by John Tigges
“I don’t believe you’re saying what you’re saying. Remember, I’ve seen some of these things as well. How do you get off trying to explain furniture piled in the middle of the living room as a figment of our imagination? I saw it. You saw it. How could both of us …”
“Perhaps we both imagined it. Really. When you stop to think of it, what’s so unusual about a pile of furniture? Some vandals broke in and played a practical joke on us. That’s all.”
“Vandals don’t break in to play practical jokes and you know it. They didn’t take anything. They didn’t take anything the other time. Burglars or vandals just don’t work that way. I’m sorry. You can’t pass this off as products of your imagination.”
“I really think Father Gorkland was right,” she persisted. “We’re both overworked and overwrought about all of this. We’re merely trying to explain everything as something from hell or whatever. Do demons from hell— the devils—work like this?”
He shrugged. “The one thing I know is this. We’ve got to stick together on this thing. You can’t believe one thing and me another. We have to find another minister or priest and tell him what’s going on.”
“No way. I don’t want any more people like Gorkland around. I really don’t, Myles.”
“I’m not going to argue about something like that right now,” he said, turning on the stereo. Soft music oozed from the speakers. He smiled when he saw her mood change from one of being argumentative to a more placid one when she heard the music. “We’ve got to get to bed or we’ll both fall asleep standing up.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s going on three. We’ve been jacking around all night with the furniture.”
He bent down to move the footstool into position in the front of the overstuffed easy chair and froze. Beneath the stool lay the antique red book trimmed in gold. Neither had noticed that it wasn’t on the shelf over the TV.
Nicole stood to pick it up. Without a word, she placed it on the shelf. Turning to Myles, she said, “Come on, let’s get to bed.”
Puzzled at best, he followed her to the bedroom after turning off the stereo. When he turned out the lights, the stereo went back on, its red light the only visible thing in the room.
Friday, December 5, 1986 6:59 P.M.
Seven days later, the incidents of the previous weekend had been relegated to the backs of both Nicole’s and Myles’ minds, minimized by the passage of time. Thanksgiving had come and gone uneventfully, and they were thankful for that if nothing else. Neither spoke of the happenings, and because nothing else went awry, both relaxed, mutually agreeing not to mention the subject again.
Christmas was a week closer and Nicole convinced Myles that they should go shopping for each other that Friday night before he had to go to work. He readily agreed to meet her immediately after she got off work and they would swing through several malls. Because of the time limit imposed by his job, they agreed to merely look but not purchase anything right then, opting to do so when they were alone. This trip might tip one or the other’s hand at something that would appeal as a gift. In addition, Nicole wanted to buy Myles a gift for his birthday, which was the next day.
By seven that evening, they headed toward the apartment, where they picked up the mail and climbed the steps to the third floor. There, they would say their goodbyes until Myles came home close to midnight.
“After I see you inside, safe and sound,” he said, “I’ve got to take off. I’ve a lot of work to do before the telecast.”
Hesitating for a split second before jamming the key into the lock, he sniffed. “What’s that?” he asked, inhaling short breaths, trying to identify the strange odor.
“What’s what?” she asked. “I don’t …”
Unlocking the door, he opened it and fell back. The stench, like a warm sea of putrescence, flooded out of the entryway, engulfing them.
“Great God!” he cried, gagging and holding his hand over his mouth.
“Oh, Lord,” she said, falling back, her stomach pumping as it tried desperately to vomit its contents. Instead of diminishing as it swept into the hall, the malodorous rot grew in strength.
“Quick,” Myles said, “inside.” He pushed Nicole into the stink, slamming the door behind him.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded, running to the window to open it.
Rushing to the bedroom he threw open the window, then went to the kitchen were he turned on the exhaust fan. He did the same in the bathroom before returning to the living room. “I didn’t want the smell to spread too much. Right now, until we know where we stand on the question of the lease, we shouldn’t make waves.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding when she realized why he had acted so quickly.
