John Constantine was never one for kids, and he certainly wasn't one for ghosts. But when Ed and Lorraine Warren knocked on his door with some sob story about a poor family in London and a nasty old spook causing havoc, Constantine's curiosity got the better of him. Well, that and the fact he owed the Warrens a favor. He'd rather chew glass than be in debt to someone, especially to Lorraine—her disappointed eyes were more judgmental than half the demons he'd met.

And so, there he was, cigarette dangling from his lips as he stood outside the Hodgson residence in Enfield. The house was a nondescript little thing, like all the others in the row—cracked brickwork, peeling paint, and a general aura of dreariness that matched the cloudy London sky. But Constantine didn't need to step inside to know the place was steeped in something nasty. He could feel it clinging to him, like an oily film on his skin.

"Jesus H. Christ," Constantine muttered, flicking his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with his boot. "What is it with you lot and bloody ghosts?"

"Always a ray of sunshine, John," Ed Warren said, stepping up beside him. The man was annoyingly chipper, even in the middle of a haunting. His clean-cut demeanor always made Constantine feel like he'd just stepped out of a 1950s family sitcom.

Lorraine, however, was as solemn as ever, her sharp eyes scanning the house like she could see straight through the walls. She probably could, Constantine figured. The woman had a way of sensing things that made him uneasy.

"Nice to see you too, Ed," Constantine replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. He turned his attention to Lorraine, who was still focused on the house. "So, what's the story? Some dead old git causing a fuss?"

Lorraine finally looked at him, her expression softening slightly, though the weight of something heavy lingered in her eyes. "It's more than that, John. There's a presence here. Something dark. Something… evil."

Constantine rolled his eyes. "There's always something dark and evil with you lot, isn't there? Demons, ghosts, cursed dolls… Why can't you ever ring me up for a nice quiet pint down the pub?"

Ed chuckled, patting Constantine on the back. "Wouldn't be much fun in that, would there?"

Constantine gave him a sideways glance, unimpressed. "Speak for yourself."

Lorraine sighed, stepping closer to him. "We wouldn't have called you if it wasn't serious, John. The family's in real danger. The girl—Janet—she's… she's been possessed. The spirit of an old man who died in this house."

Constantine perked up slightly at the mention of possession. "Possession, you say? That's a bit more up my alley." He smirked. "Alright then. Let's see what this dead bastard wants."

The three of them walked up to the front door, and Constantine could hear the muffled sound of children arguing inside. Lorraine knocked gently, and after a moment, the door creaked open to reveal a tired-looking woman with dark circles under her eyes and a weariness that seemed to have seeped into her bones. This, he assumed, was Peggy Hodgson, the matriarch of the haunted household.

"Oh, thank God," she breathed, her eyes darting between the three of them. "Please, come in."

The inside of the house was as bleak as the outside, but there was an added layer of tension in the air—like static electricity before a lightning storm. The kids, three of them, were sitting on the sofa, all wide-eyed and anxious. Janet, the second-oldest, was sitting off to the side, pale as a sheet, her eyes downcast as if she'd seen things she couldn't unsee.

Constantine glanced around, hands in his pockets, sizing up the place. "Lovely little haunt you've got here, Mrs. Hodgson. Bit of a fixer-upper, though."

Peggy shot him a confused look, but Lorraine quickly intervened with a reassuring smile. "Don't mind John. He's… not very tactful."

"That's one way of putting it," Constantine muttered, walking over to the kids. "So, which one of you lot decided to piss off the dead, then?"

Janet flinched at his words, and Peggy shot him a withering glare. Lorraine sighed again, this time with a little more exasperation. "John…"

"What? They're kids. They get it," Constantine replied nonchalantly. He crouched down in front of Janet, looking at her intently. "Oi, you the one the old man's got his hooks in?"

Janet nodded slowly, her voice barely a whisper. "He's… he's angry. He says this is his house."

Constantine nodded sagely. "Ah, yeah. They always think it's still their bloody house. Well, they can bugger off. Rent's due, and you're the one living in it now." He stood up, cracking his knuckles. "Right then. Let's see what this Bill Wilkins chap wants, shall we?"

He strode into the kitchen, where a chair had been overturned and the lights flickered ominously. Lorraine followed close behind, her face tense with concentration.

"It's here," she said quietly, her voice almost reverent. "I can feel it. It's watching us."

Constantine pulled a cigarette from his coat and lit it, blowing a cloud of smoke into the already oppressive air. "Good. I love an audience."

Ed frowned, glancing around the room. "John, maybe we should—"

Before Ed could finish, the air in the room grew colder, and an eerie silence settled over the house. Then, without warning, the table began to tremble, the dishes clattering noisily as if they were being shaken by invisible hands.

Constantine grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Oh, look at that. We've got ourselves a show."

Suddenly, a deep, guttural voice filled the room, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. "Get… out… of… my… house…"

Peggy gasped, covering her mouth with her hands, and the children huddled closer together, their eyes wide with fear.

