The Moore House

by Tony Tremblay

  “Look,” Agnes said, “I’m going to try and slide over to you. I can’t turn over—my shoulder’s probably broken—so you’re going to have to tell me if I get too close to your leg. Can you see enough to tell me if I do?”

  Nora managed a yes between sobs.

  Agnes took a deep breath—knives slashed at her chest. She shifted her weight and pushed off with her legs. Her body moved mere inches, but she was that much closer to her partner. Shoulder on fire, she plowed through the pain. Like a woman dying of thirst with an oasis in sight, she found her way to Nora.

  “Stop!” Nora’s voice was low, weak. “Turn to your left, and then keep pushing back until you reach the wall. It’s another four feet or so.”

  As Agnes pivoted, she couldn’t suppress a groan. Taking another deep breath, she slid her knees up and pushed off with her heels. It was slow and painful, a sticky dampness saturated her clothing, but she continued until her head bumped something solid.

  “You’re at the wall, Agnes. Can you sit up?”

  There was no way she’d be able to lift her upper body and lean against the wall. The best she could hope for was to turn onto her back. It had to be done quickly, too—if she attempted a slow rollover, she wasn’t sure she could handle the pain. She had no other option if she wanted to see her lover again.

  One...two...three!

  “Ahh, oh God, that hurts!” Agnes almost blacked out. She internalized the pain, imagining her shoulder as a foreign body, detached from hers. Between the squinting and tears, she was blind. She heard her lover calling to her, but Nora’s voice alone wasn’t enough to pull her through the agony.

  It was a touch that eventually calmed her enough to battle the pain. Nora laid a hand on her hip, consoling her as she rubbed. If she had needed any more proof Nora was really beside her, this was it. With her good hand, she wiped away the tears and turned her head towards her partner. The look of concern on Nora’s face almost brought her to tears again. Instead, she smiled. “Hey there, Babe.”

  Nora’s face relaxed, and she let out a small breath. “Hey there, yourself.”

  They gazed at each other for a few moments. Though grateful for the chance to see Nora once more, Agnes was sure it would be the last time. “I think we’re in the kind of trouble we can’t get out of,” she said.

  “Yeah. It’s going to get us, one way or another. I’m bleeding out at my knee, it soaked into your clothes as you slid toward me, and it’s only a matter of time before I pass out, or worse.” There was a pause, then, “Hey, you got a minute?”

  Agnes chuckled. “I think I can spare you one. What’s on your mind?”

  “A couple of things. First, I’m sorry for the way I acted today. Outside, upstairs, it was like I was a helpless, whimpering little girl. I was no help to you and Celeste. I might’ve made things worse. I was scared, never been more scared in my life, but that’s no excuse.”

  After a pause, Agnes responded. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice. I thought about it while we were all on the couch. I knew that wasn’t you. You’re not one to curl up in a ball and cry. I figured it was the demon. Somehow, it must have reached us after the investigation at the Millman home. It could be something the demon sent that we both had contact with. I’m wondering if it was that belt buckle. Maybe it was those pictures Father MacLeod emailed us. Whatever it was, it was able to get into our heads and plant seeds. Maybe we were too far away from the demon for it to cause us any real harm, but it must have been powerful enough to influence us. I know it got to me. When we made love last night, I wasn’t myself. I knew I was too aggressive, but I was unable to stop myself. To tell you the truth, I didn’t want to. When I woke up this morning, I reflected on what I’d done to you. There was no shame. I couldn’t wait to do it again.”

  “I kind of liked it.”

  Agnes chortled. “Now that’s the Nora I know and love.”

  Nora laughed, but it dissolved into a mild cough.

  Worried, Agnes stared hard at her. Would this be the last long talk they would ever share? “What’re the other things you want to talk about?”

  “Confession,” Nora answered. “I hear it’s good for the soul.”

  “Forget it. This is not the time for us to be telling each other all the terrible things we’ve done. I’ll make you a promise: if we somehow get out of here, then we’ll discuss our shortcomings. But not now. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, one more thing. Do you believe that suicides go to hell?”

