by Mark Lukens
Julia’s father, Richard, stood against the far wall, only steps away from the corner where the small table was. He was a heavyset man in his early forties. His hair was thinning and he looked like he might have been a muscular man in his youth, but now fat was overtaking his muscle quickly. Paul guessed, just from the pickup truck he had seen parked outside, that the man was some kind of contractor now, but Paul supposed he had endured a lifetime of hard physical labor earlier in his life. He wore dark pants and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing his meaty forearms and large hands. He looked like a strong and powerful man; he was probably normally a rock for his daughter, but right now he looked shocked and frightened. His eyes were puffy and red, his face swollen from crying. He had watched his teenaged daughter, nearly a woman now, but still his little girl, suffer through this demonic possession, and now the person strapped down to the bed was not someone he knew anymore.
Father O’Leary stood near the same wall as Richard. The young priest had his bible and rosary beads in his hands like he needed something to hold onto, some kind of defense from the monster that had overtaken this girl.
In the exact center of the bedroom was Julia’s bed, every side of it away from a wall. The headboard and footboard were made out of metal and decorated with fancy scrolls and leafy designs. All of the metal was painted white with decorative knobs on top of all four posts. The mattress was bare and filthy with dark stains.
Julia was tied down to the bed, spread-eagle. She wore a pair of old gray sweatpants, white socks on her feet, and a faded yellow long-sleeved thermal shirt. Hospital issue, fur-lined leather cuffs were wrapped around her wrists and ankles, and the cuffs were attached to strong ropes pulled tight and tied to the legs of the bed at each corner. The bonds allowed Julia some movement, but they still restricted her enough so that she couldn’t hurt herself—or anyone else.
But Julia wasn’t thrashing or pulling against the ropes right now. She was totally still, her dark eyes on Paul as soon as he entered the room. Her mouth was frozen in a twisted half-smile with a severe upturn on one side. Her head was cocked at an odd and painful-looking angle. Her coal-black eyes followed Paul’s every movement.
Richard rushed across the room to Paul, his work boots thundering on the floorboards. He grabbed Paul’s shoulders as tears slipped from his red-rimmed eyes.
“You can help her, can’t you?”
Paul didn’t pull away from the man’s grasp. He felt the man’s fingers digging into his shoulder muscles with a frightened person’s panicked strength.
“We will help her,” Paul said. “God will help her.”
“She’s … that’s not her anymore,” Richard said. “She was never like this before. I … I don’t know how this happened.”
“We can worry about that later. Right now we need to cast that demon out of her.”“Are you a priest?” Richard asked, seeming to suddenly notice the lack of a collar around Paul’s neck—he only saw the silver crucifix laying there against his black sweater.
“No,” Paul told him.
“What are you, then? What’s in that bag?”
Richard looked like he was going to panic, like a caged animal about to erupt into a rampage. Paul needed to calm the man down quickly.
“We can help her,” Paul told Richard. “But you must stay calm.”
“Calm?” he barked and pointed at the thin, pale girl strapped down to the bare bed. “Look at her. Look at my baby!” He was crying now. “She’s dying.”
“You can’t stay in here if you can’t remain calm,” Paul said in an emotionless voice. “The demon wants any distractions it can get. You can’t let yourself be that distraction.”
Richard seemed like he was going to explode with rage, but his face fell in sudden defeat and he only nodded.
Paul handed the photograph of Julia to Richard. “Take this and show it to her. Remind her of who she really is. Talk to her. She’s still inside there somewhere. But don’t get too close to the bed.”
Richard nodded again, and he seemed more relaxed now that he had something to do. He walked over to the bed with the framed photograph clutched in his hands, facing it towards her. He stayed a few feet away from her bedside.
“Julia, baby,” Richard whispered. “I know you’re still inside. I know you can still hear me.”
He took another step closer to the bed, but Julia still didn’t acknowledge him; her eyes were still focused on Paul as he set his canvas bag down on the floor near the wall directly across from the foot of the bed. He unzipped his canvas bag.
