by Lincoln Cole
“It felt what?” Niccolo caught the priest’s gaze.
Jackson shrugged. “It felt like she had something inside her. I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t know what to do and felt worried about her. I thought the bishop would take me seriously and try to help.”
“But Bishop Glasser rejected your claims,” Niccolo said.
“He wouldn’t meet with me for a whole week. When he finally did, he ignored all my evidence and forbade me from speaking with Rose or visiting her again. He said that it wasn’t a matter for the Church to look into.”
“And then you went over his head and contacted the Vatican.”
“I waited another week before I reached out again. He said the Church would look into it, but when I called one of my friends at the Vatican, he said they hadn’t even been informed.”
“Who’s your friend?”
Jackson hesitated again, and then said, “I would rather not say.”
“Well, I apologize, but it is unlikely that your friend would know of such an investigation as this,” Niccolo said. He raised his hand to cut off Jackson’s objection. “However, in this case, he proved correct. We knew nothing of what you had said at that point. Still, you should have gone back to Bishop Glasser with your concern before getting in touch with us.”
“I felt afraid for Rose, not my career, and I couldn’t afford to wait any longer. It’s taken too long already. When you meet her, you’ll understand. I felt that I had no choice.”
“Is that everything?” Niccolo asked, scribbling notes into his booklet.
“That covers everything until you arrived. I haven’t gone back to see Rose since. I … I felt afraid.”
Niccolo flipped his notebook closed and slid it back into his pocket. “Well, then, let us go and meet with this woman you believe is possessed.”
Niccolo climbed out of Jackson’s small sedan and walked toward the front door of the woman’s house. It had no doorbell, but an old and rusted out door-knocker hung in the middle of the wooden panel. Niccolo feared that it might break if he tried to use it, so instead, he pounded his knuckles against the hard edifice.
No immediate response came, but he could hear movement from inside. It took a full two minutes before the door finally opened, and a woman stood there, withered by age and just under five-feet tall.
She had a shawl pulled about her shoulders and held herself up with a silver walker resting on tennis balls. Most probably, she would have been beautiful at one point in her life. Now, she looked tired but smiled enormously when she saw the two priests standing on her doorstep.
“Father Reynolds!” she said, shifting her body around the walker to give the priest a hug. “It’s so good to see you!”
Niccolo Paladina glanced over at the young priest, who looked taken off-guard at the way Rose appeared. The expression on his face showed how unsettled he’d grown at this engagement. This normal-seeming woman didn’t present at all as he had expected.
Niccolo felt surprised as well. The old woman looked vaguely similar to the one from Jackson’s home movie, yet also normal and nothing like she had seemed on the television in Jackson’s office. In fact, there seemed nothing out of the ordinary about Rose at all.
“You as well,” Jackson said, finally, gathering himself and hugging the woman. Jackson turned toward Niccolo, a helpless expression on his face. “Please, allow me to introduce a friend of mine. This is Father Niccolo Paladina. He is visiting from the Vatican.”
They exchanged nods and greetings. Niccolo gave her hand a gentle shake, looking for any of the telltale signs of possession that he had learned about in his years of training. No sores, eye twitches, or anything else that might give her away. Just the pleasant smile of an elderly woman.
“Please, come in,” she said, laboriously moving back from the door so that they could pass. The walker, as wide as the entry, made it difficult to maneuver. Father Reynolds walked in first, and Niccolo followed him into the woman’s home. “I’m afraid I didn’t know I would have guests today, or I would have baked some cookies or had snacks on hand.”
“That’s quite all right. I’m sorry to drop in on you unannounced like this,” Jackson said.
“Think nothing of it. Would you gentlemen like some tea?”
“No, thank you,” Niccolo said.
“None for me.” Jackson gave her a smile.
She led them into her living room, off to the left, and beckoned for them to sit. Niccolo situated himself on an old blue couch close to a large bay window with pulled curtains, and Jackson sat on a wooden rocking chair resting near the left wall.
Everything in the house appeared old. A thin cloud of dust hung in the air, pushed around by an unseen fan somewhere deeper inside the house, and the air tasted musty and unpleasant. Dozens of picture frames decorated every surface, showing the multitudes of Rose’s extended family, and a cabinet stood by the right wall next to a small television. Broken and faded porcelain dolls lined the shelves.
The home, though not clean, also wasn’t the dirty and disgusting place from Jackson’s video. If a demon was involved, then it remained unlikely that the effects of its possession would disappear over time. It certainly didn’t look like the home of a woman battling a possession, but it did look like the quiet home of a retired lady living alone after her husband had passed away.
The television, though turned on, played at one of the lowest volume settings. Right now, the news showed, but Rose picked up a remote from the coffee table and flicked it off, casting them into complete silence. She sat in an armchair on the other side of the room, folded her hands in her lap, and smiled at the two priests.
A long while passed in awkward silence. Both men exchanged glances, and then Father Jackson cleared his throat.
“How … uh … how are your children?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
“And your grandchildren?”
