The Moore House

by Tony Tremblay

  Nora glanced at the cruiser and then back to Celeste. “I wonder why he’s here.”

  “Maybe he’s just driving by. He saw me parked here, and when you pulled over, he decided to stop to see what’s going on. Don’t forget, there’ve been several deaths associated with this house.”

  “Yeah, probably,” replied Nora, her voice trailing. “If he sticks around he might get quite an eyeful for his report.”

  Two more cars pulled in behind the cop. Father MacLeod and Agnes climbed out of their respective vehicles. They walked past the police car with a sideways glance and stood next to Celeste and Nora.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Father MacLeod’s voice was gruff. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You—”

  The door of the cruiser opened with a squeak, interrupting him. The officer was tall and muscled, his stride quick. His arms swung by his side, hands empty. Celeste recognized him as the officer Father MacLeod had spoken to outside the diner.

  The officer spoke pointedly as he approached. “May I ask what you folks are doing parked in front of this property?”

  The priest broke from the three women and, with his hand extended, walked toward the officer. “I’m Father MacLeod, from the Boston Catholic Diocese. May I ask your name?”

  “I’m Officer Thad Jones.” Staring hard at the priest, he shook the proffered hand.

  The men were acting like they’d never met, but Celeste was positive this was the same policeman she had seen Father MacLeod with this morning. What the heck is this all about? She wanted to interrupt them, to ask why the charade.

  “What’s the matter?” Agnes asked.

  What if I’m wrong? She would cause a scene for no reason and look foolish in the process. She decided to hold her tongue. “Um, nothing.”

  Father MacLeod glanced at her. “Are you okay? Something bothering you?” he asked.

  She absorbed the look without flinching, but he continued to stare.

  Celeste inhaled and let it out slowly. “No, I’m fine.”

  The priest let his gaze linger a few more moments. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he dismissed her and continued his conversation with the officer. “Officer Jones, we’re here at the bidding of Mr. Kevin Lewis.”

  The officer nodded but said nothing.

  “Your police chief, Donald Dodd, is aware that we’re here this morning.”

  Office Jones remained silent.

  “We’re going to do a walk-around, say some prayers for those who have passed on in the house, and bless the property. We don’t anticipate going inside.”

  The police officer broke his silence. “Well, Father, if you need, I happen to have keys to the front door.” He raised the set of keys and grinned.

  Father MacLeod returned a grin. “That’s good to know. I don’t foresee a need to enter the house, but we’ll take you up on that offer if we have to.”

  The officer walked back to his cruiser, leaned against the hood, and watched them.

  The priest faced the Moore house. “Okay ladies, we stay together. Do not engage until we’ve surveyed the property. We’ll walk around the house, starting from my right. We are going to circle it and come back to the front. Only then will you give it a go. Everyone on board?”

  The women voiced their assent.

  “All right. Let’s go. Remember, we all stay close.” Father MacLeod led the way.

  The yellowed grass had grown to mid-thigh, which made it difficult to see any obstacles or holes in the ground. It was switchgrass, dry and stiff, and as they walked it made whispering sounds like someone sweeping a floor with a corn broom. Celeste had dressed for the heat of the day, as had her teammates. The women wore skirts, blouses, and sneakers. Despite the heat and absence of rain, they stepped into areas of damp earth and small puddles hidden beneath the grass. Celeste heard the occasional yuck followed by a sucking sound as someone lifted a damp sneaker from the mud. Father MacLeod was the worst for it. His dress shoes and pants legs were soaked through. Celeste excused his utterances, though they were profanities.

  Celeste felt nothing while passing by the right side of the house. As instructed, she didn’t try. Agnes’ and Nora’s expressions were relaxed, so she assumed they were also holding back.

  They rounded the corner to the rear of the house. A row of trees lined the far end of the property; behind them, woods stretched as far as the eye could see. If there had once been picnic tables, swing sets, or a garden in the backyard, there were no signs now. Had a family ever lived in this house?

  Regardless, there were signs someone had been here recently.

