Emily finished scribbling with the remnants of the crayon she had taken from her little brother’s crayon tub, satisfied with the colouring job she had done. The masterpiece she had produced had originated as a simple black and white image of a cartoon soldier from her brother’s favourite TV show. She hated that show, thought all of those characters were stupid. Not like her shows. They were much better. She had decided to make the stupid character look much better, and took her brother’s colouring book from under his pillow. He was so looking forward to colouring those images this weekend, but he would have done them badly.
She couldn't have that.
Instead she took the book and coloured his heroes in an array of bright pinks, greens and yellows. That made them look much better. Her brother would cry when he saw what she had done, but she didn't care. She was happy with what she had done, and that was all that mattered.
She was just about to start work on a fresh page when she heard a noise coming from downstairs. Her mummy had gone to the shop to get some more cigarettes, and had told Emily to look after the house whilst she was gone. Mum had taken her brother with her, so at least she had the house to herself. She hadn't been gone that long though, so maybe she had forgotten something.
Emily stepped out of her brother’s room and made her way downstairs. It was raining heavily outside, and once again she was pleased that she was inside and in the warm. At the foot of the stairs, she noticed that the front door was wide open. There were dark handprints all over the white paintwork and wet, red footprints littered the soft beige carpet, staining it a dark colour. A loud crash came from the kitchen, and Emily walked in that direction.
Maybe Mummy’s shopping is leaking. Maybe it was her brother’s stupid blackcurrant juice. That wouldn’t surprise her. He was always spilling that.
“Mummy,” little Emily shouted as she approached the kitchen. “Did you get me some sweets from the shop?”
She looked into the kitchen and saw her mummy just standing with her back to her, hunched over and breathing heavily. She was covered in what looked like cranberry juice.
“Mummy!” she shouted.
The woman turned to look at her young daughter, and Emily took a step back, crying out a little as she saw that her mummy’s eyes were dark, rimmed with red. There was steam was rising from her hair. Her face was swollen in places, and her lips were cracked. She was drooling black liquid. She breathed out heavily and steam snorted from her nostrils.
Emily's lip trembled as she began to cry. She didn't like it. This wasn't her mummy. It was wearing her clothes, but this wasn't her mummy.
The drooling monster snarled and rushed towards her. Emily screeched and tried to run away, but she was too slow, and the monster grabbed her arm. Her grip was like a vice and Emily screamed and cried out in pain. The woman dragged her over to the large French windows at the back of the house. She flicked open the plastic lock on the door and pushed it back. Emily heard the door’s heavy soft thunk as it opened fully, felt the chill of the outside on her arm. With almost no effort at all, the monster threw her out into the rain. She bounced across the grass of the back garden, crying out with pain, rolled over several times before landing on her back and staring up at the dark sky.
Emily’s eyes stung as the rain fell into them, and she reached up to rub them. She whimpered and cried as the rain came down. She felt itchy and tired, her vision turning redder and redder. Suddenly, she couldn’t control her body any longer, and it started to tremble. As her body moved spasmodically, a scary laugh filled her head.
She could feel something, like she sometimes did late at night.
It felt as if someone was right behind her, breathing down her neck. She knew no one was there, though. There was never anyone there. Then she realised something. Her body was moving. She wasn’t telling it to move, she didn’t want it to move. She just wanted to lie on the ground and wait for everything to get back to normal.
But she was standing up and roaring at the sky, just like her mummy was. She saw her little brother leave the house, and he was screaming at the sky too. His face was swollen, and his little hands looked odd, like strange bony claws. Everything was getting blurry, and Emily thought she didn’t sound like herself. She walked involuntary across the lawn, heading toward the street at the back of her house.
She had been told never to go there, and she tried to stop herself from moving. But it was useless. The thing behind her seemed to shove her away, into some dark corner. Then everything went black, and Emily was gone.
***
Danger rushed as fast he could back to Claire Marie's house. He had his leather jacket pulled tight over his head and he was dodging every single puddle on the pavement. He didn't know what the fuck was going on, but he knew that there was something in the rain. For one, it was red, and looked like blood.
He saw a cyclist get caught in the downpour as he rode past. The lycra-clad man came tumbling off his expensive-looking bike, convulsing as he did so. Danger saw the straps on his cycle helmet strain as the man’s face began to swell and grow. His shoulders cracked and moved as they, too, began to take on a strange shape. The spliff fell from Danger’s lips as he witnessed a monster being born, and he knew he had to get back to Claire Marie. He had to warn her.
He didnt know what the fuck he was going to say, but he had to warn her. If he saved her from some fucked up monster, she would have to take him back.
He tucked his hands into his jacket, tugged the heavy leather garment over his head, and sprinted out into the rain. As he approached the corner, he took one last look over his shoulder, back to where the cyclist had crashed, convulsed, and mutated. The bicycle was still there, crumpled and broken, but over it stood stood the hulking figure of the cyclist. He had his head reared back and was screaming at the sky. A hideous, indescribable sound that seemed to echo, as if it were part of a chorus.