Within minutes the stink dissipated and they closed the windows.
“Will you be all right?” he asked.
“Of course I will. All that was was the sewer backing up.”
“Nicole!” he snapped angrily. “You know better than that. It was the same stink you’ve described to me. Remember, I’ve smelled it before. It wasn’t the sewer backing up.”
“Then it’s our imagination,” she said, thumbing through the mail. Before Myles could say anything in rebuttal, she held up a brown envelope and said, “Here it is. This must be the lease.” Dropping the rest of the mail, she slit it open, pulling out the stapled sheets.
“I won’t have time to go over it now,” he said. “I’m stopping by to see Gorkland.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake? We don’t need him. He doesn’t like either one of us very much. Why hang around him?”
“Because whether you want to admit it or not, we’ve got one helluva problem here. I don’t think it has anything to do with the apartment although a change of scenery might do both of us a world of good.”
“Well, what do you think it is?”
Her voice clipped off the words in an angry way, but the concerned, worried look on her face told him that she was trying to maintain an indifferent, unconcerned front. “I don’t know. I don’t know what could be causing these things, but somehow I think they’re related to that book and the ritual you performed.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and before she could say anything, sobs shook her body. He stepped closer, embracing her in a gentle hug. The last thing he needed right now was Nicole falling to pieces when he had to leave. Instead of abating, the crying grew until hysterical cries intermingled with deep-rooted sobs.
“Hey, you can’t carry on like this for over another thirty seconds,” he said, trying to sound light-hearted but failing miserably.
“I … I …” she stuttered, “it’s … it’s … all … all my fault!”
“It’s no one’s fault. If anything, it’s mine for having walked out on you when I did. The way I did. That’s what prompted you to try that rite. But I can’t leave you now … not in the state you’re in. We’ve got to call someone. What about a neighbor?”
She shook her head. “No … no way. I don’t know any of them … other than to say … hello in the hallway. There … there isn’t … isn’t anyone. Just … just you!”
“Why don’t you come along to the studio with me?”
“No. What … what would you say to someone about my red eyes? Once … once I start crying, I … I sob for hours. You’ve … you’ve never … never seen me cry before.”
“We’ve got to do something. I won’t leave you this way.”
“Go ahead. I’ll … I’ll be all … right,” she said, attempting a grin and laughing along with the sobbing when she realized how silly she sounded.
“No. I refuse. There must be … what about your friend from college?”
She stared at him. Who? Who did he mean? “Wh … who … do you mean?” she asked. “Not Rob … Rob from … work?”
“No. Not him. The girl you told me about.”
“Sta … Stacey?” she managed and hiccupped.
“Yes.”
“That might … might be dangerous.”
�
�Why? Because she’s a Jesus freak?”
She nodded.
“Tell her you don’t want to talk about religion when she gets here. Tell her we had a fight. Anything. But let’s get her over here. Now.”
“What … what’ll I … tell her?”
“The way you’re sobbing, you can tell her we had a few words or something. She’ll believe you. I know I would if I heard you sobbing like that. I’m going to stop by Gorkland’s, regardless of what you say.”
“Will … will you … have time?”
He nodded. “Call what’s-her-name.”
Nicole went to the phone in the hall and picked up the directory. After several minutes of hunting, she found Stacey’s number and carefully dialed it.
Myles watched her closely, barely hearing the one-sided conversation. When she hung up, she turned and said, “She’ll be over in twenty minutes and … you … don’t have to wait.”
“I’ll wait. I’m concerned about you. I love you. I couldn’t just walk out like that and not be worried sick until I knew you were all right and with someone. Someone you can trust.”
She shrugged, not really certain if she could trust Stacey when she thought of the zeal she possessed when it came to matters of religion.
“Why … why are … you … you going to Gorkland?”
“He already knows about everything for the most part. It won’t be that difficult to talk to him about it. Maybe this time I’ll get through to him.”
