Demon Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  “Oh.” Lena Sandoval looked partly mollified, but partly not. “I’m still not sure I understand…”

  Lacey smiled. “Because there are no official records, we’re turning to elders who might have heard stories. Rumors that might have survived. From what I understand, your father worked at the mission for a long time.”

  “Yes,” Lena said, sounding somewhat more satisfied. “Come on in here.” She led Lacey into the living room. “Dad, Lacey Fitzpatrick is here.”

  The old man looked tiny in the oversized recliner. He was thin and frail, his mostly bald head dotted with tufts of wispy hair and age spots. His eyes looked huge behind thick glasses, but they gleamed with interest.

  “Hello,” Lacey said, crossing to him. She put out her hand and pressed his warmly. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Pequeño.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice thin and reedy. “Please, sit down.”

  Lacey took the chair across a small end table from him and set her pack on the floor. She got out her notebook and a pen.

  She noticed Lena hovering behind her father.

  “I believe Father David told you a little about what we’re doing,” Lacey started. “And I understand your family has a long-time connection to the mission. Your father was a priest there?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Joseph Fidelio Pequeño.”

  “What year was he born?” Lacey asked.

  “Eighteen ninety-five.”

  She noticed Lena getting restless. Lacey had purposely started with very benign questions—names and dates—hoping the woman would get bored and find something else to do. She’d rather not have an audience once she got into the real purpose of the interview.

  Lena shifted behind her father. “Uh, do you want something to drink? Water or anything?”

  “Thanks, no,” Lacey said. “I’m fine.”

  Lena nodded and took that opportunity to leave them.

  Lacey waited until she disappeared down a hall, then returned her attention to the old man.

  “Did Father David tell you about the burial we found? The body of the old priest?”

  “Yes,” Jerome said. His thin voice didn’t carry. Lacey had to lean closer to hear him.

  “We believe it’s the body of Father Timoteo de la Varga, who disappeared in 1900. Now since your father was born in 1895, obviously the disappearance was before his time as a priest, but I’m wondering if he might have heard about it and, possibly, passed the story down to you.”

  Jerome studied Lacey for a moment, those milky eyes evaluating her. She returned his stare with her own, direct and open, patient and welcoming.

  “You’re here about the ghosts,” he said abruptly.

  Lacey nodded, surprised he’d made that leap. “Yes, actually, I am,” she affirmed. “The mission called my partner and me in to see if we could dispel them.” She lowered her voice. “Did you ever have an… experience during your time there?”

  Jerome smiled, but he fidgeted a little with his hands. The gnarled old fingers clasped and unclasped the knees of his baggy trousers. He glanced over his shoulder. His daughter was nowhere in sight. “Those who have not felt it do not believe,” he said quietly.

  “Have you felt it?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “Many times.”

  “What kind of experiences did you have?” she asked.

  “Hands,” he said.

  “Hands?”

  He nodded. “Cold hands. On my shoulder, on my neck. He would come up behind me, when I was working. I learned to never turn my back to the east.”

  “Did he ever hurt you?” Lacey asked softly.

  “No. I didn’t stay around. If he was there, I left the area. Sometimes I would work out there and not feel him, but if he came, I left.”

  Lacey jotted a few notes.

  “He hated priests.”

  She glanced up. “Do you know why?”

  “The story my father told me,” he said, “was that his wife was ill. She’d been going to a curandera. Do you know what that is?”

  “A healer,” Lacey said.

  “Yes. Her progress had been very slow. She went to a priest and asked what else she might do. He told her to abandon the native ways and turn to Christ. To throw away all the old charms. He said the only way back to health was through the church. She believed him.”

  He paused, his eyes hard. “She died.”

  Lacey swallowed. “So that’s why…”

  He nodded. “Yes. He blamed the priest for her death. And swore revenge.”

  “Was that priest… de la Varga?”

