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Donnie hurried back from the bathroom — strained, and uneasy. Michael was deep in conversation with Mr. Walker and ignored his brother. They spoke at length about lifting the curse, driving out the Devil (as he called it) and freeing the Eriksson family. Donnie held back the urge to swear. To cuss...issue forth a volley of shouts, screaming in defiance of God, Heaven, and the forces of light. The demon in him roared, a mind-quaking tirade; he stood a distance from the others, and suppressed his rebellious instinct.

Mr. Walker held a cross made of wood with a gold plate running through the centre of each miniscule beam. Aloft, he called out to his Lord:

“Give me strength to undo evil. Give me strength to drive out Satan. Lord, I beseech thee..."

He chanted and muttered to himself. Michael crossed his arms, pleased to see him take things seriously. He ought to thank Smitty — even if he fobbed him off to another.

“...in the name of God, the Father. The one and only. Holy of holies. Give me strength to exorcise the demons that dwell in this town. I beseech thee. Amen." Zach's father lowered his head reverentially, touching the cross with his brow. He faced Michael and Donnie, his forehead pressed against the cool metal. Looking at them, he smiled. “Our prayers have been answered."

“They have?" Michael asked.

“Yes. I feel God's will at work here. Let me—" He approach Michael, gathering other blessed instruments in his spare hand. Michel stepped back. “Let me show you." He put the cross down onto the table next to him, picking up a notebook in its stead. Prayers covered the pages, and small remarks were recorded throughout, evidence of his studies in the supernatural. Michael stopped, and reversed direction — moving closer.

“What's in those notes?"

“These?" Mr. Walker shook the small book. “My Church sees more than most. The eyes of the occult are always present. Watching..." he trailed off, glancing at Michael and Donnie in quick succession. Suspicion ruled his features. “I need them with me. Our prayer will channel the voice of God to command the Devil to abandon his new hosts. My congregation will come soon — I will bring them all here."

“How long do we have to wait?"

Michael's impatience annoyed Zach's father. He glowered at the teen. “I said I would show you, didn't I? It won't banish the demon until my followers are with us but you'll see the mechanism by which we shall."

Donnie tapped Michael's shoulder, fetching him for a quick talk. “Mikey," he whispered, “what if this doesn't work? What if we can never change back!?"

“We have to try. One last hurrah before the chance is lost forever, eh?"

Forever. Those were weighty words.

“But why'd it have to be Zach's dad? This feels too close to home. I don't want anything happening to my friend."

Michael protested, but Donnie held firm: “do you think mom's gonna let anyone with knowledge of the curse run around helping us? No...she won't want someone capable of fighting back her—us!" he stammered, correcting himself mid-way through his speech. He wanted Zach out of harm's way, and involving his father was the surest path to tragedy. He wanted to ignore it, but his conscience wouldn't let him.

“Donnie," his brother replied, “this might be our last chance..."

Interrupting Michael before he could say anything else, Donnie walked past him and towards Mr. Walker. Blistering pain attacked his senses, but he stood fast. His corrupted soul screamed to leave the preacher's house. He felt it, bubbling up to the surface, held at bay only through sheer effort. Donnie knew he wouldn't last long. He needed to get this over with...see if there was any truth to the claims made by their host.

He grit his teeth, hiding his discomfort.

“Show us."

* * *

Zach opened the front door. He was home early. Much earlier than expected. The door opened without needing any key, which caused him concern. Who was there?

Moving inside, he heard the voice of his dad, and...others? One sounded familiar, and the young man crept along the hall, eyes fixed on the half-open entrance to the living room — where the voices were mingling. He peered around the frame, keeping a low profile. He spotted Donnie, and an older person who held a family resemblance. His brother — for sure. Jacob or Michael. The'd been mentioned.

It was then he noticed the cross, and other items, adding a wholly Christian angle to the conversation. What were they up to? He decided to remain hidden, and eavesdrop...

“To begin, one of you must come forward. I need a volunteer."

The brothers shared a look.

“I can take one of you — untouched by this great evil — and turn you into a vessel of redemption. I can invert the curse that gnaws at your family's mortal souls. Absolve them of the sin they've accumulated."

“Y-you need one of us?" Donnie stammered. Zach watched him fidget — his hands never stayed still at his sides. Always flexing his fingers, a nervous energy to his motion. This was unlike him. Something was seriously wrong.

“I do. Before the Devil takes you too I must have you on the side of good." Fear. White-faced fear in the other teen. Zach watched Donnie's brother slowly withdraw, eyes darting around the room, looking for an out. His father continued to speak, imploring them to accept whatever he was offering.

Donnie noticed his brother's reluctance, and in a moment of confidence took the reins. “I'll do it," he said. What 'it' was eluded Zach, but he'd soon find out.

As his father prepared, a desperate expression on his face, the brother grabbed Donnie's arm. “What do you think you're doing!?" In the foray they almost looked Zach's way, so he shrank further from the door frame, and counted the seconds until he could get a decent look again.

“Mikey! I'm gonna do it — we have to. That's what you said, right?"