“He … he knows too much … much about the two of us … us already,” she said, blowing her nose in a tissue she pulled from her handbag. She went to the bathroom where she flushed her face with cold water. When she came out a few minutes later, her eyes, although still red from crying, did not appear too much out of the ordinary. When she talked, her sobs had slowed to only occasional ones.
Myles waited patiently, and twenty minutes after Nicole had hung up the phone, the door bell buzzed. “I’m going to duck out the back door,” he said. “I don’t want to confront her right now. She might take it on herself to start preaching to me about making you cry or fighting with you. If I’m going to have time to see Gorkland and get to the station before nine, I’ve got to go now. ‘Bye, Nicole. I love you.” Hurrying to the kitchen, he waited by the back door until he was positive that it was Stacey Ford who had rung the doorbell.
When he heard Nicole greet her friend, he stepped into the back hallway and closed the door quietly after hearing Nicole’s opening sentence: “Come in Stacey … but remember … no talk about reli … religion.”
8:33 P.M.
Father Gorkland eyed Myles suspiciously. “What is it this time, Mr. Lawrence?”
“I know you don’t especially care for Nicole and me, Father, but we do need your help,” Myles began.
“Forgive me for that slip of humanity, Mr. Lawrence. I should not have been so judgmental of you and Miss Kilton. Please sit down and tell me what’s troubling you.” He gestured to Myles to take a chair and did so himself when his guest was seated.
Myles quickly brought the priest up to date and finished with, “I think she might be slipping away from me. The way she’s changed, citing your arguments about the phenomena being products of our imagination and so on, really bothered me. If you had seen the manner in which the furniture had been piled, you’d agree, Father.”
Gorkland shook his head. “That’s just it, Mr. Lawrence. I didn’t see it … or anything else that you and Miss Kilton have told me. How could I go to the chancery office, seeking permission to confront something that at best would be the product of an overwrought imagination? It would be my overworked imagination if I were to do something like that.”
“Do you mean you won’t or can’t?” Myles asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Both, I guess. I won’t because there isn’t enough proof—the kind of proof that is required by the Church today. Even if there were, a competent psychiatrist would still have to be consulted and those findings taken into consideration before any further discussion could take place. And I can’t because …” His voice trailed off.
“Why can’t you?” Myles demanded.
“I can’t because I think both of you are completely wrong. Wrong in the way you live. Wrong in the way you interpret things around you. Wrong about your attitude toward religion. Wrong …”
Myles held up his hand for the priest to stop. “Forget that. Those are your particular prejudices. What about the Church? Can’t the Church help us in some way?”
“Such as?” Gorkland asked, shrugging. “I’ve told you what the Church demands in cases such as you’re hoping you have.”
“Hoping? Hoping to have?” Myles said, gagging on the words. Did he think they were hoping for something evil? How could this man of God allow personal feelings to affect his decision when it came to helping someone?
“Aren’t you hoping that these things that are happening are in reality caused by some dark force? Perhaps you hope to capitalize on the situation. People today are weird, strange at best.”
“Look here, Father Gorkland, I don’t have time to be arguing moot points of theology or about mankind’s behavior today. Nicole and I have a real problem. Can’t you leave the Church or the chancery that you mentioned, out of it and just come back? If you witness something like we have, you can do whatever it is one like yourself is supposed to do, and everyone will be the better off because of it.”
“You’re suggesting too many liberties for me to take. The chancery is my boss, so to speak. My hands are tied in situations like this. I must have the permission of the bishop if I am to proceed with anything out of the ordinary. Don’t you understand?”
Myles, feeling defeat imminent, nodded.
“There’s only one way a priest can proceed with an exorcism without getting the permission of the bishop. If the priest’s life is endangered by an unseen entity, he may invoke the prayers of the rite of exorcism. But that is the only set of circumstances. Now, don’t try to tell me that my life would be threatened if I were to come back to that apartment. I …”
“I understand, Father,” Myles said, getting out of his chair. “I’ll be on my way, and I promise I won’t be back to bother you any more.” Turning, he left the priest’s office.