  “Yes. It was not long after that when the priest disappeared. Some said he left, perhaps ran away because he feared for his life. Some felt he’d been killed. No one could prove it.” He shrugged. “They didn’t try very hard. No one wanted to anger the brujo.”

  “Did Father David tell you how we found the body?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Buried in a trunk. His hands tied behind his back. His mouth sewn shut. He was buried alive.”

  Jerome took that in. His eyes drifted away from Lacey for a moment. She wondered if he were realizing how lucky he’d been to escape harm.

  “Mr. Pequeño,” she said softly, drawing him back. “Do you know who the man was? The brujo?”

  He returned his gaze to her, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Yes.”

  She waited, wondering if he were afraid to say the name. She pleaded with her eyes.

  “Guillermo Casales.”

  ~~~

  SEVENTEEN

  On the drive back home, Lacey had to force herself to watch the road, to stay present and cognizant of the traffic.

  But her mind churned.

  Guillermo Casales. Pilar’s grandfather. He’d killed the priest while he was alive, then had killed his own son and granddaughter’s husband while dead.

  It was very probable, she thought, that those two had gone up against Reyes, had tried to eradicate him.

  And failed. Tragically.

  There had been an earlier effort to drive him out years before, Jerome said. The house had been burned to the ground. On purpose. No doubt the place had been consecrated in some manner, cleansed, blessed.

  It hadn’t worked.

  Perhaps Humberto had built the new house hoping it was safe, only to find out he was wrong. It was, after all, the family home. She wondered if he had felt the obligation to keep Reyes contained with spells and charms, as Pilar did now. Or if he had made one last-ditch effort to drive him out with a crucifix and had paid for it with his life.

  She shook her head, glanced around to reacquaint herself with the freeway she drove. Distracted driving was not good. And she was definitely distracted. Luckily she was almost home.

  As she pulled off the freeway at her exit, she wondered if Pilar knew who Reyes was. No, she would have told them. Wouldn’t she? How would she feel when she found out? Lacey tried to imagine being told her very own grandfather was a witch, the man who had loved to play solitaire and go bird-watching and had built her a doll house when she was little. Impossible.

  Would Pilar think so? Or would she take it in stride? She was used to so many impossible things.

  Lacey pulled into the parking lot and guided her car into her numbered slot. First thing she had to do was call Sam.

  Entering her apartment and tossing her pack down, she grabbed her phone and checked the time. Almost five. Sam would be home.

  “I was just going to call you,” he said. “We’re all set for tomorrow. Pick me up at eight-thirty?”

  “Sure,” she said. She flopped down on the couch.

  “You find out anything?” he asked.

  She laughed grimly. “Oh, yeah.”

  He listened in silence while she told him the story.

  “Holy cow,” he said. “Her own grandfather?”

  “Yup. I just wonder how she’s going to take that.”

 
Sam considered that. “I actually think she’ll do okay with it. I mean, not okay okay, but I think she’ll understand.”

  “Well, it all certainly makes sense when you know the whole story,” she said.

  He agreed. “I’m glad we’re doing the releasement tomorrow,” he said. “At least she’ll know her father and husband will be free. That’s two positives against the negative.”

  “Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “I just hope it’s enough.”

  “Me, too,” he said in a low tone. “Me, too.”

  ~~~

  EIGHTEEN

  They arrived to find Ed already there, deep in conversation with Pilar beside his truck. Lacey pulled up next to it, and she and Sam joined the other two.

  Pilar gave both Sam and Lacey a hug. Her eyes looked suspiciously moist.

  “She knows what we’re doing?” Lacey asked Ed softly.

  “Yeah. She says it’s time.”

  Lacey nodded. She glanced at Sam. “It’s your show.”

  “Actually,” he said, heading for the house, “it’s mine and Pilar’s. Come on.”

  Lacey had seen the paper bag Sam brought. She wondered if he had more herbs, more charms. But when they all stopped around the table inside, he dumped out a fat smudge stick and a baggie of small black seeds.

