by Ray Garton
Shannon screamed again and dropped her Polaroid camera as Willy took her in his arms and held her tightly, still clutching a small camcorder in his right hand.
“Oh, my God,” Mavis said, adding in a harsh whisper, “Arty, I told you.”
“Christ,” Arty muttered, a hand on his chest.
“Take a pill,” Mavis said. “Now.”
Arty fished the small tin from his pocket and dropped a pill under his tongue.
David came over and stood beside Jenna, put an arm around her, and Martha followed. The four of them stood close together in front of the large black cabinet that held the entertainment system.
Frowning, David turned to Arty and Mavis and said, “I thought you guys did this all the time.”
Jenna remembered something Lily Rourke had said earlier: These people are not accustomed to dealing with this sort of thing, they’re not prepared for it. Something bad will happen. When she saw the lost look on the faces of Arty and Mavis, Jenna wondered if she should have paid more attention to the psychic.
Arty said, “Oh, yes, we do, all the time, but this ... well, it’s a little early for this kind of thing to happen. This is a, uh ... well, I’d say this demonic infestation has really taken root here. Don’t you think, honey?” He turned to Mavis.
“Yes, this is unusual. The fact is, we’ve seen much worse than this before. This is actually quite tame compared to some of the—”
Jenna started and spun around when she heard a sound on the cabinet behind her. Family photographs stared at her, surrounded by her collection of small ceramic elves. One of the photographs had fallen over. She was afraid to turn her back on the cabinet again. With one arm around Miles, she grabbed David’s right elbow and pulled them both back, away from the cabinet. Martha moved with them.
One of the ceramic elves shot off the top of the cabinet like a bullet from a gun and hit Father Malcolm in the neck. He stumbled backward, fell to the floor with a deep grunt, and Mavis hurried toward him with one arm outstretched.
“Mavis, wait!” Jenna said, as an eight-by-ten framed photograph of Miles dressed up as a cowboy for a school play swept off the cabinet. As if it had been thrown with intent, it flew directly at Father Malcolm stretched out on the floor. He cried out in pain when the picture hit his elbow hard and the glass in the frame shattered. The gold-colored frame missed Mavis by inches, and she quickly stepped back to Arty’s side.
Shannon screamed until Mavis turned to her and snapped, “Stop that!”
“It’s trying to hurt Father Malcolm,” Jenna said as another ceramic elf missiled straight toward the priest lying in the center of the floor. It shattered against his hip, and he rolled over on his stomach and covered his head protectively with both arms, bent elbows pointing outward.
It must be the fat man, Jenna thought. Why would the boys do this?
Jenna moved quickly. She stepped around David and swept her left arm across the top of the cabinet. Ceramic elves and framed photographs clattered harmlessly to the floor in a small pile—glass cracked in the frames and a couple of elves shattered. She looked around to see what else might be fired at Father Malcolm, but her attention was drawn to the broken pile on the floor at the end of the cabinet when it made a small crunching sound. The pile shifted.
A six-inch triangular shard of glass rose up out of the pile and made an arc through the air. It came down and lodged in the upper thigh of Father Malcolm’s left leg. Half the piece of glass disappeared through the priest’s black pants and into his flesh. Father Malcolm screamed into the carpet as another piece of glass flipped through the air and stabbed into his left buttock.
Arty bellowed, “In the name of Jesus Christ, stop this now!”
Tiny pieces of broken ceramic elves whistled through the air and spattered onto Father Malcolm’s back.
Arty shouted louder: “In the name of Jesus Christ, stop this right now!”
Father Malcolm lay silent and still, his body stiff. The only sound in the room, in the house, was the huffing and popping of the fire.
After several seconds passed, Arty said hoarsely, “It worked.”
Father Malcolm got to his hands and knees, then slowly and carefully stood with his back to the fireplace, arms held out at his sides.
“We must pray,” he said with a painful wince.
“You’re hurt, Father,” Mavis said.
