“Small steps like what?” Melissa asked, stopping the priest mid-sentence. She didn’t want to hear what he couldn’t do. She wanted help. Advice. To know what he could do for her, for Mark.
“I could come to your home and bless it. It’s a very honored, catholic tradition. It’s almost like an ‘exorcism’ of the home.”
“Right. Anything else?”
“You’d need to get Mark to agree to see somebody, like a psychiatric doctor. Rule out mental illness.”
“I told you!” Her voice rose, full of frustration. “I’ve seen things, too. We can’t both be mad. I saw things in the house. A shadow. A woman. Please, believe me.” She felt like throwing herself to the floor in desperation.
“Look, please. I want to help, but even I’d need permission before performing a full-blown exorcism. It does rarely happen,” Father Owen said. His voice was warm and reassuring. “Also, it’s not something I can do myself. Two priests are needed for the ritual…and assistants. Strong men. A whole team. It’s not just a matter of me turning up and muttering a few prayers, I’m afraid.”
“Do these blessings ever work?” she asked, finally.
“Sometimes it’s all that’s needed. I can’t make any promises, though.”
“Would you come?” she asked.
The priest turned his gaze back to the crucifix and nodded. “Of course. When?”
“Next week. During the day. It has to be when Mark is out at work, or he’ll get mad.”
“I see.”
“How about Tuesday at noon? I could get home on my lunch break.”
The priest nodded. “Where do you live?”
Melissa grabbed a piece of paper from her pocket and scribbled down her address.
The priest’s face dropped. His skin whitened, and his eyes widened. “Oh dear.”
Melissa turned to him. “What is it?”
“This is where Grace Danvers used to live, isn’t it?”
Melissa’s heart and stomach lurched, her mind racing. “Why? Did you know the Danvers? I was going to ask you about them, too.”
Father Owen stood up, his hands shaking loosely at his sides. “She had the same problems,” he said, his voice low and thick.
“What do you mean?”
“She had problems. She thought something evil lived inside that house, and her husband used to abuse her. Is that happening to you, too?”
Melissa didn’t have to answer. Her eyes met the priest’s and he nodded, knowingly.
Chapter Eighteen
Just hearing it said aloud like that confirmed something that frightened her. Deeply. It made her feel as if she were floating, lost without a lifeboat. Things that couldn’t be real, just couldn’t be possible, were happening.
In her life. In her house. In her marriage.
Father Owen stood there, at the end of the bench, and Melissa saw fear in his eyes. Despite his strength, his unwavering faith, she could see that he was frightened. He looked like he wanted to back away, escape her and everything she was talking about.
The realization that she lived in the same house that Grace Danvers used to live in had struck something in the old man that had left him visibly shaken. Seeing that in him only made Melissa feel worse. She suddenly felt queasy, a little lightheaded—she wondered whether that could be from hunger. When was the last time she ate properly?
“I will come to you on Tuesday,” Father Owen said at last, breaking into her thoughts. “I have to be honest with you, Melissa, because to be anything less would be a disservice to you as well as myself. I tried to help that woman, and I couldn’t. Things got worse, if anything. I tried my best—and I don’t mind admitting that I am weak—but I failed. Everything I tried failed her.”
Melissa nudged herself out of the bench and stood up, so that she was facing the priest. Outside, a heavy wind was thrusting in heavy gusts against the windows, against the building. It seemed to groan under the pressure. Rain still splattered against the windows, and the noise of the stormy weather echoed around the tall, empty church.
“I need to know everything,” Melissa said, standing in front of Father Owen. She couldn’t let him leave just yet. She had to know. “It’s important. If I tell you what’s happening to me, will it remain confidential?”
Confidential. Josh Howell knew everything that had happened, Sharon knew some, and now the priest, too? Melissa felt a stab of guilt. If too many people knew, would the police end up on her doorstep? Would they take Mark away? It was a risk, but she felt cornered. Desperate for help and answers. She stared into the priest’s gray eyes. “You don’t have to tell anyone, do you?”
Father Owen shook his head. “It will remain private, Melissa. Who you tell will be your own choice. I have to warn you, though. If what you’re going through is the same as the Danvers, you will need help. More than I could give. More than I’m capable of.”
“What happened to Grace Danvers, Father? I have reason to believe that something happened in my house to the Danvers that might be happening to me.”
Father Owen looked up at her, his face grave, taut. Gray. He shuffled back down to the bench and sat down. Melissa nudged in beside him, waiting for him to talk. He fell silent, and for a moment, Melissa wondered if he was praying.
“Father?” she pressed, frustrated.
The priest didn’t move. His eyes remained closed, and his hands lay intertwined in his lap. “Grace Danvers was a beautiful girl. A stunning girl. I can’t tell you anymore than what I saw and heard myself, Melissa. Okay?” Without waiting for Melissa to respond, Father Owen continued. “She was like you, actually. Skinny. Long, dark hair. I don’t know her exact age, but I’d guess she was in her twenties.”
