by Wood, Rick
Dying, without a faithful, loving human even by his side.
In his delirious state, he raised his fist to the air and attempted a “fuck you, God.” His frail muscles barely managed the first syllable.
He was going to die. This was it. He felt it. His bones were weak and his muscles were heavy.
And there wasn’t a damn soul around to care.
Except, in his delirious state, he saw something. Something he wasn’t even sure was there.
A blurred figure. At the end of his bed.
Bandile attempted to lift his head, mustering his energy in an attempt to focus, make out who it was. Slowly, they came into clarity.
It was a young girl, no more than six, seven years old. Smiling at him. A long, black dress with a bow tied around her waist, a flower in her hair.
She swiftly glided around the bed to his side, stroking her warm hand down the side of his face. Her comforting smile made him feel content. Ready.
“Do I know you?” he spoke.
I can speak?
He hadn’t been able to muster the energy to move his mouth, vibrate his vocal cords; now here he was, asking a fully formed question. The pain he was feeling slowly faded. He didn’t understand.
“How can I speak? Am I dead?”
“You are not speaking.” She smiled such a sweet smile. “But you are communicating with me. And no, you are not dead. Not yet.”
Bandile was confused. He turned his head, manically looking around himself. The whole room had gone dark. It was like night had descended, and all that was left was a soft spotlight over him and this girl.
“I don’t understand.”
“I am a messenger. You see me in the form that would be most comforting to you, but this is not my true form. Not really.”
“You mean, you’re not a little girl?”
“No,” she chuckled. “I am a demon wielding more power than you can imagine. This is just how you see me. It makes this whole process easier.”
“What process?”
She looked him up and down, studying him with her eyes, taking in his condition.
“I represent the devil. I have come to offer you a deal.”
“A deal? With the devil?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe in the devil.”
“Well, he’s going to offer you a deal whether you believe in him or not.”
His head was fuzzy. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again, and this girl looked different. She had horns. Her dress exuded wavy flames.
Oh my God, she’s on fire! She has horns! What…
“I have done this to show you that I am not of this world.” The fires died down and the horns faded back into her head as she returned to the appearance of a little girl. “Now I expect you to listen to me, Bandile. This is a one-time offer.”
“Okay…”
“The devil is willing to restore your life to you. He will remove every cancerous cell in your body. He will replace them with cells that will survive well into old age. What’s more, he will bestow you a gift. A sight. You will be able to see the future.”
“The future?”
“What’s more, he will make you rich. You will be like a king to those around you. You will have more money than you could possibly imagine, and you will never have to work a day in your life. You will be surrounded by women, and people who love you. But you must do two more things in return.”
Her sweet smile faded to a deluded, sadistic grin.
“He will send a woman to you possessed by a demon. You must track down a man called Derek Lansdale. From London. Ask him to exorcise this woman. In return, you will give him a book filled with all of the premonitions you have as a result of your new-found sight.”
“Exorcise a demon? What?”
“Second condition. After the millennium, he will call on you once more. You must be part of a ritual, called The Devil’s Three. You will act as the part of the ritual called the prophet, a label you will attain due to your powers. You must ensure this ritual is a success and that the devil rises. And you will ensure the heir to hell knows, so he can be brought forth.”
“What?”
Bandile struggled to make sense of it all. So much senseless, deluded information. His thoughts were scattered, mixed into a vague haze.
“Do you want to live? Want to reach old age?”
“More than anything.”
“Do you want to be rich? Be loved?”
“God, yes.”
“Then you will ensure the devil rises. Do you understand?”
“What? I can’t let the devil rise. I… What is going on…”
The little girl approached his side within a few sinister strides. Her eyes locked with him and, despite it being the face of the young and the innocent, he could feel that it was anything but.
“I have given you the terms for if you agree. I can give you the terms for if you don’t.”
“I –”
“Should you say no. Should you refuse.” She pronounced the word ‘refuse’ with such venom, every syllable made him shake. “You will not only die from this cancer within seconds of my leaving, you will suffer. You will be ripped limb from limb, invaded, mutilated, raped, tortured, for an eternity in hell. Do you understand?”
“You can’t do this…”
She held out a hand.
“Do we have a deal, Bandile Thato?”
He stared gormlessly at her hand. Then he thought no more of it. He nodded nervously, placing his hand in hers.
She clasped her hand firmly around his and shook.
In an instant, she was gone, and he was alone in his bed.
Only, he felt different. Renewed. Born again.
He had the energy of a young child.
And he couldn’t help smiling.
33
24 July 2002
Two years, seven months since millennium
Her eyes shot open with a start. Abruptly leaning up, she turned her head to the alarm clock.
3.00 a.m. Again.
Get a grip, Kelly.
