Father Menning tried to make small talk, which aggravated Adrina to no end, but again Tomas was quick and back in a wink. How he was able to get the girl out of the hospital, she had no idea. He laid the cold dead body of Emily across the long back seat of the Buick, and Adrina recognized the pillowcase that the girl wore, but now saw that it was only a hospital gown.
“She’s still alive...I know she may not look it, but she still is,” Tomas assured the priest, who had shrunk back away from the girl’s body looking disgusted. Adrina reached out and touched her granddaughter, but pulled her hand away, rubbing it.
It was there beneath Emily’s skin. The demon lay hiding just below the surface and the touch had been as cold as sin.
Time seemed to compress in on itself, like the cars of train in a head-on collision. Adrina had barely put on her seat belt before she saw Colonels Row, where her son lived. All the other homes on the Row were lit up and pretty in the night, but his was completely dark and foreboding.
As they pulled up to it, she could see that Father Menning finally understood. Just touching the unnaturally cold bricks of the house left no room for doubt and he marveled at the frost, which continually formed and evaporated on them.
He was a brave man and seemingly firm in his faith and at the urging of Adrina, he baptized them and heard their confessions. Adrina wanted to confess about the gun and about her plan to shoot Tomas in the back of the head and drench the wall with his blood, but she couldn’t. She kept reminding herself that it’d be worse if she mentioned anything, though more and more she hoped and prayed her vision had been a mistake. It was Tomas’ only chance.
Before they entered the house Father Menning had a censer smoking, sending up grey plumes of fragrant smoldering spices. He swung the brazier about the kitchen and began exhorting loudly in Latin.
Adrina didn’t speak the dead language, however she had been a part of four exorcisms in her time, two of which had been real. They had been terrifying, hair-raising experiences, but she knew it was the priest and Emily, who were in the most danger. Still she shook with fear.
The house had a cold sinister feel to it. The kitchen was far darker than it had any right to be and Adrina took solace in the small glow of the brazier. She followed around after the priest carrying the silver container of holy water. Every few seconds he would dunk the aspergillium in it and liberally splash the water on the walls and floors.
Tomas, who stood in the near freezing dark holding his daughter, became impatient. “The demon is in the attic.”
“Colonel, it’s best to be cautious. We’ll be up there in a few minutes.”
Father Menning was a man of his word and he slowly went up the back staircase still going on in Latin. They followed him despite the growing cold and the steadily escalating fear.
Their fear slowly ramped up, however the priest seemed particularly immune to it—that is until they reached Emily’s room and saw the demon. Then Father Menning ceased speaking and stood in mute horror.
The demon appeared to be a tremendous column of black and grey smoke. At first Adrina thought it had a vague spiderlike shape with many thin arms and legs, but that was an illusion. What she had at mistakenly thought to be arms and legs, were actually tendrils of smoke. These started as barely visible wisps a few feet from it, but then they seemed to gain mass and thickness as they streamed toward the “body” of the demon. It looked to have a head too, and that was the worst. In the head was a terrible opening, a hole from which nothing could escape.
It seemed to drink from this world through that void.
“Do the prayer again,” Tomas demanded. The sound of his voice seemed to be muffled and far away.
The priest jumped a little at the words and then started his incantations once more, “Exorcizote, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei...”
The Latin barely registered on Adrina’s ears; she felt lost and useless, and had stark terror running through her. She had no purpose there, except to die horribly. She wanted to look away, she wanted to run away, but neither was an option.
Forced by a power greater than her pathetic self, Adrina stared into the black pit of the demon’s face. She would stare and stare until she was used up and what would happened after that, she was deathly afraid to find out. She hoped she’d die before that could happen, but she was certain the demon wouldn’t allow it.
From the moment she had walked in, the demon held her in its gaze and she could only stand there and see what the demon wanted her to see, and think what the demon wanted her to think. For the moment, it wanted her to see the surprise it had for her. She was allowed to see the smoke of its body flowing up into the pit of its face. The smoke was all chaos and madness yet what lay beneath it was worse—it came together, congealing to form a streaming liquid gruel. In the foul gruel there were shapes and it hurt Adrina deep in her chest to see these. An arm, a face, part of a torso. These would form out of the vile fluid and then sink back in.
The face was the worst.
Pain gripped her heart when she saw the face. It was the face of her granddaughter Emily, contorted into a silent scream of agony. The demon had Emily’s soul and was letting it surface so that Adrina could feel her pain too. The demon enjoyed this, but it was a malicious evil joy and it was horrible to feel that sort of joy.
The demon drew them slowly toward it. Like a magnet it pulled everything into that black pit. Even the smoke and gruel that made the demon’s body flowed continuously up into the endless void.
The air around them coursed into the thing and it was like a wind at Adrina’s back. She leaned away, but the demon drew her on. It dragged the breath from her lungs and sucked the heat from her body. It ran off her, streaming into the voracious pit, leaving her cold inside and out.
