The BIG Horror Pack 1 Page 10

  “What does that mean?” asked Tim as he listened to the boy’s guttural expulsions.

  “It’s from Revelations,” Angela explained. “It’s about being judged for our sins when the end comes.”

  “The end?”

  “Yeah, you know. The whole Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse shebang.”

  Tim nodded grimly. “That’s comforting.”

  “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good. A brave man is a man who dares to look the Devil in the face and tell him he is a Devil. Be ever engaged, so that whenever the Devil calls he may find you occupied.”

  “What’s he quoting now?”

  Angela shook her head. “Various chapters, but they all seem to be about the Devil or having evil tempt us.”

  “Isn’t that all a bit cliché? I mean, we’re here to maybe perform an exorcism and Sammie’s quoting verses about the Devil. Next he’ll be puking mushy peas at us and doing the crab walk.”

  Angela shrugged. “Could be mental illness. Religious mania tends to take a focus on the Devil. It’s an excuse for the afflicted to explain their actions – to pass the burden of responsibility onto some intangible force.”

  “Are we still thinking the kid is just a regular-flavoured whacko then?”

  “I don’t know,” Angela admitted. “If it were not for the past two days then I wouldn’t hesitate in saying that, but with all the strangeness that has been going on, I think I’m ready to take this to the next step.”

  Tim thought about his experience at the duck pond and knew what she was talking about when she spoke about strangeness. “So what is the next step?” he enquired.

  Angela looked at him and sighed. “I’m going to conduct an exorcism. I’m going to do what Jessica brought me here to do.”

  Despite his years in the ‘ghost business’ Tim had never actually been involved in an exorcism. To be honest, the thought made him a little anxious. “Can I be of any help?” he asked, not wanting his cowardice to show through completely.

  Angela nodded. “I’m sure you can. For moral support if nothing else.”

  The laptop’s video feed went blank.

  “Must have been when the power went off,” said Tim. “Hmm, that’s interesting. It went off at 3AM exactly.”

  “Yeah,” Angela said. “I checked my watch. It was about that time.”

  “The witching hour,” Tim said. “Jesus was crucified at 3PM, but 3AM is said to belong to the Devil. Between midnight and 3AM is when the veil between our world and the next is at its thinnest.”

  “Are you shitting me?” Angela said while laughing.

  Tim giggled. “I’m being serious. Not saying I believe it, but it’s yet another cliché to add to the list. We’re well ensconced in horror movie territory now.”

  “Perhaps they only became clichés because they’re true. Who knows? Are you trying to say that you still think this is a set up?”

  Tim cleared his throat and sat up straight in his chair. “I really don’t know. I suppose not. I think there’s definitely a mystery here, but let’s just say, hypothetically, that Sammie was possessed – why him? It’s not like there’s a long list of people possessed by demons. It’s a rarity, if it even exists at all, so what is so special about Sammie that it happened to him?”

  Angela thought about it. “I don’t know. Some schools of thought say that only the devout are at risk of an evil entity invading their soul. Others say that repetition of a specific sin attracts the Devil’s minions – such as excessive masturbation or swearing. Some say it’s a random occurrence, while others say that for a demon to inhabit your soul you must consciously invite it.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think evil takes advantage. I think it plays the human race like chess pieces on a board. If a demon were to possess a person, it would do so for a specific reason – to further the cause of evil. Some say that several demons cast out from Mary Magdalene went on to inhabit Judas, Emperor Nero, Adolf Hitler and many other powerful men. I think that is what truly attracts the Devil – power.”

  Tim scrunched up his face. “And you think a ten-year-old boy is powerful?”

  “A ten year old boy that stands to inherit a fortune one day and a place on the board of the world’s most powerful company? Yeah, I think little Sammie is more powerful than you realise. Hitler was able to influence millions towards evil, but Black Remedy Corporation has the influence to affect billions.”

