Most of Me (8 page)

I shook my head. “You doubt me, do you? I should go.” I began to stand when Father Thomas pulled me back down.

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe you!” he snapped. “In fact, I’m merely trying to understand the facts. Now, if you want to go, then you are free to do so. If not, listen.”

I parked myself back onto the bench.

“You say that Mr Winters owned this house, and he is also your Grandad?” Father Thomas asked.

“Thats right.”

“Then perhaps the family connection made the possession different.” He turned to me and held my hand. “Daniel? Are you sure that your Grandad is dead?”

I shrugged. “He said he was.”

“And what you saw of him was spiritual?”

“I guess, yes.”

The Father sighed. “Daniel, it may well be possible that your Grandfather
is
still alive. If this mirror is as powerful as
he
says, then he may be using it for his gain. He could be manipulating you.”

“But he told me he had died,” I said.

“And, of course, you believed him. You believed him because he wanted you to. Don’t you see, Daniel? You can’t trust anything he tells you,” he argued.

“So this demon that follows me isn’t going to harm me?”

“Oh…no, no ,no. If it wants you dead, then this demon will
kill
you! How its does that…I don’t really know. It could merely take your mind and force you to take your life. Or…if it finds you it could literally tear you apart. It will leave nothing but deformed body parts and crushed bones; it will even steal your soul.”

“You’re supposed to be helping!” I urged him.

“Its important you know the truths, Daniel. You came here for information, so I’m providing it.”

“So, what now?” I asked. The taste of bile had returned.

“Your Mother escaped as a child, along with her Mother…right?”

I agreed. “My Grandma died not long after, but my Mom never did say how. She only said it was sudden.”

“And your Mother had never experienced demonic entities, any unexplained illnesses, bad luck, miscarriages?”

“Not that I’m aware. She never really talked about her past. She hid it away in a small tin.”

“The tin in which Mr Winters destroyed?” he put in.

“The contents. I still have the tin.”

“I see.”

I watched him think from the corner of my eye, connecting the pieces.

“As we know, your Mother wasn’t affected by this evil. However, I think that your Grandmother was. I think this is why she died so suddenly.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Free will?” he said, and turned to me as if to continue.

“Carl mentioned free will, that it was a curse.”

Father Thomas added, “And you had the key to let yourself in. It was your choice. Just as it was your Grandmothers choice when she moved into the house. She and your Grandfather knew nothing about what was ahead. But as soon as your Grandfather took the bait, it was too late. But
your
Mother was born into that house; there was no choice. She had no free will, therefore she wasn’t affected. Or infected, as it were, by the evils that became.” Father Thomas stood. “Wait right there.” He marched towards the front of the church, disappearing through a door, reappearing five minutes later. In his hand was a plain brown leather book. He sat back down, turned and smiled, showing the book to me as though he had won a trophy.

“It’s…a book,” I said, perplexed.

“Yes, it’s a book!” He opened it, flicked through the pages, feverishly, but carefully, and then he stopped. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, and whacked the pages with the palm of his hand. “Think of this, if you will? There are objects that symbolise certain things, shapes or artefacts that are associated with a story or myth. A box, a chalice, a stone, a painting, or even - in this case - a mirror, are all items that have been connected with evil. Think of Pandoras box from Greek mythology. Although the box was actually a large jar, it’s what it symbolises. Temptation. The need to want to peer inside, to test our very own curiosities. Like an itch that needs scratching, the box would be hard to resist. Inside it would contain all the evils of the world. But until its open, no one would know.”

“Just like the mirror?” I added.

“Just like the mirror,” Father Thomas nodded. “Our very own Pandoras box. One look would be deeply catastrophic to the individual. And extremely powerful, too. Its energy would overwhelm and absorb. In fact, I would guess that anyone who stares into the mirror would become the devils servant.”

“So, how can it be destroyed,” I asked.

“It can’t,” he expressed.

“It can’t!” I spat. “
So what the hell am I doing here? What help are you?
”

“I’m so sorry, Daniel.”

I stood and pushed passed him.

