by Bill Myers
“From what?”
“I don’t know. It came on real sudden, soon as we crossed the street.”
“You want to go back, stay in the car?”
“Forget it.” He tried to smile and make one of his jokes. “I’m in the mood for kicking a few demons’ behinds, aren’t you?”
It was Becka’s turn to force a smile. Scott wasn’t just brag-ging — though he was pretty good at that — he was also speaking from experience. He’d faced demons several times before and come out the winner.
Each time, she and Scott had fought, and each time, thanks to prayer and God’s power, they had won. Barely. But barely was close enough.
But tonight … tonight something was wrong. She was growing more and more sure of that. Besides the uneasy feeling she couldn’t seem to shake, there was also the fact that Scott was feeling sick. Scott hardly ever got sick. And, as far as she knew, he never had headaches. So what was going on? For the time being she said nothing more. But she would keep a careful eye on him.
Once inside, things went pretty much as expected. After the initial goofing off — grabbing and scaring each other — they settled down to exploring the ground floor.
First there was the kitchen. It was massive: double ovens, pantry, lots of counter space, cupboards. Mom would go nuts here, Becka thought.
Next came the dining room, then the music room, then the glass-enclosed conservatory, and finally the giant entry hall.
“Wow,” Philip exclaimed as they shone their lights on the rich mahogany paneling, the towering gilded mirrors, and a floor that was completely covered by thick gray slate.
Everyone was impressed. Everyone but Scott. He was standing off to the side, hunched over and holding his head.
“Hey, Scotty,” Ryan asked, “what’s wrong?” Scott lowered his hands and tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “I don’t know. My head … it’s like a herd of elephants tap-dancing inside.”
Becka and Ryan exchanged looks.
Krissi was shivering. “I’m cold. Couldn’t someone turn up the heat?”
“Uh, I don’t think so,” Philip chuckled.
“Look at this.” Julie was slightly ahead of the group, shining her light up at a giant crystal chandelier. It was directly over her head and breathtakingly beautiful. But it wasn’t the beauty she was referring to. It was the movement of the crystals. They had started to gently clink against each other.
“Must be wind,” Ryan offered, but he didn’t sound too convinced. He turned back to Scott and Becka. “You were the last ones in. Did you guys shut the door?”
“Yeah,” Becka answered softly, “we shut it.” The clinking grew louder as the chandelier started to sway almost imperceptibly.
“Well, now.” Julie tried to sound glib. “I think maybe we should be moving on. Don’t you?”
The group voiced agreement and continued forward, keeping a wary eye on the chandelier and going out of their way to avoid walking directly under it.
They arrived at the stairway. It was massive, sweeping up and above their heads. They stood a moment, looking in awe. Finally, Julie asked the inevitable. “Okay, troops … who’s going first?” Everyone exchanged glances, but no one answered. Philip looked over his shoulder and smiled mischievously. “Becka?
Scott? This is your guys’ department, right?” There were a couple of nervous snickers. Philip kept looking at them, waiting for an answer. “Well?”
Scott finally stepped forward, doing one of his hokey super-hero imitations. “You’re right, earthling. Step aside. This is no job for mere mortals.” The group chuckled as Philip happily obliged.
Becka was a little more reluctant, but she also moved forward to join her brother. She hated it when he played Mr.
Macho — especially when it involved her life (or death). “What about your head?” she whispered.
“Hey — ” he forced another smile — “we’re the good guys, remember?”
“Scotty — ”
“Come on.” He motioned for her. “Let’s show your friends some ol’-fashioned ghostbustin’.”
“Scotty …”
Without a word, he started for the stairs. Becka stared after him a moment, then gave a heavy sigh and followed.
The banister was made of dark wood with intricately carved designs. Elaborate stained-glass windows towered to the right, along with rich curtains trimmed in gold braid. The group had only traveled three or four steps before they noticed the breeze.
It was faint at first but seemed to increase with every step they took.
To relieve the tension, someone began whistling the theme from The Twilight Zone. “Knock it off,” Julie ordered. They did.
“Philip …” Krissi was somewhere in the back whining again.
“Philip, I’m cold.”
But instead of answering her, Philip said, “Listen! Do you hear that?”
It was a low whistling, the same one they’d heard from the chimney the day before. As the wind grew stronger, the sound grew louder. Becka threw a nervous glance at Scott. He was squinting and grimacing, trying his best to hold back what appeared to be intolerable pain. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. “Scott,” she whispered, “Scott, are you okay?”
“We’ve beaten these things before,” he answered. “If we’ve got the faith, there’s no reason we can’t beat them now.” Becka had no answer. He was right — but something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
They were halfway up the stairway. The breeze increased.
The whistling grew louder, its low drone sounding more and more human.
“I’m so cold.” Krissi shivered. “Isn’t anybody cold?”
“It’s just your nerves,” Julie said.
Philip shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Me neither,” Ryan said. “Check it out.” He held the flashlight up to his mouth and blew. They could all see his breath.
“Let’s go back!” Krissi shuddered. “We’ve seen enough.”