  Agnes’ head dropped. The pain in her shoulder intensified at the action. She raised her chin so quickly the base of her neck ached. Grimacing at both the pain and the question, she replied, “I’m afraid to ask why you want to know.”

  Nora’s breathing was labored. Her answer came hesitantly, with small pauses between words. “The demon’s existence proves hell is real. If it gets us, I could be dragged to hell for my sins. Believe me, Agnes, I’d be on the fast track. But, if there’s a chance God does forgive those who have sinned grievously and are repentant, I’m thinking He might issue me a get out of hell free card. And, Agnes...I can’t tell you how sorry I am for my past actions. The only solace I take from my sins is that they led me to you. I’ve made my case to God. I’ve prayed and begged Him for forgiveness. I’ve since led a life I thought He would approve of. If I did make amends in His eyes, would God understand if I took my own life? Would it be wrong to avert suffering at the demon’s hands that way? Does the demon have the power to send me to hell despite my penance?”

  Agnes couldn’t hide the sorrow in her eyes. Tears flowed as she answered. “I don’t know, Nora. I could quote scripture, but you already know what the bible says about suicide.” A vision of Linda swinging at the end of a rope flashed through her mind. “You know, I believed in God before I was acquainted with the Devil. The only thing that’s changed about my way of thinking is that after meeting this demon, I believe God doesn’t have a clue about us. He doesn’t know who we are or what we’ve done in our lives. Until we die, that is. Then, that’s when it’s all laid out before Him. The good and the bad. Who or what we were when we died decides our fate. What I’m trying to say is, I think God judges us in totality. That ascension into heaven or an eternity in hell is decided by all our life’s actions, not by a single or even a series of sins. With that in mind, I would say God would take any suicide in context.”

  Nora stared at Agnes. “Sounds like something a woman with a past would say.” A smile crept onto her lips.

  Agnes returned the smile. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

  They held their gazes on each other for a few seconds.

  Nora lifted her right hand. It held a shard of glass, which she positioned just below her throat.

  “No,” Agnes pleaded, “Don’t.”

  “Yessss.” The voice came from above.

  Agnes looked up through the hole in the living room floor to see the body of Officer Jones peering down at her. Next to it was Celeste, sobbing, shaking her head.

  “Though I’ll miss your suffering here, I’ll make up for it when we next meet, in hell,” the demon continued.

  Nora dropped the fragment of glass and leaned her head back against the wall. She whispered a plea for God to help her.

  Thud. Agnes heard the sound a fraction of a second before the house shook. Thud. Debris fell through the hole. Celeste and the demon had turned away from them, toward the front of the house. Celeste’s eyes were frightened and wide as she stepped out of Agnes’ view.

  Now what? Agnes wondered.

  CHAPTER 25

  Father MacLeod had had enough. Ten minutes had elapsed and the mystery man was nowhere in sight. He said to the pawnshop owner, “Okay, we’ve waited long enough for your assistant. It’s time. I don’t know if they’re still alive in there, but if they are, they need our help. No more waiting.”

  “I agree—what’s the plan?”

  “For one,” he pointed to Mr. Lewis, “You stay here. You’d only be in the way.�
�� He saw relief cross the old man’s features. Turning back to the pawnshop owner, he said, “It’s up to you if you want to come in. I’ll tell you straight up your life will be in danger, not to mention your soul. Think of all the scary stories you’ve read about demonic possession. Remember all the horrible scenes you’ve seen in horror movies. This will be worse. This demon we’re trying to exorcise is ancient and powerful. It will use every deceitful trick it has to drive you mad, torture you, and possess you. And all you have is that,” he pointed to the bowl, “To protect you.”

  The man nodded. “You got anything on you I can use to keep that…thing away?”

  Father MacLeod produced three crucifixes and a glass vial filled with clear liquid. Not attached to rosary beads but a simple loop of string, the crucifixes fit easily in the palm of his hand. He opened the vial and sprinkled them with the holy water. In a low tone, he recited words in Latin. He sealed the vial and returned it to his pocket.