The Father said, “I suppose you could convince Mr Winters into burying the mirror again. He unearthed it; I suspect he is the only one who can hide it. But why would he?”

“He tried that!” I shouted. “He buried it and it kept on coming back!”

“He wouldn’t bury it, Daniel. He’s lying. If he’s become witness to whats inside the mirror, then he’s gone! Why would he give up all that power?”

“No…I suppose he wouldn’t,” I said. “All doors are closed, then. If Carl Winters is the only person who can stop this…its over.”

“I’m so very sorry, Daniel. But, listen…I’ll look into it; I might find something new. How do I contact you?”

“You can’t. I don’t have a place to stay at the moment.”

“Do you have a cell phone, then?”

I confirmed that I did, and gave him my number, but I didn’t think I would hear from him. I walked out of the church, all hope lost. The sun light stung my eyes. I needed to sleep, and thought about surrendering myself to the dreams, and let Carl take me. I heard the echoes of Father Thomas’s apologies as I breathed in the air from the steps.

***

Nine days have passed. I try not to sleep; it could prove fatal. But sometimes I do; its unavoidable. I feel as though he watches me - and by
he
I mean
them:
Carl Winters and his demon. They’re waiting to pounce and kill me. I know they are.

I check the news and there is nothing on me. Nothing on the television, in the newspapers; even the internet is void. I wonder why.

Where are the police? Is it possible the old man’s playing tricks? Are they really dead? Or is doubting their deaths a trick? Is that what he guides me to believe, to make me go back? The man who may or may not be dead!

I feel lonely; the little faith I had is being stretched by something I can neither see nor touch and it’s putting a divide between what I did believe and what I’m starting to believe. And in that divide is an emptiness so dark that the only salvation from its depths is to absorb it. I have tried thinking of good in this emptiness, but it seems that badness has a stronger hold. In the divide, this dark void, there is no good, no evil. It was far worse. And I felt alone.

I no longer know the difference between being awake or asleep.

I remember the first time I opened the door of the house; there was a loud ticking of a clock. I keep on hearing that clock, now. And I have become to loath that sound, because it means that more of me is dead. Not long now, I fear.

Eventually, it will take me, all of me. Of course it will. The old man had warned there was no escaping it. Most of me got out of that house, but now I’m being dragged back kicking and screaming.

The Pacemaker has had no real impact though; he just watches. Most of the time I don’t see, but I know he’s there, like a peeping Tom up a tree, spying on my every move. I know he’s going to act, though, attack in a way I wish not to visualise. But my imagination concedes to the blood and the anarchy of the next few days, and I wish I was
dead!

That house, that mirror, holds on to me like a noose around my neck. Every time I close my eyes, the noose gets tighter.

I can’t breath.

I think about moving on; drive down to New York or further inland. How much can I escape this thing? But I decide to stay; no more running. It can take me, or it can’t. The hypothetical chain that is locked around my ankle thickens and strengthens and tightens. The cold metal pulls, scorches my skin like a branding iron. My flesh feels like it’s expanding, stretched to the limits, and my insides could be ripped through my flesh at any moment.

I took a drive towards the beach. I pulled over, get out of the car and lean against the warm hood. I stared out at the ocean, listen to the calming sound of the sea, a breeze brushing at my ears. My phone vibrated in my back pocket. The number is unknown, but I answer it anyway.

“Hello?” I asked, with a long sigh.

“Daniel? Daniel…it’s me. Father Thomas.”

“Oh…hi,” I pushed off the car and walked towards a shallow wall that separated the road from the beach.

“I sincerely hope you’ve been holding up,” the Father said.

“I’m ok,” although I wasn’t.

“Is that so? Anyway, I told you that I’d call if I found anything new.”

“And you have?” I urged.

“I most certainly think I have, Daniel. Can you make it down here? It’s half past six; can you make it down here for eight?”

“I can,” I said. “I can come earlier if you want?” I think that he detected the tone in my voice as somewhat hopeful.

“No, no, eights just fine,” he assured. “The church will be open. Just walk in and shout; I’ll hear you.”

