The Everett Exorcism (World of Shadows Book 1)

by Lincoln Cole

  “The batteries are old, but it should work.”

  “Do you have a trash bag as well? To put the deceased animal into.”

  Rose went to a cupboard and pulled a black bag loose. The thick material had a red drawstring to pull it closed.

  Father Reynolds took it and then walked toward the front door. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

  “I’ll accompany you,” Father Paladina said.

  Jackson nodded at him, and together, they walked out into the yard and around the side of the house. He waited until they got out of earshot of Rose before turning his attention toward Jackson.

  “Are you all right?” Niccolo asked.

  “Quite,” Jackson said. “I’m not a fan of dead things, even animals, but this sounds easy enough. I should have asked for gloves.”

  “I meant with Rose. You seemed rather agitated for a minute there when we first arrived.”

  “Frustrated would give a more apt description. This visit has turned out nothing like the last time I came here, but I suppose that’s a blessing. Her home was in disarray, and she could barely focus for more than a few moments at a time. She seemed so out of sorts and kept muttering, incapable of conversing at all.”

  “She seems fine.”

  “Yes, this time she certainly does. Maybe whatever happened to her has ended? Is that possible? Would a demon just leave like that? Do you think she recovered on her own?”

  Niccolo didn’t respond. It seemed unlikely that a demon would vacate a host; not without a good reason. From everything he had heard, a demonic possession took a terrible toll on its host.

  The damage that a demon inflicted proved highly subjective and depended on a lot of factors, including time. If the demon had only resided here for a few weeks, then little damage would have occurred. Usually, it took years to destroy a body beyond repair.

  However, he didn’t have any personal experience or expertise on the matter, so he had to admit that anything was possible.

  After he’d sifted through all this, he said, “I don’t know.”

  “What would a demon be like?”

  “A demon is like a fire,” Niccolo said. “They burn their hosts from the inside, gradually destroying them. If Rose were possessed, it would become nearly impossible for her or the demon to hide the damage it caused to her body.”

  “But it could?”

  “Maybe,” Niccolo said. “Not likely, though.”

  “So, this isn’t a demon.”

  “Most likely not.”

  He expected Jackson to get frustrated by the revelation, or to argue with him, but the young priest seemed genuinely relieved.

  “Thank God,” he said.

  “Yes,” Niccolo said. “Thank God.”

  “Then, thankfully, it looks like whatever happened here is over,” Father Jackson said. “Perhaps Rose had a mental breakdown or a temporary illness like she said. Or maybe something else happened. I feel grateful that she seems to be doing better now.”

  “So, you believe you got it wrong about the exorcism?”

  “It seems I had it entirely wrong,” Jackson said. “And, I’ve never felt so happy to get it wrong. I willingly revoke my request to the Church for an exorcist.”

  Niccolo hesitated, and then nodded. He felt uncomfortable about the entire situation, but he also knew that, more than likely, Jackson called it true. Something odd was happening to this woman and in this city, but jumping from oddities to demons meant a leap he didn’t feel remotely willing to make.

  “Then, the matter is settled. I can report back that you have dropped the notion and no longer wish to pursue an exorcism for Rose Gallagher.”

  “That sounds excellent.”

  “You should also apologize to Bishop Glasser for your rash decisions and for going against his request.”

  This time, Jackson proved slower in responding. Clearly, he didn’t like that course of action.

  Finally, though, he nodded. “Yes, of course. I owe him an apology at the very least. Would it be too much trouble to ask that you accompany me when I go visit him? I would appreciate having you there. The man seems quite unnerving.”

  “Of course. I don’t plan to leave for another day or so at the earliest. We can visit and have dinner with him tomorrow night if you like.”

  Jackson nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’ll call him when we return.”

  Jackson reached down and tugged at the metal opening at the bottom of the house. It covered about a three-foot-tall entryway, and the grate fit snugly into position. It looked old, with part of the metal broken and bent out of position.

