Sineater

Two

PARIS

Hushed whispers and chattering could be heard throughout the dark, dank stairwell as Father Thomas slowly descended the stairs from the second floor to the first. He held a large, wooden crucifix out in front of his body as he walked.

As with all exorcisms, the smell of sulfur and something dark burning filled the air. It was not the first time Thomas had had a demon escape him. The first time it happened he'd been a young man, barely out of priesthood, and he had been sent to exorcise a small child in Mexico.

The child had been possessed by a very powerful demon. Astaroth had been it's name and he had almost died learning it. He had tried to bind the demonic power emanating from the child, when the demon put forth a strong burst of power and jumped out of the first floor, living area window.

He had never seen anything like it before, or since. Until now.

"In the name of God," he spoke, voice quiet yet firm, "in the name of Jesus Christ, I order you back to Hell."

His breathing seemed to bounce off of all the stone surrounding him, seemed to echo in his ears. His footsteps could be heard throughout the courtyard. He kept thinking how eerily similar this case was to his first case.

He glanced all around him as he heard a voice whisper, plain as day, "Your time is coming."

Still he slowly made his way down the staircase, crucifix still held out in front of him. "In the name of God, in the name of Jesus Christ, I order you back to Hell."

He made it to the landing where a door stood behind him, closed and dreary. He leaned against it and waiting with bated breath for any sign of movement within.

Hearing nothing after a long moment that felt more like an eternity, Father Thomas continued his descent onto the dark, cold ground at the bottom of the steps. His breath came out in whisps of fog in the chilly night air. He would have pulled his coat tighter around himself if it had not have been for the fact that he needed the crucifix to be seen. Those same hushed whispers seeming to float all around him, brushing against the hair at the back of his neck like a sixth sense.

Again he looked all around him as another whispered voice sent chills spearing down his spine, along with the sound of skittering of insects moving along the stone walls. "We wait for you Father."

And again Father Thomas spoke, "In the name of God, in the name of Jesus Christ, I order you back to Hell." He would not lose the demon again.

Reaching the opening that led from the stairwell to the veranda of the old stone apartment building, he peeked around the corner of the archway before stepping fully out in the open. He looked to his right, out into the street and, seeing nothing but a nearly dead street lamp sizzling, turned to look in front of him.

There was a potted plant, some kind of tree. He wasn't sure what it was called. There were no sounds here, save for his own breathing. Then he heard footsteps fast approaching from behind him and whirled around, crucifix in hand, to face whoever, or more likely whatever, was coming for him.

It was a man, or a man possessed by a demon, the very demon he'd been trying to exorcise earlier that evening. The vessel had been deformed with the power of the demon that had taken him. His arms had preternaturally grown in length, his eyes and cheeks had sunken into his skull and he looked like a typical junkie. Father Thomas knew better.

Before this man was taken by the demon, he'd been a banker. He was rich, powerful in his community and donated often to charities.

The damned often took good, decent souls.