  Crime-scene tape draped the exterior of one of the first-floor windows. Below it lay a large area of trampled grass. The quartet approached the window. Flattened switchgrass, scuff marks in the dirt, a trace of red stains on the ground, and a recently cleaned portion of the wall under the window left no doubt about the reason for the yellow tape. A photograph from the file Father MacLeod had sent flashed in Celeste’s mind. She diverted her eyes from the spot.

  “Come on, let’s keep moving,” the priest ordered.

  They continued along the back of the house, passing a small set of stairs leading to a rear metal door secured with a tarnished and scratched brass padlock. Celeste stopped. The markings on the lock resembled a mouth, its lips pulled into a grimace.

  “It’s secured from the outside,” Nora said. “Somebody doesn’t want people getting in there.”

  “Or getting out,” Agnes added.

  The three women exchanged glances. After a few moments, they walked to the remaining side of the building. They took notice of a steel bulkhead, also padlocked. The four of them pushed through the grass until they were once again at the front of the house. Father MacLeod led them toward the parked cars.

  “I want some distance between you ladies and the house when you start. If there’s a presence here, let’s try to keep as far away from its influence as possible. As you saw from the files, a lot of bad stuff has gone down in this house, and we’re here to eliminate one possibility. We don’t know if it’s a coincidence, if it attracts a bad element because of its location, or because of a demonic presence. If a demon is behind all those deaths, it’s a powerful one, and I don’t want you tangling with it.”

  Celeste sucked on her bottom lip. What am I getting myself into?

  “Now, look at me, ladies.”

  She gave the priest her full attention.

  “Before you start, I want you to face the house, line up side by side, hold hands, and close your eyes. I’m going to stand in front of you. If I notice any problems, I’ll interfere. If you hear my voice, stop immediately. Though you may not detect trouble, your partners could be in distress. If one of you picks something up, tell me right away. It’ll be enough, and I’ll shut you all down. Do you all understand?”

  Celeste nodded.

  “Okay. Before we start, any questions?”

  Agnes went first. “What’re the odds that there is a demonic presence here?”

  “Experience dictates that they’re low, but not negligible. Demonic possession usually targets a specific individual, not an unrelated group of people. It can jump from one person to another, but contact is usually required. I know of only one case of multiple possessions without physical contact, and that only involved two people. We’re talking about seven in this instance. I don’t believe a demon is capable of that.”

  Hearing this, a weight fell from Celeste’s shoulders. For the first time since the previous evening, she felt a modicum of relief.

  “Why are you here, Father MacLeod?” Nora asked.

  Celeste’s spine stiffened at the question.

  The priest blinked a few times and his hand went to his chin. He stared at Nora as he stroked his beard. Celeste was unable to read his facial expressions and couldn’t decide if he was upset at the question or mulling it over. The previous evening’s discussion about Father MacLeod’s presence at two of their prior investigations had concerned Ce
leste. Apparently, it was on Nora’s mind as well. Celeste leaned in to hear his answer, but the priest continued to ponder the question.

  Finally, he took a deep breath and answered. “I was asked by a man in Goffstown to come. Mr. Lewis is wealthy and has plenty of political pull. I won’t lie to you—aside from his granddaughter’s disappearance related to the Moore house, he has another reason for us to be here. A reason I’m not at liberty to discuss.”

  Agnes shook her head. “I’m sorry Father, but we need more. Both times you’ve accompanied us on investigations, the results were positive for a demonic presence. The only two times we’ve discovered a presence as long as we’ve been a team. As you might gather, we’re concerned about what awaits us this morning.”

  “I see.” Father MacLeod responded. “You’re connecting my presence to those two incidents.” He inhaled sharply and let it out just as quick. “I can tell you, at the least, it was a coincidence. I can also tell you that, at best, it was God’s will that led me to both those instances. As for this investigation, the sanctuary of confession is involved, and I won’t betray it. If it makes you feel any better, the man who requested I be here had no idea this team existed. He has no intention of putting any of you, or me, in harm’s way. All he desires to know is if the Moore house is possessed. If it is, I’ll take it from there. Your job today is to find out. Any more questions?”