  Niccolo knelt and helped, and together, they tugged it loose. The smell here overpowered, wafting out of the hole and causing him to gag. He covered his nose with a handkerchief and squinted.

  “That is terrible.” Jackson turned away from the crawlspace and covered his mouth.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “The animal must have been in there for a while now. I can’t believe her son wouldn’t come out to help her get it out.”

  “Doubtless he is quite busy. Everyone has to fit their priorities into their lives.”

  “I suppose.”

  Jackson flipped on the flashlight and aimed it into the hole. The flashlight did little to illuminate the utter blackness within. The floor of the crawlspace looked covered in loose gravel, dirt, and sand.

  “Well,” Jackson said, “here goes nothing.”

  He knelt to move into the crawlspace, and right then the screen door to the house opened. Someone spoke, and it sounded like a man’s voice. It came from too far off to make anything out, however.

  “Father Jackson,” Rose called from the front of the house. “I have a guest asking for you. Could you come here for a moment?”

  The two men exchanged a glance, and then Jackson sighed. “One moment,” he called back, then turned to Father Paladina. “Hang on. I’ll come right back. I must find out what she needs. Probably just a concerned neighbor.”

  “I can go in and retrieve the animal,” Niccolo said, holding out his hands for the flashlight and trash bag. “It should only take a few moments.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He shrugged. “I rarely get the chance to help someone out in the real world like this. Helping, though, is something our duty entails, so I would consider it a generosity and privilege for you to allow me to do this.”

  Jackson hesitated for another second.

  “Besides,” Niccolo said, and then attempted a joke, “I am quite a bit shorter than you, so I should have an easier time navigating the small space.”

  Jackson nodded. “You have my thanks.”

  He handed the items to Father Paladina, turned, and disappeared around the corner toward the front of the house. Niccolo watched him go, and then turned back to the hole leading beneath the house and into the crawlspace.

  Claustrophobic, he also had a mild fear of the dark, so he hoped the animal wouldn’t lay too deep into the darkness.

  He knelt and flashed the light into the crawlspace. It didn’t give a powerful glow, and hardly split through the black, but enough that he could see it would make for an uncomfortable fit. Niccolo took a deep breath, rubbed his face, and then moved closer to the hole.

  Gently, he lowered himself to the ground and crawled into the hole. It only took moving a few feet across the ground until the darkness consumed him. The only sound came from his breathing as he pulled himself further in.

  The smell continued to intensify, making it difficult to breathe. To make matters worse, it only took a few minutes for his muscles to cry out in exhaustion. Though not averse to physical labor, he’d not done something like this in many long years. As such, his muscles proved ill prepared for activities like this. He slid his way forward, keeping the light facing ahead with one hand and dragging the trash bag in the other.

  Only a short while later, he crawled into the first cobweb. Though he had expected it, it caught him off-guard n
onetheless when his face pushed through it. He tried not to envision the spider that had built the web with its myriad of eyes. And refused to imagine it crawling across his face, on his hands, down his shirt …

  Priest …

  He stopped crawling and blinked, hesitating in the darkness. Had he heard the word, or simply imagined it? The darkness and silence got to him, but he couldn’t feel sure if he’d imagined the voice.

  It sounded as if it had gotten spoken aloud, but that didn’t seem right. No other sounds reached him; nothing but the silence. Moreover, a soft feminine voice had uttered the word, and he didn’t remember ever having heard it before.

  He waited, tilting his head and straining to hear anything else in the crawlspace, but nothing came. With a frown, he crawled forward again, though more cautiously this time. The smell grew worse, overwhelming his senses. He must have come close to the rotting animal.

  You don’t belong here. This is our city.

  The voice again, soft and delicate, yet he still couldn’t tell if the words got spoken aloud or only in his head. His ears told him that they hadn’t heard anything, but he didn’t believe that he had imagined it, either. He just didn’t know.

