by Wood, Rick
He stood an arm’s reach from her now. Still. Examining every corner of the room.
A trickery of the mind, he decided. Tiredness mixed with an illusion of light bouncing against the wall.
“It’s not real,” he told himself.
As if reacting to his disbelief, the shadow grew large in a visible growl of anger. It encompassed the room, taking over his mum, spreading toward him at an aggressive speed.
He darted backwards and whacked his hand against the light, filling the room with the power of a single light bulb.
There was nothing.
No creature. No beast, no sound. No nothing.
Just him and Ma.
He edged forward and knelt in front of her. Her head had dropped against her shoulder, her eyes shut tight. She was snoring.
He ran his hand down her hair and stood back up, looking around. He wasn’t sure what he had witnessed, but he knew there must be some other explanation.
Without any reluctance, he bolted to the door, stuffed the house keys in his pocket and left.
He really needed to go out and get fucked with Kristy, for his own good.
18
Kelly sat motionless beside an untouched mug of tea. She didn’t even move as she heard the front door open and close.
The entrails of the cat dangling from its decapitated head played in her mind like a movie on a loop. She could still smell the decaying meat mixed with the stench of death. Her eyes barely blinked. Her breathing was exhaustive, quick but wheezing; each intake of oxygen getting caught in her throat.
Eddie dropped his bag, ran up to her and put his arms around her.
“Kelly, are you okay?” he gasped.
She forced her eyes closed. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear it.
What was he going to say when he saw it? How would he react?
“Kelly?” he prompted once more.
She knew she had to respond, but she could not force her mouth open. The muscles in her mouth couldn’t move. Wedging her eyes tightly shut, she winced as the image played in her mind once more.
“Kelly, please, talk to me. Was it another dream?”
It took all she had to force her head to shake the slightest bit.
She willed herself to speak, filled her head with tension until her mouth finally opened and she could murmur a few words.
“Look… The shed…” she mustered.
She didn’t open her eyes, but she could feel him rush to the garden. As the back door opened, she felt the cold draught carrying the foul odour back into the room and flying it to every corner.
Her eyes squeezed shut with all her might. Her heart raced, her fists clenched and her leg bounced with severe agitation.
The shed door creaked open.
The scream of shock from Eddie’s voice.
The silence of his terror reverberating through the peaceful night sky.
As he walked back into the room and sat in silence beside her, she found a tinge of comfort in his horror. Enough, at least, that she could open her eyes and look at him.
“The Latin…” he uttered, staring at anything but Kelly. “It means –”
“Rise, devil,” Kelly interrupted.
He gradually rotated his head toward her and they held eye contact, sharing a moment of stunned confoundment.
“Did you…?” he asked. Even though Kelly had expected the question, it still hurt a little bit.
“No,” she shook her head, speaking softly. “Not that I’m aware of.”
An uncomfortable moment of stillness hovered between them.
“Did you?” Kelly asked, bringing herself to ask the question.
“God, no,” Eddie frowned. “Why would you…?”
“I don’t know.” Kelly bowed her head. “A hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“You faced the devil. That’s got to do something to you.”
“Yeah, and you had the devil in you, so –”
Eddie abruptly left the table. An argument was not what they needed.
Running his hands over his face and through his hair, he found himself approaching the sink. He took a glass, filled it with water, and drank it so fast it spilled down his chin.
“Are we safe?” Kelly leant forward, scared about the question she didn’t want to ask and the answer she didn’t want to hear. “I mean, if someone’s doing this… are we safe? Here?”
“If someone is targeting us, Kelly, then where we are is irrelevant.”
“But someone is targeting us,” Kelly adamantly pointed out. “We know that. Someone from hell who wants you to be his messiah on earth.”
Eddie remained still, leaning over the sink, staring down the plug hole into God knows where.
Kelly watched him, waiting, until she eventually gave up hoping for an answer.
“I’ll clean it up,” Eddie quietly decided. “I’ll meet you in bed.”
He grabbed a bin bag from under the sink and burst out of the room and into the garden, shutting the door behind him.
Kelly meandered upstairs, dizzy, steadying herself on the bannister. She made it to the bathroom and absentmindedly brushed her teeth. She must have been there for nearly ten minutes, just going back and forth over the same tooth.
When she entered the bedroom, she hovered by the window to see if she could spot Eddie outside. The cat’s head was wrapped in a plastic bag on the lawn and Eddie was scrubbing at the blood with plastic gloves on and a scourer in his hand.
She climbed into bed and lay on her side, staring at the wall in front of her. She was not the least bit tired.
And even if she was tired, there was no way she wanted to close her eyes and dream about this.
19
21 July 2002
The ceiling above Eddie was a tediously familiar sight. He lay awake, staring at the faded white above him.
Kelly finally slept, though she was far from peaceful. She was murmuring, tossing and turning, muttering cries. He considered waking her, but decided that she needed to sleep, even if it was a restless sleep. She would be haunted by her mind if she was awake, too; may as well let her be haunted by it while she rests.