Julia’s dark eyes moved from Paul to her father, and the strange half-smile on her face disappeared. Her face crumbled into sorrow and fear, and she seemed to recognize that her father was standing beside her bed.
“Daddy?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Richard breathed out in a cloud of mist. He moved closer to the bed with the framed photo still clutched in his hands.
“Not too close,” Paul warned as he crouched down by his bag.
Richard stopped a foot and half away from Julia’s bedside with tears in his eyes. “Baby, it’s me.”
Julia stared at her father for a moment, and then fear overtook her as she shook her head back and forth, her stringy black hair flying around. The mattress squeaked from her sudden thrashing.
“No, Daddy! Please. Don’t do it again! Don’t touch me there! Don’t make me do those things!”
Richard looked horrified. He tightened his grip on the framed photograph and it looked ready to snap.
“What are you talking about? That’s not true!”
Paul jumped to his feet and Father James was at the other side of the bed holding his crucifix over Julia, praying quickly in Latin.
“Please don’t do it again, Daddy!” Julia said, still shaking her head back and forth, her hair whipping across her face. And then she broke out into high, squealing laughter that turned deep and guttural.
Richard looked at Father James helplessly, but the priest’s eyes were nearly closed as he mumbled his constant prayers. Richard turned to Paul. “I never did those things to her. That’s not true. She’s my daughter … I loved her …”
“That’s not your daughter talking right now,” Paul said.
Julia’s face changed from a scared girl to a malevolent creature. Her eyes darkened and that strange half-smile was back on her cracked lips. Her skin became mottled and veiny again.
“Come on down here, Papa,” Julia said in a guttural voice. “Come down here and touch me. I’m so horny right now.”
Julia writhed on the bed, moaning. The ropes creaked as she pulled at them. The mattress squeaked and shook as she thrust her hips up and down.
Richard backed away from the bed in horror, back to the wall by the end table.
Paul stood up and walked to the bedside.
“Shut up,” Paul told Julia in a calm and even voice, but it had a quiet power and menace in it.
Father O’Leary hurried to the foot of the bed, joining Father James in muttered prayers in Latin.
Julia’s dark eyes flicked back to Paul and she stared at him, her face frozen in an expressionless blank slate except for the upturned smile, a smile that was false, a smile that didn’t touch her eyes.
“I know you … Paul Lambert,” Julia said.
CHAP†ER FOUR
Paul hurried back to far wall where his canvas bag was on the floor. He pulled out a small handheld tape recorder from his bag and turned it on. He set the recorder down right next to the bag on the floor. Next, he pulled out a long metal flashlight and set it down next to the recorder. It was only a matter of time before the electricity went out and he would need the flashlight.
The next items Paul took out of his canvas duffel bag were two large metal canisters.
“Back away from the bed, please,” Paul told the two priests as he set the canisters on the floor next to the bag.
Father O’Leary backed away, but Father James hesitated for a mo
ment like he was finishing the prayers he was reciting. But then he backed away, still waving his crucifix at Julia on the bed, still whispering prayers.
The next thing Paul pulled out of his bag was a small copper chafing dish with a paste of myrrh, incense, camphor, and cloves spread out on the inside of it. He lit a candle directly underneath the chafing dish with a lighter, heating up the paste, and the aroma drifted up from the shallow bowl.
Paul then took a small box out of his canvas bag. The box was about half the size of a loaf of bread. It was constructed of wood and painted black, and it had words in ancient languages carved into nearly every square inch of the surface—the words were the names of God. He also pulled out a roll of thin iron wire and set it down next to the box. He unclasped the tiny lock on the lid of the box and opened it. A pungent odor drifted out from the box. A piece of parchment and a stick of sharpened charcoal were tucked down inside the box. As soon as Paul could learn the demon’s name, he would write it down on the parchment and stuff it down inside the box. Then he would lock the box and wrap the iron wire around it, sealing it shut and trapping the power of the demon inside.
