Sam Read online

  Tim lost his brother, for one thing.

  A beeping sound brought him back.

  Tim looked at his equipment and tried to locate the source. It seemed to be coming from his electronic barometer. The air pressure had dropped. There was a chance that it was due to the stormy weather, but even if it was…Tim was confused because he hadn’t switched the machine on. In fact, he could see that it was unplugged.

  Here we go again, Tim said to himself. There was no longer anything inside the house that could surprise him, but he wasn’t about to throw himself into the fire. He was going to sit right where he was. That way nothing could happen to him. Other people could take the risks, he was happy just taking the results.

  The next machine to beep was his heart rate monitor. It played the rhythmic tune of a steady pulse. It, too, was unplugged.

  Should I call someone, or just get the hell away from here?

  Tim was a coward. He was quite aware of it and even embraced it for the most part. Being a coward was just another part of survival. He avoided danger and kept himself safe – what was wrong with that? His brother had always been the reckless one.

  And look where that got him. Although, if I was braver like he had been…I could have done something.

  Tim made a decision. There was some bad mojo currently targeted at him and he wasn’t about to sit around and see what happened while his equipment went haywire. He needed to find someone else. It’d be safer with company.

  Safer from what exactly, I don’t know.

  More of Tim’s machines began beeping and he took it as his cue to leave. He stood up from his seat and hurried down the hall towards the staircase. The house’s lights flickered back on briefly as thunder rocked the floor beneath him.

  Like walking through a horror movie, Tim thought to himself while trying to keep calm.

  As he reached the downstairs foyer, the lights went off completely. It was not yet fully dark outside and there was still some light inside the house, although it was grey and fading. From the lounge behind the staircase, Tim could hear the mellow tones of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” playing on the piano.

  Seriously, this house even has a horror movie soundtrack!

  He pushed through the doors to the piano lounge and stepped inside. He found Angela sitting at the back of the room, playing the tune quite expertly on the ivory keys. “I didn’t know you played,” he said.

  She looked at him and continued playing perfectly. It was all the more impressive now that she wasn’t even looking at the notes she was hitting. “Six years of convent school. You learn a few things.”

  “You play beautifully. Do you know anything a little more upbeat?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I think I can play something.” She broke into a jaunty rendition of “When I’m Sixty-Four”.

  Tim went behind the bar. “That’s better. You fancy a drink?”

  “My liver says no, but my heart says yes.”

  Tim poured her a healthy measure of whisky and then poured himself a much smaller one. Tim liked a drink, but he had the constitution of a poodle. Angela would easily be able to out-drink him.

  He placed her drink on the top of the piano and took a sip of his own. “Just been through some more freaky-deaky shenanigans upstairs.”

  Angela stopped playing and looked at him. “What do you mean? The power going off again? Or something else?”

  “Oh, you know, usual stuff: my equipment started turning on despite the fact none of it was plugged in. I can’t help thinking that this place is building up to something.”

  “Please, don’t you start wigging out on me. So far you’ve been the only one to keep a clear head.”

  Tim took another sip of whisky. The liquid burned his throat. “I can take strange, I can even take frightening, but what I can’t take is dangerous. It’s just not my thing.”

  “You’ve had my back. I promise to have yours if anything happens.”

  “Thanks, but all the same, I figure I’ll be off in the morning. This whole thing is getting a little too far out of my comfort zone.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t leave,” Angela told him. “I plan on seeing this through, but it’s your decision at the end of the day.”

  “I just think, with what happened to Jessica, it would be better to get a team of doctors in here rather than a guy like me.”

  Angela stood up from the piano and closed the lid. She picked up her drink and walked over to one of the tables. Sitting down, she looked at him seriously. “What do you think happened to her anyway? Spontaneous blindness?”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing, but again that’s why I think a doctor should be here.”

  “Frank should reach the hospital soon. We’ll know more then. Perhaps you should postpone your decision till then.”

