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Back The Trickster Save as PDF
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

Just a hare? An ordinary snowshoe hare evading the biting cold? The tall man narrowed his eyes and looked. The hare’s eyes glinted in the dark, but it was impossible in this half-gloom for Henderson to look into them, to probe for that swirl of blackness that he feared would cloud behind the innocent animal’s pupils.

For one moment of blessed relief he believed he was looking at a simple hare. Yes. A coincidence that it was sheltering in here. Then, dear sweet Jesus, there would be no confrontation of that deep, unimaginable and malevolent evil. Then there would be a brief respite from this gnawing terror that was threatening to make him vomit. Better. There would be no exorcism.

‘Jamesss.’

The hare had spoken. No. It had whispered in a hissing, provocative voice that was almost seductive. God almighty, it had.

Henderson closed his sweating fingers more tightly around the crucifix and slowly brought it up in front of him. His voice was surprisingly steady. ‘In the name of Jesus Christ our Lord …’

Henderson faltered, aghast at what he was doing. Horrified at the duplicity of it. He was no Catholic priest. But he believed. Surely he had that much. And Christ would be with him. He knew that. Had to know that. Henderson shouted, his voice booming in the hard space, bouncing back at him as if mocking him.

‘I CAST YOU OUT!’

The animal cocked its head slightly. A human gesture of curiosity. It was looking at the cross without alarm. Then a laugh. That choking gurgling noise from Hell’s sewers. And the whisper.

‘And who is this … Jesus Christ?’

Henderson took an unsteady step back, the cross still held high in front of him. The hare hopped forward, still looking at the crucifix.

‘Is this his totem, this Christ?’

It was almost a friendly enquiry. Except that the deep dangerous voice of the animal was like syrup poured on rotting flesh. The stench of its malicious undercurrent was overwhelming.

There was a comical insanity to his situation that made a hard knot of hysteria grow in Henderson’s throat. He stepped back again, nearer the entrance and the light.

The thing was still curious. Far from frightened. When it rasped at him again its voice made him retch and he coughed back bile.

‘What does it command, this Christ spirit? The wind? The earth? The water?’

It hopped towards him, once more closing the distance that the trembling minister had instinctively tried to lengthen.