Constantine, however, seemed entirely unfazed. "Yeah, yeah, heard it all before, mate. You're dead, get over it." He took a step forward, tapping ash from his cigarette onto the floor. "Name's John Constantine. I'm here to evict your sorry arse. So why don't you come out and have a chat like a good little ghost, eh?"

The voice growled, the temperature in the room dropping even further. "You… are not welcome… here…"

"Neither are you, mate," Constantine shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But look where we both ended up. So how about you come out and we sort this like adults, instead of throwing a ghostly tantrum, yeah?"

There was a tense moment of silence, and then the kitchen chairs flew across the room, crashing into the walls with enough force to dent the plaster. The lights flickered violently, casting long shadows that seemed to move on their own.

Constantine sighed, rolling his eyes. "Bloody drama queens, these ghosts."

Lorraine stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Bill, if you're here, we want to help you. We know you're angry, but this isn't your home anymore. You need to move on."

For a moment, it seemed like her words might have had an effect. The room grew still, and the oppressive energy lifted slightly. But then, a loud crash came from the living room, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

The group rushed back into the room to find the television had been thrown to the floor, the screen cracked and flickering. Janet was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes wide and unblinking, her body rigid as if she were in a trance.

Constantine's eyes narrowed. "Here we go…"

Janet's voice, when she spoke, was not her own. It was the voice of an old man, deep and gravelly, filled with rage. "This is my house! Get out!"

"Yeah, we've established that, mate," Constantine said dryly, stepping toward the girl. "But it's not your house anymore, is it? You're dead, Bill. Time to take your sorry arse to the other side."

Janet's body jerked unnaturally, and her eyes glowed with a strange, unnatural light. "I'll kill you all! You don't belong here!"

Constantine raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Oh, is that so? You and what army, eh?"

Without warning, Janet lunged at him, her hands clawing at the air as if she meant to tear him apart. But Constantine was quicker, sidestepping her easily and flicking his cigarette in her direction. "Nice try, love. But you're gonna have to do better than that."

Ed stepped forward, concern etched on his face. "John, maybe we should—"

"Relax, Ed," Constantine said with a smirk. "I've got this." He reached into his coat and pulled out a small flask of holy water, tossing a few drops in Janet's direction.

The reaction was immediate. Janet's body convulsed, and a bloodcurdling scream tore from her throat. The temperature in the room dropped even further, frost forming on the windows as the entity inside her writhed in pain.

"Oh, that stings, does it?" Constantine taunted, pulling deeply on his cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the dim room. "You should try smoking—far worse for you. Now, how about you stop possessing little girls and come face me like a real bloke?"

Janet, or rather Bill Wilkins inside of her, growled like an animal. The sound was guttural and low, vibrating through the floorboards. Her eyes, which had been glowing with that sickly unnatural light, flickered as if the old man was struggling to keep control. She lunged again, this time with a wild strength that belied her small frame.

Constantine, in typical fashion, didn't bother dodging. He simply stuck out his arm and let her crash into it. With the grace of a seasoned brawler, he sidestepped and twisted her wrist just enough to keep her immobilized but not break anything. She yelped—whether from the pain or the spirit's anger, it wasn't clear.

"Oi, Wilkins!" Constantine spat, his tone suddenly venomous. "I'm talking to you, you bastard."

Janet's head snapped up, and for a moment, the little girl's face twisted into something far more ancient and haggard. Her lips curled back into a sneer, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp for a human mouth.

Constantine grinned, not backing down. "There he is. Finally! Now we're getting somewhere."

Lorraine, standing off to the side, watched with a mixture of anxiety and hope. She could sense the darkness inside Janet, the cold malice radiating from her like waves of rotten air. Ed, his usual calm demeanor cracking, stood ready to intervene, but Lorraine held him back with a gentle hand. "Let him do this, Ed. John… he's unconventional, but he's dealt with spirits like this before."

Constantine, meanwhile, had pulled a small silver pendant from his pocket—a cheap-looking crucifix that had seen better days. "You know what this is, Wilkins?" he asked, dangling it in front of Janet's face. The girl flinched, recoiling as if the small object were made of fire.

"That's right," Constantine said, leaning in closer. His voice dropped, becoming low and dangerous. "It's just a bit of silver and some old prayers, but it's been blessed by a dozen priests. And let me tell you, mate, I know where you're going once you leave this girl. It's not gonna be pretty."

Janet—or Bill—let out a horrible screech, the kind of noise that made the walls shake and the glass in the windows vibrate dangerously. The lights flickered again, and the air around them grew thick with malevolence.

"Get… out…" Bill's voice hissed through Janet's clenched teeth. "She's mine… I'll rip you apart…"

Constantine rolled his eyes, seemingly bored by the threat. "Yeah, yeah, you'll rip me apart, drag me to hell, eat my soul, blah blah blah. You spirits need some new material, you know that?"

With a flick of his wrist, Constantine splashed more holy water across Janet's chest. Her body convulsed violently, her back arching as a deep, ragged scream tore from her throat. The sound echoed through the house like the death knell of some ancient beast.