“We must pray,” he said, insistent and firm. “Together, right where we stand. ‘Our Father, who art in heav—’ Come on, together! ‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done...’“
Jenna knew only snatches of the prayer. David’s mouth remained closed. Jenna was surprised to see her mother reciting it along with the others.
“Mom?” Miles whispered. “What are they saying?”
Jenna bent down and whispered into his ear. “It’s the Lord’s Prayer, honey. Don’t worry, I don’t know the words either. Just be quiet and patient for me, okay?”
Miles nodded, then turned his attention back to Father Malcolm.
Jenna was amazed by Miles’s strength—he seemed to be taking all of this so well, without a word of complaint, and with no apparent expression of fear so far. She wished she would hold up as well—she was terrified.
Mavis, Arty, Shannon, Willy, and Martha recited the prayer along with the priest, speaking together in a singsong cadence: “ ‘And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom—’“
Shannon screamed again and startled Willy so much, he dropped the camcorder.
Mavis made a sound that fell somewhere between a shout and a groan.
Jenna looked at Father Malcolm, and her mouth dropped open as she clutched David’s right arm.
Young boys were coming out of the fireplace, one after another—boys Miles’s age and younger. Some were clothed, others naked and emaciated. They walked directly into Father Malcolm and disappeared, sometimes as many as three at a time, overlapping like blurred images. The priest screamed and flailed his arms. Some of the boys were little more than shadows, while others were a flickery gray, like old silent-movie images, and others looked as real and solid as Father Malcolm. They silently disappeared as they walked into his back. Jenna lost count of the boys in the commotion.
Shannon ran screaming to the front door, opened it, and fled the house. Willy ran after her and grabbed their coats on the way out, leaving the front door standing halfway open.
Arty muttered, “Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus ...”
Mavis stood with a hand on each side of her face, mouth open—she looked like she was screaming, but did not make a sound.
Martha walked around behind David to Jenna’s side and stood close. Jenna felt Miles tremble as he turned around and hugged her, and she embraced him.
And the boys continued to come silently from the fireplace, oblivious of the hot, smacking flames. Some of them walked slowly, others hurried. None of them smiled. Then they stopped.
Still screaming, his voice cracking, Father Malcolm turned around and faced the fireplace, then dropped to the floor on his hands and knees.
Arty massaged his chest with a fist as his face tightened in a painful grimace. He said, “Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus...”
Father Malcolm dropped flat on the floor. His body squirmed, his legs kicked, and his arms flailed as if he were struggling. His screams were interrupted by sobs. The two pieces of glass remained lodged in his fleshy thigh and buttock, and his black slacks glistened with blood.
Arty fell forward and hit the floor hard. He landed with his right arm bent at the elbow, hand between the floor and his chest. He did not move.
Mavis cried out, “Oh, no, Arty!” as she knelt beside him.
Jenna turned to Martha and said, “Take Miles to the kitchen.”
Martha put an arm around Miles, and they hurried out of the room.
“Call an ambulance!” Mavis pleaded. “Quickly, call an ambulance, right now!”
&n
bsp; Father Malcolm was on his hands and knees again. His screams gave way to blubbering.
Jenna looked around for the cordless phone—she could never find it when she needed it. She hurried into the kitchen, where Miles sat in the breakfast nook, eyes wide. Martha was putting the phone back on its base.
“I called 911,” Martha said. “An ambulance is on the way.”
“I love you, Mom,” Jenna said.
“Is Arty conscious?” Martha asked.
“I don’t think so.”
Martha’s voice trembled as she whispered, “I’m sorry I suggested all this, honey. This is terrible, just terrible.”
“Don’t be sorry, Mom. Everything’s going to be fine. Just keep Miles occupied for me, okay?”
Martha nodded.
On her way back through the dining room, Jenna realized Father Malcolm had stopped screaming and blubbering. Instead, a high keening cry grew louder in the living room.
