Even Andrew looked suitably impressed, but then Andrew was a man of history who appreciated the architecture.
“The whole building got blitzed in World War 2,” Celia was keeping up a steady narrative, clearly enjoying the chance to bring her daughter’s family to her church. “They finally rebuilt it in 1959. You’ll find this interesting, Andrew; all the priests and nuns that fled the French Revolution came here, to Our Lady of Victories. How about that?”
“Yes, very interesting. Is that Father Hughes?”
Andrew motioned towards a tall, lanky young man who looked no older than twenty-one. His blonde hair was so pale it was almost white, his grey eyes completely colorless in the morning sun.
“Mrs. Brown,” the young man greeted Celia, who was blushing. “So good to see you on such a fine day. Reverend Thomas told me about your appointment. Father Hughes is ready to see you in his chambers.”
“Follow us,” Celia commanded, tucking her hand into the young man’s proffered arm. Daphne followed with her parents. They went through the main congregation area, a large open space with rows upon rows of pews. The décor was in muted browns, the stained-glass windows lending cheery color to the candle-lit gloom.
“Your mother’s manners are despicable.” Andrew muttered. “She hasn’t even introduced us to her boyfriend.”
“Andrew!”
“Well, you have to admit she’s taken with him.”
Daphne tried to stifle a laugh.
Celia and the young man were waiting for them in a hall that opened up a few paces behind the altar. The office they were headed to was the very last one in the hall. The young man opened the door, then followed them inside.
Father Hughes turned out to be a short, stout man of sixty, with a shiny bald head hedged with tufts of white hair. His ear lobes were drooping, but he had all of his teeth and his eyes were piercing blue.
“Celia,” he nodded. “And that must be Sarah, her husband Andrew, and the lovely Daphne.”
Daphne nodded, pleasantly surprised.
“Your grandmother mentions you often.” Father Hughes smiled, his eyes shrewd. “She is mortified at your lack of attendance to church.” Daphne blanched; she hoped this wouldn’t be grounds to refuse to help them. “But I told her, I said I’m sure if we help young Daphne out, she would be more inclined to visit church after that. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”
“Yes, Sir.” The youth nodded, smiling benignly.
“So tell me.” Father Hughes leaned forward, his hands on his desk, “what kind of demon is inhabiting your home?”
Taking strength from the encouraging nods from her parents, and a charming smile from Matthew, Daphne took a deep breath and began their story.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
I Command You, Unclean Spirit
26th August 1983
It had to be on the day of the fire, Father Hughes had been very clear about that. They had to tackle the spirits when they were at their strongest, taking the strength of their haunting out, exhausting their hatred, their malicious spirit and finally banishing it to hell.
They.
Daphne stood outside Paignton House, still not believing that she was actually standing there. That was another thing Father Hughes had been insistent on, one of the family had to be there, and since the spirits were especially communicative with Daphne, it would have to be her.
“To encourage their need for contact,” Father Hughes had said. “They already know you; desire your soul for the devil. They don’t know me, and they certainly wouldn’t want Matthew’s soul. He’s far too pale for anyone to want him. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”
“Sure is, Sir.”
So Daphne stood on the street as dusk fell, waiting for Father Hughes and Matthew, twirling the silver cross necklace Celia had given her, between two fingers. She saw Mrs. Fitts peering from her living room window. She waved. Mrs. Fitts tried to duck, failed and tripped. Daphne saw her flailing hands before she heard a muted thud of flesh hitting hard floor.
Daphne should have laughed, she wanted to laugh, but the shadow of the house was looming in front of her, darkening any glow of hope and joy the day contained. She was going to have to walk in there, knowing the ghosts would be at their most active. How did Father Hughes expect her to do that?
A taxi came to a crawling stop beside the curb.
“Aha! You’re here!” Father Hughes beamed. At full height, he came up to Daphne’s navel. “That means I’ve won, and Matthew must pay the fare.”
