Lost Hunters

04 - The Waiting Demons

Content Warning: Vomit, Mormons

I.

She could feel it burning through the wet cloth. Almost imagined a hiss and wisp of steam as she laid the cold, wet rag onto the girl's forehead.

The girl bucked up against her hand, letting out a low, angry growl. Her eyes were not blank. On the contrary, they were intensely focused. Glaring with pained hatred up at Mrs. Patience as the girl thrashed her head around, teeth snapping as she tried to bite.

"Heavenly Father, we are so blessed for this opportunity to help a soul in need," her husband said, standing on the other side of the bed. "We thank you for guiding us to this home. We thank you for giving us the tools to aid this family in your name."

He was standing with a placid smile on his face, not even looking down at the poor child. Looking up, hands clasped in front of his chest. Dressed as if they were knocking on doors again, a white short-sleeved button-up with a red tie, the black straps of his backpack stark across his shoulders.

They'd even made their own name tags. "Mr. Patience," his read.

"Please help us to cleanse this home of evil," he said, still looking up. "Please bless and protect us as you do all your soldiers, at home and far away. Please aid us, as we shine your light upon even the darkest of places."

The girl snapped her head back and forth, letting out short grunts. Mrs. Patience's hand was thrown off of her forehead, but only for a moment. The girl's wrists and ankles were bound to the bedposts, only able to thrash around so hard.

"Shh, my child," Mrs. Patience said, leaning into it, firmly pinning the girl's head to the pillow. "Shh."

"In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen," Mr. Patience said.

"Amen," Mrs. Patience said.

"Amen!" the girl's grandmother wailed, bawling her eyes out at the foot of the bed. She was a heavyset older woman, crying and shaking her head and carrying on as they tried to save her granddaughter's soul.

She crossed herself. Made a sign in the air in front of her face and chest. Mrs. Patience narrowed her eyes at the motion.

"Silence, please," Mrs. Patience said.

The grandmother sobbed and nodded and wiped at her eyes with a Kleenex that was falling apart at this point. They were all sweating, had all been standing here for hours now, trapped in the dim, stuffy master bedroom of the family's ranch house.

It wasn't theirs, Mrs. Patience reminded herself. She hadn't asked, but this family was most certainly renting the place.

"Daniela?" Mr. Patience said, finally looking down at the bed again. "Daniela, we can only do so much to help. We can only extend our hands in peace. You must take my hand and stand up against the darkness wrapped around you."

"Fuck you!" Daniela said, hoarse and raw and heaving with otherworldly hatred. "Fuck you! Untie me! Let me go!"

Such a shame. She was a teenager, barely more than a child. But her family had allowed her to grow up too fast, to dress herself like a slattern, to wear makeup and expose her cleavage and make a home in her once-pure mouth for such vile language.

There was a tattoo on the girl's shoulder. A demonic symbol, a pentagram with the upper two points curved to form a heart.

A heartagram, they had explained to her.

As if it were nothing. As if it were a cute trifle, not a mark of beasts masquerading as pop culture. Hiding in plain sight.

"Where's my mom?" Daniela yelled. Her eyes were unfocused now, her head looking around in confusion instead of thrashing. "Mom? Mom, help me! Help!"