SatanWorld is a dark fantasy that twists, combines and compares the inhuman historical truths of the Spanish Inquisition with the natural and supernatural horrors of Andrew, the worst hurricane in south Florida history.
Stirring its winds is Isaiah Tempesti, an innocent Dominican prior accused of witchcraft in 1492 and ultimately transformed into something vampiric by the New World’s Carib Indians. Tempesti’s reason for existence is revenge against the Spanish and the Catholic Church; something he has learned can best be achieved by the Conversion of the Innocents to evil on August 24, 1992.
Tempest constructs the demonic theme park SatanWorld overnight, during the storm. Two mentally-challenged young boys become lost within SatanWorld, while four every-day saviors attempt to rescue them. These four ultimately join forces within and beneath SatanWorld, where nothing is what it seems.
Excerpt
Upstairs, in his bedroom, Grinner hid behind the window shade, occasionally daring to peek out at the dark-night storm. The rain fell at an angle, almost sideways, as if toyed with by the winds. The neighborhood’s few street lamps wore halos of mist that cast shimmering shadows across barren yards. And the sound, as the wind found entrance in the tiny spaces around windows and doors, was like grass reeds.
“Spooky kazoos,” Grinner mumbled. “Spooky kazoos.”
Dummy sat on the bed, quietly watching his friend. “It’s only rain, Grinner. You don’t have to be scared of rain.”
Grinner let the shade fall back into place. “It’s just spooky kazoos now. But, it’s gonna be loud. Like before.”
A streak of lightning painted the sky and Grinner stiffened, awaiting the thunder.
“It’s...just...rain,” Dummy repeated, praying inwardly that Grinner wouldn’t wet his pants again.
“It’s the hurricane!”
“Nuh uh, Grin. I think the hurricane is something real bad.” He moved from the bed to the window and pulled the shade aside. “This is just rain.”
Both boys jumped as a wind-tossed garbage can rolled noisily down the empty street, scattering trash in its wake. Then, realizing the source of the sound, giggled behind their hands.
“Dummy?”
“Yeah, Grin.”
“It’s getting real noisy out there. But, it’s very quiet in here. Very scary quiet.” He took off his glasses and rubbed at an invisible spot on one lens. “Will the fireman be here soon?”
Dummy turned away from his friend. His shoulders slumped.
“Will he?” Grinner asked again.
Dummy glanced at his digital watch; the one Cindy bought him when he learned to tell time. He hoped Grinner didn’t see him look.
“What time is it, Dummy? Is it a long time? Are we waiting for a long time for the fireman?”
“I don’t think the fireman’s going to come for us, Grin.”
“Why? Is it a long time?”
“Yeah.”
“What time is it? Tell me, what time is it?”
“Late.”
“How late? What time is it?”
“Almost three o’clock in the morning.”
Grinner’s eyes grew wide. His mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ before breaking into an enormous grin. “Wow. Three o’clock in the morning! I never stayed up this late before. This is way past our bedtimes.”
A noise rattled at the window. Dummy pulled the shade again. As if in response, the wind shifted the rain once more. It hit like BB pellets against the glass and turned the tin roof of the house’s back porch into a snare drum, beating at it hard and unrhythmically.
Grinner froze in place. “It’s getting louder, Dummy.” He rolled his eyes behind his magnifying lenses. “But, it’s so quiet, too. How can it be both? How?” He squeezed his eyes shut and held his hands over his ears, trying to hold off the sounds and the silence.
Dummy felt Grinner’s fear begin to crawl up his own spine. The house was quiet amid all the noise outside. Too quiet for safety. He looked about the room and an idea caught him. He moved to his night stand and turned on the radio. Hurricane talk all hurricane talk all hurricane talk. He searched for some music; something upbeat, something with rhythm. A Spanish station was playing salsa and Dummy turned up the volume until the room throbbed with the Latin beat.
Grinner opened his eyes, searching the room for his friend. He found Dummy standing by the radio moving his body in an exaggerated dance. Laughter broke free.
Dummy grabbed Grinner by the hand and pulled him into the hallway. “C’mon, we’re going to wake up the hurricane.”
