“Where is your God now?” Sammie purred. “Has he abandoned you?”
“Let her go,” someone demanded from the shadows. The person stepped forward enough to be seen.
Sammie actually seemed surprised by who he was seeing. “I thought you’d left. How very stupid of you not to have.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed and he seemed resolute. “I said let her go.”
“Yes, I heard you,” Sammie said. “But considering her current predicament, I don’t really think that is wise. Do you?”
Tim stepped forward. “Pull her up and then let her go.”
Sammie smiled at him. Angela felt the boy’s icy fingers squeeze tighter around her wrist. For a moment she thought he might actually lift her over. “How about I just let the bitch fall and then I come over there and twist your head off like a wart from a pig. I could even send you to join your brother. All that guilt inside of you; I could end it all so easily, you poor man. Let me help you, Tim. Let me make it all go away.”
Tim’s confidence seemed to waver. Angela could even see him shaking. Despite that, Tim reissued his demands. “Pull her back up now. Things don’t have to end like this.”
“Oh come on, Tim. I thought you were the smart one; the only one that actually realised how ineffectual you all are. You were right in wanting to leave so badly. Your only mistake was coming back.”
Tim took another step forward.
Sammie let Angela drop.
She screamed.
But he still held her. He’d just let her drop a few inches. It was all it took to make her cry out in despair.
Tim stopped moving and put his hands up in front of him. “Take it easy, Sammie. I just want to take Angela and get out of here. Leave, just like you said.”
Sammie shook his head. “Oh, she isn’t going anywhere, I’m afraid. I’ll tell you what though: let’s see if you can make it over here before I have time to let her fall and then come rip your throat out with my teeth. Or…” Sammie grinned. “I give you one last chance to leave. Your choice: do you want to live or die?”
Angela saw the fear in Tim’s eyes. She saw that coming back to help her was just a small blip in his cowardice. The man only cared about himself, and right now he was terrified. Angela looked down at the hard marble floor thirty-feet below her and knew it was going to be her grave.
Any minute now. Any minute now I’ll fall. There’ll be butterflies in my stomach for a second and then…nothing.
Angela watched with weary resignation as Tim turned away and stepped towards the staircase. He was leaving.
Sammie turned to Angela and chuckled. His face contorted like a nightmarish piece of art. “Do you see, Priest? Do you see what this world is made of? Cowardice and fear. Selfishness and hatred. Mankind is a cesspool.”
Angela strained, tried to pull herself up. “Who….Who are you? Chamuel?”
Sammie looked at her with pity. “You really don’t understand a thing, do you? I am the new beginning. I am what comes next. Unfortunately, you will not live long enough to witness it.”
Angela closed her eyes and prepared to die.
“I think it’s about time someone grounded your skinny little ass.”
Suddenly there was second hand on Angela’ wrist and Sammie’s grip fell away. She dropped, several inches, as the new grip struggled to keep a hold of her. She looked up, surprised by what she saw.
Tim squinted down at her, the effort of sustaining her weight bringing out great beads of sweat from his wrinkled brow. “How about a little help here,” he groaned as a vein pulsed in his forehead.
With the final dregs of strength she had left in her aching back and shoulders, Angela pulled herself upwards. There was a ripping pain in her sides where rarely-used muscles awakened. At the same time, Tim’s wiry arms hoisted to the point that it looked like his biceps might detach from the bone. Yet, somehow, Angela started to rise.
Her free hand reached the banister, her fingertips clawed at the wooden surface. She swung her body sideways, trying to gain a purchase with her leg. With one last effort, Tim yanked and she came sprawling up and over the railing. She landed hard on top of Tim, both of them winded.
There was no time to recuperate, though. The job was not yet done.
“Get up,” she said.
Tim listened and staggered to his feet.
“You came back,” Angela commented.
Tim shrugged. “Guess I’d rather die with a clear conscious than live with any more guilt.”
