by Ed
"Al," she breathed, reaching up to take his hand. She gripped it hard, as if he were being pulled away from her.
She saw Chris and John and Sal kneeling beside her suddenly, all of them smiling as John said, "Thank God," and Sal said, "Amen," and Chris just grinned so broadly that he looked as if he might burst into laughter at any moment.
"You're back," Chris said finally.
"Yeah, I guess so," Carmen whispered.
Nearly two hours later, Carmen was sleeping restlessly beside Al on the mattress. Chris, John, and Sal were talking softly over coffee in the dining room.
Al was propped up on his side in pajama bottoms and a robe, watching Carmen as she slept. His forehead was creased with worry, fear, and confusion.
Carmen tossed back and forth as she slept, her sleeping eyes pressed together beneath a dark frown.
He prayed silently, never taking his eyes from her, relieved that Laura and the kids weren't around to see what had happened.
And then, Carmen's body stiffened and her back arched as if she were in silent agony. Once again, her throat began to swell and darken, turning a purplish black.
Al sat up, clutching her shoulder, calling, "It's happening again, get out here, it's happening again, oh Jesus, Jesus Christ!"
Footsteps rushed across the hall and into the living room and the researchers hurried over the mattresses to Al and Carmen.
John had a crucifix in his hand and held it out before him as he said loudly, with authority, "In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave this place—"
Chris and Sal quickly joined in, saying the words with him.
Carmen's head tilted back. Her eyes opened to reveal only glistening whites as she gurgled and choked and her arms and legs began to shake and convulse violently.
Al shot to his feet suddenly, fists at his sides, teeth clenched, and growled furiously, "Goddammit, I'm stronger than she is! Come to me, you son of a bitch, do it to meeee—"
All three men fell silent at once and turned to Al. Chris shouted, "Al, don't say that!" and Sal grabbed Al's arm and barked, "Stop!" as John dropped to his knees at Carmen's feet and continued the invocation alone, nearly shouting now, still holding the cross out toward Carmen as if it were a weapon.
But Al ignored them.
"Come to me, dammit!" he continued. "I'll fight you, you goddamned son of a bitch, you fucking—"
Al's words caught in his throat as sharply and suddenly as fish-bones, lodging there as he began to make a strangled gurgling sound. His eyes grew wider and wider, the color drained from his face, leaving him a sick, pale color.
Then he was thrown down to the mattress as if by powerful but invisible arms and he landed with a strangled grunt.
"Oh dear God," Sal groaned.
Al landed on his hands and knees, head falling forward weakly.
Carmen's erratic movements began to calm down. The swelling and blackening of her throat began to go away as Al's condition seemed to worsen.
John continued to invoke the name of Christ at a fever pitch, his forehead sparkling with beads of perspiration.
As Chris and Sal watched, the hem of Al's bathrobe was thrown hard up over his head and the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms was torn as they were pulled down violently, revealing his bare behind.
Al screamed, his voice so high and shrill it sounded like a woman's, and his whole body began to jerk as if something were ramming into it again and again and again. His screams continued, screams filled with pain, with horror.
Carmen began to stir. She opened her eyes and blinked several times as she sat up.
"What's wrong?" she asked, turning to Al. "Oh, my God, what's happening to him?"
John stopped the invocation and took a long breath. Then, his voice hoarse, he said, "He's being attacked...like you were...just a few seconds ago."
For a long moment, they all watched Al, stunned and helpless, knowing exactly what was happening to him.
"Oh God," Carmen gasped, beginning to cry. She moved toward Al and put an arm around his shoulders as he continued to scream shrilly again and again, a sound that was so foreign to Carmen coming from her muscular, rock-ribbed husband. She looked over her shoulder and shouted at the others, "Do something! That's what you're here for, dammit! Do something!"
But their prayers had no effect. When it was over, Carmen huddled beside him and held him close, "Oh, my God, honey, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry you had to go through that." Having experienced the same thing herself, Carmen knew exactly how humiliating it was, how helpless she'd felt while she was being violated; it made her heart ache to know that Al had been through the same humiliating experience.
Another night had passed in a house that had, somehow, developed a pipeline to hell.
Al and Carmen and Laura were not the only ones to be attacked by the entity that had targeted their house, though for some reason, it showed little interest in the smaller children; during their stay, all three researchers were assaulted in one way or another. They were tormented in their sleep as well as pinched and stung and slapped again and again throughout the day and night. Objects continued to move around the house, apparently by themselves, almost as if they had lives of their own.
Early one evening, after Al had gotten home from work, everyone had dinner outside, picnic-style. When they came in, Sal was the first to notice that something odd was happening in the living room. He called for the other researchers and, naturally, everyone else in the house followed them in.
Each of the mattresses on the floor was breathing. The middle of each one bulged slowly, as if inhaling, then relaxed, leveling out.
Ed and Lorraine dropped in frequently and stayed for a few hours, witnessing for themselves many of the incidents that the researchers had seen firsthand.
They saw some of the attacks; they witnessed the objects that moved around the house; they smelled the odors and saw the flashes of movement just out of their line of sight, movement seemingly caused by nothing.
