by M A Roth
“Aaabbbiiigggaaaiilll,” the demon hissed inside the girl, slowly stretching my name, but I heard it. My body responded, causing me to stumble back, never before had a demon or spirit spoke my name. I stood paralyzed.
“Abigail,” this time it was Zee and I could hear the warning in his voice.
I needed to continue. I sucked in a deep breath and wiped the blood from my hands onto my jeans. I started the prayer again, saying it faster, and louder. My voice trembled slightly. I was shaken after hearing that thing say my name. The demon inside the girl roared to life and squirmed with a voracity that shook the bed savagely. The bed’s thin, wooden legs slammed into the carpet, the noise drowning out my words, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop for fear of what might happen. I continued as pictures fell from the walls, their frames snapping with the impact and the glass shattering across our feet. The curtains billowed now from an unseen wind. The bed continued to move rapidly. And the large wardrobe shook violently, its doors swinging open and closed, the sharp bang lifting my heart every time. Zee stood protecting the candles from the breeze that raced through the room, carrying the foul stench of an unwashed body. I spoke louder closing my eyes, forcing myself to stay focused, even against the activity in the room. I clung to the cross. As my grip tightened it caused my cuts to bleed, coating my hand once again. I could feel the cross slipping and soon my hand was empty. The banging of the wardrobe doors was getting faster and louder. The bed hit the floor harder, the wood snapping against the strain, small splinters of wood breaking free, and scattering across the floor.
Then everything ceased. Silence fell upon the room. My breathing moved in and out of my nostrils, sounding so loud in the dead silence.
“Dad?” The one word was filled with fear and confusion and had come from the young girl; her voice broke through my numbness and fear.
I moved towards her slowly, looking at her face. She looked normal again, pale yet terrified, but normal. I smiled the best I could at her confused face, hoping to give her comfort. She met my eyes with big blue ones of her own, ones she must have inherited from her mother as her father had those muddy brown eyes. A ray of freckles covered her nose and cheeks making her look like she was only about sixteen. She was so young to be pregnant.
“Hi, my name is Abigail your dad called us, you were sick,” I said.
She looked around the room for her father. I gave Zee a nod to go get him and he hesitated, looking at the girl for a moment.
“It’s fine, Zee. She’s okay,” I assured him.
He left hesitantly at my words.
“What’s your name?” I asked, moving closer, trying to halt all the questions that I knew must be going around in her head right now. Once someone was possessed, they could never remember the ordeal. It was for the best or lots of people would never sleep again.
“Lucy,” she said, still looking around the room that was only lit now by candlelight.
“Lucy? That’s a pretty name,” I said. She looked at me as if I was crazy as I sat down on the edge of the bed.
“What are you doing in my room? And why is everything such a mess?” she asked, looking at all the frames and shattered the glass on the carpet. A logical question, yet I had no logical explanation.
“How far are you gone?” I asked, looking at her stomach, trying to distract her until her dad arrived and he could come up with whatever story he wanted. She looked down at her belly after hearing my question and her cheeks lit up when she realized she was half-undressed. Fear and confusion filled her face.
“It’s okay, Lucy.” I didn’t get to finish as she started to scream while kicking her legs and pulling the remaining blankets off her, blood started to soak the sheets.
“My baby!” she screamed as Zee and her father entered the room. I rushed forward, grabbing the blanket; I needed to stop the bleeding. Her stomach rippled, and I had to blink twice to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. A hand formed, pushing its way against her stomach, reaching out to me, stretching her skin almost to breaking point. I fell back off the bed, away from the hand, while pulling the blanket with me. The bed started to levitate.
Lucy’s screams and her father’s pleas to save his daughter made the room swarm.
“Abigail, Abigail,” the voice danced around me, I covered my ears.