  “So you think that if there is a demon inside Sammie, it’s basically a power-hungry entrepreneur?” Tim laughed. “Sorry, I do get your point, though. Sammie does have a lot of potential, but that would mean this hypothetical demon is in it for the long haul.”

  “Hypothetical is the word,” said Angela. “I’m still not willing to accept a demon is the cause of all this.”

  The laptop flashed back on.

  Tim flinched back in his chair. “What the…?”

  The video footage onscreen was of Angela’s room. It showed her in bed, tossing and turning in the moonlight.

  “How…I never placed a camera in your room.”

  “What time is this?” Angela asked him. Her eyes had narrowed and she seemed utterly pissed off, which, Tim supposed, was better than her being freaked out.

  Tim checked the time stamp. “It’s 5AM, but I swear I haven’t set up any cameras in your room. I don’t know where this footage came from.”

  “Someone was in my room,” Angela said bluntly. “I got out of the shower and someone had written a message on my mirror. Maybe they left a camera in my room at the same time.”

  “Who, though? Frank?”

  The laptop flashed again. The screen changed back to Sammie’s room. The boy was no longer pacing the room and quoting Bible passages. He was in bed asleep, a normal ten year old boy.

  Tim tried to jog the video backwards, to re-examine the footage from Angela’s room, but when he tried to rewind…

  “This makes zero sense,” he said, perplexed.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “The footage of your room is gone. Look.” He moved the video’s timeline back and forth slowly. The images showed only Sammie in his room. “The video from your room is gone.”

  Angela stared at the laptop’s screen and said, “Or maybe it was never there.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Mike sat on a chair across from Graham. Jessica lay on the bed between them. The lady of the house was resting fitfully, eyes flickering like loose marbles beneath her bloodshot eyelids.

  “So are you okay to take over?” Mike asked Graham. “I need to crash or I’m going to pass out on my feet.”

  Graham’s face was as grumpy as ever. “Don’t have much choice, do I? Why did she have to go and do something so bloody stupid, anyway? Silly woman.”

  Mike sighed. “You know there’s more to it than that. Just keep an eye on her. I’ll be by again later to take over. Frank says we call him soon as Jessica wakes up.”

  Mike left the penthouse and headed for the second floor. Most of the rooms there had belonged to the live-in staff, but they were all now vacant. When he got there, he just picked a room at random and headed inside. The ottoman-style bed that met him there was a welcome sight and the thought of imminent sleep made his body limp with anticipation.

  Things had been set in motion at the house, Mike could feel it. There was a destiny at work and it was finally coming to fruition. Jessica was not going to be the last person hurt before all this was through. Sammie was just getting started.

  Mike stood in front of the full-length mirror secured to the back of the bedroom door. He took off his shirt in front of it and examined the runic symbols carved into his chest. The thick, pink scars brought memories of agony and the necessary suffering he’d endured in order to be ready for what he would face. The symbols would keep him safe.

  When Mike had taken the job as the Raymeady’s chauffeur, he knew his eventual responsibilities would include more than just driving the Me
rcedes. His role was far greater than anyone in the house knew and his employers – his true employers – were counting on him to ensure things went to plan.

  Mike ran his fingertips over the scars on his chest and admired the handiwork one last time, then he slid beneath the sheets of the bed and got ready to sleep through most of the day. The night was more his time.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Angela had spent the last hour praying and confessing her sins.

  In order to perform an exorcism, one must humble themselves before the Lord. To invoke the power of Jesus Christ, one must not withhold any part of the self. So, after unburdening herself, Angela felt reconnected to Heaven again, for the first time in a long time.

  To her surprise, she had found her old cassock and dog collar packed in her suitcase. Mike must have looked for it. Wearing it again now, after so long without it, felt strangely comforting. It was as if she had donned another layer of skin or a set of body armour. She realised now how much she had missed the purpose and identity that the robes gave to her. I don’t feel so worthless.