  “Maybe,” Tim said. “But perhaps the whole thing is just to get Frank out of the way.”

  Angela looked at him like he was mad. “I don’t understand.”

  Tim shrugged. “I’m just saying that the last man of the house is dead. Frank seems to be trying to fill Joseph Raymeady’s shoes. Now, with Frank gone, everyone is left to do their own thing. I think we were safer when he was here, but right now he’s gone and Jessica’s passed out in bed. What are we even doing here anymore?”

  “Trying to help,” was Angela’s answer, but she couldn’t help but laugh pitifully. “Whatever that means. Maybe when Frank gets back, he’ll make things a little clearer on what we should do next.”

  “If he even comes back.”

  “Will you just stop?” said Angela. “You’re such a pessimist.”

  “Hey, after a couple days in this house, I’ve learned that expecting the worst to happen is usually the way to go.”

  Angela finished off her drink and went to get another. “We’ll see,” she said. “Let’s just relax for now, though. I don’t plan on leaving this room while Graham is in charge. I can’t believe I actually miss Frank.”

  “Yeah,” Tim agreed. “Me either.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Frank kept his foot on the gas pedal despite the wetness of the road. The rain fell in thick sheets and it was impossible to see more than a dozen metres, but Frank couldn’t afford to slow down. Jessica needed him. Whatever virus could send a person blind overnight was serious – it could be meningitis or some other malady affecting the brain. For all he knew, she could be dying right now.

  Frank had to brake sharply as a bend came out of nowhere. The tyres slipped sideways on the wet surface, but he was able to get the car back under control easily enough. He’d driven in worse condition, Afghanistan for one. Once he’d driven a 3-tonne truck through a sandstorm so thick he couldn’t see beyond the windscreen. He’d survived that and he would survive this.

  The A429 was coming up on his right and Frank slowed down and took it. The highway would take him to Warwick Hospital. He had no plan for when he got there, too desperate to form one, but at the very least he could get an ambulance to follow him back.

  The road was lit, but the thick rain obscured the illumination of the street lamps. Frank had no choice but to take ten miles off his speed. Acres of farmland would be flying by on either side of him, but in the stormy darkness, he might just have well been driving through space. He leant forward in the driver’s seat, trying to get as close to the road as possible.

  “What are you doing, Frank? Why aren’t you at the house looking after my family?”

  Frank’s whole body tensed up as he heard the sound of Joseph Raymeady’s voice. He looked up at the rear view mirror and saw his boss’ face staring back at him. The next thing he knew the car was spinning.

  He lost control of the wheel as it fought against his grip. The tyres slid across the wet tarmac and the car spun a full circle.

  Then it flipped.

  Suddenly Frank found himself upside down, moving through the air briefly before sliding along the road and into a ditch. His vision filled with stars – exploding grenades
of light.

  “Now that was careless,” said Joseph. “What am I even paying you for?”

  Rain water pooled around Frank’s head as he blinked away his dizziness. Once again he saw Joseph Raymeady’s face in the now-cracked rear view mirror.

  “What-what do you want?” Frank managed to ask.

  “I just want to make sure that you’re doing your job, Frank. How is my family?”

  Frank struggled with his seatbelt, trying to get himself free of the wreck.

  Joseph’s voice rose. “I asked you a question, Frank. How is my fucking family?”

  “They’re…they’re okay.”

  “YOU’RE LYING!”

  “No,” said Frank. “I will keep them safe. They will be okay.”

  “Then why aren’t you with them now?”

  “Because Jessica needs a doctor.”

  “A doctor? A DOCTOR! What have you done, Frank? Why does my darling, sweet Jessica need a doctor?”

  Frank made eye-contact with Joseph through the mirror. What he was seeing was impossible. His employer was dead. Frank had been the one to find the body. “You’re not real. I’ve had an accident and you’re just a delusion.”

