When Father O'Dowd declared he was God, Dougal almost peed himself laughing. Why, he didn't even believe in God! The feller was obviously mad and there was nothing to worry about. But then something started happening. As O'Dowd's bizarre chanting and crucifix waving intensified, the dour priest had assumed an almost superhuman strength which he used to fling all the furniture into one corner as though it were made of matchwood. The bed now stood on its side against the wall with the mattress askew and sheets in disarray. Mrs. Doyle's secret was out - even Dougal was surprised by the thick pile of dust that lay beneath it in a perfect rectangle.

O'Dowd stood in the middle of it with his open prayer book and taunted it.

"Sundimundi! Alkatoosdi! Merzi dotesun dozidotesun littlelamzi divey!"

The dust began to shift and shimmer, rising up to swirl around O'Dowd. After a while Dougal, still huddled in his corner, noticed it was increasing in size like a brewing storm cloud, as though one from outside had somehow made its way in through the closed window and drawn curtains.

It wasn't long before O'Dowd was surrounded by this otherworldly apparition resembling a mini tornado full of dust and hairballs. Strange incantations were pouring from his mouth, words Dougal had never heard before even at the most off-the-wall Mass. (And there was plenty of those on Craggy Island, especially when the monkey priest came visiting.) At the same time the room began to smell funny, like Jack's socks, and started getting very warm. Dougal pulled at his tank top. His face and neck were beginning to glow, he could feel a bead of sweat on the back of his neck trickling into his dog collar. He had a sudden urge to rip the blasted thing off. It was a peculiar feeling altogether.

"Argy bargy moribundi," the tall priest chanted. "Pretzel ketzel incantado. Itzibitzi teeniweeni yellapolka dotbikini. Makka Pakka, Iggle Piggle, hey macarena!"

The cloud swelled until it filled the room. It was like being on a ride at Funland, thought Dougal as his chair began to rock from side to side. This was not the 'light' O'Dowd had promised. This was something very dark indeed.

And he didn't mind admitting, he was scared.

God Almighty, thought Ted as the motorboat bounced along. It's like I've been stuck in a Time Warp all morning. He was finding it hard not to push on Dick's seat like he'd pushed on the taxi seat and the handrail of the ferry trying to make everyone go faster. Sooner or later the tactic would backfire and he didn't trust Dick Byrne not to throw him overboard and carry on to Craggy Island, his island, without him. The impatient priest was pretty sure that if Dr. Sinnott took his blood pressure right now, the fecking BP monitor would explode, just like he was about to.

Cyril started blathering away in the front seat. "I hope we see some dolphins!"

"Me too, Cyril," Dick replied, the wind blowing his words directly into Ted's ears- as no doubt was the intention. "Let me know if you see one and I'll slow down."

"Don't you dare," Ted muttered furiously.

Dick looked over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk. "What was that, Father Crilly?"

Ted simpered back with his cheesiest fake smile. "I said I love the fresh air."

Dick laughed. "Better make the most of it. The nearer we get to Craggy Island, the more it will start to smell of failure and despair."

"Ooh, you really know how to kick a man when he's down," said Ted under his breath. But he really, really didn't want to pester Mary any more than he had to. Instead he imagined all kinds of horrors raining down on Dick Byrne, like being splattered from head to toe by Tom with his sewage truck, being trapped in The Very Dark Caves with Father Noel and having Father Stone move in and live with him forever. His fantasies were getting quite good when Cyril suddenly cried out.

"DOLPHIN!"

And promptly grabbed the steering wheel out of Dick's hands.

The boat went up sideways on a wave and almost immediately came crashing down again. Dick lurched forward and butted Cyril in the back of the head. There was a sickening crunch- which Ted found rather amusing, then Dick screamed loudly as his nose began spurting blood.

"Jesus Feck, I tink me bloody dose is broken!"

Cyril rubbed the back of his head but was otherwise unharmed. He gazed out blankly at what he'd though was a dolphin. It was just a piece of driftwood.

