by Michael Todd
He grunted and tried to free himself. I am thinking about it. And let me ask you this: since when do bloodthirsty, angry demons knock politely? Don’t you think one of those would be in here already?
Ravi was silent for a moment. True, but it could be a new tactic.
Damian rolled his eyes, and she released her hold. Yes, because manners are high on their list of war tactics. Take a deep breath, Ravi. We will be fine. I wouldn’t take risks unless I truly believed I had to.
He stood and walked quietly to the entrance, placing his steps to avoid making the worn floorboards creak. At the door, he leaned forward to the peephole. A porch light shined behind the visitor, shadowing their face. From the silhouette, he assumed it was a man, but the peephole wasn’t large enough for him to see much. Whoever it was, they either weren’t infected or had masked the red in their eyes. That couldn’t be mistaken, even in the dark.
Ravi whispered, Who is it?
Damian straightened. I don’t know. I can’t see their face, but I don’t think it’s a demon. I don’t see red eyes.
Just then, the person pounded again, and the metal door handle rattled. Damian shook his head at his nerves. He grasped the lock with one hand and the handle with the other, closed his eyes, and said a quick prayer for safety. After a deep breath, he yanked the door wide and immediately assumed a defensive stance. He narrowed his eyes as the person lifted their head.
“Wally! Good Lord, man, what are you doing here? And at this hour?”
His friend looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Water poured over his wide-brimmed hat, and his clothes were utterly soaked. Large dark bags shadowed his eyes, and his lip twitched nervously as he peered over his shoulder. It was obvious that Wally had something serious on his mind.
The priest shook his head and pulled the man inside. He shut and locked the door behind him, pulled a towel from the nearby closet, and handed it to his friend. Wally rubbed his face and removed his hat. Damian hung his hat and coat on the rack and waited for the visitor to collect himself.
His hands were white and shaking, and his face seemed frozen. He frowned, and his gaze shifted nervously to the fire. In silence, he relinquished the towel and allowed his host to lead him to the blaze.
Damian watched quietly as Wally extended his hands to the warmth. Finally, when a little color had returned to his cheeks, he said, “I’m so sorry for coming here without calling. I know it’s terribly late, but I just got in, and I had to see you immediately. There is no time to lose. Then again, with these demon matters, that always seems to be the case. I’m caught up in something I don’t really know what to do with. There are so many questions.”
The priest had no idea what Wally was talking about, but he knew it had to be something big for the man to fly out from the Vatican in the middle of the night. He studied him curiously and noted that he clutched his leather bag to his dripping clothes. Damian sighed and went to fetch a second towel.
He handed it to Wally, took his bag, and set it beside him on the floor. “Dry yourself off and calm down. I’ll make us some tea, okay?”
His friend looked at the towel in bemusement and nodded. Damian smiled and hurried to the kitchen. He ignited the gas stove, filled the kettle, and set it on to boil. While he set two cups out, he glanced wearily through the doorway. Wally now sat by the fire with his bag in his lap. He clutched it tightly to his chest, staring at the flames.
The man twitched and muttered to himself. Damian knew the researcher was the nervous type, but he had never seen him quite so bad before. The tea kettle whistled for attention. The priest poured the hot water into the teapot and closed the lid, letting it steep as he loaded a tray and carried it into the living room. He set the tray on the table, pulled the bottle of vodka from the small bar, and filled a shot glass. Tea would warm his visitor, but the liquor would calm him…hopefully.
Damian held the shot out to Wally. His friend blinked but took it from him, not arguing as the priest had expected. He swallowed and grimaced before handing the glass back. His gaze returned to the fire as his host poured the tea and watched him closely.
Even Ravi could tell something was awry. This guy either witnessed a massacre or performed one.
Damian ignored her, carefully handed Wally a cup, and sat down opposite him with his own tea. Wally took a sip and released a deep breath, the warmth easing the damp chill. The priest gave him a few moments to settle. Forcing him to talk before he was ready would only make things worse. He needed to calm his nerves to a coherent level.
After a few minutes, Wally shifted his gaze to Damian as he shook his head and sighed again. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”
Damian laughed and stood to refill both cups before he sat and crossed his legs. “We’re all messes these days. What’s going on?”
Wally put his cup and saucer on the side table and stared at his bag. “So, I went to the post office this morning to check my box for any family mail. I set it up so work wouldn’t be inundated during the holidays, since I have a big family. On top of that, anything that comes through the Vatican is read before its given to me.”
Damian frowned. “That’s good to know. It’s like being in prison.”
The researcher shrugged. “I suppose it’s not a terrible thing. A lot of hate mail is sent there. Anyway, I sat down to go through my post and found a flat package at the bottom. It was wrapped in a single piece of brown paper, and the tape that sealed it had bloody fingerprints. There was no return address and no note inside, so I have no idea who sent it. The stamp didn’t reflect an exact mailing location. I swear it was almost like it was put there by hand.”
“Curious. Does that happen to you often?”
Wally shook his head. “Not in my personal post. People send relics anonymously all the time, but this was my private box. Obviously, I opened it immediately. Inside, I found several of the cardinal’s effects—the one who’d had the relic in his room. Among those was an extensive set of thin leather-bound journals, all handwritten by the cardinal. They even had his seal on them, which I found odd for a private journal. Nonetheless, there they were.”