Matthew didn’t look too pleased, but paid up. Where Father Hughes had simply slid out of the cab, Matthew had to unfold his lanky body. He brought out a duffle bag, hoisted it on his narrow shoulder and looked at Daphne meaningfully.
“The key, Dear.” Father Hughes prompted.
“Oh, yes.” Daphne brought out her set of house keys and handed them to Matthew.
“Now, I know you’re nervous.” Father Hughes counselled as they walked up the short walk. “You’d be a fool not to feel scared. But you have God on your side. The best thing to do in these situations is rush in to the house before your nerves get the best of you.”
Daphne nodded, her throat suddenly bone-dry.
The front door creaked open.
Daphne took Father Hughes’ advice and rushed in behind Matthew, Father Hughes following on her heels. Matthew found the light switch and turned them on. The house looked normal. She didn’t know why, but Daphne had expected the house to be a mess. It hardly looked disturbed.
“Now you say the concentration of the hauntings has been the cherry tree, the kitchen and yours and Katie’s bedrooms?” Father Hughes asked.
“Dad experienced a visitation outside his study as well.”
“Okay.” Father Hughes rubbed his hands together. “This is what I suggest we do. We each take an area and observe it. Then we come down here to the living room and discuss what we’ve experienced. I’ll take the back garden, Matthew you observe the kitchen and study. Daphne, Dear, would you be kind enough to take upstairs?”
Daphne nodded, not trusting herself to speak. A knot of tension was twisting in her belly.
“Excellent.” Father Hughes was acting like he was on a field trip rather than dangerously haunted ground. He made off for the back door.
Matthew handed Daphne a bottle of water.
“Thank you!” Daphne said. “I was parched!” She began to uncap the bottle when Matthew stopped her, a look of disbelief on his face.
“That’s holy water.”
“Oh.”
Daphne rushed up the stairs, her face red with embarrassment.
Since the memory of the weeping ghost of George Paignton was still fresh in her mind, Daphne made a beeline for Katie’s room. It was the last room on the top floor and looked over the front of the house and the street below. Daphne walked around the room, picking up dolls and putting them back in place. The bed wasn’t made, books were lying on the floor, open on random pages, the toys were scattered across the entire space. Daphne didn’t want to read too much into this because this was normal for Katie. She always made a mess and expected others to pick up after her.
Daphne then went to Amber’s room, then Poppy’s, and her parent’s. Every room was as she had expected it to be. Amber’s slightly shabby, Daphne could see her sister had made an effort to tidy up but settled for stuffing her toys under the bed and just laying the covers straight, not bothering to tuck them in. Poppy’s was immaculate. Daphne was sure even the most accomplished scientists would be hard pressed to find a speck of dust in there. Her parent’s bedroom was cozy, neatly made, but showed signs of being lived in, her mother’s night time book left open like a tent on her bedside table, her moisturizer standing tall beside it.
With no choice left, Daphne turned to her own room. As she walked down the hall the foreboding sense of doom deepened in her gut. Her skin prickled with fear. She pushed the door open. It moved soundlessly to reveal her unmade bed, the pedestal fan standing sentry in th
e corner. Her books were on her desk, the corkboard mounted above it was pinned with articles, pictures, and drawings done by Katie.
Reluctantly Daphne stepped inside. The room was still, undisturbed. She didn’t feel any presence but she couldn’t shake the horrible sense of wrongness the room still exuded. She waited in there for almost ten minutes before leaving, having experienced nothing paranormal at all.
She came down the stairs slowly, her grip on the banister tight, the back of her neck prickling as if several eyes were on her. She wasn’t going to ignore the strength these apparitions had. They had nearly killed Katie by pushing her from these very stairs.
Matthew was standing in the main hall looking bored.
“Anything?” he asked.
“No apparitions. But I have a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
“Could be gas.”
Daphne stared at him. He stared back.
There was a sudden crash from the kitchen. Daphne jumped, but not as high as Matthew, who had fairly leaped into the air. They peered in from the kitchen door. The dishes on the draining board were lying in a broken mess on the floor. As they watched, the cupboards began to open slowly then bang shut.