Ted seized his chance. He dragged the blubbering Dick out of the driver's seat and dumped him unceremoniously in the back. Dick was in no position to argue- blood was bubbling through his fingers as he clutched his poor demolished hooter, crying like a baby.

"Don't worry Dick, we'll clean you up when we get to Craggy Island," Ted cackled, gunning the engine. "Now, Cyril, where were those dolphins?"

"I'm sorry!" Dick wailed. "I was only pullin' your chain! Just get me somewhere I can lie down and be sick!"

Ted put his foot down. He made sure he hit every bump and swell until Dick was curled up in a whimpering ball, his face sweaty and ashen, blood and seawater swirling around in the bottom of the boat.

"Enjoying the ride, Cyril?" Ted couldn't help it- he was back on top and ready to rumble.

Cyril shrank down into his seat and nodded, his eyes darting from Ted to Dick and back again as though he were watching a game at Wimbledon. A few minutes later he really did see a dolphin. It appeared in front of the boat, leaping and diving with a dolphin's adorable smile as though leading them on their journey.

Tom was on the pebbly beach looking for dropped money when he heard the roar of a motorboat engine. He dropped the beer bottle top he'd been examining and rose from his crouch as the boat came hurtling out of the sea and half way up the beach. Pebbles squeaked and squealed along its hull as it slewed sideways and came to an abrupt halt.

Tom broke into a filthy toothed grin and ran towards it.

"Is dat you, Fada?"

"No, it's King George the Third," said Ted sarcastically as he clambered out of the boat with his holdall. "And there's Humpty Dumpty in the back there."

Tom peered into the boat where Dick lay moaning and groaning.

"Are ye right dere Fada? Ye look a little peaky."

"Me feckid dose is broken ya eejit!"

Tom laughed. "Is dat all? I broke me feckin nose seventeen times in one day. Ah, ye'll be right in no time."

Ted grabbed Tom by the elbow and pulled him away from the boat. "Tom, do you have your van nearby? Dougal's in trouble and I need to get to the Parochial House fast."

"Aye, Fada. I'm parked up by de road dere."

Ted looked towards the road. There was Tom's battered old van parked willy nilly across the tarmac blocking it in both directions. His heart swelled. Ah, it was great to be home!

Everyone piled into the van. By this time Dick's nose had stopped bleeding and no one was really that bothered about him, even Cyril. He was left to wipe the dried blood from his face alone as the van ground its way round in a circle and headed up the road towards the countryside, throwing him around in the back even worse than when Ted had been driving the boat.

The candles O'Dowd had placed around the room flickered wildly in the winds generated by the swirling dust cloud. Dougal clung to his chair which rocked harder and harder. He felt as though he were riding a giant Buckaroo donkey and any minute now it would throw him off.

"Haven't we prayed enough for now? he wailed.

"My dear Father McGuire," O'Dowd shouted back. "The Dark Lord is manifesting- to stop now would be fatal!"

"Oh, right," said Dougal. "Can we stop for lunch though?"

"Lunch will be the last thing on your mind when you see what the Dark Lord has in store for you!"

"No, lunch is usually the first thing on my mind," said Dougal. "Especially at lunch time!"

O'Dowd was no longer listening. He had returned to chanting and waving his crucifix, peering at the words in his giant prayer book.

"Dark Lord come forth and be vanquished!"

Dougal thought it unlikely that the Dark Lord would come forth just to be vanquished, but perhaps O'Dowd had been right about the power of prayer. Because something certainly was manifesting. The cloud seemed to be parting in places, elongating into strange limb-like protrusions that wisped away from the main vortex. This was scarier even than Aliens, even worse than Jaws 2. Dougal found himself transfixed as the cloud appeared to develop a face- or rather, it had two eyes but the rest of it was hideous, like a kind of goat man thing. He hoped it didn't have four arses because it smelled bad enough in here already.

"Okus dokus pukka pies! Izzard gizzard lizard lies! She's got Bette Davis eyes! Come forth Lord and take your prize!"

