~^~^Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns the characters, I do not. I only like to make them a little 'mad'. *laughs* No disrespect is intended. Whatever views you have are your prerogative, as a writer my responsibility is to write. I must add that this story won a contest, judge's choice I think. An overall nice experience.~^~^
They tell us that the boogey man doesn't exist, as children; we are to close our eyes and count to ten. It'll all go away, only it doesn't. Growing up, we don't check our closets or under the bed, we don't wake up to footsteps outside the door, and we lose a tad bit of fear. But fear cannot be denied, cannot be ignored, and unfortunately sometimes, we learn of this too late. As adults, our brains learn to reason everything and the unreasonable is thrown in the cellar with the little lost child; forgotten and desolated. Is it enough to keep the bad man at bay or are we living day to day in a childhood fantasy more than we realized?
This is where we start. For the short time our lives have intercepted, I bid for you to listen and not judge; to remain calm and when the end nears, to grieve for the characters.
This story begins within a house. Years of neglect have claimed our particular house, its shoulders sagged to one side, and its shutters seem sunken to the ground, as if it has had years of night terrors and no sleep. Barely, has the door withstood the harsh elements and more amazingly enough, the hinges have yet to give. Dark and musty smells cling to the walls. Decay and sickly comes to mind but its normal; everything withers eventually.
Walking the floor creaks in protest, climbing the stairs the entire house moans in pain, and striding to the farthest room of the west wing, a gust of wind embraces us. Pushing away from the small cubicle of a room, it's talking, unbelievably the house speaks. It wants to tell us of its woes, of the years of its abuse, of its memories, and humbly, we listen with bated breath.
Priest Edward Cullen sat in one of the first church pews; he sat unmoving in a neutral peace of mind with the great imposing cross looking down on him. Like the statues that adorned the inner walls, he sat without emotion. There was no praying, no benevolence, and the inner turmoil was muted off. In a way, he mused, he was as unwelcome as anyone that came to preach and came knocking was welcomed in a Catholic's home.
Not once long ago, he would have been on his knees, humbling himself before God. Asking for mercy, pleading for guidance or sometimes just meditating on the realm of peace and high that praying created. Only alone did he feel at home, he was back in his childhood days where everything was 'right'. There were bad days and even worst days that pushed him towards oblivion, but he always found his path right back to God. He wondered what went wrong, but he was even more terrified to learn the truth. Whatever the truth entailed.
As a newbie in the religious world, he believed he'd been chosen. Not some narcissistic or ego filled thought, he really did believe God had chosen him to follow in His footsteps. Nothing short of verbally calling out his name, maybe the feeling of belonging and that security he found in church were to blame for. Perhaps he'd always been an idiotic child filled up with thoughts too grand for him to understand, and this sense of displacement was God's way of telling him: "Fuck you."
Only back then it didn't feel like flip of the finger, then it felt like destiny. Until he couldn't deny his calling any longer. It was with relief that he became initiated onto the religious path. An ordaining, to follow a life of sacrifice; an ultimate sacrifice to all human calling and to relegate the needs of the flesh for servitude. It was a burden; a holy one. It was a hard life, the constant struggle between the good and the bad. Since early on, he had to be wary of temptations. His thoughts became a landmine that could propel him into hell, needless to say it was a dangerous path and the stakes couldn't be higher. He was, after all, fighting for his soul and everyone put in his path as well.
A loud bang interrupted his thoughts. From the grand double doors someone entered. He didn't look towards the entrance, but continued to keep silent. Footsteps shuffled and plop after plop echoed back from the walls as water-filled shoes strode towards him. The figure came to stand before him; clad in black. but the lightning wasn't much in the empty church.
Recognition flickered when he looked toward the man. It was Police Chief Charlie Swan. He tried to keep the frown from his face, but the truth was that the Chief wasn't one to go regularly to church. Only two or three times had he seen Charlie in one of his services in the whole five years he'd been preaching to this congregation.
