“This is recent,” said Ford examining the blanket. “That might be a problem. What if the thing isn’t hungry anymore?”

  “Something as big as this looks? I bet it’s always hungry.”

  There were strange, bloody footprints on the floor and walls.

  “I wish I knew what the hell these footprints fit,” said Ford.

  “It sure isn’t here now,” said Neuland. “It’s too big to miss.”

  “Let’s finish this floor and the next, then go back down. From the look of these prints, whatever this thing is, it’s too big to be comfortable in the attic as well.”

  “We should have asked Tilda if there was a basement.”

  “Of course there’s a basement. These old places always have spooky basements for all the canning and jarring and whatever the hell else rich country jerks do to amuse themselves.”

  “Right. These two floors, then the spooky basement.”

  Ford said, “If we don’t find anything there, we might have to do a ritual. I forgot my chalk. Do you have yours?”

  “Of course. Because you always forget yours.”

  “Showoff.”

  There was nothing in any of the other bedrooms on the second floor. They found more dried blood in the hallway and on the staircase to the third floor, but it looked very old. After a quick check of the attic, they gave up and went back downstairs.

  Tilda was waiting in the doorway with the ball in her hand. “Anything?” she said.

  Neuland pushed up his goggles and said, “It’s definitely been here recently. That means it’s almost certainly still around.”

  “How do you know it’s been here?”

  “It killed someone within the last couple of days.”

  “Oh god.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s no one you knew,” said Ford. “From the shoe we found, it was probably a drifter who broke in looking for someplace to sleep.”

  “You should go back outside,” said Neuland. “We’re going to check the basement, and if there’s nothing there, we’re going to do a ritual.”

  “What kind?” said Tilda.

  “A summoning. A small one.”

  Ford said, “Not enough to call up any new devils. Just expose any that are already here.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  Neuland shook his head and Ford said, “I tell you what. When we’ve bagged your Pale House creep, we’ll go back to Fort Knox and show you how it works where it’s safe.”

  “But until then, you really should go back to the car,” said Neuland.

  “All right. But if you’re not back in a half hour, I’m coming to look for you.”

  “Make it an hour.”

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t have anything to eat in the car, do you?” said Ford.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Damn. When we’re done here, we’re buying you a steak dinner in town.”

  Tilda brightened. “I’d like that.”

  “All right. We’ll see you in two shakes of a devil’s tail.”

  Tilda went back to the car and the men walked around the first floor until they found the basement just off the kitchen. The door was open and the dust had been disturbed.

  “Bingo,” said Neuland. He slid his goggles back into place, flipped on the light switch, and pointed his pistols down the stairs.

  “See anything?” said Ford.

  “Just more footprints.”

  “Then let’s get this over with.”

  Though it was sometimes part of their job, neither man enjoyed searching rooms with only one exit. Neuland led the way downstairs while Ford went after him, watching the hall behind so nothing could sneak up on them.

  When they reached the bottom of the staircase, they didn’t find anything but rusting tools, canned food, and jarred preserves. There was a chute in one corner of the room with a large pile of coal at the bottom.

  “Look at the floor. It’s nearly clean,” said Ford.

  “It lives down here most of the time.”

  “Then where is it now?”

  “To hell with all this prowling,” said Neuland. “Let’s do the ritual.”

  “Agreed.”

  They went back upstairs and walked the living room and parlor to determine the center point of the first floor. It was right at the bottom of the stairs. Neuland put his guns back in their holsters and began sketching out a nine-foot circle with a piece of red chalk. When the large circle was complete, he drew a second smaller circle inside it, then began filling the spaces between them with angelic and demonic names and sigils. When the summoning circle was complete, Neuland stepped out and said, “Do we want to do this the smart way or the fast way?”

  “I’m hungry and I want to be done with Mansfield ASAP. Let’s do it fast.”

  “Then you’re up.”

  Ford holstered his guns and stepped into the circle. He took out his knife and pricked the end of his right forefinger. Blood dripped into the center of the circle which, through their goggles, turned a bright violet. Both men began a quiet chant in Latin.

  Something stirred in the air.

  Light flickered in the parlor. Something like static prickled the backs of their necks.

  “What the hell am I seeing?” said Ford.

  “I have no idea.”

  The front door swung open and Tilda came in. “I forgot to tell you something…” she said, and then she was screaming.

  Neuland and Ford pushed back their goggles and finally saw it. Huge and gelatinous, rearing back with its legs kicking in the air, its protruding mouth lunging for Tilda. They pulled their pistols and began shooting. The creature fell back against a side table, splintering it under its weight. The men kept shooting. The creature flinched as each shot hit home, but it never stopped moving. When their pistols were empty, Ford took off his shotgun and pumped round after round into the creature. As he shot, Neuland angled around so that he was in front of Tilda, pushing her to the door with his back. Ford followed them until, just before the three of them exited Pale House, he shot the UV slug into the creature dead-center. It lit up inside and let out a hideous wail, flailing around and crushing the piano before fleeing back in the direction of the basement.

