Chapter Twenty-one

Faces began to look expectantly at Terry. The two chil­dren had taken places at the foot and head of the
coffin. The wizard said softly to them, "Now."
With a movement too sudden to avoid the boy reached out and spurted a tiny aerosol in Terry's face. It
wasn't much of a spurt. There wasn't even any odor.
Then they started to close the coffin.
Terry had been expecting this. "No way!" He jumped right out onto the floor. "No way do I get shut up in
there."
In the dark a woman screamed, a keening sound. "Seal him up," somebody said in a frantic whisper.
People began pushing down the pews, away from him. His Eminence plastered on a smile. And here
came the Stilettos. They were not smiling. For his part, Terry was about to sneeze.
"Amanda," the wizard said pleasantly, "tell Terry a little about the ritual." She hesitated. "Don't be afraid,
Amanda. There are still a few minutes' grace."
At the sound of that word Terry noticed that he felt like hell. His bones ached, his skin was dry and
sensitive.
The girl took his hand again. He noticed for the first time that there was an almost childlike quality about
all these people. The gaudy rituals, the deep of the night, the secrecy, all spoke of the distant past; the terror
of it, but also the charm.
"Terry, we have to close the lid for a little while because our ritual is about dying to the past and coming
to life again in the service of evil. It only stays down for about two minutes. It's just symbolic." She
squeezed his hand and gave him a cute smile. "It's what you want, isn't it? I mean, that must be why you're
here."
"Yes." Terry's voice was hoarse with fear.
"We all want you to do it, all of us." There were murmurs of assent from the surrounding pews,
accompanied by en­couraging nods and smiles. And then there were also the Stilettos.
"Sorry I'm so touchy," he muttered. "Claustrophobia." He got back in and the kids, smiling warmly, closed
the lid. There was a distinct click, and then utter darkness. Someone had locked the lid with a coffin key.
Oh, Christ, this was going to be hard. Almost at once the air began to go bad. He felt absolutely horrible.
The music started again, its low notes filling the thick air. Muffled but audible there came from the
congregation a sharp sigh. This was followed by a burst of low words, sounding like Latin.
Although he listened with all his might Terry couldn't hear much. He felt along the top of the coffin.
Maybe there was some kind of a handle or latch in here—just in case the dead man woke up. But no,
nothing.
They were doing something outside; he could hear move­ments close to the coffin.
It was hot in here. Plus he was so sick his chest was beginning to rattle. He sneezed violently. Once.
Again. Three times. Four. Five. He began to see the true nature of the experiment they were conducting. It
had to do with that aerosol.
They had given him the disease!
The top seemed to crash against his face. For a moment he didn't understand that he had banged at it
with his forehead, trying to break out. When he did understand it scared the hell out of him. He was farther
gone that he thought; he was out of control. Must be fever coming on.
They weren't going to let him out of here. They were going to see how efficiently their disease worked.
How long it took to kill an average adult male.
He writhed, felt with desperate, questing fingers the satin flocking of the coffin. He had been an idiot to
think they would let him out! "Please!" Nothing. "Please! Oh, plea-a-ase!"
"Mr. Quist?"
"Oh! Oh, yes! Oh, thank you! Thank you for answering me! I can't get my breath. I gotta have air! I'm
sick. Sick bad! You've got to open this thing up."
"We have a few questions first, Mr. Quist." The wizard's voice sounded so close he must be crouched
right at the head of the coffin. Terry had been fool enough to come here, and they had simply taken
advantage.
All Terry could think to do was be agreeable. If he cooperated there might be some hope.
If not he was a dead man. "Questions? Sure, but hurry!" He had never been able to hold his breath long
in childhood contests at Miller-Walkin Public Swimming Pool in Corona Park. Never for long. He would
come bursting up out of the water first or second, his lungs aching for air, his whole body filled with a
painfully urgent need to breathe. "Please hurry!"
"What did you tell Inspector Michael Banion about us?"
Holy God! Mike wasn't in on it, only his wife! His heart went out to the poor guy. He had to get out of