by Glenn Porzig
"Now, in your book, you assert the killer was some sort of evil entity... do you still stand by your claim that this is a true story?"
"Let me ask you, Miss Taylor, do you believe in God?"
"Yes, of course I do, but..."
"Then why do you find it so hard to believe in the Devil? People these days seem to pick and choose which parts of the Bible they believe. As if shifting public opinion, or modern science, has any bearing at all on the authority of the word of God. I say, if you believe in the Bible, then you should believe the stories about demons. Matthew 17:18 states 'And Jesus rebuked the demon, and it came out of him, and the boy was healed instantly.' Miss Taylor, I say to you this—Evil does exist, and it takes the form of a demon here on Earth."
"That's a bold statement. In your book you also claim that Mary Carver killed her own family while demonically possessed. And that you, as this 'Brother Jamie' character, helped to save her?"
"That's right."
"How do you respond to critics who say you're just a hack writer that inserted himself into a sensational murder mystery to make a quick buck? Or, even worse, those who say your inside information about the case makes you a suspect?"
"I say the murderer has never been found because we cast him back to Hell! And, I say they better pray that he hasn't returned—because refusing to believe or just wishing him away won't save you!"
"And do you fear for your own safety? I seem to recall in your book the so called 'demon' threatened you," she asked.
"Yes... yes, he said he'd skin me alive. I'm sorry, but this interview is over. You both need to get out of here—now!"
***
Sister Marian's need to speak with Jamie had won out over her fear of leaving the convent. She had driven over to his house to confront him, but her plans were shattered when she saw the WYKN news van parked in his driveway. She continued on past his house, glad that she hadn't been spotted. Her talk with Jamie would have to wait.
Marian turned around and headed back toward the convent for the evening. During her drive the whispers started to haunt her again, this time louder than before. Though still unintelligible, they brought an uneasy feeling of dread down in the pit of her stomach.
She parked her car and hastily made her way to the entrance of the convent. Before she could get to the door, she was grabbed roughly from behind.
Reflexes and muscle memory took over and she hurled her attacker away from her. He landed on the concrete with a loud painful sounding smack. She looked down and was shocked to see the homeless man that had been the recipient of her charity so many times in the past.
"Mr. Calhoun! I'm so, so sorry! I didn't... you just startled me and—I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"
The vagrant sat up and stared at her as he slowly got to his feet.
"You bitch! Don't think I'm going to 'turn the other cheek' for that!"
He lunged at her again, she dodged to the side and he stumbled to the ground. He rolled over and grinned at her, his palms bloody from scraping against the rough pavement.
"Don! What's gotten into you?"
"Mr. Calhoun's not here right now... and you know what's gotten into him!"
The voice was raspy, it wasn't his voice—it was inhuman. A sudden chill swept through her. Her every instinct told her to run, but she was frozen in fear. The unnatural panic even overrode her conditioned responses.
This time as he approached her, she hesitated and he was able to grab her. His liquored breath was like a hot oven in her face as he leaned in and whispered to her.
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary... my how you've grown."
He suddenly thrust his arms out, holding her by the shoulders and nearly lifting her off her feet. His head tilted unnaturally "It's been a while," he said, as a maniacal smile crossed his lips, "I've missed you."
She looked into his eyes, they were glazed over... soulless. Her fear transformed into self preservation, and she moved as if on autopilot. She thrust her arms up between his, expanding them outwards as she did so, forcing his hands to lose their grip on her.
Up went her knee—violently into his groin. Down he went—doubled over in pain. She straddled him, pinning his shoulders to the ground with her knees. She made the sign of the cross over him and began to pray.
"I exorcise thee, every unclean spirit, in the name of God the Father Almighty, and in the name of Jesus Christ, His Son, our Lord and Judge, and in the power of the Holy Spirit, that thou depart from this creature of God, Don Calhoun which our Lord hath designed to call unto His holy temple, that it may be made the temple of the living God, and that the Holy Spirit may dwell therein."
He struggled and howled. His eyes rolled back in his head.
"You'll not get rid of me that easy—bitch!"
"Through the same Christ our Lord, who shall come to judge the living and the dead, and the world by fire. Amen!"
"Be seeing you..."
There was a sudden rush of wind and the vagrant's body went limp. The unclean spirit left him, but she knew he would be back... and he could be anyone.
***
Vicki sat behind the desk on the set of the WYKN nightly news, waiting for the commercial break to end. The floor director shouted "Thirty seconds", then "Fifteen", "Ten" and finally "Five". He then started silently counting down with his fingers, when he reached one he pointed her toward a camera.
"Welcome back to Action 14 news, I'm Vicki Taylor, and tonight I'm bringing you this exclusive special update on the Carver family murders that were so eerily similar to the recent Reid family murders," she shifted easily from a smile to a more serious expression.
"One striking difference is, in the Reid case, the entire family of four were found murdered. But, as you may remember, Mary Carver, the thirteen year old daughter of Patrick and Barbara Carver, was the sole survivor of that horrific event." A picture of the young redheaded girl filled the screen.
