Thomas quietly got up
and headed out to explore the rest of the complex. It wasn't very big, and most
of the rooms looked like the sleeping quarters he just left, so he decided not
to disturb anyone. He found himself back in the armory from the night before,
the few remaining candles having been burned very low. Soon the room would be
dark, but for the small round window letting in just a bit of light from the
pre-dawn sun. Thomas had never been one for religion, even before his daughter
was taken, but there was something about this room, in this place. Perhaps it
was the dream, perhaps the way the flickering light played around the room, or
maybe because of the events of the previous night, but he felt an energy about
the room, almost a presence. It felt like anticipation, a small speck of hope
in a dark night. Something for him to hold on to. Thomas sat staring into the
flames, back to a rack of weapons, until the last of the candles burned out.
Thomas didn't have to
wait long after that for the others to wake up. Turns out that when you're a
defender of the innocent and a crusader against the darkness, you get up when
the sun does.
Benjamin walked into the
room, breaking Thomas out of his reverie, “There you are. Couldn’t sleep, huh?”
Thomas took a moment
before looking up from the now extinguished candles, “I dreamt of her again
last night. About the night she…” Thomas’s voice trailed off as he tried to
hide that he was getting choked up.
Benjamin placed a hand
on Thomas’s shoulder, “Truly, I’m sorry for what happened to you. I can’t
imagine what it would feel like to lose a child, especially with no explanation
why.” He sat on the bench next to Thomas, “I can’t fix what happened, but I can
offer you a chance to make sure that another father won’t have to go through
what you have. To stop what happened in the coffee shop from happening to
another poor girl.”
Thomas finally looked
Benjamin in the eye, “Do I really have a choice? I’m already a target, and I
can’t expect you to watch over me for the rest of my life. Besides, I would
have done anything, given anything, to save Emily. How could I live with myself
if I knew I could stop this from happening to someone else’s daughter, and
chose not to?”
Benjamin smiled
brightly, the effect seeming to take years off of his face, “I hoped that would
be your answer. I think you’ll fit in well here. Everyone here has their own
reasons for staying. Some might share, others… well, I wouldn’t recommend
just asking.”
“So, what’s your story
Ben?” Thomas asked with a small smirk. “You know all about me, so I think it’s
only fair.”
“Ben huh? I suppose I
can live with that. The Lord knows I’ve been called worse things. My story
started a long time ago. I was a priest in a small Catholic parish outside
Belfast in Northern Ireland. I was devout in my faith, but perhaps not quite so devout
to the rules.” Ben stood up, and grabbed a few candles from an open box. He set
to lighting them on the altar before he continued. “I spent my days tending to
my small congregation, and I spent my nights in a manner unbecoming a man of
the cloth. I was a charlatan, or so I thought anyway.
“Rural Ireland was a
superstitious place, especially in the 70s. Whenever anyone got sick, or
depressed, or started acting strangely, the religious types immediately jumped
to possession. Myself, I was always for a more figurative translation of much
of the Bible, rather than a literal, but that wasn’t the case for a lot of my
parish members.” Ben’s voice takes on a rather bitter tone, “So I took
advantage of them.”
“Well, I’m not
congratulating you, but if it made them feel better, and you made a little off
of it, where’s the harm?”
Ben sighed, “That’s what
I thought too, but I was wrong. Very wrong.” Shaking his head, “This went on
for some time, I’d pull out my Bible, say a few words, work them into a frenzy,
and tell them that the spirit is gone, and after a couple of weeks, the victim
should return to a more normal state, as long as there wasn’t too much psychological
damage. I never expected that I would find someone that was actually
possessed.”
Seeing Thomas’s eyes
widen, Ben allows himself a small, wistful smile, “You’re still surprised, even
with what you now know and have seen? I miss that, that… innocence. Where
was I… ah yes, the girl. Her name was, Roisin I think. She was probably 8 years
old, about the same age as your Emily.” Ben spared a glance for Thomas,
silently apologizing. “It seemed like the usual, she was acting strangely, and
her parents would hear strange sounds during the night, coming from her room. I
took the job, thinking it was like any other. I was so wrong.”
Ben closed his eyes, watching
the scene replay in his mind…
It was a dark night, overcast, and it was
raining. It was the sort of cold cloying rain that seeps in to your very bones.
Ben approached the house and he could feel a chill in the air. Something more
than just the cold rain trickled down his spine. As he reached up to knock on
the door, a feeling of dread settled in his stomach.
He had barely raised my hand to knock when a
smallish woman, probably in her 40s opened the door. “Ms. O’Sullivan, good
evening, may I?” He gestured inside.
“Of course reverend, please. My daughter is
upstairs, she’s locked herself in her room, and won’t come out.” Ben quickly
hung his hat and coat on the brass hooks near the door and followed Ms. O’Sullivan
into the house. They quickly made their way upstairs, where they found Mr. O’Sullivan
softly calling to his daughter through the door.
“Honey, Rev. McKree is here, he wants to help
you.” He called through the door. “No!” came the reply through the door.
However, it didn’t sound quite right; it was almost a scream of fear, rather
than a scream of defiance. Her voice seemed to get choked off at the end.
