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.
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