***
Phil Harrison sat in the driver’s seat of the black Sedan, polishing off the last of his cheese and ham slice. Suddenly, his phone buzzed in its plastic bracket on the dashboard. He took one look at it and immediately swiped the screen to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Harrison,” a soft, mature female voice answered. “Have you dropped off Sister O'Sullivan yet?”
“Yes ma'am. We were a little delayed, but she got there safe and sound. I'm on my way back now.”
“Delayed? Why were you delayed?”
“Country traffic, ma'am. Tractors, to be precise.”
“Oh,” the woman answered. “I see. How long has she been there now?”
Phil looked at his watch. “About two hours now. Why? Has something happened?”
The woman didn't reply. He heard some discussion on the other end of the line. The voices were in the background, and he couldn't understand what they were saying, but there was definitely something going on.
“Is everything alright, ma'am?” Phil asked again. He waited to an answer, but all he got was background chatter. He was about to ask again when the female voice said:
“I'm afraid we're going to need you to drive back to Hullenbeck immediately, Harrison.”
“Okay. Did something happen to Sister O'Sullivan? Is she okay? She was fine when I left her.”
“She's fine. The situation in Hullenbeck is more complicated than we originally thought. We are going to be dispensing a team to investigate further, but until then we need you to drive back, pick Sister O'Sullivan up, and bring her back here for debriefing.” The female voice had a sense of urgency to it, but not panic. “This needs to be done immediately. Do you understand, Harrison?”
“Yes, of course, ma'am. Leave it with me,” Phil replied.
“Good,” the woman said, and then hung up.
Phil sighed, and took one more swig of coffee. The cup was almost dry. Outside, on the forecourt of the service station, it began to rain. Phil watched the water running down the windscreen, clear and heavy.
“Great. That’s all
I need.” he grumbled, and started the engine. The Sedan hummed softly, as if it was pleased it was going back on the road again. Phil, however, was anything but, and as he tapped onto the phone’s Sat-Nav screen for the quickest route back to Hullenbeck, he wondered if he had time to go and refill his coffee mug. He decided against it. His boss seemed pretty insistent on the nun being brought back as soon as possible. Plus, if he necked another large coffee, he was certainly going to need the loo again soon. He didn't want to add that to his stress levels. With another sigh, Phil smoothly put the Sedan into gear, reversed out of the parking spot, made his way to the service station exit, and began the long journey back to Gallows Hill.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SANCTUARY
Sister Sarah unscrewed the lid to the flask she was holding and stepped over to the wreckage of the broken window. She whispered prayers under her breath, so low that no one could hear. She began pouring a white, crystalised substance on the sill of the window.
“What’s that stuff?” Benjamin said. Petra gave him a slap on the arm and shushed him. Once Sarah had finished with the window, she turned to the group.
“This is Sacramental Salt,” she told them.
“And what does that do, Sister?” Petra asked.
“Well, this salt has been blessed by the holy church. It has many uses, one of which is to act as a form of divine protection. A barrier, if you will, that no evil can pass.”
“It's not the sort of stuff you can put on your chips, though,” Pete added, and Sarah gave him a withering look.
“No. That wouldn't be a good idea,” she said.
“And you're sure that stuff will stop those… whatever the fuck those things are, from getting in?” Jim asked. Sarah tried to give him a confident stare.
“I believe it will,” she said. “Although, anything we can do to reinforce the doors and windows probably won't hurt either. Just in case.”
“Have you guys got any nails in the house?” Pete asked.
“Uh… yeah, there’s a bunch of household DIY stuff under the sink. We've never used it because, well, we haven't needed to do any DIY,” Jim replied.
“Well then,” Pete said in a positive tone. “Let's get to work then. When Claire Marie has finished cleaning my brother up, they can both help out, but right now we need to break down whatever we can to use and start nailing it to the doors and windows.”
He pointed to Sister Sarah.
“The good sister here is going to go to every window and door in this big bastard house and sprinkle that holy fairy dust, then we're going to reinforce it with some good old-fashioned woodwork.”
Everyone nodded, but no one made a move.
“Come on, people, there’s no time to lose. Let's seal this mother up!”
***
Chris sat on the edge of the bath and wiped his damp face with the towel. After his chaotic encounter with demonic fowl, he looked a little worse for wear. Beaten up and covered in hellish, sulphuric blood, Claire Marie had insisted on helping him get cleaned up. She had led him to the communal bathroom to wash his face and to check for any injuries. The black bile that covered his face was stubborn to get off, but he managed to clean himself up okay. Claire Marie was looking through the mirrored bathroom cupboard as he wiped himself down.
“This smells quite nice,” Chris said, sniffing his hands.
“Yeah, Petra swears by that stuff,” Claire replied. “Gets it imported. She's got the nicest skin I've ever seen, so it must be worth the price.”
“She won't mind me using it, will she?” Chris asked. Claire pulled a small bottle and some cotton wool pads out of the cupboard.
“No, of course not. Not after what you guys have done for us.” she said.