  Neuland closed the doors behind them and all three jumped off the porch. Tilda was pale and the men were both cursing.

  “Was that the devil?” shouted Tilda.

  “It wasn’t the ghost of Jack Benny,” said Ford.

  “I-I,” stammered Tilda. “I never really believed it. I always thought it was some crazy family story. A cover-up for something else.”

  “It’s real all right,” said Neuland.

  “But you didn’t see it when I came in,” said Tilda.

  “Not until you screamed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “But it’s dead, right? I mean, you shot it like a hundred times.”

  “I doubt it’s dead,” said Ford. “In fact, I’m pretty certain it’s not.”

  Tilda said, “But it screamed at the end when you shot it with light.”

  “Yeah, the shots hurt, but it’s not dead.”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “Because it’s something we haven’t seen before,” said Neuland. “It’s not alive or dead. If it was, the goggles would have picked it up.”

  “If it’s not alive or dead, how are you going to kill it or get rid of it or whatever?” said Tilda.

  “I don’t know,” said Ford. “We need to think about this.”

  “What the hell did that old man conjure up?” said Neuland.

  “Old man?” said Tilda. “Mr. Mansfield? You think he did this?”

  “Don’t tell him I said anything, because we’re not one-hundred-percent sure.”

  “But it’s possible,” said Ford.

  “It killed part of my family.”

  “We know. But until we understand this thing more, we need you to keep what we said secret. Can you do that?”

  Tilda looked down at the driveway. “Sure. Whatever will help.”

  “Good. Now take us back to the house,” said Neuland. “We have some thinking to do.”

  14

  It made a sound like the squishing, cracking noise the soft things made when it turned them inside out. This was its cry of pain and despair. It lay on its side in the dark basement, unmoving and completely visible because being invisible took too much energy. The soft things upstairs had hurt it as much as anything back home. It felt a swell of pain and loneliness.

  Its home was a wet and fetid place full of creatures that, in its opinion, were far worse than it. Food had been plentiful, but much more difficult to catch and consume compared to the things in this world. The soft things weren’t poisonous and they didn’t spit acid into its eyes when it swallowed them.

  When it first found itself snatched by some strange force into this new world, it was afraid. It didn’t know how or why it was here. But then it found the soft things. So slow and stupid. So tasty and such easy prey. Chasing and feasting on them had been a delightful game, so much so that its greatest desire was to free itself of the magic that kept it bound to the house, venture out, and devour this world entirely.

  But that dream might be over now. It was all alone in the dark and the quiet with nothing but its anger and pain. In its frustration, it swayed to its feet and hurled itself headfirst into the wall, shaking the foundations of the house. It fell back and cried out.

  The only thing that kept it from destroying itself was the knowledge that the soft things upstairs would return one day. Perhaps to fight it, or, after enough time had passed and they felt safe, reclaim the house, sure it was dead.

  It was patient enough to wait and find out which. It hoped for another fight. It hadn’t fought in so long and it ached for the feel of feeding after crushing an enemy. And when it was rid of the intruders it would find a way out of this wretched prison and swallow every living thing it came across, because even through all the loneliness and pain, it liked this world. It desired it. It would never leave.

  15

  Mansfield was in the parlor when they got back. He looked up from a book and said, “That was quick. You’re not entirely useless after all.”

  “It’s not dead,” said Neuland.

  “Yet,” said Ford.

  Mansfield slammed the book shut and tossed it on a table. “Goddamn you.”

  “Calm down. Your devil wasn’t as simple a thing as you made it sound.”

  “But we know what it is now and how to deal with it,” Neuland said.

  “You better, or I want my money back and I’ll shit on you both from here to Timbuktu. You won’t get a job swatting mosquitoes.”

  The men headed upstairs.

  Mansfield said, “Go with them, Tilda. See that they’re working and not jerking off. Also, make them show you this alleged money box.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Upstairs, Tilda went into Neuland’s room, where he and Ford were sitting on a couple of antique chairs with lace doilies on their backs. When he saw Tilda, Ford said, “If you want to see the money box, it’s in that bag.”

  “I don’t care about that,” she said. “I just wanted to get away from Mr. Mansfield.”

  “Do you think he knows what the devil is, and is holding back?” said Neuland thoughtfully.

  “Yes. But why?” said Ford.

  “If we knew more about the damn thing, we could probably answer that.”

  Tilda said, “You said you knew how to kill it now, right?”

  Neuland shook his head. “I was lying.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s new to us,” said Ford.

  Tilda sat on the bed with the equipment.

  Neuland said, “What’s not dead or alive?”

  “What’s in between those two things?”

  Neuland thought for a minute. “Something mechanical. But, in this case, also organic.”

  “You think it’s a machine?” said Tilda.

  “No,” said Ford. “Mechanical in the sense that it’s something from the Otherworld with a specific, simple purpose there. Here, though, it’s a nightmare.”

  Neuland said, “Back home, the devil could be a garbage disposal for all we know.”

