by Keta Diablo
“Oh, great. I hear there’s an old abandoned building near the railroad tracks. I’d love to see it.”
The clerk’s eyebrows jumped upward. “Really? Not many ask to see that old, decrepit building. Still, I suppose to some it might be interesting...from a historical point of view.”
Cecily offered her best smile. “That’s why I’m here, to grab a few photos for a series we’re doing on abandoned buildings.”
“Oh, yeah, who’s we?”
“The Des Moines Register in Iowa.”
The clerk arched his neck back. “All the way from Des Moines, huh?”
“Yep, all the way from Des Moines. So tell me what you know about the building and its location.”
“The man nodded south. “Pretty easy to find once you get to Irondale. Follow the railroad tracks along County Road 4. Cross the tracks across from the high school. You’ll come to a brown brick building about one-half mile down. Most locals seem to think it was once the old railroad office, others say it’s housed several businesses over the years.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Hey, don’t get it in your head to go inside, though. When I said it was dilapidated; that’s an understatement. Most of the roof is gone and bricks are scattered willy-nilly around the place. A virtual jungle surrounds the building now. If you get there before dusk, you might get a few good pictures.”
Cecily grabbed her room key off the desk, thanked the man for the information and headed for the front door.
The clerk called out to her. “Hey, don’t you want to see your room?”
Speaking over her shoulder, she answered. “Oh, I’m sure it’s great. This is The Embassy Suites after all. I have a few errands to run first.”
Since the Goodwill Outlet stood three blocks away, she decided to walk the short distance. It didn’t take long to select a pair of sturdy boots, a few items of clothing and a flashlight with a handle. While checking out, she added batteries to her purchase. She’d never find them at a regular Goodwill store, but the Outlet had them on display near the front.
After leaving the Goodwill store, she spied St. Mary’s Catholic Church across the street. The hour was getting late; she could only hope someone would still be there. Her footsteps echoed in the cavernous building, and she had to admit, her legs were a little shaky. She’d never asked to have holy water blessed before, but the article on the Internet said it was a common request from parishioners.
Deep in thought, she didn’t notice the man who had stepped out from a side door until he greeted her. “Welcome to St. Mary’s, Miss. I haven’t seen you here before, have I?”
Cecily shook her head with a smile.
“If you’re here to pray, the worship center is directly ahead.”
“Actually, I’m wondering if your priest could bless some holy water for me?”
“Certainly, Miss. We have a font in the worship center,” he pointed in that direction, “and an assortment of small jars on a table next to the font. Let me see if I can rustle up Father Raines to bless your holy water.”
“Thank you. I’ll wait in the worship center, then.”
She took a seat in the front pew and admired the stained-glass windows and intricate woodwork in the room. Before long, a man in long white robes with wide red trim entered from the Nave and walked toward her.
He took a seat beside her on the pew and held out a hand. “Hello. I’m Father Raines. Mr. Dunkirk tells me you’d like me to bless some holy water for you?”
Cecily clasped the man’s large hand. “Cecily, Cecily Sizemore, Father, and yes, that’s correct.”
“Follow me,” he said with a pleasant smile.
When they reached the font, he directed her to select a jar and fill it. “I must ask what you intend to use the holy water for, a prerequisite to blessing it.”
“Oh. Well, I-I need it to ward off an evil presence.”
“I see. Do you have reason to believe this evil presence occupies your house?”
Is it a sin to lie to a priest? “I’m not sure, Father. I mean, it’s more like I sense an evil spirit around me.”
“Ah, that does happen. At times, we can sense a dark aura or presence around us. The holy water should keep it at bay.”
“Tell me, Father, do you believe in evil versus good?” She hesitated. “Dark vs. light?”
“Of course. We can’t have one without the other. Good versus evil and darkness versus light have battled for centuries. Sometimes within the person himself. That is, man has a side of goodness and a side of evil warring at all times. Think of it as a mammoth tree trunk, Jesus representing the trunk, and on that tree are two large branches, one evil, one living in God’s light. Man must decide which branch will remain strong and overpower the weaker branch.”