Claire stood in front of Chris and he looked up at her. The harsh bathroom light formed a halo around her head. He chuckled at the irony. This girl in front of him was the one he had seen in the files. The beautiful, innocent girl who had not been corrupted by evil. He could see why Jim and Danger had fallen for her.
“I'm not sure what we've done,” he mumbled quietly.
“Put your head down,” Claire said, and Chris lowered his head. She tipped the bottle up onto the cotton wool pad until it had sufficiently soaked up enough rubbing alcohol, and then dabbed the back of his head. Chris caught the scent of the medicinal alcohol, and took a breath as he felt the cold wet sting of the pad. He had bumped his head hard on the kitchen cupboard. Satisfied his head was okay, Claire screwed the bottle top back on.
“How are you feeling?” Chris asked her. She stopped, the sudden question catching her off guard for a moment. She turned to him, and he saw a deep sadness in her eyes.
“Hollow,” she replied.
A moment passed, Chris not knowing what to say.
“I guess that's normal, though, right? I mean, for people like me who have…” A lump caught in her throat. “Been possessed?”
“Yeah. There’s always a period of readjustment after an exorcism. It can take its toll on a person, not being able to control their actions. Seeing the things they've done; things they could have done. Watching as something else controlled them. It's a lot for people to get over.”
Chris saw the look on Claire's face and realised the bluntness of his words.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to sound so harsh. Me and Pete, we don't do the psychological bit. We just deal with the scary demonic vomit-spewing stuff.”
Claire flipped the lid down on the communal bathroom’s toilet, sat down and sighed.
“Did I do something terrible?” she asked
“What?”
“When that thing was inside me. Did I hurt anybody?”
“No. You didn't do anything like that. Wait, you don't remember anything?”
“It's not like I don't remember. It's more like I was asleep. I felt no pain. If anything, it feels like I woke up from the best night’s sleep I've ever had.”
Claire Marie softly rubbed a hand against her throat.
“Actually, scratch that. The waking up part hurt like a bitch.”
Chris had flashbacks to the poor girl, spewing out a fountain of flies, her eyes watering as she purged the worst of all evils from her system.
“Well, I’m pretty sure Pete's got some lozenges in our van, so you can have some of those if you want.”
“Thanks,” Claire Marie replied.
A moment passed and both of them said nothing. Chris could hear the noise of someone hammering and talking downstairs.
“It's not your fault, you know. What happened to you,” Chris told her.
“I know,” Claire replied.
Chris was stunned at her reply. He didn't expect her to be so… okay about everything.
“Just in the wrong place at the wrong time I guess,” she added.
“You seem to be taking all this extremely well,” Chris said.
“It's either that or freak out and completely lose my marbles,” she replied. “But that won't do anyone any good, will it? Nope, I think I'll wait until this whole thing blows over before breaking down and crying myself to sleep.”
“Good,” Chris said. “You can look after me when I break down then.”
Sister Sarah appeared in the doorway, brandishing her salt flask, flanked by Jim, who had in his hands a small collection of broken wooden boards and a small hammer. She nodded at Chris.
“How are you feeling?” she asked
“Fine,” Chris and Claire both said in unison.
“Good. This is the last room we need to reinforce.” She looked over at the window behind the communal bath. “And we need to do it quick.”
Chris stood up and got out of the way as Sarah stepped past him, climbed into the empty bath. She popped the flask down on the window-sill and looked to the shower head currently angled her way. With a quick twist, she loosened the clamp holding it in place and lifted the shower head above her, so it didn’t obstruct her.
“Why do you need to do it quick?” Chris aske
d.
Without looking at him, Sarah turned back to the window, picked up the flask again and popped it open.
“It's stopped raining outside,” she said.
“And that’s bad why?” Claire asked.
“Just after the rain stopped, we started hearing noises outside,” Jim said, placing the boards down against the bath.
“What kind of noises?” Chris asked.
Jim looked at Sarah, who returned his look of concern.
“What noises, Jim?!” Claire Marie raised her voice to get their attention.
“It's hard to describe,” Jim said. “It sounded like screaming. Like a gang of rioters. And it's getting louder.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Chris asked.
“It means we have to finish barricading this house,” Sarah said, her voice strong with determination. “Because whatever is happening out there, whatever evil is waiting outside of this house, it's coming this way.”
***
“Anyone want a cup of tea?” Ben asked.
After boarding up the windows and barricading the doors, the group had congregated in the living room. For an hour, they all sat quietly, listening for any sounds from outside.
Most of the room shook their heads and declined Ben's offer. All except Pete.
“Oooh yes, please, that would be lovely,” he said.
Ben acknowledged him and made his way out of the living room, heading back to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Pete looked over at his brother, who simply shook his head, albeit with a smile on his face. Sister Sarah was standing by the large bay window, now boarded up, and was looking out to the street ahead. The streets were wet from the crimson downpour, but there were no signs of any demonic activity.
“See anything?” Chris asked.
“No. Not yet.”
“We haven't heard any more of those creepy noises out there,” Jim said. He was sat on the tatty old sofa the students had, an old cricket bat across his lap. His hands fidgeted with the leather straps of the bat. “Maybe nothing is out there, after all.”
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