by Zoe Aarsen
“Yes,” Trey confirmed.
“And what makes you think that their deaths had anything to do with occult forces rather than simple, random acts of nature?” he asked patiently. “We live in a society that believes blindly that there must always be a fair cause for suffering. When bad things happen to us and people we love, we find comfort in the idea that there is a just reason for those bad things. We believe that time will reveal those reasons, because we cannot understand that in this universe, events occur at random. We cannot question God’s will.”
“We all played the game on Olivia’s birthday. There’s a new girl at school from out of town, and it was her idea. She made up stories about how we would all die, and they’re all coming true, right down to small details. And since Olivia died, something has been haunting my bedroom. It was trying to leave us clues before Candace died. It was trying to warn us about what was going to happen to her.” My admission was embarrassing, and I tried to sound as mature and serious as I could.
Father Fahey put the metal lid on his pot of soup, and turned to face us, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Follow me,” he ordered.
The basement of the rectory was paneled and carpeted, but it still felt damp and unfinished. Father Fahey locked the door behind us as we began our descent down the staircase leading to the lower level of the building. “Just part of our security routine here at the church. You’re perfectly safe, and I’ll explain everything when we get downstairs.”
At the far end of the basement, past a Ping-Pong table, a long table surrounded by chairs, and a set of utility shelves stocked with boxes labeled SUNDAY SCHOOL SUPPLIES, Father Fahey unlocked a plain-looking wooden door with a bowl of holy water set on a table next to it. He dipped his fingers in the bowl and made the sign of the cross, and encouraged us to do the same. “I served both of you at your First Communions. I know you’re familiar with this routine.”
We both made the sign of the cross obediently, and followed Father Fahey through the door. My heart was beating rapidly at that point since I didn’t have any idea what to expect on its other side. In the split second before Father Fahey flipped on the light, I was imagining a scary spiral stone staircase leading even farther down toward the earth’s core, taking us to dungeons or secret chambers filled with torture devices. But all that we saw on the other side was a large, relatively plain room, with two orange couches, a long brown table, heavily stocked bookshelves, and what looked like a medical examination table in the center of the room.
“Forgive me for the dramatic evacuation to the basement,” Father Fahey apologized, taking a seat in the corner upon a chair that looked like it belonged in a library. Trey and I sat down on the couch across from him, and I relaxed a little when I realized I could still slightly smell the soup upstairs and could hear a warm stream of air coming from the central heating vents. “We have two elderly priests who live on the second floor above the administrative offices. Father Nowicki, you probably remember; he said mass often when both of you were still in Sunday school. He suffered a stroke two years ago, and his visiting nurses tend to him all day. We also care for Father Adeyimi, a missionary from Africa who is recovering from heart surgery. You must understand that the elderly and very young children are especially susceptible to evil, and I can’t afford to expose them to anything you may have brought with you. So it’s safer for us to discuss things of this nature down here, hence the lock on the door so that we aren’t interrupted.”
I must have looked horrified and surprised by this, because it had never occurred to me that spirits might be following me around. Or that churches had secret, windowless rooms in their rectories.
“Spirits cling to strength that they find compatible with their needs,” Father Fahey explained. “You mentioned upstairs that something has been haunting your bedroom. Make no mistake. It is manifesting its powers in your bedroom because it has figured out how to manipulate the energy in that space. But it is haunting you.”
Father Fahey’s words stunned me. I had never been spoken to by an adult so directly before about such a frightening idea. He was making no attempt whatsoever to sugarcoat the situation for me, or to assure me, as grown-ups were often likely to do, that things weren’t as bad as they seemed.
“Can you see it? Is it here with me?” I asked, alarmed. Instinctively, I leaned forward and looked over my shoulder.
The priest shook his head patiently and folded his hands in his lap. “I don’t have any magical powers, Miss Brady. I’m just a simple man of the cloth. There’s no magic wand I can wave in front of you to reveal if there’s a bogeyman behind you. But as I said before, spirits latch onto the energy of people. You may have no awareness that something’s following you, but there’s a chance that it’s with you at all times.”
Trey fumbled with the book in his hands and mumbled, “We started doing some research after Olivia died. We thought maybe Violet, this girl at school, made some kind of a deal with a spirit and she’s been delivering souls to it.”
Father Fahey strummed his fingers on the end table next to his chair and considered that. “Sounds plausible. But in exchange for what? Why would Violet be in service to this spirit? What’s it giving her in exchange for her cooperation?”
“Popularity,” I suggested. “She’s new in town and she went from being kind of shy and quiet to suddenly the class president and captain of the pom squad. And she’s dating Olivia’s old boyfriend. It’s like she just stole Olivia’s whole life in a matter of days.”
“And this girl was involved in the game that you played?” Father Fahey asked, suddenly appearing to be a lot more intrigued by our allegations now that we were in the basement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“She was the one who told the stories about how we’d all die. It was her idea to play the game,” I offered.
The priest mulled this over. “So this girl recently arrived to town, led all of you in this game, and you claim the manner by which both the Richmond girl and the Cotton girl passed away match up with details presented in the game?”