“Nobody else is dying tonight,” Angela promised him. She was determined to make sure it was true. She checked out her surroundings quickly, looking for Sammie and also for one other thing: the ceremonial dagger was still jutting out from Frank’s leg. She hurried over to him.
Frank was doing better, now that the initial shock had worn off. He was sat up and alert, staring down at the long blade sticking up from his thigh muscle. He was breathing heavily and looked deathly pale in the moonlight.
“Are you okay?” she asked him, thinking the question was pretty stupid.
Frank looked at her knowingly. “You need the dagger.”
Angela nodded. She knew ripping the blade free could nick an artery and unplug the wound. Frank knew it too. The sensible thing would be to keep it in place and get help, but that wasn’t an option.
“Just take it,” Frank said. His voice was quick and nervous.
Angela thanked him silently with her eyes and wrapped her fingers around the dagger. She needed to get it out with one pull – quick and clean. Failing to do so would result in more damage to Frank’s leg.
She yanked.
The blade came free with a grim sucking sound. Frank hissed in agony. A jet of blood spurted into the air. Thankfully it didn’t persist. The dagger had missed the major blood vessels.
Angela held the dagger in front of her and frowned at the blood on its shaft. The sight of it turned her stomach.
A cry of pain behind her called her back into action. Sammie had reappeared and was hanging off Tim’s neck as if he were just a normal ten-year-old boy wanting a piggyback ride. Tim wailed and screeched as Sammie bit at his neck, tearing away strips of rubbery flesh. Angela raced forward to help him.
Sammie’s eyes caught sight of her sprinting towards him with the dagger in her hand. He released Tim from his clutches and hopped away. Tim staggered forward, clutching his bleeding neck. “Jesus Christ, that hurts.”
Angela put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a quick shake. His wounds looked sore, but they weren’t going to kill him. There was no time to indulge their aching bodies and torn flesh, not yet. There was still evil at work, and Angela was going to banish it to Hell.
She pointed the dagger at Sammie, who snarled at her defiantly. “It’s time to end this,” she said. “I’m tired and I haven’t had a drink in hours.”
Sammie scuttled across the carpet like a spider and somehow scurried up the wall. He sprung sideways towards Angela and caught her by surprise. She staggered backwards, once again hitting against the balcony’s railings. Sammie was right on her, rushing her with his arms out in front of him, ready to tackle her right over the ledge.
Looks like I have a date with the marble floor after all.
Tim shoved Angela aside and met Sammie head on. The boy’s unnatural strength presented itself again and sent Tim crashing clear through the railing. The ancient, wooden bannisters broke apart, splintered like termite-infected balsawood.
Angela had fallen to the floor, helpless as Tim disappeared from the balcony. She got to her feet as quickly as she could and raced over to the splintered railing. What she saw below hurt her soul.
Two floors below, Tim’s body sprawled across the marble floor like a pretzel. He was unmoving and one leg had twisted around at a sickening angle. The fall had crushed him.
God bless you, my friend. May Heaven welcome you with open arms.
Angela turned around just in time to see Sammie launch another attack. He leapt at her
with the obvious intention of sending her right after Tim, but she was able to dodge aside and avoid the blow. She hurried away from the balcony, determined not to meet her end on the marble floor below. Sammie rushed her again, this time too quickly to avoid. Angela tumbled to the floor from the blow but quickly oriented herself onto her rump, hoping to face down any follow-up attack. Sure enough, Sammie swung a claw-like foot toward her face. She barely dodged it by rolling sideways onto her front.
The next kick caught her square in the ribs. Something broke inside of her and all of a sudden she could not breathe. Sammie strolled toward her, giggling with childish glee. Angela clawed at the carpet, tried to drag herself away from him, but the hot coals inside her lungs made it impossible to move. Remarkably, she still held the ceremonial dagger in her hand, but it would do her no good now.
Sammie stood over her, staring down. His eyes swirled with malevolent darkness. “I’m bored of you now,” he said. “I think you should die.”