Shannon and Willy had not come back. The front door still stood open and cold air was creeping into the living room.
Mavis had turned Arty over onto his back. David was on his knees, instructing Mavis as she clumsily performed CPR on Arty with tears rolling down her cheeks—one hand on top of the other over Arty’s sternum, pushing, pushing.
The high-pitched wailing sound grew more frenzied, and Jenna realized it was coming from Father Malcolm. His knees were still on the carpet, but he had crawled forward and now his hands were flat on the brick hearth, fingers bent as if clawing the bricks. His head and shoulders were in the fireplace, in flames. The wailing broke and became a gurgling groan.
Jenna screamed as she ran to him. She bent down and grabbed his ankles.
At the same time, David saw him and shouted, “Shit!” He got up, hurried unsteadily to the fireplace, and grabbed Father Malcolm’s belt. Jenna and David pulled together and dragged Father Malcolm out of the fire. Flames still covered his head and shoulders. His legs kicked, arms flapped on the floor. The room filled with the smell of burnt hair and cooked flesh as Mavis screamed and sobbed.
Jenna ran to the entryway and grabbed up the throw rug near the front door. She hurried back to Father Malcolm and used the rug to smother the flames.
David and Jenna rolled Father Malcolm over and knelt on either side of him. Great tremors moved through the priest’s body as his hands clawed at the carpet and he made a strangled gurgling sound. His hair was gone. Tendrils of smoke rose from his blistered flesh, which was a mixture of dark red and charred black.
Jenna looked over at Mavis as a large man in a policeman’s uniform rushed in through the open front door, his gun drawn. He stood in the archway and looked around quickly, taking in everything in the room.
“I heard screaming,” he said.
“My husband’s not breathing!” Mavis croaked breathlessly. She bent down, put her mouth over his, and blew.
“What’s going on here?” he said.
David stood. “Didn’t they tell you? Is the ambulance here yet?”
“Ambulance?” The policeman holstered his weapon as he crossed the room and stood over Father Malcolm. “I’m Police Chief Oscar Winningham,” he said. “I came here, uh ...” He looked around again, concern and confusion on his face. “I came here to talk to you about Lily Rourke.”
“Who?” David said. “What?”
Jenna saw her then, filling the doorway. A siren became audible as Lily Rourke came into the house and crossed the entryway cautiously. Her redheaded friend appeared in the doorway behind her and followed her inside. Jenna saw Shannon and Willy out on the front porch. They craned their necks to look inside, but came no closer to the front door.
Panting and crying, Mavis said, “Help, somebody please help me, I can’t do this anymore, he’s not breathing!”
Chief Winningham went to Arty’s side, got down on one knee, and felt Arty’s neck for a pulse.
The siren grew louder, then stopped. Tires crunched over the gravel outside and the flashing lights of the ambulance throbbed through the open door.
Chief Winningham went over to Lily Rourke. “Did you know about this?”
She shook her head as her eyes met Jenna’s. “I only knew something bad was going to happen.”
Jenna looked down at Father Malcolm, who had stopped moving. She closed her eyes and put a hand over her mouth as a sob rocked her. David put his arms around her, and she cried against his shoulder.
Feeling sick, Lily stepped out of the way of the two paramedics who hurried into the house. She was not nauseated—it wasn’t that kind of sick feeling. This was deeper. Her bones felt sick—her bones and her mind.
“My God, what happened here?” Claudia said, “Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Are you going to pass out?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s ... this house.”
“Do you want to go back outside?”
To Lily, the air in the house felt thick. It wasn’t just the awful smell of burning hair and flesh—it was more powerful than that, like a thick black electricity in the air that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. It penetrated her and hummed in her stomach, buzzed at the edges of her soul. But it was not the directionless electricity that charged the air before a storm—-it emanated from a specific source somewhere in the house and had a creeping, malignant intelligence to it, a personality. Lily felt as if she were being watched from all directions, even from inside. She felt naked.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go outside till they’re done in here.”
