How to Ditch Dead Guys (The Witch's Handbook Book 2) Page 8

  “You are both my torment and my comfort,” I tell the rushing waters as I plop down on a large rock. There’s got to be an answer. Even though those exorcism websites claim to be religious, they leave me feeling dirty, as if I somehow asked for this to happen. I’m only trying to help those murder victims. What’s wrong with that?

  Sunlight glints off the swirling water. I will the soothing flow of the river to calm me. It doesn’t. Maybe I’m not really possessed by evil spirits. Maybe I’m over-tired. That’s it. After all, it’s so peaceful out here next to the water. I lean back on the warm rock, closing my eyes.

  A squeaking noise begins. I’m not even in my bathroom, and the sound can reach me. I still hear the echoing drip-drip-drip of the blood in the shower even though I sit outdoors a mile away.

  My cheeks flush and my stomach burns. This is too much. I’ve had enough.

  I open my eyes, and spot a dark form floating along the bike path. A cloud in the shape of a cloaked man approaches as the world around grows silent.

  I sit up. Everything stops. I don’t even breathe.

  The wind stills in the grasses.

  The rushing water pauses in its hurry.

  A hot flash of pain sears my eyes. I can’t see! I fall off the rock to the ground, rubbing desperately at my eyes, the tears flowing.

  Everything is black. The sky. The world. My heart.

  By the time my tears clear, the swooping dark shape has disappeared.

  I tremble, huddled on the dirt, glancing around in search of my tormentors.

  Who am I fooling? I need serious help.

  nce my heart rate slows to normal, I make a decision. I hurry home, rush past Phoebe’s thankfully empty lawn chair, and jump into my car. That’s it. I’m going to church.

  I head to the one where Mike’s funeral was held last fall, determined to procure the necessary supplies listed on the Internet for an exorcism: holy water, rosaries, and the like. In addition, I’ll check out any religious books they have lying around. Too bad there’s nothing in my Book of Shadows on exorcism.

  As I drive to the church, I pass a park. People in tank tops and shorts throw Frisbees or absorb a year’s worth of Vitamin D while lounging on beach towels, eating ice cream. Why can’t I do that? I’m pasty-white. I could use a tan. Why does my life have to be so crazy? How did an innocent crush on a cute boy cause me so much trouble?

  Although part of me realizes I need divine intervention, I fear running into any priests. I don’t want to have to explain how I let these spirits in. Surely, I can get rid of them on my own with the right combination of spells and religious paraphernalia.

  I pull into the parking lot. Everything looks just as I remember. The majestic building towers over me once again. Last time, I left this place in tears. I hope it brings me better luck this time around.

  I hurry up the gray stone stairs, and pause to read a posted sign. The front door shall remain unlocked during daylight hours. But when I pull on it, the door doesn’t budge. I rattle the metal handles. What’s the deal? The sign says it’s supposed to be unlocked.

  A young, dark-haired priest approaches behind me and easily opens the troublesome door.

  “Oh, thanks.” Stupid demons, they don’t want me to get inside.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” His voice is kind, but I can’t meet his gaze.

  “No, thank you.” I rush past him, noting a box of colorful plastic rosaries for sale. I’ll come back for them later. No need to arouse suspicion.

  I enter the sanctuary, pausing to glance up at the balcony. There hang the red velvet curtains I hid behind almost a year ago. The accusations of Mike’s distraught mother still curdle my stomach, but I block them out.

  From the corner of my eye, I spot the young priest hovering inside the church doors. Busy-body. He’s as nosy as Phoebe. I step to the side and dip my hand in the holy water, trying to look normal, then gasp when my fingers burn. Crap! Way to blend in. I shake the blessed water off my hand, trying not to cry out. I hope the two people kneeling in the church pews can’t hear me. I slip into a back pew next to the stained glass windows, lower my head, and wait for the priest to leave his watchful post.