He wasn't the type of Priest to hold that against other people. He knew battles were fought on every realm. Going to church didn't mean you'd get a free pass into heaven. It just meant that you were active in the raging war against evil and good. Or maybe it didn't mean anything at all. Maybe the good and the bad had already been decided and the ants in the anthill just didn't know it. But, that also meant that there were wolves among the sheep.
The Chief's knees gave away. He gave a startled cry when Charlie's frigid hands took hold of his clammy ones. He watched a broken man, for Charlie Swan was the perfect example of a broken man. His eyes filled with pity, why he had no clear idea, but as head of the church whose roof sheltered them, he was reminded of his responsibility.
Sobs wretched free from Charlie, "Pl-.. Please help me, father."
People, in general, only sought God and the Church in the times of need. When their own capabilities failed them or where there was nowhere else to go to, but wasn't that true of the believer and non-believer. Don't we cry out to 'something' to give us strength? Christians solely attach the God title to that 'something'. It was a disturbing thought; it held a note of truth, which he ignored.
Nodding his head, Father Cullen placed one hand on Charlie's shoulders. The respected and teenager-feared Chief of Police cried. Gasping for air, Charlie cried and sobbed into Father Cullen's robes uncontrollably as his body racked with sobbing tremors.
Once Charlie was had spent all tears available, he was ushered into a small office. Father Edward felt that the Saints were resting and didn't want to hear a broken man; it was better to let them be.
"Father, my daughter..." he seemed wary and not completely comfortable, "She's... she's been possessed. I know it sounds like bullsh-." the Chief flushed deeply, "I'm sorry."
Father Edward merely nodded and smiled.
Earnestly Charlie said, "I know it sounds unbelievable, but it's true just the same Father."
Even as his head nodded, Edward felt like he was in a bad dream. Not a nightmare, but the kind of dream that diffuses what's real and what's not. He felt his heart plummeting, for a millisecond; he didn't want to be in the church. He didn't want to be a priest and he definitely didn't want to be Father Edward Cullen.
His skepticism must have shown on his face because Charlie was on his feet in a flash and grabbing hold of Father Edward with desperation. Fists locked around the clergy's shirt, Charlie drew him toward him until they were nose to nose.
He doubted the Chief of Police would have hurt him, but he had been taught that people were never what they appeared to be. Countless of times, he had been proven wrong, inside a confession box where masks were taken off. Out in the real world, those masks were the only real thing that mattered.
"I am not lying." then in a whisper, "Please believe me."
Exorcisms or demonic possessions were not unheard off, but they just didn't happen in a small town like Forks. It was mostly in third world countries, not here. Not in a developing country who valued reason and intelligence above everything else, it just wasn't conceivable. Still he agreed, against his better judgment, to meet with the Chief's daughter. Not because he believed he could even offer the needed support that Charlie was obviously seeking, but because Charlie represented why he couldn't give up on God just yet. He'd go with Charlie and make sure his claims were true and if they were, he'd try to help. If he wasn't strong enough, he had been told to run. Run as fast and far away as his two feet would carry him.
But he would try to help. It was because of the people of his congregation that he was hanging over the dark edge that separated him from hell and heaven. What kept him from hanging over his title and his place, but even if his faith was sailing down the drain, those that believed in Him merited guidance. They didn't deserve him baling out on them. He understood that much, everything else he may have believed had changed to a different language, but he understood at least that much.
The following evening, Father Edward packed his only personal Bible, his amice with the cross, some holy water, and rosary beads into a black doctor-like bag. Thirty two years old and he was old school, even for those that claimed to be older than forty. With resolution and on a fast, Father Cullen left the church and headed for the Swan's residence.
Coming up the driveway, Father Cullen made his way into the Swans house. It was a well appointed house nestled and secured by the green vegetation. A family house, but for the cold drafts that emanated from the structure. A family home was supposed to be welcoming, only this wasn't.
Muffled whimpers made Father Edward's head whip around to the source of the sound. He came upon a heart wrenching scene that made his knees buckle. Strapped to a tree was a golden retriever. The dog was coated with torrents of blood. Now dried, it made the scene much more inhumane. Both hind legs were a mixture of blood, bone, and fur; nothing could be distinguished from the gruesome mixture.