The pit was feasting. Feasting on Tomas, feasting on the priest, but right then it was gorging itself on Adrina. Not just the heat of her life; the demon had opened her mind like a can of peaches and was savoring each morsel of sin, of fear, and especially of pain.
3
Because the demon wished it, Adrina suddenly remembered the first time her mother sent her to kill a chicken for their evening meal. She had been ten-years-old and a little scared, but wanted to prove herself. Going to the coop, she grabbed up the largest bird and carried it to the old tree stump. The small axe lay in the grass nearby. The head of it was stained with rust and blood and there were little pieces of old flesh on it. The axe looked like a dead thing itself. Adrina grew afraid to touch it, worried it would move, worried that maybe the axe was really alive and if she reached for it, it would bite her.
On the stump, the bird squawked in irritation and Adrina jumped. She screwed up her courage and bent to grab the axe.
It was warm.
Her hand drew back and she cast a look over her shoulder at their tiny shanty, but her mom wasn’t about. The axe had felt warm, as if it were alive.
No! It was just a thing, a thing lying in the sun. But it felt like an evil hungry thing that enjoyed the death it caused. What else would it enjoy? Fear gripped her and Adrina nearly ran inside with the chicken. However, she knew her mother would be angry. She would just do it and not think about it.
Swallowing hard, Adrina grabbed up the little hand axe, and discovered not only that it was warm, but it also had a nasty smell about it—old death and new corruption.
Ignoring the smell as best she could, she laid the chicken on the stump, as she’d seen done countless times and brought the axe down hard.
The ungainly tool turned in her hand and hacked into the chicken’s back and shoulder. Blood exploded out of the bird and it bounced about in her grip, squawking in terrific pain. Adrina looked upon the bird and the axe in confusion.
That never happened when her mom killed a bird. It always went so fast, but this was horrible. Choking back unexpected pity she stepped down lightly on the bird to hold it still. The axe was hot, drenched in blood and as she raised it a second time, she saw it was smiling a gor
y, blood-dripping smile. There had been no notch in the axe before, yet now one was plainly visible and it looked to be a wicked, hungry, toothy grin.
Horrified, Adrina swung the axe down a second time, but again the axe, slippery with blood, turned to the side. This time she struck its back dead center and she had to pry the axe out of the bird that still squawked in terrific misery. The axe did not want to let go of the bird, it seemed to have a hold of it and Adrina had to work it back in forth before it would come out.
The wide grin was larger and bloodier.
Adrina knew what else the axe liked more than death, and that was pain. Death could happen in an instant but pain lasted longer. Ten-year-old Adrina, now drenched in blood, threw the axe from her, terrified. She let go of the chicken as well. It tried to run, but it veered off sideways, and fell over. The chicken took a long time to die, flopping about in delectable agony, while the axe lay grinning in the sun enjoying the spectacle. Adrina stood far back, crying and shaking as the coppery blood on her turned tacky...
Adrina gasped.
She was back in the almost silent room with the mumbling priest and the demon. Her stomach rolled over, she was going to be sick. Her throat started to work up and down yet still she stared at the silent black nothingness in the demon’s face. Yes, this was good...the demon wanted her to throw up, but not just yet. It enjoyed the gorge coming up in her throat and the heaving of her stomach.
It was like chamber music playing in the background of its cruel banquet. Adrina tried to fight it, but it was no use, next she tried to force herself to vomit. However, the demon enjoyed this too much; vomiting was like death.
It ended things.
Not only that, there was always a moment after getting sick when she would feel just a little bit better, even if for a second. Kind of like the feeling she had at the end of being raped. Maybe there had been more than just a feeling of relief.
Wasn’t there just a bit of pleasure in it? The unbidden thought couldn’t have been hers; it had to be the demon’s.
The rapes weren’t all bad—you liked it.
It had to be the demon. It had to be.
“No, no. I didn’t like it, it was...” Adrina cried aloud.
She didn’t want to remember the rapes. However, the demon wanted it from her and as she stared, she was powerless to stop it. The demon could force itself into her mind, so that she felt wide open, like an open book... open as her legs had been the first time with Claudio Butolask.
“No!” she screamed. However, the fiend sucked the sound directly from her throat, and she barely even heard herself.
Her legs had been pried open brutally with a harshness that seemed unnecessarily sadistic. The nails of his right hand dug deep and cruel into her flesh making her bleed. Her mind screamed but she was afraid to make even the slightest noise, she’d been warned. And she believed he would keep his promise.
Butolask had held the long knife between her legs and had asked which she wanted in her: him or the knife? He told her if she chose him, she would have to ask nicely...in the end, she begged him. Before he brought out the knife Adrina had fought hard, but her skinny fourteen-year-old body was no match. Butolask was small but he was strong. He didn’t look it, but he was. Adrina had foolishly thought she didn’t need to be careful around a small man, a man her own size.
Even though he had a knife and she was crippled with fear, he gripped her around the throat with his left hand and squeezed. Hard. Her face turned red and swollen, the veins bulging, her eyes bugging out of her head. Her world started to go black around the edges of her vision. Butolask said something to her, but she couldn’t tell what.
