The Exorcism of Sara May

by Joe Hart

  Despite the fact that I didn’t recall her standing in the store when Daryl was speaking, I took her word for it and began telling her in a halting description of what happened to Jones and Sara. When I’d finished, the same sensation of becoming lighter coursed through me. Even a little of the nausea had abated.

  Catherine had sat silent throughout the tale and only watched me with her gray eyes. One of her booted feet twitched like a cat’s tail and she kept her long-fingered hands laced together. “How are you feeling?” she asked after a time.

  “Sick.”

  “You and Jones were very close.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Sara? How do you feel about her?”

  My face grew warm. “She’s…wonderful,” I said, finding it nearly impossible to tell anything but the truth to this woman.

  Catherine stared at me and seemed to consider something before saying, “Lane, do you understand what’s been happening over the past few days?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “To put it simply, there is good and evil in the world. Sometimes they are completely natural while at others they are beyond that. There’s no cosmic balance that has to be attained as some priests or holy men would say. Bad things happen every day just as there are great kindnesses. Either way the world continues to turn. What we are dealing with here is something vile, an entity, being, energy, whatever you’d like to call it, that has a penchant for suffering. Its sole reason for existing is to cause pain and strife for all who encounter it. Now I’m not sure if it got its taste for this over time or if it was born fully evil. What matters is it has targeted the town of Rath and it won’t give up its quest until it succeeds.”

  “What does it want?”

  “What anything wants that has the capacity to think or reason: power. It wants control and domination. It wants to be free of whatever has kept it dormant or chained from the rest of the world. It wants to be born.”

  “Born?” The word stuck in my head like a thorn. “But how would it do that?”

  “By getting inside someone to break their will, make them hopeless, and take every happiness from them. Once they’re completely under its control, then it can take them off like a dirty suit and discard them.”

  I had started to tremble. The image of Sara floating above the field, her neck and back arched in agony. The mark of a black hand on the back of her neck. How her voice had changed in the barn.

  “It has her,” I whispered. “It has Sara.” I looked up at Catherine’s calm, gray eyes that were like clouds scudding over a gunmetal sea. “You can help her? Save her?”

  She sighed and licked her lips. “I won’t lie to you, Lane, I’ve dealt with terrible things before, but none that seemed so hell bent on possessing a child. It’s tenacious and powerful, I could feel its presence the moment I stepped into town. There are no guarantees…” She paused and her face softened for a moment. “But I’ll try.”

  I could have hugged her then. If not for us just only meeting and being alone, I would have. “Thank you, Miss Abercrombie.”

  “Call me Catherine.” She rose from her seat and turned toward the door. “Now, there’s a lot to do before we go ahead with this. I’m going to go speak to the Tandys, look in on Sara, but I’ll need you and your father there this evening. Your connection to her will be very important.”

  Tonight, I thought, and repressed a shudder. The thought of what was to come was worse than end-of-the-year tests, worse than having to go to the doctor, worse even than helping Jones muck out his barn. Jones. At the thought of my friend a white-hot ember of anger flared within me. Whatever this presence was, it had taken my best friend from me, tried to take my mother, and now had Sara in its grip.

  “I’ll do whatever you need,” I said, my voice wavering with warring emotions. A tear sprung to my eye and I swiped it away. No time for crying now.

  Catherine appraised me again and gave the barest hint of a smile. “Nine o’clock tonight. Be at the Tandy’s no later than that.”

  Then she was gone and I was left standing in the center of Nimble’s office.

  When I felt steady enough to leave, I found my father waiting near the entrance to the store. Several of the other men had departed and Catherine was nowhere to be seen. The day was darker than when we’d entered the store and the air smelled damp and foul, like it had been shut inside a cellar for too long. In the truck my father didn’t say anything, only glanced at me several times before wheeling us in the direction of 7.

  “No, I don’t want to go all the way to Arbor right now,” I said, stopping him from pulling onto the road.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to risk not being here for tonight.”

  Catherine must have filled him in on what was going to happen for he simply nodded and turned us toward home instead. When we got to the house I suggested we call my mother instead, and he dialed the number and let me talk. The nurse who answered said she was sleeping and that she’d give her the message when she woke.

  I hung up feeling wrung out and tired but too antsy to sleep. It was nearly suppertime and I helped my father cut a few potatoes and set them to boil beside two strips of venison, even though my appetite was nonexistent. But to my surprise I ate everything on my plate when we sat down. The food was delicious. My father commented on how it was a good thing, but there was no energy behind his words. He on the other hand only picked at his food, storing the leftovers in the fridge before pouring three fingers or more of whiskey for himself and turning on the radio. The name ‘Hitler’ and the words ‘fascism’ and ‘domination’ fell out of the speaker. These were common things we’d been hearing for some time now, but I really had no concept of how big the world was outside of our little town. I was only just beginning to realize how small I was in the grand scheme of things, how precious and delicate the bindings of family and friends were, and how quickly everything could be taken away.