“These pagan rituals won’t help,” Father James warned. “Only God can help. Only Jesus Christ.”
Paul wasn’t going to argue with Father James right now, but he knew that these rituals were going to work. He unscrewed the lids of the two metal canisters he had taken out of his bag and dropped the lids back down into the open mouth of his duffel bag. He stood up and walked around the bed in a quick circle, pouring out simultaneous lines of salt and iron fillings from the metal cans.
“Stay outside this circle,” he told the other three men in the bedroom.
After the circle around the bed was complete, Paul brought the nearly empty canisters back to his duffel bag and put the lids back on.
Father James ignored Paul for now and approached the bed again, standing right outside the circle of salt and iron. “Name yourself, demon!” he shouted at Julia.
Julia lay lifeless on the bed, her body as still as the expression on her face, her eyes still fixed on Paul.
“I command you in the name of Jesus to name yourself, demon!”
There was still no reaction from Julia.
Father James inched closer to the line of salt and iron. “You will name yourself, demon!! And you will remove yourself from this woman’s body!!”
Julia still didn’t move a muscle. She looked dead except for the slight rise and fall of her chest underneath the pale yellow shirt, and the faint mist of breath from her nostrils.
Father James stepped inside the circle, right up next to the bed. He waved his crucifix over Julia’s body.
“Father … the circle,” Paul said.
Father James ignored his warning.
“Name yourself!” Father James yelled as he laid the crucifix down on Julia’s forehead.
There was no reaction from Julia. She didn’t pull away from the crucifix. Her skin didn’t sizzle or smoke; she just lay there.
And then Julia’s dark eyes slowly moved from Paul to Father James. Her eyes were the only thing that moved; the rest of her head, face, and body were frozen.
“Name yourself, demon! You cannot fight the power of Jesus Christ! You must obey!”
“Obey,” Julia mocked. “Obey. Obey. Obey.”
Julia lifted her head up from the bed, but Father James did not back away, he didn’t pull the crucifix away from her forehead.
She raised her head up higher, her neck muscles straining, her arms pulling at her cuffs, the ropes stretching out tight as her body slowly lifted up off of the bed, floating up from the mattress as far as the ropes would allow.
“Oh dear God,” Richard whispered, crying again.
Father O’Leary stood by the wall near Richard now, still praying, still clutching his own crucifix and rosary beads.
The twisted smile never left Julia’s face as her body levitated up as far as the ropes would allow, her arms and legs straining, joints popping, ropes and tendons creaking.
“Obey,” Julia mocked Father James’s words again. “Obey. Obey. Obey.”
Father James seemed to falter just a bit, to lose just a little focus, like he might be doubting what he was seeing. He pulled the crucifix away from Julia’s forehead and backed away a few steps.
Julia collapsed back down onto the bed, writhing and pulling at the cuffs and ropes. She thrashed her head back and forth.
Another flash of lightning lit up the room for a second.
Father James looked to his assistant across the room. “The holy water! Quickly!”
Father O’Leary picked up the glass vessel with trembling hands and brought it over to Father James. He handed the vessel to the old priest, but he was careful not to step inside the circle of salt and iron.
Father James dunked two of his long, large-knuckled fingers into the water and then flicked it at the writhing Julia.
“Leave this woman alone, demon!” Father James shouted. “Leave this woman right now in the name of Jesus Christ!!”
Julia yelled out words in a sing-song voice as she thrashed back and forth on the bare mattress.
“Leave. Stay. Leave. Stay. Leave. Stay. Leavestayleavestayleavestayleavestay …”
“You will leave this young woman’s body in the name of Almighty God!!”
Father James flicked more holy water at Julia and she suddenly stopped thrashing. She looked at the priest through her scraggly dark hair that hung over her face, covering half of it. She spoke with one dark eye on the priest, a cold mist drifting out from her half-smile.
“Where will I go, priest?”