“No. No!” Zee’s feet rushed past me and he jumped up on the bed, fighting the hysterical flailing arms that Lucy threw around as her stomach stretched and moved at abnormal angles. The demon had attached itself to the child’s soul. I snapped out of my daze. The cross lay on the ground, its gold surface now tainted with my blood. I grabbed it and jumped up while holding onto the cross for dear life. As Zee placed his hand on Lucy’s stomach, a gust of air ripped through the room, throwing everything into chaos. The candles hit the carpet and distinguished almost immediately, leaving us in darkness. I couldn’t move for a moment, but could only watch as light poured from Zee’s fingertips, blinding us all. The sound ceased to exist at that moment while everything around us continued to shake. I could feel the ground under my feet vibrate. Through the light, I could see Lucy was still alert, her mouth open as she screamed in fear and agony. Her eyes wild, the veins bulged in her neck as she continued to scream soundlessly. It was like watching a movie with the sound on mute. A large crack raced down the wall behind the bed, just stopping at the skirting board, and then the room went dark. The world stopped shaking.
Chapter Three
Abigail
“Lucy, sweetheart, talk to me,” her father’s frightened whispers reached my ears. I opened my eyes as Zee came to me and his strong arms pulled me into a tight embrace. His smell, his warmth calmed me. His heartbeat pounded against my ear, bringing me back. I looked up at him.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, but I was anything but.
I pulled away and stood on trembling legs, making my way to the bedroom door. Once I opened it, light flittered into the room. I looked at Lucy, her body lay still. She looked snow white against the blood-soaked sheets.
The father’s face turned to us tear-stricken and red with anger. “What have you done to my baby girl?”
I didn’t reply but took out my phone. Ignoring the trembling in my hands I paused before making the call then turned to Zee.
“Did we lose the baby?” I asked, he nodded, and a pang twisted my heart. “The girl?”
“She’s alive,” he answered and left the room.
I pushed the button and made the dreaded call.
“Father, we need a clean-up team and an ambulance… we have a casualty.” I gave a very short version of events and hung up.
Within five minutes, the room was bustling with our fall-out team. I didn’t wait around, but left with Zee out the front door, too tired to wait for the questions that I knew would follow; this was the first casualty I had ever experienced. Well, that was the first time I had dealt with a pregnant teen.
“Abigail and Daniel, what happened here?” I cringed at the sound of Mark’s voice; he was head of the clean-up team. I liked him, but I wasn’t in the mood for talking. Mark was a funeral director once upon a time but switched jobs when his own daughter was possessed. His hair was prematurely white for his fifty years from what he had witnessed. It was a lot for the mind to take in than to know the truth. To live with it was another thing completely. His face was always tanned, no matter what time of the year it was here in London, but it didn’t erase all the wrinkles. His eyes were green and didn’t hold much warmth for the world.
“I’m tired, Mark, but I’ll file a full report with Father Peter,” I said. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes falling on my bloody hands. The only thing saving me from a grilling was that he could see I was shaken up. He looked me over once again before giving in.
“Fine, but first thing in the morning.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
I climbed onto Zee’s motorcycle numbly, the seat now soaked from the recent rain. I could feel it seep i
nto my jeans but didn’t care. I just wanted to go home. Days like this, I hated my job.
Zee drove with more care on the way back. I wanted him to go faster as the wind was freezing, numbing my hands and face. I wish it would numb my mind right now, but no luck. The images of the blood-soaked sheets would be etched in my mind for a long time. My hair scratched my cold face, making me close my eyes tightly as they watered, but each time, I could see the girl’s face. I opened my eyes, and everything was blurred. I buried my head in Zee’s jacket, just wishing I was home.
The sound of the engine dying down alerted me that we had stopped. I was home. Zee had parked just outside my apartment building. I climbed off handing him the helmet.
“I need some time alone, Daniel.” I never used his proper name, but I really wanted to be alone.
“Okay, but if you need me…” I shook my phone at him, my hands trembled slightly so I stuck them back into my pockets to hide them from his watchful eyes, but he had seen the tremor in my hands and the blood; he wasn’t stupid.