  I left him listening to the news and went to my room, unable to decide what to do with myself in the remaining few hours before the exorcism. I knew little to nothing about the vague ritual, and Catherine’s words still lingered in my mind. Sara would need me tonight. That much was apparent. In all rights I should have been terrified about what was to come, but the thought of being able to help the girl I loved was more than enough to strengthen my resolve. Tonight the helplessness and utter confusion I’d felt over the past days would be put aside. There would be answers and possibly revenge for what had happened to Jones. The feeling that was growing inside me was the same as when I’d killed the turkey buzzard with the shotgun. It was strong and good and I knew at the base of it all was an inkling of hope that things would return to normal, or as closely as possible to something resembling it after everything that had occurred.

  No more had the warmth of the thought flowed through me when an icepick of despair slid through my chest and I shuddered. Goose flesh drifted across my skin and when I breathed out I could see my breath.

  Something was there with me.

  The room was quiet and partially layered with shadows of the growing evening. I searched all the corners and even dropped down to look under my bed, but there was nothing beyond a few clots of dust and hair. I waited to hear Danny’s laughter or smell the foul odor that had clogged the air before, but I could sense nothing past the crushing hopelessness that had invaded me.

  Not knowing what else to do, I knelt and prayed at the foot of my bed. We only went sporadically to church since the nearest congregation was in Arbor and neither of my parents were practicing Catholics. So my prayers were undoubtedly awkward and fumbling, but my heart was in them. I asked for peace for Jones and his family. I asked for my mother to recover and come home. I asked for my father to remain strong. And I asked for the courage to do what I could to help Sara that night.

  The whole time I spoke to myself I could feel the room growing colder, constricting as if the walls were coming closer. But I kept at it until warmth returned to
my fingers and toes and I no longer felt the cloistering pressure anymore. When I opened my eyes the sun had dropped below the horizon and darkness was hanging in cobwebs in the trees. Footsteps approached my room and then there was a knock at my door, my father’s voice on the other side of it.

  “Lane. It’s time, son.”

  16

  It started to rain as we drove along Secondary Road and I was acutely reminded of the night we had gone to Ellis Wilmer’s.

  It had a sense of symmetry, the comfortable whop of the wiper blades, the darkness beyond our headlights, even the smell and taste of the strong coffee my father had brewed before leaving.

  There were no lights on in any of the houses in Rath, the school as dark as a tomb. Missy Arnold sat outside her shop in the rain, hands folded in her lap. She was laughing.

  We turned right on 7 and headed south as the rain fell harder. There was no lightning, no thunder, just the steady splash of water on our windshield. My father and I said nothing to one another the entire ride, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  When the Tandy’s house came into view, my breath caught in my throat. Every light in the house seemed to be lit and it shone like a ship at sea. There were three other vehicles there besides the Tandy’s truck and I wondered which one was Catherine’s. I hadn’t seen her arrive or depart in anything at Nimble’s and was curious as to what a woman like her would drive.

  We left the truck and hurried out of the rain to the porch overhang but the storm still managed to soak us in the process. Mr. Tandy was there at the front door to meet us as we shook ourselves off.

  The man looked a decade older than the last time I’d seen him. His skin was sallow and there were purple bags beneath his eyes. He seemed smaller somehow, as if time had shrunk him. He and my father shook hands but he didn’t offer me the same gesture, only nodded in my direction.

  “Come in,” he said, leading us inside.

  The house was two levels, the interior brightly lacquered wood and rose patterned wallpaper. A spacious living room sat to the left, a huge stone fireplace crackling heartily in one wall. To the right was a closed doorway to what I assumed was the kitchen. I heard Jones’s voice asking if I knew what assuming normally does, and clenched my eyes shut in several hard blinks. Beyond the kitchen door was a formal dining room with a table and chairs I knew my mother would’ve given her left arm for. Past the dining room was a stairway angling up and back to disappear on the second floor. Catherine stood at the base of the stairs.

  She was wearing the same clothing as she had earlier in the day but now she had a slim, black pair of leather gloves concealing her hands. Beside her was Jane Tandy, Sara’s mother, and Arthur Nimble. Mr. and Mrs. Shawler were seated beside them. They all watched us approach looking as nervous as I felt.

  “Hello, David. Hello, Lane,” Catherine said. We echoed her greeting and I tried to smile at Mrs. Tandy but she looked away almost at once. I swallowed and turned my attention to Mrs. Shawler, who’s grim face remained impassive. She gave me a quick wink before glancing at my father.

  “Well, we all know why we’re here,” Catherine said, inspecting us. “I can’t say what we will encounter once we get upstairs. There’s no telling what any of you will hear or see. I will say that none of it will be pleasant. What we are trying to cast out is devious and disparaging. It will try to twist your minds into believing lies and discarding truths.” She looked at each one of us in turn. “Listen to me at all times and no matter what, do exactly as I say without hesitation. We will have one chance and one chance only to do what needs to be done.” She paused again. “Beyond that, I’ll be unable to help.”

  My knees wobbled but I pictured Sara lying in the bed upstairs, something hideous inside her, poisoning her. I felt her fingers intertwined in my own, heard her soft voice saying that she liked me.

  “I’m ready,” I said, and Catherine eyed me before nodding.

