by Paul Seiple
A muffled bang came from the house.
“For once, can I enjoy my evening tea in peace?” Derek Gallagher asked, staring at a blank, white wall.
A stack of books inched closer to the edge of a table without assistance. Derek knew what happened next. It happened every night. The top book, Night Chills by Dean Koontz, would ease its way from the stack and gravity would take over. After the initial crash, the next book, a guide to ethical journalism, would elevate from the stack and slam against the wall next to Derek. He knew it wasn’t a coincidence that an ethics book would be the thing to nearly decapitate him. It was fitting. The haunting was a direct result from the exaggerations in the Hayes book.
Derek took a sip of tea. He no longer flinched as the book whizzed by his head. The greatest harm to the human psyche was fear. The demon fed off the anxiety. Nothing else worked, so Derek took a “not giving a shit” approach. He sat the ceramic mug, etched with the profile of Edgar Allen Poe, on the table and waited for the next step. The rest of the books would crumble to the floor like a demonic game of Jenga.
A knock at the door disrupted the routine and turned Derek’s “not giving a shit” approach into abject fear.
“Derek Gallagher, it’s Kim Strode. I emailed you the other night about your book.”
The voice eased the fear, but Derek ignored it. He wasn’t crazy. The books moved. The children’s laughter latched on to him like an obnoxious ear worm, and most importantly, Ava Weilden or something resembling her taunted him. He couldn’t explain that to anyone.
“Derek, I know you’re seeing things. I see them too. Please open the door.”
The books tumbled to the floor.
“Go away,” Derek said. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“I drove four hours to speak with you. I’m not going away,” Kim said.
“You’ve wasted your time. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek said.
“You’ve seen Ava Weilden, haven’t you?” Kim asked.
The question pricked Derek like the tip of an ice pick. Cold raced through his body, leaving a trail of chills down his arms.
“We can help, Derek. Please open the door,” Kim said.
“Let them in.”
The child’s voice came from behind Derek’s left shoulder. He turned. A little girl was standing against the wall with a lollipop shaped like a circle with red and white swirls in her hand. She brought it to her mouth. A greenish-black forked tongue darted from her lips. The tongue split into two snakes and slithered over the candy.
Derek sprang from the chair, landing on his knees. He crawled away from the little girl, who vaporized, leaving a wet impression on the wall like the chalk line of a dead body. Derek used his hands to get to his feet. He opened the door just as Kim spoke.
“She’s here now,” Derek said.
“It’s OK. We’re going to help you,” Debbie said, pushing her way into the house. She eyed the books on the floor. “How long have you been seeing the demon?”
Kim extended her hand to Derek. “I’m Kim. That’s Debbie.”
Derek ignored the attempt at a handshake and looked around Kim.
“This is Terrence and Mason. We know something is happening with the Silent Six case,” Kim said.
“I started seeing it about three months ago,” Derek said.
Debbie placed her hand on the wall where the little girl stood. The wetness was no longer visible, but Debbie traced its path. “And it takes the form of Ava Weilden?”
Derek stepped to the side to let everyone into the house. He picked up the ethics guide. “When I see it.”
“And the last time you saw it was before letting us in?” Debbie asked.
“Right where you’re standing,” Derek said. “You’re seeing it too?”
“We believe that someone has conjured a revenge spell aimed at people associated with the Hayes case,” Kim said. “I’ve seen it take the form of several of the missing children.”
“And you?” Derek asked Debbie.
“I look through the disguise. I see the demons,” Debbie said.
“We think it’s attached itself to you because of the book you wrote,” Mason said, extending his hand. “Mason Atkins.”
“I wish I’d never written that damned thing now,” Derek said. He turned to Kim. “Wait, did you say your last name is Strode? Are you kin to Sam Strode?”
“He’s my father,” Kim said, picking up the Dean Koontz book and placing it on the table. “He sees Joey Carpenter.”
“Sam hates me,” Derek said.
