The thuds went on through the night, about every hour, for as long as the sky remained dark. They sounded like distant muffled bangs from my room upstairs, but they woke me up anyway. Every time I jolted awake, the ball on the chest of drawers near the door would flash, to let me know I wasn't alone and Lizzie was right there, keeping me safe. That was the only reason why I didn't sleep in my car.
Only by sunrise, when the thuds subsided, I was able to get a few hours of good sleep, so the Collins were already in the house by the time I got up. I came across Mike at the first-floor hallway.
"Morning, Mike. I need the basement key," I said, still rubbing my eyes and feeling exhausted.
My voice drew Susan out of the kitchen. "Good morning, Miss Garner. Breakfast is…" She trailed off, noticing her husband visibly upset.
"The basement key?" he repeated, taken aback. "I can go get you anything you need from down there."
"What I need is the key, Mike," I replied, forcing a smile, and turned to Susan. "I also need the name of the priest Miss Blotter brought to bless the house."
I headed to the kitchen, letting the Collins trade their mandatory look. Susan gave me way and followed me in.
"Everything okay, Miss Garner?"
I ignored her question and the neatly-served breakfast on the table. I'd already told her many times I like to cook my meals myself, but she kept trying to control even what I ate.
"D'you know the name of the priest?" I asked, grabbing my car keys.
"Father Thompson, from St. Aloysius."
"Thank you. I'm gonna need the basement key here when I get back, in an hour tops. And please don't touch the tablet in the library. It is to stay right where it is, right as it is."
"Yes, Miss Garner," she murmured, resenting my bossy ways.
I walked out the backdoor without even glancing at her. I knew I wasn't being fair, treating them in such a rude way, but my mood was far from good after the scare the night before. Not to mention I was growing tired of Susan's refusal to step back, trying to run what now was legally my home like I didn't even exist. Enough. With a demon in the basement, they'd run out of time for their territorial claims.
I drove south to St. Aloysius church, near the Ware river, the whole situation going round and round my head. I wanted to see this priest to try to learn as much as I could about what had happened, both from the Blotters and from the living. I also hoped he would remember the name of the woman who had performed the cleansing.
At the church, I was surprised when mentioning the Manor was enough to be taken to father Thompson's office, where he poured me a tea and shared his memories of the blessing.
I didn't expect to hear any mind-blowing revelation. I just needed an account of the event, and that's what I got, unsurprisingly painted through the priest's set of beliefs. He was convinced he'd come face to face with Satan himself, a creature of pure evil in essence and purpose, and that he'd banished it from the face of the earth, back to the fiery pit of hell he'd crawled out from.
"You're new to the Manor, young lady," he said. "I'm sure those noises is the old house settling at night. Nothing to be afraid of."
Of course, because acknowledging the alleged devil was pretty much alive and kicking would've forced him to admit he'd failed. So I didn't bother to argue and thanked him for his time and advice.
"Do you happen to remember the name of the woman who cleansed the house before you blessed it?" I asked before leaving.
"Miss Grace knew her from Harvard. I think the name was Williams, Mrs. Williams."
"Thank you, Father. Have a nice day."
"God bless you, child."
How many Mrs. Williams in Harvard and the Boston area? Hundreds? Thousands? That was a dead end.
On my way back to the Manor, I couldn't help feeling something didn't quite add up. Everybody talked about a powerful demon, even Satan, right? Then, how come some sage and a simple blessing had been enough to put it to sleep? Not to mention this thing seemed to be trapped in the basement. What kind of mighty ritual had this Brandon Price performed, in order to bind a demon to a given place? Who was he, King Solomon of old?
I didn't doubt the Blotters, but I was getting to think that whatever was in the basement couldn't be a demon. I mean, not a demon-demon, hooves, horns and a pretty condo waiting in hell. My money was on something down the food chain.
Ghost hunters like to investigate places marked by tragedy, like old prisons and abandoned asylums, where negative emotions had left an indelible residual imprint on the buildings themselves. That kind of energy is bound to attract paranormal creepy-crawlers like maggots to rotting flesh.
