The Possession

by Michael Rutger

  Ken was standing in the lot when I left my room. He didn’t look like he’d slept much either. The sky was low and dark. “What’s up with him?”

  He was talking about the motel owner, who was putting a battered overnight bag in the back of his car. He saw us watching and walked over. “Find your guy?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m visiting with my sister for a couple days. Out of town. You’re leaving today, right?”

  “Assuming we can round up our friend.”

  “Leave your keys in the box. And a damages check for five hundred bucks.”

  “Okay,” Ken said. “But what happens if the place catches fire while you’re away?”

  He was joking. The guy didn’t smile. “It burns down.”

  As he drove past us, he stopped, wound the window down. “I’ve lived here my whole life,” he said. “Third generation Birchlake. My uncle used to tell me stories. If I were you, I’d bail on your pal and get on the road early.”

  He drove away, leaving Ken and me staring after him.

  I arrived at the coffee shop first, so I snagged the table in the corner and ordered. The drinks arrived as Kristy came in. I could tell immediately that someone or something had lit a fire under her and decided to let that unfold first.

  “What’s up?”

  “Not sure,” she said, putting her phone on the table. “But I just got a message from Gina Wright.”

  “Who is…”

  “Teacher at Alaina’s school. Says she’s got something to tell me.”

  “On a Sunday morning? What kind of thing?”

  “Didn’t say—wants to do it in person.”

  “Kristy—Pierre’s disappeared.”

  “What? Disappeared how?”

  “Last night he got into some kind of altercation with the bartender. Molly walked him back to the motel. Then in the middle of the night we went to his room. He wasn’t there. His room’s a mess. A strange mess. You didn’t hear from him? He didn’t call?”

  She shook her head. “I went to bed right after you and I talked. Slept. No missed calls, no messages. And, Pierre doesn’t have my number. Seriously, he got in a fight? I mean, I barely know the guy, but he doesn’t seem the type.”

  “He’s not. Nor the kind to trash his room and cover a ton of paper with weird symbols.”

  “What kind of symbols?”

  “Symbols that got me thinking. Have you still got that picture you sent me a couple of days ago? I deleted it.”

  “What picture?”

  “The one that brought you up here.”

  Kristy scrolled through her photo app. “This?”

  The photo from Instagram. “First I want to show you another.” I found it on my own phone and slid the device across the table so she could look.

  “What’s this?”

  “A photo I took yesterday, of another photo. The actual picture was taken by Madeline Hardaker at 3:18 p.m. on the day Alaina disappeared. Just before they went into the woods. Tell me if anything strikes you about it.”

  Kristy bent down over the screen. “Not really. A selfie of three teenagers. What am I looking for?”

  “I don’t want to lead you,” I said. “I didn’t get it when I first saw the picture. Then a couple of hours ago I was looking for the other one, saw this, and I got it.”

  Kristy sipped her coffee, frowning down at the screen. “Give me a clue, Nolan.”

  “Go back two nights. The night Alaina returned. Visualize it. Ken comes into the bar, tells you to come outside. You ask him why, probably.”

  “I did.”

  “And then?”

  “He said, ‘Nolan told me to get you out here.’”

  “So you went. And what did you see?”

  “The street. It was dark, foggy. You, about fifty yards away. With…”

  “Don’t backfill. See it as you saw it, in real time. You saw me there with somebody. So what did you do?”

  “I came over to you.”

  “Just me?”

  “No. You were with Al—”

  “Seriously, Kris,” I said. “Do it properly. You didn’t know it was her immediately. So close your eyes and tell me exactly what you saw when you got to me.”

  “Nolan, you’re being annoying.”

  “Do it. Please.”

  “Christ’s sake. You were holding a woman, stopping her from getting away. Long dark coat. Long hair. She was struggling. Then she raised her head, and I saw who it was. Okay? Am I allowed to say it was Alaina now?”

  I sat back, not sure whether I’d done a good thing or not. “Go back through what you just said. What you saw. Then look at the picture again.”

  She blinked, once, as she scrolled back through her recollection. Then looked down at my phone. Away, then back again. Then her mouth dropped slowly open.

  “Got it?”

  “Shit, Nolan. Why didn’t you just say?”

  “I wanted to be sure I wasn’t misremembering.”

  “In the picture she’s wearing a hoodie.”

  “Right. So if she was alone in the woods all that time, where did the coat come from?”

  Outside it seemed to be getting darker. More rain coming. I hoped that, wherever Pierre was, it was under cover. He’d been gone for hours, and I was now genuinely worried. Ken had come most of the way to the coffee shop with me and was currently walking the streets, looking for him. Molly was back at the motel on a mission to ping Pierre’s phone at five-minute intervals and be there if he came back.

  “That picture wasn’t taken at the school? She couldn’t have changed before she left?”

  “No,” I said. “Snapped moments before they went into the woods. Look—in the background you can even see the corner of the motel. Either she wasn’t out in the woods the whole time, or she at least saw someone who gave her the coat. So why deny it?”

  “Shit, Nolan. Text me that picture. This is fantastic. I take back everything I’ve ever said about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Okay, not all of it. What was the other thing?”