  “Put this around your neck. I don’t have a hope in hell it will protect you, but you never know. It could be untrue, of course, but the holy water I doused these in is said to originate in Lourdes, and blessed by each successive pope since the miracle.

  “Miracle? Lourdes?” Asked the pawnshop owner. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He placed the crucifix around his neck and placed the other two in his pocket.

  The priest sighed. “As I said, this demon has been around for thousands of years, it’s adept at getting around our defenses and offenses. I brought three crucifixes, one for each of the women. If they’re alive, I expect you to give one to each, or place one around each of their necks yourself if they can’t. Including the one you just put on. I suspect I won’t have time to do it myself.”

  The man nodded, tucking the crucifix under his shirt. “What makes you think you can exorcise the demon if it’s that powerful?”

  “The exorcism rites have evolved over the life of the Church. They’re much more effective since the time this one was banished. And I possess something the demon isn’t expecting me to have.”

  “Its name?”

  Father MacLeod nodded. “Yeah.”

  The pawnshop owner exhaled. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Mr. Lewis stopped them. “Wait—take the flashlights. Is there anything I can do?”

  Father MacLeod and the proprietor each took a flashlight, turning them on. “Have your cell phone ready. We may need ambulances,” the priest answered while walking to the front door of the Moore house.

  The old man said nothing.

  

  The pawnshop owner and the priest climbed the steps to the front of the house and paused before the door. Father MacLeod removed the vial from his pocket, splashed a few drops of holy water onto the door, and then slid it back into his pocket. He lowered his head and recited a prayer. The proprietor attempted to listen to the words, but the priest’s voice was too low. What he did hear sounded like gibberish. The prayer ended, and the priest faced him and asked, “Ready?”

  After glancing around to see if his assistant had arrived, the pawnshop owner held tightly to the bag in one hand, the flashlight in the other. At the door, Father MacLeod turned the knob. It rotated and kept on rotating. The latch stayed engaged. The priest rammed his shoulder into the door. For his effort, all he got was pain.

  “Shit. Now what do we do?” Father MacLeod asked.

  A weight on the pawnshop owner’s shoulder nearly made his knees buckle. He ducked and turned to look behind him. He grinned, tapped the priest on the back, and said, “The key to the door just arrived.”

  The proprietor saw Father MacLeod’s jaw drop. The priest was looking at a freak of nature. Rex was over seven feet tall and was wider than the pawnshop owner and the priest put together. The giant had to weigh over five hundred pounds, possessing massive arms and legs that strained the fabric of his shirt and khaki pants. Barrel-chested, the brute was all muscle. The giant’s ears folded out ninety degrees, exposing every crease and ragged scar inside those mountainous cups of flesh. Though it was dusk, a sweaty sheen reflected off the giant’s bald head. Beady eyes, a ruddy pug nose, and lips as fat as sausages completed the visage of a human killing machine.

  Father MacLeod stepped back, bumping into the door “Is—is that your assistant?”

  “Yeah, give me a moment with him.”

  The proprietor motioned for the giant to meet with him at the bottom of the stairs. As they descended, his admiration of Rex grew—the guy was huge but had still managed to get behind both him and the priest without a sound. It was no wonder he’d had success as an assassin. When they both stepped foot on solid ground, he looked up to his assistant and froze—he felt like he was gazing into the face of madness.

  His assistant’s eyes darted from left to right at an incredible speed. Though the giant grimaced, his lips trembled, and the pawnshop owner could hear teeth grinding. Every few seconds his assistant’s head shook, and a moan slipped out from the huge man’s mouth.

  “Rex, are you with me?”

  The giant lowered his gaze and stared at the man for a few moments before nodding. Though Rex’s eyes were now half closed, the pawnshop owner could almost feel them burning holes into him. The big man’s bulky cheeks drooped, as did the corners of his mouth.

  “Rex, this is important. Do you remember what we discussed on the phone earlier, about this house and the situation here?”