He leaned in for a much closer inspection, silently hoping for a sign to tell him that it was a joke. Perhaps for someone to jump from behind the tree, smiling and apologizing... it had all been a prank. Only no one jumped from behind the tree and the jelly-fucked-up dog was beyond salvation. Where its member was supposed to be, animal waste oozed out of only God knew where, mixing in with the other mixtures. It smelled awful. Turning, he vomited behind a poor excuse of a bush.
On his knees, Father Cullen didn't know what to do. His fingers trembled as he wiped sweat from his brow. He thought about calling for help, but the dog had a glossy look to its eyes and its breaths were shallow. Father Cullen knew no doctor had the chance of helping the animal, but he was still undecided as to what to do. As he watched helplessly, the golden retriever gave a blood curdling scream when Father Cullen tried to free him. It was a human scream.
His blood turned cold, and foolishly, he wondered if dogs really went to heaven. Thinking about Sunday school, he recalled the movie for children about dogs; it felt wrong to think of it. Yet, he hoped so. For the little dog, he fervently hoped so. Father Cullen draped his coat around the animal to keep from looking into two innocent eyes. He feared the dog would know it was to breathe its last, and so with a firm grip he locked both hands onto the dog's pharynx, cutting off the air and with that, its suffering. He didn't allow himself to think about the consequences, but acted on instinct. Doing what he felt was right at the time and worry about the eternal consequences later. Later in dreams and waking hours, those two innocent pools would disturb his sleep. Questioning, always questioning if what he did was right.
As he got on his feet, his black robes felt heavy with blood but he hoped no one would notice the stains. The stains of his soul were easy to hide. Before he even knocked, he was welcomed and ushered into the Swan's residence. Everything inside the house seemed muffled. No stove on. No noise coming from the television either and their breaths could easily be discerned. It felt out of place in a family house.
He was lead up the stairs, through the narrow hallway and stopped before a wooden door. The priest was not prepared. He wasn't prepared for the sight of a sixteen year old tied down to a bed. He might have been on his toes about the absence of air in the room, but the sight of a child with nothing but hatred in her gaze robbed him of breath; only to change before his eyes into an innocent child.
Smiling widely, the child beckoned with only her eyes as if it was a normal day and she wasn't the one tied down to the bed's bedpost. As if she wasn't the one that inspired fear.
"Who is he daddy? Why is he here, daddy?" there was no mistaking the entity within her was playing a game.
Beside the bed, in a darkened corner, her mother rocked back and forth. She kept repeating the mantra, "That's not my child."
Despair was etched on her features giving her a haunted, almost maddening look. She desperately was looking to her husband and Father Cullen for support or denial as she repeated, "that's not my baby."
"Mama is having an episode." Isabella Swan confided, but spoke of it like it didn't merit overall concern.
"We were playing a game of truth or dare…wanna play Father?" Father was said with malice.
He shook his head. Studying Isabella at a safe distance, he made mental note of the girl. She was a pretty girl, not what you would call an eye blinding beauty, but she was fairly pretty. He was a man after all, being a Father and preacher didn't mean he wasn't a man. And Isabella Swan was pretty. She had mid-length hair; it wasn't long but it wasn't short either. She was on the thin side, and she didn't look to be very tall. But at the moment, she sported deep bags under her dark eyes. He wasn't sure if the lightning in the room prevented the girl's eyes from looking brown, but as a brunette, he was sure Isabella's eyes were brown and not the lifeless, coal black as they appeared at the moment.
Isabella cocked her head to the side, "Are you here to take my confession. It's very long..." her eyes narrowed, "I wouldn't finish. You know that, don't you Father?"
He doubted they were talking about confession.
Nodding, he said, "I'm here to find out Isabella."
"Bella." she corrected, "We don't like Isabella."
"Who is we?"
She winked and laughed a brittle laugh, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
It gave him goosebumps, but he remained neutral to any outside spectator. His eyes strayed to a glass of water by the nightstand.
