[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]do away with anyone who interferes with them. For instance, my
first informant, the girl who died, told me that in three separate
cases she had sat in a circle of concentration focusing all the power
of the thoughts of a dozen men and women to force a rich relative or
friend to change a will or to make over large sums of money to a
member. Whether some form of hypnosis was employed on the
victim as well, I do not know, but it apparently worked. The one
whose will had been changed died a few weeks later. In chapter five I
tell more about the deaths of those attacked by black magic.
Chapter five again. Jamie flipped the pages, skipping the interim and,
his attention caught again, began to read.
There is a common principle of least action in both white and black
magic, according to which material goals require material methods,
nonmaterial goals, nonmaterial methods. A black lodge may
contrive to kill someone by raising astral currents, but necessarily
they have to lower the victim's resistance first. Every method of
psychology is brought into play here, varying with the personality
of the victim. They specialize in confronting the victim with horrors
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hand-tailored to his psyche: obscenities for the clean-minded,
blasphemies for the devout, sadistic torture of animals (sometimes
baptized with the name of the
victim) for all but the most callous. Suggestion is the major force
used, but it is unrelenting to a degree hardly believable by those who
think of suggestion in the harmless terms of a repetitive
advertisement on TV, admonishing the listener to buy a particular
toothpaste. And, if the harmless methods of the advertising agency
are effective, one can easily imagine how quickly and completely a
victim can be broken down by this unrelenting persecution. I don't
know if the powers raised are "devils" or not, but they are certainly
something. For example &
Jamie raised his head, listening intently. Somewhere in another
apartment a dog had begun barking almost hysterically. There was an
odd rustling sound behind him. He turned, saw nothing, and scowled;
was he beginning to imagine all of Jock's horrors? It vaguely occurred
to him that it was nearly midnight and he was reacting like anyone
else reading a horror story at night: he was getting the horrors. He
bent his head to the manuscript again.
The methods of raising demons can be found in any grimoire, but as
Shakespeare said, "I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Why, so
can I, and so can any man, but will they come when you do call to
them?" The reason they do not come is because none but the trained
black adepts have the proper method of pronouncing the "barbarous
names of invocation." These names have largely been kept secret, in
an oral tradition passed down from adept
to adept. The technique is that used in so-called Mantra Yoga, the
commonest instance being the well-known phenomenon of Caruso's
high C breaking a thin wineglass. The words are declaimed, or
resonated, not only with the entire single-minded purpose of the
personality, but with the special vibration technique of highly
trained voices. This does not mean loudness. It means, however, that
one's whole body resonates with every syllable, so that it can be felt
even in the palms of the hands and the soles of the feet. Without this,
one is in the same position as the minister at Vespers concluding,
"Even so come, Lord Jesus," at which no one in the congregation is
surprised when He does not come.
Jamie jerked up his head again. A cold draft seemed to blow across
his spine. Outside in the hall he heard a curious, dragging noise. Then
several things happened all at once.
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The telephone rang loudly. Simultaneously, the doorbell of the
apartment chimed three times in rapid succession, a swift ding-ding-
ding that brought Jamie out of his chair in an automatic movement.
He grabbed at the phone.
"Melford speaking," he snapped. "Hello?"
"Take a look outside your door," said the voice, and abruptly the
phone went dead. Jamie swore, stepped rapidly toward the door, and
jerked it open.
Without surprise he saw the hallway and the carpeted corridor empty.
A cold draft blew up the stairs. He scowled, started to slam the door,
then stopped, seeing that something was lying on the mat.
He reached down to pick it up, then, with a grimace of revulsion, let it
fall. It was a small wooden cross to which had been nailed what
looked like one of those plastic green frogs that small boys torment
their sisters with. After a moment Jamie picked up the blasphemous
thing. He was not religious, and the blasphemy did not especially
trouble him, but the sick mind behind it did. He was shocked at the
thought that Barbara, who was religious though not devout, might
have found it first. He thought angrily of whoever had put the dead
chickens on Jock's doorstep. Then, with a shudder of sick disgust, he
realized that the toad on the ' cross was not plastic but limp and
squishy. Quite obviously, it had been living a short time ago.
He had better get rid of the poor thing before Barbara or his mother
saw it. He turned back into the living room and saw that Barbara, in
her nightgown, had come into the room, leaving the bedroom door
ajar.
"Did the doorbell wake you up, sweetheart? Just someone playing
Halloween pranks a month or so after the fact," he said, swiftly
thrusting the thing behind Ms back.
Barbara did not answer or look at him. In fact, her eyes seemed loose,
unfocused, and she moved hesitantly, without looking where she was
going.
"Barbara?" he said in some fright. 'Had this damned business upset
her as badly as all that? Was she walking in her sleep? He
remembered vaguely that it was supposed to be bad for anyone to
wake them up suddenly when they were sleepwalking, or was that just
an old wives' tale? In any case, if she came to her senses and found
herself out here, she might be frightened. He had better get her back
to bed. But first he would put this filthy thing in the garbage. He
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thrust it through the kitchen door: he'd deal with it later. He returned
to Barbara&
He cried out in horror and leaped at her, just as, moving with
awkward swiftness, she picked up Jock's carbon copy from the
sideboard, took one swift step toward the fire, and flung the bundle of
flimsy sheets into the center of the glowing coals,
"Barbara!" he yelled, no longer caring if he woke her up suddenly or
not. "Are you out of your goddamned mind?"
She seemed neither to hear nor to see him. She struck his hand off her
arm and moved slowly but with a dreadful purposefulness toward the
easy chair where he had laid the copy he was reading the last copy.
Jamie grabbed her arm and held on.
Barbara twisted and struggled, still not looking at him, fighting for
the pages. He grabbed, twisted, thrust the copy away from her. She
struggled sinuously toward it, slipping out of Ms hands as easily as an
eel. He fought, trying to pinion both her arms, hampered by his fear
of hurting her, shaking her silently. He kept repeating softly, urgently,
"Barbara, wake up! Wake up! It's all right! It's all right, sweetheart!
Wake up! You don't want to do that!"
Finally he wrenched the thick manuscript out of her hand, thrust it
swiftly under the cushion of the chair, and with a soft "I'm sorry,
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plkajaszek.htw.pl