“Also fine. My youngest granddaughter, Eliza, just had a dance recital two days ago. It was at her school for Uptown Girl.”
“That sounds wonderful. Were you able to attend?”
“Unfortunately, no. I didn’t feel well at the time, but I would have loved to go. My son has done an amazing job at raising her.”
“I know,” Jackson said. “He’s a tremendous father.”
Rose joked, “I’ll never know where he learned to be such a great parent.”
“Doubtless Kevin learned it from his mother.”
Rose laughed. “I couldn’t possibly take credit for him or his children. I just feel proud that we managed to keep him alive into adulthood. It became touch-and-go there for a while.”
Something about the way she said it sent a shiver up Niccolo’s spine. The words seemed innocent enough and told in a self-deprecating fashion, but something about the way she said them made it almost feel like it wasn’t a joke. It didn’t give him anything he could put his finger on, just a feeling.
He studied the old woman’s expressions as she sat there in her chair, searching for a twitch or an involuntary motion, something out of the ordinary that would give rise to Father Reynolds’s concerns. He felt unsure what he expected to find, but something about the woman felt off.
Yet, she seemed normal and a little cheery. He could explain the cheerfulness at her receiving unexpected guests, but that didn’t assuage his concerns. Also, he could explain the state of her home, quaint and well-cared for despite the inordinate amount of dust in the air. A distinct scent lingered, one shared by many such residences where older people lived that Niccolo attributed to old age.
Though, that didn’t prove quite true—he couldn’t attribute all of the smell to Rose’s aging. The air also bore an undercurrent of some other smell, something far less pleasant, but he couldn’t place it.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of hosting two such fine gentlemen of God?” Rose asked after a few more long moments of silence.
“We had hoped to talk to you about the … uh … situation from a
few weeks ago,” Father Reynolds said, awkwardly.
“What situation?”
Jackson fumbled over his words, “When I came to visit you, and you said you felt … strange. Father Paladina has come a long way to visit and check in on you to make certain you are all right.”
“Oh, that situation. I’m afraid that was just a simple misunderstanding. I had one of my spells. My son thinks I’m developing dementia, but I think it’s the weather. I have good and bad days, and I’m afraid that visit happened at one of the worst in recent memory. I feel terribly sorry if I alarmed you.”
Jackson shook his head, unsure of how to continue. “You said, the last time, that you thought you weren’t alone in your body. You told me that the devil had possessed you, and you behaved erratically. I felt terrified.”
“I apologize for frightening you, deary. I just wasn’t myself and am so sorry if you’ve stayed worried about me all of this time.”
“Rose, you don’t need to lie simply because Father Paladina has come here. He’s a friend.”
She looked puzzled and a little offended. “I wouldn’t dare to lie in the presence of a man of God, let alone two,” she said. “I’m sorry for being a cause of concern, but I’m better now. I feel quite all right.”
Niccolo could see that Father Reynolds had grown frustrated and belligerent from Rose’s responses. It became clear this entire encounter hadn’t unfolded the way he had expected, and that he felt backed into a corner.
However, for Niccolo, it didn’t prove an encouraging situation at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d prepared himself to see the same disturbed woman he had seen in the video, someone who might have a problem that would justify the young priest’s fears. At least then it would be more likely to come down to an illness or mental issue and something they could deal with mundanely.
But Rose acted entirely too innocent and agreeable in their visit here. It seemed as though she hid something, and that gave enough to set off alarm bells in Niccolo’s mind. It struck him that she attempted to convince them that everything remained fine, and if anything, she did too good a job.
It could be for many reasons. Maybe she felt embarrassed at how she’d acted when Father Reynolds came by on his last visit, or perhaps she felt intimidated at having two priests in her home talking to her.
Or, maybe, Father Reynolds had it right all along. Niccolo had learned in his years of study that demons had the willingness to go to great lengths to hide their presence when they felt threatened. Maybe the demon attempted to disguise its presence.
A lofty conclusion to jump to, however, and when Niccolo got down to it, he had nothing to support the theory. He needed a lot more evidence before giving rise to the idea of demonic possession. Which meant looking for involuntary actions or omens. There would have to be something to give him a clue about what, if anything, was going on.
Perhaps her home would give a clue. It had looked verily wrecked in the video from a few weeks earlier, and even if she had cleaned up to disguise the mess, there might remain some evidence left behind. He leaned forward on the couch to get their attention and interrupt the inane conversation.
“Might I use your restroom?”
“Of course,” Rose said, pointing down the hall in the other direction. “It is just down that hallway and on the left-hand side.”
“Thank you.”
Niccolo stood and headed down the hall and away from the living room. He could still hear Father Reynolds and Rose conversing behind him, but otherwise, the house seemed empty and silent.
At the end of the hall stood a closed door, most likely leading to the woman’s bedroom. To the right stood an open doorway leading into what looked like a guest room, though it didn’t appear to have served that purpose for many years.
Instead, hundreds of dolls littered every surface, including all the countertops and the bed. Arranged facing toward the doorway, their large marble and porcelain eyes looked directly at him.
