Blessed by Fire

by P W Hillard

  “I get my first girlfriend in months and not only is she a ghost, but she fucking keys my car. Fucking typical.”

  Chapter 7

  Claire unhooked the chain from the door and pulled it open. She beckoned Jess and Aasif inside, yawning loudly as she shuffled down the corridor in her fluffy slippers. The house was much like the others Jess had seen in the area. Terrace houses squashed against each other like sardines and cover with a thick grey layer of pebble dashing. The inside wasn’t much better, the hallway was narrow, the bulk of it taken up by ill placed stairs. They walked single file, following the girl as she pushed open a cheap plywood door and stepped into the kitchen. Grey plastic worktops with a faux marble effect stacked atop weary cupboards whose better days were past them. There was a small white table with two chairs in the centre, it struck Jess as wildly impractical in what was quite a small space. A portly man, thins wisps of grey hair sprouting from his mostly bald head, stomach hanging slightly over his trousers stood in the corner, staring at a battered old television. It wasn’t on.

  “Dad, police are here,” droned Claire, taking a seat at the small table and taking a bite from a sandwich. The crusts had been cut off, but the bread bulged with something Jess couldn’t quite make out.

  “How may I assist you officers?” said the man, turning on the spot from where he stood. Turning to face them, he looked tired, his face drooping with exhaustion. He was wearing a black suit, his collar buttoned tight and sealed with a jet-black tie.

  “Oh, are we interrupting anything?” asked Jess.

  “Not at all,” replied the man in a boring monotone.

  “It’s just the suit, dressed a bit formal for a Friday lunchtime,” said Jess, pulling her notebook and pencil from her top pocket. She began to write something down. Aasif rocked on his heels behind her, intrigued by what was happening. He had only ever seen a detective interview someone on television. “Going anywhere?”

  “No,” intoned the man, “this is just how I dressed today.” He stood there silent for a moment as if forgetting where he was. “I’m Mike Payne, this is my daughter Claire.” Mike pointed at Claire slowly and deliberately, like a child repeating stage instruction at a nativity play.

  “That’s what we’re here for actually, we wanted to talk to Claire. Do you mind if I take a seat?” asked Jess, gesturing to the small plastic chair opposite Claire at the table. Claire looked at her father and shrugged.

  “That is acceptable,” he droned. Jess slipped into the seat, motioning for Aasif to stand behind her. She leant forwards on the table, her arms held underneath.

  “So, Claire, do you know a Glyn Powell at all?” asked Jess. There was a faint, almost inaudible tearing sound.

  “Not really, I know he went to the same sixth form as me. That’s about it.” Claire didn’t look up, her gaze not moving from the sandwich in her hands. Something inside it dripped. Aasif felt a touch on his hand, he glanced down to see Jess trying to surreptitiously pass him a page she had torn from her notebook. He grabbed it and glanced at the page. The top read “put this in your pocket” and underneath were a bunch of odd symbols and shapes Aasif had never seen before. Carefully he slipped the page into his pocket. Peering over Jess’ shoulder he could see her drawing another set of identical symbols onto a blank page.

  “Are you sure that’s true Claire? You know you shouldn’t lie to the police?” said Jess.

  Claire’s head shot up, her fingers squeezing into the bread. “I’m not a child,” she shouted, flecks of food spraying into Jess’ face.

  “Maybe then,” said Jess, brushing bread and flecks of what she assumed was jam off herself. “Maybe you can explain the messages we found on his friend’s phone. They were very clear you were in a relationship with him. Seems he shared some very compromising photographs you might not want released.” Mike stepped forward, halting when Claire raised her hand.

  “How did you get that phone?” Claire asked. Her previously meek voice had gotten stronger, more direct. She sat up straight in her chair placing the sandwich flat on its plate.

  “Two brothers, Dafyyd and David Greenwood were found dead this morning. I think maybe you knew that?” accused Jess, pointing her pencil like a finger.

  “I don’t know what you mean?”

  “Three young men responsible for spreading around your dirty pictures all found dead, hell of a coincidence. I think maybe you decided you wanted to get some revenge?” Jess flicked the page on her notebook, holding it so Aasif could clearly see. “Dangerous,” she wrote.

