Haunted - The Beginning

I entered the dark room calmly, careful not to knock anything over. I felt for the light switch on the wall. It was where the switch usually is. The light flared, revealing the cluttered hallway of an abandoned house on Groove Street. The scattered scraps of wallpaper and furniture made me realize I was dealing with a common poltergeist. I breathed a sigh of relief. I opened the black suitcase I always carry with me and took out a cross and holy water. I guess banishing this spirit won't be much trouble. Oh, and the Holy Bible, too. I dipped my hand in the jar and crossed myself. I shook a few drops onto the floor.

"Aaaargh!" the cry seemed to surround me.

"Does it hurt, you son of a bitch? Come in, maybe we can talk." I was surprised by the indifference of my voice.

First, a column of dust appeared in the middle of the room. It wasn't really a column, but something resembling a tornado. Suddenly, a humanoid figure emerged from inside. It looked like it was woven from dust particles. Damn it, it wasn't a poltergeist. I'd only encountered such things in textbooks, and in those, they called such monstrosities Servants. I know that for someone unfamiliar with the subject, talking to a ghost is incredibly stupid, but believe me, sometimes it was worth the effort. I stepped closer, looking straight into the empty eye sockets. I wasn't afraid because I knew I was in no danger with the cross in my hand. He knew it too; I think that was why he'd retreated to the corner. I didn't approach because I wanted to learn something before the exorcism.

"You're not alone, are you? People like you never come alone."

"Hoo, you've learned your lesson, I see," that voice said. "I've never experienced anything like it." I heard it in my head, realizing the entire room was silent. "I'm not alone. There's someone here you wouldn't want to see."

-I guess you won't live to see us - I knelt down.

I placed the crucifix on the ground after kissing it. The servant showed no fear, even though he knew what was about to happen. I crossed myself and closed my eyes. I felt the hand of my Guardian Angel on my shoulders. He was always with me when I needed him. Sometimes he appeared to me, draped in white, with a stony expression that nevertheless radiated an incredible amount of love. I hadn't been blessed with seeing angels, but he knew exactly when he was needed. I bowed my head. I whispered a prayer. I stood and raised the cross. I looked directly at the spawn of Satan, beginning the exorcism procedure. After ten minutes, it was over, but something I hadn't anticipated happened. Instead of simply disappearing, the servant exploded, sending clouds of dust flying in all directions. I didn't have time to shield my face in time and felt thousands of fiery needles on it. Fortunately, I closed my eyes, because otherwise I would have lost them. My cheeks stung, but after a few deep breaths, I forgot the pain. It's amazing that Servants, poltergeists, and other lesser demons, regardless of their rank, fear the name of Christ in the same way.

But now I faced a much more serious task. I even had doubts about climbing the mountain. Perhaps it would be better to go to the Society and ask for help from some undead. The undead, commonly called Vampires, were beyond the control of God and Hell, so they were practically immune to such encounters. Even if I hadn't died, I could have been cursed, which could have precluded my further exorcism. However, I overcame my fear, knowing that delaying might cause one of the Sons—and he was the one I expected to find there—to change his location and hide somewhere, existing within the corpse of some innocent human. The Sons were direct descendants of Satan. They possessed immense strength, but because they were born of Demonic beings, they had many weaknesses, the greatest of which was their inability to control their power. They wasted an incredible amount of energy for fun, killing demons, exhausting themselves completely. Despite this, they rarely came to Earth, and when they did, it heralded many victims and incredible events. This was the case on September 11th, during the terrorist attack in New York. Many of you undoubtedly saw a face made of smoke escaping from the windows of the World Trade Center. This was Suffering. He was born in the first generation along with Jealousy, sent to Earth during the first crime. We named him Cain. The next Brothers of the First Generation were Hatred, War, Destruction, Famine, Pestilence, and above all, Death. All of them are the only Sons to reside on Earth permanently. And the only ones not descended from Demonic beings. Holed up in large cities, they pass by us, revealing their cruel faces. One hundred thousand children in Ethiopia died of famine or AIDS... Hurricane Katrina is wreaking great destruction... Civil war rages in Palestine... Information about them reaches us daily. And we only pretend to fight them. They have the right to be on Earth because their mother was Eve. The first sinner was human, so the mixture of blood allowed the Sons to remain outside Hell.

