The Devil's Heart Page 0,1

heavens, traveling at tremendous speed. No one knew what that thing was. Or if they did, they weren't talking. And there were people who still remained unaccounted for after the fire at the mansion. One of them was a young man named Sam Balon King, whose stepfather had been a doctor in Whitfield, and whose mother had once been married to a minister … in Whitfield. And that minister had died under very mysterious circumstances, back in 1958, when another disaster had befallen that tragedy-ridden community.

But the investigative reporter wisely closed his journal on both disasters … for a time, at least.

PROLOGUE

It had been abnormally hot for this late in the season.

By this time in northwestern Nebraska there was usually a lash of winter's approach in the air, a bite that brought color to the cheeks of pedestrians, urgently but softly speaking of the harsh winter just ahead.

But the winds that blew across the plains and rolling sand hills had a torrid touch, oppressively so, bringing a sudden surliness to the people of this sparsely populated county, turning most tempers raw and confusing a few as to why.

The many knew why. The few would learn too late. And out in the badlands, some miles from Whitfield, inside a fenced-in area where horror sprang to life back in the late 1950s … something stirred. A creature cautiously stuck its head out of a hidden cave and looked around, viewing its surroundings through evil, red eyes. The Beast had felt the hot fingers of the wind pushing through the cave entrance as a probing hand might do, signaling those which serve another Master that it was time.

The Dark One was near.

The wind grew in strength and heat, the Beast snarling in reply. The manlike creature rose from its sentry position to crawl out of the filthy hole, rising to stand like a human, bits of dust and twigs and blowing sand striking its hairy body. But to the Beast, it was a signal of love, a gesture of welcome. The Beast roared, its breath foul. It held its huge arms upward and shook its fists toward the sky, roaring its contempt for that God who occupies a more lofty position than the Master of the Beast. For the creature knew but one God: the Prince of Darkness; the Lord of Flies; Ruler of all that is Evil.

From behind the sentry came a guttural sound, as other Beasts rose from their long sleep, surly and hungry. They craved meat, and the sweet taste of blood.

But the sentry again tested the wind, and the wind spoke its reply: wait. The sentry held up one warning paw to those below it, holding them at bay. He growled, and the others drew back into the darkness of the evil-smelling hole in the earth. They knew they must obey.

Wait, the growling sentry told them. The Master will tell us when we may move. Be patient, for you have waited more than twenty years, a few more weeks won't matter. Wait.

ONE

"You're late getting home," the woman said, a flatness in her voice, as if she knew the reason for his tardiness.

"Yes. Very difficult labor," the man lied.

Jane Ann King smiled ruefully, but kept her thoughts to herself.

"Is that a letter from Sam?" Doctor King asked his wife. He really didn't give a damn, but anything was better than having to listen to her run her mouth asking endless questions and not believing anything he told her.

Jane Ann nodded.

"What does he say?"

She drugged. "I haven't opened it."

Tony laughed. "Why the hell not?"

His laughter infuriated her. She sighed, rising from her chair, walking to a corner table. "Let me show you something, Tony." A Bible rested on the table. Sam Balon's Bible. The Sam her son was named after. The son did not yet know how and why his real father had died. But that time of unawareness was rapidly coming to a close.

Jane Ann said, "When I got the letter this morning, I was just about to open it when the phone rang. I put the letter on the Bible on my way to the phone."

Oh, fuck! Tony thought. Who in the hell cares? He held up a hand. "Wait a minute, baby. I can sense this is going to take half the night. It's been a long day. I'm beat. Let me fix a drink." He smiled. "You want one, baby?"

"You know I don't, Tony. But you fix yourself one. Fix yourself a strong one." She could smell