"After she was found on the scene covered in blood, the authorities said she couldn't remember what happened that tragic night. Mary spent the next year in rehabilitation, and then disappeared. Who could really blame her, after what she had witnessed?" Vicki turned to the next page on the script she was reading.
"There are two prevailing theories about that night, and the part Mary Carver played in it. The first, and most prominent, being that she was just a poor girl driven out of her mind by the sights she witnessed. The sole survivor of the tragedy that took the life of her entire family. The second, and more fringe theory, sees Mary Carver as a modern day Lizzie Borden. A young girl who snapped, and got away with murder. This theory seems to have taken hold and become something of an urban legend around her neighborhood." Vicki took a breath, slowly let it out, and then continued.
"So, the world may never know what really happened that fateful night. But, there has been plenty of speculation. Rumors have spread about the alleged satanic nature of the murders, the occult symbology, as well as the significance of the dates. And now, with such a similar murder happening exactly thirteen years later, will the police be reopening the case?"
"I had the rare opportunity to sit down with the reclusive James Nichols, author of the best selling book 'Bloody Sunday: The Carver Family Murders', and asked him what he thinks about the latest murders."
"We can only pray that the killer of the Carver family hasn't returned," said James Nichols in the prerecorded video clip.
"Nichols' unlikely claim is that the thirteen year old daughter, Mary Carver, was actually the killer. But, according to his wild accusations... she was not responsible for her actions, but was possessed by demonic forces at the time," she let slip a slight smirk.
"Police, of course, have discounted this theory. They say the conditions of the deceased would indicate either multiple assailants, or one very strong suspect with the advantage of surprise. Forensic experts say a thirteen year old girl would lack the upper-body strength necessary to carry out such a brutal act."
"Whatever the truth of the C
arver Massacre, one thing is for certain. The killer is still at large, and may have been responsible for the Reid murders!" she dramatically put down her papers.
"I'm Vicki Taylor, please join us again tomorrow, when we bring you more from our exclusive interview with author James Nichols, and the latest on this fascinating ongoing investigation."
***
"Hi, I'm Brad."
"I'm Christina."
"And I'm Adam."
"Together we are Elder Spirits Paranormal, and tonight we're investigating the scene of the Carver family massacre. As you may have heard, this place is extremely haunted." Brad paused like he was listening for something, or waiting for a ghost to show itself.
"The ESP crew is very excited to be invited to investigate the amazing claims that have been recently brought to our attention," said Brad, as he looked directly into the camera.
"We've had the opportunity to interview some of the previous homeowners, and we'll have some interesting stories to share," said Christina, stopping to give a broad smile.
"And, we hope to have some of our own experiences during the course of our investigation," said Adam, briefly spinning the camera around to face himself, before turning it back towards Brad and Christina.
"I'll be leading the investigation, Christina is our researcher, and Adam will be our cameraman documenting everything. Also, joining us tonight for the first time will be Amelia Vigil, a local psychic medium. So, let's get started!"
"Earlier tonight, I set up multiple remote cameras, both in the bedrooms upstairs where the murders took place, and in the kitchen, where there's been some recent activity. Anything, and everything, that happens tonight will be captured by our DVR system for later review," said Adam.
"Our research has shown that no family has occupied this house for more than three years in a row since the Carver murders. Something is scaring away the homeowners, and we intend to find out what," said Christina.
"We'll start in the kitchen where current homeowner Karen Wright says her young son, Bobby, recently had a scary encounter," said Brad. "Okay, that was a good take. We'll edit in the interview we shot with Karen earlier. So, lets stop here for a minute, and we can shoot Amy entering the house. That sound good, Adam?"
"Sure, just let me get positioned. Would one of you go bring her in?"
Christina made her way past Adam to get the psychic.
"Let's keep the pace up. I want everything in place to start our EVPs at the Witching Hour," Brad loudly reminded everyone.
Outside, Amelia was pacing nervously at the curb in front of the house, her light blond hair glowed golden in the waning light of the setting sun. She had her arms crossed tight against her chest, in a futile attempt to keep warm in the rapidly cooling night air. Amelia saw Christina approaching and straightened up, trying to not look so scared.
"Are you ready for me?" Amelia asked.
"Yeah, time for your big debut. Break a leg!"
Christina noticed the look of worry that still showed on Amelia's face. "Are you doing okay? There's no need to be nervous."
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Amelia replied.
***
Inside Mike Newell's office, Vicki was leaning back in a chair, relaxed, with a smug look on her face. Her boss knew she was in full prima donna mode, but it wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with her like that. Dealing with television personalities was one of the most frustrating things about his job. And his job was far from being stress free.
"So, Vicki, let's say that your story tonight does good in the ratings—where do you go from here? What's your follow up?"
Vicki beamed, she knew Newell too well and had anticipated this. She already had an answer prepared for just this question.
"Remember that young guy—Miller, um, Lee Miller. The weirdo kid the cops were looking at for the Carver killings?"
"What about him?" asked Mike.