He turned his head to the alarm clock and blinked his eyes into focus. 00.30 a.m. They had only been in bed for two hours.
It felt like he had been laid there for days.
A cat’s head, nailed to the wall of the shed, with the words ‘Rise devil’ written in Latin. Evidently whoever did it couldn’t have had access to their house, or they would have done it inside. Or maybe whoever did it wanted to startle them, whilst allowing a fragile sense of security.
He decided this was nonsense. There was no sense of security left. The head of an animal outside your home was a very clear message.
Either way, he decided he wasn’t going to sleep, nor did he really want to, so he gave up. He’d go downstairs, have a glass of milk, maybe even get some work done. Whatever it took to keep his mind occupied; he couldn’t lay in bed staring wide-eyed at the ceiling any longer.
As he leant up and reached for his t-shirt, Kelly turned and brushed against him with her arm.
“No, leave, help, I don’t…” she mumbled, her sleep-talking fading into indecipherable mutters.
He stood next to the bed, watching her, wondering what could be going on in her mind. Was it another flashback? Another recollection that would continue to haunt her conscious mind when she finally awoke from her unoccupied torment?
“Three… Three…” she repeated. “Three…”
Three?
“The Devil’s Three…” The muttering stopped and her speech became clearly audible.
“The what?” Eddie asked, not knowing what answer he was going to get.
“The Devil’s Three…” she repeated, rocking back and forth.
“The De –”
“The Devil’s Three!” she sat bolt upright and screamed at the top of her lungs. Eddie flung himself against the far wall and gawked at her.
Her bo
dy relaxed and she lay back down, her closed eyes not even flickering. Her talking subsided and she finally rested peacefully.
Eddie didn’t move. He stood still, his arms stiffened, his legs frozen, his eyes fixated on her.
The Devil’s Three?
It was what she had said. Definitely. It must be something of significance, something left over from the days of her possession, something buried in the back of her mind.
But what could it be?
Eddie couldn’t recollect any reference to The Devil’s Three. He had much experience with the blabbering of demons and the stuff they come out with through the helpless mouths of their victims. Such a title seemed important, something that would have made an impression, but he had no prominent memory presenting itself.
He slowly creaked the bedroom door open, careful not to wake Kelly. Treading lightly on the floorboards, he made his way to the stairs, lightly tapping down each step and toward his book-case.
Most of his books were at the university, but he kept the most important ones at home. What’s more, he kept the most dangerous ones at home; anything that had reference to the devil could not be left anywhere one of his students could access it. It was too much of a risk that someone may take it, even by mistake. Who knows what they might do with it in some drunken escapade when they’ve had too many beers on a Friday night and they see the book lying around their kitchen.
His finger hovered past the top row of books. They were organised so the heavier subjects were toward the bottom, but he wanted to be thorough, make sure he withdrew any book that may help him.
Once he reached the books on the occult on the penultimate row, he withdrew a few that he knew had references to the devil. They were old, tattered books, written in times long ago when everyone believed in superstitions. It was often hard to separate the books that were genuine from the majority that were ramblings of knowledge from a time when people knew no better. Most of the relevant books, however, would be on this book case.
History of the Occult was the first he took out. On top of that he placed Satanists Through History and Occult Leaders Who Devil Worship.
He withdrew most of the books from the bottom row – as this was the collection that focussed on the devil and Satanism. He tossed a few to the side and flicked through the ones he thought might be most relevant.
Nothing in the chapters, or indexes, or pages he skimmed, showed anything. Not even The Devil Lives: Satanism Rituals Used Throughout History had any reference to The Devil’s Three. Nor did the next book, or the next, or the next.
Before he knew it, an hour had gone by and the final book he had withdrawn lay open before him.
Nothing.
Maybe he just needed a more thorough search?
No. He generally knew what was in these books. If there was something relevant, he would have found it.
But there wasn’t.
And he’d had a feeling from the beginning he would not find what he was looking for.
Closing his eyes, he racked his brain.
Think. The Devil’s Three… Surely it’s referred to somewhere…
Then it hit him – Derek’s study. Derek had a huge collection of books on the paranormal in his house, and it would undoubtedly be the best place to search.
Putting on a pair of jeans over his pyjama shorts and a coat he found draped over the sofa, he grabbed a notepad and wrote a note for Kelly.
Kel – gone to Derek’s to use his books, I think I’m on to something.
Hoped you slept well. Love you.
Eddie.
He re-read it, then added four kisses – he needed to make sure she knew he was there for her, that he cared, no matter what.
Grabbing Derek’s spare house keys, Eddie bolted out of the front door. As he thought about Derek’s impressive collection of books, he wondered where Derek was, and whether Derek was having any success in finding answers.
Eddie hoped he would hear from him soon.
20
The full moon shone bright in the sky, like a distant disturbance forewarning Martin of something he couldn’t figure out. He only caught a glimpse of the moon through the bed sheets, but it stuck in his mind, distracting him.