I nodded solemnly, wondering if he was drawing his own conclusion that Trey and I were nuts. Trey held up the book he had brought with us again. “This book suggests that maybe Violet has ties to the spirit world through an object.”
“Yes, well, that’s oftentimes how these things go,” the priest agreed, easing back into his chair again. “However, don’t allow yourselves to think that it will be an easy task to identify the object. Sometimes when a spirit passes and feels like it has unfinished business among the living, it fastens onto an object of significance, and is able to exercise control over living souls through it. This isn’t always necessarily a practice of evildoing; sometimes the spirit of a parent or grandparent will maintain a presence among the living to keep watch over a child they’re leaving behind. But more often than not, a spirit will resort to trickery or harassment to enlist a living person to execute their intended actions here in our plane of existence. Destroy the physical object, and destroy the connection. The catch is going to be figuring out exactly which object it is. There’s a good chance this girl being manipulated doesn’t even know which object in her life is connecting her to this force.”
Trey squeezed my hand. This is what we had come to hear: that there was a way to end Violet’s game. Even if the solution was going to be difficult and dangerous, we knew we had to pursue it.
“But I must warn you, guys,” Father Fahey continued. “From the sound of it, this girl Violet seems to have an arrangement with a very powerful spirit. This thing isn’t going to be easily overthrown, and if it’s viewing the living through Violet’s eyes, then it’s probably already aware that you’re suspicious of it, and she’ll be wary of you. You’re going to have to be very cautious in your approach.”
Father Fahey asked me to repeat for him as best I could remember the stories that Violet had told at Olivia’s party, and he took extensive notes as I tried not to leave ou
t any details. Trey chimed in during my retelling of Olivia’s story, as his real-life experience had followed Violet’s predictions during the car crash. I hesitated after finishing Candace’s story, and said, “It was my turn next, but when Violet tried to tell my story, she couldn’t come up with anything good. She said she could only think of something having to do with fire, but it didn’t feel right.”
“Interesting,” Father Fahey commented, adjusting the frames of his glasses. “There could be any number of possibilities for that, but if part of this spirit’s successful acquisition of a soul is linked to the prediction of death, then maybe a soul on the other side stepped in to protect you.”
“Jennie,” I mumbled. Of course Father Fahey knew that I’d once had a twin. He had baptized us, and delivered the eulogy at Jennie’s funeral service.
“If you remember back to your catechism classes, you’ll recall that we believe all souls who have passed into heaven and purgatory are part of God’s spiritual union. The church triumphant, which is how we formally refer to souls who have been admitted to heaven, can be called upon by the living for help with their lives on earth,” Father Fahey explained.
I tried to think back to Sunday-school lessons I attended as a kid at St. Monica’s after church services, but I couldn’t remember learning anything about relying on the help of the dead. Trey, a much more critical thinker than me, was already summarizing what the priest was telling us and drawing his own conclusions.
“So, basically, you’re saying that believing in ghosts is a fundamental part of our religion,” Trey said dubiously. “And that ghosts can meddle with us whenever they want.”
Father Fahey smiled, seemingly pleased with Trey’s interpretation of his lesson. “I didn’t use the word ‘ghost.’ But in our faith, we believe that souls are eternal. A soul that has been dedicated to God remains dedicated to God and can intercede in heaven on behalf of the living.”
I continued with my memory of Olivia’s party, concluding with the premonition of Mischa’s death by choking. I never would have thought that night at Olivia’s house on her birthday that I would end up in a church basement, resuming my religious education—yet there we were, doing exactly that. Then, in the spirit of full disclosure, Trey told Father Fahey about all three times we used the Ouija board, and the priest shook his head disapprovingly.
“I strongly urge the two of you to dispose of that as quickly as possible. You have no way of controlling what kind of energy passes through something like that. It’s a horrible shame those instruments of evil are sold as novelties in toy stores. They are highly dangerous tools and should not be handled by children.”
If any adult other than Father Fahey had referred to us as children, we probably would have rolled our eyes.
“But if Violet is possessed, how else are we supposed to gain any kind of advantage over her? I mean, we need some kind of guidance,” Trey objected in our defense. “We’re, like, helpless against her.”
“Violet is not possessed. Possession has to do with demons, and demons are very different from spirits. Demons rarely have goals other than just to deliver messages and torment. Why, in fact, demons are fairly straightforward to remove,” Father Fahey stated, waving his hand toward the table in the center of the room. For the first time since we’d taken our seats in that room, I realized its true purpose. The room must have been used for exorcisms. Upon closer examination, I observed there were ties attached to the table, like seat belts, at points where they might fasten over the chest and legs of anyone reclining on the table, restraining their movements. The walls were bare, devoid of any object that might be torn off and flung across the room. The sudden knowledge that possessed people had been brought to this space, and that demons had been released right into the very area where we were sitting, made me shiver. “There’s no need to be afraid,” Father Fahey consoled me, noticing my discomfort. “It’s a very straightforward process. And a fairly common one too, I’m sorry to say.”