But most people call those scavengers demons, especially if they have strong religious beliefs, like the Blotters and father Thompson. Religions aren't exactly prone to middle grounds. Everything's black or white, so whatever doesn't fit in the good lane is labeled as evil.
I had the idea that demons are into living souls, not stagnant residual energy, no matter how foul, and that was why I thought we were most likely dealing with a scavenger. And I could only pity this entity, born to feed on echoes of pain, fear and violence, prisoner in a house so full of love and good memories. Of course it was hungry. It might be frigging starving!
A disturbing idea popped up in my head as I drove past the Manor gates: if this thing had been attached to Brandon Price, it'd gone from feeding on residual energy to living emotions. So maybe it wasn't a badass demon, but it wasn't a simple scavenger anymore. I'd heard that wild predators, like lions and tigers, disregard any other food once they tasted human flesh.
Could it be that a taste of living energy made these things change their diet? Or was it just the natural evolution steps of paranormal scavengers? Like going from worm to caterpillar. Only the final transformation didn't render a pretty butterfly, but a soul-eater demon? Shit! I needed answers, and I had no one to turn to with my questions! At least, no one that wouldn't think I was ready for a straitjacket.
Susan was dusting the bedrooms when I walked into the house, and came down to the first floor as soon as she heard the front door. I paused when I saw her on the stairs.
"Is the guesthouse open, Susan?"
"No, why?"
I breathed deep. Why!
"I need the keys, please," I said, starting down the hallway, where Mike was painting the baseboards.
"But—"
I stopped and turned to her, sick and tired of her questioning my every word.
"I said I need the keys to the basement and the guesthouse," I said, meeting her eyes without a trace of a smile. "That means I need them now."
She stiffened as if I had slapped her. "No need to be so rude, Miss Garner."
The north parlor door slammed shut, scaring the crap out of Mike a few steps away. Susan's eyes widened in fear and I raised my eyebrows.
"Please, go get them and meet me at the guesthouse," I said.
The woman hurried down the stairs, into the kitchen and out the backdoor. Before walking into the north parlor, I helped Mike up, because the scare had made him fall on his butt.
"What's going on, Miss?" he whispered, pale and agitated, glancing around.
"The thing in the basement woke up last night," I replied.
He faced me with gaping eyes. "That's why you asked about father Thompson?"
"Yes."
"Good. He knows what to do."
Mike nodded, happy to cling to the hope that the old man was coming back to fix everything. I didn't have the heart to correct him.
"Get me the keys I need and go help Susan, please."
"Yes, Miss!"
The moment he walked into the kitchen, the library door creaked open.
"What are you up to?" the tablet asked when I stepped in.
"I need to see if the moment the demon left Brandon Price was caught on camera."
"That's why. Guesthouse."
"Yup. Can you guys come over with me?"
"Yes."
"Then let me go grab my things."
A minute later, I was walking across the garden with a mug of fresh coffee and my backpack, where I carried all my devices, as many chargers and a couple of cat balls. Mike and Susan were at the guesthouse, opening windows and removing the tarps that covered the furniture. Despite its old-fashioned exterior, the house looked almost as modern as the Manor's kitchen on the inside, furnished and decorated in a warm rustic style I really liked. The Collins paused their work when they saw me at the door.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll be only using the living area and a restroom, no need to touch the second floor." I nodded to the big smart TV hanging across the living room, over the fireplace mantelpiece. "The Wi-Fi connection is the same as the Manor's?"
"There's no internet here, Miss," Mike replied, grimacing.
So I would have to use my phone as a hotspot, leaving us one speaking app down.
"Can you take care of it?"
"Yes, Miss. I'm calling right today."
I stayed by the open front door. In the awkward silence that followed, Mike finally got the memo and motioned for Susan to leave with him. He handed me the guesthouse and the basement keys on his way out. She followed still offended, avoiding eye contact with me. Like I cared.
As soon as they left, I closed and locked the front door.