  “You’re the delusion, Frank. You think you can take my place? I was a great man; a man of principals. You are nothing. A killer of men and children. You deserve to be dead, not me. Your job was to protect me and my family. You let me die.”

  Frank squirmed, wanting more than anything to get out of the upturned Mercedes. “No, no. You let yourself die. You took your own life.”

  The apparition of Joseph began to laugh. The sound was malicious and mocking. “Did I?”

  Frank didn’t know what that meant, but seeing as the whole thing had to be a figment of his imagination, he decided it meant nothing. Joseph wasn’t really in the car with him. It was temporary madness. “Go away, Joseph. You’re dead.”

  “Yes,” Joseph replied. “And very soon, you will be too. We’re all here waiting for you, Frank. Me and all the people you killed in Afghanistan, Sierra Leone, the Gulf…so many, Frank. So much death by your hands. And now you want to add my little Sammie and Jessica to your list of murders. ”

  “Nooooo!”

  Some part of the car ignited. Frank could not see flames because his neck was jammed up against the car’s roof, but he could smell the burning and hear the distinctive crackling. The car was on fire, and if he didn’t escape, he would burn to death.

  But as much as he tried, Frank could not get himself free.

  “We’ll be waiting for you, Frank” said the apparition of Joseph Raymeady, who then started cackling so loud that Frank could no longer hear the fire or the rain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The houselights were still out, and now that evening had arrived, total darkness had descended upon every room. Luckily, Graham had broken character and made a helpful gesture of distributing candles throughout the building. Each room was partially lit by at least one.

  Angela sat with Tim in the house’s rear gardens. They were sheltered from the rain beneath a large camisole. A lit candle flickered on a small, round table between them. There was something about being outside that made Angela feel safer than being inside. With the heavy rain and the approaching storm, she could feel God’s influence everywhere. Inside the house she felt something….different.

  “You think we should have heard from Frank by now?” Tim asked her.

  “I think the phones are still out.”

  Tim shook his head. “No, I mean, shouldn’t he gotten back by now? He’s been gone a few hours.”

  “I don’t know how far the hospital is. I’m not from around here. I’ll bet this rain is also slowing him down.”

  “Yeah, it’s really going for it tonight, isn’t it? Why exactly are we sat outside again?”

  “Helps me think,” Angela answered. “I like the weather being like this. Makes me feel…connected.”

  “To God?”

  “Yeah, I guess, but it’s more than that. It makes me feel connected to life. Everything begins and ends with the rain. Without it nothing could live.”

  Tim looked confused. “I just think it makes everything wet. Has it helped you think any clearer?”

  “Yes it has.” Angela stole a glance at the candle flame and its healthy glow made her think about Hell and the demons that sprawled throughout its infernal hallways. “After all that’s happened, I’m now convinced that there’s something inside Sammie. The drawing he gave me, the things he knows, and what happened to Jessica. There’s Evil at work here for sure.”

  “I guess I’m starting to agree with that as well,” Tim admitted to her. “My unplugged machines wigging out was the final proof I needed.”

  Angela ran a hand through her hair and released a few knots. “So, my question is: what is inside Sammie? If there’s a demon inside the boy, then why didn’t it respond to my attempts to banish it? Why did the exorcism fail?”

  Tim looked at her. “Is it an exact science usually? I mean, is there no way for a demon to resist attempts to exorcise it?”

  “I don’t know. Demons often try to mess with your mind, to prevent you from even going through with the procedure, but Sammie was happy to let me speak freely. At the end it was pretty obvious that he found the whole thing funny. A demon should quake at the sound of Christ’s name. They should cower at the power of the Lord.”

  “Can’t say I saw any cowering,” Tim commented.

  “That’s my point. What went wrong? What did I misjudge?”

  “Maybe it’s not a demon. Maybe there could be something else inside of him: a ghost or spirit, perhaps?”

  Angela shook her head. “It would make no difference. They should react in the same way as a demon. Anything that does not belong here can be compelled by the power of Christ. I just can’t figure it out.”