“He does,” Kim said.
“I can’t blame him. He trusted me and…”
“You can apologize once this is over,” Kim said. “We need to talk about Hayes.”
The Edgar Allen Poe coffee mug elevated and crashed against the wall, decorating the white paint with brown splotches.
“OK, I saw that,” Terrence said.
“That’s tame compared to what happens,” Derek said.
Coffee pooled on the floor next to the broken mug. The liquid morphed spelling the word TERRENCE. A child’s giggle echoed through the room before the sound of footsteps raced down the hallway.
A light sting touched the back of Terrence’s ear, followed by a whisper .“Tag. You’re it.”
Terrence’s chest tightened. An invisible force wrapped around his body and constricted, forcing breath from his body. He choked. Terrence dropped to his knees, gasping for air.
“Terrence.” Kim reached for his shoulder. The feeling of electricity hit the tip of her fingers and exploded through her body, sending her to the floor on her back.
“Don’t touch him,” Debbie said. She moved away from the wall to the center of the room. “Back away.”
Mason grabbed Derek’s arm and pulled him into the kitchen. Debbie raised her arms, closed her eyes, and chanted. A white light appeared behind her, causing her dark hair to illuminate.
“Leave him, demon,” Debbie said.
Kim came to. She scooted backwards on her hands and butt. After shaking the cobwebs, she stood up and started towards Terrence.
“No,” Debbie said. “Go with Mason and Derek.”
“Don’t listen to that bitch, Kim Strode. You’re a rule breaker.” The deep voice was followed by the laugh of a child. “You have the darkness in you. Embrace it.”
“Go to the kitchen, Kim,” Debbie said.
“We’ve had enough of you interrupting our game, Debbie Collier.”
A force pressed against Debbie’s chest, pushing her back. She caught her balance and stood strong. She lowered her head and chanted again. Terrence’s chest lurched forward. A guttural moan escaped him.
“Leave him now,” Debbie said.
Terrence dry-heaved and coughed. He vomited a greenish liquid that splattered the hardwood floor. As quickly as it hit, it evaporated into a mist that took the form of a little girl.
“You really are a downer, Debbie,” the little girl said, laughing at her joke. “Maybe I should invite my friends in. Then we can really play a game.”
Fog formed on the window with a view to the tire swing. Four small handprints swiped through the mist.
“They’re not allowed in here,” Debbie said. “It looks like it’s just you and me, demon.”
The fog on the window dissipated, leaving an unobstructed path to the tire swing.
“Light is stronger than the darkness,” Debbie said, placing her palm on Terrence’s shoulder. She helped him to his feet. “Go to the kitchen with the others.” She nudged Terrence’s shoulder.
“We’re not the darkness. We are the Mayhem.”
The smell of sulfur accompanied the deep voice, blanketing the room with stench and showering Debbie with a cold mist. The dampness clung to her black dress, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. Heat singed her neck as a hand appeared and gripped her throat. The hand moved upward. Debbie’s feet left the hardwood floor. She remained still as the hand lifted her higher.
“I have to
help her,” Kim said, crossing the threshold into the room.
“No. Go back,” Debbie said. Her voice was calm. “The light will not let it harm me.”
A greenish forked tongue slapped the side of Debbie’s face, leaving slimy residue as it trailed toward her ear. “I can destroy whatever I please.”
Debbie laughed as the hand clenched tighter around her throat. “The only thing you can do to me is inject fear. And I’m not afraid of you.” Debbie grabbed the hand and pried it from her neck. She fell to her knees.
The image of a little girl, clutching a dirty red blanket, appeared in the corner of the room. She smiled, opened her mouth, and what appeared to be teeth shot from the opening toward Debbie. They pricked her flesh like stinging bees. She stood straight up without flinching.
“Is that all you got?”
The shape of the little girl became wavy before blurring and disappearing. The stench gave way to a lemon scent from a candle on a small desk Derek used solely for mail. A peace fell over the room.
