Mr. Lewis spoke up. “Chief, you know something’s not right about that house. The reason Father MacLeod is here is that since my granddaughter disappeared, I’ve suspected the house is possessed by something—I don’t know what. But please, Chief, listen to the man.”
“No offense, Mr. Lewis, but that’s crazy talk. I have an officer over there who appears to be in trouble. He’s one of my men, and I’m going to him.” He didn’t wait for a response. With his hand on the butt of his gun, the chief hurried to his officer.
Father MacLeod followed the man’s progress.
The police chief climbed the steps, approached the open doorway, and stopped in his tracks. Father MacLeod heard some words from the chief but couldn’t make them out. However, he could hear the response from Officer Jones.
“Welcome to the party, adulterer.”
The chief stepped back. The priest saw the butt of the pistol rise out of the holster, but before the chief could remove the gun completely, the demon struck, wrapping a hand around the chief’s throat. It happened so fast, it took Father MacLeod a moment to process it. The chief was lifted from the porch and tossed into the Moore house. Officer Jones followed, and the door slammed shut behind him.
Father MacLeod and Mr. Lewis exchanged a glance. Their attention quickly returned to the house when two gunshots rang out. Mr. Lewis gasped, and the priest closed his eyes.
The door to the Moore house opened, the doorway empty. Father MacLeod and Mr. Lewis ran to the street. When they arrived at the priest’s car, both looked back at the house.
“He’s not coming out, is he?” Mr. Lewis asked, breaking the silence.
The priest shook his head. “No.”
“Let me ask you something, Father. When we were all standing by the window, did you see something we didn’t?”
The priest lowered his head and spat on the ground. “Yeah.”
“What did you see?”
Father MacLeod focused on the window. “My team is still in there. They were banging on the window, begging for help. I couldn’t hear them, but there was no question they were in distress. I also saw Officer Jones’ body sprawled in a chair. I thought he was dead. When he rose and shuffled to the door, I got a good look at him and confirmed it.”
Mr. Lewis sighed. “We now have two police officers trapped inside the Moore house. It’s only a matter of time before this place is saturated with more police and possibly the media. To be honest, Father, I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.”
The priest faced the old man. “It’s a bad thing. The demon will likely kill everyone inside, and I can assure you the deaths will not be linked to supernatural causes. The killings, like those in the past, will be unsolved and attributed to either suicide or murder. Your quaint little town is going to be on every news show and featured in every tabloid in the country. After the attention fades, it will kill again. The demon must be exorcised, Mr. Lewis. It’s the only way to stop it.”
Both men were startled by the front door slamming.
“You were in obvious pain after looking into the window, but neither the chief nor I felt anything. Now that you’re a distance from the house, it appears that its influence is weakened, or even gone. Let me ask you two things. Is this demon targeting you? And is its influence dependent on proximity?”
Father MacLeod avoided eye contact. “To answer your first question, I don’t think it’s personal if that’s what you mean. My collar is reason enough for it to, as you put it, target me. Secondly, yes, the demon’s reach is limited. In past cases, the influence of a demon has been closely centered on its host. There is an exception. A demon can impart evil to an inanimate object, and he can have that object materialize in any location he chooses. The object itself is benign—it can’t physically cause possession, destruction, or death. However, if someone touches the object, the demon establishes a link with that person. It can read their minds, discover their fears, and manipulate them to a certain extent. This manipulation usually takes the form of nightmares or hallucinations. Eventually, the infected person is led to the demon by suggestion.”
“Would a hypodermic needle be one example of an inanimate object?”
“Yes.”
After a few moments of silence, Father MacLeod opened his car door.
“Where are you going?”
“I think you’re right, Mr. Lewis—we don’t have much time. There’s someone I need to talk to before I go into that house.”
“How long will it take?”
The priest shook his head. “I’m not sure. Four hours at the earliest. Is there something you can do to hold off more police presence?”
“I’ll try. But first,” Mr. Lewis said, turning his back to Father MacLeod, “There’s someone I need to talk to, as well.”