The boy’s ran into every bedroom on the second floor, turning on all the lights and igniting each room with sound. Every radio blasted a different station, but the boys didn’t care. It covered the screams of the storm while filling the house with the boys’ own brand of chaos.
Downstairs, they followed the same plan. The wide-screen TV was set to MTV, the small black & white in the kitchen let Bryan Norcross holler as loud as he wanted, and the lights in the kitchen, Florida room, dining and living rooms chased away all shadows.
“How’s that?” Dummy screamed at Grinner, as he took a seat on the living room couch.
“I can’t hear you,” Grinner yelled back. He placed a finger on the top of his head and wiggled his hips to the loud MTV.
Dummy’s mood elevated and his laughter at Grinner’s dance dropped him to the carpet. He rolled around, holding his sides, squealing, until he saw the movement behind the Florida room drapes that covered the room’s large sliding glass doors. Someone’s in the house! Someone’s in the house!
He waved at Grinner to stop; to get down on the floor. But his friend could see only the pleasure he’d discovered in the bright lights, loud music and goofy dance.
Dummy looked back at the drapes. He couldn’t see a true shape. There were no feet sticking out of the bottom of the curtains. But, there was someone back there. Drapes don’t move like that by themselves. He motioned again to Grinner, who couldn’t see anything behind his Coke-bottle glasses.
With no alternative, Dummy crawled along the carpet, like he’d seen John Wayne do in so many army movies. He grabbed Grinner by the pant cuff and yanked him to the floor.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Grinner yelled, trying to get back up.
Dummy held him down and moved close to his face. He clamped a hand over Grinner’s mouth and whispered loudly into his ear. “There’s someone in the house!”
Grinner froze. Dummy was close enough to feel his friend’s body stiffen. He spoke slowly, his lips brushing Grinner’s ear. “He’s behind the drapes in the Florida room.”
Keeping along the floor, they rolled to a better position where both boys could see the moving curtains.
“Maybe it’s the fireman,” Grinner mouthed.
Dummy shook his head. He searched for a weapon. But Cindy had them put everything away before the storm. He looked at the curtain again. It moved so very slightly, the person behind there knew what he was doing. But so did Dummy. No one’s going to sneak up on us.
He looked around the room once more. Standing up, he grabbed a seat cushion from the couch to use as a shield.
Grinner yelled a whisper to him from the floor. “What are you doing?”
“Protecting us.” The cushion was oversized and Dummy was forced to carry it in front of his face so the bottom edge would clear the floor. Protected by the cushion, he ran toward the uninvited guest. “Get out of my house!”
Halfway to the drapes, the sliding glass doors behind them exploded inward. Screaming winds and shards of glass blew toward Dummy, ripping the curtains and their rods from the wall. The force of the wind caught the cushion Dummy was carrying, lifting it and him as a Summer breeze would catch a kite. He flew across the room, over furniture, and slammed into the far wall. His breath left him and he slid to the floor, the cushion falling over him.
He could see Grinner standing in the living room, calling out to him, but the wind drowned out all sound. The TV’s, the radios; all were dwarfed by nature’s roar. Grinner tried to go to Dummy, but the wind was too strong. He could make no headway.
Wind was all there was; screaming in through the broken doorway, wet and filthy, filled with leaves and trash and dirt. The second of the sliding glass doors vibrated loudly, thundering back and forth in its metal track. Dummy, peering around the cushion, saw large chunks of glass embedded in its other side. It really was a shield. The glass door shook louder and he could see the glass bow inward. Dummy covered his eyes awaiting the next explosion.
The wind tore the cushion away, leaving him exposed and immediately soaked. He rose and headed for the living room, but the carpet was now too wet for good traction and he slid on his face, getting a mouthful of sand. He rose again and fell again. He looked up and saw Grinner moving nervously from side to side in the living room. The next instant, the wind discovered that room, forcing Grinner down and tearing its way past him. Dummy could see the wind, decorated with rain, swirling dust and garbage, like the comet’s tail he learned about in school. It sidestepped Grinner and sailed up the stairs.
Dummy dug his fingers into the sodden carpet and pulled himself toward the living room. He watched as Grinner put his hands behind his head and curled himself into a ball. He knew his best friend must be out of his mind with fear. “I’m coming, Grinner,” he yelled, but even he couldn’t hear his own voice.
