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like vile marshland vapours rising to hide a patch of bog。
Stone got to his feet； his fear overing the agony of a twisted ankle； maybe even a broken bone。 Lurching away； struggling at the door…catch with useless trembling fingers。 He sensed it ing again； tore himself away； broke into a hobbling run。 The kitchen； or it might have been the lounge； he did not know； did not care in the awful blackness。 He banged into furniture； fell； picked himself up again。 One way； then another； fleeing； turning back。 But always it followed him。
He wanted to look away but it was impossible； those hypnotic orbs manded his attention； forced him to glance back as he stumbled from one room to another。
Then； suddenly； he didn't care anymore。 His legs buckled beneath him and he sank down to the floor； lay there just staring up at his inexplicable tormentor。 He wanted to die； wondered vaguely why it did not move in and take him。 But always it kept its distance； a yard； maybe two； expelling that putrid breath； that stench of evil。
The head was still smiling。 It wasn't going to harm him after all so why had he been frightened？ He gave a laugh； a strange throaty sound that echoed in the confined space。
Now they were both laughing； babbling incoherently and trying to build up some kind of a rapport。 It was silly to have fled from it like that； Walter Stone thought。 When you got to know it； it was really quite a friendly sort of a thing。 Bigger than he'd thought at first； or else it had grown these last few minutes； stretched the translucent skin so that in places the tissues had snapped and peeled away； hanging down in strips。 The flesh seemed alive； crawling as though hundreds of tiny beings moved within it； white worm…like things that crawled and wriggled。 And stank。 。 。 。
CHAPTER TWELVE
SABAT HAD parked the Daimler on the outskirts of the town shortly after midnight。 It had taken Kent and himself less than a quarter of an hour to walk to Walter Stone's home。 Now they stood in the shadow cast by a council…planted weeping willow and studied the detached house opposite； a professional scrutiny of a building that had to be broken into。
Built of red brick； the upper half faced with snowcem； it bespoke affluence yet lacked character。 The next house down； a mere twenty…five yards away； was built to exactly the same design。 A cul…de…sac of wealthy town…dwellers； their hallmarks of status rising above the ordinary square boxes in the adjoining street； an extra few yards of neatly mown lawn。 It made alt the difference in today's rat…race。
'Shouldn't present us with too many problems；' Sabat muttered。 'You never know； though。 My God； I can't get over the way the dark forces have called upon the spirit of Sir Henry Grayne。 You're absolutely certain that the photo we saw in that 1942 issue of the local rag this afternoon was the guy you met in the pub； Kent？'
'No doubt about it；' Kent felt his skin prickle。
'According to that article in the paper； Grayne was a druid。 There are still druid orders today but mostly they're like masonic lodges。 I guess the old ones were so incensed at being robbed of their sacred ground that they called up the one who had endeavoured to make it safe for all time for them。 And if I were Sir Henry Grayne I guess I'd be pretty mad about it too。 What I'm wondering； though； is if Grayne's order was an ordinary one or had he and his followers reverted to the ancient ways … human sacrifices and suchlike！ In which case Grayne could be a far more evil and dangerous entity than the likes of Alda。 Anyhow； we'd better concentrate on getting inside Stone's place。 There are no lights showing so we could be in luck。 If he hasn't retired for the night； perhaps he's out。'
They moved cat…like across the road； became part of the shadows； through the front gate； keeping to the lawn verge so that their footsteps made no sound。
This'll do。' Sabat produced a small chisel from his pocket and in less than half a minute was easing a downstairs window open。 'Easy now； Kent。 Follow me； and keep close。'
They dropped into the room； straightened up and stood listening。 And in thai instant Sabat sensed the evil； smelted the stench like an exhumed grave； felt the iciness of an atmosphere which should have been warm and stuffy！
His reflexes acted instantaneously； a tautening of every nerve even before his flesh had started to creep。
'What is 。 。 。 ' Kent began； but Sabat silenced him with a warning touch in the darkness； still listening。 。 。 。