During one of their visits, they heard a loud, metallic rattling sound that seemed to be coming from the master bedroom. Al was at work, the kids were outside, and Sal and John were resting in the living room, so Ed and Lorraine, Carmen, Laura, and Chris went down the hall hesitantly and into the bedroom. Carmen and Laura each held a rosary while Ed and Chris were carrying crucifixes.
In the bedroom, the sound was much louder and beneath their feet, the wooden floor was vibrating slightly. They all stopped just inside the room.
Finally, Lorraine stepped forward and put her hand lightly on the footboard of the bed.
"It's much worse here," she said quietly.
"Where's it coming from?" Ed asked, moving through the room slowly.
Lorraine lifted her right hand before her as she had during her first visit to the house and closed her eyes.
"Not in here," she whispered. "Somewhere else."
"Oh God," Carmen said, "it sounds like the pulley... the body lift downstairs. It's right below this room. In fact...it's right below the bed."
Suddenly, the sound made sense; the metallic rattling was the kind that might be made by a chain hoist, like the one in the cold, damp basement below.
They filed through the door at the back end of the bedroom that led down into the basement. When they were halfway down the stairs, the rattling stopped abruptly.
In the basement, they found the heavy chain swinging slightly, the links jingling very softly.
It was not the last time that happened, nor the last of the many strange occurrences Ed and Lorraine would witness.
During another visit, Lorraine was enveloped by another frightening vision, not unlike the one she'd had the first time she'd walked through the house.
She was standing at the top of the stairs near the bathroom, looking down into the bedroom below, about to descend into the basement— the part of the house that the Snedekers now refused to enter—when it began. It was so vivid and unexpected that, for a moment, she wasn't even a
ware that it was a vision—until she realized that she couldn't move, that she was paralyzed.
A man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He did not step around the corner, he simply appeared, as if from the very air around him. He wore a filthy undershirt and a pair of baggy, too-long pants that had once been tan but were now so stained and soiled that they looked more brown than anything. The ragged hems bunched around his feet, which wore nothing but dirty white socks. His round, sagging belly pressed against the undershirt and hung over the waist of the pants, with faint shadow filling the massive indentation made by his navel. His hair was black and stringy and fell to his shoulders; on top, he was going bald and his pale scalp was visible through wisps of hair. Beneath his left arm was tucked a pair of brown workboots. With the stubby fingers of his fat hands, he was pulling up and fastening his filthy pants. His breath came in winded, wheezing gasps, as if he'd been exerting himself a great deal.
The man looked up and his watery, bloodshot eyes locked with Lorraine's, which were wide and frightened. He grinned, showing jagged, discolored teeth. His lips were fat and dry and cracked and his glistening tongue slid out to moisten them as he began to make his slow way up the stairs.
"Nice bodies," he said, his voice low and phlegmy, wet and guttural. "Nice cold bodies. Cold, firm bodies."
He took step after step, closer and closer...
"Don't move when you touch 'em. Don't fight when you hold 'em or lick 'em." He laughed.
...closer and closer, step after step...
"Fact, you can do anything you fuckin' want to 'em," he chuckled as he reached the top of the stairs. He reached for Lorraine's hand, saying, "C'mon, I'll show. You want, you can watch me. See? I'm ready again." He laughed as he let the boots drop from beneath his arm and reached down for his crotch.
Lorraine lowered her eyes and watched as he grabbed the horrible bulge that had grown between his legs. The zipper of his pants was still open and she caught a glimpse of what looked like lumpy, purplish flesh, discolored with what appeared to be dirt, or maybe blood.
Closing her eyes and pushing herself backward away from him, Lorraine cried out as her back slammed against the bathroom door. When she opened her eyes again, she was sitting on the floor and the man was gone. Ed was kneeling at her side, anxiously whispering, "Lorraine, what is it, what's wrong?" "Necroph...necro...horrible things, Ed...horrible things happened in this house."
"Necrophilia?"
She nodded. "I saw something...a man...he told me what he did...he wanted me to watch..."
Once Lorraine had calmed down and was able to stand and talk coherently, they explained to the others what she had seen and what it meant.
"That sort of thing," Ed said, "necrophilia, I mean—sex with dead bodies, the kind of thing that, according to what Lorraine saw, happened here at one time—is evil. It draws demonic activity. The location of such things can become a target for demonic attention."
"It's not necessarily a definitive explanation," Lorraine said hoarsely, a glass of icewater in her hand, "but it certainly goes along with the vision I was shown when I first came here. I really believe that is what happened here...and I believe it's what brought about the trouble you're having now."
"So what do we do?" Carmen asked quietly. "How can we stop it?"
Ed and Lorraine looked at one another, silent for a moment. They had no doubt that what was happening in the house was very, very real. They knew what the next step was, but they didn't know what the result of taking it would be and were reluctant to raise the Snedekers' hopes.
"Next," Ed said, "we contact the church."
"We've already done that," Al said, a little angrily. "It didn't get us anywhere!"
"I know," Ed replied. "Now we're going to contact them. We'll tell them what we've found, what we've seen and what we believe to be the problem. The only thing is...and I'm not saying this is going to happen, but..."
