Lost To The Devil

Chapter 13: The exorcism

Mum always spoke to me as though I could still hear her, and I was grateful. Even when the thing inside my body twisted my face into something unrecognisable, when my voice wasn’t mine, and my eyes no longer saw the world the way they should. She still spoke to me, softly, gently, like I was still here. And I could hear her, faintly, like her voice was reaching me through thick water, distorted, distant, but there, always there.

The demon became enraged at this, and using my own voice rather than his, he screamed and screamed, kicking and flailing our legs and yanking on the straps, my wrists burning as they bit into my skin. My legs kicked wildly, heels slamming into the mattress again and again, the bed frame creaking under the strain.

Mum tried to calm him, but it was fruitless; he screamed and raged all through the night, and she stayed by our side without getting an ounce of sleep. We were both exhausted, but the demon wasn't, not in the slightest, for he never slept.

The priest arrived at ten the next morning, and by then the demon had gone silent while my throat hurt like a son of a b.itch.

Both the demon and myself heard more than two people coming up the stairs, slow, and deliberate. The air thickened instantly, heavy, charged, like before a storm breaks. I felt it before I understood it. Fear. Not mine, the demons. He knew what was going to happen before I did.

Mum walked in first, followed by Father Roberts and another younger priest. Then a third man dressed in a suit holding a bag. Something about him felt clinical, like he belonged to a different kind of battle.

“Hello Grace, you remember me, Father Roberts? Well, this here is Father Thomas.” He brought forward the younger priest with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair; his face held fear, which the demon focused on, but I focused on the strong willed determination that was also there in his eyes.

Next, Father Roberts introduced the man in the suit; he was a psychiatrist and introduced himself as Dr. Carlos.

Mum was eventually asked to leave the room, and then the priests began to get out what looked like bibles, rosaries, and holy water.

I would repeat the words they began to read out, but I honestly have no clue what they were saying to this day. I assume it was in Latin, and while I didn't understand, I certainly could feel that the demon did.

He screamed and cursed at them in that same language, his voice ripping through my throat, guttural and inhuman. Books from my shelf in the corner flew at the priests, and I was amazed at how they carried on as though nothing was happening.

The shelf itself tore loose and crashed to the floor with a deafening c.rack, splintering wood scattering across the carpet. The bedroom door slammed open and shut repeatedly, the hinges screaming in protest. The demon kept cursing at them. He strained against the straps, but this time, perhaps due to the prayers, I felt he couldn't break them.

Eventually the demon flung back down onto the bed and went catatonic. It was weird when he did this; it felt as though he wasn't even there anymore, yet my body was still waiting for only his commands. It was during these times I felt completely alone in the darkness of my mind, and it scared me.

The priests stopped praying after a while, and Father Roberts dipped his finger in the holy water and made the sign of the cross on my forehead. Everyone startled as the demon came back violently; a roar exploded from my chest, so loud it shook the walls.

“You f.ucking c.unts!” He bellowed, voice splitting between rage and something more ancient. “You will burn for this!” The words dripped with hatred, with promise. “You will suffer, and I will haunt you until you die! F.ucking pigs! She is mine! Mine!” He kept shouting and swearing while the priests continued to pray again, and the psychiatrist sat back writing notes and checking my pulse whenever he got the chance; he had clearly experienced possessed people before.

The priest threw holy water on us, and the demon suddenly went berserk; it burned us both. White-hot pain scorched my body, blinding, like acid searing into my flesh. He screamed, and I screamed

He yanked at the straps, growling and cursing, and when he couldn't get free, he started smashing our head against the headboard until the psychiatrist had to rush over and place a pillow there to stop him.

The psychiatrist got too close, and the demon grabbed his throat and squeezed with more ferocity than he had with Mum. It took both priests to slowly manage to uncurl his hand and fingers enough for Dr. Carlos to wrestle himself away. He staggered back, coughing violently, clutching his neck as red marks and bruising bloomed across his neck.

This went on for hours, and the priests pressed on relentlessly with their praying. “f***k your God, you pigs; he isn't here,” laughed the demon. It was scary how fast he could switch from rage to hysterical laughter in a heartbeat.

The priests ignored him, so he kept trying to torment them. “God is dead, pigs! Satan is all that's left because of your sins! Hey Thomas, why don't you f***k this sweet girl? She's not much younger than you, and I've already broken her in for you. Or how about you, Robert bet you’d like a good f.ucking from a young, pretty girl.”

The priests kept praying, and somehow the demon wriggled and fought until he had pulled my trousers off along with my underwear, opened my legs wide, presenting me to everybody in the room. I cried and screamed with shame inside, but no one could hear me. The demon laughed as Dr. Carlos, who was used to sick people doing stuff like this, whipped my clothes back on in seconds.