"Let… her… go!" Constantine commanded, his voice taking on an edge that was sharper than the cigarette still smoldering in his mouth. His eyes, usually so tired and cynical, flashed with a kind of righteous fury. "I'm not here to muck about with your bloody tantrums, Wilkins. You don't get to play house with this little girl's soul. You're done."

The air in the room seemed to thicken even more, pressing down on everyone like an oppressive weight. Lorraine stepped forward, her face pale but determined. "John… be careful. There's more to this than just Bill. I can feel something else—something darker."

"Cheers for the warning," Constantine replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But I think I'll manage. I've been tangoing with worse than this old sod since before your mate Ed could even say 'Boo!'"

The tension in the room grew unbearable, the pressure mounting as if the house itself was about to collapse under the strain. But Constantine was unfazed. He reached into his coat again and pulled out a cigarette lighter, flipping it open with a practiced flick of his thumb. The small flame danced in the darkness, casting strange shadows across Janet's contorted face.

"Alright, Bill," Constantine said, his voice calm but commanding. "You're gonna pack your bags and piss off back to wherever you came from. I've had enough of your ghostly bollocks. You've got three seconds before I make things very uncomfortable for you."

Janet's body stiffened, her limbs jerking erratically as if she was being pulled in multiple directions at once. The deep, raspy voice of Bill Wilkins growled out, "I'll never leave. This is my house. I died here. I belong here!"

Constantine grinned, his eyes glinting with a wicked light. "Ah, see, that's where you're wrong, mate. You may have died here, but you sure as hell don't belong. Not anymore."

And with that, Constantine began muttering under his breath—words in Latin, ancient and guttural. His voice was low, but there was a force behind it, something that carried the weight of centuries of forgotten rituals and forbidden knowledge. The air around him seemed to shimmer, and the oppressive energy that had filled the room began to pulse like a heartbeat, faster and faster.

Janet screamed—a horrible, bone-chilling scream that made Peggy clasp her hands over her ears and the children huddle together in fear. But Constantine didn't stop. He kept chanting, the words growing louder, more insistent. His hand, still holding the lighter, hovered dangerously close to Janet's skin, the flame flickering just inches away from her flesh.

"You feel that, Bill?" Constantine growled between the ancient words. "That's holy fire, mate. I can make it a lot worse for you if you don't sod off right now. You think hell's bad? Try being stuck between realms while your spirit burns for eternity. I'll make sure you're begging for the afterlife."

Janet thrashed against the invisible forces binding her, her limbs jerking and flailing in unnatural ways. The room grew colder still, the frost on the windows thickening as the presence of Bill Wilkins fought desperately to maintain control. But Constantine's voice was relentless, the Latin phrases rolling off his tongue like curses spat from the mouth of a dying god.

Finally, with one last burst of energy, Janet let out a blood-curdling scream. The sound pierced through the house like the tolling of a church bell at a funeral, deep and resonant. The lights flickered wildly, then went out completely, plunging the room into darkness.

There was a long, agonizing moment of silence. The air seemed to hang, heavy and still, as if the very breath had been sucked from the room.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The oppressive energy lifted, the temperature in the room began to rise, and Janet's body collapsed to the floor, limp and unmoving.

Constantine exhaled, the tension in his shoulders releasing as he pocketed his lighter and looked down at the girl. He crouched beside her, gently checking her pulse. "She's alright," he said after a moment. "Wilkins is gone."

Ed hurried forward, kneeling beside Janet and checking her over. He looked up at Constantine, relief flooding his features. "Thank God…"

Constantine stood up, dusting off his trench coat with a smug grin. "Thank me, mate. I'm the one who sent the old bastard packing."

Lorraine, who had been watching the whole scene with wide eyes, finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "John… that was… incredible."

Constantine lit another cigarette, the glow from the flame casting eerie shadows across his face. "Yeah, well, don't go writing me a thank-you note just yet." He took a long drag, exhaling slowly. "This wasn't just some old geezer hanging about for kicks. Something else is stirring here—something darker. Wilkins was just the appetizer."

Ed and Lorraine exchanged worried glances. "What do you mean?" Lorraine asked, her voice tense.

Constantine looked at her, his eyes hard and serious. "I mean there's something else lurking in this house. Something that makes Bill Wilkins look like a bloody toddler. And if we don't deal with it soon, we're all in for a world of hurt."

Ed swallowed hard, standing up. "What are we dealing with, John?"

Constantine's smile was thin and humorless. "A demon, love. A right nasty one. And if I'm not mistaken…" He paused, flicking ash to the floor, "I reckon it's that thing that's been haunting your dreams, Lorraine. Big, ugly, and it knows your name."

Lorraine shuddered involuntarily. "The nun…"

Constantine nodded grimly. "The nun." He took another drag of his cigarette, the embers glowing like hellfire in the dim room. "And this one's gonna be a hell of a fight."