Evergreen by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 22

Nineteen sixty-one saw the end of the conventional era of the 50s and the beginning of the cultural revolution. Allen Ginsberg had won in the landmark case that redefined the First Amendment after the publication of Howl, opening the door for free thinking, music, writing and the civil rights movement. Rock ‘n roll had been forced down the public’s gullet, simply because others tried to destroy it. If anything, the 60s offered a truth, that while people are mortal, an idea can never die, in spite of the attempts of others to render silent.

Arthur and Cecelia Redfield had been married for nearly 20 years. In his day, Arthur was an industrial giant. Born into old money, he was heavily invested in steel, lumber, and coal. His wife, Cecilia, was fifteen years his senior, and she was, by no means, a woman given to unrealistic ideas of the world. Initially, she knew Arthur by his reputation and saw him as a means to an end. Basically, she married him for his money and in spite of her age, she successfully presented herself as a strong, willful woman. Someone who would not be ignored, maneuvering her way into Arthur’s life with an almost aggressive charm that many men found highly curious, but many women found obvious. Among those women who found themselves entertained by Cecelia’s social conduct, the word ‘slut’ was often whispered and unbeknownst to Arthur, Cecelia had been previously married. She played the grieving widow after her husband died of unnatural causes. Surrounded by mysterious circumstances, his death was extensively investigated and the subject of public scrutiny for several months. But the cause of death could not be determined, and she was eliminated as a suspect. The case remained open as a homicide.

From an early age, Cecelia had been obsessed with her appearance and went to great lengths to maintain a youthful look. Her one and only fear was in getting old. For anyone else, aging is simply the product of being alive. The aging process begins even before we’re born. But in Cecelia’s mind, aging was nothing less than a cruel joke, perpetrated by an angry God bent on destroying the beauty she believed herself to be entitled to. She believed this so strongly that, in time, she would come to take it as an act of divine intent and as her face reflected the reality of mortal life, she became as resentful as she was obsessed with the idea of remaining youthful.

Maintaining her belief that God was carrying some spiteful grudge against her, Cecelia came into the odd conclusion that the regaining of youth was possible. But, only for those who could achieve it and after unsuccessfully consulting medical science, Cecelia turned to the occult. She frequented psychics, tarot card readers, and astrologers and after she had exhausted all these resources, Cecelia discovered black magic. More specifically, the work of the Ordo Antichristianus Illuminati and the writings of Aleister Crowley. She found a coven in Salem, Massachusetts that introduced her to the black arts, giving her a copy of Crowley’s ‘De Arte Magica’. Within its pages, she discovered Lilith, a demoness spanning thousands of years of ancient mythology and came to symbolize evil, vanity, and eternal youth. She was the seducer of men, the murderer of infants and the queen of witches. Cecelia had become so enamored with her that in her mind Lilith had become as real as the perception she held of God’s hatred of her and with her emerging beliefs, Cecelia had, on some level, gone to war with God. So immersed had she become, that upon her wedding day, she penned the dark moon of Lilith at the end of her signature on the marriage certificate. It was so small that no one thought anything of it in and Arthur was too busy accepting the praise of wedding guests to notice.

But time offers no leniency and favors no one. Ten years can vanish into memory as time passes with fleeting cruelty and in spite of the passage of Cecelia’s life, she continued to maintain not only her obsession with youthfulness but also her fascination with the occult. Her belief in Lilith as a reality, over time, lead to a dark personal commitment, taking the form of an altar she kept in an isolated part of the third floor. Arthur, having taken to heavy drinking after losing a third of his business investments, rarely strayed from the first floor. He had also realized that, from the very beginning, he had become involved in a loveless marriage. But, Cecelia would never allow a divorce to stand between her and Arthur’s remaining wealth and while this idea was out of the question, the thought of killing him had occurred to her. It seemed the more obsessed she became with her new beliefs, the more she thought about it. Cecelia realized how easy it would be. Arthur spent most of his time in a drunken stupor. The right amount of the right substance would send him into a downward spiral of sudden, debilitating illness. But the questions she found herself asking was what would she use. The effect had to be quick. It wasn’t that she felt the need to be merciful. She just wanted to be rid of him. But she discovered another use for Arthur. One that did not necessarily require him to be alive.