  Kneeling, I scan the surroundings. There’s got to be a church library here somewhere. Once the priest is out of sight, I stand, hoping to avoid any further confrontation. I soon discover what I’m after—a small corner room filled with faded leather-bound books. Scanning the titles, I pull volume after volume off the shelf. The smell of old paper and glue comforts me.

  Pausing at a row of gold embossed Bibles, I reach for the fattest one. In a wave, the whole row of books flattens itself against the light blue wall, avoiding my grasp.

  “I don’t think so.” I use both hands to yank a gigantic Bible off the shelf.

  It shivers within my grasp. Feeling guilty, as if I’ve trapped a small kitten in my hand instead of a book, I glance around the small library. A movement outside draws my attention toward the windows. The wind has picked up. Caught in a tree branch, a plastic grocery bag flings about as if struggling to get away. But it can’t escape. It just flaps in vain. I know how that feels.

  Settling down next to my stacks of books, I grab my notebook and pen and copy anything that might help:

  Mark 16.15-18

  In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.

  Luke 11.14-22

  And he was casting out a devil, and it was dumb. And it came to pass, when the devil was gone out, the dumb spake; and the people wondered. But some of them said, He casteth out devils through Beelzebub the chief of the devils.

  General Information:

  -Demons enter through a person’s senses

  -Magic and communion with dead spirits opens a person up to a possession.

  -Needed supplies: holy water, blessed oil, crucifix.

  -Dribble holy water in laundry of an afflicted person.

  Exorcism Chant: I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every specter from Hell, and all your fell companions…

  After copying the entire exorcism chant into my notebook, I glance at the piles of books scattered across the table. I need to collect my supplies before that priest comes back. I grab my bag and duck out of the tiny library. Soon I discover a miniature pink-tiled bathroom that smells like old lady soap. There’s barely enough room to turn around as I empty the water bottles from my backpack into the sink.

  Treading slowly on the dark carpet to make as little noise as possible, I sneak over to the holy water font at the back of the church. I fill the bottles, peeking into the empty sanctuary, dreading discovery. My hands tremble as I will the third bottle to fill faster. A few drops splash on my fingers. Ouch! That burns! Then I creep to the table by the front doors, slip a twenty dollar bill in the donation box, and drop a handful of plastic rosaries in my bag.

  Now I’ve got my supplies, and that priest is nowhere to be seen. Time to head home. I reach into my pocket for the car keys. Empty. Must have left them in the library. I rush back into the small study.

  There stands the tall priest, looking down at the books I pulled from the shelves, and, in my hurry, forgot to put away.

  “Interesting reading.” The priest’s hand rests on an open church text.

  I stare at the floor without answering.

  He approaches. “Why are you researching exorcisms?”

  I clear my throat. “Research for a college paper.”

  “A summer class?” He’s trying to make this easy on me, but there’s no making this easy. That’s for sure.

  My right hand trembles. Voices grumble inside my head. This time, oddly enough, they sound like old ladies. The really crabby kind who yell at you for stepping on their grass.

  “Run! Now!”

  “Get away from here!”

 
“Stay away from him!”

  “Do you need assistance with your research? I’m the diocese-appointed exorcist. The bishop in LaCrosse thought I should be placed here in Eau Claire near the campus. When college students become interested in the occult, it can lead them into trouble.”

  “Really?” I squeak, my limbs turning cold and numb.

  The priest chuckles. “Although there are those who still believe that Satanism started in Whitehall, Wisconsin.”

  “We’ll kill him, right here, in front of you,” warns the chorus of crabby old lady voices. “Unless you leave. Now.”

  I grab my keys off the table. “Thanks for your help, but I’m in a hurry.”

  He taps the table with his fingers. “But I haven’t helped you yet, have I?”

  The keys clink in my shaking hands. I take a deep breath and will my hands to still. Goosebumps riddle my skin. Eyes rooted to the floor, I stand speechless before his black attire.

  “You can’t look me in the eye, can you?” he asks.