His face leered at her, just above her, smiling. She felt a stinging on her cheek and then again. He was slapping her but as she began to pass out it was a distant feeling. Unfortunately he relaxed his grip on her throat and she became aware again.
He wanted her to be awake—he wanted her to feel everything. Leaning his weight on her left thigh, he easily pried her legs apart. He was too strong.
A moment later he ripped into her. It hurt badly. The pain shrieked inside her. She felt something rip and hot blood ran. Adrina was afraid for her insides. Butolask grunted and rutted and the pain was very great, but her fear that she was torn up and ruined inside occupied her almost completely. What had he done to her?
She tried lifting herself up and back but he gripped her throat harder and held her in place. When after an eternity he finally came it burned terribly and she cried out despite his warnings. However the searing pain faded quickly and with one final spasm he was done. He pulled out and when he did the relief was so intense, that...that...it felt good.
4
“Mother! Mother!” There was someone calling to her from a great distance. It sounded like she was at the beach and the wind whipped away the shout, before it could reach her ears. A hand grabbed her roughly and tried to pull her around, but the demon’s gaze from across the room was like a magnet and there was no denying it. Her body turned, but her head and neck didn’t, they twisted horribly as she was forced to stare.
Mercifully a hand came down in front of her vision, blocking the sight of that foul unending void. Her mind was suddenly closed to it, but the demon was still all about her demanding more, hammering at her.
“No—no, it didn’t feel good,” she whispered. “It didn’t...”
“Mother! Look at me!” She felt slow and stupid and old. Every one of her sixty-eight years pressed down on her bending her back. She had no strength to turn around, to face away from the demon. It was almost too much even to stand and her legs began to shake.
Suddenly and mercifully the presence of the demon, beating at the edges of her mind lifted. She was no longer its focus; it had looked away.
Adrina fell to her hands and knees and vomited. She vomited again and then retched repeatedly. The spew drew her eyes to it with ghastly fascination. The half-liquid runny mess drained toward the demon as if it was running downhill. It reached the base of the smoking fiend and started to drip upward into the smoke. Adrina began to gag uncontrollably at the sight, unable to breathe.
Tomas grabbed her up in his arms from behind and lifted her off the floor, turning her away from the demon. He held her briefly, but as she began to breathe easier, he yelled into her ear.
“You’re ok. Can you hear me?”
She looked into her son’s face. His eyes were so terrifically red and blood shot that they seemed almost inhuman.
It was then that the priest screamed, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! Please! Please, I didn’t mean it!” His face wore a look of fearful desperation and his eyes seemed to spin madly in their sockets. “No! No! Please I didn’t mean it! Take her instead!” Swaying like a drunk, he came at Adrina.
Tomas gave him a quick shove away from his mother and the priest fell to the floor still screaming and begging for forgiveness. As they watched in horror, he started tearing at his own eyes and soon blood stained his fingers.
As the priest mutilated himself neither Tomas nor Adrina could turn away. “Mother, what do we do?” Tomas begged.
They had almost no time before there was nothing left of the priest—the demon was doing something horrible to the man. After that, it would be one of them clawing their own eyes out. Adrina knew the demon would go for her again, she still had so much pain left to agonize over.
“I don’t...I...don’t,” she said hesitantly. There was one thing she could do, but the consequence was too great—in her mind she saw again the gun in her hands and Tomas’ blood spraying the wall.
Was that the penalty?
Adrina knew things. Passively, images of the future came to her. In brief flashes she just knew. However...however, if she wanted to or needed to badly enough she could see the future—purposefully.
Only there was a price to be paid, always.
The price this time: the life of her son; killed by her own hand.
This was why she hesitated. Save herself
or her son. There was no hope for the priest or poor Emily. Adrina could look into the future or...
“Run,” she said to Tomas in a tiny voice. There was no way she could run; she would have trouble even making it to the door in the state she was in. He was the only one with any chance of getting out alive.
“What?” Tomas shouted.
Father Menning no longer clawed at his eyes, they were gone. Now he was turning a fantastic shade of deep red. There was almost no time left.
“Run!” Again, she said it too quietly, barely above a whisper and he bent his head down so that his ear was next to her mouth. “Run please,” the words left her mouth without strength.
She knew what would happen if he left her. The demon would own her soul for all time and the very thought sapped her will.
“You need to speak up!” he shouted.
Adrina knew that if he didn’t start running in the next couple of seconds, he wouldn’t make it—her entire being shook with fear, but somehow she summoned the strength to yell, “Run!”
Tomas began shaking his head—his lips moving—his finger pointing. She tried to shove him away, but it was too late. She knew it.
Adrina had taken too long. Her eyes were drawn to the priest and he was now a repulsive purple color. Her son would never make it out of the house alive. She had killed him with her cowardice and there was nothing left to do but to save herself.
Fictional works by Peter Meredith:
A Perfect America
The Sacrificial Daughter
The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead: Day One
The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead: Day Two
The Undead World (Book 6): The Apocalypse Exile (War of The Undead) Page 40