She slumped back onto the pillow, letting out an exasperated sigh. What she would give for a damn night’s sleep. Not waking up at this bloody time for no good bloody reason.
She shut her eyes and thought about what life was like before. She had to really rack her brain to think that far back; before these flashbacks, before she was officially possessed, before she was committed to a psychiatric unit.
Back when she had two parents who cared and were just concerned about their daughter who was having a few problems.
Back when they grounded her for a week for shouting out at school, then telling a teacher to piss off when they told her to keep quiet.
But it was all for attention. It was a cry out, desperation for someone to listen to her, to help her with the chaos inside her mind.
Her parents hadn’t seen it that way.
She barely spoke to them nowadays. Not because they’d had an argument, not because there was any hostility, not because it was a spoken agreement to distance themselves from each other; they had just naturally grown apart. Their lack of support, understanding, and care had meant she found new ways to cope. They spoke on the phone occasionally, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen them. They hadn’t even met Eddie.
Eddie had been so supportive. Ever since he had helped her, ridded her of the demon inside her. The support he had given her afterwards, all the time he had stayed by her side in the hospital; they had grown closer. And the first time they kissed it had just been a natural event, occurring after months of friendship.
She truly loved him. A real love, a love she couldn’t fathom. Despite the difficulties they both faced, he was hers and she knew she could rely on him for anything.
Feeling a surge of warmth toward him, she turned in bed to put her arm around him and have a cuddle.
He wasn’t there.
This sent shockwaves through her body. This time of night, Eddie disappea
ring from bed – its recurrence was cripplingly alarming.
She leant up and switched on the lamp. The bed next to her was empty. Her eyes darted around the room. Nothing.
She got out of bed and looked out of the bedroom window, into the garden. She saw him there, standing in front of the shed, staring gormlessly.
Again?
Concern consumed her. Something was going on. If Eddie saw this in someone else, he would recognise it as signs of possession, clear symptoms in need of an exorcism; if only he could see what he was doing, he would recognise his own need for help.
If only Derek was there, he would know what to do.
It must have been when he crossed over to save Derek, when he had faced the devil. Maybe it was time to stop denying, stop leaving things unsaid. It was time to confront the part of Eddie they had all wished wasn’t there.
Better go get him back to bed.
She turned and headed for the bedroom door, opened it with an eagerness to help Eddie.
The last thing she saw before she was knocked out was Bandile’s face.
Everything went blank after that.
“But evil men and imposters will proceed from bad to worse, deceiving and being deceived.”
2 Tim 3:13
34
The high sun was overwhelming, its heat scorching the skin of dog walkers and happy families. Not a cloud was overhead, and a clear blue sky cast happy days upon happy people.
Eddie noticed none of this, for he was woken up by the horn of a car.
He promptly sat up and looked around.
Where am I?
He felt the gravel beneath his hands, the white lines marking in the middle of the surface, the curb of the pavement behind him.
He was in the middle of the road.
Standing up, he steadied himself, holding his hand to his head to cancel out his dizziness. Once his senses had returned, he noticed a man in a car before him honking his horn, accompanied by shouting and multiple obscene gestures.
Eddie waved his hand at him, grunting, “All right, all right,” as he stumbled to the pavement.
Looking down at himself, he noticed he was topless, red pyjama trousers dangling off his waist.
How embarrassing…
Scanning the local area, he realised he was still in his estate; something he could at least be grateful for. He was around a two-minute walk from home.
How did I get here?
It had been a long time since he had sleepwalked this far. In fact, the last time he sleepwalked this much, he was being haunted by the demon Lamashtu. Not a particularly good omen to consider.
As he made his way back to his house, he gave a few nods at numerous neighbours walking their dogs or setting off to the shops, grateful for them just saying hi and not asking any further questions.
From how high the sun was in the sky, he assumed it was nearly midday. He wondered how no one had at least attempted to wake him up, or move him off the road. Saying that, they may well have, but were unable to wake him. They surely would have rung an ambulance or something, right?
He entered the house, rubbing his sinus, his head pounding.
“Kelly?” he shouted, then realised she would likely be at lectures. How come she hadn’t tried to find him?
He assumed she must have thought he’d left before her and just gotten on with her day.
After drinking a glass of water with two ibuprofens in an attempt to cure his headache, he had a quick shower. He was lucky that he only had afternoon classes on this day, otherwise he would have had some awkward explaining to do.
Once he had showered, he dressed in his clean black shirt, red tie, and blue suit, put a little wax in his hair and brushed his teeth.
Before he left, he paused, peering around the bedroom. The bed was unmade, which was unusual. Kelly hated the bed being unmade, it was one of her pet hates; many a time he had learnt the hard way to ensure it was made when he got up later than her.
Deciding she may have woken up late and hurried into work, he did it for her, tucking each corner neatly underneath the mattress.
