Read Online Demon Child by Dean Koontz - Free Book Online
Authors: Dean Koontz
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not laugh off such suggestions, but that it actually contained rituals for the exorcism of such evil spirits. Modern day Rumanians, Russians, Poles, Yugoslavs-all these believed, to one degree or another, in such unlikely things as men who walked as wolves at night, in vampires and ghouls. Indeed, she discovered that many Rumanians slept with dried garlic leaves nailed above each window and door of their houses, to ward off things with fangs that sought victims after the sun had set.
If such beliefs survived so strongly, even into this industrial age, who was to say they were any less true than the beliefs of, say, the Christian church?
She read until very late, and she closed the drapes that hung aside the windows, so that the darkness could not watch her through the thin glass.
The legends of those European countries-and not, incidentally, the stories that originated in them as late as the middle 1960s-were so fascinating that she read on until she fell asleep over the books.
She slept fitfully. Many times, she half rose from bed, her heart beating furiously, only to drop quickly into troubled slumber again. She whimpered unintelligibly to no one and often kicked out at the covers that seemed to hold her down like heavy wings.
In the morning, she felt more on edge than ever before, as if she were standing before a monumentally huge jack-in-the-box, waiting tensely for the unexpected moment when it would leap out on a heavy spring, leering at her
----
6
By the following morning, after she had showered and dressed and lightly perfumed herself, Jenny knew that she wanted to leave the Brucker estate, wanted it more than anything she had ever wanted before. If the unexpected were to be sprung upon her, there was no more likely place for it than this curse-ridden house. The dream-voices of her dead family seemed to return to her, even when she was awake, urging her to flee.
She had come here, in the first place, in hopes that she could be with people whom she loved and who would return her love and make her feel a part of their lives. All those whose affections had sustained her in the past-all those were dead. Only Cora and Richard remained as links to the brighter parts of life, to love and understanding and gentleness. But now they had problems of their own: Freya's illness, the bickering between mother and son, Richard's increasing impoliteness, the heckling of the real estate speculators who made Cora so nervous-and the unremitting air of the unknown which hung over the house and those within it. There was no time for the simple pleasures of life. It was, suddenly, as if she were a boarder in a house of strangers.
The frustrated longing for stability and routine and love which had possessed her ever since Grandmother Brighton's death could not be resolved here. There was no stability in a place of werewolves and curses. Routine was shattered by howls in the night, by badly mutilated horses, by children in unexplained comas. And the air contained an evil expectancy that stifled love. All Jenny could gain here was sorrow and a sharper edge to her fear.
But how could she ever explain all of this to Cora?
She did not want to hurt her aunt's feelings or add to the older woman's current list of miseries. Though she might not like being here, Cora might actually need her. She remembered the several times Cora had come to her room to talk about things, as if confiding, just a little, in the niece. Perhaps, unknowingly, she offered Cora the woman's only emotional outlet at the moment.
Yet she wanted out.
Desperately.
She thought around all sides of her problem as she descended the wide main staircase Saturday morning. She was not dressed for riding, since she did not want to go near the stables, at least until the memory of Hollycross' corpse was not so sharp in her mind. She still wore her bedroom
If such beliefs survived so strongly, even into this industrial age, who was to say they were any less true than the beliefs of, say, the Christian church?
She read until very late, and she closed the drapes that hung aside the windows, so that the darkness could not watch her through the thin glass.
The legends of those European countries-and not, incidentally, the stories that originated in them as late as the middle 1960s-were so fascinating that she read on until she fell asleep over the books.
She slept fitfully. Many times, she half rose from bed, her heart beating furiously, only to drop quickly into troubled slumber again. She whimpered unintelligibly to no one and often kicked out at the covers that seemed to hold her down like heavy wings.
In the morning, she felt more on edge than ever before, as if she were standing before a monumentally huge jack-in-the-box, waiting tensely for the unexpected moment when it would leap out on a heavy spring, leering at her
----
6
By the following morning, after she had showered and dressed and lightly perfumed herself, Jenny knew that she wanted to leave the Brucker estate, wanted it more than anything she had ever wanted before. If the unexpected were to be sprung upon her, there was no more likely place for it than this curse-ridden house. The dream-voices of her dead family seemed to return to her, even when she was awake, urging her to flee.
She had come here, in the first place, in hopes that she could be with people whom she loved and who would return her love and make her feel a part of their lives. All those whose affections had sustained her in the past-all those were dead. Only Cora and Richard remained as links to the brighter parts of life, to love and understanding and gentleness. But now they had problems of their own: Freya's illness, the bickering between mother and son, Richard's increasing impoliteness, the heckling of the real estate speculators who made Cora so nervous-and the unremitting air of the unknown which hung over the house and those within it. There was no time for the simple pleasures of life. It was, suddenly, as if she were a boarder in a house of strangers.
The frustrated longing for stability and routine and love which had possessed her ever since Grandmother Brighton's death could not be resolved here. There was no stability in a place of werewolves and curses. Routine was shattered by howls in the night, by badly mutilated horses, by children in unexplained comas. And the air contained an evil expectancy that stifled love. All Jenny could gain here was sorrow and a sharper edge to her fear.
But how could she ever explain all of this to Cora?
She did not want to hurt her aunt's feelings or add to the older woman's current list of miseries. Though she might not like being here, Cora might actually need her. She remembered the several times Cora had come to her room to talk about things, as if confiding, just a little, in the niece. Perhaps, unknowingly, she offered Cora the woman's only emotional outlet at the moment.
Yet she wanted out.
Desperately.
She thought around all sides of her problem as she descended the wide main staircase Saturday morning. She was not dressed for riding, since she did not want to go near the stables, at least until the memory of Hollycross' corpse was not so sharp in her mind. She still wore her bedroom
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