  What he did know, however, was that he wanted to get out of this crawlspace. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

  Part of him just wanted to turn around and leave now. He wanted to get out of this hole, though consciously, he recognized that this most likely came down to his fear and claustrophobia manifesting this situation. The mind had created a scary situation because he felt afraid already.

  That didn’t make it feel any less real, however.

  The moaning sound of a gagged woman somewhere in the darkness in front of him followed the words. He shone the flashlight back and forth ahead of him, but it couldn’t penetrate deeply enough to make out anything.

  This time, he grew certain that the sound was real and not in his head. It came from a real woman, and she must lay gagged and crying in front of him.

  “Hello?” he whispered, his words dampened by the crawlspace. He spoke quietly, but they still sounded like yelling in the small area.

  His flashlight flickered.

  Priest!

  “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

  No response; nothing except the oppressive emptiness and darkness.

  The light flickered again, and he smacked it into the palm of his left hand. He dropped the trash bag and waved the light forward. His breathing had sped up, as well as his heart rate, and he became lightheaded.

  “What the hell is that smell?” he muttered, gasping for air. It seemed worse now, and whatever caused it couldn’t lay more than a few feet in front of him. Yet, when he waved the flashlight, he saw nothing. No animal, no person, not a thing. He remained alone in the empty crawlspace, with no one and nothing down here with him.

  Cut and run, Priest. Cut … and … run …

  He forced his body to relax and closed his eyes. Then he focused on his breathing and fought to regain control over his mind and fear. Not real. None of this had any reality. All in his mind.

  All in his mind.

  The sobbing sound disappeared all at once, leaving him in complete silence. He felt certain it had never been there in the first place; just something unreal. He had imagined it. A mere product of his fear of the dark and claustrophobia.

  Even though the sobbing had disappeared, the anxiety and feeling that he wasn’t alone persisted. Even though he knew nothing had joined him here under this house, the sudden overwhelming fear that had wracked his body a few moments ago proved hard to deal with. It felt as though he lay trapped and suffocating, and the air in the crawlspace felt way too hot.

  Niccolo tugged at his collar, trying to loosen it, and wiped the clammy sweat from his forehead. Then he crawled forward a few feet further. A shape lay on the ground a short ways up ahead.

  It looked like an animal, about the size of a large cat, and lay unmoving. Doubtless, it had caused the horrible smell.

  “There you are,” the priest muttered.

  He crawled toward the animal, intending to scoop it up and get out of the crawlspace as fast as possible.

  His flashlight flickered once more, and then went out. The area plunged into darkness, a suffocating blackness that surrounded him.

  The sobbing sound returned, all around him but just out of reach. He gasped, the fear returning, and pounded the flashlight head against his palm. The crying sounded louder now, everywhere, and then the sobs morphed into laughter. Maniacal and crazed guffaws.

  Still gasping and panting, he slammed the flashlight against his palm again and again, willing it back to life.

  “Come on,” he muttered, tugging at his collar. “Come on, come on, come on.”

  Run, Priest. Cut and run!

  “Come on,” he muttered. His hands shook. Terrified, he slid toward losing control.

  This is our house. Ours.

  Niccolo twisted the cap, tightening it and putting more pressure on the batteries. Another slam on his palm and the flashlight flickered back on, shining a beam in front of him.

  He glanced up and saw that no animal occupied the crawlspace, but instead, the body of a woman lay there, rotting and decaying. How had he missed that? A woman. And the woman had lain there the entire time. Oh, God, how had he missed that?

  The corpse looked like it had been down here for months, trapped in the crawlspace, and her skin had sloughed off and fallen to the ground in piles.

  “Oh, God,” he muttered. “Oh, God, oh, God …”

  The woman’s eyes flew open, and her body moved, lifting up and reaching for him. She’d died, though. He knew she lay there dead. She had to be dead. The body moved unnaturally fast, seeming to flash forward and glide across the dirt and gravel. Only the top half of her body moved, and her legs looked lifeless.

