A Patch of Darkness

by Yolanda Sfetsos

  A few years back, after I finally decided to take on an assistant spook catcher, the pain in the butt pestered me for weeks. Working alone out of home had been ideal at the beginning, but when the cases increased in volume, and paperwork started to mount up, it became too hard to handle everything on my own.

  I needed help.

  So I rented some small office space near home. I got tired of people calling the house at all hours. Next step was to hire someone to answer the phone and take appointments, but I also needed someone who could do the spook catching side of the business with me. Only two other people applied for the job. One was a man in his fifties who was more interested in conjuring up spirits than seeking them out, and the other a woman I knew from high school who loved to torment me.

  Jackie was a fraud, and had spent most of her life lying through her crooked teeth. She held a grudge for something that happened to us, and for some reason always seemed jealous of the talent.

  I took great pleasure in knocking her back. I think she eventually got a receptionist job at the Spook Catcher Council—no doubt done to piss me off.

  So I begrudgingly hired Ebony Aikan, the now twenty-one-year-old, loud-and-foul-mouthed fake blonde who sits across from me every day. Our desks face each other. I needed to keep a close eye on this one. And because we’re stationed in a small building, with several floors of small office space above and below, we don’t have a reception area. I’d hate to think what kind of stuff she’d try to get away with out of my sight. Heaven knows she tries to pull things off right in front of me.

  “Man, if you weren’t my boss, I’d tell you what I really think,” Ebony said, inspecting her nails. They looked as if they’d been freshly polished. When I caught her lightly blowing on her blood-red fingertips, I knew exactly what she’d been doing before I arrived.

  “Gee, I’d love to know when that ever stopped you.”

  “Oh, trust me. I’ve never given you a real piece of my mind.”

  “Right, so the comment about my ankle boots and shin-length skirt was just in passing?”

  Ebony rolled her eyes. “You can’t expect me to ignore something like that! A tragic wardrobe malfunction has to be addressed.”

  “You accused me of ransacking a homeless woman’s plastic bag. Isn’t that what you said?”

  “That, Sierra, is the kind of thing only a true friend would say.” She looked me in the eye. Today she was wearing amber contacts. Why she needed to wear those creepy things was beyond me.

  “Okay, friend, is there any chance of getting a nice cup of coffee so I can recharge my brain cells before tackling some of this work?” I asked, eyeing the manila folders stacked in a wobbly pile between our desks.

  Ebony took the calls and the details. She then created an individual computer file for each and printed all the relevant information as a hard copy. In spite of her many quirks, Ebony was a great personal assistant. She kept on top of things, filed regularly, maintained a neat office—essential clutter not withstanding—and made the best cup of coffee in Sydney, possibly the whole of Australia.

  Nine o’clock in the morning was just a little too early to deal with her antics. Especially when it reminded me how tired Jonathan and I were by the time he dropped me off at home. All we’d had energy for was a quick peck.

  Not exactly what I’d envisioned sitting across from him at the table while wiping away sauce from his luscious lips.

  I focused on my assistant. It was safer. “Well, is there any chance of getting one of your world-famous cups of coffee?” I don’t treat her like a slave. She loves to boast about everything. And if feeding her ego is what it takes to indulge in some caffeine-gold, I can live with it.

  Ebony flashed me a smile and stood. “No problem. Are you sure you don’t want some of the new tea I got the other day? The flavors are amazing, and the soothing factor even better.”

  She hardly shopped at local supermarkets like most people, preferred alternative outlets with too many herbal ingredients of unknown origin.

  I shook my head. “I’ll just have an old-fashioned cup of coffee with two sugars and milk, thank you. No fancy New-Age tea for me today.” Or any other day, for that matter.

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Ebony saluted as she headed across the room to our small, rickety table with a kettle, three mugs, her assortment of teas, my favorite coffee, sugar and a tiny fridge sitting underneath.