“Is it gone?” Derek asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Debbie said. “It’s attached to you. As long as you’re…” Debbie caught herself before she said “alive.” “It’s hiding. It’s not going to leave until we reverse the curse.”
“Why didn’t you tell us the other demons couldn’t get in?” Kim asked.
“I’m afraid demons have the ability to, for lack of a better word, eavesdrop. If I told you, there was the very real possibility the protection spell that kept the others out of the house wouldn’t have worked,” Debbie said.
“Are you keeping anything else from us?” Kim asked. “And is Terry OK?”
Debbie smiled. “Terrence will be fine. It used him for theatrics to scare us.”
“You didn’t answer my other question,” Kim said.
“And I’m not going to, Kim. The demons are listening,” Debbie said.
Terrence ran his hand over his upper body. “Honestly, I feel fine. I don’t remember a thing. Tastes like I haven’t brushed my teeth in weeks, though.”
“Well, good thing you didn’t see what came out of you. You would have a different story,” Derek said.
“Came out of me?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Kim said. She turned to Derek. “We may not have long before it comes back. What do you know about Elvin Hayes?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything your father doesn’t know. Did you speak to him about Hayes?”
“I read his journal. There is nothing in there that gives any clue to who could have started this,” Kim said.
“What exactly is this?” Derek asked.
“Someone with an extensive knowledge of black magic has conjured a revenge spell,” Mason said.
“And it’s related to Hayes. So it has to be someone who has a connection to him,” Kim said. “There is no mention of anyone in my dad’s journal,” Kim said.
Derek bit his upper lip and eased back into a rocking chair. He scratched the gray hair sprouting in different directions his chin. “I couldn’t find much when I was researching the book.”
“Is that why you made so much up?” Terrence asked
Kim cut Terrence a glance. She turned her attention to Derek. “Think hard. There has to be someone pissed off enough by Hayes’s execution to unleash this hell.”
“The only person I actually interviewed for the book was Wesley Palmer. He was one of the creators of Hayes’s fan club.”
“Haydes.” Kim said.
“Such a stupid name. But, yes. He scared me to the point I changed his name in the book. I met with him a few times at Mecklenburg Correctional Center in the eighties. That place was bad. It lived up to the name ‘the worst of the worst.’ Palmer was serving twenty years for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. I’m sure those aren’t the only bad things he did. Palmer idolized Hayes,” Derek said.
“How did he scare you?” Kim asked.
“His eyes were dead. Black holes. When he spoke, it was all hate,” Derek said. “And he worshiped the devil. He ended every meeting with some sort of demonic prayer. He would never translate for me. I assumed he was hexing me. Maybe I was right.”
“Did he ever threaten you?” Kim asked.
“Not in English. Like I said, I have no idea what he was saying when he spoke that language.”
“When was the last time you had contact with Palmer?” Kim asked.
“About six months before the book came out.” Derek scratched his chin again. “Maybe spring of ‘91. Could have been early summer. I figure he probably ended up doing the full twenty. I guess he got out around 2003. Hell, he’s probably back in by now. Palmer is a bad…” Derek corrected himself. “…evil seed.”
“Mecklenburg shut its doors in 2012. He’s definitely not there,” Terrence said.
“He was originally from Ellisville, Missouri. I’m not sure that helps,” Derek said. “Do you think Palmer is behind this curse?”
“It goes way beyond satanic chants. Usually, the followers of people like Hayes eventually grow bored with the occult. To them, it’s the cool thing to do for a bit. This curse is of the highest level black magic,” Debbie said. “If he’s been practicing it over the last thirty-so years, it’s possible.”
“He’s had the time,” Kim said.
“I wish I could help more,” Derek said.
Debbie stared at the tree swing. The two demons who took the forms of Bradley English and Jessica Challis were beside the tree. The one resembling Bradley saw Debbie and waved to her. The one taking the form of Jessica flashed a middle finger at Debbie.