  “Even if I did, doesn’t mean I could kill them. I’ve been here the past few days. Caught sick with a cold I’m afraid,” said Claire, coughing weakly for dramatic effect. “Maybe someone else found out and decided to teach them a lesson for me?”

  “What like daddy dearest there? Don’t think so, he’s not all there at the moment, is he? Befuddlement spell maybe?” Jess asked, shaking her head in Mikes direction. Aasif’s face was a mask of confusion, Claire leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.

  “I’m not sure what you’re trying to insinuate?” Claire hissed.

  “Come on, five victims, all torn apart, not cut apart. Burn marks on one torso. One was nailed to the wall with a curtain rail. You would need abnormal strength to do that, and unless you’ve been really packing in the protein shakes you would need some kind of magical assistance. So, what, you find an old book with your friends, try some of the spells, realise it works and it spiralled out of control? Re-enacting The Craft were you?” She looked over her shoulder to face Aasif. “Actually, I think that films before her time.”

  “Probably,” Aasif replied, still bewildered.

  “This is absurd,” protested Claire, raising her hands. Revealing a burn in the shape of a leaf.

  “Then can you explain that then?” Said Jess, pointing at the burn.

  The next few moments happened as a blur for Aasif, before he knew it Claire’s father had barrelled across the room at him, hands outstretched. He crashed into Aasif slamming him to the ground, gripping tightly around his neck. Aasif spluttered as he tried to pry the man’s hands free. As her father had dashed across the room, Claire had flipped the table high over Jess’ head sending it crashing into the kitchen wall, the cheap wood splintering on collision. She stood in a semi-crouch, her arms outstretched, fingers flexing menacingly. Jess had ducked as the table had flown into the air and in one smooth motion stood back up grabbing the plastic chair she had been sat on, swinging it in a wide arc which struck Claire on the side, seeing her tumble to the ground. Quickly turning she brought her foot up sharply, her black boots digging deep into Mikes stomach. He roared, a mixture of defiance and pain but held on tightly. Frantic, his breath becoming ragged Aasif reached to grab one the tables legs, half splintered and split. He brought his hand up sharply striking his assailant in the temple with the foot of the leg. Mike grunted, momentarily stumbling and falling backwards as Jess heaved on his shoulders. They fell together, the heavy-set man landing on Jess winding her. He rolled off, scrambling to get his feet. Still half dazed Aasif reacted on instinct, leaping on the man as he stumbled clasping one of Mikes wrists with his handcuffs. Mike swung around hollering with bestial rage, the arm Aasif had gripped twisted unnaturally, a loud popping sound signifying it had dislocated. He raised his free arm to strike as Jess grabbed it. The two struggled against the man, each wrestling an arm as he thrashed and raged.

  “Come on big fella calm dawn,” said Jess through gritted teeth. Mike screamed at her in response, specks of spittle cascading from his open maw. She pushed against his arm as Aasif did the same, locking the handcuffs behind Mike. He immediately began lashing out with his feet, kicking with rage. Aasif swung his leg in a kick as Mike lashed at Jess, knocking him off balance. He fell backwards, slamming into the kitchens fridge before toppling forward. The fridge door bounced open, blood and organs from within splattering onto the floor. The severed head of a woman slid off the top shelf and bounced across the linoleum. Trai
ning kicked in and Aasif was on him, placing his knee into the small of his back. Mike bucked like a bull, roaring with contempt.

  “Hold him still!” Jess shouted over the constant screaming.

  “Yeah!” Aasif replied. “Trying to.” Quickly taking her notebook from her pocket, Jess looked around for a moment, snatching up the front half of her pencil, seemingly smashed in the scuffle. She scrawled on the page frantically, her rune work loose and sloppy. She tore the page free and rolled it up. Crouching she gripped Mark by the jaw, forcing the page into his open mouth.