  I swear it’s going to collapse on us one day, but we can’t afford to upgrade at the moment. That’s a little touchy subject I hate to dwell on or talk about, involving my still owing a whole bunch of money to the Spook Catcher Council.

  Best not to start thinking about that now or I’d descend into a grouchy mood. Thinking about the asshole Mace Clamber and the way he’d conned me into such a disgusting contract, still robbing me of money at the age of twenty-six, always made my blood boil. But what teenager straight out of school reads the fine print?

  I sat back in my squeaky chair, watching Ebony as she switched the kettle on. Her endless babbling only stops when she’s getting coffee ready. She takes it very seriously, feels that it’s a part of her apprentice training. She always makes everything sound so much flashier than it is.

  There’s nothing exciting, fantastic or flashy about being a spook catcher.

  Chapter Two

  “Ms. Fox, I presume?”

  I nodded, lowering my sunglasses to meet the dark eyes of the short woman who’d answered the door while I was in mid-knock. She stood inside the doorway of the brick two-story house, dressed from top to bottom in black. Her white hair was held back in a tight bun as she glared at me with what appeared to be a combination of curiosity and discomfort. Mrs. Prevette seemed very old country, and her European accent confirmed it.

  She’d called us in the middle of the afternoon when answering a house call had sounded more appealing than sorting through the tall pile of folders on my desk. Reading all the details and trying to put them into piles ranging from urgent to life-threatening made my eyes cross.

  “Thank you very much for coming over so quickly. I assume you have a lot of clients seeking your help. It’s just…I can’t take this any longer.” She motioned for us to step inside and I noticed three claw marks etched into her left cheek. The blood was dry but the cuts, surrounded by purple bruising, looked recent and deep.

  “Ow, what kinda spook do you have?” Ebony asked making a face.

  Mrs. Prevette raised an eyebrow in question.

  “I’m sorry. This is my assistant, Ebony Aikan.”

  The thin woman offered the loudmouth a nod before shutting the front door behind us. Her lined face was pale but dark circles shadowed her eyes.

  “Please follow me. It’s in the kitchen.” She passed by to lead the way.

  “What the hell’s a ghost doing in the kitchen?” Ebony asked. “I hope it’s cooking up some nice dishes. It’s the least it can do.”

  I looked back and narrowed my eyes in warning. She knew what it meant—shut up or be permanently stranded at the office. I handed her my sunglasses and she shoved them into her bag without another word.

  “Mrs. Prevette, how long have you had this haunting?” I asked, following her into the large and heavily draped living room. Matching antique furniture sat strategically placed in every available corner, all polished yet scuffed.

  The details over the phone had been very basic—haunting, dangerous and scared being the keywords.

  “Oh, I’ve known there was someone here with us since we first moved in over twenty years ago. But lately the behavior has become…erratic. The cool presence was always there but never interfered with our lives. It’s why we never did anything to have it removed.” Mrs. Prevette stopped in front of a closed door. “But we can’t allow physical attacks. We had a housekeeper until last week. She couldn’t take the harassment. It would follow her all around the house.”

  “So the presence travels?”

  “Well, that’s what Mary claimed but I’
ve only felt it inside the kitchen. As you can imagine, it’s the one room in the house with many sharp and dangerous objects. So my husband and I steer clear of it as much as we can. We haven’t gone in since this.” She motioned her left cheek with a shaky hand. “The kitchen’s through this door.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Prevette, I need to ask you a few questions first.” I turned and glanced at Ebony to make sure she was ready. She held up the small tape recorder in her hand—it was already recording. “You say it’s been here for about twenty years?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive,” she said with a stern nod.

  “Okay, during this time, have you experienced cold spots or small electric shocks while in its presence?”

  Mrs. Prevette stared down at the carpet. “Well, it’s always felt cool, but in a soothing way. Actually, we used to think of the kitchen as the most serene place in the house. I enjoyed having a harmless spirit in our home.”

  “No cold spots at all?” I pushed.