"I've already got my people looking for him. I plan to get an exclusive with him about the new murders. We can play up the sympathy for him being wrongly accused for the original murders. It should make for some good TV."
"Well, if you can convince him to sit down for an exclusive, I'll give you the air time for the segment. The audience does seem to be really eating up the news about the old case. You just keep focused on that, and try not to aggravate Phipps. You can do that for me, can't you?"
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of doing anything to upset Caroline," Vicki smiled.
***
Sister Marian sat in bed with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, and chin pressed down against her knees. She rocked back and forth nervously. She had been in a state of shock ever since she heard the demon speak to her. Unable to sleep, thoughts of demons, and murders plagued her like a waking nightmare.
Suddenly she convulsed, threw her head back, and collapsed onto her bed. In her minds-eye she once again could see from the point of view of the demon as it stalked another victim. Her heart raced when she recognized the house as the demon's vessel approached it.
"No... no," she cried.
She struggled, her hands tightly gripping the sheets. She violently shook her head from side to side, but was powerless to do anything but watch.
***
James Nichols was startled by the insistent pounding on the door. He threw on a robe, and made his way down the grand staircase. He paused when he arrived, unsure if he should acknowledge being home.
"Mister Nichols? Open up, it's the police," said Officer Williams as he paused between knocks on the frame of the heavy wooden door. James slowly unlatched the many locks and hesitantly opened the door.
"What is it, Officer?" he said through the crack in the barely opened doorway. The police officer was standing there looking out across the grounds, scanning for something.
"I'm sorry to be bothering you so late, but we received a report of a prowler on your property. Would it be all right if I came in to take a look around?"
"By all means, Officer."
Shocked, James quickly opened the door. He certainly didn't want anyone breaking into his house in the middle of the night. The policeman stepped inside, and James locked up behind him.
It wasn't until the officer was all the way in the house that something inside James started to nag at him. Something wasn't right, he just couldn't put his finger on it. James turned and walked toward the officer.
"What did you say your name was again, Officer?"
The officer turned around. It was then that James knew what his mistake was. In his haste he had failed to check the officer's eyes. The officer slowly pulled off his sunglasses to reveal his soulless eyes. The police officer's sunglasses dropped to the ground and shattered under his polished black shoe as he began slowly advancing.
"He didn't say his name. It's Williams, not that it matters... you haven't met him before. But you and I have met. And I've been waiting to see you again... Brother Jamie."
James turned and scrambled for the door, his feet failing to find traction on the slick hardwood floor. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. His fingers clawed at the multiple locks that now trapped him inside with the very evil that had been haunting his nightmares for the past thirteen years. The irony that the locks, designed to keep trouble out, now served to keep him in, didn't escape him.
The possessed officer grabbed up James from behind and effortlessly dragged him close enough to whisper in his ear.
"I believe I have a promise to keep," he laughed as James began screaming uncontrollably.
Officer Williams dragged James toward the kitchen, his slippers squeaking as they glided across the polished floor.
"Where do you keep the knives? For your sake, I hope they're sharp!"
James became even more panicked, but then he saw what might be his last chance. The officer's sidearm was still in his holster. James grabbed for the gun, but the demon's reflexes were faster.
"We wouldn't want you to get hurt. Not yet..." he snatched the author's h
and just as his fingertips touched the cool metal of the pistol. With a quick jerk, he easily snapped his wrist, shattering the bones, and causing James to writhe in pain.
"I hope that wasn't your writing hand..." he sneered.
"Now, where were we? Oh, that's right, knives! Looks like you have a nice selection. But why choose?" He grabbed up the whole block of knives with one hand, and held Nichols' throat with the other.
The author was lifted off his feet, and right out of his slippers. His toes barely dragged the ground as the possessed policeman carried him effortlessly by the neck across the room. Finally stopping, the demon slammed him hard against the wall, and smiled wickedly. The drywall cracked in a spiderweb pattern behind Nichols, sending a cloud of white powder into the air. Crosses, dislodged from the wall, fell to the floor at his bare feet.
"Believe me, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me."
James' shriek echoed through the cavernous empty house.
***
Sister Marian snapped back to consciousness. She frantically looked around to verify she was still in her own room. Seeing from someone else's point of view was disorienting, but it wasn't like watching a movie play out before her eyes. It was totally immersive, as if she were actually the one doing the horrible things that she witnessed.
Marian was hyperventilating, her sheets soaked with sweat. It had been almost too much to bear seeing the family of strangers killed right before her eyes only days before, but this was her friend, and this time she knew it was really happening.
It was too horrific, the feeling of being powerless to save him. She never wanted to feel that powerless again.
She forced herself to snap out of it. Her grip on the sheets loosened, blood slowly returning to her white knuckles. Once she was able to get her breathing under control, she snatched up her phone. Her trembling fingers dialed Detective Drake.
Her voice not much more than a whimper, she called out to him.
"Alex... hurry."
***
Sitting in the dark of the Wright family's kitchen, Brad, Christina, and Amelia were gathered around a digital recorder. Adam was standing behind them with his video camera on infrared mode. The green and white images made everything look surreal in his viewfinder.