  Numb with terror, he stared into her cold eyes. Lifeless eyes. Not alive, just empty. She reached her hand out, and her hands brushed his cheeks, cold and dead.

  “Hail, Priest!” the woman said, the sound coming out with a wet hissing sound. “You should have run.”

  He flailed back, trying to get away from the corpse, and his head slammed against one of the beams at the top of the crawlspace. He dropped the flashlight, and the light went out as it rolled away.

  And then he hit the ground face first, dazed and disoriented. He struggled to crawl away but felt himself sinking into unconsciousness. The corpse crawled closer, rotting skin hanging from her face.

  “We’re going to have so much fun …”

  His eyes fluttered, and then the world went dark.

  Chapter 6

  Father Paladina came back to reality slowly. The world flitted back into focus. His head ached and throbbed where he had bashed it against the ceiling of the crawlspace, and when he touched the spot, he felt a welt forming there.

  The sun seemed extremely bright, and his eyes tried to adjust. It took him a moment to realize where he lay and what had happened to him. He came to on the grass outside Rose Gallagher’s home, a few feet from the external crawlspace entrance.

  Details came back to him, flooding his mind and causing him to gasp. He remembered going underneath the house to retrieve a dead animal that had gotten trapped there … but he hadn’t seen an animal.

  He had, however, seen a human body.

  Except that didn’t make any sense. He had seen an animal lying there, but then his fear and anxiety had overwhelmed him. The animal had lain on the ground, illuminated by the beam of his light, and yet the other reality also felt real.

  Niccolo recalled the body of a young and decaying woman; he also remembered that she had slid across the ground toward him, scraping and scrabbling in the dirt to get to him. Ugh, the way it had touched his skin—

  Something touched his shoulder.

  “Father Paladina?”

  With a yelp, he jerked away from the touch, thrashing his body awkwardly. His head throbbed even more from the sudden
motion, and he let out a sharp cry of pain. Dizzy and disoriented, he tried to get away from his attacker.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Father Reynolds said, kneeling in the grass beside him with a concerned expression on his face. “Are you all right?”

  Niccolo sucked in a steadying breath, shaking his head, and then sat up. Was he all right? He didn’t know, but he also had no idea how he might express his fear of a situation when he didn’t even know if it held any reality.

  “I … I believe so,” he said, the fear and confusion trickling away. His fear ebbed, unable to maintain its grip on him under the scrutiny of the sun. His breathing eased, and he regained control. “What … what happened? How did I get here?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. We were in the living room, talking, when we heard a loud thud beneath the floor. When he found you, you lay unconscious and looked to have hit your head against one of the beams.”

  “You dragged me out?”

  “Not me. He managed to get you out, and he got the cat, too. Looks like the poor thing had been down there for at least a week after it died.”

  Jackson gestured toward the trash bag that Niccolo had taken with him beneath the house. It looked lumpy now, and someone had pulled closed the drawstrings. It looked about the size of a small dog or large cat.

  Even sealed up, though, Niccolo could still smell the rotting stench of decay in the air. It made him queasy.

  “What about the girl?”

  “The what?”

  “The …” He tried again, “Did you find anything else down there with me?”

  Father Reynolds tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Like what?”

  Niccolo opened his mouth to explain about the corpse of the woman, and then changed his mind. They couldn’t have missed it if they had gone down there to retrieve him; it became obvious to him that nothing else had joined him down there. Only himself and the dead animal. Whatever he had seen or thought he’d seen, it had no reality.

  It had felt real, though. He could still remember the way her cold fingers had brushed his cheek, her voice, and the way her words sounded wet and horrible. In his mind’s eye, he could see her, dragging her lifeless legs across the dirt and gravel to get to him. Not to mention the way her skin had hung loose from her face. It had seemed so real, and he didn’t feel ready to chock all of that up to only his overactive imagination and fear of the dark.