  No one spoke up.

  “Okay, let’s begin,” Father MacLeod ordered.

  The three women positioned themselves facing the Moore house, the priest standing before them. With Agnes in the middle, Celeste to her left and Nora to her right, they held hands. Celeste gripped Agnes’ hand with enough pressure to cause the woman to jerk. Celeste loosened the pressure and mumbled a soft apology.

  “It’s okay,” Agnes replied. “Let’s relax and get this over with.”

  “Yes.”

  Father MacLeod continued. “Now, ladies, close your eyes. That’s good. I’m watching all of you. If you feel something, break your handholds and open your eyes. If you feel one of the others breaking contact, stop focusing right away. Call for me if you’re in distress. I’ll bring you and the others out. Ready?”

  They all murmured agreement.

  “Then get to it.”

  Celeste concentrated.

  If the Moore house hid a demonic presence, it was doing a good job. Celeste couldn’t pick up anything. Part of her was relieved, but it might mean she’d have to push harder. Her eyes closed tighter, and she focused on the darkness. She pictured herself stepping into it, pushing forward until she was isolated from her environment. She imagined herself a dimly lit star in a dark sky—an insignificant speck in an endless void—at one with God’s universe. A lack of sound completed the scene.

  Immersed in her mental projection, she called up an image of the Moore house. It appeared as it had when she first studied it from the safety of the road. She willed it closer. Its blue clapboards, the small porch, and the cranberry colored door loomed before her. She turned the house around in slow motion. After a full turn, she froze the image and focused on it.

  Nothing. She could not pick up a single vibration from the house.

  The image shook.

  It slid away from her, disappearing into a point. A weight settled onto her shoulders, and her view spun like a pinwheel. She was tumbling, rushing out of the darkness. Flashes of light burst before her. She opened her eyes. Father MacLeod’s face was inches from hers. He was staring at her, his lips tight and eyes wide. Another tremble passed through her—he was nudging her awake. She blinked away the confusion.

  “Celeste!” She heard fingers snapping. “Come on, wake up.”

  She stepped back, shaking the fog from her head. Agnes and Nora were beside him, both alert, but frowning.

  “Are you okay?” Father MacLeod asked.

  “Ugh… yeah, I’m okay. What’s going on?”

  The priest sighed with relief. “So far, nothing. Agnes and Nora didn’t pick up on anything from the house. It didn’t take them long to conclude there’s nothing there. But you were out of it for over ten minutes. We got worried and decided to break your concentration.”

  “Ten minutes? It couldn’t have been that long. I just closed my eyes.”

  “It was.” He fidgeted. “Actually, it was closer to fifteen. We decided to leave you be until we saw a sign of distress or you came out of it.”

  Nora interrupted, her voice tense as she shot a fierce look at the priest. “That’s not entirely true. We wanted to pull you out earlier. Father MacLeod insisted we leave you alone. We relented—at first.” Her tone turned angrier. “Agnes and I were worried. We finally demanded he bring you back.” Softening her voice, she added, “If anything happened to you …” She reached out, taking hold of Celeste’s hand.

  Caught off guard by the sentiment, Celeste muttered, “I—I’m all right.” Though she hadn’t known Nora for that long, she was touched by her partner’s concern. “I’m fine, really.”

  If Father MacLeod was offended or annoyed with Nora’s interruption, he didn’t bother to respond to it. As soon as Celeste confirmed her well-being, he asked her, “Did you feel anything?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

  “No.”

  The priest sighed. “Thank Christ.”

  The way he spoke had Celeste grimacing. It didn’t sound like an exclamation of appreciation. It was more like a remark uttered when a burden is lifted. Agnes and Nora must’ve picked up on it, too: they stared at each other with similar scowls.

