Cities Of The Androscoggin: Out Of The Shadows
Prologue: Releasing The Darkness
While the moon slowly rose over the gothic spires of Lewiston and Auburn the five met in the howling wind tunnel of the Lisbon Street Alley. Above them loomed the glass and steel sky bridge of the public library where it spanned the alley. The snow had not yet fallen this mid-December of 1999. It was too cold, as the locals said. The wind was one of those that comes in icy shards and cuts through clothing to suck away any warmth held by the body.
The five were young, the oldest being only seventeen. Silently they all emerged onto Pine Street and walked down toward the decrepit, brick edifice of the Bates Mill. They crossed the wide canal that separated the mill from the street by way of an old, rickety, wood and iron footbridge. They were then forced to climb over a chain link fence to get into the parking lot.
They stuck to the shadows cast by the hollow, brick buildings to avoid the often seemingly inept security guards that patrolled here. They then crawled onto a rusting iron footbridge that ran along the side of the main building about ten feet above a part of the canal that flowed between the buildings. The surface of the canal was a thick layer of ice except where the water plunged over stone and concrete falls for a drop of about twenty feet. Overhead a canvas and tarpaper-covered sky-bridge traversed the gap between buildings three stories up. The wrapping on the sky bridge hung in tatters exposing the iron framework and the wooden sides and large windows were set at regular intervals into the side but were painted over an off white color on the inside.
The
kids climbed a large pipe bolted to the wall to get to a rusted iron
fire escape that they then climbed to reach a large second floor window. The panes of glass had long been missing and a flap of canvas was tacked inside to stop the draft. They pulled this aside, they had pulled the lower nails free on their first visit, and entered.
The
inside of the mill was almost as frigid as outside, but at least there
was no wind. They all paused here but none spoke through blue and
purple lips. They removed their backpacks and sat in a small circle. The five were friends in high school and they all shared the same faith. They were all Satanists. Their high priest was also the oldest, a tall blonde haired boy named Frankie Gagne. His
disciples were a young, pretty, red head named Sheila Rourke, a plain
and pimpled boy named Larry LaVoie, a dark skinned boy named Deshawn
Jackson, and a very plain, backwoods redneck boy named Dominick Whitely.
They met here on the second Wednesday of every month for a dark mass at midnight. Tonight was special as it was the last meeting of the millennium and they planned to summon the Devil himself to this world. Tonight would be glorious.
After sitting for a time some of the ice left their veins and they all stiffly stood and donned their backpacks again. Their
footsteps on the floorboards echoed in the dusty vastness of the
building, and the half moon outside sent silvery shafts of light
through the tall, grimy windows. They made
their way through the rows of pillars set at regular intervals along
all of the floors for support to an unused stairwell and descended.
When they reached the basement they stopped and removed flashlights from their bags. Dominick also removed a CO2 powered BB pistol crafted to look like an old Colt 1911. This they used to keep the rats at bay.
Lawrence's
father used to work for Bates of Maine and he used to tell the story of
when they would go into the basement, which was used for storage. They would go three at a time. Two would retrieve what they came for and the third would carry a baseball bat to fend off the rats. Gagne and Nick also remembered the first time they explored these depths. They descended seven levels down but were forced to flee when they discovered vicious rats the size of small dogs.
From here chain link gates covered with rust sealed the lower levels. These were locked with ancient pad locks, years ago rusted shut. The gates, however, were easy to climb over and around so that was what they did. They continued until they reached the third sub-level. Five floors down the stairs became precarious and decrepit, warning a deadfall. Fortunately, their destination was well above this hazard.
They walked across the ancient dusty floor. All was silent except for the group's muted footsteps. The
sound was caught by rotten bales of cloth covered in at least an inch
of dust stacked in rows across the ancient production floor. From the tops of these rats the size of house cats watched them with unblinking eyes. The group, used to them, ignored them on their perches but were wary of any signs of sudden movement. They were under the false assumption that the rats accepted them, rats were creatures of the Devil after all. They also believed this about the softball sized water spiders that occasionally found their way up here.