“Still think it’s fucking gas?”
Matthew was whiter than usual, his lips a colorless thin line.
“Has it started then?” Father Hughes was beside them, a tumbler of brandy in his small hands.
“Do you think it wise to drink that right now?”
“Oh, please. This is a small haunting. I’ve seen worse.” Father Hughes waved his hand dismissively.
Wind ripped through the house, something hard and invisible smacked against Father Hughes. He went flying till he hit the living room wall, his clothes splattered with brandy.
“On second thought,” Father Hughes stood up on shaking feet and brought out his Bible. “I think you’re right, Matthew. Daphne, come stand beside me. These spirits are malevolent and delight in splitting groups apart. Strength in numbers, I always say.”
Daphne didn’t need to be told twice. She shuffled along the hall with Matthew and stood beside Father Hughes, who began to recite from the Bible. The wind died suddenly, replaced by an ominous, watchful silence.
“I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Spirit, by the coming of our Lord for judgment, that you tell me by some sign, your name and the day and hour of your departure. I command you – “
With a sudden crack the living room wall was torn asunder. A large brick came hurling at Father Hughes, who ducked in time. Matthew was as white as a sheet, his eyes as big as dinner plates.
“I command you!” Father Hughes roared. “I command you, moreover, to obey me to the letter, I who am a minister of God despite my unworthiness; nor shall you be emboldened to harm in any way this creature of God, or the bystanders, or any of their possessions.”
The TV switched on suddenly. Laughter brayed out of the set as an audience laughed to some silly sitcom plot. Daphne’s head had turned to the glowing TV screen, as had everyone else’s. This was the distraction the ghosts had needed. Another brick came whistling through the air, striking Matthew on the arm. He cried out, and stumbled away from Daphne. Father Hughes was being peppered by small bricks, driving him in to the far corner of the room.
Daphne stood in the middle, looking at the entrance of the living room where two impossibly tall figures stood. The woman’s tall, spindly neck was broken; her malevolent smile didn’t reach her staring eyes.
The man was broad shouldered, his beard infested with worms and spiders. His teeth were jagged points, his nails talons. He stepped forward purposefully.
“They want her!” Matthew shouted. “Shit, we must help!”
Matthew rushed forward with holy water but the ghost of Melanie Paignton advanced on him. Matthew skidded to a halt, transfixed by her horrible face. Daphne stepped back from Christian Paignton’s groping hands, her back hitting the wall. There was no escape.
“Be strong, child!” Father Hughes cried. “Depart, then, transgressor. Depart, seducer, full of lies and cunning, foe of virtue, persecutor of the innocent. Give place, abominable creature, give way, you monster, give way to Christ, in whom you found none of your works. For he has already stripped you of your powers and laid waste your kingdom, bound you prisoner and plundered your weapons. He has cast you forth into the outer darkness, where everlasting ruin awaits you and your abettors.”
Suddenly Father Hughes began to choke. Daphne spared one glance and saw one of the nurses strangling the priest. The second nurse and orderly were also pushing into the room. They were outnumbered.
The cold was radiating off the spirits, turning her breath into plumes of smoke. Daphne knew this was the end. They had failed. Her shaking fingers picked up the silver cross Celia had given her from underneath her shirt. She began to pray, a simple prayer thanking God for her existence on this world, thanking Him for the life and family He had granted her.
Daphne opened her eyes to find Christian Paignton’s face inches away from hers. She could see the red rimmed eyes, the large gaping pores on his ghostly skin. The nurse and orderly were pushing in beside him. Matthew was whimpering in one corner, and Father Hughes was trying his best not to choke to death in another.
A great calm descended on Daphne. She smiled peacefully at the spirits, accepting her end.
Christian smiled.
Weeping pierced the fatal silence, then the pattering of many tiny feet, a snatch of song and high pitched giggles. The ghost of Christian Paignton stopped suddenly, a look of surprise on his horrible face. Daphne peered behind him.
