The Demonic: A Supernatural Horror Novel

by Lee Mountford

  Such as that unnaturally tall, pale man. She pictured him lunging forward from the darkness, arms outstretched, with that look of raw hunger and want in his eyes…

  Enough!

  Leah chastised herself for letting her imagination get out of control like that. But then again, was it just her imagination? She knew one thing for certain: she hadn’t imagined that man watching her in the shower. Even if her father had searched the house and come up empty, it didn’t change the fact that someone was there.

  But if he had been there, then where was he now? Her father thought the fact they couldn’t find him was proof he had never been here in the first place, but what if he’d just evaded detection?

  What if he was still here, right now?

  The thought of him skulking about in the shadows—as they all slept—caused Leah to shudder and pull the blankets a little farther up to her chin.

  And worse, what if it wasn’t even a man at all?

  As implausible as it sounded, she wasn’t ready to dismiss the notion that he, or it, could be something else. Before tonight, Leah always thought she was pragmatic, like the rest of her family, and she always believed that things that went bump in the night were nothing but stories.

  Make-believe.

  There were no such things as ghosts, demons, or monsters. She had always been certain of that, as she was taught. Their father pressed upon them that if these things were real, there would be evidence, and in the many, many years of sightings and experiences, there had been no tangible evidence to speak of.

  That had always made perfect sense to her.

  And now… she couldn’t be sure of that anymore. After seeing what she had, it certainty called everything into question. After all, what more evidence did she need than what her own eyes provided for her?

  Again, she tried to pull her thoughts away from the horrible experience, away from what she had seen. She tried to forget the man and his elongated body, the lolling mouth and flailing tongue. But the more she tried to divert her line of thinking, the more her thoughts returned to him.

  Leah now just wanted to fall asleep for the night and awake again—in the blink of an eye—to the cold light of day. Daytime seemed safer to her, somehow. Even if she had nightmares, and she was sure she would, at least they wouldn’t be real.

  Leah closed her eyes and concentrated on the steady rhythm of Alex’s breathing, hoping that having something to focus on would help settle her nerves and let the exhaustion she felt claim her.

  But, instead, her body locked in fear as she heard something.

  A quiet laugh.

  Or, more accurately, a cackle.

  Leah’s eyes flicked open, and she instinctively looked ahead to a dark corner of the room, to the area that the sudden sound had originated from. The only light afforded was minimal, borrowed by the moonlight outside that seeped in through the cracks of the curtains—not enough to pierce the shadows that seemed to engulf the corner.

  She felt her breathing quicken as her heart pounded in her chest. All was silent again, but she was absolutely certain she had heard that menacing laugh.

  Someone was in the room with her.

  Alex still slept soundly on the inflatable matters at the foot of her bed. His breathing was steady and consistent. He was blissfully unaware of what Leah was experiencing.

  Again, she heard it.

  That low, old, feminine cackle emitting from the black.

  Leah instinctively pulled the sheets up over her head and tucked her knees up to her chest. She hugged herself.

  Go away. Go away. Go away.

  With her heart in her mouth, she waited for the mocking laughter to return. At first, she could detect nothing.

  Then, the creaking of a floorboard.

  Leah tensed as she heard another creak. A definite footstep, coming from the same layer of space as the cackle she’d heard.

  Closer and closer.

  Step after step.

  Her brow was sweating, and her throat felt as if it was closing up. She tried to scream, but only succeeded in letting out a small, almost inaudible cry.

  The footsteps continued, constant and steady, until Danni heard them stop at the edge of the bed, just to her side. She then felt a shadow fall over her, as if someone was looking down on her.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she felt her body shake uncontrollably. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t find her voice.

  The cackling returned, and through the light cotton sheets she saw something move in the darkness above.

  Something was reaching out for her.

  Go away, go away, go away.

  Her body tensed again, and then the sheet was suddenly pulled free, away from her.

  Leaving her exposed.

  Leah felt the cold air hit her body and instinctively clamped her hands over her eyes. She waited for what came next.

  She heard slow, laboured breathing. It grew louder, and she knew whoever was above her was now leaning in close. She could smell a horrible stench—like rotting cabbage—as the cold breath gently fell onto her skin, but she could not bring herself to remove her hands from her eyes.

  She could not face the thing that was so close to her.

  Leah began to sob, still wanting to scream, still wanting to make as much noise as she could to draw someone’s attention, but her terrified body and vocal cords simply would not cooperate. She was frozen in fear.

  Until the thing touched her.

  An ice-cold hand clamped tightly around her wrist. In that instant, Leah’s faculties jolted back into action. She quickly pulled her hand free and bolted upright, her eyes now fully open. The scream was still stuck in her throat, waiting to bellow free.

  But Leah saw no one.

  There was no one there, no one standing over her. And yet she could still feel the cold throb in her wrist from that firm grip.

  It made no sense.

  Was she going insane?

  She began to sob, louder this time, and again curled herself up, aware that she was now exposed with no sheets to cover her. If she was going crazy, then how did that explain the sheets being clawed away from her?