Father James ignored her question. “Name yourself and leave this young woman!”
Julia spoke again with feigned fear. “But where am I going to go? What’s going to happen to me? Even Legion was sent by Christ into the swine.”
“You’ll go back to Hell where you came from!”
“But I need somewhere to go,” Julia continued, her voice suddenly deep and threatening. “I need swine to enter.”
The bed began to shake, the metal legs tapping at the wood floorboards.
Julia writhed on the bed again, pulling violently against the cuffs attached to her wrists and ankles, the ropes pulling taut, threatening to snap.
Father O’Leary hurried back towards the wall, but he continued praying.
Paul stole a quick glance at Father O’Leary and Julia’s father. Richard shook his head back and forth, crying. And the assistant looked ready to run at any moment. Paul wasn’t sure how much more these two men could stand.
Father James stepped back inside the circle of salt and iron. He gripped his crucifix in one hand, his bible in the other. He thrust the crucifix at the writhing girl and he began a string of prayers.
“God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, I invoke Your Holy Name and suppliantly request You to give me strength against this and every other unclean spirit …”
Julia’s body popped up from the mattress, levitating in the air again, only the cuffs and ropes keeping her from floating up even farther above the bed. Her arms and legs were stretched out as far as they could go, her muscles pulling, her joints popping, her scraggily dark hair hanging down from her head as it lolled from side to side.
“Leavestayleavestayleavestayleavestay!!” she screamed. “Obey. Not obey. Obey. Not obey. Obeynotobeyobeynotobeyobeynotobey …”
This was how demons liked to talk. They loved the opposites of nature: light and dark, good and evil, yes and no, right and wrong. They loved the confusion of it, the duality of everything.
Paul moved closer to the bed.
Father James showed the first cracks in his faith, a slight stumbling as he witnessed the physical impossibility of the girl floating above the bed right in front of his eyes.
“Swine!” Julia yelled at Father James as she whipped her head back and forth in the air. “I need swine to enter!”
Her head stopped thrashing suddenly and she st
ared at Father James. “Will you be my swine?” she whispered.
Julia crashed back down onto the bed and there was the sound of rushing wind.
But the wind wasn’t from the storm outside—it was coming from inside the bedroom.
Oh God, Paul thought. This is getting out of control too quickly.
They all stared in horror at Julia’s skin—it seemed like thousands of worms were crawling right underneath her skin.
Father James backed up another step, but he still wasn’t outside of the circle yet. He dropped his arms as if the crucifix and bible had suddenly become too heavy for him to bear. He had a confused and horrified look on his face like he couldn’t trust what he was seeing anymore.
The worm-like things moved down from Julia’s body and into the mattress. They moved under the mattress, their bulk pushing up against the stained fabric.
Shadows moved in the corners of the room, growing darker and more solid, forming into nightmarish shapes. The rushing of wind grew louder, the air became even colder.
Just as Paul was about to rush across the room and push Father James away from the bed and outside the circle of salt and iron, the candles blew out and the bedroom was plunged into darkness.
CHAP†ER FIVE
“The lights!” Paul yelled.
“The candles are out!” Richard yelled back in the darkness.
Paul heard the sound of footsteps in the bedroom, but it didn’t sound like anyone had run for the door yet.
He couldn’t hear Julia thrashing on the bed anymore. She wasn’t making a sound now.
“Richard,” Paul called out. “The light switch! We need light right now!”
Paul heard the sound of Richard stumbling around the room, feeling his way along the wall for the light switch.
Paul felt around in the darkness for his duffel bag against the wall. He had to work slowly; he didn’t want to knock over the still-smoking chaffing dish. His hands touched the wooden black box, and then he moved his hands slowly to the duffel bag, and then to the right. He knew his flashlight was somewhere to the right of his bag where he had left it standing next to the small tape recorder. He needed to get some kind of light on in this room right now; there were things that could appear and move around in the darkness—he had seen them before during other exorcisms; he had fought with them before.