  “Okay, ladies, our work here is done. Agnes, please file a report this afternoon at the latest. I have to head back to Haverhill to catch up on some things.” He brushed by the women, taking hurried steps to his car. He stopped near the police officer, turned back to face the three of them, and bowed his head, making a frenzied sign of the cross. Finished, he waved and spoke loudly. “Oh, and thanks, ladies!” He didn’t wait for a response.

  As soon as Father MacLeod drove off, the officer left his cruiser and approached them. “Are you guys ready to leave now?”

  Celeste, confused by the Priest’s abrupt departure, looked to Agnes for guidance.

  “Yeah,” Agnes answered, “I guess so.” She was staring at the parking spot the priest had vacated. She adjusted her gaze to the Moore house. “That black door creeps me out more than anything else about this house. I’m glad to take leave of it.”

  Celeste’s head shot up. “Black door? What black door?

  “Right there.” Agnes pointed to the front door. “That one.”

  Celeste took in the door for a few seconds. “I don’t see a black door. I see dark red.”

  Agnes frowned. She addressed Nora. “And you?”

  Nora was staring at the door. “It’s blue. Dark blue.” Her voice was distant.

  The police officer shook his head. “Is this a game? Are you ladies playing with me?”

  “Why?” asked Agnes.

  “It’s green,” he said, “And an ugly shade at that. It reminds me of vomit.”

  Celeste was aware of all four of them maneuvering, standing side by side to face the door. They all stared. How can we all be seeing different colors?

  No one moved, until the door did.

  CHAPTER 7

  Departing from the Moore house, Father MacLeod headed south on NH Route 13 until it hit Route 3 in Bedford. He passed through the town of Merrimack, eventually arriving in Nashua, New Hampshire. Off the highway, he passed through an area of dilapidated houses, barns with caved-in roofs, and overgrown woods, until he spied his destination.

  Despite what he’d told his team, he had no intention of going back to Haverhill.

  Much like a patient visiting an oncologist and waiting for a diagnosis, the priest had been dreading with the worst outcome. In his case, demonic possession was his cancer. He’d survived an encounter with a demon once before, but like receiving a cancer-free diagnosis, he feared all it di
d was prophesy a recurrence. He lived with constant dread, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Turned out, Catherine White was that other shoe.

  Catherine had been his responsibility and he’d failed her. He’d done everything he could to exorcise the demon from within her, but nothing had worked. Forced to summon exorcists from the Vatican, he’d waited with the hope they would accomplish what he could not. Catherine had periods of lucidity, and she used those periods to assist the exorcists in ridding herself of the demon. The priest shook his head at the memory of her tied to the bed—eyes large as half dollars, her mouth stretched impossibly wide, lips plump enough to burst, and infected lesions so numerous there was an absence of smooth flesh on her face. If anything like this were to happen to another member of his team, he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

  When the team had come up empty at the Moore house, he’d had to restrain himself from shouting with joy.

  He should have pulled Celeste back sooner, but he’d wanted to be certain she’d had enough time to determine if the house was possessed. Based on the reports he’d received from her convent and on subsequent interviews with Celeste, he believed she had the strongest empathic abilities of the three women. With each new investigation—and patience—he would know for certain.

  The results this morning had not only allayed his fear of a demonic presence, they’d encouraged him. He was wired, with a need to burn off the energy.

  Arriving, he pulled into the parking lot at the far end of a two-story, 1940s-era industrial building. Standing in the center of a hardscrabble field, all four sides of the structure were clear of brush. Tree stumps and small boulders littered the area, accompanied by rusted machines once employed to die-cut the soles of men’s work boots. Red bricks—weathered enough to be mistaken for black—made up the side walls. All the oversized windows along the façade were boarded over.

  The priest counted the other cars sharing the lot. Five. The number was higher than he’d like. Though far from home, there was always a possibility he could be recognized. He slipped off his collar, removed his jacket, folded it, and tucked them into the well behind the front seats. He patted his left back pocket. Satisfied, he climbed out of his car. As he walked to the front door of the building, dust kicked up from dry ground and clung to his damp shoes and pants legs.