“We’re practically there,” Philip insisted. “Let’s go on.” Becka and Scott resumed the climb. The wind blew harder, tugging at their clothes and hair. Becka looked back to her brother.
He was also shivering. Violently. But it wasn’t from the cold; she knew that. It was from something else. Maybe the pain. She leaned over to him. “Scotty, we don’t have to go any further if — ”
“Be quiet,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
She pulled back a little surprised. “What?”
“The Bible says we’ve got authority, so we’ve got authority. If you don’t have the faith, fine. But don’t pull me down with you.” Becka could only stare. This wasn’t like him. Not at all.
The eerie droning grew louder, sounding more and more like a muffled cry — as if someone was trying to scream but was being smothered.
At last they reached the landing, Becka and Scott first, followed by the others. They stood silently on top. To their right was a dust-covered window; to the left was the hallway. All eyes moved down the hall to the last door, the one they had seen on the videotape.
The cry broke into a shriek — a bloodcurdling, heart-stopping shriek. Long and continuous.
“Let’s get out of here!” someone shouted.
They turned to race back down the stairs when, suddenly, the door at the end of the hall flew open, crashing loudly into the wall. The group froze. But it wasn’t the wind that had thrown open the door. It was a shadow. A dark shadowy creature, looking very much like the little girl. It exploded out of the room and flew down the hall at them.
Krissi screamed. Others joined in as they scrambled for the stairs. Everyone but Scott. Instead of running, Scott spun around to confront the shadow. From past experiences, he knew what to do. He raised his hand and, despite the throbbing in his head, he shouted, “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, I command you to — ”
He said no more. The shadow smashed into him, directly into the center of his chest. He gasped and reeled b
ackward until he hit the wall beside the window and slowly slid to the floor.
“Scotty!” Becka raced to him.
Others stood staring, dumbfounded.
“Scotty!” Becka dropped to his side. “Scotty, are you all right?” The shadow girl was gone, but the wind was still shrieking, and she had to shout to be heard. “Scotty!” His eyes fluttered, then opened. He looked dazed and confused. “What … what happened?”
That’s what Becka wanted to know. She brushed the hair out of his eyes, searching his face for clues. She reached for his arm to help him up. “Come on, let’s get you out of — ” He looked down at his chest, and suddenly his eyes widened in horror. “Get them off!” he shouted. He started slapping and hitting his chest. “Get them off!”
“What?”
“Get them off!”
“Get what off?”
“The flies!” He began to writhe and kick, all the time beating and slapping at his chest. “Get them off! Get them off!” Becka was at a loss. “Scotty, there are no — ”
“Get them off!” He was screaming. “Get them off!”
“Scotty!”
“Get them off! There’s millions of them!” She reached for his hands, trying to stop him, but he knocked her aside, continuing to slap and hit and shout and writhe.
Ryan joined their side. “It’s okay, Scotty.”
“Get them off!” Scott was starting to cry, tears streaming down his face.
“It’s okay. We’ll get them — just come with me.” Ryan slipped his arm under Scott’s shoulder and raised him to his feet.
“Get them off! Get them off!”
“It’s okay. We’re going to get you out of here.” Becka rose to follow Ryan, but as she turned she felt something cold and damp brush against her skin. She spun around to the window beside where Scott had hit the wall. In the dust a design had started to form … all by itself. Becka felt herself growing colder.
But she would not turn away. As she watched, she began to realize it wasn’t a design that was forming. It was letters. Words.
Someone or something was writing on the dust of the win-dowpane. The letters formed slowly, but they did not stop until the message was finished. It read:
¡Ayúdame! ¡Por favor, Rebecca, ayúdame!
Becka’s Spanish was rusty, but not that rusty. She knew what it said: Help me! Please, Rebecca, help me!
**********
10:58 p.m.
The group had barely entered the car before Scott tried to cover his fear with a Ghostbusters joke. “I think I’ve been slimed,” he said, gingerly testing his bruised ribs. But the humor fell flat.
Maybe it was because his voice still had a slight tremble. Or maybe it was because of the tension that filled each member of the group.
Without a word, Ryan fired up the Mustang, and they started for home.
“I don’t get it.” Krissi finally broke the silence. “You kept shouting about flies.”
“That’s ’cause there were thousands of them, they were all over me — I was crawling with them.”
“And yet we didn’t see a thing,” Julie said. “How weird.”
“When did they leave?” Philip asked. “When did they all disappear?”
Scott looked down at his arms and chest just to make sure they had. “I don’t know,” he answered more quietly. “I guess — I guess by the time we got outside … definitely by the time we got off the property.”
More silence as all of the kids fell into their own thoughts …
and fears.
Rebecca’s mind reeled. First, because of Scott’s defeat. Weren’t they supposed to have authority through Christ over this sort of stuff? And second, because of the writing on the window.
It had been in Spanish. Juanita’s language.
Becka looked around the car, wondering if she should tell the others. No, that type of information would only support their theory that this was not some sort of demon, but that it was actually the little girl’s ghost.