After giving it more thought, it occurred to Cecelia that the answer to her dilemma lay in front of her all along. Arthur was a consummate alcoholic, drinking himself into unconsciousness on a fairly regular basis. The only thing she had to do was keep him in the house. She would feed him the ingredients of his self-destruction, allowing him to carry out the method of his undoing. By the time all was done, she would wash her hands on the entire matter. But, this was only the beginning. In her quest to reclaim her youth, Cecelia discovered a bit of ceremonial magic, associated with the mythology of Lilith and the more enamored she became with it, the more seriously she took it. In effect, she had stumbled upon the spell for eternal youth. Buried within the pages of Crowley’s writings was the entire outline for the spell. The items necessary for the ceremony were listed in detail. The discovery left her elated. Cecelia now realized that she would get more than Arthur’s wealth. She would get to live her life as the beautiful woman of her youth. Eternally young. Eternally beautiful. Perhaps, it was her obsession that drove her into the delusion of dark belief. Or, maybe it was the belief that twisted the object of her faith into reality. After all, faith, by its very nature, is an indisputable violation of logic.

But as Cecelia continued to study the spell, a problem with presented itself. The spell called for the heart of an infant and in Evergreen, the murder of a baby would certainly not go unnoticed. But in her now deeply delusional mind, she had convinced herself that any human heart would be just as effective and if Arthur was going to drink himself to death, she would benefit from his demise a second time. But, there was one more hurdle to overcome. The altar she had constructed in her devotion to Lilith was on the third floor, and Cecelia was physically unable to carry Arthur. She would have to find a way of getting him to go there.

Using alcohol as bait, Cecelia moved the entire contents of the liquor cabinet to the third floor. She made several trips up and down the stairs, but within the space of an hour, every drop had been moved. Arthur, having discovered the empty liquor cabinet, flew into a tirade, believing that Cecelia had disposed of it out of spite.

“It’s upstairs,” she said resentfully.

“I don’t want all that booze down here. Anyone visiting’s going to think we’re a couple of drunks!”

She watched as Arthur quickly climbed the stairs. Knowing that Arthur was helpless without the ability to feed his addiction, Cecelia took great pleasure in seeing him surrender his will as he chased the source of his only escape. It was only a few minutes until she heard his voice, muffled by distance into near silence.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled. “Why the fuck did you put it all the way up here?!”

A cruel smile etched itself across her face as Arthur continued ranting. But after several more minutes, his tantrum ceased and a tense quiet fell over the house. Arthur would medicate his anger with more than the usual amount of alcohol, much more.

An hour had passed before Cecelia quietly climbed the stairs and just as she had hoped, Arthur lay on the floor with an empty whiskey bottle next to his unconscious body. A heavy layer of vomit exploded from his stomach, coating the small oriental rug beneath his head. But in spite of his condition, he was still very much alive. Cecelia raised her skirt slightly and squatted down next to him.

“Looks like you’re about to outlive your usefulness if you had any use, to begin with,” she said.

She giggled for a brief moment in anticipation of her macabre dream becoming a reality and in rising to her feet, grabbed his ankles and began dragging him across the floor. She had underestimated either Arthur’s weight or her ability to move him. But twenty minutes later, Cecelia had positioned him in front of the small altar. She had placed him in such a way that has head pointed west. Commencing with the spell's preparation, she encircled him with a thick line of salt and pricking her finger, traced the dark moon on his forehead in her own blood. Standing outside the circle, Cecelia looked up while raising her hands high over her head. Now, in the dim light of a single black candle, she began the incantation. She spoke the words in the arcane tongue of Enochian, the language of Angels and Demons. And at the proper time, she paused between verses to rip Arthur’s shirt open. Still, with the belief that even his blackened heart would be enough, Cecelia continued the incantation as she began cutting into Arthur’s chest. Using the knife’s serrated edge, she sawed through his ribs and finally breached the bony cage surrounding his heart.

