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nothing—”
    “Gerold. Swear that you won’t kill yourself, or I’ll call a hotline right now.”
    Gerold cringed in the chair.
Me and my big mouth!
“I swear I won’t kill myself.”
    “Swear to
God
.”
    Gerold sighed. “All right, I swear to God I won’t kill myself—”
    “Swear to God on the
Bible
.”
    Gerold laughed. “What, you carry a Bible around in your back pocket?”
    From his back pocket, Hudson produced a Bible.
    “Come on, man,” Gerold groaned.
    “Swear on it.”
    Gerold put his hand on the Bible. “I swear to God on the
Bible
that I won’t kill myself.”
    “Good.” Hudson regained his ease. “If you break that, you’ll be in a world of hurt. God’s a nice guy but he’s also been known for some big-time wrath in the past. Trust me, you don’t want to incur it—”
    “I’m not gonna kill myself, man . . .”
    “You’re coming to the service tonight?”
    “No. Sunday.”
    “For sure?”
    Jesus!
“Yes. I always do.”
    “Good. I’ll make an appointment for you to talk to Father Darren afterward, okay?”
    Gerold slumped in place. “Okay.”
    Hudson grinned. “Now, if you don’t show up, I’ll find out where you live—it’s in the church records—and I’ll bring half the congregation to your apartment, and there’ll be a big scene, and you’ll really be embarrassed—”
    Gerold laughed outright now.
    “—so you’ll be there, right?”
    “Yes!” Gerold insisted. “I promise!”
    “Good.” Hudson winked. “I’ll see you then.”
    “Yeah. Later.” Gerold thought,
What a pain in the ass!
But at least he was laughing as he wheeled back down the block. His shadow followed him along the sidewalk. He didn’t feel very good about lying so outright but what couldhe do? Hudson expected him in church Sunday, but he was certain he’d be dead by then.
(II)
    The Electrocity Generators hummed as the main phalanx of Ushers marched in formation about the security perimeter. The brimstone wall completely encircled the construction site, each joist fitted with a chapel in which Mongrels and the Human Damned were mutilated and sacrificed on a regular basis. The constant torture and screams and death kept the Hell-Flux about the Demonculus
rich
.
    In the tallest minaret, the Archlock Curwen—the Devil’s Supreme Master Builder—watched from the eyelike observation port. He existed as Hell’s most talented Organic Engineer.
    He looked up, up, up . . .
    This close, the 666-foot figure looked mountainous. Tens of thousands of forced laborers had been required to build it, most of the abomination’s body being forged out of noxious slop by the bare hands of trained Trolls and Imps. The majority of the labor contingent, however, had been comprised of sundry other denizen slaves engaged in the task of hauling the immeasurable amounts of construction material from the Siddom Valley’s famed
Basin Putrudus
, the Inferno’s most immense corpse pit. Technically, the Demonculus was a Golem—the largest ever built—but unlike this lower variant, it was not made of corrupted clay; instead, the appalling wares of the Basin Putrudus were used: peatlike muck commingled with the putrefaction of unnumbered dead bodies—millions, no doubt. The material’s very
vileness
gave the Demonculus its sheer power.
So gorgeous
, Curwen mused. Looking at the motionless creaturenow, he thought of a heinous version of the Colossus of Rhodes . . .
    The Master Builder was pleased, as he knew Lucifer would soon be as well.
    Curwen had died in 1771 when suspicious villagers had raided his subterranean chancel and caught him in an act of blasphemous coition with a conjured demonness. He was buried alive on Good Friday. Yet his unrepentant sorcery—including the untold murder of children, the consumption of virginal blood for ritualism and sport, and the overall pursuit of all things ungodly—left him in great favor upon his death and descent into Hell, such that the ultimate Benefactor here