  “Hope this works,” she said to herself. Mike continued to rage for a moment, before slowly petering out, and collapsing in exhaustion, a baby with its dummy. “Right, we better cuff the girl before, oh-, “she turned to face Claire. The girl had worked her way upright and was standing in the doorway. Her face was torn badly on its right side where the chair had hit her. Blood stained her pyjamas. Her right hand was raised, before it floated the shape of several odd scratches, the air a burning bright orange. “I wouldn’t if I were yo- “

  “Silence!” screeched Claire. The burning lines flashed bright blue erupting into flames. There was a moment of quiet and then they exploded, a blast of force knocking Claire from her feet sending her careening down the hallway. A sudden painful heat touched Aasif’s leg. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper Jess had given him. It was slowly burning to ash. There was a clatter of metal as the front door handle was pulled. Claire lifted herself to her feet, arms resting on the handle. She pulled the door, chain bolt snapping tearing paper. She turned, looked at the two battered police, standing in a slowly growing pool of blood from the fridge. Then, she was gone sprinting through the doorway with unnatural speed.

  “Ok…so…,” said Aasif, bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “What…the fuck…is going on?”

  “Good question,” answered Jess.

  Aasif rubbed his neck. A large bruise had formed on it, remnants of Mikes attempted strangling. “So, monsters, magic, all of its real?” he asked.

  “Yep, whole lot of other weirder stuff too,” Jess said, her latex gloved hand prodding the raw meat in the refrigerator with a wooden spoon she had fished out of a drawer. “I’m pretty sure this,” she waved the spoon in a circle, “is Mrs Payne.”

  “What happened to him?” Aasif said, nodding his head towards the sleeping man on the floor.

  “Some kind of control spell, pretty powerful one for him to fly into a rage like that. Normally you just get the weird zombie thing on its own. Don’t worry, I’m guessing he’ll sleep like that for a while. I imagine it took it pretty much out of him.”

  “Out of him! He nearly took it out of us!” protested Aasif. “What did you do to stop him? And what do you mean you guess?”

  Jess shrugged. “A whole bunch of what I do is guesswork.”

  “No manual for this kind of thing?” chuckled Aasif nervously.

  “The opposite, whole bunch of manuals, books, tomes, scrolls, problem is the fifty fifty true to bullshit ratio. We got lucky, I put down the few runes of dispelling I knew and popped them in his mouth. Thankfully one of them seemed to do the trick. That’s what saved us two. Seen the signs of a control spell once or twice, figured having some budget charms might come in handy. You see the blowback on her spell? Didn’t think she expected that.” Jess bent down and picked up the sandwich Claire had been eaten. She opened it, inside was a half-eaten human tongue.

  “What was she? You seemed to think she was a teen dabbling with spells?” Aasif said, stepping over to Claire, careful not to step on the pool of blood and defrosted refrigerator ice.

  “Maybe at first, but I’m pretty sure I was dead wrong. You see how fast and strong she was, and that magic, those marks, only seen one thing like that before and it was old primeval magic. You notice she went down pretty easy when I hit her with the chair. Sure, sign of possession.”

  “Like the exorcist possession?” said Aasif shocked.

  “Could be, it’s not like in the movies. The spirit riding your body doesn’t look after it, that’s why they’re so fast and strong. You know like how people get super strong from adrenaline and lift cars in emergencies and stuff? They do that all the time. Still a fragile human body though. The Exorcist might have been a different film if that priest knew he could just punch it in the face. The two don’t mix though, eventually the body will give out running hot like that.” Jess had placed the sandwich back on the ground and stepped towards the doorway, away from the blood. “At that point the spirit might puppet around the corpse for a bit, which is its own frankly grim thing, or look for a new host.”

  Claire ran, blood pouring from her face, limping on one leg. She stopped, looked at the row of terrace houses before her and chose one at random. Walking up and knocking on the door she waited, wiping at her cheek with her sleeve. The entity was in full control now, meek timid real Claire taking a backseat when the police had arrived. The door creaked open to reveal a young woman in her early twenties.

  “Oh my god what happened to yo- “she began, unable to finish her sentence as the top half of her body dissolved into ash, hit at that instant by an incredible heat. The woman’s legs toppled backwards, the embers of her body floating slowly into the air like fireflies. Claire stood, her hand outstretched, glowing orange scratches fading from the air, vanishing to nothingness.

  “Well, that still works,” said Claire to herself.