Carefully pushing her hand into the gaping hole in Arthur’s chest, Cecelia gripped his still beating heart and with a single pull, ripped away the tissue that held it in place, killing him instantly. The haphazardly severed bone ends lacerated her hand as she lifted the organ from its former resting place. A torrent of blood launched itself like a fountain, landing in heavy drops against the ceiling. Covered with the blood of her now deceased husband, Cecelia held the twitching muscular of Arthur’s heart up as an offering to what had become her redeemer. The bestower of the blessing of eternal youth. But as she finished the spell, something unexpected began to take place. The floor started to vibrate. Only slightly, at first. Gaining in strength and intensity, it turned into a low rumble. But from outside the house, all was quiet. Anyone in passing would never have suspected that hell was about to open its doors within that small room, tucked away in the back of the third floor.

With Arthur’s body lying in a pool of rapidly clotting blood, the room began shaking violently enough to knock Cecelia off her feet and opening her hand; she stared at Arthur’s now motionless heart. She had learned the spell but had no idea how the results would develop. Would the transformation to eternal youth be immediate, or might there be some sign of its arrival? Perhaps the workings of the spell would come from the heart itself. Over the next few moments, the bloody deceased heart, although growing cold in her hand, released a waft of smoke. A joyful smile made its way across Cecelia’s face as she took it to be the beginning of what she had craved for so long. Cecelia laughed as the lifeless organ became covered in blisters. Continuing to emanate heat, the heart began to melt in her loosened grip. Yet, she felt no different and as it disintegrated; she found herself unable to release it as she had also been unable to let go of her vanity. Now, the price of living a self-absorbed life would be paid in full. The devil demanded his due.

As the floor continued shaking beneath her, Cecelia lay next Arthur’s body, unable to loosen her grip on his rapidly combusting heart. But as it began to sear her flesh, a noise began to fill her mind and from somewhere in the darkness of her barren soul rose a psychotic clatter, resonant of the fatal flaw she had committed to performing the spell. From the beginning, she felt certain that Arthur’s heart would be enough, that it would provide her with what she wanted. But the growing chaos within her mind seemed to signal that something had gone horribly wrong as the sound of a screaming baby rang loudly in her head. As the wailing sprang to life from within her mind, it’s loud horrific shrieking quickly birthed a skull-shattering pain and Cecelia found herself paralyzed by it. Unable to move, she was left only with the ability to scream. She lifted her eyes up as though speaking directly to the Almighty. But it was not God with whom she was begging. She opened her mouth to plead with the object of her faith, but no words would be forthcoming, only the cries and tears of her own impending demise. As her body began to fail, Cecelia was left with the realization of her error. Not only had she tried to cheat death, but the dark divinity she had given herself to as well.

Her eyes moved back to her hand. The organ she had so eagerly torn from Arthur’s chest had turned to ash. But what had truly horrified her was the transformation taking place in her own body. Her skin suddenly appeared whisper-thin as her flesh shrank and tightened around her bones and as her breathing turned to gasps, Cecelia’s body quickly aged. Her skin dried to a dusty white; her flesh frozen into a solid, unmovable mass. The black arts of the occult do not obey the laws of logic. The devil imposes his rules and when those rules are broken, the consequences are often grim. She saw the use of Arthur’s heart as a shortcut, believing it would still gain favor from the darkness she worshiped. But those dark forces seemed to take issue with Cecelia’s attempt to bypass the rules. Instead of rewarding her with the youth and beauty she craved, a curse of age and ugliness was imposed upon her. Death arrived with the speed and impact of a slap as her own heart solidified in her chest.

Cecelia’s life had evaporated, leaving her body a cold, emaciated husk. But the living darkness had one more punishment to dole out, further directing its rage to the house itself. No one would enter without the glimpse of an occasional shadow crawling around a corner, or the feeling of being watched. The house was now alive and would, in turn, take its anger out on anyone who made the mistake of shutting themselves within its walls and out of revenge, it would focus is hate on Evergreens prized possessions, it’s children.