Simon’s empty house. Simon’s parents’ bedroom. It felt a bit wrong. Simon shared a room with his brother, and he was using that one with whatshername, so Martin didn’t have much choice.
But it was still a distraction.
Shut up he told himself.
Kristy was on top of him. Topless. Grinding. Dry humping his painfully stiff cock.
She was so fit. The kind of fit that made your head spin round and explode.
And here he was. Underneath her. About to possibly, maybe, could – fuck her.
But the moon through the window. That’s what he was thinking about.
Dick head. Forget about the shitty moon, you twat.
She threw her head downwards, pushing her lips against his so aggressively it hurt. He didn’t care. He loved it. Her hair was falling over him and draping around them, cocooning their heads into their own small space.
He stroked his hands down her back, brushing her bra strap.
Shit! Should I take it off?
Thing is, he’d never taken one off before. He was kind of waiting for her, but had the feeling she was kind of waiting for him.
Fuck it. Gonna go for it.
After he fiddled for a few uncomfortable seconds, she giggled, lifted herself up and undid her own bra, freeing her breasts, and flinging their prison onto the floor beside his t-shirt.
She smirked at his gawking eyes. He felt momentarily humiliated at the chuckles about his fumbling bra method – but the sight of her topless was enough to force those thoughts from his mind.
This is what he wanted. What he had wanted for ages.
She giggled playfully as she unbuttoned her skirt, unzipped it right down to the bottom – not that there was much of it – and threw it to the floor.
Now she was grinding him. Grinding in nothing but a lacy, red thong.
This was a dream. Better than his imagination could conjure. Better than any of the stupid pornos he’d watched.
She was gorgeous, naked, and riding him like there was no tomorrow.
That’s when his mother’s face came into his head.
She would be stuck downstairs. Sleeping in her chair because he hadn’t helped her up. Pissing herself.
Why am I thinking of my fucking mum pissing herself? Get a grip!
He felt guilty, but he was fifteen; he deserved a night off, a night he got to fool around with a girl, like every other teenager does.
A night where he got to fuck the hot, blond, naked girl leaving a wet patch over his zipper – without feeling bad about it.
“Aren’t you gonna take off your trousers?”
She bowed her head lustily, her curly locks falling in front of her face and landing over her perfect C-cup breasts.
“Er…” he stuttered.
Without a second thought, he hastily undid his belt and slid his trousers down. She passionately grasped the sides of his trouser legs, dragging them to his feet, pulling them off and throwing them to the floor.
She rose back up with a naughty smile and a kinky twinkle in her eye. Her lips pursed with frisky arousal as she looked down upon his rigid erection. Before Martin could do anything else, she had placed the whole thing in her mouth.
He grabbed the pillow behind his head and yelped. It felt warm. Wet. Heavenly.
She moved her head up and down, rubbing her tongue along his dick as her lips brushed firmly against him.
What if I come?
He grabbed hold of her hair, halting her for a second. She looked up and grinned, taking it as her cue to climb on top of him.
“I – I don’t know what to do.”
What the fuck?
Why am I saying that? Why am I telling this girl I didn’t know what to do? What is wrong with me?
She just smiled, grabbed a hold
of him and placed him inside of her, closing her eyes and fluttering them as she did.
It felt warm. Warm and moist.
She moved up and down and it felt so good and his immediate thought was – oh my God. Is this it? Am I no longer a virgin?
And just as it started to feel even better, his mum sprang back into his mind.
He could see her, alone in the kitchen, saliva dribbling down her lip. Alone. Stinking of piss.
He shouldn’t have left her. And he knew it. And this was guilt, in the best moment of his life so far – a blissfully divine moment ruined by guilt.
Before he could think any more or enjoy the grinding any more, the door burst open and Simon jumped in, the girl he had been shagging trailing behind him. A huge, freezing streak of water fired at Martin’s face and he turned away, feeling Kristy move herself off him and fall to the floor.
He collapsed beside her, clutching his hand over his head, protecting himself from the icy blasts that kept going.
Once the spray of water had stopped, Martin peered over the bed. Simon was standing there, a grin spread across his face, laughing hysterically, like a hyena in its element. He held a Super-Soaker water gun pointed in Martin’s direction.
“What the fuck man!” Martin screamed out, but it was drowned out by the sound of laughter.
Next to him was Kristy, soaked, naked. Her body, which was supposed to only be meant for him, was now seen by his best mate and that girl and he couldn’t take it. They shouldn’t be seeing it.
But she was laughing too.
Kristy was guffawing uncontrollably. Everyone was. Everyone but Martin.
This was the best moment of his life, the moment he had been waiting for forever, the moment he had blown off his sick mum for and – they were laughing.
Even Kristy. And that hurt.
She didn’t care if it hurt.
She just laughed.
She looked directly into his eyes and laughed.
“What the fuck is your problem, you dick head?” he screamed at Simon as he got to his feet and pulled his underwear and trousers back on.