"What!" Al snapped impatiently.
"We might get the same response you did."
26
Attention from the Church
He pressed the doorbell, then stepped back from the door and put on a smile, holding his black bag at his side.
Carmen opened the door and his smile opened into a grin. He held out his hand and said, "You must be Mrs. Snedeker. I'm Father George. I talked with the Warrens and they told me about your problem."
"Oh, Father, I'm so glad you're here," she said, her voice sounding a bit desperate as she welcomed him into the house.
He felt it immediately, a dark, oppressive aura that seemed to be everywhere. But he kept his smile on, not wanting to alarm Mrs. Snedeker.
"So, what did the Warrens tell you?" Mrs. Snedeker asked as they stood in the hall.
"They said you had some very unpleasant supernatural activity taking place in your house that they felt was demonic in nature, and that you needed the help of the church."
That wasn't all they'd said, but he didn't tell her that. There was a good deal he didn't tell her.
He didn't tell her that, along with being a priest, he'd been schooled in demonology and was just as familiar with the subject as the Warrens. He didn't tell her that, after what the Warrens had told him, he'd known immediately how urgently his help was needed in the Snedeker home. And, of course, he didn't tell her that, upon stepping into the house, he could feel just how bad, just how advanced, the problem was, and that he knew it would only get worse without immediate spiritual attention.
Carmen took him into the dining room and introduced him to Laura and Peter. She explained that the researchers, Chris and John (Sal had gone), were resting in the living room and needed some sleep. She made him some tea, then asked him what he'd like to do.
"Well, how about if I just go through the house, bless it, sprinkle holy water in each room and see what I find? Then, if you don't mind, I'd like to come back in a day or so with another priest and perhaps say a Mass."
"That sounds fine," Carmen said. "Is there anything you need from me?"
"Absolutely nothing. You've been more than kind." He gave her a big smile as he stood and leaned down for his bag on the floor. "Do you mind if I just take myself through the house?"
"Oh, sure, that's fine," Carmen said, a little nervously. "Go right ahead. But it's...well, it's not the house it used to be. All the mattresses are in the living room so we can sleep together in there, and—"
Please, don't feel you have to apologize or explain. I understand, really." He gave them another smile and a nod, then left the dining room and started down the hall, opening his bag.
As soon as he was out of their sight, his smile fell away. It had been an effort to maintain ever since entering the house; the air itself felt alive with malignancy. Carmen Snedeker and her niece Laura both showed the toll of living in such an atmosphere. They looked disheveled, puffy, depressed, and every movement was heavy and labored; their eyes were bloodshot and watery and their speech, even when anxious, was just slow and halting enough to give away their situation. He said a silent prayer for them as he went down the hall.
Father George went into the bedroom first, then the bathroom, then part way through the hall again, sprinkling holy water and blessing each room, each section of the house. Then...
...to the stairs.
He felt it even on the very top step and prayed for strength as he made his way down, knowing that something evil awaited him in the basement. The Warrens had warned him, but as he neared the bottom step, he realized their warning had not been strong enough. Something was gripping his stomach, twisting until he felt he might soon vomit.
Finally, he stood at the bottom of the stairs and slowly, with hands trembling slightly, went about blessing the first room, then the next, where the feeling was even stronger. The corridor seemed stronger still, darker...almost smothering.
He continued blessing each room in the basement, until he realized he was crying, and had been for some time, his cheeks wet with tears. He stood in the room that had on
ce been a morgue, surrounded by walls once stained with the blood of the dead, and went through the blessing, his words finally crumbling into babbles as he realized that something was happening.
Something dark and yet transparent, a shapeless mass that moved fluidly, flowed and waved as it oozed out of the far wall and advanced toward Father George.
He sprinkled more holy water and held up a crucifix as he backed out of the room, stumbling into the next room, and then he turned and crossed the corridor and hurried up the stairs.
As he stood facing the bathroom, he paused to catch his breath, to calm down and wipe the tears from his cheeks with the hanky from his back pocket, praying to God to help him hide his fear from Carmen Snedeker and the others, who had already been through what was clearly more than enough.
He went into the living room, where the researchers were sleeping, blessed it quietly, then moved carefully over the mattresses to get to the other bedrooms.
When he was done, he returned to the dining room and smiled at Carmen and Laura.
"If it's okay with you, I would definitely like to return as soon as possible with another priest to celebrate the Mass. Perhaps tonight, or tomorrow morning?"
"Sure," Carmen said hoarsely. "But...why'd you change your mind? Is something wrong?"
"Oh, no, no. I've just...been thinking about my schedule, is all. Thank you for your patience and hospitality. I really should be going now."
Carmen stood and followed him to the door, then whispered, "Do you think everything, um...everything's gonna be all right, Father? I mean...are we gonna be all right?"
He gave her his best, most comforting smile and put a hand gently on her shoulder, saying, " 'All things work together for good to them that love God.'"
Carmen smiled then, looking as if that had made her feel better. The priest opened the door and said, "I'll see you again soon."
He started down the sidewalk and, when he heard the front door close, he was surprised to find himself still trembling from the assault his senses had undergone inside the Snedeker household.