CHAPTER 13
Ignoring the warnings, Chief Dodd rushed to assist his officer. He stepped onto the porch and stopped in his tracks. The priest’s words echoed in his mind, he might even be dead. One look at Officer Jones left no doubt in Dodd’s mind—the man was dead. Sores, oozing a black oily liquid, covered his skin. Blisters had exploded around the officer’s mouth. The man’s nose was flayed, the cartilage exposed. As gruesome as it was, it was Jones’ eyes that scared the hell out of the chief. They were dark pits, their depth endless.
The dead man smiled. “Welcome to the party, adulterer.”
The chief’s spine froze. How does he know? he wondered.
He pulled his gun, but it never made it out of his holster before Jones’ hand clamped onto his throat and lifted him off the porch. Eyes bulging and gasping for breath, the chief’s hands went to his neck. His view of Jones receded, and then everything around him was in motion. The pressure on his neck disappeared as a solid wall of white rushed toward him. Drywall crumbled, and shards of pain exploded from his collarbone as he felt and heard the bones in his left shoulder snap. He fell to his ass on the floor, crying out and reaching for his injured shoulder.
Behind him, the front door of the Moore house slammed shut. Brain-fogged, he gazed around the room. Despite the pain and confusion, his instincts were intact, and he searched for his officer. He didn’t see Jones, but three women were cowering by a window—the priest’s team.
He found it odd that they weren’t coming to his aid, huddling close to each other instead. One was crying and the other two, their eyes widened with shock. Only they weren’t looking at him—it was if he wasn’t there. All three had their gazes locked above him. The chief tilted his head back.
Officer Jones stared down at him; the dead man floating upside down, his face hovering inches from the chief’s. Dodd couldn’t drag his gaze away from Jones’ eyes. The blackness within, shifting and spiraling into emptiness. The chief felt himself slipping away into that inky vortex.
No! the chief’s mind screamed, resisting. He concentrated, pushing away the pain and willing his eyes to close. He battled the vortex, his consciousness ebbing and flowing. During his lucid moments, thoughts of his family anchored him. On the verge of giving in to the darkness, images of Beth, Officer Jones’ wife, naked and on her knees, flashed before him. He tried to sweep aside the guilt and eroticism, clinging instead to thoughts of his own wife and daughter. He knew he’d succeeded when the tension fled his body and pain returned to his shoulder with a hostile vengeance. Head hung low, he took heavy breaths, waiting for his mind to clear. After resting a few moments, he lifted his chin.
Officer Jones’ wife called his name.
Halfway across the room, Beth knelt before him, her generous breasts hanging low and heavy. Her knees were slightly parted, granting him a glimpse of her sex. Fingers gently probed her cleft, leaving a glistening trail on her thighs. The woman’s lips were a deep red, forming a promise in the shape of a perfect O. Curled auburn hair framed her face, partially covering feral eyes.
“Donald,” she purred.
He couldn’t look away.
“Donald, let’s leave this place. He’s gone: it’s just
you and me now. Oh, the things I want to do to you.”
Beth had never looked so good. The pain in his shoulder had somehow lessened, no longer enough to prevent his arousal. Thoughts of his family, the three women in the room, and Beth’s dead husband faded—the only thing on his mind was feeling those perfect lips between his legs.
“Come closer,” he ordered.
The woman crawled toward him on all fours. The chief heard muted shouts, coming from a distance.
“No! It’s not real! It’s the demon!”
A murky memory of three women standing by a window coalesced inside his head. The shouting continued, and the image became clearer. The priest’s team.
He refocused on Beth as she crawled towards him. She was different than he remembered. This Beth was facially perfect. The Beth he was familiar with had mild chickenpox scaring about her cheeks. The Beth before him had plump, enviable lips, but the lips he’d so often kissed were thin. He had fondled and sucked upon Beth’s breasts plenty of times; they were in no way as bountiful as those of the woman crawling toward him.
“Stop!” he ordered.