"Want some water, Father?" It was an innocent enough question, but the way her eyes locked onto his every move made him uncomfortable. He hadn't felt this way since his earlier days as a young preacher, when the words would lodge in his throat and the glottal and vocal cords refused to work. It felt like those days all over again. Only now, the only judgmental eyes were two black orbs of hate instead of dozens upon dozens of eyes that screamed for him to lock up and quit.
"No thank you, my child."
The thing rebelled, "WE ARE NOT YOUR CHILDREN!"
Her face contorted in hate. There was no resemblance to the child he had been talking to, but he acknowledged the nice little girl had been an act. Now the cards were out in the open.
"Bella," Renee said in anguish.
Isabella turned to her mother, "Bella isn't here you stupid fuck! We're here! And Bella's ours, we won't give her up!" she sneered.
The thing inside Bella was intent on watching her mother, and relished when her mother shrank back and was reduced to nothing but a sniveling and broken woman. He thought that fear and terror gave it a sort of high, and he was probably right. He didn't want to find out just how right he was though. He would not allow himself to be its next victim.
Renee gingerly stood up and excused herself, gazing at the door as one might gaze at a lover. After the initial thirty minutes, Bella refused to speak. Charlie invited Father Edward into the sanctuary of the kitchen, feeling it was the farthest away from Bella's room for the much needed break.
Sitting in the cozy kitchen, they talked for a while.
Renee and Charlie explained how from one day to the next, Bella changed overnight. Nothing out of the ordinary happened to trigger such a change, a menacing and dramatic change. Both parents seemed befuddled and more than a little scared. No, a better word to describe both parents would be terror. If you want to conjure an image, then imagine a lab rat with nowhere else to go. A rat forced to endure whatever its captor demanded of it and placed upon it.
They were both terrified. Looking at the couple, he could have sworn them to be on their mid thirties, but now they seemed to have aged significantly since the last he had seen them, more like middle aged. Could they have aged so much in such a little time? The black bags under their pleading eyes seem to say yes. Perhaps they were terrified because on some level, they didn't know what was going on or what fate held for their beloved Isabella.
"That's not my girl up there, father." Renee repeated it as if it were the lifeline that would bring her daughter back.
She kept on talking, drowning out the noise and racket coming from upstairs, "She would never say those things. Not my baby girl." she looked at Edward with pleading eyes. "Not my little baby."
Charlie went to comfort her, but she shrank away from him. He made a note of her behavior. Sometimes, because of psychological imbalance in the family home, kids were the most susceptible. Could that have something to do with Bella and her predicament?
Sometime after nine in the evening, he excused himself and placed some calls to his superiors. He did this to gain permission and notify higher powers of the possible case of a genuine demonic possession. It was routine and mandatory, but he hoped to be done with the official business quickly. He felt an overpowering draw to Bella.
In a way, both of them were tied down and a whimsical part of him imagined Bella confined somewhere in her body, maybe in an ethereal form. Beginning to be released, yelling and not being heard, he was intent on freeing her.
Church formalities had a way of annoying Father Edward. That was why he was stuck in a small town and not in a fancy city church. He felt safer away from the power that others strived toward coveted. Or so he told himself, a means of protection against the outside world.
The sun was partly obscured behind clouds when he arrived at the Swan's. No response had reached him from either the Vatican or his superiors; it made him edgy.
Again, he was taken to Bella's room. The décor hadn't changed, but he noticed the bed sheets had been changed. He hesitated at the threshold of the room; an overwhelming need to pray took hold of him. He shrugged it off, not because he didn't want to pray, but because he suddenly didn't know how.
Bella's face was drained of color, it was paler than the day before and the bags under her eyes were more pronounced. Underneath her sleep shirt, he noticed red nail streaks running the length of her chest. He feared for more bodily harm done to Bella's body, but he was careful to keep his thoughts and manners in check.
The night before, he had done some research in demonic possessions. An ocean of garbage came from the internet, but a handful offered him a little insight. His meager collection of books offered some information, but mostly he was on his own. He didn't share this with Isabella's parents, nor did he mention that the Vatican took months to study and analyze each single case. More often than not, only a very few were given the green light to commence in an exorcism.
"Would you care to join me and pray?" he asked as he got on his knees.