  She stood in the woman’s bedroom, before a full-length mirror. Her clothes sodden with her own blood. She reached up and ran two fingers down the gash on her face. There was a horrid smell of burning meat as she seared the wound closed. Satisfied it was shut, she opened the woman’s wardrobe sliding outfits past one after the other.

  “Ah, this will do,” she said, pulling a bright red maxi-dress from its hanger. She turned back to face the mirror, holding the dress against her chest.

  “Maybe we’ve gone too far, maybe this was a mistake?” asked her reflection. It looked tired, large bags around its eyes, its posture sloped.

  “Don’t worry my dear,” said the physical Claire. “Go back to sleep, I’ll handle everything from now on.”

  Chapter 8

  “What the hell happened to you?” asked Jess. She stood in the doorway to Marks hotel room, blood stains soaked onto her trousers past the ankle, suit misshapen and creased. Behind her stood a similarly bedraggled uniformed officer, bruises beneath his meticulous trimmed beard. He smiled nervously.

  “I could ask you the same question?” Mark stood, his hand resting on the door handle. The room was a mess. Strange spray-painted sigils adorned the walls, a thin dusting of something dark brown was sprinkled liberally across the floor. Footprints were burned onto the carpet at odd places.

  “Found our murderer,” said Jess. Her voice thick with exhaustion.

  “Found our ghost,” replied Mark, equally tired. “See you found a friend. Good for you.” Mark smiled at Aasif, who was still trying to take in the mess in the room beyond the threshold.

  “I better go first,” Jess said, stepping inside the room.

  “So, fast, strong, knows some magic, but can’t take a beating?” Mark said, pulling the paper lid from a wrinkled silver carton. Inside glistened, meat suspended in a thick orange sauce. He breathed deeply from the curry, before setting down on the bed beside him. He was sitting cross legged, his top shirt button undone, tie loosened. Jess was sat on the floor after carefully laying out several of the hotel towels, eager not to get iron filings in her lamb bhuna. Aasif was sat on a small bucket chair in the corner of the room, the kind of hard uncomfortable chair that seemed to exist only in hotel rooms. He was staring into his own tray, fork held mid-air, chicken tikka slowly dropping into back into the container. “Maybe some kind of possession? Is he alright?”

  Jess turned to head to look at Aasif before resuming eating her meal. She took a large bite, chewed for a moment and then spoke. “I think so, he d
id well. Could of froze up but he was pretty quick to act. Gave him the brief version of the talk.”

  “You ok over there buddy?” Mark asked, waving his fork sprinkling the hotel sheets with curry. “Ah shit,” exclaimed Mark, “well guess we’re getting charged for cleaning anyway.”

  “That girl?” Aasif spoke, his voice a near whisper. “Can we help her? If she’s possessed like you said can you do, I don’t know? An exorcism?”

  “Maybe,” said Jess. “Not our field of expertise though.”

  “I thought all this was your field of expertise?” said Aasif puzzled.

  “Even through all this weirdness,” Mark gestured to the room around him, “we’re still coppers. Our job is to catch the criminals and lock them up. Courts deal with the rest.”

  “Criminals?” Aasif sounded shocked. “That’s what you would class this as?”

  “Sure, why not?” said Jess. “This thing is a murderer. Look, that’s the best way to treat this. The law is the law, if you’re a werewolf but you never hurt anyone, why should we treat you any different? You’ll tie yourself in knots trying to puzzle it out otherwise.”

  “Look if we can help the girl, we will, but honestly-,” Mark paused for a moment, “people possessed tend not to last. They get run too hard by the thing riding them. You need to prepare yourself for the worst.” They sat there for a moment, silently eating. There was a loud crack as Mark snapped a poppadum. He shrugged in apology.

  Aasif chuckled. “You know, my father was pretty devout. Not me, turned my back on his faith, teenage rebellion and all that. Now a demon has possessed a girl, and he was right all along.”

  “It’s a bit less clear cut than that.” Mark said, inhaling deep from a carton of onion bhajis he had opened. “You’re right, it’s probably a demon. A ghost could possess someone but they’re a lot less coherent. Supers are a bit like humans-,”