Sammie was lying in his bed, wrapped up to his neck in a sweat-stained bed sheet. A dusty old television sat on a wall bracket and flashed in front of him. Brightly drawn cartoon characters frolicked onscreen.
Angela waved a hand. “Hello, Sammie. How are you feeling?”
The boy said nothing. His gaze was transfixed on the television, his eyes unblinking. Angela could not be sure, but he seemed to be muttering to himself very quietly.
Tim stepped forward and perched on the end of the Sammie’s bed. “Hey, little man. So…you dig South Park, huh? Who’s your favourite character? I like that fat kid, Cartman. Respect my authoritaar.”
Sammie said nothing. But there was movement beneath his sheets.
Tim continued his attempts to get through to the boy. Angela was lost as he continued to make bizarre references she didn’t understand. “Have they killed Kenny yet? Is this the one where Cartman has an Anal probe shoot out of his ass? Huh? Sammie, are you listening to me?”
The movement beneath the bed sheets got faster.
What is he doing? He’s in some kind of trance.
Suddenly Angela realised eaxactly what the movement beneath the sheets was. A wave of disgust flooded over her. “Tim,” she said, horrified. “I think he’s…”
Tim leapt away from the bed, equally horrified as he reached the same realisation she had. “Sammie, you stop that right now,” he demanded. “That’s really rude. And gross!”
Angela couldn’t believe the young boy was masturbating in front of them. The sheets were moving up and down rapidly, Sammie’s small hand pumping away like a piston.
“Turn off the television,” said Angela. “He’s in a trance or something.”
Tim looked around. “I don’t see a remote.”
Angela couldn’t see one either. She went over to the television and rose up on tiptoes, reaching for the power button. She jabbed it with her index finger and South Park disappeared. ‘Screw you guys, I’m going-’
Click!
“Look out,” Tim shouted at her.
Angela spun around. Sammie was standing on the bed, his naked body taut like a malnourished fox. He wore only a pair of grimy underpants, which did nothing to hide his virulent erection. Sammie glared down at Angela, growled like a wolf. The noise was guttural, unfit for a child, or even anything human.
Angela raised her hands in front of her. “Sammie, maybe you should just get back into bed and we’ll talk.”
Sammie leapt at her, seeming to hang in the air as he covered the ten feet between them in a single bound. His bony fingers closed instantly around her throat and she was deafened by the high-pitched shrieks that escaped his lungs. Her back hit the wall and, for a moment, she worried that the mounted television would rock loose and fall on her head.
Tim rushed over to help. Together they struggled to remove Sammie’s clawed fingers from around her throat. The boy was trying to snap her windpipe. Angela tried to cry out, but unnaturally strong hands restricted her voice. Her eyes felt like they were going to pop loose from her skull. He’s going to kill me.
Tim grabbed Sammie’s left arm, but failed to gain enough leverage to pull it away. Angela felt the blood vessels in her face overloading as the pressure increased in her skull. Frantically, she prayed for an idea.
Then she had one.
She stopped struggling with Sammie and pointed her left hand at the television above her head. She made eye contact with Tim and tried to make him understand what she had thought of. He has to press the button.
After what seemed like an eternity, with Angela’s life choking away with every second, Tim finally understood what she was trying to tell him.
Tim leapt up and bashed the television’s power button with his palm.
“Hidey Hooooo, children!”
The television flashed back on.
Sammie released his grip.
Tim placed a hand against the boy’s shoulder and eased him back towards the bed. Angela slumped against the wall, clutching at her throat and hacking up phlegm. Her throat felt like sandpaper. Another couple of seconds and she would’ve been unconscious for sure. Or dead.
Tim got Sammie tucked back into bed and then came to check on Angela. He helped her stand up by putting an arm around her. “Helsinki, are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” she said, wondering if it were true. “I think so, anyway. What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but he’s the strongest ten-year old I know. If he hadn’t let go, I don’t know what I would have done. We need to be more careful from now on. He’s dangerous.”