They heard the noise like one hears the sound of a far…off train； barely distinguishable at first but being louder 。 。 。 and louder。 Laughter； but it held no mirth。 A chilling babble that made them want to clasp their hands over their ears and flee the place while they still had their lives and their sanity。
It came and went； came again。 So close that they stared into the stygian blackness as though expecting to find some nameless horror within feet of where they stood。
The laughter rose to a crescendo。 A name was shrieked； over and over； as though whoever it was was pleading desperately for help。 'Boyce 。 。 。 Boyce 。 。 。 Boyce。 。 。 。 ' Sabat moved swiftly； flashing on a pencil torch with a tiny penetrating beam； holding it out to the side of his body at full arm's stretch； an SAS trick to fool an enemy in the dark。 An open door led from the kitchen； into the hall； another opposite。 A large lounge； the furniture in disarray as though some heavy animal had charged to and fro； wreaking havoc； a creature that smelted of the ultimate in abomination！
'Jesus！' Sabat focused his beam on the cringing thing in the corner； barely recognised it as a human being。 'Unless I miss my guess； this is Mr Walter Stone and they have got to him first！'
A man it was。 Slackened mouth as though he had suffered a massive stroke； still shouting that name over and over again； eyes that rolled with a redness from burst blood vessels； clothes torn so that the material hung in shreds。 Cringing； arms thrown up to ward off an attack； giving off a nauseating stench because his bowels had emptied themselves at the height of his terror。
'Well； we can't do much for him！' Kent breathed。
'No； but the question is 。 。 。 is whatever attacked him still here or has it left？'
In that instant； almost before Sabat's words had died away； they knew。 Another noise； like an express train ing at them from out of a deep tunnel； a hissing； screaming abomination that breathed foul and icy fumes； gusts like a miniature tornado that whipped at them and almost flung them on top of the gibbering Stone。
'Oh； my God！ Look！ Whatever it is？' Kent yelled； clutched at Sabat only to be pushed away as the other dived instinctively for the ？38 bolstered inside his jacket。
The floating； bobbing skull； the same entity that had blown the Planning Officer's mind was suddenly suspended in the doorway； hissing so that it's clouded fetid breath came in luminous clouds。 'Sa 。 。 。 ba 。 。 。t！'
'For God's sake； what is it？' Kent had stepped back； felt the clutching fingers of the mindless man on the floor trying to unbalance him。
'The Cult of the Severed Head！ Sabat breathed； aware that his torch had gone out。 'The Hirschlanden Warrior of L'lmpernal！'
'You are right； Sa 。 。 。 ba 。 。 。 t。' I have e to destroy you！'
Kent did not understand。 His brain spun； seemed to fuse as though it had been connected up to an electric current； his vision blurring。 It was growing larger； swelling before his eyes； a massive skeletal head that burst the skin tissues so that they fell away； strips of rotting meat that crawled with maggots。 The journalist's mind was no longer his own。 Revolted as he was； he experienced a desire to rush forward and embrace this thing； to press his lips to its foul cavernous mouth； to kneel in subservience to his new master。
Flame！ Stabbing jets of white fire that belched deafening reports； an acrid smell； a whining like enraged hornets； plaster chipping from the walls in clouds of dust； glass breaking。 Sabat's gunfire was more of a gesture of defiance against this monstrosity which the powers of darkness had called up from the second century； maybe even earlier。 The ？38 slugs found their mark； passed through it and left it unmoved； still hissing vaporous venom。
'Fool！ You cannot harm me； Sa 。 。 。 ba 。 。 。 t。'
The firing pin was clicking on an empty shell and in one deft movement the weapon was back in its holster to be replaced by yet another lightning draw。 A flash of silver as the tiny crucifix was held aloft in Sabat's hand with the authority of a police officer on point duty manding an oning flow of traffic to halt。
〃That cannot stop me； Sa 。 。 。 ba 。 。 。 t。 I am too powerful。'
Sabat's features were grim； the veins in his forehead knotting as though he strained under some supreme effort。
'Are you more powerful than I； O Hirschlanden Warrior of the Cult of the Severed Head？ For I am evil； too； being part of my