The Everett Exorcism

by Lincoln Cole

  Father Reynolds dropped him off at his hotel and then headed home. Niccolo tried to relax on his bed and get some sleep, but after a short while, he found himself pacing back and forth across the room. The last few days played over and over in his mind, along with Arthur’s warning.

  They had reached the homestretch, though, and soon they would get safely on their way to Rome.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, Father Paladina felt quite a bit more on edge about what he was about to do. It made him quite relieved to have a plan of action to get out of the city, even though it still seemed as if he held onto a small thread and the entire situation had begun to unravel.

  He needed to speak with Jackson and explain what would happen next. He had spoken with Father Affretti the previous evening, and he had scheduled their flight to leave at noon. Tickets would wait for them at the counter, so they only had to make it to the airport, board their flight, and they would be home free.

  The decision to bring Jackson along but leave the bishop behind didn’t make for an easy one when he got down to it. They didn’t want to leave Jackson alone in the city, and he felt confident that the young priest had not become involved in anything that had gone on. A team of specialists would assemble to come to the city and investigate.

  The things Jackson had told him the previous night at the baseball game had unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. And, thus, he feared he would drown he was so worried, because he didn’t know if a possibility even existed that Jackson might have it right. Had Rose gotten compromised? Could more people in the city have become compromised than just Rose? How deep did all of this go?

  More than that, however, he thought it important that the Church speak directly with Jackson for the purposes of what he had told him. If it were the case that Jackson had managed to sense something in these people … then, well, that became something entirely above his status within the Church to handle. It would make Jackson quite valuable, so getting him out of the city went beyond just keeping him safe.

  Niccolo finished packing up his things but left them in the room. He would need to walk to the church and didn’t want anyone to see him with his belongings. They could pick them up on their way to the airport.

  Or not. To be honest, if they didn’t get the opportunity and simply left the luggage behind, he would consider it a minor loss.

  He found Jackson in the main area of the church, moving pews around to create space around one in particular. Jackson greeted Niccolo when he came into the interior.

  “Father Paladina, I hadn’t expected you so early. Is there anything you need?”

  “We need to talk,” Niccolo said.

  “Oh, about what?”

  Niccolo started to explain that they had to leave the city in a few hours, but then didn’t get the chance. Just then, the front door opened, and Tim Spencer and his son, Brad, arrived. Tim wore another ridiculous shirt, but Brad had dressed in much more comfortable clothing. He didn’t look particularly happy to have to spend the morning like this.

  Brad carried a toolbox that looked quite a bit too heavy for him, and he set it awkwardly on the floor not too far inside the room.

  “Which one am I looking at?” Tim asked.

  Jackson pointed toward the pew that he had pulled out of the way. “That one. The leg has come loose. I cleared as much space as I could manage so that you have room to work.”

  Tim went over and tested it, lifting the wooden bench off the ground with ease. He tested the leg, and it tilted sideways with a little bit of pressure.

  “One of the screws broke at the head, and the wood has started to rot. I’ll have to remove it, drill some new holes, and set a couple to anchor the leg.

  “I could just throw it away.”

  “Then they wouldn’t be even. We’d have an odd number of pews.”

  “This isn’t too much trouble, is it?”

  “Not at all. Not as bad as I thought. Doesn’t change the fact that these are way old. I told you, just let Brad and myself build you some new ones.”

  “I can’t afford it right now.”

  Tim grunted. “I told you that I’ll buy the materials.”

  Jackson shook his head. “These ones work fine for now, and when I can afford to replace them, I will buy the materials, and you can help put them together. Maybe sometime in the future, but, until then, these will serve us just fine.”

  Tim grumbled some more, but he didn’t object. He dug around in his toolkit and pulled out a drill and fit in a long bit. He directed Brad to work on getting the broken screw out and separating the pieces, and reluctantly, the kid set to work with the wood to pry it out.

  Niccolo watched, feeling much like a fifth wheel in the situation. Tim barked orders at his son, and they worked with a practiced efficiency that struck him as impressive.

  After a while, Niccolo turned to Jackson. “We need to talk.”

  “Okay.”

  “In private.”

  Jackson frowned, but he did move away from Tim and his son. Niccolo followed, speaking quietly.

  “I spoke with my superior last night. Father Affretti.”

  “Oh? What did he say?”

  Niccolo lied, “He said they agree with us that nothing is going on. They also mentioned that they would like to meet with you in person for a full debriefing. They already sent a ticket, and you’re to leave with me this afternoon.”

  Jackson’s face fell. “About what I did? They want to chastise me, don’t they?”

  Niccolo almost disagreed but changed his mind. It provided the easiest lie to get Jackson moving, and once they had left Everett behind, he could explain the rest of the situation to him. Tim and Brad had put a snag in his plan, and he didn’t want to risk anything while they were here.

  “I doubt you will receive any serious punishment, but you can expect a stern conversation.”

  Jackson frowned and nodded. “I shouldn’t leave my parish, though. Tomorrow is Sunday.”

  “It will only take a few days. You’ll come back in a few days.”