“No shit,” said Angela, fingering her bruised throat. Her mouth had filled with coppery saliva.
“Come on.” Tim moved her away from Sammie’s bed. “Let’s go get you checked out.”
“I’m fine,” she said, but quickly reconsidered. “Although, I could use a drink.”
Tim looked at his watch. “It’s one in the afternoon!” He grinned wide. “What took you so long?”
Angela let out a laugh and wasn’t surprised to find that it hurt a lot.
CHAPTER TEN
When Angela and Tim entered the lounge they were surprised to find Jessica sitting alone. The lady of the house had a half-finished bottle of chardonnay in front of her and was nursing an empty glass as though she was contemplating whether or not to pour another.
Angela took a seat beside her while Tim went behind the bar to get drinks. They’d agreed to have just one, considering the early hour. “Are you okay, Jessica?” Angela asked.
Jessica replied with a grim smile. “I’m fine. Just, you know, thinking about things. I used to be able to do my thinking without alcohol, but lately things have become…fuzzy. It’s hard to think straight in this place since my husband passed. Joseph was always the man about the house, keeping everyone busy. It’s lonely without him.”
Angela nodded. “I can imagine. Have you thought about living somewhere else?”
“I have, but this was Joseph’s home. It wouldn’t feel right to sell it. Anyway, it’s still in probate for the time being while the lawyers sort out my late husband’s estate. Perhaps I’ll think more about it later.”
Tim sat down with the drinks: a whisky for Angela and a beer for him. Then he said, “We went to see Sammie again.”
Jessica sighed. “I hope you didn’t turn off his program.”
“We did,” Tim said. “Won’t make that mistake again.”
“I’m sorry if either of you were hurt. I’ll tell Frank he needs to pay closer attention to the both of you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Angela, rubbing her sore neck. I only nearly died. “What was more concerning, Jessica, was what he was doing while he was watching the television.”
“I know what you’re referring to.” Jessica sighed and the shame was abundant in her eyes. “He started touching himself a few weeks ago. The first time he did it, the maids were still around. He ejaculated into his hand and threw it into Margaret’s face. That was the last we saw of her, of course.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure it wasn’t her first time,” said Tim, but then seemed embarrassed by what he had said. “Sorry. Bad joke.”
“Indeed,” said Jessica. “None of this is funny to me, Mr Golding. The only reason you are here is because of the previous success you’ve had with finding rational explanations behind several high-profile cases. You were not, however, brought her for your wit.”
“I apologise, Ms Raymeady. It’s not my intention to offend you.”
Jessica huffed and poured began pouring herself a new glass of wine. “That’s quite alright. So…have you formed any opinions about my son yet? Can you help?”
Tim shook his head and let out a sigh. “I really don’t know yet, but I will try my best to find an answer. I think it’s safe to say that something very strange has happened to him. I for one would like to know exactly what.”
“Me too,” said Angela. “I’m determined to stay and get to the botto
m of this.”
Jessica seemed to lighten at the sound of that. “So you’ll perform an exorcism?”
Angela frowned. “I didn’t say that. I’m not about to admit that Evil has anything to do with this.”
Jessica seemed frustrated. “Then what help are you going to provide?”
“I’ve a lot of experience with sick people behaving in bizarre ways. I’m certain my observations will tell me more about what is wrong with your son. I won’t need a Bible to help you.”
“And I’ll run some tests,” said Tim. “Try to find out if there’re any environmental factors.”
Jessica let loose a breath. It whistled between her teeth. “Thank you, both. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go have a lie down now that that is settled. Please don’t hesitate to contact Frank if you need anything.”
“Will do,” said Tim, waving goodbye. Once the lady of the house was gone, he turned to Angela with a sad look on his face. “Poor lady. I think she’s at breaking point.”
Angela agreed. “Can’t say I blame her. This whole thing is very strange.”
“You ever see anything like it before?”
“I’ve seen a lot of messed up things in my time, none of which I wish to speak of now.”
Tim looked her in the eye. “Do you believe in Evil? Have you ever witnessed it?”
