by Wood, Rick
“I know first instinct can be to look at the abnormal, but most of the time these things are normal. Has anybody seen her regarding a mental health diagnosis?”
‘Regarding’? ‘Diagnosis’? It took him a few seconds to understand what Eddie was going on about.
“It’s not that. She isn’t capable of walking more than two steps without needing to sit back down. She can’t even go to the toilet herself. And she’s doing stuff that not even she can do.”
“Why don’t you start from the beginning, Martin?”
And so he did. He told him about the other night, the levitation, the eyes, the saying his name. He admitted how much it freaked him out, how scared he was, how much she was the only thing in his life keeping him going.
“And was this the first time anything has happened?”
“Nah. The other day I came back and found somethin’ written on her wheelchair, behind her back. But it was in some kind of weird language or somethin’.”
“What did it say?”
“I don’t know how to say it.”
“Could you write it down?”
He nodded, and Eddie produced a notepad and a pen. Martin wrote down carefully:
Surge, diabolum
Eddie stared at it. Didn’t talk, didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Martin felt a bit freaked out, not understanding what was going on. Eddie didn’t move whatsoever. He looked like someone had just put a gun to his face.
“What is it?” Martin asked eventually, feeling increasingly awkward.
“Where did you say this was written?” Eddie asked in a whisper, choking on his words, barely about to string his sentence together.
“It was written behind my ma’s back on the wheelchair.”
Eddie ran his hand through his hair and stroked his chin, the whole time his eyes not removing themselves from those two words.
The exact same words that Eddie had found written on the wall of the shed.
“Do you, like, know what it is?” Martin wondered.
“It’s Latin. I’ve seen it before.”
“What does it mean?”
“It mean’s ‘rise, devil.’”
Martin understood why Eddie had reacted this way. Why the hell had that been written on his ma’s wheelchair?
“Martin, write down your address for me,” he instructed, his eyes still not moving. “I will be around as soon as I finish here, to see your mother.”
“Is she okay?”
Eddie didn’t answer.
36
There was a faint dripping coming from somewhere Bandile couldn’t detect. The cold moisture hung in the air and on his tongue. Every footstep echoed against the bricks. The floor was hard, leaving remnants of grey dust over his feet, and the corners were occupied by a multitude of spiders; some dead, some alive.
It was a small room about the size of a garage, somewhere underground, the address of which had been delivered to him by that familiar face he had seen so many years ago. The confined space made him feel nervous, but he was assured in the task he had to do and did it with full confidence.
He had given up fighting it many years ago.
He hated himself. No, more than hated… He loathed himself. He detested his actions.
For a moment, he even felt sorry for the difficult choice he had been forced to make, then abruptly realised he did not deserve such things as sympathy.
For almost ten years he had been filthy rich. Everything he had ever wanted was there. Women. Money. Respect.
Life.
A life that was so almost taken from him through a sickening cancer spreading so fast through his body it had been almost undetectable. A cancer that was gone in seconds, replaced by an endless supply of mansions, cars, friends, riches.
Oh, he had taken his side of the deal all right.
Now it had come time for him to meet the requirements he had to fill for the life he had undeservedly attained – or face an eternity in hell.
He had no choice.
But that didn’t make it any easier.
Kelly’s eyes were yet to open. But he was prepared. Ready for the screams, the protests, the begging for mercy. Ready to be defiant, ready to fulfil the task that was required of him.
He just had to force himself to realise – the devil would have risen with or without his help. His plans would have come to fruition whether he had taken the deal or not. Only carrying out these actions on the lord of hell’s terms would have saved him from the eternity of suffering the rest of the world would face.
If it wasn’t him doing this, it would have just been someone else.
Or so he told himself.
He finished securing her hands behind her back with handcuffs, her legs shackled to the wall via restraints around her ankles and a charring rope squeezed tightly around her chest and the chair, many loops holding her securely in place. She wouldn’t be able to barely move.
He felt oddly proud of his work, despite the surgical removal of ethics he’d had to undergo to retain his mortality.
“This her?”
The voice from behind him made him jump. He spun around in an instant circular motion.
“You scared me out of my skin!”
“Sorry,” replied Jason Aslan, who stood weakly behind Bandile. “I don’t really need to use a door or anything. The perks of being dead.”
“Well, wear a bell next time, or at least cough.”
Jason echoed Bandile’s body language, hoping it would give him more confidence in the betrayal of humanity he was undertaking. Both of them took a strong posture with folded arms, glaring at Kelly bound unconscious before them.
Jason remembered her. It was the last face he had seen before he died. Right before her possessed body sliced his head off. Even though he knew it hadn’t technically been her that had done it, he felt an odd sense of satisfaction at seeing her get her comeuppance.
If it wasn’t for him being in that damn room, with those damn exorcists, with that damn girl, he would not be in this predicament. He would be alive. Surrounded by his beautiful grandchildren, his loving wife, and his adoring daughter.