“That’s a good analogy.”
“You are troubled, Miss.”
It wasn’t a question but a perceptive statement.
Cecily nodded.
“You have lost someone recently?”
She couldn’t stop the tears from filling her eyelids. “I have lost everything, everyone.”
He took her hand. “Not everything, although it might seem so right now. Remember child, the Lord is always near. You have only to reach out to Him.”
Not trusting her voice, she offered a subtle nod.
“Come, let’s bless that holy water. Carry it with you wherever you go if it comforts you.”
“Thank you, Father, I will.”
Cecily plucked a small jar from the table, opened it, and filled it from the font. Father Raines made the sign of the cross on her forehead and spoke. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
“Amen,” Cecily said.
“May God, who through water and the Holy Spirit has given us a new birth in Christ, be with you.”
She uttered the familiar words. “And with you.”
The Father’s sonorous voice filled the massive room. “On the last and greatest day of the feast, Jesus stood up and exclaimed, ‘Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture says: Rivers of living water will flow from within him.’" He made the sign of the cross over the jar of holy water and nodded.
“Thank you, Father,” she said.
His next act surprised her. He removed a crucifix from around his neck and looped it over her head.
“Oh, no, I can’t take your crucifix.”
“Bah, we have an abundance at St. Mary’s, and something tells me you need it more than me right now.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, child. Give thanks to the Lord, and wherever you go, May God go with you.”
Filled with emotion, she couldn’t respond right now. With another nod, she turned from him and walked down the long aisle of the worship center. She didn’t realize she’d be holding her breath until she stepped outside and looked at the sun descending slowly on the western horizon.
With her jar of holy water clasped tightly in her hand and the crucifix around her neck, she walked in the direction of The Embassy Suites to retrieve the car.
Chapter Fourteen
Cecily parked the car in a residential neighborhood close to the railroad tracks, a short distance out of Irondale. Armed with her jar of holy water, the crucifix, a lantern and Calder’s dagger tucked into the waistband of her pants, she trudged along the tracks, doing everything in her power to keep her mind off what lay ahead.
Marcel spoke the truth when he said she couldn’t possibly understand what an encounter with a demon entailed, not even in her worst nightmares. The fear rattling her bones told her she had no idea what to expect. Perhaps not knowing worked in her favor.
She’d practiced her mantras─ the religious incantations she pilfered from the Internet─while skirting the tracks, her trusty lantern providing a dim path of gloom ahead of her agonized footsteps. The moon assisted her meager light and hung like a silver locket in the sky dripping in di
amonds.
Now and then, she’d direct the light from her lantern upward, hoping to spot the abandoned building. When it came into her line of sight, she emitted a low gasp.
She advanced, one slow step at a time, acknowledging the clerk at the motel hadn’t lied about the overgrowth surrounding the sad sack structure. Ancient ash and oaks threw green shadows surrounding the decrepit ruins, and several times she stumbled on a menagerie of small trees, plants and foliage littering the grounds surrounding the building.
Her heart thrummed in triple beats. You can’t run now, you coward. You’ve come too far. No retreat, no surrender, remember? Mustering every ounce of courage she could dredge up; she took another step and then another. A canopy of gnarled branches, thick with vines, led her to the missing front door.
Saliva swamped her throat. She swallowed it, along with the acidic bile rising up like a tsunami from her gut. She closed her eyes, again summoning her strength and spoke aloud. “If spirits threaten me in this place, Fight Water by Water and Fire by Fire. Banish their souls into nothingness, and remove their powers until the last trace. Let these evil beings flee, back through time and space.”
She stepped under the archway of the door into the black abyss. Using the lantern, she surveyed the main room, every inch of floor, wall and ceiling. Spider webs hung from the rotted wood corners; their nests so massive they could have snared a rodent for supper.