“Ok, see you then,” I confirmed.

“Daniel? I’m not making any promises…just want to make that clear.”

“No…I understand.” I replaced the phone to my back pocket and looked out at the sea. I am optimistic that some good will come from this. For the first time there is a glimmer of a future.

I make it to the church half an hour early. The building was open just like he had told me, and I walk through the double doors. Both isles were empty and I could see no sign of Father Thomas.

I called his name, my voice echoing between the quietness of the walls.

I began to call again when the Father shouted, “Yes, Daniel! Is it that time already?”

“No, sorry! I couldn’t wait.”

“I suppose you couldn’t,” he chuckled. “Come down to the front, the door on the right.”

I jogged down the isle, stopped and spun around. I checked the wooden benches and listened. I was sure I had heard something, like a rustling of paper or the crunching of dried leaves and a smell of damp that I hadn’t noticed in the church. But I couldn’t see anything. I started to head forward when I saw a blurred shadow move rapidly across the wall and then evaporate into the stone. But a moment before it disappeared, it stopped and looked over its shoulder, its distorted face wrapped in torn cloth. One eye was covered; the other was red and veiny white, and stared right at me, recognising me, knowing who I was. Then it was gone, a long ragged arm the last to fade into the stone. I ran to the room where Father Thomas was.

He was sat at his desk and peered at me over lowered spectacles. He recognised the concern on my face. He removed them and stated, “You’re like a sheet!”

I swallowed hard and checked behind me. “It was here!” I gasped. “The Pacemaker.”

The Father stood, knocking over his chair. “Here, in the church of our Lord! Thats quite impossible. We’re protected here.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He thought about it and said, “This is the church of our Lord,” as though this was enough explanation.

“Yes, you said that! And I swear to you, it was here!”

The Father picked up his chair. He looked down into his books and sank into his seat. He looked defeated. He removed his spectacled, rubbing his eyes, then replace them to his face. “Then we need to work fast. If it’s here, then it’s here for a reason.”

“It’s going to
kill
me!” I yelled.

“Shhh! Quiet! If it wanted you, it could take you at anytime.” He opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, but shook his head instead. “It’s here because it needs to be, because something has changed.” He struck the desk with his fist. “Because it is threatened by what I have to tell you!” His tone was louder, but still to a whisper.

I heard dried leaves being crushed. The noise seemed to be coming from the wall, behind where Father Thomas was standing. He heard it also because he tilted his head to listen. He reached out on his desk for a folded sheet of paper and handed it to me.

“Just in case…” He sounded ominous. “…I’ve scribbled down a few notes. There may or may not be relevant.” Dust crumbled from the wall and the rustling was louder. The father raised his voice a little, no longer a whisper. “But one thing is for sure, Daniel. You must go back to that house, and you must…”

A large bandaged hand reached out from inside the wall. It came out so fast that Father Thomas didn’t stand a chance. It grabbed at his clothes and pulled him against the stone. The Father tried to get out his words, but another arm exited the wall and wrapped around the Fathers waist. It pulled at him with so much violence that I heard his spine break and head crack. I took a backward step. I couldn’t help him. He was dead.

Just before I left, I saw the Pacemakers bandaged face manifest from the stone. It stared right at me. It told me that I was next, although it said nothing through words. There was so much information from a stare. And then, with an eye still on me, as if it was examining my reaction, it took him. It pulled him through the wall as if the stone was a colander, separating flesh from bone, leaving on the floor nothing but blood and torn flesh and broken bones.

I escaped through the church, hearing the sound of dried leaves following me. Dust crumbled from the walls as I left; the Pacemaker was pursuing me through the stone. The doors slammed before I reach the exit. I tried to open them, but they wouldn’t budge. I heard him from behind. I spun around and it was standing in front of me; the cross of Christ was on the wall far behind it. The only way out was to get passed him. But I couldn’t. If he got me, he’d tear me apart. I was witness to that; I knew how easy it would be for it to rip apart my body. I was trapped. I stepped back against the doors and tried opening them from behind my back. They were too solid to tease a rattle from them. They were fixed.