The entrance to the living room was crowded with children. Flanking them all were the ghosts of George Paignton and Diana, his wife. Daphne watched as George Paignton roared in indignation and the ghost children ran forward screaming. George tackled Christian, Diana clawed at Melanie while the children attacked the nurses, driving them back and out of the living room.
Father Hughes was breathing hard, his voice a thin wheeze. Yet he stood up on his squat legs and began the ritual of exorcism again. Matthew was shaking badly but still managed to splash holy water on the walls and the floor, and continued on after the children’s ghosts who had penned the doctors and their staff in the kitchen.
Standing side by side, their resolve rebuilt, Daphne, Matthew and Father Hughes bore down on the ghosts. Daphne held out her silver cross, her conviction in its powers fueling the heat that radiated from her pendant. She could see the ghost of Melanie Paignton flinch away. Matthew splashed holy water on the staff, their spirits howling in pain.
“Depart, then, transgressor!” Father Hughes roared hoarsely. “Depart, seducer, full of lies and cunning, foe of virtue, persecutor of the innocent. Give place, abominable creature, give way, you monster, give way to Christ, in whom you found none of your works.” Christian Paignton’s ghost struggled, trying hard to be free of the hands that held him in placed, a wild look in his eyes. To Daphne, he looked like a cornered beast that knew he was going to die. “For he has already stripped you of your powers and laid waste your kingdom, bound you prisoner and plundered your weapons. He has cast you forth into the outer darkness, where everlasting ruin awaits you and your abettors.”
Daphne stepped forward and placed her cross in the center of Christian Paignton’s forehead; the ghost that was driving the malicious intent of every other ghost in this house. A furious scream shook the house to the rafters. Wind blew, buffeting them left and right but Daphne stood her ground.
A small whisper in Daphne’s ear.
“Tell Katie goodbye from us. She was a good friend.”
Then the air suddenly cleared, the gloom disappeared and light shone in the kitchen. The oppression Daphne had felt lifted, dispersing in the air like smoke.
“Is it over?” Ma
tthew asked.
“Yes,” Father Hughes cleared his throat. “It’s over. But we should still reinforce the place. Splash holy water in every room, as well as on the tree outside. I’ll consecrate the house, just as a final measure, to be sure.”
“Thank you, Father Hughes.” Daphne took his soft small hands and kissed them. “Thank you for everything.”
Father Hughes blushed.
“It’s my job. I’ll get to it then.”
He shuffled out of the kitchen, muttering a prayer as he went.
Daphne stood in the kitchen with Matthew. They looked at each other awkwardly. Matthew lifted his hands expectantly.
“What?” Daphne was confused, then realised what Matthew expected. “No! I’m not bloody kissing your hands.”
Matthew shrugged and went to splash holy water in the study.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
The Paignton Ghosts
20th December 1983
The party was a big success. Finally, as owner of a big enough place, Sarah had been delighted to host her very first Christmas party. All their friends and family had been invited, and a few neighbours. She had been at work for the past few days getting everything ready, although it hadn’t been smooth sailing, there had been many arguments and bad moods.
Andrew had refused to buy a Christmas tree. Sarah had requested they buy a fake tree for the living room, but Andrew had argued that they had a lovely cherry tree, and could decorate that. Sarah had asked if they’d be opening present under the cherry tree, and Andrew had huffed that she had given him responsibility of the tree and she should not concern herself with it.
They hadn’t spoken for two days after that.
Now, as Sarah brought another round of eggnog out to the back garden, she had to admit Andrew had the right idea. The tree looked magnificent, its sprawling branches decorated with lights and Christmas decorations.
Andrew was busy making sure Celia was well taken care of. The change had been pleasing for Sarah, who could finally stop worrying about her mother and husband getting along. Poppy was supervising the games for the kids, Amber and Katie were rosy cheeked and sparkly eyed, enjoying the endless sugar treats, and Daphne was sitting with her friends on the bench under the tree, with Matthew standing close by.
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