  Once again there was a stare, only this time the giant shook his head.

  The proprietor sighed. “Okay, listen. There’s a demon in that house. It has three women imprisoned in there. It’s torturing them, Rex.”

  The giant’s eyes opened fully. There had been rumors of Rex’s encounters with two separate men who had set off his trigger points. One man had been almost decapitated from a chain wrapped around his neck—he was found hanging from a tree over the doghouse of a Rottweiler. Another man, left to bleed out and die on a young girl’s bed, had his penis ripped off and shoved down his throat.

  The pawnshop owner hoped that, despite Rex’s state, he continued to harbor these feelings of disgust at the suffering of innocent women. In fact, he hoped for more—maybe Rex’s madness would feed his aggression, and possibly protect him and the rest of them from the demon.

  “Rex, we need to get in there and save those women if they’re alive. If they are, your task is to remove them from the house, to bring them out here. One of those women is named Celeste. She’s the youngest of the three, and she is special to me. She has something of mine that I’d like to have back, so please, be extra careful with her. Once we’re inside, the priest is going to try and perform an exorcism. I’ll be by his side, but if things get bad, if possible, I want you to extricate me from the house, too. Saving the priest is the last priority. Do you understand?”

  The giant nodded.

  The pawnshop owner studied the big man for a moment, coming to a decision. He reached out and tucked an object into the giant’s rear pants pocket. He did not comment on what it was, and Rex didn’t ask.

  What happened next occurred so fast the scene was a blur. The door opened wide with a resounding clunk and before there was time for either of them to react, the Moore House claimed Father MacLeod. There had been no scream from the priest; he was gone in an instant, the door slamming shut after him. Where he’d stood, only the flashlight remained, still spinning on the ground.

  The pawnshop owner and the giant faced each other. The smaller man went to the door and turned the knob, which moved, but the door wouldn’t open.

  “Rex, can you get us in there?”

  For the first time since he’d arrived, the giant grinned.

  

  There was tremendous pressure around his waist, then Father MacLeod’s was in motion. His head snapped back as his feet left the ground, pulled through the air with no time to register as to how. The pressure vanished, and he fell, his body hitting a hard surface.

  He managed to lift himself to his hands and k
nees, shaking the confusion from his mind. When he was able to focus, he took in his surroundings and knew he was in the living room of the Moore house. An odd yellow hue infused the room. Celeste and Officer Jones stood several feet in front of him, alongside a large gaping hole in the floor. He saw no trace of the pawnshop owner or his assistant.

  “Hello, Father MacLeod. Welcome to the party,” greeted Officer Jones.

  The priest studied the man. His suspicion was confirmed, Officer Jones was dead, his body possessed. As bad as he appeared with his neck bent the way it was, the black eyes were more convincing.

  Father MacLeod stood and warily faced the abomination. “I’m here to send you back to hell,” he said, his words soaked with courage he didn’t feel.

  What passed for a grin appeared on the demon’s face. “Give it your best, priest. But the moment you open your mouth to banish me, you’ll regret your action.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  The demon gestured toward the hole. “Before you attempt it, take a look what lies below. I give you my word, I won’t hurt you.”

  “Your word is worthless.”

  Celeste whimpered. “Nora and Agnes are down there.”

  The priest swallowed hard; he reached for a crucifix and held it out in front of him. Steering wide of the demon, he approached the hole. Though the basement was dark, the yellow light penetrated the hole enough for him to see two pairs of legs on a concrete floor protruding from the darkness.

  “Nora! Agnes! Are you okay?”

  Two distinct voices cried out. Both were weak but betrayed the pain they suffered.

  “I’m going to get you out of here.” He had no idea if it was possible to save them, but he wouldn’t deny them hope. The priest backed away from the hole, faced the demon, and commenced the ritual. “Heavenly Father, I call—”

  “I warned you, priest. Now, they die.”

  An impact shook the house. Celeste screamed, fighting for balance as she backed away from the hole. Undeterred, Father MacLeod raised his voice and held the crucifix high. “I call—”