  She looked up and shook her head.

  “Any object movement?”

  “No.”

  “Any sounds, talking, crying, footsteps?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, have you ever used an ouija board?”

  “We haven’t, but I found one in the attic when we first moved in.” She flinched at the memory.

  “Is it still in the house?”

  “Oh no, I threw that old thing out immediately. We’re Catholic and have no need for such an instrument.”

  Not to mention that ouija boards were outlawed years ago.

  I wasn’t looking forward to stepping into the kitchen. Even standing a few feet away, the cool vibes Mrs. Prevette talked about living with had obviously disappeared. All I could feel was heat radiating from the room. A line of smoke drifted under the door. Whatever was in the Prevette’s kitchen wasn’t a ghost.

  “Sounds like a poltergeist to me,” Ebony whispered.

  I shook my head.

  “Really?” Ebony seemed disappointed. “Damn, I hate it when I guess wrong.”

  I whispered back, “Maybe instead of guessing, you should start looking and sensing. Put the recorder down for a second and tell me what you see coming from underneath that door.”

  Mrs. Prevette followed my pointed finger, confusion etched on her concerned face. “There’s something coming through?”

  “Yes. Have you ever experienced so much heat it singed or burned you?”

  “Well, that was the reason Mary walked out. She claimed something evil was lurking inside this house, something that tried to burn her while she was preparing dinner,” Mrs. Prevette answered. “I just assumed she was exaggerating. Mary was very religious and always carried a rosary.”

  I took a deep breath. “Do you see anything, Ebony?”

  “Holy shit! Oops, pardon the French. Is that smoke?”

  “Yes, it’s smoke.”

  “But ghosts can’t do that kinda thing.”

  I released a heavy breath. “That’s because we’re not dealing with a ghost.”

  “What are we dealing with?” Mrs. Prevette asked, shifting her head from us to the door and back again.

  No point in putting it off any longer. I took a deep breath and released it before I spoke again. “Mrs. Prevette, I hate to be the one to tell you this but I think you have some sort of demon taking refuge inside your kitchen.”

  Her face paled even further, making her look as if she was about to pass out. I grabbed her arm just in time, maneuvering her towards the bulky leather couch against one of the walls. Her body slumped out of my grip. The color took a while to return to her cheeks, but she eventually regained composure.

  “A demon?” Ebony echoed. “But why?”

  “It was only a matter of time, I suppose,” I answered, taking a step away from our potential client. “First ghosts were revealed; maybe demons want a part of this world too.”

  “Oh, right.” Ebony laughed. “And soon you’ll be telling me vampires and werewolves haunt our nights, hidden in the shadows, waiting to reveal their existence.”

  I looked at her and shrugged. There were so many supernatural and paranormal mysteries in this world, so much we still needed to uncover. And if spooks roamed silently beside us for centuries, remaining a well-hidden secret, why couldn’t other creatures exist too?

  “So tell me, Ms. Fox, is there anything you can do about this?” Mrs. Prevette’s pale face now looked a little green as she rested against the couch. One hand pressed over her forehead.

  “Please, call me, Sierra.”

  “Okay. Sierra, can you help me get rid of this demon?” Mrs. Prevette asked with distaste. I couldn’t blame her. Sharing a house with a demonic entity wasn’t a good thing.

  “We can try to contain it but won’t be able to expel or capture it. Demons don’t exist. Well, legally they don’t. So we don’t have any form of trial or organization for them, at least none that I’m aware of. The only way I know of getting rid of a demon manifestation is through an exorcism,” I answered, rubbing my clammy palms against my pants.

  Her face convulsed for a second, cheek twitching slightly. “An exorcism in my home? Oh my God, I thought this would be an easy process.”

  “It’s never an easy process when something supernatural is concerned. And there’s no need for you to be afraid, Mrs. Prevette. I have a contact in the Church who can help us with this situation.” I paused to take a deep breath of warm air. “Ebony and I can contain the entity. We’ll keep it in the one spot until Father Luke gets here.”