He glanced once more at the room before he left, noticing her clothes she had laid out for the day still spread over the chair.
His brow furrowed and he paused to think on this. It was really strange. But she could have just decided on something else to wear. Surely? She could have changed her mind.
He noticed the time and realised he was going to be late for his afternoon class if he dwelled on this any longer. Deciding there was likely a rational explanation, he grabbed his car keys and left for work.
35
Despite the crushing heat, Martin still felt cold. He wrapped his jacket around himself, huddling it close for warmth. In front of him was the local university. A hive of education and learning, students older than him, buzzing with the power of learning.
It was a place he would never be able to attend. Education had never been for him. But it may hold the man who could give him answers.
He had searched the local library top to bottom for answers, attempting to read all the books on the paranormal or the supernatural. Most were either written by nut jobs speculating about how because something not even the slightest bit spooky happened to them, it must be a sure sign of a ghost. The rest, the few books that seemed to have some integrity to them, were written in complex English he had to keep reading again and again to even get a slight understanding as to what they were on about. He was sure they had some kind of indication where he could find answers, but with words like ‘confounding’ ‘arbutuses’ and ‘substantial,’ he had struggled to comprehend them. It was at that point he wished he had paid a little bit more attention in school, and scoffed at the irony of it.
Eventually, he had found it in the newspaper archives. An article about the local university opening a Paranormal Studies Department around a decade ago. It was setup by a guy called Derek Lansdale, and had made loads of progress with some exorcist guy called ‘Edward King.’ The newspaper reporter had been interested yet sceptical, but he was sure if they had a whole university department dedicated to it, they must have some idea what was going on.
Maybe if he could find these guys, they could tell him why his ma’s eyes turned black and she floated up in the air.
Unless he was going crazy.
Which is far more likely.
He came to reception and waited behind a few students who were discussing a deadline or something with the lady behind the desk. They spoke with long words and well-spoken accents. He hadn’t felt so out of place before in his life.
But if it meant helping his ma, he had to do it.
Finally, they left, and he took his place in front of the desk. The lady, middle-aged, with curly hair and a pair of glasses propped so far down her noise it must be counterproductive to her wearing them, sneered at him with judgemental eyes. He could tell she was sizing him up, wondering why some teenage misfit has come to the university.
“Can I help you?” She spoke with that snooty posh voice the others were using.
“I’m looking for the Paranormal Department.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
He sighed. He just needed directions, not a lecture.
“Yeah. Meeting Derek Lansdale at half four.”
“Derek Lansdale is out of the country.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I meant Edward King. Sorry.”
He peered at her hopefully, praying she didn’t see through his bullshit.
“Down the hall, follow the signs to the Psychology Department, then to Parapsychology.”
“Cheers.”
He turned and walked down the corridor. It was tidy, neat, with various signs to places like “Lecture Room 1” and “Meeting Room 3.” In the windows of various rooms he could see young adults sitting attentively to a discussion with older adults, normally with a wise beard and glasses or something.
I so do not belong here.
He made it to the Parapsychology Department a
nd found a lecture theatre. He turned the door handle slowly and peered in, rotating his head back and forth, surveying the vacant room. There were rows and rows of seats, a large screen, and an open space at the front. Spotting an office across the room, he walked over and knocked on the door.
“Enter,” he heard a voice speak from inside.
As he entered, a man, far younger than he was expecting, held up his hand as he continued a conversation on the phone.
“Yeah, and you haven’t seen her?” this guy was saying. “Did she attend your lecture? Well, look on the register. What do you mean, you didn’t take one; how did you not take one? … Right, yes please, find out and let me know as soon as you do.”
He hung up and turned to Martin.
“I apologise, just trying to track someone down. How can I help you?”
“Are you Edward King?”
“Yes.” Eddie looked at him peculiarly. “Yes, I am.”
“My name’s Martin. I need your help.”
“How old are you, Martin?”
Martin paused. He considered whether to lie. Then he figured that if this guy was going to give him any help, he would need to be upfront with him straight away.
“I’m fifteen,” Martin grunted honestly, watching Eddie for his vague reaction.
“Okay,” Eddie smiled. “Have a seat. And don’t call me Edward. It’s Eddie.”
Martin smiled thankfully and took a seat opposite him.
“So, what can I do for you?”
“It’s my ma,” Martin confided. “She… Something’s happening to her.”
“And have you tried talking to doctors?”
“Yes. Well… not about this. I mean, she’s disabled. In a wheelchair. She was in a car crash, I take care of her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Martin.”
Martin smiled. No one had ever said that to him before. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel both warm and sad. Such a caring statement, so easily given yet not given enough.
“But, I mean, some weird stuff’s been going off, I can’t explain it.”