THIRTY-THREE
The contrast from the floodlit exterior to the sudden gloom of the house robbed Ross of his sight for a moment. And with the loss of his vision, panic threatened to overwhelm him. The creature could have been a hair’s breadth away from his face and he wouldn’t have known it.
Ross screwed his useless eyes shut and then slowly opened them and was rewarded as the gloom began to give way and his eyes gradually became accustomed to the meagre light in here.
He was in a deceptively long entrance corridor which stretched off to a half open doorway at the far end. To his right was a set of rickety off kilter stairs leading up into total darkness. Not a place he had any desire to go anytime soon.
The walls and floor around him had the look of the aftermath of a savage fire. They were blackened and charred, but as his sight improved he could see beyond the effect, as he looked closer to the wall next to him he could make out brush marks in the dark patches and was once more reminded of the fakery of the show. This was something he would have to cling onto if he wasn’t to let the situation overwhelm his senses all together.
This was a game show after all, yes one with an all too real antagonist, but a gameshow nevertheless. As if to remind him of that fact, a soft whirring sound drew his attention up to something metallic above the door at the far end of the corridor. A camera, no doubt positioning itself for a better shot was located in the top corner to the right of the door and the priest had to fight the urge to give it the finger.
Now was not the time to play to the crowd. He had a very real job to do here, and if he was honest, short of physical violence it was a job he had yet to figure out how to complete.
Ross studied the hallway in front of him and the half open door at the far end. Was Minx in there? Or perhaps upstairs, hiding in the deep shadows at the top of the steps? He cocked an ear but couldn’t hear anything save his own breath and the whirring of cameras around him. He offered up a curse as indecision rooted his feet to the spot.
“Rossssssss...” The word was drawn out for a full five seconds sounding more like the hiss of some reptile than his name. The location of its speaker was impossible to pin point as it seemed to bounce off the walls around him.
He let out an involuntary gasp, something as familiar as his own name had never sounded so foreign or so threatening to him.
“Fucker’s not so cocky now, is he?” The director Miller smirked as he looked at the shot on his monitor. The priest standing stiffly by the front door, scared shitless. It was gold.
“Just wait until Minx gets in his head,” someone else put in, which won a chorus of affirmatives from around the room.
Davis so wanted to believe that, but all he could think about was the German and what part he might yet play in all this.
After the priest had entered the house Davis had insisted Miller show him, off air, all the camera angles he had of the watching crowd. He scanned them intently, looking for that one familiar face amongst hundreds of strangers. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or more worried at not being able to locate Hauser amongst the masses.
“Whoa, hang on,” Miller said and the live shot cut to a close up of Ross as a flash of fear crossed the priest’s ashen face.
Davis tore his attention away from the crowd and back to the priest. Yes something was going on down there. “What’s the little shit up to?” He said.
The chief sound engineer, whose name he didn’t know suddenly leant forwards and turned up the volume on his headphones. “What is that?”
Ross’ breath caught in his throat as the sound of what appeared to be a dozen or so glasses ‘clinking’ together softly faded up around him. He scanned the hallway’s floor, half expecting to see it filled with rolling bottles of some kind, but there was nothing but set dressed boards.
“Once and addict...” The words from the demon once again came out of nowhere, yet everywhere. Its voice, which was a sickening mixture of bass, baritone and falsetto all fighting for supremacy, set Ross’ teeth on edge and he felt his stomach flip in terror at the alien sound.
‘Once and addict?’ What did that mean? Then he remembered the fake dossier they had slipped the show. Fake, yet with a central thread of truth to it. Ross’ addiction in his teens. He shouldn’t have been surprised the creature would have been told about that dark passage in his past. After all it was perfect ammunition.
“Stupid,” he whispered to himself, he hadn’t expected that, despite the past shows. Each priest he now remembered had been taunted by their less than laudable pasts. Moments in their lives when they had fallen short. Partially healed wounds the demon had delighted in reopening.
“Ancient history,” Ross said out loud, and again was greeted by the clinking sound. Not bottles he now realised, but something else. And yes he had to admit, something vaguely familiar. It arose long hidden memories in him, ones he had thought lost forever, banished by his faith and sobriety. Dark horrible memories of a time in his life where he had been at his lowest ebb. At his most vulnerable.
It wasn’t bottles clinking together. It was glass syringes.
“Christ,” he gasped. Why hadn’t he prepared for this? Ross closed his eyes and tried to block the memories from his mind. “Christ, help me,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Was that a prayer or a curse, Father?” The creature taunted.
God that voice!
“Taking your Lord’s name in vain so soon?”
“I know what you are,” Ross blurted out. “Hauser told me everything about you.”
“I would have thought that cocksucker was long dead,” Minx said. “A slow painful death I was hoping for.”
Ross bit back a reply and instead concentrated on keeping his composure. The last thing he needed just now was that thing’s voice rattling around his head before he could get it together enough to continue.
“Still, he’s not here now, is he?”