  “Let’s begin,” she said.

  Catherine led the way with the Shawlers and Nimble going next. I followed Mr. Tandy and my father brought up the rear. As we climbed I saw Mrs. Tandy place her face in her hand and move quickly away toward the living room.

  The stairs creaked beneath our feet and the scent of sweat hung in the air. The stairway turned on a landing then emptied out into a wide hallway with doors on either side. All of them were shut tight, the gap beneath them completely dark except for the one at the end on the right. A slash of light cut from underneath it and another smell invaded my nose. It was a sweet burning, almost like when we would torch a clover field, only there were other scents mixed in that gave it an exotic aroma.

  My heart picked up speed as Catherine reached the door to Sara’s room and opened it, stepping quickly inside. Everyone followed suit, each of them disappearing through the doorway without hesitation until it was my turn. I took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold.

  The room’s walls were painted a sunny yellow, the trim and window sashes a bright white. I imagined how open and airy it must look on a sunny day when the shades weren’t drawn and the summer breeze was allowed to flow inside. There were several drawings of horses on the walls and I recognized Winnie in one that depicted the animal galloping in a field of flowers. There was a small desk topped with a porcelain dish and ivory hairbrush. Beside them was a long, burning stick of incense that trailed up a thread of smoke. The bed at the center of the room was stripped to the mattress and sheets, its width almost double my own. Heavy leather straps were attached to the brass headboard as well as the base.

  I stopped dead several steps inside the room, my eyes locked on the bed.

  It was empty.

  I blinked, glancing around the room, searching for Sara’s slight form to be crouched in one corner or standing against the wall. But she was nowhere to be seen.

  Catherine stood by the foot of the bed and gazed back calmly as my father moved in beside me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, looking around at all the faces that were pointed directly at me. Footsteps creaked on the stairway before coming closer down the hall. A moment later Mrs. Tandy appeared in the doorway, and when she stepped aside, Sara May walked in behind her.

  The level of confusion that consumed me unhinged my jaw at seeing Sara up and moving around. Her color was good, her eyes were clear, and she walked freely. By all accounts she looked healthy. When I faced Catherine again, she was closer, the hands in her gloves held out in placation.

  “I don’t understand,” I managed. “Why isn’t she in bed?”

  Catherine stopped before me, her eyes boring into my own. “Because Lane, this isn’t Sara’s exorcism. It’s yours.”

  17

  I turned nineteen years old the day I set foot on a boat that would carry me to Africa.

  I can recall the salt sting of the air in a scratch on my temple that I’d gotten in a bar brawl the night before. The memory of those first days on the boat and how seasick I was are as fresh and clear as they were all those years past. I remember how terrified I was the first time I was shot at while entering a bunker two months later, how the bullet had seemed to whisper something to me as it passed by my helmet and killed a Corporal standing fifty yards to my left.

  But I must be honest, I have never been more afraid before or since than when Catherine Abercrombie spoke those words on that wet night in May of thirty-six.

  I glanced around at the other people in the room, sure that there was a joke I was missing out on, but they all looked back at me somberly, several of them with a hint of fear. Even my father watched me to see how I would react, and I realized he had been privy to all this as well.

  “I don’t understand,” I said again. “Sara was the one who was sick. She had the mark and she floated, I saw her.” Sara came close to me and touched my hand. She was the only one besides Catherine that didn’t seem afraid.

  “I was falling on the stairs a few days ago and daddy was behind me. He caught me by the back of the neck and I bruised there
.”

  “But your voice, it changed that day in the barn,” I said, my stomach turning in slow flops.

  “The thing inside of you, Lane,” Catherine said, “it has influence. It can do things, terrible things. And what it does is only a means to an end. To get inside you it had to break you, it had to separate you from everyone and everything you love so that it could pry its way in. Seeing Jones die along with Sara in so much pain was the final straw. I believe when you passed out in the field is the moment it entered your body.”

  I laughed. “You’re all crazy. Nothing’s inside of me. I feel fine.” But did I? I hadn’t felt right since waking up. I’d been sick, cold, shaky. But that was normal after witnessing something like I saw, right? I wasn’t sure anymore.

  “Lane, I’d like you to lie down now. You can help us. Help me get rid of it since it still doesn’t have a full grip on you. If it did, you would have never allowed yourself to be brought here.”

  “How do you know,” I said, a spike of anger flaring within me. “How can you be sure it’s inside of me?”

  “Because, I can see it,” Catherine said.

  There were several whispers that flew around the room like moths. I shook my head. “What do you mean, see it? How? I don’t understand. Dad, tell her she’s wrong, tell her I’m okay.”

  My father had never looked so haggard. He started to step forward, to embrace me but Catherine blocked him with one hand on his chest. “We discussed this, Mr. Murphy. You gave me your word.”

  “I’m okay. I’m not possessed,” I said.

  “Lane, please get on the bed,” Catherine said.

  “I don’t want to, Dad please. Mrs. Shawler…” My pleas went unanswered as Catherine moved closer to me. Sara was crying, her quiet sobs the thing that troubled me the most. “Catherine-” I started.