The silence deafened her. She had to speak, if for no other reason than to hear a human voice. “Hear my voice, Lord, when I call; even now my voice is held high above my enemies.”
The cops would be proud of her. She cleared the room, albeit without a gun, like she’d witnessed so many times on CSI. Another room rose up before her ahead. She inched her way toward it and entered. Midway into the room, she came to an abrupt halt when the call of the mockingbird echoed through the vacant air.
The pulse pounded in her ears and in the hollow of her throat. “Calder? Are you here? Calder! Where are you?”
Again, the shrill chatburst filled her senses, every single one. Confusion and turmoil reigned in her head. No one other than Calder knew their secret childhood call.
And then a voice, her beloved brother’s. “You trust me, don't you; you know I would never, ever do anything to hurt you?”
She covered her ears with her hands. “Stop! It’s not you; it can’t be you!”
A twig snapped behind her. Cecily spun around as if stung by a hundred wasps. She searched the dark corners with the lantern, imagining a ghoul in every moving shadow.
An empty, soulless voice, deep from the bowels of Hell, spoke. “I control the shadows, and I control every voice in this putrefied place you call Earth.
A distorted version of Marcel’s voice reverberated off the walls. “Demons can mimic human voices.”
“You forgot about that, lowly human, did you not?”
Cecily took a step back, a half-stifled scream escaping her throat when she raised the lantern in his direction. Dressed in a long, black robe, an upside-down cross bobbled on his chest as he advanced. Swarms of rats and flies followed in his wake. An overwhelming smell of sulfur and smoke enveloped her, but not enough to conceal his horrifying features. Raised boils and blisters marred his pockmarked face, rot and decay blighted his mutilated flesh. When he sneered, a crooked row of black teeth with bloated gums oozed green pus. Elongated arms, marred by gangrene, hung from his shoulders like rotten tree branches.
Cecily never dreamed such an abomination could exist. Chest heaving, blood running like ice through her veins, she uttered a silent prayer. First angel of God, Michael, who rules heaven’s realm, and you, archangel Gabriel, I beseech you to help me.”
“There’s no one to help you now.”
Shock registered in her brain. “You heard that, my silent plea? Hear this, then, you lowlife bag of rotting flesh. “First angel of God, Michael, who rules heaven’s realm, and you, archangel Gabriel, I beseech you to help me.”
The demon let loose a bone-piercing scream as if coming straight from the bowels of Hell, and then without warning, a stream of yellow vomit flew from his mouth. Here was her moment of chance. She fumbled for the bottle of holy water stuffed into her billowing shirt, unscrewed the cover and flung it through the air toward the ghoul.
Smoke and ash rose from his body and he screamed his agony. Cecily retrieved the dagger from her boot, held it upward in one hand and advanced with the crucifix in the other. Talons extended, he flung an arm over his eyes, his deep, gruff voice launching into a string of blasphemous curses.
Now was the time to drive the dagger deep into his heart. When she lunged, the demon flung his arm out with the speed of a cobra strike. A solid, leathery hand connected with her cheek, sending her sailing through the air like a weightless leaf. She hit the wall across the room with a solid thud, every bone in her body on fire with pain. Warm, sticky blood ran from her nose and mouth, and she struggled to breathe.
A guttural laugh filled the silent room as the demon advanced. She searched the floor around her for the dagger, but to no avail. Like her, the knife must have also soared through the air and found a home outside her reach.
She called out. “Elliott, help me. I’m here, inside the building.” Dear God, where are you?
“I’m afraid you missed him. He can’t help you now either.”
“Fuck you, you lower-than-a-beetle-abomination.”
Looking down on her, the demon’s eyes burned red embers. “He should have sent you home like I told him.”
Dazed beyond reason, she couldn’t make sense of his words. He should have sent you home like I told him?