  “Which brings us back to: why is it here?”

  “And more importantly, what do we do with it?’

  Tilda said, “Can’t you just send it back?”

  “We could try that,” said Neuland. “But it seems to have some level of free will. What if it doesn’t want to go back?”

  “We need to figure out how to kill it, even though it can’t be killed,” said Ford.

  The three of them sat in silence for a minute. Then Tilda said, “Do you need to know both things right now? I mean, can’t you just try one, like sending it back, and see if that works?”

  Neuland said, “I was wondering the same thing.”

  “We need to do something. I’m pissed off,” said Ford.

  “Not to mention embarrassed.”

  “Great,” said Tilda. “Then let’s go back and send it to hell.”

  Ford held up his hands to her. “Whoa, Annie Oakley. Let’s calm down a minute.”

  “No. You just said you don’t really know what you’re doing. That means you could use help.”

  “It isn’t your job to help us,” said Neuland.

  “I’m not. I’m helping me.” Tilda got up off the bed. “I’m sure the devil is why Mom left. And Mom leaving is why Dad killed himself. I want that thing dead as much as Mr. Mansfield. More.”

  Ford thought for a moment and said, “I hate to say it, but having you there might help.”

  Neuland sat back in his chair. “You see, we were in the house a long time and it looks like the devil just stood there, only a few feet away.”

  “Why didn’t it attack us?”

  “Why?” said Tilda.

  “Maybe because it knew you were there, and it was waiting. The family called it so you might be first on the menu.”

  “But you said it ate a stranger upstairs.”

  “He was alone,” said Neuland. “If you’d been with him, it might have gone for you first.”

  “Then I’m coming along.”

  “You’re sure you want to be bait?”

  “Whatever will help get rid of it. But there’s one thing. I want a gun.”

  Ford squinted at her. “You only used one once and you shot at the water. You think you’re ready to maybe shoot a living thing?”

  “You said it wasn’t alive.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Guns weren’t much help last time,” said Neuland.

  Ford looked at him. “The UV shell seemed to annoy it.” He looked back to Tilda. “Do you know how to use a shotgun?”

  She gave him a slightly curdled grin. “I never shot a pistol ’til the other day with you, but I used to go out and shoot the heads off the scarecrows with some of the neighbor kids. Of course, we didn’t know what they really were back then.”

  Ford smiled back at her. “A natural born killer.”

  “I could learn,” she said, picking up the shotgun from the bed.

  “Mansfield isn’t going to like this,” said Neuland.

  Tilda ratcheted the gun once. “I don’t care. I’m tired of doing everything he says.”

  The men joined her at the bed and Neuland handed her some shotgun shells, watching carefully as she loaded the weapon. “Perfect,” he said.

  “Told you.”

  Ford and Neuland emptied the bag they’d taken with them last time and filled it with newly loaded weapons, plus an assortment of magical instruments and potions.

  Ford said to Tilda, “You ready?”

  She said, “Let’s go kill that thing.”

  On their way out of the room, Neuland took the shotgun from her and handed her the duffel bag. He said, “I’ll give it back outside. No use provoking the old man now.”

  Mansfield was waiting for them as they came back downstairs. “Heading back for another ass-kicking?”

  “You seem kind of pleased for a man who wants the devil gone so much,” said Ford.

  Mansfield took a breath. “I take no joy in knowing that thing is out there. But I do enjoy a couple of loudmouths getting what’s coming to them.”

  “What’s coming to us is four hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Then earn it. You fuck up again, the price goes back down to two hundred. After that, you get car fare back to the city and not a cent more.” Mansfield looked at Tilda holding the duffel. “Since when are you their pack mule?”

  “I’m just helping, Mr. Mansfield.”

  “You drive the car and nothing more. Let these pimps carry their own toys.”

  Neuland took the bag from her, and he and Ford headed for the door.

  Tilda hung back and said, “You’re horrible sometimes.”

  As she followed the men out, Mansfield shouted after her. “Wait until you’re my age, shitting in a bag, and glued to a chair like this. Then you can give me your opinion. Until then, shut your damn mouth.”

  Tilda slammed the door and drove them back to Pale House.

  16

  When they arrived, Ford and Neuland made Tilda wait by the car as they set things up.

  Inside Pale House, they used pink Tibetan salt to make a binding circle on the floor and placed that within a square. Then they arranged ritual objects at the four corners—rattlesnake skin, candles, bones of a black dog, and a machete. Next to the candles, they placed a piece of vellum with the names of the four doors to the Otherworld, each under a small bottle of whiskey. “I hope this thing is a drinker,” said Ford when he was done. While he made small adjustments to the ritual objects, Neuland went out to Tilda.

  “You’re on,” he said.

  “What do I do?”

  “It’s simple. You stand in the circle. Breathe deeply. Try to clear your mind and relax.”

  “Sure. Simple.”

  “We’ll handle everything else.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “We’re going to trap it in the circle and torch it with consecrated gasoline.”

 

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