Sammie raised a foot as if to stomp her skull to pulp, but his ankle returned to the floor as if attached to elastic. He tried lifting his foot again, but it became clear that something was impeding his movement. Angela rolled onto her stomach and lifted her head to see.
Frank lay on the floor behind Sammie. His arms were wrapped around the boy’s shins and he was forcing them together.
“You need to pierce the feet, right?” Frank struggled and managed to get Sammie’s feet side by side. “So do it already.”
Angela nodded, seeing stars but clear in what she needed to do.
Frank squeezed Sammie’s legs even tighter so that his feet overlapped. Angela took a breath and raised the dagger in her hand. Its tip pointed downwards and she thrust it downwards with ever last ounce of energy she had left. The dagger plunged through the small bones and pliant flesh of Sammie’s feet, so forcefully that the tip embedded itself in the floorboards.
Sammie bellowed, shaking the floor and walls around him with the might of his voice. For a brief second Angela thought the volume would reduce her brain to mush. Black smoke came off of Sammie fetid skin in great, swirling wafts. It looked like Sammie’s entire body was made of ash and a hurricane had come to displace it.
From the floor, Angela watched in awe as the ceremonial dagger began to shift upwards, sliding out of the boy’s wound like pus from a zit. Eventually it popped out of Sammie’s feet completely and cluttered to the floor. The wound disappeared.
With one last, final bellow, Sammie flew backwards through the air and hit the floor with a resounding thud! His tiny body went still.
Angela shook and was unable to take a full breath. Her vision blurred, spotted with stars. She wondered if she was going to pass out. When she was sure she was not going to, Angela slowly climbed up onto her knees, and then her feet.
Frank, too, had managed to get himself standing, although he was favouring his left leg which was obviously burning with pain. He limped towards her, looking up at one of the house’s many windows. “Look,” he said, pointing. “It’s getting light again.”
Angela looked outside. The moon was retreating and the sun rolled up to replace it. It was like being caught in some bizarre time-lapse nature documentary. Before they knew it, the day had finally arrived and the endless night was defeated. The house felt different, too. The malignant veil which had seemed to hang over everything had lifted.
Angela got herself together and hurried over to Sammie. His tiny body had been through a great deal and she wasn’t certain if he would survive fully intact. She knelt down beside him and saw immediately that things were different. The boy’s pallid skin was already beginning to fill with colour. His crooked teeth were straighter. His dark, sunken eyes were now a pleasant green. The boy had been cleansed; his body was once more his own.
Frank came up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Is he…?”
“He’s alive,” she quickly assured him, pointing to the steady rising and falling of his chest. “The blood exorcism worked. The demon retreated. Sammie is going to be alright.”
“Thank God,” said Frank, tears in his eyes.
“Yes,” Angela agreed, smiling, with a warmth in her chest that had been absent for far too long. “Thank God indeed.”
Epilogue
Angela lay, tucked-up, in the luxurious four-poster bed of her room. For the first time since she’d arrived, she was actually managing to enjoy being at Raymeady Manor, if only for a brief moment while resting.
Angela had decided to stay behind for a few days to help Frank put everything in order. There was a heavy police investigation going on and both Angela and Frank had a lot of explaining to do. That was beyond her concern, though. She knew now that God had never stopped watching over her and whatever was meant to be would be.
The best news to have come out of the last couple of days at the house was that Tim was going to make it. Apparently his awkward landing had taken the biggest toll on his right leg, snapping it like kindling, but his other injuries were far less severe: a couple of broken ribs and a nasty concussion. He was going to live, albeit with a life-long need of a walking stick. It was still a good result as far as she was concerned. Tim’s body may have been injured, but she knew that his bravery in saving her had done a massive amount to repair his damaged soul. He would have no regrets.
Sammie was doing well, too. It turned out that he was actually a very shy boy at heart with a kind, playful personality. He’d stopped talking like an adult and now exercised the type of vocabulary one would expect from a ten-year-old boy. He was looking a lot healthier, too.