They all seemed to have gotten collected out of various historical eras throughout the last sixty years or so, depicting hundreds of different fashions and styles of doll making. Some of them wore dresses, while others sat naked; a few had broken or had missing eyes, and others remained in their original boxes and placed on shelves.
One doll, in particular, caught his attention. A red-haired monstrosity with paint that looked faded with age. It had the left eye missing and sat turned sideways, facing toward the wall. The empty socket gave the doll an eerie expression. It had a sardonic smile painted on its face, but with missing paint, it looked more like a clown’s face than a little girl.
Niccolo scanned the room, but his eyes continually drew back to that doll. Something about it both captivated and terrified. There had to be hundreds of dolls packed into this tiny room. It felt thoroughly unsettling, and he couldn’t imagine anyone trying to sleep in this guest room with so many dolls surrounding them.
Creepy, but certainly not demonic. The oddities of some people. Just looking at those dolls filled him with dread and disgust. The way they sat arranged ... he couldn’t imagine anyone gathering these up over the years. Why would someone want to keep such a collection?
He shook his head and turned in the other direction toward the restroom. It looked small and cramped and entirely uncomfortable. The shower curtain hung pulled back from an old porcelain bathtub, and a stool sat in the center. No doubt so that Rose could sit down while she bathed and avoid any accidents.
The smell he had noticed earlier when they first walked into the house seemed considerably stronger here, and it had a rotting and decaying quality to it that turned his stomach. It made him feel light-headed and nauseous, and he became afraid he might lose his greasy lunch if not careful.
He finished using the facilities as quickly as he could, barely allowing himself to breathe, and then hurried back out to the living room. The home felt uncomfortable, and the dolls creepy, but he saw nothing demonic about it.
Except …
He paused as he passed by the guest room on his way out, taking a second glance at the bed.
The red-haired, one-eyed doll had moved.
He felt sure of it.
It sat a few feet from where he had first seen it, resting gently against a pillow. Though not sure, he also thought its clothing might have changed. Now, it had on a red dress that looked to have faded with age and had its arms extended as though to give a hug.
He blinked, wracking his mind to find some explanation. Maybe he recalled incorrectly. Maybe it had sat there the entire time, but he felt sure that it hadn’t. He had seen it near the edge of the bed, next to a blonde doll still in its original position.
It kept staring at him with its one eye, unmoving and unblinking. He watched, almost expecting it to move, but it didn’t.
Of course it didn’t.
He must have imagined it because no one had come down the hallway while he used the restroom. He could still hear Jackson and Rose speaking in the living room, and otherwise the house stood empty.
Didn’t it?
He blew out a breath of air, pushed down his discomfort, and headed down the hall toward the living room. He dealt in facts, he reminded himself. Not feelings.
Father Reynolds sat engaged in conversation with Rose Gallagher, and he seemed less bothered by the entire situation than he had a few minutes ago. More relaxed, like Rose had convinced him that she was all right, after all. Now, they sat talking like old friends.
They both glanced over when he strode back into the room. The time had come to ask some discourteous questions and attempt to figure out if anything untoward was going on. He found his way back to the couch, sat down, and turned his attention toward Rose.
“I don’t wish to sound impolite,” he said, “but I wanted to ask you about the smell. I don’t have tremendous personal experience with this in particular, but I know enough to recognize the smell of death.”
Rose frowned and nodded. “Yes. The raccoon.”
“Raccoon?”
“I think it’s a raccoon. It found its way into the crawl space underneath the house and got trapped. I think it died several days ago, and the smell has been terrible. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”
“It’s happened before?”
“Not often. A few times over the years since I moved into this building. My husband used to clear them out until he passed away. My son is supposed to come by and get this one out of the crawlspace, but he’s so busy, and I don’t like to bother him. He has enough to worry about without adding my discomfort to the mix.”
“I see.”
“I barely smell it anymore, to be honest. I know that’s a horrible thing to say, but it’s the truth.”
Father Reynolds turned to face Rose. “Would you like for me to get it for you?”
She perked up immediately at the suggestion. “Would you? That would be tremendous.”
“Of course.” He rose from the couch and dusted off his pants. “Do you know where the entrance is to the crawl space?”
“Around the side of the house to the left. You have to get in from the outside. It has a grate you can remove. I must warn you, though, that it’s extremely cramped and won’t make for an easy fit.”
Jackson patted his stomach and smiled warmly. “I suppose I should cut down on my meals.”
She chuckled. “I only meant because you’re so tall.”
“Do you have a flashlight I could borrow?”
“In the first kitchen drawer,” she said, standing up. It seemed a laborious effort, and Father Reynolds moved to her side and helped her. “Been having trouble with my hip for weeks.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“They want to do surgery and replace it. I’ll wait until I don’t have any other options, though.”
They all filed into the kitchen, and Rose rummaged around in the drawers until she retrieved an old and long flashlight. It appeared unimpressive and looked to have been purchased at least twenty-five years ago.
“Will this do?”
“Yes, thanks,” Father Reynolds said, accepting the flashlight.
