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'Something's different。 I don't know what。 Something's not the same as it was。'
They went upstairs first； and even though Ben was not in the lead； he felt a prickle of very old terror as they approached the door at the end of the hall。 Here； almost a month to the day after he had e back to 'salem's Lot； he was to get his second look into that room。 When Callahan pushed the door open； he glanced upward 。 。 。 and felt the scream well up in his throat and out of his mouth before he could stop it。 It was high； womanish； hysterical。
But it was not Hubert Marsten hanging from the overhead beam； or his spirit。
It was Straker； and he had been hung upside down like a pig in a slaughtering pen； his throat ripped wide open。 His glazed eyes stared at them； through them； past them。
He had been bled white。
12
'Dear God；' Father Callahan said。 'Dear God。'
They advanced slowly into the room； Callahan and Cody a bit in the lead； Ben and Mark behind； pressed together。
Straker's feet had been bound together； then he had been hauled up and tied there。 It occurred to Ben in a distant part of his brain that it must have taken a man with enormous strength to haul Straker's dead weight up to a point where his dangling hands did not quite touch the floor。
Jimmy touched the forehead with his inner wrist； then held one of the dead hands in his own。 'He's been dead for maybe eighteen hours；' he said。 He dropped the hand with a shudder。 'My God； what an awful way to 。 。 。 I can't figure this out。 Why…who…'
'Barlow did it；' Mark said。 He looked at Straker's corpse with unflinching eyes。
'And Straker screwed up；' Jimmy said。 'No eternal life for him。 But why like this？ Hung upside down？'
'It's as old as Macedonia；' Father Callahan said。 'Hanging the body of your enemy or betrayer upside down so his head faces earth instead of heaven。 St Paul was crucified that way； on an X…shaped cross with his legs broken。'
Ben spoke； and his voice sounded old and dusty in his throat。 'He's still diverting us。 He has a hundred tricks。 Let's go。'
They followed him back down the hall； back down the stairs； into the kitchen。 Once there； he deferred to Father Callahan again。 For a moment they just looked at each other； and then at the cellar door that led downward； just as twenty…five…odd years ago he had taken a set of stairs upward； to face an overwhelming question。
13
When the priest opened the door； Mark felt the rank； rotten odor assail his nostrils again…but that was also different。 Not so strong。 Less malevolent。
The priest started down the stairs。 Still； it took all his will power to continue down after Father Callahan into that pit of the dead。
Jimmy had produced a flashlight from his bag and clicked it on。 The beam illuminated the floor； crossed to one wall； and swung back。 It paused for a moment on a long crate； and then the beam fell on a table。
'There；' he said。 'Look。'
It was an envelope； clean and shining in all this dingy darkness； a rich yellow vellum。
'It's a trick；' Father Callahan said。 'Better not touch it。'
'No；' Mark spoke up。 He felt both relief and disappointment。 'He's not here。 He's gone。 That's for us。 Full of mean things； probably。'
Ben stepped forward and picked the envelope up。 He turned it over in his hands twice…Mark could see in the glow of Jimmy's flashlight that his fingers were trembling and then he tore it open。
There was one sheet inside； rich vellum like the envelope； and they crowded around。 Jimmy focused his flashlight on the page； which was closely written in an elegant； spider…thin hand。 They read it together； Mark a little more slowly than the others。
October 4
My Dear Young Friends；
How lovely of you to have stopped by！
I am never averse to pany； it has been one of my great joys in a long and often lonely life。 Had you e in the evening； I should have weled you in person with the greatest of pleasure。 However； since I suspected you might choose to arrive during daylight hours； I thought it best to be out。
I have left you a small token of my appreciation； someone very near and dear to one of you is now in the place where I occupied my days until I decided that other quarters might be more congenial。 She is very lovely； Mr Mears…very toothsome； if I may be permitted a small bon mot。 I have no further need of her and so I have left her for you to…how is your idiom？…to warm up for the main event。 To whet your appetites； if you like。 Let us see how well you like the appetizer to the main course you contemplate； shall we？
Master Petrie； you have robbed me of the most faithful and resourceful servant I have ever known。 You have caused me； in an indirect fashion； to take part in his ruination； have caused my own appetites to betray me。 You sneaked up behind him； doubtless。 I am going to enjoy dealing with you。 Your parents first； I think。 Tonight 。 。 。 or tomorrow night 。 。 。 or the next。 And then you。 But you shall enter my church as choirboy castratum。
And Father Callahan…have they persuaded you to e？ I thought so。 I have observed you at some length since I arrived in Jerusalem's Lot 。 。 。 much as a good chess player will study the games of his opposition； am I correct？ The Catholic Church is not the oldest of my opponents； though！ I was old when it was young； when its members hid in the catabs of Rome and painted fishes on their chests so they could tell one from another。 I was strong when this simpering club of bread…eaters and wine…drinkers who venerate the sheep…savior was weak。 My rites were old when the rites of your church were unconceived。 Yet I do not underestimate。 I am wise in the ways of goodness as well as those of evil。 I am not jaded。
And I will best you。 How？ you say。 Does not Callahan bear the symbol of White？ Does not Callahan move in the day as well as the night？ Are there not charms and potions； both Christian and pagan； which my so…good friend Matthew Burke has informed me and my patriots of？ Yes； yes； and yes。 But I have lived longer than you。 I am crafty。 I am not the serpent； but the father of serpents。
Still； you say； this is not enough。 And it is not。 In the end； 'Father' Callahan； you will undo yourself。 Your faith in the White is weak and soft。 Your talk of love is presumption。 Only when you speak of the bottle are you informed。
My good； good friends…Mr Mears； Mr Cody； Master Petrie； Father Callahan…enjoy your stay。 The Médoc is excellent； procured for me especially by the late owner of this house； whose personal pany I was never able to enjoy。 Please be my guests if you still have a taste for wine after you have finished the work at hand。 We will meet again； in person； and I shall convey my felicitations to each of you at that time in a more personal way。
Until then； adieu。
BARLOW。
Trembling； Ben let the letter fall to the table。 He looked at the others。 Mark stood with his hands clenched into fists； his mouth frozen in the twist of someone who has bitten something rotten； Jimmy； his oddly boyish face drawn and pale； Father Donald Callahan； his eyes alight； his mouth drawn down