Empire State (Part 6 of 7): Devil in the Attic

Wicca ritual practices are often staged with followers in a sacred circle. Spells are cast to bring about changes in the real world. “The Summerland” is a resting place for the human soul in between death and incarnation. Some believers in Black Magic would seek to manipulate this to assuage a debt to their own demon.

On entering the mansion, it was hard not to be taken aback by the grand, wooden staircase that led to the first floor. At the top, imperious portraits stared out at onlookers, handrails on either side of the steps polished to an immaculate standard. The paintings were of austere figures posing for posterity, canvas caressing them, flattering, pictures to last for all time.

Hamish the butler had disappeared with our luggage, parking it somewhere on the ground floor for now. As we circled around taking in all of the rooms, Carter arrived from our right. He stooped to kiss his daughter on her forehead, throwing a cold glance at Sam.

“Welcome” he announced, simply. “Astral said you were coming. I do hope you will stay with us overnight. You are just in time, most of the guests are here already. We can show you to your rooms later.”

He motioned towards a reception room back in the direction he had just come from. He looked suitably dapper in a white, smoking jacket and sharp creased, black trousers. Astral’s father had this habit of holding his head high when he spoke – it seemed to elevate him above everyone else.

As we entered the room, the buzz got louder. The party was in full swing with guests clutching champagne flutes in one hand and small plates of hor d’oeuvres in the other, topped up from time to time by a couple of catering staff milling about.

It was an eclectic sight. The room was ornate with a regal looking sofa surrounded by Chippendale chairs dotted about the room with small tables to sit at. A crystal chandelier dangled imperiously from the ceiling. Regency sideboards set the tone with wall mounted lights cradling lit candles sitting in brass holders. A tall, black male wearing traditional, African tribal dress was deep in conversation with another man wearing a dark tan suit whilst an elderly duchess with a thin, hooked nose smoked a cigarette housed in a long, slim holder. She was chatting to a bespectacled, chubby faced individual. He reminded me of that dude from Ghostbusters – the one who turns out to be an accountant and wants to bed Sigourney Weaver. Most people were in couples, revolving in their own orbits.

We made our way to the sofa which was vacant, trying to look unobtrusive; all eyes seemed to be upon us. As one of the waiters walked past, we both grabbed a glass noticing that Astral had ditched us in favour of mingling with other guests. After just a few minutes she had vanished altogether. Either parties weren’t her thing or she had some place to be. A better place.

“Well this looks like a fun party” I complained, muttering so that others couldn’t hear.

Sam looked around the room.

“This isn’t the usual crowd”. He observed, vacantly.

“Should we be worried?”

“Well it is a party, after all.” If Sam’s point was meant to reassure me, it didn’t. Astral had abandoned us and we were in a room full of….well….shall we say unusual characters.

For the next couple of hours, we kept to ourselves. Carter did come over to us to check whether we were having a good time. Me and Sam could always find things to talk about and the rest of the gathering left us alone in our silo.

It was around 10ish that I noticed the duchess looking over at us. She had a querulous expression. As her brow furrowed further, I suddenly become aware of Sam putting the back of his hand to his forehead. He was sweating. He had only just accepted another drink from one of the staff. I felt uneasy.

“I don’t feel so good.” He mouthed. With that he seemed to faint, slowly, and fell back into the settee. Astral’s father rushed over, putting his hand behind my friend’s head and putting his face close to Sam’s. He glared at his eyes, looked up and declared: “Let’s pop him upstairs to lie down so that we can have a proper look at him.” As I started to get up, he pushed his hand into my chest. “No need to worry. You are guests. I will attend to this.” With that, a large, Indian man appeared, all beard and saggy bags under his eyes. He gently pulled Sam forward enough to slip his head and arms under his shoulders. Carter did the other side and, between them, they dragged him off and upstairs. This struck me the quickest of diagnoses. I mean, he may have been perfectly alright if he’d been left alone for a few minutes.

Whilst all of this was going on, I had missed the gathered masses quietly salting away. One minute the room had been alive with activity, the next it was silent. I looked around, pondering the fact that whatever was happening now, it looked like I wasn’t invited.

There was a spiral staircase to the room’s right, directly opposite the entrance door. In front of it was stationed a debonair looking gentleman dressed in black tie, a similarly attired colleague blocking the exit that led back to the front door. From the resolute expressions on their faces and their arms folded across chests, it looked like there was little mileage to be had by enquiring politely if I could leave. Everything was happening so rapidly. Still, it was a worth a try.

“Can I slip past you, my good man?” I enquired of the minder standing between me and the way to the front of the house. He looked back at me, steely-eyed. “I’ve been assigned to look after you for a little while, sir. The master has requested that you remain here.” His eyes were cobalt blue, his jaw chiselled with scars on one cheek. I thought about this. What could I do? Violence had never been my thing even at school; I preferred brain over brawn.

Resignedly, I turned and sat on one of the tables. I had an idea. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and concentrated. My mind drifted, I could see an image unfolding. It was foggy to start with but became more defined the longer I tried. I had done this before. Once. But I had done it.

I could see Carter and the swami carrying Sam along the corridor on the second floor. You would have thought that the spiral staircase went all the way to the top and the observatory but I had overheard someone saying that the building had been designed using astronomical considerations. It may have been astrological; it was hard to tell from earwigging.

They passed room after room until they got to the far end and another spiral staircase. They squeezed through and up the narrow passageway and into the observatory at the top of the house. The rest of the night’s guests were waiting. They gently lowered Sam to the floor. The thirteen attendees proceeded to remove their clothes, replacing them with robes. I see…

…The High Priest has his eyes closed. Wearing a purple, ceremonial gown, he is surrounded by acolytes who hold hands in a circle. He is poised at the head of an altar on which lies the prostrate body of a man. Defenceless. The shaman is chanting. Followers are dressed in cowls, hoods covering their faces, all looking down at the floor. His words gradually get louder. The temperature plummets, breath visible when exhaled. Over by the wall where a telescope waits for use, red mist starts to fill the air, like dry ice on a stage. The mantra becomes more hypnotic, a shape becomes more distinct. Cloven hooves metamorphose followed by spindly legs in a woollen coat. A thorax emerges and then the head and face of an animal with horns. Its yellow eyes pierce the room, its mouth smiling, oozing malevolence. The creature’s goat-like arms are folded; it hovers in mid-air defying gravity - The Goat of Mendes. The Devil incarnate.

Carter is beholden to his master. He has a dagger in his hand. It’s held behind his back. He opens his eyes and looks down at his victim. Sam’s eyes open.