Could demons read minds too? Could they eavesdrop on conversations? Was there no end to their satanic powers? Sorrow stabbed her heart when she thought of Elliott. The demons had claimed another of her loved ones. And here she lay like a broken ragdoll, helpless and about to meet the same fate as her parents, Calder and now Elliott.
This thing, this fiend standing over her, was truly the stuff of nightmares. Well, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. If it was her last act in life, she’d find a way to stand and face him, meet her death with her aching back rigid and her bleeding chin held high.
She inched her way into a crab-crawl position, preparing to stand, when a commotion near the door drew her attention. The roar of wind blasted through the spider-webbed room. Above the thunderous squall, his face in shadow, a broad-shouldered man stepped through the open doorway, silent as a ghost.
“Over here, you rotting sack of shit.”
Marcel? But how? Cecily’s hope rose like sails on a schooner.
The demon whirled toward the voice and then gave a short burst of laughter. “So, you have come to slay the demon.” His voice dripped poison. “Your kin couldn’t accomplish it, but let’s test your mettle. I will relish your death as I relished theirs’.”
Marcel took his eyes off the ghoul for a brief second and pinned her with a worried gaze. “Stay down, Cecily.”
Marcel pulled a half-dozen throwing stars from a leather strap on his chest. With perfect precision, they sailed through the air toward the demon. Satan’s minion roared his outrage when several found a home in his grotesque body. The demon stretched out an arm, talons extended and sent a stream of fire through the air. Marcel deflected the bulk of the flame with his shield, but a long, narrow stream seared the skin on his forearm. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the room.
His face wan and drawn, symptoms of the injured shoulder and the drugs. Marcel unleashed his crossed-swords from the shoulder harness. Moving with timeless grace, he sprinted toward the stuff of nightmares, every muscle in his taut body an exquisite depiction of poetry in motion. He brought a sword up high, and, faster than a bolt of lightning, sliced downward, drawing a stream of green blood from the demon’s arm.
Cecily’s stomach rolled over and she sent another prayer through the open roof. “Dear God, help him.”
A darkening sky poured through t
he massive hole, emptying buckets of rain in the room. Thunder rolled and lightning rent the night air. Her hair drenched, her vision obscured by rain, Marcel and the demon appeared as a vision, a duo of warriors, fighting to the death.
Marcel lunged and the demon parried, only to repeat the process again and again. Marcel moved faster than the ghoul, but Cecily knew him well enough to know his strength was waning. More than once, razor-sharp talons struck a blow to Marcel’s arm, shoulder and even his face once. Time and again, Marcel held him at bay, until in a final act of desperation, the demon sprang forward with extended claws, delivering a long, deep gash to Marcel’s underbelly.
Cecily cried out when Marcel clutched his abdomen and fell to his knees.
The demon walked forward at a foot-dragging pace, his nimble claws grasping the empty air between them. His monstrous features flashed a wicked grin of victory.
Get up, Cecily, get up! Are you going to sit here and let him die?
Calder’s silver dagger glinted beneath a streak of lightning. She could get to it; she had to get to it. She dragged her broken body to the knife, clasped it in her hand and crawled toward the demon.
The minion bent over Marcel and Cecily held her breath. She would be too late. The demon would strike the fatal blow before she could get there. The last of her loved ones would succumb to the machinations of Hell’s guardians. And she would watch Marcel die.
Almost there, almost there. Keep going, Cecily.
She struggled to her feet, her head spinning like a top. The demon’s back came into view. He seemed intently focused on his prey. If she buried the dagger in his back, would he die, or merely turn away from Marcel and kill her? She no longer cared. Everything was lost to her now. She couldn’t face what was left of her world without Marcel. She would strike the demon and hope he killed her too.
Without warning, the demon pulled himself up straight and turned to face her. Terror claimed her head-to-toe. It was one thing to say you were prepared to die; another to look into a demon’s face, knowing it would be the last thing you’d see in this world.