A faint drumbeat caught everyone’s attention. It came from the sound system Derek had wired throughout the house. The music became louder, soon followed by Mick Jagger introducing himself in the song “Sympathy for the Devil.”
“It’s seven,” Derek said. “I don’t need a watch with this asshole around.”
“This happens every night?” Kim asked. Her voice was almost a scream as the music kept getting louder.
“Like clockwork. It can’t be turned down or turned off. It just has to play out,” Derek said.
The song reached earache level as Jagger boasted to call him Lucifer and that he was in need of restraint.
Debbie turned from the window. “You need to come with us.”
“I can’t leave. I deserve this,” Derek said.
“No one deserves this. Eventually, you will harm yourself. This repetitive activity is meant to drive you insane,” Debbie said.
“I can’t leave. I shouldn’t have written that book. This is my punishment,” Derek said.
“You don’t have to stay here,” Kim said. “We have ways to protect you.”
“I don’t deserve to be protected. This is my fate,” Derek said.
“That’s stupid…”
Mason interrupted Kim. “People deal with their demons in different ways. We cannot force Derek to leave. We can only pray for him if he chooses to stay.”
A child’s laughter echoed through the speakers, replacing the Rolling Stones.
“It’s only going to get worse,” Kim said.
“I understand that,” Derek said. “It’s my demon. I’ll deal with it my way.”
Twenty-Three
Terrence backed his red Mustang into a parking space near the end of the lot.
“We’re not conspicuous at all,” Kim said.
“We didn’t have an option. Your car could pass for a garbage truck. When was the last time you cleaned that thing out?” Terrence asked.
“I have more pressing things than a clean car.”
“Do you even think they are still in evidence?” Terrence asked.
Kim smiled. “Panties, Terry. You can say the word. It’s not bad.”
“Get off my back,” Terrence said.
“I’m hoping the panties are still in evidence. If we can’t find Wesley Palmer, this is our only backup plan.”
“It’s hard to believe they can pull
something from over forty years ago. Technology,” Terrence said.
Kim grabbed Terrence’s wrist. “There she is, duck.”
Kim and Terrence peeked over the dashboard to see Judith Richards walk to a black BMW 6 series. She moved around the car, inspecting it before putting her briefcase in the backseat. Judith spoke to the cameraman following her before giving a look around the police station parking lot and getting into her car. The cameraman filmed as the BMW drove away.
“She’s going to be unbearable when this thing airs on TV,” Terrence said.
“She’s already unbearable,” Kim said. “Let’s go. It’s five; we only have a few minutes to catch Chief before he heads to his kid’s game.”
“You think Chief will help us?” Terrence asked, trying to keep up with Kim. He was a running back, but she was fast.
“He owes my father. He wouldn’t be chief if it wasn’t for Dad,” Kim said.
Chief Brackett stepped out from the sliding doors at the entrance of the station.
“Chief,” Kim said.
Chief Brackett pried his eyes from his phone. He squinted in the afternoon sun, which took no mercy on the front side of the police station at this time of day. “Strode? Simms? You know you’re not supposed to be here.”
“We need your help,” Kim said.
Chief Brackett stepped off the curb and moved toward an area with a few oak trees providing a canopy of shade. “Over here, out of the sun.”
“Chief, I’m sorry, but I’m about to put you in an awkward position,” Kim said.
“You? Never. What do you need? It’s game night.”
“I need access to the evidence room.”
Chief Brackett laughed. “That would be simple if you weren’t suspended. It’s impossible now.”
“Don’t make me pull the ‘my dad helped you’ card. I really don’t want to do that.”
“That’s good, because you’ve already used that one more times than I can count on both hands. What do you need in Evidence?”
“I need to get into the Elvin Hayes locker,” Kim said.
“You’re still on that, huh?” Chief Brackett asked.
“You wouldn’t believe anything I told you. But Hayes has a tie to the strange shit happening,” Kim said.