She did. Rising off her hands, she leaned back, sitting on her calves. She pushed the curls back from her forehead, revealing her wide, soulless eyes, now as black and empty as a starless night.
The chief drew his gun and pointed. When she laughed, the chief fired twice, but her laughter continued.
The woman leaped. There was no time to react. She landed with her knees straddling his torso, her face inches from his. She tilted her head left and then right, birdlike, as she took measure of him. He pushed his head against the wall as the perfect O of her lips grew larger, widening and expanding, finally overtaking her features until her face looked to be all mouth. Row upon row of teeth tightly lined the circumference, continuing backward and down, disappearing into the darkness of her throat. Her tongue, blistered, and as black as her eyes, caressed those teeth.
Dodd tried to avert his gaze, to look away, but her voice immobilized him.
“Come,” she said. “I have a special place for you, Chief.”
Their faces touched.
CHAPTER 14
Finished with feasting on Chief Dodd, the demon conformed into its earlier, sexier incarnation of Beth Jones. It refocused attention to Celeste and her teammates. Although Celeste abhorred having anything to do with the demon, she kept her gaze on it. The alternative was worse in her mind—a view of the chief’s bloody and broken body. The demon had consumed the man’s head down to his neck, and now it stood over its meal, glaring as if daring the three of them to object. While Celeste had been repulsed enough to gag while the demon feasted, she’d kept her wits about her, as did Agnes. Nora screamed through the ordeal until she couldn’t scream anymore. Once her voice failed, her terror had manifested as sobs, and she once again buried her face against Agnes.
Despite the wincing, screaming, and wailing of the three women, the sounds of snapping bones and rending of flesh had risen above their din. Celeste had covered her ears with her palms at one point, and they stayed there until the demon was sated. She’d kept her eyes open throughout the ordeal even though she was desperate to close them. If the demon came for her, she didn’t want to be taken by surprise. She would not go quietly into that dark abyss.
The demon’s gaze moved past Celeste to the window. Its eyes, although black, burned with fury. Lifting a delicate hand, it pointed a slender finger to the glass.
“He’s gone,” spoke the demon.
She and Agnes turned to look out the window. Father MacLeod and the old man were nowhere to be seen. Celeste craned her neck; Father MacLeod’s car was also gone.
“Why would he leave us?” Agnes whispered tearfully. “He knows we are in here.”
“Because he’s a coward,” the demon responded. “He’s sacrificed others at my altar before—”
“No.” Celeste interrupted. “He wouldn’t leave us unless he had a reason. He’ll be back.”
A grin formed on the demon’s lips. “I’ve got all the time in the world, but I can’t say the same for you three.”
The demon turned its back to the three women. As it walked to the hallway, the woman’s visage faded. It vanished on her fourth step with a sucking pop, near the wall beside which the chief’s body lay. Blood, bits of bone, and scraps of flesh and clothing absorbed into the floor, disappearing from sight.
Celeste and Agnes stared at one another.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Agnes, “And no, we didn’t imagine it.”
Celeste inhaled loudly and exhaled just as noisily. She shook her head. “No, I guess not.”
“What do we do now?” Nora’s eyes were puffy and red from sobbing. She stepped away from Agnes.
Celeste’s heart went out to her. Watching men die was certainly not in their job description.
“I don’t know. I’m sure Father MacLeod will be . . .” Agnes started to answer but lowered her gaze to the floor.
Celeste felt a tremor through her shoes. The vibrations were light, more of a tickling sensation than anything else. They faced each other, uncertainty clouding their features.
“This ain’t good,” Celeste said.
Agnes agreed. “Let’s go sit on the couch and get off the floor.”
The three women walked to the couch and sat in the same locations as earlier, their legs tucked under them. Celeste could still feel the tingling through the couch.
Agnes instructed them to hold hands.
“Remember, we have to stick together. Don’t let it break us apart,” Celeste added.
“Celeste, why do I feel better when we’re holding hands?” Agnes asked after a few moments.
“Yes, I feel the same,” Nora said “It’s hard to explain, but it’s like we’re putting up some kind of defense.”