Well, he wouldn't win any awards for poetry, but his gobbledygook had an alarming effect on the dust cloud. It swirled around to face Dougal and rose up like a ravenous monster, its wispy arms waving around like something out of Ghostbusters.

"Wait- !" cried Dougal. "What prize?"

O'Dowd thrust his arm out and pointed straight at the frightened young priest.

"You!" he thundered.

"But- but- I thought you were going to vanquish him! I didn't think I'd be vanquished too!"

"We must make the necessary sacrifices," the tall priest explained. "Once you've been consumed, his power will be weakened by your innocence and purity. That and the fact you're a holy man, like it or not."

Dougal swallowed hard. "But what about you? You're God- you can't get holier than that! Why don't you let him eat you? Wouldn't that kill him straight off?"

"He can't touch me. I'm protected by a force field. No, I'm afraid it has to be you."

Dougal tried to get off the chair but found that he was pinned down.

"If Ted was here, he'd say you were mad!"

"Then it's a good thing Ted's not here," the tall priest sneered. "Now stop babbling and let me finish. Dark Lord, claim your prize!"

Mrs. Doyle was wearing a track in the carpet with her pacing. How long was it going to take Father Byrne to get here? She hoped he wasn't taking the scenic route. She paced another circuit while Jack sat in grim silence, a line of spittle connecting his chin to his cardigan. She kept looking out of the window, only to be disappointed as the road outside remained stubbornly clear.

"Oh come on Father Byrne, come on! I know you and Father Crilly were never the best of friends but surely as a man of the cloth you're not going to let us down!"

Jack grumbled loudly. "GOBSHITE!"

"Father!"

"FATHER GOBSHITE!" Jack beamed at Mrs. Doyle, who rolled her eyes and resumed pacing.

There was a sudden wailing sound from above. It sounded like Father McGuire.

"Oh no! I can't just stand here and do nothing!"

Mrs. Doyle tottered out into the hallway and up the stairs as quickly as her spindly legs would carry her. She ran to the guest room and grabbed the door knob but it wouldn't turn. It wasn't as if the door was locked, the knob wouldn't turn at all. Not a fraction in either direction. It was stuck.

Mrs. Doyle hesitated, then knocked firmly but politely on the door.

"Now, you two, that's enough fun and games! You both come out of there at once!"

There was no answer, just more chanting and banging of furniture. She knocked again. She even offered refreshments. When they ignored that, she knew it was really serious.

She trudged downstairs feeling helpless and forlorn. Father McGuire had been such a nice young fellow. She was going to miss him- he was the only person in the world who never, ever, ever said no to a cup of tea.

As she returned to the living room, resigned to never seeing Father McGuire again, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. A beat up old van was chugging along on the road. She saw Tom in the driver's seat and sighed, sure that he was going to drive on by. Tom always had some nefarious business going on- it was usually best not to ask.

Mrs. Doyle's entire body slumped. It was no use. She'd tried her best, but no one was coming to help them. Just as she thought Tom's van was going to carry on down the road it suddenly turned into the driveway, almost as an afterthought. She could hardly believe her eyes, even after rubbing them three times. The van was definitely coming to their house!

"He's here!" she shouted excitedly. She ran to hug Jack but decided at the last minute that she didn't want her arms anywhere near his scabby old body, so she did an abrupt about-turn and went haring out of the front door with her arms still outstretched like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music.

If she was excited at the thought of Dick Byrne arriving, she almost had a heart attack when she saw who jumped out of the passenger side. She thought she was seeing things at first - why there were probably lots of white haired priests who looked just like Father Crilly roaming around. But then she got closer and the white haired priest said her name, and she burst into tears of joy. It was him! He was home, home at last!

She swept him into the hug she'd almost given Jack.

"Father Crilly! It is you! Oh, thank God you're here! You don't know how much we need you!"

"I think I do know, Mrs. Doyle," said Ted knowingly. "I had a premonition that Dougal's in trouble."

Mrs. Doyle nodded, pulling Ted surprisingly roughly towards the house. "You'd better hurry, Father! There's a devil in the house and it's got Father McGuire in its beastly clutches!"