sea was the best possible escape. There were so many ships with so many thankless jobs that a man on the run could fill. Besides, he now had free transportation and access to the world. That was just too good to be true.

After drifting through a dozen different ports on the Mediterranean Sea, Carlo found himself in the Croatian city of Zadar on the eastern shore of the Adriatic Sea. He wandered aimlessly through that part of a harbor town that goes unclaimed by good, law abiding citizens. A place where one shops for drugs, vice, and intrigue. Here, hidden in the cracks and crevices of century old, brick buildings was a palm reading shop called Alpha/Omega. He was intrigued by a small, neon sign that battled bravely against the fog and fading light. It simply said, Secrets Revealed. The sign captured his attention, the aura captured his imagination, and the alluring aroma pulled him through the door.

A tiny gold bell rang out as Carlo entered the shop. It signaled his arrival at destiny's door. The offerings of a hundred different candles could not defeat the darkness but managed to push it off enough to create a mysterious and arcane atmosphere. They burned in stained glass containers that caused shadows to dance eerily around the room. Ancient books, bound in the skins of what he thought were animals, lined the shelves and charcoal sketches of strange creatures and beasts crawled on the walls in the flickering light. In the center of the room was a table with a blood stained cloth. Six chairs huddled around the table in a circle of secrecy. It was here that fortunes were told, rituals were performed and secrets were revealed.

Hello, is anybody here? Carlo’s words hung in the dead silence like a condemned man at the end of a rope. He felt very uneasy, somewhat regretful of his decision to venture in to the shop. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and called out for a second time. Hello, is anybody here?

The sudden rattle of beads startled Carlo to the point where he nearly pissed himself. His head jerked to the right and his hands drew quickly into fists which he threw up in a defensive position. The sound of rattling beads took him back to his earlier days in Louisiana when the same sound meant that he had come too close to an angry snake. Now, far removed from the swamps and bayous of the delta, the sound still triggered an uncontrollable, intrinsic response of fear and danger. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment, hoping the extra oxygen would allow his brain to catch up with the beat of his heart. There in doorway stood a beautiful, young woman. The low light could not hide her dark features or the dangerous curves of her body. Her long black hair glistened as though it were caught in some curious distortion of moonlight. And when she moved closer to him, her beauty made him forget the rattle of the beads.

I can help you with something? she said in a low, seductive voice.

Carlo thought of all the things this beautiful young woman could do for him. He wanted to say something provocative, something continental but all he could manage was, Yeah, ah, something.

Her dark eyes flashed as she moved by him. And what could that be? she purred. She was close enough now that he could smell her sweet scent and see the ecstasy that lay beneath her thin lace gown.

Again he searched for words that were well beyond his grasp. For a man who was on the run for beating a woman half to death before sexually assaulting her, Carlo acted like a school boy in the presence of this seductress. I thought I might have my palm read and have some secrets revealed, he said after managing a stupid looking smile.

The beautiful temptress added more torment by brushing against him as she moved toward the table. It took an eternity for her to cover that short distance, pour a glass of wine, and take a seat at the table. It was a most enjoyable eternity, an erotically fantastic eternity. She tossed her hair across her right shoulder and invited Carlo to take a seat beside her. She took his moist hand in hers and stared into the rapists eyes. I see the rage and passion of a forceful man. I see a man who takes what he wants without asking. I see a powerful and dominate man. I see the alpha male. She pressed the glass of wine against Carlo’s lips. I can show you pleasures of the flesh touched by the passion of the universe. I am Hecate and I can take you on a journey through the curtain of time and space, a journey to the other side of reality where all secrets are revealed.

Carlo could not speak. The wine had a strong, dirty taste like the grapes were picked up off the ground rather than from the vine. The nectar she offered was made from the aconite or Hecate plant and if not carefully prepared, it was a deadly poison. Legend said that the plant grew at the gates of hell and was nourished by the saliva that dripped from the fangs of the hound Cerberus who guarded the entrance to the world of the dead. Carlo gazed spellbound, not sure if he understood anything but the message sent by her beautiful eyes. I’ve never been to the other side, Carlo said as his eyes moved slowly down her back but, I’d be willing to go there with you.

Laughter rolled from the seer’s lips. It was a haunting sound like the call of a siren. You have much to learn about the figurative, she said with a smile. You have so much to learn.

Well, if you’re the teacher, Carlo whispered, then I’m a willing student.

We have a long journey and very little time, are you ready to embrace the experience?

I’m ready to embrace something, the sailor replied with lust in his eyes.

It was obvious that they were communicating but it was just as obvious that it was happening on two different planes. Carlo was thinking with his little head while Hecate was thinking with the three that were her legend. Had he known that she was the princess of darkness, the goddess of the underworld whose black magic and chthonic rites had for centuries, seduced men stronger than him, perhaps he would have run head long into the night. But Carlo was weak, susceptible to the temptations of this world and no match for those from another.

Close your eyes and hear what I have to say, the soothsayer whispered. When we have completed our journey and you have crossed over and back, I will give you a gift you will remember forever. It will provide a vehicle that enables you to communicate with those beings on the other side whenever you desire. As protector of the medium, you will do as it commands and share its secrets with no one. Do you understand?

With eyes closed, Carlo responded. I’ll do whatever it takes to reveal the secrets that are hidden under that dress. Even though he was under the influence of the temptress and her potion, he was still able to think in very human terms. How will I know this gift or what it asks of me?

As I said, this is a vehicle and it will find you under its own power and in the same manner reveal all to you. It will require your devotion. You need only to offer yourself up like a black lamb to the altar of the night. In reward for your vigilance and devotion the powers of the earth, air, and fire will reward you as the alpha male.

I am the alpha male, Carlo murmured, I will serve and protect the gift. I will do all that it demands. The power of the beautiful succubus had finally dragged