The Devil's Touch Read Online Free Page A

from the man's head, peeling the head like an orange, popping the eyeballs into her mouth like grapes. Then she ate the brain.
    The few bones that were left were gathered and taken deep underground, through a hole behind the Catholic church. The hole had at one time been a well. It now connected with an elaborate labyrinth of underground tunnels. The tunnels crisscrossed under the entire town of Logandale, with exits under all church basements, the city hall, the police station, the sheriffs department substation, the public schools, many homes, and into the town's sewage system.
    The digging and reenforcing of the tunnels had begun years before, back in 1948. For when one coven falls, as happened that year, in another part of the country, it is written in The Book that another must spring forth so the number will remain constant. The coven in Logandale was one of the oldest in the Northeast, and one of the largest. The coven in Logandale was almost ready to begin its full possession of the town. It was down to a matter of hours.
THREE
    Father Daniel Le Moyne sat in Chief Draper's small office. He went over his story again … and again. Monty could not break the priest's version. Not that he wanted to, or expected to, for he believed the priest had seen exactly what he described.
    "Do you want to go over it again, Monty?" the priest asked patiently.
    "That won't be necessary, Father. I believe you saw a man. Hell, here's your bloody jacket. The ground was covered with blood. I have samples to send off to the lab. But what happened to the man?"
    Father Le Moyne shrugged, shrugged as eloquently as only a Frenchman can; even a third generation American of French heritage.
    "Father, let me ask you a question you—well, may think odd."
    The priest waited.
    Monty said, "I don't know how to put this except to just jump right in. But bear in mind I fully realize this is not a question you would expect to hear from a trained cop. Have you felt—
evil
in this town? I mean, especially over the past few weeks?"
    Father Le Moyne lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. He was thoughtful for a long moment, his eyes hooded with caution. Finally, he said, "Yes. I have."
    The chief of police seemed to relax. "Care to elaborate, Father?"
    "Are you asking if there is such a thing as varying degrees of evil?" The priest smiled.
    "I was raised in the church, Father." Monty's response was dryly spoken.
    "Your question about evil concerns the man I found this evening, correct?"
    "Yes."
    "The poor man had strange, bizarre markings cut into his flesh, Chief Draper."
    Strange and bizarre, Monty thought. Those words keep cropping up. First from Noah, now from the priest. "Describe them, Father. We only touched on that."
    The priest closed his eyes. When he spoke, his words were slow as he brought back the tortured man's condition. "Stars, moons, upside down crosses. Other symbols I—am not that familiar with. Some I have never seen at all. It looked as though the man had been tortured for several days. Some of the cuttings appeared to be crusted over; others were fresh. There were numbers cut into the poor man's flesh. Sixes and nines. 1 believe part of his tongue had been cut out. His words were so slurred. And as I told you previously, he had been castrated."
    Le Moyne opened his eyes. Monty thought them to contain a haunting expression.
    "What did the symbols mean to you, Father?"
    Did the priest shudder? Monty thought so. "I— would rather not venture an opinion at this time, Chief. If you don't mind."
    He knows, Monty thought. Knows more than he is telling me. Without warning, Monty opened the center drawer of his desk and removed the prints of Noah's dog. He flipped them to the priest. Father Le Moyne took one look and covered his mouth in shock.
    "What's the matter, Father?"
    "That's obvious, isn't it? The poor animal. That's Noah's dog, Victor."
    "I wasn't aware you two knew each other."
    "The dog or Noah?" Le Moyne asked, with a sense of humor