Furniture moved about the room. Chairs flew in every direction. The dining room table somersaulted into the Florida room, landed on its top and spun. The heavy sofa bed flipped over on its back and opened. The wind was pushing, dragging and throwing furniture, drapes, nick-nacks – anything that wasn’t nailed down – into the living room and up the stairs.
Dummy found he could fight his way to a standing position in the living room. He staggered over to Grinner and tugged at his shirt. His friend was stiff and motionless. He shook him harder. “Grinner. Come on. We can’t stay down here.” He pulled hard at Grinner’s shirt and finally the boy rose.
The look on Grinner’s face frightened Dummy more than the storm did. He didn’t know what to do. He put his arms around his friend and held him close. Finally, he felt Grinner return the hug. “Are you okay?”
Grinner nodded solemnly.
“Everything’s blowing upstairs, Grin. We’ve got to go up there and see why.” He took Grinner by the hand and moved toward the stairs.
“Is this the hurricane, Dummy?”
“Yeah, Grin. This is it.”
“You were right. This is a lot worse than rain.”
Halfway up the stairs, they could hear the wind whistling. They could feel it pushing at their backs.
“I can see it, Dummy! I can see the hurricane!”
Mini swirls of wind, like tiny tornadoes, whirled up and down the hallway, collecting memories from every room and adding them to their bulk. As they grew, they headed toward the boys’ room.
“It’s raining in our bedroom,” Grinner said, looking up at the stars. “What happened to our roof?”
Dummy didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed at Grinner until the boy turned around and headed back down the stairs. As they reached the landing, the house screamed. The boys looked up in unison to see the wall behind them tear away.
“What’s happening to our house?”
“C’mon.”
They reached the first floor and looked around at what was left of the house. So much of the outside seemed to be inside and so much of the inside seemed to be gone. Dummy turned around to face Grinner. He wanted his friend to see his mouth when he spoke, so that maybe he would understand him better over the noise of the storm. He took Grinner’s face in his hands. As he opened his mouth to speak, every light in the house, every TV and radio, every street lamp outside died as quickly and suddenly as a razor to the throat. The only sound left was the roar of the wind. The only sight remaining was total darkness.
Dummy could feel Grinner’s scream in his hands. He moved up against his friend and held him tight. He placed his mouth directly on Grinner’s ear and spoke as loud as he could.
“Hold my belt, Grinner. Hold it with two hands.” Dummy turned around, took Grinner’s hands and stuck them in his waistband. With his back to his friend, Dummy knew Grinner wouldn’t hear him any more, but he yelled anyway. “Hold my belt.” He could feel Grinner’s grip tighten.
Dummy found a wall and pressed his shoulder against it. He slowly moved along it into the Florida room. He fought the force of the wind with each step. That was difficult enough, but Grinner seemed to be pulling him back as he was fighting to move forward.
The wall felt wet and slime-covered. Its length seemed much longer than he remembered. How far is it? Behind them, he could hear the living room wall rip away. It was the only sound louder than the wind. How far is it? He wished Grinner would push instead of pull. Fighting against the wind was hard; too hard. Finally, Dummy’s fingers felt the raised wood of a door jamb. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled himself and Grinner around and into the downstairs bathroom. Both boys slipped on the tile floor and fell in a heap. Dummy righted himself quickly and pulled the door closed. He could feel the wind knocking, but he wouldn’t let it in. He grasped the doorknob tightly and pulled with all his might. A moment later he felt Grinner next to him, wrapping his hands around the knob, also.
Dummy was too exhausted from fighting the wind, too out of breath to muster a thank you or a congratulations or a we did it. But, he knew Grinner could feel what he felt. And he felt that if he could beat mean old Andrew, he could do anything.
Finally, Grinner spoke. “Dummy?”
“Yeah, Grin.”
“It’s very dark in here.”
“You’re right, Grin. It’s very dark in here. But I think it’s safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
In the confines of the small, dark room, both boys held the door closed; keeping the horror out and the fear inside.
Pray for the light. Pray that you last that long. The Long Hour Before Light is a classic collection of Horror tales, re-mastered by Champagne Book Group
