Lost To The Devil

Chapter 11: The last tenant

A week had passed since the priest left, but it didn’t feel like time moving; it felt like waiting.

Monday came slowly, dragging itself in with grey light and heavy silence. Father Roberts was due back on Wednesday to gather what he needed, and every hour between now and then felt stretched thin with tension.

Mum hadn’t left my side since he first came. Not once. She hovered constantly, watching me, listening for every sound, every shift in my breathing, every small movement like it might be the start of something.

She apologised over and over for not believing me. Her voice would break each time, and every time it made me feel worse, because I knew it wasn’t over yet and I hated to make her suffer.

I hadn't had another episode yet, but that didn’t mean he was gone. I still got the terrible nightmares; they were worse now, deeper, more vivid.

They clung to me long after I woke, leaving a feeling of fear that never quite faded. Sometimes I could still smell it, the smoke, the rot, something foul and ancient that didn’t belong in this world.

My bedroom was always freezing too; even with the heating blasting constantly, the air stayed cold, sharp against my skin, like standing in the middle of winter with wet clothes clinging to me. But the cold space never felt empty; I was never alone.

Another new problem was my eating; two days ago I suddenly found it incredibly difficult to eat. I would sit at the table, staring at my bowl of soup, steam curling up lazily, carrying the smell of chicken and herbs, making my stomach rumble, but when I would try to swallow, my whole throat would seize up and feel so swollen that I couldn't manage a bite it didn't matter what the food was.

When I was starving enough, the demon would occasionally allow me to eat, but not much— perhaps a bowl of cereal for the day, a few bites here and there.

In the morning I was standing in the bathroom, brushing my hair. I looked in the mirror and saw my own reflection looking back at me. Pale, hollow, eyes too tired for someone my age. I noticed a big handful of hair fall to the floor; the stress of everything was becoming too much, I still had fading bruises from the last attack.

Wednesday came not quickly enough, and Mum ushered the priest through the door as soon as he knocked.

As he sat down on the sofa, the sound of plates smashing to the floor made us all jump.

Father Roberts surprised us by saying, “If and when you can always ignore the demons mischief, they love nothing more than to intimidate and torment us.”

“I know his name.” I suddenly blurted. I had read up on exorcism when Father Roberts left and found out that the exorcist needed the name of the demon in order to fully cast it out.

He looked at me surprised and almost eagerly asked, “what is it?” But when I tried to speak, I found myself choking. Mum rushed over and patted my back.

As soon as I stopped trying to say it, the choking stopped. “Why don't you try writing it?” Mum asked as she grabbed a pen and the phone book for me to write on. When I tried writing the name, the pen wouldn't work. I tried a pencil instead, but it snapped every time.

The priest looked like he had expected as much and said, “It's not uncommon for the victim to know the name but then become unable to say it in any way once the demon is inside. Shall we pray?” We said the Lord's Prayer, and halfway through I began to growl.

It wasn't me but the demon; he had come through so quickly this time I wasn't even aware until I noticed my body was moving of its own accord. All I could do now was look on as Mum and the priest watched me with shock.

The demon grabbed the rosary around the priest’s neck and ripped it clean off, and in that scary, deep, gutteral voice, he screamed, “f***k off!” Before running up to my bedroom and slamming the door.

I or rather we, could hear Mum and the priest warily coming up the stairs and then turning the doorknob and walking very slowly into my bedroom.

They looked surprised when they couldn't find us, and I could sense the demon’s amusement at this. They checked the bed, under the bed, and even the wardrobe. Finally, though, Mum looked up and let out a bloodcurdling scream. The priest followed her eyes and gasped when he saw the demon clinging onto the ceiling and glaring back down at the priest with menace in his eyes.

I have no idea how the demon got my body up on the ceiling; it was as though my body was as light as a feather to him. All I knew was that when he got us up there, he used some of his power or whatever, and just that tiny piece of it was staggeringly powerful.

Mum finally coaxed the demon down, or rather, she was coaxing me, and he only responded because he found it amusing to confuse her with who she was really talking to. She grabbed us and held us tight whilst sobbing, and while my heart wanted to break at causing her so much pain, the demon found it damn near hysterical.

She pulled the hair from out of our face and gently laid us onto the bed before covering us up and stepping aside for the priest to carry on praying.

The demon eventually left my body again, but it was too peaceful and done with that arrogant amusement he had, so I knew he was just playing with the priest, leading him to believe that his prayers were working, but I knew differently, and it terrified me.

The priest had gathered the evidence he needed, including a video recording, and said he would be in touch as soon as the bishop got back to him.

Mum fussed over me so much that I had to tell her to back off a bit. She tried to get me to eat, but I still couldn't, even though the demon had been eerily quiet. The whispering still taunted me at night in bed, as did the horrific nightmares. I was exhausted, but I was determined to find out why I had suddenly been afflicted like this, and so I did a history on our home.

I didn't find out much at first, just random different people living here up until 1998, and then it got interesting.

A teenager had lived here with her parents for five years, and there was a story she had told everyone about how she had played with the ouija board like she had many times before. But out of boredom and curiosity, she asked for a demon to come through instead, not thinking they were really real, but she was wrong.

The planchette flew from her hands and flung with such ferocity it embedded itself into her bedroom wall.

She panicked and put the board away without saying a proper goodbye, and over the weeks doors started to open and close by themselves, subtle at first, so she never quite knew if she had just forgotten to close them, then lights would flicker on and off throughout the house, and bangs could sometimes be heard.

I swallowed; my throat felt dry.

Her parents went on to say how slowly her health detoriated; she would be plagued with nightmares, she became depressed and withdrawn, she took to eating dead insects, and she was caught eating a pigeon out in the garden, blood and feathers smeared across her face.

I felt my stomach turn violently, a sour taste rose in my throat. Would that happen to me?

Her parents were horrified and, out of fear, locked her in her bedroom most of the time, but she would throw herself against the door violently, screaming that the demon was after her.

When her parents rushed to check on her, they found she had broken her arm from throwing herself against the door; with the other, she was trying to claw her eyes out, screaming she couldn't bear to look upon the thousands of demons she was convinced were tormenting her.