"But that's impossible, " protested Jack Hughes. "He's nowhere near her."
"It might be scientifically impossible," said Singing Rock quietly. "But this is not science. This is Indian magic."
We stood stock-still as deeper breaths began to hiss and gurgle from Karen Tandy's throat. Then she began to whisper to us, in a faint hollow voice that froze every nerve in my body.
"You — have — tried — to — defy — me — hisssss," breathed the voice. "You — have — hurt — me — and — I am — feeling — great — pain. I — intend — to — punish — you — for — that — sssssssss."
Her dead lungs collapsed, and her lips stopped quivering. We turned back to look at Misquamacus himself. His yellowy eyes suddenly opened, and stared at us with glittering malevolence. The same smile that had tightened his face when he appeared on the cherrywood table crossed his expression now.
Singing Rock started his incantations, and tapped his bones in a soft, knocking rhythm. But we could tell that his sorcery was nothing compared to that of Misquamacus, because the neon lights in the room began to flicker and fade, and within a few seconds we were plunged into complete darkness.
I stretched my arms out, trying to take a friendly hand, but I couldn't seem to reach anyone. I was terrified in case I touched the still-slimy face of Misquamacus.
"Don't move," hissed Singing Rock, with fright in his voice. "Don't anybody move."
But somebody or something was moving in the room, and it was shuffling toward us with a slow, irresistible gait.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Past the Dusk
Wolf struck his cigarette lighter, and turned the gas up full, and the tall yellow flame lit the room in a carousel of hideous shadows.
Misquamacus, with an animal grin on his glistening face, was still crouched within the medicine circle, but just in front of him, on the floor, the red and white powders that singing Rock had set down were shifting and sliding apart, like iron filings drawn away by a magnet.
"He's breaking it!" shouted Jack Hughes. "Singing Rock — for God's sake!"
Singing Rock took a step forward and stood right in front of Misquamacus — only a couple of feet away from the deformed medicine man, and with only the rapidly dispersing powders of the medicine circle between them.
He cast more powders at Misquamacus, and drew signs in the air with his bones, but Misquamacus simply twitched and flinched, as though he were batting away midges. From Karen Tandy on the bed, we heard a soft and hideous laugh, dying away in a bellows-like hiss.
The last of the medicine circle slithered away, and now there was nothing between us and the hell-bent Misquamacus. I didn't know whether to stay put or run, but I knew that Singing Rock needed all of us badly, to support his sorcery, and so I stayed where I was, tingling with fear.
The naked Misquamacus raised himself as tall as he could on his stunted legs, and spread his arms wide. Out of his own lips, in a harsh and guttural voice, came a long Indian incantation, repetitive and involved, and then with one bony hand he pointed across the room.
I followed the line of his finger. He was pointing directly at the gory corpse of Michael, the male nurse.
Singing Rock stepped back quickly. "Get out of here, now!" he snapped, and pushed us toward the door.
Just as I got out into the corridor, I saw something that literally started my teeth chattering. The bloody heap of Michael's body was moving: exposed arteries were pulsing, naked nerves were throbbing, and his inside-out lungs, like two dripping balloons, were drawing breath again.
By the feeble orange light of Wolf's cigarette lighter we saw the shambles of Michael's body rise gorily to its feet. Deep in the bleeding tissue of the inverted face, two watery eyes stared out at us — squid's eyes, from a terrible submarine nightmare.
Then step by liquid step, leaving behind it a trail of viscous membrane, Michael's corpse started to walk toward us, smearing everything it touched with blood.
"Oh, Christ," said Jack Hughes, in a desperate, horrified voice.
But Singing Rock was not idle. He fumbled in his pocket for his leather bottle, unstoppered it, and poured some of its contents into the palm of his hand. With wide, sweeping strokes, he sprayed a pattern of magical liquid into the air, across and over the shambling wreck of Michael's body.
"Gitche Manitou, take life from this creature," he muttered. "Gitche Manitou, reward this servant with death."
Michael's body sagged, and dropped to its knees, bare muscles sliding over exposed bones. It finally collapsed, and lay in a heap beside the door.
Inside the room, Misquamacus was at work again. We couldn't see him now, because Wolf's cigarette lighter flame was rapidly sinking, but we could hear him chanting and talking, and tossing the bones and hair that Singing Rock had used to make his medicine circle.
"Wolf," said Singing Rock. "Go and fetch us a few flashlights. We must be able to see what we're doing. Misquamacus can see in the dark, and it's easier for him to summon his demons in the dark. Please — as quick as you can!"
Wolf handed me his hot cigarette lighter, with its bead of diminishing flame, and ran down the corridor to the elevators. He almost didn't make it. As he turned the corner, there was a blue-white flash of dazzling fire. It sent sparks crawling across the floor, and left a searing orange after-image on my eyes.
"Wolf!" called Singing Rock. "Are you okay?"
"Okay, sir!" shouted back Wolf. "I'll be right back"
"What the hell was that?" said Jack Hughes.
"The lightning-that-sees," said Singing Rock. "That was what killed your friends, Harry. I thought Misquamacus would try to get him like that once he was away from me, so I diverted it."
"It still went damn close," said Jack.
"A miss is as good as a mile," I commented. The lighter had almost dwindled away now, and I was straining my eyes to see what was happening in Karen Tandy's room. I could hear shufflings and bumpings, but it was impossible to make anything out.
Darkness enveloped us again. We kept a hand on each other's shoulders, so that we wouldn't be separated. It also helped to concentrate the force of Singing Rock's spells, whenever he cast them. With complete blackness pressing against our eyes, we kept our ears pricked up for the slightest sound.
After a few moments, we heard Misquamacus chanting again.
"What's he doing?" whispered Dr. Hughes.
"Something I was afraid of," said Singing Rock. "He's summoning an Indian demon."
"A demon?" asked Jack.
"Not exactly a demon in European terms. But the Indian equivalent. One of the ancient ones."
"Do you know which one he's calling?" I said.
Singing Rock listened to the coarse, muttering incantation as closely as he could.
"I don't know. He's using a name from his own tribal language. Although the demons are all the same throughout North America, each tribe has a different name for them. This one is something called Kahala, I think, or K'malah. I'm not sure."
"How can you fight it if you don't know which one it is?" I said.
I could imagine Singing Rock's lined lugubrious face.
"I can't. I'll have to wait and see when it appears."
Clinging together, we waited for the ancient apparition to manifest itself. Through the darkness, we saw pale flickers of greenish light coming from Karen Tandy's room, and coils of pallid smoke.
"Is the place on fire?" asked Dr. Hughes.