Possessed

by Peter Laws

  Then he heard something else instead. A crew guy called Barry. Barry normally fiddled with the sound recorders, but he was a trooper, and was helping dig like the rest of them. Only he wasn’t even using a spade. He was digging through the ground with an upturned plant pot that he’d nabbed from the back garden. Impressively, he’d dug a deep trench with it. He’d be a world class whizz with sandcastles, no doubt. He was a whizz at finding haunted homeware too, because the rim of his plant pot hit something wooden, and he let out a giddy woohoo. ‘Hey! Hey!’ he yelled.

  The cameras swooped across the front lawn like helicopters, search lights scrolling the ground. Matt let his shovel fall and he ran, fresh dirt flying. Suzy and her lens always at his side. He found Barry with his knees deep in soil. His fingernails, now thoroughly black from scraping around an emerging edge of wood. This was no false alarm. Barry reached the corner of the box and started heaving it out. Matt dropped down to help.

  Perry and Kissell had been sitting on the doorstep, and Perry’s wife Claire was with them. She’d turned up in a black quilted parka, and a thick woollen scarf. She not only drove here to offer her husband moral support, she brought his duffel coat too. The three of them sat up on the doorstep praying ‘a hedge of protection’ over the diggers. To Matt, that sounded like a pretty nifty way of getting out of manual labour. Now they’d heard Barry’s yell, all three were rushing down the path. Everyone headed straight for the hole.

  ‘Careful!’ Perry’s voice and outstretched hand was pure melodrama. He dropped to his knees. ‘You cannot break it.’

  ‘He’s absolutely right,’ Kissell said. ‘This is where the spirit of Baal-Berith probably emerged from, before entering Tom. But after tonight’s exorcism, we made Baal homeless. He may well have slouched all the way back here.’ Kissell nodded towards the soil-packed box. ‘Stands to reason that he came home.’

  ‘To reason?’ Matt said.

  Finally, the box was out and Barry sat back into the dirt, dragging it up onto his lap. The old padlocks, four of them, rattled. He brushed tumbling dirt boulders from the top. They showered and bounced onto his knees.

  Nupa tapped Barry on the shoulder. ‘Get it up on the table. Gently.’ She hollered back, ‘And get us some better light!’

  There was a picnic bench in the middle of the lawn. Matt had seen it today, grey and warped from years of braving the relentless elements here. He wondered if Justine and Tom had ever sat here, on some rare summer evening, sipping beer, smelling barbecues, holding down paper plates in the wind. Now the bench was flooded with harsh light, as Barry placed the box on top.

  It was amusing, really, seeing all these ears suddenly hovering right next to the box, listening out for demonic snoring. Especially Perry, who had both palms opened towards it, like a hobo around an oil drum fire. Kissell, at least, seemed more chilled. He just folded his arms and did a kind of slow march around the picnic bench. Stopping after two circles, he hinged forward at his hips and looked at the box straight on.

  ‘Can you feel …’ he said, ‘can you feel …’

  The love tonight? ‘Feel what?’ Matt asked.

  ‘The energy.’ He whispered it, then visibly shook the cold from his body. ‘This is it. This is the source of Tom’s trouble. Can you feel it, folks?’

  Okay. So the wind was up. And okay, the moon had picked this exact moment to hide behind a cloud. Two perfectly natural events. However, it did feel like since the box had come up, the world had dramatically dialled its dimmer down on both light and heat. Things are always scarier in the cold dark, after all.

  God, it really was cold all of a sudden. Even Matt would wear a duffel coat in this.

  Perry had his hands jammed under his armpits, in a kind of self-hug. ‘I think we should burn it. I think we should soak it in petrol and set it alight. Before it takes somebody else over.’

  Kissell put a hand on Perry’s shoulder. ‘Easy, tiger. That’s what we don’t do. Throw it in the fire and the flames are gonna crack it open. We can’t let this thing loose in the world. We have to exorcise it.’

  ‘You want to exorcise a wooden box?’ Matt said.

  ‘What’s inside it, yeah.’

  ‘Well, that I’d like to see.’ Matt stepped aside and folded his arms. ‘Go for it.’