The young man and woman Lily and Claudia had passed on the way in were standing on the walkway, arguing quietly. The young man said, “You knew what we were going to be doing, so why did you come?”
“Oh, please,” the young woman said, arms folded tightly across her breasts. “I didn’t believe any of that stuff, and neither did you. This was supposed to be for fun.”
“Hey, I take this very seriously, you know that.”
“I didn’t realize how seriously until now, and I think it’s seriously insane.”
“Why didn’t you say something about this sooner?”
“Because I hadn’t seen inanimate objects fly across the room before!”
“I can’t walk out on Arty and Mavis now. I came to—”
“Fine, you stay.” She removed a cell phone from the pocket of her down jacket and flipped it open. “I’m calling a cab to take me to the airport. I’m going home.”
“Home? C’mon, Shannon, why?”
“All I know is, Willy, this is bullshit. I figured maybe we’d hear a few sounds, see some lights. I didn’t know people were going to be hurt.”
“I didn’t either, but what we saw here tonight, it was incredible. It was—”
“It was scarier than shit, William,” she said, crying now. “Don’t bother to call me when you get home.” She punched three buttons, then stepped away from him, saying quietly into the phone, “Eureka? Urn, I need a cab. I don’t know—try, um, Yellow Cab.”
Lily felt a little better outside the house, but not much. There was a dull ache in her head, and she still felt twinges of the presence in the house, but she swept them both aside to focus on her situation. She went down the front steps to Willy and introduced herself.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, distracted, still looking at Shannon.
“Could you tell me what happened in there?” Lily asked.
“Uh ... sure.” He didn’t take his eyes from Shannon.
“Where are we?” Shannon asked over her shoulder. “What’s the address?”
“Two two oh four Starfish Drive,” Lily said. To Willy she said, “Please. Tell me.”
While Willy told her what had happened in the house, Shannon waited for her cab.
After all the screaming and wailing, it ended quietly. Jenna was left with a ringing in her ears and the sour smell of Father Malcolm in her nostrils. She and David sat across from Martha in the breakfast nook. Miles had stretched out on the bac
k cushion and dozed off, so they spoke in whispers.
Chief Winningham stood at the table. “You say he did that himself?” he said.
David said, “Yes. He was on all fours, and he crawled into the fire. And he just... stayed there. And let himself burn. Jenna and I pulled him out, but...” David sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand.
“Why would he do that?” Chief Winningham asked. “Do you have any idea?”
“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” Jenna said.
David shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“Something made him do it,” Jenna said.
“Something?” Winningham said. “Made him?”
She stood and faced the chief. “Our house is haunted, and yes, something made Father Malcolm crawl into the fire.”
Winningham nodded, then stared down at the table for a moment, thinking. Finally, he looked at Jenna and said, “Well, they’re gone now. The ambulance took them. And that young man drove Mrs. Bingham to the hospital. The young woman left in a cab.”
David cleared his throat and said hesitantly, “They’re both, uh ... they died?”
“I’m afraid so. Look, the reason I came here in the first place was not to answer a call. You’re outside my jurisdiction. I came over to vouch for Lily Rourke.”
“The psychic,” Lily said.
“That’s right. She’s a good one, too. She has an excellent reputation. She’s assisted law enforcement on a number of occasions. She’s helped find missing people and solve crimes, and she’s saved lives doing it. She says you were suspicious of her motives and asked me to come talk to you and reassure you that she’s not a fake, and she’s not asking for money. When she talks, the police listen. I think you should, too.”
Still standing, Jenna looked down at David. He looked pale and tired, but there was a little too much white visible in his eyes. The anger and resistance were gone.
“Let’s talk to her,” Jenna said.
David nodded without hesitation and said, “Yes.”
“I’ll get her,” Winningham said.
As he left the kitchen, Jenna sat down again. She and David watched Miles sleep while Martha stared at her tea. None of them spoke.