“I—I don’t know,” Celeste replied. “I don’t feel any different when we’re holding hands. Maybe it’s psychological?”
“No,” Agnes stressed, “It’s more than that. The demon said you are different. Is there something about you that sets you apart from us? It senses that. Think. Do you—”
Celeste’s torso jerked forward, her head snapping back. A view of the ceiling morphed into one of the floor. Her forehead connected with something hard and the pain was immediate. She raised a shaky hand to her face and rubbed above her left eye. She took in her surroundings. Agnes was on the floor to her left, as was Nora, on the other side of Agnes. The women groaned, and Celeste was relieved when both women began moving. Above and behind the two women, the couch hovered, suspended three feet in the air, tipped forward and still in motion.
“Crawl!” Celeste shouted.
Agnes and Nora slid forward, neither taking the time to get on their knees. The couch slammed to the floor, pieces flying in all directions. The floorboards split beneath the couch, creating fractures that traveled beneath and beyond the three women and continuing to the wall and the chair that held Officer Jones’ body. The dead man’s black eyes were fully open and trained on Nora. Before Celeste could warn her partner, pain wracked her body. Countless electrically charged needles pierced her skin, stealing the breath from her.
Cries arose to her left, where Agnes and Nora convulsed on the floor. Celeste struggled to stand. The pain in her body abated, but the stinging, needle sensations in her feet persisted, though her sneakers appeared to provide some insulation.
“Stand up!” she hollered to her teammates. “Get your exposed skin off the floor.”
Celeste wrapped her arms around Agnes’ waist and lifted her to her feet, then repeated the effort with Nora. The three stood there, shaken, confused, and breathing heavily.
A loud report like a shotgun blast exploded beneath them and the cracks on the floor began to multiply and elongate. The sound of wood breaking intensified—the shotgun blast morphing into automatic-rifle fire. Portions of the floor crumbled and fell inward, creating holes like jagged toothed maws. Celeste and Agnes, the tips of their
shoes perched precariously on tattered shards of wood, leaped to safety. They could only watch as Nora, her eyes frantic, her hands desperately clutching, fell through the splintered floorboards and down into the basement.
“Nora!” Agnes screamed.
The splits on the floor shuddered and shifted as if hearing Agnes’ voice. They lengthened and widened, redirecting their course towards the two remaining women.
“Run!” yelled Celeste.
Agnes’ gaze went from the hole Nora had fallen through to Celeste, the older woman’s eyes wide and blinking rapidly. She looked once more into the hole, turned and sped past Celeste into the hallway.
She’s going to the basement door, Celeste realized and attempted to follow, but another resounding crack split the air and a new hole opened between her and the hallway, blocking her pursuit of Agnes. The house pitched and groaned as more holes appeared.
Searching for a path to escape, Celeste found only one – one she dreaded. She hopped across the spreading cracks, heading toward the stairway. As her foot landed on the first step, she understood what had happened.
The demon had split them up.
CHAPTER 15
Mr. Kevin Lewis lingered in front of the pawn shop’s glass doors, back stooped, both arms hanging limply by his sides. A reflection of a tired old man stared back at him.
His research into Father MacLeod had led him to believe the man was seriously flawed, but he couldn’t blame the priest or the Church itself for the circumstances that now brought him back to the shop.
Mr. Lewis had been an atheist since grade school when his parents forced him to attend catechism on Saturday mornings. They were poor, God-fearing people of Welsh descent, and while they didn’t have the money to send him to Catholic schools, they were insistent he follow their religious leanings by sacrificing his weekend mornings to the Church. He had spent his Saturdays being taught dogma, and his Sundays practicing it at mass. It didn’t take him long to understand that it was all myth—stories made up to appease conformists and to provide for the further enrichment of the church coffers. This knowledge served him well. He learned from the priests that self-righteous indignation was a powerful tool to sway the uninformed, and failing that, fear was an effective motivator to induce compliance. In other words, he got rich by bullying the average Joe and making empty threats.
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