  I try but can’t do it. “You’re right. Why is that?”

  “You’re a wounded soul.” His voice is kind, inviting.

  I inch toward the door. “I’m sorry.” For so many things.

  “When you’re ready to come back, ask for me. My name is Father Joe.”

  I rush out the door and tear down the front steps, the old ladies calling after me, “You won’t be coming back. We won’t let you.”

  y heart races as I peel out of the church parking lot and hurry home. As I crest the top of State Street Hill, I tap on the brake to slow my acceleration.

  It doesn’t respond.

  I pump the brake. It collapses to the floor.

  I scream as the car accelerates down the hill. My hand slams on the horn as I whip past rows of old houses. Cars swerve out of the way, honking in protest as I tug the emergency brake. Please let the Hibbard Hall parking lot be empty. Please. Please. Please.

  As I near the lot at the bottom of the hill, I see that the lot is vacant. My tires screech as I yank on the steering wheel.

  Rocketing into the lot, I circle until the car slows to a crawl. I turn off the engine with shaking hands. Throwing the door open, I stumble out of my car and collapse on the pavement, chest heaving. What just happened? Did the demons or that exorcist priest do this to me? So much for the Lexus’s high safety rating!

  I grab my phone and call Walker. “Can you come look at my car? Something’s wrong with the brakes.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On campus,” I choke out the words. “In the parking lot by Hibbard Hall.”

  “Of all the women drivers in the world, you are the absolute worst. I’ll be right there.”

  Dizzy with fear, I stand up and lean against my car. The empty lot slowly stops spinning. A tree right in front my car comes into focus. A red Smiley Face has been painted on it. The open mouth leers at me.

  My stomach heaves. I’m going to be sick. I gag, kneeling down and putting my head on the ground to keep from fainting. A movement to the side catches my eye. What is that? Do I even want to know?

  I force myself to turn toward the scraping sound. Far across the parking lot, a massive black snake undulates across the warm tar, headed right for me.

  I want to run but am frozen in place.

  It nears, hissing and spitting as it approaches.

  I can’t move. “You’re not real! This is not happening! I’m going to close my eyes and when I open them again you’ll be gone.”

  A fear niggles in my brain that shutting one’s eyes against a demonic reptilian attacker may not be the wisest course of action, but when I open my eyes again, the snake―and the Smiley Face―are both gone.

  A moth settles on my arm. I brush it away.

  Am I going insane? How does one know for sure? I wish I had some answers. I wish I had someone to help me besides Walker.

  My favorite police officer arrives ten minutes later, checks out my car, then shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

  I cross my arms. “Tell that to all the people I almost ran into as I plowed down State Street Hill!”

  “Did the brakes fail last month, too, when you annihilated the bushes near the parking lot by the Fine Arts building?”

  “Very funny. You know I did that on purpose to help Mike get back into the river.”

  He shrugs, wiping his hands on a rag. “Maybe you slammed on the gas pedal instead of the brake.”

  I punch his arm. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

  He throws up his hands defensively. “Listen. I grew up with two sisters and a single mom. I know better than to call any female stupid.”

  I cross my arms. “Can you at least escort me back home, in case it happens again?” I need you to keep me safe.

  “Yeah. I’ll drive in front of you, but try not to run into me, okay?”

  I nod. “Good idea.”

  As we get back into our respective cars, Walker hollers, “And what’s with all the rosaries? Is that a fashion statement, like Madonna back in the eighties, or a ‘born again’ thing?” He slams his door shut, not waiting for an answer.

  I glance over at the passenger seat. The contents of my bag spilled onto the floor during my near accident. I scoop everything back inside, then trail Walker across the parking lot and out into the street at an elderly pace. After we both park near the apartment, he rolls down his window.

  “I should arrest you for going too slow. You drive like an arthritic bingo junkie with bad cataracts.”

  “I just wanted to get home safely.”

  He smirks. “You’re welcome.”