“Yeah, I know you’re only a phone call away.” He smiled weakly and turned to go.
“Zee, thanks for helping,” I said, knowing if he hadn’t been there I would have lost two souls and not one.
“Do you want me to fix your hands?” he asked while looking at my jacket pockets where I had stuffed them.
“No, it’s only scratches,” I turned and walked into the building.
Climbing the steps two at a time, I made it to my door and kicked it shut. Then I moved through my dark and small apartment, not caring for light. Well, I couldn’t exactly trip over anything since not so much as a rug was in my hallway. I had officially never moved in. The only items I had that were personal were my clothes, and I wanted to keep it that way. Once I reached the small kitchen, I opened the top press and retrieved a bottle of vodka.
My phone started to ring as I unscrewed the lid. I took a large gulp, letting the vodka leave a burning path down my throat. The persistent ringing elevated my heart rate… it was Zee, no doubt worried, but I just couldn’t. The baby, the poor innocent child, condemned to hell. I picked up the still ringing phone and threw it against the wall, watching as it shattered across my floor. Silence followed. Silence that I hated. It tormented me. I walked to the small shelving that sat above my kitchen table made for two. On the shelf above it, sat my sanctuary, for now, a stereo. I blared it. Some angry rock band screamed at me, but I didn’t mind. It filled my head with noise and I filled my mouth with vodka.
No matter how much noise entered my head, or how much vodka entered my system, I couldn’t switch off. My father’s face came to mind, I don’t know why him, but memories of his face wrinkled from stress and worry flooded me. He wasn’t around much, despite the fact he lived with us, but he worked non-stop. His job wasn’t demanding in the mines, yet he always left me to take care of my brother, Sam. My mother suffered from depression my whole life so she couldn’t take care of us, so I did. One memory haunted me in particular;
***
“What’s wrong, Abigail?” I had jumped at my dad’s voice, he wasn’t meant to be home yet, so I didn’t hear him come in. I was standing inside my parents’ bedroom, watching my mother sleep; she often slept the whole day away and I would sometimes check on her.
“Why is that man always with mammy?” I had asked as I looked at the man standing beside my mother’s bed while she slept. I couldn’t see his face, he always wore a hood. However, I knew he was a bad man. My dad’s huge hands pulled me around so I was face to face with him; he had to kneel down, so we were at eye level.
“What man?” I could hear the fear in his voice.
I pointed at the man and my dad pulled my hand down while shaking his head.
“Stop it, Abigail. Nothing is there.” He was angry now. This wasn’t the first time I had seen things and told him, but it always got me in trouble. I thought maybe my dad might see the man, but he never did.
“Yes, there is,” I insisted, I could see him. I wondered why daddy couldn’t.
“Why are you making up stories again? Do you want to upset Daddy?” My dad shook me gently but his hands tightened on my arms.
I could feel my eyes tearing up.
“I’m not making them up, Daddy,” I whispered.
He lifted me up and took me to my room. Fear and anger were visible on his face.
“When you decide to tell the truth, I’ll let you out.” My dad moved to the door and looked back at me. I could see sadness there. This wasn’t the first time I had been locked in my room.
“It’s not real,” he said before he turned off the light and turned the key in the door.
I curled up in the corner of the room, knowing that the man was here with me now. I knew he stood on the other side of the room, his face still hidden by his hood, but he used to whisper my name. It became something sinister, malicious. “Abigail.” But I soon came to understand, that no one would believe me, so I stopped telling.
***
“Abigail.” I could hear him again. “Abigail.” It was becoming louder. “Abigail.” Then Silence.