If Edward King and Derek Lansdale hadn’t involved him, he wouldn’t be forcing these events on them. Despite not being particularly willing to undertake his tasks, he was vaguely pleased he was at least getting some revenge.
He had to hold onto that thought, that part of him that sought retribution. Otherwise the lack of morality his actions would need to endure would lead his family to an everlasting black pit of pain.
“So we’re nearly there,” Bandile observed. “Just one more to get.”
Jason nodded.
Jason convinced himself this was the right choice.
He convinced himself this was the only choice.
Unknowingly, Jason and Bandile both stood there, sharing the same trail of thought. If the devil was going to rise, they wouldn’t be able to stop it. They may as well save themselves.
“I don’t really get it,” Jason admitted. “So this Devil’s Three, I mean, how exactly do we do it?”
“We need to sacrifice what we call the ‘suffered.’ This girl has suffered more than you could imagine. She was possessed by the devil. She will be an ample sacrifice.”
“And… us?”
Bandile hesitated.
“We are close to having our Devil’s Three. We have the prophet,” he indicated himself, “and the dead,” he indicated Jason.
“And who’s going to be the wounded?”
Bandile took a loaf of bread out of his bag and ripped the end off with his teeth.
“Her name is Anna.”
“Anna?”
“She’s in a wheelchair. Only has a son. Shouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.”
“Then we do the ritual and… and it’s over?”
“It’s over. And you can sail on up to heaven.”
Jason lifted his head back and closed his eyes, imagining such an opportunity. He had been held in purgatory fo
r so long. And he was so close. Just one more task, and that was it.
It wasn’t long to go now.
37
This boy’s house felt like a closet. Eddie could barely move without bumping into a wall or stepping on something left on the floor. The sink had a pile of dirty dishes, the wood on the cupboards was splintering, and rips of magazines, remains of crisps, and various bits of fluff were engrained into the carpet. There was something in the air that made his eyes water and a stench of something decaying that he couldn’t quite place. This was a home of people who were struggling, and Eddie didn’t feel disgusted; he felt sympathetic, and grateful for the life he had, despite the obvious predicaments he was facing.
Martin led Eddie through to the living room, where a small lady sat shrivelled up in a wheelchair. The room was colder, but he wasn’t sure whether this was a sign of possession or because they couldn’t afford to pay the heating. With the sun glaring through the windows, he made his mind up. There was something about this woman that left an unsettling, eerie, twisted feeling in his belly.
She needed his help.
But with what had been written on her wheelchair, he needed to be cautious. There may be a bigger reason he was there.
He knelt before her, looking her in the eyes. She didn’t move. Her face was slumped onto her shoulder, her eyes slanted to the side, staring at something beyond Eddie, without blinking.
“What’s her name?” Eddie asked Martin, not quite sure why he was doing it in a whisper.
“Her name is Anna.”
Eddie nodded.
“Hello, Anna. My name is Eddie. Can you hear me?”
Nothing. Not even a grunt, sigh, or snigger. Usually these things found his presence funny, at first. But she didn’t.
“Anna, do you know who I am?”
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but she stayed motionless.
He decided to try a different tact. Taking her hand in his, he used his other hand to turn her face toward him.
Anna’s dead eyes now fixed upon his. Her mouth dropped open, trickling drool onto her chin and dripping onto her lap beneath her.
“Anna, I am here to help you.”
“She’s not normally like this,” Martin gasped, Eddie able to hear tears in his voice. He didn’t need to turn around to see that Martin was distraught. “She’s usually complaining or going on at me about something. She isn’t like this.”
Eddie had seen this catatonic state before, usually before something screamed or the room shook. He remained wary, rubbing her hand affectionately, letting her know he was there.
“Okay, Anna. If you don’t want to talk to me that’s fine. What about anyone else? Is there anyone else in there who would like to talk?”
Her body didn’t move, her eyes didn’t move, her head didn’t move; but Eddie detected the faintest movement in her mouth to represent a small but smug smile.
“Ah, yes. I see there is. And what is your name?”
The hand he was rubbing flinched. Its nails stuck into Eddie, slowly applying more and more pressure, until the nails were digging in hard, going further and further into his palm. As it started to cause him pain, he withdrew his hand and stroked his chin in thought.
“Surely you know who I am? If you are not Anna, if you are some beast dwelling within, you must know of me?”
Her head moved slightly up and down, maybe only a centimetre, in a slight but definite nod.
It knew. It knew who he was.
“And so, you know what I can do?”
Its mouth moved, a croaky breath exiting between her cracked lips, as if trying to say something.
“Do… you?” she muttered with a delicate vibration of her lips.
“Do I know what I’m capable of?”
Another one of these damn demons telling me I don’t know what I’ve got inside of me.
“Why don’t you tell me?”
He was frustrated, and he knew he shouldn’t let it rattle him. He was just fed up. Fed up of not knowing what was inside of him. Fed up of not knowing how close The Devil’s Three were to bringing out evil he kept concealed.