  Pilar carried over a footed brass vase that was half filled with sand. In her other hand, she had several sticks of incense. She laid all that on the table, then retrieved two framed pictures of Hispanic men.

  “Padre?” Lacey asked, pointing to the image of the older man.

  “Si,” Pilar said. “Y mi esposo.” She caressed the face of the younger man with a loving fingertip.

  Lacey looked to Sam. “What are we doing?”

  “First,” Sam said, “we’re going to purify.” He grinned at Lacey. “This is going to be a multi-denominational ceremony.”

  Multi-denominational is right, she thought. Navajo, Catholic and Acjehemen, plus a little witchcraft thrown in for good measure. She recognized the datura seeds.

  Sam lit his smudge stick, turning the wrapped bundle reverently in the flame of the lighter, blowing on it softly until the plant material caught the flame. It flared slightly, then settled into a smolder. The blue smoke began to rise.

  Then he passed the lighter to Pilar. She pushed several sticks of incense into the sand in the vase and lit them. Soon the stronger scent of incense mingled with the fresh smell of cedar, all rising up toward the ceiling.

  Sam began a slow walk through the house. He bathed the corners and walls with smoke, covering both the front room and the bedroom. Pilar followed behind with her incense. While Sam was silent and focused, Pilar spoke softly, reverently, in a singsong, chanting voice.

  They stopped at the closet door. Sam waved the smudge stick all across the face of the door, then stood aside for Pilar. She lifted the little vase in both hands, presenting it and the smoke. She spoke so softly Lacey couldn’t catch any of the words.

  When she stepped back and nodded to Sam, he pulled the door open and stepped inside. He waved his smudge stick carefully, avoiding the clothes that hung on the rod. He lifted the smoke up into the corners, pulled it across the floor, let it curl out the doorway.

  Then Pilar took over. She did much the same with her incense, speaking softly the entire time. Finally she backed out of the closet and Sam closed the door.

  “Outside?” he asked her, motioning with his hand. She nodded. They all trooped outside, Sam and Pilar in the lead, Lacey and Ed following.

  Sam and Pilar walked the property, circling the little house and paying particular attention to the dig area roped off by yellow crime tape. Sam visited all four corners of the property, tossing a few datura seeds at the boundaries, while Pilar walked more slowly, staying closer to the house. The morning breeze caught the trails of fragrant smoke and pulled at them, diffusing both the smoke and the scents on the soft air.

  Finally they all met in front of the house. Sam held his smudge stick so the blue smoke continued to spiral upward lazily, but Pilar set her incense on the ground. Several of the sticks were spent, but one or two continued to emit faint smoke.

  Sam nodded to Pilar. She bowed her head for a moment, whispering softly to herself, her hands folded in prayer. Then she lifted her old gray head and raised her arms to the morning sun. In a singsong voice, she chanted to the east, turned and addressed the north, the west, the south, then returned to the east. She spread her arms wide and lifted her voice, pleading, extolling, releasing. Tears slipped down her wrinkled cheeks, and her voice broke, but she went on. Finally her arms gave out and dropped heavily to her sides. She whispered a last invocation—a goodbye—and bowed her head in silence once more.

  They all stood very still. The only sound was an early morning car going down the street. Lacey wondered what a car was doing in a church.

  Sam raised his smudge stick and offered it to the four directions as Pilar had. He wafted the smoke in a circle as he did so, and when he finally brought his arm down, he said simply to the quiet air, “Go in peace. Go with God.”

  Lacey wiped a tear from her eye and stood silently as Sam’s words faded away.

  Pilar nodded to herself, then rested a hand on Sam’s arm. She patted his arm absently and took a step toward the house. She looked tired.

  “I’ll be right back,” Sam said to Lacey and Ed, “then we can go.”

  Lacey went to her car and leaned against the side to wait. Ed joined her.