Across the old plant room were two old offices used by the supervisors and managers. This is where the group went. They
had cleared the rooms except for a few folding, aluminum chairs and a
rickety card table they had brought down a couple months ago. The
first room was where the furniture was and had two large windows caked
with dust and grime that looked out over the production floor.
Deshawn closed the door behind them to keep the rats out and they all sat in the chairs. Nick removed a Coleman lantern from his bag and lit it, filling the room with a harsh, yellow light. They
talked and ate snacks and sandwiches they had brought with them and
finally decided to get started as the witching hour approached.
The routine and guidelines they followed were very strict as it was dictated in Gagne�s book on Satanism and Demonology. One false move could cause the dark powers they called to be upset or broken free upon the world. The main rule was nothing impure could enter the worship chamber. So they all stripped naked, this included all piercing, and placed their clothes on the table. Gagne removed a small shoebox from his bag and from it he pulled a small, orange striped kitten. It
looked up to him with big, terrified eyes and silently pleaded with
him, he ignored it and followed the others into the worship room and
closed the door.
The worship room was only slightly larger than the previous room but contained no furniture. The room was completely black after Gagne shut the door tight. Any light in the room seemed to be sucked up by the long strips of black cloth that the group had hung to cover the walls.
Gagne
released the kitten to the floor and it froze in terror for a moment
before darting into a corner where it huddled, bristling it's fur. Each of the group lit a fat red candle on the floor. The
low candle flame dimly illuminated the five nude figures and the large
red star painted on the floor in a flickering orange light.
Slowly they entered the circle and silently embraced each other in a dark orgy on the floor. Inside them they could feel the Devil turn his eyes upon them, they all knew that he enjoyed pleasure in perversion. Their climaxes came in painful ecstasy as they covered themselves in their own juices.
When they finished they lay scattered within the circle catching their breath. Finally Gagne stood and walked to the corner where the kitten watched them, huddled in terror. He picked it up by its neck and returned to the circle. The others clustered around him as he spoke, finally breaking the silence of the chamber.
"Lord of all that is evil." He spoke in a tone firm and commanding. "We call you."
He held the kitten high over their heads. The kitten released a terrified meep.
"In this darkest of hours!" He yelled. "We spill the blood of the innocent in your name, oh dark lord!"
With that he clenched the kitten and twisted its neck until it made a sickening, crackling sound. Then he felt it�s skin tear and its blood flow into his hands. He
poured its blood onto his head, and then he held it out and dribbled
blood onto the others while they moaned and smeared it over themselves. He dropped the kitten's mutilated body to the floor where it landed with a muffled thump.
"Satan!" Gagne screamed. "Dark lord! We free you from your ancient prison! Come to us in these darkened catacombs!"
In unison they screamed. "We free you!"
That was when the shadows shifted and moved. No one noticed until the unseen thing pounced. In a blur it moved from the darkness of the far corner and struck Larry, removing him from the group. The
others jumped and turned to see a pale figure, darkly dressed with
long, stringy, black hair hanging in its pale and emaciated face. Effortlessly it held a screaming and writhing Lawrence to the floor.
Gagne lunged and clung to the thing's broad shoulders. In
one powerful swing it removed itself from his grasp and struck his
midsection, sending him hurtling through the opposite wall. His shoulder struck the corner of the card table and overturned it spilling its contents to the floor.
The lantern struck the back of Gagne's head before reaching the floor where it rolled to a stop. The other three ran to him. He tried to stand and ignore the burning pain in his shoulder that caused his arm to dangle limply at his side. The others helped him up, grabbed their clothes and ran quickly to the stairs. Their footsteps faded to nothing leaving Larry alone with this dark specter.
He turned his attention back to Larry. He wasn't panting with exertion, Larry noticed, hell, he wasn't even breathing.
"Are you the Devil?" Larry asked quietly.
The man just shook his head.
"Who are you?"
Larry's voice came in short, labored gasps as it slowly became more difficult to breathe.
"My name is Cobain." It said in a hoarse whisper of vocal cords unused for years.
Novels Home
Prologue: Releasing The Darkness
Chapter One: The Hunt
Chapter Two: The Fae Of The Wood
Chapter Three: Spirits Of The Night
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