Melissa nodded, watching as the priest found memories and brought them to the surface. His expression seemed troubled, as if the simple act of remembering was causing physical distress.
“She said she was a Catholic, although she never came up for Communion at Mass, never came to confessions. She always came on a Sunday morning, slipping in at the back. She normally always arrived late, and normally always left before Mass ended. She never stopped to speak to anybody, but I’d always see her arrive and leave. She came most weeks.”
Melissa nodded, but said nothing, afraid to interrupt the priest. She had to hear what he knew. It might help. She had nothing else to do. The idea that what was happening to Mark was somehow connected to this girl seemed crazy, but she had learned over the last few weeks that anything was possible and what she thought was real wasn’t always.
“Occasionally, she would come to the church here, like you are now, just to speak to me. She seemed very shy. Very uncomfortable with opening up. I don’t know whether that was her normal nature or whether she was wary of talking to me, but she always seemed hesitant, weary. When she first came, she would just talk about theological things. She would talk about the existence of God, about why God allowed bad things to happen to good people.”
Why God allowed bad things to happen to good people. The words slipped inside her mind and burned, leaving their mark. Those were words she had thought recently. In the car, earlier. Grace had thought these things, too.
Father Owen coughed, shifting in his seat. His eyes remained firmly shut, as if he was frightened of looking, of seeing. “She discussed her beliefs with me. How she prayed every day, how she believed in God. Her heartbreak seemed to start when she started doubting that God cared at all. That thought, however it had been sown in her mind, was what haunted her the most. She was frightened that she had been forgotten by God, left behind. That He couldn’t possibly love her.”
Melissa nodded. “I don’t blame her. A lot of people start to feel disillusioned, don’t they? I’m sure you see that a lot.”
“What I saw in Grace was shocking. When I first spoke with her, her faith was
strong, almost child-like. She believed in God whole-heartedly. It was in her eyes, the way she lit up when she talked about Him. So, when she…” Father Owen paused, pensively lifting his glasses from his face and rubbing his tired eyes. “She changed. Over time. I could see the change in her, even in her eyes, Melissa. Something was dying inside her. Her faith, her life, her hope. Gradually, her visits became depressing, dark. I started to…I started to dread them, God forgive me. She would come and talk about things I didn’t want to hear, but I felt so bad for her.”
“Things like what?” Melissa pressed.
“She would tell me that her husband—his name was Richard—was doing things to her. Awful, awful things. Evil things.” Suddenly the priest’s eyes shot open, and he turned to Melissa, his gaze steady. “Is Mark…is he abusing you, Melissa?”
Melissa turned away. This time it was her eyes that faltered. She shrugged. “I don’t want to go into the details, but yes, things are bad.”
The priest shook his head. “It’s happening again, then.”
Melissa felt confused, unsure. “I don’t understand any of this. Just because this…this Richard guy was abusing Grace…I don’t know what any of this means.”
“Neither do I, honestly. Grace used to say that the house was bad, and that it had evil energy. After a while, when she got really depressed, when she lost her faith, she’d even tell people in town about it…about the evil house and what it was doing to her marriage and her life. People started to think she was a bit crazy…they were quite afraid of her.”
“She actually came to you for help, because of the things that were happening?”
Father Owen smiled weakly. “She trusted me too much. I couldn’t do a thing. She asked me to come to the house to bless it for her, and—”
“She asked you to do that, too? Oh my God. This is weird. This woman walked in my shoes…or…I’m walking in hers. This is freaking me out. Exactly the same things happened…” Melissa suddenly felt uneasy, wondering if she even wanted to hear anymore, but the priest carried on.
“I didn’t get to go,” Father Own said, his voice flat and dejected.
“What? Why?”
“I was contacted a day later and was told she had died. I had to do her funeral.”
Melissa slumped forward, leaning over with her head in her hands. The realization that what Grace Danvers had gone through was identical to her own experience sent slivers of fear through her skin. To know that she was dead…she couldn’t put words together to even digest how the knowledge made her feel. She felt stunned. Frightened. “How?” she asked, at last.
“Suicide.”
“No.” Melissa didn’t know what to say. Outside, gusts of wind continued to hammer against the building, and the church creaked noisily against the onslaught.
“Yes,” Father Owen said, shaking his head with defeat. “I’ll never forget. She came to me week after week, spoke about the evil things her husband did…told me she thought her house was evil…I just listened. Never did a thing. Didn’t know what to do!” The priest’s voice rose and reverberated around the thick, stone walls surrounding them.
“How did she do it?” Melissa asked, finally, although she thought she knew the answer already.
“She stabbed herself. Four times across the stomach.”
Melissa’s mind raced back to the night in the kitchen. The figure of the woman in the doorway. Stab wounds gaping along her stomach and abdomen.
She had seen Grace Danvers. With her own eyes.
The dead woman had been in her home.
Chapter Nineteen
Now, she knew she wasn’t imagining the things happening in her home. Not that she ever thought she did—she had trusted her own eyes and instincts implicitly. It made her uncomfortable to admit it, made her feel almost weak, feeble, but it was true, and she couldn’t deny it.