  “It’s not such a headline. I’m not sure it means anything. But that Insta name Alaina has—htilil♥2005.”

  “What about it?”

  “It stuck in my head. I remembered it a couple hours ago, wrote it down. Played with the letters a little. It took me two seconds. It’s a simple reverse. Lilith. Ring bells?”

  “Remind me.”

  “A figure in Jewish mythology. The name of Adam’s undermentioned first wife—who Adam complained was a little too self-actualized, so God fired her, kicked her out into the wilderness, and cooked up the more pliable Eve instead. These days Lilith is usually positioned as a kind of demon or else claimed to be a mythical proto-feminist figure. But she’s also a central icon in certain strains of witchcraft.”

  “Are you saying Alaina’s a witch?”

  “No, but she might believe in witchcraft. Might even think a witch was something you could become.” I could tell from Kristy’s face that she was joining up dots. “What?”

  “The elective the principal teaches. He covers witchcraft. And, because he’s a thoughtful guy, handles it from a politically correct perspective.”

  “Okay, so maybe there’s a story there,” I said. “If you want it. Though personally I’d just leave town. Which is what we’re going to do as soon as we’ve found Pierre.”

  “The hell with that. I’m going to find out where Alaina got that coat.”

  “I really wouldn’t go down that road.”

  “Why?”

  “What got me thinking about witchcraft was the fact that—before he went wherever he’s gone—Pierre covered a ton of paper with symbols of witchcraft and demonology, about which I’m prepared to bet Pierre knows nothing.”

  A woman was standing on the other side of the glass, out on the street, looking straight at Kristy.

  “Oh—that’s Gina. Order me another coffee.”

  “Kris—I’m not hanging around. I�
�m going to help Ken find Pierre and then we’re out of here.”

  “Seriously, this will take two minutes.”

  She was gone. I irritably waved at the waitress, pointed at Kristy’s cup. Then I phoned Ken. “Any sign?”

  “No,” he said. “Molly’s got nothing either.”

  “I just realized something. We assumed Pierre did those drawings. He may not have.”

  “Huh. That’s true.”

  “In which case…”

  “If someone else did, Pierre might have an idea of who it was and be out looking for them. Here’s a thought. That pretty boy in the bar last night.”

  “Why would he do something like that?”

  “No idea, mate. But Pierre obviously had a problem with him, so maybe we should check in with the guy in case.”

  “Good idea. Where are you right…Christ!”

  “What?”

  I ran out onto the street, nearly flattening the waitress on the way.

  What I’d seen through the window was Kristy being shaken by the shoulders. Hard. By the time I got out there they’d separated—Kristy on the back foot. The other woman looked furious—and ready to get straight back into the fight.

  “Hell’s going on?”

  “She attacked me,” Kristy said, bewildered.

  The woman lunged forward again. I stepped in the way and took a fist to the side of the neck for my trouble. It hurt. “Look,” I said. “Gina, right? Hell is your problem?”

  “I will take you out,” the woman snarled at Kristy. I held a hand to keep Kristy back. I could see her initial shock turning to anger and didn’t want it to escalate. I’ve seen Kristy angry. You do not want to be in its path.

  Meanwhile Gina shoved at me, trying to get past. Over her shoulder I saw Ken turning onto the main street. He started running in our direction. Then I became aware of another woman, walking fast toward us across the road. Val, the woman from the Tap. She got to us just as Ken did.

  “Jesus,” she said. “I heard about your pal getting in Kurt’s face last night. What is it with you people?”

  “Nothing to do with me,” I said. “It’s…actually I have no idea what’s going on. I’m just getting in the way.”

  “That bitch,” Gina shouted. It was right in my ear, and very loud. “Is trying to fuck me up.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Kristy said.

  Val turned to the other woman, who I now realized was the one I’d seen listening to her husband in the Tap a couple nights before. “Gina. It’s a nice, quiet Sunday morning. Trying to beat up on another woman in the street is not a great look. For anybody. Definitely not you.”

  Something of this got through to Gina. She exhaled. Took a step back. “She hacked my account.”

  “What?” Kristy said. “What are you even talking about?”

  “What account?” Val said.

  “Someone took a picture three days ago, and…” Gina stopped, abruptly, as if finally realizing how the situation looked—and that whatever was exercising her wasn’t something to shout about in front of onlookers. The customers and staff in the coffee shop were watching through the window as though they’d come across a new and extraordinary cable channel. We were strangers. The people inside weren’t. Birchlake is a small town. They must know who she was.

  Gina regrouped. Dropped her voice to half the volume. “She put up a picture on my Instagram account.”

  “When was this?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, late. I took it down. She put it up again in the middle of the night.”

  Kristy had her hands on hips. “Gina. I don’t know what made you think it was me, but it wasn’t.”

  “You must have.”

  “Nope.”

  “Then…” Gina was staring at Kristy now, confused. You can tell when someone’s lying to your face, especially when they’re mad. You’ve got to be a sociopath not to betray a falsehood with a vagueness in the eyes. There was none of that in Kristy. She was telling the truth.

  Gina put her face in her hands. “God, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Kristy said. “Clearly you’re upset. Do you want to talk about it? You said you had…”

  “No,” Gina said. “I’ve got to go home.”

