Outside Inverness, Scotland
Rain slashed the windows, clattered on the roof of the cottage. Outside, the moors had turned to an ocean of mud where rivers of dirty water rushed down into the roads, rendering them impassible. Horses on the moor huddled together to shield themselves from the cold and wind, heads and tails tucked down. The cottage was lost in the gray curtain of rain gusting almost horizontally across the wide open spaces.
Inside the cottage, despite a blazing fire, the cold had begun to seep in under the windows and around the doors. Copper pots hanging in the kitchen rattled together as a gust found a way inside. The woman pulled a wrap closer about her shoulders, burrowing into the wool as her eyebrows drew closer together. She watched the boiling water before her with intense concentration, but every once and a while, she glanced over her shoulder, down into a dark hallway. For the moment, no sounds came from the darkness, but she knew that would not last forever, and she stirred the golden liquid again. It was beginning to boil.
Suddenly, a scream split the air. The woman jumped, and shot a nervous glance over her shoulder. There was a pause, and then the scream erupted again. She gave a tremble, and lifted the put from the stove, pouring the liquid into a mug. Then she hurried down the hall, clutching her shawl and the mug.
Inside the room, only a series of candles clustered under a portrait of the crucified cross provided any light. Her husband knelt at the bedside, a rosary woven through his clasped hands. His mouth moved in quiet prayer, Latin phrases tumbling out over the bed. "Pater noster qui es in caelis; sanctificetur nomen tuum, adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra…"
The girl on the bed twisted and rolled, clutching at the blankets, her head thrown back, back arched, mouth open in a silent scream. Then the scream tore through her throat. The praying man jumped for a moment, then resumed his prayer. "Et ne nos inducas in temptationem, sed libera nos a malo. Quoniuam tibi est regnum et potestas et Gloria in saecula. Amen."
He gave one more glance at the girl, who showed no sign of improving, and stood to join his wife in the doorway. "Has she changed?" she whispered, her voice tight with fear.
He shook his head, then winced as the girl gave a strangled scream. "No. What about the priest?"
She shook her head. "The phone lines are down. But the roads…Nobody could use them anyway." She turned as the girl again twisted and struggled, gasping, occasional shrieks tearing through her throat. The woman gripped her husband's arm. "Henry, what are we going to do? The demon has gripped her completely."
Henry glanced at the oil of Christ. "We can only trust in God, now. Alanna is in His hands. He will do as He sees fit." He wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulder's, kissed her forehead as he drew her near. "Trust in God, Sarah."
On the bed, Alanna twisted, shrieked, sweat coating her body. She had clutched her eyes to try to shut out the images she saw. Images of pain and suffering, of blood and violence. Some showed children dying of hunger. Some showed people being shot. Some showed people taking things that didn't belong to them. Some showed mothers giving birth to children that did not move. And yet other images showed normal things. People going to work. Her mother in the kitchen. Her parents in the doorway. But she was not facing them. Her eyes were shut!
She scratched wildly at her eyes, trying to claw the images from her mind. As she felt the warm rush of blood over her face, pouring from the cuts she had gouged in her face, she heard her parents shouting at her to stop. But she didn't care, she didn't care. She wanted the pictures gone!
Another shot of pain went slicing through her body and she screamed, throwing her head back, wanting to pray but not even being able to find the breath to form the words. She could not find any comfort, not in her all-consuming pain. Her unspoken prayers to God certainly provided no comfort. She wanted to see her parents. She had heard her father praying, and she had heard them speaking. She knew they were close. She could feel them.
She opened her eyes and saw nothing. She tried again, and still saw nothing.
As her scream split the air, her parents looked over. When Sarah saw her daughter's milky white eyes, her own scream melded with her daughter's.
