I felt her against me. I opened my eyes. She stood in my embrace, both of us facing the doorway, which was
indisputably open, and the shadowy figure who stood with her back to the light of the hall.
It was a graceful young girl with long tightly curling blond hair lathered all over her shoulders, her face veiled in
shadow, her yellow eyes piercing in the candle glow.
"I did it!" Merrick whispered. "I killed you."
I felt Merrick's whole pliant body against me. I wrapped my arms tightly around her. Again, but silently, I prayed to
Oxalá.
Protect us from this spirit if evil is the intent of this Spirit. Oxalá, you who made the world, you who rule in high places,
you who are among the clouds, protect us, do not look at my faults as I call on you, but give me your mercy, protect us if
this spirit would do us harm.
Merrick wasn't trembling, she was quaking, her body covered in sweat, as it had been during the possession so many
years before.
"I put the dolls in the ditch, I drowned them in the ditch, I did it. I drowned them. I did it. I prayed, 'Let them die!' I
knew from Cold Sandra that she was going to buy that car, I said, 'Let it go off a bridge, let them drown.' I said, 'When
they drive across the lake, let them die.' Cold Sandra was so afraid of that lake, I said, 'Let them die.' "
The figure in the doorway appeared as solid as anything I'd ever beheld. The shadowy face showed no expression, but
the yellow eyes remained fixed.
Then a voice issued from it, low, and full of hatred.
"Fool, you never caused it!" said the voice. "Fool, you think you caused that to happen to us? You never caused
anything. Fool, you couldn't make a curse to save your soul!"
I thought Merrick would lose consciousness, but somehow she remained standing, though my arms were ready to hold
her should she fail.
She nodded. "Forgive me that I wanted it," she said in a hoarse whisper that seemed entirely her own. "Forgive me,
Honey, that I wanted it. I wanted to go with you, forgive me."
"Go to God to get your forgiveness," came the low voice from the darkened countenance. "Don't come to me."
Again Merrick nodded. I could feel the stickiness of her spilt blood coming down over my right fingers. Again I prayed
to Oxalá! But my words were coming automatically. I was riveted heart and soul to the being in the doorway, who neither
moved nor dissolved.
"Get down on your knees," said the voice. "Write in blood what I tell you."
"Don't do it!" I whispered.
Merrick sprang forward, falling on her knees on the floor that was wet and slippery with blood and spilt rum.
Once again, I tried to move, but I couldn't. It was as if my feet had been nailed to the boards.
Merrick's back was to me, but I knew she was pressing her left fingers to the wounds to make them bleed ever more
deeply, and then I heard the creature in the doorway give two names.
I heard the first distinctly, "Guatemala City, there's where you land," said the spirit, "and Santa Cruz del Flores is as
close as you can get to the cave."
Merrick sat back on her heels, her body heaving, her breaths coming rapid and hoarse as she squeezed the blood onto
the floor and began to write with her right first finger the names now repeated from her own lips.
On and on I prayed for strength against the figure, but I cannot claim that it was my prayers which made the being begin
to fade.
A horrid scream broke from Merrick:
"Honey, don't leave me!" she cried. "Honey, don't go. Honey, come back, please, please, come back," she sobbed.
"Honey in the Sunshine, I love you. Don't leave me here alone."
But the spirit was gone.
13
MERRICK S CUTS were not deep, though the flood of blood had been quite terrifying. I was able to bandage her up
fairly decently, and then take her to the nearest hospital, where she was given the proper treatment for the wounds.
I don't remember what nonsense we told the attending physician, except that we convinced him that though the wounds
had been selfinflicted, Merrick was in her right mind. Then I insisted we return to the Motherhouse, and Merrick, who
was at that time in some sort of daze, agreed. I went back for the Scotch, I'm ashamed to say, but then one tends to
remember the flavor of a twenty-five-year-old single-malt Highland Scotch like Macallan.
Besides, I'm not sure I was in my right mind. I remember drinking in the car, which I never do, and Merrick falling
asleep against my shoulder, her right hand clamped to my wrist.
You can well imagine my state of mind.
The visible spirit of Honey in the Sunshine had been one of the more ominous ghosts I'd ever beheld. I was used to
shadows, interior voices, and even possession; but to see the seemingly solid form of Honey in the Sunshine standing in
the doorway was utterly shattering. The voice alone had been terrifying, but the shape, its apparent solidity and duration,
the manner in which the light had played upon it, the eyes being so very reflective all of this was a little more than I
could easily bear.
Then there was the question of my own paralysis during this experience. How had Merrick accomplished this thing? In
sum, I was badly shaken but very deeply impressed.
Of course Merrick was not going to say how she had done any part of it. In fact, Merrick didn't want to speak of it at all.
At the mere mention of Honey's name, she began to cry. As a man, I found that maddening and unfair. But there was
nothing I could do about it. Merrick would wipe her tears, and at once turned the subject to our jungle venture.
As for my opinion of the ritual she had used to summon Honey, I had found it simple, its chief component Merrick's
own personal power, and the sudden dreadful connection with a spirit who apparently was not at rest.
Whatever, that night and on the following day, all Merrick wanted to talk about was the jungle trip. She had become a
mono-maniac of sorts. She'd bought her khaki garments. She'd even ordered mine! We must go to Central America
directly. We must have the finest camera equipment and all the support which the Talamasca could provide.
She wanted to return to the cave because there were other items there, and she wanted to see the land which had been
important to her ancient Oncle Vervain. Oncle Vervain would not be haunting her if there were not substantial treasure
there which he wanted for her to possess. Oncle Vervain was not going to let her alone.
For two days afterwards, while imbibing ridiculous quantities of the delicious full-bodied Macallan Scotch, of which [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]