  “What about my congregation?”

  “Perhaps you could ask Tim to handle the sermon for you. It would give good experience for him as well, I imagine. Keep in mind, however, where this request comes from. It isn’t one you should refuse lightly.”

  Jackson thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. “I understand. I can speak with Tim and get him up to speed. It will be the first time he’s stepped in for me, so it could prove good practice for him. When do we leave?”

  “At noon.”

  “So soon?”

  “They didn’t want to take up much of your time and were quite insistent about the timing.”

  Jackson sighed and nodded. “All right. I can speak with Tim and give him my notes, and then I should call Bishop Glasser and let him know—”

  “I think we will have to skip that, for now.”

  “I would much prefer to speak with him about it sooner rather than later, if possible. After everything I did, I don’t want to get back on his bad side.”

  Niccolo frowned and sighed. “All right. We can call him from the airport and let him know, but for now, let’s just get everything situated so that we don’t end up late. How long do you think it will take you to pack a bag?”

  “Not long.”

  “Go and do that now.”

  “What about Tim and his son?”

  “I’ll stay here with them until you come back. Hurry, though. We need to get moving. You can tell him that he’s to give the sermon when you’ve packed.”

  “Okay. See you in a minute.”

  Jackson stood and headed for the exit. He disappeared out of the church, and Niccolo watched Tim and his son work. Tim’s wife, Mary, might have become involved in whatever was happening, but did that mean Tim had? Jackson hadn’t given him a clear answer about that. He thought not. Tim seemed quite normal.

  Not that it mattered. Who could he trust?

  Could he trust
anyone?

  Suddenly, the power in the church went out. The main room fell into darkness. When the central fans turned off, it also fell into silence.

  A loud thud sounded when something got knocked to the floor.

  “Damn it,” Tim said in the blackness in front of him.

  “Are you all right?” Niccolo asked.

  “Yeah,” Tim said. “Just stubbed my toe.”

  “What happened?”

  “Breaker flipped. I think we drew too much power with all of the tools. Not the first time.”

  Niccolo frowned. “That has happened before?”

  “Happens all the time,” Tim said. “Whoever wired this place had no idea what they were doing and screwed up a lot of the connections. Father Reynolds won’t let me gut the place and redo the wires.”

  “So, we have to flip the circuit back on?”

  “Yep. It’s in the basement. I’ll go—”

  Tim cut himself off with a curse, and then came a scratching sound as one of the pews slid roughly across the wooden floor.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” Tim said. “Fine. I just tripped again. Damn toe is killing me.”

  “You said I’d find the breaker in the basement?” Niccolo rose from his seat. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and a little light came in from the stained glass windows. The day had started out gloomy, though, and so not a lot of sunlight reached them anyway. “In the back?”

  “Through the father’s office and down the stairs,” Tim said. “Just behind you.”

  Niccolo stuck out his arms to feel in front of him and headed for Father Reynolds’s office. After a few steps, he felt the door, and then reached for the handle. He pulled the door open and stepped inside.

  It seemed even darker inside the office, having only a small window high up on the wall. Niccolo steadied himself, took a deep breath, and then moved across the room, treading carefully until he came to the door leading to the basement.

  “Where will I find the box?”

  “Bottom of the stairs and a couple of steps to your right. Open the box, flip the breaker that blew, and it’ll all come right back on.”

  “Hang on,” Brad called from the room. Niccolo heard some pews slide across the floor, and then footsteps came in his direction. “I’ll get it. I know where the box is.”

  The young man came through Jackson’s office toward him, and then, suddenly, Brad stood there beside him. He opened the door to the basement. Inside lay pure blackness. Niccolo couldn’t even see the first step leading down.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Yeah. There’s a handrail,” Brad said. “It’ll only take me a minute.”

  “Be careful down there,” Tim called from back in the central area.

  “I will, Dad,” Brad called back. Then, quieter, so only Niccolo could hear, he added, “He worries too much. Jesus.”

  “Want me to go with you?”

  “Nah, the staircase is narrow. It’ll be easier on my own.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  Niccolo had to admit that he felt incredibly relieved. He would never make the kid go into the basement, but since he had offered, Niccolo allowed himself to admit how scared the prospect of going down there alone made him.

  Brad’s clomping steps resounded as the kid descended the staircase. It sounded like he trod on old wooden steps that seemed to go on a long way down before reaching the floor.

  Niccolo moved away from the basement entrance, waiting for the lights to come back on. A minute passed, and then another, and then he realized that the basement had fallen too quiet. He couldn’t hear Brad at all anymore, and it had taken a lot longer than it should have to get the lights on.

  He moved forward a short ways, putting his hands on the wall to steady himself, and tilted his head to the side. He strained to hear, listening for any sound of movement in the basement below.

  He heard nothing. It seemed utterly still.

  “Brad?” he called down the stairs. His voice echoed back up to him, louder than it should have.

  No response. Then it hit him that the air coming from the basement felt too cold. It seemed a lot colder than it had a moment ago, and it caused him to break out in shivers.

