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Authors: Clive Barker
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Valentin said. 'Still give him a decent cremation -' The demon's obsession with his master's dignity was chastening, in its way. 'But you have to help me, Harry.'
Til help you,' he said, avoiding sight of the creature.
'Just don't expect love and affection.'
If it were possible to hear a smile, that's what he heard.
They want this over and done with before dawn,' the demon said.
'It can't be far from that now.'
60'An hour, maybe,' Valentin replied. 'But it's enough.
Either way, it's enough.'
The sound of the furnace soothed Chaplin; its rumbles and rattlings were as familiar as the complaint of his own intestines. But there was another sound growing behind the door, the like of which he'd never heardbefore. His mind made foolish pictures to go with it.
Of pigs laughing; of glass and barbed wire being ground between the teeth; of hoofed feet dancing on the door.
As the noises grew so did his trepidation, but when he went to the basement door to summon help it was locked;
the key had gone. And now, as if matters weren't bad enough, the light went out.
He began to fumble for a prayer -
'Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour -'
But he stopped when a voice addressed him, quite clearly.
'Michelmas,' it said.
It was unmistakably his mother. And there could be no doubt of its source, either. It came from the furnace.
'Michelmas,' she demanded, 'are you going to let me cook in here?'
It wasn't possible, of course, that she was there in the flesh: she'd been dead thirteen long years. But some phantom, perhaps? He believed in phantoms. Indeed he'd seen them on occasion, coming and going from the cinemas on 42nd Street, arm in arm.
'Open up, Michelmas,' his mother told him, in that special voice she used when she had some treat for him.
Like a good child, he approached the door. He had never felt such heat off the furnace as he felt now; he could smell the hairs on his arms wither.
61'Open the door,' Mother said again. There was no denying her. Despite the searing air, he reached to comply.
'That fucking janitor,' said Harry, giving the sealed fire escape door a vengeful kick. 'This door's supposed to be left unlocked at all times.' He pulled at the chains that were wrapped around the handles. 'We'll have to take the stairs.'
There was a noise from back down the corridor; a roar in the heating system which made the antiquated radiators rattle. At that moment, down in the basement,
Michelmas Chaplin was obeying his mother, and opening the furnace door. A scream climbed from below as his face was blasted off. Then, the sound of the basement door being smashed open.
Harry looked at Valentin, his repugnance moment-
arily forgotten.
'We shan't be taking the stairs,' the demon said.
Bellowings and chatterings and screechings were already on the rise. Whatever had found birth in the basement, it was precocious.
'We have to find something to break down the door,
Valentin said, 'anything.'
Harry tried to think his way through the adjacent offices, his mind's eye peeled for some tool that would make an impression on either the fire door or the substantial chains which kept it closed. But there was nothing useful: only typewriters and filing cabinets.
'Think, man,' said Valentin.
He ransacked his memory. Some heavy-duty instru-
ment was required. A crowbar; a hammer. An axe!
There was an agent called Shapiro on the floor below,
who exclusively represented porno performers, one of whom had attempted to blow his balls off the monthbefore. She'd failed, but he'd boasted one day on the stairs that he had now purchased the biggest axe he could find, and would happily take the head off any client who attempted an attack upon his person.
The commotion from below was simmering down.
The hush was, in its way, more distressing than the din that had preceded it.
'We haven't got much
Til help you,' he said, avoiding sight of the creature.
'Just don't expect love and affection.'
If it were possible to hear a smile, that's what he heard.
They want this over and done with before dawn,' the demon said.
'It can't be far from that now.'
60'An hour, maybe,' Valentin replied. 'But it's enough.
Either way, it's enough.'
The sound of the furnace soothed Chaplin; its rumbles and rattlings were as familiar as the complaint of his own intestines. But there was another sound growing behind the door, the like of which he'd never heardbefore. His mind made foolish pictures to go with it.
Of pigs laughing; of glass and barbed wire being ground between the teeth; of hoofed feet dancing on the door.
As the noises grew so did his trepidation, but when he went to the basement door to summon help it was locked;
the key had gone. And now, as if matters weren't bad enough, the light went out.
He began to fumble for a prayer -
'Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour -'
But he stopped when a voice addressed him, quite clearly.
'Michelmas,' it said.
It was unmistakably his mother. And there could be no doubt of its source, either. It came from the furnace.
'Michelmas,' she demanded, 'are you going to let me cook in here?'
It wasn't possible, of course, that she was there in the flesh: she'd been dead thirteen long years. But some phantom, perhaps? He believed in phantoms. Indeed he'd seen them on occasion, coming and going from the cinemas on 42nd Street, arm in arm.
'Open up, Michelmas,' his mother told him, in that special voice she used when she had some treat for him.
Like a good child, he approached the door. He had never felt such heat off the furnace as he felt now; he could smell the hairs on his arms wither.
61'Open the door,' Mother said again. There was no denying her. Despite the searing air, he reached to comply.
'That fucking janitor,' said Harry, giving the sealed fire escape door a vengeful kick. 'This door's supposed to be left unlocked at all times.' He pulled at the chains that were wrapped around the handles. 'We'll have to take the stairs.'
There was a noise from back down the corridor; a roar in the heating system which made the antiquated radiators rattle. At that moment, down in the basement,
Michelmas Chaplin was obeying his mother, and opening the furnace door. A scream climbed from below as his face was blasted off. Then, the sound of the basement door being smashed open.
Harry looked at Valentin, his repugnance moment-
arily forgotten.
'We shan't be taking the stairs,' the demon said.
Bellowings and chatterings and screechings were already on the rise. Whatever had found birth in the basement, it was precocious.
'We have to find something to break down the door,
Valentin said, 'anything.'
Harry tried to think his way through the adjacent offices, his mind's eye peeled for some tool that would make an impression on either the fire door or the substantial chains which kept it closed. But there was nothing useful: only typewriters and filing cabinets.
'Think, man,' said Valentin.
He ransacked his memory. Some heavy-duty instru-
ment was required. A crowbar; a hammer. An axe!
There was an agent called Shapiro on the floor below,
who exclusively represented porno performers, one of whom had attempted to blow his balls off the monthbefore. She'd failed, but he'd boasted one day on the stairs that he had now purchased the biggest axe he could find, and would happily take the head off any client who attempted an attack upon his person.
The commotion from below was simmering down.
The hush was, in its way, more distressing than the din that had preceded it.
'We haven't got much
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