  “Some morning, huh?” he asked.

  Lacey smiled up at him weakly. “Yeah. Not your normal, everyday Saturday, is it?”

  “Not my normal everyday week or month,” he admitted.

  Lacey laughed. “You’ve never seen Sam release souls before?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Heard about it, but never seen it. It’s… something else.”

  “Yes, it is.” She let out a deep breath. “I just hope this does it. We’ll have to see—”

  Suddenly she heard a squawk from Pilar and glanced toward the house. Sam was on the ground, struggling. Pilar began to scream, not in fear, but railing, railing against something—or someone. She tugged at Sam, trying to get him up, trying to help, but she was too weak to have any effect.

  Sam clutched at his chest.

  ~~~

  NINETEEN

  “Oh, Jesus!” Lacey said. She pushed away from the car and grabbed Ed’s hand on her way by. “Come on! We’ve got to get him away from here. Sam!”

  She ran to him and dropped to the ground, then wondered frantically what the hell to do first. Ed fell to Sam’s other side and grabbed his arm.

  “Help me pull him up!” he said.

  Lacey grabbed his other arm and clamped both hands around his bicep. Together she and Ed pulled him into a sitting position, no small feat with his thrashing and flailing.

  “Sam!” she called. “Come on! Get to your feet. Get away from here!”

  He continued to flail, his fingers clutching his throat, his chest, as if trying to grasp invisible hands. His eyes were wide, his face drained of all color.

  “Pull!” Ed yelled. “Pull hard! Now!”

  He and Lacey pulled together, yanking Sam unsteadily to his feet. Ed didn’t wait. “Okay, come on! Run!”

  The three of them took off running across the bare ground, past the vehicles, past the sidewalk, into the street. Lacey only barely glanced around for cars, but thankfully there were none. All she knew was that she had to keep her grip on Sam’s arm, and they had to get to the mission grounds.

  They gained the far sidewalk, Lacey and Ed pulling Sam up the curb in silent unity. The driveway was not far. They ran flat out, dragging Sam, and tore inside the opening in the wall. Together the three of them headed for a patch of green lawn, and fell gratefully onto the cool grass in a heap.

  Lacey checked Sam. He was breathing hard, his mouth open, but his hands were at his sides. Gently she moved her fingers over the skin of his throat and down inside the neck o
f his t-shirt, feeling for any break in the skin, any swelling or edema. She felt none, but checked again anyway.

  “I’m okay,” he panted. He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. His color was coming back slowly, and he was regaining his breath, but she still didn’t trust his assessment. “We should get you to a doctor,” she said.

  He shook his head and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “No. I’m okay. Really.” He leaned forward over his bent knees and dragged in several deep breaths.

  “I’ll go find you some water,” Ed said. He scrambled to his feet and headed for the door.

  Lacey scooted as close to Sam as she could get and rubbed his back gently. He met her worried gaze and smiled.

  “That was him,” she said.

  He nodded, still catching his breath. “Yeah. He’s not happy.”

  Lacey snorted. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

  Sam crossed his legs, Indian-style, and leaned toward her. “He’s desperate. He’s lost a lot of his power and he’s panicking. That’s a good sign.”

  Lacey considered that. “But he’s still strong enough to try to kill you.”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah. I noticed that.”

  Ed returned with a bottle of water and handed it to Sam, then took a seat on the grass. Sam chugged the water gratefully.

  “Thanks,” he said. He drank nearly half the bottle, then offered it to the other two. Lacey took a sip.

  “What about Pilar?” he asked. “Is she okay?”

  Lacey glanced out the driveway, but couldn’t see the house from their vantage point. “I don’t know. All I could think about was getting you out of there.”

  “Let me go look,” Ed said.

  Lacey put a hand on his arm. “Be careful,” she said.

  “I will.”

  He walked to the sidewalk and stared across the street. Lacey saw him raise a hand and wave.