Sammie was now at least a stone heavier. His rosy skin had filled out and was now smooth and plump. His near-nakedness had ceased and adequate clothing had resumed. All in all, Samuel Raymeady seemed like quite a normal little boy. Considering what he’d been through, and that both his parents were dead, that was a miracle.
Frank had confided to her that he intended to fight for custody of the boy and raise him as best he could. Angela intended to help him with that cause in any way she could. There was also a part of her mind that was thinking of rejoining the clergy, but that was something which would require more thought.
For now, all I plan on doing is relaxing for a few days. I feel like my bones are made of soup.
Despite it being early evening, Angela had decided she would turn in for the night. Frank was looking after Sammie and now there was little to worry about. She got up from the bed and went into the bathroom, wanting to brush her teeth before having a long sleep. When she entered it was steamy. The shower in the en suite was turned on.
Funny. I swear I turned it off last time I used it. Hope I’m not around when the water bill arrives.
Angela padded over to the shower and reached inside to turn the knob. The water stopped with a splutter. She turned back around.
“Oh, my Lord!”
The sudden fright sent Angela reeling back, landing ass first in the wet shower. The steam in the room was swirling, collecting around the contours of a human form. There was an entity in the room with her and it was quickly taking shape.
“Who-who are you?”
The steam swirled around the curves of a round, humanoid head. The sound of the figure’s voice was like dry leaves crumbling. “I helped you once before. Now you have helped me.”
“What? Who are you?”
“Chamuel. I am Chamuel. It was my power that helped you expel the demon inside Charles Crippley. I was there that day. I helped you. Now you have helped me.”
“What? How did I help you?”
“You freed me. I tried to cleanse the boy, to save his soul from evil, but once inside him I found no soul to save. I became trapped in the void where the boy’s soul should have been. It was a dark place, an endless abyss devoid of hope and joy. It was a place of pure evil. The child made me his servant, abused my power for wicked purposes. I tried to rot him from the inside, but he only used my influence to grow stronger.”
Angela�
��s eyes went wide. She thought about the painting of the cherubs above her bed and the statue outside of Sammie’s door. Suddenly she remembered what she had been trying to recall for the last several days. “Chamuel! You’re the angel that expelled Adam from the Garden of Eden. One of the seven Archangels?”
“I am the Loving One; Archangel of Love and leader of the Cherubim. You freed me from Hell and returned me to Heaven, but your work is not yet done.”
Angela understood. “Sammie? He’s…he’s evil?”
The steam wisped and curled around Chamuel’s spirit. “He is the purest kind of evil. He is the Devil’s spawn. He is the great pretender; damnation incarnate.”
“God help me,” said Angela, not wanting to believe it. “He’s the antichrist.”
“His nature was unknown to me until it was too late. I was imprisoned and helpless. Now I am free but still unable to act. You must finish what you started. Finish the Blood Exorcism.”
“But I already did finish it.”
“No.”
Angel thought about it and then said, “The final stigmata. I still need to pierce Sammie’s side, kill him.”
There was no answer from Chamuel. The steam was once again just steam. Angela dragged herself up from the shower’s floor and sprinted into the bedroom. She reached into her luggage and pulled out the cloth bundle that contained the blood-soaked ceremonial dagger. But when she opened the bundle, she saw that the dagger was gone and that just a dried bloodstain remained.
“No, no, no.” She shuffled her feet into her shoes and crossed the room in three urgent strides. She ran down the hall, heading for the stairs, needing to warn Frank before it was too late.
She thanked the Lord when she found him on the floor below. He was taping up the gap in the railing where Tim had smashed through and fallen to the floor below. He smiled when he saw her coming.
“Hey,” he said. “Just trying to make this place safe again. Last thing we need is Sammie taking a fall after all we’ve been through to keep him away from harm.”
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