  She picked up her exorcism kit and exited the room. Tim and Frank had arranged to meet her outside Sammie’s room so she headed straight there. Both men seemed impatient by the time she finally arrived.

  “Beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” said Tim, quite seriously. From the sound of his voice it seemed that he wasn’t just impatient, but anxious also.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I needed to prepare.”

  “No worries,” Tim forgave her. “Are you ready now?”

  “Almost. I just need to run through a few things with you both first.”

  “Such as what?” Frank asked.

  “If – and I mean if – it turns out that Sammie has been infiltrated by a demon, there are several rules you need to abide by at all times. Number one: Do not converse with the demon – leave any talking to me. Number two: Do not challenge the demon in any way. Remember that it can hurt Sammie. Number three: Control your emotions. Any sign of anger, fear, or even empathy, and the demon will use it to control you. Number four: Do not touch Sammie once I have begun, and do not hand him anything. Finally: Do not try to interfere. Once this process begins, Sammie will appear to get worse as the demon is brought forth. No matter what, you must let me finish. Do you both understand?”

  Tim nodded and Frank grunted.

  “Okay, then. Let’s go and see Sammie.”

  Frank opened the door for her and Tim to step inside. As soon as they entered, the familiar stench of stale sweat fell over them. Sammie was at his desk as usual, half-naked and sketching away with his various-coloured crayons.

  “Don’t we need him lying down in the bed or something?” Tim asked.

  Angela shook her head. “No, that’s just in the movies. As long as he can hear me.”

  “Should we at least make a circle of protection? Sprinkle salt around or something?”

  Angela hushed him with a finger to her lips and then told him, “The Lord will protect us. You can keep your circles of salt for Halloween parties.”

  Sammie leapt up out of his chair and faced them. The movement was sudden, violent, and quick. He stared at them all, almost serenely. “How lovely to see you again, Ms Murs – and in your Christian armour no less.”

  “Jesus Christ is my armour, Sammie. Do you know who Jesus Christ is?”

  A slight grin crept across Sammie’s face. “A character of history, as I understand it. A creation of mankind to lend credence to its own importance. Fiction, Miss Murs. You are wasting your life on fiction.”

  “It is not fiction, Sammie. Jesus Christ is here with us now. He sees you.”

  “I fear you are misguided,” he said calmly, but the awkward twitching of his cheeks spoke of some underlying irritation. Of all the times she had seen Sammie, he now seemed different – unnerved.

  Angela took a step closer to the boy and made sure she got good eye contact. “He loves you, Sammie. He wants you to come to him, to join him in the light.”

  Sammie laughed. It was a bitter, guttural sound. He made no other reply.

  Angela took another step towards him. She could see that there were scratch marks all over his skinny arms and sallow chest, as if he’d been clawing at his own flesh, trying to escape his own body. “When did you last eat, Sammie?”

  “I have all the nourishment I need, Ms Murs. Thank you.”

  “Do you get that from your friend?” Tim butted in.

  Angela shot a glare at Tim to remind him of his promise to stay quiet. He averted his eyes and stared down at the floor, chastised.

  Sammie’s smile grew wider. “Naughty Tim. Angela is in charge here, don’t you know that? Quiet your insolent tongue.” He winked at Angela. “Am I correct, Ms Murs?”

  “Yes, Sammie. I am in charge here. I am an adult and you need to answer my questions. Okay?”

  “Why, of course. I wouldn’t dream of obstructing your investigation. Although, you’ll have to forgive my confusion; what exactly are we investigating?”

  “You,” said Angela. “We don’t think you are very well, Sammie. We want to help you get better.”

  “Seems like an utter waste of your time, Ms Murs, seeing as how I’ve never felt better. Perhaps it is you who is sick.” Sammie empathised the word ‘sick,’ almost spat it at her.

  Angela ignored his attempts to sow doubt. “This is about you, Sammie. I want to know how you’re feeling. Tell me about this friend you have.”