“I…yes, I believe so. Once.”
Tim nodded. “Charles Crippley?”
“Yes, but it’s a story for another time. Have you ever encountered a genuine case of – what do you call it – the ‘paranormal’?”
“I’ve seen a few things, here and there, which I can’t explain. Most of the time, though, it’s just hoaxes and superstition. There was one time…”
Angela leant forward. “Go on.”
Tim shrugged and seemed to change his mind about wanting to talk about it. “Well, let’s just say that at the beginning of my career I was indeed a conman, just like Frank thought I was when he booked my services. I was screwing people over, left, right, and centre, playing off their grief to steal their money. Truth be told, I was a pretty reprehensible piece of shit, but one night in a hotel changed my entire outlook on life. Now I try to help people. I try to find rational explanations for the things that are scaring them. Ninety-nine per cent of the time I manage to do just that. The other one per cent keeps me awake at night.”
Angela let out a joyless chuckle. “Funny, I feel like I used to be nothing but a conman too, back when I worked with the church. I played off of people’s grief and gave them the same line of bullshit that you probably did. I just wrapped it up in a different bow.”
“Guess, we’re going to make pretty good partners then, huh?”
Angela shrugged her shoulders and felt a knot come loose from her injured neck muscles. “Think the jury is still out on that one for the time being.”
Tim nodded, then stared into space for a moment as he seemed to turn over a thought in his mind. Eventually, he said, “So what’s the plan? You have any ideas how to tackle this?”
Angela shrugged. “I plan on spending more time around Sammie. See what I can observe. When I was enlisted as an exorcist I took an interest in psychology. I thought it would be pertinent. In most cases a person’s mind is a lot more likely to be damaged than their soul is. Anyway, what about you? What ‘tests’ are you going to perform?”
“I’m going to confront Ms Raymeady’s assumptions head-on. If she believes there is some sort of demon at work then I will first seek to disprove that.”
“How?”
Tim smiled. “Best way to get a bear’s attention is to poke it.”
Angela didn’t know what that meant, but she had a feeling things were about to get weirder.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Angela sat patiently on an antique chair while Tim hefted his equipment up to the first floor. He was amassing it in a cluttered circle outside of Sammie’s bedroom. Frank had agreed to help with the experiments and was currently inside setting up some infrared cameras, microphones, and seismographs. Tim explained he would be able to record the data and video feeds onto his bulky laptop twenty-four hours a day. It all seemed like Atari videogames to Angela – boys and their toys – but she was determined to show Tim, and his methods, the proper respect. They were colleagues after all. Although I have no idea which of us is the man.
Tim came up the stairs, now on his fourth equipment run. This time he was carrying what looked like a doctor’s saddle bag. “That’s everything,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his free hand.
Angela stood up from her chair and nodded to the satchel he was carrying. “What’s in the bag?”
“Medical supplies. I want to see if Sammie is physically healthy before we explore anything else.”
“Are you qualified to perform medical tests?”
“Nope, but I haven’t been sued yet. Besides, it’s not as hard as it looks.”
Frank opened the door to Sammie’s room and stepped outside to join them. “Your equipment is all set up. What’s all the rest of this junk you’ve left out here?”
“Oh, you know, just an Ecto Containment Unit, proton packs, the usual.”
Frank stared at him blankly.
Tim shook his head and sniffed. “That was a joke. The small machine that looks like a coffee maker is a blood analyser. The larger machine on the right is an ultrasound machine and heart rate monitor.”
“Where did you get all this stuff?” Angela asked. A toy store or a joke shop?
“Various places. Auctions mostly, but some stuff I got pretty cheap from China. They don’t give a shit who they’re selling to over there.”
Angela stood beside one of the cherub statues outside Sammie’s door. “Let’s get started then.”
Frank backed them as they entered the bedroom. Tim brought his doctor’s bag along and set it down on a nearby dresser. He opened the clasp at the top and pulled the two sides apart, before reaching in and pulling out a syringe.