Today, however, I am dealing with someone who has escaped Hell. I slowly climbed the stairs, careful of the rotting steps. The house had been possessed only a week ago, yet everything around it had fallen into ruin. I stood at the top, looking down at the lower hall. The sight was truly horrifying. A pile of dust lay just against the wall. I turned and walked to the door of the room, from which emanated the stench of sulfur and the stench of decaying human flesh. I grabbed the doorknob...

.........................................................................................

The girl returned from school. Throwing her backpack against the wall, she ran into the kitchen. She had hoped to see a cake on the table and a card reading "Happy Fourteenth Birthday, Gail." Instead, the usual piles of dirty dishes, milk and cereal cartons, and empty bottles of cheap whiskey awaited her. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. A small one, but heavy with pain and disappointment. She lowered her head and sat down on the sticky floor. Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry. After a few minutes, she fell asleep. When she woke up, all she saw was her drunk father, holding a bottle in his hand and leaning against the countertop of the cupboard. He didn't seem to notice her, though he almost tripped over it as he passed. The girl stood and calmly walked out of the kitchen. She stood in the hallway and looked at herself in the mirror. Long, black hair flowed over her slender shoulders. Dark eyes watched her from the mirror, wondering when someone would finally notice her. When someone asked what was in her heart and shared her worries. Her parents ignored her, absorbed in themselves, slowly dying of alcoholism. She wiped her tears. A tall figure appeared behind her. She was frightened, but something compelled her to look in the mirror. The man seemed faceless. A void emanated from beneath the hood. He walked slowly, straight towards her, but suddenly, just behind her, he disappeared. Gail looked at her face. The corners of her mouth lifted, revealing snow-white teeth. She turned and, entering the kitchen, picked up a knife from the table. When she raised her hand, it reflected the light, barely filtering through the dirty windows.

.........................................................................................

...I turned it and pushed the door open. It opened slowly, revealing its secret. A girl stood in the middle of the room. Her head was bowed, a cascade of tousled, ebony hair falling over her face. Her hands, covered in scabs of dried blood, clenched into fists. The remains of human bodies lay scattered beneath her feet, some glaring with the whiteness of exposed bones, others the terrifying redness of wounds. On the walls, furniture, and windows, the blood-stained markings made me feel increasingly weaker. Don't look... most importantly, don't look. Lowering my head, I noticed the girl's lips moving. I crossed myself. Father, give me strength, give me the power to send this carcass back where it belongs. Let me draw from Your love and grace, so that I may triumph in Your name. Guide me along Your path and give me the strength to rise when I stumble. Finally, send me an Angel who will aid my words with his sword and take this monster where he can no longer harm anyone.

I began to pray, clutching my hands in great fear. I prayed it intuitively until I felt nothing. There was emptiness around me. Only a dark figure stood before me, its face hidden beneath a hood. Ezra's hand rested on my shoulder. The White Angel. He stepped from behind me and knelt, leaning on his sword. I continued praying. I closed my eyes. I don't know what happened next.

***

I woke up in a white room. The walls were dazzlingly sterile, only the greenish curtains offering relief. An IV drip was stuck in my wrist. Against the wall, in a chair, slept a man dressed in a sand-colored suit. His neatly trimmed white beard gave him a solemnity. I smiled and stared at him.

"Max, are you alive?" I said, surprised by the tone of my voice. The man jumped up and ran, with surprising agility, to the bed.

"Thank heavens. Daniel, you slept for three days," he looked into my eyes, "we were worried about you. Your condition was getting worse with each passing moment. We thought..."

"You always think," I interrupted, "You forget about faith too often."

I told him what had happened. He wasn't surprised. They probably figured it out when they found me on Groove Street. It didn't surprise me. However, what he told me next shocked me so much that I felt beads of cold sweat on my forehead. That same day, three exorcists died, most likely killed by three different Sons. That would mean the appearance of four beasts in one place. So something big is afoot. Very big. And as usual, we'll probably find out after the fact.