Charlie hesitated, "Do we have to get on our knees?"
Edward motioned with his hand, "all up to you, Charlie. Whatever makes you comfortable."
When they took their positions, he began and they recited. "Every day I need you Lord, but this day especially, I need some extra strength. Strength to face whatever is to be. This day more than any day. I need to feel You near. To fortify my courage and to overcome my fear. By myself, I cannot meet the challenge of the hour. There are times when humans need help, but we need a higher p-..."
"He doesn't hear you Eddy boy." Bella crooned interrupting them, "He's turned blind and deaf to your empty pleas. He doesn't see; He has abandoned ship... a sunken ship."
Her head did a 90 degree turn. "But you know this, right? You know it in your soul. You pray, but you no longer believe."
With her tongue, she licked her lips. How sweet it smells. Indecision and fear were of the sweetest nectar in the nostrils of this demon.
"Bella, come back to us." her mother pleaded.
Bella's hatred filled glare turned towards her mother. "She isn't here! We don't want you anymore you stupid bitch!"
"She doesn't love you." Spit flew everywhere and most of it hit Renee in the face. She couldn't take it, with one heave she was up, on her feet, and out the door. Sobbing as she slammed the door behind her, unable to look at her daughter.
Charlie gave a small shrug and a grim resigned smile as if to say; you know how it is. Only Edward did know how it was and he didn't hold it against a grieving mother. Strength tests us in troubling times, that never meant that some weaker than others as much as it meant that mothers sometimes couldn't stand the burden nor fight the battle.
"What about you, daddy? Are you going to run away like a fucking coward too?"
Charlie averted his eyes, but Edward saw the anguish there.
He nodded to Charlie, and they both ignored a seething Bella. "But there are times when human creatures need a higher power."
She hummed, "99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer. Take one down and pass it around."
"To bear what must be borne."
"98 beaks of crows at your feet, 98 beaks of crows. Rip one out and pass it about."
"and so dear Lord, I pray- hold on to my trembling hand."
She was close to shouting, "97 dicks on a stick. 97 dicks on a stick! Cut one off and watch it bleed!"
And be near me today... Amen."
"96 demons at your door. 96 demons at your door! Let them in, hear them knock, and here they are to stay!" laughing hysterically, foam escaped from her mouth as spittle drained from both corners.
Charlie tripped over himself as he reached to clean his daughter's mouth, but Edward barred his way and shook his head.
What they saw or heard now wasn't what the thing inside of Bella was capable off. He could feel the hate, but his gut told him it wasn't exploited to its maximum. It was a matter of time before it decided to show its ungodly face.
"W-... wat-.. water, please." Bella's throat sounded raspy and he felt guilty. Surely one sip of water couldn't hurt. He leaned over and reached for the vase that held the water. He didn't notice Bella had gotten one hand free from the tight grip of the knot that held her against the bedpost.
The free arm snaked itself underneath his body. With inhumane strength, he was slammed into the bedpost. Dismayed and shocked, he couldn't move. She pulled him to her side. He tried to wriggle free, but she clamped one hand on his thigh. Nails dug deep and he was sure they drew blood. At one point, he actually screamed in surprise, but it wasn't loud enough to attract attention.
With her free hand, she took advantage as he was focused on his pain and drew his hand to her breast. Father Edward didn't know what was going on until he felt his hand cup around something soft, warm, and round. She arched her back, thrusting her breast into his palm.
"Like that Father?" she sneered.
He flew backwards repulsed, the door prevented further escape. He snatched his hand and hid it behind his back. Charlie looked on the verge of tears, so Edward took several deep breaths and composed himself.
"Don't listen to what she says. Don't pay attention to it. Don't look at its eyes." he squeezed Charlie's shoulder, "That is not your daughter."
"That is not your daughter and you have to remember that." he put pressure on the next words and annunciated them slowly with purpose, "promise me Charlie."
As Charlie nodded, Bella wrenched free of her restraints. He fought hard and refrained from cursing in blasphemy. Wrists bleeding from her wounds and arms flailing, she threw herself at Charlie. Raking his face with her nails, calling forth blood and a wail from Charlie's lips.