The visitor put his leather bag on the floor, opened the front pouch, and shoved a change of clothes aside. He pulled the package out and unwrapped the brown paper carefully. Damian leaned forward, staring at the journals on top. Wally was right. The cardinal’s personal crest was burned into the front cover of every single one of them. They were held closed by a thin piece of leather tied in a knot.
Wally pushed them aside to reveal several other items and the bloody fingerprints on the wrapping. Damian leaned back and rubbed his hand across his chin, intensely curious. His friend handed the package over, and the priest placed it on the footstool in front of him and stared at it.
The researcher cleared his throat and crossed his legs, water still dripping from his pants. “I didn’t take those things to the church since I couldn’t explain why I had them. On top of that, I could tell someone had gone to great lengths to get them to me privately. I didn’t feel I should turn them over to the church unless I understood why.”
Damian gave him a comforting smile and patted his leg. “You did the right thing, Wally. I know it might not feel that way, but you are ultimately protecting them right now—at least, until you understand what’s going on here.”
Wally’s shoulders relaxed at Damian’s reassurance. “After I got home, I put everything in freezer bags to keep them dry and safe, and caught a plane. Luckily it was my day off, so I didn’t need to explain the trip to anyone. That’s why I’m so late. I grabbed the first available flight.”
Damian leaned back again and stared into the fire. “You did the right thing,” he said again. “Do you have any idea what this might mean? Why would they want you, the keeper of secrets, to have this rather than the church?”
The researcher shook his head. “I really have no idea. I wanted to read everything to see if it gave me any clues, but I know that I can’t keep them with me at th
e Vatican. The risk of them being found is too high. I wouldn’t be able to explain.”
The priest nodded and suppressed any outward expression of concern. He stood and put his hand out. “Come. You should stay the night. You won’t find a flight back this late, and it’s not safe to wander around London in this storm. I have a spare room upstairs with a hot shower and dry clothes.”
Wally paused for a moment before he grasped Damian’s hand. “I suppose you’re right. I’m off tomorrow too, so I can take my time and not be frozen and wet.”
Damian put his arm around his friend’s shoulder and led him up the stairs and to the room. He paused at the bedroom door as Wally put his things down and began peeling his layers off. “If you need anything—anything at all—let me know. I’ll probably be up for a while, so call for me or come down. You did the correct thing, Wally.”
The nervous man gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I really hope you’re right.”
Chapter Two
Damian hesitated at the foot of the stairs, and his gaze drifted to the living room. Shadows from the fireplace danced across the ceiling, and the pounding of the rain echoed. Thankfully the thunder and lightning had stopped, which would calm Wally a little. The poor man was spooked enough from receiving the package in the mail without the added stress of the storm. Whoever sent it had an agenda, but the researcher wasn’t one to dig into mysteries outside of his job. The reasonable explanation was perhaps that whoever sent it knew he would bring it to Damian.
Ravi sniffed. This is an interesting turn of events.
The priest crept toward his chair, drawn by the open package on the footstool. Yeah, it is, but possibly not surprising. Let’s take a look.
Fine, but be careful, she said. I don’t have a good feeling about it.
Damian sat and shuffled the bags, taking a quick look at each. Starting with the smallest, he emptied the contents into his hand. A round medallion the size of the bottom of a teacup slid out, old and slightly rusted. He used his handkerchief to rub the metal, then held it close to his face. Interesting symbol. I’ve never seen it before. You?
The demon strained to look through his eyes. No. It looks like something you’d pick up at a casino, only morbid.
He dropped the disc back into the bag. I doubt our cardinal is a showgirl’s kind of man.
Ravi scoffed. You say that, but he’s also suspected of demonology. For all you know, bro could be shacked up in a penthouse suite with seven ladies of the night.
Damian shook his head and looked at the other items. He pulled a book from a plastic sleeve and flipped through it—a book on demons with notes scribbled in the corners. He read one of them out loud. “Asamta gibia rhum…”
Ravi gasped when he’d finished. That’s Aramaic. It translates to something like “laying of the hands for chosen people.” Weird.
He raised an eyebrow when he realized how much translation would be required. He replaced the book and moved on. We’ll take a closer look at that later.
The demon snickered. I told you he was laying on the hands…in Vegas.
Damian chuckled and set aside several robes, each with different symbols stitched into them. Beneath those were a map and the five journals bound together. He ran his finger over the symbols burned beneath the cardinal’s crest on the front. I have never seen these before, but they share qualities with some we have uncovered. Do they look familiar to you?
Ravi thought for a silent moment. The top one has ties to a cult, one from centuries ago that was apparently deeply connected with Lucifer. They were said to be the first to bring demons to Earth. The others…no, they don’t look familiar to me at all.
The priest was slightly disappointed. Every time he turned, he encountered something that no one had ever seen before. I swear these symbols are like university fraternities. There are about a thousand, with new ones popping up everywhere. I should gather all the different symbols and put them in one text for the generations to come.