Trey looked around the room suspiciously. “This room is used for . . .”
“Exorcisms. Yes,” Father Fahey said nonchalantly. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but every church has their own process for dealing with such things. It’s a community service provided, although one not frequently discussed. This room is thoroughly cleansed after every use, and I’ll admit it’s been a while since the last time we had an appointment down here. The devil’s strength is in fear, and the more we give in to our fears, the stronger he becomes. Spirits with vengeances, however . . .”
He trailed off, and then took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Spirits can gain their power any number of ways. Souls can take a lot of anger with them into the afterlife, as well as a lot of ambition and intelligence. Because they’re halfway between here and”—he waved his hand toward the ceiling and then toward the floor—“everywhere else, they can linger where they are for as long as they want. They’re the only ones who can banish themselves into eternity, and unfortunately for us, sometimes those with axes to grind overstay their welcome.”
“So there’s no way to really get rid of them? No ghostbusters, no magical chants, no pointing them in the direction of the light?” Trey asked, sounding hopeless.
Father Fahey shook his head, a little amused by Trey’s question. “You’ve seen a lot of movies.”
We shared with him as much as we knew about Violet, her grandmother’s quarrel with Arthur Fitzpatrick, Violet’s life prior to her arrival in town, and her inheritance of her grandmother’s mansion. I could hear desperation in our voices as we tried to make sense of it all, and I wondered if the priest could tell just how urgently we wanted his help. How badly we needed someone older and wiser to instruct us, or to at least believe us that with one misstep on our part, either Mischa or I would die next.
“Well, I can tell you this,” he said, sitting back in his chair and folding his wrinkled hands over his belly. “When spirits latch onto a servant in our world, they can only see and experience our world through that servant’s eyes. If they have any weakness at all in this situation, it’s that: limited vision. From what you’ve shared with me, I would suggest that you focus on destroying whatever that object is that connects Violet to the spirit controlling her. It won’t rid her, or any of us, for that matter, of the spirit forever if it chooses to continue to try to find a channel back into our world, but it will be a significant enough setback that it will slow the spirit down in achieving its goal. I wouldn’t bother trying to figure out the spirit’s goal in an attempt to bring an end to this. That could take you far too long; it could be far too dangerous.”
I cocked my head in confusion, not sure if I understood the priest correctly. “But if we destroy the object, how will that bring an end to the curse on me and Mischa? Wouldn’t that just prevent Violet from pulling more people into this in the future?”
Father Fahey said, “The object serves as the connecting thread between Violet and the spirit, but it also serves as the means by which the spirit’s will is released into our world. Separate Violet from this object, or destroy it, and you will interrupt this curse.”
“So how do we know which object?” Trey asked. “Can you help us figure this out?”
At Trey’s request, the temperature in the room seemed to change, and Father Fahey shifted position. “I’m terribly sorry, but other than offering advice, I can’t help the two of you at all in this matter. I’m the managing director of this parish, the only priest still capable of saying mass and running administration. My responsibilities to the people of this town and the people who reside in this building are too great for me to risk any kind of . . . spiritual contamination.”
I felt my chest ache and my throat begin to close as if I was going to start crying. Trey and I were really alone in this miserable mess. The only person in our town who believed us, and who we could imagine might possibly be able to help us, was refusing to do so. We were going to have to figure out how to save ourselv
es, or more specifically, me and Mischa, on our own.
* * *
That night after Mom got home, Candace’s mom surprised us with a visit. Mom put on a pot of coffee, and Candace’s mom handed me a plastic bag after taking a seat in the kitchen.
“Candace’s father brought this back from Hawaii,” she explained as I accepted the bag. “Candace apparently bought these for you and Mischa on their first night of the trip.”
I peeked inside the plastic bag and saw inside of it what looked like a cheap toy ukulele. The plastic bag was from a gift shop in Hawaii, and a crumpled receipt was at the bottom of the bag. I thought of the music that had filled my head and distracted me in the days before Candace flew to Hawaii, and then throughout midterms. It had been my strongest warning from Olivia, and I hadn’t acted on it.
Candace’s mom stayed in our kitchen, sobbing and talking to Mom, long after I’d turned in for the night and tucked the ukulele into the box in my closet where I’d stowed all my other problematic possessions. I could smell cigarette smoke, the reassuring scent of company, and guessed my mom was probably counseling Candace’s mom about losing a child. Not long after I heard the clock chime midnight, Trey texted me asking if I wanted him to come over, and I assured him that I was okay and that he should stay in his own room for the night. The sadness wafting off of Candace’s mom seemed to fill our whole house, settling in my bedroom and surrounding me as I fell asleep.
* * *
On Monday, I woke up at dawn without the help of an alarm clock and dressed for class, not the least bit happy about returning to school. Before homeroom, I walked directly toward Mr. Dean’s classroom and entered boldly while Trey waited for me in the hallway with his books.
“Mr. Dean?” I asked, causing him to look up from the papers he was grading at his desk. “I have some bad news. I didn’t do so well on my midterms, and I’m resigning from my position as class treasurer to focus on bringing up my grades.”