It wasn't enough, Edward tried to get her off of Charlie, but she backhanded him and he was reminded of the strength she possessed. Thankfully, it was enough to draw her attention from Charlie. She backed away from him and back onto the bed. She began licking at the blood that coated her nails in a bad imitation of nail polish.
Rocking back and forth, she turned her nails on herself. One trembling hand traced the contours of her face, leaving behind bloody trails where her nails had been. First one hand, then the other until both hands were both bathed in blood.
Edward went to restrain her, but she threw the vase of water, aiming it at his head.
"We know." It shook Bella's head, "We know a lot, Father."
"Be gone demon!"
The blood must have unleashed the true demon because in those instances, Bella was not there. Nothing remained of Bella. Even the voice that had first spoken to him now seemed ragged and coming from twenty or more different sources, not just one. Different octaves and pitches, haunting with each word that was uttered out of Bella's contorted mouth.
"Don't listen to him daddy." it continued its rocking motion. "Help us daddy! Make him go away!" it was through playing games, "Go away! Go away! Go away!"
It turned its diabolic eyes onto Edward, "Prick! Prick! Go away! Come again some other day! Little Legion wants to play!"
As its guttural voice sang, the temperature of the room began descending.
"We do not fear you Demon!" he turned to the sky and recited from Psalms by memory, "By the help of God, I will praise His word; on God I will lean, rely, and confidently put my trust; I will not fear. What can man, who is flesh, do to me?"
It gave a harsh laugh, "But we aren't flesh Father! We are those that 'Then went the devils out of the man, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the lake, and were choked.'" it was more than twenty voices. He guessed it was more than fifty. "But we weren't choked…we will never die. As long as humans will allow us, we will always live within the hurt and broken."
It cocked its head to one side, "We are everywhere, in everything, in every thought, in every deed, even the good ones." those eyes suddenly felt too knowledgeable.
"You are right to fear Father..." the demon began to rub herself against the bed. Friction made her nightshirt inevitably climb up her thighs and to her hips as she continued. Her undergarments were visible. He was embarrassed for the young girl when yellow stains became visible. By the looks of it, she had had more than one accident. Yet, what disturbed Edward the most was what came out of its mouth.
Spit and foam mixed with a red substance that trickled out of its mouth. He briefly wondered if it was blood. "Why Eddy? What is it to you? Didn't I tell you to never lose your path? What is to you if the world wants to burn? The white socks with the white boy! What is it to you if I want to kill? Naughty, Naughty boy! Don't turn your back to me! I'm talking to you!" Cackling laughter rang out in the voice and tenure of his mother.
It was the same demented laugh that accompanied her into what he hoped were the gates to heaven. She hadn't been herself then, slowly her brain deteriorated and in a way, she found release in madness. It was reasonable. It felt doubly wrong and evil for the demon to use his mother in its twisted game.
"Why? Why are you doing this Bella? Why are you saying that?" Charlie asked.
Thinking of his dead mother, Edward whispered to himself. "We all go a little mad sometimes."
On instinct, Edward started reciting verses from the Bible and prayers from the church, until he couldn't tell one from the other.
"O Jesus! Life Spring of the soul!
The Father's Power and Glory bright!
Thee with the Angels we extol;
From thee they draw their life and light."
"Petty mortal, do you not know we are many? Too many for God to control, too many for us to be chained, and it is we who rebel! The abyss of the Condemned isn't enough to hold us! It never will!"
"The Lord is my Sheppard, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down beneath green pastures, He leads me besides quiet waters, He restoreth my soul, He guides me in the path of righteousness for His name's sake."
"It is fear from us that keeps you awake at night. Turning to your deaf God; turning to your blind doll!" It turned its gaze to the sky and shouted, "You're going to die up there!"
"Thy thousand, thousand hosts are spread
Embattled o'er the azure sky;
But Michael bears thy standard dread,
And lifts the mighty Cross on high."
"But we never tire, we never die. We are in the light, but thrive in the dark. Fed by your fears; the sweet nectar of our existence. We are contemno lust, cupiditas, ira, rabies, vulnero, poena, dedecus proudness, quod invidia! We are what you are; one without the other is half of what it should be!"