The demon yawned. It’s not like you have to register these bitches. The cults don’t pay taxes, that’s for sure.
Bastards. Maybe we would go a bit lighter on them if they gave back to the community instead of snatching souls. Give some fucking money to the highway system, assholes. You have to drive your beater over them to get to your next sacrifice.
Ravi giggled. This highway is sponsored by the Ancient Followers of Lucifer. Keep our roadways clean.
Damian grinned, picked up the last journal, and saw the date on the first page—October 14, 1965. Huh. These date back a ways.
She sniffed. I mean, the cardinal is older than hell. He probably had tea with Jesus at some point.
The priest leaned back, held the journal open, and stared down at the very precise cursive handwriting on the first page. He began to read, trying to put himself in the cardinal’s place. It was written in Latin, but he translated.
October 14, 1965
This is a new journal, the others now full to the brim. It is October yet again, the witching month. My skin crawls every time the clock strikes midnight. I wait here for him, wondering if he will reappear. Will he find me lacking in my duties, in my restitution for the sin I have taken upon my shoulders? Yet, night after night, the clock ticks past the hour and no one comes.
The thunder of the storm outside rattles this small parish in the Italian countryside. I am here on assignment, an investigation into the recent surge in demon activity. Every time the bishop looks at me, I wonder if he knows. I keep it hidden. The secrets are mine to the grave or until they find me out.
At night, I lay there somewhere between waking and dreaming. My dreams are no longer my own but are filled with visions of the events of the past. I see the blood run along the streets and the fire, and I hear the screams. I hear her and I run to her, but she is no longer there. I clutch my crucifix, only to find a medallion in its place, one that holds his crest. Never have I seen this in waking hours, but it is clear in my mind.
When I wake, sweat covers my forehead, and I can feel the pain from my old wound surge through my body. It burns like the talons that stabbed me. It was all in the name of God, I know, but sometimes it feels as if I am no longer under His protection. Was that a side effect of the deal I made? Will I be forsaken until death? What then? Have I given away my seat with the angels to save a precious entity of God? It will be worth it, even for an eternity of suffering. It is my job, after all. I serve God’s Will and the church.
Let’s hope the silent nights remain that way. I do not hurry to fulfill my end of the bargain. Until I write again.
Ye Yalufa,
Mortimore
Damian read the last line again, repeating it in a whisper. “’Ye Yalufa.’ I don’t know that phrase.”
Ravi sniffed and came forward. Oh, that’s Aramaic as well. It means “Your Disciple.” He either dreams he is much more important to God than he is, or there is more to this story.
The priest closed the book and stared into the fire. I have a sneaking suspicion we’ll find out a lot more from these journals. I doubt it is as simple as a case of mistaken divinity. He speaks like a fearful man.
And one who seems remorseful, yet proud of his past. Something happened, but I can’t grasp what he is talking about.
Damian tapped his fingers. Me either.
The demon yawned loudly. Maybe it’s time for a little whiskey to calm the senses.
He shook his head, slightly distracted by the strange events. I think I’ll stick to tea tonight. I can still feel the pounding on the door in the back of my skull.
As he ran his thumb over the symbol thunder rumbled loudly, making him jump. His heart pulsed rapidly, and he rubbed his arms and shook his head. I feel like this night has unhinged me. Every time I move, something pops up or jumps out at me.
Ravi agreed. I don’t usually get spooked, but I have to admit this day has me by the short hairs.
Damian laughed. Imagine that, a demon afraid of the creepy. Isn’t that what you gu
ys are made of?
She snickered. Oh yeah—a little death, a little malice, and a pinch of creepy. You figured the recipe out.
We are letting our imaginations get the best of us. Maybe it’s time to call it a night? Start fresh when there is more sunlight and less storm.
He stood and stretched, pushed the doors to the fireplace closed, and began to pack the items into the brown paper. As he gathered the journals, he paused and rubbed at the crest once again. I can’t help but wonder if the cardinal is still alive at this point. All this seems very dangerous, and none of it excuses his crimes.
Ravi clicked her tongue. Be careful about the conclusions you draw. Demons are tricky. They can turn your head in a heartbeat. We don’t have any clue who sent this. It could have been some random neighbor, or it could have been Lucifer.
Do they have mail in hell? No wonder packages take so long!
No, but if we did, I’m sure we would figure out some way to send demons in a box.
Damian picked up the stack of items and walked toward the bookcase. Oh, look, little Cindy, someone sent you a present for your birthday!
The demon laughed and finished his thought. Is it a Barbie? Is it a pony? Nope. It’s Moloch, here to take your soul and eat your bones. Special party tricks for an extra cost.
The priest shivered and pressed his hand against the back wall of the shelf. It clicked, and the whole thing swung open to reveal a hidden safe. He entered the code and set the items inside, staring at them for a moment before closing it again. Ravi was surprised that he was putting them under lock and key. You getting paranoid?
Damian locked the safe and returned the shelf to its position. A stranger sent highly valuable information to our friend, who brought it to us. We don’t know if this is a trick. I’m the only one who knows about this safe, and for now, I think it’s smart to keep it that way. I want time to research these items and delve into those journals before someone comes looking for them.