  Kissell was slowly biting his thumbnail, thinking. ‘No. Not here. This artefact is way too powerful. An exorcism like this needs preparation.’

  ‘Then when?’ Nupa said.

  Kissell started walking again. He made one more full, folded-arm circle, his knuckle tapping against his chin again. He was a drama queen sometimes. Most times, actually. Then he stopped dead and raised a finger. ‘That’s it. We’ll take it to The Reed. We put it front and centre, right in the very heart of our exorcism. It will be our … unholiest of unholies, if you will. And we either cast the demon out of this box, once and for all. Or we banish everybody else’s demons inside it – and it will be their prison. Can’t you picture it, Nupa? We put this up on a stage. Somewhere prominent for focus, and we deal with it then. After all, it started with this box, so let’s end things with it too …’ He looked over at Nupa. ‘I think at the very least, it’d make for a striking image for the camera.’

  Perry wasn’t convinced. ‘Sorry, but I think that’s too dangerous. I know the folks at the funeral home. I could cremate it, not just burn it. Make sure there’s nobody near at the time, in case anything comes out. Or … I don’t know … maybe we wrap it in heavy chains and dump it in the middle of the sea.’

  ‘And leave it to wash up on somebody else’s shore? Simon … Baal-Berith will find a way.’

  ‘Well, he seems fast asleep right now,’ Matt said.

  Everybody suddenly looked at Matt, horrified. He was picking the box up and holding it to his ear.

  ‘Hey,’ Nupa shouted, ‘don’t mess with it.’

  ‘Maybe we could make a little crack in—’

  ‘Don’t …’ Nupa said. ‘Put − the box − down.’

  Matt gave it a little shake, and people gasped. Then he shrugged and placed it on the picnic table.

  Nupa’s shoulders relaxed. ‘You know what, Bernie? I like it. I like that a lot. Let’s take it to The Reed. Make it the centrepiece of the entire exorcism.’

  ‘Good call,’ Kissell said. ‘There’s just the small matter of who’s going to keep it in the meantime …’

  Perry raised a tentative hand. Bless him, he was keen to be the hero. ‘I’ll take it.’ But Claire quickly tugged him down again. She was scared and shaking her head, mouthing the word no way to her husband.

  ‘Why not you?’ Nupa said to Kissell. ‘You could keep it in the hotel.’

  ‘I need to be as pure as I can for the weekend, and frankly, Simon, you do too. This box might contaminate our prayers. I’ve covered this in my YouTube videos many times. The demon inside feeds on the fear of the holder. It’s extremely dangerous. In fact, I advise that none of us keep it. Do we have a key to Tom’s house? Can we keep it inside the—’ Kissell cut himself off when he saw Matt’s hand going up. ‘Yes?’

  ‘How about me?’ Matt said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘How about I take it? I’ve got an office at home. I’ll just put it on my desk.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Nupa said. ‘And remember you cannot mess with it.’

  ‘I won’t, and yeah, it doesn’t bother me. As long as I don’t have to take it for walks.’ He spotted Nupa’s frown. ‘Look, I promise I’ll take good care of it.’

  ‘You really mustn’t break it,’ Kissell said. ‘And don’t fiddle with the locks or—’

  ‘I won’t.’ That last sentence had a teenage tone. Suzy seemed to zoom in on him for some reason.

  ‘And don’t listen to it, either,’ Kissell said. ‘No matter what it says. Don’t let it trick you.’

  Matt smiled. ‘I can guarantee it won’t do that.’

  A small grin started to form on Kissell’s face, ‘You know what? Yes. You know best, Professor. If y
ou really think there’s absolutely nothing to what we’re saying, then of course, take the box. Put it in your office. Keep it by your bed, if you really want.’

  ‘Bernie …’ Perry said. ‘It’s risky.’

  ‘No, the professor’s quite right. If there is nothing to this whole phenomenon, then there’s nothing to fear. And if you’re comfortable bringing an artefact like this into your family home … you do have a family, don’t you?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then go ahead. Bring Baal-Berith to your children. I advise against it, of course, but who knows … perhaps you’ll discover that there is much to fear, after all. That perhaps you should be afraid, Matt.’