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me."
"For our name is LEGION!...לגיון!" From the outside, thunder made the house rumble. It was as if thousandths of rocks decided to pebble the house at once, as if they were all judging the structure.
"Charlie get Renee!" things were moving much too fast for Edward. For once he thought, Damn the Vatican and their never ending protocols! The demon inside Bella wasn't like the others, which were no more than minions to higher powers. This demon was so important that it had its own Biblical name, thousandths of books written of it in many languages ranging from Hebrew and Latin to the most unnamed language. Translations that varied, but held the same essential theme of the demons evilness and disgust for anything Holy or good.
He wasn't to waste precious time. The whole sky seemed expectant to fall upon them. He was once again back with the other priests, where he was still filled with love and expectation, believing that God would always triumph. Filled with euphoria, he believed that he and the
Almighty One could be victorious against Satan himself. He desperately thought back to that young man and he was afraid because he couldn't remember himself back then. Something wanted him to yell into the heavens that it wasn't him. That he was sorry, but he couldn't remember why he was sorry or to who he'd be pleading that he was sorry at.
He threw himself against the withering and thrashing Bella. She was pinned, but she kept trying in vain to bite him. He guarded against most of the bites but she was successful in biting him in his left shoulder. Edward emitted a pain filled cry. He reached for vial holy water and rolling with it in his hands, he rolled onto his side away from the bed. Clutching it, he reached with his other hand for his cross and Bible.
He managed to get them both out as Renee and Charlie reached the bedroom. If just a day ago, he had thought them terrified; now he would say there were ready to do as their daughter had done the past few days and piss their pants. It wasn't comical.
Crossing the threshold only seemed to anger Bella, and she began to direct her frustration at them.
"Are you happy MOMMY!" it kept thrashing, but in this instance, Renee didn't flee. Perhaps she too felt the electrical charged air that kept warning of something. "Are you happy you bitch! Fuck up Charlie, you know you want to. Stab him, maim him, and hurt him!"
It pointed to the bedside with Bella's head. "Go... go for the scissors. Fuck that motherfucker up!" Twenty laughs from one being, twenty or more diabolic voices emanating from a teenager's body.
"What I say, you repeat!" Edward had to yell over Bella's laughs and the sounds outside the house. Renee and Charlie nodded in agreement.
"Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered: and let them that hate Him flee from before His face."
Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered: and let them that hate Him flee from before His face, they repeated.
At the top of its lungs it sang, "95 miners lie still in mine, 95 miners lie still! Eat one out and pass it around!"
"Hold hands!" He instructed. "As smoke vanishes, so let them vanish away: as wax melts before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God!"
As smoke vanishes, so let them vanish away: as wax melts before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God!
"94 fucks in a truck! 94 fucks in a truck! The hump and bump rocks the truck!" It was throwing up blood. Currents and torrents of red, slimy vomit mixed in with other bodily fluids, landing mostly on their persons and on Edwards Bible. But he was reciting from memory; if it got that kind of response from the demon then he figured he was doing something right.
"He recited, "Behold the Cross of the Lord! Flee, bands of enemies."
He recited, "Behold the Cross of the Lord! Flee, bands of enemies.
Laughing and gurgling, she was bleeding by the wrists again and all the self mutilation was in plain evidence. Now more than ever, he wanted to blast the demon or demons back to hell where they belonged.
"The Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Offspring of David, has conquered."
The Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Offspring of David, has conquered.
"94 Fathers in a church, 94 Fathers in a church! Kid in hand and pants undone!"
"May Thy mercy descend upon us."
May Thy mercy descend upon us.
Bella was now bleeding from both ears and eyes. Big tears of blood streaked down her cheeks.
"As great as our hope in Thee."
As great as our hope in The-.
Renee gave a big wail of pure pain, it broke through Edward's concentration, but he held fast. Held on with an iron grip as he seemed unable to hold through his faith.
"In the name of Jesus Christ I command you to be gone!" a sort of frenzy took hold of Edward and he only remembered the constant times he invoked the name of Jesus Christ, the Lord's, and the Holy Spirit.