“Maybe,” Ross lied. “Maybe not.”
The clinking syringes seemed to fade back up after it had spoken, louder than ever and close by. Ross told himself over and over to ignore them. They’re nothing but an illusion he thought desperately. All an illusion, that thing can’t hurt you, can’t physically hurt you...
A thud as something hit the floor just in front of him. Ross opened his eyes a fraction. No it wasn’t the creature, he looked down as something glinted by his foot.
“God,” he uttered. It was a glass syringe embedded in the floorboard by its needle. A murky brown liquid swirled around inside it.
“Bet that looks pretty good around about now, eh Father? Go on, take a hit for old time’s sake. You look like you need it.”
Ross shook his head. But was greeted by even more clinking, this time above his head.
Offering up a silent prayer, Ross looked up to the high ceiling. “Dear, God.”
From directly above his head and stretching all the way down to the door at the far end. The ceiling was covered by dozens and dozens of half-filled syringes hanging precariously by their needles.
“You got two ways you can go, Father,” the demon taunted. “Back the way you came, or straight ahead.”
A light breeze caressed his sweat soaked back and he could hear the murmurings of the crowd outside. He didn’t need to turn around to know the front door had opened offering him a tantalizing escape route.
“Well?” The creature asked from the shadows.
A stronger breeze hit his back and sent a ripple through the syringes on the ceiling. One, then a second were detached by the movement sending them falling to the floor where, like the first they stuck into the wooden boards.
They sounded all too real to Ross, but he had to be sure. So he reached out a foot and kicked at the closest syringe, silently praying his shoe would pass right through it. But instead he felt the glass connect with his toe and shatter, spilling steaming liquid onto the leather.
“How?” He uttered, but the creature only offered up a half-hearted chuckle in response. Again the light breeze hit his back causing the syringes over head to brush against one another again. Three fell this time with an ominous ‘thunk’ as they stuck into the floor.
“Illusion is all a matter of perspective, priest,” Minx finally offered. “It’s as real as I want it to be in here. Out there? That’s your world with its physics and its rules. But once you crossed over that threshold. You are in my world. And my world is a lot less...” It paused. “A lot less... Unyielding to ones will and whim, if you like.”
A step or two back and Ross would be in the comforting arms of reality. Another step forwards and he was into the realm of the unknown. He glanced down at the broken syringe at his feet and the stain on his shoe. Impossible yet seemingly real.
“Did Hauser prepare you for that?” Minx asked.
No was the simple reply.
“So?” Minx asked and Ross could hear the door at his back open a little further. This was met by the distant calls from some of the crowd.
The door at the far end of the hallway also opened a little further to reveal part of the living room inside, but still no glimpse of the creature, if indeed he was skulking around in there.
Ross summand up all the courage he could muster. He knew he couldn’t fail so soon. He imagined Father Mendez was watching this back in the Vatican at this very moment. Perhaps even Hauser and the villagers were huddled around a lap top in Mexico. Not that the German could do much good all the way over there.
“Your whole existence is wrong,” Ross told the open door ahead.
“Oh, I quite agree,” the demon answered. “But the question is. What are you going to do about it?”
What indeed? Ross thought and with that took two steps forwards. He cried out as the front door slammed loudly behind him, the motion sending a shock wave through the impossible array of syringes overhead. He winced as several fell around him. He couldn’t be sure but he thought he felt one brush against his right shoulder on its way down. Either way it spun off awkwardly just at the edge of his peripheral vision and smashed on the floor to his side.
Two more stuck into the floor boards by his feet as he took another couple of steps forwards. He tried to push them from his mind and just concentrated on walking as steadily and as purposefully as he could towards the living room. Although each step brought with it the anticipation of a needle in the flesh.
He continued on down the hallway only allowing himself the briefest of glimpses up the stairs as he past them. The steps disappeared into blackness before they reached the top. Was that faded bloody foot prints he could see on each step?
He stopped suddenly as the glint of light on glass flashed a foot from his face as another syringe fell. This time it stopped mid-air as if caught by an unseen hand. Ross gasped and watching in horror as the syringe slowly rotated until its needle was pointing directly at his right eye.
A bead of filthy looking liquid bubbled from the needle like venom from a snake’s fang. The smell of freshly cooked heroin stung his nostrils bringing with it a tidal wave of unwanted memories that threatened to knock him on his backside.
He swallowed back a scream and did his best to stare down the syringe.
“No,” he spat through gritted teeth. “No.”
As if in response, the syringe lunged forwards a little until it was too close for his eye to focus on in the gloom,
but he fought the urge to flinch. He looked passed it to the door which was now only some ten feet away.
‘No?’ A voice said in his head.
“No,” he answered it firmly.
The syringe dropped and he heard it smash.
“Well let’s get on with it then Father. They want a show, let’s give them a show.” The demon said.
The door to the living room opened fully now to reveal a dark twisted shape in its far corner.
“Yes let’s,” Ross agreed and strode into the room.