She had seen…ghosts. People in her house who should be dead. Gone. The woman that had lived in her house, who had spent her last years under the same roof as Mark and her, had thought the same things she had. Something evil was in the house.
Making her husband do things. Making him change.
It sounded like something from a horror movie, but it was happening. The more Melissa saw and the more she learned and experienced, the more it had simply made sense. The thing that scared her more than any ghost in her kitchen—probably more than the talk of possession—was what to do next.
What could she do? What do people do in these situations? How do you stop something…whatever it might be…from taking over somebody you loved? The thing that made them strike out. Hurt. Abuse. That’s what it is, Melissa thought. Abuse. How do you stop something you can’t communicate with, you can’t control, can’t even see?
Melissa suddenly wanted to laugh in a way she felt was not sane; she had seen it. The thing. The black shadowy thing on the camcorder.
Her one and only piece of proof. It is proof I need, she thought, her mind racing. Who would believe her? Even the priest said that the locals had started to think Grace Danvers had gone mad and she’d come to be known as the local eccentric. Spouting mad stories about an evil house.
She couldn’t blame people for thinking Grace had become unhinged. Melissa knew that if somebody had ranted around town about ghosts and evil entities roaming in houses, she too would have laughed it off, rolling her eyes, and wondered why she hadn’t been locked away under the Mental Health Act.
She knew now it was true, though. It had to be. It was the only way the whole sorry mess made any sense.
What to do about it?
Melissa felt like crying in frustration. She felt like she had been handed a key without knowing where the door was. The information would be useless without being able to do anything with it.
Melissa stepped out of the church, after thanking Father Owen for his help. He seemed distressed, and she felt guilty about leaving him. Talking about his memory of Grace Danvers had obviously been difficult for him, like opening healed wounds. He had smiled, reassuring her that he would stop by Tuesday to bless the house. It was the least he could do, he had said. Melissa wondered if he felt that by somehow helping her, he was helping Grace. Helping her now in a way he wasn’t able to help before.
If he could do anything at all, he would do it. Melissa knew that and felt extremely thankful that the priest had given her his time, his honesty. He didn’t have to do any of it, but he did.
Outside, the rain had eased off. Only a fine mist of damp crowded the air around her, and the wind had died down, sending only the occasional, half-hearted gust.
She stepped around the side of the church, suddenly wanting to take a look at Grace Danvers’s grave.
Surely, this was where she was buried.
Melissa didn’t know why, but she wanted to see it.
Rows and rows of grave stones jutted from beneath the earth, surrounded by a carpet of unkempt grass. She scanned them from the edge of the graveyard.
She didn’t have to look for long. The red rose was what grabbed her attention. The grave looked newer, fresher than many of the others around her.
There, only a few feet away, stood a gray marble headstone, a single, red rose laid across it. The sight saddened her. She stepped closer to it, passing carefully by the other graves.
The writing was engraved in a deep gold, each word sliced into the marble rock:
GRACE DANVERS
Beloved Wife
You will be missed. Now and Always.
1979-2005
Melissa felt tears swell in her tired eyes, and this time, she let them fall. This woman had been like her. She too had been young. Healthy. Had had a good (?) marriage. Then, she had died young. At her own hands.
Had Grace really experienced the same as she was? Had her husband changed because of something ins
ide the house? The questions gathered momentum in her mind until she couldn’t ignore them. She had to know. Had to get answers. Maybe Grace Danvers knew things Melissa didn’t know. Something that might help.
Yet here she lay, dead. Answers might be buried with her, Melissa thought, staring down at the single rose.
She reached forward and picked it up. It looked fresh, bright. Somebody had only recently placed the rose on Grace’s grave. Who? She looked again at the epitaph on the grave. Beloved Wife.
Suddenly, the thought struck her: Was Grace’s husband still visiting her grave? Was he still playing the loving, devoted husband? The man who, according to Father Owen, had been abusing Grace in the most vile, evil way. That man was still tending to her grave?
Melissa placed the rose back onto the soil and straightened up.
She’d have talk to Richard Danvers.
Chapter Twenty
Driving back home, Melissa drove quickly, probably recklessly. She hadn’t realized she’d been out so long. It was almost noon. Mark would definitely be up by now. He might have been up for hours, and he’d want to know what she’d been up to. Where she’d been.
If he didn’t like the answers…right now, she didn’t even want to think about that.
Melissa gripped the steering wheel. She leaned forward, craning her neck, as if that would help her to reach home quicker. Her thoughts kept spiraling back to the Danvers.
How fantastic, how weird the whole thing was.
Only a few days back, Melissa had considered herself a skeptical woman. On the verge of atheism. Now, she was desperate to learn about a dead woman she never knew…blaming ghosts for her husband’s violence.
She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts and gather some clarity.
Things were what they were. As crazy as it all was, as mad as it made her feel that she was finding herself believing in it all, Melissa couldn’t let that stop her. If there was something she could do to stop the death of her marriage, then she’d do it. No matter how bad, how crazy.
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