Ben looked at the frightened husband and wife, “Has
anything like this ever happened before? Does she have any history of acting
out or rebelling against you like this?”
Ms. O’Sullivan, obviously distraught, replied, “Nothing
like this, nothing more than any other willful child. She’s a good kid, but recently
she’s been acting strangely; throwing tantrums, screaming for no reason. That wasn’t
why we called you though; she began muttering to herself in Gaelic. She doesn’t
know Gaelic.”
Ben thought to himself that she must’ve just
picked it up at school, or from TV, but he placed a hand on her arm, “Don’t
worry Mr. and Mrs. O’Sullivan, I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Nothing to
worry about, she’ll be fine.” Ben stood up and put an ear to the door. “Roisin,
sweetie? Will you let me in? I just want to talk to you. Your parents are
worried about you, because they love you.”
Ben listened at the door, but he heard no
answer. He heard nothing at all, no movement, no rustling, and not even any
breathing. He raised his hand to knock again and as his knuckles rapped on the
door, it swung silently inward. He whispered to the parents, “See? She wants to
talk. I’ll go in first, I’ve dealt with this kind of thing before.
He pushed the door open the rest of the way, and
made his way into the dark room. There was a window on the South wall, but the
curtains were drawn, billowing slightly. The window must’ve been open,
explaining the chill in the room. The only light was spilling in from the
hallway. Ben could make out a dresser against one wall, a bed against the
other, with a small night stand next to it. He could make out the silhouette of
a young girl sitting on the edge of the bed.
Ben stepped in to the room, reaching to flip the
lights on. “I’m going to turn the lights on, okay? Then we can talk.” There was
no response from Roisin, so he went ahead and flipped the switch. There was a
brief flash as the ceiling light kicked on, then blew out. As the light flashed,
there was a loud slam. Ben whirled to find the door shut behind him. He could
hear the muffled cries of the O’Sullivan’s outside the door as he tried to pull
the door open. It was no use, the door was stuck tight.
At this point, Ben was nervous. Very nervous. He
had never experienced anything like this before, and he thought he had seen it
all. “Roisin? What’s wrong honey? Your parents are worried about you, they say
this isn’t like you.” At the sound of his voice, the shadow that was Roisin
cocked her head to the side, a quizzical motion. As Ben’s eyes adjusted to the
gloom, he could make out more of the room. On the floor at the foot of the bed,
there was a circle, made of various items. A jump rope, some stuffed animals, a
rumpled t-shirt. They were arranged in such a way that the inner edge was a
perfect circle.
“Did you make this?” Ben gestured to the circle,
“It’s impressive, it must have taken a while to organize everything so
perfectly.” He began to edge closer to Roisin. As he moved, he allowed some of
the glow from the lights under the door to shine on Roisin. He wished he hadn’t.
Her arms and face were covered with small, red scratches, like she had been
digging at her skin. Her mouth was held in an amused grin, and her eyes… her
eyes were empty. Ben couldn’t see anything in them.
Ben had been doing this long enough; he
remembered that he was carrying his Bible. He had gone through the motions of
an exorcism enough times that he could recite the lines, even if he was
literally shaking in his boots. He began the litany that he had spoken so many
times when he heard laughter coming from the direction of the girl. It couldn’t
have been the girl, because it was a guttural, deep and terrifying sound. Ben
was vaguely aware that the parents were shouting from outside the door. He was
vaguely aware that he had stopped chanting. Mostly, he was aware of the
laughter. He could see her shoulders shaking as if she were laughing, but the
sound seemed to come from all around him, consuming him.
As the laughter died down, a voice came from
Roisin, harsh and guttural, just like the laughter, “Please, don’t stop on my
account Prrriest.” The voice was heavily accented, but Ben could not identify
it. It seemed to spit the word “priest” as if it were distasteful. “It has been
a while since anyone has… interrrrupted me. I can smell your fear, it is intoxicating.”
Roisin’s body jerked itself upright, and walked over to the circle. She moved
as if she were a marionette, and someone were jerking on the strings. Ben could
do nothing, paralyzed with his fear.
“Watch, prrriest, and know you can do nothing.
There is nothing left of the girl you knew as Roisin. I have consumed her, mind
and soul. I care nothing for the body.” The girl was now standing in the center
of the circle, the same expression on her face, as her dead eyes looked at Ben.
“You, prrriest, I will let live. Your fear is heady, and I wish to dine on it
again, when I am not so… satisfied. We will meet again.”
The booming, grating, horrible laughter began
again, and suddenly everything happened at once. There was a sound as if all
the air had been sucked out of the room. Roisin collapsed to the floor in a
heap, as if the strings holding her up had been severed. Her parents burst into
the room, the door no longer held shut, letting light spill into the room. In
the center of it all stood Ben, silent and unmoving, too numb to react to what
just happened, too scared to process it.
Mrs. O’Sullivan’s wail pierced the haze and
everything came crashing in…
“Wow,” said Thomas, “I’m
sorry, that sounds terrifying. Did you ever find the thing?”
Ben looked at Thomas,
his age finally showing in his weary eyes. In a small voice, he replied, “Yes.”
Ben stretched, and shook his head, “I think that’s enough for now, why don’t
you come with me, you can meet Father Adrian, and Karen.”