  Ebony popped the mobile phone into my hand before I had a chance to ask for it. She’d paled a little herself.

  I found the number in the contacts, pressed the button and held the phone up to my ear.

  A horrid scream erupted from the kitchen, as if the demonic entity sensed the holy numbers, and I almost dropped the phone. Clutching it tighter, I waited and counted each ring tone.

  We needed to get out of there. The sooner, the better.

  “I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every satanic power—”

  Deeply carved scratches magically appeared on the priest’s face. Marked by ferocious, invisible claws from whatever was living inside the furnace that was the Prevette kitchen.

  Father Luke slipped and lost his balance. The Bible clutched in his thin hand tumbled to the tiled floor. The leather-bound book spontaneously combusted, biting flames expelling a trail of thick smoke. He struggled to scramble to his feet after having lost one of his most valuable weapons. The sweat now dripped from his gaunt face as he met my gaze.

  “Father, now what?” I had to scream to be heard over the commotion the entity was stirring around us.

  “I can still…” He was struggling to get to his feet.

  The wooden knife rack lay empty on the counter, every blade now stuck to the back of the door separating the kitchen from the living room after the demon’s first attack. The knives vibrated and I couldn’t help but wonder if the entity was trying to pluck them out with the intention of stabbing us.

  So far, the holy man was struggling to seize control of the situation, and seemed stunned.

  “Father! What do we do?”

  “We continue.” He was finally upright, clutching a crucifix in front of him, which was greeted with a deafening hiss. “Be gone and stay far away from this place of God!”

  The fuming air calmed a little.

  My ears popped.

  I shoved Ebony out the door with my shoulder when she tried to get back inside, hoping the kitchen knives didn’t impale me. I had to make sure whatever was in there didn’t catch a peek of her. I didn’t want to risk her or Mrs. Prevette being taken in place of this house. Demons were unpredictable creatures, master manipulators who took any available opportunities whenever possible. I don’t know much about them but have read a few demonology texts from Jonathan’s bookstore while waiting for him to close up.

  Now I
wished I’d paid more attention. Maybe I’d buy a few of the thick volumes if we made it out of this kitchen alive.

  I looked up, my heart picking up speed.

  The gigantic vision of the demon possessing this house finally revealed itself, towering above us as if someone had suddenly switched it on. It was so tall, what I assumed was its head almost smacked the high ceiling. Its evil presence suffocated the air out of my lungs, making the kitchen unbearable.

  This was the epitome of childhood monsters envisioned in the middle of the night. Hollow black pits for eyes glared down on us. The mouth was a cave full of sharp teeth running across in a multitude of rows. There was no real shape to its body, just looked like a slimy blob with a large, spiked tail.

  Father Luke stumbled again and landed on his back as he tried to backtrack from the demonic entity. He held up the crucifix so tightly his knuckles were white. I was positive the edges were cutting into his palms.

  The horrid scream erupted again. It was like a pained wail driving itself into the depths of my brain until I felt it would be better off exploding.

  I wasn’t sure why the demon was behaving this way. Maybe the tools of the holy man were hurting it, or his presence inside this room was enough to cause some sort of pain. Whatever it was, we had to stop it soon or we’d all lose our heads, literally.

  Leaning over, I tugged on the priest’s arms to help him to his feet. “Father, you have to banish it right now or we’re all going to—”

  The squealing intensified.

  I placed both hands over my ears. Father Luke’s ears were already bleeding. A thin line of blood trickled from his ear to his collar. He lifted a shaky hand, opened his mouth but didn’t get a chance to say anything.

  The crucifix tumbled to the floor when the giant mouth swallowed the priest whole. Father Luke disappeared inside the dark cave filled with teeth as I took a step back, narrowly escaping and thumping my spine against the door. The embedded knives rattled above my head but didn’t dislodge.