  She looked over the edge of the bed as saw Alex sleeping blissfully. She so badly wanted to wake him, to have some company, to help her get through this terror. Then she noticed the bedroom door, the one she was certain she had closed earlier. It was now ajar, a small gap revealing the hallway behind.

  Leah froze. Her blood ran cold.

  She saw someone though the small gap in the door; a hideous-looking old woman staring back at her from the corridor.

  Leah saw hints of a long black dress buttoned up to a high-collared neck, and an almost-skeletal face with grey hair pulled up into a tight a bun. Leah also noticed that the old woman had unnaturally wide eyes, and a black, sinister, smile.

  The cackle returned.

  ‘No,’ Leah said, still sobbing. She was about to scream, finally finding her voice, when movement drew her attention; Alex had sat up from his bed and was looking at her through sleepy eyes.

  ‘Leah?’ he asked in a soft voice.

  Leah looked to him, then back to the opening, back to that horrible old woman.

  But she was no longer there.

  Leah could only see the dark corridor beyond.

  ‘Leah, are you okay?’ Alex pressed. ‘What happened to your covers?’

  Leah started to cry and again curled herself into a ball. Alex quickly moved over to her, bringing her discarded blanket with him. He slid onto the bed and cuddled next to her. She latched onto him as tightly as she could.

  ‘What is it, Leah? What happened?’

  She didn’t answer him directly, because she didn’t know what to say. She just wanted to go and wake her parents and get the hell out of there.

  But she didn’t. She simply hugged her brother. ‘I’m scared,’ she said.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he replied, ‘there’s nothing to be scared of.’

  That was their father�
�s influence talking, not Alex. She sensed it in his tone. But right now, she didn’t want that condescension. Leah just wanted to feel safe.

  Alex pulled away from her and re-made the covers on the bed before tucking her in. For a moment, Leah felt a little ashamed. After all, it had always been her job to look after her younger sibling, not the other way around.

  ‘Try to get some sleep,’ he said, and Leah grabbed his arm.

  ‘Don’t sleep down there,’ she said, though it was closer to a plea.

  ‘Okay,’ he replied and got into bed with her. Thankfully, he asked no further questions, seemingly aware that all she needed was his presence. Knowing someone was close made her feel a little better.

  Though not much.

  She didn’t say anything else that night, but she did not sleep, either. Leah simply lay awake until dawn, constantly on edge.

  Constantly expecting something else to show itself.

  JON DREAMT that night of things he would not remember the next day. Of a place that should have been impossible. A hellish plane of demented, twisted existence.

  Of pain and torture.

  And the things that existed there were not human.

  Was it hell?

  Or something else?

  Something more?

  Something worse.

  Though he would forget this dream come the morning, it would leave its mark.

  And as he slept and dreamt, something hideous and inhuman stood by him in the night, whispering things to him…

  10

  DANNI FELT SICK.

  Not in a melodramatic way, or an exaggerated, butterflies in the tummy kind of way. She was actually struggling to keep from vomiting… again. The car ride to the small church had been touch-and-go, and she hoped that once they stopped moving and she got some air things would calm down.

  No such luck.

  After arriving, she stood in the church’s car park leaning against the SUV, looking at the floor and the mess she’d left on it after throwing up.

  Jon stroked her back.

  ‘Are you okay, Mom?’ Alex asked, and it struck Danni that they had been asking each other that question a lot this weekend. She didn’t verbally answer, as she was afraid that opening her mouth would grant her body permission to purge her stomach again, so she just nodded. She wasn’t okay, though. The reason she felt so sick was because her stomach was twisted into a tight, prickly knot. She was wracked with worry and apprehension at what she was about to go through.

  Get it together, Danni.

  Theirs was the only vehicle in the small car park. The church—St. Peters—was one of a few in town, but she remembered it well from her childhood. The small, stone church—with its accompanying graveyard—was situated close to her newly inherited property, a little farther along the same road, sitting just on the edges of the town’s borders.

  Near to the church was a small cluster of quaint houses and cottages, which were quite nice for the town, and the only other building of note was a single public house.

  Danni’s mother and father had been married at St. Peters, and she had been christened here, too, but the last time she had set foot on these grounds was during one of the saddest days of her life.

  One that seemed to set in motion the years of misery that would follow.

  Her mother was buried in the graveyard to the rear of the church, though Danni had rarely visited it back when she lived here. The idea crossed her mind that she should do so now.

  One thing at a time.

  She could do that when they finished dumping the body of her father into the ground.

  Danni straightened up, feeling her stomach finally start to calm, though it was far from settled.

  ‘Any better?’ Jon asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Danni said. ‘A little. Just nerves, I guess.’

  ‘It’s understandable.’

  A slight cough from behind alerted Danni to another presence approaching. She looked over her shoulder and saw an old, painfully thin man approaching. He had fine hair and a messy beard, both of which were pure white, and a kind face. He wore robes of the church.

  She recognised him, but he was much older than she remembered.

  ‘Father Atkins,’ Danni said in way of greeting.