  Sammie looked upwards and smiled, as if imagining a beautiful day at the beach. “At first we were not friends at all. In fact, he disapproved of me. Came to change my ways, make me better.”

  “Did he tell you to do bad things?”

  Sammie shrugged. His shoulders were like loose pegs. “Let’s just say that we didn’t see eye-to-eye on most things.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, my friend prefers to take a back seat. He stays quiet and only whispers.”

  Angela asked the question she really wanted to know the answer to. “What is your friend’s name?”

  Sammie shook his head. “I’m afraid it would be unkind of me to impart such information. Names have power and I wouldn’t like to compromise someone so dear to me.”

  Angela took two steps forward, almost to within arm’s reach of the boy. “Let’s be honest with one another. I’m not talking to Sammie now, am I? Who are you? By the authority of Jesus Christ, I demand that you name yourself!”

  Sammie snarled, his face contorting like the cragged rocks around a lighthouse. “Your words mean nothing, priest. Leave!”

  “No,” said Angela, reaching into her pocket and bringing out her silver crucifix. She held it in front of Sammie’s face. “Be gone, demon. Leave this boy and never return. I ask you, Jesus Christ, to cleanse this unclean spirit. I banish you, demon. Return to hell and never come here again.”

  Sammie clambered backwards, falling across his desk in a bundle of skinny arms and legs. He thrashed and kicked, screamed and whined. His crayons and drawings scattered onto the carpet.

  Angela took another step forward, crucifix held before her like a shield. “Leave here, minion. Return to your master to burn in hell. The power of Christ compels you. Be gone!”

  Sammie tumbled from the desk and fell to the floor, rocking side-to-side on his hands and knees. He retched, choked, his whole body wracked with seizures as his diaphragm spasmed and he screeched like a wounded cat.

  But slowly Sammie’s screeching changed to laughter until he was bellowing so hard that his chest heaved with every breath. The young boy was in hysterics as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

  Angela words had failed. Sammie was not cured.

  “Bravo,” he said to her, still lying on his back and chuckling. “Quite the little scene we had there, eh?” He climbed to his feet, skinny limbs unfolding like an accordion. “I enjoyed that, Ms Murs. Do tell me what you have planned for us next?”

  “Why are you he
re?” she asked him.

  “Why are any of us here, priest? We all have our parts to play, and we play them whether we choose to or not. You and I both.”

  Angela was losing all control over the situation, she knew it. She was failing to gain influence over the boy or whatever was inside of him. “And what part do I have to play?” she asked. Don’t ask questions, Angela. You’re playing into his hands.

  Sammie’s eyebrows lowered and a look of grim amusement seemed to settle over him. “You, Ms Murs, are here to play the Martyr.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “What does he mean, you’re a martyr?” Tim frowned at Angela as they stood around the piano in the lounge. He kept tapping keys randomly. The plinking sound set her teeth on edge. She bit at her lower lip until it was bleeding.

  “I don’t know,” she said, somewhat snappily. “I assume it means he expects me to die for my beliefs, which is strange seeing as I’m not even sure what I believe half the time. Anyway, it doesn’t even matter. A demon will say whatever it thinks will get a reaction. I’d say it won that round.”

  “So you think we really are dealing with Evil?”

  Angela slumped forward so that her forehead rested against the cold, polished wood of the piano. “Oh, Jesus. I don’t know. If Sammie is possessed, then I would have expected something more than the reaction I got. My words were powerless. I invoked the Lord and nothing happened.”

  “How could that be?” Tim asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Why would it not work? Is there a success rate with this type of thing?”

  “There shouldn’t be. Evil is Evil and God is God; there are no variables. Perhaps God is no longer with me. An exorcist must be devout, connected to Heaven – but that’s just not me. I’ve been following the wrong path for years now. I shied away from God and now I’m part of a charade, speaking in His name.” She pulled the dog collar from her neck and let it fall to the floor. “I’m a disgrace.”