They were entering through the door, obeying the call of their master. It was the stone that was the master, not Delavois, he knew that now. Delavois had put his own twist on the evil that radiated from it, but he was owned by it as well. He was just another meat puppet it commanded to carry out this horror.
Doug looked around him, at the shambling beings that entered the house, as well as the jellied remains of individuals that ran together in an obscene soup. Black ooze floated body parts in a semi-sentient slosh. Amongst it all was the sense of suffering. He could feel it now that he had possession of the stone. It was all the suffering the living could feel brought to another level. But as horrible as it was, he knew it was not the evil he felt. Suffering was not evil, it was that which caused it that was evil. He had mistaken the fear he had of suffering with the fear of evil, but he knew better now. He had learned at last—too late—something that would have served him well in life. Still, better than not to have learned it at all.
The creatures were almost all through the door. One of the more ragged things was dragging itself through with one good hand and a stump. Doug recognized it as one of the creatures that had frightened him the most, now it elicited the most pity. Its suffering was more palpable than any of the others, though a small thing compared to the overall stew of tortured flesh. The flesh demanded release, but something flowing through their veins obeyed the will of the stone. Doug hazarded a glimpse at the stone and noticed its radiance seemed to throb. Looking away, he saw the accumulated filth that was once human flesh seemed to move in response to the pulsations. It called to them, pulsed within them, sought to command them without the use of the medium that Delavois had been, what it called out to Doug to be. It seemed as though the urge to die and the urge to obey the stone warred within each of them, jerking their bodies in a forbidden dance. Doug could feel the pulse within him too, as if a second heart had taken up residence in his chest, pumping fear and compulsion throughout his veins, but he choked it down as he might nervousness.
He saw what he assumed was the last of the creatures enter the door, a desecrated hunk of flesh so obscene that Doug wondered how it made its way here. He had seen animals hit by trains look more possible of motion than the mass of exposed flesh and bone. In some part of it that Doug assumed was its head, two white eyeballs stared in his direction.
It was time. He would go to the gas soaked curtain and light it with his torch. Then he would stand guard at the door as the house burned to ruins. It would be over soon. And as much as he feared death, he knew he was doing the best thing possible. But as he moved towards the window, attempting to avoid contact with the living corpses, he felt a strong grip on the arm that held the torch. The terror he had been able to keep at bay now flooded in on him and he instinctually tried to move away. He was halted by a less than sentient mound of flesh.