  ‘Danielle Watson,’ he said with a smile as he walked slowly over to them, clutching a Bible with hands that were crossed over his midsection.

  He was the vicar who had married her parents, and who had christened her, and also the one who had laid her mother to rest. He seemed like a permanent fixture of the church—hell, of the town itself—however, age was now clearly catching up with him.

  He held out a hand, which Danni took. She hoped he wouldn’t see the patch of vomit she had left on the floor next to the car. If he had, he made no show of noticing.

  ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, Danielle,’ he said. ‘You were just a young girl back then. Now look at you; all grown up and,’ he cast a glance at everyone, smiling, ‘with a beautiful family. How are you?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ Danni said with a shrug. ‘And it’s Danni Morgan now. I’m not really looking forward to today, to be honest.’

  ‘Understandable,’ Father Atkins said, giving a solemn nod. ‘Days such as today are never easy. But we get through them. And, I have a feeling you will be able to draw strength from the loved ones you have with you.’ The old man then held his hand out to Jon, who shook it.

  ‘I’m Jon, Jon Morgan,’ Jon said.

  ‘Nice to meet you. My name is Father Atkins. But please, call me Peter.’

  ‘The pleasure is all mine, Peter.’

  ‘And who are these?’ he asked, making a theatrical show of opening his arms towards the children.

  Leah, Danni had already noticed, looked exhausted.

  ‘This is my eldest, Leah,’ Danni said, ‘and her younger brother, Alex.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you both,’ he said, shaking their hands. ‘You certainly have the look of your mother, dear girl. I’m willing to bet you will grow up to be just as beautiful as her, if not more so.’ Leah smiled shyly. ‘And, may I ask,’ Father Atkins went on, turning now to Alex, ‘I see you have some walking aids there. Have you had an accident, young man?’

  ‘No,’ Alex said, shaking his head, ‘I need them to walk sometimes. I was born with cerebral palsy. It affects my legs, so they aren’t as strong as they should be.’ When Alex spoke about his condition, it was never in a sad, self-pitying way. More matter of fact.

  ‘Well,’ Father Atkins said, ‘I may not know you very well, young man, but it is clear from meeting you now that, even if your legs aren’t as strong as you would like, your spirit seems unbreakable. That is marvellous and, I must say, much more important than being able to kick a football.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alex said, smiling.

  ‘Not at all.’

  Danni found herself smiling as well. Father Atkins had always been a kind man who could put people at ease. Danni was also aware that her feeling of nausea had passed; the old man and his demeanour making her somewhat more comfortable.

  ‘Shall we go inside?’ he said, gesturing towards the small church.

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait for everyone else to arrive?’ Jon said, looking around. The road beyond the church was quiet, deserted.

  The old man looked briefly to the floor, then to Danni. ‘I do not think anyone else will be coming. You see, your father very much kept to himself in his later years. So, I think today will be a more private, intimate affair.’

  As nice as the man was, Danni knew sugar coating when she heard it, but found she did not care enough to probe any further.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘let’s go.’

  They followed Father Atkins inside. Danni’s family flanked her on both sides: Jon to her right, holding her hand, and her children to her left. And, as much as she was dreading this, she did find strength in their presence—Father Atkins had been right about that.

  They entered and took a seat
in the row of pews at the front.

  The church was small, could hold no more than maybe a hundred people. However, with only six present—including Father Atkins, and an old woman sitting at the organ—it felt empty and hollow.

  The ceiling was quite high, with timber rafters crisscrossing each other. The walls were lined with tall, thin, stained-glass windows, which let through streams of distorted light. Rows of pews filled the central section and, to the front of these pews, there was a pulpit and lectern, where Father Atkins now stood.

  There was a small chancel area just behind him, and this was where the plain wooden casket lay, its lid closed as per Danni’s request.

  Old Arthur had been here waiting for them.

  No one had carried him in. He had not passed a gathering of mourners as would normally happen a funeral. And Danni knew the reason for that; no one wanted to take the evil old bastard on their shoulders.

  What a sad and lonely way to exit this world.

  No more than he deserved.

  Jon put his hand on her leg to let her know he was there, but in all honesty, Danni barely noticed the gesture. She was focused solely on that coffin.

  ‘Let us begin,’ Father Atkins said, getting the service underway.

  THE SERVICE WAS BRIEF, and Danni got the feeling that Father Atkins was only saying the bare minimum. There were a few hymns—that only he sang to—accompanied by the deep, booming tones of the organ, but he didn’t have a lot to say about the deceased. That could have been because he hadn’t been given any intimate details, but Danni seemed to sense some other cause for the brevity.

  Maybe a personal reason?

  The religious man looked at the coffin only a few times during his sermon, but when he did, Danni noticed the mask fall. In those moments, his expression was not that of a friendly man of God.

  It was a brief look of disdain.

  Danni hadn’t known how she would react during the funeral, if she would cry or be upset, but her eyes were as dry as those of her family, who were here saying goodbye to a man they had never met. Still, the experience wasn’t an easy one, and Danni found herself flip-flopping between feelings of pure anger, hurt, and self-pity.