“You wrote something. Something in Latin, on the back of your chair. Do you remember what that was?”
She grinned a grin that didn’t belong to her. Nodded a nod that was motivated by pure evil. So slight, such small movement, with such gleefully sinister intent.
He hated this thing, whatever it was.
“What’s going on?” Martin was bouncing agitatedly from leg to leg, tossing his fist from palm to palm, breathing quickly with stress and terror.
Eddie stood and turned to him, holding his arm out to the tattered sofa beside them. Martin did as Eddie indicated, taking a seat, and Eddie knelt in front of him.
“You did the right thing in coming to me,” Eddie told him. “There is something going on. Something more.”
“What? What is it?”
“I think there may be a demonic force at work here, something within your mother’s body, something latched onto her soul.”
“What?” Martin screwed up his face and shook his head, disbelief etched over his expression.
“It’s hard to take Martin, but demons, ghosts… the devil… they are all real. And I fight them every day.”
“So get it out of her!”
Eddie sighed and stood, turning toward the window.
“It’s not as simple as that.” He turned back toward him. “What is going on with your mother is part of something much bigger. Part of a war I have been waging for a long time.”
“What, how?”
“I believe –”
Anna spoke. What she said, neither of them could tell, but she said something in a loud grunt, followed by a deep, elongated cackle that sent dread through Eddie’s blood.
“What did she say?” Martin yelped out.
Eddie knelt before her, showing his war face, his authoritative smirk.
“Would you like to repeat that?”
With a cackle, the thing before him complied.
“The suffered has been taken…” the deep voice practically sang.
Eddie stood.
The suffered has been taken?
Then it hit him like a bucket of icy-cold water in the face.
The Devil’s Three. They needed ‘the suffered’ as a sacrifice.
And they have that sacrifice?
And that is when he realised.
Kelly.
38
Kelly’s eyelids fluttered and slowly pried themselves apart, revealing a selection of dark blurs. She could see nothing.
The smell of humid moisture in the air hit her at first, followed by an overwhelming stink of decay. Something dripped, somewhere, far off, in an almost rhythmic, steady beat. Her head pounded, her failed vision making her dizzy.
She went to lift her hand to rub her head and found she couldn’t. She struggled to move it once more. She felt steel clamped tightly around her wrists, pressurizing the bumps of her wrists with an awkward pain she dreaded to think she was going to have to continuously endure. Her arms were fixed to her body, bare skin of her forearm shredding dead flakes from the burning frays of old rope. Her ankles flapped about in fear, but only marginally, finding themselves restrained by cuffs that only allowed a fraction of movement.
Where am I? How did I get here?
She remembered in flashes.
Eddie outside.
The clock said 3.00 a.m.
She was fed up of not being able to sleep.
Bandile’s face.
That was the last thing she remembered – Bandile’s face.
Followed by a thud. The sound of a thud. The feel of carpet hitting her face. Then nothing.
Darkness. Complete darkness.
Then she was here. Her vision slowly returning, coming into focus.
The room was an empty darkness, a single light bulb hanging from the roof above her, giving a slight illumination that surrounded itself with shadows and black
corners. The dust of the floor floated up and made her choke, the brick walls made any movement echo and the cold pierced through her skin.
She was wearing pyjamas. That was the next thing she noticed. She was still wearing her pyjamas. Whoever did this, it wasn’t a sexual thing, otherwise she would not still be in those pyjamas.
Why am I thinking about fucking pyjamas?
A shuffle. A flicker of movement the opposite side of the light bulb. She squinted. Strained to see what it was, something in the distance, something coming toward her.
The solemn black face of Bandile presented itself with agonising smugness, filling Kelly with a vacant rage that welled up inside her, turning into nothing. She could do nothing. She couldn’t even move.
“You’re an arsehole.” Not the cleverest thing she could say, but the most pertinent.
She felt weak.
A helpless damsel.
As if her position as a woman was being destroyed, an insult to the history of feminism; her being submissive before an overpowering, muscular man, holding her helplessly against her will.
“What do you want?” she decided was more productive.
She told herself not to panic. She willed herself to remain calm. Her mind told her to cry, told her to scream, told her to shout out for help. Her common sense told her it would be no good. This wasn’t an impulsive abduction, this was planned. Shouting wouldn’t be much good. She may as well save her voice.
“You’re very lucky, Kelly,” Bandile told her, that damn warm smile he constantly displayed on his face displaying itself once more – though this time, it wasn’t so comforting. “You are going to be a sacrifice to a god. Not many people get chosen for such an act.”
She nodded. It all made sense.
So I am ‘the suffered.’ Great.
“You think he’s going to repay you for this?” Kelly shook her head.
“Why, whatever do you mean?”
“The devil is not a god, he is an angel fallen from heaven. God will win in the end.”
“Is that what Edward told you? That good will win in the end?” He crouched down before her. “Does he think his good will win in the end? Because it won’t.”
