Authors: Fiona Dodwell
Tags: #Fiona Dodwell, #horror, #demon, #paranormal, #abuse, #supernatural, #banishing, #Damnation Books
“Yeah, well,” Melissa said, her face falling serious, “I wouldn’t wish marriage upon anybody, and I’m certainly not in a position to dole out relationship advice.”
Sharon fell silent for a moment, then said, “Has anything else happened?”
Melissa didn’t know what to say. Sharon had always come across as a sensible, no-nonsense woman. Rational. What would she make of it all if Melissa brought up the things she’d been seeing? More than likely, Sharon would call a psychologist and have her locked up. Or would she? Maybe she was underestimating Sharon. Shouldn’t she be seeing her as an ally? Sharon had been her only friend since moving into the house with Mark and starting the job at the hospital.
“You still there?” Sharon pressed.
“Uh...yeah. I don’t want to get into it here. All I’m going to say is that things haven’t exactly improved, if you get my meaning.”
“Shit. Melissa!”
“Mark’s been…well, you know how it goes.”
“Are you saying he hit you, again?”
That’s not all.
Melissa thought about the night he had forced himself onto her and felt a sickening knot tie itself in her stomach. She would never forget that night, no matter what. He had torn something inside her. Broken her heart that night. It was more painful than any punch he could have delivered.
I can’t forget the knife, either. The way he had laughed at me pissing myself that way.
She tried to expel the memory; it seemed like a horrific nightmare she wanted to desperately wake from. “Sharon, I think there may be more to what’s going on. That’s all I want to say for now. Please understand. Maybe we can have a chat during lunch tomorrow at work or something. Just know that I’m all right at the moment. I’m going to sort things out.”
Sharon groaned. “Do you know how many people out there suffer when they should be getting help?”
Women’s shelters? Housing for battered women? Is that what it’s come to?
Melissa thought, not knowing what to say.
Sharon finally broke the silence. “I’m here for you. That’s all I want you to know, okay?”
“Yes, I do know. Thank you. Is everything all right at your end? Jonathon aside, I mean.”
Sharon laughed. A cheeky, almost childish giggle. “I want to know why that gorgeous Josh Howell wanted your phone number. What’s the gossip?”
Melissa smiled. “He just called to ask if I wanted to meet him for coffee.”
Sharon gasped. “Seriously? Where?”
“Don’t get too excited. It was at his office. Just a quick chat.”
“Well, why? He hasn’t asked for my number or anyone else’s. Why yours?”
“Probably because I was the one who approached him about what’s been happening with Mark. I wanted a professional opinion, and he offered to see me.” It was the truth, but Melissa felt her skin flush red. She was annoyed, and she didn’t even know why she felt that way about it.
“Well, you’re a lucky girl. He’s a gorgeous man and probably rich, too,” Sharon ranted. “Damn. I wouldn’t mind sharing a hot Americano with him.”
Melissa rolled her eyes. “Then, ask him out yourself. Anyway…believe me, I am
not
lucky.”
Sharon hesitated, then said, “Yeah I’m sorry. I know you’re going through a hard time.”
Melissa saw the two double-doors of the church open wide, and the priest, followed by a jostling congregation, spilled out into the parking lot. The tall, elderly looking priest began shaking hands and seeing off people as they strode toward their cars.
“Sharon, I really have to go. I’ll talk to you at work tomorrow, okay?”
Sharon said goodbye and hung up.
“Let’s see what this guy knows,” Melissa said to herself, stepping out into the rain.
The smell of polished wood, burning candles, and incense immediately drove her back to a place in her childhood. Memories of Sunday mornings, her Mum dragging her along to the morning Mass, and her small, interested eyes soaking in the ceremony.
The mystery. The fear. How she had once believed that somewhere above, God loved her like a father loved his child, and her once sincere trust that each and every prayer she uttered was heard.
It all came back, flooding her mind in fitful waves as she stepped inside the empty church.
She walked along the empty aisle, her eyes drawn toward the huge crucifix that hung high above the altar at the front. The figure of Jesus Christ, nails driven through his hands and feet, dots of blood along his thin, sinewy body, moved her. An image of love. Of sacrifice. Of good defeating evil.
That’s what it was all about here
, she thought, her eyes riveted to the figure. Whether she believed in any of it or not—right now, she wasn’t sure of what to believe anymore, since everything was a possibility—that’s what Jesus symbolized.
Wasn’t that how she felt about her marriage to Mark? Didn’t she believe that, as inexplicable as it was, something evil was changing him, altering him, and that she would do anything—sacrifice anything—to stop it, to win him back…to inject some hope into their lives and get back to things as they should be. As they once were.
Defeat something evil.
“I’m sorry I took so long. A lot of my parishioners love to stay and chat after Mass. They enjoy it. When you get to an old age, you’re glad of the company.”
Melissa spun around and saw the priest standing behind her, his gray eyes fixed on her, and his face brightened with a warm, welcoming smile. He looked to be in his late sixties. His hair was thin, white with age. He wore glasses that were perched on the end of his nose. He was wearing a black garment, and the iconic white collar poked out at the top—symbolizing his dedication to the church he was married to.
“I’m Father Owen,” he said, reaching out to her.
Melissa smiled and shook his hand. His grip was firm, strong for such an elderly-looking man. “I’m Melissa. Thanks for your time,” she said.
Father Owen motioned toward one of the wooden benches, and Melissa stepped over and sat down. The priest stumbled after her, sitting beside her. He stared straight ahead at the altar, as if looking anywhere else would be disrespectful.
“What brings you here, Melissa?”
She sat, her back pressed against the hard, wooden bench, and she wondered what to say. What to ask. She had come here to ask if the priest had heard of the Danvers who had lived at her house before she moved in with Mark.