  ‘Of demons? No. Of making people believe in them … now that does scare me.’

  ‘Bless you, son,’ Kissell started to laugh, but there was no humour in it. ‘I like you, but there is … if I may say so, a foolishness in you.’

  ‘I’m not the one scared of an apple crate.’

  Nupa put a hand on Kissell’s arm. ‘It’s late. Let’s call it a night. Get some shots of the box on its own, and then Barry? Take it to the van. And make it secure.’

  ‘’Kay.’ Barry nodded and walked Matt to the van. He slipped the box into a large, padded carry-case with Velcro straps. Somewhere in the techie car, a spotlight or two was going home naked tonight.

  Perry and his wife Claire strolled towards him, arms linked together. It seemed like Claire’s car was parked next to the van.

  ‘Professor?’ Perry said. ‘May we talk?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Matt turned to them both and watched Perry unhook from his wife. He stepped forward. ‘I know we’ve clashed a little. And I hope you forgive my sharpness with you.’

  ‘Well … I’m sorry if I’ve been sharp back.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s kind of you to say. It’s just been a very emotionally draining time for my wife and I. It’s a lot of pressure, and … it’s a frightening business. Professor, this box scares me just as much. I think you’re being unwise taking it,’ He reached out his hand and placed it on Matt’s forearm. ‘Think of your children.’

  ‘We’ll be fine.’

  Perry let out a long sigh. ‘Well, I admire your tenacity. I just hope, at least for your sake, that you’re right. Claire, let me say goodnight to Bernie.’ He turned away and left them both alone for a moment on the pavement.

  Matt watched her eyes follow her husband, then she flicked the pixie cut behind her ear. She’d make a good elf. ‘He’s a noble man, you know,’ she said suddenly. ‘He’ll help anybody in a crisis.’

  ‘That’s very admirable.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ She folded her arms, leant against her car and looked up into the sky. Claire Perry seemed comfortable with silence. He liked that. He watched the fur on her collar quiver in the breeze.

  ‘So how’s the art going?’

  She kept looking up, eyes on a cloud.

  ‘I did like it, you know. You’ve got a—’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Don’t patronise me.’

  ‘That’s not my intention at all.’ He looked up at the cloud she was following. A huge flowing cruise ship in the sky, crossing a black sea, limitless in its depth. ‘I can’t help it. I liked your pictures. You should consider exhibiting—’

  ‘Can you please just stop?’ She pulled the driver’s door of her car, and he had to step aside, just as another gust of wind seemed to push her towards the car. He grabbed the door, to stop it slamming on her leg. The footwell of the driver’s seat was messy, filled with old scrunched tissue paper. Some of it blew out as she climbed in. She went to grab it, but it rolled away from her, tumbling along the pavement.

  He ran after it, back stooping, arms in a grab. ‘I’ve got them.’ After a frantic, Crystal Maze flurry, he stood up panting, with a fistful of tissues. It was the first time he considered that she might happen to have a rotten cold, and now it was in his hand. There was a litter bin near the lamp post. ‘Do you want me to chuck it in there?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Give it back.’

  He looked down at the pile of rubbish, shrugged and handed it back. ‘Suit yourself. Goodnight, Mrs Perry.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ She closed the door, the tissues piled neatly in her lap. She put both hands on the steering wheel, and just waited, staring forwards.

  Perry’s voice suddenly came sliding over the roof of the car, like he’d been lurking there the whole time.

  ‘Now, Professor. You’re not chatting up my wife, are you?’

  ‘Well.’ Matt drummed his fingers on the roof. ‘That would make for a pretty interesting twist for the show.’

  His eyebrow went up.

  ‘Which means, no. I’m totally not.’

  ‘Just as well … you know, I think on some other day, we might be friends. After all this is done, we should connect.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  He smiled and went to get inside the passenger side, but paused halfway in. ‘And Matt. Don’t be a fool with that box. Or with any of this. I’m worried about you, you know? And your children.’

