Mark of the Beast. Brian Ball

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      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 1976, 2009 by Brian Ball

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

      www.wildsidebooks.com

      DEDICATION

      For Jane and Kathryn

      CHAPTER ONE

      “Tell your husband to park at the front,” Mrs. Pierce said.

      “Park there,” ordered Janice, so Alan eased the Rover into the kerb.

      Mrs. Pierce said: “Charlie will be pleased you’ve come along. Though he’s not been too well himself. He said last week he’d got a cold, but I think it’s flu.”

      “Flu, Mrs. Pierce!” said Alan as he locked the doors of the Rover.

      “Do call me Linda. Charlie always neglected himself,” Mrs. Pierce said. “I was always telling him to wrap up. Any little infection goes straight to his chest. He sounded dreadful last week.”

      She led the way to the white-painted building.

      “But isn’t he—” Alan began in a whisper.

      “Alan!” warned his wife.

      “But I thought you told me she’d lost her husband, Jan. I thought he was dead!”

      Mrs. Pierce waited for them on the step. Smiling, she said:

      “But Charlie’s not dead, dear! How could he send me messages every week?”

      Alan hadn’t wanted to come to the séance. There was a good TV programme that evening. But Janice had been insistent. Now he was stuck with a crank.

      “Well?” asked Mrs. Pierce.

      “I suppose—”

      “They don’t regard it as death,” said Janice.

      “That’s right, dear,” said Mrs. Pierce. “It’s just a matter of going over to the other side.”

      “Ah,” said Alan. “The other side.” He repressed the urge to laugh as he caught the expression on the women’s faces. “Is it time to go in?”

      “Yes! We’re late!” said Mrs. Pierce. “Janice, I’m sure you’ll get through, though I don’t know about your husband.”

      Janice smiled, and her whole being was transfigured. She was a tall, slim, very pale girl with a, long white neck and a well-shaped body; there was nothing exceptional at all about her except that smile. Her chin was too pointed and her nose too narrow for beauty. She was plain until she smiled.

      Alan saw the brilliant smile on his wife’s face and knew it wasn’t for him. Janice was smiling because she was excited at the prospect of hearing a dead man speak. A dead man with flu.

      CHAPTER TWO

      JANICE wished she had brought her coat. She could feel the goose pimples rising on her arms as they entered the hall.

      “Mrs. Worrall’s waiting to start,” whispered Linda Pierce at her side. “We’re late.”

      Janice looked around the hall. The walls were white, the roof high with old wooden beams. About twenty people were sitting on straight-backed chairs in a semi-circle at the far end of the hall. Many more chairs were empty, but the atmosphere was cosy. There was a little conversation amongst the congregation, women talking to their neighbours; Janice saw only three or four elderly men amongst them.

      She and Alan were the object of some curiosity, so she kept her best smile in place whilst she checked that Alan was not fidgeting or talking inanely to cover his embarrassment. If he kept quiet all would be well.

      She didn’t know if she was pleased or not that she had accepted Mrs. Pierce’s invitation. There was a certain excitement in the prospect of attending a séance, of course, but there was another side to it. Most of the people in the hall had a rather common appearance.

      “See, Mrs. Worrall, I’ve brought my visitors!” called Linda Pierce in an ingratiating voice. “I’m sorry we’re late, but we had to wait whilst they got the car parked. You said it would be all right to bring them along?”

      The Charnocks noticed the black woman for the first time. She was sitting amongst the others, to the right of the semi-circle.

      “Hello. Good evening,” said Janice firmly.

      “You did say I could bring my friends,” reminded Linda Pierce. “And I did ask my Charlie, Mrs. Worrall.”

      “You’re welcome,” said the woman. “Come and sit down.”

      Alan inspected her. He was not impressed. Mrs. Pierce might defer to her, but he could find nothing about her to suggest that she had unusual qualities. Janice seemed happy enough, however. He let her do the talking.

      “I’m very glad to meet you, Mrs. Worrall,” Janice was saying quietly. “Linda’s told me all about your power. It’s a very wonderful thing.”

      Mrs. Worrall smiled back at Janice’s radiant face.

      “Oh, it’s a small thing, dear, a gift that could come to anyone. I try to use it for good.”

      The women on the chairs made small noises of admiration and agreement whilst Mrs. Worrall’s broad, good-humoured face split into a grin. She had good teeth. Good teeth, hair tinted blue, a firm, heavy body, large brown arms and the most hideous of yellow dresses reaching to her ankles. He looked up to avoid her smile and saw the beams in the roof. Woodworm, he guessed, noting their raddled appearance. And then he thought of Charlie Pierce in his grave. Was it possible that this woman in her terrible dress could bring the man to some semblance of life?

      Janice dug him in the ribs. “Sit down,” she ordered.

      “Next to me,” said Mrs. Pierce. She whispered: “We sing a hymn and then the messages start. Old Mr. Purbeck is first. He’s worried about his Sadie.”

      “Poor thing,” said Janice. She would have said more, but Mrs. Worrall had risen.

      “Brothers and sisters, we welcome tonight two guests, Mr. and Mrs. Charnock, introduced by our dear friend Linda Pierce.” She waited until the small murmurs of greeting and welcome died down. “Shall we sing our usual hymn, brothers and sisters, to prepare ourselves for the call to our dear ones?”

      Alan Charnock suffered acutely. He stumbled as he got to his feet. Mrs. Worrall hit a true note to lead the singing, quite loud by local standards. Alan didn’t know the words and tried to look as though he was singing. But he was so much off-key that two or three of the singers turned to look at him. By the time the hymn had finished, he was heartily sick of Janice’s interest in psychic phenomena.

      Janice felt herself trembling when the three verses of the hymn were sung. She helped to move chairs, conscious of a growing sense of mystery as the brown-skinned Mrs. Worrall supervised the alignment of the circle. It had seemed something of a joke when Mrs. Pierce told her that her dead husband wouldn’t mind if she were to come to the séance; then, when Janice heard about Mrs. Worrall’s successes СКАЧАТЬ