Somehow, it felt suddenly possible; that faith might help. Or that talking to somebody who believed in miracles might be able to help deliver one to her.
“I’m in trouble,” she said at last. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed in the air around them.
The priest nodded, his eyes still fixed on the cross. “A lot of people turn to God when things get bad. He wants us to. Do you believe in God?”
Melissa looked over at him. “Do you want the answer I think you like hearing or the real answer?”
“Real.”
“I don’t know. I used to. Then, I didn’t.”
“Now?”
Melissa shrugged. “Not sure. Some things have been happening to me, some really…let’s just say weird things…unbelievable things.”
“Such as?” the priest asked. His hands, thin and wrinkled, were clasped in his lap.
Melissa sighed. “A lot of things have made me question everything. Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“You won’t think I’m crazy?”
Father Owen chuckled. “I like to think I have an open mind. I believe in God. That Jesus died to pay for my sins. I believe the Holy Spirit talks to me. Melissa, many would think
I
am crazy, but I know what I believe to be true.”
Melissa smiled. Father Owen seemed like a good, solid man and somebody she could trust. His faith was so steady—unwavering—it made her ashamed that she had been able to dismiss her own so easily when she was growing up.
Her parents’ deaths had laid any faith she once possessed to rest.
“Father, is it possible that somebody might be…I don’t know how to explain it. That somebody might be acting under some sort of force. An evil force. Like, they are under control of something really bad, and it’s making them act in a way that is not them…” Her voice died, and she swallowed hard. Tears had started to dampen her eyes, and she wiped them away, embarrassed.
Father Owen finally looked over at her. “You’re talking about possession.”
Melissa looked into his eyes. They were serious. Believing. She didn’t know what to think. “Does the church still believe in possession?” she asked.
“Yes. Some cynics like to dismiss it all as scaremongering, but it’s real. The church still appoints exorcists to perform the ritual of banishing the evil spirit.”
“You do believe, then?”
“Oh yes. It’s real. The devil exists, Melissa. I know it. It’s real.”
“The devil?” she asked.
Father Owen nodded. “Yes. Or his demons. Evil spirits. Whatever is it, whatever name you use. It always comes back to him—the evil one.”
Melissa fell silent. Didn’t know what to say or think. “I’m not sure we’re talking about demons,” she said.
“It is rare, Melissa. Very rare. Most cases of possession are in fact undetected mental illnesses. Any priest worth his vows would send a person to see a psychiatrist first before even considering an exorcism.”
Exorcism. Possession. Evil spirits.
Words and thoughts struck her like a knife, and she almost winced at where she was, what she was doing. She wondered what Mark or Sharon would think, seeing her there, talking about these things with a priest. “Rare, but possible,” she said at last.
“Indeed. As I said, though, mental illness is the first thing to be considered.”
“What if I know it’s not mental illness? That’s exactly what I thought it might be at first, but I’ve seen things, too. In my home. Like…spirits. Also, I know Mark—that’s my husband—has been hearing voices. I saw it myself with my own eyes. There was some sort of…entity in the room with him, and I believe it may be ordering him to do things. Evil things.”
Father Owen looked over at her, again, but his face was expressionless. “Melissa, I believe things like this happen. There is no way I can give you any answers without seeing Mark—is that his name? Without going to your home. Without the opinion of a medical professional. To do anything else would be harmful. You could be right. There could be something evil in your home, but we should first try taking small steps. If you’re talking about exorcism, then we can’t just jump to that. We have to—”
“Small steps like what?” Melissa asked, stopping the priest mid-sentence. She didn’t want to hear what he couldn’t do. She wanted help. Advice. To know what he
could
do for her, for Mark.
“I could come to your home and bless it. It’s a very honored, catholic tradition. It’s almost like an ‘exorcism’ of the home.”
“Right. Anything else?”
“You’d need to get Mark to agree to see somebody, like a psychiatric doctor. Rule out mental illness.”
“I told you!” Her voice rose, full of frustration. “I’ve seen things, too. We can’t both be mad. I saw things in the house. A shadow. A woman. Please, believe me.” She felt like throwing herself to the floor in desperation.
“Look, please. I want to help, but even I’d need permission before performing a full-blown exorcism. It does rarely happen,” Father Owen said. His voice was warm and reassuring. “Also, it’s not something I can do myself. Two priests are needed for the ritual…and assistants. Strong men. A whole team. It’s not just a matter of me turning up and muttering a few prayers, I’m afraid.”
“Do these blessings ever work?” she asked, finally.
“Sometimes it’s all that’s needed. I can’t make any promises, though.”
“Would you come?” she asked.
The priest turned his gaze back to the crucifix and nodded. “Of course. When?”
“Next week. During the day. It has to be when Mark is out at work, or he’ll get mad.”
“I see.”
“How about Tuesday at noon? I could get home on my lunch break.”
The priest nodded. “Where do you live?”
Melissa grabbed a piece of paper from her pocket and scribbled down her address.
The priest’s face dropped. His skin whitened, and his eyes widened. “Oh dear.”
Melissa turned to him. “What is it?”
“This is where Grace Danvers used to live, isn’t it?”
Melissa’s heart and stomach lurched, her mind racing. “Why? Did you know the Danvers? I was going to ask you about them, too.”
Father Owen stood up, his hands shaking loosely at his sides. “She had the same problems,” he said, his voice low and thick.
“What do you mean?”
“She had problems. She thought something evil lived inside that house, and her husband used to abuse her. Is that happening to you, too?”
Melissa didn’t have to answer. Her eyes met the priest’s and he nodded, knowingly.
Chapter Eighteen
Just hearing it said aloud like that confirmed something that frightened her. Deeply. It made her feel as if she were floating, lost without a lifeboat. Things that couldn’t be real, just couldn’t be possible, were happening.