“Donnie..." he said in a hushed voice, that Zach could hear but his father evidently not, “...he thinks we're..."

* * *

“...he thinks we're..." Michael swallowed, the last part of his sentence stuck in his throat. He held tightly onto Donnie's arm, sensing the true shape of his limb beneath the disguise. “He thinks..."

“Thinks what?" Donnie snapped, glancing back at Mr. Walker in case he was listening.

“He thinks we're not cursed! That we're not like mom and the others."

“And? That's what you told him. The 'only way' you said."

Michael sighed. “Yes, I did. I lied to get us here. But you aren't getting what I'm saying. What happens if he touches you, especially with a cross?"

“Mikey," Donnie snarled, “I've had enough of this! You can't take me some place and chicken out of doing something at the last minute. I've let things slide too easily in my life — now I'm gonna do something important, and I'm not going to be afraid." I can't stay a second more in this place, he thought, it hurts so much!

“No, Donnie...don't..." Michael tried to convince him to refuse. He didn't know how, or through what magical means, but his head told him contact with anything sacred would give the game away. And that would be it. A pair of monsters in his home — right there for the staking (if he were so inclined). His whole attitude had changed. Michael feared for their lives.

Maybe it was luck, but the sight of his brother's pleading expression convinced Donnie. He turned from Michael and raised his voice to their host: “I'm sorry, but I can't go through with this. I won't volunteer."

“But you must," he said, scrabbling through his tools. The notebook clamped shut in his hand as he gestured vigorously. “You must! We have to fight the Devil's influence."

“Hey — back off," Michael exclaimed, “he said he's not doing it!"

“What about you then? You're the one who wanted a means to lift the curse. Backing out now, after showing me the danger it poses to our community?"

“That's besides the point—"

“No, it isn't. We're doing this." The frantic preacher reached out, lurching at Donnie. He barely brushed past his arm but in a flash his skin turned. That's all it took to spoil their meeting. Michael looked on in horror as his brother's demonskin was partially revealed; a haunting instant in time where Donnie's arm shifted, changed into its hellish form. It was over as soon as it had begun, but he saw.

He saw the truth.

Eyes wide. Jaw agape. Mind powering through the shock...

Zach's father stormed forth with renewed purpose, arm outstretched and grabbing wildly. Donnie recoiled. Michael stumbled in time with his sibling.

“Come here NOW!"

Ranting and raving, Mr. Walker managed to get ahold of Donnie, despite Michael's attempts to intervene. In a moment of pure instinct, Donnie transformed.

Another blinding flash, this time unveiling his body in full. Less than a second had passed since being seized, and yet...time slowed. It crawled with arduous lethargy. Speech slurred. Bodies moved as if they were submerged in treacle. The fear was real. The shock was real. Donnie was not thinking straight...

A roar. From the teenage demon. Heralding his retaliation.

He didn't mean to do it...

He pushed back. Hard. Throwing his attacker across the room. Donnie watched the man careen away from him in slow-motion, dreading the sound he heard next...

...

...silence.

Then...

Zach's father struck the wall, the end of his life accompanied by a sickening crack as bones broke, leaving him spiralling to the floor, landing and crumpling into a heap.

Donnie remained still. Michael stopped breathing.

More silence.

Gradually, his senses returned. Donnie could hear himself think again. Just in time to hear another...

A gasp.

“Dad!"

He turned. Zach stood in the open door.

“Zach! I didn't mean—"

His plea was cut short by screams.

Michael gripped his brother's shoulder. “We have to get out of here!" Donnie, speechless, stared at him. Michael's disguise wore thin, and his was abandoned completely — they couldn't stay, not after...

“C'mon!" Michael shouted.

Things happened quickly. Smoke and light danced as they moved — obscuring the room. In the calculated confusion they zipped past Zach, knocking him to one side. They rushed, without thinking, through the hall. They paid no heed to Zach, growing further away with each damning step. They acted too hurriedly to mesmerise him — make him forget. Any plan vanished the moment both of them heard the snap of a feeble...human...spine.

Zach was slow to react. Turning his head, following the trail of smoke and flecks of ash, lead him to the front door. A loud crackle reached his ears too soon for him to see, and when he got to its source he was greeted with...an empty driveway, no sign of Donnie or his brother.

The air stung with the stench of burning.

* * *

Uma grinned. A maw of pointed teeth revealed themselves, glistening. She clicked her tongue. The sound bounced inside her skull, and she counted the seconds it took for silence to return. When she was finished dallying, Uma placed a hand on her chest.

Michael, Donnie, come home. She broadcast those thoughts far and wide, letting them seep into every corner of the town. They want it to stop. She let her mind speak in confidence. They don't want to feel bad anymore. Wherever the errant children were, they'd return. Once they saw her ascend, they'd think of nothing else than their dear mother and what she's provided for them.

They'll learn to love it.

The sun beat down on her. It was magnificently bright. The whole road gleamed in the richness and warmth of its rays. Lawns verdant. Houses shining. Outdoors was more splendid than it'd been in a while. Into this paradise the walked.