“What do you plan on doing with that?” Frank demanded, his eyes wide open beneath raised brows.
“I thought I would use it to play darts. What do you think I’m going to do with it? I’m going to draw some blood.”
“He’s already been poked and prodded enough.”
“Well,” said Tim. “If you don’t mind, I would like to take a small amount of blood anyway.”
“You’re very welcome,” came Sammie’s reply from the far side of the room. The boy was staring out of the large bay window behind his crayon-covered desk. Thankfully Sammie was wearing clothes this afternoon.
Frank rubbed at his eyes and shrugged. The man seemed tired. “I suppose if Sammie doesn’t mind….”
Tim nodded and headed over to the boy, who had already rolled up one of his shirtsleeves to offer out his veiny arm. There was a knowing smile on his face that made Angela uncomfortable even from ten feet away.
“Okay, Sammie,” Tim said soothingly. “This will just feel like a little pinch.”
“It’s okay. Pain doesn’t bother me, Mr Golding. Go ahead and take your blood.”
Angela watched in anticipation while Tim rubbed Sammie’s arm with a disposable alcohol swab. Next, he uncapped the syringe and placed the nib against the boy’s flesh. Angela stepped closer, to get a better look at Tim’s medical skills, but also to be nearby if Sammie had another bout of aggression. She needed to watch Tim’s back the same way he had watched hers. I didn’t choose the thuglife, the thuglife chose me.
Tim prodded the needle against Sammie’s skin, but there seemed to be resistance. Tim moved the needle away and repositioned it somewhere else. He pushed the needle again and Angela cringed as it scratched against the boy’s flesh, failing to puncture the skin.
Sammie was smiling politely. “Is there a problem, Mr Golding?”
“I…I’m finding it hard to break a vein.”
“Perhaps you should try harder.”
Tim cleared his throat and suddenly seemed ner
vous. His hands shook as he continued trying to break the skin. He prodded and poked, stabbed and pricked.
Eventually the needle went in.
It went in deep.
A torrent of blood arced high into the air. The dark-red arterial spray drenched Tim’s face like a hot shower. He stumbled backwards, spluttering and spitting. His thighs hit against Sammie’s desk and he tumbled to his knees. Angela dashed forward to help him, but quickly realised it was Sammie who needed the help. The boy was bleeding monstrously, his bodily fluids jetting into the air and forming grisly puddles on the floor.
“Jesus Christ!” Frank shouted as he rushed across the room. “What the hell have you done?”
Sammie snarled as Frank approached him. He spat a mouthful of viscous black fluid right in his face. Frank stumbled sideways and wiped at his face. He was clearly disgusted by the foul liquid dripping from his hands.
“Blasphemer!” Sammie bellowed, his jet eyes bulging like squids. “Speak not the name of the great charlatan.”
Angela stood in shock, unable to move. The boy was like a demon out of Hell itself. A vessel of rage and hatred. Not a ten-year-old boy at all.
Then the bleeding stopped, as suddenly as it had started. The arc of blood disappeared like someone had turned off a tap. Sammie slowly turned to face the bay window and almost seemed to slither towards it. He sat down at the chair of his drawing desk and began sketching with his crayons. His bare feet had left bloody prints on the plush cream carpet but now dangled from the chair innocently.
“What the fuck just happened?” Frank shouted at the top of his lungs.
“I have no idea,” Tim spluttered. “A syringe can’t open up an artery like that. And bleeding that heavy doesn’t just stop either.”
Angela bent over. The tang of fresh blood had taken her mind to a place of nightmares and misery. She felt dizzy. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Tim came and put an arm around her. “Come on. Let’s get out of here until we can think this through.”
“Yes,” said Sammie, sketching away calmly. “Why don’t you all GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE AND LEAVE ME ALONE?” The boy’s voice was the deep baritone of a circus strongman. The words were so loud and full of bass that Angela’s ears rattled against her skull. The surprise of it stopped her dead in her tracks for a moment, but Tim gently pulled on her arm and got her moving again.
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