  “Brad, are you okay?”

  Still nothing. No response or sound at all. He waited a second, teeth chattering, and then turned back toward the main area of the church where Tim waited.

  “Tim, I can’t hear anything from Brad. Does the basement have another exit?”

  Huh. No response from Tim either. Niccolo squinted, and it appeared as though the lobby stood empty. He couldn’t see any shapes that might have defined Tim or his son out there, and neither could he hear anything.

  “Tim?”

  He took a step away from the basement entrance. The air had grown even colder now, yet beads of sweat formed on his skin. His collar felt too tight around his neck, and he tugged at it, trying to loosen it.

  It wouldn’t budge. The cloth pinched now, and Niccolo struggled to breathe. He let out a gasping sound and staggered away from the basement doorway, stumbling across the floor of Father Reynolds’s office. He tripped on something and fell to the ground, and when he looked back, he saw a body lying there.

  Brad’s body.

  Niccolo’s eyes had mostly adjusted to the darkness now, and he could make out the kid’s expression. His eyes stared glossy and empty, and his mouth hung open. He looked dead.

  Niccolo kept tugging at the collar, trying to loosen it, and let out a shuddering gasp of terror. It felt the same as it had in the crawlspace under Rose’s home, but so much worse. It seemed as if he had something inside his head, rooting around and mucking with his thoughts and fears.

  It isn’t real, he told himself, dragging himself away from the body. He became short of breath and weak from the lack of oxygen, and it felt pretty damn real, but he fought back against the terror. This isn’t real. None of this is happening. You are imagining it.

  The air grew frosty, cold enough that his entire body shivered. He kept gasping and tugging at his neck for short breaths of air as he crawled away from the body. It looked like the kid had been dead for hours, though Niccolo couldn’t even imagine how he had gotten back up here.

  What the hell was happening?

  It isn’t real. That isn’t Brad. I’m imagining this and just need to regain control.

  For a few seconds, he forced the fear away and felt better. The collar loosened, and he managed to suck in a ragged breath of air. In his mind, he begged God to give him the strength to resist. He prayed for the willpower to push back against the weakness and regain control over his mind and body.

  It isn’t real, and if I just disbelieve, I can push it all away. None of this is happening.

  It worked. The air didn’t feel as cold in the room, and he could breathe once more. He closed his eyes, praying and thanking God for the strength to overcome. With breaths through his nose, he cleared his mind and focused on the situation. The body on the floor wasn’t real, and when he opened his eyes, it would be gone.

  There is no body. None of this is real. Brad is in the basement and is fine.

  He opened his eyes.

  Brad’s body remained there with his glassy eyes and open mouth. Niccolo gasped again. His belief about the events unfolding and perception of what had happened clashed violently in his mind. He couldn’t reconcile the two, and it made him feel dizzy.

  Then something moved inside the kid’s mouth. It sat deep in the back of his throat. At first, Niccolo thought it was Brad’s throat or tongue, but then he realized that something else lay back there. Though he could barely see its shape in the darkness, he knew instinctively what made the shadow.

  A giant bug. A locust. It crawled out of Brad’s mouth, flapped its wings a few times, and then took off into the air. It came straight for Niccolo, and he swatted at it, trying to keep it away from him. It flew away, and he felt a moment of relief, but when
he glanced back at Brad’s body, his heart fell into his stomach.

  The kid’s throat expanded, and now more locusts fluttered in the back of his throat, crawling and fighting their way to the surface and spreading their wings.

  Niccolo let out a gasping whimper, crawling away from the body.

  It isn’t real! This isn’t real!

  Then, the swarm of locusts came flying out of Brad’s dead mouth.

  ◆◆◆

  Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, came straight out of his mouth and at Niccolo. He could hear the flapping of their wings, the buzzing roar in his ears, as they surrounded him and landed on his skin.

  Then, they burrowed.

  The pain proved immediate and intense when they dug into his tender flesh, a white-hot fire covered his entire body and made him gasp and cry out in agony. He swatted at them, brushed them off his skin, but more came every second. For every one he knocked away, two more took its place.

  They consumed him and ate him alive while he thrashed on the floor. The sheer terror and helplessness of the situation washed over him, filling him with a dread he had never experienced in his entire life. Here came the moment of his death. This meant the end of everything.

  It isn’t real!

  This time, though, no strength of conviction reached the thoughts. Logically, he knew that it all remained in his imagination, but right now, logic played no part in what he experienced.

  “This, Priest, is just a taste of what awaits you.”

  The pain lessened for a moment, giving him back some of his faculties. The voice came from nearby, but Father Paladina couldn’t see anyone else in the room. The voice sounded familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place who it belonged to. He kept thrashing and crying, closing his eyes and trying to crawl away from the locusts.

  “You’ve been very naughty, Father.”

  The voice again, and this time it sounded closer. Tim Spencer, he realized. The voice of the man helping to fix Father Reynolds’s pew. The Deacon of Jackson’s church.

  Only, this wasn’t Tim. It couldn’t possibly be Tim.