Jacob and Cynthia followed, taking a flank each and walking a step behind. Axel watched them leave from the porch, tracking his mistress as she strolled, unhidden, amongst the mortals.

Uma let her wingspan stretch. Her crimson-skinned body flexed and swayed with her gait, revealed to one and all her true form. She glanced over her shoulder at Cynthia — naked as well — and to the house. It had become too small for her ambitions. She deserved a greater home. After all my work paid off, she thought, I am due many rewards.

This is just the first.

An army of servants, gaunt and rigid, shuffled past her guard dog and out into the open. Jacob, demonic flesh bare in sympathy with his mom and sister, organised the multitude into a column, marching them behind Uma as they walked onto the centre of the road and started towards the heart of Carlyle. The time had long passed since she was concerned about being discovered. Let them gawk. Let them watch her advance. They would be fools to stare.

From the other houses, people emerged. The looked at the crowd, and the winged matriarch at its helm. Drawn to her beauty...her otherworldly presence. Each second their eyes remained on her their free will dwindled. Captured by their new queen. Soon they joined the orderly movement of people, subsumed into the obedient mass of mortal men and women.

Come to me. Come to your goddess.

They left their suburb behind, spreading like a virus through the town. Some were spared enslavement, left instead to blindly go about their daily business like nothing ever changed. Blind to the magic among them. Others had the same fate as their brainwashed comrades — made into mindless tools. Implements to wield towards their masters' ends. No-one was spared.

Uma smiled.

Carlyle was hers now.

* * *

Zach sat quietly. Hours passed. Occasionally he'd grip his phone, summoning the strength to slide and unlock it...but dialling the police or an ambulance never came to pass. He'd get there eventually. Eventually. He looked at his father, limp before him. No pulse. No breath. His own tears striking the dark jacket his father wore, speckling it with even darker spots. The room was a mess. He sobbed. The air was cold, and biting.

He couldn't process it. It made no sense. What did he see...?

What had he seen!?

He wasn't ready for death. Not in the family. Not like this. His mom was long gone, too early for him to really understand. He was a baby at the time — for Christ's sake! Now...now...he was old enough. Old enough to feel the emptiness.

Tears streamed down his face. A short sniff left his head spinning, and the room started to warp. Dizzy. His vision blurred, he crawled closer to his dad's remains. He could smell him. That familiar scent: a drop of cologne and hint of sweat from the heavy, all-too-formal clothes he often wore. His suit reeked as Zach moved ever closer.

What happened? What did he see?

Donnie, and someone else. His brother?

What happened!?

He refused to believe it. When he shut his eyes he could safely ignore it. But the smells and sounds of bleak reality ripped him from a comforting lie. He had to face facts.

He had to call the police.

At long last, he got past the lock screen of his phone and tapped the call app. He rose to his knees, still bent over his father's body. His thumb mimed the digits '911', but he paused before committing.

A sliver of paper, peeking out of a notebook in his father's hand, caught his attention. Slowly, he began to take in his surroundings. The ornaments strewn about...there was a common theme to them. Crosses, and medals, and saintly things from their Church...

What did he see? What had he seen...?

Donnie, and someone else. And a flash of ugliness, inhuman ugliness. Red. Black. Wretched hides. Claws and wings. Demons.

He scarcely believed himself, but there he lay — a prime victim of their malice in front of him. The objects...the holy things...his father was exorcising them!

And he'd failed.

Zach leaned over the body and retrieved the notes trapped between stiff, grey fingers. He rifled through the pages on the small pad, watching as scraps fell from between its flapping leaves. A crude drawing in one, mysterious phrases in another. Some familiar, some totally alien to the teenager's eyes.

He should call the police. He knew it. He really should. It's the right thing to do. There was a normal explanation for this — he was sure. An investigation would find out. He was stressed. Shocked. He wasn't seeing things right.

No...there was something he couldn't deny.

As he went through his father's notes, a picture began to form. One that had been hidden from him. What these notes recorded, what they spoke of...it was real.

Zach cried out. His father had faith. And how had that been rewarded...?

...

...with nothing!

Wails filled the room. His head throbbed as anger and pain and misery swelled. He rushed through the remainder of the notebook, tearing pages with careless abandon. At the end, only a single line was scrawled. A number. A phone number.

Below it, the text read:

*n.b. — Delmonde, Carlyle — history, truth

The word 'truth' was circled in red pen.

Zach squinted. He made the number out to be from the area. Wait...yes! The library. But...why? Who was in the library that was important enough to warrant a place in his father's notes?

He stood up. He looked at his phone, discovering he'd already input the three-digits for emergency services. He tapped the 'call' icon. Putting the phone to his ear, he found that the ringing calmed him. Its beat — a rhythm to hold himself to. One thing after another. Gave him a sense of purpose. That he was doing the right thing. That he would continue to do the right thing.

But that wasn't all. No, he had to do more — and the police wouldn't be the ones to turn to on this matter.

He glanced at the number again.

It seemed he needed to make a second call.

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To Be Continued?

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