  Stupid Walker. He would make me grovel. “Yes, thank you, kind sir,” I reply sarcastically as I get out of my possessed car.

  “No problem.” He grins wider. “Actually, I’m in the best of moods today. Jennifer’s case is wrapping up nicely, and I have a hot date for this weekend.”

  I frown. “Does she have to meet your momma, too?”

  “No, she took my sisters back home.” He laughs, then narrows his eyes playfully. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

  “What?” My cheeks flush, which embarrasses me. I’m so not jealous. It’s my mother who thinks he’s handsome—not me. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “It’s not my fault I’m this good looking.”

  “Well, I’m not jealous!” Okay, I am a little envious, but only because he’s sane and I’m totally losing it.

  He shakes a finger at me. “Better have a mechanic check your brakes tomorrow. In case there is something wrong with your fancy car.”

  “Ugh. Nothing makes me feel more stupid than talking to auto mechanics.” I grimace as he pulls away, laughing.

  “Lovers’ quarrel?” Phoebe’s voice comes from behind me.

  Grrr. Her again. Why can’t she mind her own business? I spin around to face her. “Walker? No way. We’re not dating. I don’t even like him that way.”

  “Hmm. I don’t believe you. He’s a fine-looking man.” She lounges on a chair in the front yard, completely in the shade of a row of evergreen trees. Her large sunglasses pair well with her fifties-style swimsuit.

  “What are you doing, Phoebe?” I ask. She looks ridiculous. “It’s not like you can tan in the shade.”

  “I’m not tanning. I’m perfect just the way I am. This is called research.” She gestures at the pile of Wiccan books at her feet. “I’m determined to figure you out.”

  “Good luck with that, because I can’t even figure myself out.” I step inside and check my empty mailbox in the foyer. No letter from Laura. I head upstairs to my apartment. When I open the door, the air inside is heavy and cool. And it’s supposed to be summer.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” I announce to my inner demons as I unpack my supplies. “You’re not welcome here. It’s time for you to go.”

  I cross over to the living room windows and glance down. Phoebe stares up from her nosy post.

  “Stop watching me,
” I mutter through clenched teeth and yank the shades shut.

  After digging through my dresser drawers, I add a Bible and a small wooden cross to the collection of rosaries.

  I sit cross-legged on the floor and encircle myself with a dozen white candles.

  “White for purity.”

  Even before I reach the first wick with a lit match, every candle bursts into flame.

  Huh. That’s different.

  I clear my throat and continue.

  “Lit to guide my way.”

  I string rosaries around my neck, wincing as electric shocks prickle my skin. I grasp one of my water bottles filled with holy water.

  “Bottoms up!” I close my eyes, bracing myself before swallowing. As the holy water trickles down my throat, my neck and chest burn as if I’m chugging a bottle of fierce whiskey.

  “There, that should weaken you, unwelcome spirits!” I feel empowered, alive, almost aflame.

  “You can do it!” Jake’s voice.

  My eyes fly open. He’s sitting on my couch, smiling, both hands held in the thumbs up position.

  “Jake,” I breathe the word, heart racing for once from pleasure, not fear or pain.

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea.” Mike appears beside Jake on the couch, shaking his head.

  “No shocker there,” I mutter.

  “Just be careful,” Bernard shows up next, wringing his hands.

  “I will.” It’s so good to see them, but it’s not clear if they can really see me or if I’m imagining the whole thing.

  The last to arrive is Steve, pacing back and forth, and checking his watch. “How long is this going to take?” he asks. “I’ve got an important meeting in ten minutes.”

  “When did you turn into such a jerk?” I scowl. “I need your help.”

  No answer from the Dead Guys. It’s like they’re talking to each other, not me.

  “Come on,” I beg on my knees. “I need you, now.”

  The images fade from view, Jake last of all to go.

  “No!” I collapse, my head in my arms. “I want you to stay! Why won’t you stay?”