"She is ours! From the depths we have been called. From the depths we have come to claim our prize. For we are many!"
Every time he did so, the bed shook, the shutters banged, and the windows seemed on the verge of imploding.
Renee and Charlie took Father Edward's cue and in that moment, became believers. Believing and hoping with all their heart and soul that God would help them. In that instant, they truly believed that God would appear and like in a movie, He'd battle the demons out of their daughter.
But that wasn't what happened. Perhaps the blame is on Father Edward's shoulders who attempted and invoked words that should have help no power as he no longer believed. Or perhaps it was his lack of faith that was the true problem, and not the possessed child. Could Bella's possession have been a test for Edward Cullen to test his faith in time of need, in time of danger?
Yet, maybe it had nothing to do with Edward. Maybe it was the parent's fault because they never believed in their hearts and when they finally believed, it was too late.
Or, humor me for the last time; it was Isabella Swan's destiny to perish as a possessed child. She was after all guilty of one thing. In a curious way, she set off to Quileute land. With her iPod in hand and sturdy boots to lead the way, she wandered off for hours. Midway, she realized she was utterly lost. She didn't freak out but decided to lay back and enjoy the scenery.
Once she was ready to set out and find her way back to her car, her favorite song came on.
She didn't know, and how could she, that the land she was standing on was sacred land. Land forgotten by the very Quileute's and many generations. Land that housed the strongest and more venerated chiefs and more importantly, the Wise Ones. Elders that protected the tribe. Elders that commanded respect, and did not take lightly some teenager dancing on their grave. They had blessed, once, all trees and vegetation but for their graves and the land that would house their bones they had set up a curse. Curses are no more than gateways, and some doors are never meant to be opened.
Unaware that the land was cursed, Bella Swan began moving her hips to the rhythm of the song. She twirled three times and again repeated the sequence. Her arms drew shapes in the air and her feet moved on their own accord. Unbeknownst to her, she was in a frenzy. She was being cursed. The Elders curse after being dormant for so long woke up with vengeance and their fury filled cry was answered.
So was it fate or fucked up luck that the demon to heed the Elders curse happened to be Legion? Who knows? A bitter pill to swallow, yet even bitter still was the way Isabella's head did a 180 degree turn. The bones jutted out and they heard the cracks that signified a broken larynx, vertebrae and back. Five hundred demons intent of escaping, of tearing Bella limb from limb and maybe scenting the danger that they were in, were intent on escaping.
Both mother and father wailed as they realized their baby was dead. More screams were induced as Bella transformed into something else. Something not human; yet something not describable by natural means. The true essence of what night terrors and nightmares are made of.
They turned and fled. Father Edward looked at Bella and felt as if something gave way. Perhaps it was his old life, or maybe it was a new life. He only knew that he wasn't the priest known as Father Edward Cullen any longer, but something else. Something tainted, perhaps he still felt the dog's blood on his person. Maybe the blood and stain had been absorbed into the very depth of his soul.
The house was burnt. As they were exciting the house, Charlie found enough courage to go back and coat the house with gasoline. A flick of match and the house was engulfed in flames. Both parents cried as their house was enveloped in fire. Their past, their happiness, their beautiful, carefree daughter was eaten away too by those embers, but in the end, they didn't care. If they never saw the house again, they would only be too happy. And it would never be too soon.
Some resemblance of the structure remained, and it was remodeled twice before hope was given to die. Dead animals were known to appear on the land outside the house. Strange things happened in that house, and houses are not like cars that can be washed clean of debris. They sometimes take on human characteristics, one of them is memories. Memories of its past inhabitants, past lives and past indiscretions. Sometimes memory is the real bitch.
**Thanks are due to Hotstuff for the chat and prodding that made this O/S come about. As well as for being there for me and being my # 1 cheerleader, my laughing buddy, and my friend, the encouragement is worth more than anything! Also to Thaigger Lilli for the exorcisms vids she was bombarded me with. Thankies! Oh and for Wendy the extraordinaire for her vamparistic Beta work. Love my Beta!**