As they pulled up to the front of Becka and Scott’s house, Ryan finally spoke. His voice was earnest. “I don’t think you should be a part of that séance tomorrow, Beck.” Rebecca looked at him. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “But if you decide to go … then we should all go along with you.” More silence. Slowly each member of the group started to nod. Philip cleared his throat and said what each was thinking.
“Ryan’s right. That ghost thing definitely has it in for you two. And if we’re there with you …” He hesitated.
“There’s safety in numbers,” Ryan finished.
“Oh, really,” Scott quipped, still massaging his chest. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Becka looked at them. They were friends. Good friends. And she appreciated them now more than ever. “Thanks, guys.” She tried to smile. “I’ll let you know.”
She opened the car door. After they said good night and the car pulled away, Scott and Becka headed for the front porch.
Becka opened the screen door. It gave its customary groan. And then she saw it — the front door was not completely shut. The thing always stuck, and if you didn’t give it an extra pull, it always stayed ajar.
“Scotty …” Her voice grew thin and wavery as she pointed to the door.
Scott saw it too.
“I’m sure I closed it,” Becka said in a half-whisper. “I always give it an extra yank.”
Scott swallowed. “Me too.”
They traded looks. Steeling himself with determination, Scott reached for the knob. He turned it and gave a push. It squeaked as it unstuck.
There was no other sound.
Scott entered the darkened living room, slowly, cautiously.
Becka was right behind. He headed toward the nearest lamp.
It was eight feet away, but it could have been eight miles. Why hadn’t they left a light on before they’d gone? Then again, that had always been Mom’s department. Across the room, over by the kitchen, Becka noticed the tiny red light blinking on the telephone answering machine. There were two messages.
She watched the outline of Scott’s body bumping into furniture and stumbling over clothes and stuff they’d left in the middle of the room (another disadvantage of not having Mom around). He made progress toward the lamp, but far too slowly.
Then, from the hallway, Becka heard a faint snarl. At first she thought it was her imagination. She strained, listening harder.
There it was again.
“Scott …”
Before he could answer, there was sudden, animal-like clawing. Whatever it was, it had decided to make its move. It raced down the hallway, digging into the carpet, heading directly for them.
“Get that light!” Becka screamed. She could see nothing in the dark, but heard the thing tear into the room and bear down toward her. She hunched over, bracing for impact.
Suddenly the room was flooded with light as Scott clicked on the lamp to reveal —
“Muttly!” they cried in unison.
The animal leaped at Becka’s legs and began bouncing and jumping all over her feet. It had been hours since he’d had any company, and the puppy was all squirming body and wagging tail. Becka stooped down and patted him. “Hello, boy, good dog, easy now, easy …”
Scott had already started for the kitchen. “Check it out,” he said, pointing to the table. “It’s a note.” He snapped on the kitchen light, and Becka moved in for a better look. It was a note with a key on it.
Dear Becka and Scott: Just swung by to see how everything’s going. Here’s the key your mom left. Hope you can make it to youth group tomorrow. Call if you need anything.
Love, Susan
There was a notable sigh from both brother and sister. Susan was the youth worker from church. She must have dropped off the key, then left without knowing she had to yank the door shut.
“I guess you might say we’re a little wound up,” Scott said wearily.
Becka agreed.
Scott crossed to the fridge
(as he always did when he got home), and Becka headed for the answering machine (as she always did when she got home). She pressed Play.
“Hi, guys, it’s Mom. Beck, I had the weirdest dream about you last night. Kinda spooky. I’ll have to tell you when I get back. Aunt Bernice’s funeral is tomorrow. I should make it home by noon, Saturday. Don’t forget the leftover casserole in the fridge, and Beck, please, please make sure Scotty’s wearing clean Tshirts. Love you guys. Bye. ” BEEP.
Scott gave a sniff under his arms. “It’s good for a few more days,” he called. He stuck his head back into the fridge and resumed his search-and-devour mission.
The second message began.
“Hello … this is Priscilla Bantini — from the Bookshop.” Becka froze.
“Juanita, or her spirit, told me what happened tonight. She wants me to say how sorry she is. You snuck up on her and frightened her, that’s all. Please call me at your earliest convenience. ” BEEP.
“Frightened her!” Scott exclaimed. “We frightened her??”
“I don’t get it,” Becka sighed as she shed her jacket. It was time to say what had been rattling in her head the past twenty-four hours. “Maybe Ryan is right; maybe we can’t trust the Bible in every instance.”
“Whoa, hold the phone,” Scott said as he pulled his head out of the fridge. “What are you talking about?” Becka flung her jacket across the room to the growing pile of clothes on the sofa. “Figure it out. We’re Chris tians, right?”
“Right.”
“We’re supposed to have authority over demons, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, no offense, little brother, but you weren’t exactly the conquering hero this evening.”
Scott said nothing as he closed the refrigerator and crossed to the table. In his hands were a carton of milk, a jar of dill pickles, and some dijon mustard. Not exactly a gourmet meal, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice.
He pulled a pickle from the jar and dipped it into the mustard.
Becka watched, trying not to retch as he crammed half of it into his mouth. She could tell he was as troubled as she was; he just expressed it differently … by becoming a human garbage disposal.