The priest was weary. Three days and nights this had continued with little respite. The room held an all pervasive stench, and the dark glimmer in the girl’s eyes haunted him even when her eyelids were shut.
Crash! Old furniture and plain was not sturdy enough for a room of exorcism, but he knew he must make do. The mirror fell even as she looked up briefly to complain of little liking what she saw if she looked into it. Just as though she was holding a wholly unremarkable conversation for a moment with a friend. And then it fell, crashed to the ground. As though at her command.
But it was not her command.
Something else was in charge here, of this space, this cloying light, this wretched child.
He labored on, reciting the verses and nodding slightly to his helper who returned voice for voice as required. The peaceful drone of their voices was deceptive now as she remained unusually, preternaturally silent. She lay on the bed, twitching on occasion, otherwise eerily still.
Her father watched on, helpless. He had not been a religious man and would never have believed in any of this had he not witnessed this now with his own eys.
But perhaps that is it, he thought, I would never have witnessed it if I was a religious man. This darkness would never have been able to enter this house, or enter my child.
He looked at the priest, superstitious and believing he would agree if he could read his thoughts. But the priest did not return the gaze, for his attention lay with the girl.
Then she began to rise, to levitate, to float up above her bed. It almost looked beautiful, like an angel ascending to heaven
But there was nothing angelic, nothing beautiful, here.
The recitation continued as she floated and the priest knew there were many hours till dawn, and still more, still many more, before she would be free.
(c) Helen M Valentina 2016