  ‘I appreciate the concern.’ Matt tipped an imaginary cap. ‘Goodnight, Perry.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ He dropped into his seat and she cranked the engine. Matt stepped back as the tyres rolled off the kerb. She kept looking forward the whole time, tissues in her lap like precious artefacts.

  He was watching the car drive off when Nupa slapped a hard hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Jesus.’ He jumped. ‘Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?’

  ‘Sorry. I just wanted to say thanks for all your help today. We’ve got some cracking stuff. The airport … the prison, wow … And thanks for your input. We need that balance. That sense of lightness. And that convo you did with Baal-Berith. Lovely.’

  ‘Been quite a day.’

  ‘And it’s only the first.’ She winked at him. ‘Well look, I hope you don’t mind but you’ll be riding home alone. Pastor Kissell refuses to be in the same car as the box, and I really need to chat through some more prep before we drop him at his hotel.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘And you’ll put those tests together for Friday morning?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And is tomorrow enough time for you to get those ready?’

  He laughed and felt a simultaneous beat of panic. ‘They’ll be ready to roll on Friday.’

  ‘Well, okay … then just take this.’ She handed him a small black bag with a strap on it.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just a little diary cam.’

  He groaned. ‘Oh, you don’t want me sat in bed at night do you, moaning about Baal-Berith being a dickhead or something?’

  ‘No … but if anything does happen with the box. If you hear anything or feel anything, you get filming, okay? Use your phone if you must, but for the love of God and all that is holy … film it in landscape, all right? Never, ever, ever film anything in portrait mode. Like ever, in your life.’

  ‘All right, calm down.’

  ‘Just remember, the more tape we get, the more choices we have. Editing is all about choices. Got it?’

  ‘If I see green smoke coming out, I’ll start rolling.’ He paused. ‘In landscape.’

  ‘You better.’ She smiled at him. ‘Well, thanks again. I’ll be in touch about the tests on Friday.’

  Matt climbed into the van, and found a new driver waiting for him. A compact little bloke called Dave, whose face crumpled like a dog when he smiled. Matt saw flakes of ash on the sleeve of his jacket, and the smell of tobacco came soon after. Dave was about to rumble into reverse when Nupa slapped her hand on the window. Matt jumped again and buzzed the glass down. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

  ‘You dropped something.’ She thrust her hand in. ‘Just in case you need it for expenses.’

  He took it from her and unfolded it. She was walking off by the time he realised it wasn’t his. But he
didn’t shout out, because when he read the parking ticket, he caught the date. Monday just gone … the 2nd March.

  The day of the murder.

  ‘Ready to rumble?’ Dave said, then coughed.

  ‘Rumble away.’

  How odd, he thought, as they headed off. Did this car park ticket just tumble out of Claire’s car with the rest of her junk? If it did, then …

  He flicked through the files in his mind, pulling out conversations. Didn’t she insist she stayed home on the day Justine died? Didn’t she specifically tell him and Fenn that she was at home up until she went to the pub with her Perry that night?

  Maybe Simon drove her car that day, but wasn’t he in London? Or maybe it was her ticket and she was lying. Or heck, maybe Nupa found a random ticket on the floor from a neighbour and all this was totally pointless. Still, though … he stared at that little ticket for a third of the journey home, glad to see that it had a registration plate number on it, and other codes. He’d contact Fenn about this. The police must have special computers for such car park sorcery. He’d probably solve this with one phone call.

  Matt was snapped out of all this pondering when the van filled with the very un-evil sounds of Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’. Dave leant back and wheezed, ‘Sorry, mate. Pressed the wrong button.’

  ‘Ah, leave it on. Fact, turn it up.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s your ride.’ The driver cranked it up, and they drove on. By the third chorus, they were both quietly singing along and Matt was glad of the distraction. Especially when every now and then he’d glance down at his fellow passenger, who didn’t join in singing. Evidently Baal-Berith was no Abba fan.

  Barry, the crew guy, had tucked the wooden box into one of the seats. He’d even strapped it in with a seat belt, just in case it slid off, smashed and unleashed the hounds of hell. Safety was important, Matt thought, even when you’re an ancient Babylonian demon.