  “What about Charles Crippley?”

  Angela shuddered and wondered if it was the cold or the man’s name. “What about him?”

  Tim shrugged. “Just spitballing, but Sammie seemed to know you, so perhaps it’s Charles Crippley inside of him.”

  “I won’t lie, I’ve worried about the very same thing, but once again, an evil spirit would be as susceptible to exorcism as any demon. There’s something I’m not getting here. I think I need to go back to my books. I just wish I could get the name of Sammie’s ‘friend’.”

  “Why don’t you go straight to the source?”

  Angela frowned at Tim. “What do you mean?” A sudden gust of wind caused the candle to flicker out, but the flame barely hung on and came back to life a few seconds later.

  Tim sniffed and then looked at her. “Sammie won’t tell us the name of his friend, right? So why don’t we ask the friend directly? We could use a Ouija board.”

  Angela huffed. “I have absolutely no experience of those…toys.”

  “I do,” said Tim. “To be honest with you, the last time I used one I promised to never use one ever again. But I think now might be the time to break that promise.”

  “Do they really work?”

  “Yes,” Tim said, but didn’t add anything more.

  Angela thought about it for a little while. Eventually she said, “Okay, I’m up for it. When do you want to do it?”

  Tim smiled. “No time like the present. I have everything I need in my van. We’ll do it there.”

  “In your van? Seriously?”

  Tim nodded. “Worst thing that could happy is we get interrupted by someone. My van is perfect for it – nice and private. Plus, I can get my ass out of here if things go bad. I feel trapped inside that house.”

  Angela shook her head and sighed. “Doing a Ouija board in the back of some guy’s van. Feel like I’m in college all over again.”

  “You’re not wrong,” said Tim. “Tonight you might just get an education. I don’t think you’re going to like it, though.”

  ***

  Tim’s van was cramped, but clean. It was obvious he lived here a
nd treated it like his home. Soft cushions scattered the piny-fresh interior and there was not a thing out of place. The rain on the vehicle’s metal roof sounded like a drum roll – perhaps it was in honour of what they were about to do.

  Tim reached up and pulled an antique-looking box from a storage net which lined one side of the van’s interior. He set the box on the floor between them and unhooked a brass catch on the side. The box then opened up into a small, flat board. It was finely painted with letters and numbers. YES and NO were printed in opposite corners of the board and the word, GOODBYE, was set between them. One side of the board lifted up to reveal a hollow, and inside that space was a finely-carved, heart-shaped planchette.

  Angela couldn’t believe what she was about to do. She held no stock in such things as voodoo and witchcraft – it was nothing but ill-natured superstition. While she had beliefs of her own, she flat out denied the validity of those primitive faiths.

  “So how does this go, then?” she asked Tim.

  “Pretty much like you’d expect. We light a few candles – sandalwood works well – sprinkle a bit of copal shavings into the flame and then try our best to concentrate.”

  “What on Earth is copal?”

  “It’s a resin imported from Mexico, a bit like amber. The ancient Mayans used it to contact the underworld – that’s pretty much what we’re planning on doing; or we’re trying to contact one of its inhabitants at least. Simple sage works just as well, but I’m always tempted to cook with it.”

  Angela waited patiently while Tim rummaged around the van. From various compartments, he procured a candle and a small, plastic baggie filled with golden flecks. Finally, he produced a pair of necklaces. They were comprised of a simple loop of string, threaded through the centre of an acorn.

  “Wear this,” he said, handing her one of the necklaces.

  Angela took the looped acorn and examined it questioningly. “Why?”

  “Druids used acorns for protection,” Tim told her. “I never perform a spell without an acorn around my neck. Place it under your shirt against your skin.”

  Angela did as he asked her, but felt ridiculous while doing it. In fact she felt more than ridiculous, she felt blasphemous. The Church had taught her to forsake anything that even bordered on witchcraft.