My body became aware. I didn’t open my eyes as I knew something hovered over me. A solid feeling filled my palm, heavy plastic, what was I doing with a knife in my hand? Did I get it last night while I was drunk? I didn’t think any more about it, I just acted. My palm tightened around the plastic, and I struck out while opening my eyes, a pair of brown ones looked back at me - alarmed. The knife rested just against his throat. The guy was around my age. His skin was tanned and smooth looking. Brown hair was cut close to his head. I swallowed as panic rose inside me, my breathing heavy as I tried to take everything in. I was sitting on the ground with my back against the wall while this guy sat on his knees, leaning over me. He just stared at me with those eyes. His lips were held rigid in a line, ones I knew that if they relaxed would be oh-so-kissable. The surprise of my thoughts must have been visible on my face, as a blush rushed to my cheeks, giving color to my pale complexion. His lips rose slightly and then his smirk turned into a full smile.
“You find this amusing?” I pushed the knife deeper against his throat, wiping the smile off his face. His eyes darkened. I felt I knew him from somewhere, yet I knew I had never seen him before.
“What are you doing in my home?” I asked starting to rise, forcing him to stand up with me. I kept the knife at his throat. The reality was, this guy broke into my home and was watching me sleep.
“Father Peter sent me,” he said with anger.
“For what?”
“I volunteered to check on you.” Regret soaked his words.
“Well, aren’t you my hero! Breaking and entering and watching me sleep, that’s just creepy,” I spat back.
“Your door was open, and I thought you were dead, but I can clearly see I was wrong; you’re far from it.”
“You thought I was dead? What, you never saw someone sleep before?” I asked, causing a crimson color of humiliation to race up his neck.
“Are you always such a bitch?” he asked angrily. “And could you, please, take the knife away from my throat?”
I contemplated. “You have to answer one question. If you get it right, I’ll take the knife away, but if you get it wrong, I slit your throat.” His simmering eyes allowed me to ask with a smirk. “Name the six types of demons.”
Chapter Four
Abigail
“Name the six types of demons,” I repeated.
My guess was if Father Peter sent him, then this guy was new and just fresh out of training and, with the clothing he wore, he was new to this. His army style green bottoms covered in pockets along with a shirt jacket that also had loads of pockets along its arms indicated he was new. When we were trained, we had to go through a lot of physical work. I still kept my work up in the gym. Some members thought with such training we could kick demons’ butts, but it was for our mental health more than anything. Father Peter believed that working out released a lot of stress an
d also kept our minds focused. I looked at this guy again and the feeling that I knew him never left. But I never got my answer, I was distracted for a moment and he used this opportunity by grabbing my wrist and swiftly pulling the knife away from his throat. He threw it on the floor and it hit with a loud clang. In a blink of an eye, he was kicking out my legs from under me. My face met the floor and his weight was on my back as his breath brushed my neck.
“Get off me!” I roared.
He leaned harder on my back, making me fall silent. “Leeches, Whisperers, Feeders, Tormentors, Disturbers, and Takers. Don’t you ever pull a knife on me again,” he finished.
“Fine. Now. Get. Off. Me,” I said clearly and loudly, but not roaring this time as I was struggling to breathe. The pressure left my back, and I jumped up breathing heavily.
“Happy now?” he asked with a smirk. His smirk caused a growl to leave my throat.
“Get out now.” I pointed at the door.
He raised both his hands, his smirk faltering. “Don’t worry, I’m going. It was nice to meet you, Abigail. And in case you were wondering about my name, it’s Blake,” he said then disappeared out the door.
I moved slowly into the hall to make sure he was gone. I got a glimpse of his retrieving form as he moved down the stairs. I shut and locked the front door after him and checked all my windows. My head pounded, and I still felt woozy. I moved back into the kitchen and stood there far longer than I thought. When I looked at my plain black clock, that was the only decoration in the kitchen, the hands read three o’clock in the morning. I knocked off the kitchen lights and moved to my bedroom. I had to fight my way to the bed as the floor was covered in clothes, my bedside locker was coated with dust and three used glasses sat on top. When I finally reached my bed, I fell into it, consumed with exhaustion, but sleep didn’t come easily. I spent nearly the whole night with my heart racing at every sound.