  She walked quickly away.

  “Well that was weird,” Val said.

  “No kidding.” Kristy was watching Gina go. I knew the look on her face. It meant she was trying to put things together in her head, with something just out of mental reach.

  “Okay, well, bye,” Val said. “I’m glad at least to see your boy has his shit back together.”

  “You’ve seen Pierre? Where?”

  “When I was walking here. He walked by. Pretty fast. I said good morning. Didn’t look like he was listening.”

  “When?” I asked. “And which way was he going?”

  “Twenty minutes. He was headed into the woods. Why?”

  Chapter

  ​35

  Molly got to the coffee shop quickly, and the four of us hurried up the street to the side road that held the bed and breakfast. A large, immaculately maintained Victorian.

  “I bet their water pipes don’t rattle,” Ken said.

  “What’s it going to take?” Molly asked.

  “A lot, love. I know how easy it is to spook people.”

  “You reminded me of that in the night,” I said. “But you said it led you to believe that the noise you heard wasn’t anything except what it sounded like. Somebody knocking.”

  “It was dark,” Ken said. “You think differently. Sometimes, bollocks may be spoken. Even by me.”

  I knew he was right—that the absence of light changes the world in ways that feel bigger than simply not being able to see things. We all know this. Try walking around your house in the wee hours, with the lights off, even if you’ve lived there ten years. Something has changed, and that makes the whole place feel completely different. “You do,” I agreed. “But the question is why. And—”

  “Don’t start, Nolan. Let’s round up Pierre and get on the road, and you can bore the crap out of me with this when we’re on the way down to San Jose.”

  “What are you all talking about?” Kristy said. There were only a few houses left to go. After that the road dead-ended at a low metal gate, with forest beyond.

  Ken and I hesitated. Molly did not. “Ken heard knocking inside his closet in the night. Nolan’s coffee pot exploded for no reason—about the same time that I saw…someone in my shower. Who can’t have been there. Apparently this is all ‘science.’”

  Kristy slowed. “What?” I asked.

  “It’s probably nothing,” she said. “But the second night I was in Birchlake, something happened with my phone.”

  “I know,” I said. “You got a replacement.”

  “I didn’t say why. I heard a banging sound from the store below the apartment, like I told you. I went down to check if it was someone hammering on the street door. When I got back upstairs my phone was in the middle of the floor. And no, Nolan, I hadn’t left it hanging off the edge. I’ve been diligently not thinking about this the last couple of days. Assumed it was just one of those things.”

  Things do happen. Some of them inexplicable. We assume it’s because we don’t know all the facts. That there’s an explanation, yes, involving “science,” and we simply can’t think of it right now. When three or four such events cluster together, it gets harder. But not impossible.

  “Something else I didn’t tell you before,” Molly said.

  “What?”

  She hesitated, as though she wasn’t sure this was a box she wanted to open. “Because I thought you wouldn’t take it seriously. Before I saw the thing in the shower. I heard something. That’s why I turned around.”

  “What was it?”

  “A voice.”

  “Saying what?”

  “‘I’m still here.’”

  We’d reached the end of the road. “Let’s just go find Pierre,�
�� I said.

  It was now at least half an hour since Val saw Pierre heading toward the woods.

  Kristy and Molly set off left, the direction that would eventually bring them around the back of town and toward the motel. Ken and I went straight ahead, because the right soon banked up steeply and it seemed unlikely Pierre would have chosen a course where he had to scale wet rock on hands and knees. Thankfully, the rain was holding off, but the sky was dark and there was a lot of mist between the trees.

  Soon it was very quiet apart from the occasional snap of twigs under our feet. Once in a while we called out to Pierre. No response. Otherwise we walked in silence.

  After about twenty minutes Ken said, “Okay, spill it.”

  “Spill what?”

  “I dunno, do I. But something’s on your so-called mind.”

  “I’m just trying to make sense of something. One of the reasons I brought us up here in the first place was Kristy sent me a picture of Alaina’s Instagram. She uses a reversal of the name Lilith.”

  “Adam’s first wife.”

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “I know almost everything, mate.”

  “I see. Well in that case you’ll also be aware that idea actually came about pretty late—popularized in works like the Alphabet of Sirach and the writings of Isaac ben Jacob ha-Cohen, some of which may have been satirical, before getting tangled up into Kabbalistic mysticism.”

  “Yeah, I knew all that as well. Obviously.”

  “Listen. The idea originally sparked off the fact that while Genesis 2:22 describes how Eve was created from Adam’s rib, earlier in 1:27 it says God created man in his own image—specifying ‘male and female he created them.’ The Bible doesn’t go near any of that, and mentions Lilith only once, in the Book of Isaiah, where something of that name is listed among eight unclean animals.”

  “Huh.”

  “And the interesting thing about that is the Semitic root of the word comes from the Hebrew layil and the Arabic layl—both meaning ‘night.’ In Hebrew-language texts, Lilith or lilit is generally translated as ‘night creatures.’ And in the Dead Sea Scrolls, the first time the name Lilith is used is in a list, again, of monsters.”