He could feel the baleful stare of the man on his back until he turned at the door and hurried toward the entryway that led outside. Now what would they do? If this priest didn’t believe them, what chance did they have with other men of the cloth? Probably slim to none. Outside, he went to his car and stared through the windshield for several minutes when he sat behind the wheel.
All he knew was that he loved Nicole and he would do anything to protect her from whatever evil force she had conjured up that night. The demon or devil or whatever was harassing them had better be on guard.
He turned the key in the ignition switch and the motor roared to life. Checking his rearview mirror, he eased the car away from the curb. He’d best seek out a minister or another priest. He simply had to. There was no way he felt confident enough to face this thing alone. Sure he’d lay his life down for Nicole, but why do it foolishly if there were another way to fight? He’d have to find another priest or minister as soon as possible. For some reason that escaped him, he felt they were running out of time.
11:11 P.M.
Nicole turned the sound of the television set down and watched Myles’ image, his words choked off by the volume control. “There,” she said, “at least we’ll be able to watch him and continue our talk.”
She turned to Stacey. The evening had been more successful than she had dared hope. The subject of religion had not been brought up, and for the most part the evening had been spent reminiscing about their days in college. Their talk had brought them around to the subject of different boys and men they had known during school, when the time for the newscast came around.
Stacey, who had been one year behind Nicole, said, “Why did you date your first year?”
Nicole pursed her
lips in retrospect. There had been several but Jimmy Allen had been special to her. It had been Jimmy who had seduced her and taken her virginity. “Did you know Jimmy Allen?” she asked.
Stacey shook her head, waiting for Nicole to tell her about him.
“Well, Jimmy got me. Do you know what I mean?”
Stacey stared at her, a bewildered look crossing her face. “I … I don’t understand.”
“We went to bed. He was my first. I was a virgin and …”
Stacey’s face grayed. “My good God, Nicole. You sound so callous, so hard, so … I don’t know what! You actually went to bed with him and gave yourself to him? Just like that?”
Nicole’s head swam, her stomach churning. Why had she said that? Now, the evening would be ruined. Stacey would start spouting religion, but wait! What about her college sexual escapades? “Do you mean to tell me, Stacey, that you’re still a virgin?”
“Nothing of the kind. When I was going to college here I sinned and lost my virginity but now in retrospect, I can say that it was the devil at work. I did not want it to happen. But the way of the flesh won and I enjoyed sinning as if I had been drugged with lust. I was a sinner and then the Children of the Sun found me. But now, I have my sweet Jesus. He watches over me. He protects me. He helps me whenever I am placed in a position of temptation. You simply have to meet Reverend Eddie John. He’ll help you out of this morass of sin that you’ve allowed yourself to get drawn into.”
Stacey kept talking, rambling on about Jesus, her Saviour, and her own personal direct contact, the Reverend Eddie John Stangood. But Nicole heard nothing else, entwining with the words of the girl seated opposite her. It sounded more like a far off, distant siren, moaning and groaning as it built in intensity. The volume grew as the sound neared. But what was it? What could that sound be? She strained her ears desperately trying to distinguish it but failed the harder she tried.
Stacey continued prattling.
Nicole heard bits and pieces of the rhetoric Stacey spouted. Jesus was coming. Stacey wasn’t exactly sure when, but come He would. And it would be right after Armageddon had been fought. Or was it before? Nothing was making sense to Nicole. The wailing cry continued growing and Nicole tried desperately to place its origin. It seemed to be coming from someplace in the room. Forcing herself to turn, she watched Stacey. The woman kept talking, completely unmindful of the piercing wail that mounted in growing decibels until Nicole thought her head would shatter. The room spun crazily about in her line of vision. The TV screen was showing a movie. Where had Myles gone? What time was it? Was he on his way home? Please! Please, dear God, let Myles hurry home. Let him get here now.
